Chapter 14 - International Waters
The North Atlantic ocean was a churning mass of black water and white-capped waves. Cutting through the swells with ruthless efficiency was the Phantom Star—a three-hundred-foot mega-yacht flying under a neutral flag, anchored twenty miles off the coast of Maine in international waters.
Inside the yacht’s subterranean VIP lounge, mahogany panels gleamed beneath recessed warm lighting. Six men sat around a circular velvet table, smoking expensive Cuban cigars and pouring glasses of forty-year-old scotch.
At the head of the table sat Arthur Pendelton’s older brother, Richard Pendelton—the newly appointed chairman of the International Banking Consortium.
"The Thorne boy is distracted," Richard chuckled, swirling his glass. "With Isabella locked away and Elena out of the picture, he thinks he’s won. He’s currently consolidating his assets, completely unaware that his primary credit lines are being bled dry by our European affiliates."
Before anyone could raise a glass in toast, the overhead emergency lights of the yacht flickered violently.
The soft jazz music playing over the integrated speakers cut out with a sharp static screech.
Then came the deafening sound of twin heavy-lift helicopter rotor blades beating against the ocean wind directly above the vessel’s upper deck.
Richard’s glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the Persian rug. "What the hell is that?"
May you like
The heavy steel doors of the VIP lounge were blown inward with a deafening flash-bang explosion. Smoke billowed across the room, followed immediately by half a dozen heavily armored tactical operators wearing night-vision goggles and Thorne-Vance insignia.
And walking right behind them, cutting through the smoke like ghosts of vengeance, were Marcus and Khloe Thorne.
