Chapter 12 - The Black Fleet
The beam was harsh, blinding, pinning them like specimens under a microscope.
From the shadows of the pier, three dark, unmarked rigid-hulled inflatable boats slipped into the water, their high-powered outboard engines humming with lethal efficiency. Men in black maritime gear, armed with tactical rifles, lined the gunwales.
Lucas drew Clara behind him into the shadow of a rotting timber pylon, treading water with exhausting effort. His strength was fading rapidly; the laceration on his forearm had turned the dark water around them rust-red.
""Lucas... they aren't police,"" Clara whispered, shivering violently against him.
""I know,"" Lucas replied, his voice barely audible over the lapping waves. ""Private contractors. Apex had a backup extraction team at the harbor.""
A voice echoed through a marine loudspeaker from the lead boat: ""Captain Vance. Dr. Sterling. Secure the asset and surrender immediately. You are surrounded, out of ammunition, and suffering from hypothermia. Stand down.""
Lucas looked at Clara. Her lips were turning blue, the cold sapping the last reserves of her strength. If they stayed in the water for another five minutes, exposure would kill them both.
""Give me the drive,"" Lucas whispered.
""Lucas, no...""
""Give it to me, Clara. When they pull us up, they will search you first. I have a hollow seam in my combat boot.""
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Clara hesitated, then slid the compact drive into his freezing hand. Lucas worked the drive into the reinforced heel of his tactical boot, locking the waterproof latch just as two grappling hooks splashed into the water beside them, followed by heavy boarding nets dropping down the side of the pier.
Hands grabbed Lucas's collar, hauling him roughly out of the freezing brine and slamming him face-down onto the splintered wood of the dock.
