Chapter 6 - The Trap at Pier 49
The interior of Pier 49 smelled of salt water, diesel exhaust, and damp rotting timber.
High above the concrete floor, Nora crept along the rusted iron catwalk, her soft-soled boots making no sound against the steel grating. The freezing rain drummed a thunderous rhythm against the corrugated fiberglass roof panels above her, masking any faint noise she made. Through the shadows, she moved like a ghost, settling into a prone position behind a bank of deactivated ventilation ducts.
She raised her camera, resting the heavy lens on the iron railing, and peered down into the center of the cavernous space.
Fifty feet below, four halogen work lights illuminated a stark, brutal tableau.
Elise was tied to a heavy wooden chair in the center of the open floor. Her face was bruised, her lip split, and her eyes swollen from hours of crying. Two heavily armed private contractors with tactical vests and automatic carbines stood three paces behind her.
Standing near a folding table ten yards away was Julian Vance. He looked entirely at ease, holding a steaming porcelain mug of coffee, chatting casually with an older man in a tailored trench coat.
Nora zoomed her lens, dialed the shutter speed, and focused sharply on the older man's profile.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Click. Click. Click.
The high-speed silent shutter fired. The man in the trench coat was District Attorney Marcus Hayes—the chief law enforcement officer of Suffolk County, the very man who appeared on television every week promising to clean up corporate corruption in Boston.
""Henderson was right,"" Nora murmured to herself, capturing high-resolution bursts of Hayes smiling as Julian handed him a thick leather envelope bulging with foreign currency. ""Julian doesn't just have a mole. He bought the entire district attorney's office.""
Suddenly, the heavy rolling door at the south entrance screeched open.
Dominic stepped into the warehouse.
He was soaked from the rain, his hands held conspicuously away from his sides. The halogen lights caught the hard, uncompromising lines of his face. Every guard in the building instantly shifted their weapons, four red laser dots converging immediately on Dominic’s chest.
""Right on time, Dominic,"" Julian announced, his voice echoing loudly against the cavernous steel girders. He took a sip of his coffee and set the mug down on the folding table. ""Punctuality has always been your most boring virtue.""
""Let the girl go, Julian,"" Dominic said, his voice ringing steady and clear through the warehouse. ""She has nothing to do with this. She's thirty weeks pregnant. She needs medical attention.""
""Oh, she will receive medical attention, Dom,"" Julian replied with an amused smirk. ""Eventually. Once we ensure that loose ends are neatly tied. Where is your lovely wife? I distinctly told you to bring Nora and her delightful little photographic evidence.""
""Nora is safe,"" Dominic lied smoothly, taking two slow steps forward until the guards raised their barrels in warning. ""She gave me the camera. She gave me the memory card. She doesn't want any part of this. She took the first train out of South Station to her sister's house in Vermont.""
Julian laughed softly, shaking his head with exaggerated pity. ""Dominic, Dominic, Dominic. After all these years, you still think you can lie to me?""
Julian reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small black radio, and pressed the talk button.
""Team Two, report,"" Julian said into the radio.
A burst of static crackled over the warehouse speakers. Then, a rough voice replied: ""We found the black sedan parked behind the shipping container off the access road, Mr. Vance. It's empty. The wife isn't in Vermont. She's on site.""
Nora’s blood ran cold.
Down below, Julian’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, predatory malice. He looked up toward the ceiling girders, his cold grey eyes scanning the shadows of the upper catwalks.
""Nora!"" Julian shouted, his voice booming through the structure. ""Come down, darling! Or my associate puts a round through your husband’s knee!""
One of the tactical guards stepped forward, racking the slide of his shotgun and pressing the cold steel barrel directly against the back of Dominic’s right knee. Dominic didn't flinch, but his eyes darted desperately toward the darkness above, silently begging Nora to stay hidden, to run, to save herself.
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Nora looked at her camera. She had the D.A. accepting the bribe. She had Julian with the hostages. She had the entire conspiracy documented on a high-speed memory card.
And then, she heard the faint click of a boot heel on the iron grating behind her.
