Chapter 9 - The Phantom Passenger
Two hours later, the rain began to sweep down across the coastal highway, slicking the asphalt and turning the dark pine forests into a blurred wall of shadows. Conrad drove his truck without the headlights on high beam, blending into the heavy downpour.
Beside him on the passenger seat sat the Manila folder Marcus had given him, alongside the decoded routing numbers.
“They’re heading for the old dockside warehouse on the eastern pier,” Marcus murmured, monitoring a ruggedized tablet plugged into the dash. “The signal from the airstrip vehicle just pinged three miles out. One black sedan. Professional driver, professional tail.”
“They think they’re walking into an isolated target,” Conrad replied, shifting down a gear as the truck rounded a sharp coastal curve. “They don't realize we’ve been tracking their offshore routing nodes since midnight.”
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The truck slowed to a crawl as they approached the abandoned industrial zone. Rusting cranes loomed against the gray sky like skeletal giants, and the sound of crashing waves echoed against the concrete bulkheads. Parked directly beneath the flickering light of a broken halogen streetlamp was a sleek, unmarked black Mercedes with European plates.
Conrad cut the truck’s engine entirely. The vehicle rolled silently into the shadows of a corrugated steel warehouse fifty yards away.
