Chapter 34 - The Flight from Rhode Island
The roar of the Atlantic surf drowned out the sirens wailing across Newport.
We burst from the sea-cave entrance into the freezing spray of the Atlantic. Fifty yards offshore, bobbing violently in the heavy swell, the black hydrofoil sat idling, its low-radar silhouette almost invisible against the black cliffs.
"Captain!" Marcus bellowed into his throat-mic as we plunged into the waist-deep surf. "Engine spool up! Emergency extraction! We have incoming air support!"
The twin water-jets of the hydrofoil roared to life, churning the black water into frothing foam. Two deckhands hauled Marcus and me over the carbon-fiber gunwale just as two tactical searchlights sliced through the ocean fog from the clifftops above.
*Crack-crack-crack.*
High-velocity sniper rounds punched through the composite hull, whistling past my ear like angry hornets.
"Full throttle! Go, go, go!" Marcus ordered, throwing me to the deck of the bridge as the pilot slammed the throttles forward.
The hydrofoil leapt out of the water, its hydrofoils cutting through the five-foot swells at fifty knots, throwing a rooster-tail of freezing spray behind us as we vanished into the protective embrace of the coastal fog.
Inside the enclosed bridge, I ignored the saltwater dripping from my coat. I scrambled to the satellite comms terminal, tearing my watch from my wrist and plugging it directly into the console.
"Arthur’s telemetry! Get me the override line to Bürgenstock!" I screamed at the communications officer. "Route it through the Swiss medical emergency channel—Priority Alpha-One!"
"Signal is degraded by the jamming grid over Rhode Island, Ma'am!" the technician replied frantically, fingers dancing over the keys. "Packet loss is at eighty percent!"
"Bypass the US satellite relay!" Marcus ordered, leaning over the console, bleeding from a shrapnel cut on his cheek. "Bounce the handshake off the transatlantic fiber-optic cable in Halifax! Clara, give him the root encryption phrase!"
My mind flashed through the Sovereign Protocol codes my father had whispered on his deathbed.
"*In cinere veritas*," I choked out. "Authorization code: Vance-Nine-Zero-Eight-Zurich. Override command: CODE RED MERCY."
The terminal screen blinked furiously.
`ATTEMPTING UPLINK...`
`HANDSHAKE ACCEPTED: HALIFAX NODE 4.`
`ROUTING TO BÜRGENSTOCK SANATORIUM MEDICAL WING...`
`OVERRIDE CODE INJECTED.`
On the main display, Arthur’s vital graph froze at thirty-one beats per minute.
For three agonizing, unbearable seconds, the line flattened. A solid, piercing tone filled the small cabin of the hydrofoil.
"No... no, no, no," I gasped, my knees giving out, pressing my forehead against the edge of the terminal. "Arthur, don't you dare. Don't you dare leave me alone in this."
*Beep.*
The tone broke.
*Beep... Beep... Beep...*
The line spiked back to forty-five. Then fifty-two. Then settled at a steady, rhythmic sixty-eight beats per minute.
`STATUS: VITALS STABILIZED. AUTOMATIC SYRINGE LOCKED OUT BY SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR.`
A breathless sob escaped my lips, half-laughter, half-agony. I collapsed back against the bulkhead, sliding down to the non-skid floor, burying my face in my hands. He was alive. The digital killswitch had severed the local syringe driver before the potassium chloride could flood his veins.
Marcus let out a long, ragged exhale, sinking into the pilot’s companion chair. "He made it. But we just lost our base in the Alps. Aegis-Rhode knows the override came from an external node. They’ll pull him out of Bürgenstock within the hour."
"Not if we move him first," I said, wiping the saltwater and blood from my face, standing back up on unsteady legs. The vulnerability vanished from my voice, replaced once more by the unyielding resolve that had brought down the de Saint-Germain dynasty. "Call Dr. Steiner on the emergency terrestrial line. Tell him to initiate Protocol Lazarus. Arthur goes into the high-altitude mobile chamber and gets loaded onto the Swiss Federal Air transport I chartered in Geneva."
"Where do we take him?" Marcus asked. "Newport is compromised. Zurich is being watched. Where is safe?"
I looked down at the iron key in my hand.
The explosion at Beechwood Manor had scarred the metal, scorching the ornate Vance crest, but the microscopic data-track etched into its spine was fully intact.
May you like
"Nowhere on land," I answered. "We head to New York. If the Board sits in the financial towers of Manhattan, then that’s where we strike. We don't hide anymore, Marcus. We take the war to their front door."
***
