by R. T. Wolfe
She shook her head. "No."
"Freaked out?"
It was a better assessment, but no. "Just anxious. This is big. A lot of children are counting on us."
"You put too much pressure on yourself."
She wished she had more to give.
Hurst came in and walked to the wall of windows. The crowd thickened. Nickie thought of it as high-class tailgating. Using an electronic pad on the wall, he closed one set of blinds after another, shutting out the women in lace dresses and wide-brimmed hats and men roasting in three piece suits.
The last few special agents filed in, and everyone sat. Nickie noted each had moved seats. Since people rarely did that, she assumed they were grouped in their assigned teams. Two chairs sat empty at Jimbo's table. As the NPD outcasts, she and Eddy took them and waited.
"Nickie?"
What? Already? Okay. She stood and walked to the front of the room. "Tonight is likely going to look like this... The agents posing as johns—"
Jimbo cleared his throat.
She amended. "Each agent and police friggin' informant posing as a john will hang together at the exit. Those of you chosen to case the interior of the park need to be dressed to fit in. Hopefully, the trafficking scum assigned to escort johns to remote locations will show. Remember, no electronics on the undercovers. That part is crucial."
Hurst held up a finger. "I put a lot of thought into that."
She didn't like the sound of that.
He stuck a hand in his pocket. She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up his other hand with his palm out, facing her. "Everyone except the johns wears one of these audio devices." Holding up his arm, he pinched a lapel pin between his thumb and forefinger. "For the johns, I decided on GPS trackers."
"Absolutely not. I told you, Hurst. They'll be made before they ever leave the parking lot."
"They're ingestible."
Had he just said ingestible?
"I'm not willing to risk losing a man. We have a civilian," Hurst said.
Ingestible. Wow. This fed thing looked more promising by the minute. "No audio or visual. When the johns arrive at the locations, we won't have a signal as to when we can move in."
"Give them fifteen minutes," she said.
"Fifteen minutes?" Asswipe snorted. "That won't be enough time to get to the perps."
Her left eyelid twitched. "Turnover is quick. You can't imagine how fast. But the ass—the agent isn't far off base. There will be little time to get to the perps. Since we don't know where the undercovers will be taken, we won't be able to case the locations or surround the establishments ahead of time. As soon as each team is certain their john has arrived at the crime scene, they will have fifteen minutes to surround, assess and infiltrate the traffickers." Most of them were looking at the closed window, the ceiling or the floor. So, she upturned the contents of her plastic grocery bag, spilling out colored eye pencils and a few travel bottles of maximum-hold hair spray.
"One of you gets the spiral triangle." She drew the symbol in one of the six squares on the chart paper. "I think on the inside of your wrist. You are posing as a john who prefers boys.
"One gets the heart spiral. Inside forearm. It means you prefer little girls. Don't forget this. The remaining four johns get the butterfly-heart symbol saying you can go either way. How about two forearms and two biceps. We don't know what they're bringing and want as much flexibility as possible." She sighed and looked out over the crowd. "Anyone out there know how to draw?"
One of the females raised her hand, fingers together and only as high as her shoulder.
"My search engine told me eye pencil covered in hair spray lasts twenty-four hours."
Nickie walked to the front of the room, away from the door. She stood with her legs locked and barked, "The rest of you listen up. These people are seasoned and know how to take precautions. Anyone not wearing a big hat or a bow tie will be marked by their scouts. So, use your audio devices to communicate and anyone not undercover, keep the hell out of sight. I'm going to estimate three to six guards per location, which means we should be well staffed. Many of the children will be heavily drugged. Some cuffed."
Taking a deep breath, she waited until each looked up to her. Their eyes said it. They found this shit as sad and as sick as anyone. They weren't bad people.
"Any questions?"
Chapter 6
"Never flag down a taxi," Jess said as Duncan followed him and his intern through the single terminal into customs.
The area was wall-to-wall musty plaster and concrete. Not at all the plastic, tile and carpet that seemed to cover American airports.
