by Domino Finn
I growled. He was right. We were sitting ducks if we tried anything. DROP 2 engaged the fortified position. The problem was, they couldn't advance without exposing themselves either.
"Say hello to my little friend!" screamed the Ukrainian in an offensive Cuban accent. His heart was in the right place, though. He hefted a giant military-grade cannon over his cover. I had no idea what kind of gun it was, but if video games had taught me anything, it was a BFG: a Big Fucking Gun.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Everybody ducked as the deafening reports echoed throughout the warehouse. Holes the size of silver dollars punched into distant crates. The fire was directed at DROP 2, stemming their advance. With both teams suppressed, the Russians in the center of the warehouse had free reign to take potshots at us.
I slipped my hand from the shadow and aimed my sawed-off shotgun. The birdshot clanged against the crate protecting the elevated position. They were too far. Barring a direct hit, my shotgun was next to useless against this kind of weaponry.
Evan and another Drop 1 member suppressed the BFG with automatic fire. Now we were talking. Except there were a lot of loud bangs and sparks but not many actual hits.
Brilliant white glittered over the fortified men. At first I thought it was another stun grenade, but it was too slow and sparkly. I checked the area and saw Emily poking her head into the doorway we had breached.
Within seconds, the Ukrainian's fortified gun nest was too bright to look at. Anybody within must've been struggling. The BFG fired frantically, but the shots strayed from their targets. The Ukrainian was firing blind.
"Cover me!" I yelled. I skipped to my feet before they could talk me out of it.
Drop 1 turned their fire to the Russians on the ground. With the high ground suppressed, I was in more danger of getting shot from the side. As the enemy ducked, I ran full speed ahead at the bright corner, turning to Emily and exchanging a wordless message. I could only hope she had an idea of what I needed.
I sprinted and loaded another shell into my sawed off. A battlefront was one thing, but close combat was my jam. I leapt onto a crate, vaulted onto the box the men cowered behind, and dove into the air.
Emily had gotten the message loud and clear. At the height of my leap, the dazzling light in the area vanished. Beneath me, three mobsters huddled together. I came down on top of one and turned my weapon on the other two. I fired.
A cone of glue plastered the two men and the BFG to the side of the crate.
"That's more consideration than they gave Scarface," I noted.
DROP 2 turned their attention back to the main group of gunmen. At this point, sandwiched between two elite teams, the Russians quickly threw down their weapons. It took some time to clear the warehouse and advance on them, but everything was in hand. I watched while keeping my gun on the joker lucky enough to have escaped the glue. Well, lucky was relative. He'd traded it for an alligator boot to the face.
Eventually, nine Russian mobsters were zip-tied and lined up on their stomachs. Two more were dead. The DROP team zip-tied them too, just in case.
Evan set to work quickly. His training and discipline impressed me, to be honest. Within minutes the raid had transitioned into a search-and-rescue op. Evan shook his head while surveying the damage. "I have no choice but to call this in."
"Is that gonna be a problem?" I asked.
"It depends what I say."
Milena walked up and down the line of mobsters twice. "I don't get it," she complained. "Nikolai's not here."
Evan turned to her. "Nikolai?"
"The owner of Pop Stars," I explained. I turned to Milena. "That has-been sent underlings to do his dirty work. I doubt he made an appearance."
She hissed. "Would've been nice to see him go down too."
"If he was giving the orders," said Evan, "we can still charge him as an accomplice."
Milena hiked a shoulder. "If not I can always kick him in the balls again."
Evan and I instinctively grimaced. A few DROP team members reported their progress. The dock was clear. The building was clear. The Russians were in custody, their weapons locked down, but no signs of a boat or drugs or other contraband.
"Check every crate," ordered Evan. "There has to be something here." He turned to me slowly. "You might as well help out. But I think we've been misled. We're too late."
We called out to Fran and checked the containers. We found piping, joints, and a lot of industrial rubber supplies. No people, thankfully, but that was a mixed blessing.
