Chapter 6 - Rain Over the Docks
The armored vehicle sliced through the midnight downpour like a sleek black shark cutting through dark water.
We exited the subterranean tunnel network through a hidden freight elevator that surfaced inside an abandoned industrial warehouse along the Hudson River.
Outside,
the rain fell in sheets,
washing away the grime of Manhattan and turning the asphalt into a shimmering mirror of neon lights.
Clara sat in the passenger seat,
her laptop open on her knees as green lines of data reflected in her glasses.
“Sloan’s security perimeter is concentrated around Pier 42,
” she reported,
her fingers moving rhythmically across the keyboard.
“Four guard towers,
three patrol boats in the slip,
and at least two dozen mercenaries patrolling the perimeter with thermal optics.
”
“Thermal optics,
” I repeated,
shifting the transmission into four-wheel drive as we approached the perimeter fence.
“That means standard camouflage won't work.
”
“Which is why I rerouted the municipal power grid for the adjacent shipping yards two minutes ago,
” she replied smoothly.
“The thermal towers are currently experiencing a localized power surge and rebooting.
”
“You blacked out half of lower Manhattan just for a tactical window?”
“Just three blocks,
” she corrected with a faint smirk.
“The financial district won't even notice until morning.
”
I rammed the reinforced front bumper of the SUV directly through the chain-link security gate,
sending twisted metal flying into the muddy puddles.
Alarms began to wail across the docks,
instantly swallowed by the roaring thunder.
Before the guards in the nearest tower could react,
I killed the headlights and slammed on the brakes,
sliding the vehicle into the deep shadows behind a towering stack of rusted shipping containers.
“Stay close to me,
” I ordered,
stepping out into the freezing rain with the MP5 raised.
Clara slipped out the passenger side with her Walther PPK drawn,
her posture low and balanced as she mirrored my movements.
The rain battered our tactical vests,
creating a heavy,
rhythmic roar that drowned out our footsteps.
Two guards emerged from the shadow of a warehouse,
flashlights cutting erratic beams through the driving rain.
“Check the gate!” one shouted over the wind.
They moved past our container stack without looking.
I stepped from the shadows behind them,
my arm looping around the lead guard’s neck with crushing force before he could draw his weapon.
A swift,
silent snap of vertebrae,
and he slumped lifelessly into the mud.
The second guard whipped around in alarm,
his rifle coming up.
Before his finger could reach the trigger,
a muffled pop echoed softly.
A small hole appeared in the center of his tactical helmet,
and he dropped instantly without a sound.
I glanced back.
Clara stood a few paces away,
smoke curling gently from the suppressed muzzle of her Walther.
She lowered the pistol with absolute calm,
wiping a stray drop of rain from her glasses.
“Nice shot,
” I murmured.
“Forensic accountants have excellent hand-eye coordination,
” she replied coolly,
stepping over the fallen guard.
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“Now let’s go dismantle an empire.
”
