by Glenn Ball
Turning aside to address the lawyer, Agent Aguilar spoke in English. “Well Henry, among other issues, she was never properly read her rights. Your case is getting easier by the minute.” Henry nodded with a smile.
Again, addressing Alicia in Spanish, Nicolas continued, “Ms. Espinosa, do you understand why you were arrested? Do you know what the charges are against you?”
“No, I just know these two bad officers wanted to rape me. I was walking with a priest and they kidnapped me off the street. They brought me here and put me in a cell where they thought they could rape me with nobody seeing.” Even as she explained her situation as the victim, she began to have hope that they might find her innocent.
“Ms. Espinosa, do you know a man named Pastor Arceneaux?” Agent Aguilar could see the lump rise up in her throat when he asked this question. Again, she felt he could see right through her. Her stomach tightened. This was the moment of decision; the crossroads that would make or break her future.
Her mind was racing. What if she chose to deny knowing him? They probably have evidence she was there. She would be caught in a lie, and they would suspect anything else she said in her defense. But she also knew that Antonio had powerful connections inside the police departments wherever he did business. If she accused him, he would know, and she would suffer the consequences.
“Yes, Artie is a very nice man. He found me sick in the woods and brought me to his home to nurse me back to health. He gave me food and drink and helped me get better.” So far what she said should be fairly safe, she thought. Maybe if they knew how much he meant to her they would not accuse her of killing him. “Artie is the best man I have ever known.”
After Aguilar paused to translate what she’d said to Blathers, he turned back to her. She could see the doubt and question in both their eyes.
“When was the last time you saw Artie?” His eyes were boring into her.
The memory of her last time seeing Artie flashed before her eyes. He was lying dead on the floor, blood puddled underneath where he’d been shot. Her grief at his murder by Ochoa Machado welled up afresh inside of her. She could not help it. She began sobbing.
“He was dead.” The words blurted from her mouth. She was unable to contain the grief. “They killed him!” The tears were pouring unstoppably. She tried to cover her face. “It’s my fault he’s dead!”
“Who killed him?” Nicolas was speaking softly, as if he understood, while Henry stood back with an apprehensive expression, not sure if he was about to hear a confession from his client, or testimony that might set her free.
Alicia tried to stop the tears. She had to get ahold of herself. She was letting her emotions cause her to say far more than she intended. What if Ochoa heard this conversation?
But even as her fears of Ochoa Machado gave her pause many other emotions gushed through her. There was her animosity of him for killing so many people, including those she loved. There was his enslavement of her all these years with all the horrible things he made her do. The prostitution was not even enough for him. He had turned her into a zika weapon—a true zika monster. There was no end to the destruction he would wreak if he achieved his goals. Her prayer to stop him came back to her and her resolve was strengthened.
Lifting her tear-stained face she looked straight into Nicolas’ eyes. “It was Antonio and his men.”
********
The interrogation was over. Alicia sat with Henry Blathers in some sort of office. He was filling out paperwork.
She could only thank God for how things had turned out. He had truly answered her prayers as only an Almighty God could.
Espinosa had recounted everything. How Antonio Ochoa Machado had made her his prostitute, how she’d escaped, and how Pastor Arceneaux had taken her in. She recounted the murder of Artie, how she’d been hiding under the trap door when she heard Ochoa and his men searching for her and hearing the gunshot.
Agent Aguilar had sat listening in silence, nodding his head. Henry had looked on attempting to comprehend. Nicolas recorded the conversation as testimony, which he translated for Henry afterward.
After telling her story she had answered all their questions about the house, the dog, the dead body of Artie, her departure from the house and about Ochoa and his men.
When they had thought they were done she stopped them from turning off the recorder. “Wait, there is more.
“Antonio is planning to kill many more people, right here in the US. I am sure of it. I don’t understand it all, but I do know he has a lab where he tested me for my immunity to zika and did many things to me. I know that he did this with many women.
“I also know that in this lab he has prepared some kind of chemical weapon that causes a horrible death. I heard him talking to a terrorist from the Middle East about it. They have some kind of scheme that he has been working on, sending these chemical weapons into the US in hidden compartments of tractor trailers.
“Whatever they are planning they intend to do soon, because they have recently sent a bunch of these tractor trailers into the US. They welded some type of hidden compartment in the trailers and used those same trailers to smuggle people into the US.”
When she at last fell quiet there was a stillness and a silence that penetrated to the walls. She could hear her heart beating. Nicolas sat dumbfounded. Henry, having watched the entire conversation was eagerly anticipating an explanation of it all. But he knew enough to wait till Agent Aguilar had processed what he had been told. It appeared obvious there were quick and weighty decisions the ICE agent would have to make, and that those decisions could not wait.
Nearly half a minute passed in utter silence. Then, as if they had been in the eye of a hurricane only to be followed by its rushing onslaught, all stillness turned to motion. Nicolas was on the phone making a series of urgent calls, sending texts, and all the while relating to Henry all that Alicia had told him.
