Chapter 9 - Crossfire over the Black Water
The silence on Pier 42 shattered with the concussive boom of a marine flare echoing across the harbor.
A blinding magnesium-white light erupted from the water behind the crane.
The commercial fishing boat Luca had hidden in the mist surged forward against the wharf pylons.
Four Moretti riflemen aboard the vessel opened fire with suppressed semi-automatic rifles.
The two mercenaries flanking the crane collapsed onto the slick concrete before they could raise their weapons.
"Kill them!" Vane shrieked, all his aristocratic composure dissolving into manic desperation.
"Kill every single one of them!"
Luca lunged forward, grabbing Claire by her collar and pulling her violently behind the heavy steel axle of a container transport trailer.
A hail of automatic rifle fire ripped through the metal above their heads, sending showers of blinding sparks into the fog.
Marco fired three precise shots from around the front tire, neutralizing a mercenary attempting to flank them from the right.
Across the open dock, Grant Bennett was screaming in absolute terror, pulling frantically at the handcuffs binding him to the steel beam.
"Help me! Someone unlock me!" Grant wailed as stray bullets pinged against the gantry structure.
A ricochet struck the chain holding Victor Moretti’s chair, causing the old man to swing precariously over the freezing black water of the bay.
"Uncle Victor!" Luca shouted over the roar of gunfire.
"I've got the crane!" Marco yelled, diving through the open crossfire toward the operator ladder.
Claire pressed her back against the rusted iron trailer, her breath coming in rapid, disciplined gasps.
She drew the nine-millimeter pistol from her waistband, flicking off the manual safety with her thumb.
Ten yards to her left, a mercenary in body armor was advancing along the row of shipping containers, his rifle leveled directly at Luca's exposed flank.
Luca was pinned, returning fire against two shooters behind the town cars.
He didn't see the flanking operative.
Claire didn't hesitate.
She stepped out from behind the heavy iron wheel, raised both arms in a locked Weaver stance, and aligned her sights with the mercenary’s chest.
She remembered the weight of Luca’s hands on hers in the cellar.
Inhale. Squeeze.
She fired three times in rapid succession.
The heavy nine-millimeter rounds punched through the mercenary’s tactical plate carrier, sending him crashing backward against the corrugated steel container.
The man dropped his rifle and slumped motionless into the puddles.
Claire let out a shuddering breath, her ears ringing from the muzzle blast.
Luca glanced back at her, his dark eyes widening in momentary shock before hardening into fierce respect.
"Nice shot," Luca said over the noise.
"Keep your head down!"
High above the pier, Marco reached the crane controls, swinging the rusted boom inward away from the water.
With a heavy metallic clang, Victor Moretti’s chair landed safely on the upper catwalk of the gantry.
Marco sliced through the old man's ropes, handing him a backup firearm.
Vane, realizing his security force was being systematically decimated, grabbed the ruggedized laptop from the table.
He sprinted toward the end of the pier where a high-powered luxury offshore speedboat was idling in the dark current.
"Luca! He's running with the drive!" Claire yelled, pointing toward the water.
Luca sprinted from behind the trailer, his carbine raised, firing at the two remaining town car drivers.
Both drivers went down in the spray of water and muzzle flashes.
Grant Bennett, still chained to the steel pillar, saw Luca approaching and began weeping hysterically.
"Luca, please! Have mercy! I didn't want any of this!"
Luca didn't even slow down, not wasting a single bullet or a glance on the broken man.
He ran straight past Grant toward the dock's edge.
Vane leaped into the cockpit of the twin-engine speedboat, gunning the throttle with a deafening roar.
The heavy vessel churned the black water into white foam, surging away from the pier into the dense ocean mist.
"He's heading for international waters!" Marco shouted from the crane platform.
"The Coast Guard can't intercept him in this fog!"
Luca stopped at the water's edge, watching the receding red wake of the boat disappearing into the darkness.
Claire ran up beside him, her boots splashing through the blood-stained puddles of the wharf.
"He can't escape," Claire said, pointing to the secondary mooring slips fifty yards down the bulkhead.
Tied to the commercial pier was Luca’s private offshore pursuit vessel, its twin turbine engines already rumbling to life under the command of his harbor crew.
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Luca looked at Claire, his hand reaching out to grab hers.
"Let's finish this."
