The Forgotten

by David Baldacci

  There was no sympathy in the question. Puller neither expected nor wanted any. Mecho simply wanted to know the physical status of his comrades in arms. He wanted to know if he could count on Puller or rather have to compensate for him.

  Puller would have wanted to know the exact same thing.

  “They gave me a painkiller I had in my duffel. I can shoot and I can fight and I can take punishment. So don’t worry about me. I’ll handle my end. You cover yours.”

  “What about your woman?” asked Mecho. “Can she hold her own?”

  “What about your woman?” asked Puller.

  “Can she?”

  “Are you always this cooperative?”

  “I don’t even know who you are, so yeah, this is about as cooperative as it gets from me.”

  “Diaz will be fine.”

  “So will Carson.”

  They rode for another minute in silence. The only noise was the sounds from the women readying the weapons.

  Finally Mecho said, “My name is Gavril. That is my given name. My surname would mean nothing to you. But people call me Mecho.” “You’re Bulgarian,” said Puller.

  Mecho glanced at him. “How did you know?” “I fought with them in Iraq way back. They were great fighters and could drink any other nationality under the table. Even the Russians.” Mecho smiled. “The Russians think vodka is gold. It is merely water with perfume. It does not even put hair on the chest.”

  “Were you military?”

  Mecho’s smile faded. “I used to be. Then things changed.”

  “What things?”

  Neither man noticed that Carson and Diaz had finished their work and were listening intently to this exchange.

  “Bulgaria was no longer part of the Soviet Union, of course. But some things don’t change. I love my country. It is a place of beauty. The people there are good. They like to work hard. They love their freedoms. But that does not mean that every leader we have is a good one who deserves the respect of the people. So sometimes when you do not follow along blindly things happen to you.”

  “Were you imprisoned?”

  Mecho glanced at him sharply. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because the Soviets were big on that, that’s why. And Bulgaria was part of that world for a long time.”

  “For a time,” Mecho said. “Perhaps a longer time than I care to remember.”

  “How did you end up here going after slavers?”

  “I come from a small village in the southwest part of my country. The Rila range, it is called. It is remote. The people there work hard. There are few if any outsiders who come there. My family still lives there.”

  Puller said, “But outsiders did come?”

  Mecho nodded and glanced out the window so as not to show the tears forming in his eyes.

  “Men came and promised things, a better life for our young people. Education, jobs, all good things. They took about thirty of them.” He paused. “Including my youngest sister. We are a large family. She is far younger than me. She was only sixteen when she left.” He paused again. “No, not when she left, when she was taken” “They were slavers,” said Puller.

  Mecho nodded. “Who thought that a little village on a mountain in Bulgaria would never be able to strike back for the evil that was done. I was not there at the time, or I would have not allowed this to happen. I have seen a lot of the world. The people in my village have not. They are trusting, too trusting. When I came back and found out what had happened, I started to look for my sister. And the others.”

  “What’s her name?” This question came from Carson, who had put a hand on Mecho’s big shoulder, gripping it.

  “Rada. This is she.”

  Mecho took out the photo and held it out to Carson. She took it and looked at it.

  “She’s very beautiful,” said Carson, and Diaz nodded in agreement.

  “Not like the rest of the family,” said Mecho matter-of-factly. “They look more like me. Big and ugly.”

  “You are not ugly, Mecho,” said Diaz fiercely. “You are a man trying to do the right thing. There is nothing more handsome than that.”

  “And you tracked her down to Lampert?” asked Puller.

  Diaz answered while Mecho took the photograph of Rada back from Carson and stared down silently at it. “We have talked,” she said. “He actually worked the connection from the other way. Through Stiven Rojas.”

  “Rojas,” exclaimed Carson. “He’s on our most wanted list. He’s even been deemed a national security risk. He’s involved in this?”

  “He collects the product, the people, and then they are transported to this country,” said Diaz. “Lampert takes over from there. He has established buyers everywhere. He gets the people to them. They are separated into three main categories. Prostitutes are the most valuable. Next are drug mules. Then common laborers.”

  Mecho added, “They wear different-colored clothing that shows which category they fall into. I have seen this.”

  Diaz nodded.

