Warning: This Chapter Contains Content Under The Umbrella Theme of War, Violence, Injury and Death- It Is Intended For Mature Readers
Reese POV:
In chess, checkmate is a move that makes it impossible for your opponent to win.
It's a clear victory. A move that leaves your opponent with no more options, therefore making it impossible for them to generate a countermove that won't result in you getting their king and consequently ending the game. It's inescapable, indefensible, and so inevitably final, the term is consistently used to describe oher kinds of final victories. Take politics for example, a campaign that berates the opposition's reputation, leading to a victory in the polls could be called a checkmate. A series of responses and facts acting as the final nail in the coffin that wraps up an election, could be called a checkmate. The takedown of a leader through any means necessary in order to win power, a checkmate.
Checkmate doesn't just mean that you have simply cornered the enemy king, it's a declaration that the enemy king is yours.
Three empires, eighty armed soldiers, six semi-trucks en-route, 1.3 billion dollars, and the death of an heir residing on a throne covered in civilian and enemy blood alike.
This was our checkmate.
At 2:30am the Autonomous Port of Paris was harrowingly still. Resting quietly on the Seine River in France, the port facilitated goods along over three hundred miles of navigable routes. It was a state public institution that transported over eighty-eight million tons of supplies a year. By having numerous major multimodal platforms, it made it so that it could house up to five transport modes at all times. The maritime, road and rail, two oil pipelines and what was now about to be the French empire's achilles heel, the waterway.
The waterway led to the epicenter of the port, something the French called 'Conex.' Conex was a place where cargo containers stacked up one on top of another by the hundreds. Heavy machinery and cranes towered over the domain, beautifully illuminating the skyline with blazing lights that could be seen from miles away, so when ships docked at night they could identify where to drop the anchors and unload their shipping containers. Conex's container storage didn't concern us, what did was that Conex didn't just accommodate cargo ships; the site stored a massive one hundred and fifty million dollar mega-yacht registered under the Baudelaire name.
The yacht rested casually on the side, making sure the armed guards could hide behind its inactivity during the daytime. It didn't just surpass some of the smaller cargo ships in size, it passed them in worth. The price tag that shone from the sparkling fiberglass walls was a gross misrepresentation of how much the entirety of the vessel and the goods on board were actually worth.
We estimated long ago that an approximate twenty tons of cocaine was situated on that very yacht. That was 1.3 billion dollars just sitting in storage waiting to be distributed across France. 1.3 billion dollars that we wanted in our pockets. 1.3 billion dollars that if taken, would rip the French empire right out from under their own feet.
When running a business and in life itself, it's important to give credit where credit is due. The gesture keeps you humble, modest, but most importantly, it keeps you competitive. It didn't matter how much any of us hated to admit it, the French using the waterway as an instrument of business they could pull into play whenever they needed was a move smarter than any of us thought they were capable of generating. They may have had to spend a lot of their money in order to rent a spot on the Port of Paris, but their vessel was basically a warehouse that could move.
It escaped the eyes of the law, it was essentially more easier to guard than a regular storage unit, but above all, no one would question loud semi-trucks constantly moving in and out of a place where cargo was readily held and transported. It was a perfect front that hid a multi-million dollar narcotics empire. An empire, if everything went according to plan, that was, unfortunately for them and fortunately for us, going to be wiped out in a span of one hour.
"All teams on standby, we are two minutes out."
Our team of eighty was hidden in the Dry Van trailers of six Fiore Transport trucks. Gavino and his team were in the first truck, Landon's team was in the second, Max and Bruno's team was in the third, Rocco's was in the fourth, Carver's was in the fifth and lastly, my team was in the sixth.
My sixth trailer was altered into a surveillance setup, which Mauro would sit behind during the duration of the raid. He was going to stay in truck six so he could control the Baudelaire yacht cameras, send live raid footage over to Italy, England and America where our anxious empires were watching, and simultaneously track Henri Buadelaire's location via our dispatched drones.
Mauro had the most pivotal job, if he didn't manage to effectively control every camera in a two mile radius, give us instructions on how to navigate through the yacht, and monitor any movement coming our way, then this raid was going to end before it even started.
"One minute."
I anxiously shifted my weight from one foot to the other as I took a look at my team. Fitted in tactical gear from head to toe, every single one of our soldiers were identical but unidentifiable. The ballistics armour on their heads fit like full-face motorcycle helmets with dark visors altered with night vision, so no outside threat could see any soldier's face unless the helmet was completely removed. Black Kevlar vests sat on top of long-sleeve jackets that didn't have any empire marks, semi-automatic weapons with no identifiable prints or serial numbers were all configured to the soldiers currently holding them and extra ammo rested on everyone's fitted utility belts.
The only way someone could differentiate between one of our soldiers and higher command was if they somehow got close enough to figure out that Gavino, Max, Bruno, Rocco, Landon, and Carver and I had a small silver lining on the left side of our vests.
