Unsafe Harbor

by Jessica Speart

  “He’s really not with the Mob anymore?” Connie questioned with an upward tilt of her chin.

  “Vinnie? No, he decided that he likes playing wiseguys better than being one,” I confirmed.

  “In that case, he’s doing one hell of an acting job over there,” she noted.

  The longshoreman was practically scraping and bowing to Vinnie before springing to work. Jumping inside the bobtail, he backed up to a loaded chassis, fiddled with the connection, and drove the unit toward us. We watched as the longshoreman proceeded to cut the container’s large metal bolt that served as its security seal.

  “Thanks, Bobby,” Vinnie said, and extracted a wad of bills from his pants.

  Peeling off four fifties, he handed them to the man.

  “No problem. Anytime for you, Vinnie. You know that,” the longshoreman responded and stuffed the money in his pocket.

  Then he unhooked the chassis and drove the bobtail back to where it had originally been parked.

  “It’s all yours, New Yawk,” Vinnie said with a magnanimous wave of his hand.

  The shipping unit stood a good five feet off the ground where it was stationed on the chassis. A close look revealed a pair of metal crossbars that hung from the bottom of its frame. I used them as stirrups to pull myself up and grab hold of the unlocked door handle. One hard tug and the container groaned open, exposing what amounted to a Chinese puzzle inside.

  Though uncertain as to what would be found, I now stared at the sight in disbelief. The unit was packed from floor to ceiling and wall to wall with parcels that ran seven rows across and twelve cartons high. All told, there must have been at least eight hundred boxes consuming every available square inch of space.

  “Well, I guess we’d better start unloading,” I remarked, not wanting to think too much about the impending task ahead.

  But Vinnie had his own views on the matter.

  “I didn’t sign on to work here all night,” he gruffly replied.

  Vinnie was right, and I instantly felt like a jerk. He’d already done more than his share.

  “Of course not. I meant the two of us,” I said, pointing to Connie and myself in embarrassment. “You’ve been great, Vinnie. Thanks for pulling strings. I’m sure Connie won’t mind giving me a lift home later on.”

  “No problem,” she confirmed, her words gliding toward us on a hoary cloud of frost.

  Vinnie glanced at her, and his expression immediately grew sheepish.

  “Yeah right. Like I’m gonna leave you two girls all alone here tonight. What the hell. We might as well get started,” he said, with a resigned shake of his head.

  It was too cold, and there was too much work to do, to pretend to protest. Instead, I lifted the first box and handed it down to Connie, who passed it on to Vinnie in a ragtag bucket brigade. The plan of attack was to remove one row at a time, cut the boxes open, and inspect them for ivory with the aid of our flashlights. Once that was done, the process would start all over again.

  After an hour, my arms ached, my back hurt, and my fingers had grown numb. Still, we’d barely begun to make a dent. To make matters worse, those boxes opened contained mostly auto parts, while only a few held African masks and carvings. So far, we had found nothing illicit.

  “I’ve gotta take a break before some of my body parts begin to fall off,” Vinnie declared, and headed for his vehicle.

  Connie and I dutifully followed, lured by the roar of its engine, seduced by the promise of heat. By now, every ounce that I carried had grown heavy as a pound, and every pound had morphed into a ton. I needed to rid myself of all unnecessary weight if I planned to keep going. I removed my cell phone and gun, and placed them in Vinnie’s glove compartment, retaining my flashlight.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a shot of brandy right now,” Connie mumbled, while holding her hands up to the heater.

  “To hell with a shot. We’ll get ourselves a bottle of the best cognac,” Vinnie promised her.

  “That sounds great. But first we’ve got to get through a few more rows of boxes,” I prodded, hoping to rally the forces.

  Vinnie shot me a dirty look. “You’re already treading on thin ice, Porter. Don’t push it.”

  “That’s okay. The faster we finish, the sooner we can get out of here,” Connie said, ever the loyal trouper.

  We trudged back outside, where Vinnie hoisted Connie up into the container. I wasn’t certain if it was so he could gaze at her better, or was trying to keep her warm.

