Chapter 10 – Face to Face with The Snake

 

Chapter 10 – Face to Face with The Snake

Karen followed Cormac through a series of dimly lit alleys behind The Harp & Crown. Neon signs flickered overhead, their electric hum blending with the distant throb of container cranes along the river. Finally, they reached a reinforced steel door guarded by two silent men in tactical black.

Cormac typed a code into the keypad. The lock hissed open, and they stepped into a wide basement room lit by harsh strip lights. It smelled of bleach, sweat, and stale air. Along the far wall, a long wooden table stood covered in paper manifests, tablet screens, and biometric readers.

At the centre sat Connor “The Snake” Devane.

He was shorter than Karen expected, but thickset, his bald head gleaming under the lights. Gold chains weighed down his thick neck, and his cold, pale grey eyes tracked her with reptilian detachment. He sat back in a leather chair, tattoos crawling up his forearms like twisted vines. Beside him stood a slim Indian man in a tailored navy suit, eyes hidden behind smartglass lenses that glowed faintly with data streams.

“Who’s this then?” Devane asked, his voice low and smooth like oil on gravel.

Cormac gestured lazily. “Kat. Belfast handler. Fifty heads ready to cross. Claims she has intel on your Moroccan loss.”

Karen smiled, stepping forward. “Mr. Devane,” she purred. “Or do you prefer Snake?”

His lips twitched faintly. “Connor is fine. Sit.”

She lowered herself onto the wooden chair opposite him, crossing her legs slowly. The smartglass-suited man scanned her with a handheld biometric reader. The device beeped green.

“She’s clean, boss,” he murmured.

Devane steepled his thick fingers. “Fifty heads, eh? And you walk in here offering them up like it’s nothing.”

Karen leaned forward, letting her braid slide across her chest. “I know what happens to small fish that swim alone in these waters. I’m not looking to be swallowed. I want to join the big school.”

He studied her in silence, eyes flicking from her hair to her boots and back to her calm, fearless gaze.

“You said you knew about Morocco,” he said finally.

She nodded. “Your shipment’s flagged by Spanish coastguard AI drones. Your dock foreman Seamus in Valencia was paid by Horizon’s Spanish liaison to report you. They’re making a power play to control the entire North Atlantic pipeline.”

Devane’s eyes narrowed dangerously. The suited man tapped his earpiece, whispering urgently.

“Confirmed,” he said moments later. “Spanish customs flagged our container this morning.”

Devane’s jaw tightened. Slowly, he stood, gold chains shifting across his broad chest. He walked around the table, boots silent on the concrete floor, stopping behind Karen’s chair. She felt his thick fingers curl around her braid, lifting it gently.

“Smart girl,” he whispered, leaning close enough for her to smell stale cigars and expensive cologne. “Beautiful girl too. But smarts and looks only go so far. Loyalty is what I value.”

She tilted her head back, meeting his cold gaze upside down. “Then let me prove it.”

His lip curled faintly. “How?”

“Let me oversee the Armagh shipment personally,” she said softly. “If it crosses clean, you’ll know I’m worth keeping.”

Devane released her braid, letting it fall across her shoulder. “Very well, Kat. You’ll be on-site tomorrow at dawn. Cormac will give you the details.”

He turned away, returning to his leather chair. “But know this. Betray me… and your pretty blonde head ends up on a spike above Dublin Port.”

Karen stood gracefully, her heart hammering but her face calm. “Understood, Connor.”

As Cormac led her back out into the humid night, she felt adrenaline burning through her veins.

I’m inside now, Salty, she thought. I’ll bring them down from the heart of their empire.

Above them, the AI drones passed silently, their glowing lenses oblivious to the coming storm.