Chapter 3 - Blood on the Clock
The rain hit the windshield of the black Cadillac Escalade like a barrage of lead shot.
It was 8:53 AM. Seven minutes remaining.
I sat in the middle row of the heavily armored vehicle, Jasper held firmly against my chest with my left arm, while my right hand held an iron grip on the door handle. Up front, Marcus was driving with terrifying precision, weaving the three-ton SUV through heavy morning traffic at eighty miles per hour, his sirens blaring a harsh, continuous scream into the storm.
Behind us, three identical black SUVs followed in a tight, military V-formation, cutting through red lights and mounting sidewalks without slowing down.
"Pier 4 is owned by Maritime Freight Logistics," Marcus reported, his eyes glued to the rain-slicked pavement. "It’s a shell corporation registered under the name of Don Viktor Moretti."
My jaw set so hard a sharp pain shot up my temple. Viktor Moretti. The fading relic of the old syndicate who had been desperate to regain control of the eastern docks. He had partnered with Director Wallace to turn her illegal child-trafficking ring into a multi-million-dollar supply line for wealthy overseas buyers.
They hadn't just taken innocent orphans. They had taken Arthur Sterling’s sons.
Six years ago, Arthur Sterling—my right-hand officer, my brother in everything but blood—had been ambushed in an alley three blocks from my estate. He had bled out in my arms, whispering with his final breath that his pregnant wife had been taken. We found his wife two days later in a hospital ward, dead from childbirth complications, but the records showed her babies had been stillborn.
It had been a lie.
Wallace had stolen the newborn twin boys, hiding them in separate branches of her corrupt state foster system, waiting for the day she could use them as leverage or sell them to the highest bidder to bankrupt the Sterling trust.
Jasper was one twin. Leo was the other.
"Three minutes to Pier 4, Boss," Marcus called out, taking a hard right turn that sent smoke rising from the rear tires. "Our drone team spotted activity on the northern dock. A panamanian freighter, the Sea Serpent. They're hoisting a yellow shipping container right now."
I looked down at Jasper. The little boy was staring up at me, his green eyes wide beneath his wet bangs.
"Is Leo going to be okay?" Jasper asked softly.
"Leo is coming home today, Jasper," I promised, reaching out to smooth his collar. "And when he gets here, nobody is ever going to separate you two again."
"They kept him in the dark room," Jasper whispered, his little fingers tightening on my jacket sleeve. "He doesn't like the dark. He keeps a blue toy car in his pocket so he remembers me."
I felt a surge of rage so intense it threatened to shatter my self-control.
"Marcus," I rasped.
"Yes, Boss?"
"When we hit that gate, do not stop."
"Copy that, Boss."
The Escalade accelerated. Up ahead, through the gray curtain of rain, the massive rusty iron gates of Pier 4 appeared, guarded by four armed men in heavy oilskin coats.
They raised their weapons as we approached, but Marcus didn't touch the brakes.
CRASH!
The reinforced steel bull-bar of the lead Escalade tore through the iron gates like wet paper, throwing chain links and shattered wood forty feet into the air. We burst onto the concrete apron of the docks, the tires screeching as Marcus spun the vehicle around to create a protective barrier.
Gunfire immediately erupted across the pier.
Bullets pinged harmlessly against the bulletproof glass of our SUV.
"Stay down, Jasper!" I commanded, pushing the boy beneath the leather seats.
I popped the door open. My men poured out of the trailing SUVs like a black tide, returning fire with silenced submachine guns. Within forty seconds, the guards on the apron were neutralized, forced into full retreat toward the crane staging area.
I stepped out into the pouring rain, my long black coat whipping in the wind.
High above the dock, the massive yellow crane arm was swinging a heavy steel container over the open hull of the Sea Serpent.
"HEIST IT DOWN!" a raspy, panicked voice screamed over a bullhorn from the crane platform.
It was Viktor Moretti. Beside him stood a woman in a bright red trench coat—Director Wallace.
"Marcus!" I roared over the sound of rain and roaring engines. "Take out the crane operator!"
A single, suppressed shot rang out from my lead sniper perched atop the Escalade.
The crane operator slumped forward over the controls. The crane came to a sudden, violent halt, the yellow steel container swaying precariously thirty feet in the air above the concrete dock.
"Vance!" Director Wallace screamed through the rain, her manicured hands clutching the crane railing as she looked down at me. "You're too late! The container is sealed! He has ten minutes of oxygen left in there!"
I didn't answer her. I didn't need to.
I sprinted toward the crane tower, my heavy boots crushing the wet gravel, while my tactical team swept the remaining guards from the ship's deck.
As I reached the base of the crane ladder, Director Wallace pulled a small silver pistol from her coat, aiming it down at me with trembling hands.
"Stay back, you monster!" she shrieked. "You're a mobster! You have no right—"
I grabbed the lower rung of the steel ladder, leaped upward, and seized her wrist before she could pull the trigger. With a single twist, the pistol clattered down onto the concrete fifty feet below.
I hauled myself onto the platform, towering over her terrified, wet form.
"Where is the override key for the container?" I growled, my hand locking around her throat like an iron collar.
Wallace choked, her face turning crimson, her eyes bulging as she clawed at my fingers. "In... in my pocket..."
I ripped the electronic bypass key from her coat, threw her violently back against the crane housing into Marcus's waiting cuffs, and sprinted toward the override panel.
May you like
I slammed the key into the slot, jamming the manual lowering lever downward.
The heavy steel container creaked, groaned, and began its slow, mechanical descent toward the dock floor.
