The breach unfolded with a precision that never made the news because it was over too quickly to become a spectacle.
Charges snapped against steel. Locks gave way. The wide doors of the warehouse on Pier Seven were forced open in a clean, coordinated sweep, and Dax's men poured in like a tide that had been waiting for permission to rise. The space inside was cavernous, stacked high with containers and office partitions, lit too brightly for a meeting that had claimed to be discreet.
Shouts followed. A few weapons were raised, more in reflex than in real resistance, and were immediately knocked aside. Hands went up. Bodies were driven to their knees and then to the floor, restrained with the efficient, almost clinical movements of people who had done this far too often to feel anything about it.
Verdan's people filled the room.
