𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄
SANDY CANNON, known in the criminal underworld as the Sandman, ducked behind a tower of cargo shipping containers. They were stacked like different-colored Lego bricks not far from the dock. A strong ocean wind howled through the many rows of metal boxes stacked higher than three-story buildings.
The salty air permeated his skin and smelled of a disturbance. Rain clouds were headed his way, traveling over the waters from afar, bringing unrest from the edge of the world.
At this moment, the weather echoed a foreboding truth for the Sandman.
Up ahead, a small cargo ship readied itself to depart from Puerto de Acajutla—the main seaport out of El Salvador.
The Sandman aimed to stop its departure.
The ship would be heading to Port of Los Angeles, California. However, it carried more than commercial goods. The human trafficking victims onboard would be secretly whisked away and forced into sweatshop labor or prostitution.
The Sandman’s stomach turned. His own shameful past had once contributed to these atrocities, and today, over fifteen thousand men, women and children were imported to the USA every year against their will.
While staring at the ship, he vowed to atone for his sins. He fished his phone from his pants pocket and dialed a contact halfway across the globe.
The Sandman spoke in a hushed tone as soon as the line was picked up. “Greetings, Xie. I’m unfashionably late—Pozo de Fuego is mere seconds from embarking. I need backup. There’re too many crewmen on that ship.”
“How many?” Xie asked. The 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬-𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘺 sound of typing could be heard in the background.
“About a dozen. And I assure you—the white dragon is onboard.”
“He's there!?—I don’t have anyone in your vicinity. Not for at least a day. Can you wait?”
“Negative.” The Sandman stole another look at the vessel, watching the last of the preparations being completed. “Do what you have to do. Get a team here, ASAP.”
“What are you planning in the meantime?”
“To stop them.”
“Then…what am I locating a team for?”
“To retrieve my corpse. I owe Reece one last opportunity to curse my name as I lie in a pine box.”
“Huh?” Xie asked.
The Sandman disconnected, pondering his last response. Was that a facetious attempt at macabre humor? Maybe. Maybe not.
He began sprinting, dodging between the many rows of containers, past the wild trees, and towards the cargo ship Pozo de Fuego.
Translation: Fire Pit.
Dark clouds were approaching from the distance, but the midafternoon sun still shone brightly overhead. Hiding behind the last clump of greenery and coconut palm trees, he pulled air into his lungs. He’d now have zero cover until reaching the ship. And like the palm tree fronds he crouched behind, his bright safety-orange T-shirt and vest—which mimicked the look of the workers—flapped excitedly in the wind.
He bolted down the wharf. The waves on either side were much larger than usual, crashing and breaking.
Thus far, he had seemed to escape the eyes of the crew who were busy checking the steel lashing rods and turnbuckles used to secure the bottom level of the stacked cargo containers.
The gangway still connected the dock to the ship, and the Sandman ascended it quickly, his work boots clumping against the wooden planks.
But a crewmember close by heard his rapidity and called out, "Hey!" while pointing at the Sandman. The crewmember stopped what he was doing and began to approach him. “What are you—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the Sandman had closed the distance between them in three quick strides and grabbed his outstretched arm, spun him around, and put him in a chokehold. After ten seconds of wheezing and gasping attempts, the crewmember was asleep and his body lay on the deck.
The Sandman dragged the man into a narrow space between containers. Then he straightened his safety vest and acted casual as he continued searching the deck.
But as he passed by the next ship worker, the man also abandoned his task while calling out, “Who are you?” That choice didn’t bode well for the health of the ship worker.
During the next few minutes, the Sandman encountered a few more crewmembers—some more skilled in fighting than others. Yet each was left unconscious, many with various broken bones.
Just as the Sandman rounded the rear corner of the shipping containers, a muzzle greeted him.
Sandy ‘the Sandman’ Cannon—the last remaining member of the four, late twentieth-century dragons—now found himself face-to-face with the aspiring white dragon youngling, Kai Castro. But unlike the Sandman, who had broken free from the chains of the old criminal empire, Kai had only begun his deep dive into the underground.
“It’s you,” Kai whispered, somewhere between shock and awe. “That explains all the grunts, crunches and yelps.”
“If I may, where are they?” the Sandman asked calmly.
“Really?” Kai asked with a cocky tone. “They’re in one of these containers.” Kai motioned at the wall of metal boxes without effort or a care. “Where do you think I put them?”
The Sandman’s eyes remained steadfast. “Care to share which one?”
“The one you’re about to go into.” Kai began twirling his gun around his first finger. “I know someone who’ll pay a lot of money to have the privilege of killing you himself. Go ahead and—”
The Sandman sensed the unhinged ease at which Kai spoke, and his fanatical movements. It was now or never.
Jumping and rotating through the air, the Sandman executed a spinning back kick, knocking the gun right off of Kai’s finger.
“Ow!” he yelled, shaking his hand while the gun ricocheted off the side of the ship with a clink.
Two crewmembers rushed the Sandman from behind, each grabbing an arm. The Sandman elbowed the man on his right, cracking ribs. A third crewmember slammed into the Sandman's back, knocking the breath out of him from the impact to his spine. A fourth crewmember launched himself from the railing like a WWE wrestler, smashing onto the jumble of men.
The Sandman went down.
After taking quite a few sideways punches, pummeling him hard, he felt the cold steel of a gun against his head. The chuck-chick sound directly behind his ear meant a bullet was ready to penetrate his skull.
“One more move like that and you die right here and now,” came Kai’s wild voice. “Get up!”
But the Sandman’s thoughts were elsewhere at that moment. He missed his family. It seemed like another lifetime ago when they had all been together, over thirty years prior. He had never spent enough time with his young love, Susan, their two daughters and one son.
He wasn’t even present when his own son had died. Couldn’t even attend his funeral. If the Sandman had another shot at life, he’d do it differently this time.
The pain in his sides radiated through his chest and organs.
𝘐’𝘮 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.
His thoughts returned to the present as he was forcibly brought to his feet.
Kai marched the Sandman to the containers and instructed a crewman to open a white one, second from the bottom in a five-tier stack and at the far edge of the starboard side.
As soon as the container’s double doors were opened, the sound of women crying and whispering could be heard. A ladder was placed adjacent to the entrance.
“Get in,” Kai demanded cruelly.
“Your expectation of my self-guided ascension into this box is quite amusing,” the Sandman quipped in his usual, eccentric manner.
One of the bigger guys stepped forward and pounded on his kidneys and face, while the corners of Kai’s lips curled upwards.
The Sandman spit out a mouthful of blood, now on his knees. “I’ll go.”
He swallowed the metallic taste while forcing his body to keep moving amidst the pain of the beatings, to climb the eight and a half feet into the metal rectangular box. Once he began crawling inside, he saw into the back of the container, identifying slightly under two dozen women and girls huddled together.
A dismal sight, he commiserated with these victims of human trafficking he was now joining.
Once inside, the crewmembers shut the doors and locked them, leaving the Sandman in the dark with the women.
He whispered in Spanish to them. “𝘗𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳, don’t worry. I will not harm any of you. I came here to rescue you, though things didn’t go as planned. But have hope. I may have injured enough crewmembers to delay our departure long enough for my reinforcements to arrive.”
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏
REECE CANNON DIDN’T LIKE the way the copilot kept glancing back at her and Chang with a faux-interested smile and nod.
But Chang kept talking, oblivious, trying to explain away the past. Apparently he had some deep regrets…
* * *
