Chapter 4 - The Astoria Job
The rain had transitioned into a thick, clinging coastal fog by the time Conrad’s black utility truck descended into the historic town of Astoria. The massive spans of the Astoria-Megler Bridge loomed out of the mist like the skeletal remains of a forgotten giant.
Conrad drove in silence, his eyes constantly scanning his rearview mirrors. The decoy operation had worked perfectly; Silas had reported that Marcus’s surveillance teams had broken their perimeter to pursue the armored convoy heading south toward Portland. For now, they were in the clear.
They bypassed the main town and drove up the winding, narrow roads that led to the wealthy residential cliffs. The houses here were historic Victorians, perched precariously over the roaring gray waters of the Columbia River estuary.
Thomas Kincaid’s house was a secluded, two-story craftsman home surrounded by a dense wall of tall hedges. Conrad parked the truck two blocks away in the shadow of a water tower.
"We walk from here," Conrad whispered, checking his earpiece. "Silas, do you have eyes on the residence?"
"Static feed is up, boss," Silas’s voice crackled through the comms. He was stationed in a surveillance van a mile away. "Two guards on the ground floor. Kincaid is in his second-floor study. No external motion sensors active; he relies on his physical guards and the local police response time."
"Understood. Moving in."
Conrad and Elena slipped through the fog, moving like twin shadows through the wet grass. They breached the perimeter hedge and approached the side of the house. Conrad peered through a low window into the kitchen. A burly guard in a dark suit was standing by the counter, pouring a cup of coffee.
Conrad tapped Elena on the shoulder, pointing toward the back door, then held up three fingers, counting down.
Three. Two. One.
Conrad moved with explosive, terrifying speed. He stepped up to the back door, picked the simple lock in under four seconds, and slipped inside just as the guard turned around with his coffee. Before the man could react or reach for his weapon, Conrad closed the distance. His right hand slammed into the guard's throat, cutting off his airway, while his left swept the man’s legs out from under him.
The guard hit the linoleum floor with a muffled thud, unconscious before he even realized he was under attack. Conrad quietly dragged him into a pantry, stripping him of his radio and sidearm.
Meanwhile, the second guard, hearing a faint noise, stepped into the hallway from the living room. Elena, who had slipped in through the side window, was waiting. As the guard turned the corner, she didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, driving the heel of her boot into his knee.
The joint popped with a sickening crunch. As the guard gasped in pain and reached for his holster, Elena grabbed his wrist, twisting it violently behind his back while slamming his face hard into the wooden doorframe. He collapsed into a heap, groaning weakly.
Conrad stepped into the hallway, looking at the unconscious guard, then up at Elena, who was panting slightly, her eyes bright with adrenaline.
"Impressive," Conrad murmured. " Remind me never to get on your bad side."
"I told you," she whispered, wiping a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "My father made sure I could survive."
They moved up the creaking wooden staircase, their weapons drawn. Conrad gently pushed the door to the study open.
Thomas Kincaid, a balding, middle-aged man in an expensive silk robe, was sitting at his desk, counting stacks of cash. When he looked up and saw Conrad and Elena standing in the doorway, his face drained of all color.
"Conrad... Conrad Ashford," Kincaid stammered, his hands shaking so violently he dropped a bundle of hundred-dollar bills. "What... what are you doing here? If the Morettis find out—"
"The Morettis aren't here to save you, Thomas," Conrad said, walking slowly into the room and resting his hands on the edge of the mahogany desk. "But we are. We want the keycard and the authorization code for the Aegis Logistics safe-deposit box."
"I can't!" Kincaid cried, his eyes darting toward the window. "They’ll kill me! You don't know what they do to people who betray them!"
"And you don't know what I do to people who waste my time," Conrad said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly whisper. He reached out, grabbed Kincaid by his silk collar, and dragged him across the desk, scattering papers and money everywhere. "The Morettis might kill you tomorrow. I will kill you in the next five seconds. Choose your timeline, Thomas."
Kincaid whimpered, his eyes rolling back in terror. "In my jacket... the inner pocket. The code is 11-45-82. Please, just don't kill me!"
Elena walked over to the closet, found Kincaid’s tweed jacket, and reached into the inside pocket. She pulled out a heavy, black encrypted keycard.
"I have it," she said, looking at Conrad.
Conrad let go of Kincaid, who slumped onto the desk, weeping softly. Conrad pulled a zip-tie from his pocket and quickly bound Kincaid’s hands behind his back, then stuffed a clean handkerchief into his mouth.
May you like
"Sleep well, Thomas," Conrad said.
Ten minutes later, they were back in the utility truck, driving down the misty hill toward the Astoria Federal Bank. The night was cold, the streets deserted. The real test was about to begin.
