Two males jumped down from their mobile lab and two females got out of a black SUV. They went straight to the truck’s side door and opened it.
“Go time,” Cartwright said and, without a backward glance, bolted down the steps.
Evan followed. Not being with the FBI put him at a disadvantage here. No matter. He planned to do his best to direct this team’s evidence recovery efforts and joined them at their truck. Cartwright had introduced himself but hadn’t yet started dictating priorities.
“ICE Special Agent Evan Bowers.” Evan held out his credentials and looked at each member of the team, hoping the leader would step forward.
A short, wide male without a strand of hair on his head stuck out a pudgy hand. “Gerald Philips. I’ll be heading up our team.”
Evan shook hands. “As you can see, we’ve cordoned off the scene. Agent Cartwright and I had a quick look around inside. Wore gloves and booties. No one else has been in the container.”
Philips nodded. “We need full access to the container. Means the ones on top will have to be moved.”
Cartwright snapped his jacket, wrestling to gain control against the harsh port wind. “I’ll arrange to have them moved.”
Evan held up a hand. “That will require a crane, destroying the scene. Moving the top ones will have to wait until after the exterior is processed.”
Cartwright frowned but didn’t argue.
“We’ll start outside, work our way in, and I’ll let you know when to bring in that crane,” Philips said. “Any priorities inside?”
“Fingerprints,” Evan said before Cartwright could speak. “The container should be filled with them, unless the suspects wore gloves the entire trip, which is unlikely. I’d like the prints processed first in hopes of confirming ID and number of occupants.”
“You got it.” Philips gave a tight smile. “Anything else?”
“DNA,” Cartwright said.
DNA was also a priority. Evan got that, as it was another way to ID the terrorists. But running DNA samples would take days when fingerprints were much faster.
“Prints first,” Evan said, taking charge. “And then do your thing. Process the place top to bottom. Let me know if you have any questions.”
Philips turned to the others. “You heard him. Let’s get suited up and get the scene photos and sketches going so we can start printing the exterior of this monster of a thing.”
Evan’s phone rang, and seeing Watson’s name, he answered and stepped out of hearing range.
“Got the details back on the container,” Watson said withoutfanfare. “Originated in Mundra, India. Arrived in Tacoma four days ago.”
Evan made a mental note of the information so he could enter it in his phone’s notes app when he ended the call. “Odd that the container is still here after four days. I’ll talk to the port supervisor to see if there are orders to move or store it. If it’s scheduled to remain on-site, then our occupants might be planning a return trip in the same container.”
“True,ifwe’re not dealing with a suicide mission.”
“I gotta figure such nice accommodations means these guys aren’t flunkies who plan to wear a suicide vest.”
“Good point. The container was shipped via Golden Lion Shipping. They’re a reputable line.”
Interesting name.“I’ll research the company and the owner as soon as I can.”
“Get back to me on that and any forensic leads the minute they come in.” The call went dead.
Evan entered the information into his app and shoved his phone in his pocket as he climbed the steps of the command truck. He didn’t like being dependent on another agency for a command vehicle, but he had to admit the FBI had all the bells and whistles in here. A bank of monitors and cameras took up one wall, surveillance equipment and a command desk on the other. Plus televisions with computers, all with internet access, and secured phone lines were at their fingertips.
Evan sat at the main desk and called the port office. He’d been dealing with Jim Gadsden, the head of security, ever since Perez had reported the incident and Gadsden begrudgingly came into the port.
“Help you.” His cranky tone left no question about what he thought about having to report in on a weekend.
“I need to know if this container is supposed to be moved or stored here,” Evan said.
“We don’t store anything on-site.”
