Savage Alliance

by R. T. Wolfe

  The agent's face tightened like she'd just taken a bite of a bad apple. Nickie stopped and lifted her brows. "What did I do?"

  "Cadaver dogs have a ninety percent success rate."

  Whoa. Nickie had definitely hit a wrong button.

  Ninety percent was impressive that meant... her eyes grew big as she looked around the field. Five mounds of dirt were piled in separate locations. Seven more white plastic markers. "Okay," Nickie said and walked faster to the initial site.

  Peering into the hole, she didn't need to be a crime scene tech to know what she saw. The skeleton of a small-framed body lay on its side. Nickie assumed female. She was curled in a ball with an arm cocked unnaturally behind her.

  Pulling out her cell, she said to Johnson, "I'll call for a crime scene tech."

  "Detective, there's no need. I've already alerted FBI, CSU and the pathologist. They're flying out via helicopter as we speak."

  Oh, right. Bureaucracy. Red tape. Hands tied. She didn't even care anymore. Placing her cell back in her pocket, she stood over the hole. Who was this child? Was she missed? How did she die? How long was she captive? How old was she when she was murdered?

  "Detective?"

  Nickie nodded. "Okay, okay. We'll wait for your CSU."

  "They've found something in hole number three."

  Which one was hole number three? She followed Johnson to a grave that was much shallower. Sweat instantly covered her scalp and her upper lip. Grasping her hands in tight fists, she knew she should say something but words wouldn't come out. She had a powerful need to run. To hide.

  This body was not a little girl. It was large. Larger than female. The only thing left were the bones. The bones and fragments of a leather belt. The silver belt buckle was not fragmented. She knew that buckle. She knew this man. This was George Kruger. She had strangled him with his tie when she was fifteen years old.

  Chapter 27

  He was coming. He was coming and she was ready.

  They'd put her in the red room. They named each room for its color like it was the real White House. The white house. They made her wear the yellow, lacy bra with matching panties. That was what they liked to call them. They never put makeup on her. They wanted her to look like she was a virgin. They'd taken that from her a long time ago.

  This one liked her. They'd brought him to her before. He called her Savage like the rest of them. She'd show them a savage.

  "That's a good one, Mr. Kruger." The man named George Kruger came in with his deep voice laughing about something she didn't know. Lifting his arm once to the guard, he shut the door and turned his eyes to her. She scrambled to the edge of the bed and curled her legs tightly into her. It was only partly an act.

  He huffed a half-laugh and emptied his pockets like her father did when he came home for the day.

  "I'd hoped you'd be that way, honey," he said like she was some sort of little girl.

  She shook with fear, more from her plan than of him.

  He tossed his jacket over a chair and pulled at his tie.

  "They..." Nickie could hardly find her voice. "They record us, you know."

  His hands stopped. He didn't turn his head, but moved his eyes from one side of the room to the other.

  "There," she said, pointing to the lion's head on the wall.

  He continued with his tie, tossed it on a chair, then untucked his shirt, exposing a brown leather belt with a silver belt buckle. She needed that belt.

  He didn't believe her. He had to believe her. Please believe her. He was going to ruin everything.

  He took his shirt off. His blubber hung over his pants so far it covered the belt buckle. Taking his jacket from the chair, he walked with it to the far wall.

  She took her chance and reached for the tie.

  He tossed his jacket over the lion's head before he came to her. "There we go, honey. Just you and me."

  She put her mind somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Her lip trembled as the weight of him sank the bed and tilted her toward him.

  "Now, where did we leave off last time?"

  Bracing, she let him pull her legs until she was horizontal. His clammy body pressed against her. The stench of cigars and alcohol filled her nose as his hands searched and squeezed.

  She found it. She found it and she was going to do it. She grasped his tie and started thrashing like a fish. He'd expected it. That was why he chose her. Always be the smartest person in the room, she told herself, as she wrapped the tie around his neck.

