Liberation Day

by Dustin Stevens

  “Still clear?” he whispered, joining Iggy along the front of the building. Despite the cool evening air, beads of sweat lined his forehead, his heart rate pounding

  “The only sounds I’ve heard were you,” she replied, a trace of hostility present in her tone.

  “Not a thing in there,” Nio whispered, ignoring her comment. “Purchase orders and such, couple of computers that looked like they were bought used in the 80’s.”

  “Hmm,” Iggy said, nodding. “Time to check door number two.”

  With one last glance in either direction, she pushed away from the building and ran in a crouch for its twin, Nio behind her. They reached it at the same time, huddling low in the shadows along the far side and peering out into the night for any signs of life.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Nio asked. “I’ll go again.”

  “You think you’re the only one that can climb through a window into an empty building?”

  “It wasn’t quite that easy,” Nio said, his mouth drawn into a tight line.

  “Actually it was, even if you were sweating like a pig when you got done.”

  “Just go already,” Nio conceded, his sister’s perpetual jabs beginning to wear thin. “I’ll stand watch.”

  Iggy smirked at her victory and slid past Nio to the front of the building. Both windows appeared shut tight from the outside and as she passed the door, she gave the handle a cursory twist to make sure it was locked.

  To her surprise, it turned without protest.

  “Nio,” she whispered. “The front door is open. I’m going in.”

  Nio craned his head around the corner to face her. “If the door’s unlocked there may be someone inside.”

  Pressing her ear to the door, Iggy paused and listened a moment before dropping low to peer beneath the doorjamb. “I don’t hear anything or see any lights.”

  “Still, be careful.”

  Holding the knob twisted completely to the side in her hand, Iggy slid inside and stood rooted on the front foyer. She pressed the door just short of closed and eased the knob back into neutral, remaining motionless as her eyes adjusted to the darkness inside.

  One door stood closed on either side of the hallway, the building silent.

  Her body temperature rose as she moved to her right and nudged the door open a couple of inches. Inside, the room was shrouded in darkness, shadows bouncing over a solid wooden desk and a couple of chairs.

  She didn’t bother to go inside.

  Pulling the door closed behind her, she shuffled three steps across the foyer and paused outside the opposite entry. She eased the door open and peered in to see a black desk along the far wall, a bank of video monitors mounted above it. On each of them were images from around the docks, ranging from empty concrete walkways to Thorn and another man making rounds.

  Over thirty screens in total.

  In the middle of the room, a black rolling desk chair sat empty, turned away from the wall. The smell of coffee and body odor filled the space, the room appearing deserted.

  Heart racing, Iggy held her breath and sidestepped into the room, going straight for the desk. She avoided the chair as she positioned herself in front of the monitors, studying the images on them as the door swung closed behind her, freezing her in place.

  Before she could react, or make a movement of any kind, a pair of thick arms wrapped around her, squeezing her tight against a barrel chest.

  “Well, now, isn’t this a treat?” a thick Boston accent wheezed in her ear, breath rancid on her cheek. “Not every night a tasty young lass walks in to see me.”

  “I’m here to see you, am I?” Iggy asked, writhing her body, trying to force some crack of space between them.

  Stamping down hard with her right foot, the heel of her shoe connected with the man’s toes, loosening his grip. Using the tiny opening, she jammed her left elbow into his solar plexus, forcing out a pained gasp as for the briefest of moments his grip relaxed.

  In that instant Iggy turned for the door, making it just a step and half before the stony grip returned, lifting her from the ground and tossing her backwards into the chair. Several vertebrae in her back popped as she landed with a thud, her force pushing the chair across the room and slamming it back into the desk.

  “You’re a feisty little bitch, aren’t you?” the man asked, rubbing the back of his fist along his chin. For the first time Iggy could see that he was just a few inches taller than her but almost a foot wider. A square head with auburn curls sat atop even shoulders and a heavy splash of whiskers covered most of his face.

  In a rare bit of propriety, she bit back the venomous words on her tongue as she stared at him.

  “See that monitor right there?” the man said, nodding with his forehead. “It feeds in from a camera over the front door. I saw you the entire time. All I had to do was sit here and pray you’d be dumb enough to step inside.”

  The thought of Nio outside came to mind and Iggy eased the chair to the left, hoping to block the corresponding camera, or at the very least distract the man from noticing it. She wasn’t sure how long it would be before he came looking for her, but didn’t want the man to notice when he did.

  A look of mild amusement spread across her captor’s face as he watched her, oblivious to what she was trying to do. “You think there’s a way out over there, do you?”

  Iggy glanced to her left, allowing the fear she felt to show on her features. “Isn’t there?”

  The man smiled and began unbuckling his belt. “There’s only one way you’re walking out of here, if you’re able to walk at all.”

  The man slid off his belt and dropped it to the ground, the heavy buckle making a clatter as it bounced off the floorboards. One step at a time he sauntered towards her, his tongue sliding out over his bottom lip as he sized her up.

