Chapter 11 - The Ghost in the Radar
-11-
The red warning light pulsed against the mahogany bulkheads of the master cabin, casting a rhythmic, bloody hue across Alistair’s face as he hammered commands into the console. The low, steady hum of the freighter’s diesel engines suddenly pitched upward, groaning in protest as the ship’s automated systems initiated evasive maneuvers.
"Alistair," Lena said, stepping forward with Nora still clutched in her arms. The baby had finally quieted, lulled by the motion of the ship, but Lena’s heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "What is chasing us? Who is on that radar?"
"Arthur Sterling’s personal gunboat," Alistair muttered without looking up, his fingers flying across the keys with frantic precision. "He didn't just want my shipping routes, Lena. He wanted to wipe the Vance name off the map entirely. He’s packing a naval-grade deck gun on that cutter, and he’s closing fast."
"We're sitting ducks," Vincent Marsh’s voice crackled over the cabin intercom from the bridge upstairs. He sounded strained, fighting through the pain of his shoulder wound. "Alistair, the hull is unarmored! If he hits us with a high-explosive round, we’ll sink in two minutes!"
"Hold your course, Vincent!" Alistair barked into the com-mic. "Initiate the decoy chaff protocols in sector four. I’m routing auxiliary power to the port turbine."
"There is no time for chaff!" Lena shouted, stepping right up beside him and grabbing the edge of the console. "You said my mother was your chief financial officer. You said she built this empire with you. Did she build it to run away from a fight?"
Alistair stopped typing. He slowly turned his head, looking down at her with a mix of shock and burning admiration.
"Your mother would have loaded the torpedoes herself," Alistair said, a grim, dangerous smile breaking across his lips.
"Then stop hiding behind evasion protocols," Lena demanded, her voice dropping into a register that made Alistair’s dark eyes flare. "You have an array of defense systems on this ship that cost more than a small country's GDP. Use them."
Alistair stared at her for a microsecond longer before a loud, booming laugh escaped his chest—a sound of pure, unadulterated adrenaline.
"Mrs. Gable!" Alistair shouted into the intercom.
May you like
The older woman’s voice crackled back instantly: “Yes, Mr. Vance?”
"Unlock the forward armory," Alistair commanded. "And bring Miss Cruz a tactical vest. It’s time we taught Arthur Sterling how a Vance fights back."
