Chapter 13 - The Fire on Pier 44
Fog rolled off the harbor like thick steam, wrapping around the massive steel shipping containers of Pier 44. The scent of salt water, diesel exhaust, and burning trash hung heavy in the freezing air.
High above the concrete pier, suspended twenty feet in the air by industrial chains, three Vance dock supervisors hung bound and gagged beneath the arm of a cargo crane. Below them stood Declan Carroway. Unlike his brother Liam, Declan was thin, wiry, with sunken eyes and a face carved from forty years of Belfast street warfare. He wore a heavy wool pea coat, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, flanked by twenty men carrying military-grade automatic carbines.
At 10:00 PM, a single set of headlights pierced the dense fog.
A solitary black truck rolled onto the pier, stopping fifty yards from the crane.
The door opened, and Gabriel Vance stepped out alone. He wore no body armor, carried no long guns in his hands, only his dark tailored suit beneath an open trench coat.
"Gabriel Vance," Declan shouted, his Irish brogue thick and harsh as crushed gravel. "You crippled my brother over a maid and a six-year-old beggar. You must have lost your mind in your old age."
"Liam survived because he was a fool," Gabriel replied, walking forward with measured, unhurried steps. "You came across the ocean to die because you are arrogant."
Declan laughed, signaling his men. The gunmen raised their carbines, taking aim at Gabriel’s chest.
"I have twenty rifles pointed at your heart, Vance! Your Vanguard isn't here! You came alone like a martyr!" Declan sneered, tossing his cigarette into the dark water. "Sign the harbor back to the Carroway family, or your men drop into the bay with cement blocks on their feet, and you join them."
Gabriel stopped ten paces away. He checked his watch.
"Seventy-seven days," Gabriel said quietly.
"What the hell are you babbling about?" Declan snarled.
"A woman scrubbed Julian Sterling’s floors for seventy-seven days without complaint," Gabriel said, looking directly into Declan’s dead eyes. "Her daughter walked through a den of wolves with nothing but a torn piece of paper to save her mother’s life. That is courage, Declan. What you have brought here tonight is just cheap metal and cowardice."
Gabriel raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.
From the dark waters behind the pier, three high-speed tactical assault boats cut through the fog, searchlights blazing with blinding ten-thousand-lumen beams directly into the eyes of Declan’s men. Simultaneously, suppressed rifle fire erupted from the catwalks of the cargo ships docked on either side.
Declan’s gunmen fell in silent, rhythmic succession, dropping their weapons as non-lethal and lethal precision rounds struck their shoulders and legs. Within four seconds, eighteen of Declan's men were on the ground, disarmed and screaming.
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Declan scrambled for his pistol, but Gabriel closed the distance like a shadow.
Gabriel’s gloved hand grabbed the slide of Declan's gun, stripping it from his grip with effortless torque, before driving the heel of his palm upward into Declan’s chin. Declan collapsed backward onto the wet wooden planks, spitting teeth and blood.
