Chapter 12 - The Reckoning at Blackwood Docks
The night fell heavily over the Blackwood harbor. Rain began to pour, drumming against the steel shipping containers that lined the deserted wharves.
Detective Marcus Vance stood beneath the awning of an abandoned warehouse on Dock 17, clutching a black waterproof duffel bag. His hands were shaking as he dialed a number on a burner phone.
"Douglas, I’m at the extraction point," Vance said into the phone, his voice ragged with panic. "Sinclair tore the Millers apart! He has the hard drives! The feds are crawling all over the courthouse! If they trace the port authority permits back to your command, we’re done!"
A calm, deep voice replied from the other end: *"Relax, Marcus. A boat is arriving in ten minutes. Catherine was a loose end anyway. Her greed got the better of her. But Sinclair is a problem that must be permanently resolved. He’s just one soldier."*
"You don't understand who he is!" Vance yelled over the sound of rain. "He brought Tier-One operators into the city! He locked down the airspace! He isn't just an expendable captain, Douglas! He has the Pentagon's domestic authority!"
"He has nothing," a voice spoke from the shadows behind Vance.
Vance spun around, dropping the phone into a puddle.
Alexander stepped out from behind a stack of rusted containers, his black tactical raincoat dripping with water. He was alone. His sidearm hung loosely at his side, holstered.
"Alexander..." Vance stammered, backing toward the edge of the pier. "Listen to me... I didn't know about Rosalie! I swear to God, I didn't know Julian was going to touch her! My brother... my brother set this whole logistics route up years ago. I was just supposed to make sure the local patrols stayed away from Dock 17!"
"You watched her bleed on that carpet, Marcus," Alexander said, his voice cutting through the roar of the pouring rain. "You took Catherine’s money to write an aggravated burglary report while my wife was drowning in her own blood."
"I had no choice!" Vance pleaded, pulling a revolver from his jacket pocket with shaking hands. "They would have killed my family! You think the Millers were monsters? You have no idea what my brother is capable of! He has an entire division at his back!"
"Your brother’s division is currently being quarantined at Fort Bragg under military arrest," Alexander said calmly, taking a step forward.
Vance stared at him, stunned. "What...?"
"Did you really think Protocol Blackout was just about closing off a hospital wing?" Alexander continued, his boots splashing through the water as he closed the distance. "Protocol Blackout is the executive authorization to dismantle internal treason at the highest levels of government. Your brother was detained two hours ago. You are the last rat left on this ship, Marcus."
Vance’s eyes widened with utter despair. He looked down at the gun in his hand, then up at Alexander. With a ragged sob, Vance raised the barrel toward his own temple.
Before he could pull the trigger, Alexander moved.
A flash of movement—Alexander struck Vance’s wrist, knocking the weapon into the dark, churning water below. In the same motion, Alexander swept Vance’s legs out from under him, driving the corrupt detective face-first into the wet timber of the pier.
Alexander pinned Vance with a knee to his spine, pulling Vance’s arms behind his back and clicking the steel cuffs shut.
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"You don't get the easy way out, Marcus," Alexander whispered coldly in his ear. "You’re going to sit in a military courtroom. And you’re going to tell Rosalie every single detail of what you did."
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