  Puller said, “We saw it tonight.”

  “And you said he has buyers in the U.S.? For slaves?” said Carson.

  “The slave trade has never been more lucrative,” said Diaz. “As governments crack down on drugs and guns, it is becoming more and more popular. You need people to carry drugs. You need hookers to score tricks. And you need people to work the fields and the factories. If you don’t have to pay them or pay them very much it is good for the bottom line.”

  “But it’s not like you can keep those people locked up. Prostitutes, drug runners, laborers. Why don’t they just escape? America is a big country,” said Puller. “And there’s always a policeman nearby.”

  “Because they tell them that if they do try to escape, or tell the police, their families will be killed,” said Mecho.

  “How do you know this?” asked Diaz, looking at him curiously.

  “I had a talk with two of Lampert’s men. They told me. And his housekeeper, I could tell from the little she told me that she is a slave. She is afraid for her family. Lampert also uses her for sex.”

  Mecho’s eyes drifted toward Diaz’s when he said this last part, but she quickly looked away, her face reddening.

  Puller said, “You had a talk with two of Lampert’s men? Would they be the same pair that were staying at the Plaza?”

  Mecho did not answer, which to Puller was answer enough.

  “So you killed them?”

  “They were not human. Not any longer. They were like rabid dogs.”

  “You still murdered them.”

  “You have not killed before?”

  “I have not murdered before.”

  Diaz said, “That can be dealt with later.” Puller said, “Mecho, do you know anything about the death of an old lady and an old couple?”

  Mecho said, “I saw an old couple killed on the beach when I first came here.”

  Puller glanced sharply at him. “On the beach? Did you see who killed them?”

  Mecho shook his head. “But it was one person. Shots to the head. Then their bodies were dragged into the water. The tide took them out.” “And you just let it happen?” said Puller. “There was nothing I could do. It happened too fast.”

  Carson said, “Okay, their bodies were dragged out to the water. So probably a man. Big, small, white, black?”

  “Not that tall. I could not see the color of the skin clearly but I think white. And slender, but obviously strong.”

  “And you blew up Lampert’s Bentley,” said Puller.

  Mecho looked at him, puzzled. “How did you know that?”

  “You have big feet.”

  Diaz said, “This can all keep. We need to be prepared for what is coming up in the next few minutes.”

  Mecho nodded. “The warehouse. It is where they keep the slaves. That is where the trucks go.”

  “Then we should call in the police,” said Carson.

  “No,” said Diaz. “Lampert and Rojas have assets everywhere. We
can’t trust the police.”

  “Then the U.S. military. Eglin is right up the road.”

  “By the time they can send anyone it’ll be too late,” argued Diaz.

  Puller had a sudden thought. “You said this was a joint operation with the U.S. Did you happen to be working with military-looking guys in a Chrysler?”

  “Yes,” said Diaz. “They told me of their interaction with Americans. I guess that was you.”

  “Guess it was. Were they tracking me or Betsy Simon?”

  Simon?”

  “They had spotted a car belonging to Simon near the transfer spot one night. They traced it to her. Then she was killed. They started watching.” “Where are they now?” asked Puller.

  “After their encounter with you, they were reassigned. No one has replaced them yet.” “Great,” muttered Puller.

  “Okay, give us the layout of the warehouse,” said Carson. “If they’re still there we’ll have to hit it hard and fast.”

  “We will hit it hard and fast,” said Mecho. “And we will kill who we have to kill.” He looked at Puller. “Unless you have a problem with murdering slavers.”

  “No problem at all,” said Puller. “If they’re trying to murder me.”

  “That I think you can count on,” said Mecho.

  CHAPTER 82

  There were four sides to the warehouse and they covered all of them. They had to split their forces in quarters to accomplish this, but allowing a hole for anyone to escape was deemed not acceptable.

  Puller took the rear.

  Mecho the front.

  Carson the left side.

  Diaz the right.

  They were prepared for a war.

  They did not find one.

  They did not find anyone at all.

  The warehouse was empty.

  The makeshift prison cells held no one.

  They searched the space in ten minutes and then regrouped in the center of it.

  Puller said, “They move fast, I’ll give them that.”

