One of the guards started barking out orders, and some of the men scattered to retrieve fire extinguishers.
The four Americans watched the entire thing transpire as they walked toward the gate. Once all the guards’ attention was on the runaway truck, the Americans broke out at a dead sprint. Every eye was on the vehicle as it crashed into the shipping vessel with a huge bang. No one saw the four strangers run through the gate and behind the stacks of containers, parked machinery, and outbuildings.
Once they were completely out of view, Sean stopped behind the base of a crane and looked out at the boats.
“Looks like that one may already be out of commission,” Tommy said.
“I cannot believe that worked again,” Emily commented.
“One of these day’s you’ll learn to trust me,” Sean replied. “That leaves four boats for us to take out. I’ll go for the big fishing vessel on the end. You three take the others. Do whatever it takes to disable those boats. The easiest thing might be to tear up the controls, screw with the wiring, something like that. We’ll rendezvous at the coffee shop we saw earlier. Sound good?”
The other three nodded, but Emily spoke up. “Are you sure we should involve a civilian?” She jerked her thumb at Tommy. “I mean, I know you two are friends and all, but shouldn’t the professionals take care of this?”
Tommy raised both eyebrows, but Sean cut him off. “He saved our skins back at Toli’s. Tommy can handle himself in a fight. You just take care of your boat. He’ll be fine.”
“What about you?” Tommy asked.
Sean winked. “I’ve got a little something special in mind for my ship.”
Before Tommy could protest, Sean took off.
He skirted the front of a warehouse on the back of the property and then disappeared around the corner.
“Never been able to talk any sense into him,” Tommy said.
“I’m starting to see that,” Emily agreed. “I’ll take the shipping vessel. Tommy, take that yacht. Fitz, you got the other one.”
Fitz considered making a wise crack about never getting to go on a yacht, but he thought better of it.
The two guys nodded.
They split up and ran through maze of containers and equipment until they reached the last stacks of big metal boxes. Each American peeked out from their hiding places and watched as the last of the men guarding the boats ran down the pier toward the burning wreckage.
Some of the first responders were desperately trying to get close enough to hit the flames with their extinguishers. Suddenly, an explosion rocked the shipping yard and a giant ball of fire rolled into the air. A fuel leak in the truck’s engine must have ignited.
More black smoke poured skyward, and the men working the scene doubled their efforts to bring the blaze under control. One man who’d been knocked over by the blast was being dragged away by two others to a safe distance.
Emily motioned with her finger for her partners to make a break for it. She watched them dart across the causeway and climb aboard, keeping a wary hand on her pistol just in case she had to cover them. When the guys disappeared onto the boats, she made her move and took off. No one was looking her direction as she sprinted over the landing, up the gangplank, and onto the ship. Once she was safely aboard, she went straight to the control room and ducked inside. She peeked out the windshield and saw what looked like nearly a hundred people milling around the destruction. Behind her she saw a toolbox attached to the wall.
She grabbed the box and pulled out a screwdriver that matched the screws on the console and set to work. She just hoped the others could sabotage their ships before the crews started heading back.
Sean ran hard toward the last boat. He stopped next to a crane and looked around the corner at his target. There were still a few people aboard checking their cargo.
That would make getting on the ship tricky. And if he was spotted, the men would sound an alarm. Or worse, start shooting at him.
Sean scanned the area for a solution but couldn’t see a good way to get to the control room, or to the boat for that matter.
He looked at the crane next to him. Then he glanced at a short stack of twenty-foot steel containers a short distance away. One of the containers already had cables attached to the top. If I can’t get to the boat to disable it, maybe I can do it from here.
He climbed up into the crane’s seat and found the key still in the ignition. Not surprising considering how fast everyone ran toward the diversionary crash. He turned the key and revved the engine. Working the different levers took a minute for him to figure out, but he finally got the gist of what did what and swung the crane’s long arm to the right, stopping it over the containers.
“Just like with that arm grabber at the arcade,” he said.
Sean pushed on one of the levers and lowered the cable. When it hit the top of the steel box, he jumped out of the crane and sprinted over to the stack. With a full head of steam he leaped into the air and reached out to grab the box’s top edge. His body hit the side and his fingers gripped the ledge, but he’d mistimed the jump and before he could pull himself up, he lost his hold and fell back to the asphalt.
“Good one,” he said to himself.
He retreated another twenty feet and got another running start. Now he timed it better. He flew through the air and caught the top edge with a solid grip, palms pressing hard into the corner. Sean used his momentum and pulled as soon as his fingers hit the metal.
In his training he’d done obstacle courses that had similar wall climbs. He remembered those being more difficult to get over in spite of the current one taking two tries.
His muscles tensed as he pulled himself up. He swung his legs over the edge and rolled to the middle of the container. There he took hold of the hook and worked the two cables through it. The move took less than ten seconds.
He lowered himself back down to the ground and started running back to the crane. Almost too easy.
His thought came just before he heard a familiar sound. Automatic gunfire popped from across the pier landing. Sean looked to his side as he ran to the crane. One of the men on his target ship had seen him and was firing. A few random bullets pinged off the asphalt and other containers nearby. At that range, he’d be a tough target. Still, any idiot could get lucky.
And in the crane he’d be a sitting duck.
His original idea had been to swing the container over the vessel’s control room and drop it. Now Sean doubted he had the time for such a precise maneuver. When he reached the base of the crane, he drew his weapon and answered the gunman’s volley with one of his own. He squeezed off six shots that sent the man diving for cover behind the ship’s sidewall. The rounds missed wildly, as Sean knew they would. From that distance, his pistol would be horribly inaccurate, despite the fact that he was a great shot. His intention wasn’t necessarily to hit the target. He just needed to buy some time.
With the gunman down for a moment, he pulled himself up into the crane again and hit the lever to raise the cable. The hook jerked on the other end, and the cables attached to the container tightened. A second later the heavy metal box was rising off the ground.
Over the rumble of the crane’s diesel engine, Sean heard the shooter firing again. Two bullets struck the top edge of the windscreen and splintered it into a glassy spiderweb. Sean ducked and yanked on one of the levers. The crane’s long arm swung left, whipping the container around in a slow arch.