The van's tires crunched against the gravel as AJ pulled to a stop at the edge of Binhai Boulevard, the headlights cutting through the darkness. The interior of the vehicle smelled like patchouli and something herbal probably the incense that AJ kept burning in a small holder on the dashboard, or the insane amount of weed the hippie smoked, its smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. A dreamcatcher dangled from the rearview mirror, and a small crystal sat on the center console.
Svetlana was already reaching for the door handle, her body tense with the anticipation of the mission ahead. She'd been cooped up in this van for the past four hours, trapped in a confined space with AJ's endless chatter about "positive vibrations" and "cosmic energy," and she was about two seconds away from punching something.
"Hey, Svet," AJ said, his voice carrying that same infuriatingly calm, melodic tone that made her want to strangle him. "I just want you to know, I'm sending you all my good vibes for this mission. Positive energy, you know? The universe is on your side tonight. I can feel it."
Svetlana rolled her eyes so hard she almost strained something. Her hand tightened on the door handle, her knuckles going white. "Da, da, da. Very positive. Much energy. Vonderful. Now stay here and vait." She shoved the door open and climbed out, her boots crunching against the gravel.
"Don't forget to breathe!" AJ called after her, his voice carrying through the open window. "Deep, cleansing breaths! It'll help you stay centered!"
Svetlana slammed the door shut without responding. She stood in the darkness for a moment, her back to the van, her eyes closed, and took a deep breath not because of AJ's advice, but because she needed to center herself before she did something she'd regret. Like going back and punching that insufferable hippie in his smug, peaceful face.
She stretched, her arms reaching toward the sky, her back arching as she worked out the kinks that had formed during the drive. Her spine cracked in a series of satisfying pops, and she let out a low groan of relief. "That vas the vurst four-hour drive of my life," she muttered to herself. "I vould rather have valked here barefoot through broken glass."
But now she was at Shenzhen Bay, and the mission was all that mattered. The area stretched out before her, a sprawling maze of shipping containers and industrial infrastructure, all of it enclosed by a massive chain-link fence topped with razor wire. The fence was easily twelve feet tall, the metal gleaming under the harsh floodlights that dotted the perimeter at regular intervals. Beyond the fence, rows upon rows of shipping containers stretched into the darkness, their colors faded and their surfaces scarred with years of salt spray and rough handling. A massive cargo ship loomed in the water, its hull dark against the night sky, its deck bristling with cranes and equipment.
And everywhere, there were armed men.
Svetlana's eyes scanned the perimeter, counting the guards as they patrolled the fence line. She spotted at least a dozen of them, their weapons slung across their backs or held loosely at their sides, their movements casual but watchful. They were spaced out evenly, covering every angle of approach, their flashlights sweeping the darkness in slow, methodical arcs.
She was dressed in her black tracksuit, the fabric tight against her body, designed for maximum mobility and minimum noise. Her tactical vest was tucked away in the van—too bulky for this kind of infiltration. She'd brought only a knife, a small, serrated blade that she'd used for countless missions, its handle worn smooth from years of use. She'd also brought a waterproof pouch containing a tracking chip, a backup chip, and a small GPS device.
Svetlana crouched low, her body pressed against the cool earth, and studied the fence line. The distance between her position and the nearest guard was roughly three hundred yards. At this time of night, in her black tracksuit, she should be nearly invisible. The floodlights cast harsh shadows, but they also created pockets of darkness where she could move unseen.
She made her decision quickly. Going over the fence was out of the question too exposed, too risky. Going through the fence was equally impossible. Which meant she needed to go around.
Svetlana started moving, keeping low to the ground, her body parallel to the earth as she crawled along the edge of the port. Her movements were silent, practiced, each muscle working in perfect coordination. She weaved through the shadows, ducking behind rocks and debris, her eyes locked on the guards' positions.
She reached the water's edge and paused, her breath steady, her heart rate calm. The bay stretched out before her, dark and cold, its surface rippling with the gentle motion of the tide. She could see the cargo ship in the distance, its lights reflecting off the water like scattered stars.
She didn't hesitate. She slipped into the water. The knife went between her teeth, the blade cool against her tongue, the handle gripped firmly. She swam with powerful, efficient strokes, her body cutting through the water like a blade.
The distance to the port's interior was shorter than going around the fence, but the water was freezing, and the current was stronger than she'd anticipated. She adjusted her course, angling toward a cluster of containers that jutted out over the water, and pulled herself up onto the metal surface with a quiet, controlled movement.
She was inside.
Svetlana crouched behind the container, her body pressed against the cold metal, her breathing slow and controlled. She could hear voices nearby, guards, their footsteps echoing against the concrete, their conversation casual and unconcerned. They had no idea she was there.
