Liberation Day

by Dustin Stevens

  “So, how long you been doing this?” Nio asked, his voice the first break in the silence in more than an hour.

  “Almost twelve hours now. You?” Schiff said.

  Hearing the conversation behind him, Thorn raised his eyes towards the ceiling before cracking a smile.

  “About the same,” Nio replied. “How long you been on the docks?”

  “Started in ‘71, fresh out of high school,” Schiff said, no small amount of pride in his voice. “Guard, dock hand, on up into management. Turner moved me over here five years ago after we went back to paper. Said I was the most organized man he knew or something like that.

  “Don’t care for the cold the way I once did, so moving in here was just fine by me, even if it is a little boring.”

  The wry smile fell away from Thorn’s lips as his rifling through the file cabinet came to a stop. Pulling the sheet before him out he scanned the length of it, his heart rate picking up just a bit. “I think I’ve got something here.”

  “Put it on the pile,” Nio said.

  “No, I mean I think I’ve got something here,” Thorn repeated.

  The sound of shuffling paper fell away as Thorn became aware that both men were staring intently at his profile.

  “We’re listening,” Schiff said.

  “Invoice here for a container full of air fresheners from a company called Living Decorations, Inc.”

  “So?” Nio asked.

  Thorn looked up, seeing the confusion on both their faces. “Living Decorations. Port of origin is Emden, Germany.”

  “LD. Liberation Day,” Nio said, piecing together what he was being told. “How many invoices from them?”

  “Just the one.” Thorn said, turning the paper over once in his hand before tossing it atop the file cabinet. “That has to be it, right?”

  “Doesn’t hurt to look,” Nio offered.

  Glancing up at the clock on the wall, Thorn nodded in agreement. At a quarter past nine in the evening they had been trapped inside the space for more than twelve hours. If nothing else, drawing in some fresh air and clearing his head before a long night would be a needed respite.

  In the event this was the container they were looking for, he didn’t want to leave it sitting active any longer than necessary.

  “Pier Five,” Thorn said, “container number KV-117.”

  Saying the words out loud something Chekov had told him clicked in Thorn’s mind, the name of the concentration camp his brother had been sent to at Kaiserwald.

  “Come on,” Thorn said, leaving his cabinet standing open as he turned and strode from the room. He could hear Nio running to catch up behind him as they both moved for the Explorer parked outside.

  The piers filed past in quick order as Thorn gunned it for the opposite end of the docks, sliding to a stop along Pier Five. Piling out they each took one side, checking each of the containers in turn for the number in question. As they worked Nio carried the Glock he received the night before while Thorn opted for the big .44 and a folding knife tucked into his rear pocket.

  Halfway down the dock Nio spotted the container in question, calling Thorn across to join him. Sitting at the bottom of a stack of three, they did a quick revolution of the area, finding it desolate.

  “Thoughts?” Nio asked.

  “Could be a remote detonator,” Thorn said, pulling the oversized gun from its holster and aiming it at the padlock hanging from the door before pulling the trigger. Bits of steel exploded into every direction, flecks of it catching the overhead light, as the lock disintegrated to the ground, the sound carrying out over the water.

  “Anything?” Thorn asked, pressing his chin to his shoulder and looking back at Nio.

  Behind him Nio had his back pressed against the container, the Glock held in both hands. “Nothing. Go ahead.”

  The container was new and the lever easily slid up in a ninety-degree arc, offering only a small groan in protest. Thorn grasped one side of the door with his left hand and held the .44 in his right. In one fluid motion he threw back the door of the container and stepped inside, his gun raised, his eyes doing their best to adjust to the dim light.

  At first glance the container was lined with pallets, each of them loaded high with cardboard boxes emblazoned in Living Decoration logos. Sliding the folding knife from his pocket, Thorn stepped to the closest one and cut a vicious slice through the plastic encasing it.

