The digital clock on the command console blinked silently: 11:45 PM.
The Zodiac interceptor slammed through the black, churning swells of the Atlantic, throwing sheets of freezing salt spray across the reinforced bow.
At the helm, Ethan fought the violent yaw of the craft, his knuckles white against the rubberized grips as he guided them toward the blinking amber strobe of a massive, unflagged luxury yacht idling six miles outside territorial waters.
Behind the console, Damien stood braced against the roll of the deck, his large frame wrapped in a dark tactical sweater. His eyes were locked on the illuminated silhouette of the vessel ahead, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked rhythmically beneath his skin.
Inside the cabin bulkhead, Bella sat checking the magazine of her sidearm
