by Sharon Sala
Mahalo knew he was there, but he was clearly not in the mood for talking, and that was fine with Jack. They’d gotten into it earlier when he’d been out late, but the last thing he needed was any extra heat on him because Mahalo was pissed. It was better to stay quiet and amicable. The big man ate, and Jack finished off his water, then tossed it into a nearby trash barrel.
The bay was full of ships, some anchored offshore waiting their turn to off-load. One was already sailing out of the harbor as Jack looked up. He wondered which ship was designated to carry Ito’s illegal cargo. God, he wanted this job over with, and he wanted to hear Shelly’s voice.
“Hey, boss!”
Mahalo looked up.
“Are we done for the day?”
“Yeah,” Mahalo said.
“Then I think I’m gonna head out. I’m going back to my place. I want a shower and to catch some z’s before we report back here tomorrow.”
Mahalo swallowed what he was chewing. Even though he wasn’t in charge of their time off, he gave Jack a hard look. “Ten p.m. tomorrow night and don’t you fuck up on me. You drive the forklift.”
Jack slid off the bench. “I’ll be here.”
Munoz walked over as Jack passed him. “You leavin’?”
Jack nodded and kept on going.
“Hey, you wanna hang out tonight...maybe play some pool down at Smokey Joe’s?”
“I’m going home and sleeping until I wake up tomorrow,” Jack said.
Munoz shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Next time.”
Jack just kept walking. He noticed Munoz glance at the boss, then leave before Mahalo gave him something to do.
The moment Jack got in his car, he grabbed a burner phone from the glove box and made a call to Shelly as he was driving away. The phone rang and rang, and he was bordering on panic when he finally heard her voice and realized she’d been asleep, which also meant she was home. Shit. She never left work unless something was wrong.
“Baby, it’s me.”
He heard her breath catch, and then she was crying.
“I am so glad to hear your voice,” she said.
“I saw what happened to you on the news. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I am now. The mugger didn’t hurt me, but I had to stand out in the heat too long and I fainted.”
Jack groaned. “Are you alright now?”
“Yes, yes, I swear. Mitzi was the one who sent me home, and I’m glad she did.”
Jack was bothered and it showed in the tone of his voice. The guilt he felt at leaving her alone for such long periods of time never eased.
“I’m never there for you when you need me and I know it, but something is going down within the next thirty-six hours that may put an end to this assignment. Bear with me, baby. I can’t wait to come home.”
Shelly wiped away tears with the tail of her T-shirt. “I’ll be here, whenever you do. Just stay safe. That’s all I want.”
“Okay. Gotta go. I’m about to get into the middle of noon-hour traffic. Love you so much.”
“Love you more,” Shelly said, and disconnected.
Jack felt the disconnect all the way to his bones, then dropped the burner phone into the console and took the on-ramp onto a freeway, accelerating into flight mode, which was the designated speed for Houston.
It took him forty-five minutes to get back to his apartment building. After he parked, he ran all the way up the outer steps to the third floor, then down the open hallway to room 355.
He checked the lock to make sure it hadn’t been tampered with, then slipped inside, locking the door behind him. All the shades and curtains had been pulled so the rooms were dark but still easily navigated by light coming in between the slats in the shades. He paused in the hall to adjust the temperature down five degrees because he liked to sleep in the cold, then went to the bedroom and stripped.
He turned on the bathroom light as he entered, eyed the day-old beard and his wild hair and turned on the water in the shower. As soon as the steam was rising, he got in and soaped his entire body twice before he felt clean, then did the same thing to his hair. Before he left the shower, he grabbed the shaving cream and his razor and started to finish the job, then hesitated and laid the razor back on the rack. Clean was one thing. Looking well-groomed was not the look he was going for. He towel-dried his hair and then dried himself.
He was looking for the blow-dryer when he caught a glimpse of something in the fogged-up mirrors and jumped. Just for a second he thought someone else had snuck in, until he realized it was him.
“Dammit,” he muttered, and swiped a towel across the mirror to clear away the condensation. He was always on edge, on the alert. In this line of work, he had to be. But now his own reflection was startling him. He was ready to be done with it all.
He swiped his hand across the condensation and cleared a patch of the mirror. He had what he considered an ordinary face with a jawline leaning toward square, which was now covered in black whiskers. Even though Shelly called him “her hunk,” he saw only regular features and a nose that had been broken twice. He had his father’s eyes—almost as black as his hair.
Thinking of his father came with the usual pang of sadness. His parents were long since dead.
He’d been undercover so long this time around that it was becoming harder to remember normal. Maybe after what he’d learned today his luck would change.
He went from the bathroom back into his bedroom, pulled down the sheets on his bed, then sat down and picked up his phone and made a call to Charlie Morris, his contact at the FBI.
Charlie answered promptly.
“Special Agent Morris.”
“It’s me. I have something for you.”
“What’s up?” Charlie asked.
“Some kind of a special shipment is coming in at the warehouse this Friday morning at 3:00 a.m. As soon as it arrives, we load it into a shipping container. Don’t know where it’s bound, but whatever it is, I know it’s contraband or we’d be doing all this in broad daylight like all the other shipments coming in and going out.”
