“Samantha.”

She paused in the doorway of the bullpen and turned, absently pushing her hair behind her ear as she did so. “Yeah?”

“Want to go out for a drink? Or are you too tired?”

Martin stood at his desk, folders in hand and looking bit disheveled – his tie was loose and the top button of his shirt was undone. She couldn’t help but smile – he looked like she felt. They were the last to leave for the night after finally finishing overdue paperwork.

A drink sounded great. “Yeah,” she said with a tilt of her head. “It would be nice to know there’s real world out there, huh?”

His grin ignited a little life in his eyes. “And normal people,” he added. “Hang on a sec.” Martin dropped the files on his desk with a sound plop and grabbed his jacket all in one movement. “Let’s boogie!”

Samantha laughed as he threw the jacked over one shoulder and began tugging on his tie. “‘Let’s boogie’?” she echoed in barely suppressed giggles.

With his tie sufficiently loosened, Martin took her elbow and guided her out of the doorway and down the hall. “Well, it’s better than ‘Let’s make like a tree and leaf this joint.’ “

“Oooh,” she groaned, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah, that is worse.”

With the mood considerably lightened the pair threw puns back and forth all the way to the elevator. Tension from their awful day drained away as they approached the parking garage. When they stepped from the elevator, Martin indicated his car with his chin. “Come on, I’ll drive. It’s not that far and you know parking’s going be non-existent on a Friday night. ”

“Good point,” Samantha conceded. “Okay then, let’s go.”

He opened the passenger door for her and she slid inside. “Hello weekend!” she sighed happily. Martin laughed and jogged to the driver side. After pulling his door open, he threw his jacket in the back seat and dropped in behind the wheel. “Where to?” he asked as he started the car. “Wait, there’s one caveat . . .”

Samantha raised her eyebrows in question.

“It has to be a place where I don’t have to wear this,” he said as he pulled off the offending tie and tossed in over his shoulder. It fluttered unceremoniously atop the discarded jacket as he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled up the cuffs.

“Well, aren’t we wild tonight,” she joked. Samantha felt her weariness fade away with Martin’s enthusiasm. “How about The Longshot?”

Martin backed from the parking space and drove from the structure. “Sounds good. I gotta make one stop first. That all right?”

“No problem. That means you get the first round.”

Martin’s amused snort lifted her spirits even more. She hadn’t seen him in this kind of mood before and she liked it; there was tingle in her heart as she wondered what it would be like to get together with him; Danny teased her enough about it, so why not? He certainly was easy on the eyes . . .

They went a few blocks before Martin made a few quick turns and stopped at a corner market. She leaned forward and looked in the front windows. “This place is still open?”

“Yeah, he’ll close in a few minutes. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry if the lights go out . . .” he glanced at his watch. “. . . in about 3 minutes. They’re on a timer. The front door will automatically lock, too, but I’ll be right back.”

“Okay. Leave the keys so I can listen to the radio.”

Martin jumped out of the car and jogged to the glass front doors. He turned and threw Samantha a grin as he pushed the doors open and stepped inside the empty store. She saw him pause a moment to look around before heading toward the back of the store. Taking a deep, relaxing sigh and settling deeper into the soft leather seat, Samantha hummed along with the radio.

And then he vanished.

Chapter Two: 2 Hours Missing

Samantha paced the sidewalk in front of the store, her thumb hitched on the waist of her pants and her fingers drumming impatiently on her hip. Her other hand gripped her cell phone.

Martin’s car still sat where he’d parked it, but now it was flanked by NYPD black and whites and corralled in the tiny parking lot with yellow police barrier tape. When she saw Jack’s dark sedan jerk to a stop at the curb, her shoulders sagged with relief. Now they would get somewhere; she turned to meet her boss.

“Samantha,” Jack started as he strode toward her. “What happened?”

She swept her arm at the front door. “He walked in there and now he’s gone. I couldn’t get inside – the doors were locked . . .”

“Who locked them?”

“They were on automatic timers. Martin told me . . .” she dropped her eyes and pushed her gaze aside, trying to get her thoughts in some sort of order.

“Start over, Sam,” Jack said calmly as he gripped her shoulders. “What were you doing here?”

“Martin and I were going out for drinks. He said we should ride together because parking would be bad but he had to make a stop first.”

“What for?”

“He never said. We parked here,” she pointed at the car, “and he told me the lights would go out and the doors would lock automatically in 3 minutes – so it must have been 8:57 .”

She took a breath and turned from Jack’s hands, walking to the glass doors of the store. “When he didn’t come out in fifteen minutes, I got out and tried to see inside. It was dark so I walked around to the alley in the back. That door was locked, too. I noticed that the alley light was broken; there’s glass on the ground under it. I yelled and pounded on the door, but when no one answered I called the police, thinking that they would have a key to get in or at least have an emergency contact for the business.” She could feel her heart start to race as she recalled her alarm at the time. She bit her lip to get back on track. “Um . . . after nearly an hour, police dispatch got a hold of the building owner and when he finally got here I went in with the police. The place is empty, Jack. No one’s there. There are signs of a struggle in the back . . .”

“Show me.”

Samantha slowly felt her collection return as she led Jack into the store and through the scene. By the time they reached the back storeroom, her mind was ticking again. She ignored the little voice telling her that her work mindset was only pushing aside her fear.

“When I saw these boxes on the floor I looked closer and saw what looks like blood. That’s when I got everyone out and secured the scene and called you. I . . . I think Martin and the store owner were taken out by the back door. I was out front the whole time.”

“Jack?” Vivian’s voice carried easily from the front doors.

“Back here!”

The cool calm of the experienced agent was like a balm to Samantha; she knew Jack too well, and as a result, could read the tenseness he was trying not to show. Samantha could see a shadow of concern in Vivian’s eyes that belied the matter-of-fact tone to her voice.

“Any witnesses?”

Jack stood straighter. “We haven’t canvassed the area yet. Danny should be here . . .”

“Now.” Agent Taylor ’s eyes darted around the scene as soon as he entered the storeroom. “Want me to start checking the adjoining buildings for witnesses?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied, “Sam and I will collect the evidence here and question the land lord. Vivian, go with Danny.”

The four of them split up, their concern palatable. Before he left, Danny’s hand rested sympathetically for a moment on Samantha’s shoulder. She gave him a weak smile as he left.

“Sam.” Jack’s voice captured he full attention and as she faced him, she tried to keep the panic from her eyes. “Think. What else did you see? Any other cars? Pedestrians? Noises?”

Samantha’s forehead furrowed in thought. “I had the radio on kinda loud. I saw Martin open the door and stop for a moment just inside. He looked around, and then started to the back. He pulled something from his back pocket . . .”

