Chapter 7 - The Strike at Pier 14
The northern shipping terminal at Pier 14 was a sprawling maze of rusted iron, towering steel shipping containers, and dark concrete loading bays jutting out into the black, churning waters of the bay.
At eleven-forty-five, under the cover of a dense ocean fog and driving rain, four black, armored SUVs rolled through the rear gates of the terminal, their headlights extinguished.
I sat in the front passenger seat of the lead vehicle, holding a silenced tactical submachine gun, a night-vision headset pulled up over my forehead. Beside me sat Marco, racking the slide of his custom sidearm.
"Kozlov’s men have already breached the main security building, Mr. Sterling," Marco whispered, looking at a tactical tablet. "Twelve hostiles inside the hub, armed with automatic rifles. Another six patrolling the container stacks near the water."
"And Camille?" I asked.
"She’s inside the hub with Kozlov’s lieutenant, a man named Yuri," Marco replied. "She wanted to watch the system override in person."
"Remember the objective," I ordered, looking back at the six heavily armed men sitting in the rear seats. "We take the security hub clean. No civilian casualties. Kozlov’s men are to be disarmed, bound, and turned over to the Federal Special Operations Division at sunrise."
"Understood, sir."
I pulled my night-vision goggles down over my eyes. The dark, rain-soaked landscape of Pier 14 instantly transformed into a bright, green-hued tactical overlay.
"Move," I commanded.
We stepped out into the pouring rain, moving in disciplined, silent tactical formation through the shadow of three towering shipping containers. The sound of our boots was completely swallowed by the roar of the wind and the heavy ocean waves crashing against the wooden pilings beneath the pier.
Two mercenaries in black rain slickers stepped out from behind a stack of wooden crates, holding assault rifles, their eyes scanning the fog.
Before they could raise their weapons, Marco and my lead security operative fired four rapid, silenced shots.
Pft. Pft. Pft. Pft.
Both mercenaries collapsed into the mud without making a sound. My men moved forward instantly, securing their weapons and dragging their bodies into the shadows of a container.
We reached the rear entrance of the concrete security hub—a three-story building overlooking the water, its windows glowing with faint interior lights.
"Breaching in three... two... one," Marco whispered, placing a small, silent hydraulic charge against the steel reinforced door lock.
CLICK.
The heavy steel door swung open without a sound.
We surged inside, clearing the ground floor corridors with lethal speed, moving up the concrete stairwell toward the central control room on the top floor.
Through the reinforced glass pane of the control room door, I saw them.
Yuri—a thick-necked Russian with tattooed knuckles and a scarred face—sat at the primary terminal desk, typing rapid security bypass codes into the master computer. Standing beside him, wearing a dark trench coat over her champagne dress, holding a glass of scotch, was Camille Vance.
Her face was flushed with a wild, triumphant excitement.
"Is the port access transferring?" she asked eagerly, her voice carrying through the door frame. "Is the Sterling system locked out?"
"Seventy percent, Miss Vance," Yuri grunted in a heavy accent. "Five more minutes, and your ex-fiancé won't even be able to open his own front gate."
Camille let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. "I told him! I told him he would regret throwing me away like trash!"
I stepped up to the door, raised my heavy leather boot, and kicked the lock mechanism with all the force in my legs.
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BOOM!
The reinforced glass door shattered inward, wood and steel splinters flying across the control room floor.
