The Chase on the Water
The trailer erupted into a whiteout of choking powder and shouted curses. Helena dropped the canister, scooped up the external drive from the console, and bolted through the side emergency hatch.
She hit the metal catwalk outside just as the rain turned into a torrential downpour. Behind her, heavy boots thundered on the steel grating.
"Get her!" Marcus roared through a fit of coughing. "Don't let her reach the perimeter!"
Helena ran along the slippery catwalk, the wind tearing at her jacket. Below her, the black sea churned against the concrete pillars. A flashlight beam swept across the walkway, catching her in its glare. One of Marcus's men was already cutting off the main access ramp leading to the road.
Her only option was down.
She scrambled down an iron service ladder toward the lower boat slip where old pilot tenders used to moor. The metal rungs were icy with salt spray, biting into her palms. She reached the floating dock just as a hand grabbed the hood of her jacket, yanking her backward onto the wet planks.
She fell hard, the wind knocked out of her lungs. The security guard stood over her, raising a heavy baton.
"Stay down!" he yelled over the sound of the surf.
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Helena didn't hesitate. She swung her rucksack with all her weight, the steel corner of the drive casing striking the man’s knee. He cried out, losing his balance on the slick wood, and plunged sideways into the freezing black water between the dock and the piling.
Helena scrambled to her feet, ignoring the searing pain in her shoulder. She unmoored a small fiberglass maintenance skiff tied to the slip, turned the auxiliary ignition key left in the console, and pulled the starter cord. The outboard motor sputtered, caught with a roar, and propelled the small boat out into the dark harbor just as Marcus reached the edge of the dock, shouting in vain against the roar of the storm.