“His wallet?” Jack asked.

“No,” Samantha said with authority. “No, he carries his wallet in his left back pocket. He took something from his right pocket . . .” She frowned. “It was white. A paper?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll figure it out. That the land lord?” He pointed to a rotund man arguing with a uniformed officer just outside the storeroom. When she nodded, they approached and motioned the uniform away.

Jack showed his identification. “Who’s on the lease?”

It was hot; too hot to breathe. Martin gasped in an effort to fill his lungs and was rewarded with a calliope of spinning starts and piercing pain in his skull. Quickly he clamped his mouth shut, grinding his teeth until the agony receded a little. Next, he opened his eyes a crack and saw only gauzy darkness. He jerked his hand to reach for his head, but found that his arms were pulled behind his back and wouldn’t move. Puzzling over that for several confused moments as his senses cleared, Martin realized that he was partially sitting up and slumped to one side, making breathing difficult. When he tried to push himself upright with his shoulder, pain zinged again and took what little breath he had away as a groan.

Then he realized that there was something over his head making his breath hot against his face – a bag? And his hands were tied behind him?

A rush of panic was quickly squelched as he tried to think logically through the distracting agony. Martin forced himself to relax and concentrate on his breathing as he attempted to gather his scattered thoughts. When he tried to use his feet to scoot back and closer to the wall, he realized his feet were tied, too.

‘What the hell?’ he thought muzzily.

“I have your gun, Agent Fitzgerald, so don’t bother looking.” A man’s voice with some kind of accent.

Martin made the mistake of trying to shake his head; was difficult to think. He knew he must have a concussion. “They’re looking for me, you know,” he said, his voice sounding thick and slurred to his ears.

The man laughed lowly. “I know.”

The agent heard movement and then someone grabbed his forearm in a vice-like grip. Even though his head felt as if it would explode with every movement, Martin automatically tried to fight back. When he started to yell, he found his face pressed painfully to the floor. There were at least two men holding him down and Martin knew he was going to black out again. His stomach rolled.

His felt a sting on his flesh; he jerked, and his face and chest were forced harder to the floor in response. At the same moment he felt the growing warmth from whatever they had injected him with, Martin realized he was in a moving vehicle.

Then all his aches and pains faded away in a glorious rush, the previous nausea vanishing as his body relaxed. Uncaring, Martin continued his ride to the unknown.

Chapter Three: 4 hours missing

“The business owner’s name is Alex Sun. He’s had the market there for ten years, running it with is wife, who died six months ago.”

Samantha tried to concentrate on Jack’s words, but her gaze kept straying to the photograph of Martin stuck on the blank white board. It was the same photo that was on his ID card.

Vivian’s voice refocused her attention. “A woman that lives across the alley remembered seeing a dark van parked behind the business. She only noticed it because no one usually parks there – it’s a fire lane. She didn’t see it leave.”

“I’ve check for Martin’s cell, but it must be turned off. The last call from it was when he was here,” Danny added.

“Did you find any surveillance cameras in the area?” Jack asked. “ATMs, banks, parking lots?”

“There are six ATM machines in a four block radius of the store. I have calls in to get any video in the time frame.”

“You okay?” Danny’s voice was soft in her ear. Samantha jerked slightly in surprise, and felt her cheeks start to burn.

“Sam?” Jack said.

Samantha looked up to see the three members of her team looking at her.

“Can you do this?” Jack asked in a brusque tone.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Samantha snapped. “What about Sun? What’s his story?”

Jack handed her a file. “You tell us,” he replied. “There’s what we have so far.” He turned to the other two. “Get those videos.”

Mentally chastising herself, Samantha returned to her desk with the file firmly in her grasp. When she passed the whiteboard, she consciously kept her eyes forward and her mind focused. Finally settling at her desk, she flipped the folder open and started entering names into her computer.

She was well aware that Jack was watching her from his office.

Mee Liang was disgusted. He hated loose ends, and here was one splayed on the floor at his feet. ‘Loose ends end up hanging you if one isn’t careful,’ he thought. He looked again at the FBI flat badge in his hand. Liang didn’t like it when his minions made their own decisions; it usually lead to a downfall. ‘Then again, it’s a rich man that takes advantage of a downturn.’ He looked again at the drugged man on the floor and considered.

“How much did he see?” Liang asked, his voice deceptively soft.

The two men returned from securing Sun to a sturdy chair. The lead man ducked his head before responding to his boss. “We had Sun tied already. Jiu hit the other as soon as he stepped in the storeroom. I don’t know what he saw, but he never drew his gun so he was not alerted. I was going to leave him, but then I found his identification and thought he might be valuable. He also had this.” The man handed over a white paper.

Both men kept their eyes averted and waited. Liang flipped the wallet closed and tapped the leather against his palm as he regarded his underlings. Then he accepted the paper. “You do not make decisions. I do. If our new guest becomes a problem, you will pay also. Understand?”

“Yes.” The worker kept his head bowed as he replied.

Liang looked at Sun, now secured in the chair. The old man still had a black bag over his head and was breathing hard, obviously terrified; he was uttering an ancient prayer. ‘Sun is what I need to get Zhan.” Liang thought. “Maybe this agent can help me later on.’ He nodded and turned again to the white man on the floor. His minions had used the man’s own shirt to cover his head. “How much did you give the agent?”

“Just enough to keep him quiet. He’s not unconscious, but I do not think he can communicate at the moment.”

Liang smiled. “Take off the cloth. It sounds like our guest is enjoying himself too much to be a problem.”

After a quick bow, the two men knelt and worked to loosen the shirt around their prisoner’s head. When it was finally pulled clear, Liang noted the dilated pupils and unfocused gaze. He clucked his tongue and smiled approvingly. “Ah, Special Agent Fitzgerald, welcome. I see you are enjoying my hospitality.”

Martin only blinked unfocused eyes and halfheartedly tried to pull his hands free.

“Put him in the holding room for now. He will be quiet for a while longer.”

The two men grabbed the agent and dragged him away as Liang watched thoughtfully and then unfolded the paper and read it. He smiled. ‘There is opportunity here. Maybe this loose end could actually be the start of a fine bolt of cloth,’ he thought, his mood lightening. ‘But first, Mr. Sun.’

Tucking the wallet and paper away, the slender Asian adjusted his jacket and moved to stand in front of the subdued store owner.

Alex Sun trembled in his bonds.

Chapter Four: 7 hours missing.

Samantha let out an explosive sigh and arched backward in her chair. She took a moment for the luxury of a stretch and ran her fingers through her hair with her eyes closed. Tired people made mistakes, she knew.

A delicious smell touched her nose and her eyes snapped open. Danny small grin did little to hide his own weariness, but the coffee cup he plunked on her desk was a step in the right direction. “Here. We both need it.” He sipped from his own cup and nodded at the one in front of her.

