Pierce took most of the ship's elite forces with him. The seven or eight Far North members left behind explained to the bewildered crew in deliberately calm voices, "There's a gang shootout at the harbor. Stray bullets don't have eyes. To ensure everyone's safety, the Yamal needs to leave its berth immediately and take shelter in the open sea."
Some crew members looked toward the faint flickering firelight on the distant docks and believed the explanation. But more of them felt uneasy—they had seen Pierce lead a group of heavily armed, grim-faced men away in a small boat.
They had looked as though they were heading straight for a battlefield.
A shadow of unease crept into their hearts—could they have been dragged into some kind of criminal activity? Drug trafficking, arms smuggling, and all sorts of possibilities surfaced in their minds.
But they quickly cast those thoughts aside. Mr. Vincent and his team had always acted mysteriously and seemed to have little to do with obeying laws. Besides, after signing that long-term contract with generous benefits but one that practically bound them for life, their fates for the rest of their days had already been welded to this steel behemoth.
Knowing too much was not always a blessing. So, after a brief silence, most of them chose to obey.
Captain Sasha, who had been quietly observing the situation all along, knew the time had come!
He exchanged a look with Oleg and First Mate Ivan beside him. It was a wordless signal forged through years of mutual understanding.
Pretending to conduct an inspection, they approached the few Far North members left behind without drawing attention. The others seemed to sense that something was off, but their long-standing contempt for ordinary sailors made them react a beat too slowly—and that was