Chapter 7
By eleven o'clock at night, five black armored SUVs glided silently through the industrial wasteland of Chicago's South Side docks. The rain had begun to fall, a steady, freezing drizzle that slicked the asphalt and blurred the towering silhouettes of rusty shipping cranes against the dark sky.
Inside the lead vehicle, Adrian sat in the rear leather seat. He had equipped a tactical kevlar vest over his fitted black dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to expose his tattoos, his custom black sidearm secured in his chest holster. Beside him sat Marco, checking the tactical readouts on his tablet.
"Pier 42 is surrounded by a ten-foot chain-link fence," Marco reported in a low, rapid whisper over the rumble of the engine. "Our thermal drone picked up fourteen armed guards inside the primary warehouse. Sterling himself arrived twenty minutes ago in a silver limousine."
"And Eleanor Vance?" Adrian asked, his voice deathly calm.
"Thermal signatures show a single individual tied to a chair inside the central office bay on the second floor," Marco confirmed. "She's alive, Boss."
Adrian looked out the tinted window at the dark silhouette of Pier 42 looming through the freezing rain. His sharp jawline flexed as he touched the gold-and-black watch on his wrist.
"We move in thirty seconds," Adrian instructed flatly. "Team Alpha breaches the north fence to draw their primary fire. Marco, you and I take the rear loading bay and move directly to the second-floor office. We secure Eleanor Vance first. Everything else is secondary."
"Understood, Boss," Marco acknowledged, signaling the surrounding vehicles via encrypted radio.
The lead SUV accelerated, turning off its headlights as it glided into the shadow of a row of stacked shipping containers fifty yards from the warehouse entrance.
Adrian opened the heavy armored door, stepping out into the freezing rain. His black leather boots struck the wet pavement without making a sound. His tall, muscular frame radiated an aura of terrifying, absolute dominance as he drew his sidearm, racking the slide with a fluid, practiced motion.
A sudden explosion echoed from the north side of the complex as Team Alpha executed the distraction breach, blowing the perimeter gates with breaching charges. Alarms began to blare across the docks, red emergency strobes cutting through the fog.
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"Move," Adrian growled.
He led Marco and three elite operatives through the rear loading bay doors, stepping into the cavernous, shadow-drenched interior of Pier 42 to deliver a reckoning nineteen years in the making.