“Thanks,” she breathed, lifting the cup to her lips. It was a heavenly burn on her tongue.

“What do you have so far?” Danny asked.

“Well,” Samantha started. “Alex Sun has a short and clean history. Too short.” She glanced in Jack’s direction and saw that he was coming toward her, so she waited until he arrived to continue. By then Vivian had parked herself on the neighboring desk. “It seems that Mr. Sun has had this name for twelve years. His passport number, however, shows that he’s been in country longer than that – over fifteen years. All sorts of things don’t match up. I’m waiting for the information on his paperwork before that; Visas, green cards, other passports. For the last twelve years he and his wife have been model citizens.”

Danny pitched in. “Phone records for the past eight months show numerous calls to one particular set of numbers belonging to Full Moon Shipping. Before that, there were none to those numbers. We didn’t find any reference to Full Moon Shipping in the store records. It looks like the calls started about the time Sun’s wife became ill and continued up until two weeks ago.”

Vivian’s eyebrow rose skeptically. “Full Moon Shipping? Alex Sun? Coincidence?”

Jack snorted. “No such thing. What do we know about Full Moon Shipping?”

“Not much yet,” Danny stated. “I was just starting to dig in.”

“Keep it up. Samantha, help him out if you’re done with Mr. Sun. Viv? What about those ATM videos?”

She grinned that cat-with-the-canary grin of hers and patted a folder in her hand. “Well, the ATM’s turned out to be a bust, but I did find something on the red light camera history.” She opened the folder. “You know that there are cameras in two intersections nearby that are set up to photograph anyone running the red lights. There were three detections in that timeframe, and I got the photos.”

Samantha craned her neck to see the photos. Two white cars and . . . “a black van.”

“Yup! At 2110 hours, a black van rolled around a corner on a right turn and got caught. There’s an excellent shot of the driver’s face and the license plate. The vehicle is registered to the Crane Corporation.” She pulled out the photos. “Both driver and passenger are Asian males.”

Samantha blinked. “That’s interesting.”

“Why?”

“Remember when I said I saw Martin pull a paper from his pocket? I figured the paper was something he was going to give Alex Sun, so out of curiosity I checked Martin’s computer search history.”

“And . . ?” Vivian urged.

“Well,” Samantha started. “He’d visited the site for Crane Corporation. The first time was about two weeks ago. He ran several searches on the names listed, including passport searches and driver’s records.”

“Sounds like he was looking for someone,” Vivian concluded.

“You two find out more about that Corporation and check Martin’s phone records,” Jack ordered Vivian. “Danny and Sam, look into Full Moon Shipping.”

Invigorated with the information, Samantha returned to her work. In her periphery, she saw Jack add the information to the white board. Her jaw tightened in determination.

It seemed like his world was enveloped in fleece.

Martin managed to push himself into the corner of the small room and prop himself up, but that was as far as he cared to go. He was aware of his surroundings and knew it wasn’t a place he should be; he also knew that his hands were still tied behind him. He just didn’t really care. In fact, he felt pretty good right now.

He could feel his heart beating and his breathing seemed unusually loud – the combination fascinated him for awhile and he was content to just listen and experience. Then his wrists started to sting a little, so he decided to make the effort to bring his hands to the front. It seemed to take a lot longer than it should, and he kept getting distracted by other sights and noises, but eventually he was able to work his arms around his legs and maneuver his hands to the front. The sight of his raw wrists was intriguing. He knew it should hurt more than it actually did.

And then he realized that the noises he’d been hearing off and on were of someone being hit. He also heard heated voices, but the words didn’t make sense. Martin’s euphoric feelings dipped and he started concentrating on getting his hands free. After a frustrating few minutes without results, Martin managed to push himself to his feet using the wall as a brace. His legs wobbled weakly, but he stayed upright and made his way across the very small and dark room to the sole door. It was ajar.

Looking out through the slight opening he saw the profile of Sun tied in a chair. In the stark light of a single bare bulb that dangled from the ceiling he saw that the old man was crying. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His tormenter stood in front of him, ready to strike again. Another man, neatly dressed in black and completely out of context with the small, dingy room, spoke rapidly to the old man in another language. ‘Chinese,’ Martin realized through his foggy thoughts. ‘That’s why I don’t understand it.’

Just then, the man in black looked up and met Martin’s eyes across the small space. Without releasing his stare, the man spoke quickly and Sun’s tormentor turned to Martin. The agent’s mind screamed to run, but his feet refused to obey and he only managed to stumble back against the wall. The door squeaked open and two dark figures grabbed him from either side. The man in black’s eyes glistened in the yellow light as he stood, unmoving, next to Sun.

Martin struggled but found his motions uncoordinated. He was easily forced down to his knees and then and pushed to his stomach on the floor. He felt a cold sting in his arm again followed by a hot rush and soon he was wrapped in glorious warmth once again. Martin’s mind told him this wasn’t a good thing, but the rest of him surrendered to the delightful high and everything became fuzzy. He groaned as he sank back into the abyss.

“Looks like our FBI man has acquired a taste for China White.”

Martin heard the words and the low laughter that followed, but didn’t care at the moment; he felt sinfully wonderful.

Chapter Five: 8 hours missing

Sam awoke with a start. She felt a line of drool at the corner of her mouth about the same time she realized her cheek was resting on her desk. Jerking up, she quickly wiped her mouth and looked around. Danny’s back was to her and she was embarrassingly relieved. Her chair squeaked as she sat up, giving her away. Danny turned and gave her a tired smile.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, smoothing her hair back from her face and blinking away the sleep.

“Don’t worry about it. You caught me last time.”

Samantha grinned sheepishly. “What did you find out?”

“I found out that shipping is a very lucrative business. Full Moon Shipping owns ten cargo ships registered in Panama and is the number one company for moving imports from China . And guess who owns a percentage of the company?”

“The Crane Corporation,” she guessed. Danny nodded. “Do any owners match up?” she asked. “I mean, between Crane and Full Moon? Is there a common denominator?”

“I’m looking now, but it’s a substantial list of mostly Chinese names. I already have about a dozen matches.” Danny held her gaze for a moment and then added in a softer tone. “We’ll find him.”

The kind words caused her eyes to sting with repressed tears so she nodded quickly and ducked her head. Samantha realized her affection for Martin must be more obvious than she thought or her lack of sleep just made it harder to keep her emotions in check.

The pair was distracted by the sound of Jack’s raised voice. Although they couldn’t hear the words, they could see that their boss was not happy with someone on the other end of the phone line before he slammed the receiver down. Jack leaned back and rubbed his eyes.