"Anyone can put a taxi sign on the top of their car," Jess continued. "Always call for one to pick you up. I will text you the names of the three trusted companies."
The flight had been somewhat barren, yet customs was filled shoulder-to-shoulder with people.
"We're going to make a copy of your passport. Carry the copy with you and leave your passport in the safe at the dorm."
Dorm. It was the place Jess was headed. Not a headquarters but a rehabilitation and work study assistance location. The man had several irons in the fire. His preventative Backyard Broadcast program, rescue missions, police training, and rehabilitation assistance.
"We already have copies," Duncan said, "but will graciously accept your offer to keep our originals in your safe."
"Good to hear, but you're dressed like high-class white folk. It puts a bull's eye on your back. If you're looking to come off as slimy gringos looking to rent children, you'll need to dress the part."
"We are looking for a specific MO, so to speak. I am not at all sure of our plan, but I feel the need to stick with what I know of this specific organization."
"Okay."
Andy walked next to him and behind Jess and his friend. He approached baggage claim and waited behind the row of people who had pushed to the front.
"We'll use the airport services to exchange your money. For now, it is the safest way to get the best exchange rate."
Duncan had been to a plethora of countries, yet this was humbling.
"Never go out at night. Always stay together." Jess reached between people and took hold of his suitcase. Setting it on the floor next to him, he didn't let go of the handle but continued. "Be wary of children who approach you. They often run in packs and are excellent pickpockets. I mean excellent, excellent."
"Point taken. We have money belts laced with wire that cannot be cut. We are most grateful for your help."
Andy grabbed both of their suitcases as if they weighed a fraction of what they did. He passed off Duncan's suitcase as he helped Jess's intern, Bella, with hers.
"Jess?" A male voice came from behind them.
"Samuel, my friend." Jess held out a hand to a tall, lanky man with a dark head of hair.
Samuel looked to be in his mid-thirties. He wore holey jeans and a T-shirt that read: There are two kinds of people in this world, and Peruvians are better than both of them.
They were still shaking hands as Jess turned his head. "Samuel, these are my friends, Duncan and Andy, and you remember Bella."
Samuel took Bella's hand in a much less vigorous shake, and nodded to Duncan and Andy.
Andy spoke to him. "You've got a beautiful country here, man."
Samuel dipped his chin once. "Welcome."
Samuel and Jess turned toward a set of double doors, and Duncan followed with Bella, Andy following close behind. As the doors opened, he inhaled the thick air common in heavily populated areas. It was damp and cool. Peruvian winter.
There was no taxi waiting but a 1990, severely beaten, red Toyota Corolla. Duncan eyed each member of their random group, then back to the Toyota. At least it had a luggage rack. Another man that could be Samuel's younger brother sat in the passenger seat. He exited the car and, without introduction, piled the luggage in the hatch and atop the vehicle.
Bella squeezed in the front and Duncan, his brother and Jess in the back. The car lower
ed several inches from the weight, but off they went into the bumper-to-bumper traffic regardless.
* * *
It was time. Nickie ground her teeth as she marched through Belmont Park to the clubhouse. To her left, cheers erupted from the crowd. Perspiring women who refused to take off their wide-brimmed hats waved white handkerchiefs at the track. Alcohol and sweaty perfumed bodies added to the scent of the manure and hay. Nickie paid little attention to which after-ceremony was going on. Her attention tunneled to the next few hours.
Lives were at stake. Children's lives. What if they didn't have enough men? What if the location of a brothel was missed? She stopped before she turned the last corner to the meeting room and squeezed her eyes shut. Not helping, Nick.
After cracking her neck, she shook out her shoulders and continued. As she made the corner, she realized the clothes she'd chosen weren't much smarter in the heat. Kevlar vest, sky blue blouse, black pants, and boots would make her stick out.
Eddy was there, waiting for her in the hall. He leaned against the wall next to the entrance. Other than a darker blue shirt and lower heel on his boots, they were a matching pair. He squinted as she approached.
