Vengeance is Mine: A Jorja Rose Christian Suspense Thriller (Valley of Death Book 1)

by Urcelia Teixeira

  But she was almost there.

  Mere yards away from the upside-down car a bullet smashed into the ground somewhere behind and to her left. It was close, too close.

  Another exploded against the car.

  Then another, directly behind her.

  She was on her feet now, deciding to leap the final yard to the car. The men yelled at each other, the urgency of threat in their voices. One yelled to hit the car so it would explode, the other yelled not to do it. He was clearly the smarter of the two knowing that the bullets would foil their plan to make it look like an accident. Using their arguing to her advantage, Jorja lunged toward the hole in the front of the car where the windshield once was. Once inside the car wreck, crawling on her knees and one hand, she searched for the small satchel that had been next to her on the passenger seat at the time of the accident.

  Her search turned up empty.

  Further up along the dark slope the men's feet came thundering toward her. She was running out of time.

  But it wouldn't be the first time in her life that Jorja came close to being nearly caught. She could handle pressure.

  With her wits about her, calm and fully present in the moment, her eyes focused on the dark corners between the seats above her head. Then she spotted it. One of the satchel's straps dangled from behind the brake pedal. The satchel was pinned between the pedals and the floor. Her heart leaped in her chest as she moved to retrieve it.

  But, in the shadows of the night that surrounded her, she had underestimated the men's distance from the car, and she had run out of time.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A strong hand grabbed her hair, sending powerful ripples of pain into her skull. The more she fought to loosen his grip on her locks, the more unbearable the agony was that tore into her scalp. Ignoring the suffering from her injured arm, she tried grabbing something to fight him off, cutting her hands on the shards of shattered glass in the process.

  "Stop fighting it, you cow!" the man shouted, followed by a word used to describe a female dog along with several other unsavories she hadn't heard in a very long time.

  Her cut fingers settled onto a large piece of the windscreen and she didn't hesitate to wrap her fingers around it, numbing herself against the pain as the sharp edges sliced into her flesh. With the sharpest end pointing outward, she thrust her hand back and over her head, jamming the piece of glass into her attacker's arm, enduring the pain as the force of it simultaneously sliced into her hand. He yelled, then let go of her hair and cursed her in the process. Desperate to get away from him she turned onto her back and drove her feet hard against his chest, flinging him onto his back and away from her and the car.

  Once again, her hand reached for her satchel, this time gripping on with all her might. She flung one of the straps over her head and left the bag hanging around her neck like a necklace. Climbing over to the rear of the car was her only option for escape, something which proved harder than she’d expected since the car stood vertically, tail end up, against the high wall formed by the boulders. She had underestimated its height earlier from where she was wedged in the tree halfway down the hill and she slid back down toward the front of the car. The second attacker's hands clawed at her feet as he now reached in through one of the side windows. But she was quicker, slamming her heel down on one of his hands when he came too close.

  Once more, she crawled toward the rear of the car; her knees and feet fighting hard not to slip on the glass and cause her to slide back down again. She caught hold of one of the safety belts, twirled it around her hand and wrist, then used it to pull herself up toward the rear windshield. Her sprained arm ached under the strain of being forced to use it to punch through the shattered window to create a hole big enough for her to climb through. When one last blow against the pane rendered it broken and released a shower of glass atop her head, she heaved herself out of the back window and over the trunk of the car. Still dangling from the seatbelt, her feet searched for a stable footing. Only once her feet found a safe gap between the boulders did she let go of the safety belt and climb down to the soft green grass below.

  Turning briefly she glanced back to assess her enemy's position, thankful that neither of the men were in sight. There wasn't a moment to waste and she ran toward the airport as fast as her legs were able to carry her. It had started to rain and the cold, wet moisture against her skin proved to be more soothing than hindering. Without stopping, she pushed her now drenched hair out of her eyes, sweeping it back over her head. Blood-soaked rainwater ran into her eyes, blurring her vision so she could hardly see her way.

