The Hangar at Midnight
Chapter 03 - The Hangar at Midnight
Rain began to lash against the windshield of my SUV as I trailed two police cruisers down the dark, perimeter road surrounding Westchester Executive Airport.
The storm was picking up, lightning illuminating the stark metal silhouettes of private jets parked along the tarmac.
Up ahead, Executive Hangar 4 stood lit like a beacon against the pitch-black sky. A sleek, twin-engine Gulfstream was idling on the concrete pad just outside the open hangar bay doors, its turbines whining as they spooled up for takeoff.
The two police cruisers veered onto the tarmac, sirens screaming, red and blue strobes painting the wet asphalt in chaotic flashes.
I slammed my foot on the accelerator, dragging my wheel around to block the far exit gate of the hangar.
Through the pouring rain, I saw three figures near the airstair of the jet: a pilot in a black uniform loading two heavy aluminum flight cases, Chloe wearing a designer mink coat, and Eleanor, wrapped in a dark trench coat, holding a leather briefcase tightly against her chest.
When the police cars skidded to a halt, blocking the plane’s nose wheel, Eleanor didn't panic.
She turned calmly, pulled Chloe behind her, and stepped into the bright halogen lights of the hangar. From her coat pocket, she pulled out a small, heavy silver object that gleamed in the rain.
A remote detonator.
“Stop right there!” Detective Vance shouted through his megaphone, drawing his service weapon from behind his car door. “Eleanor Harrington! Step away from the aircraft and put your hands up!”
Eleanor laughed—a sharp, hysterical sound that cut through the roar of the jet engines and the thunder above.
“You take one step closer, Vance, and I press this button!” she screamed, holding the detonator high in the air.
I slammed my SUV door shut and walked straight out into the rain, stopping beside Detective Vance’s cruiser. “What did you do, Eleanor?”
Her eyes locked onto mine, burning with insane triumph. “Hello, Arthur. I see you brought your hero complex with you. Did you leave your precious little bastard at home with the nanny?”
“Where did you put the explosives, Eleanor?” Vance demanded, his weapon trained steady on her chest.
“Under the main fuel line of the Harrington Manor East Wing,” she purred, her face twisted in sick delight. “Where your dear old father is currently sitting, mourning his broken life. The charge is rigged to an RF receiver. I press this button, or my heart rate monitor drops if you shoot me, and the entire east wing goes up in a fireball. Richard dies instantly.”
My blood ran completely cold. The rain hit my face, but I felt numb.
Father was still at the house. He was weak, his heart failing, sitting in his study directly above the East Wing basement.
“You’re bluffing,” I choked out, stepping forward. “You wouldn't have had time to rig the basement!”
“Oh, darling, I had three months to rig that basement,” Eleanor sneered, taking a step up the airstair of the jet. “I’ve been planning my retirement from your miserable family for a long time. The stroller was just a lucky opportunity to speed up the process. Now, tell your police friends to move their cars off my runway, or I blow your father into dust!”
Chloe looked at her mother, her face suddenly pale. “Mom… you said we were just taking the money! You didn't say anything about bombs!”
“Shut up, Chloe!” Eleanor barked, shoving her daughter up the stairs toward the cabin door. “Get inside!”
Detective Vance looked at me, his face grim. “Arthur… we can’t take the risk. If there’s an explosive device at the manor, we have to clear the perimeter.”
Vance keyed his radio. “All units at Harrington Manor, execute immediate evacuation! Code Red! Clear the main house now!”
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Over the radio, a static-filled voice crackled back: “Detective! We can’t get Mr. Harrington out! The electronic security gates have defaulted to lockdown mode—we’re trapped in the courtyard!”
Eleanor smiled, her fingers hovering over the glowing red switch on the detonator. “Time is ticking, Arthur. Move the police cars, or watch your father die on FaceTime.”
