“There’s another one hidden among these.” Hardy grabbed the top of the wooden frame and swung his right leg up before climbing on top of the crate. He peered over the edge and saw a container, roughly matching the size of the one listed on the manifest. “Cruz, Dahlia, watch my back. I’m going to check this out.”
Special Agent Cruz and Dahlia did as he ordered. Each one was watching a different direction down the main walkway.
Hardy got on the crate in the center of the grouping and put his ear to the top, listening. He knocked on it and waited. He knocked again. If Abigail was inside, she was not responding. He scanned the edges of the lid and discovered the top was nailed to the rest of the box. Shining his flashlight all around the sides, he saw something hopeful. There were several small holes on each of the four sides. Air holes, he thought. None of the other crates had them. That was a good sign. Hardy was confident that Abigail was inside. He needed to find a way to remove the lid. “I think she’s in here. I need something to pry off the lid; a crow bar or piece of metal…something.” He opened his Cold Steel Recon One tactical knife and managed to get the blade in the gap between the lid and the rest of the box. He pulled back, but the lid would not budge. Increasing his effort, he tried several times with no success. If he applied more force, he was going to break his knife. He heard a noise behind him.
Dahlia appeared, kneeling on one of the outer boxes. “Try this.” She handed him a bayonet. The man she had knocked unconscious had a bayonet attached to his AK-47 rifle.
Hardy used his tactical knife to create a large enough opening for the bayonet to slide into the gap. He removed his knife and began reefing on the bayonet. His body weight was on the lid, making it difficult to lift the lid. He tugged on the bayonet, while trying to shift some of his weight to the opposite side. After several heaves, he heard a creak. With each yank on the bayonet, the creaking sound grew louder. The nails were yielding to his effort.
Watching Hardy, Dahlia did not notice, when a man entered the room from the direction she had been guarding. He saw her, unslung his rifle and raised it to his shoulder. Dahlia dropped to her stomach, when the first of many bullets zipped past her and sent splinters of wood flying into the air.
Hardy was hidden from the man’s view, but he ducked and grabbed his pistol.
Dahlia got to her knees and returned fire with her MP5, sending the man diving for cover.
“Watch Hardy’s back, Dahlia. I’ll take care of him.” Cruz crossed the main walkway and disappeared down a narrow aisle.
Dahlia kept her weapon to her shoulder and scanned the area. “Copy that.” She flicked her eyes toward Hardy. “Keep going. I’ve got you covered.”
Hardy holstered his pistol and went to work prying open the lid.
Cruz moved in and around the wooden crates, searching for the man. She made her way to where the gunshots had originated, but he was not there. I feel like a mouse stuck in a maze, trying to find the cheese. Instead of covering the rest of the area, she doubled back. Coming to the other side of the room, she rounded the corner and spotted the man. He was one turn away from getting eyes on Hardy and the others. Raising her rifle, she centered his back in her red dot scope and pressed the trigger once, sending a three-round burst into his torso. She watched him arch his back and make a quarter-turn before falling on his right side. Keeping her weapon trained on him, she hurried forward and verified he was dead. “This is Cruz. Target is down and I’m coming back to you—over.” More gunshots filled the room, coming from the far corner.
“Cruz, this is Dahlia. What’s your status?” Dahlia jumped to the floor.
“I’m right here.” She came around the corner of a crate.
Dahlia whipped her head around. “We’ve got more company.” She pointed. “It’s coming from over there. You go left and I’ll—”
“Where’s Cherry?”
Dahlia glanced around the area. “I don’t know. Didn’t she go with you?”
Cruz shook her head. “I left her here…she must have gone after the shooter.” She tapped her earpiece. “Cherry, where are you?” She waited, but there was no reply. “Cherry, this is Cruz. What’s your location?”
Hardy heard the chatter. “What the hell is going on? Cruz, Dahlia, give me a situation report, now.”
Though she could not see him, Cruz turned her head in his direction. “Cherry’s not here. We think she went after the shooter.”
“Damn it.” Hardy had managed to lift one-half of the top of the crate, while squatting on the other half. He stuck his flashlight through the opening. Centered in the beam were two feet in stockings. He ran the beam further up and saw the hem of a long sweater. Abby. “Cherry, this is Hardy. Do you copy?” He wrenched on the lid, listening for a reply. Hardy was torn. He knew he had Abigail within reach, but Charity was not answering his calls. Where the hell was she? He felt a responsibility to both of them, but he could not be in two places at once. If something’s happened to her, I’m going to kick her…Dahlia interrupted his thoughts.
“Cruz, you stay and help Hardy.” She unslung her rifle and propped it against a nearby crate before drawing her pistol. “He’s almost got the lid open. I’ll find Charity.” She took off in the direction of the gunshots.
Cruz got on the crate and met Hardy. Kneeling on an outside crate, the two of them leaned forward, grabbed the partially open lid and yanked. On the second pull, the lid released and sent Hardy and Cruz scrambling to keep their balance. Standing, they peered into the open box. Hardy lit it up with his flashlight.
Cruz gasped and her hand came to her mouth, while she gazed at the figure, crammed into the tight space. Her eyes panned right and her disgust turned to anger. Lying in the box and wearing a long sweater and boot socks that rose above her knee, was Abigail Conklin. She was on her left side with her knees bent, not moving. Cruz saw grocery bags filled with snack foods, paper towels and bottles of water. In one corner, there were a couple of small buckets. “Oh, dear God, she never would have survived the voyage.” Cruz waved her hand in front of her face. There was a faint acidic odor. She figured it was urine.
Hardy eased his body into the box and knelt beside Abigail. He put his fingers on either side of her neck. After a few seconds, he nodded at Cruz. “I’ve got a weak pulse.” After checking Abigail for obvious wounds and finding none, he put his right hand under her head and got closer to her. “Abby…sweetheart, it’s Hardy. Abs, can you hear me?” With his left thumb, he pushed up each eyelid. “I think she’s been drugged.” He unrolled a long length of paper towels, opened a bottle of water and soaked the towels. Using the waterlogged towels, he gave her a sponge bath. She had urinated. Her legs and the sweater were wet. He tossed the dirty wad aside, ripped off another length of paper towels and dried her legs. Tossing those towels aside, he heard Cruz.
“She’s moving her head.” She wanted to help Hardy, but there was barely enough room inside the box for him.
Hardy saw Abigail roll her head to her right and she made a sound. He put his ear to her lips and listened.
“Aa…Aaron…is that…you?” she murmured.
“I’m here, Abs.” He slid his arm under her head and shoulders and held her close to his chest. “I’m here and so is Cruz…you’re safe now…we’re going to take you home…your father and mother—”
“I told…you,” she mumbled, barely audible. “I don’t…like that…name.”
Abigail was referring to the nickname of Abs. It was a name from her childhood. Now that she was maturing, she wanted the name to stay in her past. Hardy had continued to call her Abs on occasion to make her laugh. He did not realize he had called her by that name.
Hardy smiled. “I’m sorry. I promise not to call you that anymore, Abigail.” He motioned for Cruz to help him, while he got Abigail to her feet. Kneeling, Cruz slipped her hands under the girl’s armpits and pulled, while Hardy lifted. The two of them got Abigail out of the crate and onto the floor of the ship. After removing his tactical vest, he unbuttoned his shirt. “Get that off her, Cruz.” When Cruz had taken off the dirty sweater, she and Hardy put his shirt on her and buttoned it.