Chapter 6 - Cornered Rats Bite Back
The blare of the general quarters horn cut through the salt air. Red battle lanterns bathed the passageways of the USS Benton in an eerie, combat-ready crimson.
On the radar display, the luxury yacht Zephyr had suddenly halted its forward progress. Vance Sterling had realized the trap.
"Admiral!" the tactical officer called out. "The Zephyr is reversing thrusters! They’re attempting to turn back toward international waters! Furthermore, we are detecting multiple armed transponders activating aboard Freight Tanker Alpha anchored two miles out!"
"They're going to scuttle the tanker!" Tariq shouted, gripping the edge of the console. "If they detonate those munitions in the harbor, the resulting chemical cloud will drift directly over the city of Norfolk!"
Price began laughing hysterically from his chair, tears of terror and spite running down his cheeks. "You're too late! Vance has a fail-safe! If he goes down, he takes the entire naval base with him! You can't board that tanker in time!"
Hannah stepped forward, her eyes locked on the digital tactical map. "Admiral, the tanker's automated scuttling valves are controlled via an encrypted short-range microwave relay stationed aboard the Zephyr. If we destroy the yacht, the signal triggers automatically. We have to board the Zephyr, secure the control module, and capture Sterling alive within twelve minutes."
"The harbor is too shallow for the destroyer to pursue at flank speed," Whitaker said, his brow furrowed with intense calculation. "The cutters will take twenty minutes to deploy."
"Then send me on a fast-attack interceptor," Hannah stated without hesitation. "I know the structural layout of Sentinel’s command yachts. I know where Sterling keeps his hard-link telemetry terminal."
"You're an intelligence officer, Cole," Whitaker reminded her. "Not a boarding team commander."
Hannah unholstered her standard-issue sidearm, checked the magazine with a crisp, practiced snap, and chambered a round. "With all due respect, Admiral, before I was an intelligence officer, I was airborne infantry. Give me six Navy SEALs and a fast-boat. I’ll bring you the transmitter."
Whitaker looked at her for a fraction of a second, seeing the unmistakable resolve of a warrior who had climbed out of the grave to finish her mission.
"Dietrich!" Whitaker roared. "Prep the Special Boat Unit! Captain Cole has tactical command of the boarding party! Move!"
Within three minutes, Hannah was strapped into the jump seat of a twin-engine combat assault craft, skipping across the churning black waves at forty-five knots. The cold sea spray lashed against her face, but she didn't feel it. Beside her sat six heavily armed operators from Naval Special Warfare, their suppressed carbines resting across their chests.
Up ahead through the dense night fog, the glowing multi-deck silhouette of the Zephyr loomed like a floating palace of stolen fortunes.
Muzzle flashes suddenly sparked from the yacht’s upper deck. High-caliber rounds chewed into the water around the assault craft.
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"Hostile fire from the fantail!" the boat driver yelled, throwing the vessel into a violent evasive zigzag.
"Return fire! Suppress the upper deck!" Hannah ordered into her headset, raising her rifle. "Get us alongside the swim platform! We're taking that bridge!"
