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"I didn't hear you. What port?"
"I want more morphine first," Abdullah howled.
Rapp put his boot on top of the bad knee and pressed down.
Abdullah began screaming his head off.
Rapp snarled, "I'm not taking my foot off until you tell me what port!"
Abdullah kept screaming.
"What port!" Rapp put almost all of his weight on the bad knee. "What port, Waheed?"
"Charleston! Charleston!" The man's face was covered in sweat and contorted in anguish.
Rapp let up a bit but kept his boot in place. "And when is it due to arrive?"
"Today!"
"You said yesterday when I asked you an hour ago."
"I lied! It's coming today! I swear I'm telling you the truth!"
"What's the name of the ship?"
"I don't know," he screamed with a genuine look of panic on his face.
"Where did it originate from?"
"Karachi!"
"How long ago?"
"Three weeks. Please oh please I'm telling you the truth."
Rapp removed his boot, and grabbed a knife from a scabbard on his right thigh. Bending over, he held the knife in front of Abdullah's face and said, "This is your last chance. I'm going to get you some morphine, but if I find out you've lied to me, I'm going to come back, and not only are you not going to get your morphine I'm going to start lopping off your fingers one by one."
* * *
Thirty-Three
CHARLESTON
The trip out to Sullivan's Island didn't take long. The island marked the northern entrance to Charleston Harbor. They continued past the main gate to historic Fort Moultrie Park and took a left on Station 12th Street. They parked a half block from the water and got out of the car. al-Yamani asked Yacoub to grab the bag from the trunk, and the two of them walked to the beach. Once out of the car's air-conditioned comfort al-Yamani was again reminded of how foreign humidity was to him. Growing up in an arid land had acclimated him to dry heat, not this smothering wet air.
By the time they reached the sand he could feel rivulets of sweat dripping down his back. Yacoub led the way across the light-colored beach. Visibility was good with a quarter moon and not a cloud in the sky. Out to sea on the horizon the sky was beginning to lighten a bit. The sun would be up in about an hour and a half, and if things went according to plan, not long after that the container would be headed north.
Yacoub pointed out into the harbor and said, "That is Fort Sumter. It is almost one point five kilometers from here to there. The boat will pass right between us."
This is no boat,al-Yamani thought to himself.It is a ship. He had been there in Karachi to supervise the packing and loading of the container. Al-Yamani had intentionally chosen the largest vessel he could find. He rationalized that the more containers the ship could carry, the less likely it would be that the Americans would find the lethal one in a random sea
rch.
"You can see the channel markers there and there." Yacoub pointed to the red and green lights floating out in the water.
To the right was downtown Charleston. The skyline was nothing stupendous, but al-Yamani knew this was an old city by American standards. The harbor where they had just come from was illuminated by bright flood lights. Even from this vantage al-Yamani could make out the monstrous cranes swinging cargo off the big vessels docked at one of America's busiest ports.
"Here comes a boat now." Yacoub pointed out to sea.
