Chapter 13 - Blood on the Deck
Sarah moved instantly, killing the cabin lights and racking a round into her 12-gauge shotgun.
"The download needs six minutes," Sarah whispered, her eyes burning with fierce resolve. "Take this satellite transponder. Once the sequence hits one hundred percent, it broadcasts automatically to the federal justice servers in Washington. Arthur cannot be allowed to stop it."
"I'm not leaving you down here to die like Jordan did," Lena said fiercely, reaching for a flare gun mounted on the bulkhead bracket.
"You aren't leaving me," Sarah said with a grim smile. "I'm holding the stairs. You make sure that signal sends."
Heavy bootsteps cracked against the trawler’s deck. A sudden spray of automatic gunfire chewed through the wooden cabin roof, showering them in splinters and fiberglass dust.
Sarah raised her shotgun toward the hatch and fired two thunderous blasts through the reinforced timber. A scream echoed from above, followed by the sound of a body tumbling overboard into the freezing dark harbor.
Lena watched the laptop screen: DECRYPTION: 68%... 74%...
A concussion grenade dropped through the splintered hatch opening.
"Get back!" Sarah screamed, diving across the cabin and throwing her body over the canister just as it detonated.
The deafening shockwave blew out the port hole glass and threw Lena violently against the engine bulkhead. Her ears rang with a piercing whistle; her vision swam in blinding flashes of white.
Through the thick haze of smoke, she saw Sarah lying motionless near the bottom of the ladder, the shotgun shattered beneath her.
Booted feet descended into the cabin. Arthur Vance stepped into the ruined space, his brown field jacket stained with soot and rain, an automatic pistol held loosely in his right hand. Behind him, Miller guarded the ladder, his face twisted in a murderous scowl.
"Look at you," Arthur said, crouching before Lena, his voice sickeningly gentle. "You always were a fighter, Lena. Just like your mother."
He reached out, his gloved hand reaching for the laptop on the table, where the progress bar hit 91%.
"A tragedy Victoria had to die," Arthur murmured, preparing to pull the flash drive. "And an even greater tragedy that you couldn't just play the dutiful daughter."
Lena didn't plead. She didn't cry. With a sudden, explosive motion, she brought the flare gun up from beneath her wool blanket, leveling the heavy orange barrel directly at Arthur's chest.
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"I'm not your daughter," Lena whispered.
She pulled the trigger.
