Chapter 7 - No Quarter
The rain had turned into a torrential downpour by the time Vance dragged Elias into the safehouse—an abandoned, half-sunken ferry docked at the edge of the forgotten industrial district. The rusted hull groaned with the rhythm of the waves, masking the sounds of their arrival.
Vance laid Elias on a moldy cot, quickly working to bandage the old man’s wounds. "You're going to be okay, old timer. The bleeding has stopped."
Elias managed a weak smile. "I always knew you couldn't stay a ghost forever, Vance. Men like you... you carry the storm with you."
"I brought this on you," Vance said, his voice thick with guilt. He pulled his encrypted phone from his pocket, hooking up the flash drive he had stolen from the shipyard. "Silas was moving illegal military arms, stealing them from his own boss, and planning to pin the theft on me to cover his tracks."
He tapped a few keys, bypassing the basic encryption on the ledger. The files populated on the small screen.
Vance’s blood ran cold. The weapons weren't just standard rifles and explosives. Silas had stolen a shipment of VX nerve gas canisters, procured from a black-market broker. He was planning to sell them to an overseas cartel, bypassing the Iron Hounds completely.
"This isn't a gang war," Vance muttered to himself. "It's a ticking bomb."
If the Commodore found out Silas stole the gas, the resulting war would level the entire harbor district. Thousands of innocent people caught in the crossfire. And if the buyers got their hands on it, it was a global nightmare.
Vance looked at Elias, sleeping peacefully despite his injuries. He couldn't just run. He couldn't just hide again. The harbor had taken him in when he was nothing but a broken shell of a soldier. It was a filthy, corrupt place, but it was his home.
He loaded a fresh magazine into his pistol and tightened the straps on his Kevlar vest. He wasn't going to wait for the Iron Hounds to hunt him down. He was going to bring the war to their front door.
Vance took out his phone and made a single, untraceable call. It rang twice before a gravelly voice answered.
"Commodore," Vance said, his tone authoritative and cold.
"Who the hell is this?" the voice barked. "How did you get this number?"
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"My name is Vance. Silas calls me the Ghost. I have the ledger you're looking for. And I know exactly what your enforcer stole from you. Meet me at Pier 41 in thirty minutes, alone, or I send this data to every federal agency on the Eastern Seaboard."
Vance hung up, crushing the burner phone under his boot. The endgame had begun.
