Chapter 7 - Black Water
The offshore gale hit the trawler like an iron fist, throwing walls of freezing saltwater across the deck. The vessel lurched violently, pitching over six-foot swells as the city skyline receded behind them into a blur of neon and rain.
Above them, the helicopter closed the distance with terrifying speed. It was an unmarked matte-black chopper, completely devoid of registration numbers, equipped with a forward gimbal camera and a high-powered spotlight that pinned the trawler against the dark sea.
"They're going to strafe the wheelhouse!" Frank bellowed over the roar of the engines, fighting the wooden helm as the trawler fought the vicious current. "Elena! Get down to the engine compartment! There's a manual flare launcher under the bunk. Fetch it!"
Elena crawled along the rocking corridor, her limbs bruised and aching. She found the steel chest under the bunk, popped the latches, and pulled out an orange marine flare gun along with three heavy magnesium cartridges. Leo sat in the corner of the small cabin, holding Mia tightly against the bulkheads, singing a trembling lullaby to drown out the thudding rotor blades overhead.
"Stay here, no matter what you hear," Elena told them firmly, kissing both of their foreheads before scrambling back up the companionway steps.
She poked her head out onto the rear deck. The wind tore the breath from her mouth. The helicopter was hovering scarcely forty feet above their wake, the downwash from its massive blades flattening the sea into churning white foam. A side door slid open, revealing a gunman bracing a belt-fed light machine gun on a swivel mount.
Elena loaded a magnesium flare into the break-action barrel, snapped it shut, and leaned against the deck crane to steady her aim. She knew she had only one shot before the gunner opened fire and ripped the trawler’s thin steel hull into ribbons.
The machine gunner raised his weapon.
Elena pulled the trigger.
The flare rocketed upward in a blinding trail of white-hot phosphorous. It didn't strike the gunner—it flew straight into the helicopter's exposed jet turbine intake above the main cabin.
There was a muffled bang, followed instantly by a terrifying spray of orange sparks and black smoke erupting from the engine cowling. The helicopter shuddered violently, spinning out of control as its anti-torque pedals fought a catastrophic engine fire. The pilot aborted the pursuit instantly, banking steeply away toward the mainland coast, trailing thick, oily black smoke into the stormy night sky.
Elena collapsed onto the wet deck, her lungs heaving with cold air, letting out a wild, disbelieving laugh into the wind.
Frank opened the wheelhouse door, wiping rain from his beard. "Hell of a shot, niece! But don't celebrate yet. Look ahead."
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Elena hauled herself up to the rail and looked through the salt-crusted windshield into the darkness of the shipping channel. Three miles out, sitting silently across their path, was not a Coast Guard cutter, but a massive private mega-yacht—The Gilded Sovereign, the maritime flagship of the Van Doren financial empire.
Every light on the vessel was ablaze, illuminated like a floating fortress, and from its stern ramp, two high-speed interceptor craft were already sliding into the water, cutting through the swells directly toward them.
