The Lion's Mouth

by Brian Christopher Shea

  Nick clicked the button on the bed, bringing him into a more upright position. The excitement about this new bit of evidence muted out the pain of the movement. He held the bag in his hand and delicately manipulated its contents.

  “Is this what I think it is?” Nick asked, almost gasping.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say we’re looking at some type of computer chip,” Jones replied.

  “Holy shit! That explains a lot,” Nick said.

  The realization came crashing down on him. He quickly surmised that this was how the bald man found the girl at his apartment and shook his head in disbelief.

  “I’ve heard of trafficking organizations using things like this to keep tabs on their merchandise but have never seen it in person,” Anaya said, inserting herself into the conversation.

  “They track them. Makes sense. This is big business and they appear to have come up with a way to control their assets,” Nick said.

  “This group has got to be big time. A low-level operation isn’t going to have the funds to support this kind of technology,” Jones said. He added, “I’m going to get these over to digital and see what they can come up with.”

  “Leave one with me. I want to run it by someone,” Nick said.

  Nick saw Jones grimace at this request. Without waiting for approval, he opened the bag and slipped his fingers in, retrieving one of the black chips.

  “If this is some type of tracking device, then we have a much bigger problem,” Anaya said, pausing momentarily before she continued, “Mouse. There is no place that she can run that they won’t be able to find her.”

  “That’s why we’ve got to find her first,” Nick said.

  “What’s this we stuff. You were turned into a human pincushion a few hours ago. You’re not going anywhere,” Jones said, looking down at Nick’s bandaged side that was slightly exposed through the opening in his gown.

  “The hell I’m not,” Nick said, his face flushed with anger. The rage was not directed at Jones, but more at his current condition.

  “Anaya and I are going to head back to headquarters. Call when you find out when they’re releasing you and we’ll come pick you up,” Jones said.

  “I’m still in this. Don’t count me out,” Nick said, grinding his teeth.

  “Get some rest,” Anaya said, giving a wink.

  The two walked out into the pale light of the hallway and Nick grabbed his phone from the tray next to his bed. In his other hand, he held the black computer chip between his thumb and forefinger.

  Before he could pull up his contacts to make his intended call, the phone in his hand rang.

  “Jesus Nick, I can’t leave you alone for a damn minute!” Declan boomed through the phone’s receiver.

  “Deck, what the hell? How did you know to come?” Nick asked, struggling to understand how Declan Enright had come to the conclusion to drive to Texas.

  “Truth be told, we were already on our way out to see you,” Declan said.

  “Hey, tough guy, you had us worried,” Izzy said.

  Her voice was more muffled than Declan’s, indicating he was the one holding the phone that was obviously on speaker. Her voice was a welcome sound. And the tone was much better than that of their last conversation.

  “Aw, this is nothing. I almost lost an arm once,” Nick said, trying to play the tough-guy role. An unnecessary display of bravado to the girl who’d applied the tourniquet that saved his arm and his life.

  “What am I going to do with you?” Izzy retorted, sighing audibly in the backdrop.

  “Do you need me to give you two some alone time?” Declan chided.

  “All right, let’s cut to the business at hand. Who did this to you and where can I find him?” Declan said, intensity replacing his light-hearted candor.

  “Don’t know. Big guy with a bald head. That’s about as much of it as I can remember,” Nick muttered.

  His fist balled and the heartbeat monitor revealed the steady incremental rise. His elevated heart rate was in sync with his anger. He felt as useless as most of the witnesses he interviewed during his investigations. Nick breathed out heavily, trying desperately to calm himself so he could recall something useful.

  “Okay. Who are you working the case with?” Izzy asked.

  “Kemper Jones. He’s a detective with APD,” Nick said.

  “What about the female?” Izzy asked.

  Nick thought he noted a trace of annoyance in her question.

  “Oh, I assume you mean Anaya Patel?” Nick asked and then added, “She’s with Child Protective Services. She said you had called earlier this morning while I was recovering?”

  “She answered your phone when I called,” Izzy said.

  Nick could tell this bothered Izzy, but he wasn’t completely sure why. Anaya was just helping with the case. Izzy shouldn’t care anyway. She had moved on. She had Bill now. That’s what she told him during their last conversation. Nick chewed on some ice chips to help distract this train of thought. The crunch drowned out the annoying jealous rantings of the voice inside his head.

  “Anaya’s good people,” Nick said, throwing out the words Izzy used when she described Bill. He knew it was childish but couldn’t help himself.

  The room got awkwardly silent before Declan interjected, “We want to help. But we’re not going to be there officially.”

  Nick processed this and then asked, “You said you guys were already on your way out here? Why?”

  “We were worried about you,” Izzy said.

  “And, apparently, rightly so,” Declan added.

  “I know there’s no point in trying to talk you two out of it,” Nick said.

  “You got that right,” Declan chuckled. Then he added, “We should be in this evening. Maybe sooner. Izzy drives like an asshole. We’ll call when we’re close.”

  “See you then,” Nick said, ending the call.