I went outside to the platform on the water. This was a relatively large marina considering it was on the River. Really it was a series of smaller docks. Not too many buildings, but there were a lot of small boats parked along the piers. Here, though, on the platform the Russians had been guarding, there was nothing of note.
Emily came to my side as I stared into the water. "She was here," she said, grasping her crystal ball. "But that was a while ago."
"Is she close, at least?"
She took a measured breath. "I don't know, Cisco. There's no recent trace of her at all. It's like she... vanished."
Emily leaned her head on my shoulder. I put my arm around her.
The bad men had come and taken my little girl. They'd put her on a boat and somehow taken her out of range of Emily's scrying. Salt water would've been my go-to theory for magic interference, but this was a freshwater channel.
"Money!" called out an officer from DROP 2. We turned to the warehouse. A false floor had been uncovered. Apparently I hadn't seen enough bags of cash today because several more were hauled out. The sheer amount of money hidden underground put what I'd stolen today to shame.
I stood by the water, watching the officers through the open loading doors. One by one, the DROP team stacked bags on top of each other. They laughed and high-fived. Not a bad score for them. It was gonna make a hell of a photo shoot.
Something didn't sit well with me, though. This was the right place. Fran had been here. There had been a real deal. The Russians were still hanging around with a bunch of guns and hidden money.
I stepped toward the building, eyes darting over my allies. The wetwork was over with, but there was an eerie tension in the air.
"Connor's still here," I whispered.
Emily perked up. I studied her a moment. When the police had breached the door, the gunfire came back too quickly for it to have been a surprise. The Russians were spread out and ready. Whatever deal Connor had going, we'd interrupted it. He'd vanished into thin air while the Russians had braced for a raid.
I marched toward the warehouse. "Connor's still here!" I announced.
Some of the officers turned to me casually, weapons locked and over their shoulders. Evan's eyes widened. That was troubling considering he was looking right next to me instead of at me. I turned, and Connor Hatch smiled.
"Bravo," said the jinn. "The Port was supposed to get messy. I admit I didn't think you'd get anywhere near the Russians. Then again, they've fulfilled their purpose."
Drop 1 raised their guns and stormed outside in formation.
He ignored them and laughed. "I suppose all that money I gave them won't be spent."
"Don't shoot," ordered Evan.
The rest of the police realized what was happening and snapped into formation. Milena held her pistol on the Russians in custody while ten officers in SWAT gear formed a circle around Connor and me. Emily fixated on the jinn, terrified of his presence.
"Connor Hatch," barked Evan. "Hands behind your head."
"I will do nothing of the sort," he stated calmly.
Nobody moved for a beat.
"Well," said the jinn, "aren't you even going to ask?"
I clenched my fists. "Where's Fran?"
"Thank you," he said, amused with himself.
A dollop of air burst from the water. Half the team jumped and pointed rifles at the River. More bubbles burst to the surface. A dark mass came into view underneath.
The DROP team
shuffled nervously. They'd cleared the waterfront and the shipyard. This was a surprise. And they didn't like surprises.
The underwater mass was large. Wide. But it was made of metal.
White foam crashed through the bubbles. A leviathan breached the surface. As it rose, water cascaded down its sides. The entire plane of water broke and rolled toward the edges of the River, splashing onto the platform and washing over our shoes.
The DROP team broke the circle, choosing to pin Connor against the water rather than keep their backs to the monstrosity. Evan pulled Emily behind them and stepped away. He kept his weapon on Connor.
Besides the drug lord, I was the only one who didn't move. Water misted against our faces as the sloshing cleared away. All of us watched in awe. Towering above us and taking up the width of the River was a juggernaut of technology and engineering.
Connor Hatch had bought himself a Russian submarine.
Chapter 42
The gargantuan submersible rose like a wall. The sail of the submarine. When the deck breached the surface, it rocked to a halt. It swayed steadily in the calm Miami River, hiding its true size underwater.
