Chapter 9 - The Chase in Valle de BravoThe federal tactical team moved before dawn.
Because of the information Ethan and my mother had provided, the authorities had a narrow window of time to intercept my father before he could reach the private airstrip in Valle de Bravo, where a cartel-owned twin-engine plane was waiting to take him out of the country.
Sarah Vance allowed me to remain in the tactical command center at the federal building, where the live feeds from the helicopters and ground units were projected onto the central screens. Caroline sat beside me, her hand holding mine as we watched the green and red thermal dots move across the mountainous terrain of the state of Mexico.
"We have visual contact," the tactical commander announced. "Black SUV moving at high speed toward the local airfield."
The screen showed a thermal feed of a winding mountain road. A single vehicle was hurtling through the curves, its tires losing traction on the wet asphalt as it tried to outrun the three federal units trailing closely behind.
"He's not stopping," the pilot’s voice crackled through the radio. "He's reaching the perimeter fence of the runway."
Suddenly, the black SUV swerved violently to avoid a roadblock of federal vehicles that had been set up at the airfield’s entrance. The vehicle hit the wet gravel at the edge of the road, flipped twice, and crashed into a concrete drainage ditch, its headlights spinning into the dark sky before going out completely.
My breath caught in my throat. I stood up, my eyes fixed on the screen.
"Status?" the tactical commander barked.
"Vehicle is down. Steam coming from the engine. Moving in for extraction."
For two long, agonizing minutes, the screen showed nothing but the flashing red lights of the police vehicles and the thermal outlines of the officers as they surrounded the wrecked SUV with their weapons drawn.
Then, a voice came through the radio, clear and final:
"We have the suspect. He's alive, but injured. Right leg is broken, possible internal bleeding. Requesting medical transport."
I sank back into my chair, a long, heavy breath escaping my lungs. It was over. The man who had ruled my life with a velvet-gloved iron fist for twenty-two years was currently lying in a muddy ditch, handcuffed to a stretcher.
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Caroline wrapped her arms around me, her tears wet against my neck. "You're safe, Emily. It's over. You're finally safe."
I looked at the screen, where the red thermal outline of my father was being loaded into an ambulance. I didn't feel happy. I didn't feel victorious. I only felt a deep, profound sense of relief—the feeling of a heavy stone being lifted from my chest after a lifetime of carrying it.
