Chapter 9 - Boarding Action at Sea
-1045-
The night ocean was a churning black abyss whipped into a frenzy by freezing coastal winds.
I stood in the open cabin door of the MH-60 Jayhawk helicopter, the roar of the twin turbine engines deafening against my helmet headset. Below us, the massive silhouette of the Voss Enterprise rose and fell violently on the massive Pacific swells, its rusted hull cutting through the dark water like a floating fortress.
Through my night-vision goggles, I watched the Coast Guard cutter Stratton slicing through the whitecaps a mile off our port quarter, preparing to box the rogue vessel in.
"Ten seconds to drop, Admiral!" the crew chief shouted over the intercom, tapping my shoulder.
I nodded, securing my tactical harness and checking the strap of my sidearm. At fifty years old, most admirals were safely behind mahogany desks in Washington, reviewing reports and attending congressional hearings. But I had spent my entire career leading from the front. When a rogue ship tied to my family's criminal legacy tried to smuggle stolen naval technology out of American waters, I wasn't going to sit this one out.
"Go! Go! Go!"
The fast-rope dropped into the howling wind, and I grabbed the thick nylon line, sliding down into the cold spray with the fluid precision of a seasoned operator. My boots hit the rusted steel deck of the container ship with a dull thud.
Behind me, the rest of the boarding team descended rapidly, securing the perimeter of the cargo bay while flashlights cut through the gloom.
"Clear!" shouted the lead team leader.
"Move to the bridge," I ordered, leading the charge up the exterior stairwell toward the captain's quarters.
The heavy steel door of the bridge was unlocked. I kicked it open, my service pistol raised, stepping into the dimly lit control room.
Captain Marcus Vance—a heavy-set man with a weather-beaten face and cold, desperate eyes—stood by the navigation console, a satellite phone clutched tightly in his fist. When he saw my uniform and the four gold stars on my collar, his face went completely slack.
"Admiral Voss," Marcus breathed, dropping the satellite phone onto the console. "I... I thought you were stuck in Washington."
"You thought wrong, Captain," I said, stepping forward and lowering my weapon as federal operators swarmed past me to secure the room. "Step away from the communications console."
Marcus raised his hands slowly, a bitter smirk twisting his lips. "You're too late, Admiral. The transfer coordinates were sent ten minutes ago. The buyer is already moving in to retrieve the cargo. You might have locked up Conrad, but you can't stop the wheel from turning."
I walked right up to him, looking him dead in the eye.
"Captain," I said quietly, my voice carrying the weight of an entire fleet. "Conrad Voss thought he was untouchable too. And look where he is tonight. Now, tell me exactly where that experimental hardware is stowed in the hold, or you'll find out firsthand how the Navy handles traitors at sea."
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Marcus swallowed hard, his arrogant facade crumbling under the sheer intensity of my gaze. He pointed a trembling finger toward the lower deck controls. "Hold... hold 4... container sector C-12."
I tapped my comms unit. "Vance, secure hold 4. Mission accomplished."
