Chapter 11: The Iron Star
The rain beat relentlessly against the reinforced windows of the Maybach as it sped through the desolate, industrial district leading to the city's commercial harbor. The towering cranes of the shipping yards loomed in the distance like metal skeletons against the bruised, pre-dawn sky.
Evelyn sat in the backseat, her demeanor completely transformed. The billionaire CEO was gone. In her place sat a lethal operative preparing for war.
"Vance, give me a sitrep on Pier 44," Evelyn commanded, adjusting the comms earpiece tucked beneath her damp hair. She checked the magazine of her 9mm pistol, sliding it back into the holster concealed beneath her trench coat.
"I've got eyes in the sky via thermal imaging," Vance replied over the secure channel. "The Iron Star is a mid-sized freighter, registered to a shell company in Cyprus. It's scheduled to undock in forty-five minutes. Thermal shows heavy activity on the main deck and the bridge. At least fifteen armed hostiles patrolling the perimeter."
"Is Kestrel on board?"
"Unconfirmed, but highly likely. There’s a heavily guarded VIP cabin on the upper deck. They are loading final cargo containers right now. If we wait for the feds to mobilize a SWAT team, the ship will be in international waters, and Kestrel will vanish like a ghost."
"We don't wait for the feds," Evelyn said flatly. "Briggs, stop the car two blocks north of the pier. We go in on foot. I want the tactical squad fanned out across the shipping containers to provide overwatch. No one fires unless fired upon, and no one boards that ship but me."
Briggs, her stoic driver and former Special Forces operator, glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Boss, going in alone is a suicide mission. Let me take point."
"No, Briggs. Kestrel is paranoid. If he sees a squad moving in, he’ll execute his scorched-earth protocol and blow the ship, along with whatever evidence he has of his stateside contacts. I need him alive long enough to get his network ledger."
The Maybach rolled to a silent halt behind a dilapidated warehouse just outside the pier’s main gates. The rain provided the perfect acoustic cover, masking the sound of car doors opening and closing. Evelyn stepped out into the downpour, the cold water instantly soaking her shoulders.
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She met up with Vance’s tactical team—six heavily armed men dressed in dark, non-reflective gear. With sharp, synchronized hand signals, she directed them to the high ground among the stacked cargo containers overlooking the Iron Star.
Evelyn took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of salt water, diesel fuel, and ozone. She slipped into the shadows, moving with a silent, predatory grace toward the gangway. It was time to remind the criminal underworld why they used to whisper her name in terror.
