Chapter 5 - The Black Hull of the Vanguard
The instant the saltwater hit my skin, the automated sensors inside my thermal suit engaged.
Micro-cartridges of compressed gas inflated the buoyancy bladders around my chest and neck, shooting me to the surface of the churning waves. The infrared distress strobe against my thigh began flashing invisible high-frequency pulses into the night sky.
The yacht’s twin diesel engines roared to life, accelerating rapidly into the darkness, leaving me behind in the stormy open sea.
For five minutes, I floated in the dark water, breathing steadily, keeping my eyes fixed on the horizon.
Then, from the depths of the black ocean sixty yards away, a colossal silhouette emerged without a sound.
The matte-black hull of the Sterling Vanguard—a 150-foot stealth tactical interception vessel—cut through the waves like a razor.
Two powerful searchlights illuminated my position.
A pneumatic rescue basket dropped into the water beside me, and two naval divers in black tactical wetsuits hoisted me onto the hydraulic deck.
Gabriel knelt on the steel floorboards, wrapping me in a heated thermal blanket, pulling me into a fierce, protective embrace.
"You did it, Evie," Gabriel breathed, his hands steadying my shivering shoulders. "You're safe."
"Flynn thinks I drowned, Gabriel," I said, my voice ringing clear and fierce through the storm.
May you like
Gabriel pulled out a tactical tablet, showing the live satellite radar feed of the runaway yacht.
"Let the traitor think he won," Gabriel smiled with lethal satisfaction. "Our strike team in Colorado has already intercepted his hitmen."
