Snow (The Trident Series II – BRAVO Team #7)

CHAPTER ONE

The Gulf was restless, as the dark water crashed hard against the steel pylons with a force that seemed to build by the minute.

The wind whipped across the open water, carrying the heavy scent of salt and coming rain.

Lightning lit up the horizon like a light show, throwing brief flashes across the thick bank of clouds.

The storm was coming in fast, and every gust of wind, every punishing wave, made it feel less like weather and more like a monster closing in.

That didn’t stop the small supply vessel as it slipped in from the east, sliding beneath the looming legs of the platform, while a second boat approached from the south, easing into position.

Platform Three towered over them like a beast of iron.

Its massive frame hung above the water like a forgotten God abandoned in the middle of the Gulf.

Across the way, Platform One sat quiet and still while most of the crew slept, unaware of the danger brewing around them.

However, one set of eyes remained wide open.

Brett Marrow stood on the maintenance deck, two levels above the waterline, hidden beneath rust-streaked piping.

Below him, the exchange had begun to take place. The supply boat was heavy with crates from South America. Men moved in coordinated silence, transferring crate after crate between the vessels. It was clean and controlled, exactly the way he liked it.

Inside the crates were tightly packed black-market weapons such as assault rifles, compact submachine guns, high-capacity pistols, suppressors, crates of ammunition, and even a few shoulder-fired rocket launchers. It was everything needed to arm the highest bidder without a single trace.

“That’s a big load. You ever wonder what exactly is in those crates?” Clint muttered behind him.

Brett rolled his eyes. The damn kid was nosey as fuck. But he was loyal to the bone, and that was why Brett paid him well and kept him around.

Brett didn’t look at him. “It’s one of the biggest loads. And no, I don’t give a shit about what’s in those crates. All that matters to me is that I get paid.”

“How many loads does that make now?” Clint asked as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a can of chewing tobacco. He packed it twice against his palm before popping the lid open and shoving a pinch into his mouth.

Brett didn’t take his eyes off the operation. “Twenty-two.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Not bad for a little side hustle, huh?”

Clint nodded slowly, then glanced at Brett. “What happens if the acquisition goes through? Word is that the deal is getting close.”

Brett’s jaw flexed. “Then it gets shut down. But that’s not for at least a few more months. Until then, I’ll increase the shipments and get every damn one I can squeeze in before the company changes hands.”

Clint nodded. “And after that?”

Brett smirked, eyes still on the cargo. “After that, I’m retiring to somewhere warm.”

Nobody knew, but Brett had already secured his future. He had already created a new identity, including a new name and a beach house on Grenada.

As Clint rambled on beside him, Brett kept his gaze locked on the crates being offloaded onto the second boat.

What nobody knew was that the little arms smuggling operation wasn’t the only thing Brett had going for him.

Sure, the pay was decent to be a middleman.

But the true cash cow sat just below him, hidden inside an empty machinery room that is now used for storage.

He had converted the massive space into two separate rooms, sealing the back half behind a fake steel wall that concealed what he liked to call his workshop.

The door to the workshop was strategically placed behind a large metal storage shelf mounted on industrial wheels, allowing it to slide across the floor and completely conceal the entrance.

At first glance, it looked like nothing more than another cluttered section of the unused machinery room, which was exactly how Brett wanted it.

Since Platform Three had originally been built for future expansion and remained mostly unused, it was the perfect place to hide a secret nobody ever thought to look for.

Well, except for one person. Capperson was a maintenance guy with a bad habit of poking his nose where it didn’t belong and wandering into places he had no business being.

Brett had dealt with the problem quietly.

He knew Capperson always slipped outside late at night when he thought everyone else was asleep so that he could sneak a cigarette near the lower deck.

Thursdays were perfect because after dinner, the crew always dumped fish waste overboard, which drew sharks close to the platform.

Brett had timed everything perfectly. And nobody would miss Capperson because he was a loner with no family, which made it easy to cover his tracks.

The project Brett was working on wasn’t just lucrative; it was also highly profitable and deadly.

It was a new generation of underwater weaponry.

The remotely operated device had been designed to plant specialized mines beneath the surface without detection.

While Brett had been testing the device in the open Gulf, it was primarily intended for use in smaller waterways, such as shipping channels, ports, and inland routes, where the damage would be far more devastating.

Some of the mines could also be equipped with chemical agents capable of contaminating the surrounding water and causing catastrophic environmental damage, as well as loss of life.

“You ever worry about someone catching on?” Clint’s nasal voice carried through the air.

Brett chuckled low. “Who? The Coast Guard? ATF? You think they would suspect a company with clean audits, inspections, and polished PR? You think they would come almost ninety miles offshore just to poke around some old pipes?”

He leaned closer. “Anyway, besides me, you are the only other person on this rig who knows about this. So, if anyone ever does come poking around here, I’ll know who tipped them off.”

Clint swallowed hard. “You know I would never sell you out.”

Brett just nodded, knowing the kid knew the consequences of crossing him.

They stood there in silence, watching as the last crate landed in the second boat. The crew gave each other a thumbs-up before slowly pulling away from the platform, each of them vanishing into the dark like ghosts.

“Go get some sleep,” Brett told Clint, nodding toward the stairwell. “I’ll head over in a bit. I got something I need to take care of.”

Clint didn’t question it. He just nodded and headed for the stairs. Brett waited until the sound of Clint’s boots faded before sliding his phone from his pocket and making the call.

“You’re early,” the gruff voice on the other line answered.

“What can I say, Andre. It gets easier with each load,” Brett replied, his voice laced with an air of arrogance.

“I’m assuming there were no issues with the handoff,” Andre asked, his French accent smooth and refined.

“My dear friend, I feel insulted that you even asked that,” Brett said, pretending to be offended by Andre’s comment.

Andre barked out a deep laugh. “I would never insult you, friend, unless you cross me. Then, I would do more than insult you.”

Brett grinned even though Andre couldn’t see him. Brett wasn’t stupid enough to betray the hand that practically feeds him.

Andre Matisse wasn’t a man to mess with. He was a broker in black-market arms deals.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Andre. As soon as the funds from this shipment hit the account, I’ll move it to your shell account.”

“Thank you. And how is our other investment coming along?”

Brett’s lips curled into a thin smile as he kept his eyes on the black water below. Andre was the person fronting the money for the secret project Brett was working on.

“It’s nearing completion. I have a few tweaks to make. I hope to conduct the final test this coming week.”

“Really?” Andre’s voice was a mix of uncertainty and surprise.

Brett leaned against the railing. “I’m serious. The test I ran a few weeks ago went well overall. There was just a slight hiccup with the release mechanism.”

“Hiccup?” Andre questioned.

“There was a delay longer than I liked between activating the sequence and the actual device releasing from the UUV. A few seconds may not sound like much, but for the product we plan to market, timing matters. I need the response to be immediate, predictable, and clean.”

“I agree. We can’t afford to market a half-assed product,” Andre said firmly. The people buying from us will be paying a small fortune for this technology and will expect perfection.”

“I hope to have good news for you within the week.”

“Very good. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

Brett ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

He stood there leaning against the rail as he stared out over the open sea.

His empire was growing right under the noses of the people he worked for.

But soon he would have something far more valuable and destructive.

Once buyers got word of the device he created, he would be raking in millions of dollars.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. For now, the darkness was still keeping his secrets.