Chapter 9 - THE RUNAWAY TIDE
The concrete floor of the submarine pen trembled violently beneath our boots as the automated self-destruct charges detonated deep within the subterranean foundation levels.
Thick plumes of grey smoke billowed upward from the dry dock gantry, obscuring the skeletal hull of the stealth submersible in an impenetrable cloud of acrid smog.
Christian dragged Richard forward with merciless efficiency, while I sprinted right beside them, our flashlights cutting erratic beams through the swirling dust and debris.
“The Zodiac!” I yelled over the deafening roar of collapsing overhead steel girders.
“Fifty yards ahead!” Christian shouted back, his grip on my hand never wavering.
We burst out of the heavy blast doors just as the main entrance collapsed inward in a thunderous avalanche of reinforced concrete and twisted rebar.
The cool, clean air of the Marseille cove hit our faces like a physical blow.
Tied to the concrete slipway bobbed the Vengeance’s rubber inflatable tender, its twin outboard motors idling with a steady, impatient purr.
Miller stood in the bow of the tender, his assault rifle raised, scanning the cliffside ridges above us.
“Boss! We’ve got incoming!” Miller shouted over the roar of the fire.
I looked up toward the winding coastal highway overlooking the cove.
Three unmarked black armored SUVs had just screeched to a halt along the cliff edge, their doors flying open to reveal a dozen heavily armed mercenaries spilling onto the asphalt, automatic weapons raised and locked onto our position.
“Get in the boat!” Christian commanded, shoving Richard headfirst into the bottom of the inflatable tender like a sack of wet laundry.
“Maya, grab the bow line!” Miller yelled, tossing me the heavy nylon rope.
I caught it cleanly, pulling myself over the rubber pontoon just as the first volley of automatic gunfire chewed up the concrete dock where I had been standing a second earlier.
Tink-tink-tink.
Bullets skipped across the water around us like skipping stones.
“Hold on!” Christian roared, dropping into the pilot’s seat and slamming the twin throttle levers all the way forward.
The interceptor leaped out from the slipway like a struck match, its powerful turbine engines screaming as the bow lifted high out of the water, sending a massive wall of white spray cascading behind us.
We rocketed out of the cove into the open Mediterranean swells, leaving the burning submarine pen and Richard’s mercenary squad disappearing into the distance behind a wall of smoke and fire.
Inside the bouncing rubber hull, Richard groaned, spitting blood onto the floorboards as he glared up at Christian with venomous hatred.
“You... you destroyed twenty years of infrastructure,” Richard rasped, his face bruised and swollen. “The syndicate will never let you reach Genoa alive.”
Christian didn't even glance down at his cousin.
He kept his eyes locked on the horizon where the grand, snow-dusted peaks of the Italian Alps rose majestically against the bright Mediterranean sun.
“The syndicate died tonight, Richard,” Christian said coldly. “I’m taking back what belongs to my family.”
He turned his head slightly, looking back toward the stern where I was sitting, catching my breath as the salt spray washed over my face.
“Are you alright, Maya?” he asked, his voice softening through the roar of the engines.
I wiped the seawater from my eyes, letting out a sharp, genuine laugh as I felt the terrifying, exhilarating freedom of the open sea.
“Never better, Mr. Vance,” I smiled.
Christian held my gaze for a long, lingering moment before turning his hands back to the helm.
May you like
“Call me Christian,” he said.
---
