Page 21 of Rescuing Mia

I’m close to a port, a gateway to escape.

With trembling hands, I reach for the pouch from Agent Torres, finally allowing myself a moment to examine its contents. As I unzip it, my breath catches in my throat.

I find a stack of cash, a credit card, and a new U.S. passport. A wave of relief washes over me, so strong it nearly brings tears to my eyes. These items are more than just financial resources—they’re a lifeline. I wish I’d looked inside earlier. I could’ve slept in a bed rather than behind a dumpster.

But I wasn’t in my right mind last night.

I take another deep breath, steeling myself for what I know I must do next. I can’t stay here, huddled behind a dumpster like afrightened animal. I have to move. With a grunt of effort, I push myself to my feet, my muscles screaming in protest.

Cautiously, I make my way out of the alley, blinking in the bright sunlight. As my eyes adjust, I take stock of my surroundings, confirming what I already suspected—I’m just outside a busy tourist port, with ships and boats of all sizes docked and preparing to depart.

The port is a hive of activity, with people from all walks of life bustling about their business. There are tourists in bright, colorful clothing. Their cameras hang around their necks as they take in the sights and sounds of the port. Dock workers hustle in hard hats and overalls, their faces weathered and their hands calloused from years of hard labor. The ever-present street vendors are out in force, hawking their wares, their voices rising above the din of the crowd.

Scanning the various ships and boats, I make my way closer to the water’s edge. In the far distance, there are massive cargo ships, their hulls painted in bright colors and their decks stacked high with shipping containers. Closer in, sleek, modern yachts gleam in the sunlight, their white surfaces reflecting the brilliant sunshine, and closer there are smaller, more modest vessels—fishing boats, tugboats, and everything in between.

A glimmer of hope takes root. Somewhere among these ships is a way out, a chance to escape. But I can’t hop on the first boat I see. I need to be smart, think through my options, and make a plan.

First, I remove the pouch Agent Torres gave me and examine its contents again. The cash and credit cards will be useful, but it’s the passport that really catches my eye. It’s a U.S. passport with my photo and a name I don’t recognize, but it’s a way out, a chance to start over somewhere new.

I flip through the passport, my fingers trembling slightly. As I do, a small slip of paper falls out, fluttering to the ground at my feet. I bend down to pick it up, my heart pounding.

It’s a note written in a hasty scrawl:

“Mia - if you’re reading this, something’s happened to me. Get to the U.S. Embassy in Sydney. Ask for Marcus Wright. He’ll help you. Stay safe. Do not fly. It’s too dangerous. Head to the port.There are several ships there that will take you. Do not go to the embassy in Manila. It’s compromised.”

I stare at the note, my mind reeling.

Sydney?

Australia?

I’ve never been there, never even thought about going, but if Agent Torres says it’s safe, if he trusts this Marcus Wright person, then that’s where I need to go.

I tuck the note back into the passport and slide it into my pocket. Now, how does someone find a boat headed for Australia?

Or at least somewhere close.

Slowly, I make my way along the water’s edge, scanning the various ships.

None look promising.

I weave through the crowd, my eyes darting from ship to ship, searching for a way out. I have no plan, just a burning need to escape.

And then I see him.

The stranger from what must be the worst day of my life.

Our eyes meet across the bustling port, and it’s like the world narrows down to just the two of us. He’s tall and muscular, with chiseled features and eyes that seem to see straight into my soul.

There’s a strength about him, a confidence in how he moves that draws me in.

He lugs diving gear, looking every bit the adventurer set to conquer the unknown depths of the sea. There’s an allure in the intensity of his gaze and the way his muscles flex under the weight of his equipment.

For a moment, I allow myself to imagine a different life. A life where I could approach him, strike up a conversation, maybe lose myself in the promise of his smile.

It’s a tantalizing thought, a brief respite from the constant fear that has become my reality.

But that’s not my life.