Page 105 of Deep Tide

“Okay, there’s a boat coming in,” Moore said.

“Where?”

But just as Sean asked, he spotted the dark silhouette of a shrimp boat gliding through the water.

“We’ve got a fifty-foot vessel. No running lights. You seeing it?” Moore asked.

“Affirmative,” Sean said as the boat pivoted in the water and then moved toward the pier. A shadowy figure hopped onto the dock. Then someone threw him a line. He crouched down and tethered the line to a cleat and then jumped back onto the boat.

“We’re in position,” Moore said. “You ready?”

“Affirmative.”

“Okay, they cut the engine.”

Sean’s brain raced as he studied the scene, looking for an opening. This had always been the wild card. He had to figure out how to sneak past the crew of probably two or three men and get aboard. If he waited for the cargo to be off-loaded, he’d miss his best chance.

Another shadowy figure jumped onto the dock, and Sean’s heart rate picked up yet again. Everything about this felt suspicious—the deserted pier, the lack of running lights. The black Suburban showing up here right as this boat arrived in the middle of the night.

Sean watched as a pair of men strode from the dock to the parking lot. He caught a glimpse of them as they walked under a bright security light. Dark hair, gray T-shirts, green waders. They disappeared from view as they climbed into the waiting Suburban.

“Are you seeing this?” Moore asked.

“Yep.” Sean lifted the binoculars one last time. Then put them on the floor at his feet.

“Looks like the crew is gone. Our spotter says the boat looks empty.”

“Not for long,” Sean said.

No way was Gagnon going to leave more than a million dollars’ worth of merchandise sitting there unguarded.

“I’m going in,” Sean said.

“Roger that.”

Sean disconnected the call and tucked the phone into his pocket. Lowering the brim of his baseball cap, he slid from his vehicle. The muggy air smelled of diesel fuel. Everything was quiet except for the distant hum of equipment at the drilling company headquarters. Keeping to the shadows of the parked trucks, Sean quickly crossed the lot and strode through a patch of light to the waterfront. He darted around the corner of the corrugated metal building.

Sean pressed his back against the wall and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He had a flashlight but didn’t want to use it if he didn’t have to. According to their intel, this boat was carrying eight large ice chests, at least four of which contained product. Sean leaned against the building, mentally going through the plan one last time. The “product” had better not be marijuana, or more than thirty federal agents had wasted thousands of hours on a glorified drug bust.

Sean pulled a pair of work gloves from his pocket and tugged them on. Then he darted around the side of the building, crossed the dock, and stepped right onto the boat. Ducking into a dark shadow, he paused to listen.

Nothing.

Only the lapping of water and the creaking of wood as the boat shifted in the wind.

Sean ducked under a line and crept to the back deck. It was too shadowy to see much, so he switched on his flashlight and glanced around. He spied eight large chests, as expected, four along each side of an empty tank. Clamping the flashlight between his teeth, he stepped to the closest chest. He quietly popped the latches and lifted the lid.

Shrimp. And ice. The smell hit him, and he leaned back for a moment before plunging his hand in. He groped around, getting up to his shoulder in ice and shellfish until his fingers scraped bottom.

Shit.

He re-latched the lid and moved to the next one. By the time he searched through the second chest, his entire arm was frozen. He pivoted to the row of chests behind him. He lifted the lid and plunged his hand in, this time encountering something hard.

Pulse pounding, Sean shoved the ice aside, careful not to spill any as he uncovered a hard-sided suitcase. He fumbled with another set of latches and lifted the lid.

Jackpot.

Sean’s breath whooshed from his lungs. Rows and rows of cell phones stared up at him. Until this instant, this whole operation had been based on a theory. Now it was real.

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