Invisible Threads

by Michael Hyslip

  “From the last hour, maybe,” I responded

  He looked at me for the first time, then back at Marcy, realizing her seriousness. He opened the door wider and motioned for us to come in, closing it behind us. Without another word, he sat down at a console and started pulling up footage. After a moment he asked, “Do you know which cameras?”

  “Yes, anything related to the parking garage or exits.” I checked my recent calls list and added, “at roughly 1:50 a.m. and later.”

  “Hmm, I was out doing my rounds. I’ll see what we can find.” Joe moved through the footage like a pro, eliminating the hospital camera feeds for everything but the parking garage and its exits. He turned a dial and sped up the time. As it neared 2:00 a.m., he suddenly slowed it down to show Janet tinkering with her phone and glancing behind her.

  “That was when she called me. She said she was being followed,” I mentioned.

  Joe nodded, and we watched the screens intently. Marcy had hold of my hand again, and the turmoil on her face matched what I felt. There was movement on one of the screens, which immediately went to static, pulling a response from Joe, “What the fff…?”

  “Joe Davis, you watch that language!” Marcy exclaimed.

  “Aaaart… and there goes another one out,” he finished, watching another camera feed go to static. The feed with Janet showed her backing up with hands raised. A hooded figure stepped into the frame when that camera, too, went blank.

  Before I could respond, Joe was already up. He grabbed the phone and issued a hospital-wide page for any police officer in the building to immediately come to the security desk. He turned to me, offered a firm handshake, and nodded in understanding that everyone in this room would do their best to find her and find out what had happened.

  “Wait, there’s more on the camera on the North exit!” Marcy said, pointing to one of the two remaining feeds. Joe sat back down and reversed the footage, which showed a black cargo van exiting the lot roughly thirty seconds after the last camera feed had disconnected. There was no license plate or other visible identifying marks.

  “I’m sorry, but you guys need to exit. I’ll handle the officers and explain what’s up and keep you out of it.” Joe said, opening the door for us. “And I’ll let Marcy know if they need more information.”

  Writing Janet’s number on some paper, I stepped out, turning to face him. “Joe, thank you. This is her number, assuming they can trace it. That looked like a professional snatch-and-grab, so it’s doubtful they left behind any clues, but there’s always hope.” He nodded solemnly, taking the note.

  I walked Marcy back to her department, where she sat at her desk staring at her hands. She said little, and I wasn’t sure I felt like talking either. I placed my hand on her shoulder, preparing to leave, and she stood up and hugged me instead. I wrapped my arms around her.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as Joe hears anything, okay?” she said through some tears. She let go as I nodded and I made my way home. There was nothing else to do here.

  Early the next morning my phone rang. “Yeah?” I answered, groggy from meager sleep.

  “Sam, it’s Marcy. I talked to Joe and I have a police case number.”

  I wrote it down as she spoke, now fully awake. “Thanks, Marcy. Did they find anything out?”

  “Lord, no; they’re about as useful as a pet rock. They at least filed a report that the cameras were definitely disabled by a firearm, and are they are looking for Janet, but have no leads at all. An unidentified black van isn’t much to go on, and they said the driver probably put the license plate back on as soon as they were out of range so it wouldn’t get pulled over. I just got off the phone with the detective on the case, and he’d call us with any new developments.”

  “I wish I could do something, Marcy.”

  “Me too, Sam, me too. I’ll call you if I hear anything, and you do the same.”

  “Sure thing, thanks.” I hung up, lying back on the bed. Staring at the ceiling, I could think of nothing.

  For two days there was no news from Marcy and no help from the police. I was going crazy until I received a text message from Janet’s phone, followed by a picture of her tied to a chair. She‘d been beaten and looked and frightened with bloodstains on her blue-and-gray sweater. The image was seared into my mind.