  Halfway across the room his journey came to an abrupt end as a dark blur swung up between his legs, connecting with the soft tissue of his groin. A single moan escaped his lips as his eyes rolled back in his head, his body crumpling to the floor.

  Replacing him in Iggy’s sightline was Nio staring down at him, a look of pure acrimony on his face. “You okay?”

  Pushing herself up from the chair, Iggy swung her right foot at the man, catching him across the cheek, his inert form rolling over onto his side. “Thank God you didn’t wait any longer.”

  Exasperation spread across Nio’s features. “A shout out would have sped things along you know.”

  “A shout out would have given away your position.”

  Nio opened his mouth to respond, but closed it. He knew better than to argue. “You get the footage we need. I’ll tie this guy up.”

  Iggy pulled the chair over in front of the computer as Nio took the belt up from the floor. He wrapped it around the man’s wrists, then pulled them back behind him and looped it over his left foot.

  When he was done, the man resembled a misshapen pretzel.

  A quick pat down revealed him to be carrying a.38 revolver and a folding pocketknife, Nio taking them both and depositing them on the desk. When he was done he left the man lying inert on the floor, turning his attention to the computer.

  Resting an arm on the back of the chair, Nio leaned in close, watching as Iggy worked the cursor across the screen. “Any luck?”

  “Maybe,” Iggy said, her voice detached. As she did so, she clicked on a folder icon, a list of files spreading open before them. Labeled by date, they started less than a week before, running through the first part of June.

  Running down the list, Iggy clicked on 6/13, a list of over thirty numbers, all ordered sequentially, springing forth.

  “What the hell?” Nio said.

  “Camera numbers, maybe?” Iggy offered. She motioned towards the monitors above them with a wave of her left hand. “Any idea where we were last night?”

  Folding his arms across his chest, Nio stepped to the side, examining the bank of screens. Without the benefit of color and void of life, they al
l looked much the same.

  “Not really,” Nio said. “Try 13 or 22. Both have a crane. That’s about the only thing I can remember. You’ve been all over the docks for days now, anything look familiar?”

  “At this point it all kind of looks familiar,” Iggy replied, clicking on number 22 to open the file.

  A moment later a media player came to life, a time stamp in the corner. Using the mouse, she sped the video feed to 11:30. There were no signs of life as she pushed the dial further to the right, watching everything in fast forward.

  Nothing but concrete and containers stared back at them.

  “Strike one,” she said and closed the file.

  “Try 13,” Nio suggested.

  Behind them, the man groaned, his voice labored, bits of consciousness finding their way back in. Without pause Nio picked up the .38 and swung it downward, striking the man across the back of the head with the butt of the gun. The man’s head bounced off the floor as his body fell slack, a trickle of blood running down from his ear onto the wooden floor.

  Iggy raised her eyebrows as she turned back to the computer. “Nice shot. Didn’t see that one coming.”

  Nio dropped the gun back down, a smear of blood hitting the desktop. “I find myself in a bit of a bad mood these days.”

  Iggy nodded and scrolled along the footage for camera 13. She moved the cursor several times along the play bar for the camera, but each time found nothing but static. “Must be broken. Any others catch your eye?”

  Nio glanced up at the monitors before shifting his attention back to the screen. “Or it was knocked out?”

  Dragging the scroll tab back to the left, Iggy moved slowly, drawing in a sharp breath of air as the static disintegrated, a camera view coming into focus. “Here we go.”

  The screen was almost identical to the previous camera, nothing more than a grainy black-and-white picture of concrete and shipping containers. Halfway through, a pair of men in black skirted across the screen, their movements quick and precise, not once looking around for any sign of others. A moment later a third man came into view, wearing a fedora and carrying a gun with an elongated barrel. With measured steps, he strode into the field of vision and raised his gun towards the camera.

  The last thing the video caught was a muzzle flash before cutting away to static.

  “Not a whole lot to work with,” Nio said, glancing down to see that no more than a minute and a half had passed in total.

  Sliding open the top desk drawer, Iggy rifled around until finding what she was looking for and removing a blank CD. Jamming it into the CD-ROM port, she set the file to copy.

  “No, but it’s something.”

  When the burn was complete, Iggy pulled the CD out and went into the file for the current day. Looking up at the wall, she determined which camera was positioned above the door before deleting the entry for the entire night.

  “How far back do they go?” Nio asked.

  “Just a few days,” Iggy replied, shaking her head. “They must have put them in after Papi went down.”

  Silence fell for a moment, neither wanting to put to words what they both feared.

  “We’re done here,” Nio finally whispered, his voice low. “Let’s go.”

  “What should we do with him?” Iggy asked, glancing at their bound captive on the floor.

  “Leave him,” Nio said. “He never saw me and should have a hell of a time explaining how one girl kicked his ass and tied him up.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Luis Cardoza swirled the dark brown liquid around the bottom of his tumbler before sipping the aged Irish whiskey he’d been given while waiting for Billy Turner. Smacking his lips, he set the glass down on the table in front of him and leaned back against the soft leather sofa he was seated on, twisting his head at the neck to survey the room around him.

