Chapter 8 - The Weapon Inside the Backpack: Turning the Tables on Vanguard Security
The two tactical operatives lunged forward simultaneously, their heavy gloved hands reaching out to grab my arms and drag me out of the flight deck.
Instead of resisting physically, I let my body drop downward in a fluid, defensive evasion roll, my right hand dipping swiftly into the worn canvas backpack resting against the base of the center pedestal.
My fingers closed instantly around the cold, metallic grip of a military-grade signal jammer—a prototype telemetry override device I had smuggled aboard hidden inside the lining of my bag.
Before Vance’s men could react to my sudden movement, I whipped my hand out of the backpack and slammed the activation toggle directly against the metal housing of the central avionics bay.
A blinding flash of electromagnetic white noise surged through the flight deck.
Every single tactical radio, night-vision optic, and encrypted communication headset worn by Vance’s operatives emitted an ear-splitting, high-frequency shriek.
The two guards dropped their weapons instantly, clutching their bleeding ears with agonizing groans as the high-powered signal fry scrambled their tactical comms and temporary sensory processors.
Director Vance stumbled backward against the doorframe, his hands flying to his tactical headset as sparks rained down from the overhead panel.
“What the hell is this?!” Vance roared over the deafening electronic squeal.
“It’s called feedback, Director,” I answered coldly, rising to my full height.
“You taught me how to design encrypted counter-surveillance loops back at Edwards in twenty-twenty-two.”
“Did you honestly think I wouldn't pack a backup switch when I travel?”
First Officer Ortega, recovering his footing, lunged past the disoriented guards and slammed the heavy flight deck door shut with all his might, throwing the manual deadbolt home with a resounding metallic clang.
Locked out in the corridor, the Vanguard operatives began pounding furiously against the reinforced composite panels.
“Open this door immediately!” Vance’s muffled voice screamed from the hallway.
“You cannot escape this tarmac, Vale!”
“Every perimeter exit for two hundred miles is locked down under national security protocols!”
I turned my attention to Captain Mercer, who was struggling back to his feet, holding his bruised shoulder with a grimace.
“Are you alright, David?” I asked urgently.
“I’ll live,” Mercer gritted through his teeth, glaring at the shaking door.
“But we are trapped inside a metal box with a horde of corporate executioners waiting outside.”
“Not for long,” I said, my fingers flying across the surviving auxiliary keyboard terminals on the center console.
“Vance thinks he locked down the perimeter network.”
“He forgot that Pueblo Memorial Airport shares a dedicated fiber-optic link with the Colorado Air National Guard base at Buckley.”
Ortega’s eyes widened with sudden understanding as he watched green lines of data cascade across the flashing screen.
“Are you routing our transponder signal directly to the military defense network?” he asked breathlessly.
“I am broadcasting an emergency hijack distress beacon across all active military channels,” I confirmed without hesitation.
“Which means every F-16 interceptor within a three-hundred-mile radius just received our precise GPS coordinates, our passenger manifest, and Director Vance’s corporate arrest warrant.”
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As if on cue, a deafening roar shook the evening sky directly above the airport terminal.
Twin afterburner plumes tore through the clouds as two grey fighter jets screamed low over the tarmac, their landing lights blazing in a blinding display of military air dominance.
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