  Janet’s new cell: If you want to see her alive, we should have a chat, Sam. I’ll contact you with details in two days and let you stew over her fate should you disappoint me. - Matroni

  Matroni! I didn’t know how he’d found my identity and our connection, but I was responsible for putting her in this position. He probably had eyes and ears in the police department and someone recognized my face, or her inquiries into the military connection with Bryson sparked all this. I couldn’t possibly wait two days, but with no way to track down Matroni’s phone, I started scrambling for some new ideas and went to work on them.

  ◆◆◆

  First, I made a stop at a liquor store and loaded up on some rot-gut whiskey before it was dark. Next, I went back to the run-down areas where I had burned earlier evidence and asked around, showing people Janet’s picture. No one responded until I got to a group of three men huddled around a fire barrel.

  “Hey there, fellas. Any chance you’ve seen this woman? Or know anything about Matroni’s operations?” I asked, showing them her picture on my phone.

  One of them spoke up, his front teeth on both the top and bottom missing, “What’s it to ya? She run off on ya for ol’ Pete?” He snickered.

  At least he knew who Matroni was. “She was kidnapped by him, and she’s in danger. I know you guys see a lot around here, probably more than anyone else since you’re on the streets.” I handed him a bottle of whiskey from my pack, and he rewarded me with a tooth-gapped grin.

  “Hey I might know a little something!” one of the others stated.

  “Me, too!” said the third.

  I pulled another bottle partially out and then slowly put it back. “And what you know is…?” I questioned, raising my eyebrow.

  “Yeah, yeah… so we see things. How much of that ya got in there?”

  I stayed silent and waited for him to continue. He glanced at his friend’s bottle of whiskey, who wasn’t willing to share, and looked back at me.

  “Fine. Petey grew up ‘round these parts. No more than a thug. He runs some drugs through these areas now that he got hi’self a gang. Has some women he sells, too, and the police dun’ care ‘bout none of it. They’s all corrupt, anyway.”

  I handed him a bottle and looked at the third guy, who shrugged. “I got no loyalty to Matroni. Besides, kidnappin’ and sellin’ girls ain’t no man’s claim anyway. We gotta shelter a few blocks away from where he keeps ‘em. They usually leave us alone, but a few nights ago, we got chased out o’ the area when more fellas showed up to guard the place.” I handed him a bottle, too. He greedily opened it and gulped, smiling at me.

  “Anything else that can help me?” I asked.

  Tooth-gap spoke again, “Get an army, boy, or you won’t get far. They be meanin’ business. If he got your girl, then he prolly took her there.”

  I sighed, weary from the fear that anything worse would happen to Janet and weary from pushing away thoughts of what might befall her if I failed. Apparently, Matroni was also involved in human trafficking, and one of his places had a lot more activity in the past few days. Such a standup guy I got myself involved with!

  I had nothing else to do but wait for Matroni…or act…and I chose to act. I had a few bottles left in my pack, the only items still in it, actually.

  “Thank you, each of you,” I said as I handed them the pack to let them figure out how to share it, my plight instantly forgotten as they rummaged through it. I could think of nothing else but bringing Janet back safely.

  Chapter 19

  With desperate focus, I gathered the tools I would need: a pistol, suppressor fitted and tested; my trusty knife; and plenty of ammunition. Then, I made my way on
foot to a group of buildings a few miles away and settled across the street from the human trafficking “way point.” I couldn’t initiate an offensive strike, or they might kill her if she were inside. I had spent the last mile shielded, so no one saw my approach. I quietly crossed the street, keeping an eye out for any entrance that may work. They should have no idea that I even knew where Janet was being held, but I couldn’t afford to take that chance.

  I made my way around the perimeter and found an old fire escape that was too high to reach, a few windows with lights on a second floor, a set of security cameras at each corner, and a locked door. I moved to the back of the building where another door beckoned. No one was keeping watch back here; they probably assumed the cameras and lack of any door handle would be enough security. There was a large open space for vehicles to drive away, perhaps in all directions in the event of a raid, but I assumed they had an arrangement with police. Since my network of homeless drinking buddies had concluded this was a standing operation, the police either were being paid off or ignoring it as long as it didn’t attract too much attention. The worst set of circumstances.

