“How does a container without the proper receiving code enter a port it doesn’t belong in?” Vas tilts his head to the side as he continues to stare at the mysterious pile of money.
“It doesn’t.” I smile. “It’s a ghost ship.”
“You’re telling me that whoever is behind running these containers is ghosting other ships’ frequencies to gain access to Middle Eastern ports?” Liam asks, stroking his beard as he tries to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
“After 9/11, ports become severely restricted, even to shipping tycoons like Elias,” I inform them. “The only way anyone is getting access to a port—say in Iraq—would be with prior authorization to move already scheduled goods. Like oil. Food. Medicine.”
“None of which Elias normally ships,” Matthias adds. I nod.
“Elias ships private goods and materials. His business is built on private acquisitions. He wouldn’t be able to gain access to any of the ports needed to haul the cash,” I continue. “This container is supposed to be carrying a private acquisition of Egyptian artifacts. That’s what gets their vessel into Africa.”
“From there, whoever is running the ship would have spoofed another ship’s signal to gain access to one of the Iraqi ports,” Liam finishes for me.
“Exactly,” I nod.
“I don’t understand,” Vas interrupts. “Why is getting cash from Iraq such a big deal?”
“Because it’s stolen American money.”
The group balks, eyes widening, mouths slack as they stare back at the cash with a new sense of awe.
“You’re going to have to explain that to us later, Red,” Matthias growls as shouting filters into the container from outside. “We’ve got company.”
“We’re going to need a new storage plan,” Liam sighs. “I don’t have anywhere near enough room for this.”
Matthias nods. “I have a large underground safe beneath Dashkov Security that should be sufficient to hold both pallets. You can leave a few of your men there to help guard it if you wish.”
Liam nods appreciatively.
“Let’s get these pallets loaded onto the trucks,” Liam hollers to his men. “Make it fast before someone starts getting suspicious.”
A chorus ofyes, siranswers him, and within minutes, his men have a large box truck and a forklift in place, moving the money into the back.
“Fuck, I still can’t believe how much money there is.” Seamus smiles down at me as we watch Liam’s and Matthias’s men secure the pallets.
“I can’t believe whoever Christian is working for managed to pull it off.” Something gnaws at me. Something feels off, and I can’t put my finger on it. We haven’t run into any of the port security or Christian’s men. None. Except the one Vas already took out.
It’s a small port, and the fact that no one has even stumbled upon us—or that none of my biological father’s men or even Matthias’s have radioed in about movement—doesn’t sit right. It’s too quiet. Especially since there’s just been a drop-off.
Fuck.
The drop-off.
“Everyone get down!” Dima yells over the comm system, the volume making me wince as my eardrum rattles.
Seamus and I dive behind the side of one of the containers, wedged between the two as gunfire erupts around us. I pull out my gun, my breaths coming in short, ragged pants as I try to calm my racing heart.
Where is Matthias? And Liam?
From my position behind Seamus, who has his AR pointed toward the trucks loaded with the pallets, I can’t see anything. But my job isn’t looking forward—it’s watching his back. I turn my back to his, gun in the chest-ready position, my gaze fixed on the back side entrance of where we’re standing.
A clatter of voices and the sound of slamming doors echo around me, and I struggle to keep myself on point.
Shit.
A bullet whizzes past my head, embedding itself in the metal container just inches from where I’m standing. A tremor runs up my body as I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, steadying my heartbeat. I can see a man’s shadow lurking behind the container to the left of me. He’s waiting to see how I respond.
But I don’t.
