in the shadows of the containers she watched the men going aboard and leaving the ship. Some wore hats to shade their eyes. Others wore uniforms of the ship line or dock workers’ company.
In the late afternoon, some of the men took time to eat dinner. One in particular found a shady spot to open the bag containing his meal. He sat by himself, out of view of the others in his own little patch of shade, seeming grateful for some relief from the baking afternoon sun. He wore a uniform shirt embroidered with the logo of the ship line and a hat emblazoned with the same. As he settled with his dinner, he shed his outer shirt and hat, preferring to sit in the cool spot in a tee, soaked in sweat.
Another man called out for assistance getting a container door shut.
The guy eating his dinner lumbered to his feet, leaving his shirt, hat and food in the shade. He trudged toward the other man, without looking back.
Providence.
She gave a silent prayer of thanks as she sneaked up, took the shirt, hat, chunk of bread and a plastic water bottle, disappearing before the man had a chance to return.
Though the shirt was sweaty and too big for her, it would hide any female assets and help her to look more like a man. She shoved her hair up into the baseball cap and pulled it down over her forehead enough to shadow her swollen eye.
Now, all she had to do was wait for it to get a little darker. Not too long, or they’d pull up the gangway and set sail without her. She had to get back to the US soon. If the people who’d captured her discovered where she was, she would not be safe in Syria.
Shadows lengthened with the sun angling toward the sea. The crane continued loading containers all through the day and into the evening. Men boarded and left the ship.
She waited until there was a gap in people coming and going. Pulling the cap down low over her eyes, she tucked the cloth bag full of food beneath the baggy shirt and walked across the gangway as if she belonged, hoping she appeared to be an older, slightly heavyset man getting back to work aboard the ship.
No one stopped her on the gangway.
Once aboard, she found a stairwell and descended below deck. As she went down, a man came out of a hallway several steps below.
Her heart jumped into her throat as the guy took the steps two at a time. Fortunately, he was in a hurry and ran past her without commenting. She looked away hoping he wouldn’t notice she was a female with a battered face. Once she’d passed him, she let out the breath she’d been holding and hurried downward to the lowest deck she could go. Then she dodged between containers in the hull until she found a dark corner near the back. Hunkering low and pressing her body against a container, she prayed they would finish loading soon and leave port.
She must have fallen asleep while waiting. When she woke, the ship rocked gently beneath her, the rumble of an engine letting her know they were underway.
For more than a week, she rationed her food, sneaked into the galley in the middle of the night and scrounged for food and water. Like a rat lining her nest, she found a blanket and a pillow in a closet near to the crew’s quarters. In the middle of the night, she used the facilities, and though she didn’t feel she could linger long enough for a shower, she did manage to clean up, using a washrag and a towel.
The long journey across the water took ten long days. She filled her days trying to learn more about the ship and where it was going. Remaining undetected became a game she got very good at.
When she ventured out of her dark hole into some light, she studied the tattoo on her wrist, recognizing the squiggly lines as numbers in Hebrew. The more she contemplated them, the more her gut told her they were a set of coordinates.
When the ship finally pulled into port, she’d determined they were docking at one near Norfolk, Virginia.
As soon as she was able to sneak away, she walked into town and bought a T-shirt from a tourist vendor and jeans from a used clothing consignment store, using money she’d pilfered from workers on the ship. She ditched her uniform in a trash can and tugged on the tee and jeans in an alley. From there, she quickly found a library with computers and keyed in the numbers to find the coordinates. She learned the street address and searched county tax records to discover who lived at that street address.
A Charlotte Halverson lived there, and from the satellite street view of the location, the Halverson estate was a veritable fortress. If she wanted to get to Charlotte Halverson, she’d have to scale a wall, fight her way past security and possibly guard dogs. And for what? To tell a woman who likely didn’t know her that she’d found her because of the GPS coordinates tattooed to her wrist?
A quick check on who exactly Charlotte Halverson was didn’t make her feel any better about trespassing on the woman’s property. She was a very wealthy widow, who employed a number of bodyguards, based on the photos of her attending various events in the DC area.
In fact, one news article reported she was scheduled to attend an upcoming charity ball at one of the swanky hotels in DC.
Getting past a stone wall and guard dogs might be extremely difficult, but she damn well could get past the security at a hotel. The event was the next night. That gave her a day and a half to get from Norfolk to DC and find her way into that hotel to get an audience with Ms. Halverson.
She prayed the woman could help her solve the mystery of just who the heck she was.
“I don’t need more than two bodyguards inside the hotel at the Hope for Children Gala.” Charlotte Halverson, the wealthy widow of a renowned philanthropist, settled a white faux-fur shrug over her shoulders and straightened the diamond necklace around her throat. “The hotel is providing tight security. Apparently, there will be a number of celebrities in attendance for the tenth anniversary of the organization.”
“What does Hope for Children do?” Augustus “Gus” Walsh asked as he fought with the bow tie that matched the tuxedoes Charlie insisted both her bodyguards wear for the event.
“They raise awareness and help combat human trafficking of children.”
Gus was all for putting a stop to selling children into slavery. He’d seen too many atrocities toward children during his deployments as a Force Reconnaissance marine in the Middle East where little girls of six and seven years of age were married off to grown men.
His stomach clenched at the thought of what those little girls endured. But tonight was about glitz and glamour. Yeah, he would be completely out of his element. Give him an M4A1 rifle, camouflage paint and a mission to take out some terrorists and he would be more comfortable. Dressed in a black tuxedo that made him look like a really tall penguin with his face shaved to within an inch of his life, he wasn’t feeling it. And the damned tie...
“Here, let me.” The team’s benefactor, Charlotte Halverson, didn’t ask them to play bodyguard to her very often, but when she did, she wanted them to blend in, not stick out. Thus, the tuxedo at a black-tie event. The older woman tugged and pulled at the bow tie until she was satisfied. Then she patted his cheek with a smile. “You look magnificent.” She turned her smile to the team leader, Declan O’Neill. “Both of you look wonderful. I’ll be the envy of the ball. The gossiping old biddies will be jealous that I have two very handsome men escorting
