ROXIE

The air outside the administrative building hit my face like a slap of ice. The German drizzle had turned into a thick, low-hanging fog that rolled off the Elbe River, swallowing the massive rows of shipping containers until the whole port looked like a ghost town.

We didn't even make it back to the Mercedes van.

As my boots hit the wet pavement, a sharp, double-tone electronic beep echoed from Garrison’s wrist. He snapped his arm up, his dark eyes narrowing into slits as a tiny red tracking node flared to life on the screen of his watch. It was Julian’s secure network signature.

A second later, Julian’s voice...