Lost(42)

It wasn’t a particularly large ship. I guessed it had about fifteen crew members. It wouldn’t have drawn my attention if I hadn’t noticed that one container; I’d seen enough containers to know they usually didn’t have air vents.

As we approached, I slipped on a blue FBI windbreaker and draped a police badge on a chain around my neck so there would be no confusion that I was a cop.

A muscle-bound fortyish Hispanic man wearing a shirt with the shipping company’s logo on it stepped onto the gangplank at the other end and walked forward. He raised his hand like a crossing guard and said, “The ship is not open to the public.” He held his crossing-guard pose for a few seconds to show off his massive biceps, then added, “Step back. They’re gonna unload.”

I stared at the man for a moment. “What about this windbreaker makes you think we’re part of the general public?” I asked. “And I don’t see the crane down here ready to unload anything.”

The man stood straight and flexed his chest muscles, a move a bouncer might make to intimidate someone. He said, “Look, pendejo, I don’t give a shit who you are. You ain’t coming on this ship.”

“Are you a member of the crew?”

“I’m a security officer for the shipping company. Move away from the gangplank. I’m not going to tell you again.”

“Listen, Paul Blart, Mall Cop, we just want to get a quick look at one container, then we’ll be on our way. It’ll take only a minute or two.”

The muscle-head was a couple of inches shorter than me, and clearly not used to having to look up at someone. He pointed at my FBI jacket and said, “Why do you have an FBI jacket but a City of Miami badge?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t in the mood to answer questions. I said, “I’m sorry to confuse you, but we’re coming aboard, and I mean right now.” I stepped onto the gangplank with Marie directly behind me. The man gave a few inches but didn’t get out of the way.

He said, “Don’t you need a warrant to search the ship?”

“Not for this. I have concerns about someone’s safety. It’s called exigent circumstances. And you’d be smart to step aside.”

“What are you, a lawyer?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. But this is police business and someone’s life might be in danger.” I began marching forward, Marie right behind me. It wasn’t until we reached the far side of the gangplank that the security officer offered any resistance. He braced himself at the end of the gangplank as if he thought his big chest and biceps would be enough to stop a determined cop who was six foot four and weighed 240 pounds.

He was wrong.





CHAPTER 61





ALL IT REALLY took was a slight body twist, just like a coach had taught me at the University of Miami. I quickly shifted everything to my left, and the security officer squirted past me. He fell face-first onto the gangplank. I never actually touched him. That was the best kind of confrontation.

I liked how Marie calmly stepped over the man without saying a word.

We wasted no time heading to the bow of the ship and the container with the air vents. I didn’t want to think about what it would’ve been like to cross the Atlantic in something like this. I was scared to see what was inside.

The security officer picked himself up and caught up to us. Like an angry little kid, he said, “I called my supervisor. Only Customs can come on the ship at any time. You’re not with Customs. That’s about the only police-agency ID you don’t have on you.”

I said, “Did you call your supervisor over to the ship? I’d like to speak with him or her.”

That brought the man up short. “No. She’s not on-site. But she said you don’t have permission to be on the ship.”

All I said was “Noted,” and we continued making our way to the bow of the ship.

Before we even reached the container, the thin sailor who I’d seen smoking a cigarette in front of it earlier turned to face me. He was wearing a faded red Def Leppard T-shirt with a frayed edge where the collar should have been. His laminated ID and port card were attached to his belt.

The man spoke to the security officer in English with a thick Dutch accent. “Hey, what’s this? The captain said no one was to come aboard until the crane was ready to start unloading.”

I pointed to the badge on my chest and said, “Police business. I’d like to look at this container more closely.”

The crew member said, “And I’d like to get a blow job from a Hooters waitress. Both of us are going to be disappointed.”

I scooted around the man, secretly hoping he’d make the mistake of putting his hands on me. I don’t know if it was my size or my official position that gave him a little bit of common sense, but all he did was follow me, complaining in my ear the whole way.

“We can’t open any of these containers,” he said. “They have special locks. You’re wasting your time. You’re wasting my time.”

Marie looked at the door and said, “This lock has been tampered with. It’s not even an official transport lock.”

I didn’t hesitate to pull a rescue tool off the wall. It looked like a thick crowbar with a pointy end.

Now the crewman stood directly between me and the door to the container. He looked serious. I hoped I wouldn’t have to fight him or, God forbid, go for my gun, although I would if he or the security officer drew a weapon.