by Alex Ander
Two minutes after Hardy disconnected his call with Jameson, an LAPD officer ran up to the one speaking with Hardy and handed the man a cell phone. Thirty seconds later, the man handed the phone back to the second officer and looked at Hardy. “The chief tells me I’m to cooperate with you and your team. What can we do, Agent Hardy?”
Hardy talked with the officer for the next ten minutes, outlining what he needed. Hardy’s phone rang. He saw the caller. “Thank you for your assistance, sir. I appreciate it.” He held up his phone. “I need to take this. Please excuse me.” He turned his back to the officer. “This is Hardy.”
Back inside the antique shop, Hardy made for the back room. Ending his call with the leader of the Hostage Rescue Team, he walked into the room. “I just got off the phone with HR Team leader. Abby was not there. There were no apparent signs that she was ever at that location.” He turned his head to the right and saw the remaining terrorist sitting in a chair. He was not restrained. His chin was resting on his chest and his arms were straight down at his sides. Hardy’s attention went to Dahlia. “Is he…?”
“He’s fine. The interrogation was a bit much for him and he passed out. I assure you. He’s still alive.”
Hovering over Charity, who was staring at a laptop, Cruz added to Hardy’s assessment. “That’s because she probably was never there.”
Dahlia wiped her hands and face with a paper towel, and came closer to the other women. “How’d it go with the LAPD?”
“We’re good. They’re holding the perimeter and giving us our space.” He gestured toward the laptop. “What have you got?”
Cruz updated him. Standing, she motioned toward the man in the chair. “Dahlia was able to get some intel that proved useful.”
Hardy crossed his arms over his chest and took a position behind the women.
“He confirmed Abby was here, but he doesn’t know where she was taken…only that she left in a white delivery van with the logo for the Los Angeles County Museum of Art on it.”
He faced her. “So, she’s at the museum?”
“No, we think it was a stolen van or someone slapped on the logo to bypass security or gain access to some other business or location.” Cruz handed a flyer to Hardy. “I found this lying on the desk over there,” she pointed toward the corner of the room, “and it caught my attention, only because I saw the same flyer at the antique shop in Denver. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”
King Tut’s Treasures. “Okay, there was a King Tut Exhibit on display at the LA Museum. What about it?”
She pointed at the flyer. “Check out the dates.”
Hardy ran his eyes down the page. “July first through December…” his voice trailed off, when he read the date. “It ended yesterday. Is there a connection?”
Cruz turned to face Charity. “That’s what we’re—”
“I’m in.” Charity’s fingers tapped the keys. “I’m bringing up the shipping manifests now.” She had hacked into the computer system for the Port of Los Angeles.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out now.” She put her left hand on the back of Charity’s chair. “All right, Cherry, bring up all the manifests for any vessels leaving tonight or tomorrow.”
“I’ve got several.”
“Are any of them headed for Egypt?”
“It looks like there are two of them.” She split the screen and displayed both manifests.
Cruz studied the manifests. “What’s this number here?”
“That’s the capacity of the ship. Basically, the number is the percentage of fullness for the vessel.”
“So, this one is only at fifty percent?”
Charity nodded her head.
“Make that one full-screen and tell me what it contains.”
Charity made the manifest fill the screen. “I can’t tell you what’s in there. It only shows the number of items being shipped and the size of each item. This looks to be a shipment of wooden crates of various sizes; fifty-seven crates to be exact.”
“Wooden crates,” Hardy said. “You mean like the ones we found in Denver?”
Charity bobbed her head. “More or less,” she responded, her mind seeing the crates from the Denver shop. “Wooden crates can vary in size, but judging from the dimensions here, these are all pretty large, much bigger than the ones in Denver.”
Cruz tapped her lips with her index finger. “Keep that up, Cherry and get the incoming shipping manifests from the three days prior to July first from all ships originating from Egypt.”
A minute later, Charity had found three manifests that met Cruz’s criteria.
