ISBN 978-0439651394

Aiden and Meg soon learned that full darkness never fell on the Port of Los Angeles. When the sun set, on came the floodlights, and the loading and unloading continued without interruption.

Meg was distraught. “What kind of workaholic port is this? Doesn’t anybody go home?”

“They change shifts,” Aiden guessed glumly. “It’ll probably quiet down after midnight.”

“After midnight? I’ll die! I’ve already sweated a river. There’s no air in here!”

“We’ll crack the door a little. I’ll take out the dome light first.”

It helped with the heat but not the tension. Midnight approached, marking six hours that the Falconers had been stuck in the Honda.

Meg was restless to the point of insanity. “I’ve got to get out of here, bro!”

“Hang in there,” Aiden urged.

Sure enough, on the stroke of twelve, longshoremen on the various projects began to drift away. A few job sites changed crews and continued working, but the majority of the floodlights were shut off.

It was an agonizing decision for Aiden: Do we wait until the wharf is completely dark – which might never happen? Or do we risk it and go now?

Meg was less conflicted. “Stay if you want, but I’m booking.” And she was out of the Honda, climbing like a monkey down to the ground.

Aiden had no choice. He was right behind her. The clang of their sneakers against the metal frame of the car transport seemed like the ringing of a gong to them. In reality, it was all lost in the sounds of the harbor and the sea.

They dropped to the shadows underneath the rig.
“Stay out of the light,” Aiden cautioned his sister.

“I can pass for an adult in the dark, but no way you can. There must be security here. If they get a good look at you, they’ll ask questions.”

Meg bit her lip and did as she was told. This was no time for wounded pride.

They walked along the waterfront, steering clear of the brightly lit berths where the night crews were working.

While Meg hung back, Aiden ventured out onto the piers – there were thirty-two of them in this part of the harbor alone. Each ship was marked by a small sign that identified the vessel moored there, its port of origin, and its principal cargo. The information Aiden needed was at the bottom: destination and date and hour of departure.

The bigger the ship, the farther it seemed to be going – Tokyo, Seoul, Taipei, Manila. He targeted less impressive vessels, but even these seemed to be heading for South America. At last he focused on the smaller tramp freighters and bulk carriers.

San Diego – too close. It was almost a southern extension of Los Angeles. The cops down there probably cooperated with the LAPD…

Alaska – too far…Vancouver – no good. They’d have to cross an international border to get back into the United States.

Perfect! The Samantha D was an independent freighter returning to its home port, Seattle, Washington. It was slated for loading at first light tomorrow, followed by a three P.M departure. Cargo: 976 forty-two-gallon barrels of chili oil imported from Thailand.

Squinted into the gloom, Aiden checked out the ship as best he could. It looked big enough to hide in – half a football field long, and broad across the beam. There was a high structure in the bow – the coming tower? Aiden was no sailor, but he recalled some nautical terminology from books and movies. Astern, he could make out the silhouette of some kind of cargo-handling equipment. From this angle, he could see nothing amidships. He assumed that the opening to the hold was located there. Nine hundred seventy-six large barrels of chili oil would take up a lot of space. But he was sure there would be enough room for two fugitives trying to get out of L.A.

The question is how to get on board without being seen.

The sound of laughing voices jolted him out of his thoughts. He ducked behind a cluster of wooden pylons and peered out furtively. Four sailors appeared from the darkness and strolled down the pier, singing raucously. They turned in at the Samatha D and clattered up the gangplank.

One of them said something about “taking the first watch,” and Aiden felt a jolt of dismay. The full weight of what he and his sister were about to do came crashing down on him. All at once it occurred to him that they understood less than nothing about shipping. This boat could have a crew of five sailors or fifty. The Falconers had no idea what security measures might be in place. For all Aiden knew, the harbor police inspected every vessel, looking for stowaways. Where did he get off thinking they could pull a stunt like this with zero experience and zero planning?

The answer came as it had a dozen times since he and Meg had embarked on this insane adventure. They could do it because they had to. Because they owed it to their poor parents. Because there was no other way.

With that, Aiden Falconer, landlubber, set out to teach himself a very quick lesson in Stowaway 101.

He toyed with different possibilities, some of them unlikely, all of them bad – climbing up the mooring lines of scaling the hull from water level. As he weighed the options, Aiden suddenly remembered one of the main sources of his scant nautical knowledge. It came from a prison cell in Florida, more than three thousand miles away.

In addition to being a college professor of criminology, Dr. Falconer was the author of a series of detective novels. In Davy Jones’s Locker, the hard-boiled hero, Mac Mulvey, was investigating a ring of diamond smugglers in West Africa. In the exciting climax, Mulvey found the hot rocks by stowing away on a ship bound for New York City.

Aiden frowned. Dad’s books were page-turners, but the wild plotlines tended to blend together. How had Mulvey gained access to a working freighter full of smugglers?

Then he remembered – and wished he hadn’t. Mulvey hadn’t snuck onto the boat at all. He’d had himself loaded aboard with the cargo.