Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(50)
“Don’t worry, we’ll find it.” They hurried back to the pickup and zipped through the gate as soon as the metal arm went up. Derek followed the Avalanche’s route and took a right.
No other vehicles in sight. Enormous cylindrical tanks lined the roadside. A row of lights to their left drew their attention to a long pier.
“Damn, that’s huge,” Elizabeth said, looking at the oil tanker moored at the dock.
“This channel’s about forty-five feet deep, so it can handle some of the biggest tankers.”
A pair of headlights swung into their path and zoomed toward them.
“It’s not him,” Elizabeth said as the vehicle closed in. It was a pickup, and as it pulled up alongside them, she saw the logo of a private security firm emblazoned on the door.
“Evenin’.” This guard was older, and his friendly greeting didn’t match the look in his eyes. “Hear you folks are looking for someone.”
Elizabeth slid out so she wouldn’t have to do the badge-flashing thing across the driver’s seat. The guard pulled over and cut the engine. In the relative quiet that followed, she listened but didn’t hear any other vehicles, only the high-pitched whine of some distant equipment.
The guard pulled out a Maglite and studied her ID.
“We’re looking for the driver of a black Avalanche that just pulled in here,” she said, “possibly driven by Matt Palicek.”
“What’s he wanted for?” he asked, casting a look in Derek’s direction.
“At the moment, just a few questions.” Elizabeth glanced around. “You see the vehicle anywhere?”
“Not tonight.”
“Any other exits besides the front?” Derek asked.
“There’s the two west.”
“I need you to call them,” Elizabeth said. “That vehicle needs to be detained if it tries to leave.”
The guard shifted a lump of chaw in his mouth and watched them skeptically. He ducked back inside his truck and got on his radio.
“Something’s wrong here,” Derek said.
Elizabeth looked around. The air smelled of saltwater and diesel. The dock was well lighted but not busy. Across the channel was a row of container ships. Giant steel cranes lined the shore behind them.
The guard slammed shut his door and trudged back over. “He already left. Southwest gate, ten minutes ago.”
Derek muttered a curse.
“Any idea what he was doing here?” She checked her watch. “At almost midnight on a Sunday?”
“One way to find out.” He crossed the road and led them to a low cinder-block building with a satellite dish mounted on the roof. It was a larger version of the gatehouse, with multiple computer terminals and about a half dozen video monitors. The sports section of a newspaper sat open on the counter beside a Dairy Queen cup that had been converted to a spittoon.
The guard jabbed a few keys, and several of the screens went black.
“You have a view of the docks?” Elizabeth asked.
A picture appeared on the monitor. It showed the entrance to the dock where the tanker was moored but not the road nearby. Another screen came to life and this one showed a wider angle, including not only the dock but also the road and the swampy area east of the pier.
“Here we go,” Derek said as the Avalanche moved into view on-screen and rolled to a stop.
“What’s he doing?” Elizabeth asked.
They watched. The Avalanche didn’t move. The driver with the cowboy hat craned his neck around and seemed to be looking for something.
“When did that tanker come in?” Elizabeth tapped the screen.
“Yesterday. It’s a domestic boat—Baltimore, I think. Scheduled to pull out in the morning.”
“She full?” Derek asked.
“To the top. Light sweet crude.”
“There!” Elizabeth pointed at the monitor. “What’s that?”
The guard hit a few keys and rewound the video.
Once again, she saw a shadow move toward the passenger side of the truck. Everyone leaned closer to the screen.
“He’s picking someone up,” Derek said.
The interior light flashed on briefly before the Avalanche moved out of view.
“Run it again,” Derek said.
“Wait.” Elizabeth pointed to the screen. “What’s that on the ground?”
The guard rewound the footage. Again, they watched a dark form move into camera range and approach the truck. The light went on for an instant, then the truck pulled away.
“That shadow on the ground there.” Elizabeth pointed. “That wasn’t there before. Is that . . . a puddle?”
“I’ll be damned.” The guard stared at the screen. “Is it blood?”
“Water.” Derek looked at Elizabeth. “Whoever he picked up, he came in from the drink.”
* * *
Derek strode out the door, and Elizabeth rushed after him. He crossed the gravel road and walked onto the pier.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I’m thinking someone linked to an Al Qaeda sleeper cell’s poking around this tanker in the middle of the night.”
The tanker stretched the length of two football fields and was tethered to the dock by thick lines secured to enormous steel cleats. Derek stopped and planted his hands on his hips as he studied the boat. Only minutes ago, someone had been in that water.