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  Tala turned her head to the wall. Adeano smiled.

  "I see how it is. Yes, I thought so. He is not a monster. He cares for you. I know that because he came back looking for you. He risked his life to get help. You see, I know he is not a monster."

  Tala turned sharply, her good eye glittering. Now she wished to hear what he had to say, but Adeano played it cool. He spoke as if they were sharing thoughts over a glass of wine.

  "Billy swam a long way and he came back to tell the authorities that you should be let off the ship. But you are under my care, you are my crew, so I made sure that they did not know you were here. I made it so that they did not know of the passenger who is now dead. I do this to help you, Tala. I do this because you are young, and I am sure all this was a mistake. So, I will see you safely back to Manila if you tell me just one thing. What happened in the anchor room? Why is that man dead, Tala?"

  "Billy is safe."

  Tala whispered the way a woman does when her lover lost at war is found. This was not what Adeano wanted to hear and it angered him. He let go of his knee. Both feet fell to the floor and he took her by the shoulders. Tala cried out in pain, but he only tightened his hold and pushed her into the thin mattress.

  "He is arrested, you are alone," he said, unwilling to pose as her friend any longer. "I must know why my passenger is dead. Did you steal from him? Did you—"

  Without warning, Tala lifted her head and buried her teeth in Adeano's hand. When he leapt from the bed, she threw off her covers, scrambled over the bunk, went for the door, and threw it open. Now that there would be no help from Billy, she was ready to jump into the sea if it came to that. Guang, though, was waiting outside and blocked her way. Tala backed off a step, regrouped, and was about to make a run through him when Adeano Bianchi grabbed her by her collar and lifted her off her feet. He dragged her back into the room and slammed her onto the bunk. Tala kicked and screamed, she fought hard, but Adeano had enough. He raised the hand with the heavy gold ring on it and brought it across woman's jaw. Her head snapped and her body went limp. The eye that was not swollen rolled back in her head.

  "Bitch," he muttered.

  Adeano cast a glance at the Chinaman who stood in the doorway, but Guang seemed not to care one way or the other what was happening as long as it wasn't happening to him. Adeano looked back at Tala. She was stunned but not unconscious and that meant she was awake enough to hear him. He grasped both her hands in his, raised one leg and kneed her middle so that she could barely breath much less fight. When Adeano leaned close, he sneered and bared his teeth like an animal.

  "No one knows you are here, la putanna. You are not on the manifest and neither is your lover. He is arrested as a crazy man. So you will listen to me carefully."

  Adeano dug his knee deeper into her belly and Tala moaned.

  "We are sailing for Panama. In Panama, there are people waiting for the man you killed and whatever he was bringing to them. There are people here, in Los Angeles, who are also waiting. That means I have now made enemies. Yes, me, your captain, will be held responsible. I need to know what to tell these people. If what you have to say is reasonable, if I am able to find that man's cargo before we dock, I will try to help you when these people come looking for someone to blame. If what you say is not reasonable, I will give you over to those men because they will want their pound of flesh. I tell you, little girl, it will not be my flesh they will take. Do you understand?"

  Tala tried to roll away, but Adeano held her tight even though he was tired and his fury was exhausted. He put his body on top of hers and his face against her neck. Tala Reyes didn't smell of sea; she stank of blood and it was not pleasant. He raised his head slightly and put his lips against her ear.

  "You will tell me what I want to know, or I will toss you overboard and watch the sharks eat you when we are away from here. Before that, I will let every man on this ship have at you. On Holy Mother Mary, I will do that."

  He stood up, twisted his gold bracelet, and breathed deeply. His chest expanded as a mans should when a woman is being disciplined. But it was not strength or manly restraint that made him pause. Adeano Bianchi was trying to control his fear. When that proved impossible he left the room, pushing past Guang. It would be noticed if he was not on the bridge and that's where he would go. Outside on the deck, Adeano paused to catch his breath. It was late into the night and still the dock was buzzing like a beehive. He wanted to scream at them to work faster, but he did not. He had to keep his wits about him.