  Startled, he stopped. It gave her enough time to scramble around to the back of him, twist the tie around his neck and pull until her arms shook. Lifting, he turned from side to side, reaching for her. But he was too fat, and she was too strong. Like a savage, she held on. Even when the muscles in her arms ached, she hung on. Even when he quit moving and fell forward, facedown.

  Her arms kept shaking, part from the ache of what she'd just done and part because she really did it. Her eyes jerked from his lifeless body to the door, to the covered lion head, to the window. As she'd planned in her head a hundred times, she ran to the lacy robe they made her wear. In the pocket, there were old slices of bread and some Cheetos.

  She didn't even think to put on the robe; she just ran. Ran to the window, opened it and jumped to the ground, dropping the food. She picked up as much as she could before she sprinted to the trees, to anywhere away from the white house. The dogs were coming. It was okay, she reminded herself. She knew what to do.

  She stopped, stuck one knee to the ground and held out the food. The dogs wagged their tails when they spotted her. She'd worked for months gaining their trust. One of them whined at the side of her bed. Opening her eyes, she adjusted her focus to the snout of Xena, who sat inches from her face.

  Blinking, she turned on her back and looked up. Her hair was wet with sweat, and her chest sucked air like she'd had the wind knocked out of her. Oak wood crown molding crisscrossed the painted ceiling. Rolling over the side of the bed, Xena scurried back as Nickie emptied her stomach on the floor.

  Breaking her own rules, she let herself cry. Cry until her stomach ached with cramps. It was him. The man named George Kruger, whose name she discovered only weeks before. The things he'd done to her. She was just a child. Her arms trembled with fatigue just as if she'd killed him at that moment, not seventeen years ago. The adult cop in her knew she would never go to jail for what she'd done but also that murder held no statute of limitation and that she could face a lengthy and brutal trial.

  She curled into a fetal position and stuck her arms between her knees. Her arms were as wet with sweat as her hair. Wiping them on the sheets, she noticed it wasn't sweat on her arms but blood.

  She sat up, patting her body, for what, she didn't know. A bullet? A knife wound? She wasn't completely awake and still halfway into her dream when she realized where it came from.

  * * *

  A loud knock on the ER patient room door was followed by a call from the hallway, "Miss Savage, are you dressed yet?"

  Nickie buttoned her pants. "Yep," she called.

  The nurse walked in holding a clipboard with a pile of papers attached. Concern radiated from her every move. She probably had a body that worked just fine. None of this was the nurse's fault. Nickie pulled on a boot.

  The nurse turned the clipboard around. "Are you sure about this, miss?"

  "Yep," Nickie repeated. She couldn't get out of there fast enough.

  "This paper says you're checking yourself out against doctor's orders."

  Nickie refused to blink. She ground her teeth together and took the pen, scribbled her name and stood.

  The next visitor wasn't gentle or proceeded by a polite knock. Rose barged in, gasping for air. "I'm back. My mom's got A.J. How are you doing? What happened?"

  "My sister-in-law," Nickie explained to the nurse.

  Rose stared as Nickie pulled on her other boot. Holding her arms out, she barked, "Why are you getting dressed?" Rose turned to the nurse. "Did she te
ll you there is blood on her bed?"

  The nurse looked to Nickie. "It's okay. She's my ride," Nickie said.

  "The papers say you should stay in bed and drink plenty of fluids. If the spotting continues or gets worse, call your doctor." The nurse placed the papers in a plastic bag, then held it out. "The doctor should be back any minute. Are you sure I can't convince you to stay? You might pass the—"

  "Stop," Nickie said. She didn't need to see the doctor again. She knew what her body did and what to do about it.

  Tears filled Rose's eyes. Her hand lifted to cover her mouth. She stepped to the nurse and said between her teeth, "She had a miscarriage, and you're letting her leave?"

  The nurse opened her mouth, then closed it.

  "She can't stop me," Nickie said and tossed her jacket over her arm.

  "I repeat," Rose yelled at the top of her lungs, "this woman had a miscarriage and you're just—"

  "Rose, don't." Nickie put a hand on her forearm. "Please. This is my doing." She would not recover if a single tear fell down her face.