Within five minutes Nicolas had given Henry instructions concerning Alicia, arranged for another ICE agent to follow up with her, and was out the door pursuing the leads Alicia had given him concerning Ochoa and his terrorist plot.
********
Alicia had been amazed at Nicolas’ understanding of everything. Instead of having to defend her outrageous claims he was accepting them at face value, as if they were the gospel truth. With each explanation she had given it was as if it was all clicking together in his mind. His eyes would register each new detail like it was a revelation, as if he was having one epiphany after another.
When she had finished, instead of being sent back to her jail cell, he had sent her on with Henry. He told her that she would not be turned over to the local authorities nor stand trial. He explained to her that as a witness in fear for her life she would be given protected status by the US government. Furthermore, he thanked her on behalf of the United States for her brave testimony, asserting that he would act on her information immediately.
Her prayer to be a part of stopping Antonio had been answered. Beyond that she was now to be protected from him and his network of criminals, including his crooked police. She was in awe.
The ICE agent that replaced Nicolas was also fluent in Spanish and collaborated with Henry and Alicia concerning her visa and asylum. It was explained to her that she qualified for a US visa on various grounds. She qualified for a U visa due to the violence she’d suffered. She also qualified for a T visa, because she had been a victim of human trafficking. But they were recommending her for an S visa, because she would need protection from Ochoa now that she had informed on him and was their key witness.
She could not help but smile deeply within herself. All the years of unspeakable suffering now carried undeniable meaning. She had become a key part in stemming an attack that would wipe out countless numbers of people. Instead of Antonio’s zika monster, she was now a heroin. And for the first time in her entire life her future had promise.
CHAPTER 38
Dark Descent
Susanna was rudely aw
akened by a violent jerk. It was dark and the helicopter had landed. Someone roughly grabbed her arm and began to pull her toward the door, directing her to step down.
Her throat was raspy as she struggled to breath in the night air. A light filtered through the hood was the only point of reference to these new surroundings. That light was just enough for her to make out that they were on some high point, the top of a building perhaps. The ground beneath her was paved.
A few blocks away there was a mariachi band playing. The uplifted voices of a crowd dancing and drinking indicated that it was some kind of fiesta, probably a birthday. The sounds took her back to her nights living in Mexico. More than likely that’s where they were now: in Mexico. Her earlier prediction had apparently proven correct.
Behind her she could hear the shuffling feet of Pedro as they prodded him along. All their days of running and surviving in the wilderness had taken their toll. They were exhausted. As they nudged her from behind, she stumbled, realizing that her stubbed toe had become swollen. It was throbbing.
She was unable to see anything to indicate that they had stepped through a doorway, but the sounds of the night were suddenly muffled and the night air against her skin no longer moved. Without warning their hoods were yanked off of them. The room was dimly lit, yet it hurt Susanna’s eyes.
Comforted to see that Pedro was alive and unhurt, she was nevertheless taken aback to see how fragile he looked. He looked like he could barely even stand.
She was dizzy and lightheaded herself. Knowing that her life might depend upon her remaining alert to her surroundings she tried her best to focus, yet everything seemed like a dream, like she was somewhere else faraway.
Adam’s words kept ringing in her mind: “The last thing anyone wants to do in a violent situation is resist the painkiller effect of shock. The mind wants to distance itself. Don’t let it! The smallest detail you miss might be the one you need to save your life.”
The floor beneath them was thick marble. On the rough stone wall, she observed a battleax. Marveling at the historic value of such a collector’s item she was equally surprised immediately afterward by a scimitar. Whoever owned this place obviously had a fortune and important connections. Passing more battleaxes of various shapes and sizes she attempted not to show any interest.
Candelabras lit their descent with tongues of flame licking the air, like fingers beckoning them downward into the fiery pits of hell. Their shadows spun and danced on the spiral staircase beneath their feet. Susanna was reeling, completely off balance, feeling as if she was being sucked down a maelstrom.
It was all she could do to keep her footing on the marble stairs. They were narrow and mesmerizing like some spiral seashells she had seen. In the swirling light they seemed to be moving. It had seemed ages when they finally came to a flat surface for a moment.
She was hoping they would halt here. Her eyes rested on two iron plates with holes and prongs throughout that were crudely hinged together. Her woozy mind was trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The elongated plates were approximately the length of her lower legs, were curved, and had pieces of something sticking to some of the prongs like pieces of food. “What on earth would they be cooking on that thing, and why here by the stairway?” she mused.
Prodded onward she once again continued her unsteady descent to the next floor. She ignored the broadswords on the wall beside her, observing them only out of the corner of her eye. Should she be able to break free of her bonds, they might come in handy. She knew how to use a sword. Adam had taught her years ago. Pondering how difficult it would be to remove one from the wall she tried to see how one was attached as she passed it. She was taken aback when she noted bloodstains on its blade. Apparently, they were not just for show.
