Chapter 5 - The Ghost of West River
The red-hued monitors cast an eerie,
bloody glow across the concrete walls of the armory.
Clara pulled up a high-resolution surveillance feed from the upper docks of West River,
where Patrick Sloan’s primary smuggling operations were anchored.
Massive cargo containers bearing fictitious logistics labels were being unloaded under the cover of a torrential rainstorm.
“Sloan is moving his entire inventory tonight,
” Clara noted,
zooming in on a group of armed thugs wearing heavy waterproof tactical gear.
“They’re shifting the fentanyl shipments inland before the federal servers receive our data package.
”
“Not if we intercept them first,
” I said,
walking over to the armor locker and strapping a ceramic tactical vest over my tailored shirt.
“Adrian,
that’s suicide,
” Mason whispered from the floor,
his bravado entirely evaporated.
“Sloan has fifty armed mercenaries guarding those docks.
”
“Fifty men who don't know they’ve already been sold out by their own financial ledger,
” I replied,
sliding extra magazines into my tactical belt.
Clara finished securing her portable terminal into a ruggedized leather briefcase and stood up,
smoothing out the wrinkles of her emerald gown with absolute composure.
“I’m coming with you,
” she stated.
I stopped mid-motion,
turning to look at her with narrowed eyes.
“No.
”
“Excuse me?”
“The docks are a war zone,
Clara.
”
“You’re my forensic accountant,
not my field operative.
”
“And you’re a billionaire criminal mastermind who nearly took a sniper round through the skull because you didn't check your security detail’s background checks,
” she snapped back,
her eyes flashing with a fierce,
unapologetic brilliance.
“Who do you think set up the real-time satellite tracking feed you’re looking at right now?”
“Who do you think bypassed Sloan’s encrypted radio frequencies three minutes ago?”
“Without me,
you’ll walk right into a crossfire blind.
”
I stared at her for a long,
silent moment.
She didn't flinch.
She didn't look away.
The terrified socialite from the Alden House ballroom had vanished,
replaced by a woman forged in cold steel and unyielding resolve.
“Fine,
” I conceded,
tossing a compact tactical vest across the room.
“Put that on.
”
Clara caught the vest with practiced ease,
sliding it over her shoulders and adjusting the straps with grim efficiency.
She then pulled a sleek,
suppressed Walther PPK from her velvet clutch,
checking the magazine with the familiarity of a seasoned veteran.
I raised an eyebrow.
“An accountant with a Walther?”
“Federal court in the Southern District is a dangerous place,
Mr.
Vale,
” she murmured with a slight,
ironic smirk.
“You learn to protect your spreadsheets.
”
I turned my gaze back to Mason,
who was watching us with wide,
terrified eyes.
“What about him?” Clara asked,
nodding toward our prisoner.
“We can't leave him here,
and we certainly can't take him into a firefight.
”
“Lock him in the automated decontamination cell,
” I replied coldly.
“He can meditate on his four point seven million while we dismantle his employer.
”
Mason scrambled backward,
clawing at the concrete.
“No! Please,
Adrian! Sloan will flay me alive if he finds out I talked!”
“Then you should have thought about that before you helped set up the sniper rifle,
” I said,
pressing the electronic keypad on the reinforced glass cell.
May you like
The heavy titanium door slid shut with a airtight seal,
cutting off Mason’s muffled screams as the automated locks engaged.