“Are there any there with fifty-seven crates listed?”
Charity scanned the manifests. “No, but one has fifty-six.”
“Let’s see it. Actually, can you put that manifest alongside the one that’s shipping out tonight?”
Hardy and the three women studied the information. Hardy was the first to notice the sizes of the wooden crates matched. They were in a different order, but they matched. “So, you’re thinking these are the incoming and outgoing manifests for the King Tut Exhibit?”
Cruz examined the screen. She pointed at a specific line item from the outgoing manifest. “Cherry, can you find this item anywhere on the document from six months ago?”
Charity scrutinized each line of data on the laptop. “Nope, it’s not there.”
Cruz stood erect. “That’s got to be it. Fifty-six come in, but fifty-seven go out. That extra crate is how they’re going to get Abby out of the country.”
Dahlia crossed her arms over her chest. “How can you be so sure? That extra crate could be more pieces from the exhibit.”
Cruz shook her head and held up her index finger. “One—Yamadi, his sister and Halim are all Egyptian. We have to assume that one of them has the necessary contacts in their country to make this happen.” She added her middle finger. “Two—Halim deals in Egyptian artifacts, antiques and knockoff items. He’s also known for his smuggling activities. This operation would require someone with his skills to get Abby to the ship. Three—we have the King Tut Exhibit leaving with an extra crate. The items in this exhibit are priceless. I’m sure each item is catalogued and has a specific place inside a specific crate. They’re not just going to wrap some newspaper around a four thousand-year-old artifact and toss it into a box.”
Hardy pursed his lips, while slowly nodding his head. “Even if you’re wrong, there’s enough evidence here that we have to check out that vessel before it leaves tonight.”
Cruz pivoted her body back toward Charity. “Cherry, what’s the size of that crate?”
“It says five feet by four feet…by four feet.”
“A girl Abby’s size could easily fit inside a box with those dimensions.” Cruz patted Charity on the back. “Good work, Cherry.”
“Those SOB’s stuffed a girl in a crate like some filthy animal…to be shipped off to another country?” Dahlia had not met Abigail Conklin, but it made no difference. Her mind imagined the President’s daughter, or any sixteen-year-old girl, being held in those deplorable conditions. She grabbed the back of a nearby folding chair and threw it against the wall behind the terrorist. One of the legs became impaled in the drywall, preventing the chair from crashing to the floor.
Cruz and Charity cranked their heads toward the source of the noise.
Dahlia whipped around and stuck her finger in Hardy’s face. “We need to get to the docks and rip that ship apart…now.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the man behind her. “And, if anyone gets in our way,” she formed a gun with the fingers of her hand and pointed at the terrorist’s head, “pop, pop…two in the head.”
Hardy raised his open hands and pumped them at her. “Take it easy, Dahlia. We need to stay calm, and we need to stay focused. None of us are any good to Abby if we’re not in our right minds.” He rotated his head toward Cruz and Charity. “Grab anything we may need from this place.” He held up his hand. “I want to be
on the move in five minutes.” He stuck his hand into his pocket, got Dahlia’s attention and motioned toward the door with his other hand. Once they were out of earshot of Cruz and Charity, Hardy put his phone to his ear and locked eyes with Dahlia. “I understand you’re upset. We all are; however, I need to know where you’re at right now.” He pointed toward the room. “I can’t afford to have anyone on this team going off like that again, especially when we make this assault.” Dahlia broke her gaze with him. He leaned to his left and got in her line of sight. “Are we good?”
She removed her hands from her hips and held up her thumbs. “It won’t happen again. You have my word.”
Hardy spun to his right and put his left hand on her left shoulder before speaking into his phone. “Director Jameson, I need your help.”
