Chapter 141 - The Edge of the Flame
The freezing spray lashed their faces as the motorized extraction skiff crossed the narrow stretch of water between the crib and Julian Sterling’s crippled corvette. The warship lay low in the water, flames licking out from the ventilation shafts, black smoke billowing into the grey dawn sky that was just beginning to break over Lake Michigan.
Marco brought the skiff alongside the mangled boarding ladder on the corvette’s port flank. Vincent and Emma scrambled up the steel rungs, their boots finding purchase on the blood-slicked, soot-covered deck.
The crew had already abandoned ship; life rafts dotted the smoking waves nearby. But from the forward bridge, the hum of an emergency auxiliary turbine indicated that someone was still inside.
Vincent kicked the shattered bridge door off its hinges, raising his weapon.
Inside, the bridge was lit by the flicker of burning consoles and red emergency strobes. Julian Sterling was standing by the master tactical table, his face smeared with grease, his arm wrapped in a makeshift sling. In his uninjured hand, he held a heavy chrome revolver. On the console beside him lay a ruggedized military hard drive, its progress bar indicating a total system wipe at ninety-four percent.
"Vincent," Julian gasped, his voice cracking with hysterical laughter. "You're too late! Six percent left, and the Sterling legacy becomes completely untraceable. You won't have the ledgers. You won't have the proof. You'll just be a murderer who sank three ships in civilian waters!"
"Step away from the console, Julian," Vincent said, taking a measured step forward, his gun trained directly on Julian’s forehead.
"No!" Julian shrieked, cocking the revolver and pointing it directly at Emma. "If I lose, the girl dies first!"
Emma didn't flinch. She locked eyes with Julian, her voice steady and resonant in the burning room. "Your sister thought she could crush an old woman because no one was watching, Julian. You thought you could burn a city because you had warships. You Sterlings never understood: power isn't about what you can destroy. It's about what you're willing to protect."
A sudden, violent explosion rocked the corvette’s lower magazine. The deck pitched sharply forty-five degrees to starboard. Julian lost his footing, his gun firing harmlessly into the ceiling as he crashed against the shattered navigation glass.
Vincent lunged forward, his hand darting toward the console to yank the military drive free before the wipe reached one hundred percent. His fingers wrapped around the steel casing at ninety-nine percent, ripping the cables from the port.
"Got it," Vincent breathed.
Suddenly, a loud, metallic clinking sound echoed through the smoke.
Emma looked down. From beneath the tilted console where Julian had fallen, a series of red blinking lights flickered against the bulkhead. It was not an ammunition fire.
It was an armed scuttling charge—a thermite demolition block wired directly to the ship’s keel, and the digital display read:
**00:08... 00:07... 00:06...**
Julian, bleeding from the head, smiled through bloody teeth from the deck floor. *"You didn't win, Vincent. We all sink together."*
May you like
Vincent grabbed Emma by the tactical vest with one arm, securing the hard drive in his coat with the other, and shoved her toward the shattered bridge window facing the open lake.
"Emma! Jump!" Vincent roared as the timer struck zero.
