The warehouse district outside Arlington looked abandoned in the pre-dawn darkness, but Adrian knew better than to trust appearances after everything Morrison had taught them about operational deception. Sokolov's temporary alliance had provided transportation and equipment, but the Russian's teams maintained positions that could eliminate federal agents as quickly as they could engage Morrison's forces."Your Morrison is not at his corporate headquarters," Sokolov reported, lowering night vision binoculars while his communications specialist coordinated surveillance from multiple positions around Morrison Dynamics. "Facility appears operational, but thermal imaging shows only maintenance personnel and automated security systems."Adrian studied the intelligence reports that Sokolov's people had gathered during six hours of reconnaissance—financial records indicating Morrison had liquidated substantial assets, communication intercepts suggesting coordination with international contact

Morrison stepped through the smoke and debris like he was walking into his own boardroom, completely relaxed despite the gunfire echoing around the warehouse. He wore gear that looked more expensive than most federal budgets, surrounded by six soldiers whose movements suggested Special Forces training from countries that didn't ask questions about civilian casualties. "Adrian," Morrison called out, his voice carrying across the industrial space with the kind of casual confidence that came from controlling overwhelming firepower. "Three years we worked together. Three years I saved your life, watched your back, pretended to care about your pathetic relationship with Mara. Do you have any idea how exhausting that was?" Adrian pressed himself against rusted machinery while Morrison's teams flanked their positions with professional coordination. Sokolov was down to two men, both wounded, while Alex could barely stay conscious from blood loss. Only Mara remained combat-effective, and her

The first call Adrian made was to a number he'd avoided for three years. Tony Russo answered on the second ring, his Brooklyn accent thick with surprise and amusement."Well, well, well. Adrian fucking Cross. Guess who finally came crawling back.""Tony.""Seven years, Adrian. Seven years since you said you'd rather die than ask me for help again. Now here you are, calling from a hospital bed." Russo's laugh carried genuine satisfaction. "What happened to all that federal righteousness? That whole speech about not needing corrupt cops to solve real problems?"Adrian swallowed his pride, remembering the last time he'd worked with Russo—a case that had required bending rules Adrian wasn't ready to bend back then. "Things change.""Yeah, they do. Heard Morrison put some holes in you. Also heard he killed your brother." The amusement left Russo's voice. "That changes things, doesn't it?""I need help finding him.""Course you do. And here's the beautiful part—I want to find that bastard t

The first explosion rocked the Baltimore harbor at 11:47 AM, sending flames shooting fifty feet into the air from the fuel depot that supplied commercial vessels. Adrian watched through binoculars from a warehouse roof half a mile away as emergency crews scrambled to contain damage that would shut down port operations for hours."Nice work," he said into his radio.Coleman's voice crackled back through encrypted communication. "Phase one complete. Harbor operations are suspended indefinitely. Your boy's ship isn't going anywhere."But Adrian knew Morrison wouldn't accept being trapped without fighting back. Through his binoculars, he could see activity on the *Adriatic Star*'s deck—armed figures taking defensive positions, equipment being moved into place that suggested preparation for siege rather than departure."Movement on the ship," Russo reported from his position closer to the docks. "Looks like Morrison's people are setting up for extended engagement."Adrian's phone rang. Unk

Forty minutes passed without any sign of Morrison preparing to release Mara. Adrian watched through binoculars as the Adriatic Star's engines came online, black smoke rising from its stacks while deck crews prepared for departure despite the federal perimeter that surrounded the harbor complex."He's moving," the Coast Guard liaison reported. "Ship's engines at full power, tugboats positioning for harbor departure."Martinez was already on the radio with her supervisors, coordinating federal response to situation that had developed beyond diplomatic negotiation into active escape attempt by international criminal who'd used their agreement as tactical deception."All vessels, maintain current positions," she ordered. "Do not engage unless fired upon, but do not allow ship to clear territorial waters without releasing federal personnel."Adrian realized Morrison had played them again—used negotiation to buy time for departure preparation while federal authorities maintained positions t