The rain came down in sheets as they made their way through the narrow streets of London. The night was cold, and the cobblestones were slick beneath their feet. Rookwood, hands bound and stumbling between Frost and Blake, muttered under his breath, cursing their persistence.
"We're not far now," Rookwood grumbled, his voice barely audible over the downpour. "The shipment's being held in a warehouse near the docks. You'll never make it in time."
Frost ignored him, his focus on the path ahead. His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of information they had gathered. The Black Hand's plan was still a mystery, but whatever it was, it was set in motion. The clock was ticking, and failure was not an option.
Blake glanced over at Frost, his brow furrowed with concern. "What's your gut telling you?"
"That this is bigger than we thought," Frost replied, his voice low. "We're walking into something we don't fully understand. We need to be careful."
As they approached the docks, the fog thickened, shrouding the area in a ghostly haze. The air smelled of salt and decay, and the sound of water lapping against the shore filled the silence. In the distance, the outline of the warehouse loomed large, its windows dark and foreboding.
"This is it," Rookwood said with a sneer. "But I'd think twice before going in there if I were you. The Black Hand doesn't take kindly to uninvited guests."
Frost tightened his grip on Rookwood's arm. "Then it's a good thing we weren't invited."
They approached the entrance to the warehouse cautiously, keeping to the shadows. Frost could see several guards patrolling the perimeter, their silhouettes barely visible in the fog. They were heavily armed, and the way they moved suggested they were more than just hired muscle. These were professionals—men who knew how to handle themselves in a fight.
Blake leaned in close to Frost, his voice barely a whisper. "We're outnumbered. We need a plan."
Frost nodded, his eyes scanning the area. "We'll create a distraction. I'll draw their attention while you sneak around the back. Once you're inside, find out what they're shipping and stop it from leaving."
Blake frowned. "And what about you?"
"I'll handle the guards," Frost said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We can't let them get away with whatever they're planning."
Blake hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But don't do anything stupid, Frost."
Frost gave him a small smile. "No promises."
With that, Blake slipped away into the shadows, making his way toward the rear of the warehouse. Frost watched him go, then turned his attention back to the guards. He needed to act fast.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. Then, without hesitation, he stepped out of the shadows and walked straight toward the nearest guard.
"Hey!" he called out, his voice cutting through the fog. The guard turned, surprise flashing across his face as he reached for his weapon.
Before the guard could react, Frost was on him. He moved with precision, striking the guard's wrist and disarming him in a single fluid motion. The guard staggered back, but Frost didn't give him a chance to recover. A swift punch to the jaw sent the guard crumpling to the ground, unconscious.
The commotion drew the attention of the other guards, and within seconds, they were rushing toward Frost. He braced himself, knowing he was outnumbered, but he wasn't about to back down. He needed to buy Blake time.
The first guard reached him, swinging a heavy baton at Frost's head. Frost ducked under the blow, countering with a quick strike to the man's ribs. The guard grunted in pain, but didn't go down. He swung again, but this time Frost was ready. He sidestepped the attack and delivered a brutal kick to the guard's knee, dropping him to the ground.
Another guard rushed in, but Frost was already moving. He grabbed the man's arm, twisting it behind his back and using his momentum to throw him into the wall. The guard hit the bricks with a thud, and before he could recover, Frost knocked him out with a well-placed punch.
But the numbers were against him. More guards were closing in, and Frost knew he couldn't take them all on at once. He needed to find a way to even the odds.
His eyes darted around the dockyard, searching for anything he could use to his advantage. That's when he saw it—a stack of crates near the edge of the dock, teetering precariously on the edge. If he could knock them over, it would create a barrier between him and the guards, giving him a chance to regroup.
Without hesitation, Frost sprinted toward the crates, dodging the guards' attacks as he went. He reached the stack just as one of the guards lunged at him, and with a powerful shove, he sent the crates toppling over. The heavy wooden boxes crashed to the ground, creating a makeshift barricade that momentarily slowed the guards' advance.
Frost took advantage of the brief respite, ducking behind the crates to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, and his muscles ached from the exertion, but he couldn't stop now. He had to keep moving.
As the guards scrambled to climb over the fallen crates, Frost spotted a ladder leading up to the roof of the warehouse. It was a risky move, but it might give him the high ground he needed to turn the tide of the fight.