Our soldiers needed something to identify us with, something unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't specifically looking and the silver did exactly that. It represented the metallic stamp that every Don signed under when the American-English-Italian alliance was finalized. It was designed not only for the identification of higher command but also as a gesture to the three Dons watching from their respective countries since we were here in their name.
"Approaching."
My heart jerked painfully as six simultaneous hissing sounds pierced the air and the semi-trucks came to a stop. The brakes were loud, the sound of air pressure releasing had no doubt already alerted the French soldiers on board the yacht that someone had arrived onto their territory of Conex. Our trailers and comms went dead silent as our driver doors opened and Tommasso, Flavio and their team of operators slowly piled out of the trucks.
I pushed away from the wall I was leaning against and made my way towards Mauro so I could see what was happening outside. "A French soldier is approaching you, Mr. Fiore. He has three more men watching from the first deck of the yacht." Mauro spoke quietly into his headset. "Keep calm, keep your mouth shut, and remember Elroy Baudelaire himself sent you here."
Tommaso wheezed noisily, the sound sending a bundle of nerves straight into my stomach. He needed to reign it in, his obvious anxiety was a blatant tell. If the angry French soldier approaching had even half a brain cell, he would quickly realize just off Tommasso's face that something was wrong. We could not afford that to happen.
"Do you suddenly have asthma, Tommaso?" Gavino's hissing voice filled the comms. I watched as Tommaso replied mutely with a jerky shake of his head. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Breathe fucking properly."
I held in a snort. Tommaso must have found that incredibly helpful.
"Fiore."A rough accented voice had me immediately stiffening. "Qu'est-ce que tu fous ici?" (What the hell are you doing here?)
There was a pause, then finally a reply.
"Je suis ici sur les ordres de Don. Il a envoyé un avis. Il souhaite une livraison livrée à l'entrepôt de Dijon dans les plus brefs délais." (I'm here on Don's orders. He sent out a notice. He wants a shipment delivered to the warehouse in Dijon as soon as possible).
Tommaso's voice was weak, afraid. Mauro drew in a deep breath.
"Quel préavis?" The French soldier questioned, his tone turning accusatory. "Je n'ai été informé d'aucun avis de Don concernant une expédition ce soir." (What notice? I was not informed of any notice from Don regarding a shipment tonight).
"Don a insisté sur la plus grande discrétion. Il voulait que personne ne le sache. Quelque chose à propos du trèfle qui regarde? (Don emphasized the utmost discretion. He didn't want anyone to know. Something about the clover watching?)
I nodded my head. "Good Tommaso, keep it up."
"Montrez-moi la notice." (Show me the notice).
Silence came down the line as Mauro and I waited for Tommaso to respond. One second went by, then two, then three, then five, then ten.
I spoke too soon.
"Mr. Fiore." Mauro warned. "Give him a response."
Another beat of silence. Nothing.
"Tu as une putain d'attaque, Fiore? Montrez-moi la notice maintenant." The French soldier was now raising his voice, but there was still complete radio silence on Tommaso's end. (Are you having a fucking stroke, Fiore? Show me the notice now).
"Mr. Fiore." Mauro tried again, now whisper-yelling. "Answer him." He was frantically trying and failing to get Tommaso to engage.
Goddamn it.
There was nothing. The Italian truck driver had completely frozen up.
I clenched my jaw, trying to subdue the rising panic in my chest. "You're absolutely fucking useless, Fiore." I scowled, gesturing for my team to rise. "Do you hear me? Absolutely fucking useless." I gripped my gun tighter in my hands. "Mauro launch plan B."
"Yes, ma'am." He replied frustratedly, glaring at a shell-shocked Tommaso who was now getting yelled at by the French soldier, through his screens. "Teams five and six under the command of Miss Vanderbilt and Mr Rutherford." Mauro spoke directly into everyone's comms. "We are launching Plan B, move into your positions now."
"Bloody hell." Carver's displeasure rang clearly in everyone's ears. I shared the sentiment.
My team moved to the side walls of the trailer, getting into position and checking the chambers of their guns one last time. I started to make my way over to join my soldiers but Mauro silently waved his hand in the air, making me pause in my steps. He lifted up his tablet that showed the exact locations of where the raid's comm audio was being broadcast to. I took the tablet from him, immediately understanding what he was trying to tell me.
The United States, England, and Italy were all listening in on our audio and were going to watch a live feed produced by the cameras Mauro was currently hacking into. Our empires at home could hear and see everything.
Nervous electricity strummed through my veins. I handed Mauro the tablet back and rolled my shoulders forward, trying to release some of the tension in my muscles.
