Chapter 33 - Ghosts of the Blackwatch
On the rain-swept deck above, Silas stood behind the reinforced gunwale, methodically placing shots into the oncoming skiffs. Each trigger pull was a cold, calculated calculation. The lead driver of the port skiff slumped over the wheel, sending the fast boat spinning out of control into the churned foam of their sister ship's wake.
Yet behind them, grappling hooks fired from pneumatic launchers slammed into the chrome railings of *The Sovereign Queen*.
Six heavily armored boarding operatives in carbon-fiber suits leaped onto the aft deck, moving with a fluid, terrifying precision that sent a jolt of recognition down Silas's spine. They weren't street muscle. They weren't even Sterling's private security goons.
They moved in the interlocking diamond formation of the 1st Special Operations Detachment—the Blackwatch. Silas’s former command.
"Cease fire, Major!" a commanding voice boomed over the wind from the center operative.
The man stepped forward, flipping up his ballistic visor to reveal a scarred, weathered face with cold grey eyes. A thin, sneering smile stretched across his mouth.
"Gabriel," Silas whispered, his finger holding steady on the reset of his trigger.
Colonel Gabriel Ward. Silas's former second-in-command during the clandestine operations in the Hindu Kush—the man who had supposedly died in an extraction helicopter crash seven years ago.
"You always were hard to kill, Silas," Ward said, keeping his weapon lowered in a relaxed, confident stance. "When the Pentagon wrote you off as a rogue operative running docks in New York, I told our employers they were underestimating you. But this crusade? Sacrificing your life for a waitress and a Thorne heiress? It’s sentimental garbage. You’ve gone soft."
"And you sold your soul to billionaires who treat human blood as currency," Silas fired back, his stance unyielding as the remaining five operatives trained red laser sights on his chest.
"Currency rules the earth, Silas. The Blackthorne Consortium owns the politicians who sign your discharge papers, the banks that hold the mortgages on Berth Nine, and the genetic patents of the child sleeping downstairs," Ward said, taking a slow step forward. "Stand down. Lord Thorne doesn't want you dead. In fact, he admires your tenacity. Surrender the girl, take the woman, and you will walk away with fifty million in bearer bonds and a clean slate. Cross this line, and we drop this vessel to the bottom of the Hudson."
Silas looked at the laser dots dancing across his heart. Then, he looked Gabriel dead in the eye and smiled a cold, blood-chilling grin.
"You forgot rule number one of the Blackwatch, Gabriel."
Ward’s brow furrowed slightly. "What rule?"
"Never corner an apex predator on his own territory."
May you like
Silas didn't raise his rifle. Instead, his left hand pressed the wireless detonator concealed in his combat glove.
***
