Chapter 19 The Chase Through the Old Port #3
“Matteo!”
Elena flinched at the sound of her name being swallowed by Matteo’s. The voice came from the alley, close enough now that Matteo could picture the man’s face behind the container stacks.
Matteo’s phone vibrated again - one sharp pulse, like the enemy tapping a screen.
New trigger acknowledged.
Coordinates updated.
So the phone had transmitted. Even if it hadn’t been intentional. Even if Elena had tried to wait. The enemy had forced it, or the system had pinged anyway as they moved through the dock network.
Elena stared at Matteo, her expression turning hollow with understanding. “They got it.”
Matteo swallowed. “Not all of it.”
He didn’t know that for sure, but he needed it to be true. He pushed Elena toward the skiff’s controls - a low console with a simple ignition and a throttle. The engine was off, silent except for the whisper of water lapping against the hull.
The men outside the alley were close now - boots on metal grating, the slap of a flashlight beam searching for a gap. Matteo could hear the click of switches as light swept through shadow.
Elena’s hand hovered over the ignition. “If I start it, they’ll hear.”
“They’ll hear anyway,” Matteo said. “They already know where we are.”
Elena looked at him, and the fear in her eyes sharpened into something else - determination that bordered on rage. “Then we make them chase the wrong thing.”
Matteo didn’t ask what she meant. He didn’t have time.
He yanked the throttle forward just enough to pull fuel flow, not enough for ignition yet. The engine caught for a half second, coughing, then died. The sound had been enough to make the men outside react.
“Over there!” someone shouted.
Flashlights swung toward the alley mouth, away from the skiff’s hidden position behind tarps.
Matteo leaned closer to Elena. “Now.”
Elena’s eyes flicked to his. “You’re gambling.”
“I’m choosing,” Matteo corrected.
Elena turned the key. The engine roared to life with a rough, wet growl. The deck shuddered under Matteo’s boots. Salt spray kissed his face. The wind shoved at them as the skiff began to drift away from the seawall, ropes loosening with a jerk.
Behind them, a shout erupted - closer now, angry, immediate. Boots hit the service platform. Someone grabbed at the rope ladder, but it was too far, too slick, too late.
The skiff slid into the narrow mouth of the Old Port waterway. Matteo kept the wheel steady, eyes scanning for obstacles while Elena moved with purpose, bracing herself as the boat angled into open water.
The city lights reflected on the sea, streaks of gold and bruised neon. Matteo could hear the engine’s steady vibration in his bones. The sound of the dock receded, replaced by water slapping against the hull and the urgent rhythm of their breathing.
Elena leaned toward him over the console. “They’re on us.”
Matteo didn’t need to check his phone to know she was right. The directive had already updated. The enemy would converge at sea if they couldn’t force land capture anymore.
His phone vibrated again - this time with a live ping. It wasn’t just coordinates now. It was a line of timing, a projected route.
Matteo’s jaw tightened. “They’re sending assets to intercept.”
Elena’s lips parted, then pressed together. “How many?”
Matteo didn’t answer. He couldn’t estimate without risking a lie. Instead he watched the water ahead, the narrow channel between moored ships. The Old Port wasn’t wide enough for a true escape. It was a funnel.
Matteo adjusted the throttle, steering toward a deeper curve where the dock stacks broke the camera sightlines. If the enemy relied on surveillance feeds, blocking sight could buy them seconds - maybe enough to force a new map, a new delay.
Elena caught the movement, understanding his intent. “We can’t just disappear behind buildings.”
“No,” Matteo said, voice low. “We have to make them chase a version of us that isn’t accurate.”
Elena’s eyes gleamed with something dark. “So we lie to the system.”
Matteo’s phone vibrated one more time, and this message made his stomach drop.
Not a route. Not coordinates.
A command: Elena to be isolated. Matteo to be contained.
So the enemy wasn’t just tracking. They were splitting the objective into pieces. They wanted Elena separated first, Matteo contained second. They were adjusting based on his behavior in realtime.
Matteo felt the internal pressure rise - his loyalty to Elena, his obedience to orders that now looked like sabotage, his need to keep control in a situation designed to strip it away.
He could fight the men on the dock. He could shoot if he had to.
But containment meant something else. It meant they might not chase the skiff directly. They might box them in with boats already positioned ahead, or cut off their ability to maneuver.
