Page 145 of Oddly Fine

“I think if you start going on daily walks, I’ll have you committed for a nervous breakdown,” Hayes said, only half kidding.

“Heyyy—I’m active,” Beckett snapped, slightly annoyed.

Hayes snorted.

“You work out and hit the boxing ring because you need to stay away from bullets—take that threat away, and you’ll probably start knitting instead,” Hayes said, shaking his head and sighing.

And Beckett knew what he meant by that. He wasn’t a fan of exercising for the sake of exercising. He liked playing sports. A quick pickup game at the gym, a volleyball match on the beach, running the obstacle course for shits and giggles—but working out for the sake of working out? Not so much. The worst was running. He knew Hayes enjoyed it though, even if he didn’t participate. SEALs training aside, it gave Hayes a way to turn off his brain and relax, if only for a little while. Beckett could appreciate that, but he just didn’t feel the same.

“I was gonna make you a real pretty tuque to wear this winter, but now you can forget about it,” Beckett said, returning his attention to the dock. The workers had finished with the first container, and were now working on the second. As soon as they opened it, Beckett could tell it was different from the first. There were no large pallets wrapped in plastic; instead, as soon as the doors swung open, a man walked out. A real tough looking guy. The kind that would be cast as “evil baldheaded dude number 3” in a Rambo remake.

Beckett heard the shutter of Hayes’ camera click several times.

The guy walked out calmly, talking rapidly to the Serbians and waving to the cargo behind him. A few minutes later, the forklift was back, except this time, it was carrying a coffin. The men were cautious, taking their time shifting it and loading it into the back of the armoured truck.

“Why was he already inside that container?” Beckett asked, confused.

“Because he had to load the girls into the coffins,” Hayes said, and Beckett had the feeling that Hayes wasn’t making that up. And it looked as if Hayes’ theory had just been validated.

“What the hell?” Becket was completely baffled by what the workers did next. They’d moved two coffins so far, and were now moving large items that were hard to identify. Was that a six-foot-tall iron cross? The fuck?

“The girls can’t be in coffins the whole way. They need water, food, necessities. I think they keep them in the cargo containers until a few hours before they’re due to arrive at the port. Then, they give them something to knock them out so they can load them into the coffins.”

“That makes—horrible sense,” Beckett said, shaking his head. “What are you, an evil genius?”

Hayes didn’t respond. Beckett was probably at least partially correct.

“I need to get inside that truck,” Beckett decided, as he watched yet another coffin get lifted from the container.

“That’s not part of the plan,” Hayes said, not in favor of any deviations, and most especially this new form of insanity.

“Ah—plans are meant to be fucked with!” Beckett waved him off.

“No!” Hayes growled angrily.

“One quick look inside those coffins will confirm everything we need to know,” Beckett countered as he continued to watch the dock workers.

“If you get in, you’ll either get caught and shot, or they’ll shut the armoured door, drive off with you locked inside the truck, and shoot you when they open it back up,” Hayes snarled, turning to look at him for the first time. It was uncharacteristic of him to get distracted from tracking their target, but clearly this discussion took priority.

Beckett opened his mouth to argue, but shut it just as quickly. There was something in Hayes’ expression—not just anger, but an edge of desperation, like he might be begging Beckett not to push it—not to do it—and for the first time in his adult life, Beckett fucking considered the importance of Hayes’ perspective.

“This plan will work,” Hayes said, as though sensing a weakening of Beckett’s stance. “We took the pictures, which is solid proof that the coffins left the Serbians’ dock and were immediately placed inside the armoured vehicle. Now all we need to do is track them back to the factory—and then track how they get rid of the coffins.”

“But there are fucking women inside!” Beckett snarled, anger and revulsion hitting him squarely in the gut.

“I know,” Hayes acknowledged with a nod. He placed a gentle hand on Beckett’s shoulder. “And we’ll get them out, but if we get caught and killed—we won’t be helpful to them or your brother at all.”

Beckett bit back his groan, forced to concede his point.

And they did just that—Hayes snapped several more pictures of the coffins before sneaking off the roof and heading back to their rental car. They had to wait for the armoured vehicle to leave the dock, and then followed it all the way to the factory. When the truck turned into the factory entrance, Hayes and Beck continued on to a parking lot a block away. From there, they watched the vehicle disappear inside the loading bay, and come back out several hours later. This time though, the driver didn’t park the truck in the side lot as he’d done before. Instead, he drove the truck back towards the gate and exited the property. Hayes was starting the car before Beckett had even managed a single snarky comment about tailing the guy. They’d wagered on where the coffins were taken after the people inside were removed. None of their guesses had been correct. A few miles down the road, the armoured vehicle turned into a vacant lot and pulled up next to a standard cargo carrier. Two big men hopped out of the cargo truck and began transferring the coffins from the armoured vehicle to the cargo truck, which had New York plates. Beckett immediately recognised one of the men from the cargo truck.

“Where’s that going?” Hayes asked, unable to come up with a reasonable explanation.

“Don’t know, but one of the cargo truck guys was at the dock,” Beckett said, leaning forward to get a better view through his binoculars. “He came out of the shipping container.”

“So he gets on the ship in New York, and then drives back in that truck?” Hayes asked.

“It makes sense,” Beckett said, then he was suddenly hit with a brilliant, off-the-wall idea. Grabbing his phone, he punched in a number and then resumed monitoring the loading of the cargo truck.