Chapter 17 - The Sea Cave
The funicular car slammed into the lower buffer springs with an ear-shattering crash of metal, throwing me to the wet floorboards. Bruised and soaked to the bone, I kicked open the rusted emergency latch and crawled out onto the narrow wooden pier of the boathouse.
Saltwater sprayed high into the air, soaking through my clothes and blinding my eyes. The ocean was churning with five-foot swells, smashing against the wooden pilings beneath my feet.
The boathouse was an old, weathered cedar structure built into a natural sea cave beneath the cliffs. It had been abandoned for years. Richard had hated the ocean; he preferred infinity pools and heated marble. Because of his vanity, he had never bothered to inspect this part of the estate.
I pushed through the rotted wooden side door into the dripping, cavernous darkness of the boathouse. Inside, an old, twenty-four-foot wooden lobster boat sat covered in a moldering canvas tarp, suspended by rusted davits over the churning water.
My phone was waterlogged and dead. I had no weapon, no radio, and no way to call for help. Above me, the faint sound of vehicle engines signaled that Sterling’s men were already navigating the winding cliff road down toward the cove.
Suddenly, a flashlight beam cut through the shadows from the back of the boathouse.
I shrank against the damp stone wall, grabbing a heavy rusted iron boat hook from a wall rack, raising it with trembling arms. "Stay back!"
"Claire! Put that down before you hurt yourself!" a familiar voice called out.
The flashlight lowered, revealing David Vance. Behind him stood Julianna, wrapped in a thick yellow rain slicker, her breathing steady and her eyes razor-sharp. She wasn't trembling. She wasn't the helpless invalid Richard had kept drugged in a gilded cage.
"David? Julianna?" I breathed, lowering the hook in shock. "How did you get down here?"
"The old service tunnel under the wine cellar," David said quickly, stepping forward to pull me out of the freezing draft. "Julianna remembered it. Her father helped your father build it twenty years ago when they were designing the naval logistics grid."
Julianna stepped forward, taking my freezing hands into her own. Her grip was astonishingly firm.
"Claire," Julianna said, her voice clear, melodious, and completely lucid. "Richard didn't steal my mind. He just pumped me full of sedatives so I couldn't speak in court. But my memory has been intact the entire time."
"Julianna... Sterling’s men are tearing the estate apart," I said, shivering uncontrollably. "Eleanor gave him the micro-drive from my locket. They have the algorithm."
Julianna shook her head, a grim, triumphant smile touching the corners of her mouth. "No, Claire. They don't have the algorithm. What Eleanor stole was the bait. Your father and mine knew that one day, Richard or Conrad Sterling would come for the keys. The micro-drive in your locket doesn't unlock the naval network."
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"What does it unlock?" I asked.
"It’s an automated forensic Trojan," Julianna said coldly. "The moment Conrad Sterling slots that drive into an air-gapped terminal to bypass the encryption, it will broadcast every single covert defense contract, every offshore bribe, and every blood-money wire transfer he has executed over the last twenty-five years directly to Interpol, the Pentagon, and every major news desk on the planet."