“Think he just spoke to Daddy Director?” Danny quipped.

“Better him than me,” Samantha replied.

Jack’s phone rang again and he snatched it from the cradle before the noise ended. The conversation was short and Jack was on his feet before hanging up again.

Danny and Samantha looked at each other then turned toward Vivian, who caught the look and shrugged her shoulder. By the time Jack made it to his office door, a pair of scruffily dressed men stepped from the elevator followed by a tall, thin man in a gray suit.

Waving a hand to indicate the team should stay seated, Jack met the trio at the bullpen doorway. After a brief, unintelligible exchange of words the man in the suit followed Jack to his office while the scruffy pair stopped at the briefing table. One sat on the edge of the table while the other plopped down in a chair, both looking tiredly indifferent.

Danny leaned closer to Samantha’s ear. “They have ‘undercover’ written all over ‘em.”

“Undercover with whom?” she replied.

“I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

His mouth a hard, angry line, Jack stalked from his office to the bullpen with the visitor at heel.

Samantha, Vivian and Danny automatically took chairs at the conference table. The plainclothes pair just followed Jack with their eyes.

“It seems that we’ve crossed into a DEA investigation,” Jack started. “This is agent Morse from DEA.” Jack indicated the man in the suit. “And those two are agents Scott and Schuller. They will be taking lead on this case.”

‘No wonder Jack’s pissed,’ Samantha thought. Then she felt a tingle of fear in her veins. ‘Martin must have walked into a real mess.’

Jack continued. “Full Moon Shipping has been the subject of a two year long investigation by the DEA for bringing in heroin from China . They finally have someone that will testify against their lead suspect, Mee Liang. He’s tied to the Chinese Triad, so getting him could bring down a sizeable piece of the Chinese gang empire here in the states.”

“So how is Martin involved now?” Danny asked.

Agent Morse took the cue. “The man we have in protective custody is Tshu-dao Zhan. He is a bookkeeper for Full Moon Shipping and a member of the Chinese Triad. He came to this country fifteen years ago with his parents and quickly established himself at the Company. He’s smart, shrewd and very, very good with numbers. Zhan is supposed to testify against Liang in three days. It’s a good chance that Liang now knows he’s missing and will do anything to find Zhan.

“The key here is Zhan’s parents. Zhan knew fifteen years ago that his job choice was dangerous for his family. The Triad is known for using family to keep their gang in line. Zhan managed to make his parents disappear twelve years ago and walked out of their lives for their safety. He set his parents up in a business and broke all ties with them. He hasn’t even told us their current names or locations, even though he demanded we guarantee their safety in exchange for his testimony. Since Zhan had done such a good job ‘hiding’ them, we thought that was a safe promise to make. We started noticing FBI hits on Crane Corporation’s phone records because the phones are tapped – the company is connected with Liang and Full Moon. It looks like Zhan’s parents – or father, at least – managed to find Zhan with your agent’s help. And Liang probably has found Zhan’s father from those same calls.”

Vivian spoke up. “But we just started checking into Full Moon tonight.”

“Not exactly,” Sam said. “Martin phone records show that he started calling early last week, probably as a favor for Sun.”

“Yes,” Morse confirmed. “And he said a Mr. Sun was trying to find Zhan. With that bit of information we’ve determined that Alex Sun is actually Soun-dai Zhan, our man’s father. It seems that after Sun’s wife died he felt the need to re-connect with his son. What he doesn’t realize is that he has now placed his own life in danger. Liang obviously has figured out who Sun is; that photo you have is of two of Liang’s underlings. We believe that Liang has Alex Sun and plans to use him to get to Zhan, and if we don’t keep our promise to keep his father safe, our deal is off and Zhan won’t testify. We have to get the old man back before Zhan finds out he’s been grabbed.

“Our surveillance tells us that so far, Liang doesn’t know we have Zhan. We made it look like Zhan fled to Hong Kong , but Liang is a hard man to fool; he’ll check every lead possible here first. I’m sure he’s discovered some missing books and now he’ll see if Sun can lead him to Zhan. Once he discovers the old man doesn’t know a thing, Liang will have him killed or transport him to Hong Kong as insurance.

“We have to do everything we can to find Sun before Zhan finds out he’s been taken and make sure that Liang doesn’t flee before we can press charges on Monday.”

“At the expense of my agent?” Jack snapped.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Morse said levelly. “He’s probably the reason they found Sun in the first place.”

Samantha felt sick. Martin had unwittingly led Liang right to an innocent old man.

The effects of whatever they were injecting him with was both wonderful and frightful. Martin rode the initial rush from the last injection to a peak he’d never experienced before. The whisper on some inner voice, however, was always there, telling him that this high was exactly why heroin was so dangerous. It felt too good.

When the effect leveled out, he found he could get a little grip on his logical thoughts and held on to them with desperation – his deep-seated fear of losing control the sole thing forcing himself to try and think around the addictive sensation.

‘I have to get us out of here,’ he realized. The vision of the bloodied Sun hanging in his mind, Martin tried to make sense of all this. All he did was make a few inquires for a lonely old man missing his son. Did he bring this down on the old man, or had he just suffered bad timing on something that was going to happen anyway? What did Sun have to do with drug dealers?

Something clicked – maybe it was the missing son that was involved. The small triumph of a completed, logical thought fortified Martin and inspired him to try and work around his artificial euphoria. It took some concentration, but he managed to get to his feet and wobble his way to the door again. This time it was closed, and he nearly cried in relief when he found it unlocked. Alarmed and taken aback at how out of control his emotions were, Martin swallowed hard and paused with his hand on the rusty knob.

‘Come on, Fitzgerald. Pull yourself together.’ A mental image of his father’s stern face usually helped him to turn his emotions to ice, but this time a rush of shame shrouded him. There was no doubt his father would be disappointed in his son’s current condition – he would see it as weakness, and Fitzgerald men were not weaklings. Martin blinked rapidly to quell the rising burn of tears that nearly overwhelmed him. ‘Stop it!’ he chastised himself. ‘That’s the drug talking. Get a grip!’

With a deep, bracing sigh, Martin’s survival instincts rose to the surface and he carefully turned the protesting knob. He felt oddly separate from his body; numb and disjointed. Panic sparked. ‘Don’t think about it now. Later . . . you can think about it later.’ He felt a tickle of sweat under his collar as he slowly pushed the door open.

The chair that Sun had been in was lying on the dirty floor, empty. Martin looked around and cautiously ventured out, drawn to the chair. When he got next to it he saw that the arm was stained with blood and a new battle began within.

‘I’ve got to find him,’ one voice said. ‘Get the hell out!’ another urged. His mind was a chaotic mess of thought, both logical and insane. He thought he was going mad. Martin stumbled to a dark corner and sank to the floor, head between his hands. It was while he sat there trying to become functional that a few details about his surroundings sunk in.

