Chapter 5 - Flight to the Upper Peninsula
The twin-engine Gulfstream G650 climbed smoothly above the cloud deck, leaving the dreary gray of Chicago behind as it soared into a brilliant, sapphire-blue stratosphere.
Inside the plush, leather-lined cabin, the atmosphere was a mix of quiet tension and determined focus. Noah sat near the window, staring down at the endless quilt of frozen forests and snow-dusted lakes unfolding across the Wisconsin border. His ribs still ached, but the adrenaline of the mission had pushed the physical pain into the background.
Victoria sat across from him, reviewing a decrypted satellite map of the Michigan cabin property on her tablet.
Richard Sterling walked out from the private cockpit lounge, holding two cups of black coffee, handing one to Noah and the other to Victoria.
"We’ll touch down at the county airstrip in Iron Mountain in twenty minutes," Sterling said, settling into the leather seat opposite them. "From there, it’s a forty-minute drive through logging roads to the cabin. Arthur Vance’s private security detail is aggressive, and if they suspect we’re heading for the property, they won't hesitate to intercept us."
"Let them try," Noah said, taking a sip of the hot coffee. "I didn't come this far to turn around because of a few corporate thugs."
Sterling offered a grim, approving smile. "You really are Michael’s boy. Stubborn as an iron mule."
Twenty minutes later, the Gulfstream touched down on the snow-cleared runway of the private airstrip. Waiting for them at the edge of the tarmac was a rugged, four-wheel-drive Ford Expedition driven by a local caretaker loyal to the Sterling family.
They piled into the SUV, the heavy tires crunching over frozen gravel as they veered off the main highway and plunged deep into the dense, snow-laden pine forests of the Upper Peninsula. The trees stood like silent sentinels, their snow-heavy branches brushing against the windows as the vehicle wound its way up the secluded mountain trail.
After forty minutes of grueling driving, the trees parted to reveal a sprawling, rustic log cabin nestled on the rocky shore of a frozen alpine lake.
It looked completely abandoned. Icicles hung like crystal daggers from the cedar eaves, and the driveway was piled high with undisturbed snowdrifts.
"Stop here," Sterling ordered the driver, cutting the ignition fifty yards from the property line.
They stepped out into the freezing wilderness, the crisp air biting their lungs. Noah pulled his heavy wool coat tighter around his neck, scanning the treeline for any sign of movement.
"Look at the snow near the front porch," Victoria whispered, pointing a gloved finger toward the ground.
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Fresh tire tracks cut cleanly through the pristine snowdrifts, leading directly around to the rear woodshed of the cabin.
"Vanguard's recovery team is already here," Noah said, his jaw tightening.
