With both hands in the air, his right one clutching his FBI credentials, Hardy identified himself to the LAPD. “Aaron Hardy of the FBI,” he said, approaching the nearest police vehicle. “This is a federal investigation, officers. I’m operating under the direct authority of the President of the United States.” He told Charity to go help Special Agent Cruz. When she had gone, Hardy began speaking with an officer.
The officer examined the badge and gave Hardy his bi-fold. “What’s going on here? We received reports of gunshots being fired and people on the streets, scrambling for cover.”
“This is a federal investigation, officer. I’m tracking down a kidnapper.” He swung his head left and right and gestured with his hands. “I need your men to stay back and set up a perimeter.” Hardy took out his phone and dialed the number for Director Jameson. “I’ll have confirmation for you shortly, officer.”
Two minutes after Hardy disconnected his call with Jameson, an LAPD officer ran up to the one speaking with Hardy and handed the man a cell phone. Thirty seconds later, the man handed the phone back to the second officer and looked at Hardy. “The chief tells me I’m to cooperate with you and your team. What can we do, Agent Hardy?”
Hardy talked with the officer for the next ten minutes, outlining what he needed. Hardy’s phone rang. He saw the caller. “Thank you for your assistance, sir. I appreciate it.” He held up his phone. “I need to take this. Please excuse me.” He turned his back to the officer. “This is Hardy.”
Back inside the antique shop, Hardy made for the back room. Ending his call with the leader of the Hostage Rescue Team, he walked into the room. “I just got off the phone with HR Team leader. Abby was not there. There were no apparent signs that she was ever at that location.” He turned his head to the right and saw the remaining terrorist sitting in a chair. He was not restrained. His chin was resting on his chest and his arms were straight down at his sides. Hardy’s attention went to Dahlia. “Is he…?”
“He’s fine. The interrogation was a bit much for him and he passed out. I assure you. He’s still alive.”
Hovering over Charity, who was staring at a laptop, Cruz added to Hardy’s assessment. “That’s because she probably was never there.”
Dahlia wiped her hands and face with a paper towel, and came closer to the other women. “How’d it go with the LAPD?”
“We’re good. They’re holding the perimeter and giving us our space.” He gestured toward the laptop. “What have you got?”
Cruz updated him. Standing, she motioned toward the man in the chair. “Dahlia was able to get some intel that proved useful.”
Hardy crossed his arms over his chest and took a position behind the women.
“He confirmed Abby was here, but he doesn’t know where she was taken…only that she left in a white delivery van with the logo for the Los Angeles County Museum of Art on it.”
He faced her. “So, she’s at the museum?”
“No, we think it was a stolen van or someone slapped on the logo to bypass security or gain access to some other business or location.” Cruz handed a flyer to Hardy. “I found this lying on the desk over there,” she pointed toward the corner of the room, “and it caught my attention, only because I saw the same flyer at the antique shop in Denver. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”
King Tut’s Treasures. “Okay, there was a King Tut Exhibit on display at the LA Museum. What about it?”
She pointed at the flyer. “Check out the dates.”
Hardy ran his eyes down the page. “July first through December…” his voice trailed off, when he read the date. “It ended yesterday. Is there a connection?”
Cruz turned to face Charity. “That’s what we’re—”
“I’m in.” Charity’s fingers tapped the keys. “I’m bringing up the shipping manifests now.” She had hacked into the computer system for the Port of Los Angeles.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out now.” She put her left hand on the back of Charity’s chair. “All right, Cherry, bring up all the manifests for any vessels leaving tonight or tomorrow.”
“I’ve got several.”
“Are any of them headed for Egypt?”
“It looks like there are two of them.” She split the screen and displayed both manifests.
Cruz studied the manifests. “What’s this number here?”
“That’s the capacity of the ship. Basically, the number is the percentage of fullness for the vessel.”
“So, this one is only at fifty percent?”
Charity nodded her head.
“Make that one full-screen and tell me what it contains.”
Charity made the manifest fill the screen. “I can’t tell you what’s in there. It only shows the number of items being shipped and the size of each item. This looks to be a shipment of wooden crates of various sizes; fifty-seven crates to be exact.”
