Chapter 69
The drive from Chicago to the rocky, isolated coastline of Maine was a marathon of tactical planning. Cole, Sarah, and Donovan pushed the stolen transport truck to its absolute limits, fueled by adrenaline and the grim necessity of ending the Leviathan threat permanently.
They arrived at a desolate, wind-swept cliff overlooking the freezing, churning waters of the North Atlantic.
"Thermal imaging shows a massive fleet holding position in international waters, ten miles offshore," Sarah reported, huddled in the back of the truck with her ruggedized laptop. "Three heavily modified, decommissioned Soviet submarines and a central command destroyer. They are running dark."
"A mobile fortress," Donovan grunted, checking the heavy machine gun she had mounted on a tripod near the cliff edge. "Boss, we can't take out a naval fleet with small arms. We need heavy ordnance."
"We don't need ordnance," Cole stated calmly, standing at the edge of the cliff, looking out into the darkness. "We need to weaponize their own technology."
He turned to his sister. "Sarah, can you establish a localized handshake with their primary communication array?"
"They use an archaic, analog sonar transmission protocol to communicate between the subs and the destroyer," Sarah explained, her fingers flying across her keyboard. "It’s designed to be unhackable from the outside. But... if I can spoof the command authorization code from one of their own subs, I can send a localized feedback loop into their navigation systems."
"What does a feedback loop do?" Donovan asked.
"It blinds them," Cole smiled—a dark, terrifying expression. "It forces their automated collision-avoidance systems to register false positives. The submarines will think they are crashing into each other."
"And they will automatically surface to avoid the collision," Sarah finished, realizing the brilliant, chaotic logic of the plan. "But Cole, how do we spoof the command code? We don't have one of their subs."
Cole reached into his tactical vest and pulled out a heavy, encrypted radio he had stripped from the Leviathan operative in Seattle.
"We don't need a sub," Cole said softly, handing the radio to Sarah. "We just need their frequency."
Sarah wired the stolen radio directly into her laptop, creating a makeshift, analog transmission relay. She worked frantically, the cold wind whipping her hair around her face.
"I'm in the network," Sarah announced, her voice tight with focus. "Initiating the feedback loop now."
Deep beneath the freezing waters of the Atlantic, the three massive Leviathan submarines suddenly shrieked with internal collision alarms. The automated systems, overwhelmed by the false data flooding their navigation arrays, executed an emergency, un-commanded blow of the ballast tanks.
The ocean surface violently erupted.
The three massive, black submarines breached the surface simultaneously, crashing through the waves and listing heavily in the turbulent water, completely exposing themselves to the central command destroyer.
"They surfaced!" Donovan cheered, watching through her thermal optics.
"Now," Cole commanded softly, "we introduce a little chaos."
He pulled a specialized, high-yield laser designator from his vest. He didn't aim it at the submarines; he aimed it directly at the bridge of the central command destroyer.
"Vincent," Cole whispered into his encrypted comms. "The targets are painted."
Thousands of miles away, sitting in the subterranean war room of the Moretti estate, Vincent Castalano smiled.
"Execute," Vincent ordered softly.
He didn't use a mafia hit squad. He utilized a massive, decentralized botnet he had purchased with his legitimate wealth months ago, specifically designed to spoof localized air-traffic control signals.
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He transmitted a massive, coordinated distress signal directly to the Coast Guard and the U.S. Navy base in Norfolk, painting the exact coordinates of the surfaced, unregistered Soviet submarines as a hostile, imminent threat to American sovereignty.
The response was instantaneous and overwhelming.