  "Nickie."

  She knew what Rose was thinking. "I'm leaving, Rose. I'll call a cab if I need to."

  Rose nodded and placed a hand under her arm.

  Nickie waited until they neared the exit. Her heart started to race, her breathing in short bursts. "Rose, let go. I have to pee."

  Rose stopped and looked at the bathroom door next to them like she considered coming in with her.

  "Single room. Sorry. I really just have to pee." Nickie stepped in and leaned her back against the door. She grabbed hold of the sides of her head, clasping hunks of hair on each side. Her chest heaved and sweat dripped down her temple. She ran to the toilet and dry heaved as quietly as she could. The tears won.

  "It's me," she heard Rose say through the door. "It's bad. I can't tell you. I don't know if she wants anyone to know. She's going to be okay, but it's bad."

  Nickie squeezed her eyes shut and placed her head against the sidewall.

  "No," Rose continued. "No, no. He died. Yes. The key witness. The only witness. Who cares about that? What?" She wasn't whispering anymore. "I don't care if this happens to people all the time. Who cares about infertility stats? You don't get it." Silence.

  Nickie sank to the floor at the side of the bathroom. She clamped her eyes shut as her lungs heaved. Dale Parker's lifeless, cherry red face. The silver belt buckle. The scars on little Ariel's back as she curled under Nickie's arm.

  * * *

  The van could be traced, so Duncan had his office manager wire cash to buy a used conversion van. After working solely with Andy and Samuel, Gloria had asked Duncan to join them that night.

  She sat silently in the passenger seat. Her expression was much the same as it had been for most of the trip. Determination. No wonder Nickie found solace with this woman.

  A brown patterned wrap covered her legs. Her flat sandals could almost be considered house slippers and her hair was tall and covered in material that matched the skirt.

  If she were a stranger, he would most certainly be reluctant to cross her.

  Her nightly excursions had narrowed her search to two separate trafficking organizations. Others were offers to hire adults. The two involved child trafficking specifically.

  Duncan spoke up. "Two separate groups cause a potential issue regarding which one is Fu Haizi and which is not."

  "Yes," she said. "Turn right at the next block. I have considered this. It is why I ask you to drive."

  "The two groups are likely rivals," he said.

  She inhaled slowly, then released the air in one quick breath.

  Right at the next block took them through a warehouse district. Duncan added, "I am more comfortable when Samuel serves as your driver."

  Gloria shook her head. "This is beyond acceptable to ask of this Samuel. No one will recognize you sitting in the driver seat."

  He adjusted the rearview mirror and judged his appearance.

  "Your hair is gray and you have beard. Size is same. Nothing else."

  Had her English gotten worse since they'd arrived? He supposed his disguise worked well. The backward ball cap and jean jacket finished the look.

  "You to tell me if these men are this Fu Haizi. You will know. I don't. We are here."

  "Here?" Duncan looked around. Nothing was here. No stores, homes or people.

  "The green one," she said and pointed to a large, green warehouse with no windows, two closed garage doors and a single entrance door visible from this side. He had little desire to check for an alley entrance in the back.

  "I wait on bench."

  He craned his head around her. There most certainly was a rusty park bench between the green building and the white brick building next to it. For fear of someone watching, he refrained from rubbing his hands over his face and chose instead to grip the steering wheel.

  He was a foreigner in a third world country driving an unregistered vehicle in an unpopulated area. With. His. Mother-in-law.

  Checking beneath the seat, he felt for the only firepower he carried. The small explosives he'd been building for Operation Fu Haizi. If the situation became dangerous, his only recourse was to blow up the front of the building. Nickie would kill him if she knew he allowed all of this to happen.

  This may have been routine for Andy and Gloria, but Duncan was sick to his stomach. This should not be routine. He checked windows and mirrors, then Andy stepped out of the back and opened Gloria's door. Andy left his door ajar. She sat on the bench, adjusted her skirt and placed her bag on her lap. Andy stepped away and stood with his knees locked.