I'd heard about drug smugglers using submersibles built under the canopy of the Amazon jungles, sold to whatever mercenary outfit bid the highest. But those were sad imitations of the real thing, in many cases unable to fully submerge without flooding their diesel engines.
This was the real deal. A decommissioned military vessel. Top of the line, if a bit outdated. Seeing a sub of this magnitude made everyone hesitate. Suddenly ten elite SWAT officers were worried about being undergunned.
"This is an illegal vessel," stated Evan, as if that wasn't obvious.
Connor's eyes flashed. "Isn't it magnificent? Kilo-class. Diesel-electric. Quieter than a nuclear sub. This slipped right under the Coast Guard's nose." He turned to admire his new purchase. "It's a bit gaudy to bring it right up the River, but I had to know it could be done."
This was definitely a new one in my book. This sub could dive deeper and longer than anything utilized by a drug lord before. No need for go-fast boats to race radar under the cover of night. No need to smuggle on casino cruises. With a full-fledged submarine under his control, the jinn could transport a monster amount of cargo completely undetected. And if he could sneak it into the River, he could unload his drugs practically anywhere.
"Can you guess who's inside?" asked Connor, savoring every word.
I immediately got it. No wonder Fran had fallen off Emily's radar. It had nothing to do with salt or distance. It was depth.
"I'll kill you for this," I said.
The jinn laughed boldly. A man untouchable in the Earthly Steppe. And he knew it. The growth of his power over the years had made him audacious. Dealing with the Russians and acquiring a decommissioned Soviet vessel was just another rung up the ladder. Connor Hatch didn't just dominate the Caribbean powder trade—he was the Caribbean powder trade.
So what was I? The Port. The beating and kidnapping of friends and family. Cisco Suarez was just a sideshow.
I clenched my fist. Time to get the show on the road, then.
The voice of the wraith came to me as clear as if he stood with us, except he was invisible to all and only I heard him. "I will strike while he gloats."
I hardened my features and stared down the jinn. I wanted nothing more than to take my best shot at him, but I couldn't do it yet. Without eyes on Fran, it was too risky.
"Not yet," I whispered.
Connor studied me curiously.
"Where's my daughter?" demanded Evan, rifle trained.
"Now, now." Connor turned to my friend with aplomb. Then his eyes narrowed and fell on Emily. He hadn't expected her here. "You should know, my dear, that I didn't want it to come to this. Despite all your faults."
Emily squared her shoulders at her old master. "Fuck off, Connor."
The Spaniard chimed in again. Anxious. "He is preoccupied, brujo. Make your move."
My alligator boot twisted on the concrete. I needed to wait for Connor's play. I needed to see what he had planned. I reminded myself: killing Connor didn't get Fran back.
"I wanna see her," I insisted.
The drug lord bit his lip, annoyed he could savor this moment only so long. He nodded to his submarine. The top hatch squeaked and flipped open. All eyes were on deck. Who climbed out of the hatch sent some murmuring through the police.
A long skull that looked like a bull with canines. I knew it now to be some twisted giant wolf. The mask of the Vucari. Did they wear the heads of dead comrades?
A gaunt man stretched lanky arms to the sky. One held an oversized wooden club. He tossed it to the foot of the platform. Then he hopped from the submarine tower himself. A twenty-foot drop and he stuck the landing. The police moved away in a line. Their rifles were raised like a firing squad, except they were now uncertain who to aim at.
I wasn't sure myself. What I was seeing should've been impossible. The man's face was hidden, but I knew him all too well.
"Milena..." I warned.
She had left her post over the Russians to back us up. She stood further away on the dock, watching in shock. "It's Darko," she said. Her pistol fell to her side.
The little methhead cocked his skull-head. "In the flesh," he snarled.
I wanted to tell Milena she was free and clear. That she hadn't killed anyone. But more Vucari skulls breached the hatch. One by one, men donning tactical gear and holding crude weapons hopped down. Some of them I thought I recognized from the dock. Others were new. It was hard to tell with the ceremonial skulls.
