The Atlantic Ocean off Montauk Point was a cauldron of black, heaving swells and freezing sea fog. Three fifty-foot Midnight Express tactical interceptors, their hulls painted matte radar-absorbent black, skipped across the crests of eight-foot waves at forty-five knots. The supercharged quad Mercury outboards were fitted with wet-exhaust mufflers, reducing their acoustic signature to a low, throaty purr beneath the roar of the surf. Elena stood in the cockpit of…
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