BLOOD ON THE LINEN: RECKONING AT THE ALTAR

Pier 42 jutted out into the black, churning waters of the Atlantic like a rotting finger. Giant container cranes stood frozen against the storm, silhouettes of rusted steel framed by jagged lightning.

Marcus killed the car’s engine two hundred yards away, beneath the shadow of a collapsed warehouse. Through night-vision binoculars, Elena surveyed the dock.

Moored at the end of the pier was not an airplane, but an unmarked, military-grade private yacht, its dark hull sitting low in the water. Several armed men in civilian maritime clothing were loading heavy crates from a refrigerated shipping container onto the stern deck.

Among them stood Arthur Vance. He wore a waterproof slicker, pointing with an umbrella toward the vessel's bridge. Beside him stood Deputy Director Keller, holding a tactical radio.

""Look at that,"" Marcus muttered, peering through his scope. ""Keller beat us here. He must have abandoned the apartment search the moment he realized you slipped the net.""

""Arthur doesn't leave loose ends,"" Elena whispered. ""Keller thinks he’s getting a cut of the payout. He doesn't know Arthur’s true playbook.""

""What's the plan?"" Marcus asked. ""We're outgunned ten to two. We don't have backup.""

""We don't need backup. We need distraction,"" Elena replied. She reached into the backseat and pulled out a flare launcher from the emergency vehicle kit. ""Arthur’s yacht is running auxiliary generators to charge the server banks on board. If those generators overload, the fire suppression system will flood the server room with carbon dioxide. It will lock down the vessel automatically.""

""And Arthur won't leave without the drives,"" Marcus realized.

""Exactly,"" Elena said. ""I'll board from the anchor chain on the seaward side. You take the high ground on crane number four. When I fire the flare into the fuel reservoir behind the cranes, you initiate sniper suppression. Take out Keller’s communication gear first.""

Marcus looked at her with grave concern. ""Elena... he’s your father. If it comes to it...""

Elena looked at her reflection in the rearview mirror. The blood on her cheek had dried into a dark, jagged scar. The innocent daughter who had wept over an empty coffin seven years ago was dead. In her place remained the federal agent who had sworn an oath to the truth.