As Clyde began to look around the container, other things about it began to stand out. Most containers that come on ships are pretty banged up. After being hoisted by cranes, banging into each other while loading or offloading, or when they were delivered by the trucks, they quickly start looking tatty, but this container not only looked new, it was different. Instead of squared off welded seam corners, it had rounded corners and was double-welded. Even the paint was odd. It was the typical bland brownish-red like the others, but when Clyde looked closer, he could see that the paint was a slightly different color and texture for a few feet on either end. Clyde’s curiosity was taking over his instincts. He took a piece of rebar he found and scratched some paint off of the corner. With the metal exposed Clyde could see that the container was not even made from the typical low-grade steel but some kind of alloy, maybe even stainless steel. This was not adding up.
Clyde went and got a flashlight out of the office and started looking under and around every inch of the container. When he closely examined the double doors he found another oddity. He could see a small piece of green rubber protruding from the right side door, when he shined his flashlight at it from just the right angle. At first it looked like something just got caught in the door when it was shut, but the more Clyde looked at it the more it looked like the rubber was a continuous piece. More like a rubber seal on the door than a random piece. Unfortunately, Clyde could find no way to get into this increasingly mysterious container to discover its secrets.
After eventually giving up on his quest to penetrate the cargo’s sanctuary, Clyde headed back into his office to get warm, but the desire to get inside that container wouldn’t die. Clyde slapped his forehead when he realized the one place he had not investigated for an entry was the top of the container. Back out in the cold he went. As he was climbing up on the side of the container it started to occur to him how ridiculous this quest was becoming. Here he was, an old man climbing up the side of a container in the cold and wet, just to take a look at what was surely just some new kind of transport container he had not come across yet.
“No wonder my wife sarcastically calls me a brain surgeon,” Clyde muttered to himself as he left the last step and found himself standing on the top of the container.
Clyde found the view on the top of the container to be pretty much as he expected, with one surprising twist. About two feet from the back of the container was an inspection cover. The cover was hinged on one side and held in place by a pin with its own security seal. Unlike the main door there was no padlock in place. When Clyde took a closer look he noticed the hatch had that same green rubber material protruding from the edges of it just like on the main door. Without a second thought, which was the way Clyde usually operated, Clyde went back down to the office and grabbed a set of tin snips and went back to the top of the container. Clyde was thinking:
“Everyone knows these seals come off in transit all the time so...”
After the security seal was deftly removed from the hatch Clyde discovered that it still would not open. The hatch was stuck firmly in place. A handy pry bar took care of that small inconvenience. When Clyde first pried open the sealed inspection cover, he could hear a distinct hiss as the outside air rushed in to fill the inner compartment. Clyde sat back on his haunches. Why would the cargo be vacuum sealed? This was truly getting weirder by the minute. The inspection opening was only about 12 by 18 inches in size and even with the cover now wide open, Clyde had consumed way too many donuts to even try to squeeze through the opening. The only thing that was going to actually penetrate into the container was the light from his flashlight.
Clyde was hoping that would be enough to solve this mystery. He peered into the container through the hatch and when he looked to the left he saw shipping boxes. When he looked to the right, he saw more shipping boxes. And at the front of the container there were just more shipping boxes stacked high. Clyde was about to give up and admit that there was nothing more to this chase than wild gooses when something unexpected by the back door reflected the light back from his flashlight beam. There, tucked down between two boxes and hanging suspended on several cables was a rounded, silver briefcase. It looked very expensive, and very out of place.
Clyde knew he had seen this kind of briefcase before, but couldn’t immediately remember where. Then it hit him. On his favorite show, CSI, when the investigators would go into the field to solve a crime they carried these cool metal briefcases that contained all matter of chemicals and tools to thwart the bad guys. The briefcases held sprays which detected blood, sprays that located body fluids, and chemicals that mixed with each other to find hidden fingerprints. No telling what science could be done by just using the contents of those spiffy briefcases. After thinking about this for a moment, Clyde was starting to wonder why he was now sticking his face down into a cargo container holding just such a hidden treasure.
When FBI Agent Dan Spores hollered at Clyde from the side of the truck, Clyde nearly jumped halfway to Tacoma and left a special treat of his own in his pants for the trip. Clyde slammed the inspection cover down and looked at Agent Spores like he had just seen a dead canary in a coal mine.
“Clyde, what the hell are you doing up there?”
Clyde - who was normally never at a loss for words could only stammer back with:
“Uh, well – I, uh... shit.”
After Clyde worked his way back down from the top of the container he started to realize that half of Seattle’s Homeland Security agents had already arrived on his dock while he was busy snooping. He soon discovered the other half were on the way. While Clyde was playing detective, the docks had gone from almost devoid of workers to chock-full of people, all in color-coordinated rain jackets. The FBI jackets were dark blue with white lettering, Homeland Security jackets were a drab ugly green, Seattle Police had fancy two-piece yellow over blue slickers, and there were some strange looking dudes Clyde had never seen before in all black with canary yellow stripes. Clyde wondered if all these groups realized how much they stood out when ordinary citizens saw them.
