Chapter 6 - The Devil’s Anchorage
6
The sky was the color of a fresh bruise by the time we reached the private marina on the northern edge of the state. Fog rolled off the Atlantic in thick, choking tendrils, masking the silhouettes of million-dollar yachts tied to the wooden docks.
"Vance's boat is the Aurelia," Elena said, passing me a dark tactical jacket and a pair of heavy boots from the trunk of the SUV. "A hundred and twenty feet, steel hull, armed private security on the deck."
"Armed security?" I pulled the jacket over my shivering frame. "Elena, I’m a high school English teacher. I don't know how to fight men with guns."
"You don't have to," Elena said, pulling a heavy brass flash drive from her pocket and tossing it to me. "I have a team taking out the dock guards right now. Your only job is to get to the lower deck, find the nursery suite, and plug this drive into the boat’s main terminal. It will override the automated lock system and transmit the yacht’s live telemetry directly to the Coast Guard."
"And Noah?"
"I will get Noah," she promised, looking me dead in the eye. "I swear to you on my sister's grave, Kate. You bring the system down; I bring your boy out."
Before I could answer, a loud explosion rocked the far side of the marina. Black smoke surged into the air, followed by the chatter of suppressed gunfire.
"That's our distraction," Elena grunted, racking her pistol. "Move!"
We sprinted through the dense fog, keeping low behind the fiberglass hulls of parked boats. My heart slammed against my ribs like a sledgehammer. Every breath smelled of salt, diesel fuel, and imminent death.
Up ahead, towering above the wooden piers, sat the Aurelia. It was a massive, pristine white vessel that looked like a floating palace.
Two guards wearing dark tactical gear were sprinting down the gangplank toward the fire, leaving the main deck entirely exposed.
"Go!" Elena hissed, shoving me toward the stern.
I scrambled up the slick fiberglass ladder on the side of the yacht, my rubber soles sticking silently to the deck. I slipped through a pair of sliding glass doors leading into the main salon.
The interior was sickeningly opulent—white leather sofas, polished mahogany walls, and crystal chandeliers swinging gently with the motion of the waves. It was infuriating to think that this luxury was paid for with the stolen lives of infants.
I moved quickly through the hallway, searching for the server room Elena had described.
I found a small, reinforced door labeled CONTROL ASSEMBLY. I pulled the brass flash drive from my pocket, slipped inside, and jammed it into the glowing blue USB port on the main console.
The server rack hummed loudly. Red lights flashed green, and a computer screen lit up with scrolling lines of code.
OVERRIDE INITIATED, the screen read. COAST GUARD TELEMETRY SIGNAL: ACTIVE.
"I did it," I whispered, relief washing over me.
"Did what, exactly?" a smooth, cultured voice spoke from the doorway behind me.
I froze.
May you like
I slowly turned around. Standing in the entrance was Dr. Arthur Vance. He was an older man in his late fifties, impeccably groomed, wearing a camel-hair coat over a tailored suit. He held a small, silver-plated revolver lazily in his right hand.
"Mrs. Miller," Vance said, offering a faint, mocking smile. "I must say, your husband was vastly underpaid. He assured me you were too broken by grief to ever cause a problem."
