Chapter 5 - Storm on the High Seas
By 0200 hours, a fierce Atlantic storm had slammed into the cruise liner. The massive vessel rolled against towering swells, rain hammering violently against the glass panorama of Deck 14. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the dark ocean below in brief, terrifying bursts.
Marcus and I moved like shadows through the service ducts above the Executive Lounge.
Below us, through the ventilation grates, Arthur Hartman sat in a plush leather armchair. He was in his late sixties, with silver hair, a tailored suit, and eyes as cold as arctic ice. Surrounding him were six heavily armed contractors carrying submachine guns.
Beside Arthur stood a bloody, battered Gregory, who had somehow been freed by secondary security teams.
"She's a lunatic, Dad!" Gregory was shouting, holding an ice pack to his shattered nose. "She broke my face! She took out two of our security guys! We need to throw her overboard!"
Arthur didn't even look at his son. He calmly took a sip of his scotch. "You failed, Gregory. You were given a simple task—intimidate a civilian woman, secure her signatures, and present a united corporate front. Instead, you underestimated a soldier and let yourself be beaten like a stray dog."
"Father—"
"Silence," Arthur snapped. "We will hunt her down, retrieve the documents, and ensure she goes over the railing before sunrise. The storm will cover the evidence."
Up in the air duct, I caught Marcus's eye. He held up three fingers, then two, then one.
Go.
We kicked through the steel grates simultaneously, dropping into the lounge like thunderbolts.
Marcus landed near the bar, drawing his sidearm and taking out two mercenaries before they could even raise their weapons. The sound of gunfire exploded inside the room, drowned out only by the roaring storm outside.
I dropped directly onto the shoulders of a third mercenary, using my body weight to slam his head into the marble floor. Before the fourth guard could turn his submachine gun toward me, I closed the distance, grabbed the barrel of his weapon, and shoved it upward. A burst of bullets tore into the ceiling.
I slammed a spinning back-kick into his sternum, sending him crashing through a glass coffee table.
"Gregory! Get behind me!" Arthur roared, reaching into his coat for a revolver.
Marcus engaged the remaining armed guard in a brutal firefight near the entrance, leaving me a clear lane toward the Hartmans.
Gregory, seeing me approach through the smoke and flashing emergency lights, lost his nerve completely. He grabbed a heavy bronze statue from a side table and swung it wildly at my head.
I ducked beneath the arc, seized his extended wrist, and executed a shoulder throw. Gregory flew over my back, crashing heavily onto the hardwood floor right at his father's feet.
Arthur leveled his revolver directly at my chest. His finger tightened on the trigger.
"End of the line, girl," Arthur sneered.
A sudden, violent swell rocked the ship. The floor tilted sharply at a twenty-degree angle.
Arthur lost his footing for a fraction of a second. That fraction was all I needed.
I lunged forward, sliding across the slick floor, and drove my boot straight into Arthur's knee. Cartilage tore. He screamed, dropping the revolver. I leaped up, caught his throat in a double-lapel grip, and drove the patriarch of the Hartman family back against the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the stormy sea.
Lightning struck nearby, illuminating us in brilliant white light.
Arthur stared into my eyes, gasping for air, finding no mercy, no fear, and no submission.
"My... my family... controls... everything..." he choked out.
"Not tonight," I whispered.
I delivered a precise, short-range palm strike to his chin, knocking him unconscious instantly. He collapsed onto the floor beside his groaning, defeated son.
May you like
Behind me, the last mercenary dropped his weapon as Marcus pressed a firearm against his temple.
The Executive Lounge fell silent, save for the howling wind of the storm outside.