  “But where have they gone?” asked Carson. “We can get APBs out. They have to be using trucks to transport.”

  “Lot of trucks going up and down the highway,” pointed out Puller. “Can’t stop and search them all.”

  He glanced over her shoulder and stiffened. He raced past Carson and over to a spot against the wall. He knelt and picked it up.

  The others joined him.

  “What is it, Puller?” asked Carson.

  Puller held it up.

  It was a ring. A small silver ring with a lion on it.

  “This belongs to my friend Diego.”

  “Who is this Diego?” asked Mecho.

  “A kid. About twelve years old. His cousin is Mateo. He’s five. They were probably both here. Diego probably left this as a clue. He’s a pretty smart kid.”

  “A five-year-old,” said Diaz. “Why would they have taken twelve- and five-year-old boys?”

  “Prostitution?” said Puller. “Sick bastards out there.”

  “No. Rojas is a criminal. And a truly evil man. But he has never taken anyone that young before.”

  “Diego didn’t come through the normal pipeline. He lived in Paradise. He was snatched from right here. Along with Mateo.”

  Diaz looked worried.

  “What is it?” asked Carson.

  “Then it was Lampert who ordered this. Not Rojas.”

  Puller rose and pocketed the ring. “So what exactly does that mean?”

  “It could mean that Lampert is expanding his product line, without Rojas’s approval or even knowledge.”

  “Expand it where?”

  “Terrorists.”

  “What?” exclaimed Carson.

  “You build mock families to divert suspicion.

  A mother. A father. With young children. If you travel with little ones security is instinctively lessened. It is against human nature to take your own children into harm’s way.”

  “Not in the Middle East,” said Puller. “Happened all the time.”

  “Yes, they were used as shields and sometimes bombs, I understand this,” said Diaz. “But this is not the Middle East. And the people who used children as shields and bombs were not their parents.”

  Puller said, “So you’re saying it’s great cover to travel with small kids. To avoid detection or at least heightened scrutiny.”

  “Maybe getting in and out of the country,” added Carson.

  “Yes, that is what I’m thinking,” said Diaz. Puller looked at Carson. He said, “I should have shot Lampert the night I met him.”

  Diaz said urgently, “We need to find them.” “They had to have trucked them out of here,” said Puller. He looked at Mecho. “Any idea how many people might have been held here?”

  Mecho looked around at the empty cells. “I watched the beach for two nights. Each time eighty prisoners were brought in.”

  “So a lot of people to move,” said Puller.

  “They are probably heading toward the interstate highways as we speak,” said Diaz.

  Puller mulled this thought over as Carson stared at him. “I’m not too sure about that,” he said.

  “Where else?” asked Diaz. “They have product to move. They have buyers.”

  “If I’m Lampert and I know my pipeline was compromised, then I’m not going to deliver the product to my buyers. He couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t be followed. That blows his pipeline sky-high. And that also wins him a death sentence from Rojas.”

  “What, then?” asked Carson. “What do you think he’s doing with them?”

  Puller stared in the direction of the Gulf. “I think he’s returning them to sender.”

  “Back to Colombia?” said Diaz.

  “Back to wherever they came from,” said Puller. He looked at Mecho.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I swam mostly,” said Mecho, but Puller could tell by his face that the man was leaping ahead to the ultimate conclusion of Puller’s question.

  “I was one of the taken,” he said. “It sidetracked me for a bit. But I escaped. The crew who brought me was not so lucky. They were late and it cost them their lives.”

  Diaz said, “Where did you escape from?”

  “An oil platform off the coast. No longer used, of course. They dock at a series of them going from Mexico to Florida. That is how they move the product.”

  Diaz said, “But I didn’t think there were any oil platforms off the coast of Florida.”

  Carson spoke up. “That’s mostly true. The vast majority are off the coasts of Louisiana and Texas. And some off Alabama. There are no oil platforms on the Atlantic side of Florida. And pretty much all the oil wells dug in Florida state waters in the Gulf over the years came up dry.” “Okay,” said Puller. “But Mecho is saying there is one out there and that he was on it. How does that make sense?”

  Carson continued, “Some energy companies made natural gas discoveries in the mid-eighties to mid-nineties. About twenty-five miles off the