Chapter 7 - THE RECKONING AT PIER 42
Red Ink on the LedgerThe lighthouse insertion was smooth, almost clinical. Salvatore’s men eliminated the two Russian sentries at the base of the tower before they could even draw their weapons. Faye stayed with the boat, her engine idling in the surge, her eyes scanning the dark horizon.
Ten minutes later, Dante and Salvatore returned. Dante’s face was grimly satisfied.
"The virus is in," Dante said, stepping into the boat. "The port is locking down. Every container belonging to Vostok Logistics is being flagged for federal inspection right now. Morozov is ruined."
"Then we're done?" Faye asked, a wave of relief washing over her.
"Not yet," Dante said, his eyes darkening. "Morozov’s personal yacht is moored at Pier 42. He just realized what happened. He’s trying to flee before the feds arrive. I have a debt to collect before he leaves American waters."
They surged toward Pier 42. The port was a chaotic maze of towering gantry cranes and stacks of multi-colored shipping containers. The alarms were blaring across the complex—a high-pitched, mechanical wail that signaled a security breach.
As the RHIB pulled alongside the massive steel hull of Morozov’s luxury yacht, the Czarina, the world erupted into gunfire once again.
The Russians were ready this time. Men in heavy coats opened fire from the upper decks of the yacht, their muzzle flashes illuminating the rain like lethal fireflies. Salvatore’s team returned fire, the heavy thud of their rifles chewing into the white fiberglass of the vessel.
"Stay with the boat, Faye!" Dante ordered, drawing his weapon as he prepared to board.
"No," Faye said, killing the engine and grabbing her Winchester from the rack. "He burned my house, Moretti. I’m not sitting in the driveway this time."
Dante looked at her for a split second. A dark, terrifying laugh escaped his lips. "Then welcome to the family, Faye."
They boarded the yacht together, a storm of iron and lead moving through the luxurious teak decks. The interior was a nightmare of shattered crystal, white leather stained red, and the endless, deafening roar of close-quarters combat.
Faye moved with a calm she didn't know she possessed. When a Russian stepped from a stateroom door with a pistol raised, she didn't hesitate. She fired the Winchester from the hip. The heavy slug caught him in the chest, throwing him back into the room. The recoil bit into her shoulder, a familiar, grounding pain.
They reached the bridge.
Anatoly Morozov was there. He was a small, rat-like man with a face full of expensive plastic surgery and eyes that were wide with terror. He was frantically trying to start the yacht’s engines, his hands covered in sweat.
When the door blew open, he spun around, reaching for a gold-plated revolver on the console.
Dante didn't fire. He stepped forward, his massive hand clamping around Morozov’s wrist with enough force to crack the bone. The revolver dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.
"Dante," Morozov gasped, his voice cracking with panic. "Please. It was business. Only business. Moscow ordered it—"
"Moscow doesn't own this coast, Anatoly," Dante said softly, his voice colder than the Pacific water that had nearly killed him. "I do."
Dante didn't use the gun. He turned his head slightly, looking at Faye.
"Miss Callahan," Dante said, stepping back, leaving the trembling Russian pinned against the console. "Your house was valued at three hundred thousand dollars. This yacht is worth six million. I believe the ledger requires balancing."
Faye walked up to Morozov. The man looked at her, his eyes pleading for mercy from a woman he had never seen before, a woman whose life he had destroyed without a second thought.
She didn't say a word. She raised the Winchester, pointed it at the yacht’s main control console, and pulled the trigger.
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The electronics exploded in a brilliant shower of sparks and blue smoke. The navigation screens went dark. The engines died before they could even turn over. The yacht was dead in the water, trapped at the pier as the distant blue lights of federal law enforcement vehicles began to reflect off the low clouds.
Faye turned to Dante. "Now we're square."
