Chapter 25 - Night Run on the Water
The high-speed interceptor boat sat rocking gently in the sheltered private boathouse carved directly into the rocky shoreline beneath the villa. Powered by twin supercharged inboard engines and outfitted with military-grade radar-absorbent hull plating, it was a vessel designed for clandestine maritime operations—a relic of my black-ops days that Michael Vance had managed to legally reclassify as a private research craft.
Ethan stood at the helm console, his hands resting on the throttles, while I secured the heavy waterproof crates containing our tactical gear in the aft locker.
“All systems green,” Ethan called back over the low, throaty purr of the idling engines. “Navigation lights are dark, and our radar profile is completely masked by the storm clutter.”
“Cast off,” I ordered, stepping into the pilot’s well and strapping myself into the carbon-fiber shock-mitigation seat.
Ethan slipped the boat out of the subterranean boathouse slip. The moment we cleared the stone breakwater, the full fury of the mountain storm hit us like a physical wall. Frigid wind screamed across the open water, whipping white-capped waves into chaotic, jagged swells that slammed against the hull with bone-jarring force.
We tore across the pitch-black surface of Lake Tahoe at forty knots, guided entirely by digital thermal overlays and GPS waypoint tracking. The distant lights of shoreline towns were completely swallowed by the driving rain, leaving us alone in a dark, watery abyss.
Ten minutes later, Ethan pointed ahead through the salt-sprayed windshield. “Target acquired. Bearing zero-four-zero. Two miles out.”
Rising out of the churning black swells like a phantom leviathan, The Pacific Horizon loomed before us. Its sleek, matte-black superstructure blended seamlessly into the stormy night, illuminated only by faint, red emergency deck lights pulsing along the stern gunwales.
“They’re anchored,” I noted, checking the digital readout on my tactical pad. “They don't expect anyone to approach in this weather.”
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“Which gives us the element of surprise,” Ethan grinned grimly, cutting the twin engines to a quiet idle as we drifted silently toward the stern swim platform of the luxury yacht.
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