It smelled musty – like the ocean. The two rooms he’d been in were very small, very bare and very dark. The only light source was the bare bulb hanging down and the weak sunlight filtering through a dirty, partially painted over window the only other door. It must go outside, the agent realized. Although all he really wanted to do was lay down and simply exist, Martin knew if he did that he’d be dead. He couldn’t give up. ‘A captured agent always seeks escape,’ he recalled from a long ago lecture.

Then the deep, resonant sound of a horn caused him to jump and raced his heart. Working his way to his feet, his stomach rolled and he retched dryly. When his gut settled, Martin slid along the wall to the dirty window and tried to see outside through a bare spot where the paint had been scraped off. The outlines were fuzzy due to the dirt, but he recognized boats. Big ones. ‘Cargo ships.’

He was in a shed on a dock or a pier. And two Asian men were walking toward the shed.

Martin pushed away from the window in a panic and fell over the chair. His body seemed ungainly and out of control – he couldn’t get disentangled from the chair. The door opened and the bright light blinded him. Martin threw his arm over his eyes.

“Looks like we got here just in time,” the first man said, pulling a syringe from his pocket.”

“It is a waste of a good product, don’t you think?” The second man asked the first. “He’s going to be dead soon anyway.”

“True,” the first man agreed as he nodded toward Martin. “Just think of it as field testing or even quality control.”

The second man easily snared Martin’s arm and forced him to his stomach. Martin felt a knee in his back as he gasped for breath. His head throbbed. His other arm was pulled painfully to the side. He started to struggle, but surrendered at the first prick of the needle. Instantly, he relaxed and waited for the familiar rush; he found that he looked forward to it and swore softly.

The two men released him. “Yes, I’d say he likes this a bit too much.”

And then he was alone again on his own joy ride. Through the growing euphoria, he heard one of them say, “Let’s go get the old man.”

Chapter Six: 11 hours missing

It was safer to let Jack drive, Samantha admitted. She was so tired she could hardly see straight. With a sigh, she rubbed her eyes as Jack’s sedan pulled out to the street. She slipped her hand in her coat pocket and fingered the silk tie she’d removed from Martin’s car. She’d grabbed it when the vehicle was released from the scene and she had driven it back to the parking garage; it had been a purely instinctive reaction at the time. Now, however, she realized that just knowing it was there helped her focus.

Jack glanced her way. “Why don’t you try to sleep a few minutes? It’ll take nearly an hour to get to the docks.”

At first she wanted to protest, but her eyelids refused to stay open. “Okay,” she mumbled, not sure she would actually be successful. With her fingers intertwined in the soft memento, she felt her body relax.

In what seemed like moments later, she felt a warm hand gently stroke her cheek. “Martin?” she mumbled, struggling to wake up.

“No, sorry.”

She blinked in confusion and Jack’s face came into focus. “Oh!” she said, momentarily flustered. She’d been dreaming about Martin, she realized instantly. She felt her cheeks burn and jerked her hand from her coat pocket, the item hidden there feeling heavy. “Oh, um, I was just dreaming . . .”

“I see that.” Jack’s smile had a tinge of sadness.

“I mean, I was . . . are we there?” Covering her embarrassment, she sat up and pushed her hair back. Outside, she saw a pier flanked by cargo ships. Cranes were noisily lowering shipping boxes into the hold. She could hear men shouting in the distance and the sound of machinery.

“Directly before you is the main pier for Full Moon Shipping. The ship they’re loading now is the next one scheduled to depart in . . .” he looked at his watch. “. . . twenty-four hours. If they choose to get Sun away from here, that’s their best bet. Those plain clothed guys are part of the loading crew so we should hear pretty quick if something goes down.”

“What about Martin? Do you think he and Sun are still together?”

“I hope so,” Jack replied.

“Are Danny and Viv set up?”

“Probably not. They’re probably just getting to Crane headquarters.”

Just then his cell phone rang. Samantha was glad for the distraction.

“Malone.” He listened for a few seconds. “Okay. Keep an eye on him.” He repocketed the phone. “Liang just arrived at his office. Morse is setting up on his house. The guy can’t breathe without us knowing.”

Still, Samantha was on edge. Liang owned lots of buildings in the city, but to set up teams on every one was impossible, she knew. “I just hope Morse is right that Liang is a hands-on kind of guy and will want to be there when he does something with Sun.”

“I hope he’s right, too. We’ll have to trust what his team tells us.”

“We’ll have to trust that no one on his team is dirty and will help Liang escape.”

Jack let out a short laugh. “I’ve been a bad influence on you. That’s something I would say.”

For the first time since Martin’s disappearance, a ghost of a smile haunted Samantha’s lips.

‘Let’s go get the old man.’

The phrase bounced around in his mind until he thought he’d go crazy. Martin found it hard to motivate himself into action. He focused on that one thought and eventually got his limbs to function. Something wasn’t right, though, and it took the miniscule part left of his logical mind a while to realize that his hands were tied behind him again. This time, however, he didn’t have the energy or the heart to work them to the front.

‘Let’s go get the old man.’

Martin shook his head in an effort to clear it, but it just made him dizzier. The phrase pushed him into action and he struggled to his feet. Fixing his stare on the exit, he moved forward and tripped over the chair, falling hard on his knees and then toppling to the side. With his hands tied, he was unable to stop his fall and cracked his cheek on the cement floor. Stars spiraled before his eyes. ‘Damn it,’ he cursed, fighting to keep conscious. A shot of anger brought him around enough to move on. Now he felt throbbing in his knees as well as his head and cheek.

Martin felt detached from his body which made walking a disjointed affair. He used the wall as support and finally made it to the door and looked blearily outside – one eye was swelling shut, and it was difficult to see. Two men were talking, heads bowed together, their voices too soft to distinguish words. Martin recognized them as the two goons that kept him drugged and he felt a surge of panic. As he watched and tried to manage the upheaval of emotions, Martin saw the two men suddenly glance aside. They each pulled a weapon and stepped out of sight. Martin seized the opportunity and slipped clumsily outside.

The brightness of the sun blinded him and his eyes instantly began to tear up. Losing his equilibrium, Martin pressed his back against the shack to regain balance. Once square on his feet – or so he thought – he ducked his head and stumbled around the corner of the shack and out of sight.

The world seemed – fuzzy. Dull and fuzzy. The euphoria from the drug had flattened out, leaving Martin feeling drained and wanting. His stomach lurched, his head and knees throbbed and his mind screamed that he needed distance from this shack. Sorting through all these mixed up sensory inputs and emotions was nearly impossible, but the mental picture of the bloody old man helped him to focus. He stumbled onward toward the collection of mammoth sized shipping crates and got lost among them.

