Chapter 6 - The Private Terminal
The Toluca International Airport was quiet, enveloped in the cool, misty fog that rolled down from the surrounding mountains late in the afternoon.
Parked on the private tarmac glistened a sleek white Gulfstream G650, its engines humming a low, steady turbine song while the boarding stairs rested against its side. A pair of Sheikh Tariq’s security detail stood near the base of the stairs, their expressions vigilant, while inside the private terminal lounge, a surreal scene was playing out.
Daniel sat in a plush leather armchair, staring wide-eyed out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows at the private jet. He was still wearing his school uniform, though his backpack now rested beside a collection of heavy, leather-bound suitcases that Tariq’s men had retrieved from Lucía’s modest apartment in Iztacalco.
“Is this real?” Daniel whispered, poking the armrest of the luxury chair as if expecting it to vanish like a mirage. “Are we really going to... to the Middle East?”
Lucía sat across from him, holding a warm cup of spiced mint tea that one of the attendants had prepared. The aroma of crushed mint and cardamom filled the air—the exact same scent that had drifted through her father’s study in Damascus fifteen years ago. She took a slow sip, feeling the warmth spread through her chest, anchoring her against the dizzying velocity of the past few hours.
“Yes, mi amor,” Lucía said softly, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “We are going home. A home I haven’t seen since I was your age. But I promise you, we’re doing this together. No more hiding.”
Sheikh Tariq walked over from the communications desk, his phone pressed to his ear, his brow furrowed in a slight frown. He clicked the device off and slid it into his pocket.
“Is everything alright, Excellency?” Lucía asked, sensing the shift in his posture.
“Logistics are clear,” Tariq replied smoothly, though his eyes retained a guarded edge. “Our flight clearance is filed, and the airspace is open. However, my security lead informs me there was a minor inquiry regarding our convoy’s route from the city. Standard corporate surveillance, likely from the conglomerate attempting to contest your father’s estate claims.”
Lucía’s expression tightened. “Garza?”
“Likely,” Tariq nodded. “He is a man of desperate measures. Which is precisely why we are boarding immediately. Once we are airborne, no court or corporation on earth can touch you.”
Tariq gestured toward the tarmac doors. “Shall we?”
Just as Lucía and Daniel stood up, the heavy security doors at the opposite end of the private terminal pushed open with a sharp click.
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A group of three men strode into the lounge with an air of artificial urgency. At the front walked Roberto Garza, his suit immaculate, his smile entirely too bright, flanked by two burly men who looked less like businessmen and more like street enforcers posing in rented blazers.
“Pardon me! Excuse us,” Garza called out, holding up his hands in a placating gesture as Tariq’s bodyguards instantly stepped into a protective defensive line. “Sheikh Al-Hassan, I presume? And... Ah, Ms. Al-Masri. What a remarkable coincidence. I’m Roberto Garza, representing the hemispheric development council.”