"Everybody listen up." The audio feed went silent at my command. "Forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes to get twenty tons of narcotics loaded into these trailers, to get the yacht cleared out, and then to bring it down. You all know your jobs, you know what you're here for, and what you need to do. Relax and do it." Moving beside my soldiers I watched as a section of the trailer floor opened up, exposing Conex's cement floor. "I don't care who is on that goddamn yacht, I don't want any hesitation. You shoot immediately and you shoot to kill. Does everyone hear me? Shoot. To. Kill."
Dozens of quiet confirmations flooded through my earpiece.
"This isn't just an alliance between empires anymore. This is a dynasty, this is your legacy." I raised my gun. "Protect your regime."
Muffled sounds of struggle from outside the trailer had my entire team tensing for a fight and I knew the other teams could hear it as well. The moment the French soldier started tugging on our trailer doors, Mauro started his countdown. He raised five fingers in the air and started lowering them slowly, one by one.
Five... four...three...two...one...
Blackout.
I jumped down onto the ground and rolled out from under the trailer.
Then Conex plunged into darkness.
"Que diable?!" The French soldier hissed, reaching into the air and swatting his arms at nothing. The moonlight did little to illuminate the port, he and his fellow soldiers would now have to navigate through the pitch black. (What the hell?) "Tommaso!"
I moved forward, watching carefully as the soldier's hands dropped from the air and made their descent towards the gun strapped onto his hip. The darkness was my army's playground, it was easy to become a predator when you deliberately incapacitate your prey, and incapcitated they were. Confused and semi-frantic silhouettes of the French soldiers danced in the dark and my team, armed with tactical helmets that could switch from regular to night vision at the mere push of a button, prowled after them.
I managed to grab the soldier's hand seconds before he got a solid grip on his gun. He let out a sharp hiss of recognition but that was all he could manage before I got my bearings in order. Fisting the fabric of his collar in my hand, I slammed him up against the side of the nearest truck, pinning him in place as he thrashed violently in my hold. I let my semi-automatic hang from my shoulders, my muscles straining with force as I fought to keep him in place and grab my gun at the same time.
"That's enough." I grunted, finally getting a hold of my gun and pressing it into the side of his head. His struggle came to an immediate stop. My lips curved upwards at the obvious defeat in his eyes. That was the beauty of weaponry, no one could outrun a gun.
Feeling his erratic heartbeat in my hands, I questioned him. "Do you speak English?"
"Ye-yes, yes!" He choked out, trying to move his head away from my weapon. "I speak English! My name is Clement! I am forty-eight-years-old, I have a famil-"
"I don't care about your fucking age, Clement." I ignored his pleading and pressed the gun harder into his flushed skin. "What level are the drugs are stored on?"
"Drugs?" His voice raised an octave at the prospect of knowing what I wanted. "I can give you drugs, I can bring them right here, just please, please put the gun down! How much do you want?"
"All of it." I told him simply. "I want all of it, the entire supply."
His eyes widened, almost as if he couldn't believe what I was asking. "You're crazy." He let out a half-horrified, half-panicked laugh. "You are in France. Do you even know who you are trying to steal from? Whose supply this is?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Elroy Baudelaire is not the Don you think he is." The soldier tensed up, completely unaware of my team and Carver's team creeping up onto the yacht in perfect succession as I entertained his conversation. "There are bigger players in the game."
"No one can steal from Elroy Baudelaire in his own country." Shaking his head he stood his ground, adamant on defending his Don. "You take one step onto that boat and he will know, you'll be dead before you even get to the storage cabins." He snickered fanatically, mumbling to himself in an accent so thick it was a miracle I could even understand him.
It's easy to put blind faith into an empire that consistently declares their superiority and allows no objection to the claim. I knew the French people had been living in a bubble that forced them to both sing the praises of the Baudelaire family and fear retaliation if they didn't. It was an oppressive regime that had done no favours for the population. Clement was a prime example of the aftermath, he currently faced a threat that held him at gunpoint, yet he laughed at the prospect of someone getting one over on Elroy Baudelaire.
One would think that when in danger a man would care more for his life than defending a corrupt king.
"It is funny isn't it?" Relieving some of the pressure from the glock aimed at his head, I tapped his cheek mockingly. "It's incredibly funny how my army is currently ripping your Don's little boat apart from the inside out while you stand here snickering to yourself like a little schoolgirl." I clicked my tongue as he stiffened in my arms. "It's so funny how you claim that no one can steal Elroy Baudelaire's drugs when the only defence of said drugs is a fucking moron that doesn't realize that while he stands here wasting everyone's time by claiming certain things are impossible, the impossible is already in effect."
Rage was quick to burn bright in his eyes, my condescending tone making him seethe. I watched as his hands formed into fists but smartly continued to lay still at his side. I smirked, his anger only fueled my fire.