  The doctor entered and gave Nick a welcoming smile. His mannerisms contrasted with the nurse who’d been in earlier. He saw that Nick had his phone in hand and stopped.

  “Would you like me to come back in a few minutes?”

  “I’m all set with the call, thanks,” Nick mumbled.

  “Okay, then. The damage wasn’t as bad as we initially thought. You were bleeding heavily so we sent you straight into the OR,” the doctor said. His voice was engaging, and he had a good bedside manner. He added, “Normally we would send you in for a CAT scan but, under the circumstances, we bypassed that and sent you in for surgery.”

  Nick nodded his receipt of the information.

  “The knife’s blade missed any vital organs. We packed the wound and bandaged your side.” The doctor gave a contented smile.

  “So, how long until I’m out of here?” Nick asked, cutting right to the chase.

  “We’ll keep you for observation. Maybe only for a day, but you’re stable. I would say we could have you out of here tomorrow morning. You’re going to have some pain and discomfort for a while,” the doctor said.

  “I’m used to that,” Nick responded, rubbing the old injury to his arm and then adding, “Tomorrow morning isn’t going to work for me.”

  “You’re going to be out of commission for a while during the healing process,” the doctor added, coming to the realization that his patient was planning a speedy return to work. He continued, “You may not feel too much in the way of pain right now, but that is due to the low-dose morphine drip in your IV. I will prescribe something to help you manage the pain when you leave.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Nick said, flatly.

  There was no macho bravado in the statement. He refused to take anything stronger than an ibuprofen, regardless of the pain. His brother’s PTSD had been worsened by an addiction to pain meds. Nick was convinced the combination drove him to end his life. He never wanted to put himself in a similar situation.

  “I’m going to let you rest. I’ll see you in the morning before your relea
se,” the doctor said.

  “Doc, I don’t know how much you know about what I am working on, but a young girl’s life is at stake. If you’re telling me that my injury is stabilized, then I need to be discharged immediately.” Nick was terse but calm.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” the doctor replied.

  “Do better than that,” Nick pleaded.

  “This will be against my recommendation, but I will begin the discharge paperwork. Give me an hour or so and I should have you moving toward that door,” the doctor said flatly, giving into the agent’s request.

  “Thank you,” Nick said.

  “You’re a brave man. The world could use more like you. Just don’t go getting yourself killed.”

  The doctor exited the room, closing the door behind him.

  Chapter 38

  The morning brought with it a stiffness unlike anything he’d felt in recent years. Cain embraced the sensation. A reminder of his shortcomings during the previous night. A reminder of the kindness of the Pastor, allowing him another opportunity to serve as The Hand. He’d hoped that, after this was completed, he would be rewarded by an opportunity to see the Pastor in person. It had been a long time. The Pastor sent him CDs with his sermons, but to feel his embrace and hear his words while face-to-face was like being in the presence of God himself.

  He put the selfish thoughts out of his head and focused on the task that lay ahead. The warehouse and makeshift hospital had also become his hotel room. But he did not require much. The surgeon was gone, as he’d assumed he would be. The table where his wounds had been treated became his bed. In the light that fell from the warehouse’s high windows, Cain took in the amenities. He could make out a toilet and sink in the corner.

  Cain sat up, resting the weight of his massive body on his right arm. His neck protested the movement and pain radiated. Even though the bullet was now removed from his thigh, it did little to lessen the discomfort as he slid over the edge of the table. Cain gingerly stepped down onto the cold concrete of the slab floor. Favoring his good side, he shuffled over to the door-less bathroom. He stared at his image through the filth-covered mirror.

  His shirt was stained, and his body was covered in a combination of crusted blood and iodine. Cain set to work, dampening his undershirt and using it as a towel to wipe himself clean. It was a slow process, hampered by his current condition. The duffle-bag he’d brought with him was on the floor by the table. He ambled back and rifled through it, gathering a fresh set of clothes. Cain rolled all of the blood-covered clothes into the sheet that had been draped over the table and hoisted it over his good shoulder. Grabbing the duffle, he walked out of the warehouse to the gray Ford Escape parked in the alley where the Range Rover had been.

  There was a large dumpster in the recesses of the alley, just past the SUV. He dropped the duffle by the Ford and continued toward the trash bin. He tossed the sack of stained clothes into the rusted interior. He could hear the claws of the rats scratching at the metallic surface as they scurried to avoid the dumpster’s newest arrival. Cain closed the heavy plastic lid and walked away, returning to the car.

  Cain had been through similar ordeals in past service to the Pastor and knew this was his new vehicle. The other one would be cleaned and reassigned, if not gutted and burned. Either way, it would never be used by him again. The door was unlocked, and the keys were tucked under the lip of the steering column. Always in the same place. Cain knew the plates would be registered to him. To the name on his driver’s license: Kyle Jenkins. An arbitrary association of letters that meant nothing to him. It was a clean name. One that allowed him the ability to move among the Heathens without notice.

  Cain gave a sigh of relief as he looked to the passenger seat and saw his large CD storage case. It was the only worldly possession he clung to, and without it he was lost. He sat in the driver’s seat, allowing a moment for his body to adjust to the position. He pulled out his phone and opened the application.

