“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Cartwright asked.
“If you mean terrorists crossed the ocean in this thing? Then yeah. We’re on the same page.”
Smuggling in terrorists via shipping containers had been happening for years. This container was different. The elaborate interior said whoever entered the U.S. in this box had to be higher up in the terrorist food chain, as the place was totally tricked out.
“They had to spend weeks in this box.” Cartwright stared in awe. “Crazy.”
Evan ran his flashlight over the exterior, looking for anything unusual. “There has to be some sort of generator or maybe solar panels to run the electronics we saw inside.”
Cartwright shook his head. “Panels would draw attention in the move.”
Despite the agent’s comment, Evan’s intuition said he was right and they would find a source of power. Too bad he couldn’t see additional details, but the streetlight above barely broke through the fog now thick and heavy rolling in from Commencement Bay. “We need to light this place up.”
“ERT will bring lights.”
“We need booties and gloves to take a look around the inside.” Evan got out his keys and tossed them to a surprised Cartwright. “Grab some from my vehicle.”
He looked like he wanted to complain but then spun and stormed off.
Evan took a walk around the exterior of the container, feeling the walls for additional cutouts. He found several that he suspected were windows the stowaways opened for fresh air while at sea. Other than the potential windows, he found nothing unusual.
Cartwright returned with the gloves and booties and shoved them along with the keys into Evan’s hand.
“Thanks,” Evan said.
Cartwright scowled. “I’m not your lackey, you know.”
Evan didn’t bother responding. Cartwright was one of those agents who did the bare minimum to get by, and Evan had bitten back his response with the guy many times over the years. Tonight included.
Evan slipped into booties and gloves and entered the container. He shined his light over the box he estimated at eight feet wide by thirty feet long. He started for one of the two lofts suspended high in the space and climbed the ladder. On the floor he spotted a twin bed, the bedding a tangled mess, and a prayer rug lying next to it. He went to the other loft. Discovered similar items. He checked for clothing or personal belongings. Found nothing.
He glanced at Cartwright, who was standing at the door, apparently not interested enough to come inside. “Looks like two people traveled in here. They left a prayer rug behind. No clothing.”
“Male or female, do you think?”
Evan shrugged and came down the ladder. “Muslim faith wouldn’t allow an unmarried man and woman to travel unsupervised, so likely male. Unless we’re dealing with a married couple.”
“So not likely a woman,” Cartwright said
For once, Evan agreed with Cartwright. Not that females didn’t take up terrorist causes. They did and were becoming more common in terrorist organizations. Still, law enforcement knew nothing more about them other than they were less likely than men to be involved in planning or carrying out terrorist attacks. They were more apt to act behind the scenes in supporting roles. And if the gender roles held true here, Evan was looking for two men.
“There’s got to be a bathroom. Maybe with products to help us determine sex of the occupants.” Evan stepped through the kitchen to one of the back doors. He found a tiny bathroom with a composting toilet, the faint odor of bleach permeating the air. He opened the medicine cabinet where he spotted two toothbrushes and toothpaste. Nothing more. He looked in a tiny shower. Saw only a bar of soap.
“Nothing in here to suggest male or female.” He backed out and opened the other door to a large closet running nearly the width of the back wall. “Generator’s in here, along with a water tank and other controls.”
“So this threat is for real, and we have two terrorist stowaways.” Cartwright blew out a breath. “I’m gonna step outside and run this up the FBI flagpole.”
“We should start by informing Watson,” Evan said, knowing full well where Cartwright’s loyalties lay—with the FBI—and he would try to move this investigation out of the JTTF and under the FBI’s jurisdiction.
“Nah. Something this big? It’s every man’s agency for themselves right now.” Cartwright disappeared into the night.
Evan was appalled by the man’s lack of loyalty to the team he’d worked on for two years. Evan probably shouldn’t be surprised. This could be a career-making case where many agents would lose sight of whatteammeant. Evan had the career he wanted, and he was glad to share this investigation, but he did want to take lead. Run the investigation. Capture these men.
He stepped outside into soupy fog, inhaled the moist air laden with a fishy odor, and dialed Watson. He hated late-night phone calls, so Evan prepared himself for a testy response.
“This better be important, Bowers.” Watson didn’t disappoint.
“It is, sir.” Evan gave a quick recap of the night’s events.