  We worked our way through another two rows of boxes before Vinnie once again snapped.

  “For chrissakes, isn’t this crap ever going to end?” he vented as Connie handed him another carton. “Are you sure there’s anything in these damn boxes besides gaskets, and voodoo masks, and carvings? Cause it’s cold as hell out here.”

  Glancing up, I saw that Connie’s teeth were chattering and she’d noticeably begun to shiver. No way did I intend to stop, but neither did I want a mutiny on my hands.

  “Connie, why don’t you take a drive and find some place warm to get coffee?” I proposed.

  She began to climb down before I’d even finished my sentence.

  “Good idea,” she eagerly agreed. “Only it’s a hike back to my car.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m coming with you. Enough is enough. We need to get the hell out of this place for a while,” Vinnie said.

  He emphasized the point by throwing the box in his hands on the ground.

  It seemed I’d now officially become Captain Blye.

  “I have a better idea. Why don’t the two of you go and I’ll stay here,” I suggested, not wanting to let the container out of my sight.

  “What are you nuts, Porter? On second thought, look who I’m talking to,” Vinnie exploded. “That does it. You’re totally unbelievable.”

  “Maybe so. But I’m still not leaving here. Go ahead. I’ll be all right,” I replied.

  “You’re really pissing me off, you know that, Porter?” he asked, openly glaring at me.

  “Yeah. I’m beginning to get an inkling of it,” I responded. “This is silly. Don’t worry. I’m a big girl. I promise I’ll be fine.”

  Vinnie sighed and took a quick look around. “Okay, it’s your call. You’re certain that you’re a hundred percent all right with this?”

  “Absolutely. The guard’s right up front. There won’t be a problem,” I said, doing my best to sound chipper. “Just don’t forget to bring me back a cup of coffee.”

  But I knew that I was truly certifiable as I watched them drive off. What the hell was I thinking? That I could do this task all on my own?

  The keen of offloading ships turned into melancholy cries as the isolation now swiftly closed in around me. I thought I spied shadows gliding among the containers, and for the first time, I feared that I wasn’t alone.

  Don’t be ridiculous. No one’s here. The place is lit up like a friggin’ Christmas tree, I scolded myself. Now get back to work. After all, that’s why you stayed behind.

  Hoisting myself up, I dragged out cartons until I’d managed to burrow a tunnel into the rear of the container. If any contraband was hidden, it would most likely be back here.

  I grabbed one of the boxes, pushed it up front and slit the lid open with my knife. Nothing was inside but a bunch of scraggly African rag dolls. One stared with what seemed to be dark, lifeless eyes. It took a moment to realize that each orb was a slash of black stitches. I couldn’t help but think of Bitsy von Falken’s fate and shiver. The doll’s black gash of a mouth sinisterly smiled at me. Jumping down, I placed the box on the ground, and then climbed back up to repeat the process.

  A few more hours of this and I won’t ever have to work out again in my life. I tried to console myself.

  But I was beginning to feel much like Vinnie. Perhaps Leung had been pulling my chain today just to screw with me. I could be sitting and drinking coffee someplace warm right now, instead of climbing in and out of this container like a monkey. Even so, I stil
l couldn’t bring myself to stop.

  Just one more box, I kept repeating over and over, until it became my mantra.

  It was then that I spotted some cartons lodged against the back wall that were different in shape and size. Long and thin, these resembled crude cardboard coffins.

  I dragged one up front and drew my knife down its middle, as if eviscerating a carcass. My pulse thrummed as my fingers clumsily pushed back the flaps, feeling certain that I had finally found something.

  Damn! Inside was nothing but a collection of spears, each an elegant work of art. Kneeling down, I picked one up and examined it.

  A decorative sheath of animal skin and coarse hair covered the metal spearhead on one end. This slipped onto a carved wooden shaft that terminated in a sharp metal stabbing tip. The spear appeared to be about five feet in length.

  I pulled out a few more spears and realized they were the same as those used by the Masai tribe in Africa. Only these days, formerly proud warriors carve them as tourist souvenirs.