  That, for the captain of the Faret Vild, was a very hard thing to do.

  Billy Zuni - aka Billy Zogaj - was treated with extreme politeness as per the LAPD training. His picture was taken, he was fingerprinted, and he was given a towel and a chance to wash up. He was offered a sandwich and coffee. He took the coffee. The arresting officer inquired about his wounds, running down a checklist of possible problems he might be having. These included headache, nausea, itching, and thoughts of suicide. He answered no to suicide and was, therefore, allowed to keep the shoelaces in the tennis shoes he had borrowed from Archer. Billy answered yes to the headache question and was given two aspirin. He made a statement about his ordeal on the dock, tried to impress upon the officers that they must follow up on his claim that there was a woman on board the Faret Vild who was being held against her will, a dead body, and a crew that was complicit in a cover-up. When it became clear that these officers did not have the ability to help even if they believed his story, Billy stopped talking.

  He was escorted to a cell where two other men were already being held. One was large, burly, and curious about Billy. The other slept on his bunk with his face to the wall showing the back of his head that sported a bald spot above a curtain of unkempt, long, gray hair. The deputy left Billy and as soon as he was gone, the burly man said:

  "You want the bottom bunk? I don't mind movin'. Looks like you got beat up bad, so maybe the bottom bunk is better. Come on, I'm good with it."

  Billy saw the man's lips moving and heard the words coming out of his mouth, but he couldn't process them.

  "Hey, you hear me? You hard of hearing? You listening? I'm saying I am doing the Christian thing here. Giving you the bottom bunk. . ."

  Billy took a few steps, made it to the bed, and climbed to the top bunk wanting no favors from anyone. He fell upon it and rolled onto his back.

  "Screw you. I could beat you stupid. Tryin' to do the Christian thing. . ."

  The big, burly man lay down too. He was so big that the frame of the bunk beds shook when he did that, and Billy shuddered. Suddenly the last twenty-four hours fell in on him. Every bone in his body, every muscle, every fiber of his being, screamed with pain. His head felt like a stake had been run through it. Tears were streaming down his face. He threw one arm over his eyes. He had no idea a human being could cry the way he was crying: without sound, without breathing.

  Beneath him the burly man continued to rail, swearing that he was a Christian and ready to kick butt to prove it. On the next bunk the old drunk snored. Billy continued to weep until sleep took him. The last thing he thought about was a desperate woman, a woman he cared about, a woman he would die trying to save, but at the last moment, just before he lost consciousness, the face of Tala Reyes became that of Hannah Sheraton.

  15

  Day 2 @1:00 a.m

  Rosie Rosalis had a lot on her mind. Her mother was on her case for just about everything, and that made Rosie reconsider the wisdom of having the woman move in. Sure she was taking care of the kids while Rosie worked, but their constant bickering was starting to wear thin. Rosie's three year-old daughter adored her grandmother because she was being spoiled rotten. Rosie's twelve year-old son hated his grandmother and showed his disdain by running around at all hours. There were snipes about Rosie's hair, her clothes, and the fact that Rosie didn't wear make-up to work and would, therefore, never attract another man.

  Yep Rosie was between a rock and a hard place, and the last two months alm
ost made her miss that cheating husband of hers. If she had stayed married, there would be a man in the house to deal with her delinquent-in-the-making and grandma would be far away where she belonged. Sadly that wasn't going to happen any time soon, and now there was one more thing her mother found fault with: Rosie had been assigned the night shift and that irked grandma something awful. Truth be told, Rosie was no fan of this shift either, but what was she going to do? She was a customs agent and a darn good one to boot.

  She had a uniform, a bunch of special training, good instincts and, best of all, a box cutter that she wielded like a scalpel. Now it was one in the morning, and Rosie was tired. When she got tired Rosie got mean. When she got mean, she took it out on the cargo she was charged with inspecting.