“Wooden crates,” Hardy said. “You mean like the ones we found in Denver?”
Charity bobbed her head. “More or less,” she responded, her mind seeing the crates from the Denver shop. “Wooden crates can vary in size, but judging from the dimensions here, these are all pretty large, much bigger than the ones in Denver.”
Cruz tapped her lips with her index finger. “Keep that up, Cherry and get the incoming shipping manifests from the three days prior to July first from all ships originating from Egypt.”
A minute later, Charity had found three manifests that met Cruz’s criteria.
“Are there any there with fifty-seven crates listed?”
Charity scanned the manifests. “No, but one has fifty-six.”
“Let’s see it. Actually, can you put that manifest alongside the one that’s shipping out tonight?”
Hardy and the three women studied the information. Hardy was the first to notice the sizes of the wooden crates matched. They were in a different order, but they matched. “So, you’re thinking these are the incoming and outgoing manifests for the King Tut Exhibit?”
Cruz examined the screen. She pointed at a specific line item from the outgoing manifest. “Cherry, can you find this item anywhere on the document from six months ago?”
Charity scrutinized each line of data on the laptop. “Nope, it’s not there.”
Cruz stood erect. “That’s got to be it. Fifty-six come in, but fifty-seven go out. That extra crate is how they’re going to get Abby out of the country.”
Dahlia crossed her arms over her chest. “How can you be so sure? That extra crate could be more pieces from the exhibit.”
Cruz shook her head and held up her index finger. “One—Yamadi, his sister and Halim are all Egyptian. We have to assume that one of them has the necessary contacts in their country to make this happen.” She added her middle finger. “Two—Halim deals in Egyptian artifacts, antiques and knockoff items. He’s also known for his smuggling activities. This operation would require someone with his skills to get Abby to the ship. Three—we have the King Tut Exhibit leaving with an extra crate. The items in this exhibit are priceless. I’m sure each item is catalogued and has a specific place inside a specific crate. They’re not just going to wrap some newspaper around a four thousand-year-old artifact and toss it into a box.”
Hardy pursed his lips, while slowly nodding his head. “Even if you’re wrong, there’s enough evidence here that we have to check out that vessel before it leaves tonight.”
Cruz pivoted her body back toward Charity. “Cherry, what’s the size of that crate?”
“It says five feet by four feet…by four feet.”
“A girl Abby’s size could easily fit inside a box with those dimensions.” Cruz patted Charity on the back. “Good work, Cherry.”
“Those SOB’s stuffed a girl in a crate like some filthy animal…to be shipped off to another country?” Dahlia had not met Abigail Conklin, but it made no difference. Her mind imagined the President’s daughter, or any sixteen-year-old girl, being held in those deplorable conditions. She grabbed the back of a nearby folding chair and threw it against the wall behind the terrorist. One of the legs became impaled in the drywall, preventing the chair from crashing to the floor.
Cruz and Charity cranked their heads toward the source of the noise.
Dahlia whipped around and stuck her finger in Hardy’s face. “We need to get to the docks and rip that ship apart…now.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the man behind her. “And, if anyone gets in our way,” she formed a gun with the fingers of her hand and pointed at the terrorist’s head, “pop, pop…two in the head.”
Hardy raised his open hands and pumped them at her. “Take it easy, Dahlia. We need to stay calm, and we need to stay focused. None of us are any good to Abby if we’re not in our right minds.” He rotated his head toward Cruz and Charity. “Grab anything we may need from this place.” He held up his hand. “I want to be on the move in five minutes.” He stuck his hand into his pocket, got Dahlia’s attention and motioned toward the door with his other hand. Once they were out of earshot of Cruz and Charity, Hardy put his phone to his ear and locked eyes with Dahlia. “I understand you’re upset. We all are; however, I need to know where you’re at right now.” He pointed toward the room. “I can’t afford to have anyone on this team going off like that again, especially when we make this assault.” Dahlia broke her gaze with him. He leaned to his left and got in her line of sight. “Are we good?”
She removed her hands from her hips and held up her thumbs. “It won’t happen again. You have my word.”
Hardy spun to his right and put his left hand on her left shoulder before speaking into his phone. “Director Jameson, I need your help.”