Chapter 5 - The First Target
By 4:30 a.
m.
,
Marcus had successfully isolated the precise trajectory of the black SUV used in the ambush,
tracking its movements across three separate expressway toll cameras before it vanished into an abandoned industrial park on the industrial outskirts of the city.
Adrian stood by his mahogany desk,
reviewing the high-resolution digital screenshots displayed on his encrypted laptop,
his face carved from cold,
unyielding granite.
The vehicle was a late-model Chevy Tahoe with stolen plates,
registered to a shell company that traced directly back to a mid-level enforcer named Sean Callahan,
a disgruntled former debt collector who had recently been expelled from the Irish mob for excessive brutality.
Callahan thought he could freelance,
Marcus reported through the encrypted comm-link,
his voice tight with controlled aggression.
He's been hanging around the warehouse district on 4th Street,
trying to sell confidential shipping schedules to our competitors in a desperate bid to stay solvent after blowing his money at underground poker tables.
He didn't sell shipping schedules tonight,
Adrian said quietly,
his voice carrying a lethal promise of absolute destruction.
He touched my secretary,
and now he's going to pay the ultimate price for his catastrophic miscalculation.
Shall I assemble a strike team to bring him in for questioning,
Marcus asked,
eagerly awaiting the final command to mobilize his enforcers.
No strike team,
Marcus,
Adrian replied coldly,
buttoning up his black wool overcoat as he grabbed his heavy leather driving gloves from the side table.
I am going to handle this one personally,
so meet me at the 4th Street warehouse in fifteen minutes and have the perimeter locked down tight.
Adrian walked briskly toward the private elevator,
his mind operating with the ruthless,
clockwork precision of a seasoned predator executing a textbook ambush.
He descended into the subterranean parking garage,
slid behind the wheel of his black Audi,
and roared out into the dark,
rain-drenched Chicago streets,
driving like a man possessed by an unstoppable,
consuming fury.
The industrial park was a decaying maze of rusted corrugated metal,
towering shipping containers,
and overgrown weeds that swayed violently in the howling wind blowing off Lake Michigan.
Adrian killed his headlights a block away,
coasting silently into the shadows behind a row of abandoned loading docks where Marcus's armored tactical van was already parked with its engine idling in the gloom.
Marcus stepped out of the shadows as Adrian opened his car door,
handing him a heavy steel crowbar and a suppressed Glock 19 with a grim,
knowing nod.
He's inside the main office building,
Boss,
Marcus whispered,
May you like
pointing toward a flickering yellow security light above a rusting steel door at the end of the alley.
And he's definitely not expecting company this early in the morning.