  She was deep into container thirty-four, one of sixty randomly taken from the ships that had docked earlier in the day, when she started thinking about her mother. Being a little ticked off, she dug deep into the stack of boxes. The bad guys thought customs officers were lazy and wouldn't look further than the front row of cargo, but not so Rosie.

  She slashed through the first one, ignoring the incredible amount of information on the customs' declaration. The only word she needed to see to pique her interest was 'chips'. She was a wizard when it came to spotting bad chips, and a collar tonight would do a lot to lift her spirits. She pulled back the cardboard flaps and the bubble wrap and unearthed the small plastic boxes that held the chips. She picked a couple off the top and looked for the signs of counterfeiting: discoloration, blacktop markings, burn marks, uniform colum. . .

  "What you got Rosalis?"

  Rosie straightened up at the sound of her name. Because her supervisor, Henry Cook, was standing outside the container his voice echoed and the reverberation it caused irritated her.

  "Nothing yet." This time it was her voice that echoed back at Henry. "We're probably good in here."

  "Yeah, well tape these up and get a move on. You've still got ten to check."

  Henry patted the container wall for emphasis. Rosie wished he wouldn't do that, but no matter how often she asked him to stop Henry couldn't help himself. Or maybe underneath that runs-a-tight-ship exterior he really was a sadist.

  "There are twelve left, Henry," she said. Seeing that he had moved on, Rosie raised her voice. "Count 'em. Twelve! I'll be lucky to get home before my kid’s next birthday."

  Henry reappeared, a silhouette, backlit as he stopped. Thankfully he didn't hit the container again.

  "Think of the overtime, Rosalis, and be grateful."

  "Money can't buy you love," she shot back.

  "Cute," he said. "You just do as I say. You can come in late tomorrow, but right now you finish. We've got ships stacked up like Pringles, and we gotta sign 'em off and move 'em before daylight."

  "Yeah, Yeah."

  Henry disappeared again, and they both went about their business. She thought about signing off on half the containers without even opening them in the hope that nothing bad got through, but she wasn't the type to fudge. A Catholic school education did that to a girl. If she lied, the guilt would get to her, she would confess to Henry, Henry would write her up, and she would be back on the bottom rung of that ladder she had done a fairly good job of climbing. Not to mention that she needed this job now more than ever. Then again, it wasn't easy to get fired when you were union. Still, with her luck she'd be the exception to the rule. Rosie gave up speculating because there was only one truth: overtime would be welcome with Thanksgiving and Christmas coming on. Maybe, just maybe, if she racked up enough hours she could afford a real nanny; one who wouldn't nag like her mother.

  Tired of her internal tug of war, Rosie went to work. She would be home at three-thirty in the morning if she was fast. Taking the roll of tape hanging on her belt, she resealed the boxes she had searched. Pulling one more strip off the roll, Rosie whacked it with her box cutter so hard the thing flipped out of her hand and stuck to another box. When she tried to straighten out the tape she made it worse, so Rosie tossed the sticky ball into a corner and started again. When she was finished, she put her knee against one box, pushed it back, and lifted the next two on top of the first. It took another five minutes to restack them all and sign off that the container was free to move through the system.

  Walking the length of the container, Rosie hopped onto solid ground and swung the huge doors shut. Henry was at the end of the line, stepping up into a container that had come off the Sheltman. Rosie smirked at the idiocy of that. The Sheltman had docked yesterday and was already gone which sort of made inspecting the random-container-pull a moot point. She put her weight behind the metal door and secured container thirty-four. They were so far behind it was a wonder they didn't just do away with customs control and let the chips fall where they may. Pulling at her ponytail to tighten it, Rosie, chuckled at her unintended joke and considered the next containers, the ones that had come off the Faret Vild. Then she took a look at the ship itself.

