All eyes, except those of the three 'fisherman' on their knees with their hands behind their heads, were on the sailor who was looking into the hold, the only sound the slapping of the water against the hulls and the flags snapping in the biting wind. The ensign pushed himself up on one elbow and looked back towards Williams.

"Nothing in here but fish, sir!" he yelled.

"Damn it!" Cox spat out; beside him Steve sagged in anger and frustration. Williams looked from the disappointed detectives to the fisherman, all three of whom were staring down. "How many fish?" he asked the ensign, raising his voice.

"Not very many, sir; not even half a load!"

"Ensign Carter, I hate to do this to you, son, but I'm gonna need you to get down into that hold."

Carter glanced quickly at his colleague next to him and rolled his eyes. "Why is it always me?" he asked rhetorically with a chuckle. "Yes, sir!" he yelled, getting to his knees and releasing the tie on the rope ladder, allowing it to drop into the hold. He hooked the flashlight back on his belt and started down the ladder.

Williams looked at the two bearded cops beside him. "I'm sorry, Steve. I really thought we might've had them."

With a heartsick sigh, the young inspector managed a tiny smile. "It's okay… we, ah, we all thought it was them. Maybe it is the other boat."

Williams nodded. "Maybe. We'll have to wait and hear from Brady."

A commotion from the hold made them turn back in time to see the second ensign, Blum, reach down into the hold then straighten up with a heavy, wet and slimy-looking hard-sided suitcase. He had just put in on the deck when Carter popped his head up. "There's three more of those down here, sir! Under the fish!" he called to Williams, nodding down into the hold. "Want me to bring them up?"

"Yes, I do, Ensign!" the commander yelled back, glancing at the detectives with eyes beginning to shine. "Ensign Blum, do me the honors, will you?"

Flashing a grin in his superior's direction, Blum snapped, "Yes, sir, my pleasure, sir!" and dropped to his knees. Fishing a small Swiss Army knife out of his pants pocket, he knelt and deftly snapped the locks. He opened the suitcase; whatever it contained was covered with a layer of thick plastic, obviously to protect the contents from any water in the hold.

With the small but sharp penknife, Blum cut through the plastic then turned the suitcase to face the hovercraft. The spotlight on the prow of the lifeboat readjusted onto the suitcase, and the neat piles of American money became obvious to everyone.

Cox glanced at Williams. "Drug money?"

With a gratified snort and a wry smile, the commander nodded. "It happens all the time out here, and we try to intercept as many runs as we can but we don't get them all. This is a big win for the good guys, gentlemen." He stared at Steve again. "I'm sorry we didn't get your partner back tonight, but this is a huge break for us."

Steve was nodding slowly. "No, I, ah, I understand. I'm glad something good came out of this."

Williams nodded in understanding and gratitude then turned back to the lifeboat. "Gentlemen, I'll leave this in your hands. We have to get back to the station. Good work tonight."

"Thank you, sir!" the deep voice of the lifeboat captain emanated from the darkness once again.

Williams faced the two detectives and gestured with his chin; they turned around and crossed back to the cabin and its relative warmth. The lieutenant at the helm looked up as they entered. "Commander Williams, sir, we received a report from Commander Brady. Their lifeboat intercepted the other trawler; they were heading for deeper water in an attempt to increase their catch tonight. Captain Andrews has confirmed it, sir."

The commander looked at Steve and Cox again, shaking his head sympathetically. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, I wish the news could've been better. Let's just hope they weren't moving any abductees tonight and we can catch them tomorrow."

"If we haven't already blown our cover," Cox sighed quietly, almost to himself, as he started to sit on the floor again. Steve stared at him, knowing what his colleague had just said was true. Holding his breath and trying not to wince, he used the wall to slip down to the floor then leaned against it, closing his eyes in pain, worry and frustration.

# # # # #

The trip back to Fort Point was at a much slower pace and, as a result, not as punishing as the trip out. But everyone on board now realized the stakes that had been so high before the night began were now even higher.

Back on land, calls were made and received, and by 3 a.m. consensus had been reached that it was unlikely that a deep-sea run would be made that night. They would have to wait until the fleet went out again later in the day.

In continuing discomfort, and almost paralyzingly disheartened, Steve allowed Bobby Cox to drive him home. He let himself into the darkened apartment with neither the will nor desire to climb the stairs to the second-floor bedroom. In the dark he laid down on the couch and stared at the ceiling, trying to empty his mind, knowing he needed sleep more than anything else right at the moment, anything except his partner.

He couldn't think straight, couldn't string two thoughts together coherently. He knew he had to get himself together so he could help in finding his best friend and putting an end to this horrifying chapter in his life.

With a heavy sigh, and gritting his teeth against the pain, he pulled himself to his feet and slowly mounted the stairs to the bathroom. From the medicine cabinet above the sink he removed a small plastic vial and popped the top, shaking two small yellow tablets onto his palm.

It had been a long time since he had resorted to sleeping pills but tonight, he knew, was an exception. He popped the pills into his mouth, turned on the cold water and, trying not to moan, leaned over the sink to drink from the tap. Straightening up, he grabbed a towel from the nearby rack, wiped the water from his chin and, tossing the towel on the counter, snapped off the light and crossed the hallway to his bedroom.

By the time he had taken off his clothes and slid between the sheets, pulling the comforter up from its position over the footboard, the sleeping pills were beginning to take effect.