Clyde had met many of the agents when they initially came out to set up the security equipment on the docks. Agent Dan Spores was one of the nice guys. For some unknown reason, the first time Clyde met Agent Spores he started calling the agent Captain Dan. The more Agent Spores protested about it, the more the name stuck. So to Clyde, Captain Dan it was. Perhaps it was the now disappearing shock of red hair on Agent Spores’ head, or maybe it was the extra 15 pounds he kept right around the middle of his six foot three frame, which no amount of exercising could seem to get rid of, that gave him his jolly good-old-boy looks. Whatever it was, Agent Spores had a way of quickly ingratiating himself with everyone around him. Even to an old curmudgeon like Clyde.
When it was time for business however, Agent Spores was the consummate professional. And it was definitely business now. Agent Spores wanted to know what was going on and Clyde knew this meeting was not going to be as fun natured as the previous times when they met.
“Clyde, what kind of shit storm have you started?”
“Oh, Captain, you are not going to believe what’s in there. It’s all pressure-sealed and …”
“Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean pressure-sealed – I just saw you looking in the hatch.”
“Well, yeah – but when I opened the scuttle hatch I heard the air rush in so it must have been vacuum-sealed and…”
“Clyde! Stop, you idiot! Do you realize you have now contaminated yourself, and me, with whatever is in there? Get your ass in the office and stay there until I can get some techs to check you out. Do not leave that office until I tell you. This is not a joke. And for crying out loud, follow the procedures for once and do NOT tell anyone about this. Got it?”
The gravity of the situation now hit Clyde smack between the eyes. He tried to think of something to say back to his friend but it was clear there was no way to defend what he had done, so it seemed like the wiser course was to just r
etreat to the trailer and take his rebuke for what it was.
Looking out the trailer window and seeing the bustling of color-coordinated jackets going swiftly to-and-fro made the confines of the trailer even more cold and lonely. Clyde briefly thought about calling his brother George, who happened to work as a “picker” on the dock in Portland, to let him know about all the excitement going on in Seattle, but the thought of Captain Dan smashing his phone to bits when he found out scuttled that idea rather quickly.
Clyde’s gloomy outlook took on a new dimension when the techs in the Level 5 bio-hazard suits entered the trailer. Apparently these guys were not kidding around. They had him strip naked as a jailbird and gave him what looked like a one piece hospital gown to wear. Next came out the scanners, sniffers, blood draws, nose swabs and other less fun body cavity tests. Clyde said to the disembodied human in the lab suit:
“If I had known my shift would end with a body-cavity search, I would have called in sick.”
Clyde thought the irony of that statement was hilarious. The techs were not as amused. I guess once Level 5 bio-hazard suits are required to be worn, comedy is no longer an option. After every inch of Clyde’s body had been poked, swabbed, squeezed, and stuck with all manner of strange implements, the techs packed up and left without so much as saying a word. The trailer was now his quiet sanctuary again, only now Clyde didn’t even have his clothes. Clyde was starting to think this day couldn’t possibly get worse. He was wrong.
Before he even saw Agent Andrews, Clyde heard his voice outside the trailer yelling at one of his FBI underlings about God knows what. That meant it was only a matter of time before the trailer would be filled with Agent Andrews’ unusually large and imposing scowl. There are some people that just put you on the defensive without ever saying a word, Agent Andrews was one of those people. Clyde had regrettably commented to one of the truckers the first time he met Agent Andrews that the FBI must promote the agents based on the results of an “ugly” test. Unfortunately for Clyde, ugliness doesn’t impair hearing capability. So you could say the two men never were fishing buddies after that.
When you think FBI strongman, a picture of Agent Andrews appears in your mind. Close-cropped hair at one end and shiny, company-issued black oxfords shoes at the other. In between was the regulation suit and rain slicker. Andrews’ demeanor did not upset the picture of him either. Describing his attitude as gruff would be kind. Agent Andrews only had one goal in mind at all times, to get answers to his questions as fast as possible. Unlike the image of FBI operatives in the movies who “push the boundaries” to get the bad guys, Agent Andrews was by the book, every time.
It seemed like an eternity before the inevitable took place. The door to the trailer swung open and standing there was six-foot-three of ugly staring at Clyde in his little gown. Clyde had several smart-ass greetings run through his mind while waiting for this moment, but for once he decided to keep them to himself. When another agent tried to follow Agent Andrews into the trailer, a single stare by Agent Andrews was all it took to get the point across that he wanted to talk to Clyde alone. Clyde was hoping for someone else to be around to soften Agent Andrews’ demeanor, but it wasn’t to be.
“Clyde, I have some questions I need to go over with you, and now is not the time for your usual bullshit. If I even think you are not being truthful with me, you will be heading to one of our witness sequester buildings where you will be put on a 72-hour hold while we figure this out. Understand?”