“Good job,” Charlie said. “I’ll let them know, and remember that you’re going to be arrested with all the others.”
“Yeah, no problem. I’m sick of this gig,” Jack said.
“I can only imagine,” Charlie said. “Stay safe.”
“Thanks,” Jack said. He disconnected and then rolled over onto his side, pulled up the covers and was asleep less than a minute after his head hit the pillow.
* * *
But Charlie Morris didn’t roll over and go to sleep. He was already notifying their boss, Deputy Director Wainwright, who would start the ball rolling on organizing the bust.
Charlie’s partner, Nolan Warren, overheard enough of the conversation to know something was finally breaking. As soon as Charlie delivered the message, Nolan asked, “Is this all about the Ito case?”
Charlie nodded. “It appears so. I sure hope so for Jack’s sake. He’s ready to come in.”
“I wouldn’t be any good at undercover work,” Nolan said.
“It wouldn’t be my choice of assignments, either,” Charlie said, and then logged out. “I’m going to have lunch with Alicia. See you later.”
“Give her my best,” Nolan said.
“Will do,” Charlie said, then grabbed his suit coat and gun and paused on his way out to let their clerk, Fred Ray, know where he was going.
Fred was a skinny redhead who wanted to be a field agent in the worst way but kept failing one portion of the test that really mattered. He could fire a gun, but he never hit anything. So he rode desk duty and envied the field agents from afar. When he saw Agent Morris coming, he paused what he was doing.
“Going to lunch?” Fred asked.
“Yes, having a late lunch with Alicia.”
Fred grinned. “Noted
. How is your wife these days? She should be due soon, right?”
The very mention of the baby was all it took to put a huge smile on Charlie’s face.
“She is eight months and three weeks pregnant, so ‘any day now’ is how her obstetrician puts it.”
“Frieda and I have three, so I know how you feel. Enjoy your lunch and my best to your wife.”
“Thanks, man,” Charlie said, and walked out of the office with a bounce in his step.
* * *
Thursday night had finally arrived, and none too soon for Jack. He was antsy to get to the warehouse and to bring this case to a close. It was starting to rain as he arrived on the dock and it was habit to check out his surroundings. As far as he could tell, there was nothing out of place. He took note of the fact that he was thirty minutes early and kept driving until he reached the warehouse.
As he got out of his car, he saw the lights were on in the building and the main door was ajar. At least Mahalo was thinking ahead and not making them all wait in the rain for him to open up.
A couple of men were already inside playing cards on top of a crate when Jack walked in. Mahalo was on the phone—with the boss, Jack assumed. Adam Ito was always present, whether a shipment was coming in or going out. He couldn’t imagine him missing an important job like this.
Mahalo saw him come in, nodded once to approve his arrival and then lumbered away, making sure he was too far away to be overheard.
Jack sat down, glanced at his watch and then leaned back. He pulled out a pocketknife and began cleaning his fingernails, then picked up a chunk of wood that had broken off from one of the pallets and began whittling it down for lack of anything else to do.
Munoz arrived a couple of minutes later, and then another man, and then another until all of them were on the scene. Mahalo came back to the front of the warehouse and motioned at Jack.
“Go make sure that forklift is fueled up and in working order, then bring it up.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jack said, and headed back to where the forklift was parked.
He checked everything including oil pressure, filled up the gas tank, raised the lift up and down a couple of times to reassure himself that it was also working, then drove it up front and parked.
“Good to go,” he told Mahalo, then went into the bathroom to wash the grease and oil from his hands.
By the time he was finished, someone had claimed the chair he’d been sitting in, so he climbed up on a stack of wooden crates and sat, his long legs dangling off the side.
Now they waited.
* * *
It was just before 2:00 a.m. when Mahalo got a call. He answered, listened, then dropped the phone back in his pocket and activated the switch that raised the massive warehouse doors. As the doors went up, Jack began hearing the approach of an incoming helicopter, but instead of passing overhead, it sounded as if it was landing.
Before he could figure out what was happening, he saw Ito set a briefcase down at the top of the stairs, then noted Ito’s guards coming down from the second floor and looked away. Son of a bitch. Ito came by chopper, not the limo. Jack didn’t have a way to give the Bureau a heads-up but had to believe they were already on-site somewhere and had seen that for themselves.
He also noted the two special bodyguards who came down ahead of him were armed to the teeth. As soon as they reached the last step, they stood to one side, waiting as Ito descended. After a few remarks to the guards, Ito began making the rounds, checking out his men.
Jack knew it was only a matter of time before he got to him, and he braced himself. Nothing was ever good enough for the man.
Then he overheard Ito telling Mahalo that the delivery was coming in a bit early, which made Jack nervous. Dammit! Another slight change of plans. But when Adam Ito finally got to him, he barely noted his presence. Jack breathed a little easier as he readjusted his shoulder holster and sat quietly, waiting for everything to unfold.
Before Ito’s arrival, time moved slowly, but after his appearance, it flew. It was ten minutes to three in the morning when they heard a truck approaching.
