Chapter 15 - The Bridge of Shadows
We moved across the container stacks like shadows through water. The heavy rain masked the sound of our vibram-soled boots against the steel surfaces.
"Two hostiles, catwalk, lower deck," Miller whispered over the closed circuit.
"Take them," I commanded quietly.
Two muffled *phut-phut* sounds whispered through the gale. The two armed sentries collapsed instantly onto the grating, dragged out of sight by our sweep team before their weapons could clatter against the metal. We descended the exterior ladder toward the bridge.
I breached the watertight door using a low-velocity thermal torch that sliced through the locking dog in less than three seconds. We flooded the wheelhouse with suppressed fire.
"Bridge secure!" Miller called out over the zip-tied crew members who had dropped to their knees, hands trembling above their heads.
The bridge was empty of high-level commanders; it was staffed merely by hired mercenaries. But illuminated on the navigation chart in the center of the room was a direct data-relay running down into the vessel’s lower machine shop—a compartment located deep below the waterline.
"Director, look at this," Vance said, shining a red tactical light onto a manifest board.
The paperwork bore the distinct blue corporate logo of *Carter Logistics Solutions*—Jake's boutique firm. And stamped across the bottom of the routing clearance was my father's signature as a secondary financial guarantor.
He hadn't just indulged Jake. He had co-signed the shipping line’s sovereign indemnity bond to help his golden boy bypass state audits. Richard Carter had tied his entire life's reputation and wealth to a covert pipeline supplying hostile actors with deep-sea warfare hardware.
"They brought the rot with them across the world," I muttered, my voice colder than the ocean around us. "Miller, stack on the engine room. If they resist, authorize lethal force."
We descended into the bowels of the ship, the air growing thick with the sulfurous stink of heavy bunker fuel and diesel exhaust. The hum of the ship's massive crankshaft shook our teeth. As we reached the lowest bulkhead, the steel door was reinforced with an electronic keypad and a heavy manual wheel-lock.
"Breaching charge," I ordered.
A linear shaped charge was pressed against the frame. "Fire in the hole!"
May you like
*BANG.*
The heavy steel door blew inward with a violent shockwave. We surged through the smoke, weapons raised, laser sights painting targets through the haze.
