The Red Hook Breach
The interceptor boat didn't dock. It slammed against the rotted pilings of the pier with the violence of a predator.
"They're here," Julie whispered, her eyes fixed on the shadows moving toward the office.
Ethan didn't look up from the laptop. His fingers flew across the keys, a beads of sweat trailing down his temple. "The upload is at forty-two percent. Julie, I need eighteen minutes. If I disconnect now, the packet fragments and the encryption lock triggers. We'll lose everything."
Julie looked at the heavy glass paperweight Ethan had been holding, then at the duffel bag Andrew had given her. She reached inside and pulled out the second matte-black handgun. It felt heavy, cold, and entirely wrong in her hand.
"I've never fired one of these," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart.
"Focus on the front sight," a voice crackled through the room.
Both Julie and Ethan jumped. The sound didn't come from the door—it came from a small, battered radio unit on the shelf behind them. A red light was pulsing.
"Andrew?" Julie lunged for the radio.
"Don't talk," the voice came through again, raspy and strained, punctuated by the wet sound of labored breathing. "Listen. There are four of them. They're using night vision. They'll breach the north windows first to flush you toward the door. Ethan, there is a flare gun in the bottom drawer of the desk. Fire it at the floorboards near the entrance. The wood is soaked in creosote. It will create a thermal wall. It'll blind their optics."
"Andrew, where are you?" Julie cried, her eyes stinging.
"I'm in the veins, Julie. Hold the line."
The line went dead.
A second later, the north window exploded.
Julie dived behind a heavy oak filing cabinet just as a burst of suppressed gunfire shredded the air where she had been standing. Ethan scrambled for the desk drawer, his hands fumbling. He pulled out the orange plastic flare gun and fired.
The flare hit the floor with a brilliant, magnesium-white hiss. The old, oil-soaked wood ignited instantly, a wall of orange flame roaring up between them and the attackers.
Shouts of frustration erupted from the shadows outside.
"Sixty percent!" Ethan yelled over the roar of the fire.
Julie leaned out from behind the cabinet, the weight of the gun pulling at her wrists. She didn't think about the law. She didn't think about the billionaire. She thought about her father's brake lines.
She squeezed the trigger.