Chapter 16
sixteen
The nerve of this man.
The gall he has to say that I don’t belong.
Balls of fucking steel, this one.
Who the hell does he think he is? I’m already mortified enough, and the prick has to go and rub it in. Smear my face in it like some high school reject. I hadn’t meant to vomit. In my defense, I’ve never seen a man have his throat cut open like a filleted fish before either.
I’ve seen Elias beat the ever-loving shit out of people, but I’ve never seen anyone kill like that before.
So violently. So easily. Vas didn’t even break a sweat, and there was no remorse in his light eyes either.
Just like Matthias, he’s a killer. I know that.
I’ve always known that. But seeing and knowing are two different things.
“Approaching containers,” Vas whispers, the sound traveling through the comm lines in our ears that are activated by the vibrations in our jaws.
So basically, whenever we speak.
Or cough.
Or in my case, vomit.
We round the corner, our group converging with Liam’s. The containers loom before us, their faded paint revealing the rusted, damaged metal below.
“Huh.” I squint at the first container and pull out my flashlight for a better look. The small light is just enough to see what catches my eye. I run my finger down one of the latches, catching the small debris between my fingers and rubbing slightly. “Sand. That’s weird.”
“Why’s that weird?” Vas asks curiously, leaning in closer for a better look. “This container could have traveled to hundreds of places, and this is what’s left over.”
I shake my head.
“Mark checked over the containers’ shipping receiver.” I hold up my phone to Vas. I’ve written down each individual country code this container has ever been to. “None of those regions have a sandy docking port. Those are all concrete ports.”
“How do you know that?” Maksim asks from behind Matthias.
“I memorize the coded index where Elias sends his shipping containers,” I inform them with a shrug. “There shouldn’t be sand on this container.”
“I’m missing the importance of the sand still.”
I take a long breath. “There are only two international shipping ports that have sand where they land their containers.
Ninety-five percent of countries require ports to be overhauled with cement because sand inside the machinery and containers can cause malfunctions over time.
It gets into the small areas of the cranes and docking mechanism, causing system malfunctions and engineering and safety hazards.
“The only countries who have not enacted these safety protocols due to their climate and economic problems are all in the Middle East.”
I can practically see the lightbulbs going off in their heads.
“You’re telling me that Ward Enterprises is making arms and drug deals in the Middle East? How are they getting the containers past customs?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “But there’s no way Elias is doing this by himself. He doesn’t have the reach.”
“Fuck,” Liam curses. “This goes deeper than we thought it did. Whoever is funding Elias is now funding Christian, and if they’re moving into the Middle Eastern market, that funder has deeper pockets than we originally thought.”
“Can you get the container open?” Matthias asks from behind me, his voice softer than it’s been all evening. I nod, approaching the small box that holds the metal bars of the container locked tightly.
“Five-two-eight-four-three-seven-four-six-three,” I whisper aloud as the small decoder in my hand wrestles with the numbers. “That can’t be right.”
But it is.
The lock beeps, and the sound of the container’s locking mechanism disengaging is easily heard.
“What’s not right?” Liam asks. The lines on his forehead pucker as he looks at me, concerned. “It worked.”
“Those numbers,” I rasp, stepping back as Maksim and Vas open the double steel doors. “Those numbers spell my mother’s name.”
“Yebena Mat’,” Maksim whispers in awe, interrupting Liam before he can respond. Maksim and Vas shine their lights on the container’s contents, each giving a low whistle. “You’re going to want to take a look at this.”
Liam ushers me forward, his hand on the small of my back in reassurance as we approach the inside of the barely lit container.
Not that I need much light to see what’s inside.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, echoing Maksim’s sentiment. “We got this all wrong.”