“The manifest said the ship departs at midnight,” I said, checking the dashboard clock.

It was eleven-thirty.

“We have thirty minutes to get past Tony’s security and stop that ship,” I added.

I pushed the sedan faster, the windshield wipers clacking furiously against the sheet of rain.

The ocean to our left was a black, churning void, the white foam of the waves crashing against the rocks below.

The towering metal cranes of Pier 42 loomed in the distance, looking like giant skeletal monsters in the fog.

“If Marcus is there, he won’t hesitate,” Vincenzo warned, staring out the passenger window.

“I know,” I said. “But we have to try.”

I turned the sedan’s headlights off as we neared the industrial entrance to the docks.

The car coasted in the dark, the rain lashing the metal roof with a relentless, deafening force.

I parked the car behind a stack of rusted shipping containers, the smell of diesel and salt water thick in the air.

“We go on foot,” I whispered.

Vincenzo opened his door, his movements slow and painful.