He quickly climbed the ladder, reaching the rooftop just as the guards broke through the barricade. From his vantage point, Frost could see the entire dockyard, including the rear entrance where Blake had disappeared.
But something was wrong. The back door was wide open, and there was no sign of Blake.
Frost's stomach tightened with worry. He had to find Blake, but first, he needed to deal with the guards.
He scanned the rooftop, his eyes landing on a pile of old, rusted pipes. They weren't much, but they'd have to do. Grabbing one of the pipes, he positioned himself near the edge of the roof, waiting for the guards to get closer.
When the first guard reached the base of the ladder, Frost swung the pipe down with all his strength. The metal connected with the guard's shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground with a pained shout. The other guards hesitated, giving Frost the opening he needed.
He leaped down from the roof, landing behind the remaining guards. With quick, precise strikes, he incapacitated two more of them before they even realized what was happening. The last guard, seeing his comrades fall, turned and ran.
Frost let him go. There was no time to chase after him. He had to find Blake and stop the shipment before it was too late.
He sprinted toward the back entrance, his mind racing. If Blake was in trouble, he needed to get to him fast. But as he entered the warehouse, he was met with an eerie silence. The only sound was the faint echo of his footsteps on the concrete floor.
The warehouse was massive, filled with rows of shipping containers and crates stacked high to the ceiling. Frost moved cautiously, his senses on high alert. Every shadow seemed to hide a potential threat, every corner a possible ambush.
He made his way deeper into the warehouse, his heart pounding with every step. And then, in the distance, he saw it—a large shipping container, its doors slightly ajar. Light spilled out from within, casting long shadows across the floor.
Frost approached the container slowly, his hand hovering over the pistol tucked into his coat. As he reached the doors, he heard muffled voices from inside.
"...can't let them find out. If they do, it's over."
"We're running out of time. The shipment has to leave tonight, or the entire plan falls apart."
Frost took a deep breath, then stepped around the corner, his pistol drawn. Inside the container were two men, both armed, standing over a large wooden crate. And beside them, bound and gagged, was Blake.
The men froze as they saw Frost, their hands going to their weapons. But Frost was faster. He fired two quick shots, disarming them before they could react. The men scrambled to the ground, clutching their injured hands.
Frost kept his gun trained on them as he moved toward Blake. "You alright?" he asked, quickly cutting the ropes that bound his partner.
Blake nodded, wincing as he rubbed his wrists. "I've been better. But we need to stop this shipment. Whatever's in that crate—it's dangerous, Frost. They've been talking about it like it's the key to everything."
Frost glanced at the crate, his curiosity piqued. He moved toward it cautiously, prying open the lid. Inside was a large, intricately designed machine—something unlike anything Frost had ever seen before.
"What is this?" he muttered, examining the strange device. It was covered in gears and wires, its purpose unclear. But one thing was certain—whatever it was, it was important to the Black Hand's plans.
Blake joined him, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. "We need to get this out of here. If the Black Hand gets their hands on this..."
Frost nodded. "We can't let that happen."
But before they could move, a slow clap echoed through the warehouse. Frost and Blake spun around, their eyes narrowing as Rookwood stepped out of the shadows, a smug grin on his face.
"Well done, gentlemen," Rookwood said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You've come so far. But I'm afraid this is where your journey ends."
Frost tightened his grip on his pistol, aiming it at Rookwood. "It's over, Rookwood. You're not getting away with this."
Rookwood chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, Frost. You still don't get it, do you? This isn't just about me. This is bigger than you could ever imagine. The Black Hand's reach extends far beyond London. And even if you stop this shipment, there will be others."
Frost's jaw clenched. "We'll stop every last one of them."
Rookwood's grin widened. "I'd like to see you try."
With that, he snapped his fingers, and from the shadows, more armed men emerged, surrounding Frost and Blake. The odds were against them, but Frost refused to back down. He raised his pistol, ready to fight.
But before anyone could move, a deafening explosion rocked the warehouse, sending shockwaves through the air. The force of the blast knocked everyone off their feet, and the ground shook as debris rained down from the ceiling.
Frost struggled to his feet, disoriented and coughing from the smoke. Through the haze, he saw the remains of the shipping container—the strange machine inside had been destroyed in the blast.
Rookwood was gone, and the armed men were scattered, either dead or unconscious from the explosion.
