Chapter 85 – Pier 17
The storm had eased to a fine mist by the time the convoy rolled into position.
Two black SUVs idled in the shadow of a derelict warehouse, their engines low, headlights off. Farther down, a third vehicle waited with its back doors open, ready to load the crates once they had them.
Pier 17 lay ahead — a stretch of cracked asphalt and stacked shipping containers under the dim orange glow of sodium lamps. The cranes stood motionless in the fog, skeletal sentinels over the dark water. Somewhere beyond them, the encrypted drives sat inside a cargo crate marked as machine parts.
2330 hours.
Kairo adjusted the throat mic beneath his collar. "South team, report."
Matteo's voice crackled back. "In position. No movement yet."
"Hold until we breach," Kairo replied. He glanced at Elira, who was crouched beside him behind a rusted forklift. She had traded her usual jacket for a fitted black tactical vest, hair pulled back tight, a suppressed pistol holstered at her thigh and an SMG in her hands.
"You ready?" he asked.
Her eyes flicked toward the pier. "Born ready. But you already know that."
They moved.
Low, silent, staying in the shadows between stacks of containers. The air smelled of salt and rust, thick with the creak of shifting metal. Ahead, the north gate loomed — two chain-link panels topped with barbed wire, and beyond it, the glow of a lit guard shack.
Elira went left. Kairo went right.
Two guards emerged from the shack, laughing over something in rapid Italian. They never saw the silenced shots — two sharp coughs, both men dropping before their cigarettes hit the ground.
Kairo dragged one body out of sight while Elira took the keys from the other's belt. The gate swung inward on a groan of steel.
Inside, the pier was a maze of stacked metal and damp shadows. Somewhere nearby, a radio crackled in a language neither of them recognized. Vale's men weren't just local — these were imported hitters, disciplined and alert.
Elira caught Kairo's arm, pointing to a watchtower where a lone silhouette stood scanning the yard with binoculars.
Kairo whispered into his mic. "South team, smoke, now."
Seconds later, plumes of thick white vapor erupted from the far end of the pier. The watchman turned toward the distraction — and Matteo's suppressed rifle spat once. The body crumpled out of sight.
They advanced deeper.
The crate was supposed to be in Row C-14, midway down the pier. But as they reached the row, Elira's stomach dropped. The space where the crate should have been was empty.
"Shit," she hissed.
Kairo's jaw tightened. "They moved it."
Movement flickered at the edge of her vision — dark shapes fanning out from behind containers. A voice shouted in accented Italian, "Drop your weapons!"
They didn't.
The first gunshot cracked the air, loud enough to shatter the fog of silence. Then the pier erupted — automatic fire stitching across the asphalt, sparks flying where bullets chewed metal.
Kairo grabbed Elira, pulling her behind a stack as rounds tore into the corner. "We push left," he said, reloading with quick, practiced motions.
She nodded, tossing a flashbang around the container. The detonation washed the fog in blinding white light, and they moved — sprinting, firing, cutting down two men before they could recover.
Over comms, Matteo barked, "We've got contact on the south! Ten, maybe twelve!"
"Hold them!" Kairo ordered. "We're moving to the warehouse."
They broke into a run, weaving between containers, the ground slick beneath their boots. Elira could hear boots pounding behind them, shouts growing louder.
When they burst into the warehouse at the end of the pier, she froze.
The crate was there — but so was Vale's lieutenant, a lean, cold-eyed man with a pistol already aimed at them.
"You're late," he said, voice almost amused. "This? This doesn't belong to you."
Kairo raised his weapon. "Everything on this pier belongs to me."
The standoff lasted two heartbeats — then the warehouse filled with gunfire.
2342 hours
The alley smelled of diesel, wet brick, and the faint metallic tang of blood. Kairo moved first, his steps precise, measured. Elira stayed two paces behind, her eyes scanning every shadow, every twitch of movement in the narrow street.
The building they approached was nondescript—peeling plaster, rusted balcony railings, and a locked steel door at the back. But inside, Kairo knew, was a makeshift data lab where one of Vale's men had been running decryption attempts on one of the stolen drives.
"Two inside. One at the table, the other by the back stairs," came the whisper through his earpiece. It was Jalen, perched somewhere high with a clean view through a half-shattered window. "No movement outside for the last five minutes."
Kairo didn't answer. He stepped to the door, pressed his palm flat against the cold steel, and nodded to Elira. She knelt, producing a thin black pouch from her jacket. Two tools, a slow twist, and the lock gave with a muted click.
The hinges groaned as Kairo eased it open just far enough to slip inside.
The light inside was dim, a single bulb casting a yellow pool over a battered table covered in laptops, loose cables, and empty espresso cups. The man seated there had his back to them, head bent over a screen.
Elira ghosted forward, her hand finding the hilt of the combat knife strapped under her coat. She was almost on him when the man by the stairs turned his head.
"Boss—" he started, but the word choked off as Kairo's suppressed pistol coughed twice. The guard crumpled without a sound.
The man at the table froze, shoulders tightening. He didn't turn. "I suppose you're not here to negotiate."
"Correct," Kairo said flatly.
Elira's knife touched the man's neck before he could reach for anything. She angled his chair away from the laptop and toward Kairo. His face was younger than expected—mid-twenties, but the eyes had seen enough to belong to someone twice his age.
"You've been trying to open something that doesn't belong to you," Kairo said.
The man's jaw tightened. "It doesn't belong to you either."
Kairo crouched, his gaze steady. "Difference is, I can make you walk out of here. Or I can make sure no one ever finds you."
The man's eyes flicked to Elira, then to the door. Calculations ran across his expression, but he knew he was outmatched.
"It's on an external drive. Top drawer, right side," he said finally.
Elira retrieved it, her fingers closing around the slim black rectangle. She felt its weight—not mystical, but heavy with the kind of information that could burn governments to the ground.
Kairo straightened. "You've got one minute to leave. No more."
They stepped out before the minute was up, the night air hitting them like a cold slap. Jalen's voice was back in their ears. "Movement on the east side. Black SUV, tinted windows. Could be Vale's men, could be locals."
"Time to disappear," Kairo said, already pulling Elira toward the narrow cut between two buildings.
By the time the SUV turned onto the alley, they were gone—vanished into the labyrinth of streets, the stolen drive secure in Elira's pocket.
But as they slipped into the backseat of the waiting car, Kairo's eyes stayed on the rearview mirror. He wasn't just watching for tails. He was calculating how many nights like this they had left before Vale stopped sending men—and started coming himself.