Chapter 6 - The Setup
Spencer moved like a shadow through the torrential downpour. He stayed low, sprinting between the stacks of twenty-foot shipping containers, disappearing into the maze of corrugated steel toward the access ladder of Crane 3.
I didn't wait.
I racked the slide of my weapon and stepped out into the open, letting the rain soak my tactical sweater, walking straight into the open corridor between the container rows.
I didn't sneak. I didn't hide.
"Sterling!" my voice boomed across the concrete apron, carrying over the hum of the ship’s diesel engines and the slap of the waves against the seawall.
The four men around the forklift froze. Two of them instantly reached for sidearms holstered beneath their slickers.
Richard Sterling turned slowly, lowering his umbrella slightly to look at me. When he recognized who was standing there—unsupported, soaked to the bone, with only a standard-issue pistol at low ready—a slow, condescending smile spread across his weathered face.
"Lieutenant Sullivan," Sterling said, his voice smooth, amplified by the natural acoustics of the concrete berth. "I must say, I’m disappointed. I expected a woman of your logistical genius to understand when a trade has already cleared. You’re late to your own execution."
"The trade is void, Sterling," I said, taking two steady steps forward, keeping my boots firmly planted on the oil-stained concrete. "Chief Miller is in irons at the Charleston brig. The naval security detachment is five minutes behind me. And your Bahamian escrow account was frozen thirty minutes ago by the Treasury Department."
Sterling’s smile flickered, a twitch of irritation pulling at his thin lips. "A bluff. Miller doesn't know enough to freeze those funds."
"Miller didn't do it," I said, raising my weapon slightly, indexing the barrel on his chest. "I did. I wrote the automated fraud protocols for Coastal Logistics six years ago. The moment an anomaly was flagged on my clearance card, an automatic freeze cascaded through every intermediary banking node tied to Vanguard Maritime. You’re doing heavy lifting in a hurricane for zero dollars, Richard."
The two armed men glanced at Sterling, their grip on their weapons shifting nervously.
"Don't listen to her," Sterling snapped, though a bead of cold sweat was now running down his temple, mixing with the rain. "Load the crate! Put it on the ramp now!"
"Touch that lever," I yelled at the forklift driver, "and you catch a federal charge for treason against the United States Navy. You think Sterling's going to pay your legal fees from a supermax prison?"
Above us, high in the steel lattice of the crane, a muffled gunshot rang out.
It wasn't aimed at me.
A body tumbled from the catwalk fifty feet up, hitting the top of an empty container with a sickening, hollow thud before rolling off onto the concrete. The sniper’s rifle clattered down a second later, shattering into pieces.
Spencer appeared at the crane railing above, his rifle leveled down at the men on the ground.
"Weapons on the deck!" Spencer’s voice cut through the storm like a thunderclap. "Hands behind your heads! Now!"
The forklift driver didn't hesitate. He killed the engine, threw his hands into the air, and jumped off the machine, dropping face down onto the wet concrete.
The two armed contractors looked up at Spencer’s vantage point, realized they were completely outmatched, and threw their pistols into the dark water of the river channel, dropping to their knees with their fingers interlaced behind their necks.
Sterling stood alone.
His umbrella slipped from his fingers, caught by a gust of wind, tumbling across the dock into the churning harbor.
"You ruined this," Sterling hissed, his face contorting into pure, venomous rage as he reached into his coat pocket. "Ten million dollars in hardware. Ten million!"
"Don't do it, Richard," I said calmly, taking three steps forward until the barrel of my gun was leveled directly between his eyes.
His hand froze inside his lapel.
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"You spent your whole life buying people like my sister," I said, my voice steady, cutting through the roaring wind. "People who think shortcuts are an entitlement. People who sell out their own flesh and blood for a taste of luxury they didn't earn. But you’re on military property now, Sterling. And out here, character is the only currency that doesn't bounce."
***