  I counted five young men up front—all armed with guns and smoking or staring out into the streets as if daring someone to approach. In the back, one of the cars was a new BMW, which stuck out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. I tried the door handle, and, to my surprise, it opened freely with no alarm, but I suppose they thought all cars were safe due to their “business” reputation. I wasn’t proficient at hot-wiring cars, but given enough time, especially if you’re invisible, anything is possible. But why bother, I simply turned a few knobs and soon the dash and headlights lit up enough to alert someone. Sure enough, a minute later the back door popped open, and two thugs walked out with guns at the ready. I had made it back to the door and quickly slipped inside before it closed again.

  I left the suppressed Glock 17 in my holster and opted for knife instead, going room to room and looking for clues. I had subsonic rounds to help with the handgun noise, but even with the best suppressor, it could be heard. A suppressor won’t completely eliminate the explosive sound, but works more like a muffler. By filtering out the worst of it, a mechanical echo of the firearm remains. It also doesn’t do anything about the sonic crack if ammunition travels too fast; thus, subsonic ammunition was the most effective for smaller and faster caliber guns. The knife would save my ammunition and the accompanying noise for later.

  There were rooms with girls who looked drugged or unconscious, but none of them were Janet. I was definitely in a human-trafficking way station, as all the girls were handcuffed to the sides of reinforced beds. The smell of fear, puke, and other bodily fluids permeated the place. As much as it sickened me, I couldn’t help these girls right now, especially if they needed to be carried. Too much was at stake. No way could I get them away from here without compromising us all.

  A few men hung out in various rooms; one had video screens for the array of security cameras. About ten minutes passed before the back door popped open when the guard at the security station hit a button, and two men came back inside. They weren’t happy, but at least the car hadn’t been stolen. One headed upstairs, while the other went to the security room.

  “We couldn’t find anyone. Rewind the recording, and show me what happened.”

  The guard at the bank of monitors looked at him incredulously. “Do you honestly think we record what we do here? This is just to keep a lookout, man; there’s no way we’re going to give away free evidence.” His explanation didn’t help.

  The BMW owner was furious. I knew he was about to take his frustrations out on one of the girls when he exited the security station and headed for another door. While I couldn’t save them all, I couldn’t just watch the abuse either. I pulled my KA-BAR, the ever-dependable knife of Marines, from its sheath and stepped closer as he entered a room and quickly followed him inside.

  As he removed his jacket and threw it angrily against the chair, the door slammed shut behind him from his angry swipe. The young girl was startled and hazy; not much registered on her face. I moved behind him and cupped my left hand across his mouth, while ramming my knife into the guy’s back and sliding between ribs, up into the heart. I wiped the knife on his clothes, and nothing else came from the wound since his heart had stopped pumping. The girl had passed out again, so she saw nothing.

  No one was paying attention, so I slowly closed the door behind me as I left the room, making sure it didn’t swing open to show a dead body. I didn’t want any complications later, so I stepped into the security office and again covered the target’s mouth with my hand and rammed the knife into the base of his skull. Same result. I still needed to find Janet.

  I slowly went up the concrete stairs and heard muffled voices. As I walked across the second-floor threshold, I realized just how dependent I had become on being invisible: I don’t show on cameras. I don’t trip laser systems. I don’t set off electronic eyes or motion detectors. I do, however, set off alarms tied to a door being opened. When I pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, voices become clearer. There was also a double beep to signal the door had been opened. The hallway immediately grew smaller as a few armed men stepped out to look. I pushed myself through the door, drew my Glock, and fired in rapid succession, hitting at least one of them. They were all a bit confused, but started firing back anyway as the hallway filled with more of them. I stayed low and moved forward quickly, ducking into a room to avoid the bullets and waited.

