Chapter 57 - The Echo of a Silver Tag
“Stay right there!” Vance-Cross shouted, pressing the barrel of the .45 harder against Maya’s skull. His finger tightened on the trigger. “One more step and I swear to God I’ll—”
“Maya,” Claire said, her voice dropping to an imperceptible, sharp cadence. “What was the second rule your father taught you?”
Vance-Cross frowned, confused. “What are you talking about—?”
Maya’s eyes flared. In that split second, the little girl didn't look like a terrified hostage. She looked like a Sterling.
*“Drop and roll!”* Maya screamed.
In one violent, coordinated motion, Maya went limp, tucking her knees to her chest and throwing her entire body weight downward toward the steel grating of the catwalk.
The unexpected shift in balance pulled Vance-Cross off his center of gravity for a fraction of a second. His gun barrel slipped two inches off target.
That was all the One-Eighty-Seven needed.
Claire didn't draw a gun. From the sleeve of her combat jacket, she flicked a three-inch carbon-steel throwing spike.
The spike flew through the air with supersonic speed, striking Vance-Cross directly through the wrist of his gun hand. The tendon severed instantly with an audible pop. The Kimber .45 slipped from his paralyzed fingers, clattering through the catwalk grating and splashing into the black water forty feet below.
Vance-Cross screamed in agony, clutching his punctured wrist. With his other hand, he desperately lunged toward the detonator switch hanging from his tactical vest.
Claire crossed the twenty-foot distance between them in the blink of an eye.
She didn't tackle him. She drove her combat boot directly into the side of his knee, completely dislocating the joint with a sickening crunch. Vance-Cross collapsed onto the iron grating with a shriek of pain, his hand clawing for the detonator button.
Claire’s boot came down like an anvil, crushing his fingers against the steel mesh, grinding the detonator into useless plastic shards.
She reached down with her left hand, snatched Maya by the collar of her jacket, and hoisted the little girl up into her arms, pinning her safely against her chest.
“I got you,” Claire breathed into Maya’s hair, her body completely shielding the child from any potential crossfire. “I’ve got you, baby.”
Vance-Cross lay on his back, coughing violently, blood pooling around his crushed leg. Even in defeat, a twisted, venomous laugh bubbled from his throat.
“You think… you won… Claire?” he choked out, staring up at the roof of the dry dock. “Look at the monitors… look at the fail-safe!”
Across the dry dock, a row of industrial display screens lit up with a blinding orange glow.
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A digital sequence was scrolling through dozens of federal databases, decrypting top-secret military files, and broadcasting them to an open global satellite feed.
***