The rain had stopped a short while before, so when Mahalo heard it, he walked out to make sure it was their delivery, then gave the truck driver a thumbs-up and motioned him inside.
The delivery was a little early, but not enough to matter. Jack started to get down from where he was sitting, but then Mahalo motioned them all to wait. The buyer and the seller had a little business to attend to before the unloading began.
Ito’s bodyguards matched his stride as he moved to the open doorway of the warehouse. Then all of a sudden another man appeared out of the night, also with guards. Jack couldn’t see his face clearly, but he heard Ito call him Dumas. He couldn’t hear what was being said from his location, but when Mahalo ran back upstairs to retrieve the briefcase, he guessed it might be the laptop he’d need to transfer the money.
At the same time Ito was getting set up, Dumas had his men unload two crates from the truck so that Ito could preview the goods. From his perch, Jack got a glimpse of the lettering on the side of the crate. ATacMS, then MGM and then a series of numbers, but it was the words below it that shocked him. Prototypes. That meant new stuff. Weapons that could quickly turn the tide of a firefight. The hair crawled on the back of his neck. These weapons could not leave this dock.
Then he began looking at the men with Dumas, and when he zeroed in on one of them, his heart stopped. There was a man looking straight at him, and the moment their gazes connected, the man grinned. It was one of Jack’s snitches who went by the name of Ritter, and he was already pointing and shouting.
Oh hell.
Jack had but a few seconds to react. The only door out of the warehouse was barred by armed men, and running up to the roof would get him nowhere. Ritter’s ID had just declared him dead meat. He leaped to his feet and ran across the stacks of crates, moving toward the broken window at the back of the warehouse.
“Stop him! Stop him! He’s a Fed. You have a fucking Fed in on this? We’re all going down!” Ritter kept screaming.
Adam Ito spun around, and when he saw Judd Wayne leaping from one stack of crates to another trying to get away, he started shouting.
“Kill him! Kill him! Don’t let him get away!”
Ito’s men were shooting now, and so were the others. Jack pulled his gun as he ran and fired into the crowd without looking back.
His heart was pounding, bullets flying all around him. He heard one whiz by his head. The broken window was only a few yards away when he heard the chopper warming up above him. Dammit. Ito was going to get away.
The sound of gunfire echoed all around him as he leaped over the chasm between the last two stacks of crates. Without slowing down, he lowered his head, put his arms up to protect his face and went headfirst through the broken window.
He’d made it but was falling down, down toward the water! Then seconds before impact, it felt like his entire right shoulder had been ripped from his body. He hadn’t made it after all.
He went into the water on his back, knocking the air from his lungs. While he was struggling to catch a breath, the water closed over his face and then he was sinking.
* * *
“I got him! I got him!” Munoz said. “Fuckin’ Fed. Damn pig. He’s fish bait now!”
But his glee was cut short as the warehouse was suddenly swarming with federal agents.
Dumas had been trying to get his goods back on their truck and off the pier, but it was too late. More shots were fired, but this time it was the Feds doing the shooting. Four men dropped, and then the rest were so greatly outnumbered that they responded to the agents’ orders and began dropping their weapons and surrendering.
Agent Charlie Morris had been waiting for this night for months. Jack McCann was his friend, and he was finally going to bring him in. But as he searched the line
of men down on their knees, he realized Jack was missing.
One of Ito’s men laughed.
“You looking for your snitch? He went out that window with a bullet in his back, and I hope the son of a bitch is dead.”
Charlie hid his shock as he immediately turned, grabbed a couple of other agents, and they took off running. By the time they reached the edge of the dock and looked out into the dark expanse of Galveston Bay, he saw nothing. His gut knotted.
He radioed in for boats and search teams, while he and his men began a land search, dividing up and running along the pier in both directions in hopes they’d spot him close by.
Within thirty minutes, there was a boat on scene with searchlights on the water, slowly circling the area, looking for a survivor, or a body.
* * *
Jack might have passed out from the pain, except for the shock of the cold water. In desperate need of oxygen and with his shoulder on fire, he was swimming upward with his one good arm as fast as he could go. Just when he thought his lungs were going to burst, he surfaced.
The first breath of air was a game changer. Treading water, he looked back. Feds were all over the place now, and above, the receding lights of a chopper in the sky.
Adam Ito!
The son of a bitch did it. He was getting away, which meant as long as Jack was alive, Ito would be chasing him until one of them was dead, and that would put Shelly in constant danger. The agents would figure out what happened to him and begin looking for his body. He couldn’t let himself be found, and he was beginning to weaken. He had to find a way to get ashore.
He began to kick his legs again, but his boots were full of water and pulling him down, so he rolled over onto his back to float, kicking his legs to propel himself as far away from that loading dock as he could get.
Away from the lights of the city, the night sky above him was beautiful, peppered with light from stars that had long since burned away. He could hear voices now and then coming from the anchored cargo ships, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He kept kicking and floating, although he was getting weaker and the stars were dimming. It took a few moments for him to notice he was caught in the outgoing tide. It was pulling him out farther from shore, and farther into the bay.
