Chapter 21
Number 1 stared at the loading dock through his binoculars and then looked away to check his watch. The sun would be coming up in roughly half of an hour. The plan had been formulated far in advance but it had worked out better than expected so far. They had little resistance getting into the industrial area and an even easier time getting into the docks that were managed by Morgan and Brothers Shipping Company.
Number 1 glanced at his watch again. He was nervously anticipating the arrival of this ship. The day before was the day that everyone in the KCD anticipated that it would arrive…but it didn't. Morgan and Brothers had outgoing ships that day and nothing that was incoming. Today had to be the day, this ship had already left its port when they learned about its existence and it didn't take that long to cross the Atlantic.
There were a large amount of dockhands scurrying about among the cranes, forklifts, and containers. Semi-trucks were coming and going as the dock was waking up for the morning deliveries. Number 1 looked over at Number 5 who was also peering at the docks through binoculars.
Number 1 had changed his normal clothes to accommodate dress pants, a dress shirt and tie with an official looking name badge attached, but he kept the sunglasses. Number 5 was actually wearing similar colors in a dress skirt and dress shirt, but she kept the rose colored ball cap.
"You know Number 5," Number 1 said playfully, "You actually clean up quite nicely, you should try out this new look more often!"
"Ah man!" Number 5 whined, rolling her eyes, "Don't even get started with me. It's bad enough that I have to wear a skirt in the first place without you making comments! If there is one major sacrifice that Number 5 has had to make for this team its wearing these ridiculous clothes! Just remember that for my biography!"
Number 1 laughed and went back to his binoculars. The unusual amounts of workers were probably comprised of people that should be there, and some people who shouldn't be; the ice cream men, the common thugs of this underground world.
Number 1 reached behind him and picked up a crayon box. There were dials that were poking out through the cardboard and an antenna sticking out through the lid. It wa radio that didn't transmit on any detectable frequencies.
"Number 1 to HQ…" Number 1 whispered into it, "Come in, HQ."
" Go Number 1," came Number 274's sturdy voice.
"HQ, Number 5 and I are in position ready to descend upon the docks momentarily. The dockhands are already preparing the moors."
The sound of tug boats could be heard, loud and clear.
"If you heard that noise," Number 1 continued, "That was the sound of our ship coming in. It is later than expected, so we can expect this cargo transfer to take place lightning fast. I will be transmitting any further communications through my ear radio to avoid detection."
"Roger, Number 1" came the reply.
The plan was simple. Number 1 and Number 5 were going to approach any of the more timid looking dock hands and spook him into letting them aboard the boat. The dock hand would grant permission or things would go south, either way they would be able to find out which container the ice cream men were after. Once they identified the cargo, they could tag it for Number 2 who was waiting in the S.C.A.M.P.E.R. to fly in and wrench it away from the ship.
Number 1 could already see giant "Super-Mart" semi's pulling in from the main road and into the loading docks; their trailers would be empty, ready to receive the contents of the ship, or in this case, some small illegally obtained shipping containers that could be fit into a semi and disappear from the public eye. An elbow from Number 5 prompted him to look towards the channel where tugboats were pulling the ship closer to the loading zone. It was a smaller ship, at least smaller than Number 1 expected, it shouldn't take too long to find the right container. Number 2 had designed a detector that could pick up radiation through walls and non-typical distances, no matter how small the reading.
Number 1 tapped his ear radio and it crackled to life.
"Ok team, we'll be moving in as soon as the ship begins to moor. We need to be near that ship when they start to unload the containers, it will be difficult to tell which one is the target container until Number 3 can get that radiation detector close enough. Another thing to keep your eye out for is any container that looks bulkier or like it is constructed differently."
He heard the various affirmations of his team mates as he looked over at Number 5 who was smiling and ready to go. They climbed down the side of the container as the ship was being pushed ever closer to the side of the dock. The two large cranes were powering up and slowly swinging into position to unload the cargo.
Number 1, closely followed by Number 5, hurriedly approached the closest dock hand. The dock hand was tall and husky and looked like he was wearing a uniform that didn't fit properly, perhaps to show off his muscles.
"Excuse me sir, I am with the Occupational Safety and Health Administration and you look like you've been overworked." Number 1 said confidently.
The dock hand turned around with a confused look. Number 1 thought he might have recognized him from the Ice Cream Factory, but couldn't be sure. The man looked rougher than Number 1 expected, he actually looked like someone who had done a lot of sailing.
