Andrew Britton - The American

In the hunt for Jason March, he didn’t care to hand out odds of any kind.

Leaving the elevator, he walked toward Harper’s office and was admitted on arrival. He was surprised to see that Naomi was already there, waiting with the deputy director. She was immaculately turned out in a white suit jacket with a matching skirt that ended at midthigh. He was struck by her appearance until he thought of Katie and felt a small twinge of guilt.

“Good morning, Ryan,” Harper said. When he looked up, a strange little grin appeared on his face. “You’re right on time, believe it or not; I was just about to tell Naomi what’s happening. I’ve got you two booked on a 1:30 flight to Norfolk. The tickets are waiting at the airport, and I’ve made some arrangements for transportation when you get there.”

“Sounds good. Who are we meeting?”

“Adam North is your liaison on the ground. He’s DEA — the same guy who hooked onto this piece of information in the first place. They want to be kept up-to-date on this, probably so they can claim partial credit when you run March down.”

“If, John. If I run him down.”

The DDO gave a little smile. “I have a lot of faith in you, Ryan. In both of you,” he said, turning to look at Naomi. “Anyway, you’d better get moving, especially if you plan to check your weapon. That plane is leaving with or without you. Good luck, and keep me updated.”

Harper shook hands with them both. On their way out the door, Jonathan pulled Kealey back gently, whispering quiet words into his ear. “I want you to watch yourself with Elgin. I saw that thing in your face yesterday when I mentioned the rape part — The president is willing to break some rules, but there’s a limit to what he can overlook. You’re no good to me on suspension or in jail, Ryan. Just be careful, okay?”

Ryan nodded and they were out the door. He didn’t see the look that Naomi gave him. It was partially bemusement, but also understanding. She couldn’t help but revel in the knowledge that she wasn’t supposed to have. Lost in self-congratulation, she didn’t quite catch his question.

“Sorry, what was that?” she asked.

“Your arm. How is it?”

“Oh, it’s fine, thanks. By the way, that’s a nice shade you’re wearing,” she said with a smile.

It took him a second to catch on, but when he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, it came away smeared with Katie’s pink lip gloss. So that’s what Harper was grinning about, he thought with a rueful shake of his head.

They didn’t speak again until they got to the airport, but Ryan noticed that the little smirk never quite left Naomi’s face.

Less than three hours later they were on the ground at Norfolk International. Ryan had checked weapons on domestic and international flights many times before and knew how to fill out the paperwork, so there was not a substantial delay in retrieving his gun case. Soon they were moving through the automatic doors of the passenger terminal, stepping out into the cool autumn air. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. “Yeah, this is Kealey. We’re at the entrance for United. Okay, we’ll be waiting.”

“When was the last time you fired one of these?” he asked Naomi after turning off the phone. He tapped the small metal case with his left hand.

“I have no idea. It’s been a long time, though.”

“I’ll ask North to get you something.”

She was about to decline the offer, but then she remembered General Hale’s parting words: Whatever happens, don’t let March get his hands on you. Believe me, that’s the last thing you want. The memory sent another cold shiver running through her body.

It wasn’t long before a large black Suburban with government tags pulled up to the curb and the driver jumped out. “Hey, Adam North, DEA.”

“Ryan Kealey, and this is Naomi Kharmai. Good to meet you.”

North didn’t look like any law-enforcement agent Naomi had ever seen. He was huge; she guessed that he was well over 6' 4" and probably topped the scales at 270 pounds. He wore a black-leather jacket over a plain gray T-shirt and threadbare jeans. Her eyes moved down and noticed that his shoes were dirty Nike cross-trainers, scuffed and worn with age. The DEA agent caught her disapproval and grinned through a thick, unkempt beard.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” he said. “I’ve been trying to put these assholes away for three months, and it’s a little hard to blend in with a suit and tie.”

Ryan laughed as he tossed his little grip and Naomi’s huge suitcase into the back of the truck. He sat in the front with North while Kharmai climbed into the rear seat.

“So,” North said as he pulled away from the curb and into traffic, “where to begin?”

“First off, I want your opinion. What was it between Shakib and this Elgin guy? Was he moving in the explosives?”

“No, I don’t think so,” was the unexpected response. “Elgin’s responsibilities all lie on this side of the ocean, and I highly doubt he has any real connections to speak of. Part of his job is to check the bill of lading against the actual containers on the ship. I think what happened is that he came across something he wasn’t supposed to see, and he tried to make that work to his advantage. I would have to say he was successful, seeing as how he’s still alive.”

“Did you talk to the port authorities?” Naomi asked.

“I did, but only to get a grip on the loading and unloading procedures. If Elgin was trying to extort money from Shakib, then the people running the terminal aren’t going to have any knowledge of that anyway. Besides, I wanted to keep this information close to the vest. If Elgin gets word that people are asking questions, he’ll find a way to disappear. He’s not very bright, but he’s smart enough to know when to cut and run.”

“Tell me about Elgin’s job,” Ryan said. “What are his responsibilities? If he found something, how could that have happened?”

“Okay, when a ship comes into port, it’s issued a job number, a booking number, and the port of discharge. Elgin is responsible for assigning the job number, which in turn places the ship in a pre-assembly area. Basically, that determines when the cargo will be unloaded. Then a dock receipt is issued against the cargo, and responsibility of the load is transferred from the ship’s captain to the marine terminal.

“While the ship is waiting to be unloaded, the bill of lading is checked against the actual cargo. That’s our guy’s primary job, to supervise the walkthrough of the cargo hold. Right now, there are still no effective measures in place to check each container. It’s a huge problem for U.S. Customs because there is no way to verify the contents. Closed containers, which is basically every container aboard, are listed as S.T.C. That stands for ‘Said To Contain.’ The entire shipping industry is essentially run on the honor system. I mean, some of these ships can carry 7,000 twenty-foot containers. The amount of manpower that would be needed to check each one is completely unfeasible. It just can’t be done.”

“Then how would he run across illegal cargo?” Ryan asked.

Naomi spoke up from the rear seat. “If the container was damaged, then they would have the authority to open it and examine the contents, right?”

“Exactly.” North looked back at her with a surprised expression. He was genuinely impressed. “It took me forever to figure that out, but you’re right; that is the only way it could have happened. Indirectly, it was a huge break for us.”

“So from there, it was just a matter of locating the receiving party, which in this case was Michael Shakib. Well, this is just great,” Ryan said. A look of disgust came across his face. “This guy doesn’t have anything to tell us. All he did was blackmail Shakib.”