Chapter 6 - The Infiltration of Apex
Rain lashed against the black tinted windows of the panel van parked in the shadowy alleyway behind Apex Logistics.
It was 8:15 PM. The industrial district around the Brooklyn Navy Yard was dark, quiet, and wrapped in thick sea fog rolling off the East River.
Inside the rear of the van, Matteo was adjusting the straps of his tactical body armor over his dark shirt. Gabriel sat across from him, checking the action on a suppressed automatic rifle, while three loyal Varela enforcers checked their radios in silence.
I sat near the side door, wearing a heavy black jacket, my hair pulled tightly back into a tail. My heart was pounding against my ribs, but my hands were surprisingly steady.
Matteo stepped over, dropping to one knee before me. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, sleek silver pistol, holding it out to me butt-first.
“Do you know how to use this?” he asked softly.
I looked at the cold steel. “My father took me to the shooting range when I was teenager. He wanted me to know how to defend myself.”
“Good,” Matteo said, pressing the gun gently into my hands. “Safety is on the left side. You only disengage it if someone steps through a door who isn't me or Gabriel. Keep it in your jacket pocket.”
He turned to Gabriel. “Is the security feed looped?”
“Dante bypassed the main server five minutes ago,” Gabriel confirmed, holding up a glowing tablet screen. “The cameras on the lower floor are displaying a twenty-minute loop of an empty hallway. We have a clear window for thirty minutes.”
“Move out,” Matteo ordered.
We stepped out of the van into the cold, rainy dark, moving like shadows along the brick wall of the warehouse.
Gabriel reached the rear service door, using a hydraulic lock-cutter to snap the heavy steel deadbolt with a soft, metallic crunch. He pushed the door open, slipping inside first with his rifle raised.
“Clear,” Gabriel whispered through his comms.
We entered a high-ceilinged industrial corridor lined with tall wooden crates and steel shelving. The smell of grease, diesel, and damp cardboard filled the cold air.
“The secondary vault is beneath the loading dock office,” I whispered, pointing toward a flight of iron stairs leading down into the concrete basement at the end of the hall.
We moved quickly down the iron steps.
At the bottom of the stairs sat a heavy, reinforced steel vault door equipped with a dual-keypad lock and an analog combination wheel—the kind used to store high-value cargo and secure financial ledgers.
Two of Silas’s guards were sitting at a small folding table ten yards away, playing cards.
Before either guard could react or reach for their holstered weapons, Gabriel and Marco stepped out from the shadows, striking both men from behind with the butts of their rifles!
The guards hit the floor cold, making no sound against the damp concrete.
I rushed over to the vault door, my fingers trembling slightly as I pulled my father’s journal from my jacket. I opened it to the back cover, peeling away the thin leather lining to reveal a small sheet of paper with a six-digit sequence written in blue ink: 4-1-9-8-2-6.
I entered the numbers into the digital keypad. The LED light flashed green.
Then I reached for the analog wheel, turning it three times to the left, two to the right, and snapping the heavy iron handle downward.
CLACK-CHUNK.
The heavy steel locking bolts retracted into the frame with a deep, echoing thud.
Matteo grabbed the heavy handle, pulling the vault door open.
Inside, sitting on a metal shelf beneath a single overhead fluorescent tube, was a thick, black leather binder stamped with the official seal of the New York Port Authority—Arthur Vance’s original, unedited engineering log.
I stepped into the vault, reaching out with shaking hands, my fingers brushing against the cold leather cover. Tears pricked my eyes as I opened the binder.
There, stamped in bright red ink across every page, were the real stress-test failures, the forged signature of Silas’s shell company, and the offshore wire receipts proving twelve million dollars had been transferred directly to Silas’s private accounts in Switzerland.
“I have it,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, holding the binder against my chest. “Dad... I have it.”
Suddenly, the red emergency light inside the corridor began to spin violently!
A loud, piercing security siren shattered the quiet of the basement!
WOOO-WOOO-WOOO!
Gabriel’s voice barked frantically through the earpiece: “Boss! It’s a trap! Silas didn't put four guards here—he put a silent seismic sensor on the vault door! Main floor is swarming with twenty armed men!”
Heavy footsteps rattled the iron stairs above us, followed by the terrifying sound of automatic weapon slides racking in unison!
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Matteo stepped directly in front of me, drawing his sidearm, his eyes turning into pure, lethal fire.
“Hold onto that binder, Nora,” Matteo growled over the deafening roar of the siren. “We’re fighting our way out.”
