Chapter 28 - Midnight on the Hudson
Claire sprinted through the pulverized doorway out onto the salt-sprayed wooden planks of the pier.
The helicopter was hovering just ten feet above the water, a heavy winch cable swinging down toward the deck.
Vance grabbed the cable with one hand, hooking his tactical harness into the carabiner while firing his sidearm back toward the pier.
Bullets chewed through the wooden pilings near Claire’s boots, forcing her to weave and duck behind mooring bitts.
Down in the secondary boat slip beneath the pier, a roar of twin inboard diesel engines shook the harbor.
Abraham Torres burst from the covered slip in a high-speed coastal patrol craft, Marcus leaning over the gunwale with an assault rifle.
"Claire! Jump!" Marcus roared over the deafening scream of the helicopter rotors.
The patrol boat surged past the edge of the pier, matching the forward speed of the ascending aircraft.
Without hesitating for a single microsecond, Claire launched herself off the edge of the pier into empty space.
She landed hard on the reinforced steel deck of the boat, rolling instantly to absorb the brutal impact.
Marcus grabbed the tactical strap of her vest, hauling her upright behind the armored bridge shield.
"Where is Mia?" Claire yelled over the deafening engine roar.
"Below deck, locked in the engine bulkhead with Torres’s second-in-command," Marcus yelled back, handing her a fresh rifle. "She's safe!"
The helicopter began angling its nose toward the Atlantic Ocean, gaining altitude with rapid acceleration.
"They're heading for international waters!" Torres shouted from the helm, pushing the throttles to the maximum limit.
"We can't outrun a turbine engine in a patrol boat!" Marcus shouted, frustration etching deep lines into his face.
"We don't need to outrun it," Claire said, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the heavy deck-mounted winch at the bow of their boat.
"Abraham! Ram the harbor buoy cable!" Claire ordered, pointing toward the massive steel navigational marker anchored fifty yards ahead.
"Claire, that will rip our hull apart!" Torres yelled back.
"Do it! He's dangling on a twenty-foot hoist line!" she shouted.
Torres didn't ask another question; his decades of absolute military discipline kicked in immediately.
He spun the wheel hard to port, sending the patrol boat into a violent drift across the churning wake of the helicopter.
Vance, dangling beneath the aircraft, realized their intention a fraction of a second too late.
The helicopter pilot banked wildly to avoid the heavy steel cable of the harbor marker, swinging Vance like a pendulum over the black water.
Claire mounted the bow, raised her rifle, and aimed directly at the aircraft's exposed hydraulic hoist mechanism.
The boat slammed through the violent chop, spray blinding her eyes, but her hands remained steady as carved stone.
She squeezed the trigger, firing five armor-piercing rounds directly into the winch's mechanical spool.
The steel cable snapped with a sound like a thunderclap.
David Vance fell thirty feet through the freezing night air, hitting the black waters of New York Harbor with a tremendous splash.
The helicopter, suffering hydraulic failure from the damaged winch housing, spun uncontrollably and veered away into the fog toward Long Island.
"Man in the water!" Marcus shouted, sweeping a high-intensity spotlight across the foaming waves.
The brilliant beam cut through the dark water, illuminating a circle of crimson foam fifty yards behind their wake.
A body was floating face down, but as the boat circled back, the water suddenly turned empty.
Only a floating tactical vest and a slick of dark blood remained on the surface.
"Did he go down?" Marcus asked, his weapon trained on the black depths.
Claire stared at the swirling, ink-black water, her instincts screaming that the nightmare was far from over.
May you like
"He's a ghost," Claire whispered, her chest heaving. "Ghosts don't drown."
***
