Chapter 49 - The Sinking Safehouse
The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt propellant and pulverized granite as the unmarked helicopter hovered menacingly overhead, its downdraft whipping the surface of the lake into a frenzy of whitecaps.
I scrambled up the steep, rocky embankment, my fingers scraping against the cold earth until I reached the shelter of a dense grove of pine trees where Marcus had already taken cover behind the engine block of one of the disabled NCIS trucks.
"You okay?" Marcus asked, his eyes scanning the shoreline as he slapped a fresh magazine into his carbine with a sharp, practiced click.
"I'm fine," I panted, wiping freezing water and mud from my face. "Where's Chloe?"
"She's still locked in the aft ballast tube of our sub," Marcus shouted over the roar of the rotors. "When the shooting started, I managed to secure the hatch override from the outside. She's safe from the crossfire, but the sub is taking on more water through the breached forward bulkhead. If we don't get her out in the next ten minutes, the whole hull is going to slip beneath the ledge."
Down in the cove, the tactical situation was deteriorating into total chaos. The NCIS agents, realizing they were being targeted by an unauthorized third party, had turned their heavy weaponry toward the black helicopter, filling the night sky with tracers. But the chopper’s countermeasure flares popped in rapid succession, blinding their thermal scopes in brilliant bursts of blinding light.
Out on the dark water, the disabled Zodiac carrying Charles Hayes was spinning helplessly in the churning swells. One of the operatives was frantically trying to rig an emergency hand-paddle while Charles gripped the gunwale, his immaculate cashmere sweater soaked through, his silver hair plastered across his forehead.
"We need to get to them," I said, eyeing the remaining tactical raft tied to the back of one of the NCIS trucks.
"If we take that raft, we're putting ourselves directly in the line of fire from both the helicopter and the federal agents," Marcus said, though there was no hesitation in his eyes—only the grim resignation of soldiers who knew their mission had long since passed the point of no return.
"Charles has the primary encryption ledger," I said, locking the bolt of my MPX. "If he gets picked up by that chopper, the data leaves U.S. airspace permanently. Every naval deployment coordinate from here to the Taiwan Strait becomes open-source intelligence for the highest bidder."
Marcus nodded slowly, a grim smile touching his lips. "Then let's go crash a family reunion."
We didn't wait for permission. We vaulted into the NCIS Zodiac, cut the mooring line with a single swipe of a combat knife, and shoved off into the raging black water of the cove, leaving the shouting federal agents far behind us on the burning shore.
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The raft hit the swells with a violent jolt, the outboard motor roaring to life as Marcus slammed the throttle forward, cutting a straight, aggressive wake directly toward the drifting rubber boat where our father sat trapped between the forces he had unleashed and the sons he had betrayed.
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