“I’m afraid that we hit a dead end, Tuff,” Vince said. He looked over to the nearby pallet and added, “I see that the replacement gym equipment has finally arrived.”
“I must be the only guy on this dock who knew absolutely nothing about this replacement gear,” said Algren, his frustration obvious. “My most recent cargo manifest shows no mention of any such machinery.”
Robert Hartwell overheard this comment while talking with the ship’s cargomaster and was quick to offer his apologies. “It looks like we’re going to have to take the blame for not getting you a copy of the last update, Special Agent. If you’d like, I can have one brought down from the ship’s security office, though you can rest assured that this equipment is fully authorized.”
“That’s all I need to know,” returned Algren, immediately beckoning the group of four Asians to join them.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Liu,” Hartwell said to the khaki clad male. “It’s good to see you again. I’d like you to meet Special Agent Vince Kellogg of the U. S. Secret Service.”
Vince noted the way the Asian’s eyes lit up with sudden interest upon learning his title, and a broad smile turned Liu’s mouth as they shook hands.
“As I said earlier, Mr. Liu is a part owner of the firm that runs our gym facilities on both the QE2 and three of our other cruise ships,” Hartwell said.
“Only on a contract basis,” Liu interjected humbly, in perfect English.
“And please, I’d be much more comfortable if all of you would call me by my first name, Dennis. Will you be joining us on the crossing, Special Agent Kellogg?”
Vince nodded that he would, knowing full well that Liu was once known as the most promising heir to Bruce Lee’s throne. He was now the so-called prince of chop-sockey, the unique, low-budget martial-arts films that were heavy in action but light in substance. Vince’s son had enrolled in his first karate class earlier in the year, and it was here that Joshua had discovered Liu’s films, which Vince had secretly come to enjoy himself. If he knew Joshua, he’d be much more impressed with a Dennis Liu autograph than those of all of the G-7 leaders combined!
“You must come and visit us down in the Gym,” Liu offered. “I can personally guarantee that you’ll get a full workout, with my daughter Kristin here leading our aerobics classes.”
Liu suddenly realized that he had yet to introduce her. As he did so, Kristin’s shy smile melted Vince’s heart, — and his thoughts remained centered on this ravishing, exotic young beauty as Dennis Liu went on to introduce his two coverall-clad associates. The tallest of the two was appropriately nicknamed Bear, while his wide-eyed associate answered to the name of Sunny.
While Sunny and Bear helped two cargo handlers with the backbreaking task of loading the gym equipment onto an empty pallet, Kristin proceeded through the loading dock’s metal detector and joined Vince, Hartwell, Tuff, and Doug Algren on the other side of the security checkpoint.
“I thought that Ms. Chang was supposed to be accompanying you?” offered a somewhat disappointed Hartwell.
“You need not worry, my friend,” Liu replied. “Much like myself, Monica wouldn’t miss this very special crossing for all the world.
Thank heavens that both of us weren’t busy filming, and were available as substitutes when we learned that our associates had fallen ill. Have you discovered the source of this sickness as yet?”
“We believe that the illness was caused by something they either ate or drank,” observed Hartwell. “Yet so far, we’ve been unable to determine exactly what it was.”
“Nor have I nor my coworkers’ doctors,” Liu said. Then he related the facts of his visit to the hospital where his coworkers were being treated.
A longshoreman in a forklift drove up to the loading dock at this point and lifted the equipment-filled pallet. Yet before it could be conveyed into the ship’s hold, its contents had to pass their own security check.
This arrived in the form of a uniformed Customs official and her good natured black Labrador named Montana.
The Lab curiously sniffed the wooden-slat base of the pallet before climbing up onto it. The gym equipment was anchored with bands of canvas strapping, and Montana had to awkwardly climb over this obstacle course to begin her work in earnest.
The first piece to pass Montana’s inspection was the rowing machine.
The Stair Master and the bicycles proved to be a bit more of a challenge. After sniffing the bases, Montana had to stand on her hind legs to inspect this gear’s upper portion.
It was while bracing her forepaws against the frame of one of the bikes that Montana scratched the handle’s black, glossy finish. This accident generated a passionate protest from Sunny. “Hey, watch it! That equipment’s brand-new and costs a fortune.”
Montana instinctively sensed that she was the cause of these angry words, and as her handler pulled her away to inspect the damages, the wail of sirens sounded from the street. Doug Algren’s two-way activated.
After the briefest of conversations, the special agent readily explained what the outside commotion was all about.
“The Italian motorcade has arrived.”
A group of burly cargo handlers emerged from the street entrance of the loading dock pushing carts filled with personal luggage. As the sirens finally faded, several news crews could be seen rushing toward the terminal’s main entryway.
Vince and his associates had a new situation on their hands when an overeager cameraman fell headfirst over one of the blue-and-white police sawhorses. Seconds later, the Italian prime minister’s party made its grand entrance to a blinding wall of flashing strobes.
The fallen cameraman remained on the ground unmoving, his prone body blocking the confused Italians’ progress. As the first Port Authority patrolman arrived to assist the unconscious journalist, the timid voice of the Customs inspector said, “I’m sorry about the scratches. Montana was just doing her job.”
“Don’t worry about it, miss,” advised Dennis Liu, who, along with his daughter, had been riveted on the chaotic scene unfolding at the terminal’s entrance.
“It appears that those scratches are the least of our problem,” added Robert Hartwell, who momentarily glanced away from the entryway and addressed the Customs agent. “I’ll take full responsibility for any damages. So, if it’s all right with you, we’d better allow our esteemed cargomaster to get this equipment aboard. Besides, it appears that you and Montana have your work cut out with all that newly arrived baggage.”
As the frazzled Customs agent gratefully scrawled her initials on the pallet’s clearance form, all eyes returned to the terminal. One of the Italians had managed to get into some sort of verbal altercation with a Port Authority official.
“Oh, hell!” cursed Algren. “I’d better get over there before we have a major international incident on our hands. If I don’t see you later, have a safe crossing, folks.”
“Thanks, Doug,” said Vince. “Good luck yourself.”
“And now the fun really begins,” offered Hartwell, who, along with Vince and Tuff, watched as Special Agent Algren rushed over to the crowd of onlookers that continued to gather at the terminal’s entrance.
7
It was late afternoon by the time Thomas Kellogg finally returned to his office at BATF headquarters on Massachusetts Avenue. The day had already been a full one, yet Thomas knew that his real work was only just beginning.
As expected, he found his desk filled with unopened mail, memos, and phone messages. Though he’d have to attend to these eventually, right now he had other priorities, and his first stop after the short visit to his desk was the explosives technology lab.