Chapter 12 - THE TIDEWATER RETRIBUTION
"Now," I breathed.
The SEAL operators moved with terrifying efficiency. The underwater grate was cut through with hydraulic shears in less than forty seconds. We surged out of the drainage pipe into the warehouse floor like ghosts rising from the swamp.
"Federal agents! Lay down your arms!" Kane’s voice roared through the cavernous space.
The response was immediate and violent. Muzzle flashes erupted from behind the stacked shipping containers. Ricochets whined off the corrugated steel walls as Sterling’s private mercenaries scrambled to cover their loading operation.
"Norris, stay behind that forklift!" I ordered, raising my weapon with my left hand and laying down suppressing fire on the crane controls.
A mercenary sprinted toward the crane cab, intending to drop a forty-ton shipping container directly onto our flank. I fired three rounds into the hydraulic line above him; high-pressure fluid sprayed across the engine bay, seizing the gears with an agonizing metallic shriek.
Sterling, realizing the dock was overrun, turned toward the ship’s gangway, clutching a reinforced titanium hard-drive case. He reached the lower deck, turned, and pulled a compact machine pistol from his trench coat, aiming directly at Kane.
"Kane, look out!" Norris screamed.
The young former deputy didn't hesitate. He launched himself across the open dock, his shoulder slamming into Sterling’s chest just as the gun went off. The bullet tore through the fleshy part of Norris's thigh, but the momentum carried both men over the railing, crashing onto the wooden deck of the barge below.
I leaped down after them, landing hard on my boots, the impact sending blinding white light through my fractured clavicle. Sterling was reaching for his fallen pistol. I kicked the weapon into the black water between the hulls, drew my Beretta, and pressed the muzzle hard against the bridge of his aristocratic nose.
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"Game over, Sterling," I said, my voice cold, steady, and dripping with rain. "Your ship isn't leaving this slip."
The sound of sirens filled the night as a dozen Coast Guard patrol cutters rounded the headland, their blue lights painting the Tidewater fog in shades of federal authority.
