A/N: fixed a glitch. Dutch genes acting up... Thanks for pointing it out Blondie.

The Tin Mill, off Hathaway Island

Just down Shipyard Road, Baltimore MD, 10.59 PM

In the distance, the bright-lighted Tin Mill yard was casting a faint and eerie light over the far-off abandoned docks. Only the high-pitched noise of a freight train braking and changing tracks over the shunting-yards announced any activity. A lonely seagull's cry echoed over the crumbled concrete docks. High walls of coal-slacks, ore and other high piles of raw material and the ever-present grayish dust made it seem like a place inhabitable for humans.

Yet, hidden in the dark, humans were present. A lot of them.

One of them, Sergei, focused his binoculars on the Tin Mill Road that came down Bethlehem Boulevard. He scanned the area for any activity.

Nothing.

Then two cars and a minivan came down the exit-ramp and turned right onto Tin Mill Road. He motioned for a man crouched next to him. Within seconds all fifteen Mafiya-members were on alert for the oncoming cars and their occupants. He kept the cars in his view until they stopped next to a dry-dock where a rusty old coaster lay forgotten. He put his binoculars down and climbed down the ladder of the unused crane. Once down another man joined him, carrying a suitcase, together they walked towards the cars.

The doors of the cars opened and men got out. When Sergei was near them, one of them opened the rear door and another man got out. All in all there were ten RUF-members standing next to their cars.

Sergei scanned the faces of the men standing there, looking defiant.

All of them were going to die. Solanovich had been clear about that. A missed payment was intolerable, but missing three payments was deadly.

'Why this change of plans?' asked the man who had gotten out of the car as last to Sergei. 'It has been Norfolk before, why here again?'

'You ask too much questions,' was his reply. 'When the Boss says Baltimore it is Baltimore.'

'D'Accord, pas de problème. You have the merchandise? I don't see any...'

Sergei waved for the other man to come over, who handed him the suitcase and stepped back again. The RUF-leader looked at the suitcase. 'Qu'est-ce que c'est?'

'Money, nigger, you get money.' The man looked at Sergei and the other one suspiciously. 'What's this about money, we were supposed to get something else...'

Sergei smiled. 'Yes you were, but don't worry, you get it.' He looked at the suitcase another RUF-member was holding. 'It looks like you got what we want, why won't we make a trade-off? We the stones, you the money and the rest.'

The RUF-leader motioned for the man to lay the suitcase on the hood of the car and opened it: inside was a silk cloth. He folded it open and then the glistening contents revealed itself. Diamonds, worth nearly $5 million dollars. Then he closed the lid again. 'Now let me see what you have.'

Sergei put the suitcase on the hood also. He switched open the locks, but did not open the suitcase yet.

'What are you waiting for? Open it! Allez vite!' the man said, getting a bit angry.

Sergei opened the lid. 'Solanovich wanted you to understand the value of paying on time,' he said as he pulled out a gun and aimed it at the head of the RUF-leader. 'This will make things clear.' And he pulled the trigger.