Chapter 9 - Battle on the Lake
The black water of Lake Michigan was violently agitated by the oncoming autumn storm, five-foot swells slamming against the reinforced hull of our boat. Behind us, the two interceptors sent by Salvatore Bellini sliced through the waves like hungry sharks, rapidly closing the distance.
"Take the wheel!" Luca yelled, pulling me into the captain's chair.
"What?! Luca, I've never driven a boat in my life!" I shouted back, panic lacing my voice as the spray soaked my hair and clothes.
"Keep the compass heading at exactly three-four-zero!" Luca ordered, his large, warm hands guiding mine onto the throttle and steering wheel. "Push the lever all the way forward and don't touch the trim! Keep us steady, Emily! Trust yourself!"
Before I could protest further, Luca turned toward the rear deck. He unlocked a recessed weapon locker beneath the transom seats, hauling out a heavy tactical rifle with an optical thermal scope.
A burst of automatic fire erupted from the lead pursuer. Bullets ripped through our starboard wake, ricocheting loudly off the Kevlar-reinforced transom.
Down in the cabin, Lily let out a terrified cry.
Hearing her cry shattered any lingering hesitation inside me. My knuckles tightened on the wheel. I pushed the dual throttles to the firewall. The engines screamed in response, the boat surging forward across the crest of a massive wave, launching into the air before crashing down with a bone-jarring splash.
"Good girl!" Luca shouted, raising the rifle to his shoulder.
He didn't fire erratically. He waited, riding the rhythm of the waves, balancing his muscular frame with incredible precision against the pitching deck.
*Crack! Crack! Crack!*
The lead pursuit boat suddenly veered violently to the left. Luca’s armor-piercing rounds had punctured the port-side engine block, igniting the fuel line. A ball of orange flame blossomed over the dark water, the doomed vessel spinning out of control and flipping end-over-end across the churning swells.
One down.
The second boat, carrying Salvatore Bellini himself, adjusted its course immediately, positioning itself directly in our blind spot behind the stern wake. Salvatore stepped out onto the open bow, holding a military-grade rocket launcher balanced on his shoulder.
"EMILY, HARD STARBOARD! NOW!" Luca bellowed.
I yanked the steering wheel violently to the right with all my strength.
The boat listed heavily on its side, water pouring over the gunwales. A fraction of a second later, a high-explosive rocket streaked through the exact space our hull had occupied, detonating fifty yards ahead in a blinding geyser of boiling lake water and white foam.
The shockwave rocked our vessel violently. Luca was thrown off balance against the engine hatch, his rifle skittering across the slick deck and sliding into the dark lake.
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Salvatore’s boat pulled alongside us, grinding its reinforced bumper against our port side in a horrific screech of tearing metal.
Salvatore stood on the gunwale, a bloodied sneer on his face, a heavy Colt .45 pointed straight at my chest. "End of the line, you little maid!"