Chapter 11 - The Shadows of Pier 42
Thirty minutes later, a heavy salt fog hung thick over the dark, industrial expanse of Pier 42. Cold rain drizzled down from a pitch-black sky, slicking the rusting shipping containers and concrete docks.
A large, unmarked Panamanian freighter sat docked at the edge of the deepwater channel, its cranes humming quietly as they lifted heavy wooden crates from the back of a flatbed semi-truck.
Surrounding the truck were eight men dressed in dark tactical gear, carrying suppressed automatic rifles, their eyes scanning the fog nervously.
High above on the gantry crane structure, shadowed by the darkness, sat Valeria and Marcus.
Both were now clad in black tactical suits retrieved from Marcus's trunk. Valeria held a silenced sniper rifle, her eye pressed against the thermal optic, tracking the heat signatures of the guards below.
"Target confirmed," Valeria whispered through her tactical headset. "Crate number four contains the guidance systems. If those hit the open sea, three rogue states get nuclear delivery capabilities by morning."
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"FBI backup is fifteen minutes away," Marcus replied from his position near the crane ladder, checking the magazine of his sidearm. "We can't wait for them. They'll launch as soon as the last crate clears the deck."
"We don't wait," Valeria said, her tone utterly flat. "We execute standard breach-and-clear. On my mark."
