Chapter 27 - The Trial of the Shoals
The sea cave was damp, freezing, and deafeningly loud with the roar of surging subterranean tides. Floating in the dark basin was the *Sterling Wave*, an armored, low-profile vessel built like a tank, its steel hull designed to crush through early winter pack ice without flinching.
Hayes jumped aboard, instantly bringing the massive twin Caterpillar engines roaring to life. The vibration shook the cave walls, drowning out the gunfire still echoing from the cliffs above.
"Untie the bowline!" Hayes yelled over the engine rumble.
I threw off the thick hemp hawser, vaulting onto the deck as the boat lurched forward, shooting out of the narrow rock fissure directly into the teeth of a raging Superior gale.
The storm had fully broken. Ten-foot swells crashed over the reinforced bow, sending walls of freezing spray cascading across the reinforced windshield. Through the driving snow, I looked back and saw the lighthouse tower engulfed in smoke, Alistair's lever-action rifle still flashing defiantly from the high parapet against Croft’s men.
Suddenly, a massive spotlight flared to our starboard side. Croft’s heavy offshore interceptor—a sleek, multi-million-dollar pursuit yacht—was cutting through the waves, matching our speed.
*"They're flanking us!"* Hayes shouted, spinning the helm hard as a heavy round slammed into our armored pilot house, leaving a white spiderweb crack in the bulletproof glass. *"They're trying to push us onto the Outer Shoals!"*
"Let them try!" I yelled, pulling Grandfather’s 1890 charts into the light of the navigation console. "Hayes, head straight for the Devil's Teeth!"
"The Teeth? Lenora, that's a suicide run! It's an underwater granite maze!"
"Not if you have the true depth chart!" I spread the parchment flat, tracing the invisible trench my grandfather had surveyed by hand. "Croft's boat draws twelve feet of water. The *Sterling Wave* only draws seven! If we run the narrow spine between the two outer rocks, they won't be able to follow without ripping their hull open!"
Hayes locked eyes with me. There was no hesitation, no doubt—only complete, unconditional trust.
"Give me the bearings," he said calmly, his hands rock-steady on the wheel.
"Bearing zero-four-five!" I commanded. "Hold the line through the breakers! Don't steer away from the foam!"
The *Sterling Wave* leaped forward, diving headlong into the maelstrom of crashing white water between two terrifying black monoliths of rock. Behind us, Croft’s interceptor surged forward, arrogant in its superior speed and horsepower, attempting to cut across our stern.
"Now, Hayes! Hard to port!" I screamed.
Hayes threw the wheel with all his strength. The steel boat leaned sickeningly, its hull groaning under the strain, slicing through the narrow gap with mere inches of clearance.
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A split second later, a sound like a freight train crashing into a steel bridge echoed across the water. Croft’s sleek interceptor, blind to the submerged granite reef, struck the Devil's Teeth at thirty knots. The entire hull buckled, lifting out of the water in a catastrophic shower of fiberglass, metal, and shattered glass before capsizing into the freezing, boiling foam.
***
