As the city skyline loomed ahead, the convoy drew tighter, bumper to bumper now, though never breaking the illusion of chance proximity. Inside each vehicle sat two men�quiet, alert, radiating the calm menace of seasoned professionals. These weren�t street thugs. They were the kind of men assigned to heads of state, trained for the unthinkable, armed for the inevitable.
Each carried a compact automatic pistol�legal, at least on paper�registered to a private security firm buried deep in the ledgers of Lesley Black�s empire. The company�s name appeared on every permit, every badge, every laminated credential tucked into their jackets. If law enforcement came knocking, they would find nothing but compliance and paperwork.
For Ramirez, this was light coverage, a skeleton crew compared to the iron walls he commanded back home. But here, in this corner of the world, the threat level was a whisper, not a roar. He trusted his lieutenants� judgment. If they said this was enough, he believed them.
The armoured sedan plunged into the concrete veins of Johannesburg- Hillbrow.
Here, the night didn�t fall; it ignited. As other parts of the city dimmed and quieted, this one awoke with a feverish, electric hum. A symphony of bass from unseen clubs thrummed through the pavement, neon signs bled colour onto wet asphalt, and a tide of humanity flowed through the canyon-like streets with a relentless, predatory energy.
Carlos watched it all, a slow smile touching his lips. His lieutenants had tried to describe it, but the reality was a visceral shock to the system. His preconception of Africa�a dull, backward expanse�shattered against the vibrant, chaotic intensity outside his window. This was no different from the frenetic pulse of Rio's favelas; it was a jungle of a different breed, but a jungle nonetheless.
He could see it now, the brutal genius in their choice. This was a place that lived in the shadows, that thrived on noise and motion, a perfect organism in which a parasite like their operation could hide, undetected and thriving. A place that never slept, never asked questions.
A sharp nod in the dim light of the car, their vision was perfect. He approved.
As they neared 93 Abel Street, the convoy broke formation. The two trailing cars peeled away, circling for spaces along a quiet curb nearly three hundred meters from the