Chapter 36 - The Sanctuary of Sovereign Rock
The vessel we boarded at 0400 hours in New Bedford was a 45-foot, low-profile carbon-fiber stealth interceptor, painted matte black and powered by triple supercharged diesel engines that ran silent beneath the churning chop of the sea.
The pilot was a scarred, quiet man named Declan who asked zero questions and accepted ten thousand dollars in unmarked bearer bonds Daniel pulled from his private lockbox.
For three brutal hours, the boat slammed through towering eight-foot swells, cutting eastward through the pre-dawn darkness. The freezing ocean spray drenched us completely, the salt stinging the open cuts on my face. With every bone-jarring impact against the waves, pain shot through my fractured pelvis and ribs, but I did not make a sound. I held the tactical carbine Daniel had handed me across my chest, running my thumb over the cold steel safety.
"Ten minutes out," Declan called out over the muted roar of the engines, his eyes glued to the forward infrared display. "Target structure is painting on the radar. It’s not on any civilian map. Giant steel tripod anchored to the seamount. They’ve got active thermal scanners scanning a two-mile perimeter."
Daniel leaned over Declan's shoulder, pointing to a blind spot on the radar sweep. "The storm is kicking up twenty-foot wave clutter beneath the southern support pylon. Take us under the splash zone, right beneath the primary crane gantry. Their radar won't differentiate our wake from the breaking sea."
"Hold on to your teeth," Declan muttered, throwing the throttle forward.
The interceptor surged through a wall of black water. Seconds later, emerging from the driving rain, the monstrous silhouette of Sovereign Rock materialized against the gray dawn.
It looked like an ancient iron beast rising from the Atlantic abyss. Three massive rusted steel legs, each thirty feet thick, plunged into the churning black ocean. Suspended eighty feet above the surging waves was a multi-tiered steel fortress, bristling with satellite arrays, radar domes, and fortified observation catwalks.
Moored to the central hydraulic hoist between the pylons was the sleek white hull of *The Sovereign*. The yacht was empty, its gangway swaying violently over the abyss.
"They've already transferred them inside," Daniel said, checking the bolt of his rifle. "Declan, you hold position five hundred yards down-drift behind the storm buoy. If we aren't back in sixty minutes, you light this tower up with every flare you have and run."
"Understood," Declan said. "Good hunting, Detective."
Daniel clipped a magnetic ascender line to the structural girder of the southern pylon. He turned to me, hooking a climbing harness around my waist. "Once we go up this cable, Elizabeth, there’s no badge, no law, and no trial. You ready?"
May you like
I looked up at the looming iron shadow where Arthur Vance held my stolen child.
"Pull the trigger," I said.
