Chapter 7 - The Trap at Pier 42
The rain turned to an icy sleet by four in the morning. Pier 42 rose out of the dark water like the skeletal remains of an ancient sea monster. Rusted gantry cranes hung suspended over massive, abandoned concrete basins where warships had once been repaired.
Maya stood on the second-level catwalk of an abandoned warehouse overlooking the basin, her night-vision scope trained on the solitary black sedan parked beneath a flickering halogen lamp on the pier.
Agent Marcus Cole stood leaning against the hood, dressed in an FBI windbreaker, smoking a cigarette to keep his hands from shaking. Around him, the pier appeared deserted.
To an untrained eye, he looked like a weary federal agent waiting for an informant.
To Maya, the subtle details screamed ambush.
The three commercial fishing trawlers docked fifty yards out had no deck lights, yet their waterlines sat too low—weighted down with armed men. The industrial ventilation louvers on the warehouse roof opposite her had been freshly opened. Marksmen.
Maya didn't bring Clara and Leo. She had hidden them two miles back in the basement of a 24-hour laundromat, locking the steel door from the outside and leaving Clara with a loaded .45 caliber pistol and strict instructions: *If I am not back by five-thirty, you take Leo to the television news station in the city center and pull the fire alarm.*
Maya descended the rusty exterior fire escape, moving silently through the shadows of the shipping containers until she was ten paces behind Marcus Cole.
"You're smoking again, Marcus," Maya said calmly, stepping into the light. "I thought you quit when Sarah had the baby."
Cole jumped, nearly dropping the cigarette into a puddle. He spun around, his hand instinctively darting toward his duty weapon before he stopped himself, his face twisting with a mix of guilt and relief.
"Maya," Cole breathed, stepping toward her. "Jesus Christ, look at you. You're bleeding."
"Stay right there, Marcus," Maya said, keeping her weapon pointed low, aimed directly at his kneecap. "Why did you call Vance’s office thirty seconds after I hung up with you?"
Cole froze. The color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse under the yellow halogen light.
"How... how do you..."
"I cloned your encrypted frequency three years ago when we worked the cartel task force," Maya said coldly. "I monitored the outbound ping from the regional cell tower. You sold me out. To the man who murdered my brother."
Cole’s shoulders slumped. He looked down at the wet concrete, tears welling in his red-rimmed eyes. "You don't understand, Maya! You don't know who these people are! They have my family! Vance showed me photos of my daughter at her preschool yesterday morning! He told me if I didn't deliver Daniel's drive tonight, Sarah and Emily would be found at the bottom of the bay!"
"Daniel had a family too, Marcus!" Maya hissed, stepping closer, her voice laced with venom. "Daniel had a son! Leo was five years old when they ran his father off a cliff! And Vance slapped that boy in front of three hundred people tonight like he was a dog!"
"Give them the drive, Maya!" Cole begged, taking an impulsive step forward, his hands outstretched. "Vance promised me! He said if we give him the physical hardware, he’ll let Clara and Leo disappear! He just wants the ledger erased! You can't beat them, Maya! They own everything!"
"Nobody owns everything," Maya said.
From the dark deck of the nearest fishing trawler, a sniper rifle shot cracked through the night.
The heavy bullet wasn't aimed at Maya.
It punched through Marcus Cole’s chest from behind, the round exiting through his FBI badge in a spray of scarlet.
Crane was cleaning up loose ends.
Cole gasped, falling forward into Maya’s arms, his heavy frame dragging them both down behind the engine block of the sedan just as a hail of automatic gunfire shredded the vehicle's windows and sheet metal.
"Marcus!" Maya yelled, pressing her hand over the massive exit wound in his chest.
Cole coughed blood, his fingers clawing at Maya’s lapel. With his dying strength, he reached into his tactical vest and pulled out a small, blood-splattered digital keycard stamped with the insignia of the City Broadcast Network.
"I... I didn't want to do it, Maya..." Cole choked out, his eyes turning glassy. "Vance... Vance is holding a live televised press conference... 6:00 AM... at the Municipal Center... framing you... He bought the whole network... Use this... Overwrite the feed... Daniel's drive... show them..."
Cole’s head snapped back against the wheel rim. His eyes stared unblinkingly at the sleet falling from the black sky.
Maya didn't have time to mourn. The tactical squad from the trawler was already advancing across the open dock, their combat boots pounding against the wooden planks.
Maya snatched Cole’s service rifle, rolled under the sedan, and fired three precise bursts into the exposed fuel tanks of the fishing trawler.
May you like
The marine diesel exploded in a catastrophic shockwave, engulfing the dock in a raging wall of orange fire and black smoke. Using the blinding inferno as cover, Maya vanished into the maze of shipping containers, clutching the master broadcast keycard in her bloody hand.
***