  Curses spewed in a several languages, and slowly the gunfire stopped. There was nothing to see in the hallway, so I poked my head out and shot at least one more of the thugs through the neck, dropping him from the fight. A few more were still shooting, although they couldn’t see their target. I dropped low and leapt forward, hoping there was no way they would be able to track my exact position, even though the muzzle flash helped to give it away. Their confusion was the only way to buy time, and I was now about ten feet away from the next room. I shot quickly: twice into each of the two remaining in the hallway, rupturing their center cavity with some extra lead-lined breathing room.

  I quickly sprinted to the end of the hallway to the final room on this floor. I waited, kicked the door open, and moved to the side without entering; a shotgun blast ripped through a moment later. Doorways are bad, ambush prone. All I saw was an explosion of fire and death as I rolled through the doorway and to the side as another shot exploded fire toward the remaining pieces of door. One person stood in this room, so I aligned my front sight on his center mass and fired; he dropped immediately, never knowing what hit him.

  On the floor was a bloodied sweater. The same sweater Janet had worn in the photo, but with a whole lot more blood, but no Janet. No body at all. I wasn’t sure what to do or what to think, so I instinctively exchanged emptied magazines for fresh ones with shaking hands. The bloody sweater indicated a wound someone couldn’t walk away from as there’s only so much blood in the human body. Disbelief and grief struck me full force as I tried to wish it away, but inside I knew I’d failed somehow. Voices down the hall yelled in surprise. It was the perimeter guards, the ones I’d forgotten about.

  I didn’t think about whether I lived or died after I saw Janet’s sweater, so I unshielded and entered the hallway, weeping and dispatching each thug as they entered the hallway. Cold steel formed in the pit of my stomach in what I thought was death, but only one word seemed to remain inside. Punishment. And it would be delivered with ferocity. Yelling erupted down the stairs as at least one ran away.

  I walked slowly down the hallway toward sounds of pain. A young man’s eyes grew ever wider at the sight of me; he was bleeding from shots through both thigh and gut. With medical help, he could most likely live, provided the thigh hadn’t hit the femoral artery.

  “Oh Dios mío, no, por favor!” (Oh my God, no, please!)

  “English, or die.”

  “No, please, no kill! You’re devil!”

  “Answer
questions. NOW!” I jammed my thumb into the wound in his leg. He screamed.

  “Answer, yes…I answer!”

  “Where is Matroni?”

  “I don’t know!”

  I can’t imagine what my face looked like with that much cold anger in my gaze, but the young man paled, and a yellow stain flooded his pants.

  “Tell me. Now.”

  The young man shook violently for a moment, uttering in Spanish then finally gave something useful. “I don’t know where, but has safe places in city! Please, ask only bosses! They know only!”

  “Where do I find them?”

  “I don’t know, maybe nightclub Incite!”

  Of course. I should have known his crew would be involved since Foulker had been his partner in business of some sort.

  “If you live, tell him that punishment is coming.”

  He nodded vigorously, then I shielded again, but painfully slow. I started with the skin on the front of my face, peeling back to the muscles, the eyelids disappearing, back to the bone in a few spots around my skull. The pain was excruciating, but the hollowness inside drowned out most of it. I smiled at him with whatever muscles and teeth were showing, leaving him screaming and trying to get away from what must have looked like a monster to him. I pinned him to the wall with a forearm and reached for the chain around his neck, a necklace depicting Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte, the Mexican personification of death. His body shook, while his wide eyes bounced between me and the charm. I let go and stood, wondering if he’d even remember this after going into shock, assuming paramedics got here quickly enough.

  But I had more important things to do. The brick building would have kept most of the gun noise from being heard, which meant cops wouldn’t be here any time soon, but I wasn’t going to take any chances by sticking around. I also wasn’t going to let the girls who were trapped here die. I searched around for one of the dead men’s phones and called 911. Once it was picked up, I simply whispered, “…please….help….” and set it on the floor for them to trace the call. I went back downstairs while sirens mourned in the distance. I quickly headed home to clean off all the blood before hitting the nightclub.