The last man wore no mask. He wanted his identity known. He was short, broad, and hairy. Bald, with a robust beard, and a symbol tattooed on his face. Vukasin Petrovic landed on the dock and took place ahead of his men. Like Darko, he was not only alive but uninjured.
The Gray Lady had said the Sons of Van were the descendants of Death. Was it possible dear old mother still watched over them?
"Get on the ground, motherfucker!" ordered an especially bold police officer. He gestured forcefully with his weapon.
"Hold your fire," commanded Evan.
"He's the one," called Milena. "He's the one who beat up my abuelo."
Emily nodded. "He's the one that came into our house. He's the one that took our little girl."
Evan sneered. He marched right up to Petrovic. Vukasin was short but he was an intimidating figure. His shoulders spanned the width of three men. He also had a team of supernatural zealots backing him up. Evan didn't care. "Where's my daughter, asshole?"
Petrovic stared down my friend. Then he glanced aside at his men and cracked a smile.
Evan slammed the butt of his rifle into the man's nose.
The blow spun his head, but that was all. Vukasin was too large to nudge. The head of the Vucari returned Evan's sneer, baring large canines.
"That," he growled, "was not nice."
Evan squared his jaw and spoke firmly. "You're outnumbered. You have automatic weapons held by Miami's elite trained on you. And you have my daughter. Do I look like I give a shit?"
Vukasin silently considered the odds. He flashed another smirk to his brothers. "Take off your masks, comrades."
One by one, the skulls rattled to the ground. Each face held a scowl worthy of maximum security prison. Each was unrepentant. These bastards were bullies. Far as I could tell, they were also invincible. Here they were, staring down ten assault rifles, and they hadn't even flinched.
"Evan?" I called out softly. "Maybe you shouldn't piss off the subhumans."
"Subhumans?" spat the Serbian. "I hate that word." A clamor broke out from their ranks, infecting the Vucari until they all boomed with laughter. "I think you find we are more than human."
The Sons of Van howled viciously at the sky, baying together. Long wolf snouts pushed out of their mouths. Their human jaws cracked open. Blood sprayed from twisted flesh. Fur sprouted.
"What the hell?" cried an officer, tripping backw
ard over his heels.
The ranks of the police broke. Not into rampant chaos, but close enough. A couple of the men abandoned trigger discipline and opened fire on the creatures.
"Don't shoot!" cried Evan, but it was too late. Fran was a variable that didn't come into play anymore. Other lives were on the line. Once the gunpowder sparked, it became a chemical reaction that couldn't be stopped.
Chapter 43
The Sons of Van took immediate hits. Some writhed and fell back into the water. The others recovered, and they seemed quicker than bullets.
Vukasin Petrovic lunged. He swung a backhand at Evan. I phased into position between them, raising my arm bar and taking his blow. It was a sweeping strike that hit my arm high. The tattoo flared and left me unhurt, but the force sent me flying.
Evan fired his assault rifle. The wolf somersaulted under the spray. He came up with his hands on the weapon and ripped it away.
A bright pin of energy spawned between Petrovic's eyes. He cowered from the spellcraft, moving so quick that Emily's magic couldn't track him. The Serbian zeroed in on her, framed in the shipyard's floodlights. He raised Evan's rifle and cut her down.
"No!" screamed Evan and I together.
But the image of Emily flickered. The light around her bent like a prism and revealed her true position a few yards away. Son of a bitch. She could refract the light around her. Not as versatile as Shen's illusions, maybe, but the same result.
Vukasin snarled and spun to her new position, but his scanning eyes instead fell on the tip of my short-barreled shotgun.
I pulled the trigger as he battered my hand upward. The spark powder exploded just over the wolf's head, lighting the battlefield in an orange glow. Damn. I'd done nothing more than singe his hair.
He used his rifle as a club. I took to the shadow and slid to his flank, careful to keep away from the floodlight coronas on the cement. Instead of going in for a blow, I pulled my last fire round from my belt pouch and cracked my shotgun in half.