Chapter 35: Port
7:52 p.m. (Pacific Time); Port of Los Angeles
Occupying 7,500 acres of land along forty-three miles of coastline in the San Pedro Bay, the Port of Los Angeles, also known as America’s Port, employs nearly nine hundred thousand people throughout the Los Angeles County area. More than one billion dollars of cargo is moved in and out of the port each day; twenty-three terminals, two hundred seventy deep water berths, seventy-seven container cranes and nine container terminals, along with one hundred thirteen miles of on-port rail, are used to accomplish the task.
Security for the Port of Los Angeles is handled by the Los Angeles Port Police (LAPP), a specialized police force dedicated exclusively to activities at the port. Under the direction of the Los Angeles Harbor Department and the City of Los Angeles, the LAPP is one of a few law enforcement agencies in the nation that have a twenty-four hour marine unit. The LAPP also has a Joint Terrorism Squad that works to prevent terrorism at the port and nearby areas.
As soon as the Suburban carrying Hardy, Special Agent Cruz, Dahlia and Charity rolled onto the Port of Los Angeles property, it was met by the leader of the Joint Terrorism Squad. Director Jameson had arranged for the team to be standing by when Hardy arrived. The Squad Leader was a man in his early thirties with closely cropped blonde hair and a goatee. He stood over six-feet tall and had a muscular frame. He, along with Hardy and his team, stood around the hood of their SUV, studying a map of the port.
Officer Johnson pointed at the map. “This is where the vessel is docked right now.” He slid his finger along the map. “I have one man located here. He’s out of sight, but has a good visual on the target. I’m getting updates every five minutes. There appears to be light activity aboard and the boarding ramp is still down.”
Hardy broke away from the map. “What about the rest of your men?”
“We’ve established a perimeter around the ship, including patrol boats in the harbor. They’ve been told to stay back.”
Hardy nodded his head and waited for Johnson to continue.
Johnson directed everyone’s attention to a new location on the map. “We’re here.” He moved his finger further up the map. “If you drive to this point, you’ll have the best and closest possible view of the ship without being seen by anyone on it.”
Using a pen, Hardy aimed it at a spot to the left of where Johnson had his finger on the map. “What’s here?”
“Warehouses,” replied the officer. “As you can see, they run the length of the dock.”
Hardy gathered as much information on the vessel and the surrounding territory from Johnson. Taking his foot off the front bumper and standing straight, he cranked his head backward. There was no cloud cover and the moon was full, making for a difficult advance on the ship. He thought about seeing if the lights on the dock could be turned off, but disregarded the idea. That action might spook the men on the ship, heightening their senses. Thinking, Hardy overheard the officer speaking with the man who was watching the ship. He turned toward Johnson and raised his eyebrows.
Johnson shook his head one time. “Nothing has changed.”
Hardy held out his hand. “Thank you, Officer Johnson. I appreciate your help in this. My team will take it from here. Have your men ready to move out and storm the ship on my command, but not before. Is that clear?”
Johnson nodded. “We’ll be in position, awaiting your order, Agent Hardy.”
“We need to locate and secure the victim before we tip our hands. We don’t know where she’s being held and I don’t want any gunfights breaking out, putting her in danger.” Hardy followed up with a command. “Give your man five minutes more at his post, then have him retreat. If anything changes…” Hardy stopped talking, while his mind came up with a new plan. “The man you have watching the ship, how good of a shot is he?”
Johnson glanced away, thinking. “He’s not the best I’ve got, but he’s still pretty good. Why?”
“I want him to act as our overwatch. Link him with our coms and give him the call sign…let’s keep it simple…Overwatch. Shepherd is my call sign. Have him keep me informed of what’s going on aboard that ship. He does not take a shot, unless I give the order.”
Officer Johnson nodded his head. “You got it. Is there anything else?”
Hardy thought for a moment. “That should do it. Thanks.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He glanced at each of the women. “Good luck to all of you.” He came back to Hardy. “My team will be ready to go on your command.” Each woman thanked the officer before he left.
Cruz stepped to her right and took Johnson’s position. She leaned over the map. “That’s a lot of wide open space from where we park the SUV to the base of the ramp. There’ll be plenty of light for anyone aboard to spot us.”
