The audio file on Marina’s phone was timestamped three minutes ago. Ignacio’s thumb hovered over the screen, trembling so violently he nearly dropped the device into the crib.

The old shipping yards at the edge of the city harbor were a graveyard of rusted cranes, rotting wooden docks, and abandoned shipping containers. The fog rolled in thick off the black water, swallowing the amber glow of the distant streetlights.

Ignacio parked his truck half a mile away, cutting the headlights and slipping out into the damp, freezing night like a ghost. He kept the rifle tucked low against his leg, his senses dialed to an excruciating pitch.

At the center of Dock 4, a single halogen worklight illuminated a rusted shipping container with its double doors wide open.

Inside sat an old wooden chair. Tied securely to it, wrists bound with heavy zip-ties and gags over their mouths, were his mother and mother-in-law. Standing beside them was Lucas, holding a sleek black pistol, while Dr. Silva paced back and forth in front of them, smoking a cigarette.

"I knew you wouldn't let us down, Ignacio," Dr. Silva called out into the fog, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls. "Step out into the light and drop the drive on the ground."

Ignacio stepped out from behind a towering stack of wooden pallets, the rifle held firmly at his side. "Let my family go, Silva. It's me you want."

"Oh, we want you, Ignacio," Silva sneered, signaling to Lucas. "But more importantly, we want the child. We tested the blood sample we stole from the hospital archives. The infant’s antibodies can neutralize our entire pharmaceutical trial trail. She's a walking witness."