Chapter 17 - BLOOD ON THE BORDERLINE
The South China Sea at 0200 hours was a void of pitch-black water and heavy, suffocating rain.
Five miles off the coast of the Spratly Islands, the *Starlight Voyager* cut through the twelve-foot swells, its massive diesel engines rumbling deep within the steel hull. On the upper bridge deck, three armed guards in black maritime wet suits patrolled with Russian-made submachine guns, their night-vision goggles scanning the churning black water.
They never heard the Zodiac combat rubber raiding craft that approached from the vessel’s blind spot behind the engine exhaust plume.
Avery Hayes rose from the water like a creature carved out of obsidian.
She wore a form-fitting neoprene combat suit, a low-profile diving rig, and a suppressed Sig Sauer MCX Rattler slung tightly across her chest. Her face was painted in matte-black camouflage grease, obscuring every feature except for the cold, predatory intensity of her dark eyes.
She attached a pneumatic climbing hook to the rusty lip of the container vessel's main deck rail and ascended fifty feet of vertical steel in less than twelve seconds, her boots making no sound as they touched the wet non-skid plating.
Behind her came Reese and two Tier-One operators from the Naval Special Warfare Development Group.
A guard rounded the corner of the starboard container stack, a glowing cigarette cupped in his hand.
Avery did not hesitate. She lunged forward with explosive, silent speed. Her left hand clamped around the guard’s throat, cutting off his vocal cords instantly, while her right hand drove a five-inch titanium combat blade directly beneath his jawline, angling upward into the base of the skull.
The man convulsed once and went limp. She caught his falling body, lowered him silently onto the wet deck between two container crates, and recovered her blade without looking at the blood washing away in the heavy downpour.
*One,* she noted mentally.
She tapped her throat microphone twice—the universal tactical signal for clear.
Reese and the team stacked behind her as they moved through the narrow canyons between the towering shipping containers. Above them, the rain hammered against the corrugated steel like thousands of tiny drumbeats, masking the faint sound of their footfalls.
At the center of the cargo deck sat a customized white container marked with a forged hazardous materials placard. Running from its base was a heavy-duty industrial power cable connected directly to the ship’s auxiliary generators.
Avery held up a closed fist. The team froze.
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Through the rain, the sound of an electronic humming was audible—the unmistakable high-frequency whine of an active satellite transmitter broadcasting high-bandwidth data.
The Broker was inside.