  I was beginning to put them away, when something caught my eye. Hidden beneath the pile of embellished shafts was a cream-colored cylindrical object. It coyly peeked up as if playing a game of hide-and-seek.

  I tried not to raise my hopes; however, I couldn’t help but be excited as spears flew out of the box and onto the floor in a cluttered heap. I didn’t stop, my fingers growing more frantic, until I finally hit the mother lode. Eureka! This time I’d actually “struck gold”—or pieces of ivory, to be exact.

  Nestled on the bottom of the crate were large chunks of the stuff as well as an entire tusk that must have been taken from a juvenile. I wondered if the youngster had cried as it died, and if other elephants had heard its pleas for help.

  I picked up the tusk and closed my eyes, the imagined cry reverberating inside me like a mournful dirge. The tusk grew heavy in my hands, as though it held the souls of all those elephants that had crashed to earth, their lives reduced to trinkets, bracelets, and other vanity items made of ivory.

  I could almost feel the silence bearing down on me. But any peace that it held abruptly erupted into a menacing crack of thunder.

  I swiftly laid the tusk back in its box and jumped outside, my feet thudding on firm land. Though I closely scanned the sky, it held no sign of a storm. Only the soft kiss of snow that continued to fall to the ground.

  There was no question that my imagination was too active by far. I’d obviously conjured the sound. Even so, a steady stream of adrenaline rushed through me.

  I had no doubt that if ivory was in one box, there was bound to be more. I’d counted ten cardboard coffins lined up in a row. It constituted all the evidence that was needed. The next move would be to trail Leung’s men once they picked up the shipment. Only after delivery had been made and accepted could charges kick in.

  Just the thought of catching Leung in my trap made all the crap that I’d dealt with in Fish and Wildlife during the past ten years seem worthwhile.

  I wonder if I’ll finally be given a promotion, I mused, knowing that such a move would make upper-level management wild.

  Perhaps it was the frigid cold or the rush of anticipation, but I was suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion. I gazed at all the stacked boxes that had been cut open. They’d have to be taped back up, but right now I needed a break. The rest of the work could wait until Vinnie and Connie returned.

  I spotted the bobtail and began to head over. Maybe the truck would have a comfortable seat, not to mention some heat. I climbed up its two steps, opened the door, and slid into the cab.

  Whaddaya know? The key was still in the ignition. Perhaps Vinnie did have a plan to lift some TVs while he was here, after all.

  I turned on the engine and waited to feel a blast of warm air, but the breeze that poured out was cold. Wouldn’t you know? The heater was on the fritz.

  A lot of good that does me. I’d better keep moving.

  Otherwise, the temptation to lie down, curl up, and sleep could prove far too alluring. And dozing off at this point would surely have deadly consequences.

  Having little else to do, I decided to take a stroll around the rows of containers. I pulled out my flashlight, turned it on, and briskly began to walk.

  This should help keep me awake, I thought.

  Sometimes the best way to deal with demons is to confront them—and I’d begun to see the shadows moving again.

  To make matters worse, part of my body was now numb. Though I tried to wiggle my toes, I could no longer feel them. It was as if the snow had cunningly crept inside my boots and turned my feet from merely raw to two lifeless clumps of flesh.

  Think of something else, I commanded myself while stamping my feet.

  How easy it must have been for Leung to smuggle ivory into the Port of Newark all of these years. He simply didn’t present any paperwork and Fish and Wildlife never bothered to question it. Nor did anyone actively search for ivory based on rumor alone. The message sent to agents and inspectors alike was not to be proactive in their work. Rather the attitude had become “What can we get away with?” “How much can we let slide by?”

  I was speculating on what other contraband was probably slipping in when something unexpected caught my eye. A galaxy of what seemed to be tiny stars had fallen to the ground, where they reflected the flashlight’s beam. I stopped to inspect the luminous phenomenon more closely.

