Chapter 7 - The Docks of Lake Michigan
The shipping terminal at the Port of Chicago was a dark, industrial labyrinth of towering steel containers, flickering floodlights, and the bitter, freezing spray of Lake Michigan. Rain fell in thick sheets, turning the gravel pathways into slush.
Four black armored SUVs pulled to a silent halt behind a wall of rusted red containers. Victor stepped out, wearing a heavy tactical coat over his suit. Dmitri and twelve heavily armed men moved in tight formation around him. I stayed in the middle of the squad, wearing a bulletproof vest Dmitri had forced over my flannel shirt.
"Nikolai is inside Warehouse 9," Dmitri whispered, checking his thermal scope. "He has at least twenty men. They’re heavily armed, Boss. He turned the terminal into a kill box."
"It doesn't matter," Victor said coldly. "He took my son. He tried to kill my friend. He dies tonight."
"Victor, wait," I spoke up, my voice shaking against the howl of the wind.
Victor paused, turning to look at me. "What is it, Leo?"
"You're going in there expecting a gunfight," I said, my mind racing as I looked at the layout of the industrial terminal. "If you charge in, half your men will die, and Nikolai might escape on a boat. But look at those overhead relief valves."
I pointed toward the massive, rusted yellow pipes running along the ceiling of the industrial complex from the adjacent grain processing plant.
"I used to work maintenance at the port before I took over the diner," I explained quickly, adrenaline sharpening my focus. "Those pipes carry pressurized industrial steam and grain dust. If you shoot out the primary pressure release valve over Warehouse 9, it’ll flood the entire lower floor with thick, scalding white steam. They won't be able to see an inch in front of their faces. They won't be able to aim."
Victor stared at me, a slow, dark smile spreading across his face. "A chef who knows engineering. I like you more every minute, Leo."
Victor motioned to his sniper positioned on a nearby crane. "Aleksei. Target the steam valve above Warehouse 9. On my mark."
We moved into position under the shadow of the rusted cranes. Inside the warehouse, I could see the silhouette of Nikolai Volkov—an older, bearded man in a heavy fur coat, pacing furiously while yelling into a cell phone, surrounded by heavily armed mercenaries.
"Mark," Victor commanded into his radio.
A single muffled crack echoed from the top of the crane.
A split second later, the massive steel valve detonated. High-pressure, scalding white steam erupted into Warehouse 9 with the roar of a jet engine.
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Shouts of horror and confusion echoed from inside the building as the mercenaries were instantly blinded, enveloped in a dense cloud of roaring white mist.
"Move in!" Victor roared.
