The Jet Night Osprey felt impossibly far away, wrapped in logistics secrets known only to Juri and Kratos. All that remained for me was my protection unit, the haptic feedback node strapped tight to my left forearm, and an absolute commitment to success. Jax Blackford the architect was gone; now there was only a ghost infiltrating the enemy's lair, crossing the San Isidro cargo docks that reeked of industrial decay.
Coordinates A-11. 'Bio-Waste' cargo dock. Juri was right. The most valuable cargo, which should have been shipped through top diplomatic channels, was instead hidden in a foul location, dominated by medical waste and marine sludge. The policy was clear: divert federal oversight, which sometimes participated in informal organ hunts.
I moved through the shadows of three-story h
