They scurried from boat to boat along the shore, making their way to the far side where there were berthed tankers and product ships. Squinting up, the glitter of ships’ lights in the darkness pinching his vision, he eyed the source of the SOS.
“What are we doing?” Kasra asked, kneeling beside him.
“The white reefer,” he said with a nod, “someone was signaling from it.”
“The—are you sure? Wait, you know someone here?”
He shook his head, scanning the multistoried tower with the bridge and accommodations. “Stay here. I’m going to—”
“No.” Kasra grabbed his arm. Eyes wide, she looked at him in terror. “I go with you.”
Range took a knee. “I don’t know if it’s a trap. I can’t take you up there—”
“I amnotstaying behind. Anything could happen …”
It seemed too great a risk but they didn’t have time to argue. “Fine. Keep your hand on my back. Stay close and low.”
They made it up to the dock. Halfway down the platform, a guard had his back to them, smoking and chatting up someone. Hurrying forward in a crouch, Range stuck to the shadows as much as he could. He found the reefer’s gangway. A dozen paces up the roped plank, he saw a shadow move. Snapped up his Sig and aimed.
“Prefer Glocks myself,” a man said in English.
“I prefer whatever works.” He jutted his jaw. “Who are you?”
Feet thudded toward them, the man still fully in shadow.
Range’s veins iced. He’d made a mistake. This wasn’t help. It was an ambush. “Back,” he hissed to Kasra, forcing her to retreat.
“Canyon asked us to watch for you.”
The name stilled Range. Staring down his sights at the faceless shadow, he knew that a little research could tell anyone that Canyon was his brother. Weapon still trained on the shadow, he stood there, indecision screaming.
Voices came from the dock—a flurry of Urdu.
“Wire won’t be able to distract that guard indefinitely,” the man said quietly and turned. “Going topside. If you want a ride, follow me.” He moved onto the ship’s deck.
“They’re coming,” Kasra hissed.
Range started up the gangway, edging around the corner with his weapon. Nosing out. Then pulled Kasra from the gangway. On the open deck, lights from the dock and the ship itself bathed them and the upper refrigerated units in a stiff glow. Too much. They needed to get out of sight.
Kasra held a tentative hand on his back.
He spotted their welcomer hiking up the stairs to the tower. “C’mon.”
She stopped him. “You trust him?”
“No,” Range breathed. “But what alternatives do we have?” He listened for the guard below and heard him still talking. “Wait till he heads the other way, then we—”
Thuds sounded on the ramp. Two voices—one seemingly nervous, frustrated.
“On me!” Range bolted to the side. Dove between a line of refrigerated containers and sprinted toward the tower. Darted to the stairs and raced up.
“Here!” The voice belonged to their welcomer who now stood in an open door.
Range didn’t falter—they had no choice, but he wasn’t letting his guard down—and slid through the opening, circling around, and drew Kasra to his side.
“This way.” Welcomer hustled through narrow passage, then grabbed the stair rail, hiked his boots on and slid down to the next level. “Guard’s coming topside.”
Tempted to do the same and slide down, Range stayed with Kasra. When they had descended two more levels, voices from the ramp echoed above.