"What?" she asked.
"Your hair is up."
"I'm sweating like a pig."
"Do pigs sweat?" He glanced at the ceiling and shrugged. "Never seen you with your hair up."
Never? She considered, then listened to the voices that came from inside the meeting room. "How many do you think are in there?"
"All of them. I'm waiting for you. They smell bad."
"Like pigs," she said and pushed open the door.
The five special agents posing as johns stood out. They looked surprisingly a lot like Slippery Jimbo. Plaid shirts with the top button fastened. Greased hair. A few in trench coats. Others wearing gold bracelets and chains, Chuck Taylors and baggy khakis. She was impressed... relieved really, but would never say so.
Each table also contained a single fed who wore either a bow tie or a large pastel hat with matching bellbottom slacks. The rest were in standard navy blue pants and long-sleeved shirts. She caught Asswipe's glare but didn't dwell on it. There was always a jerk in every group. The FBI had one like everyone else.
"Detectives, it's so nice of you to decide to show up." It wasn't Asswipe but one of the women. It looked like the FBI had more than one in this group.
Tipping up her chin, Nickie scanned the groupings. Jimbo's table had only nine. Her plus Eddy made eleven. This was good.
Hurst didn't acknowledge them. She preferred it that way. "All but the six unmarked vehicles are off-site," he said as she and Eddy slipped into the empty seats at Jimbo's table.
"You left me," Jimbo whispered. "You left me alone with feds." Spit sprayed from his mouth and his eyes were like saucers.
Nickie leaned away as she nodded her head up and down. He wasn't wrong.
"They made me eat this... this thing, Detective Dude. What if it stays in me forever? They can track my every move forever."
"Karma, Jimbo."
"That's not funny, man. Or what if I shit it out before this is all over?"
"There, there. You're not going to shit in the next few hours."
Eddy leaned in. "Stop talking, Jimbo."
"Hey, dude. I'm on your side." Jimbo's face relaxed. "We're like partners."
Eddy closed his eyes and shook his head. "I really hate you."
That made Jimbo smile.
"Post-race ceremonies will conclude in approximately forty-five." Hurst stepped next to the map of the park. "The undercover johns meet... here," he said, tapping the spot on the map circled in black. "The plainclothes agents will be stationed—"
Asswipe cleared his throat.
Hurst spun on his heels. "Do you have something to add, Special Agent?" Hurst barked at him.
"No, sir. I just wasn't sure if plainclothes was an accurate description of a man in a bow tie."
Too bad Eddy hadn't hit him in the mouth.
"Vehicles from group number one and two are staged here." He moved his finger to a spot a few hundred yards east of one of the parking lots. "That's you, Savage. Three and Four are here, and Five and Six, here. Load up for our first audio check at the conclusion of this meeting."
"Detective Savage?" Hurst lifted his hand to her.
She hated when he did that and swallowed. "Let me see the tats," she said and scanned the room as the undercovers rolled up their sleeves and rotated palms. Damn. She was both impressed and relieved. Nodding her approval, she continued. "Do each of you remember what your tat represents?" She mentally checked off each one as she made eye contact from table to table.
Her left eyelid twitched. "Follow Jimbo's lead," she forced herself to say. "The traffickers might have you drive your own car, but will likely take you to an off-site location in their vehicles. You may be in pairs or groups with other johns, maybe each other. Be ready for anything." She glanced at Jimbo. His face turned a shade of green. "You've each been given five hundred cash. The price will be negotiated and agreed upon before you leave."
Her upper lip started to sweat. Not from talking to a room full of special agents but from the subject of her discussion. Slipping her hand behind her, she grabbed hold of the top of her chair. Eddy's gaze went to her hand, then to her face. She looked away from him and continued.
"Those of you following the johns," she addressed the group as a whole, "even though the tracers are ingested, I am told you can get the signal up to a mile away. Keep it at a quarter mile minimum. Those black SUVs scream FBI."
