Chapter 10 - The Interceptor’s Arc
“Hold on!” Marco roared from the helm, slamming the throttles forward until the twin engines screamed a high-pitched, deafening whine.
The cigarette boat leaped forward, slamming hard over a wave and throwing a massive wall of white spray into the air as the Coast Guard cutter sliced through the dark water behind us, closing the distance with terrifying speed.
“Vance must have had naval patrols on standby,” Dominic muttered, checking the bolt of his rifle. He looked across the open deck at me, his eyes dead serious. “Casey, listen to me. When we hit the marshlands near Sandy Hook, the boat’s going to cut its lights. There’s a dry-dock cabin registered under an alias three miles inland. Take this.”
He tossed a heavy, encrypted satellite phone onto the seat beside me.
“If we get separated, call the number on speed dial one. It’s the only lawyer in the Northeast who doesn't answer to the federal prosecutor’s office.”
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“And what about you?” I yelled over the deafening roar of the engines and the howling river wind. “You think you can just disappear into the New Jersey swamps?”
“I’ve been disappearing my whole life, Casey,” Dominic said, a grim, defiant smile touching his lips as the first warning shot from the Coast Guard cutter skipped across the water thirty yards off our starboard bow, throwing up a blinding geyser of white foam. “You’re the one who’s just getting started.”
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