Chapter 3 - The Shadow over Pier 42
The storm had worsened by the time Gavin's dark blue Range Rover crossed the Manhattan Bridge into Brooklyn.
The windshield wipers beat a steady, rhythmic pattern against the glass, clearing away the wet, heavy snow that clung to the frame. Beside Gavin sat Leo Vance—Dr. Marcus Vance's younger brother, a former Marine scout sniper who now ran Whitmore Security's high-risk asset division.
Leo was checking the action on a suppressed pistol before slipping it into a specially tailored shoulder holster inside his black leather jacket.
"Pier 42 has been inactive on the city registry for three years," Leo reported, reading from a tablet mounted on the dashboard. "It's leased to a shell company called Blue Atlantic Holding, which traces back to a bank account in Panama managed by Apex Horizon's CEO, Julian Vance."
"Any relation to you and Marcus?" Gavin asked, keeping his eyes on the slick, snow-covered pavement of Atlantic Avenue.
"Distant cousin," Leo grunted with disgust. "The black sheep who went into private military contracting after he got dishonorably discharged from the Navy for smuggling fuel in Subic Bay. He's ruthless, Gavin. He doesn't leave loose ends."
"He left Lily," Gavin pointed out. "He thought a seven-year-old girl would freeze to death on Fifth Avenue before she could tell anyone what she saw."
"That's his first mistake," Leo said, clicking his tablet off. "His second mistake was picking a fight with a man who has fifty million dollars to spend on high-priced lawyers and former special forces operators."
They turned off the main road onto a narrow, cobblestone alley lined with crumbling nineteenth-century brick warehouses. The streetlamps here were broken out, leaving the area in near-total darkness, save for the flashing red navigation light atop a distant shipping crane near the water.
Gavin killed the Range Rover's headlights two hundred yards from the pier entrance, rolling to a stop behind a row of rusted shipping containers.
Leo pulled out a pair of thermal night-vision goggles and looked through the glass.
"I've got eyes on the gate," Leo whispered. "Two guards in winter camo with automatic weapons. One white Mercedes sprinter van parked near the edge of the water with its engine idling. Exhaust plume is thick—they've got the heater running inside."
"Is Sarah in the van?" Gavin asked, pulling a small earpiece into his right ear.
"Thermal shows three heat signatures inside the van," Leo replied. "Two standing, one seated on the floor with wrist restraints attached to a structural frame. That's her, Gavin. She's alive."
"What's their exit strategy?"
"Look at the dock," Leo pointed toward the dark water. A sixty-foot steel-hulled motor yacht, painted flat black with no registration numbers visible on the bow, was tied to the pier cleats. "They're going to put her on that boat and drop her outside territorial waters before sunrise. Once she's three miles off the coast, she doesn't exist under US law anymore."
Gavin checked his watch. 3:42 AM.
"We don't wait for a search warrant," Gavin decided. "If that boat leaves the slip, we lose her forever."
"How do you want to play it?" Leo asked, reaching for a second tactical vest in the back seat. "Quiet or loud?"
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Gavin looked out at the falling snow, remembering the terror in Lily's dark eyes when she held out the blue canvas bag under the streetlamp.
"Quiet until we reach the van," Gavin commanded, opening his door into the freezing wind. "Loud if anyone steps between that mother and her child."