# # # # #

Lieutenant Gary Newman, slouched behind the wheel of the dull grey LTD in an alley off Folsom, ran a tired hand over his face and exhaled loudly. It has been a discouragingly night, the drug interdiction aside, and he was getting frustrated. They were doing everything they knew to do, in the most professional manner possible, and still they were coming up with absolutely nothing. It was like Mike Stone had disappeared into thin air right before their eyes.

Again the apparitions straight out of Barbary Coast folklore spun through his brain – was this actually what was going on? The term 'far-fetched' kept floating through his mind and it was becoming harder and harder to disregard it.

Both he and Jenkins had managed to catch a few hours sleep before they once more manned the unmarked vehicles near Coopers and the pier as the first rays of dawn began to colour the sky. Both locations had been under intense but circumspect scrutiny for three solid days now and still nothing. Three different beer delivery trucks had slid into the narrow alley behind Coopers to off-load, and all three had been followed and then detained and minutely examined after they had left the neighbourhood. Nothing had been found. The drivers, and the companies, had then been contacted by the SFPD and officially warned not to contact Coopers, or anyone connected to Coopers, about the stop-and-search or they would face obstruction of justice charges.

Newman couldn't think of what else they could do. He was completely open to suggestions but no one else had any ideas either, at the moment.

With a loud sigh, he picked up the walkie-talkie and thumbed the Talk button. "You there, Kyle?"

The talkie crackled and Jenkins tinny chuckle could be heard. "Yeah, I'm here. Where else would I be? Have to admit though – I prefer the view here to the alley over there."

Newman laughed. They had decided to switch places today; the black van was parked on Taylor near Bay, facing the waterfront.

"I'm gonna have to actually wear my sunglasses once the sun is really up," Jenkins chortled.

"Lucky bastard." He paused as someone turned into the alley and started towards his car. "Chris is just coming back, I'll talk to you later." He tossed the talkie on the seat beside him as Vice Assistant Inspector Christopher Manning opened the passenger door and slid into the front seat. The newly minted detective was dressed like a homeless junkie and had spent the night in a doorway opposite the alley behind Coopers.

"Lieutenant," Manning nodded as he got into the Galaxie and closed the door.

With a low chuckle, Newman reached down towards the floor between his feet, his right hand coming up with a cardboard cup of coffee. "How many times do I have to tell you, Chris – it's Gary, okay? Here, I think you need this."

With a sudden, almost self-conscious grin, Manning reached for the cup. "Oh, you have no idea, sir… I mean, ah, Gary," he said tentatively, taking the lid off the coffee and taking a large sip.

"I'm not sure how hot it still is," Newman began but Manning shook his head.

"It's hot enough, believe me. Thank you." He wrapped both hands around the cup, savouring the warmth.

"So, nothing?"

Manning shook his head before taking another sip. "No, sir," he shook his head again after he swallowed, using the honorific without even thinking, and Newman smiled to himself. "There was a delivery to the bodega next door just after 5 a.m. but nothing to Coopers. I'm absolutely certain of that."

Newman sighed, trying to mask his discouragement, and Manning shot him an apologetic shrug.

"Sorry."

Newman sat back and smiled. "It's not your fault." He exhaled loudly. "It's just so frustrating, we have noth- " He stopped mid-word and froze.

Manning, about to take another sip of coffee, paused and stared at his superior officer. "Lieutenant…?" The older man's head turned slowly towards him.

"What did you say?"

"Sir?"

"About the delivery to the bodega?"

Manning's head went back slightly and he lowered the cup. "Oh, ah, a delivery truck pulled into the alley behind the bodega around 5. They were there about, oh, ten, fifteen minutes I guess."

"The bodega… it's on the far side of Coopers down the alley, right?"

"Yeah, the entire time it was there I could see the back of Coopers, and nothing came in or out there. I'm absolutely positive about that."

"The truck, was the back facing you or the cab?"

"The cab. The driver backed it in. Did a great job too – that alley is narrow."

"Did you see them moving the goods from the truck into the store?"

Manning shook his head. "No, they pulled the truck right up close to the door, on an angle."

Newman picked up the walkie-talkie. "Kyle, you there?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"You got Norm Haseejian working with you today?"

"Yeah, he's one of my homeless guys sleeping on the pier."

"Get him over here right now. I've got a job for him."

# # # # #

The dirty middle-aged thick-set homeless man, ignoring the glares of the office workers giving him a wide berth, turned into the alley, making his way slowly along the side lined with garbage cans. A thick green plastic bag was tucked into his belt and he lifted the lids of all the cans he came across, rooting through the garbage for soda cans and bottles, chortling with delight when he found one and dropped it into his bag.

His eyes lit up when he reached the cans behind the bar but they held only rotting food. With a disgusted growl, he threw the lids back on the bins and continued down the alley towards the bodega.

He was taking the battered lid off a large aluminum can when something on the ground caught his eye. Mumbling to himself, the lid still in one hand, he bent over to get a better look, and froze.

Straightening slightly to put the lid back on the garbage can, Sergeant Norm Haseejian hunkered down in the alley and carefully picked up the object that had attracted his attention.

As he stood, the thin shaft of sunlight that illuminated the alley glinted off the one remaining lens in the shattered and flattened gold-rimmed glasses.