Chapter 14 - THE WILMINGTON DOCKSZ
The Port of Wilmington was a labyrinth of towering steel shipping containers, heavy gantry cranes, and the constant, oppressive smell of saltwater and diesel fuel. At 0430 hours, rain began to pour, slicking the tarmac and reducing visibility to less than fifty yards.
Victor Vance’s cargo ship, the Norse Star, sat docked at Pier 9, its massive black hull looming over the dark water like a sleeping monster. The gangplank was guarded by four heavily armed Apex contractors patrolling under the harsh glare of floodlights.
From the top of a stacked shipping container thirty yards away, I observed the vessel through a high-powered thermal scope. Grizz lay beside me, holding a spotter glass.
"Port security has been completely bribed," Grizz reported, wiping rain from his face. "No local cops are coming within two miles of this pier. Victor is currently inside the ship's bridge, preparing to slip anchor in fifteen minutes."
"He knows his land assault failed," I said, keeping my scope locked on the gangplank. "He’s cutting his losses and heading for international waters."
"If that ship clears the harbor, we lose jurisdiction and legal leverage," Grizz warned. "We can't call in the Coast Guard without exposing the ledger data."
"We don't need the Coast Guard," I said, lowering the rifle. "We take the bridge ourselves."
We moved swiftly under the cover of the heavy rain and the shadow of the container stacks. Grizz’s team created a tactical distraction at the stern of the ship, firing small-arms rounds to draw the gangplank guards away from their posts.
While the guards rushed toward the noise, I scaled the mooring lines on the forward bow of the ship, using heavy rubberized climbing grips. The steel hull was freezing and slick, but I hauled myself up onto the main deck without making a sound.
I stayed low, moving between the rows of industrial cargo containers lashed to the deck. The ship's engine thrummed beneath my boots, a low vibration that shook the deck plating.
Two Apex guards stepped around the corner of a container, smoking cigarettes under a plastic tarp. I didn't give them a chance to react. I lunged forward, grabbing both men by their tactical collars and driving their heads together with a sickening CRACK. They collapsed onto the wet deck like sacks of bricks.
I moved up the narrow steel stairwells leading to the ship’s superstructure, climbing three levels until I reached the bridge deck.
Through the reinforced glass of the bridge, I saw Victor Vance. He was standing near the captain's wheel, angrily barking orders into a satellite phone while two ship officers hurriedly worked the navigation consoles.
I didn't bother knocking.
I kicked open the heavy weather-tight door, stepping into the bridge with my weapon drawn and aimed directly at Victor's chest.
"Engine stopped! Nobody move!" I commanded, my voice cutting through the hum of the navigation equipment.
The two ship officers threw their hands into the air instantly, stepping away from the control panel.
Victor slowly lowered his satellite phone. He turned to face me, his pale eyes wide with a combination of rage and disbelief. His expensive suit was soaked with rain from his walk up the gangplank, his silver hair plastered to his forehead.
"You..." he spat, his voice trembling with venom. "You relentless, arrogant military parasite! How did you get past my men?"
"Your men are amateurs, Victor," I said, stepping closer, keeping my sights fixed between his eyes. "Just like your brother. The ship isn't leaving. The syndicate is dead."
Victor let out a bitter, wild laugh. "Dead? You think arresting me or killing me stops what is on that drive? That data contains names that govern world economies! If you publish it, you bring down market systems! You bring down governments!"
"Then they deserve to fall," I said coldly.
Victor’s eyes twitched. Slowly, deliberately, he reached toward the coat pocket of his suit. "I would rather blow this ship to the bottom of the Atlantic than let an army officer hand me over to a courtroom!"
"Don't do it, Victor," I warned, taking a half-step forward.
He ripped a small detonator switch from his pocket, his thumb resting over a red toggle. "There are four tons of C4 wired to the fuel tanks in the lower hold! Drop your weapon, Colonel, or we all go up in flames right here!"
I didn't drop the weapon. Instead, I looked him dead in the eye, my hands as steady as they were on the briefing room floor at Fort Bragg.
"You're bluffing, Victor," I said quietly. "A man who spent forty years hoarding wealth and hiding in the shadows doesn't want to die in a cold harbor in North Carolina."
Victor hesitated. His thumb trembled over the red button for one fraction of a second.
That fraction of a second was all I needed.
I stepped inside his guard, grabbing his wrist and twisting it upward until the bone snapped. The detonator clattered to the steel floor. Before he could scream, I brought the butt of my sidearm down across his jaw, knocking him off his feet.
He crashed onto the metal deck, bleeding and groaning in pain.
May you like
I picked up the detonator, disarmed the safety switch, and slipped it into my vest pocket. I leaned over Victor, pulling his silver-topped cane away and tossing it out the open bridge door into the dark ocean below.
"The game is over, Victor," I whispered. "Welcome home."