Clyde just nodded.
“Alright then. Have you told anyone other than my agents anything about what happened here today?”
“No.”
“Have you been told that doing so would be a breach of national security and would constitute a felony?”
“No.”
“Well, you have now. Do you understand that I am saying even talking to your brother in Oregon about this could get you locked up?”
Clyde stared back and wondered, how did Agent Andrews know he had a brother in Oregon? He was now very relieved that he did not call his brother earlier.
Agent Andrews looked up from his notepad, “Well?”
“Yes, I understand.”
Agent Andrews looked peeved but continued:
“Do you have any other information about that shipping container that is not listed in your manifest? Did any dock workers talk about it? Did any of the short-haul truckers discuss it or look at it strangely? Did any of them do anything that seemed out of the ordinary today?”
The questions made Clyde pause and think.
“No. Everyone here today had the same attitude they always do. Everyone was in a hurry to load and go. Except… Fassil.”
Agent Andrews looked up again:
“Do you mean Fassil Hamid?”
Once again Clyde wondered how Agent Andrews seemed to know the answer before asking. How could he know this trucker’s name? Clyde was starting to think Agent Andrews could read minds.
“Yes, that’s the one I mean. Fassil Hamid.”
“And what exactly did he do that seemed strange to you?”
“Well, he never has missed a day before. In fact, he is usually one of the first truckers to arrive at the scales in the morning and he normally bugs me all day to get his load prepared, but I never saw him today.”
Agent Andrews then turned his back to Clyde and talked into his chest, “Fassil Hamid,” then Agent Andrews returned his attention to Clyde.
“Besides missing work today, has Fassil acted strangely or mentioned anything odd to you recently, or have any of the other truckers mentioned anything out of the ordinary about him?”
Clyde didn’t want to point out that none of the truckers ever talk to him about anything other than to hurry up so he just said “no.” Agent Andrews was writing something in his note pad when there was a knock on the trailer door. Agent Andrews looked annoyed but answered anyway. A member from the medical hazmat staff apologized for the interruption and handed Agent Andrews a preliminary report on the testing done on Clyde by his staff.
“Well Clyde, I have some good news for you: you are going to get to go home tonight. And tomorrow you are going to come back to work and you are going to say nothing about this day to anyone. When the reporters come around tomorrow, you are going to say they need to talk to the chief of operations. When your co-workers ask about it, you’re going to say it was just a system test. If you brother calls wanting to know about anything up here, you are going to say you cannot discuss it. If he starts talking about what happened on his dock, you are going to say he should not discuss it with you or anyone else. Do you understand all that?”
Clyde’s face got all scrunched up.
“Wait, why would my brother want to tell me about his dock?”
“Clyde, are you listening to what I am telling you?”
“Yes.”
Clyde’s mind was now racing with questions and he wasn’t going to let Agent Andrews leave without at least trying to get some answers from him.
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you ask me if I knew anything about the contents of the container or about why I looked in it?”
“Well Clyde, I know you didn’t have anything to do with the cargo because only an innocent man, or a complete idiot, would open a pressure-sealed container after a chemical sensor was telling him the container was contaminated. And I already know what was in there.”
Clyde was relieved that he wasn’t suspected of anything more than stupidity, a charge he had faced often before, but he was not yet satisfied.
“Then what about my health? What about all the tests? Should I go to the hospital?”
This was the first question that clearly struck a nerve with Agent Andrews and he thought long before giving a response.
“Let’s just put it this way: so far we have not found any known contagions in our investigations and the hazmat team tells me your test results were all negative. Therefore, there is no reason for you to seek medical help at this time
. But we will inform you if anything you need to know about does show up later.”
Clyde was not satisfied with that.
“Come on Andrews, there is no way you guys could have tested this container yet. How could you possibly know what creepy things are in it?”
Then an uncomforting thought occurred to Clyde which he couldn’t help but blurt out.
“Unless this is not the first container you have found. Andrews, what aren’t you telling me?”
Agent Andrews was not the type of man you get very far with by pushing him for answers. He was the one that did the asking.
“Clyde, I would strongly caution you to not make assumptions. Please, just put your clothes back on and go home. I will let you know if anything comes to my attention that you need to know. But I do have one more question for you. Since you took a long hard look at the container before we got here, and since you deal with them every day, is there anything at all about that container that struck you as unique or odd?”
Whoa. Clyde was amazed. Agent Andrews was actually asking for his opinion on something. Clyde was all too happy to oblige.
“Well, the first thing I noticed as out of place was that the container was brand-new and not banged up like usual. Obviously, the container was sealed at all the doors. Probably the most unique thing was that it was not constructed of the typical light iron steel, but some kind of alloy.”
The expression on Agent Andrews’ face showed that he already knew all this, but Clyde pressed on hoping to add something he didn’t know.
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