CHAPTER 250: THREE MINUTES [I]

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the shock. After the initial adrenaline surge subsided, the immediate danger gave way to a fresh wave of cold dread. "What in God’s name was that?" I barked, my voice raw.

"That wasn’t an accident," Gray, dusting himself off, said grimly.

"Too precise. Too... timed."

A lone, sweating dockworker, his face pale as a ghost, stammered, "Lo-loosed rope, s-sir! Old equipment!"

My gaze swept over the damage, then back to my men, shaken but unharmed. A ’loose rope’ felt too convenient, too careless. A warning? Or just an unfortunate coincidence in a place where coincidences felt like conspiracies? Either way, it galvanized me. This couldn’t be allowed to stand.

I didn’t waste time. Orders flew from my mouth sharp as bullets. "Lock down the area. I want men on every crane. Find the rig operator. Find out who signed clearance on these lines." My pulse hammered, but my voice stayed steady.

"Cameron, Gray. The last container. The one with the manifests for—" I couldn’t bring myself to say ’kids’ aloud. "—Track it. Now. I want real-time coordinates, a destination, a damn zip code. We’re not letting this one slip away."

"We already have initial pings, Adrien," Cameron informed him, his voice tight. "It left the main port fifteen minutes ago. Heading east. Into the old industrial zone, then further out. Through the forest roads."

I didn’t hesitate. "Mobilize the team. We’re going after it. And God help anyone who gets in our way."

The chase was on.

The convoy of black SUVs cut through the night, headlights piercing the winding, overgrown roads that snaked through the ancient forest. The air grew cooler, dense with the scent of pine and damp earth. Civilization had receded, replaced by the whispering canopy of trees and a silence that felt heavy, foreboding.

Inside my lead vehicle, the tension was palpable. Gray’s laptop displayed a flickering map, a red dot moving steadily deeper into the wilderness. Cameron sat beside me, a comms earpiece snug in his ear, relaying updates to the dozen highly trained operatives following u. These weren’t standard security; these were the best of Valnce Global’s private security detail, ex-military, loyal to me alone.

"The old lumber mill warehouse district," Cameron murmured, pointing at the map. "Abandoned for decades. Perfect place to disappear something... or someone."

I stared at the projected image, my mind racing. The thought of those children, trapped in metal boxes, driven like illicit cargo, churned my stomach. I am a man of logic, of calculated risks, but this was different. This was visceral. This was personal.

"Any resistance expected?" I asked, my voice a low rumble.

"Unclear," Cameron replied. "Their network is sophisticated, but isolated. They wouldn’t want to draw attention. My guess is a small, heavily armed perimeter. Enough to deter casual trespassers, not enough for a full-scale assault."

"Then we go in hard and fast," I decided. "Secure the perimeter, then secure the cargo. No casualties if possible, but the priority is the children."

The SUVs slowed, then fanned out, disappearing into the dense foliage as we approached the target area. The forest floor was uneven, littered with dead leaves and fallen branches, making our silent approach difficult. I am flanked by Cameron and twelve of my men as we moved with a controlled urgency, my hand on the sidearm holstered at my hip – a weapon I rarely carried, but held close tonight.

"Stay sharp," I ordered, my voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. "We don’t know what we’re walking into."

We moved like ghosts, a small, determined unit. The air inside the warehouse was stagnant, heavy with the scent of damp earth, mildew, and something else... something metallic and faintly chemical. The first floor was a labyrinth of empty crates, discarded machinery, and shadows that stretched like grasping hands. We cleared it methodically, silently. Nothing. No kids, no sign of the drugs. Just the deafening echo of our own breathing.

Then, the stairs. A rickety metal structure that groaned under our weight as we ascended to the second floor. It was vast, even more so than the first, with an oppressive ceiling that seemed to press down on us. Moonlight pierced through grimy skylights, casting long, distorted shadows across the concrete floor.

"Adrien, look," one of my men, a young technician named Finn, whispered, his voice laced with a sudden tremor of dread. He was kneeling near a stack of old pallets, his finger tracing a thin wire disappearing beneath them. "I think... I think this place is wired."

My blood ran cold. Wired? With what? Before I could respond, another man, Marcus, a grizzled veteran of my security detail, took a step forward, trying to get a better look at Finn’s discovery.

Then, the sickening click.

My stomach dropped to my feet. Marcus froze, his eyes wide with a horrific recognition. He looked down at his boot, then slowly, agonizingly, back up at me. His face was a mask of grim resignation.

"Landmine," he choked out, the word barely a whisper.

A guttural, high-pitched beep-beep-beep erupted from the floor near Marcus’s foot. A digital display, previously hidden, sprang to life on a small, unassuming block of circuitry. Bright, blood-red numbers blazed in the dim light: 00:03:00.

Three minutes.

"Fuck," Cameron cursed, backing up. Gray’s jaw tightened, already reaching for his comm.

The display was brutal in its honesty—bright numbers bleeding away precious seconds. 2:59. 2:58.

"Marcus—" I began.

Marcus didn’t flinch. He just looked at me, his gaze incredibly calm, almost serene. He took a deep breath, filled his lungs, and then, with a resolute nod, he slowly raised his right hand. He brought it to his brow, palm flattened, fingers together. A crisp, unwavering salute.

"Orders were to protect you, sir. You need to leave. I’ll buy you time. That’s what you pay me for, sir. Take the men. This one’s mine."

I’d seen men die before. Ordered it, even. But this—this was loyalty carved into flesh. My throat tightened, rage and helplessness clawing at my chest. I couldn’t lose him. Not like this.

"No," I snapped, my voice slicing the night. "We don’t leave anyone. Not for this." The bomb dissector was already on the wires, trying to stop the fire.

"I need silence," muttered Rafiq, our lead bomb tech, already crouched beside the device. Sweat beaded at his temple as his gloved fingers hovered over the wires. "Thirty seconds. If this thing’s rigged to a pressure plate, we’re dancing with death."