"No one steals from Elroy Baudelaire, no one trespasses onto his property, no one kills his piece of shit father. I'm starting to think you French are just programmed to lie." Leaning in, I made sure he felt both of my guns press into his stiff frame. "Listen up soldat, if you want to live you're going to spare me your threatening bullshit and listen very carefully. Right now your men inside are confused and on edge, you're going to alleviate their concerns."
"How?" He gritted out.
"Take out your transceiver and radio the yacht's security team. Tell them you think the port suffered a small power outage but it's fine because it has happened before and the lights will probably come back on any minute now. Then, you're going to tell your men to prepare a transport because Elroy did in fact request a shipment to be moved out tonight. In fact, after speaking to Tommaso you found out that your Don personally handed you and the Fiore's the responsibility to see it get done as fast and as efficiently as possible. Got it?"
I received no answer, it seemed like Clement had taken a page out of Tommaso's playbook. I loosened my grip for about half a second before moving back and ramming my fist into his stomach. He instantly doubled over groaning in pain. Yanking him back up, I pulled him close, our faces mere millimetres away. "Got it?" I asked again slowly.
Face scrunched in pain, he finally nodded.
"Wonderful, where are the drugs?"
"Second floor cabins." He gritted out, holding his stomach. "The yacht's sides open up so the crates can be moved out onto the port easily."
"Did you get that Carver?"
"Loud and clear. Teams five and six.." He commanded. "... advance starboard side."
"Teams one to four with me." I pulled Clement off the truck wall and pushed him towards what I hoped was a now lucid Tommaso. He stumbled, clumsily falling to the floor, still unable to see in the dark. I glared down at his form. "Make the call. Get them to open up the sides and don't say another word. One step, one word out of line and I gun you down. Don't test me."
Gingerly nodding his head, Clement flinched at the sound of me cocking my gun. He shakily lifted his transceiver that had been omitting non-stop demands for his status and location, up to his mouth and started mumbling in incomprehensible French.
"Shit." I cursed, instantly realizing my mistake. Of course he was going to reply in French, I could make Ry translate for me but I didn't want any soldiers hearing Ry's voice through the call. "Mauro, please tell me you're listening in on his call." I whispered.
Mauro's reassurance was quick to come through the comms. "Don't worry, Ry is translating. So far he hasn't said anything out of line. I'll let you know if he does."
Blowing out a deep breath, my tense shoulders semi-relaxed at the hacker's words. A few more seconds went by before Clement lowered his transceiver. Grabbing his device, I spun him around and pushed him forward with the barrel of my gun. "Walk." I ordered, forcing him to retrace his steps back to the yacht. "Where exactly do the sides open up?"
"Over there." He pointed to a section of the vessel walls where there was an almost unnoticeable break in the material. Sure enough, the minute we stepped close, loud screeches of mechanical whirring screamed for us to move back.
The small break split wide open and huge modular steel ramps first raised themselves up and then started lowering down onto the port. "Teams one to four, move now." I whispered, knowing that we were seconds away from meeting resistance. The French had just unknowingly given us an open invitation to advance, bloodshed would soon commence.
When fifty pairs of boots touched down onto Conex and made their way out of the trailers, the darkness swept away just as fast as it came. One by one the blazing lights that had dimmed shone with illumination once again, bringing the Port of Paris, and consequently our army, out of the shadows.
French soldiers naively waiting at the top of the ramps stumbled back in horror as the sight of a still army met their eyes. Their shell-shocked gazes raked over fifty soldiers with their guns raised. The American-English-Italian army stood ready, buzzing with anticipation for my signal.
I shoved Clement onto his knees. "I appreciate the help."
Then I pulled the trigger.
When the first drops of spilt blood seeped into the cracks of Conex, complete pandemonium ensued. Our soldiers stormed forward, gunfire being exchanged both ways but only one side falling. I sprinted up the ramp, my shots constant and steady as French soldiers poured out from every direction. Shot after shot my bullets lodged into French skin, dropping dead soldiers right at my feet. More and more advanced, their faces morphed into panicked snarls as they defended their livelihood, stationing themselves in front of massive titanium doors I knew housed the narcotics we were after.
"We need to pick up the pace! Get to those doors!"
Voices filtered in and out of my comms. Max asking for Bruno's location, Rocco screaming at Gavino to watch his back, Landon trying to navigate his team through the multiple yacht floors. Bullets flying, flesh hitting flesh, screams, groans, pleads. Every comm channel was engulfed in activity.
"Carver! Have you secured the control room?"
"Control room is secured. Where is Reese? She needs to get up here now."
"Reese, we need you on the fourth floor."
"Has anyone seen Reese!"
"I'm-" My response halted at the tip of my tongue when two bodies came flying towards me from the left. I spun quickly, trying to reload my gun but my clip entered the chamber half a second too late. Two pairs of arms snaked around my body and I was violently slammed onto the floor. The air left my lungs, burying me in a two man tackle that made it almost impossible to breathe.
