Chapter 4 - The Abandoned Freightliner
The GPS coordinates on my dashboard terminal blinked furiously as I tore down the industrial access road toward the abandoned rail yard off Interstate 20.
My wrists still throbbed from Reyes's cuffs, but the physical pain was completely overshadowed by the knot of dread tightening in my chest. If the convoy had crossed the county line into Clayton County jurisdiction, our federal warrant wouldn't cover a forced breach without local sign-off—a sign-off that would take precious hours to secure.
Ten minutes later, my tires crunched across loose gravel as I slid to a halt behind an empty tactical van marked FBI Surveillance Unit.
Agent Vance—my actual tactical supervisor, not the precinct captain—stepped out from the shadow of a rusted shipping container, holding a ruggedized tablet. His face was grim.
"You missed the window, Maya," Vance said without preamble as I killed the engine and hopped out. "The target truck didn't take the 4th Street bypass. Someone tipped them off that we had eyes on the intersection."
I slammed my car door shut, my blood running cold. "Tipped them off? How? Our comms are encrypted end-to-end."
"Not through our comms," Vance said, turning the tablet toward me. "Look at this traffic camera footage pulled three minutes ago from the 4th Street perimeter."
The video feed showed an Atlanta police cruiser parked sideways across the off-ramp—Reyes’s cruiser. In the background, the reflection of a silver sedan could be seen slowing down, pausing for nearly thirty seconds right where Reyes was busy cuffing me against the hood, before executing an illegal U-turn and speeding away north.
"That wasn't just a random stop," I whispered, the pieces clicking together with terrifying clarity. "Reyes didn't just detain me out of stupidity. That silver sedan... that belongs to Marcus Vance’s brother-in-law, a known logistics broker who handles shell companies for local shipping fronts."
Vance’s eyes widened. "Are you telling me the Atlanta PD precinct is compromised?"
"I'm telling you Reyes didn't just stumble into me," I said, unzipping my tactical vest to adjust my sidearm. "He was stalling our perimeter long enough for the target to reroute. The human trafficking ring isn't just operating in Atlanta—they have a direct pipeline straight inside the local police department."
Before Vance could process the weight of that realization, his tactical radio hissed to life.
Command to Unit Four, we have a hit. Local highway patrol just flagged an abandoned refrigerated semi matching our target profile parked behind a derelict warehouse off mile marker 42. Driver is gone, but the rear doors... the rear doors are unlocked.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed my rifle from the rack, pulled the charging handle back with a sharp clack, and looked at Vance.
May you like
"Let's move," I said. "We're about to find out who's really protecting Viktor Vane."
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