Chapter 2 - The Rats Beneath the River
The air in the subterranean service tunnels beneath the Grantham docks tasted of wet lime, salt rot, and decades of diesel exhaust.
K19 ran through the ankle-deep water, his costly Italian leather shoes ruined, his chest burning like a lit furnace. He held a tactical flashlight in his left hand and his silver SIG Sauer in his right. Behind him, echoing through the long brick conduit, was a sound that made his stomach turn into cold ice: the rhythmic, furious splash of a heavy beast closing the distance.
Brutus was not barking. A true war dog did not waste air on noise when it was hunting. There was only the splash of three hundred pounds of muscle breaking water and the terrible, wet snarl vibrating through the brickwork.
—Keep moving, you useless bastard! K19 screamed to himself, his voice bouncing off the damp vault.
He reached an iron ladder that led upward to a service hatch near the timber yards. He grabbed the rungs, but before his foot could clear the second rung, a blinding beam of light washed over him from the tunnel entrance behind.
—You always were terrible at cardio, Karl, the Boss’s voice called out.
The sound was shockingly close. The Boss walked through the shallow water with smooth, unhurried strides. The baby remained fast asleep in the chest sling, shielded by the Boss's heavy wool overcoat, resting against his heart as if they were taking a quiet Sunday stroll through a park.
Behind the Boss stood Marco and four armed soldiers, their submachine guns raised, their red laser sights dancing across K19’s trembling back.
K19 froze on the ladder, his fingers slick with rust and slime. He slowly turned his head, his face smeared with soot and sweat.
—You can't kill me, Boss, K19 panted, trying to summon a shadow of his former smugness. —I’m the only one who has the security keys to the offshore clearing accounts. You kill me, and fifty million dollars in syndicate payroll vanishes into thin air by sunrise. Your men won't get paid. Their families won't have healthcare. You’ll be a king over an army of paupers!
The Boss stopped ten paces away. Brutus sat down beside his boots, panting softly, his dark eyes locked onto K19’s throat, waiting for the single word that would end the traitor's life.
—Frank, the Boss said quietly into his collar mic.
A voice crackled instantly through the portable comms unit pinned to the Boss's lapel: —Account 884-Bravo has been completely drained and routed into the family trust, Boss. K19’s encryption keys were mirrored three hours ago when he logged into his private server from the club.
K19’s jaw dropped. The last weapon he held—the financial dead-man’s switch—had been disarmed before he even stepped into the warehouse.
—You built your whole life on the idea that men are driven only by greed, Karl, the Boss said, taking one slow step closer. —You thought if you controlled the money, you controlled the loyalty. But you forgot why this family was built. It wasn't built on paper. It was built on blood.
—Boss... please, K19 begged, his hand slipping from the iron rung as he slid down into the cold water, dropping his gun with a loud splash. He dropped to his knees, clutching his hands together in pathetic supplication. —I was foolish! The Triads promised me protection! They threatened my life! I did it because I was afraid!
Marco stepped forward, his eyes burning with rage as he remembered his brother lying dead beside the diamond crates. He raised his submachine gun, leveling it straight at K19’s forehead.
—Give the word, Boss, Marco growled. —Let me put him in the river where my brother died.
The Boss looked down at K19 kneeling in the mud. For a moment, the tunnel was deathly quiet, broken only by the faint breathing of the baby against the Boss's chest.
—No, Marco, the Boss said softly.
Marco blinked in shock. —Boss? He killed my brother! He tried to frame you!
—Death is too clean for a man who broke his oath, the Boss replied, his voice cold as a winter frost. —Karl loves status. He loves fine clothes, expensive wine, and feeling superior to the men who sweat for him. Death gives him peace. I prefer he spends the rest of his life remembering what he threw away.
The Boss turned his back on K19.
—Tie him up. Strip him of his name, his money, and his coat. Deliver him to the Triad elders at the north pier. Tell them Karl failed to deliver the harbor deeds, and that his debts are now his own. Let us see how merciful his new masters are when he arrives empty-handed.
May you like
K19’s eyes went wide with pure terror. He knew the Triads’ punishment for failed double-agents was a hundred times worse than a bullet. —No! Boss! Kill me! Shoot me! Don't give me to them! Boss!
The soldiers grabbed K19 by his collar, dragging him screaming into the dark depths of the tunnel, his wails echoing into the night until the thick steel doors swung shut, burying his cries forever.
