Unsafe Harbor (23 page)

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 still 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 trucker.

Shifting into gear, I applied the gas and drove the bobtail between the steel rows until I reached the perforated con
tainer. 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.

I picked them up and saw that a number of sites had been marked with red “X”s, while others were heavily circled. In addition, three oil and natural-gas pipelines had been scored, along with more than a dozen chemical plants.

I could barely control the shaking of my hands as the flashlight now illuminated a small sack that had been tossed in a corner. My breath came in short, sharp spurts as I quickly walked over.

I made sure my gloves were on tight and then, opening the plastic bag, began to rummage around.

Some sort of blueprints were inside. I removed them to find they were of four large chemical plants nearby. If they’d been picked as targets, their assailants couldn’t have chosen more wisely.

A major campaign contributor, the chemical industry had fought vigorously against much-needed safeguards over the past few years. They’d achieved their goal—thwarting Congress from passing laws that would make their plants more secure and, in the process, cost them more money.

The bag held a few other surprises as well.

I pulled out airport security badges, an airline mechanic’s certificate, and Port Newark identification cards. I stared blankly at the ID passes, wondering why they didn’t look familiar. Then it slowly began to sink in.

Homeland Security had talked about issuing them ever since the World Trade Center attack in 2001. Only it had never been done. The ID cards were obviously fake. The problem was, how many civilian employees at the seaport were even aware of that? If not, the bearers could easily pass through into secure and sensitive areas.

I stuffed everything back in the sack, knowing that it must have been left behind by mistake.

Were the former stowaways in this container actually terrorists? The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. If illegal immigrants knew this was an easy way into the country, then surely Al Qaeda had figured it out by now.

Another of these containers could very well hold enough ammonium nitrate to create a blast twenty times as strong as that which had rocked Oklahoma City. The only thing needed would be a truck to haul the unit to its intended destination.

Terrorists could easily have bribed an exporter to turn a blind eye while chemical and biological weapons were packed in a crate and slipped in a unit on a cargo ship bound for the United States. If so, it might be hidden among one of the containers sitting on the pier right now. My heart began to race as I realized the implications of what I had just found.

The sum of all fears was a “nuke-in-a-box.” Should such a device arrive at a U.S. port, it would already be too late. Perhaps that’s what Santou had been pursuing during all his hours of working overtime.

I quickly squeezed out of the corrugated box and climbed off the truck, knowing that it was urgent I call him.

M
y hand frantically searched for my cell phone while I raced between the rows of containers. What in the hell had I done with it, anyway?

Damn! That’s when I remembered. I’d left my phone, and my gun, inside Vinnie’s Escalade. I slowed down, knowing that nothing could be done until Bertucci returned. That is, unless I managed to find a way out of this maze and get to the guard at the gate.

Of course! I’d simply commandeer the bobtail truck. But first, I had to make certain that Vinnie wasn’t already sitting here waiting for me.

I rounded a corner and nearly collided with George Leung. He seemed startled to see me, too. Only he was the one with a gun. I stared in horror as he motioned to someone behind him.

A thug materialized and came swiftly trotting toward me. The guy could have been straight out of a bad martial arts film, complete with a cigarette bobbing in his mouth like a drunken firefly.

Even Vinnie would have told this mook to update his look,
I thought, as he deftly started to frisk me.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” I protested, having been caught completely off guard.

But Leung’s expression stopped me cold.

“The question is, what are
you
doing, Agent Porter? I see you’ve been looking through my goods,” he said, pointing to all the opened boxes scattered around him. “Were you able to find whatever it was you were searching for?”

I don’t know which stunned me more—the fact that Leung knew my name, or that his bodyguard proceeded to roughly push me down on my knees. My body still hurt from where I’d been kicked the day before, and snow began to seep into my clothes as cigarette smoke curled noxiously about me.

Leung’s guard removed the cigarette from his lips and flicked the butt at my face as he walked away. It hit my cheek and fell into the snow.

An empty pack of Marlboros had been tossed in the alley where I’d lain. Could this man possibly have been one of my attackers? Only that didn’t make sense. For one thing, I hadn’t yet met Leung.

“I had a feeling you would show up at the port tonight,” Leung continued, as though we were casually chatting at a party.

Things were happening too fast for me to process them properly. Or maybe I’d just grown sluggish from the cold. But I asked the one question that raced through my brain.

“How did you learn my name?” I inquired, and nervously bit my lips.

“Mr. Giamonte told me,” he amiably replied. “It’s amazing what one can learn when a little pressure is applied. I thought it strange that he didn’t attend our meeting after having gone to so much trouble to set it up. I decided to find out why.”

Leung had said nothing yet about his son. I took that as a good sign. Perhaps he still hadn’t made the connection. I could only pray that was the case. Otherwise, what was about to take place would surely be an execution.