She would not stick her head between her legs. She would not stick her head between her legs.
She was going way out on a limb here. Fu Haizi didn't use hotels. Other pimps did. "The children have likely been brought to large homes or warehouses. When the trace says the john stops moving, give them fifteen minutes as you surround the place with the remaining vehicles. There should be between three and six guards. They will be armed. Incapacitate them first. Keep watch for any you missed while the rest of you get the children out."
She was done. Whether or not she was done, she was done. She sat and gripped her knees until her fingers cramped. The contents of her stomach tasted like it was at her throat.
Hurst stood. "We rendezvous at the LPD." She didn't look at where he pointed and stared at the only spot on the floor that wasn't spinning. "Your team leader will give you your walkie channel assignment. Any questions?"
Chapter 7
Nightlife in Lima appeared much like nightlife in any large city. Lights that made it seem like perpetual dusk. People as thick as bees in a hive. Duncan watched out the closed passenger window as Jess Larsen's local contact drove them to the first casino on the list. He wanted to roll down his window, but assumed Lima was like any large city. Open windows in sketchy areas encouraged stoplight robberies.
"Gringos are targets for a smash and grab," Samuel said as he gunned the engine past a group of locals. "This is when men smash a window and rob us at gunpoint."
Yes, much like nightlife in any large city. Nothing good happens after midnight, especially if alcohol was involved. This was precisely why they were here.
"The two of you are dressed like you have a lot of money." His English was excellent, possibly a little too much so as he enunciated each syllable. "When you leave the car, you will also be a target for an express kidnapping."
"A what?" Andy asked from the backseat.
Samuel explained. "You are taken by force to an ATM and made to empty your bank account. Then, you are left there with no money or cell phone."
Express kidnapping. Duncan retracted any thoughts of matching nightlife with large cities anywhere.
Tiny lights scattered over the sides of the mountains that loomed behind the city. In the daylight, they provided a most picturesque backdrop to a colorful and breathtaking country. Now, they seemed like freckled giants who kept them prisoner.
"The casino is a block away. You may call me when
you are ready for me to pick you up, or you may use one of the taxi companies Jess listed for you. Are you sure about this? You are ducks that are sitting."
He was sure. The cowboy hats and boots may be considered overkill. That was a good thing. They needed to stick out.
Samuel pulled to the side and double-parked, causing a number of cars to zip around them, holding their horns down as they passed. The more negative attention, the better.
"Good luck, Duncan and Andy."
"Thanks, man," Andy said.
Duncan handed him the tip he'd placed in his money belt. Samuel's eyes grew as he took it from him. "Thank you," Duncan said as he exited the vehicle.
As Samuel drove away, Duncan stood with his brother and scanned the rows of multicolored, flashing neon lights all around them. It was the first time doubt blew through him. Where could he possibly start? An image of a needle in a haystack appeared clearly in his mind.
Andy jabbed an elbow into his rib cage. Duncan glanced his way.
A boy about the age of nine stood in front of them and smiled as he stared. In the chilly winter Peru air, he wore a holey T-shirt and dirty pants. His expression was that of innocence and interest. It would be quite convincing if not for the hour of night and location the child chose to browse.
"Gotcha," Andy said as he grabbed the wrist of another that had come up from behind.
They were like ants. Four of them came out of nowhere. Andy craned the arm he'd grabbed and rotated it behind the boy's back. "Nice try, man. I gotta say I'm impressed."
Duncan doubted they understood Andy's English words, but his brother's expression and tone spoke volumes.
"Now, shoo," Andy barked and gave the boy a push.
The children ran east down the street, then scattered. Duncan imagined they would regroup and try another man or men within minutes.
"Come on," Andy said. "It probably won't be any better inside. At least they can't get these suckers off us," he said and wrapped his hand around his metal wire-money belt.
"Yes, but there is the express kidnapping thing. Please stay vigilant."
"I live for this shit."