Chapter 8 - The Harbor Gate
The windshield wipers beat a rhythmic, hypnotic rhythm against the glass of Evelyn’s battered Subaru as they sped through the pouring rain. The gray daylight had collapsed completely into a murky, suffocating dusk. Pine trees gave way to chain-link fences, razor wire, and rows of towering shipping containers stacked four high like giant, colorful blocks of steel.
Sarah sat in the rear passenger seat, clutching Lily’s pink knitted rabbit to her chest, her lips moving in a silent, continuous prayer. Up front, Mark checked his watch.
Forty-two minutes remaining.
"Checkpoint ahead," Evelyn said, tapping the brakes as the bright yellow floodlights of Harbor Gate 4 loomed through the rain. A striped barrier arm blocked the access lane, flanked by a fortified guard shack.
"Get down," Mark commanded Sarah, who immediately dropped to the floorboards, pulling a dark tarp over herself. Mark reclined his passenger seat as far as it would go, keeping the Sig Sauer unholstered in his lap beneath a folded canvas jacket.
A guard in a yellow rain slicker stepped out of the shack, holding an illuminated baton. Evelyn rolled down her window just an inch, letting the wet wind whistle into the cabin.
"Harbor is closed to private vehicles after five," the guard grunted, shining his flashlight across Evelyn's face.
"Logistics inspection for Berth 5," Evelyn said smoothly, flashing an laminated maritime identification badge. "Emergency repair order on a refrigerated unit. Here’s the dispatch manifest."
The guard took the clipboard she offered, glancing over the fraudulent document. He raised his flashlight, aiming the beam through the tinted passenger window. Mark remained completely motionless, his breath steady, his finger hooked around the trigger of his weapon. If the guard called it in, the mission was over before it started.
"Whose rig are you servicing?" the guard asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Hansen Marine," Evelyn answered without a microsecond of hesitation. "Look, mister, the compressor is leaking freon. If that seafood spoils, the port authority eats seventy grand by morning. You want to explain that delay to the harbor master?"
The guard stared at her for three long, excruciating seconds. Finally, he spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the asphalt and tapped the roof of the car with his baton. "Lane three. Don't linger. Security patrols are doubling Berth 6 tonight."
The barrier arm lifted with a mechanical screech. Evelyn eased the accelerator forward, gliding past the guard shack and into the dark, industrial maze of the shipyard.
"Turn off the headlights," Mark whispered the moment they cleared the floodlight's glare.
Evelyn clicked the dashboard switch, plunging them into near-total darkness. The car rolled silently down the cracked asphalt alleyway between rows of rusted shipping containers. The air smelled of salt, diesel oil, and rotting seaweed.
Up ahead, rising like an ancient concrete monolith out of the dark water, was Berth 7.
The building was a three-story concrete relic from the 1960s, surrounded by broken floodlights and rusted steel gantries. Two black SUVs were parked near the loading dock, their engines humming quietly in the rain.
"That's as close as I can get you without their sentries spotting the engine heat," Evelyn whispered, pulling the car behind a stack of damaged wooden pallets fifty yards out.
Mark looked at Sarah in the back seat. Her eyes were wide with terror, but she held his gaze. He reached back and squeezed her hand.
"Bring our baby back," Sarah whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, Mark. Bring her back."
May you like
"I will," Mark said.
He slipped out of the car into the freezing rain, closing the door without a sound. Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, he sprinted into the darkness, heading for the sea wall where the icy tide churned violently against the concrete pylons.