  Pulling free a plain cardboard box, Thorn set it on the ground and sliced away the top. Feeling a tiny prick of adrenaline enter his system, he peeled back the cardboard sheet to find a series of smaller boxes, each packed tight.

  Printed on each one were pictures of air fresheners and the words “Cinnamon Stick Scent.”

  Adrenaline gave way to irritation as Thorn lifted one of the boxes free, tearing it open with both hands. Inside was nothing more than an air freshener, the name Living Decoration emblazoned on the side.

  “Son of a bitch,” Thorn muttered, staring down at the item a long moment before hurling it against the side of the container. On contact it smashed into tiny plastic bits, the sound of the impact reverberating through the enclosed space.

  “What?” Nio asked, his silhouette appearing in the doorway.

  “It’s legit,” Thorn said, stepping outside and slamming the door shut. “Nothing but air fresheners.”

  Side by side they started back up the pier, both shaking their heads, bitterness on their faces. They strode in silence, each lost to his own thoughts, until a sound drew both their attentions upward.

  Standing at the end of the pier was Schiff, his hands extended overhead. Back and forth he waved them, yelling something that wasn’t quite discernible from where they stood.

  “What?” Thorn called out, cupping his hands to either side of his mouth as he increased his pace to a jog.

  Ahead in the distance he could see Schiff make a similar gesture with his hands, though the only sound to be heard was the single crack of a gunshot piercing the night air.

  Chapter Sixty

  Thorn knew the moment the sound found his ears what had happened. Untrained to such situations Nio pulled to a stop beside him, the slap of his shoes fading away as Thorn sprinted onward. Just as it had a few nights before, muscle memory took over, carrying him forward, his weapon poised in front of him.

  Rising onto the balls of his feet, Thorn made his steps as light as possible as he ran forward, closing the gap between himself and Schiff’s body before pulling to a stop and ducking behind a tie-down pole.

  Fifteen feet away he could Schiff lying in a twisted mass, blood spatter extended from his body in a misshapen pattern. A pool of blood leaked from the open wound on his head, the overhead light shining off the surface of it.

  “Dammit,” Thorn muttered, dropping flat to his stomach and inching forward, peering down the length of the pier.

  Approaching through the darkness were two men in dark suits, their appearance showing a striking resemblance to the men at Gold’s the night before. Both carried handguns as they approached, their hands lowered to their sides, swinging freely.

  Raising himself to his knees, Thorn looked back at Nio and motioned for him to stop, waving him off to the side for cover. He paused a moment until his directive was followed before crawling forward, finding a thin gap between two containers. Once there he rose to a standing position, his body pressed against the cool metal.

  The Magnum in his hand still held a full clip, more than enough to cut down the two men. His only hope was there weren’t more nearby, his weapon made more for stopping power than precision.

  With a clear view of Schiff’s body, Thorn lowered himself to a knee and extended the gun, cupping his left hand beneath it for support. Drawing in slow, even breaths he waited, his entire focus waiting for the two intruders to come into view.

  Instead, his ears were greeted by a volley of shots, all loud and heavy like his Magnum, almost a dozen in total.

  A moment later the sound of boots hitting co
ncrete sounded out, a pair of men far different from the ones he was expecting appearing from the opposite direction. One of them Thorn recognized on sight, rising to full height.

  “Kelley!” Thorn called, stepping away from the container. In front of him both men turned, raising their weapons, their bodies dropped into defensive postures.

  “Robert Myers!” Thorn said, extending the barrel of his weapon towards the sky and taking another step forward.

  Framed in the overhead light Thorn watched as Kelley’s stance relaxed, the tension passing from his body as he lowered his weapon. “Jesus, man, I almost took your head off.”

  He said something indecipherable to his new partner before turning back to Thorn. “How many more are there?”

  “I don’t know. I was down the dock checking a container when it happened.”

  Thorn walked forward and joined the men, both stopped a few feet from Schiff’s body. The new partner was big and rugged with red hair, wearing a flannel shirt and carrying the same .44.

