He did not turn on the headlights, relying on the faint ambient light from the distant highway.

We rolled slowly down the wet asphalt, navigating by the dim red glow of the dashboard.

I looked at my phone, checking the encrypted network we had set up.

An alert flashed on the screen, green text scrolling down.

The port authority server had just registered an external login from an IP address in the industrial district.

“He is online,” I whispered.

“Is he reading the file?” Roman asked from the back seat.

“He just downloaded the routing transit slip,” I said.

“He took the bait,” Declan said, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

The car turned onto the main avenue, where the neon signs of the city flickered through the downpour.

Calder City looked washed out, its bright pinks and greens bleeding into the black puddles.

We drove in silence toward the harbor district, the streets growing emptier.

The smell of salt and diesel fuel grew stronger as we neared the water.

Huge shipping containers towered over the road like rusted iron walls.