Chapter 26: [26] Operation: Fallen Tyrant
"So we’re really doing this."
"Cold feet already?" Pierre spread the blueprints wider across the weathered wooden crate, the papers crackling under his palms. The faded ink lines seemed to come alive in the dim light, revealing every detail of Hardy’s monument with startling clarity. "Because I can always find another woman who’s not afraid of a little danger."
Raven snorted, settling onto a stack of moldy fishing nets that compressed beneath her weight with a soft squelch.The abandoned shack groaned around them, a constant complaint against the sea wind. Moonlight filtered through grimy windows, casting silver, shifting patterns across the schematics. A rat scurried across the far corner, disappearing into a hole in the wall.
"Please. I’ve stolen from crews that would skin you alive for looking at them wrong." She leaned forward, her blue eyes catching the light as they swept over the town square blueprints. "A pompous Navy captain doesn’t exactly keep me up at night."
Pierre traced his finger along the statue’s foundation markings, noting the structural support points. The paper felt rough beneath his fingertips, the ink slightly raised where the draftsman had pressed harder. "Look at this. Hardy’s monument isn’t just oversized ego—it’s poor engineering. The foundation’s only eighteen inches deep for a thirty-foot bronze statue."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning it’s already unstable. Add the right kind of stress in the right places..." He tapped three specific points on the blueprint. "And gravity does the rest of our work for us. Physics becomes our accomplice."
Raven’s lips curved upward. "I like where this is going. But bringing down a statue is one thing. Getting away clean is another." She pulled out a piece of charcoal and began sketching patrol routes over the existing blueprints. "Security changes shifts at six, ten, and two. That gives us a four-hour window where the guards are either tired from a long shift or still getting their bearings. I’ve been watching them for three days now – they’re creatures of habit."
"Which shift would be ideal?" Pierre asked.
"Two AM. Night watch is skeleton crew, and they’re more worried about pirates coming from the water than troublemakers already on land." Her hand moved confidently across the paper. "Plus, Hardy’s got that prosthetic leg. Cold night air makes it ache—his file mentioned chronic pain issues. He’ll be dead asleep on painkillers by then."