Chapter 6 - The Harbor in the Mist
The Chicago harbor at 4:30 AM was a dark, liquid graveyard of iron, pine, and thick black water.
The rain had stopped, replaced by a dense, freezing lake fog that hung low over the docks, reducing the visibility to less than thirty feet. The massive steel hulls of luxury yachts rocked softly against their rubber bumpers, their rigging clinking against aluminum masts like skeletal wind chimes.
Three black unmarked SUVs sat idling in the gravel parking lot near Slip 42, their headlights turned off, their exhaust fumes rising into the freezing air like white smoke.
Inside the lead vehicle, Agent Chen adjusted her bulletproof vest, checking the chamber of her Glock 19.
"The Panamanian registry gives them a temporary exemption under maritime transit law," Chen told us, her eyes fixed on the dim yellow lights of The Royal Sovereign visible through the fog two hundred yards away. "We have a federal seizure warrant based on Victoria’s confession, but if the captain drops the moorings and steps into international waters, we’re looking at a three-year extradition fight through Central America."
"They won't drop the moorings without the secondary key," Gabriel said, pulling a small silver drive from his pocket. "Thomas Vance’s security system uses a dual-key hardware token. My father has one key. I have the secondary master token from when I was managing the firm's logistics division."
"How did you get that?" I asked, looking at the silver drive in his hand.
"I took it out of his desk the night he had me framed," Gabriel said softly, a dark, bitter smile touching his lips. "He thought I was taking money. He didn't realize I was taking the only thing that could ever put him in a cage."
We moved down the wet wooden dock in absolute silence, guided by the low hum of the yacht’s auxiliary diesel generators.
The ship was a ninety-foot tri-deck motor yacht, its sleek white fiberglass hull gleaming through the gray mist. On the upper deck, two men in dark rain slickers were pacing near the radar arch, carrying short-barreled submachine guns under their coats.
"Private maritime security," Chen whispered, motioning for her four tactical marshals to split into two boarding teams. "They’re paid by Vance’s offshore holding company. They won't hesitate to shoot if they think we’re high-seas pirates."
"Let me go up first," Gabriel said.
"Gabriel, that's suicide," I pulled his arm.
"They know my voice, Clara," Gabriel said, taking my face in his rough hands and kissing my forehead. "They think I’m still running from the corporate fraud charges. If I go up those stern stairs with the hardware token, Thomas’s captain will hold fire long enough for the marshals to breach the main salon."
May you like
He looked into my eyes, his grip on my waist firm and warm. "Trust me."
Before I could answer, Gabriel stepped out from behind the wooden piling, walking directly up the gangway toward the illuminated aft deck of The Royal Sovereign.
