Chapter 21 - Blood on the North Dock
Ryan didn't hesitate. Survival instinct, forged through months of defending his family, took over instantly. Instead of backing away into the dead-end cistern, Ryan kicked his fins with explosive power, driving his shoulder directly into the diver’s midsection.
The speargun fired with a muffled *thwack*, the steel bolt grazing Ryan’s left shoulder, tearing through the neoprene and biting into flesh before burying itself in the concrete wall behind him.
The impact sent both men tumbling out of the cistern mouth into open water. Ryan’s vision flared with white-hot pain, crimson blood curling into the dark lake like smoke. The assassin lashed out, his gloved hand reaching for Ryan’s regulator hose to rip away his air supply.
Ryan swung the heavy brass cylinder with all his might.
*CLANG.*
The brass struck the assassin’s glass faceplate, cracking the tempered seal. Bubbles violently erupted from the diver’s mask. Panicked, choking on lake water, the attacker abandoned the fight, kicking furiously toward the surface.
Ryan didn't pursue him. Clutching the brass cylinder against his bleeding shoulder, Ryan fought the surging current, kicking toward the dim glow of the dock lights above. His lungs burned, his air gauge dipping into the red danger zone.
He broke the surface coughing, spitting out water, and gasping for air.
"RYAN!"
Sarah was on the dock, leaning over the wooden edge despite the crashing waves. She grabbed the straps of his vest, hauling him upward with desperate strength. Ryan scrambled onto the wet planks, collapsing on his knees, panting heavily as rain pelted down upon them.
"You're bleeding!" Sarah cried, dropping down beside him, pressing her sleeve against his torn shoulder.
"I have it," Ryan gasped, holding up the brass cylinder. "Call Pendelton. Tell him to get to the federal courthouse in Syracuse immediately."
"Ryan, look at the house," Sarah whispered, her voice paralyzed with dread.
Ryan forced himself to stand, shielding his eyes against the wind.
Through the pouring rain, the lakeside mansion stood illuminated not by lanterns, but by red and blue emergency flashers. Three black tactical SUVs were parked haphazardly on the front lawn, their doors hanging open.
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Standing on the covered porch, flanked by two private security contractors, was Marcus Vance.
And in front of them, Marcus’s hand rested firmly on Noah’s trembling shoulder.