It was as if Leung had read my mind.

“Now remove your jacket and gloves, and place your hands on top of your head,” he ordered.

My only hope was to keep him talking until I thought of a way to escape. Or, until Vinnie arrived. Bertucci was turning into a regular savior. He was the one chance I had of getting out of this mess alive.

“This all began with Bitsy von Falken’s death. I need to know. Were you responsible for her murder?” I asked, while doing as I was told.

The cold gleefully wrapped itself around me, tight as a shroud.

Leung grudgingly nodded. “Yes. That was done as a necessary favor.”

“A favor for whom?” I questioned, placing my weight first on one knee until the pain became too great, and then shifting it to the other. Nothing could fight the wet chill that had taken hold of my flesh and worked its way into my bones.

“Why all these questions, Agent Porter?” he asked, hitting my name with undue emphasis. “Do you really think that knowing the answers will somehow alter your fate?”

“You have me at a disadvantage. You know each step that led up to this point. You’re the one in total control. It may not change anything, but I’d still like to know,” I replied, hoping to appeal to his ego.

“I believe you said something very much like that when we first met. I had the advantage over you then, also,” Leung mysteriously responded, as though he were the Cheshire cat. “But since you ask, the favor was done for her husband. He and his mistress, Tiffany Stewart, have been selling me black-market diamonds. Only von Falken put that in jeopardy when he stupidly stole money from his company. His
wife found out, and threatened to call the police after learning of their affair. I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

So that’s why Jake didn’t want me snooping around the Diamond District, or questioning Tiffany. Then another realization hit. It also meant Santou must have known that Leung was in New York and decided not to tell me. Instead, he’d protected his case by trying to make sure that I didn’t start one of my own.

“Gavin’s arrest wouldn’t have been good for business. And who knows where it might have led? Bitsy von Falken signed her own death warrant by threatening to turn him in. I merely eliminated a potential problem,” Leung explained.

I thought I heard a sound and involuntarily flinched. Leung noted my reaction and instinctively followed my gaze.

Oh, please don’t let that be Vinnie,
I prayed.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to come. I just preferred that he do it without his headlights blazing, and the radio on, so as not to give Leung, and his bodyguard, any advance warning.

“Feeling a bit jumpy, Agent Porter?” Leung asked. “It’s certainly understandable in your case.”

I’d heard stories about Leung’s sadistic streak in the past. Some I now tried to forget.

“Black-market diamonds? Then that’s how you launder all the money you make from shahtoosh and ivory,” I said, attempting to pick the conversation back up where we’d left off.

More than anything, it was imperative that I keep him talking.

“Exactly. And since diamonds have no certificate of origin, I’m able to buy them low and sell high. It’s a win-win proposition all the way around,” he boasted.

Though I tried to block it out, there was no escaping the question that continued to haunt me.

“Why were Bitsy von Falken’s eyes and mouth sewn
shut?” I asked, unable to rid myself of the gruesome image.

Bitsy von Falken and the African doll coalesced in a macabre dance of death in my mind, their herky jerky movements controlled by Leung, as they vainly struggled to open their eyes.

Leung looked at me in amusement.

“A tailor shop is the front for my new factory. The gesture seemed ironic. It serves as a warning of what happens to those who don’t mind their own business. Having one’s eyes and mouth sewn shut instills a certain amount of fear in people. Wouldn’t you say?” he asked, his voice insinuating itself inside me. “You can’t see. You can’t speak. And though you’re alive, you might as well already be dead. In essence, your body has become your own coffin. Can you imagine how that must feel?”

My teeth chattered and my body began to shake, gripped by fear and the subzero cold.

“Mr. Giamonte will be found in the same manner. And, no doubt, the police will set off in search of a serial killer. Who would ever suspect an elderly, mild-mannered tailor?” Leung mused, with a note of satisfaction.

My back had begun to ache, and I could no longer sit up straight. I was tempted to tell Leung to carry out his plans and just get it the hell over.

Don’t be a fool. You still have time,
a voice inside me urged.

Time for what?
I wanted to scream, though I wisely held my tongue.

Instead, I asked the most important question of all; one for which I felt certain I already knew the answer.

“What about Magda?”

Leung raised a pair of barely discernable eyebrows and looked momentarily puzzled. Then his face relaxed.

“Ah, you must mean the woman that witnessed Mrs. von
Falken’s body being discarded. Why? Was she a friend of yours?” he asked, sounding briefly intrigued.

I nodded while digging my fingernails into my palms. The skin had grown so numb that I could barely feel them.

“Don’t worry. I did nothing so dramatic to her. We merely blocked the doorway of her truck and set the vehicle on fire,” he revealed. “Obviously she couldn’t remain alive.”