Chapter Seven: 14 hours missing

Samantha worked every trick in the book to stay alert – jogging in place, coffee, conversation – it all worked for a short time. Her body begged for sleep, and she knew Jack had to feel the same. Her boss’ eyes had obvious and huge bags under them. They had already bantered about his advantage of experiencing babies and small children in the house; they prepared you for sleepless nights and sleep deprived days.

Finally, she’d agreed to a cat nap. Twenty minutes had been more refreshing than she could imagine, probably because there were no dreams. Jack had agreed to his own cat nap and was reclined in the driver’s seat of the sedan when she heard his phone ring. It was an amazing thing to witness – Jack was awake and alert by the second ring. Samantha wondered if she would ever get to that level.

“Malone,” he barked, not a touch of sleep to his tone. “Okay, we’re on it.”

“What?” she asked, grateful for the spark of adrenalin.

“Liang just left his house and is headed here. Viv and Danny are following.”

Samantha snatched the binoculars from the seat and focused on the docks. “It looks like business as usual down there. I wonder if they are expecting him.”

“The phone calls for the past hour or so have been short – they may know they’re being monitored.” Jack kicked the door open and got out, leaning on the frame of the open door as he studied the docks spread out before them. “There are a lot of places to hide someone in there. We’ll have to rely on the DEA to narrow it down for us. I just hope their assumption is right that Sun is here.” His phone rang again. “Malone.”

Samantha could tell by Jack’s one-sided conversation that it was Martin’s father on the other end. She breathed a short prayer of thanks that she didn’t have to deal with Victor Fitzgerald on top of all this; she was having problems enough of her own with it.

Jack snapped the phone closed. “I don’t think I’d want to be the DEA agent whose phone number Director Fitzgerald has right now,” he grumbled. “At least he has the sense to stay outside the perimeter at the moment.”

“I think I see some motion,” Samantha said, her grip tightening on the field glasses. “Around the containers . . . where are Scott and Schuller are? By the ships?”

“Yeah.” Jack’s voice carried the edge that Samantha felt. It was pure torture being on the outside looking in.

“We need to move in closer. I can’t see anything around those containers,” Samantha growled. She lowered the glasses. “If Scott and Schuller are by the ship, then who’s watching the office? Those huge containers are between the ship and the office; they can’t possibly be watching both.”

Jack hunched his shoulders. “I was assured that DEA was on it.” It was obvious that he wasn’t satisfied with that information either, and after a second, he turned to her. When he did, Samantha was caught by his eyes – they spoke volumes on their own when he said, “The only way we can justify going in is if we’re in hot pursuit, understand?” Jack held her stare until she nodded. “So keep your eyes peeled.” Only then, he turned away

Samantha’s heart raced. “I have to stretch my legs.” She slipped from the vehicle and stood.

Jack opened his door to join her, but his phone rang again. He snatched it from his pocket and flipped it open. “Malone,” he said, turning to wave Samantha off. He spoke rapidly into the phone for a few seconds then closed it with a snap. “The Director wants me to meet him at the DEA command center. I’ll send Danny down when he gets here. Meanwhile, stay put, okay?”

“Okay,” Samantha agreed.

They shipyard was huge and was made up of numerous piers. Each pier was gated for security. They had been parked in the dockworkers’ parking lot among countless other cars. When he drove off, Samantha waited until he was out of sight and then wended her way through the vehicles to the edge of the lot. One hand fingered the silky tie in her pocket as she walked and studied the lay of the land.

When she reached the security fence that separated the docks from the lot area, Samantha walked along it and found a growing collection of barrels, boxes and junk as she got farther from the main gate. Finally, she spotted what she’d hoped to find: a small hole in the chain link, mostly hidden by the junk. Samantha immediately ducked down and worked the wires until she was able to slip through. She knew this was more than Jack would allow, but she had to do this for Martin.

Staying low and close to fence, she hesitated and tried to pick out a route that offered the most concealment. She’d just figured a path when her phone rang. The agent fumbled with the device, saw that it was Jack calling, and bit her lip guiltily.

“Sorry, Jack,” she whispered as she turned off the phone. “Let’s call it plausible deniability.” She slipped it into the same pocket that held Martin’s tie, and then pushed off the fence and headed toward the jungle of ship containers that surrounded the shipping office.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Mee Liang’s driver slowed the dark sedan at the dock’s security gate, and then was allowed through with a silent nod from the guard. Liang felt his jaws working in anger. None of his contacts here or overseas had been able to locate Zhan, and Zhan’s father had proved to be worthless as a source of information. It was time to believe the worst – he’d been betrayed. That’s the only thing that made sense with the presence of the FBI agent.

The last person that had betrayed Liang was at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean . Liang knew he had to make a decision; the agent was too hot to keep for long, but could be useful in the right situation. Sun was insurance for Zhan and would be moved to the ship immediately. All Liang had to do now is make a decision on the agent and get a clear message to Zhan about the consequences should he follow through with his betrayal to the Triad. The agent had to know where Zhan was; there was still a little time to get this job done. The last think Liang wanted to do was jet back to his homeland and leave the empire he’d built here.

The car stopped at Full Moon’s shipping office. The driver jumped out, scanned the area, and smoothly opened the door for Liang. The office door opened at Liang’s approach and the manager bowed respectfully and stepped back to allow his boss to enter. Pulling off his sunglasses, Liang looked around the office.

“Mr. Wang. Where’s the agent?” Liang asked without preamble.

Manager Wang’s hands were a study in nervous energy. Liang was instantly on alert and his eyes bore into the scared man before him.

“He’s escaped,” Mr. Wang finally admitted. “He couldn’t have gotten far and we’re looking for him now. It’s only been a few minutes.”

Liang’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his hand was in motion before he even thought about it. The slap sent Wang reeling backward where he cowered in response. “Move Sun to the ship. If that agent isn’t found soon, you will be joining our guest on the ship, Mr. Wang. Understand?”

oooooOOOOOooooo

A small, constant voice nagged Martin through all his misery. Although his body was wracked in pain and begged for rest, he continued to push on, foot by foot, yard by yard. What his body begged for was to simply curl up in a dark cave and die, but the voice urged him on. Finally, through his fading vision and puffy eyes, Martin saw an open space beyond the crates and a perimeter fence.

It looked like an impossible chasm to cross and his determination faltered.

He sank to the ground and brought his knees to his chest in an effort to ease the cramps. Resting his forehead on his knees, Martin chewed his lip to keep from moaning out loud, eventually tasting blood on his tongue, but the pain there was barely noticeable. His hands were still secured behind his back – he didn’t have the energy or inclination to do anything about it.

