Chapter 10 - Storming the Leviathan
The storm was reaching its peak as Dante navigated a rigid-inflatable tactical boat through the white-capped swells of Port Haven harbor. The Leviathan was an imposing 600-foot container vessel, its massive hull rising from the black ocean like a steel fortress. The ship had already weighed anchor and was slowly churning toward the open sea.
Dante matched the boat's speed with the freighter’s port side, avoiding the glare of the searchlights sweeping the water. He fired a pneumatic magnetic grapple to the lower maintenance rail, thirty feet above the churning wake.
Gripping the cable with gloved hands, Dante hauled himself up the wet steel plating, disappearing into the shadows of the catwalk just as a searchlight beam slid past beneath him.
He dropped onto the grated deck. Two armed deckhands, wearing wet-weather gear and carrying assault rifles, were patrolling toward the bow. Dante moved behind the towering stack of shipping containers, waited for them to pass, and neutralized both with swift, silent strikes, dumping their bodies into an empty storage locker.
He pulled the ship’s schematic from his tactical tablet. Lower sub-deck three was located directly beneath the forward cargo bay—a labyrinth of watertight compartments and secondary engineering conduits.
Dante descended the narrow metal companionways, the air growing hotter and smelling of heavy bunker fuel and ozone. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the ship's massive diesel engine vibrated through his boots.
As he reached the third sub-deck, he found the bulkheads reinforced with heavy magnetic security locks. Thorne’s private guard force was stationed here—at least six heavily armed mercenaries guarding a single reinforced compartment at the end of the corridor.
Dante had no time for stealth. The ship was approaching international waters, beyond the reach of his harbor authority allies.
He pulled two flashbang canisters from his vest, pulled the pins, and rolled them down the metal corridor.
CRACK-CRACK.
Blinding white light and concussive sound reverberated through the enclosed steel hallway. The guards cried out, clutching their ears and eyes. Dante rounded the corner, firing four double-taps with ruthless accuracy.
The last guard scrambled to raise his rifle, but Dante caught the barrel, swept the man's legs out from under him, and drove his knee into the man's sternum.
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Silence returned, broken only by the hum of the ship’s engines.
Dante stood before the heavy vault door marked CARGO-SEC-3. His hands, steady through a hundred battles, trembled slightly as he grabbed the manual pressure wheel and began to turn it.
