Chapter 33 - Cast Off into the Dark
The trench-coated agent knew he had lost the immediate tactical advantage. A firefight at the pier of the world's largest naval base would bring the entire Atlantic Fleet's security forces down on them within minutes, blowing their cover completely.
"You're making a fatal mistake, Whitaker," the agent snarled, stepping back toward his idling black SUVs. "You can't hide on that ship forever."
"Get off my pier," I replied, my voice stone cold.
Without waiting for his reply, I sprinted up the brow of the ship. The moment my boots slammed onto the steel deck of the *Farragut*, Chief Sullivan gripped my arm, hauling me past the armored threshold.
"Ma'am, what the hell is happening?" Sullivan asked, eyes wide with adrenaline. "Base communications went dead five minutes ago, and internal channels are flooded with bogus warrants for your arrest."
"Vance was attacked at headquarters," I said rapidly, striding down the p-way toward the Combat Information Center. "The conspiracy didn't end with my father's smuggling in Dayton. That was a diversion to clear the field. The corrupt leadership in procurement wants this ship grounded because our sensor logs have the telemetry on their ghost cargo fleet."
Martinez met me at the hatch of CIC, his face pale beneath the battle lanterns. "Skipper, harbor control is ordering us to remain moored. They’ve disabled the automated harbor tugs."
"We don't need tugs," I ordered sharply, stepping onto the raised command platform. "Sound the alert. Prepare for emergency breakaway. We cast off on ship’s power."
"Skipper, that's unprecedented in Norfolk channel without clearance—"
"Martinez, if we stay tied to this pier, we are sitting ducks for a military tribunal controlled by traitors," I cut him off, staring directly into his eyes. "We take the ship out to sea now. We get past the twelve-mile limit where our radar can sweep cleanly, and we broadcast what we have directly to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs."
May you like
Martinez held my gaze for three seconds, swallowed hard, and nodded. "Aye, Captain. All hands, prepare for emergency underway. Cast off lines one through six!"
The powerful gas turbine engines roared to life deep within the destroyer’s hull, a deep, vibrating hum that pulsed through every steel bulkhead. The lines were chopped, splashing into the murky harbor water. Under my direct hand, the *Farragut* lurched away from the pier, slicing through the midnight fog toward the open sea without a single beacon light burning.