Blake staggered over to Frost, his face pale and covered in dust. "What the hell just happened?"
Frost shook his head, his ears ringing. "I don't know. But whatever that machine was—it's gone now."
Blake looked around at the destruction, his expression grim. "This isn't over, is it?"
Frost glanced at the wreckage, then back at Blake. "No," he said quietly. "This is just the beginning."
As the smoke cleared and the wreckage of the warehouse began to settle, Frost could feel the weight of the night pressing down on him. The smell of burning wood and scorched metal filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of gunpowder. For a moment, there was only silence—no gunfire, no footsteps, just the eerie stillness that followed in the wake of chaos.
Blake coughed, wiping soot from his face as he stood beside Frost. "We've seen a lot of things, but this...this feels different."
Frost nodded, his eyes scanning the ruins of the shipping container. Whatever that machine had been, it wasn't meant for ordinary hands. The explosion, whether it was an accident or a contingency plan by the Black Hand, had only deepened the mystery.
"They're desperate," Frost said, his voice low. "Desperate enough to destroy their own assets if it means keeping them out of our hands."
Blake looked out across the docks, the fog beginning to dissipate as the night waned. "We need to regroup, figure out what we're dealing with. This isn't just about smuggling or even murder. It's bigger."
Frost nodded, his mind already racing with questions. Who had built that machine? What was its purpose? And, most importantly, why was the Black Hand so willing to sacrifice it? They were no closer to understanding the full scope of the organization's plans, but they had a clearer picture of their ruthlessness.
"We need to get Rookwood back into custody," Frost said, his voice steady as he tried to regain control of the situation. "He knows more than he's letting on. If we can break him, we might be able to stop this before it escalates further."
Blake gave a curt nod. "Agreed. But how do we find him now? He's slippery, and he's already got a head start."
Frost's gaze shifted to the warehouse's back entrance, where the blast had thrown several guards to the ground. One of them, barely conscious, was struggling to crawl away from the wreckage. Frost moved quickly, reaching the man and kneeling beside him.
"Where did Rookwood go?" Frost demanded, his tone cold and authoritative.
The guard groaned, his face pale as he clutched at his side. "H-he...he said there was a backup plan. Something...something in the sewers beneath the city. He didn't say where, just that they'd be moving things underground now."
Frost's eyes narrowed. The sewers—London's vast network of tunnels and passages—would provide the perfect cover for Rookwood and the Black Hand to move their operations out of sight. If they disappeared into the labyrinth beneath the city, finding them would be nearly impossible.
Blake joined Frost, overhearing the guard's weak confession. "The sewers? Damn it. They'll have the entire underground to work with. It could take days to track them down."
Frost stood, his expression hardened with resolve. "We don't have days, Blake. We're running out of time. If they're moving underground, they're not just hiding—they're preparing for something. We need to get ahead of them."
Blake sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, what's the plan? We can't exactly charge into the sewers without knowing what we're up against."
Frost stared at the smoldering ruins of the warehouse for a moment, then turned back to Blake. "We need information—something to give us a lead on where they're headed next. And I think I know where we can start."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"Victoria Blackwood," Frost replied, his voice firm. "She's been connected to this from the beginning, whether directly or through her brother. She knows more than she's letting on. If we can convince her to talk, she might lead us straight to Rookwood."
Blake looked skeptical. "You think she'll cooperate? She's been playing coy with us since day one."
Frost's jaw tightened. "She doesn't have a choice. Not anymore. We've cornered her, Blake. She can either help us, or she can go down with the rest of them."
Blake sighed but nodded in agreement. "Alright. Let's pay her a visit. But we need to be careful. If she's as connected as we think she is, she might have some tricks up her sleeve."
Frost gave a brief nod, his eyes glinting with determination. "We'll be ready for her."
With that, the two of them turned away from the wreckage, making their way back through the rain-soaked streets of London. The night was far from over, and the storm that had been brewing was only just beginning.
As they disappeared into the fog, the city seemed to close in around them, the weight of their task pressing down on their shoulders. The sewers, the Black Hand, Victoria Blackwood—it all led to something much darker and more dangerous than they had anticipated.
But Frost had made a promise—to himself, to London, to the victims of the Black Hand's machinations. He would stop them, no matter what it took. The gathering storm was coming, and he was ready to face it head-on.
To be continued…