Chapter 47 - The Fire on the Water
The boathouse erupted into chaos in a fraction of a second.
The guard beside Sarah didn't surrender; he raised his carbine toward the kids.
*Crack!*
A high-caliber sniper round tore through the boathouse window from across the water, shattering the wooden frame and dropping the guard instantly to the concrete floor before he could squeeze the trigger.
"Down!" Dad roared, lunging sideways and tackling me to the damp floor as the second mercenary opened fire blindly toward the river. Suppressed rounds chewed into the wooden pillars, spraying splinters and drywall across our backs.
*Crack! Crack!*
Two more precision rounds whistled through the fog. The second guard collapsed back against the rusted boat winch, his weapon clattering across the concrete floor into the water slip with a heavy splash.
Hendrik Van Der Bilt didn't reach for a gun. With the terrifying composure of a true sociopath, he grabbed Charles Sterling’s cipher notebook from the table, whipped a compact subcompact pistol from his ankle holster, and sprinted toward the back boat slip where a high-powered zodiac raft was tied to the dock.
"He's getting away!" I yelled, scrambling to my feet.
"Get Sarah and the kids!" Dad shouted, already sprinting across the slippery concrete toward the dock. "Rachel, cut them loose!"
I didn't argue. I pulled Miller’s utility knife from my pocket and ran toward my sister. Sarah was shaking uncontrollably, her arms wrapped tightly around her weeping boys. With two quick slices, I severed the heavy plastic zip-ties binding her wrists and ankles.
Sarah ripped the duct tape from her mouth, coughing and sobbing as she pulled her children against her chest. "Rachel! Oh god, Rachel, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Kevin stole it, Kevin didn't know—"
"Shut up and run!" I commanded, hauling her to her feet by her jacket collar. "Take the boys and run out the front door! Federal agents are waiting by the sedan! Run, Sarah!"
She didn't look back. She grabbed both boys by their hands and fled toward the daylight streaming through the front doors, her tears washing through the grime on her face.
I spun around and sprinted down the wooden pier toward the water slip.
The engine of the zodiac raft roared to life with a deafening, twin-stroke whine. Hendrik Van Der Bilt had cast off the rear line and was throttling the boat into the dark, churning current of the reservoir, aiming straight for the heavy concrete pylons of the Fishinger Road bridge half a mile downstream.
Dad stood at the edge of the pier, holding his arm. A bullet graze had torn through his coat sleeve, leaving a line of dark blood soaking his wool jacket.
"Arthur!" Miller shouted, his federal assault boat screaming toward the boathouse slip, sending a wall of white spray into the air. "Get back from the edge!"
"He has the cipher book, Miller!" Dad yelled back, pointing toward the speeding zodiac disappearing into the fog. "If he reaches the bridge, his extraction team will pick him up on the municipal road!"
May you like
"He's not reaching the bridge," Miller replied through his teeth.
Miller brought his tactical boat alongside the pier, extending a hand to pull Dad and me aboard. The twin high-output outboards screamed as Miller slammed both throttles forward, hurling our hull across the gray, freezing water in hot pursuit.
