Chapter 5 - The Midnight Crossfire
The harbor yard erupted into a chaotic symphony of violence just as Nathan, Caleb, and Evelyn reached the main warehouse floor. The glass windows of the elevated office shattered inward as automatic gunfire raked across the room. Grant Mercer, still groveling on the floor, tried to crawl toward the door, shouting for his men, but a stray round from his own arriving reinforcement cut through the drywall and ended his brokerage career permanently.
"Get her behind the reinforced crates!" Nathan yelled to Caleb, throwing himself behind a heavy steel lathe as a hail of bullets sparkled against the machinery.
The attackers were professional. They didn't shout or bark orders; they moved in tight tactical formations, using high-lumen weapon lights to blind anyone in the darkness. These weren't local street thugs. These were the international recovery teams Grant had warned him about—the muscle behind the buyers.
"Evelyn, stay down!" Caleb commanded, shoving her into a narrow gap between two heavy shipping containers and positioning himself as a human shield in front of her.
Nathan checked his magazine. Eight rounds left in the primary, plus two spare clips in his belt. He was outnumbered at least four to one, trapped in a burning industrial shell with a civilian who could barely walk. It was the kind of scenario that usually ended with a closed-coffin funeral in his line of work.
But Nathan Russo didn't plan on dying in a fish warehouse.
He waited for the rhythm of the gunfire to shift—the brief, two-second window when a shooter had to swap magazines. As the gunfire to his left sputtered out, Nathan rose from behind the lathe. He fired three times in rapid succession. The first shooter dropped, his flashlight spinning across the floor, painting wild arcs of light against the ceiling.
Nathan advanced into the smoke, his movements fluid and entirely without hesitation. A second attacker rounded a corner, his rifle raised, but Nathan caught the barrel with his left hand, forcing the weapon upward as it discharged into the rafters. With his right hand, Nathan brought his pistol up under the man's chin and pulled the trigger.
"Flank them!" a voice shouted from the main entrance in a thick Eastern European accent. "Secure the asset! Kill the others!"
"They want her alive," Nathan called out to Caleb. "Use that!"
Caleb understood instantly. He popped a smoke grenade from his vest, dropping it at Evelyn’s feet. Within seconds, a thick, white cloud swallowed the back half of the warehouse, completely obscuring their positions. The attackers, desperate not to lose their high-value target or accidentally kill her, hesitated. Their aggressive advance slowed into a cautious, blind search.
That hesitation was their undoing. Nathan and Caleb knew the layout of the warehouse now; the attackers did not. Moving through the white fog like ghosts, the two mobsters neutralized the remaining search team one by one, using silent takedowns and short, controlled bursts of gunfire.
May you like
When the smoke finally cleared, the warehouse was dead silent save for the crackle of a small electrical fire in the corner and the distant, unchanging chime of the marine bell outside.
Nathan walked back to the shipping containers, his coat stained with soot and rain. He extended his hand to Evelyn once more. "The car is waiting in the alley. It's time to go see your daughters."
