Chapter 8: Dawn Over the Pacific
The morning light broke across the ocean surface in a sharp, blinding line of gold, shattering the heavy shadows that had clung to the yacht throughout the night. The Nautilus IV drifted lazily on the calm swells, its engines silenced by remote override. On the bridge, the digital displays flickered with steady green indicators, confirming that the data transfer and systemic asset freeze were fully complete.
I turned away from the console and looked down at the guard sitting quietly against the bulkhead. He kept his hands visible, his expression resigned.
"Stay right there," I said, my voice even. "Your employers are finished. When the extraction team arrives, tell them you cooperated."
He nodded slowly, offering no resistance. I picked up my emerald clutch from the console, checked the clasp, and walked toward the heavy glass door of the bridge. The automated lockdown released with a soft pneumatic hiss, sliding the door open to reveal the quiet, empty corridor stretching out before me.
I walked down the stairs, my green heels clicking rhythmically against the pristine teakwood flooring. The yacht was dead in the water, suspended in the vast expanse of international waters where Montgomery had planned to make me disappear. Irony had a sharp sense of humor.
When I reached the master suite, the mahogany doors stood slightly ajar. I pushed them open fully. The luxury room looked undisturbed, save for the dented metal baseball bat resting against the side table where I had left it. I walked over to the walk-in mahogany closet and tapped twice on the reinforced wood paneling.
"Montgomery," I called out, my voice clear and calm.
A furious kick slammed against the inside of the door, followed by a muffled curse.
"Open this door right now!" his voice roared through the wood, frantic and stripped of its former cool menace.
"The extraction team is twenty minutes out," I replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I suggest you use the time to practice your civil testimony. You’re going to need every ounce of practice you can get."
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I walked over to the bar cabinet, picked up my crystal champagne glass, and poured myself a fresh glass from a chilled bottle resting in the silver ice bucket. The bubbles rose effervescently in the morning light. I took a slow sip, letting the crisp, dry taste settle on my tongue as I looked out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the horizon.
In the distance, a low, thrumming roar began to vibrate through the air, growing steadily louder as the silhouette of a gray tactical helicopter cut through the morning mist, bearing down on the yacht's upper deck.
