Chapter 5 - The King's Gambit
The morning after the attack on the brownstone, the venue shifted to an industrial shipping terminal on the banks of the Calumet River. The air was thick with the scent of rust, diesel fuel, and the stagnant, muddy water of the shipping canal.
Dominic sat behind a massive steel desk inside a converted shipping container that served as his mobile command post. Frankie stood beside him, a thick stack of satellite tracking logs in his hand. Mara sat on a wooden crate in the corner, a cup of lukewarm diner coffee clutched in her hands. She had refused to stay behind this time; after the brownstone, she knew safety was an illusion.
"The Leones are consolidating their men at the old grain elevator two miles down the river," Frankie said, pointing to a blueprint spread across the desk. "They’ve got twenty guys from New York, heavily armed. They’re planning to bring in the first major shipment of fentanyl via an unregistered Canadian barge at midnight tonight."
Dominic stared at the map, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern against the steel desk. "They think we're defensive. They think because they hit the brownstone, we’re hiding in our holes."
"Boss, if we storm that grain elevator, it’s a full-scale war," Frankie warned. "The feds will have no choice but to step in. The RICO indictments will drop before the sun comes up."
"Then we don't storm it," Dominic said, his eyes shifting toward Mara. A dark, brilliant light crossed his pupils. "We use their own momentum against them. Mara, what did you see on the man in the Cubs jacket at The Meridian?"
Mara blinked, setting her coffee down. "What do you mean?"
"You watched him for forty-three minutes," Dominic said, leaning forward. "You told me you count things. What did you notice about how he communicated?"
Mara closed her eyes, her mind instantly flashing back to the sterile, tense atmosphere of the restaurant. "He didn't use a phone. He had a small, silver radio earpiece hidden under his collar. Every time you spoke, he tapped his cufflink twice. A gold cufflink with a distinct, star-shaped engraving."
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Dominic looked at Frankie, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. "The star engraving. That’s the personal mark of Hector Leone’s inner circle. They aren't using cellular networks because they know the FBI is monitoring the towers around my territory. They’re using localized, encrypted short-wave radio frequencies."
He stood up, his large frame filling the small shipping container. "Frankie, get the tech team from the Pilsen warehouse. I want that specific frequency jammed at precisely 11:55 p.m. Tonight, we aren't going to fight the New York crew. We’re going to give them a new set of orders."