“That’s why we’re going to shorten the distance.” Hardy called everyone closer. “We’ll park here and get eyes on the ship before moving around these warehouses to this position.” His finger landed on a spot on the map. “From there, we’ll make a dash for the ramp and get aboard. With intel from Overwatch and a little luck, we won’t alert anyone to our presence.” He turned toward Cruz. “Now would be a good time for some prayers.”
She smiled. “I’ve been doing that since New York.”
He folded the map. “All right, let’s gear up and get ready.” He addressed Charity. “Cherry, you’re going to stay with the vehicle when we make our assault.”
“What are you talking about? I’m going in with everyone else.” She followed him to the back of the SUV.
Hardy shook his head and reached for the door latch. “That’s not happening, Cherry. You’re not trained for this sort of thing.” He opened the back of the SUV and pulled closer one of the three duffle bags inside the vehicle.
“I’m not staying out here, while the three of you risk your lives in there.” She pointed in the general direction of the ship. Charity was quiet and easygoing. She never raised her voice or made trouble for anyone; however, when she felt it was necessary, she also never hesitated to assert herself. This was one of those times. She spent her time behind a computer, while other people did the dangerous work. She was okay with that, since she was never anywhere near the action. At this moment, however, that was not the case. She was determined to see this mission through to the end, with her teammates.
Hardy removed a bulletproof vest from the duffle bag. After taking off his jacket, he slipped the vest over his head and attached one of the Velcro straps. “This isn’t your place, Cherry. Your specialty is information and computers, not firearms and homicidal terrorists.”
Charity saw Dahlia rummaging through a second duffle bag. Cruz was in the process of exchanging her knee boots and mini skirt for black tactical pants and six-inch high ATAC boots from a company called 5.11 Tactical. Charity slid her arms out of her red blazer and tossed it into the SUV. “I guess you should’ve thought of that before bringing me along.”
Hardy attached the second strap and watched her unbutton her blouse, yank her arms out of the sleeves and throw the garment aside. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting ready.”
“I told you—”
“And, I told you,” she snapped, pointing her finger at his chest. “I’m going in.” She spun her head toward Cruz and Dahlia before whipping it back toward Hardy. “Am I part of this team or not? You made the decision to bring me with you into the field. I was fine with staying in D.C. Now that I’m here, I’ll be damned if I’m going to babysit a vehicle. I’ve had weapon’s training at Quantico. I know how to shoot.”
Weapon’s training. Charity had received a crash course in how to operate a pistol and a rifle. That hardly constituted weapon’s training. Her job description was operating computers, not guns. Hardy looked at Cruz and Dahlia, expecting their support. They gave their support; however, it was not for him.
Cruz stopped undressing. “She’s got a point.”
Dahlia: “I agree.”
Hardy stared at Charity, who had kicked off her heels and was fumbling with the button on her skirt. When he had first met her on an assignment in Dallas, out of nowhere, she erupted and argued with him, even threatening him. At the time, he was upset. Afterward, he realized she had shown courage standing up to him, especially since she did not know him very well.
With only a bra covering her upper body, Charity unzipped her skirt.
Hardy stepped forward and grabbed her hand. “Hold on.” He unfastened the straps on his vest, took it off and held it out to her. “Put this on.”
“That’s yours. You’re going to need it.”
Hardy pressed the vest against her body, compelling her to grab it. “The only way you’re going in there,” he jerked his thumb toward his chest, “is with me.” He stuck his finger in her face. “You will follow every order I give you…to…the…letter. And, you will do so immediately and without question. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” She opened her mouth to respond, but he kept talking. “My orders start now.” He smacked the vest, “Put this on,” before he glanced at Cruz and Dahlia and grunted, “Help her with her gear.” Grabbing his duffle bag, he stormed off toward the front of the SUV to give the women some privacy.