  But she kept running. Faster, harder, pushing with every ounce of energy she had left in her through the knee-high grassland toward her freedom.

  She allowed herself to look back only once, just to be certain she had escaped them and relieved to learn they hadn't followed her. But as she well knew, these men were not the type to give up that easily. They were most likely already making their way to the other end of the stretch of land. So she kept running, pushing her body to its maximum to get to the airport first. Once again, it was a race against time, and time was not on her side.

  But as with all things in life, time soon passed and delivered her to the edge of the land where she was greeted by a high fence. On the other side of the fence, were several aircraft hangars—most of them shut apart from one that she could see.

  Her body ached in more places than she cared to remember so she took a minute to catch her breath and rest. Using the rain to wash away the multitude of cuts on her face and hands she soon felt revived enough to continue.

  The fence towered above her. She could try to climb it, she thought, albeit without full mobility. It seemed her only option and worth the effort. Eager to get to the safety of the airport she reached to take hold of the fence then snatched her hand back when it came mere inches away from the fence. She had instantly felt the static emanate from it, amplified by the rain. The fence was electrified.

  Relieved to have stopped in time, she told herself that she’d come too close for comfort and had best be more careful in future. Searching for another way into the airport, she let her eyes trail up and down the fence in all directions, hoping to find any openings, gates, anything. But there were none. She could short the fence but that would most likely trigger an alarm and have airport security there within a few minutes. While she pondered her options, she concluded that shorting the fence might be her only option and that a few minutes were all she needed. Searching her bag for something that would suit to break the current, her hands found something else instead. Something that would not require her to blow the charger and allow her to proceed undetected.

  With newfound enthusiasm as an idea took shape in her head, she retrieved a sturdy, red, zip pouch no bigger than her hand. She had forgotten that she had reasoned it might come in handy and had tossed it into her satchel just before she left home. From it, she took out an insulator cable and carefully attached it to the fence, creating a parallel bridging connection around a section of the fence. When she had finished, her hand disappeared inside her satchel once again to find a multitool, which she quickly used to sever the fence. Thrilled that one of her most tried and trusted methods of circumventing an alarm had worked, it took no time at all for her to clamber through the fence and make her way toward the hangars.

  If she were to avoid suspicion and have any chance of boarding the airplane without any trouble, she would have to somehow clean up and make herself presentable. With any luck, there might be at least a tee shirt in one of the hangars.

  As she neared the hangars, she proceeded with caution. Everything was quiet apart from one which had its doors open wide. She spotted activity coming from inside and backed into the shadows behind a small stationary food delivery truck. The vehicle had no driver and from her viewpoint, she could see into the hangar. A light shone brightly out onto the tarmac in front of the hangar and soon she heard several voices talking inside. Moving two steps c
loser, she could now see four flight crew members step inside the small private aircraft. At the rear of the plane, there was a woman with a computer tablet, checking off boxes as a man in a gray overall loaded them into the aircraft. Either one of them would spot her running by to the next hangar, a chance she wasn't prepared to take. Glancing at her surroundings, she moved around the back of the food truck, hoping to be able to sneak around the back of the hangar where she would hopefully be able to get to the next one that appeared dark and unoccupied. With her body snug against the aircraft building's outer walls, she quickly made her way around the back where she found the rear entrance door closed. It had worked and her mission proved successful.

  When she reached the second hangar's rear door, she noticed a single surveillance camera in the crook of the canopy above the door. It was a hard-wired camera and moved horizontally every few seconds, seemingly automatically. She would have to be quick to disable it, even quicker once she was inside. There was no doubt in her mind that she'd have eight minutes at the most to find what she was looking for and to get out before the response team arrived.

