Chapter 12: Panic at the Docks
Through the audio receivers on the drones, Clara could hear muffled shouting echoing from inside the corrugated steel walls of the warehouse. The buyers, wealthy and anonymous, were realizing their offshore wire transfers were being systematically rejected.
"They think it's a trap," Clara reported, watching the thermal feeds as the VIP guests began sprinting toward their luxury vehicles at the rear dock. Engines roared to life, tires squealing against the wet concrete as the buyers fled the scene, abandoning Sullivan and his operation.
"Let the buyers run. Local authorities will pick up their license plates on the highway," Elias commanded over the comms. "Where are the girls, Clara? Where is Sullivan moving them?"
Clara scanned the camera feeds, her eyes darting between monitors. The rear dock was clear, but a heavy steel garage door at the front of the warehouse began to rumble open. A nondescript white moving truck backed out aggressively, its tires spinning in the puddles.
"Front entrance!" Clara shouted into the mic. "White box truck. Sullivan is in the passenger seat. I can see the heat signatures in the back—five of them huddled together. It's the girls."
"Target acquired," Marcus said.
The white truck barreled toward the main gate of the Navy Yard, accelerating dangerously. Sullivan was trying to cut his losses and disappear.
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"Elias, they are heading for the main gate, doing at least fifty," Clara warned, her breath catching in her throat. "If they hit the highway, they're gone."
"They aren't making it to the highway," Elias replied, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Marcus, execute."