Martin’s stomach twisted again and he broke out in a cold sweat. Tipping to the ground and trying to curl into a ball, nothing else mattered at the moment except riding the wave until it receded enough to move on.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Samantha moved along the crates with her gun drawn. She could hear moving feet and shouted commands, but didn’t understand the words. Staying along the outside crates was the safest route at the moment. She crept along the back of one container and stopped at the corner, preparing to dash across the opening to the cover of the next container. Quickly, she peeked around to see if it was clear and immediately saw a crumpled form on the ground. Her heart clenched – it was Martin.

Chapter Eight: 15 hours missing

If one had a practiced eye, one might be able to tell there was something amiss around the Full Moon offices on Pier 22. The dockworkers continued to load the ship and slowly reducing the number of crates stored on the pier without a clue that a search was in progress.

Liang knew that although many crates would eventually be gone, there were still a large number left to search. As his men roamed among them looking for the escaped FBI agent, Liang quickly weighed his options. If Zhan had, in fact turned – and that looked like a certainty at this point – what was left here? Always careful to keep his tracks covered, Mee Liang began to formulate his next possible steps in his mind.

Even if the agent was found, there would be some losses here today. He couldn’t allow this scandal to scar him; he wouldn’t allow it. Liang would walk away from this and live to deal again. With a plan finalized, the Triad chief was a picture of controlled calm as he waited for the deadline in his mind to arrive.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Quickly looking around, Samantha knew she had little time to act. Satisfied the area was clear for the moment she immediately moved to Martin’s side and kneeled down. “Martin!” she whispered as she tucked her gun away to free her hands. His body jerked at the noise and he tried to push away. “It’s Samantha, Martin. I’m here to help you.” The first thing she did was begin to untie his hands. As she did so, she looked him over quickly and her stomach lurched at what she saw.

Martin was more than dirty and disheveled. His dress shirt was gone, and his white t-shirt was stained brown by sweat and dirt and possibly blood. One side of his face was puffy and bruised, the eye purple and swollen shut, and his unshaven skin was marked with bloody scrapes. His feet were bare, scraped and dirty, his pants torn at the knees. When she released his arms, he moaned in pain as he brought them forward to grip his stomach. Samantha saw raw, bloody wrists and swollen fingers. Dots of dried blood lined the inner part of his left arm – injection sites, she realized.

Samantha found her throat had suddenly closed and couldn’t speak as her eyes burned with growing tears. The urgency of the situation was the only thing that kept her mind on track; she bent low and took his face in her hands, turning it toward her so he could see her with his uninjured eye. The misery she saw in the normally bright blue almost crumbled her resolve. Instead, she set her jaw and captured his attention and spoke with determination.

“We have to move, Martin, you hear me? We have to get out of sight. I’m here to help you.”

“Sam?” The word was a bare whisper from his cracked lips. “God, it hurts!”

She helped him to sit. “I know, Marty, I know. Just a little longer, okay? Hang on for me just a little longer.”

“Don’t know . . . I’ll try.”

“Yes, Martin, you can do it. I have to look for a place to hole up. I’ll be right back.” When she released him he sank down into a pitiful huddle. Panic made her heart race, but she forced herself to proceed with caution. She drew her gun again and looked around with a more critical eye. One of the crates had to be open.

Darting back to the outer crates she studied the locking mechanism and gave the locking bar an experimental tug. It didn’t move. With a silent curse she made her way back to her partner and squatted down. “Okay,” she said firmly. “Let’s go.” She wrapped one of his arms around her shoulder and fought to stand. Dead weight would have been easier as he resisted straightening up. “Come on, move your feet,” she urged.

With a low groan, Martin leaned into her and dragged one foot after another; Samantha could tell that all he wanted to do was double over. She pulled him around the corner and guided him to the next container. She tried that latch, again without luck. She swore softly and moved on. He hung heavily on her shoulder, panting rapidly. Samantha tried to ignore his pasty complexion and cold, clammy skin as well as the rising fear in her heart. “You’re doing fine . . .” The next crate’s door was already ajar and Samantha picked up the pace. She heard distant voices; they would be here soon.

The metal container door was stiff, the latch rusty in patches where the paint had peeled. It took some muscle – difficult with Martin hanging on one side – but she pried the door open enough to squeeze in and dragged the miserable agent inside. She propped him against the wall to secure the door.

“Stay on your feet, Martin,” she ordered in a no-nonsense whisper. She put her gun away and pulled the door shut; it didn’t move easily. When it was finally shut, they were shrouded in darkness and stale air. Small vents in the roof allowed a minimal of light, but even if it was dark, Samantha knew they were visible if the crate door was opened.

A soft moan from Martin caught her attention and she watched him slide slowly into a miserable slump. “No,” she whispered, “not here.” She glanced around and saw the dark shapes of stacked boxes toward the back. Moving to him she unceremoniously grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and hauled him up.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled. Then he gasped and every muscle in his body contracted.

Samantha pulled him to the back and behind the boxes, deep in a corner. She heard the skitter of varmint feet and dust motes swirled above them in the feeble rays of light; she fought an urge to sneeze. Martin retched dryly. She let him down as gently as she could in the darkest spot she could find. Something crunched under their weight and the wall they were against felt sticky, but neither one cared at this moment.

“Oh, God,” Martin gasped as his body curled tightly on itself.

All Samantha could do was hold him close and watch his back. “Shhh,” she crooned with her eyes turned toward the front of the container. He quieted with her comfort, enabling her to again get her weapon in hand.

Samantha knew that there were frantic thoughts in her mind that she was ignoring. For now, it was a deadly game of hide and seek and their survival depended entirely on her. She had to keep her cool.

Chapter Nine: 16 Hours missing

The DEA command center was quiet at the moment. Jack knew that the surveillance had been set up rather quickly after Martin’s disappearance, and the lead agent was not happy.

“We’ve been putting together a case for two years now. Two years!” The agent in charge was in Victor Fitzgerald’s face on Jack’s arrival. Jack knew immediately that his meeting with the Deputy Director was already in the toilet. He stood on the Director’s right hand as the DEA man finished his tirade.

When the DEA representative stalked off, Fitzgerald grabbed Jack’s elbow and steered him away from the surveillance team.

“What have you done to find my son? How did this happen? Can’t you control your team better than this, Jack?” The man spoke through clenched teeth.

“It was something Martin did on his own. It was a fluke. He walked into it with no idea.”

“My son was using FBI resources. You should have known.”

Jack got in the Director’s face. “I don’t micromanage my team! There’s no way any of us would have seen this coming.” Jack took a step back and forced his voice to a level tone. “My concern right now is finding Martin and getting him back, which won’t be too easy with DEA taking lead and my getting called to useless meetings. Now if you’re through, I will get back to finding your son.”

