Chapter 7 - AMBUSH IN THE DARK
ou think I care about a federal charge?“ Holt yelled, his voice cracking with sheer
desperation. “If I go down, my life is over anyway! Sterling will make sure I never see the
light of day!“
“Then help me bring him down,“ I said, taking a slow, calculated step toward him. “Give me the
decryption keys for his personal server. Give me the physical manifests of the smuggled shipments,
and I will personally guarantee the Navy prosecutor offers you a plea deal.“
For a second, Holt hesitated. The sheer terror of his situation was starting to break him.
But Mercer, recovering from my throat strike, pushed himself off the deck with a roar of pure,
animalistic fury. He tackled me from behind, his massive arms wrapping around my waist as we both
tumbled off the edge of the pier and plunged into the freezing, pitch-black waters of the Pacific Ocean.
The shock of the icy water was instantaneous, threatening to paralyze my muscles.
Mercer was a trained Navy diver, and he used his weight to hold me under, his hands clawing at
my throat, trying to drown me in the dark. The pressure in my lungs began to build, a familiar,
terrifying sensation that brought back memories of the burning operations room in the Red Sea.
*No,* I told myself. Not today.
I reached up, finding the soft tissue of Mercer’s eyes with my fingers, pressing hard. He roared
underwater, releasing his grip on my neck to protect his face. I seized the opportunity, driving my
knee into his ribs and kicking off his chest to swim toward the surface.
I broke the water, gasping for air, the freezing wind stinging my face.
Beside the pier, a sleek black rigid-hull inflatable boat (RHIB) roared to life, its searchlights cutting
through the darkness. It was Admiral Vale’s tactical team, led by Vale himself.
“Get her out!“ Vale yelled, pointing toward me.
Two heavily armed Navy SEALs pulled me onto the boat, wrapping a thermal blanket around my
shivering shoulders.
On the pier above, Commander Holt was already on his knees, his hands secured behind his back
by the base Master-at-Arms. Mercer was dragged from the water minutes later, coughing, shivering,
and completely broken.
I stood on the deck of the tactical boat, water dripping from my hair, looking down at the two men
who had ruled Coronado with fear for years.
“Secure the pier,“ I ordered, my voice raspy but carrying absolute authority. “And get me a secure
line to the Pentagon. It’s time to pay Vice Admiral Sterling a visit.“
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The Scars of Honor: Takedown at Coronado 14
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