Her One and Only Hero

by Sharon Hartley

  Dale nodded. Zarco was a big guy. The Bureau wasn’t taking any chances with him.

  Fran had been furious, sputtering in outraged Italian when escorted from the observation room. She’d argued vehemently to be allowed to watch Zarco’s interrogation. But Javi had his orders and wouldn’t—couldn’t—relent. His boss wasn’t impressed with the Italian state department’s request for cooperation or her threats to go to the media.

  Dale hoped she managed to sleep. When he’d left her alone in the room with a cot, she’d been on the verge of tears, but insisted he leave her, that he observe the interview. He’d promised to return as soon as they knew anything about Bella.

  But he feared all they’d hear was bad news. Or perhaps worse, no news at all.

  Either outcome meant he’d lose Fran and his daughter. If Zarco gave them nothing, she’d be on the next plane to Italy.

  When the door opened behind him, Dale turned to look. Five or six suited agents entered the observation room, the men’s ties loosened given the late hour. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone, so a few stood murmuring to each other.

  Of course they wanted to watch the interview of their big fish. Did they even know a little girl’s life was at stake? Did they care? Likely all they cared about was the prestige of catching Joaquin Zarco, big-deal international human smuggler.

  Dale shook his head at his thoughts. He was judgmental because Bella was his daughter. A daughter he might never get to meet.

  Ten minutes passed and no one joined Zarco in the interrogation room. Zarco shifted in his seat, raised his hands and tested the strength of his shackles.

  “He’s getting antsy,” someone in the room observed.

  “Good,” a female agent said.

  Agent Rivas and another man entered the interrogation room and sat across from Zarco.

  The Bureau had let their prisoner cool his heels for several hours to keep him guessing. By now it was after 2:00 a.m. and Zarco had to be exhausted. Dale wasn’t convinced anything would rattle this cool dude, but so far had been impressed with the professionalism of Javi’s colleagues. The special agent in charge stood behind him at the door.

  The SAC’s name was Donald Gillis, and the man was scary intense.

  “Who is with Rivas?” Dale asked.

  “Reese Beauchamps, an assistant United States attorney,” one of the agents said.

  “He’s fair,” someone else added.

  Dale nodded. So they were contemplating offering something to Zarco.

  “Good evening, Mr. Zarco,” Javi began.

  The audio was good. The screen showed all three men clearly in various views.

  “Do you acknowledge you’ve been read your rights?” Javi asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you want to proceed without counsel?”

  “I am my own counsel.”

  Dale shook his head. Arrogant bastard. He’d lost his license, but Zarco had once been an attorney in South Africa.

  For fifteen minutes Javi went through a series of questions about what Zarco was doing in Miami and how he had arrived. No mention was made of a juvenile female accompanying him.

  Gillis had come up with the plan of not letting Zarco know Bella’s location was a prime objective. The strategy was to pretend they were more interested in a homicide in Ireland, hoping he would drop info about Bella as a throwaway.

  And it might work.

  “Were you alone when you arrived at MIA ten days ago?” Javi inquired.

  “No. I had a young lady with me, and you know that from the surveillance.”

  “What is her name?”

  Zarco shrugged, as if her name were inconsequential.

  “Who is she?”

  Zarco grinned. “A gift for a friend.”

  Javi didn’t react to that outrageous statement. Dale’s gut burned.

  “Where is she now?” Javi asked.

  “I had to get rid of her. I think you know her artiste mother raised a stink and got me grounded.”

  “Is the girl still alive?”

  Zarco shrugged again. “As far as I know.”

  Relief surged through Dale. At least Zarco hadn’t killed Bella.

  If the son of a bitch was telling the truth.

  Javi changed tactics and for over an hour asked a series of questions about the murder in Dublin. Water and coffee were brought in for both prisoner and interrogator. Zarco asked for hot tea, but Javi refused the request and circled back to a line of questioning about Zarco’s human trafficking activities. Javi brought up Atwood’s name. Zarco referred to Atwood as his Florida colleague.

  Dale checked the time on his phone and accepted the fact that he’d miss the meeting with Lieutenant Marshall. His assignment to the terrorist task force was toast, but that was a sacrifice he’d gladly make if it meant finding his daughter. She and Fran mattered far more. He didn’t give a damn if LT couldn’t understand that.

  After what seemed like hours of negotiation, Zarco agreed to testify against Atwood in exchange for concessions from Beauchamps, the assistant US attorney. Beauchamps produced a document—its production no doubt part of the long delay—filled in some blanks, slid it and a pen across the table.

  Zarco studied the agreement. He read the document three times, picked up the pen and signed with a flourish.

  When Zarco placed the pen on the table, relieved murmurs filled the observation room. The Bureau had a long way to go with Zarco, many more crimes to pursue, but now had a way to proceed against Atwood, another dangerous fish still out there swimming in the waters.

  Dale leaned forward. Zarco hadn’t revealed what he needed to hear. Where the hell was Bella?

  Javi flipped pages on the legal pad, using his pen to make check marks. “Where did you say you left the female juvenile you flew into Miami with?”