The Deputy Director’s jaw worked furiously. Jack turned on his heel and pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “Come on, Sam, pick up the damn phone,” he grumbled as he walked to his car. When she didn’t pick up, he slammed the phone shut. It immediately rang. “Malone.”

“Jack, it’s Viv. I found a vantage point where I can see the Full Moon office, but I need a telescope to see any detail. I can see that there’s something going on. Liang’s heading to the ship.”

“Hold on.” Jack jogged to where a DEA team was listening to the Full Moon office via a planted microphone. “What’s going on? Liang’s going to the ship.”

An agent with headphones motioned for quiet. His partner took Jack aside and spoke quietly. “Nothing. We’ve heard nothing. Liang is staying outside the building and we can’t monitor in that area. We have to rely on visual.”

Just then, the man’s phone rang and he flipped it open. “ Jackson .” He nodded, and frowned. “It’s too early. We don’t have anything yet. We have to wait for the next ship to dock later tonight before we move, Schuller, it’s too early.” After a few ‘uh-huhs’, the agent hung up.

“Too early for what?” Jack asked, his eyes demanding an answer.

“To move. We can’t move until a certain Full Moon ship docks later tonight. We suspect there’s a shipment of China White heroin on it. It will wrap up this whole investigation. I’m sorry about your man, but we can’t move too early.”

Jack jabbed his finger in agent Jackson’s face. “Agent Fitzgerald is in this position due to no fault of his own. If I see a chance to get him, I will.”

“You foul up this investigation, Agent Malone, and I’ll have your head on a platter.”

“You just try.” Jack turned on his heel and stormed back to his car. The phone rang again and he opened it with a little more force than was necessary. “Malone!” he barked.

“Jack, it’s Danny. I went to the parking lot but I can’t find Samantha anywhere. I did find a hole in the fence . . .”

“That’s just great!” he snapped. “I’ll be right there.” As he started the car, Jack wondered what the hell else could possibly go wrong today.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Samantha held Martin close to her in the darkness. She felt the spasms wrack his body and felt completely useless. He was wringing wet with cold sweat and making a valiant effort to keep quiet, but every once in a while his groans made her heart break.

She kept her eyes on the door and her gun in her hand for what seemed like an eternity. She could hear the sound of the search going on outside and prayed Martin would keep quiet. One time, the container door groaned as someone pulled it open a crack, but no further; it wouldn’t go any further. After she heard some muttered discussion and a small flashlight poked in the darkness is a less than thorough manner, the door was pushed shut again. Then she heard a noise that made her stomach flip – they latched the crate door.

“Shit,” she whispered.

Martin had finally relaxed a little, his latest spasms leaving him completely drained. Samantha moved out from under him and gently laid him down. Holstering her gun, she decided to check the door but instead, turned to her partner and friend and gently stroked his rough cheek.

Leaning in close, she whispered. “I have to look around, okay? You need to be quiet.”

Martin’s panting had become less frantic and his good eye fluttered open. He nodded once, his lips moving slightly as he breathed, “Okay,” and then he closed his eye and lay still. She cringed at what he may be laying on.

Samantha softly brushed his temple with her lips and turned away. She got to the doors and, noticing it was quiet outside, pulled out her cell phone. In the light the phone face provided, she saw the words “NO SERVICE” and groaned. Looking around she realized that with the metal container sealed, she shouldn’t be surprised. Her eyes found the ceiling vents – it was her only chance.

She pocketed the phone and fell on the boxes. The wooden crates were empty, the lids loose, but still in good shape. She started moving them around after she was sure no one was outside and stacked them under a vent. Climbing to the top she discovered that the vents were mostly rusted, some almost eaten through completely. She pulled her gun out and removed the magazine and chambered bullet, then frowned apologetically at the weapon. ‘Not the best way to treat you, I know, but you’re all I got,’ she thought as she grabbed the barrel and began tapping at the vents with the butt of the gun.

It didn’t take long to break out enough vents to make a hole big enough for her slim body. She only hoped no one heard her; reloading the gun, she dragged up another box and stood on it. Her head and shoulders poked up into the sun.

All she saw was an expanse of container roofs and the office on the far side. ‘A direct path,’ she smiled as she pulled herself out onto the roof. She only heard the distant noises of ship loading and wondered where the searchers went. Hesitant at first, she moved slowly along the roof and jumped to the next one. ‘Where is everybody?’ she wondered. Carefully she stood up straighter and looked toward the office. There, she saw the dark form of Liang walking toward his sedan. His driver opened the door for him, and Liang got in. The sedan was soon in motion. It drove to the ship and stopped next to a loading ramp.

Activity at the office caught her attention again and she silently moved closer. Two men dragged a large wooden crate to a waiting fork lift. The box was loaded up and followed the path of the sedan. It veered off at the ship, however, and continued up the loading ramp and disappeared inside the ship. Soon, a golf cart with two men pulled up next to the sedan and paused. Then, it followed the forklift’s path up the ramp.

The sedan drove away, heading to the pier exit. Samantha got as close to the office as she dared and jumped down. It was a long drop and it took a moment for her feet to stop stinging from the landing – she was glad she wore flat pumps. She pulled her gun and made it to the back of the office building, peeking in a small window into what looked like a break room. There was a table and a refrigerator, coffee maker and . . .

‘Sugar.’ Samantha recalled that jails and prisons used sugar and vitamins to ease the symptoms of heroin withdrawals for inmates. They called them ‘kick packs.’ She slipped around the corner and found an unlocked back door. When she reached the break room, Samantha loaded up her pocket with sugar and took two water bottles from the refrigerator before she heard voices from the front office. She darted into a small storage room and closed the door.

The voices she heard in the break room were speaking Chinese so she gave up trying to listen and looked around the closet. The door had a vented panel on the bottom portion that threw lines of light on the floor. Samantha noticed dark stains on the floor and wall. Using a tiny pocket flashlight, she looked at the stains – dried blood. She looked around the room with a more critical eye and saw that a bucket and most of the bottles were knocked over. Some of the bottles were on the floor. Someone had struggled in here. Martin? Sun? Holding the flashlight in her mouth, the agent pulled out a latex glove from her coat pocket and scraped some of the dried blood into it using her fingernail. Then she tied the glove shut and cringed. ‘Not the best method, but it will have to do,’ she thought.

It seemed like an eternity before the break room was quiet again so she could slip out. The office area was practically deserted, she realized. Part of her was relieved that they had stopped searching, but another part of her wondered why; that made her more nervous. Did they go to the ship?

She darted back among the boxes and worked her way to the back row. She was about to approach the container where Martin was, but at the last moment she noticed a