Daniel Leder sat fidgeting with the car heater on, trying to fend off the predawn chill blowing in from San Pedro Bay. His fingers nervously tapped the steering wheel as he watched for headlights or movement. This was the first harbor port he’d visited since the Valencia shooting, and it was an uncomfortable setting. Just the thought of it made his left-hand move involuntarily to the bullet scar point on his chest as another shiver ran down his back.

He glanced at his watch and took a slow, deliberate breath. The crusty, cheap-tobacco and rum-smelling dockworker Daniel had agreed to meet was seventeen minutes late, and Daniel was beginning to feel played. The old guy had appeared half-drunk and paranoid last night when he bumped into Daniel. Then he quietly apologized, introduced himself, and called Daniel by name.

Daniel had spent hours barhopping up the Long Beach area waterfront asking questions, but not once did he mention his name or show an ID.

So, Daniel bought ‘Bailey’ a drink and agreed to meet him at this container berth on Terminal Island. He promised answers to Daniel’s questions about the Kristiana freighter that had arrived the day before.

A brief reflection in the darkened window of the berth office caught Daniel’s attention. He silently wished the dawn would hurry its arrival and dispel the feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. He raked his brown waves back, cinched his ball cap down, zipped the windbreaker, and reached for the Maglite police flashlight that occupied the passenger seat.

Daniel climbed out of the car and shined the light into the office’s front window. It appeared to be empty. He started to go around towards the side when he saw headlights approaching. ‘Finally,’ Daniel thought, a moment of relief suddenly replaced by dread as the truck pulled nearer. Daniel could make out two large passengers in the poor lighting of the berth – neither of them Bailey.

“Ah, crap!” Daniel muttered as he turned the light beam to the stout-looking pair stepping out of the truck.

The driver smiled and called out, “you waiting for old Bailey?”

“That’s right,” Daniel answered flatly, reading their body language. He could feel the hair on the nape of his neck bristle in response.

“Poor old man got pretty wasted last night and asked us to convey his regrets.”

“Did he?” Daniel replied as he watched a black Mercedes with tinted windows pull towards them and stop. Neither worker gave it a thought.

“So, you’re his friends?”

“More or less.” The driver spoke as he rubbed his chin-stubble thoughtfully.

Daniel glanced at his parked car, which was too far for a quick getaway. He felt for the comfort of his Glock pressed to his side under the windbreaker.

“Maybe we can help you. What was it you wanted to know?” The second man asked as he walked around to the side of the truck bed and lifted a large machine shop ratchet from the toolbox.

“I think I’d rather wait and talk to Bailey,” Daniel answered, his hands raised, backing away cautiously.

“Not an option, mister. You’ll be talking to us.” The brut with the tool smiled.

“You’ve been asking a lot of questions. We want to know why?”

Daniel’s mind raced as he watched to see if anyone would get out of the Mercedes. “Look, I don’t know what Bailey told you, but he was just going to help me out with a little problem.”

Odd, no one was getting out of the car.

“What kind of problem?” The burly truck driver asked, his hands inside the bib of his work overhauls.

Daniel shifted the flashlight to his left hand and unzipped the jacket, “I’m looking for someone.”

Both would-be attackers tensed and moved forward, but Daniel had his Glock in hand before they could react and leveled at them while he shook his head. “We won’t be doing that this morning.”

Suddenly the two men relaxed and smiled, and Daniel heard the click and felt the muzzle pressed to his base of his skull.

“We won’t be doing that either.” The voice was deep and rich with an eastern European accent. The light of the dawn was beginning to grow, but it offered little comfort. Daniel surrendered with a heavy sigh. Port harbors were definitely bad luck!

A third dock worker came around from behind, took Daniel’s gun, handed it to the man still behind Daniel, and then patted him down for other weapons. He took Daniel’s ID and gave it to the mystery man, keeping the large flashlight for himself, then backed away to stand next to his cohorts. He was a carbon copy of the other two roughens but smaller in stature.

Daniel turned to see the man behind him, who moved deliberately to stand with the other three. He was a well-dressed man in a dark suit, with black hair and a notable Romany nose. He had the build and posture of a well-trained killer. Daniel knew the type – the best wet-asset dirty money could buy.

He examined Daniel’s identification, “It appears we have a cop among us,” he said as he inspected the badge while regarding Daniel with dangerous eyes. “What were you hoping to find here, Daniel Leder of Interpol?” The gloved left hand held a 9mm that never wavered, while the right held Daniel’s badge. Daniel’s Glock was tucked into the man’s belted front waistband.

The other three shifted uncomfortably, and Daniel smiled at the reaction, “Nothing in particular. And you are?” Daniel asked, hoping to stall for more time. Soon the port berth would be busy, and he might have a chance to get through this.

Apparently, the mystery man had the same thought as he looked around. He regarded Daniel for another moment, then smiled, “get him out of sight, kill him, then get rid of the body before anyone else shows up.”

“Yes, Sir.” The lead worker answered as he pulled a concealed handgun from the bib of his overhauls. The man in the suit gave Daniel one last smile, tossed the ID and Glock to the side, then got into the backseat of the waiting Mercedes.

The burly docker with the gun motioned for Daniel to move towards the back of the berth office where cargo containers would obscure their work.

Daniel pushed the dread back and sighed – it was now or never. Four months of following leads, and this is how it would end? The thought made him angry. Well, there was no reason to make it easy for them.

Daniel took notice of his attackers’ positions as he turned. The smaller, unarmed man made the mistake of moving first, and Daniel saw his opening. He crouched and swung out with his left leg, toppling the man into his friends.

Daniel caught the big man with the gun next, with an elbow to his face. Daniel reached for the weapon, but the guy with the heavy ratchet quickly caught Daniel across the ribs knocking the air from his lungs, then clocked him across his temple with the handle.

Before Daniel could recover, the smaller man grabbed him from behind and held his arms. He could feel the warm trickle of blood near his left eye, and his vision blurred. He struggled against the strength of the man holding him steady, as another blow to the chest from the tool made him fall limply into his arms.

“Enough!” The lead attacker commanded. Daniel dropped to his knees, wheezing and coughing, and collapsed onto the pavement. “Get the truck so we can load him up.”

The big man kicked Daniel to roll him onto his back, pointing the gun at his forehead.

Daniel looked up and saw the red laser mark that moved from the attacker’s head to his chest, heard the dull thud, and saw the look of surprise as the brut crumpled backward and lay motionless. He heard the other two come running back, followed by two more thuds, then nothing but the sound of his own labored breathing.

If he was next, he wished they’d just do it. What were they waiting for?

Daniel struggled to roll to his hands and knees, fumbling to find his phone in his pocket, unable to see clearly around him.

Suddenly, a hand steadied him from behind. “It’s all right; you’re safe.” He heard someone say. There was something familiar about the voice, and he relaxed into the offered support.

He fought against the darkness as his savior found his phone, recalled the correct number, and placed the phone into Daniel’s hand.

Daniel heard a man’s voice, “Daniel? Hello?”