  Nerves settled inside her throat. She hadn't done this in two decades and the possibility of her messing up was huge. But she had no other option. She had to finish what she’d started and not let Züber, Sokolov, or anyone else get away with what they’d done to Myles and now Ewan.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Anger welled up deep inside her once again and injected newfound courage and purpose into her mission.

  With her multitool in hand, she hung back out of sight until the camera's lens faced away from her. When it was time, she quietly sneaked over and clipped the wire connection to disable the camera.

  Next, she would have to bypass the electronic lock of the door without tripping the alarm. The red 'activated' light beamed into the darkness. She recognized the model. It was one she had dealt with hundreds of times, so she quickly went to work, once more reaching into her bag of tricks. She moved swiftly with a practiced hand she didn't realize she still had and inserted the USB end of a radio frequency identification device (RFID) into the portal of her iPhone, which had thankfully remained intact and was securely zipped inside her jacket's pocket. Holding the other end of the device against the electronic lock, her thumb found the app on her phone, and in less than ten seconds the RFID overrode the lock and the door sprang open.

  Once inside she hesitated briefly at the door, first making sure that she was alone. To her right, a strong beam of moonlight broke through the clouds and partially lit up the front of the hangar through two large windows that sat at the top of each of the large hangar doors. On a clear night, it would have exposed her, but the gentle rain outside provided a cloudy cloak that allowed just enough light for her to see inside the large open space. When she knew she was safe, she ran toward the office to the left of her.

  The door had been left open and she entered the partitioned space with ease. Her first instinct to look behind the door proved fruitful and she instantly spotted a dark green baseball cap dangling from a hook on the door. It was a start but not nearly enough to help disguise her. Her tee shirt was soaked with blood—that would be the first item of clothing she would have to replace. In the far corner, a single tan-colored locker stood in the corner and she hurried over, noisily yanking the door open in her haste. The flimsy metal echoed loudly through the space but she dared not stop. Time was running out. In the back of the locker, she found a scrunched-up blue and white men's shirt, looking as if a messy teenager had tossed it inside. She snatched it up and tucked it under one arm, nearly fainting from the strong whiff of rank sweat it gave off which instantly permeated the small space. A packet of peanuts and a chocolate bar lay to one side, which she also quickly buried inside her satchel. She was starved and even though they were quite possibly as stale as the shirt, it was a chance she would need to take.

  In the far distance, she heard tires screeching. They were at most a few minutes away. She was running out of time, fast. She slammed the locker shut then turned out of the office and into the adjacent bathroom. It was much cleaner than she’d expected and she yearned to take a shower in the single cubicle she spotted inside. But it would have to wait. Instead, she darted toward the washbasin, splashed several handfuls of cold water over her face, then rinsed her lacerated hands under the tap before drying herself off with the white hand towel with red embroidered flowers that neatly hung from a hook next to her. To one side a matching cherry blossom red room fragrance stood proudly atop a pretty glass bowl of potpourri—no doubt the work of a woman, she thought when she sprayed a generous amount of the fragranced liquid all over the tee shirt.

  Outside, a car door slammed shut followed by two more doors before a dog barked loudly into the early morning air. Changing shirts would have to wait, for now. They were out front, by the main doors, but would most certainly already be making their way to the rear entrance door since this was where the camera feed was cut. Dumping the towel in a nearby garbage bin, Jorja searched for another way out but didn't find any. Her eyes settled on the single executive jet in the center of the hangar and she wasted no time. She would hide inside, take her chances. Bolting across the squeaky floor the shiny black aircraft's door latch was just outside her reach and stretching to grab hold of it sent new tremors of pain into her ribcage. The armed response team's feet shuffled noisily just outside the hangar door and she reached up once more. The door dropped open and she forced the hydraulics down to speed up the process. Once inside, she moved quickly to shut the door then dashed swiftly between the cabin windows, dropping down the blinds. Apart from the cockpit and the bathroom, there weren't many places to hide. Out of time and out of options, she moved toward the cockpit and stopped just outside when she noticed a wall of cupboards. She yanked one open and found a black hostess dress, neatly pressed inside the dry cleaner's plastic covering.