Matteo scanned the waterline. A second skiff, smaller and low, moved in the distance, its silhouette barely visible against the harbor’s lights. It wasn’t in his line of sight until his eyes adjusted, until the engine’s vibration pulled the sound of it toward them.
Elena saw it too. Her body went still, like a predator sensing another predator’s breath.
“Matteo,” she said, and the way she said his name sounded like a warning she hated having to give. “They’re already here.”
Matteo clenched the wheel. “They’re close.”
The second skiff accelerated, coming toward their path with a confidence that made Matteo’s skin prickle. The driver didn’t seem to look around much. He didn’t need to. He had coordinates. He had certainty.
The water chopped against the hull, a sharp slap that rattled the skiff’s frame. Matteo leaned into the turn, trying to angle behind the second skiff’s line of sight. The maneuver forced Elena to brace herself hard against the console.
Her breath came out in a hiss. Matteo caught her shoulder as she stumbled - steadying, not holding. His touch was a promise disguised as necessity.
“Keep your phone down,” he said.
Elena’s eyes snapped to his. “It already transmitted. It already - ”
“I know,” Matteo said. “But if it transmits again, it’ll refine their angle.”
Elena’s mouth tightened. “Then how do we stop it?”
Matteo’s thoughts flicked through options.
He couldn’t remove the device without touching her pocket.
Touching her pocket would force movement, might trigger another ping.
Breaking the phone entirely would be an option, but it would also be a confession to the enemy - proof of resistance they could exploit.
The enemy wanted her to react.
Matteo reached into his own jacket instead. His fingers found the familiar shape of his sidearm, concealed, and he drew it only enough to feel weight in his hand without making a spectacle. The metal cooled his palm. He didn’t point it yet. He didn’t want to announce threat.
He just wanted Elena to see he was still in control of his choices.
Elena’s eyes widened slightly, then softened with something that wasn’t relief. She didn’t trust relief here. She trusted calculation.
Matteo leaned toward her ear. “When they come alongside, we don’t fight in the open.”
Elena’s voice was rough. “Then what?”
Matteo watched the second skiff’s bow rise as it cut through water. He could hear the engine’s strain, the way the driver pushed harder than necessary. That meant they were confident they’d win.
“We go for the deck,” Matteo said. “We force them to board us.”
Elena stared at him, and for a moment the fear in her expression gave way to a fierce kind of resolve. “You want to make them close enough to miss the cameras.”
Matteo nodded once. “Old Port’s maze is land. Sea’s maze is different. We use the boats as cover.”
The second skiff was close now. Matteo could see the deck crew silhouettes - two men, maybe three, shifting positions. Flashlights glinted off wet metal. One of them
lifted his arm, and the beam swept across the water as if searching for a target instead of a docking routine.
Matteo’s pulse tightened. Old Port docks were always built for movement - cargo on rails, people through narrow lanes - but the water didn’t forgive. Whoever had coordinates could choreograph speed, angle, and timing. The second skiff wasn’t just chasing. It was staging.
Elena gripped the edge of the console until her knuckles went pale. “They’re not improvising.”
“No,” Matteo said. He adjusted their throttle just enough to keep the bow aligned with the dock’s shadow line. “That means they have a map.”
Her eyes cut to his hand. “Or they have access.”
Matteo didn’t answer. If he said it out loud, it became more real. If it became more real, it would start to live in the space between them, a third presence steering every choice.
The second skiff’s engine roared, louder now - closer now - its wake slapping against the pilings.
The men on deck moved with purpose, boots thudding on wet metal.
Matteo caught the smell of diesel and salt and something harsher beneath it, like chemical cleaner dragged across a surface too recently wiped.
Elena leaned forward. “They’re aiming for the same place your orders would trap you.”
Matteo’s jaw flexed. “My orders don’t matter if they can’t keep eyes on you.”
“Eyes,” Elena echoed. Her gaze flicked to the side of the dock - small domes embedded in the metal canopy, lenses hidden behind grime. “They have more than eyes.”
Matteo’s phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, a sharp pulse that made his skin twitch. He didn’t pull it out yet. He needed the moment to stay intact, needed to keep Elena’s focus where it belonged - on the deck crew, on the angle, on the fact that action could still outrun surveillance.
When the second skiff came alongside their hull, Matteo snapped his phone out just enough to see the screen.
A coordinate update. A tightening of their trajectory. Not a command to stop - an instruction for the enemy’s watchers to refine.