Page 51

The warehouse loomed ahead, a hulking beast of corrugated metal and weathered brick. The original Rain Bay facility was a far cry from the sleek, high-tech building they had infiltrated earlier, its façade worn and shabby, its windows grimy with neglect.
But it was the silence that set Mason’s teeth on edge. The warehouse itself was a hive of activity, with trucks backed up to the loading docks and forklifts buzzing like angry bees. But here, on the far side of the property, there was nothing but weeds and trash, the asphalt cracked and broken beneath their feet.
He shifted his weight, the familiar bulk of his tactical gear a constant reminder of the danger they faced. The Kevlar vest felt heavy against his chest, the weight of responsibility bearing down on him like a physical force. His hand rested on the grip of his Glock, the metal cool and reassuring beneath his fingertips. The weapon was loaded with real bullets, a last resort he hoped he wouldn’t have to use. But if it came down to it, if it meant protecting Paul or his teammates, he wouldn’t hesitate. Not for one millisecond.
It was a trap. Obviously. But he pushed the thought aside, his mind focused on a single, overriding goal. Get in. Get Paul. Get out. Everything else was just noise, a distraction he couldn’t afford.
He glanced at his team, saw the same grim determination etched on their faces. They knew the stakes, welcomed the risks. Exactly why he loved them so much.
“Comms check.” Tai’s voice crackled over the earpiece. “Everyone online?”
A chorus of affirmatives came back, the team’s voices steady and sure.
Tai hunched over his tablet, his fingers flying over the screen. “Drones are in position. I’ve got eyes on the prize.”
Mason peered over Tai’s shoulder at the thermal image on the screen. A single, glowing figure, huddled in the corner of a cargo container at the back of the lot. “That’s him. That’s Paul.”
“Let’s get this party started,” Fenn said, his voice hard with determination.
They moved out, their footsteps silent on the cracked asphalt. The back wall of the warehouse would hide them from the workers, its walls a patchwork of rust and grime. The air was thick with the smells of the port, of diesel fuel and rotting fish, but Mason barely noticed, his mind laser focused on the task at hand.
They reached the fence, the rusted links giving way easily beneath Tai’s bolt cutters. One by one, they slipped through the gap. The lot was a maze of cargo containers, stacked three high in places, their doors sealed with heavy padlocks.
“No security,” Graham murmured, his voice low and tense. “This feels off.”
“No kidding.” Mason clenched his jaw.
They moved through the maze of containers, their weapons drawn, their eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. The headphones they wore blocked out the noise of the port, the low rumble of engines and the clang of metal on metal. But Mason could feel the tension in the air, the crackle of adrenaline that surged through his veins.
They turned the corner, weapons at the ready. And there it was, the container that held Paul, its door unguarded and unlocked.
Mason reached for the handle.
“Hold up.” Graham’s voice stopped him, low and urgent in his ear. “Could be booby-trapped.”
Mason cursed himself, his face flushing with anger and embarrassment. It was a rookie mistake, a careless error that could have cost them everything.
“We’ve got this,” Fenn said, his voice steady and sure. “Let’s check it out.”
Paige stepped forward, high-tech scanner in hand. “We’re clear,” she said at last, her voice heavy with relief. “No traps or wires.”
“Copy that.” Mason reached for the handle.
Behind him, Fenn clicked on a flashlight, shining it on the door. “After you.”
Mason lifted the lockrod, twisting the handle toward him until the door swung open.
The beam of Fenn’s flashlight cut through the darkness inside. And there was Paul, seated in the far corner, legs drawn up, face bruised and swollen, mouth secured with duct tape. Above the tape, his eyes glittered with fear.
Mason was at his brother’s side in an instant, his hands shaking as he cut through the ropes that bound him.
Paul slumped forward, his body trembling with exhaustion and relief. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry, Mason. I shouldn’t have––”
But Mason just shook his head, his arms wrapping around his brother in a fierce, desperate hug. “No apologies,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “This wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I never should have let you come along.”
Face buried in Mason’s shoulder, Paul mumbled something unintelligible. For a moment, they just held each other, the rest of the world falling away.
“Thank you,” Mason whispered, his voice choked with tears. “Thank you, God, for bringing him back to me.”