  "I guess it’s time for plan B," she whispered.

  Wasting no time at all as the response team's feet squeaked on the floor inside the hangar, she changed into the uniform, fumbling to tie the dark green neckerchief with one hand. In a translucent cosmetic bag, she found a compact powder and a bright red lipstick. The top flipped open under her thumb to expose her badly lacerated face in the tiny mirror. Just as well she’d found the make-up, she thought. There would have been no way on earth she would get away with the ruse with her face looking like that. Holding the compact with her injured arm her other hand moved quickly to apply the make-up. It was at least two shades too dark but it did the trick and she dabbed some on the back of her hands where the cuts were raw and threatened to give her away. She had just finished and was applying the red lipstick when the aircraft's door latch alerted her to their arrival. She smoothed back her hair and stuffed her clothes inside the closet just as a guard stepped aboard the plane, his hands ready on his truncheon.

  "Now, aren't you the early bird this morning," she said sounding chirpy. "I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour. I really should speak to Barry about getting the schedule right. The young kids of today—“

  "Excuse me, ma'am, is everything all right?" The man cut her short, his eyes darting up and down the cabin.

  "What on earth do you mean? Of course, I’m all right. Why do you ask?"

  "You sure?"

  She looked at him inquiringly, bluffing her way through her con.

  "Yes, I am sure. Why wouldn't I be? I've been doing this job for nearly twenty years now. I am more than capable of prepping the plane before take-off."

  "No, I, sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to imply you were incompetent. I meant to ask if you are safe, if you've heard or seen anyone break into the hangar."

  "Break in? What are you saying? I have been here since four a.m. and I assure you, I would have known if someone broke in. Our client likes everything just so before she flies anywhere so I have to be extra careful not to miss anything."

  The man hesitated.

  "Do you mind if I take a
look around?"

  "Isn't that what you are supposed to do before every take-off? I would've thought Barry would check that you know the protocol, but no,” she said, pretending to blame a co-worker.

  "Barry didn't call us, ma'am. We received an alert on the surveillance camera at the rear entrance."

  "Oh, so you're not here to do the checks then?"

  "No ma’am that must be a different division."

  Jorja knew he wouldn't have a different answer since she had made it all up, but she needed to play the part out, so she continued.

  "Well, in that case, perhaps you wouldn't mind giving me a lift back to Terminal 2, please? I need to just check in with my supervisor."

  The guard had already walked through the small space to the rear of the plane and made his way back to where Jorja stood waiting in the nose of the plane, her hands concealed beneath an in-flight blanket.

  "Certainly, ma'am, ready when you are."

  "Wonderful, let me grab my bag and my coat, I'm right behind you."

  She reached into the closet and replaced the blanket with her jacket and satchel then turned toward him, curving her newly painted red lips into a friendly smile.

  Not only had her deception worked, but it had worked so well that she’d pulled off a free ride into the airport.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  From the window of his home office in Kazan, Russia, Artem Sokolov watched his two young children play in his extensive garden below. His private estate stretched along the banks of the Volga River, a home he had acquired solely because of the privacy and security it offered. At only fifty-five years of age, he was one of Russia's wealthiest business oligarchs, with a net worth of nearly forty billion US dollars. The younger of two children, his parents had worked in the local steel mills and lived off government food stamps for most of his life. But when his older sister strategically married a local wealthy businessman, she funded his university studies in engineering. He soon worked his way up the ladder in the steel industry and with his new brother-in-law's influence in the business world, Sokolov quickly secured a business loan with which he bought his first small steel plant. Once Boris Yeltsin introduced his privatization program, it changed the trajectory of his life almost overnight and he became one of the youngest oligarchs in Russia. Since then, he has snapped up several more steel plants across Russia and the US, building his empire alongside politicians, billionaires, and even presidents.