58

MITCH COULDN’T SEE ED IN THE COMPLETE DARKNESS OF THE GRASP II’S storage compartment, but he could smell him. Mitch didn’t know how many days they’d gone without a shower or change of clothes, but it was a lot. Both of them were very nasty, but Ed’s stink had to be inhaled to be believed. Even the outhouse aroma of the 20-gallon bucket they’d been given smelled better. Mitch could even tell roughly where in the compartment Ed was by the smell. He’d heard that whales and dolphins could use their ears for “echolocation.” He could use his nose for Edolocation.

So when his nose detected a strengthening in the Ed aroma, he knew his friend was near and started breathing through his mouth. A second later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Ed’s voice in his ear. “You feel that? Wave action is different.”

Mitch paused and concentrated on the rhythm of the ship. “Yeah, you’re right. The engines are slower too.”

“We’re in port. You know what that means.”

“They’ll kill us?”

“Think, Mitch. If they’d wanted to kill us, wouldn’t they do it before now? It’s a lot easier to get rid of a body in the middle of the ocean, don’t you think? Just dump us overboard and say we must’ve fallen. No witnesses, no evidence. Harder to do that now.”

“So what’s going to happen now that we’re in port?”

“Not sure. But whatever it is, it’s going to happen.” He slapped something, probably the bulkhead beside them. “We’re going to get out of this place. No more waiting.”

As it turned out, they weren’t quite done waiting. More hours passed as they sat in the blackness, listening to changes in the little mechanical noises of the ship and wondering what they meant. Then came a faint but solid “thump” and the thrumming of the engines stopped completely. Mitch didn’t need to be told that they had just tied up at a dock.

Still nothing happened. He heard a faint liquid rumbling and Ed grunted. “Dinnertime.”

The word was hardly out of his mouth when the door clanged open and a wedge of bright light poured into the room. It was only the light bulb in the hall, but it blinded Mitch and he shaded his eyes and squeezed them shut. In a few seconds, the door would slam and they would feel their way to it, where they would find food and an empty latrine bucket.

But the door didn’t shut immediately. Mitch heard quick footsteps crossing the room and tried to force his eyes open. He saw a blurry figure silhouetted by blinding glare. It thrust something into his hands and spoke with Cho’s voice. “The door will be unlocked when I leave,” it said, speaking so rapidly and softly that Mitch had trouble catching the words despite the near silence. “The stairs will not be watched for the next ten minutes. The gangway is guarded, but the ladder on the stern is not. Go quickly and silently, and give this package to the FBI or CIA. It is important that they receive it soon. Very important.”

The door shut and the darkness returned, leaving Mitch’s eyes and mind dazzled by the last few seconds. His hands held something small and heavily wrapped in what felt like plastic. He shook it and felt it cautiously, trying to decide what it was.

His investigation was interrupted when Ed’s hand grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward the door. “Come on!” he hissed.

Mitch shoved the package into his pants pocket. “Don’t— don’t you think it’s a trap?”

Ed continued to pull him along. “We’re already trapped, moron. I don’t know what Cho is up to, but anything that gets us out of here is a step in the right direction.” Ed released him and he heard the door’s latch turning slowly. A halo of light appeared around the jamb. Ed’s lumpy profile thrust itself against the glow. “Looks clear.” He paused. “Don’t hear anything either. Okay, on three. One… two… three!”

The door flew open and Ed stumbled out, followed by Mitch. As promised the hallway was empty. They half-ran and half-staggered toward the narrow staircase at the end of the hall. They were clumsy and nearly blind from their captivity, and they banged into pipes and walls as they stumbled forward.

They were on the stairs. They pulled themselves up as quietly as they could, but Mitch was painfully aware of the clanging their feet made on the slatted steel steps. But he saw no one and heard no sounds of pursuit.

They stopped again at the door at the top of the steps. Ed cracked the door and peered out for a few seconds. It was dark, and a cold night breeze leaked in. Ed motioned for Mitch to follow and yanked the door open.

They were out on the deck now, running hunched over through the chilly air. Still no one stopped them and no shots or yells came from behind. The only sounds Mitch heard were his rasping breath and the sounds of his and Ed’s feet slapping against the deck as they sprinted from the door to the cover provided by the winch machinery, and then on to the top of the stern ladder.

Mitch took a quick look around, recognizing the Port of Oakland in an instant. There were the giant cranes that looked like the Imperial Walkers in the Star Wars movies, and there were the Deep Seven buildings. If he could just get past the North Koreans, he’d be practically home. It was so close!

They started down the ladder, Ed first and Mitch following him. A cold gust caught Mitch and he shivered. It couldn’t be above forty, and the water wouldn’t be much warmer. How far were they going to be able to swim in that? They would need to get around the end of the dock and all the way down the next one over to have any chance of getting far enough away from the ship to avoid being seen. That would be at least a hundred yards. A long way in cold water. A very long way.