Chapter 37 - The Confrontation at the Dock
The drive from the clinic to the Friday Harbor public marina took nine minutes, though it felt like a lifetime.
My knuckles were white against the steering wheel of my Land Cruiser as I tore down the winding coastal road, the headlights cutting through the dense autumn fog.
The Sophia. Adrian’s boat. The boat he had bought to take the children fishing.
Could it be a trap? Had a splinter faction of the old syndicate managed to track us here, using a planted signal to frame Adrian or lure us into the open? Or worse—had someone from Vance’s old network survived the DOJ sweep and come looking for revenge?
When I pulled up to the gravel parking lot of the marina, the damp air was thick with the smell of diesel, salt, and rotting kelp. A single federal sedan with dark windows was parked near the end of the public wooden pier.
I cut the engine, threw open my door, and sprinted down the wooden dock, my boots clattering rhythmically against the damp planks.
Moored at Slip 14 sat The Sophia.
Standing on the wooden deck of the boat, illuminated by the amber glow of a dockside lamp, were two figures.
One was a tall man in a dark federal windbreaker—Agent Miller.
The other was Adrian.
Adrian wasn't tied up. He wasn't holding a weapon. He was leaning casually against the wooden gunwale of the boat, holding a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, looking down at an open metal toolbox resting on the stern bench.
“Adrian!” I shouted, rushing down the ramp of Slip 14.
Adrian looked up, his gray-green eyes widening slightly in surprise as he saw me sprinting toward him. He immediately set his coffee down and stepped off the boat onto the dock, intercepting me halfway.
“Sophia? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be off shift at seven,” Adrian said, his brow furrowing with concern as he grabbed my shoulders.
“I got the call,” I panted, my chest heaving, looking past him toward the federal agent on the boat. “The DOJ. They said a dormant proxy node pinged from this boat. A Zurich account. Adrian, tell me you didn't—”
“Doctor Moretti,” Agent Miller interrupted, stepping off the boat onto the dock, holding up a small, weathered circuit board that looked like it had been pulled from an old marine radio. “Relax. Your husband didn't hack into the Swiss banking system.”
I stared from the agent to Adrian. “Then what is that?”
Adrian let out a heavy, tired sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. “It’s an old marine VHF radio transceiver, Soph. I pulled it out of the boat’s console last week because the static was driving me crazy. I was trying to rewire the internal capacitors.”
Agent Miller held up the circuit board, pointing a gloved finger at a tiny, green microchip soldered onto the back. “This isn't just a standard marine radio transceiver, Mrs. Moretti. This is a military-grade secure burst-transmitter. It was manufactured by the exact same defense contractor in Munich that built the ultrasonic trauma device in your nursery six months ago.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“Someone planted it in the boat,” I whispered.
“Not someone,” Adrian said, his voice dropping into a cold, lethal register. “Marcus Vance’s personal tech attaché—a man named Viktor Vance, his nephew—managed to slip through the dragnet before the Munich contractor was seized. He’s been hiding in Vancouver across the Canadian border.”
Agent Miller nodded. “He’s been trying to ping the dormant Zurich vault using local maritime frequencies, hoping to trigger a backup transfer before our sweep completes its final audit. He didn't know Moretti owned this boat. He was just broadcasting blind across the Salish Sea.”
“And you tracked the ping right to our dock,” Adrian said, looking at the federal agent.
May you like
“We did,” Miller replied. “And I’m afraid Viktor Vance is currently sitting in a Canadian holding cell courtesy of the RCMP, after our team flagged his broadcast ten minutes ago.”
Agent Miller slipped the circuit board into an evidence bag, tipped his head politely to us both, and turned back toward his sedan. “Have a good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Moretti. Enjoy the island.”
