Chapter 8 - THE RIVER PHANTOM
Adrian’s hand dropped from her cheek in an instant.
The tenderness in his eyes vanished, replaced by the lethal, calculating instinct of a cornered predator.
He blew out the flame of the kerosene lamp with a sharp breath.
Total darkness swallowed the room.
The rain beat against the corrugated roof, but underneath it, the steady chug-chug-chug of an idling boat engine was unmistakable.
Adrian rose from the sofa without making a sound.
He moved to the cracked window overlooking the private canal slip.
Emma followed him, crouching low beneath the sill.
Through the mist, fifty yards down the canal, a matte-black tactical patrol boat was gliding through the dark water.
Its running lights were turned off.
Only a thin, infrared scanning beam swept back and forth across the rotting piers.
On the bow of the vessel stood Julian.
Adrian’s former right-hand man wore a tactical windbreaker, holding a thermal tracking scanner.
"They traced the cellular ping from the Charger's stolen transponder," Adrian whispered into Emma's ear.
"How many men?" she asked.
"Six on the boat. Two on the bank."
Adrian checked the footlocker beneath the floorboards.
He reached deep into the false bottom.
He pulled out an old, oil-wrapped canvas roll.
He unrolled it across the workbench.
Inside was a vintage Colt 1911 pistol, four loaded magazines, and three Soviet-era stick grenades packed in cosmoline.
"Your grandfather kept interesting supplies," Emma noted dryly.
"My grandfather prepared for wars he never got to fight," Adrian replied.
He racked the slide of the Colt.
The heavy, metallic clack was reassuring in the damp dark.
"What's the plan?" Emma asked.
"The canal terminates at the old spillway gate under the Archer Avenue bridge," Adrian explained.
"If the spillway is closed, the boat cannot turn around."
"The spillway control is in the upper pump house," Emma said, pointing toward the rusted brick tower at the end of the mill.
"My grandfather used to let me turn the iron wheel when the river flooded."
"Can you reach it without being seen?"
"The old conveyor catwalk runs entirely inside the roof rafters," Emma whispered.
"I can reach the pump house in two minutes."
Adrian looked at her in the faint moonlight filtering through the broken glass.
His eyes held a mixture of fierce respect and deep concern.
"You drop the gate when the boat enters the slip," Adrian instructed.
"Trap them in the channel."
"What will you do?"
Adrian slid two grenades into his pocket.
"I will introduce myself to Julian's new friends."
Emma slipped up the iron ladder into the shadows of the roof rafters.
She moved with feline grace, stepping across the heavy timber beams she had known since childhood.
Dust drifted down like snow.
Below her, through the gaps in the floorboards, she saw Julian's men disembark onto the rotting wooden dock.
Their boots thudded against the wet planks.
"Search the main floor!" Julian commanded in a harsh whisper.
"Sterling wants Adrian's head before dawn!"
Emma reached the brick pump house.
The heavy iron wheel was rusted, coated in decades of river grime.
She grabbed the spokes with both hands.
She threw her entire body weight against the iron.
The metal groaned.
Sparks chipped from the gear teeth.
With a violent screech of protesting iron, the mechanism engaged.
Outside, a massive five-ton oak and steel sluice gate plummeted from the bridge arch, crashing into the canal with a thunderous roar of white water.
The channel was sealed.
Julian spun around on the dock, his eyes wide with sudden panic.
"What the hell was that?"
From the dark shadow of the loading bay, a voice answered:
"That was your exit closing, Julian."
Adrian stepped into the moonlight.
He held the Colt at his side, completely unbothered by the seven rifles pointed at his chest.
Julian froze.
A nervous, greasy sweat broke out on his forehead.
"Adrian," Julian stammered, raising his submachine gun.
"You should have stayed dead."
"You worked for my father for twelve years, Julian," Adrian said calmly, walking forward with slow, measured steps.
"You carried his casket."
"Sterling offered me twenty percent of the city, Adrian!" Julian shouted, his voice cracking with hysteria.
"Your father's era is over!"
"The Commission is gone!"
"You're right," Adrian agreed, stopping ten paces away.
"My father's era was merciful."
Adrian pulled the pin on the Soviet grenade in his left hand with his teeth.
"Mine isn't."
May you like
He dropped the grenade directly into the open fuel hatch of the patrol boat's external generator.
He turned and dove into the black water of the canal just as the world erupted in a blinding, concussive fireball.