Jesus christ, at this rate I was going to have faulty ribs and lung problems for the rest of my life.
"Montre-nous ton visage, connard!" (Show us your face, you asshole). One of the men hissed while sending an ineffective punch to my helmet. I coughed harshly, trying to regulate my breathing once again. When I finally gathered myself, I reached up and punched the man practically straddling me, right in the throat. He choked and fell back, immediately freeing me from his weight. Rolling away, I searched for my glock that must have fallen out of my hands sometime during the initial tackle. I spotted it a couple of meters away from me but before I could move, I was yanked back by the leg.
I turned around, kicking whoever had my ankle in a death grip, right in the stomach. To my surprise, my kick barely affected him. He tossed my leg to the side and grabbed his gun, yelling at his partner to get up. I scrambled up to my feet and dove for his weapon the exact same time he raised it and aimed straight at me. I twisted his hand up and he fired, forcing the shot to bury itself into the ceiling, and making him curse in anger.
We fought for control of the gun. He pushed me back against the wall, trying to yank the gun from my hands. I brought our arms down and tried to knee the gun out of his hands, but surprisingly he was trying to do the exact same thing. The asshole definitely knew how to fight. Our knees collided and the gun fell to the floor, sliding away and disappearing into the hoard of people trying to fight behind us. Now that he was disarmed, I shoved him away from me. He stumbled back a little but came surging forward with a newfound anger seconds later. His partner had recovered as well and they both lunged, coming at me from both sides.
Dodging one punch, the second hit me right in the ribs. My vest took the brunt of the blow, allowing me to grab one soldier's arm and twist it behind his back. He screamed in pain and I held the painful position as his partner launched another strike at my neck. I turned the soldier I had in my grip and the fist intended for me smashed directly into his forehead, instantly knocking him out. Letting the unconscious man slump to the floor, I focussed all my attention onto his friend.
Advancing, he threw punch after punch. I stayed low, dodging every single one until I saw an opportunity. One overextended reach was all I needed to step forward and grab his arm. I turned, taking his limb with me and snapping it in two. He screamed, doubling over and cradling his arm that now hung gruesomely in the wrong angle. Kicking the back of his knee was an easy move now that he was distracted. His legs buckled and I sent an elbow right into his face. He went sprawling down onto the floor and I lifted up the semi-automatic hanging from my shoulders just waiting to be fired. Firing out two headshots, I finally killed both attackers, spilling more blood onto the now crimson yacht floor.
Adjusting my vest and helmet now that I was alone, I rolled my shoulders forward and made a beeline towards my abandoned Glock. I only managed to take one step forward before a hand came down onto my shoulder. Stifling a groan of frustration, I threw my elbow back and spun around, clipping a helmet and making my apparent attacker stagger back. Raising my gun, I was seconds away from pulling the trigger but before I could, the distinctive uniform I myself had created came into my line of sight.
"Reese, it's me! Don't shoot!"
I exhaled, burying the adrenaline that had risen once again deep into my stomach. "Jesus Christ Landon, don't grab me like that! I could have killed you!"
I couldn't see his face but I imagined Landon would be grimacing behind his visor. "I'm sorry, but you weren't answering your comms." His head turned to the dead soldiers piled up behind me. "You were obviously occupied." Mumbling, he pointed to the mangled arm of one of my attackers. "Bloody hell, what happened there?"
"Has anyone found Reese yet?"
Turning away from Landon and his disgust, I pressed on my comms. "Sorry, I'm here. I'm coming up, give me ten."
"Make it five, Ree." Carver replied, relief coating his tone. "Trust me, you'll want to see this."
"Coming." Turning back towards Landon, I watched as he fired out a few more shots into the crowd. The last of the living became smothered by his bullets, now living no more. "Come on." He waved his hand at me. "Let's find the others."
The yacht was a vessel of corpses.
Landon and I stepped over body after body, our boots painting themselves red. Looking over the railings, my stomach couldn't help but churn at the colour of the water. Dark red mixed with dark blue, hiding bodies that floated lifelessly as the waves knocked them back and forth into the dock. It was an incredibly gory sight, not meant for the faint at heart.
The fish jumped up and the seagulls went scavenging, ecstatic of the once in a lifetime feast that surrounded them. The yacht itself was even worse. The destruction of French bodies littered the floor making the silence of the night more eerie than ever. Discarded weapons lay by their unmoving owners, a sea of splattered skin masked with a few black uniforms. Death hung in the air as thick as the oxygen around us. My heart stuttered in mourning.
"How many did we lose?" I asked Landon, taking in the massacre before me.
Landon kept walking, carefully moving from side to side so he didn't step on any flesh. "About ten." His voice was sad, the sorrow engulfing the silence. Landon and his team were in charge of sweeping the rooms for hidden French men. I realized that they probably came back to the sight of carnage. It was a rough scene to take in regardless but when you're in the middle of the action it doesn't seem so bad, it would be absolutely horrific to anyone just walking in.
