“She is in,” I whispered.

“I see them,” Romano said, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

Through the rain, I saw one of the guards gesture with his flashlight.

Elena showed him a document through the half-open window.

The guard hesitated, then picked up his radio.

“Come on,” I muttered.

The second guard walked toward the security booth.

A moment later, the barrier arm lifted.

Elena’s SUV rolled forward, parking in the VIP slot near the main glass doors.

“She is going inside,” I said.

“The rear dock is clear,” Romano said, pointing to the metal shutter fifty yards away.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We got out of the sedan, keeping our heads down against the rain.

The air smelled of salt water and wet concrete.

We ran across the asphalt to the metal shutter of the shipping dock.

Romano pulled the heavy brass key from his pocket and inserted it into the control box.

He turned it.

With a low groan, the metal shutter began to rise.

“Hurry,” I said.

We slipped underneath the shutter before it had raised three feet.