  “I didn’t say,” Zarco answered. “But I dumped her with my Florida colleague.”

  “She wasn’t at his airport warehouse we shut down.”

  “Atwood has more than one operation.”

  Javi looked up from his page. “I need a location.”

  Zarco sat back. “If I give you that location, you’ll find a dormitory full of assets.”

  “Assets?”

  “Another labor force. Atwood moved the artist’s brat to a separate operation a few days ago. He was pissed at me because she was such a pain in his ass.”

  “Give me the address.”

  Zarco glanced to Beauchamps.

  Beauchamps placed a finger on the document Zarco had signed. “Our bargain is contingent on you giving up everything you know about Atwood. Everything. If we discover you held anything back, the deal is void.”

  Beauchamps ripped off a blank sheet from his legal page and slid it across the table. “Show us good faith.”

  “We need that address,” Javi repeated.

  Zarco picked up the pen and tapped it repeatedly against the table.

  Dale held his breath. Give it up, you worthless piece of shit.

  “My Florida colleague won’t be happy.”

  “You and your Florida colleague are out of business,” Javi said.

  Zarco shrugged, scribbled quickly on the paper and shoved it toward Javi.

  “I don’t know what you’ll find there, but that’s where Atwood moved the little bitch.”

  * * *

  “FRAN. WAKE UP, HONEY.”

  Fran opened her eyes. Dale squatted beside her cot.

  She’d been in the middle of a nightmare, a horrible place where children were tortured.

  Still half in her dream and half in reality, she sat up. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Zarco gave us a location.”

  She rubbe
d a hand across her forehead. “A location?”

  “A second operation where Atwood transferred Bella.”

  “Grazie a Dio.”

  “The FBI is scrambling a Hostage Rescue Team.”

  Fran shook her head, trying to clear the residual fuzziness of her dream. “What time is it?”

  “Almost six a.m. I didn’t want to leave without letting you know what was happening.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “But I’m coming, too.”

  “No, Fran, you’re not,” Dale said, his voice gentle. “Gillis won’t let you accompany the team. You’ll have to wait here.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “I asked Javi. The answer is no. Gillis wasn’t happy about me participating, either.”

  “If Bella is there, will other children be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will it be dangerous?

  “They have a search warrant. They’ll be careful.”

  She grabbed Dale’s hands. “I need to come. No one knows Bella. Not even you. Will you even recognize her?”

  “I’ve studied her photograph for hours, Frannie. I think I’ll know my daughter.”

  “But Bella will not know you. Please, Dale. I’ll beg if I have to.”

  “Begging won’t do any good. This is the FBI’s op. Your visitor’s pass will allow you access to the cafeteria if you get hungry or want something to drink. You can sketch. Please try to eat.”

  Fran thought hard, but had run out of arguments.

  “If she’s there,” Dale said, “I promise I’ll figure something out.”

  She didn’t reply. What can I say? I need to go with him.

  “You’ll have to trust me,” he said.

  “Trust,” she repeated, searching his face. Did she trust Dale? Yes, she did. She believed with all her heart that he would do everything in his power to protect their daughter. To protect her. He had already given up much. Put his job at risk, a job that he loved.

  “Can you do that?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Fran hugged Dale as tightly as she could. “I trust you.” She pulled back. “But are you not supposed to be at work?”

  A shadow passed through his eyes. “Finding Bella is more important. I’m not going in.”

  “You are sure?”

  “How could I report for duty?” He shook his head. “One of us has to be there.”

  “Will you not be in trouble with your boss?”

  “You and Bella are my priority now.”

  A wave of emotion she could not name swamped her. What could she say to that? She placed her forehead on his. “If you find Bella, please tell her that I love her.”

  “I will,” Dale said. He removed her arms from his shoulders and stood. “They won’t wait for me.”

  She stood beside him. “Promise me you will be careful.”

  “I promise.”

  Before he could move, she said, “Wait.”

  “I have to go, Fran.”

  “What will you say to your daughter?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  She nodded. What will be, will be. “Call me as soon as you know anything.”

  Dale kissed her then, hard and fast. She took his kiss as his vow.

  And then he was gone.

  Her belly in knots, Fran stared at the closed door and placed her fingers on her lips, feeling his touch. How long would the assault take? Likely hours.

  How would she get through those hours? She was stuck here, but why would she want to leave? She could not leave without learning about Bella, and this building was where Dale would return.

  She reclined on the cot again and closed her eyes, recalling the nightmare Dale had jerked her out of. Not wanting to go back there, she sat up and reached for her sketch pad. Why could she not have happy dreams, dreams where children played as their loving parents watched?

  Grateful that she had recovered the ability to work, Fran created a playground with swings, slides and bouncy horses. At the top of a slide, just before the thrilling trip down, stood a smiling little girl with vivid green eyes. Fran sketched the girl’s handsome father, who watched over her protectively, a man with sun-kissed brown hair and eyes just as green.

  Fran hesitated, staring at her drawing. Where was the mother? This family needed a mother.