"Did you sweep the yacht?"
He nodded. "My team and I took care of floors one and two, Carver's team and your team handled three and four, Gavino, Max, Bruno and Rocco got the cabin doors open." There was finally some relief in his voice. "It's all there Reese, just like you said. 1.3 billion dollars worth of cocaine."
I smiled. "We got it?"
He stopped walking, took his helmet off and grinned wide. "We got it."
"Reese, what's your ETA?"
"Shit." My celebratory moment came to an abrupt halt. I had forgotten I was supposed to be on the fourth floor with Carver. "Two minutes." I answered, already starting to jog backwards. "Landon, get those crates loaded up into the trucks now. We're already past the forty-five minute mark and we need to get the fuck out of here."
He gave me a two finger salute. "Got it boss."
Turning around, I located and then sprinted up the yacht staircase, my heavy Kevlar armour barely slowing me down. We were so close, so close to succeeding and I didn't want to take any chances. We needed to leave as soon as possible, it wouldn't be long until someone noticed that the soldiers who were supposed to be guarding the French empire's most valuable possession, weren't actually guarding anything anymore.
"Miss Vanderbilt!"
Climbing up the last few steps, I paused at the sight of my team waiting for me. Their helmets were off and excitement blazed in their eyes. My heart raced in anticipation as I took in everyone's wild grins. "Why is everyone just standing around?" I questioned, gesturing for everyone to put their helmets back on. "We can't be here for much longer, we need to leave."
A female soldier stepped forward, she was initially a part of the English select team but was picked to be under my command during this mission. "We will leave Miss Vanderbilt, but first you need to see this." She waved me forward, leading me into what I assumed was the control room. Taking my helmet off, I walked into a chamber fitted with a biometric screening system at the entrance. The doors were wide open and completely splattered with blood, indicating that the soldiers that were once stationed here, fought hard to protect what was inside.
I furrowed my brows in confusion as I walked deeper into the chamber. The room was dark, glass windows projected the dark river we stood upon but there were no actual lights in the room. The only reason I could see where I was going was because of the tiny lights coming from under the keyboard keys at the front controls of the yacht.
This room was not designed to be seen, it was designed to be heard.
Voices repeatedly overlapped one another as multiple conversations in different languages reached my ears. It was like listening to a hundred T.V's play at different volumes all at once. I didn't know who was talking to who, or even who was talking at all. "What the fuck is this?" I whispered, continuing to walk forward.
"This Ree, this is Pandora's bloody box." I turned to my right as Carver emerged from another room connected to the chamber. He was followed by the rest of his team, a group of soldiers who, just like the English heir before me, had an unidentifiable glint in their eye. It was like they knew something no one else did.
"What do you mean Pandora's box? What is this place?"
Carver let out a chuckle of amusement. "Ry." He spoke out loud. My watch immediately lit up with activity, so did the tablet in Carver's hand. "Identify the voices around us."
'Vocal identification initiated...'
I waited in restless silence for my A.I to answer the question. Whatever it was that had both my team and Carver's team in a state of shock, I wanted a piece of it.
'Voices identified... listing identified names now. Lukas Müller, Jagbir Sran, Sharon Brown, Saif Hassan, Nikolas Huang, Ghalen Achebe...' The names went on and on and on.
Shock slammed into me with such force, it was a miracle I didn't stagger back. "Lukas Müller, Jagbir Sran, Sharon Brown, Saif Hassan..." I breathed out. "No fucking way."
"That's right Ree." Carver confirmed. "Lukas Müller, Don of the German Mafia, Jagbir Sran, Don of the Indian Mafia, Sharon Brown, Donna of the Canadian Mafia." He leaned forward, hands on the table before him but eyes taking in the room around us in wonder. "We are currently listening in on the private conversations of more than half of the Dons and Donnas in the mafia world." Pausing, he made sure I understood the gravity of the situation. "These bastards have Benjamin Morrison's planted in every empire."
Speechless. That was the only way to describe the atmosphere that surrounded me and filled my lungs. I was speechless.
I slowly spun in a circle, fire exploding in my chest and pumping my heart. "Carver if this gets leaked..."
"...the entire mafia world goes to war with the French." My sentence was finished for me. "We just won this war, love."
Taking in a deep breath, I faced my boyfriend, the smile on my face growing larger by the second. "We just won this war." I whispered back.
There was a brief moment of silence and then Carver rushed towards me. Laughing, I jumped into his arms as cheers erupted all around us. He lifted me into the air and gripped me tight and I squeezed him back, burying my face into his neck. My breath skittered across his skin, and we both stared at each other in pure happiness. "I would kiss you right now," He muttered into my ear, "but I'm going to wait until we're in private so I can do it properly."
