Chapter 6 - The Shadows of Pier 42
The rain was deafening as it hammered against the corrugated iron roofs of Pier 42.
The shipping terminal was a vast, desolate labyrinth of rusted steel shipping containers, giant yellow cranes, and slick, oil-stained concrete docks that stretched out into the black, churning waters of Lake Michigan.
Luca cut the motorcycle’s engine half a mile down the coastline, hiding the bike inside an abandoned boat shed.
He and Mara navigated the perimeter on foot, moving like shadows through the dense fog blowing off the lake. Luca held a suppressed submachine gun low against his hip, his eyes constantly scanning the raised gantries where searchlights swept back and forth across the wet docks.
"There," Luca whispered, pulling Mara behind a stack of blue steel containers thirty yards from the main warehouse entrance.
Through the pouring rain, Mara saw four heavy semi-trucks parked near the water’s edge. Men in dark raincoats were busily unloading wooden crates from the trucks and moving them toward a large, well-lit cargo ship docked alongside Pier 42.
Standing on the high metal gangway of the ship, holding a large black umbrella, was Nikolai Markov.
Markov was a broad, brutal-looking man in his late fifties, dressed in a expensive fur-collared leather coat. He was calmly smoking a cigar, issuing orders to his men as they moved the crates.
"He's expediting the shipment," Luca muttered, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted his weapon's sight. "He knows the safehouse assault was a distraction. He’s trying to clear the port before the police realize what happened at the hotel."
"Where is the vault?" Mara asked, her voice hushed as she wiped rainwater from her eyes.
Luca pointed to a small, unassuming concrete building situated directly beneath the central crane tower. "Underneath that guard shack. The subterranean access hatch is hidden beneath a steel deck plate inside the maintenance pit."
"How do we get past those six guards standing at the shack entrance?" Mara asked, noticing the heavily armed men patrolling the concrete floor around the building.
"We don't go through the entrance," Luca replied with a dark, dangerous smile. "We go under."
He led Mara down a slick iron ladder attached to the edge of the pier, stepping down onto a narrow wooden catwalk suspended just six feet above the roaring, black lake waves. The air here smelled overwhelmingly of salt, dead fish, and diesel fuel.
They crept along the wet wooden planks until they reached a heavy, rusted iron hatch bolted directly into the concrete foundation of Pier 42.
Luca pulled a small hydraulic jaw tool from his tactical pouch, set the prongs into the iron latch, and cranked the handle. With a loud, metallic groaning sound, the rusted lock snapped.
He lifted the heavy hatch, exposing a narrow, vertical ladder dropping down into absolute pitch darkness.
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"Down you go," Luca whispered, shining a small tactical penlight into the shaft. "Keep your hands on the rungs. It's slippery."
Mara didn't hesitate. She swung her legs over the opening and began descending into the dark belly of Pier 42, the cold wind howling through the metal shaft above her as Luca climbed down right behind her, sealing the hatch above their heads.
