Jacques led them through a maze of shipping containers, rust-eaten and stacked three high. The industrial zone reeked of salt and rotting seaweed. He kept his rifle ready, scanning between gaps in the metal walls.
"This place gives me the creeps," Siobhàn muttered behind him. "Too quiet."
"That's what worries me," he crouched behind a container, checking the route ahead. "Jean-Claude's people should be here. Guards, workers, someone."
"Maybe your intel was wrong."
"No. The data patterns were clear," he moved forward, staying low. "This is one of his main distribution points. Or it was."
"Well something's off. Where are the patrols? The security systems?"
Jacques stopped at a corner, peering around. Nothing moved except debris caught in the wind. "Could be underground. These docks have maintenance tunnels everywhere."
"Great. More tunnels," Siobhàn checked her ammo. "You sure about this?"