  * * *

  WEARING A KEVLAR VEST, waiting for the order to go, Dale remained at the rear of the Hostage Rescue Team assembled to search the address provided by Zarco. They were waiting for the warrant, and he would be the last to enter. Gillis had allowed him to participate only to help identify Bella among the children they expected to discover inside.

  Dale patted the inhaler in his pocket, praying they weren’t too late for Bella to use it.

  He stared at the ordinary three-story concrete structure, its plain facade giving no hint of the evil hidden behind those walls—children taken from their parents or sold by them, maybe given freely, convinced they would find a better life. Instead the kids were forced into prostitution or slave labor.

  Would his daughter be among them?

  If so, would he recognize her? He’d expressed confidence to Fran so she wouldn’t worry.

  Dale squinted against the bright sun overhead. He’d sent an email to Lieutenant Marshall explaining the situation with his daughter as best he could, but understood that wouldn’t satisfy his boss. By now, LT might have reported him AWOL.

  No help for that. He’d made his choice. He’d deal with whatever shit rained down on him later.

  “Listen up,” someone shouted. Dale snapped his focus back to the op as Gillis disconnected from a phone call.

  “Everyone stay sharp,” Gillis announced. “It’s a go.”

  An army of fifteen federal agents swarmed into the building. Each one had been given a photograph of Bella.

  When Dale was allowed to enter, he immediately focused on a group of maybe twenty children—boys and girls—huddled in a corner of a huge room stocked with commercial sewing machines. The machines, now idle, appeared similar to the ones in the location they’d raided a few days ago.

  At least this room was cool.

  Gillis ordered his team to search the building floor by floor and disappeared with them up a stairway.

  Dale moved toward the children, who ranged in age from eight to thirteen. He searched their anxious faces, hoping to find a girl with bright green eyes. Some looked away; some stared back.

  He didn’t see any child that could be Bella.

  Javi appeared at Dale’s side.

  “Is she here?” he asked, motioning toward the children.

  To be certain, Dale searched the face of each child a second time. He shook his head. “Not in this group.”

  Dale held up his photograph of Bella for the children. “Do any of you know this girl?” he asked. “Was she here?”

  Javi repeated the questions in Spanish.

  Most of the children averted their gazes, too frightened to speak.

  But a slight dark-haired girl, who would be about Bella’s age, nodded. “Si. Isabella, mi amiga.”

  “She says Bella is her friend,” Javi said.

  They pulled the girl away from the group.

  “You know Bella?” Dale asked.

  The girl looked at Javi, he translated and she nodded.

  “What is your name?” Dale asked.

  “Ana,” she said. Ana removed a paper from her pocket, unfolded it and showed it to Dale and Javi. The paper contained a drawing of palm trees on an otherwise deserted beach, the scene so realistic Dale could hear the waves crashing onto the sand. A signature on the bottom corner read Bella R.

  “Bella made this drawing for Ana to remind her of her home in Costa Rica when she got lonely,” Javi said.

  Dale stared at the lifelike sc
ene and swallowed. His daughter had made this drawing to comfort her friend.

  “Ask her where Bella is now.”

  With Javi translating, the story emerged from Ana that yesterday Bella got sick, so sick that she couldn’t breathe, which meant she couldn’t work at the machines. Jefe Carlos took her away.

  “Where?” Dale demanded. Yesterday. Damn it. Just yesterday.

  “She doesn’t know,” Javi said. “When the workers get sick, Jefe Carlos, the boss man, takes them and they are never seen again.”

  Dale cursed. Were they one day too late?

  Ana spoke rapidly in Spanish.

  “What?” Dale asked.

  “Ana says that Bella was brave, stood up to Jefe Carlos, asked for better and more food. This made the jefe angry, and he hit Bella. It was after this that Bella got sick.”

  Ana spoke again, holding up her hands maybe two inches apart.

  “Bella had medicine, but ran out,” Javi translated. “I think she’s indicating an inhaler. Ana is begging us to find her friend. She isn’t sure, but thinks Jefe Carlos might take the sick kids to the third floor. The kids sleep on the second floor.”

  “I’m going up,” Dale said.

  In the stairway, he took two steps at a time. On the second floor landing, he heard members of the team going through rooms, opening and closing doors. He opened the landing door and witnessed agents taking photographs of what they found.

  On the third floor, Dale exited into a long corridor with closed doors on both sides. Four agents were in the process of clearing those rooms, kicking the doors open when necessary. Dale headed that way to assist.

  “In here,” one of the agents yelled.

  Dale ran toward the voice. Curled up on a mattress in the center of a small room was a young girl with stringy dark hair. Her eyes were closed. Her chest rose and fell in an effort to breathe, making a heartbreaking sound. She clutched an inhaler in her right hand.

  Dale approached and squatted next to her. “Bella?”

  The girl opened brilliant green eyes. But her lips were blue.

  She blinked as if unsure where she was, what she looked at. Does she know who I am?

  To reassure her, Dale touched her pale cheek. His daughter burned with fever.