Even from his vantage point on the hill, Berger heard the throaty rumble of the big engine, the shouts above it. Tony pointed to a stack of red-striped containers at the far end of the terminal yard. Berger peered through his binoculars and scanned the area around the pick-up point. Clean. Nothing gave him away. They’d never know what hit them. A bearded man in a yellow T-shirt jumped from the truck’s cab then jogged to a forklift and set it in motion. The driver went around to the back of the truck smoking a cigarette and laughing at something Tony Cigars said. As they swung the big doors open, Berger lost them for a minute. The metal door obscured their faces, but he saw their legs, their shuffling feet. If only they knew this would be their last tango, they might have made a better effort. Berger smiled, then pressed the button in his left pocket. It was all over the morning news. A split screen interruption ran on all the local stations: Dock Explosion.
