Chapter 9 - The Battle for Pier 9 and the Final Stand
The rain was pouring in violent torrents when our armored SUV arrived at Pier 9.
Flashing blue and red lights from dozens of police cruisers illuminated the wet asphalt, casting long, eerie shadows against the towering cargo ships docked along the harbor.
The harbor was completely cordoned off. SWAT teams were stationed behind concrete barriers, pinned down by high-caliber rifle fire coming from the upper platform of the central crane control tower.
I stepped out of the vehicle into the freezing rain, wearing a heavy waterproof trench coat that concealed my leg braces and my sidearm.
Tessa stayed close to my left flank, her medical bag slung over her shoulder, shielding her eyes from the downpour.
Police Captain Miller rushed over, his face drenched in rain and panic.
“Mr. Corvino! You shouldn't be here! The feds are negotiating with their leader, Marcus Cole—Dominic’s former head of security. He’s completely unhinged. He has detonators linked to the liquid propane tanks!”
“Miller,” I said, my voice cutting through the roar of the storm and the distant crack of rifle fire. “Turn off your megaphones. Give me a radio.”
“Vince, he won't listen—”
“Give me the radio.”
Miller hesitated, then handed me the heavy tactical radio.
I pressed the transmit button.
“Marcus.”
A static hiss filled the line, followed by a harsh, mocking laugh over the frequency.
“Well, well. The Lazarus of the waterfront. Look who finally climbed out of his deathbed. You look a little stiff on your pins, Vince.”
“You have five minutes to shut down the crane engines, disconnect the detonators, and come down with your hands empty,” I said coldly into the mic. “If you do, you survive to spend the rest of your miserable life in a federal penitentiary. If you don't, I will personally throw you into the harbor with fifty pounds of anchor chain around your neck.”
“You aren't in charge anymore, Corvino!” Marcus screamed through the static. “Dominic promised us ten million each! We’re taking this port down with us!”
A burst of automatic gunfire erupted from the tower, kicking up sparks against the steel containers twenty feet from where we stood.
Tessa didn't flinch, but her hand gripped my trench coat tightly.
“The auxiliary service elevator on the north crane leg,” she whispered quickly into my ear. “When I was reviewing the terminal maintenance blueprints yesterday, I saw that the north maintenance lift operates on a separate hydraulic backup circuit. The security lock won't show on their main console.”
I looked at her, stunned by her tactical awareness.
“How do you know the circuit is active?”
“Because I checked the harbor utility logs before we left the mansion,” she said fiercely. “I do my homework, Vincent.”
I turned to Captain Miller.
“Have your snipers lay down continuous suppressing fire on the south observation windows. Keep their eyes facing the bay.”
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“What are you going to do?” Miller asked.
“I’m taking back my harbor.”
