Chapter 5 - The War Cabinet
At 11:00 p.m., while Lily and Emma slept peacefully in the fortified master suite upstairs under the watchful eye of Dr. Sterling and two female security guards, the war room on Floor B2 was packed.
Around the long steel conference table sat twelve men—the captains of the Blackwell organization. These were men who controlled the docks, the railyards, the union halls, and the private security firms across Illinois and Indiana.
I sat at the head of the table. A map of the Chicago waterfront was projected in red light onto the wall behind me.
"Gentlemen," I began, resting my hands flat on the steel surface. "Seven years ago, we made a deal with the remaining Chicago families. We built a peace that made everyone rich, quiet, and legal. That peace ended at four o'clock this afternoon in Lincoln Park."
Frank "The Hammer" Torrio, a veteran captain who managed our logistics network, leaned forward, his heavy face dark with anger. "We heard about the park, Marcus. Is it true? Vincenzo Moretti came for Grace’s child?"
"He came for my second daughter," I corrected him firmly. "A daughter who was kept hidden from us until today."
A collective murmur of shock rippled through the room.
"Vincenzo is operating out of Terminal 42 at Navy Pier," Ghost reported, tapping his tablet to bring up thermal satellite imagery of the shipping facility. "He’s got thirty foreign mercenaries, heavy weaponry, and he’s using a Panamanian cargo vessel, the MV Corazon, as his retreat vehicle. They plan to launch another strike on our residential hubs at dawn."
"He thinks he's fighting the old mafia," I said, standing up. "He thinks he's going to trade shots in the street until the police step in. He doesn't realize that I own the docks he’s sitting on."
I turned to Frank Torrio. "Frank, cut the power grid to Terminal 42 at midnight. Shut down their auxiliary generators via the port authority network."
"Consider it dark, Boss," Frank nodded grimly.
"Ghost," I continued, "I want three sniper teams deployed on the roofs of the surrounding grain silos. Nobody leaves Terminal 42 on a boat, on a car, or on foot."
"And what about Vincenzo?" Leo asked, checking his sidearm.
"Vincenzo is mine," I said, my tone flat and absolute. "I'm going to look him in the eye and make him understand why his brother died seven years ago."
"Marcus," Dr. Sterling’s voice came through my earpiece. "You have an urgent call on the encrypted line. It’s the Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago FBI field office, Agent Vance."
I picked up the secure desk phone. "Agent Vance."
"Blackwell," Vance’s sharp, authoritative voice cut through the static. "My agents are reporting high-level tactical movements around River North and the docks. Lincoln Park is crawling with state police. What are you doing?"
"I'm cleaning my house, Vance," I replied calmly.
"Listen to me, Marcus!" Vance warned sternly. "If you start a gang war on the streets of Chicago, I will bring the entire weight of the Justice Department down on your head! We know Vincenzo Moretti is in town!"
"Then why hasn't your task force arrested him?" I countered coldly. "He snatched an American child, murdered her guardian, and opened fire with automatic weapons in a public park three hours ago. Where were your agents, Vance?"
Silence stretched across the line.
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"You have six hours, Marcus," Vance said, her tone shifting into a reluctant, dangerous compromise. "Six hours before I send in the federal SWAT teams to sweep Terminal 42. If there is a single civilian casualty, or if this spills into the residential streets, I will lock you away for the rest of your life."
"Six hours is five hours more than I need," I said, and hung up.
