Chapter 12 - Ambush at Berth Nine
The interceptor boat entered the harbor perimeter under the cover of a thick marine fog that rolled off the industrial flats. Christian cut the engines to a low, muffled thrum, letting the momentum carry the black hull toward the wooden pylons of Berth Nine, directly beneath the shadow of gantry crane four.
Above them, towering stacks of steel shipping containers created an artificial canyon of corrugated iron, painted in faded yellows, blues, and rust. Floodlights cut through the mist, casting harsh, elongated shadows across the damp concrete apron.
""Julian stays tied to the bulkhead,"" Christian commanded, strapping an extra magazine into his belt. ""Clara, you stay behind the secondary stack until I clear the crane ladder.""
""I told you, Christian, I'm not hiding in the shadows while you play hero,"" Clara countered, checking the battery pack on the satellite tablet. ""The crane system won't accept your handprint without the secondary cipher from this ledger. We go together.""
Christian looked at her, his dark eyes narrowing. For a moment, the icy arrogance that defined his public persona softened into something raw, almost vulnerable. He reached down, adjusting the heavy leather collar around Titan’s throat.
""If anything goes wrong, Clara... you take the dog and you run toward the outer perimeter. He'll get you through the wire.""
""Nothing is going wrong,"" Clara replied firmly, though her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
They slipped off the boat onto the slick wooden pier, Titan moving silently between them, his paws soundless on the soaked timber. Julian was left bound in the hull, breathing heavily, eyes wide with terror as the dark water lapped against the fiberglass.
They advanced through the labyrinth of shipping crates. The air smelled of diesel exhaust, ozone, and rotting harbor kelp. Up ahead, fifty yards into the central yard, a yellow flatbed truck was idling, its bed carrying a rusted blue forty-foot container: VANCE LOGISTICS - #042.
Two armed men in dark tactical gear stood at the rear of the truck, securing heavy chains, while a third climbed the metal staircase leading to the crane operator booth fifty feet in the air.
""There's three on the ground,"" Clara whispered, peering around the corrugated corner. ""And the crane operator.""
""There's more,"" Christian said, pointing toward the shadow beneath the crane’s gantry legs. ""Look at the dust on the gravel. Sniper position.""
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Before Clara could respond, Titan let out a sharp, muffled puff of air—his silent alert.
From the dark row of containers behind them came the distinct, horrifying sound of a bolt-action rifle chambering a heavy round.