I laughed. "Normally I would have a problem with that but we have to go." He lowered me to the floor. "Let's get out of this godforsaken country."
"Ry." I commanded. "Infiltrate."
"Infiltrating nearest cyberspace..."
Big block letters spelling C.R.Y.P.T.I.C, bled into the screens as Ry took over the control room. Slowly the voices started disappearing from the yacht speakers and I knew Ry was locking all the info we needed into her servers. Security didn't mean shit when my A.I was around, the French software didn't stand a chance.
'Information obtained, you are now in control of French cyberspace.'
I smiled. "Good job, Ry."
"Reese, Carver! Everything is loaded up, we're all good to go. Where are you guys?" Rocco's worried voice streamed through the comms.
"Fourth floor." Carver answered, grabbing my hand and leading everyone out of the chamber. "Coming down now, are the bombs ready?"
"Yeah, they're waiting for you on the ramps. Place them on the epi points and then let's go."
"Are you guys already in the trucks?" I questioned, hurriedly moving down the stairs.
"We are, everyone is settled except teams five and six since they're with you. Truck six is empty except for Mauro, you guys need to get into that semi truck fast."
"You guys leave." I suggested. "We're on a time frame to cross the border and we're already behind. You need to get those drugs into Italy in the next hour, and if you don't leave now it won't happen. We'll be right behind you."
There was a pause of complete silence.
And then.
"No." Gavino's rough voice replaced Rocco's worried one on the comms. "We'll wait for you, all of us will leave together."
"Gav, the bombs are literally in our hands." I stifled my amusement at his protectiveness. I wasn't lying, every team member now held a small black box in their hands as Carver instructed each individual soldier on where to place my small weapons of destruction. "We'll be right behind you, don't worry."
A sigh came down the line. "You'll be right behind us?"
"Right behind you." I promised.
"Okay." I could still hear his unease. "Fine."
The engines of five semi-trucks roared to life as the eighteen wheelers pulled away from the yacht parking and made their way out of Conex. I turned away from the sight and focussed on the task at hand, so I could follow my brothers.
"Reese, you've got floor three." Carver reminded me. I nodded my head.
"Everyone place your bombs and meet back here in five minutes." He commanded, putting his helmet back on. "Let's go people, move!"
I took off with the rest of my team. We all ran up the stairs, slowly branching off as everyone raced to their assigned points. Finally reaching floor three, I navigated down the empty hallways until I found my epi-point. It was under a huge window displaying the entirety of Conex. I could see everything, including the last semi-truck waiting for us on the Port. I took a quick glance out the window before I turned and made a beeline back toward the stairs.
I ran half the hallway before I froze.
I blinked at the dark stairs mere meters away and then I slowly, cautiously, walked backwards all the way back to the window. "Please no." I whispered, trying to stop my hands from shaking. "Please, please, please, please, no."
I took off my helmet and looked out the window.
They were small, so small. Two simple, dim, unidentifiable dots in the distance but I knew what they were.
Helicopters.
I lifted a trembling hand up to my comms. "Mauro?" I whispered, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"Yes, Miss Vanderbilt?"
"When was the last time you checked the location of Henri Baudelaire?"
"I told him to forget about Henri twenty minutes ago, Ree. Let's just take this win, we can get him another time." Carver explained unknowingly. I could hear the relief that came from what he thought was a successful mission, buried in his voice. My heart shattered in my chest.
"Check the drones for me would you, Mauro?" I asked softly, watching as the dots in the distance approached closer and turned into lights. "Just in case."
"Ree, what's wrong?"
I closed my eyes.
A strangled gasp from the Italian hacker. "No."
We were going to die.
The words were on the tip of my tongue.
I could taste them. Every word, every letter, every meaning of the sentence. I could taste the sorrow, the loss, the guilt, the regret, the fear.
We were going to die, that was what I wanted to say, but in a moment of weakness I only managed to choke out the obvious.
"They're here." I whispered, forcing my legs to move. The French are here."
"Everyone off the yacht now!"
I bolted down the stairs, trying to subdue the growing terror in my chest. "Run the facts, Ree." I mumbled to myself. "Run the facts." And that's exactly what I did. No phone calls from Gavino, Max, Bruno, Rocco or Landon. That meant one of two things. One, they were completely fine, or two, the French had already gotten to them. But I knew two was impossible because if anything happened to the trucks, even if they stopped for a long period of time, Ry would have alerted me right away since I embedded trackers into every eighteen wheeler.
Relief skittered down my neck knowing that my brother's were safe but the question still stood. Why would they be safe? The only reason the French would let the five trucks carrying their billion dollar drug empire go was if they knew something more valuable to them was waiting on Conex. Something worth more than a billion dollars. I gritted my teeth as the realization hit me. Two heirs, two heirs from the biggest empires in the world were waiting for them on Conex. Tommaso fucking Fiore must have sold us out.