  While it was not sparse, it had a definite utilitarian feel to it. The furniture was well made and very comfortable, but not concerned with aesthetics. The rug on the floor employed a single solid color and the paintings on the wall were from unnamed artists featuring various Irish landscapes.

  The room, from its muted tones to its purpose-driven pieces, confirmed everything he knew about his colleague.

  On cue, a side door opened and Turner entered. Despite the late hour he still wore a sport coat and slacks, extending his hand to Cardoza as he approached. Cardoza stood and returned the gesture before both men settled into seats across from one another.

  “Welcome to my home, Luis. I apologize for keeping you waiting,” Turner opened.

  “Not at all,” Cardoza replied, waving a hand in front of him. “I apologize for coming unannounced, even more so for coming so late.”

  “Quite alright,” Turned replied. “I told you all when we began working together that my door was always open no matter the hour.”

  Luis nodded and said, “Please know I meant no disrespect to your family in coming by. Something hasn’t been sitting well with me and I wished to speak with you about it.”

  “As in, not in front of the others?” Turner asked, his mouth drawing tighter.

  “When put that way, it makes it sound like I am here to accuse you of something, which I am not. I am here to try and make sense of things and you seemed the most logical to speak with.”

  The apprehension remained on Turner’s face a long moment before receding with a nod. His jaw unclenched itself a bit, his fingers relaxing back from flexed talons. “I appreciate you coming to speak with me. Given the circumstances, it would be easy to start second guessing each other.”

  Cardoza took another nip of the whiskey, the warm liquid sliding down his gullet. “What happened last night?”

  There was much more he could have added, many more aspects of the previous evening he would like clarified, but left things intentionally vague. Each man in their operation was already well acquainted with what occurred, there was no need to belabor it.

  “My men and I have spent the day doing everything we can to answer that question,” Turner said. “Thus far, we know that yesterday your container arrived on time and was unloaded. It sat on the end of the pier through the evening and at around 11:30 at least three men made their way onto the dock. They accessed our loading crane and used it to lift the container from where it rested and drop it into the water.

  “The two men on shift were at the far end of the dock on their normal patrol, making us believe that whoever these people were knew our rotation schedule. Our men moved in on them as soon as the crane kicked on, responding in less than two minutes. One went for the operator of the crane and the other went into the water after the container. We know he was able to wrench the door open and several people got back to shore, but how many or where they are now we can’t be certain.”

  Cardoza nodded and swirled the whiskey for several moments, processing the information. “Were your men able to get a good look at anyone?”

  Turner opened the left flap of his jacket, extracting a photograph from it and sliding it across the table to Cardoza. “We were able to pull this image from our surveillance cameras just before they were shot out.”

  Cardoza picked up the photograph and studied it. The picture was a color print, though almost entirely in muted shades. The lone man in it was dressed in black, a fedora pulled down over most of his features, blocking a good portion and blanketing even more in shadow.

  At best, a quarter of his face remained visible.

  “Have you been able to identify him yet?”

  Turner shook his head. “No, not yet. We’re circulating copies and asking everybody that’s anybody if they recognize him, but as you can see, we don’t have a lot to go on.”

  Cardoza studied the picture and said, “May I keep this?”

  “I have a stack of copies for you should you wish to distribute them through your own channels.”

  “Thank you, I will do that.” Cardoza studied the picture a moment longer and said, “This man of yours that was able to op
en the container, who is he?”

  “His name is Robert Myers, a recent hire of ours.”

  “He has done me a great service. I would like to meet him.”

  “I can arrange that for you,” Turner said.

  Cardoza nodded. “I have a matter of business I would like to discuss with the both of you. How does two days from now sound?”

  “Right here, say nine o’clock?” Turner asked.

  Again Cardoza waved a hand in front of himself. “Thank you for the invitation, but I wouldn’t dream of intruding on your home again. Allow me to treat you both to dinner. How does eight o’clock at my restaurant, La Rosa Negra, sound?”

  “We’ll be there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mini-cooler in hand, Thorn walked away from the docks and towards the employee parking lot cradled in the far back corner of the grounds, thankful his second night on the job had been better than the first. One of just a small handful of employees working the graveyard shift, he walked alone towards his Explorer tucked along the back row. Scads of day workers passed him in the opposite direction, none paying him any mind.

  “Not even going to stop and say hello?”

  The voice was recognizable in an instant, drawing Thorn’s gaze up from the ground at his feet, pulling him from his thoughts. His face remained neutral as he found its owner sitting on a bench along the chain-link fence encompassing the lot, her brother by her side.

  Thorn waited until he’d covered the ground between them before saying anything, his face still betraying no outward response. “Come down here to watch the boats again did you?”

  A rising of the eyebrows was Iggy’s only response, a non-verbal cue that she understood but didn’t necessarily find the humor in his comment.

  Pushing himself to a standing position, Nio extracted a clear plastic case from the side pocket on his cargo shorts, holding it by the bottom corner with his thumb and forefinger. “I know you haven’t been to bed yet, so we’ll keep this short.”