  Lying in the snow was a neat pile of fragments that glittered in the dark like an uncovered vein of gold. I removed a glove, bent down and picked up a few of the bits. They were pieces of metal as fine and thin as slivers of paper. Only these scraps were razor sharp. The single shard between my fingers smartly pricked my flesh, producing a drop of blood.

  But that wasn’t the only small mound of filings to be found. Others lay spread across the ground. Some were partially buried, while still more appeared to have been trampled by a flurry of footprints in the snow.

  What I knew was that they must have come from somewhere close. The obvious answer seemed to be from the column of containers directly in front of me. Each was the size of a schoolbus, and solid as a metal King Kong. I raised my flashlight and began to examine them, starting at the very top.

  The beam bounced along rows of steel ridges as uniform as Ruffles potato chips. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary until my light reached the second container from the ground. Only then did I spot the jagged hole that had been cut in its side. The opening was just large enough for a person to squeeze through, and dangling from its puncture wound was a rope.

  I’d heard of stowaways sneaking into the country this way. Unscrupulous organizations charge illegal immigrants thousands of dollars for the service. For that, they receive less than first-class accommodations. However, if they made it here alive, it was a good bet that they’d never be found.

  Immigration and Customs rarely search vessels for stowaways. Nor does a ship’s captain generally find and turn them in. Rather, that job is left to local law enforcement agents with no legal authority over vessels coming into port, or the people that are legitimately—or illegitimately—on them.

  I just hoped whoever had stowed away inside this particular container had already made it out. Otherwise, I had no doubt that I’d be tripping across a dead body.

  “Anyone in there?” I apprehensively called, while directing my light toward the serrated hole.

  The question echoed in my ears, even as the phantom darkness gobbled it up.

  And for the briefest moment, I thought I heard a sound.

  Then all grew silent once more.

  Could someone still be alive inside? There was only one way to find out. But to do that, I needed something on which to climb, and there was no ladder around. Then I remembered the bobtail truck with its key in the ignition.

  I ran back and scampered up the truck’s two steps, their thin metal base clanging beneath my feet. Then settling into the seat, I turned on the engine. There’s a first time for everything. This was mine to play t
rucker.

  Shifting into gear, I applied the gas and drove the bobtail between the steel rows until I reached the perforated container. I parked alongside it, climbed out, and scrambled onto the truck’s hood. From there it was an easy shot up to its roof. That placed me directly in line with the punctured unit.

  The adrenaline that sped through my veins now began to throb as I drew close enough to run my fingers along the hole. The gash had obviously been cut from inside with the use of a drill and a hacksaw blade.

  “Hello?” I inquired again.

  There was still no reply.

  To say that I wasn’t afraid would have been a lie. I could nearly taste my fear, sour and metallic, as it rose in my throat like Lazarus from the grave.

  I expected to see a corpse, or two, or three, all huddled together in an endless state of sleep, having expired from either starvation or the cold. I nearly turned around, not wanting to know. But something drove me forward, leaving me no other choice.

  I carefully aimed the flashlight’s beam and stuck my head through the hole. The air inside was pungent and tinged with the odor of dirty clothes. I took a quick look around and breathed a sigh of relief. While something was inside, it clearly wasn’t human remains. Pulling my head back out, I grabbed a gulp of fresh air and then squeezed my way into the container.

  It appeared I’d been right; there was no corpse in sight. However, the container’s contents had definitely been human cargo. They’d left behind evidence of their stay, along with an overwhelming stench. The only way to keep from gagging was to hold a hand over my nose and mouth as I moved the flashlight about. I quickly pinpointed the source of the offensive aroma.

  Four large plastic garbage bags had been used as toilets. But that wasn’t the only sign of human habitation. Blankets, bedding, soiled clothing, and empty water bottles lay strewn about. Candy wrappers and a burial mound of chicken bones attested to the fact that the stowaways had been well fed, while a heater had assured they stayed warm.

  But it was what I saw next that nearly brought my heart to a crashing halt. Detailed maps of Newark Liberty International Airport and the Port Newark/Elizabeth Marine Terminal sprang to life under my light.