Two berths of 350 meters each and alongside depth of 16 meters.
Four 40-ton capacity post-Panamax gantry cranes available.
Container yard covering 35 hectares and 2,500 ground slots to accommodate more than 10,000 TEUs (twenty-foot equivalent units — an acronym for the standard capacity of an intermodal container) and 252 reefer outlets.
4,700 square meter container freight station, consolidation shed, offices, independent power station, desalination plant, workshops, and water treatment plant.
All of that was well and good, he thought. But where the hell were they taking the missiles, if they were unloading them at all?
‘Okay, guys, showtime,’ said Kozak as the big cranes got to work, and the cargo containers began to come off the ship.
30K and Kozak were joined on the roof by Ross, Pepper and the old man Oliver, and Kozak sent the drone’s video out to their Cross-Coms.
‘I guess I have to ask. There’s a war going on, and port operations continue?’ Ross said to Oliver.
The old man looked amused. ‘Of course. Everyone still wants to get paid.’
After about twenty minutes of the most boring footage known to mankind, with 30K forcing himself to keep his eyes open, Kozak broke the silence with a sudden and urgent, ‘There it is.’
Container 11132001 was lifted off the ship and transferred to the back of a tractor-trailer. The driver, a burly man at least six foot five, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and heavily tattooed, spoke briefly with several workers on the dock, signed off on a few papers, then climbed in his cab and drove away.
Kozak made sure to capture some excellent close-up images of the man –
Who didn’t drive very far. Just five hundred meters to the back of the container freight station, where he pulled directly into an unmarked warehouse.
‘Who owns that warehouse?’ Ross asked Oliver.
‘I’ll get that to you immediately.’ The old man headed to the stairwell door.
‘So maybe this is it,’ said Kozak. ‘The rockets are for the South Yemen Movement, and the trail ends here.’
Oliver stopped and turned back. ‘No, the trail does not end here, sir. Hamid has nothing to do with what’s happening in Yemen.’
‘They’ve got you pretty dialed in, huh?’ 30K asked.
The old man took a step toward them. ‘Sir, I’ve been working for the CIA for over thirty years. Yes, I’m pretty dialed in, as you say.’
‘I thought Naseem was our contact here, and you just worked for him,’ said Ross.
‘Naseem worked for me.’
‘Why do you people have such a problem with the truth?’ Pepper asked.
‘Our business is finding the truth. We have no problem with that. We’re actually rather good at it. Unfortunately, it’s the people who make things rather complicated.’
Ross stepped between Pepper and the old man. ‘All right. What do you think?’
‘They’re waiting to move the missiles again. Ground, ship, or air, who knows, but if they wait, we wait.’
‘Agreed. Pepper, get the second drone on that warehouse. They won’t make a move without us knowing about it.’
‘And I’ll you get you the information on that warehouse, though I suspect it won’t matter much,’ said Oliver.
Fifteen minutes later, Ross was down at Oliver’s computer station and leaning over the old man’s shoulder to scan the intel he’d gathered. The warehouse belonged to the Al-Monsoob Commercial Group and was part of their general shipping and storage operations that they provided to more than thirty client corporations. There was nothing obvious or immediate to indicate that the owners had ties to the FARC or Bedayat jadeda, and the link could simply involve a small collection of employees who had been bribed into looking the other way while they ‘sat’ on a very ‘special’ container until it was shipped out again.
Kozak flew the drone dangerously close to the warehouse to report only two doors, no windows and a few small vehicles parked outside, their tags run, registrations matched up to employees of Al-Monsoob, none of them fitting the description of the tractor-trailer driver who had picked up the container.
Oliver let them crash on his recliner and sofa, and they rotated in pairs on watch, with Kozak and 30K volunteering for the first shift since the ‘old guys’ needed their sleep. Ross took that jab without retort, and within ten minutes of his head hitting the sofa, he was sound asleep.
It was the old man who woke them, offering tea and biscuits for breakfast. Ross called up to Kozak and 30K, who said there’d been absolutely no movement around the warehouse and that the tracking beacon’s signal was strong. The big guy with the tattoos who’d picked up the container must’ve had a bunk either in his cab or in the warehouse, as they were certain he had not left.
‘The fighting in Crater has stopped for the time being,’ said Oliver. ‘But I suspect once night falls, the attacks will resume.’
Ross noticed a picture on one of the bookshelves. A much younger Oliver was standing on a white sand beach with a young woman of about twenty, a lithe blonde with a spectacular smile. ‘Who’s that in the picture with you?’
‘My daughter, Evon. On her twenty-first birthday. A very special day.’
‘Beautiful girl.’
‘She was.’
Ross looked at Pepper, who averted his gaze.
Perhaps he was being too blunt, or prying, but Ross felt compelled to ask: ‘How did you lose her?’
Oliver’s gaze went distant. ‘She was coming home from a friend’s house. She got into a car accident with a drunk driver. They pronounced her dead at the scene. She was an only child when her mother passed away, so I’d raised her by myself. This was long before I joined the CIA.’
Ross closed his eyes. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you. I miss her every day.’
Pepper had spent most of the night back inside that tower, reliving the moment when the floor collapsed and he had plunged toward the staircase. In addition to that looping nightmare, his body cried out with new pains that woke him at least a half dozen times. The bruises were beginning to form on his arms and legs, the once minor aches turning into shooting pains. He was pretty sure he’d broken a rib or two.
Now, as he hunkered down on the building’s roof, quietly observing the warehouse through his binoculars, with Ross at his side, he imagined lying on a waterbed and being tenderly massaged by a team of supermodel nurses. He quickly shook off the thought. Stay focused. Don’t torture yourself.
He and Ross spent the entire day on that rooftop, allowing 30K and Kozak to get some much-needed rest. Those two boys had looked pretty ragged when Ross and Pepper came up to relieve them. It’d been a long journey since Colombia.
‘I don’t like this,’ Ross said, consulting his watch. ‘Other ships have come and gone, trucks at the other warehouses, lots of activity and movement all around our target.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, if this is just a transfer point, wouldn’t you want your cargo to be on its way as quickly as possible? The longer it remains in one location, the more vulnerable it is …’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Pepper. ‘They could be waiting on another ship or truck. The delay could be a necessary evil.’
‘So you think I’m just impatient?’
‘I think by nightfall you’ll send 30K and Kozak down there to pick the lock and get inside. Kozak will send off his little Dragonfly.’