Chapter 7 - THE SIEGE OF THE COLD STORAGE
The rain had turned into a thick, blinding sleet by midnight when the strike team surrounded the abandoned cold-storage facility.
Four black armored vehicles blocked the exit roads, while eighteen Romano operatives in full night-vision gear moved silently across the perimeter fences, cutting power lines and jamming radio frequencies.
Victor stood near the command SUV, wearing a heavy tactical vest over his suit, a custom black rifle slung across his chest.
Dora sat inside the armored vehicle, watching the thermal camera feeds on four split-screen monitors.
“Stay inside the vehicle, Dora,” Victor had commanded before stepping out into the freezing storm. “No matter what happens.”
“Don't get shot,” she had replied simply, fixing his tactical collar with her hands. “I don't have any fishing line left.”
He had smiled, kissed her forehead, and walked into the dark.
On the monitors, Dora watched the thermal silhouettes of Victor’s squad breach the rear loading docks. Flash-bang grenades detonated inside with muffled thump-thump-thump explosions, lighting up the high windows in brilliant white flashes.
Automatic gunfire rattled through the night, echoing off the concrete walls of the warehouse district.
Dora gripped the edge of the screen console, her knuckles white, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Minutes felt like hours.
On Screen Three, a thermal signature moved rapidly toward the upper roof ladder—a single man in a heavy coat, carrying a duffel bag, fleeing toward a waiting speedboat docked on the canal behind the building.
Moreau.
Dora slammed her hand onto the comm-link button. “Victor! Roof access on the east side! He’s breaking for the water!”
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Over the static-laced radio, Victor’s voice came back instantly, cold and iron-firm.
“I have him.”
