Page 9 of Hardline Torque
Tane absorbed it without comment, letting the weight of it settle.Different angles.Same conclusion.
“He doesn’t think he deserves backup,” Tane said finally.“Which means he won’t ask for it.That’s where this goes wrong.”
Luca was already tapping at his console.“Doesn’t matter now.I can patch the mic vulnerability.We’ll rotate frequencies, scrub passive listening, harden the mesh.”He glanced up.“I’ll also call Marsh.He’ll want to know someone’s using Directorate-grade ears near us.”
“Good,” Tane said.“Do that.”
Niko pushed off the table.“So, what’s the play?”
“We find him,” Tane said simply.
The tracker blinked.
Moved.
Every head in the room snapped toward the display.
“Well,” Keanu murmured.“About time.”
Tane leaned in, eyes tracking the updated position.“He’s on the move.First time in two days.”
Luca was already moving, pulling up layers of code and signal maps.“I’ll stay,” he said.“I want to get started on upgrading security, close the mic holes, and have a very pointed conversation with Marsh about keeping unwanted ears off our asses.”
“Good,” Kael said.“Lock it down.”
They broke from the table as one.
The back room off the command center held steel cupboards built straight into the wall, nondescript unless you knew what they were.Tane yanked one open and the smell of oil and metal hit the air.Tactical vests.Harnesses.Plates.Mags already seated in accessible pockets.
They geared up fast.No talking.Just hands moving, buckles snapping, weight settling, familiar and right.Kael checked everyone in a single sharp sweep of his eyes.Drew was already shouldering his own kit, calm as if this were just another day.
Less than a minute later they were back at the table, dressed for war.
Tane glanced at the tracker again.
“Where’s he headed?”Drew asked.
Luca exhaled.“Industrial zone.Coastal.Lots of freight traffic.”
That was enough.
They moved immediately, breaking apart with purpose and loading into Tane’s truck as the engine rumbled to life and the gate slid open.
They followed the signal until it stopped again, the bike abandoned a kilometer and a half from the nearest freight access road.
Tane parked, hopped out, and rolled the motorcycle up onto the retrofitted rack with practiced ease.It was a beautiful machine—lean, powerful, well cared for.
“I’m not leaving it,” he muttered.“He’s coming with us, so this is coming with us.”
They took the high ground overlooking the freight yards, settling into observation positions as the sun dipped lower.From up here, the port spread out in layered motion—container stacks like blunt teeth, cranes swinging in slow, deliberate arcs, forklifts weaving predictable paths between ships and trucks.On the surface, it was the usual controlled chaos.The kind of noise and movement that made people stop looking too closely.
Tane looked closer.
He always did.
He broke the port down the way he broke down a battlefield.Traffic lanes first—what moved where, how often, and who controlled the choke points.He clocked the guards posted at the main gates, noting which ones were bored and which were alert.He tracked the rhythm of the cranes, the pauses between lifts, the moments when sightlines opened and closed.
Nothing about the port screamed danger.