"You heard me pal," Number 1 said, without skipping a beat, "This is a surprise OSHA inspection and I want to talk to someone in charge!"
"Oh you're kidding me!" the guy said, looking around frantically, "On a day like today? Ok, sure, see the guy by the crane platform holding the clipboard? You will need to talk to him"
Number 1 slapped the guy on the back as he started walking in that direction. "Thanks pal, and let my office know if there is anything you guys need, you don't need to be working too hard out here."
"Oh yeah," the guy said with a smile, "I will, sometimes these animals call me in after I've already worked my union regulations or whatever."
Number 5 started shaking her head and writing on a clip board that she had brought, "That's a real shame baby; we'll look into it for you."
He waved goodbye as the two operatives hurried towards the man with the clipboard. The air was salty and thick with humidity as the sun beat down on the loading docks. There was constant ambient noise from the cranes, the trucks, and the dock hands yelling back and forth. Number 1 could see other ships moving down the channels, headed to other docks. The cranes were already starting to unload some of the cargo onto waiting dock trucks and it was hard to tell which containers were being moved, but the Super-Mart trucks had yet to pull forward. There was still a chance that the cargo was still on board the ship. The man with the clipboard began to shake his head and wave the clipboard as the operatives approached.
"Oh no, I've got no time for nonsense today guys!" the man yelled from the crane platform, "We've got a lot of cargo and a short time to move it; I'll speak with you after we get done. You can meet in my office and we'll go over our reports."
Number 1 smiled as they moved closer, they were blending in perfectly.
"Actually, you'll speak with me now," Number 1 said in a low voice as he walked up to the man.
The man was thin and dressed in nice clothes that fit him perfectly. He was wearing a hard hat and had a radio and tools attached to his belt but the lack of scuff and dirt indicated that he didn't do much physical labor, he was the guy in charge for sure.
"Excuse me?" The man said, eyes wincing through stained glasses. He had a bushy handlebar mustache that twitched when he spoke.
"I'm Agent Number 1 with the CIA" Number 1 said boldly, "And we have reason to believe that there is contraband on board this vessel. We require immediate access to the ship logs, cargo manifests and a tour of the cargo hold."
"Now hold on just a second," The man said, his eyes narrowing, "What is this? Where is your warrant anyhow? Listen pal, I ain't got time for this if you don't have a warrant!"
Number 5 reached over Number 1's shoulder with a few pieces of stapled paper.
The man peered over it and flipped through the pages, doubling back, and flipping through them again; soaking the bait up like a sponge.
"Oh geez, whatever," the guy said, shaking his head, "You can go aboard, but make it quick. Have your crew speak with the first mate on board; he should be able to help you. I'm telling you this right now though; we're not stopping our unloading of this cargo because this darn ship is already a day late."
Number 1 tapped his ear radio, "Agents 3 and 4 you are cleared to board the ship. The first mate will instruct you to the cargo hold."
He turned to Number 5, "Come one Agent 5, we're going to survey the ship and cargo from here and let our onboard team do their work."
They walked a few paces so that the man with the clipboard couldn't hear them. As Number 1 surveyed the ship he didn't notice any obvious grey shipping containers. His heart started to beat faster as he looked over at Number 5 who was snapping pictures with her camera, walking around the dock to get every angle.
Minutes seemed to drag into hours.
He watched as the deck hands went about their business, forklifts were moving small containers and the cranes were pulling off shipping container after shipping container.
None of them were grey.
Number 1 began to feel the sweat beads roll down his neck as he reached up with a wrist and wiped away the sweat. What was taking them so long? There were a lot of containers but there wasn't that many, especially if they were looking for the only four grey containers on the whole ship.
Number 1 glanced at his watch, had it really only been an hour?
"Number 4 to Number 1", said a voice, crackling over the radio in an Australian accent.
"Go Number 4," Number 1 said impatiently.
"Look Number 1, I don't know how to tell you this, but there are no grey containers on this boat. We've looked through all of them, and we've asked everyone on board and no one has seen any grey containers." Number 4 said strongly.
Number 1's neck began to get red hot as he weighed the potential setback in his mind. If they didn't wrap this operation up fast, someone was going to get suspicious. They needed to find those containers….now.
Number 1 tapped his ear radio a few times in quick succession, "Number 1 to HQ, come in HQ."
"HQ for Number 1: this is Number 274," came the reply.