  The cranes were still working full speed. After everything was loaded and lashed, the stevedores would come off and that would mean that the ISPS inspection would be next up. The duty officer would scurry around looking for stowaways, suspicious packages, or contraband. The electricians would make sure every reefer was working properly, the crew would look for misplaced twist locks and lashing rods on the deck, lashing bridges, and catwalks. The captain would be adjusting the logs, calling for the pilot, checking his equipment, and getting ready to shove off. But for now, it was just the grunt work of loading, and that meant Rosie might actually finish her inspection before the old girl sailed.

  She thought of all the men and women who called ships like that home, and her heart got a little squishy. Her mother could be a pain in the butt, her kids might have a few problems, and yeah, it would be nice to have a man to help carry the load, but all-in-all life was pretty good. She had a job on dry land, a home to go to, and friends who didn't change with the turning of the tide.

  Embracing her second wind, Rosie Rosalis walked between the containers looking right, left, and right once more. It was a toss up since they were all the same size and took the same amount of work. She made her decision, and opened the container on her left.

  They were half way through loading the cargo, the pilot had been alerted and would be onboard the ship in a few hours, provisions had been loaded, and the woman in the cabin had been subdued. Still Adeano did not feel that everything was put right, and because of that he was paranoid. He spied a man with a clipboard below and thought the inspectors were coming back on board even though it was long after midnight. He had gone back through the dead man's cabin looking for any clue that would lead him to information regarding the Los Angeles shipment. While he was doing that, Adeano heard a man call out and he became convinced that Billy was back onboard, coming for him and bringing the law.

  With his wits failing him, an old woman's worry engulfing him, Adeano Bianchi made busy work for himself. He did not believe it was busy work. He believed it was necessary work should those imagined inspectors demand access to the ship once again. To this end, he went to the cabin the boy shared with the Serb, the Albanian, and the African. Adeano took Billy's clothes from the small closet and a book from the drawer in a table that separated the double-tiered bunks. He found the blond man's duffle and filled it with all the pitiful things he had left behind. Billy's passport was last even though it was not worth much, forged as it was. The captain threw the duffle over his shoulder, carried it down the stairs and the ladders and through the passageways until he reached the bowels of the ship. He walked quickly toward the stern, moving easily between containers stacked three and four high. He noted the lashings, stopping once to check one of the reefers thinking the gauge was not set properly. The gauge was fine; the mistake had been his. It was a small one, but it shook him. There was no margin for error on anything.

  Adeano cut off to a shorter passageway and walked to the end, shifting the duffle to free his right hand so that
he could open the container when he got to it. Should someone discover the body, it would be the boy's things that were found with it and that seemed like a good plan to Adeano Bianchi. Evidence. Yes. Evidence for a court of law. This is what the captain decided.

  When Adeano arrived at the place where he thought container forty-seven should be, he found that he had made a wrong turn. His head swiveled right and left. His head went up and down as he tried to figure out how he had miscalculated, only to find that he had not. Someone else had made the mistake. The container had been in this exact place, and now it was not. Adeano retraced his steps, stopping at each stack, muttering as he read the numbers off the sides of the metal boxes.

  Forty-five

  Forty-two

  Forty-nine

  The captain stopped when he had gone quite a ways. He read the number twenty-seven. He mouthed the number twenty-seven three times, hoping that he was seeing the number incorrectly, and yet he knew he was not. As much as he wished number twenty-seven to become forty-seven, it did not.

  Down the aisle he went again, going so far as to check the rows in front of where he thought container forty-seven should be. He touched the metal and he tugged at a HAZMAT declaration or two in the hopes that his crew had slapped one on where it didn't belong. Within moments, Captain Adeano Bianchi was not just walking from container to container, he was running up and down the passageways, checking and rechecking, dropping the duffle so that he could pass his hands over the metal to steady himself as he threw his head back to peer high up. Perhaps number forty-seven had been moved and now rested atop all the others. Perhaps the crane had snapped its magnet on it by mistake and swung aside to open up access to the ones that were due to be off loaded.