Chapter 8 - The Ghost of Singapore
Sirens from four additional tactical police units screamed to a halt outside St. Jude’s Hospital as armed officers took control of the eighth floor.
Detective Miller stood in the corridor outside Room 812, his face dark with fury as he barked orders into his department radio.
“I want the tactical perimeter around Pier 17 locked down immediately; no vessel leaves the harbor channel under any circumstances!” Miller commanded.
Daniel stood beside the nurses' station, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes burning with cold determination as he watched the unconscious assassin being wheeled away in heavy metal restraints.
Maya walked over to Daniel, holding a warm cup of coffee she had retrieved from the lounge, handing it to him with a gentle expression.
“Your mother has been transferred to the intensive surgical bunker in the hospital basement under twenty-four-hour tactical SWAT protection,” Maya said softly.
“She is completely safe now, Mr. Vance; nobody can get through those security checkpoints.”
Daniel took the cup, but his fingers were trembling too violently to drink from it.
“You shouldn't even be here, Maya,” Daniel said, his voice thick with guilt.
“You were hired to serve champagne at a wedding, not dodge sniper rounds and disarm professional hitmen.”
Maya smiled faintly, shaking her head as she looked down at the heavy bandages covering her forearms.
“My father spent thirty years working the loading cranes at Pier 17 for your father’s shipping company,” Maya said quietly.
“When my father broke his spine in a shipyard accident twelve years ago, the board of directors tried to deny his medical pension and throw our family into the street.”
Daniel looked up, surprised by the sudden revelation.
“Your father was Thomas Cole?” Daniel asked, the memory surfacing through the haze of childhood recollections.
“Yes,” Maya replied, her chin lifting with quiet pride.
“And it was your father, Richard Vance, who intervened personally, overturned the board’s decision, and paid for my father’s surgeries out of his own private accounts.”
Daniel stared at the young woman, realizing for the first time that their lives had been intertwined long before the horrifying events on the penthouse roof.
“My father never told me that,” Daniel murmured.
“Richard Vance was an honorable man who protected the people who worked for him,” Maya said, her voice ringing with deep conviction.
“When I saw Victoria shoving Eleanor toward that rooftop ledge today, I didn't see a billionaire’s mother; I saw the widow of the man who saved my family from starvation.”
Before Daniel could respond, Miller strode back toward them, his face pale and taut with alarming news.
“SWAT just breached Suite 4202 at the Continental Hotel across from the wedding venue,” Miller announced, sliding his radio back onto his tactical belt.
“Did they find Arthur?” Daniel asked instantly, stepping forward.
“No,” Miller sighed, rubbing his tired eyes.
“They found a Barrett fifty-caliber sniper rifle mounted on a motorized, gyro-stabilized tripod system connected to a high-speed fiber-optic data cable.”
Daniel gasped in disbelief. “The sniper fire was automated?”
“It was controlled remotely through an encrypted satellite terminal,” Miller explained grimly.
“Arthur wasn't even in that hotel suite during the shooting; he was operating the trigger mechanism from an off-site location while watching the rooftop through a live security feed.”
“The satellite phone,” Daniel said, his pulse accelerating once more as he pulled Julian’s recovered phone from his pocket.
“If the rifle was remotely triggered, the IP transmission signals must be recorded in the terminal’s connection logs!”
Maya leaned over Daniel’s shoulder, her nimble fingers navigating the encrypted interface of the recovered phone.
“Look at the outgoing telemetry packets,” Maya said, pointing to a glowing string of alphanumeric coordinates scrolling across the display.
“The control signal wasn't originating from an office tower or an overseas server; it was transmitting from a mobile marine broadband antenna within the harbor district!”
“Pier 17,” Miller breathed, his jaw tightening into iron resolve.
“Arthur is already on site at the dry dock terminal, preparing the vessel for departure.”
Daniel shoved the phone into his jacket pocket, his eyes locking onto Miller’s with unyielding intensity.
“We are going down there right now, Detective.”
“Daniel, that port area is a decommissioned industrial wasteland covering forty acres of rusted shipping containers and abandoned warehouses,” Miller warned.
“If Arthur has a private mercenary force guarding that pier, we will be walking into an absolute slaughterhouse without a full tactical strike team.”
“The tactical strike team will take forty-five minutes to mobilize through the downtown rush hour,” Daniel countered fiercely.
“Arthur’s ship will clear the three-mile territorial waters boundary within thirty minutes if he casts off the moorings now.”
“And once he reaches international waters with the bearer bonds and the digital registries, he will vanish back into the shadows of Singapore forever.”
Miller looked at Daniel, then glanced at Maya, who was already picking up her jacket from the waiting room chair.
“I must be completely out of my mind,” Miller muttered under his breath, clicking the safety catch off his service sidearm and heading for the service exit.
“If we die down at those docks, Vance, I am arresting your ghost for reckless endangerment.”
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Daniel allowed himself a grim, humorless smirk as he pushed open the stairwell door.
“Understood, Detective, but let's make sure Arthur’s ghost gets locked up first.”
