Chapter 13 - The Black Water Raid
The midnight ocean was a churning void of black and silver as the tactical interceptor boat cut through the swells at sixty knots. The twin inboard turbines roared with a low, predatory hum, the carbon-fiber hull slapping against the brutal waves.
Alec stood at the helm, night-vision goggles resting atop his helmet, scanning the black horizon. Beside him sat Clara, wrapped in a tactical windbreaker, an IV bag taped to the metal bulkhead beside her, slowly dripping saline and blood volume expander into her arm. She had refused to stay behind at the silo. She was a weapon forged in Donald’s furnace, and she knew she would find no peace until that fire was extinguished.
""Five miles out, Boss,"" Marcus reported from the sonar screen. ""Radar picking up the Leviathan. Three hundred feet of steel. She's running completely dark. No navigation lights.""
""Transmit the override code,"" Alec commanded.
Marcus plugged the six-digit sequence into the encrypted transmitter. A tense, suffocating silence fell over the cockpit. The only sound was the howling of the salt wind and the pounding of the hull against the sea.
On the radar screen, the sweeping ping of the yacht's automated point-defense system flickered—and then blinked off.
""The matrix is down,"" Marcus confirmed, a wild grin flashing across his weathered face. ""We have five minutes before the system automatically reboots.""
""Throttle up,"" Alec ordered, checking his automatic rifle. ""Julian, stay on the heavy caliber mount at the stern. Cover our boarding.""
Julian, his hands taped and steady on the .50-caliber machine gun mounted to the deck, nodded grimly. He was pale, but the fire of vengeance had replaced the terror in his eyes.
The interceptor closed the distance in three minutes, cutting through the yacht's wake. The massive, towering black hull of the Leviathan rose out of the water like a metal leviathan.
Clara pulled out her ceramic blade, her teeth gritted against the agony radiating from her stitched side. ""The service ladder is on the port side, behind the tender bay. Donald will be in the reinforced bridge.""
Alec fired a pneumatic grapnel line from the bow of the interceptor. The titanium hook caught the yacht's railing with a dull clink. Alec tested the tension, then turned to Clara. ""Stay behind me. If you cross my line of fire, I won't hesitate.""
She looked at him, her eyes burning through the darkness. ""Just don't miss.""
Alec hauled himself up the line with effortless, brutal strength, clearing the railing in seconds. Clara followed, her movements agonizingly slow, her boots scraping the steel hull as her torn muscles screamed under the strain.
Alec reached down, grabbing her wrist and hoisting her over the gunwale just as the yacht's alarm klaxons shattered the night.
Red rotating lights flared to life across the deck. From the shadows of the upper bridge, three armed sentries emerged, opening fire with suppressed carbines.
Bullets sparkled off the steel deck plating at Alec’s feet. He threw himself forward, shoving Clara behind the cover of a motorized winch, and returned fire. His rifle barked twice; two sentries tumbled over the upper railing, crashing onto the deck below.
The third sentry retreated behind an armored bulkhead door.
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Alec didn't chase him. He looked at the countdown timer on his wrist terminal.
The override sequence had expired. And deep within the belly of the ship, a mechanical, low-frequency click echoed through the steel floors—the sound of the scuttling charges arming.
