Since we can’t leave the vans behind, it ends up taking almost an hour to reach the docks. They’re unusually quiet today, the normally loud and busy site almost like a ghost town. I’m on high alert, heart thudding nervously in my chest while I keep an eye out for snipers or other trouble. I notice Kian doing the same, his head rotating as he checks out the different vantage points.
As we park our bikes in a quiet corner, the vans pulling up behind us, I begin to appreciate the kind of power Vincenzo holds. The dock should be full of people; cranes should be lifting containers off of ships, forklifts and other vehicles should be driving around, people should be talking and shouting out orders.
Instead, the silence is almost deafening. Container ships, reefer vessels, oil tankers, and cargo ships bob up and down in the water, with not a single dockhand or crewman in sight. The only noise is the lapping of water and the ever-present screech of seagulls, and it’s highly unsettling.
Flipping my visor up, I pull Kian to the side, indicating for him to do the same. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Kian glances around, then looks up, squinting into the bright sky. “I don’t either. I wasn’t expecting your father to have shut down the entire dock. Who does that?”
It’s the middle of the day, on a weekday no less. This place should be heaving with people. But I suppose when you have as much power, money, and influence as Vincenzo does, and when you don’t want to get caught smuggling people, then I guess shutting down the docks seems like a small thing.
Not sure how to answer that, I just shrug in reply. Kian removes his helmet and points to a spot inside. “Inside your helmet, along the right-hand side, is a small button. Can you feel it?”
I reach through the visor, patting around until I find it. “What’s it for?”
“Jase added a comms system to it. If you press it, we can talk to each other. Since we have to leave them on anyway in case someone recognizes you, at least we’ll be able to talk to each other.”
I nod then walk around to the back of the van and open the doors. We get the RPG-7s out, looping them over our backs. Andy and Francis jump out of the van, donning bulletproof vests and helmets, guns stored in harnesses at their sides.
Cargo freight and shipping containers create a maze-like obstacle for us to find our way through, rising three to four containers high in some places. The one upside to the area being so quiet? We should be able to easily find Vincenzo’s containers. They’ll be the only ones with people around them.
It takes longer than I’d like to find them, but finally, after what feels like hours of stealthily searching down one avenue of containers after another, we hear the drone of a crane.
A crane that should be silent like all the others.
Coming to the end of a wall of containers, we peek out, almost gagging at the smell of rotting fish. A fishing boat bobs gently in front of us, seagulls screaming with victory as they snap up the morning’s catch as it lies abandoned on the deck.
Hearing a shout, our heads snap to the left, and I hear Kian chuckle through the speaker in my helmet. A large container ship, stacked high with metal containers, dwarfs the smaller ships surrounding it. Sunlight glints off the crane, which is currently transporting one of the containers.
“How many men do you see?” I ask quietly, my neck craning to count. “I count eight.”
Kian leans past me. “You forgot the crane operator.”
“Fuck,” I reply with a sigh. “Missed that one. So nine, then.”
“They outnumber us two-to-one,” Francis says, straightening her shoulders. “But that shouldn’t be a problem. The crane operator worries me. If he has a gun up there, we’ll be sitting ducks.”
Kian leans back against the metal boxes. “We have to wait until they’re done unloading the containers anyway. We don’t know how many there are, or how to find which ones are Vincenzo’s. I know what they say about assuming things, but once the containers are removed, I would think the operator would come down. It’s only dangerous while he’s up there and if he’s armed.”
I turn to Andy and Francis. “Do you think you can backtrack and loop around to the other side? Then we’ll have them surrounded, and there will be a better chance of success.”
They agree and disappear back the way we’d just come. Once they confirm they’re in place, we wait until the crane stops moving and two rusted navy-blue containers are sitting side-by-side on the docks. Glancing up at the crane, I can see the operator climbing down. Kian and I attach our silencers, knowing we need to get out there quickly before the men start unloading the women. We don’t want them to get caught in the crossfire.
Kian gives the signal and the four of us move out. Luckily for us, the men are so intent on what they’re doing, they aren’t paying attention to what’s going on around them. Vincenzo needs to hire better people. They should have at least one person as a lookout.
Two men are facing away from us, talking quietly. I gesture that they’re mine, and Kian nods. They fall quickly, clean bullet holes through the back of their heads. Unfortunately, the sound of their bodies hitting the ground alerts the others and a shout goes up.
Shots are being fired and I shake my head at their further stupidity. Everyone knows about the police force’s ShotSpotter system—a gunshot detection system that alerts police to where shots are fired. The fuckers are going to bring the cops down on us because they aren’t using silencers.
Fuck, we won’t have long.
Stepping back into an alley of containers, I pull out my phone and call Jase. “Anything you can do to block the ShotSpotter?” I hiss into the phone when he answers. “Stupid fuckers are firing like it’s the Old West, and we’ll have the police here any minute.”
I can hear him chuckle on the other end. My brows snap down in a frown. I’m just about to ask what’s so funny when he replies, “Already ahead of you. I disabled it when I did the cameras.”
“Thank fuck. Thanks, Jase.”
“You’re welcome. Just make sure both of you get back safely. Your man is going crazy and is going to wear treads in the floor for all his pacing.”
