Patriot by M.A. Rothman (summer reading list TXT) 📗

fifties, but the container terminals weren’t built until the eighties.”

Annie shot Connor a sidelong glance, which Price either didn’t see or ignored.

He continued, “We handle over a hundred thousand containers a year and have over four hundred thousand feet of warehouse space across the complex. It’s a bitch to keep locked down, even under the best of conditions.”

“I can imagine,” Connor said.

The radio on Price’s belt buzzed. “Hey, boss, the boat in Fourteen is already unloading. They’ve got pods on the deck.”

Price pulled the radio off his belt. “Tell the cranes to stop moving and make sure those workers know not to load any of the pods.”

“Those drivers are going to be pissed.”

“I don’t give a good goddamn whether they’re pissed or not, this is a national security issue,” Price said, his chest puffing out. “Put them on standby until I say otherwise.”

“Copy that, boss.”

Price waved the radio in the air before clipping it back on his belt. “I swear, sometimes you just can’t get good help these days.”

“You got that right,” Annie said.

Connor caught her look and held up his hands. “What?”

“So what’s the story on this bomb?” Price said. “What are we looking for?”

“We can’t say,” Annie repeated.

“Now, just hold on a second there, ma’am.” Price glanced back at Annie, frustration written on his flabby, middle-aged face. “I may just be an old washed-up security guard around these parts, but I’m the head washed-up security guard here, and everything that happens here happens because I say it happens. So if you think you’re just going to show up here and—”

“It could be a nuke,” Connor said, interrupting. Annie gave him a dagger-eyed stare, but he knew he needed to cut off this conversation before it got too far. “It could be giving off a radiological signal.”

“A n-nuke?” Price stammered, and the blood drained from his face.

Annie motioned toward the front of the car. “Eyes ahead, if you don’t mind. I’d rather you not slam us into a shipping container.”

Connor reached forward and patted the man’s shoulder. “It’s okay—that’s why we’re here. Like you said, national security. We take any threats to the homeland seriously.”

Price took a deep breath and nodded. “Amazing. Well then, if it’s a nuke, holy crap… really? A nuke?” But then he seemed to regain some of his bravado. “You people don’t have anything to worry about. We have some of the best technology in the world. Our detectors can pick up on anything coming through here with a radioactive signature. Nothing is going to get past them.”

“Unless the nuke is shielded,” Connor said. “Which we believe this one is.”

Price’s confidence waned. “Of course it is. Damned terrorists need to come up with ways around everything, don’t they?”

Annie leaned forward. “The container we’re looking for might be loaded with olive oil. Large amounts of water have the ability to mask the radiation signature. Bulk olive oil does the same thing. It’s also how the terrorists have been smuggling bombs into the city.” She added, with a growl, “All of which is classified, by the way.”

“Listen, lady, I’m retired navy. I know all about classified.”

“Did you just call me ‘lady’?”

“Enough,” Connor said. “How much further?”

Price pointed ahead. “We’re almost there.”

Connor didn’t know how the man could even tell where they were in this maze of containers, but he didn’t press the issue.

They soon pulled to a stop along the wide concrete tarmac, a massive container crane towering above them. Several containers had already been offloaded and were waiting on trucks behind the crane, and hundreds more waited on the deck of the ship. Forklifts and workers crisscrossed each other with practiced precision.

Connor and Annie followed Price to a foreman standing on the dock near the ship’s bow. As they approached, the man was pointing to one of the suspended containers, barking orders into a handheld radio. Yes, that’s what they said. Hold up.”

“Hey, Jerry!” Price called, shouting over the commotion.

The foreman turned and frowned. “What the hell is this all about, Price? I’ve got six hours of work to be done, and about three to do it in.”

Price put his hands up apologetically. “I know, I’m sorry, it’s not my call.”

“Whose call was it then?”

Annie held up her ID. “Mine.”

The man didn’t even look at it. “Yeah? Who the hell are you?”

“Homeland Security. We need to look at this container.” Annie read out the number.

The foreman laughed. “You think we can take you right to the container just like that, huh?”

Connor stepped forward. He hadn’t meant to, as he knew these types weren’t easily intimidated by shows of force. Nor did they usually give a crap about law enforcement. They were roughnecks working for a living. He stopped himself before he turned Bad Cop. “Look, no joke, this is a matter of national security. We’re not here to mess with you or ruin your day. We just really need to get a look into that container. You’d be doing me a solid if you help us out.”

The foreman eyed Connor for a long moment, then lifted his clipboard and started flipping through pages. It took him about two minutes to find what he was looking for. “All right, you’re in luck. It’s in the next batch to offload.”

It took another twenty minutes to offload and hook up to the container in question. Price took advantage of that time to clear out all non-essential personnel. Connor wanted to tell him it wouldn’t matter—if it was a nuke and it went off, there wasn’t anywhere at the docks they could go—but instead he just watched the crane lower the container and set it on the dock in a wide-open space lit by four floodlights.

Connor felt his pulse quicken as they approached the end of the container. His eyes flicked from the lock, which was still in place, to the orange seal, which appeared intact. Connor hoped that meant everything was fine with the contents. It hadn’t been jostled or tampered with.

He scanned the yard, looking for anyone too