Chapter 8
The salt docks rose like white, jagged glaciers against the midnight gloom of Lake Michigan. Great mounds of industrial road salt, covered in black tarps that whipped violently in the freezing lake wind, created a maze of blind corners and towering shadows.
Rain lashed against the rusted steel girders of the crane terminal.
Jake moved through the darkness like a ghost, his black tactical vest blending seamlessly with the wet shadows. His left ankle was heavily wrapped, numbed by a field injection of lidocaine he had stolen from the hospital cart, but every step sent a dull, throbbing shockwave up his spine. The carbine hung across his chest, his finger resting lightly along the trigger guard.
Fifty yards ahead, illuminated by the harsh halogen floodlights of a flatbed crane, sat a black armored SUV.
Tied to a rusted mooring bollard beside the open water, drenched in lake spray and shivering violently, was a man. His head was bowed, his clothes ragged, his dark hair streaked with premature gray. A blood-soaked burlap hood lay discarded in the gravel beside his bare, bruised feet.
Jake’s breath caught in his throat. Even through the sheets of rain, the profile was unmistakable.
Ethan Vance.
Standing behind Ethan were three men in sterile black tactical gear, armed with submachine guns, their faces concealed behind balaclavas. Leaning against the hood of the SUV was a tall man in a tailored cashmere overcoat, holding an unlit cigar between gloved fingers.
"You're late, Lieutenant Navarro," the man in the coat called out, his voice amplified through a handheld megaphone. "And you came alone. Disappointing. We explicitly requested the child."
Jake stepped out of the shadow of a salt mound, stopping thirty paces away in the open glare of the floodlights. He lowered his carbine to the gravel, holding his empty hands slightly away from his sides.
"The girl is in federal custody," Jake lied, his voice carrying over the thunder of the lake waves. "Two marshals have her at the Dirksen Building. The only thing you're getting tonight is this."
Jake raised his left hand, opening his fingers to reveal the silver dog tag dangling from its broken chain.
Ethan’s head jerked up at the sound of Jake's voice. His face was a roadmap of scar tissue, his right eye swollen shut, his cracked lips trembling.
"Jake..." Ethan croaked, coughing up a spatter of dark blood. "Jake, you idiot... don't do it! Run!"
One of the masked guards struck Ethan across the back of the neck with the butt of his weapon, driving him face-first into the wet gravel.
"Ethan!" Jake took a half-step forward, his eyes blazing with murderous fury.
"Tsk, tsk, Lieutenant," the man in the overcoat chuckled, tossing his megaphone onto the hood and drawing an ivory-handled automatic pistol. "A hero to the very end. Drop the tag into the barrel in front of you, along with the girl's cipher. Then, perhaps, I'll let your teammate die with a clean bullet rather than drown in twenty feet of freezing water."
"You work for Marcus Vance," Jake said, stalling, his tactical eyes measuring the distance, the wind speed, the angles of the floodlights. "Aegis Vanguard’s board chairman. His own cousin."
The man smiled thinly. "Family is a liability, Lieutenant. As Ethan so painfully demonstrated four years ago. Now give me the cipher."
Jake let out a slow, steady exhale through his teeth. "The cipher is simple. Four bells... three gulls... seven fathoms... nine nails."
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The man in the overcoat frowned, pulling a handheld scanner from his pocket. "What gibberish is that?"
"It’s not gibberish," Jake whispered, his left hand dropping toward the flashbang canister clipped to his belt. "It’s a countdown."