"Ree!" I turned the corner and slammed into a hard chest. I stumbled back before two hands grabbed me and stablized my body. Looking up I blinked back tears. "Ree." Carver breathed, a rare display of fear in his eyes. "We need to go, we need to go now."
I nodded my head. "I know."
Holding hands, we threw off our heavy helmets so they wouldn't slow us down and then we made a break for it. Our soldier's ran in every direction, some beside us, some running towards Conex's entrance even though fleets of cars sped through the gates, some even jumping into the water in an attempt to escape. Gasping in horror, I screamed, skidding to a stop. "No! Get out of the water! The yacht is going to—"
A piercing flash of light blinded my eyes and then Baudelaire territory on Conex shattered into a million pieces. The force of my bombs sent both Carver and I flying back, the cement under us slicing our skin as we violently skid down the road. Fire burned bright in the sky, the flames reflecting off the water and swallowing bodies in thick, black, suffocating smoke. I blinked forcefully trying to regain my vision but it was no use. I couldn't see anything, I couldn't hear anything, and I couldn't feel Carver anymore.
"Carver!" I screamed, my own voice muffled to my ears. "Carver!"
Painfully rolling onto my stomach, I wiped at my eyes.
"Car—" A hard boot connected with the side of my ribs, making me gasp in pain. I looked above me blindly but my attacker was hidden, masked by the thick smoke overtaking the air.
Attempting to get up, I tried to focus but my vision and hearing was nowhere near normal. My attempt failed miserably, I barely lifted myself up before I was kicked down again, this time in the stomach. I stifled a cry as pain exploded in my abdomen.
"Reese fucking Vanderbilt." A French voice sneered as I coughed up a lung. "I have been looking forward to this moment for a very, very long time."
Henri.
My eyesight focussed just enough to see Henri Baudelaire standing over me victoriously. He was smiling, a clear sense of triumpth omitting from his entire demenour. The second he realized I was looking at him, his fist came down onto my face, hard. My head snapped to the side, blood instantly flooding my mouth. I coughed, then he did it again, and again, and again. Not stopping until black spots danced in front of my eyes, and blood caked every inch of my face.
Agony engulfed every limb as Henri continued his assault. I knew he had someone filming because every few seconds he would stop and make a threat into the distance. A crushing sensation pressed down onto my thigh so violently, my scream of pain drowned out the sound of snapping. Every inch, he attacked every inch of my body. Eventually, I just stopped moving altogether, it took him a while to notice but he only paused when I was seconds away from fully passing out.
I was drifting in and out of consciousness, barely registering the hands grabbing at my vest and forcibly removing it from my body. My watch went next, then my phone, my belt, my earrings and then finally my Vanderbilt necklace.
Vanderbilt.
A hazy thought flowed into my head.
My dad. I never made up with my dad.
I never told Alex, Gavino, Max and Rocco that I forgave them. That they owned me twelve years worth of memories, of love.
I was going to die. In a brief moment of clarity the realization hit me. I was going to die, and I never got to say goodbye to the people I loved. Not to my dad, not to my brothers, not to Pria, Nico, Eli, Raf, Simon, or Ren. Not to the Donnas and Dons that raised me. Not to Kade, not to Carver.
I never got to say I love you to Carver.
I never told the love of my life that I loved him.
I forced myself to peel my swollen eyes open.
Carver. Where was Carver.
"Thank god." I managed to turn my head to where I thought Carver would be but a hand gripped my jaw and brought it back up. Henri knelt beside me, curiously studying my lidded eyes. "I thought you lost consciousness on me, Reese." He hummed tauntingly, gently moving my blood coated hair away from my face.
I wanted to scream, I wanted to shove his hands away, I wanted to tell him that I was going to kill him, but I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything.
"I was so disappointed. My video wasn't done yet." Cupping my cheek he smiled. "I think your dad would love a video just like the one you sent me of my grandfather, don't you?"
Waves of darkness pummelled over me and I begged one of them to do their job. I knew what was coming next and I didn't want to be awake. Pass out. Come on, pass out. Please.
Henri stood.
The camera flashed bright, pointing directly at my face. My heart thumped painfully in panic.
"Jonathon Vanderbilt. I heard you are the occasional chess player." Henri drawled. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, he was going to see this. My dad was going to watch me get murdered.
"There is a move in chess. We players call it the ultimate victory, an indefensible takedown. Do you know it?"
I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I'm not ready, not yet.
I closed my eyes.
"No worries if you don't. I'll tell you what it is."
He pulled the trigger and my body jerked. My blood coating Henri's boots, just like how French blood coated mine.
"Checkmate, Vanderbilt."
"It's called checkmate."
_
Don't kill me, I just came back from the dead.
Until next time,
-Eliza