Chapter 9 - Flight of the Ghost
I emerged from the sewer system two miles away, covered in muck, shivering in the freezing rain. I climbed a rusted ladder into a desolate alleyway in the South Loop. I had no phone, no car, and only the clothes on my back. But in my pocket, wrapped in a waterproof bag Thomas had given me, was my new passport, a stack of Swiss francs, and the brass key.
I couldn't go to an airport in Chicago. Robert's men would be watching O'Hare and Midway. I had to stick to Thomas's original plan. Indiana.
I flagged down a weary taxi driver and handed him a hundred-dollar bill. "Gary, Indiana. The private municipal airstrip. No tolls, no highways."
The driver nodded, pocketing the cash.
The two-hour drive felt like an eternity. I stared out the window, praying that Thomas had survived the shootout. But deep down, I knew the truth. Thomas had sacrificed himself to give me a head start. My family had officially taken everything from me. First my peace, then my grandfather, and now the only man who had tried to protect me.
We pulled into the small, poorly lit airfield in Gary just as the sun began to rise. A sleek, unmarked Gulfstream jet was waiting on the tarmac. A pilot in a dark jacket stood near the boarding stairs, checking his watch.
I approached him cautiously. "Are you waiting for Evan Stone?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
The pilot looked at me, taking in my ruined clothes and bruised face. "You look like hell, Mr. Stone. Get in. We've been cleared for takeoff."
I climbed aboard the luxurious jet, collapsing into one of the plush leather seats. As the plane roared down the runway and lifted into the gray morning sky, I looked down at the shrinking city below. I had left Chicago as Elias Sterling, the broke, exhausted paramedic. I was returning as someone entirely different.
I was going to burn my family's empire to the ground.
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Fourteen hours later, we touched down in Geneva, Switzerland. The crisp mountain air bit at my lungs as I stepped off the plane. I purchased a clean suit at the airport, washed the grime from my face in a lounge restroom, and hailed a cab to the Banque Privée Suisse—the most exclusive, impenetrable banking fortress in the world.
It was time to claim my grandfather’s final gift.
