Chapter 5 - THE THURSDAY TRAP
Midnight at Pier 47 was shrouded in thick, salty fog. The Atlantic Ocean crashed against the rusted pylons like a heartbeat.
Marcus arrived in a convoy of three black SUVs. The headlights cut through the mist, illuminating a stack of shipping containers that were supposed to hold thirty million dollars in cash and weapons. Marcus stepped out, flanked by a dozen heavily armed men. These were the traitors. The ones who had chosen silver over blood.
From a vantage point atop a crane, Dominic watched through night-vision binoculars.
“They’re all here,” Tony’s voice buzzed in Dominic’s earpiece.
“Wait for it,” Dominic replied, his breath pluming in the cold air.
Marcus walked up to the designated container. He gave a signal, and two of his men stepped forward with heavy bolt cutters. They snapped the lock. The heavy metal doors groaned open.
Marcus stepped inside, a triumphant grin on his face.
But the container was empty.
Save for a single, small wooden chair in the center, and on that chair sat a small black tape recorder.
Marcus froze. His instincts, honed by years of surviving the streets with Dominic, suddenly screamed at him. He walked slowly to the chair and pressed play on the recorder.
Dominic’s voice echoed out of the small speaker, bouncing off the corrugated steel walls of the container.
“Did you really think it would be this easy, brother?”
May you like
Marcus’s blood ran cold. “Ambush!” he roared, spinning around and drawing his weapon. “It’s a trap! Get back to the cars!”
But the cars were already exploding.
