He scanned the dock again, questioning the plan. “I honestly don’t like this approach.”
Cartwright scoffed. “What’s not to like? We have a warrant. We’re just slipping through the back door to keep from alerting port staff with questionable ethics. No way we’ll let them stand in our way and risk having the container moved before we reach it.”
“I get that.” Evan took a long pull of the fifty-degree air tinged with the smell of diesel. “But I like to complete my due diligence. Tonight that means one more sweep for potential threats before we go.”
“Well, I’m done. You coming or what?”
Evan chose theor what. Cartwright started to move, and Evan grabbed the guy’s ankle to pull him back down.
Evan glowered at Cartwright. “We go when I say we go and not until then.”
Cartwright didn’t respond, simply lifted his binoculars and pointed them at the container.
Evan did the same thing but kept his hearing tuned to Cartwright in case he moved again. Evan watched the guard drive his utility vehicle slowly past them. He was five minutes ahead of schedule, and he checked the area with a more thorough focus than he had on the past round. If Evan had let Cartwright move, they would’ve run right into this guard, resulting in an altercation Evan surely didn’t need tonight.
He kept his eyes pinned on the containers and waited five full minutes before shifting his focus back to Cartwright. “Okay, we go.”
Cartwright lowered his binoculars and lifted his radio to his mouth. “Making entry. Rendezvous at container.”
“I’m waiting,” the port’s night supervisor answered.
Cartwright dropped his binoculars and got to his feet. This cowboy didn’t know the meaning of restraint and control and could get himself killed. Evan wouldn’t mind if the guy learned a lesson, but Evan didn’t want him to die, and if Evan was going in, he was leading the way. He eased in front of Cartwright and slowed the guy’s approach.
Evan signaled for Cartwright to follow, and the agent fell in line behind Evan as if he were lead on the Joint Terrorism Task Force where they both currently served. JTTF leadership fell to ICE Special Agent Harley Watson, though Evan was in charge of this op.
He climbed the bank, inched toward the chain-link fence, and resisted shaking his head at the minimal security. A simple fence and occasional guard patrol were the only things standing between them and stacks and stacks of containers. Way too easy of a breach in Evan’s opinion.
He strapped his rifle over his back to climb the ladder and scale the fence. His tactical boots hit the ground, sounding like an explosion in the quiet.
Cartwright scrambled over the fence, and they lowered the ladder to the ground. Rifle outstretched, Evan signaled to move toward the long metal containers in rusty blues, greens, and oranges. He slipped between a row stacked four high and let out a breath for making it this far unseen. He crept down the dark row, the security lighting doing little to show the way. Unfortunately the light was too bright for NVGs, yet their path remained dark and uncertain.
At an open lane, he paused and listened. A motorized vehicle sounded nearby. The next guard detail. He held up his hand, warning Cartwright to hold.
Headlights swept over the area. Evan backed into the shadowsand held his breath. The vehicle passed. He waited two minutes and lifted his hand to signal their forward progress. He rushed across the lane and moved quickly along another bank of containers. Then another—and another, his back now slick with perspiration under his body armor.
He spotted a tall, stocky man standing near the next row, wearing a port security uniform and white hard hat. He held a walkie-talkie and clipboard.
Evan glanced at Cartwright. “Radio our contact. Let’s see if this guy picks up.”
Cartwright grabbed his device. “In view. Coast clear?”
The man lifted his radio. “Yes, but hurry before someone starts asking questions.”
“We’re right across the lane,” Cartwright said. “On the move.”
The dock supervisor started to turn, and Evan set off again, reaching the man before he could make a complete turn.
“ICE Agent Evan Bowers.” Evan displayed his credentials.
The supervisor shined a flashlight on the ID and nodded. “Tony Lopez. I’ll need the warrant you promised me.”
Evan produced the paperwork from his pocket.
Lopez snatched it as if grasping for a lifeline, shone his light on the papers, and flipped through the many pages. He gave a single nod and fixed the warrant to his clipboard. He set it on the concrete and picked up a pair of bolt cutters. “This container’s odd. Has a small side door. It has a less sturdy lock. Easier to cut. I’ll start with that one.”
He flicked on his headlamp and stepped around the side of the container. He hefted the bolt cutters in solid arms and made quick work of snapping the lock and opening the door. Looking proud of himself, he stood back.
Evan brushed past him to the entrance and swept the inside of the container with his flashlight. His mouth fell open. “What in the world?”
