The storm did not break as the clock crawled toward four in the morning, it merely changed its voice. Down by the industrial waterfront, the heavy downpour settled into a dense, freezing fog that rolled off the black harbor waters, swallowing the hulls of massive cargo ships and the towering skeletal frames of the shipping cranes. The air smelled thick with brine, wet rust, and the heavy, sour tang of diesel exhaust.
Elena stood inside the darkened observation booth of Harbor Pier 9, her long black wool coat open over her white trousers. The glass in front of her vibrated rhythmically with every deep thump of the tide against the concrete pilings below. Down on the vast tarmac, the yellow fog lights cut weak, amber tunnels through the mist, illuminating the dark, rain-slicked shapes of th