"It appears as the color of the shipping containers might have possibly been painted. Do we have any further information on these containers?" Number 1 asked hastily.
"That is a negative, Number 1. What about the radiation levels?" Number 274's voice barked back, a disappointed sigh in his voice.
"Number 3 has had the detector running since we boarded," Number 4 piped up, still patched through, "There hasn't been so much as a blip".
Number 1's stomach fell to his feet. Where was the cargo? To not pick up any radiation, to not have any grey container, to not have ANY indicator was not normal. There had to be something!
Number 1 looked around frantically for the man with the clipboard. He had been moving about the dock all morning and never approached the teammates of Sector V at any time. He acted as though he was detached and disconnected from the situation. He looked as though there was nothing out of the ordinary.
He looked commonplace…
The man with the clipboard walked around one of the crane footings from talking with several of the dock hands and truck drivers. There were trucks coming and going, each coming empty and leaving with a shipping container.
None of them were grey.
Number 1 walked with purpose over to where the man was and looked around to see if anyone was watching. When he realized that everyone was distracted, he reached up and grabbed the man by the shirt collar and started shoving him backwards, towards a shipping container. When they got close, Number 1 slammed him up against the cold, hard steel. It was time for answers.
"Are you nuts?!" The enraged man with the clipboard yelled.
"Knock it off!" Number 1 growled, "Enough games; where are the grey containers?"
The man with the clipboard shoved Number 1 back with force and straightened his hard hat, "I don't know anything about any stupid grey containers. What you see is what you get, you psycho! I don't know what to tell you if you can't find them! Maybe someone in your office made a mistake; are you sure you even have the right boat?"
"Number 1, this is Number 362," a soft voice perked up over the radio, "I can overhear the conversation. It is the right boat; the numbers on the side and the arrival date confirm it to be so."
"I've got the right boat, you slimy walrus looking creep," Number 1 said with a grimace, "And it is supposed to be carrying four oddly shaped, grey cargo containers. You said that it was a day late, did it make any unannounced stops?"
The man flipped through his clipboard, "No, cue ball, it didn't. All of that is tracked electronically; it left when it was supposed to and it arrived just a little over a day behind. That is pretty typically considering the unpredictable weather patterns. Sometimes these ships are early and sometimes they're late…but they don't carry invisible cargo containers. If you can't find the containers, then THEY'RE NOT ON BOARD!" he yelled.
"Number 1," Number 362's voice whispered quietly over the radio, "Ask to see the manifest, those grey cargo containers should be shipped out of Russia or the Middle East as those are the only places where illegal nuclear material might have been obtained without notice."
"Let me see that cargo manifest and I'll be gone." Number 1 said.
"Hey pal," the man said, "If it will get you and the rest of you whack jobs off of my dock, you can have it!" He ripped a piece of paper off of the clipboard and handed it to Number 1.
Number 1 hastily scanned the paper to see France, England, Germany, Spain, Scotland, and France again, and Germany again, and an endless listing of the same countries…but no Russia or Middle Eastern Countries.
"What about cargo from Russia, or the Middle East?" Number 1 asked quietly.
"Not on this ship," The man answered, his face wrinkled up in angst, "That would have to be a ship out of the Black Sea and the cargo for that ship would be strictly for that region. This ship only covers cargo from Northern Europe. Sorry pal, but it sounds like you're out of luck. Now if you're through with breeching my civil rights, I'd like to get back to work. Don't bother coming back until you have your facts straight!" The man walked off, shaking his head and leaving Number 1 alone by the shipping container, underneath the crane.
Number 1 looked up to see the cranes swiftly moving cargo from the ship. There were workers still running back and forth, carrying equipment and yelling loudly. All the noise seemed to quiet down into silence and all the sights began to blur together as the realization began to sink into Nigel's heart.
Something was horrifically wrong.
Number 1 began to pace slowly and look around frantically at the cranes, containers, workers and other environmental aspects. He was desperately looking around for something, anything, which might clue him in. His mind was racing a million miles an hour as he cycled back through the memories and through the information that led him here.
What did he miss? What was he not seeing?
It was hard to stay focused as the panic and rage began to build up in his heart. The facts and figures began to scream in his mind as he could feel the corners of his eyes burn red hot. His teammates were gathering towards where they had entered the docks, they each had worried and confused looks on their faces.
Nigel gritted his teeth as he accepted the scope of their failure.
There were no grey containers, there were no radiation traces, and there was no nuclear material.
There was nothing.
