Chapter 12 - The Searchlight on the River
The sudden, piercing illumination of the searchlight turned the dark river water into a sheet of shimmering silver.
Cole killed the outboard motor in a single fluid motion, dropping low into the bottom of the rubber zodiac beside Grace.
"Hold onto the gunwales and keep your head down!" Cole shouted over the deafening chop of the helicopter blades.
The aircraft hovered fifty feet above the water, its heavy rotor wash sending violent ripples across the surface of the current.
A mounted infrared camera tracked the movement of the inflatable craft beneath the bare winter branches.
From the open side door of the helicopter, a heavy-caliber tactical rifle barrel extended outward into the freezing air.
"They have our thermal signature," Cole said, his hand sliding inside his soaked jacket to check his spare magazine.
"They knew the moment the Zurich trust unsealed."
"Can they shoot through the rubber hull?" Grace asked, pressing her hands over her ears as the noise rattled her teeth.
"The hull is reinforced with Kevlar weave, but a direct burst from a fifty-caliber gun will shred us to pieces," Cole replied calmly.
He reached into his tactical vest, pulled out a small electronic beacon, and armed the toggle switch.
"What are you doing?" Grace asked, watching him closely.
"Giving them a better target," Cole said with a cold, humorless smirk.
He tossed the active beacon into an empty wooden crate, pitching it overboard into the swirling current twenty yards behind the zodiac.
The decoy beacon immediately broadcasted a high-frequency military radio signal mimicking an encrypted satellite uplink.
The helicopter above instantly banked hard to the left, its searchlight sweeping away from the zodiac to track the floating crate.
"Now!" Cole roared, yanking the pull-cord of the outboard motor.
The engine roared back to life on the first yank, coughing a cloud of blue exhaust into the damp night air.
Cole spun the tiller hard to port, driving the zodiac beneath the low concrete arches of an old railway bridge.
Behind them, a devastating burst of automatic gunfire hammered the water where the floating crate had drifted.
Wooden splinters and white foam erupted into the air as the heavy rounds tore the wooden crate to pieces.
By the time the tactical crew realized the signal was a decoy, the zodiac had vanished into the shadowed concrete pillars of the trestle.
The helicopter circled angrily overhead, its searchlights frantically scanning the dense pine thickets along the muddy banks.
Cole navigated the boat through the narrow, shallow channel until the rushing current finally began to slow into a quiet cove.
Waiting hidden beneath a rusted corrugated metal boathouse was a black, nondescript panel truck with darkened windows.
A single figure stood on the rotting wooden dock, holding a waterproof tactical flashlight in one hand.
As the zodiac bumped gently against the tire-wrapped pilings, the figure stepped forward into the dim ambient light.
It was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his late forties wearing a dark trench coat and a fedora pulled low over his forehead.
"You're late, Mister Marino," the man said in a deep, gravelly European accent.
"The Swiss chartered flight is waiting at the private airstrip twenty miles north."
Cole secured the bow line to an iron cleat and helped Grace climb out of the slippery boat onto the wooden dock.
"The estate was compromised, Victor," Cole said, his voice hard as flint.
"Hayes gave our rotation schedules to the New York board."
Victor nodded grimly, his dark eyes scanning Grace’s pale, exhausted face with immediate, respectful recognition.
"Doctor Hayes will not be a problem much longer," Victor said quietly.
"Our Zurich security detail intercepted his vehicle on the state highway ten minutes ago."
"He won't be filing any more medical reports for the Marino family."
Grace clutched the green steel ammunition can against her chest, her breathing shallow as she looked at the two armed men.
"Where are we going?" Grace asked, her voice trembling with emotional exhaustion.
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"We are going to a secure safe house in Quebec to meet your mother face-to-face," Victor answered, opening the rear doors of the panel truck.
"And tomorrow, Miss Falcone, you take your rightful place at the head of the board."
