Chapter 37 - The Deck of Shadows
The rising water in the dry dock reached twenty feet in less than two minutes, turning the concrete basin into a swirling, deadly whirlpool.
The submarine rocked violently, its mooring cables snapping one by one with sounds like artillery fire.
David Vance didn't raise his hands; instead, a grotesque, defiant grin split his scarred face.
"You think you've won, Claire?" David shouted over the roaring tide, reaching into his pocket and holding up a small black detonator. "This vessel is packed with sixty tons of military-grade C4!"
Claire froze, her finger resting lightly against the trigger.
"If I press this button, Pier Forty-Two disappears from the map," David sneered, backing toward the conning tower. "Along with you, your resurrected pet, and every civilian within two miles of the Brooklyn shore."
"You won't blow the boat," Thomas yelled down from the catwalk. "Your mother is inside that hull. You're a coward, David, but you worship her."
David’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated venom.
"My mother is an investment," David yelled back, his thumb hovering directly over the detonator's red toggle. "And investments can be liquidated when they lose value."
Inside the partially submerged vessel, the hatch was still open, the frantic pounding of Margaret Vance audible even through the rushing water.
She had realized, too late, that the son she had favored over all others considered her entirely expendable.
"Miller, can you take his hand?" Claire whispered into the tactical comms.
"Negative, Cap! The submarine is pitching too hard in the surge! I might hit the detonator!" Miller responded, frustration bleeding into his voice.
Claire looked down at the fifty-foot drop between the catwalk and the submarine's curving, slippery deck.
The water was rising fast, closing the distance to thirty feet, then twenty-five as the basin flooded.
"Thomas, keep Miller on overwatch," Claire ordered quietly, unclipping her secondary assault harness.
"Claire, what are you doing?" Thomas turned toward her, alarm flaring in his eyes.
"Finishing the job," she said.
Without another word, Claire vaulted over the iron railing, dropping through the pouring rain toward the pitching deck below.
She hit the curved, rubberized hull with a brutal thud, absorbing the impact into a shoulder roll that sent her skidding across the wet steel.
Her boots found traction against the welded non-skid plating just ten feet from where David stood.
David whipped his pistol up, firing two wild shots that ricocheted harmlessly off the conning tower behind her.
Claire closed the gap like a hurricane, her hand striking his wrist with bone-shattering force, sending his firearm spinning into the black water.
With her other hand, she lunged for the detonator, her fingers locking around his wrist in an iron grip.
They slammed together against the steel railing of the conning tower, the submarine shuddering beneath them as it broke completely free of its dry dock cradles.
"You always were the stubborn stray!" David roared, spitting blood into her face as he drove his good knee into her stomach.
Claire took the blow without flinching, using his momentum to pivot and drive the heel of her combat boot directly into his shattered shoulder.
A shriek of agonizing pain tore from David's throat as the shattered bones inside his arm ground together.
The black detonator slipped from his slick fingers, tumbling across the wet steel toward the churning water.
Claire dove forward, her fingertips grazing the plastic casing just as it teetered on the edge of the hull.
She pinned it beneath her hand, rolling onto her back with her sidearm drawn and aimed squarely between David Vance’s eyes.
"Game over, David," Claire breathed, the rain washing the blood from her face.
Behind him, Admiral Hayes slowly dragged himself to his feet, holding a discarded steel wrench, his gray eyes burning with righteous fury.
"Step away from the weapon, Vance," Hayes commanded, his voice trembling with exhausted authority.
May you like
David looked down the barrel of Claire’s weapon, then back at the dark waters rushing into the bay.
His eyes darted toward the open hatch, where the emergency klaxons inside the submarine were screaming their final warnings.
