Chapter 7 - The Shadow of the DocksThe back door of the ironworks opened directly onto a narrow, abandoned barge slip choking with driftwood and floating trash.
Rain lashed down in cold, heavy sheets as Clara, Sarah, and Leo slipped through the dark shadows beneath the rusting iron crane superstructure. Behind them, a muffled explosion shook the brick walls of the building as Julian’s private security team breached the front bay doors.
"Spread out! Search the lower floor! Leave no one breathing!" a voice shouted through the rain, followed by the heavy crunch of boots on glass.
Clara kept her hand firmly around Leo’s small shoulder, guiding him along the narrow wooden catwalk above the black water. Her legs were stiff, the cold rain soaking through her dark clothes, but the weakness was gone. In its place was a sharp, predatory clarity.
"They're monitoring the bridge turnpikes," Sarah whispered, peering through a thermal scope toward the street corner. "Julian has placed private security checkpoints at every major crossing into Manhattan. He’s locking down the city ahead of tomorrow’s summit."
"Then we don't use the bridges," Clara said, her eyes tracking a low, unlit commercial tugboat idling near the industrial pier two hundred yards downriver.
"The tug belongs to the river authority," Sarah noted, frowning. "It’s automated."
"No," Leo spoke up, his small voice clear against the rush of the river. "It runs on the old Mercer logistics frequency. My mother built the river guidance system in 2018."
The boy reached into his chest rig, pulled out the silver resonance tube, and adjusted the brass dial at its base. He pointed the cylinder toward the tugboat’s receiver antenna perched atop its pilot house.
A faint, blue pulse ripples through the air, invisible to the naked eye.
Fifty yards away, the tugboat’s diesel engine roared to life with a deep, vibrating rumble. Its thick mooring lines unlocked automatically, dropping into the dark water with a heavy splash as the vessel slowly drifted toward the slip edge.
"Hold it right there!" a voice barked from the shadows behind them.
Clara turned sharply. Standing on the catwalk twenty feet away was the contractor with the high-voltage baton—the same man Leo had incapacitated in the alley two nights ago. His right arm was wrapped in heavy medical bandages, his face twisted in a sneer of pure malice as he raised a silenced pistol.
He didn't get the chance to fire.
Clara didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, her newly restored legs executing a clean, powerful push off the wet timber. She slammed her shoulder directly into the contractor’s chest, driving him backward over the rotting wooden railing.
The man let out a strangled cry as he plummeted thirty feet into the freezing, dark currents of the East River.
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Clara landed smoothly on the catwalk, her boots gripping the wet wood. She looked down at her hands, then back at Sarah and Leo, who were staring at her in sheer awe.
"Let's get on that boat," Clara said flatly.
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