Nothing.
Wade laughed.
“Best fifteen dollars you ever spent.”
Mara ignored him.
She tapped the latch lightly with a hammer from her bag.
Waited.
Tried the key again.
The cylinder moved a fraction.
Then stopped.
One of the men said:
“She’s going to spend the afternoon arguing with a lock.”
Mara looked back.
“I spend spring arguing with irrigation fittings.”
“This lock is underqualified.”
The man smiled.
Wade did not.
Mara tried again.
This time the key turned.
The locking bars groaned as she pulled.
Rust flaked onto the concrete.
One handle released.
Then the second.
The rubber seals remained stuck.
Mara braced one boot against the lower frame.
Pulled.
Nothing.
Wade stepped forward.
“Want help?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You don't get extra points for stubbornness.”
“I’m a farmer.”
“It came standard.”
She pulled again.
The seal cracked.
A dark line appeared between the doors.
Cold air moved outward.
Not the rotten smell everyone expected.
Dust.
Metal.
Something oily.
Wade stopped smiling slightly.
Mara noticed.
Then another sound entered the yard.
A car horn.
Not casual.
Three fast blasts.
Everyone turned.
A black sedan had stopped near the auction gate.
The driver’s door opened before the engine was fully off.
A man in a charcoal overcoat stepped out.
Late forties.
Clean-shaven.
Dark hair.
Expensive shoes utterly unsuited to a salvage yard.
He carried a leather document case.
He looked first toward the auction office.
Then saw the container.
Then Mara.
His expression changed.
He began walking quickly.
“Excuse me.”
Mara turned back toward the door.
The man accelerated.
“Ma’am.”
She stopped.
He reached them breathing harder than he wanted anyone to notice.
“Is that container seven-two-six-one?”
Mara looked toward the faded numbers on the side.
“Yes.”
“Has it been opened?”
“Not yet.”
The man looked at the narrow gap.
Then toward Wade.
Then back to Mara.
“Who purchased it?”
“I did.”
“How long ago?”
“About forty minutes.”
His eyes tightened.
“May I see your bill of sale?”
“No.”
The answer surprised him.
“I represent a party with a prior interest in this freight.”
Mara straightened.
“What party?”
“That is somewhat complicated.”
“Then simplify it.”
Wade grinned.
This was suddenly better than lunch.
The stranger opened his document case.
“My name is Calvin Sloane.”
He removed a business card.
Mara took it.
SLOANE ASSET RECOVERY
COMMERCIAL DISPUTE SERVICES
WASHINGTON, D.C.
She looked up.
“Asset recovery.”
“Yes.”
“From me?”
“Potentially.”
“I paid for it legally.”
“I’m not suggesting otherwise.”