Chapter 10 - The Sabotage
The Texas Gulf coast did not believe in gentle transitions. At midnight on Wednesday, the humidity broke into a violent coastal squall.
Torrents of tropical rain hammered the corrugated roof of the warehouse like a continuous drum roll. Julian was bent over Engine Four, carefully torquing the connecting rod bolts to one hundred and fifty foot-pounds, when the lights inside the building flickered twice and died completely.
The massive ceiling fans wound down into silence, leaving only the deafening roar of rain and the whistle of wind tearing through the broken skylights.
"Hank!" Julian called out, switching on his headlamp. The beam cut through the humid dark. "Did the substation trip?"
There was no answer.
Julian set his torque wrench down on a clean rag and made his way toward the front office. The flashlight beam bounced across the wet concrete. In the corridor leading to the main electrical junction box, he stopped dead.
The heavy steel padlock on the electrical enclosure hadn't tripped—it had been sheared off with bolt cutters. Inside, the primary three-phase copper cables had been severed cleanly with hydraulic shears, the cut ends dangling uselessly.
A sudden, sharp crash echoed from the rear canal dock where the engine testing rigs were tethered.
Julian sprinted through the darkness, grabbing a heavy steel pipe wrench from a rolling cart. He burst through the double doors leading out onto the loading slipway. The rain instantly soaked him to the skin, blinding his eyes.
Through the deluge, the beam of his headlamp caught a figure dressed in dark waterproof gear kneeling on the wooden deck of the testing barge. The man was holding a five-gallon container of industrial acid, tipping the spout directly over the open intake manifold of Engine Five—the final engine waiting for its final inspection.
"Stop!" Julian roared, charging down the slick wooden dock.
The saboteur spun around, dropping the acid container onto the deck. The corrosive liquid hissed as it spilled across the wet timber, eating into the wood. The man reached into his jacket, pulled out an iron pry bar, and swung it wildly at Julian's head.
Julian didn't flinch. Ten days of dodging swinging engine blocks and hoisting steel beams had sharpened his reflexes. He ducked beneath the swing, stepped into the man's chest, and drove his shoulder forward with all his weight.
Both men crashed onto the rain-slick barge deck. The saboteur was heavy, smelling of cheap whiskey and wet nylon, but Julian was fueled by a savage, desperate rage. He pinned the man's wrist to the deck with his knee, twisting the pry bar out of his grip and tossing it into the black canal water.
Julian gripped the man by his collar, dragging his face up into the glare of his headlamp.
"Who sent you?" Julian snarled, rainwater streaming into his mouth. "Who paid you to ruin these engines?"
The man spat blood onto Julian’s cheek, grinning with broken teeth. "Go ask your rich mommy, boy. She doesn't want you winning."
Before Julian could strike him, the beam of a massive spotlight cut through the storm from the canal channel. A heavy commercial workboat churned against the current, pushing its bow directly against the salvage yard's dock.
On the bow of the workboat, holding a high-powered marine searchlight, stood Hank, flanked by Big Dave and Marco.
"Hold him right there, Julian!" Hank barked over the engine noise. "We saw his skiff sneaking into the slip twenty minutes ago."
Big Dave leaped onto the barge, hauling the intruder to his feet like a rag doll. Within three minutes, the man was zip-tied to an iron bollard inside the dry office, shivering beneath Hank's gaze.
Julian stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, blood dripping from a scrape on his temple where the pry bar had grazed him. He looked at Hank.
"He said my mother sent him."
Hank looked at the prisoner, then reached into the man's wet jacket pocket, pulling out a thick envelope of cash and a laminated security badge. Hank tossed the badge onto the desk under the battery-powered emergency lantern.
May you like
The badge bore the logo of a private security firm in Miami. But beneath the corporate name was a client billing account code that Julian recognized immediately.
It was Brianna's personal expense code—the one Julian had authorized on his private credit card six months before his world collapsed.
