BEYOND THE EMBERS OF VENGEANCE

The Southern Cross constellation hung bright and cold over the dark waters of Port Phillip Bay.

Thirty-six hours after the violence on Lake Michigan, a battered commercial utility van pulled onto the deserted wharves of the Port of Melbourne. The salt air smelled of diesel fuel, rusted iron, and wet timber.

Inside the rear of the van, Anna sat on an ammunition crate, adjusting the straps of a black Kevlar tactical vest. She wore dark combat trousers and a high-collared windbreaker, her long hair pulled back into a tight, practical braid. Her hazel eyes were hollowed by fatigue, but beneath the exhaustion burned a ferocious, predatory focus.

Beside her, Lev sat behind a wall of portable laptop screens, his bandaged hands flying across glowing keyboards.

"The port is locked down," Lev said, tapping the satellite imagery of Pier 42. "Sterling has fifty private security contractors from a South African firm controlling the perimeter. They’ve established a defensive perimeter around the dry docks where an old industrial icebreaker is moored: the Vanguard."

"Is Elena on the ship?" Anna asked, checking the magazine of an Australian-issue suppressed submachine gun.

"Thermal scans confirm three human signatures in the captain’s quarters on the upper deck," Lev confirmed. "One matches Elena's height and profile. The other two are heavily armed sentries."

Matteo stepped into the van from the front cab, racking the slide of an assault rifle with practiced ease. His face was set in granite, his jaw dark with two days of stubble.

"Director Sterling’s team is expecting us to deliver the titanium drive to the main gangway at midnight," Matteo said. "They have snipers placed on the gantry cranes overlooking the dock."

"A kill box," Anna said.

"Naturally," Matteo replied, a grim, humorless smile touching his lips. "Sterling has no intention of letting us walk away with Elena, even if we hand over the data. The Consortium doesn't negotiate with survivors."

"Then we don't walk through the gangway," Anna said, looking up from her weapon. "How do we get aboard?"

Matteo tapped the schematic of the Vanguard on Lev's screen. "The ship is in dry dock for ballast pump maintenance. The cooling intake ports on the hull are open to the drainage culverts beneath the dock floor."

"Submerged entry?" Anna asked.

"Two hundred yards of industrial runoff," Matteo said, meeting her gaze. "Cold, filthy, and pitch black. But the sensors on the cranes don't track the drainage conduits."

Anna pulled her tactical gloves tight, flexing her fingers. "I've crawled through worse to keep my family alive."

Matteo leaned down, cupping her chin in his gloved palm, his thumb tracing the faint scar along her cheekbone. "When we breach that bridge, Sterling is mine. You get Elena to the van."

"No," Anna said, her eyes burning like stars in the dim light of the van. "Sterling threatened to cut my sister into pieces. He belongs to both of us."

Matteo looked at her for a long second, then nodded slowly with fierce, unwavering pride. "To both of us."

He grabbed two dive respirators from the gear bag, handing one to her.