Chapter 13 - The Breakout at Sector 4
Rain poured down in heavy sheets over the high-security County Detention Depot, mixing with the melting snow on the asphalt. Searchlights swept across the perimeter fences, but deep inside the transport bay, chaos had broken out.
A heavy armored transport vehicle sat with its steel doors blown off by plastic explosives. Smoke filled the bay, and three corrections officers lay groaning on the floor, disarmed and zip-tied.
Marcus Blackwood, wearing a stolen guard uniform over his jumpsuit, stepped over the shattered glass, flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries armed with automatic shotguns. Alongside him was Victor Hale, who was clutching his bandaged shoulder, trembling with nervous energy.
"Quickly! Get into the van!" Blackwood ordered, his voice sharp and ruthless despite his cast-bound wrist. "The private jet is waiting at the private airstrip ten miles south. Once we clear state airspace, Vance's evidence won't mean a damn thing!"
"What about the money?" Victor whimpered, scrambling into the back of a blacked-out getaway SUV. "The federal prosecutors froze all my domestic accounts!"
"I have fifty million in bearer bonds and cryptocurrency keys in my satellite phone, you idiot!" Blackwood spat, sliding into the front passenger seat. "That’s more than enough to buy us new identities in South America! Driver, move!"
The heavy SUV roared to life, smashing through the iron perimeter gate of the detention facility and speeding out onto the dark, rain-slicked highway.
Ten miles away, at the edge of the private airstrip, Julian’s unmarked police sedan skidded to a halt near the perimeter fence. Julian, Sarah, and Clara stepped out into the pouring rain. In the horse trailer attached to the sedan, Obsidian snorted, stomping his hooves in anticipation.
"Federal authorities have locked down the main airport," Sarah reported, looking at her GPS unit. "But Blackwood owns a private, unregistered landing strip right here in the marshlands. If he reaches that twin-engine cargo plane on the tarmac, he’s gone forever."
"We can't let him board that plane," Julian said, checking his service weapon. "Sarah, call in air support from the Coast Guard base."
"Coast Guard chopper is ten minutes out," Sarah replied, gritting her teeth. "That’s too late. Look!"
Through the thick curtain of rain, two bright headlights appeared at the far end of the long tarmac runway. The blacked-out SUV was speeding directly toward a sleek, twin-engine private jet that was already spinning its propellers, preparing for an immediate emergency takeoff.
"They're going to board while the plane is rolling!" Julian cursed. "Our car can't cut across those deep muddy marshlands to intercept them!"
Clara ran to the back of the trailer and unlatched the heavy ramp. Obsidian stepped out into the pouring rain, his dark skin glistening under the storm lights, his chest broad and grand.
"Obsidian can cross the marsh," Clara said, looking up at Julian with absolute confidence. "The marsh was where my father trained him to run. He knows every foot of this mud."
Julian looked at the massive black horse, then down at the seven-year-old girl. "It's too dangerous, Clara!"
"Julian, if Blackwood gets on that plane, he wins," Clara urged. "Obsidian and I can stop that plane from taking off. Trust us!"
Julian looked into Clara’s determined eyes, seeing the unmistakable, fierce spirit of David Montgomery alive within her.
"Go," Julian said, opening the gate. "We'll follow on the main tarmac road!"
Clara swung herself onto Obsidian’s back. She grabbed his dark mane, leaning low against his neck as the wind whipped her hair.
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"Fly, boy!" Clara screamed into the storm.
With a thunderous, earth-shaking roar, Obsidian leaped over the drainage ditch and charged directly into the treacherous, knee-deep mud of the marshland, moving with supernatural speed toward the speeding aircraft.
