Chapter 5 - THE PIERHEAD AMBUSH
"Hold on!" Nico roared.
He yanked the heavy steering wheel hard to the left.
The three-ton Cadillac slid sideways across three lanes of black ice on the West Side Highway.
WHOOSH.
A streak of white-hot magnesium fire tore through the blizzard.
The RPG warhead missed their rear bumper by four feet.
It detonated against an abandoned billboard on the riverbank.
BOOM!
The fireball illuminated the Hudson River in a blinding flash of orange and yellow.
The shockwave slammed into the side of the Cadillac, lifting the right tires two inches off the asphalt before the heavy vehicle slammed back down.
Delia screamed as she was thrown into Casimir’s chest.
His arms locked around her like steel bands.
He pulled her down onto the floorboards between the seats, covering her head with his overcoat.
"Nico! Harbor access!" Casimir barked into the front console.
"Taking Gate Four!" Nico yelled back.
Tires screamed as the Cadillac blew through a wooden security barrier onto Pier 19.
The pier was an industrial wasteland of rusted shipping containers, towering gantry cranes, and mountains of road salt.
The black water of the Hudson churned sixty feet below the wooden pilings, thick with chunks of winter ice.
The two pursuing Suburbans followed them onto the timber deck.
Automatic gunfire erupted from both vehicles.
Crack-crack-crack-crack.
Rounds hammered into the Cadillac’s armored rear door like a pneumatic drill.
The Cadillac skidded to a halt between two rows of stacked blue cargo containers.
Nico drew two submachine guns from beneath the front passenger seat.
"I’ll hold the bottleneck, boss!"
"You have three minutes, Nico," Casimir said.
Casimir kicked open the side door.
He pulled Delia out into the freezing gale.
The wind off the river was vicious, carrying needles of frozen rain that cut into her bare arms.
Her ruined slate dress whipped around her legs.
"Run," Casimir commanded, his hand locked tightly around hers.
They sprinted down the narrow corridor between the towering steel containers.
Gunfire echoed behind them as Nico laid down suppressing bursts.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Splinters of rotted wood flew from the dock floor.
Ahead lay Warehouse Seven.
An ancient, three-story brick structure with corrugated iron doors.
Casimir pulled an electronic keycard from his pocket and swiped it against an unlisted scanner hidden behind a water pipe.
The iron door groaned and slid open two feet.
He shoved Delia through the gap into the pitch-black interior.
He followed immediately, slamming the door shut and dropping a four-inch steel deadbolt into place.
Darkness swallowed them.
The only sound was their ragged, synchronized breathing and the distant roar of the storm against the tin roof.
Delia leaned against the cold brick wall, sliding down until her knees hit the concrete.
Her heart was beating so hard she felt it in her teeth.
"Is Nico..." she whispered, unable to finish the sentence.
"Nico knows how to swim," Casimir said in the dark.
A soft click sounded.
A single overhead work light buzzed to life, casting a pool of sickly yellow light across the center of the warehouse floor.
Delia blinked against the sudden glare.
She looked around.
The warehouse was not empty.
In the center of the room sat twenty wooden crates marked with the stencil:
BECKETT FREIGHT — PRIORITY CARGO.
And standing beside the crates, wearing an immaculate white trench coat and holding a silver-plated revolver, was Vivian.
Her blonde hair was still perfectly styled.
Her sapphire gown was pristine beneath the coat.
Standing behind her was Julian Cross.
Tall.
Scarred across the jaw.
Holding a glass of whiskey as if he were attending an evening party.
"Hello, little sister," Vivian said, a beautiful, poisonous smile spreading across her lips.
"I told you that dress was wrong for tonight."
Cross took a sip of his drink and looked at Casimir.
"Welcome to the end of the line, Varo."
"The Coast Guard was tipped off ten minutes ago."
"They believe this warehouse contains thirty military-grade anti-tank missiles."
"Shipped under your private clearance."
"Signed by your little accountant here."
Cross pointed his weapon toward the concrete floor.
Tied to an iron support pillar, beaten bloody and gagged with gray duct tape, was Harlan Beckett.
His eyes were wide with animal terror as he stared at his two daughters.
Vivian didn't even look at their father.
"Did you really think Father was the mastermind, Delia?" Vivian purred.
"Father couldn't balance a checkbook without you."
"I was the one who negotiated the contract with Julian."
"And tonight, Casimir Varo takes the fall for the entire shipment."
Vivian clicked the hammer back on her silver revolver.
May you like
"Drop your gun, Casimir."
"Or I put a bullet through my sister’s throat right now."
