The Celtic Roamer had burned through all its fuel.
Once the fuel ran out, the ship would lose speed. No matter how powerful an Agent was, how strong a soldier was, or how influential an official was, out at sea they were no more than a tiny boat.
The people aboard had become sitting ducks.
Not everyone on the ship was a combatant, but they all knew how important this transport was--
It went without saying what might happen if a ship carrying important cargo came to a stop.
Clint hurried toward the deck. He felt the young Agent behind him gripping his gun with a trembling hand, so he stopped and said seriously:
"Relax. Nervousness can make your gun go off. Think back to what you learned at the academy. Relax your muscles."
"Okay." The young Agent took a deep breath. "Who are those people? Why can they call in the American Navy?"
"I don't know. But I know that's why we have to make sure this cargo stays safe. Because if we fail, they might be able to call in more than just two Navy frigates."
Clint reached for the door and took a quiet breath himself--
Those were warships. They weren't something personal strength could deal with.
But personal strength was all he had at the moment.
Whoosh!
He stepped through the doorway. The sea wind howled as Clint focused his gaze ahead. The warships were already very close.
There was no need for binoculars to see the two frigates positioned behind the cargo ship, one to either side!
But something seemed off.
The sea behind the frigates was strewn with shipwreckage. Blood and spilled oil drifted across the water, reflecting strange glints in the sunlight.
As Clint was still wondering what had happened, the faster of