Chapter 5 - The Bus Terminal
Downtown Chicago was bustling with commuters, entirely oblivious to the heavily armed syndicate soldiers blending into the crowd. Roman walked through the main doors of the terminal, wearing a sharp charcoal suit, a long black coat hiding the customized submachine gun strapped to his side.
He didn't send his men to do the heavy lifting. This was personal.
Silas was in his earpiece. “Boss, I’ve got eyes on four hostiles. Two by the ticket counter, two near the locker banks. They’re Vance’s men, alright. Heavily armed under their jackets.”
“Take the two at the counter,” Roman murmured into his lapel. “Silently. I’ll handle the lockers.”
Roman strolled toward the metallic wall of lockers. Locker 418 was in the back corner, near a dimly lit maintenance corridor. As he approached, the two cartel men noticed him. They recognized him instantly. Roman Silva wasn't a ghost; he was the boogeyman of the underworld.
One of the men reached inside his jacket, but Roman was a ghost in motion.
He didn't draw a gun. He closed the distance in three massive strides, grabbing the first man by the throat and slamming him violently against the steel lockers. The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the corridor. The second man pulled a suppressed pistol, but Roman swept his leg, shattering the man’s knee before driving the heel of his boot into his jaw.
It took exactly six seconds. Both men were unconscious, dragged into the maintenance closet before anyone in the terminal even noticed the scuffle.
“Counter is clear,” Silas reported in his ear.
May you like
Roman pulled the small brass key Elena had given him and opened locker 418. Inside, sitting atop a dusty duffel bag, was a small, black, encrypted hard drive. He slipped it into his coat pocket.
“We have the package,” Roman said. “Let’s go hunt.”
