Chapter 54 - The Thames Crossing
The black SUV tore through the rain-slicked streets of South London, tires screeching as Daniel took the corners with reckless precision. Above them, storm clouds churned over the city, unleashing a torrential downpour that obscured the streetlights and turned the asphalt into black glass.
Through the encrypted earpiece, Emma could hear the digital pulse of Vance’s decryption attempt ticking down.
"Twenty-eight minutes," Daniel warned, shifting into fifth gear as they blew through an empty intersection near Greenwich. "Once that decryption loop hits ninety percent, Vance’s engineers will realize the key isn't opening the offshore vault—it’s siphoning their private treasury into an untraceable burn-wallet."
"Good," Emma said, checking the magazine of her suppressed tactical pistol. "When a man realizes he’s about to lose billions, he gets sloppy. That’s when he makes mistakes."
Ahead, the cranes of the old Deptford docks loomed out of the industrial fog like skeletal titans. The water of the Thames lapped violently against the concrete embankments, swollen by the rising tide and the gale-force winds whipping inland from the North Sea.
"Thermal imaging shows three vehicles parked at the edge of Berth Seven," Daniel said, tapping the dash screen. "Two armored Land Rovers and a customized tactical transport. Beyond the quay, there's a eighty-foot stealth-hull yacht idling in the water. Twin turbodiesels. That boat can hit forty knots down the estuary before the Coast Guard even registers her wake."
"Can we disable the boat from the shore?" Emma asked.
"Not with small arms," Daniel grimaced. "She’s clad in Kevlar-reinforced composite. But we can take the vehicles before they finish loading the cargo."
Daniel didn't slow down. He slammed the accelerator to the floor, killing the SUV’s headlights as they approached the rusted iron gates of the shipyard. With a deafening crash of tearing metal, their vehicle smashed through the perimeter barrier, hurtling directly into the wet gravel of Berth Seven.
Muzzle flashes instantly lit up the darkness. Vance’s rearguard—four mercenaries in black maritime tactical gear—opened fire. Bullets cracked against the SUV’s reinforced windshield in spiderweb fractures.
"Out, left side!" Daniel roared, throwing his door open and rolling into the shadows behind a stack of rusted shipping containers.
Emma kicked her door open and slid low onto the drenched concrete. She raised her weapon, breathing out steadily. Two rapid shots dropped the nearest gunman near the stern mooring line. But through the spray of saltwater and exhaust fumes, she saw the boarding ramp of the yacht already retracting.
Standing on the upper deck under the floodlights was an older man in an immaculate slate-grey overcoat, his silver hair slicked back against the wind.
Beside him, held tightly by the arm, was Lily.
"Mom!" Lily's scream cut through the roar of the engines and the storm. "MOM!"
"Lily!" Emma screamed, breaking cover and firing at the deck railing.
May you like
Lord Alistair Vance raised a gloved hand in a mocking salute as the twin engines roared to maximum throttle, churning the black river into a froth of white foam as the yacht surged violently into the deep channel.
***
