Novel & Cerita Tomco Ship

He had other things in mind including how they were going to join Tomi and get to the port before the ship moves. His phone rang as they got closer to the junction. He took it out and checked the screen, it was Tomi. ‘Hello,’ he answered the call. ‘Cole, I’m at the Port with them already. I think a ship is going to move soon.’ ‘Which of the transportation services provider?’ Cole asked. ‘I’m not sure yet and I don’t think we have much time to confirm before the ship moves.’ Tomi replied. ‘Okay, that ship leaving, do you know if it’s direction is towards one of the shipping ports in USA or a neighbouring country?’

Mario asked, excitement flickering across his face. ​"There is a second warehouse," Chloe said, her eyes narrowing. "It’s an old cold-storage facility in the Brooklyn Navy Yard, disguised as a defunct meat-packing plant. It’s registered under a shell company called 'Apex Logistics.' And here’s the kicker: the Sovereign isn't the only ship. There are two high-speed transport vessels—the Valkyrie and the Wraith—that are trailing forty miles behind the main ship. They move without transponders. They dock at a private pier three miles north of the main terminal, exactly one hour after the Sovereign hits the port."

Tom said in surprise. "How could I possibly regret it? By the way, do you know of any shipping companies that are in trouble?" Andien asked, making Tom gasp. "A shipping company or a shipyard?" asked Tom after his surprise wore off. "The shipyard that went bankrupt," Andien replied confidently. "How much money do you have?" "Enough to take over a company that's no longer in production." Tom laughed because ever since he started working with Andien, she always gave him surprises that didn't make sense. Tom didn't know how much capital Andien had but from the answer Andien gave, it was easy to understand.

“Lady Ever—” “No names.” Becky lifted a hand without slowing. “Not mine. Not yours. Not tonight.” The man bowed his head. “As you wish.” “Is the ship ready?” “Aye.” He jerked his chin toward the vessel moored at the far end of the dock. It was a weather-beaten cargo ship, hull patched, sails rolled, the Eastwind insignia freshly painted over with a darker, unfamiliar crest. “False flag, false registry, false manifests. No one’ll track where she’s goin’.”