  They waited for ten minutes. Gloria stood and turned to face the green building. She spoke a tirade of Spanish to the wall as if someone stood there. Some of the words he recognized. He was without his Beretta once again.

  The door opened, and a man came out. He wore black pants and a matching mock turtleneck. Identification complete. Duncan's purpose fulfilled. "Let's go," he said loud enough for only Andy and Gloria to hear.

  They ignored him.

  The man spoke quickly, and then disappeared into the building. Gloria sat back down. When the door opened again, Duncan's shoulders reflexively fell forward. He turned his ball cap around and dipped his chin. Ivanna Monticello. She marched out with purpose as if she was on a schedule. She wore a three-piece tan suit and matching thick pumps.

  Brushing pieces of his dyed hair over his ears with one hand, his other moved to his thigh, closer to the ammo. It wasn't enough.

  Chapter 28

  Gloria stood and lifted her chin as Ivanna spoke what Duncan considered perfect Spanish. His jaw flexed and released as he silently willed Gloria to accept whatever Ivanna offered and to get in the damned van.

  "No," Gloria barked.

  Duncan winced.

  She waved her arms like a madwoman and released a slew of rhetoric. Duncan was able to pick out the word for tomorrow, but he was more worried about Ivanna recognizing him. Gloria pointed toward Ivanna's chest before nodding once and crossing her arms.

  Ivanna stuck out her hand to shake. Gloria shook, then walked toward the open back door of the van and came to a stop. This confused Duncan, but he dared not ask or turn his head. The door adjacent to the single back door opened, shining in light from the streetlight into the van. With his chin low, Duncan looked out the driver's side window.

  Ivanna sounded like she was inches from him. The voice of Nickie's mother. It reverberated through the backseat as she investigated the van.

  A few more words were spoken, and Andy and Gloria slipped into their seats, Ivanna and her bodyguard returning to the green warehouse.

  "She has nine girls she will sell," Gloria said as Duncan's hand trembled on the steering wheel. His shaking hand pulled the gearshift into drive, and he pulled away. He did a U-turn, and headed back the way they came.

  He found it difficult to coax the words from his lips. "That was Nickie's mother."

  Gloria's mouth opened in a smal
l O. She looked around the van as if she was looking for something she lost. "I am Nickie's mother. That woman is spawn of the devil." She pretended to spit on the floor of the van. "She wanted to sell the girls July three."

  He turned the corner, checked and rechecked his rearview mirror while trying not to lose his dinner from listening to Gloria speak of purchasing children like she was at a farmer's market.

  "I say, 'No!'"

  Yes, Duncan had heard.

  "July one, I say to her or no. I gave her 5,000 pesos."

  She did? Duncan had not seen that.

  She waved her hand in front of her face in circles. "It was... how do you say?"

  "An advanced payment," Andy finished for her from the backseat. "We meet at noon."

  "Tomorrow, then. During the day. That will be trickier. Let's hope for wind."

  "Wind?" Gloria asked.

  "Yes. The wind creates a dust storm and, therefore, cover. There is little cover in the dark, let alone the daytime hours."

  Much to Duncan's relief and disbelief, they made it to a public area safely. "Noon. That is earlier in the day than we had expected, and a day early," he said.

  Silence followed and consumed the van. They'd purchased a getaway van, built black market explosives and were making an EMP bomb. There was no turning back now.

  It was a risk to many. Each knew this. They remained not just because of Nickie, although anyone in the group would have stayed the course if for her only. They were here for the children. Tomorrow they would rescue not only the children Gloria feigned purchase of, but also the rest of the ones held captive in the compound.

  The following day, a rescue of countless others in the United States. Followed by a complete dismantling of Fu Haizi through Andy's data drop. Anticipation bubbled in the silence. It was like a tunnel vision of focus. One that took his mind from his destination.

  Autopilot drove him back to the safe house. Shifting the van into park, he craned his head toward the entrance and leaned over the steering wheel. Something wasn't right. Not the children. They ran in their usual circles. He checked his watch. They'd missed dinner again. It would soon be dark in this South American winter, and dark meant stay inside.