Chapter 19 - THE CELL ON THE WATER
Ten miles off the coast of Norfolk, Virginia, a decommissioned industrial barge rose and fell against the gray swells of the Atlantic Ocean. Rain lashed the rusted iron decks, where six private mercenaries patrolled under the cover of tactical tarps.
In the flooded, windowless brig below the waterline, Charles Vance sat chained to an iron pipe, water lapping around his expensive Italian leather shoes. His silk shirt was torn, his jaw bruised and swollen from the interrogations he had endured since midnight.
The heavy steel hatch of the brig creaked open, and a mercenary commander descended the ladder, carrying a syringe filled with clear liquid.
"Time’s up, Vance," the man said coldly. "The senator sent his regards. A massive stroke caused by the stress of your daughter’s treason. Very tragic. The market will react favorably tomorrow morning."
Charles looked up, his breathing shallow, his face gray with exhaustion. But as he looked at the needle, there was no fear in his eyes—only the bitter, jagged defiance of a man who had spent his entire life valuing the wrong things, only to discover the cost when it was too late.
"You think... you think my daughter is going to let you walk away from this?" Charles rasped, coughing up a spatter of blood onto the rusted floor.
The commander laughed, flicking the barrel of the syringe. "Your daughter is surrounded by forty federal agents in Washington, Charles. She’s finished."
"You don't know her," Charles whispered, a strange, terrifying smile spreading across his bloody lips. "I spent twenty-eight years trying to break her spirit. I tried to mold her into a coward like me. I shoved her, I mocked her, I threw her medals on the floor... and all it did was turn her into iron. She isn't in Washington, you idiot."
A deafening explosion ripped through the hull above them.
The entire barge violently listed to the port side, the lights shattering in showers of sparks as water cascaded down the ladder well. The concussive thrum of twin-rotor MH-60 Black Hawk helicopters rattled the iron bulkheads.
"Breach! Deck three is breached!" screaming voices echoed through the commander’s earpiece. "It’s not the Coast Guard! It’s the Ghost! She brought the whole damn brigade!"
The commander turned toward the ladder, raising his rifle, but the hatch was blown inward with an ear-splitting bang.
A figure in black tactical gear dropped through the smoke, moving with supernatural speed. Rebecca tackled the commander into the knee-deep water, disarming him in a single fluid strike, pinning his head against the steel floor with her knee while her sidearm pressed against his temple.
"Move and you drown," Rebecca said, her voice ice.
The commander froze, terrified.
Rebecca stood, releasing him to Samir, who immediately zip-tied his hands. She turned slowly toward the corner of the cell.
Charles sat chained to the pipe, looking up at his daughter through swollen, weeping eyes. He looked small. The billionaire whose name was stamped on high-rise buildings and defense conglomerates was nothing more than an old man drowning in the dark.
Rebecca drew her combat knife and severed the heavy zip-ties binding his wrists to the pipe.
Charles collapsed forward into the cold water, but Rebecca caught him by the shoulders, pulling him upright.
"Rebecca..." Charles sobbed, his voice breaking into a ragged, pathetic wail. His trembling hands reached out, clutching the fabric of her combat vest, his tears washing the grime from her Ghost Commander insignia. "You came... after everything I did to you... after the gala... after the lies..."
"I didn't come for you, Charles," Rebecca said softly, her voice devoid of hatred, but filled with an immovable, tragic sorrow. "I came for the man who tried to take the blame to keep me alive. But don't mistake my presence for forgiveness."
Charles looked into her eyes, seeing the unyielding warrior he had helped create, and nodded slowly, his shoulders shaking with grief. "I know. I don't deserve it. But Rebecca... you need to look at the ledger Cross gave you. Page forty-four. It wasn't just Sterling."
Rebecca frowned, holding him steady as Samir signaled that the extraction helicopter was hovering overhead. "What are you talking about?"
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Charles looked at her with pure terror in his eyes. "Sterling was just the middleman. The person who funded Cerberus... the person who wanted your unit dead... is the same person who had your mother murdered twenty years ago."
***