  Thorn nodded to him as he approached, turning over his shoulder and calling, “Nio!”

  A moment later Nio appeared, the Glock swinging by his side.

  As a group the men waited for him to reach them before turning their collective attention down to Schiff.

  “What the hell happened?” Kelley asked, his voice low.

  “We were checking one of the containers when he came out to flag us down,” Thorn said, noticing a piece of paper still clutched in the old man’s hand, large splotches of blood staining it. ”He didn’t even see it coming.”

  “Aw hell,” the other man muttered, shaking his head. “If I’d known they killed Kenny I would have done a lot worse than shoot them.”

  “Yeah,” Thorn agreed. For a moment his mind went back to the scene at Turner’s the day before, imagining the large man with the blowtorch having his way with these two hired thugs.

  If not for the enormity of the moment, the thought may have evoked a smile.

  Stepping forward, Thorn slid the piece of paper away from Schiff’s clutches, smoothing out the wrinkled page. Crimson streaks stained the bottom half of it, the top just clear enough to make out the reason for Schiff’s coming to find them.

  “Listen, I don’t mean to sound like a prick-“

  “Go,” Kelley said, his gaze never lifting from Schiff. “We know why you’re here and what’s going on.

  “Thank you,” Thorn said, nodding. “You’ve got Kenny?”

  “We do,” Kelley said.

  “And those two?”

  “Oh yeah,” his partner said.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Every bulb along the length of Pier Two was busted, the entire area cloaked in darkness. The only light at all was the ambient glow of the city as it refracted off the ocean. Leaving Nio behind Thorn moved forward, his knees bent into a crouch, crossing one foot in front of the other. Keeping his back just inches from the containers lining the pier he maintained a steady pace, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness around him.

  The purchase order Schiff had found originated in Murmansk, Russia, the number on the outside KW-834. In his haste earlier Thorn had forgotten to account for Chekov’s accent, the name Kaiserwald sounding like Kaiservald. Cursing himself for the gaffe he continued going onward, a low persistent rumble reaching his ears.

  Pausing, he pressed himself back against the closest container and listened, the sound continuing, low and even.

  Beginning anew, Thorn rose to full height and ran forward, letting the sound serve as his guide. Without glancing at cargo numbers he sprinted onward, the noise growing closer, never wavering.

  As he drew closer Thorn slowed his pace, moving silently along the concrete. Ahead he could pick out the muffled noises of feet scraping against pavement, of crates being unloaded.

  Inching forward, he nudged his head around the edge of the closest container. There in the darkness, oblivious to anyone around them, were two men in gas masks unloading cardboard boxes. Beyond them in the harbor sat a boat with two men arranging the boxes passed to them.

  Tucking himself back behind the container, Thorn rotated his grip to the barrel of the .44, waiting as the sound of footsteps grew closer. Once they seemed to be only inches away he swung out from his hiding place, swinging the butt of the gun down in a half arc.

  The man stood paralyzed at the sight of Thorn lurching towards him, unable to even raise his hands as the gun crashed into his cheekbone. It smashed into the thick rubber of the gas mask, embedding it in the man’s face as he fell limp to the ground.

  From the water, one of the men onboard the boat saw the burst of movement, his arms rising and waving in panic above his head. “Hey!”

  Flipping the gun in his hand, Thorn stepped forward over the body of his first victim, firing two rounds into the front windshield of the boat. The loud boom of the gun echoed across the water as the bullets smashed into the Plexiglas, shards of it exploding across the interior of the boat.

  At the sound of gunfire, a second man rushed out from inside the container and tossed the box he was carrying at Thorn. The full parcel slammed into his shoulder, twisting his upper body to the side as dozens of small silver packages spilled across the concrete with a clatter.

