Chapter 11 - The evidence leaving without him
Kane had not been trying to save himself.
Not completely.
He had been trying to save the part of the operation that could still outlive him.
The civilian on the freighter’s rear deck was maybe fifty, broad-shouldered, hair clipped short enough to look military even in plain clothes. He held a waterproof courier bag in one hand and, with the other, signaled the freighter’s bridge to increase distance.
Reed saw him too.
“That’s Nolan Grier.”
“Who?”
“Defense subcontractor. One of the names in the wire logs.”
Great.
So the corruption had a face now.
Bad news was, it was sailing away with part of the archive.
Worse news was, boarding the Santa Mercedes from a moving transport in darkening seas would require a diver.
Everyone looked at me at once.
I should tell you I hesitated out of caution.
I didn’t.
My body had already made the choice.
“Get me a line and a harness,” I said.
Bennett grabbed my arm. “You were kicked off one ship today.”
“Which means I’m warmed up.”
Ward’s team hit the deck at that exact moment—dark uniforms, federal patches, helmets, efficient violence held in reserve. Elena Ward came with them, hair slicked back from salt spray, expression calmer than the circumstances deserved.
She looked at Kane only once.
Then at me.
“Don’t even say it.”
“He’s getting away.”
“I know.”
“He has the second archive.”
“I know.”
“I can still make the jump.”
Ward stared at me for a long two seconds, then muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like an internal argument she was losing.
“Five-minute tether,” she said. “If you miss, you cut free and we recover you. If you land, you secure the courier bag first. Do not turn this into a solo war story.”
“Understood.”
Ward shoved a waterproof comm unit into my hand.
“Also,” she added, “try not to die. I’ve already done enough paperwork tonight.”
Fair.
The crew rigged the stern line fast. As the freighter angled away, I climbed the outer ladder, boots slipping on spray, the ocean hammering black beneath us.
Nolan Grier saw me too late.
He had time to curse.
Not enough time to move.
I launched from the transport’s stern frame just as the gap between ships widened.
The jump was ugly, not graceful. My shoulder slammed the freighter’s rail hard enough to numb my arm. Grier swung the courier bag like a club. It clipped my temple, stars burst behind my eyes, and we both went down in a tangle against stacked cargo netting.
I got one hand on the bag.
He got both hands on my throat.
Then Ward’s voice burst through the comm unit:
“Cole, secure the archive now. NCIS cutter intercepting the freighter’s port side.”
Grier heard that too.
His confidence died instantly.
He reached for a knife instead.
I drove my knee up, tore the bag free, and rolled.
The cutter’s spotlight flooded the freighter deck in white fire.
May you like
Men in plain clothes froze where they stood.
And from the transport behind us, five hundred witnesses watched the last secret Kane had tried to send away sail straight into federal custody.