At the next landing her eyes were captivated by another odd sight. It seemed someone had left his boots to one side of the stairs. In the hazy light she attempted to determine why they looked so odd. They seemed overly large, too bulky to be of use. A faint glimmer on one of them caused her to realize it was made of iron. “A heavy boot like that would be almost impossible to walk in!” she thought to herself. “Maybe it was part of a knight’s armor.” Overwhelmed by the resources of her captor she wondered how she would ever have a chance at escape.
Next to the boots there was a large pot hanging on a rod over a woodburning stove. Surmising that maybe these little landings were guard stations where they were given freshly prepared food to make them cozy through the long nights, she put the incongruous items out of her mind.
The descent continued past walls of war hammers, bludgeons, maces, flails and crossbows. At each landing she had remained baffled by the torture devices she had seen, quizzically trying to unravel the mystery of their purpose. When they reached the bottom floor, the answer sat staring at her like some monster out of a nightmare.
He was covered in shadow with his head bowed as if in reverence. The guards seemed amused and permitted her to approach the praying man. “Maybe he is just sleeping, not praying after all,” she considered when his prayers remained undisturbed by her approach.
The chair he was sitting in was just as strange to her eyes as the things she had seen by the stairway on each of the landings above. Like those objects it appeared to be ancient. It also looked overly large and gaudy, as if its purpose were not the obvious purpose of a chair. The armrests especially caught her eye: they not only offered support for his resting arms, but they rested over the top of his arms as well.
She was still some distance from the sitting man when the putrid smell arrested her steps. The candlelight cast an eerie glow over the corpse before her, allowing her at that moment to see the blood that had managed to seep out of him in the end. His swollen body was blackened and grotesque in its shape. It was then that she was able to observe the spikes that penetrated him in a thousand different places.
It was as if a door was beginning to open in her mind. Ghastly visions of men screaming in agony. The big iron boots with the pot for boiling water…could it be? Did they pour boiling water into those boots to scald the victim?
And the long iron plates with holes and prongs…she suddenly remembered comments Adam had made of what some terrorists did to their victims, crushing their lower legs inside of plates that pressed together, breaking their tibia and fibula bones by pressing iron plates together. The holes she remembered were for pounding on the bones with hammer and iron stakes. It was an ancient torture technique still used today in certain parts of the world he had explained. She involuntarily shuddered.
And the wooden bed for the guards to rest…it was a rack!
She began to faint, the horrid smell suffocating her as her mind was drowning in the instantaneous understanding of the mysterious objects on the landings above her. Screams of the ghosts of men who had died in agony sounded off like alarms inside of her. Her captor would go to any length to bend his enemies to his will.
What was the fate that awaited her? She could not face the thought. Her mind began to shut down.
********
“Quita la ropa!”
Susanna obeyed their orders like a zombie, removing her clothes. Her mind had temporarily closed off to reality, finally submitting to shock. Her captor had done unspeakable things to other human beings …what would he do to her? She simply could not face the possibilities.
A thick wooden door was opened, creaking slowly on its hinges. The blackness beyond terrified her. Would they imprison her in that pitch-black tomb? She felt nauseous. She threw up.
The gun barrel was cold against her back.
“Muevete!”
Forced to step toward her doom, her head was swimming. The dungeon wreaked of feces, blood, urine and decaying flesh. The enormous void had been what initially terrified her. Now her stomach was churning with repulsion at the repugnant stench and the ghastly causes of it.
She began to frantically back away from the door. As she did Pedro was thrust past her. Her mind tried to process the n
aked body she saw before her but couldn’t. As she backed away from the enormous door her right breast was clenched by a man’s strong uncaring hand. Another man grabbed her privates. She felt a shove.
The heavy wooden door closed behind her.
She was entombed in Antonio’s dungeon.
CHAPTER 39
Aroused
Sky awoke in a hospital bed, sandwiched between clean sheets, with layers of warm blankets over them, totally bewildered as to where he was and how he’d gotten there. His eyes blinked, trying to focus. He tried to sit up, but the sheets were so tight they pinned even his arms to the bed. His voice cracked as he tried to yell for help.
A nurse appeared at his side, offering water. “Doctor Hexlo, he’s awake,” she called.
He’d been out for sixteen hours. He had suffered severe stress and hypothermia, the doctor explained. They were feeding him intravenously, but he would need a wholesome meal before they would release him.
Groggily he tried to take in the doctor’s words. Then to the doctor’s alarm Sky’s eyes opened with sudden urgency and clarity and he tore and kicked at the sheets, forcing himself to sit up. It was as if he’d been given a shot of adrenaline.
“Your friend is fine. He’s still out in the next cubicle.” The doctor thought that would placate him.
“Where’s my satellite phone?” he demanded.
“I imagine it is with your other things on the chair there. Your rescuers were thoughtful enough to bring all your stuff,” the doctor responded courteously.
“My daughter is in serious danger! I have to reach her!” he exclaimed as he reached toward the appropriate bag, indicating for it to be brought to him.
The doctor obliged.
The sat phone was there, and still had a charge. He punched Susanna’s number. Her phone went straight to voicemail. Three more times, same result.