  Following the path of the box, the man stepped forward and threw a quick jab at Thorn, followed by a looping hook. Thorn ducked the jab and grabbed the man’s arm as he threw the hook, raising his knee into his solar plexus. The man made a gasping sound as the wind rushed from his lungs, remaining bent at the waist as Thorn whipped the barrel of the Magnum across the back of his skull.

  The moment the metal connected with the exposed backside of the man’s head he wilted to the ground, landing atop the lower half of his cohort.

  From the water, the boat engine sprang to life. Without rising the driver reached up and dropped the throttle, steering them away, driving blind with his body still hidden from view.

  For a moment Thorn stood poised with his gun extended, ready to pump the rest of his clip into the retreating boat. Just as fast he let the notion fade, watching as twin trails of churned water appeared, the boat speeding away into the darkness.

  “Dammit,” Thorn muttered, tucking the gun into the back of his pants. Starting with the man piled on top, he stripped away the gas mask and pulled a .9mm from his waistband, tossing it into the harbor. Pushing his limp body to the side he did the same with his partner, removing the same items before dumping him in a heap alongside his mate.

  Once his opposition was neutralized, Thorn shifted his attention to the container. Shoving the doors open wide he stepped inside to find the entire space stuffed full with pallets, each one filled with identical cardboard boxes.

  Uniform in size and shape, not a single insignia or notation of any kind could be seen from where he stood.

  Glancing down to the box that had been thrown at him, Thorn picked up one of the small silver packages, turning the stainless steel box over in his hands. Rectangular in shape, a nozzle on one end and a small red blinking light on the other served as the only defining features.

  “You must be a Vaporizer,” Thorn whispered, turning it over once more.

  A wave of anger rose deep within as he stared at the tiny silver implement. For a moment he thought of Schiff lying dead nearby, of Iggy stretched across his bed at home. He thought of everything Yuri Chekov had told him.

  Years before Thorn had seen atrocities committed by rulers to their own people. As tragic, as horrendous, as they were, not once did the oppressed feel the need to take that fight global, to destroy millions of people decades after the fact.

  Wheeling on the ball of his foot he flung the object far into the harbor, long beyond the distance where he could have heard the sound of it splashing under. Feeling the animosity within only grow, he grabbed up two more strays from the ground and flicked them behind him, taking up the box and hurling it as well.

  Using the side of his foot he slid the remaining few straggl
ers over the edge, stepping forward and watching as the entire group disappeared beneath the darkened surface of the water. Once they were gone from sight he drew his cell phone from his pocket, dialing from memory.

  A moment later it was answered, Ingram on the other end.

  “You find it?”

  “All present and accounted for,” Thorn said, “minus a box that is now sitting at the bottom of the harbor.”

  “Good work,” Ingram replied, his voice belying the slightest hint of relief.

  “Not just yet,” Thorn replied. “We’ve got an entire container full of aerosol weapons that can be activated from anywhere.”

  “Right,” Ingram said, the same terse voice from before reappearing.

  “And they know we have them,” Thorn said, not bothering to fill in the remainder of the details.

  “On it.”

  “Pier Two, KW-832,” Thorn said. “Fast.”

  He disconnected the call, turning to close the container up tight. Once it was shut and locked, he took out his cell phone a second time, scrolling through his recent incoming calls before finding what he was looking for.

  This time the line rang only once before being snapped up, Turner’s voice on the other end of the line. ”You find them?”

  “Yeah,” Thorn said, turning and resting his back against the container door, staring down at the two men lying motionless before him.

  “I hear they got Kenny Schiff,” Turner said, a tiny hint of somber present.

  “They did,” Thorn said, lowering his voice to match the tone. He knew there were many more things he could say, condolences he could offer, but opted against it. Right now his part in the evening was not yet over, his focus still required.

  “Listen, I hate to ask this, but is there any chance your friend with the blowtorch and pliers is up for a field trip?”

  A moment of silence passed, Thorn almost able to envision the look of confusion on Turner’s face. “What?”

  “I got two here alive and I need an address. Whoever’s in charge is close, I just don’t know where.”