Chapter 13 - Montauk Point
The wind howling off the Atlantic Ocean at Montauk Point was relentless, lashing freezing saltwater spray against the weathered stone walls of the abandoned 18th-century lighthouse.
I stepped out of my SUV, pulling the collar of my heavy wool coat tight against the gale. In my breast pocket, resting securely against my heart, was the microcassette tape containing the true genesis of the Hale empire—and the ultimate weapon to dismantle Victor’s remaining influence.
The headlights of my vehicle illuminated a lone black armored Mercedes parked fifty yards away near the cliff edge. Two armed operatives in tactical gear stood beside the open passenger door, their rifles resting casually against their shoulders.
As I approached, one of them stepped forward, holding up a hand to signal a halt. He patted me down swiftly and roughly, confiscating my smartphone and checking for hidden weapons.
"The tape," the lead operative grunted, his breath pluming in the freezing night air.
"Show me Adrian first," I demanded, locking eyes with him. "The deal was to see him alive."
The operative gestured with his rifle toward the back seat of the Mercedes. Through the tinted glass, I saw Adrian slumped sideways, his mouth taped shut, shivering violently from the cold and shock.
"He's breathing. Now hand over the microcassette," the mercenary demanded, holding out a gloved hand.
I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the cassette box, and held it up so the dashboard light caught the label. "Tell me who sent you. Was it Victor from his holding cell, or someone else inside the board?"
The mercenary smirked, stepping forward to snatch the tape from my hand. "Mr. Hale sends his regards from federal custody. But he wasn't the only one who wanted these patents back."
Before the operative’s fingers could close around the plastic case, a deafening crack split the night air.
A high-caliber sniper round slammed directly into the side mirror of the Mercedes, showering us in razor-sharp fragments of safety glass. The mercenary stumbled backward with a startled curse, clutching a bleeding shoulder.
"Ambush! Get down!" the second operative roared, drawing his sidearm.
More gunfire erupted from the ridge above the lighthouse cliffs. Tracer rounds cut through the darkness, riddling the Mercedes with smoking bullet holes.
I dropped flat onto the wet gravel, crawling frantically behind the concrete barrier of the lighthouse foundation. In the chaos, the mercenaries scrambled into their vehicle, tires screeching as they sped away into the stormy night, abandoning Adrian locked inside the backseat.
"Adrian!" I shouted over the howling wind, sprinting toward the abandoned car.
I wrenched the back door open, sliced through the duct tape binding his wrists with my pocketknife, and hauled him out into the safety of the stone alcove.
Coughing and sobbing uncontrollably, Adrian grabbed my jacket. "Ethan... they... they were going to kill us both! Father didn't order this! Someone else inside the company... someone we never suspected... is running the syndicate!"
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Before I could ask who, the beam of a powerful tactical flashlight swept across the lighthouse entrance, and a familiar, velvet voice rang out above the crashing waves.
"Well, well, well. Family reunions are always so terribly emotional."
