Part 19
The shipping docks were a maze of towering steel containers,
stacked like giant building blocks against the dark,
churning waters of the harbor.
The wind blew cold off the ocean,
carrying the thick scent of salt,
diesel fuel,
and rotting timber.
I stood in the shadow of a rusted crane,
shivering slightly despite my heavy wool coat,
my eyes fixed on pier forty-two.
Marcus’s tactical team was positioned in the surrounding structures,
hidden inside empty containers and behind rows of industrial machinery,
waiting for my signal.
Lily was safe at the federal headquarters,
guarded by a dozen armed agents,
ensuring she was far away from the potential crossfire.
According to the shipping manifest,
a small cargo vessel named The Northern Star had just docked,
its flag registered to a shell company in Panama.
A single man stepped off the gangplank,
carrying a metallic briefcase chained to his left wrist,
his eyes scanning the foggy perimeter with practiced caution.
He wore a long dark coat,
his face hidden beneath the brim of a low hat,
moving with the deliberate speed of a professional courier.
I checked the earpiece inside my right ear,
hearing the low,
steady breathing of Marcus as he monitored the thermal feeds.
"Target is on the move,
Daniel,"
Marcus whispered through the static,
"He’s heading toward the warehouse office at the end of the pier."
"I see him,"
I replied,
stepping out from my hiding place,
and melting into the dark corridor between the container walls.
I followed him at a safe distance,
stepping only when the fog rolled in thick,
using the groaning of the cranes to cover the sound of my boots.
He reached the warehouse door,
inserting a physical key into the lock,
and slipped inside the vast,
dark interior.
I reached the door a moment later,
finding it unlocked,
left open intentionally for the contact he expected to meet.
I pushed the heavy metal door inward,
entering the silent warehouse,
the smell of old cardboard and oil filling my lungs.
The courier was standing beneath a single hanging bulb,
setting the metallic briefcase onto a wooden crate,
and entering a digital sequence into the lock.
"You're late,
Julian,"
the courier said without turning around,
his voice sharp,
foreign,
and completely devoid of emotion.
"Julian couldn't make it tonight,"
I said,
stepping into the circle of light,
my hands resting loosely at my sides.
The courier froze,
his shoulders tensing instantly,
as he realized the voice didn't belong to his business partner.
He turned around slowly,
the light catching the sharp angle of his jaw,
and the cold,
lifeless quality of his blue eyes.
"Daniel Vance,"
he murmured,
a small,
sinister smile breaking his grim expression,
"Thorne told me you might find us."
"Where is he?"
I demanded,
my voice echoing in the rafters of the empty building.
"He's closer than you think,"
the courier replied,
and before I could react,
he threw a small metal canister onto the floor between us.
A blinding flash of white light exploded in my eyes,
followed by a thick,
May you like
choking cloud of gray smoke,
that swallowed the room in an instant.