His callous response sent chills rushing through me that were far worse than those produced by the arctic air. My body began to sway and I felt lightheaded.

You’ve got to keep talking,
I reminded myself.

Even trying to think was becoming an effort.

“Do you know who’s supplying von Falken and Tiffany Stewart with those diamonds you’re buying, and how the money’s being used?” I asked, mildly curious if Leung realized that he might be funding terrorists.

“Not really. Nor do I care,” he matter-of-factly responded. “There are rumors, of course. But I believe in following my own advice. It’s none of my concern. Now it’s my turn to ask
you
a question.”

Leung brought his gun to my head, so that its mouth pressed into my flesh. I felt my soul being wrenched from its shell and sucked deep down inside the barrel.

“Why did you kill my son?” he asked.

And, for the first time, his voice was filled with emotion.

So he does know who I am.

I slowly raised my eyes to meet his, knowing that we’d finally reached the endgame.

“Because I was left with no other choice. It was his life or mine,” I responded, the words turning sluggish in my mouth.

“Then you know exactly how I feel. You’re getting off easier than you deserve, Agent Porter,” he replied. “You’re a
lucky woman. I have no thread with me tonight, but you’re still going to die.”

I closed my eyes, aware that Leung had already begun to squeeze the trigger.

Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
I whispered to myself, just as I had as a child.

BOOM!

The blast resounded like a cannon shot in my head.

Only, I was still on my knees, alive.

“Throw your gun down, Leung!” Vinnie called out.

My eyes immediately flew open.

Leung’s bodyguard lay on the ground near Bertucci’s feet. However, rather than drop his weapon, Leung spun around and fired at the intruder.

I heard a grunt, and caught Vinnie’s look of surprise as the gun flew from his hand. It was as though the world had come to an end as Bertucci began to fall.

“No!” I screamed aloud.

Leung quickly turned back, his gun pointed at me, and I knew I’d used up all my nine lives. Perhaps I deserved to die. I’d thoughtlessly removed my gun and, because of that, Vinnie had paid the ultimate price.

My body was ready to cave. It was my mind that refused to give in.

For chrissakes, you’ve got to do something!
my inner voice shrieked.

Do what?
I wanted to cry.

My heart beat so wildly, it felt as though I was about to be torn apart. At the same time, my breath came in short, shallow gasps. With Vinnie gone, everything moved in slow motion. There seemed no question that all hope was lost.

The next moment, I miraculously heard his voice again.

“Hey, Leung. Did you know that your son cried like a little
baby as I held him over the railing to feed to the sharks? He begged like the spineless coward he was,” Vinnie taunted.

Leung swirled to face him.

“You son of a bitch. Now I know who you are,” he furiously spat, and moved to where Bertucci lay sprawled on the ground.

Get up! Get up! Get up!
my mind screamed, giving my body a verbal kick in the ass.

No way would I ever find Vinnie’s gun buried in the snow in the short amount of time that was left. Instead, I scrambled to my hands and knees, forcing my legs to move, even though they vehemently protested.

I stumbled onto my feet and, summoning every ounce of will, began to lurch toward Leung’s container.

“He was a weakling. That’s the kind of son that you had,” I heard Vinnie spew with manic laughter.

Every muscle, every ligament shrieked, wanting to go back to sleep, as I pulled myself up on the metal crossbars and reached inside the container. My hand grabbed on to one of the spears that lay on the floor, knowing there wasn’t a moment to lose.

I looked back just as Leung reached Bertucci and aimed his gun straight at him.

“Beg for your life as you made my son do,” he demanded in a strident voice

“Like hell I will,” Vinnie responded with a growl.

“In that case, your death will be slow and painful,” Leung calmly retorted.

Then Vinnie screamed as the gun went off.

I only hoped that his cry, and the snow, muffled the sound of my feet as I jumped back down and quickly headed toward them.

Run faster!
I implored my legs.

But they were as weak as two wornout rubber bands.

And then I saw Leung aim his gun again. Only this time, it was pointed directly at Vinnie’s face.

I could no longer wait. It was now or never.

I pulled back my arm, took a breath, and swiftly threw the spear. The moment froze as the shaft silently flew from my hand and hurtled through space.

That was followed by a sickening thud as the spear found its mark, and Leung was impaled in the back.

Maybe Vinnie’s still alive,
I tried to convince myself.

Until Leung’s gun went off again.

Bertucci struggled to move, but he wasn’t fast enough, and the bullet caught him in the face.

All my resolve dissipated as I sank to the ground, overcome by nausea, as the snow turned to a crimson pool of blood.

The last sound I heard was the operatic rumble of ships unloading in a haunting lullaby, accompanied by the growing swell of sirens, as I closed my eyes and gladly succumbed to the beckoning night.