  He stared at the screen in disbelief. Cain manipulated it, pressing his fingers outward and zooming into the location of the Heathen. His mind was frantic. What he was seeing didn’t make any sense and he let out a frustrated scream that reverberated in the quiet interior of the Ford.

  The beacon showed that the Heathen was on the move, traveling north of Dallas. She was at least four hours ahead of him. He was angry at himself for allowing the post-surgery respite. Cain dug his right index finger into the dressing on his left bicep, allowing for the pain to release his frustration.

  He grabbed a granola bar and bottle of water from his duffle bag. He was woozy from the warehouse surgery and needed to add some calories. Cain washed down a mouthful and slipped the car into drive, pulling out into the whirlwind of Austin’s Monday morning downtown commuters.

  “It’s been a while,” Jay said, recognizing Nick’s number and answering it on the second ring.

  “It sure has,” Nick said to his friend.

  “These days I get a little nervous when I see your number,” Jay said.

  The comment was made in jest, but there was a truth behind that statement.

  “I’m back in Texas,” Nick said.

  “I know.” There was a silence that followed.

  Jay knew a lot of things. He had a network of informational resources at his disposal. Jay’s skill in the intelligence world had served Nick well numerous times in the past.

  “Every time you call me things get a little dicey. Especially, when you’re in Texas.”

  “I’m working on something and I need your help,” Nick said, regretting that the two only talked when circumstances dictated. Their friendship was now one driven by need.

  “So, this is a business call?” Jay said, bypassing the nostalgic walk down memory lane.

  “Yup,” Nick said, wincing as he moved to reposition.

  “You all right?” Jay asked, registering the grunting sound made by Nick.

  “I took a knife to the gut last night,” Nick said, nonchalantly.

  “You’re like a crash-test dummy,” Jay said, chuckling softly at his own joke. He continued, “Seriously, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  “I stumbled across a human trafficking case. It’s international. They’re moving young girls in from Mexico,” Nick said, covering the details quickly so he could get Jay up to speed on the reason for the call.

  “Jesus. How old?” Jay asked.

  “They’re young. The youngest we’ve come across today is between nine and eleven,” Nick said.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Jay said, with disgust.

  “Somebody has to.”

  It was a line that Nick had used in response to this typical reaction. Even the hardest of cops steered away from these kinds of cases. It took a special breed. It took people like Nick and Kemper Jones.

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help you. What do you need?” Jay asked.

  After their last few experiences together, he had little doubt that his CIA friend would back down.

  “We found what looks like some type of microchip embedded under the skin near their hip.”

  “Describe it to me.” Jay was all in.

  “It’s small. About the size of my thumbnail. It is black but encased in a clear plastic. No markings that I can make out,” Nick replied and then added, “I’ll send you some pics when we hang up.”

  “Okay. I’m guessing you want me to see what I can do with it?” Jay asked, stating the obvious.

  “I think it’s some sort of tracking device. I want you to see if you or someone you know can access the data on this,” Nick said.

  “Without me getting it in the hands of someone I trust, I won’t know for sure what I can do,” Jay said. He never gave false promises.

  “How am I going to get it to you?” Nick asked.

  “I’ll send someone. Where are you and how long will you be there?” Jay asked.

  “I’m at the Dell Seton Medical Center in downtown Austin, and I’m only
going to be here for another hour or so,” Nick said, optimistically.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Jay said.

  “I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I’m going to need you to expedite this. A girl is on the run and the asshole who tried to give me the hari kari is still out there.” Nick did not elaborate. Jay would understand the implication.

  “Okay. If this is a tracking chip, then we may have some options,” Jay said, pausing before adding, “Tell me you’re not alone on this one.”

  “I’ve got some good people out here and, believe it or not, Declan and Izzy are on their way,” Nick said, confidently.

  “Good to hear,” Jay said. “I’m sending someone to pick up the chip. He should be there before you’re discharged,” Jay said.

  “You work fast,” Nick said, sounding genuinely impressed.

  “Like you said, I’m expediting,” Jay said, ending the phone call.

  Nick knew his friend did not waste time with small talk, especially when time was of the essence. With Mouse on the run and the bald guy unaccounted for, time was definitely not on their side.

  Chapter 39

  The vibration in his pocket pulled him out of his light sleep. Retrieving the phone, Declan looked down at the caller ID: Val. He stretched, sat up and then answered.

  “Hey babe, everything okay?” Declan asked, knowing she did not typically call unless it was something urgent.

  They did not define their love with a need to maintain constant contact. The occasional text message was exchanged but typically calls were reserved for emergencies.

  “Sorry to route my call through your wife’s number, but I wanted to guarantee that you would answer,” the male voice said.

  Declan was paralyzed with fear. Someone from the Seven had come for his family. With the debt left unsettled, it was something that gnawed at the back of his mind. The words of Khaled the Translator’s last threat echoed to this day. A threat against his family: “Your house will burn and collapse on top of them.”

  “If you so much as look at my family funny, then I will bring a world of pain upon you like you’ve never known,” Declan said, spitting the words.