And then she heard it.
Whimpering. Crying. The sounds were muffled, coming from the container she was pressed against, the metal amplifying the soft, desperate noises. She pressed her ear to the surface and listened. It was the sound of women. Children. Dozens of them, packed into the container, their voices a chorus of fear and exhaustion.
Svetlana's heart ached. Her jaw clenched so tight she thought her teeth might crack. Her hand shot out, her fingers curling into a fist, ready to punch through the container's wall, to tear it open, to free the people inside. She could feel the rage building in her chest, hot and uncontrollable, demanding action.
But she held back. She knew that if she opened that container now, the guards would hear. They'd come running, weapons raised, and she'd have to fight them all. She could probably win (no joke she's just built different), but the women and children would be caught in the crossfire. They'd be killed, or worse, taken again.
She would save them. She would. But first, she needed to know where they were going. She needed to find the source of this operation, to stop it at its root.
Svetlana forced herself to move, her body trembling with the effort of controlling her rage. She crept along the container, using its bulk as cover, her eyes scanning the area for threats.
A voice cut through the darkness, sharp and cruel. "Shut the fuck up in there! I swear to god, I'll put a bullet between your heads if I hear one more sound!"
It was one of the traffickers, a man in his forties with a thick beard and cold, dead eyes. He was banging on the container's door, his fist striking the metal with brutal force. The crying inside stopped immediately, replaced by the sound of muffled sobs and frightened whimpers.
Svetlana's blood boiled. Her vision went red. This man was scum. The absolute lowest form of life. And he was going to be her ticket out of here.
She moved quickly, her footsteps silent against the concrete. She tapped the side of the container, a single, sharp knock, just loud enough to catch his attention.
The trafficker's head snapped toward the sound. "Who's there?!" His hand went to his weapon, a pistol holstered at his hip. "Show yourself!"
Svetlana was already moving, her body flowing up the side of the container like liquid shadow. She climbed with practiced ease, her fingers finding purchase on the metal ridges, her weight distributed perfectly. She reached the top and crouched low, waiting.
The trafficker moved closer, his footsteps cautious, his head swiveling as he tried to locate the source of the noise. He reached the spot where Svetlana had been standing moments ago, his flashlight sweeping the darkness. "I know someone's out there! Come out, you coward!"
Svetlana dropped behind him like a ghost.
Her arm snaked around his throat, the blade of her knife pressing against his neck, the tip just barely breaking the skin. Her other hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his gasp of surprise.
"Scream, and I slit your throat."
The trafficker froze. His body went rigid, his eyes wide with terror. He'd seen plenty of violence in his line of work, but this was different. This was the kind of violence that came from someone who'd done this before, who had no hesitation, no mercy, no doubt.
He nodded frantically, his hands coming up in surrender.
"Good boy." Svetlana's voice dripped with contempt. "Now, you're going to get in the vater. You're going to swim. And if you try to run, if you try to swim avay from me, I vill catch you, and I vill cut off both of your legs. Understand?" (I wish she would call me a good boy)
He nodded again, even more frantically this time.
Svetlana removed the knife from his throat and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him toward the water's edge. She dropped all his weapons, the AK-47, the two Glocks, the three knives—into the bay, watching them sink beneath the surface. Then she pushed him into the water.
He surfaced with a gasp, his arms flailing, his eyes wide with panic. She dove in after him, the knife still in her hand, and grabbed him by the collar again, towing him through the water with powerful, efficient strokes.
The swim back to the fence was faster than the swim in. The current was at her back this time, and the trafficker's panic gave him strength, though he was clearly exhausted by the time they reached the shoreline. Svetlana hauled him out of the water and dragged him across the gravel toward the van, his body leaving a trail of water and mud behind him.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Ben. He answered on the second ring, his voice flat and unimpressed. "What?"
"Access the port's cameras. Scramble the last twelve minutes vhere I vas there. Do it now."
"Whatever." The line went dead.
Svetlana shoved the trafficker into the trunk of the van, slamming it shut with a satisfied thud. She climbed into the passenger seat, her body dripping water onto the upholstery, her breath coming in steady, controlled bursts. She checked her watch.
Fifteen minutes flat. She'd done the entire infiltration, the swim, the kidnapping, and the extraction in fifteen minutes.
She grinned, a fierce, predatory expression that made AJ shrink back in his seat. "Done in fifteen minutes flat." She leaned back, her arms crossing over her chest, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Could have done it in ten if I really locked in."
AJ cleared his throat, his voice uncertain. "So... uh... good vibes?"
Svetlana laughed, a loud, genuine sound that echoed through the van. "Da. Very good vibes. Now drive. Ve have an interrogation to conduct."