On the weather deck of the ship, thirty-two private paramilitary mercenaries from Aegis-Apex Tactical—wearing maritime assault body armor, midnight-gray tactical utilities, and carrying suppressed automatic carbines—stood stationed along the gangways, the bridge wings, and the container cranes.
SKRRRRRR-THUD.
A single, unmarked black Chevrolet Suburban rolled through the main security gate, its heavy tires crunching slowly over the rail lines before coming to a stop fifty feet from the ship’s primary boarding ramp.
The engine cut out.
The front doors opened.
Special Agent Marcus Vance stepped out from the driver’s side, wearing a dark tactical windbreaker over his federal body armor, keeping his hands visible and resting calmly on his belt.
He walked around the vehicle, opening the rear passenger door.
I stepped down onto the concrete dock.
I wore a dark-charcoal maternity blazer over a black silk tunic, tailored trousers, and flat leather boots. My hair was pulled back into a sleek, severe ponytail; my makeup was immaculate; and my eyes burned with an unshakeable, diamond-hard resolve.
