CHAPTER 3: TARMAC BETRAYAL
The wheels of the Antonov cargo plane slammed onto the wet tarmac of the
Lagos airport with a violent jolt. Outside, a classic tropical downpour
was turning the night into a dark, impenetrable sheet of falling water.
Krueger unbuckled his harness in the dim cargo hold, his instinct telling
him something was wrong before the engines even cycled down. The aircraft
hadn't taxied to the private executive hangar as planned; instead, it had
pulled into an isolated, unlit maintenance apron near the edge of the
perimeter fence.
Krueger adjusted the straps of his tactical vest, checking his primary
weapon. He had two spare magazines remaining for his sidearm. The three
million dollars was supposed to be wired to his offshore account upon
confirmation of the hit, but his secure sat-comm device had failed to receive
the network handshake signal for the past three hours. Total
silence from Virginia.
The cargo ramp began to hiss, lowering slowly into the humid, rain-soaked
night air. Krueger stood in the shadows of the interior fuselage,
watching the opening widen. He didn't see the standard logistical ground
crew. He saw three dark silhouettes moving in tactical formation,
carrying short-barreled automatic weapons fitted with suppressors. They
weren't here to guide him to a safe house.
KRUEGER
"Teriq, you cheap bastard. You couldn't even
let me clear the runway."
Before the ramp fully touched the concrete, the lead mercenary raised his
weapon. Krueger moved first. He dropped to his knee, firing three rapid
rounds through the gap. The lead operative fell backward into the
puddles. Krueger dove out of the cargo door as a hail of submachine gun
fire shredded the aluminum skin of the plane behind him, hitting the wet
concrete in a hard tactical roll.
The ambush had failed to take him in the first strike, but as Krueger
looked toward the airport perimeter gates, he saw three more black SUVs
tearing across the grass toward him, their high-beams cutting through
the rain.