the smuggler’s bible


Huron jacks in and flings himself out into the mix. The target he’s aiming for is small and flickering like a porch light at dusk, seen from the other side of six lanes of traffic.

If it were something flashier—industrial or even military—it would be swarming already with teams of corporate grey hats trying for a taste. But as it stands, all Huron sees is a few other solo operators hovering at a purposefully discreet distance.

Anyone good enough to smell the money on this thing is too smart to be the first guy who makes a pass.