“He sent the M/V Sovereign Tide to the Port of Miami to execute the final harvest.”
Marcus slid the secure satellite phone across the table:
“We have two choices, Laura. We can fly you and Dr. Salinas aboard an emergency Presidential Air Force transport to the hardened underground medical bunkers at Mount Weather, Virginia… or we engage.”
I stood up from the leather armchair.
The silk of my dress draped smoothly over my four-month pregnant belly.
I looked out the window at the distant, sparkling waters of the Port of Miami, where the massive silhouette of the M/V Sovereign Tide sat moored against the concrete berths of Biscayne Bay beneath the golden Florida sun.
I reached out, picked up the satellite phone, and looked at Special Agent Marcus Vance:
“My grandfather did not build a fortress of cowards, Marcus.”
“Arthur Caldwell spent thirty years hiding in the dark, using weak men like Diego to poison women’s teacups.”
