Chapter 139 - The Ghost of the Great Lakes
Far to the north, past the icy shores of Milwaukee and the deep shipping lanes of Green Bay, the waters of Lake Michigan began to churn.
For thirty years, rumors had circulated among commercial freight captains of the Great Lakes regarding ghost vessels—experimental automated coastal defense drones designed by the Navy during the height of the maritime security initiatives, later purchased and privatized under deep black-budget defense contracts managed by Vincent's father.
On Julian Sterling’s flagship, the alarms suddenly began to blare in frantic, high-pitched shrieks.
Julian stood on the bridge, his fine cashmere coat buttoned to his chin, holding a pair of night-vision binoculars. He lowered them in confusion as his tactical officer stumbled backward from the radar console, face pale.
"Sir! We have multiple surface contacts closing from the northern quadrant!"
"From where?" Julian snapped, his eyes flashing with irritation. "The Coast Guard is still tied down at the river mouth by the police barricades! Who could possibly be out here in this ice?"
"They aren't Coast Guard, sir!" the officer shouted. "They're... they're running at sixty knots! Three... no, four automated trimarans! Fully weaponized! They have our vessels painted with active fire-control radar!"
Outside, slicing through the freezing swells like black daggers, four unmanned stealth interceptors emerged from the midnight snowstorm. Built from carbon fiber and radar-absorbent materials, they carried remote-operated rapid-fire autocannons and twin anti-ship missile pods. They were the silent hounds of the Moretti maritime perimeter, awakened by Vincent's coded transmission from the crib.
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Inside the stone crib, Vincent picked up the antique handheld radio wired into the satellite terminal. His voice carried across the open frequency directly to Julian’s bridge.
"You wanted a naval bombardment, Julian," Vincent said, his voice cold as the ice beneath their hulls. "Now you have one. Disarm your weapons and drop your anchors, or I will feed your corvettes to the lake."
