Chapter 12 - The Storm at Penobscot Bay
By 9:00 PM, the storm that had battered Manhattan had moved north, turning into a howling coastal gale over the rugged cliffs of Penobscot Bay, Maine.
A black Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter, stripped of all markings and operated by Vance Tactical, descended through the driving rain, hovering fifty feet above the rocky shoreline.
I stood at the open cabin door, wearing tactical wet-weather gear, an earpiece humming with federal communications. Beside me, Marcus checked the slide on his sidearm, while four federal tactical agents prepped breaching charges.
Below us, nestled inside a natural granite cove, stood a heavily fortified modernist compound. The perimeter floodlights cut through the darkness, illuminating a private concrete dock where a civilian deep-water submersible was being prepped for launch.
"Perimeter sensors are offline," the pilot announced over the comms. "Vance Cyber just killed their shore power! We have green light for drop!"
The helicopter descended rapidly. We hit the wet granite dock with heavy, splashing impacts, our boots gripping the slick stone.
The compound's private security guards, realizing they had been abandoned by Arthur Sterling's network, threw down their weapons and raised their hands as federal agents swept the dock with blinding tactical lights.
Marcus kicked open the steel reinforced door leading to the submarine staging bay.
Standing by the gangway, clutching a waterproof flight bag packed with diamonds and bearer bonds, was a man in his late sixties. He had thinning gray hair, silver-rimmed spectacles, and the cold, calculating posture of a predatory lawyer.
Dominic Vance.
He froze, staring at the federal weapons trained on his chest, then his eyes drifted toward Marcus, and finally, settled on me.
A slow, sickening smile spread across his wrinkled face.
"Eleanor's daughter," Dominic said, his voice raspy against the roar of the ocean outside. "You have your mother’s arrogance, Emily. Walking straight into the lion's mouth."
"The lion is in a cage, Dominic," I said, walking toward him as federal agents secured his security detail. "Arthur Sterling is in federal holding in Lower Manhattan. Julian Thorne is singing to the grand jury. Patricia is facing twenty-five years. And your submarine isn't going anywhere."
Dominic scoffed, tossing his heavy bag onto the concrete floor with a metallic clatter. "You think Arthur Sterling was the top of the pyramid? You naive little girl. Sterling was an investor. Patricia was a common thief. Julian was an ambitious idiot."
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Marcus stepped forward, leveling his weapon at his uncle's chest. "Shut up, Dominic. On your knees."
"Shoot me, Marcus," Dominic mocked, stepping toward his nephew with cold indifference. "Shoot me, and you'll never know why Richard Bennett had to die."
