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Chapter 7: The Intercept

Chapter 7: The Intercept

I didn't wait for Richard to panic; I needed to force his hand, to make him look incompetent in front of his dangerous masters. The decrypted ledgers revealed a massive cash drop scheduled for midnight at a deserted shipping yard by the harbor. Cartel dirty money coming in from the streets, clean real estate deeds going out.

I perched on the rusted arm of a loading crane overlooking the docks, peering through the green-tinted thermal scope of my suppressed rifle. The wind whipped off the water, biting and cold. Below, three black SUVs rolled into the yard. Richard’s nervous men handed over two heavy canvas duffel bags to heavily armed cartel enforcers.

I didn't shoot the men. Dead men couldn't spread fear. I shot the engine blocks of all three vehicles.

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Crack. Crack. Crack.

The heavy, armor-piercing rounds tore through metal, oil pans, and machinery with devastating force. Chaos erupted instantly. Men screamed and dove for cover behind shipping containers, firing wildly into the dark, empty night. In the blinding confusion of muzzle flashes and shouting, I repelled down the crane, fired a thick cloud of tear-gas into the center of their formation, and walked away through the smoke with the two duffel bags holding five million dollars in cartel cash. I left one of Richard's glossy, gold-embossed business cards resting deliberately on a single empty brass shell casing.

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