by Mark Pryor
The speaker remained silent.
“We can’t talk at them forever,” Garcia said.
“Agreed.” Hugo frowned, unhappy. “I don’t think we have much choice. Tell Miguel to do his thing. When his men are moving in, I’ll keep talking, keep them focused on me.” Hugo hoped that would work, but he wasn’t entirely convinced that whoever was inside couldn’t see through a crack somewhere.
Garcia turned to Luna and spoke quickly and quietly. In turn, Luna raised his radio and gave instructions. Eight of the armed men jogged forward, their boots scuffing the concrete, their equipment jangling softly as they ran.
Hugo spoke into the bullhorn. “I can give you another ten minutes, maybe fifteen, Nisha. But the port authority wants its dock back. If you have something you want, something we can realistically do for you, you need to say so, and say it now.” The eight men had reached the container, and they split into two lines of four at the doors, crouched and ready. “There’s nowhere to hide, Gregor. We’re still at the point where we can help you, rescue something from this mess.”
Hugo had rehearsed these words in his mind. In a different situation, he might have tried to cause a split between Bhandari and Freed, but since there was no way for just one of them to come out, and since he had no idea what weapons they had, creating tension between the two would likely do more harm than good. Especially since Nisha Bhandari had shown little compunction about killing those who crossed her.
Hugo lowered the megaphone again. He shook his head in frustration, then looked over at Miguel Luna, who stood with the bolt cutter in his hand. Hugo nodded and gave him a wry smile. “Buena suerte.” Good luck.
Miguel Luna stepped between the two lines of his men and stood in front of the container. He took the bolt cutter and set its blades around the steel loop of the padlock. He widened his stance, looked at his men, and squeezed the arms of the cutter. Hugo could see Luna’s muscles flexing and shaking as he pressed metal on metal, fought against the tempered steel of the lock. Twenty seconds into it, Hugo thought Luna had lost, but the policeman gave a final cry of triumph when the steel of the solid lock snapped and it clattered to the ground. Luna kicked it aside and threw the bolt cutter after it, then pulled on the lever mechanism of the door. Both doors swung open at once, and Luna stepped aside as his squad leader led the short charge into the box.
The sun was alive on the horizon to Hugo’s right, casting long fingers of light between the stacks of containers around them but leaving patches of the dock in murky darkness. Unsure what visibility would be like in the container, the armed unit had affixed flashlights to their rifles. Now, arrows of light flickered inside the container like some crazy light show, a performance made all the more hectic by the shouts of the policemen announcing themselves, yelling warnings not to move. In thirty seconds, the shouting stopped, signaling to Hugo that the container had been made safe. He stepped out from behind the sandbags, and Garcia followed him.
They waited, peering inside, seeing the dark shapes of the policemen and the still outlines of furniture. As Hugo’s eyes adjusted, he looked to see who else was inside but couldn’t make out anyone in civilian clothes.
And then, as he watched, two policemen pulled Gregor Freed out from under a desk on the left side of the container. With apparent ease, they hauled him to his feet and dragged him outside, holding his arms and planting him in front of Hugo, Garcia, and Luna. The big man was pale and shaking, his eyes squinting at the light.
“Who else is in there, Gregor?” Hugo demanded.
“No one. Just me. She locked me in there and left.”
“Bullshit,” Hugo said, his temper flaring. “Tell me who else is in there, or I’ll have one of these men shoot you in the goddam foot.”
“No, just me!” Freed insisted. “She made me, she locked me in.”
“How the hell is a five-foot woman going to force a big oaf like you into a container?” Hugo snapped. He turned to Garcia. “Get him out of my sight, Bartoli, I swear I’ll punch him in the mouth if he keeps lying to me.”
Garcia spoke to the two men holding him, and they both nodded. One took out handcuffs and secured Freed’s hands, then they both marched him away from the container to a waiting police van.
Hugo looked at Garcia. “Can we go in?”
Both men looked at Luna, who nodded. “Sí, no problem.”
Hugo stepped onto the metal floor of the container, and the smell of human waste swept over him, almost forcing him back out. His eyes watered, and he looked where the smell seemed to be coming from. Pieces of furniture lined the container. He could see the dim outline of two armoires at the back, and next to them on either side, matching wooden trunks. Closer to him, a few tables were stacked on top of each other and secured with heavy straps. One of the armed policemen had lifted the lid of one of the old trunks, and as Hugo watched, the man dropped the lid shut and turned away, a gloved hand covering his own nose and mouth.
Another officer was kneeling beside a second trunk, on the opposite wall of the container. Hugo walked over and looked inside. It was half filled with food, tubes of meat paste, packets of bread and chocolate, and at least twenty water bottles. Supplies for the journey.
He could see the two side-by-side armoires clearly now. Their doors had been broken open by the armed officers, and his heart sank when he realized they were empty.
And yet . . . he slowly approached them, something not quite right dragging him closer.
They’d been wedged in so tight, there was no gap between them—an impressive stroke of luck for the space conscious. But the shipping container wasn’t close to being full, so space wasn’t at a premium. And there was something about the doors. They reached the top of each armoire, about a foot over Hugo’s head, but they came down only to his knees. He looked inside the one on the right, rapped his knuckles on the wood interior, and kicked its base with his toe.
Something moved inside.
“Hey,” he shouted over his shoulder. “In here.” His tone translated the message, and he pointed to the base of the armoire. “Aquí,” he repeated. Here. Two men aimed their weapons into the armoire as Hugo’s fingers scrabbled for purchase inside, looking for a way to release the false bottom. He found a gap at the back left corner and worked his finger in. He looked at the two men beside him, nodding to let them know he was about to pull it up. He took a breath to steady himself, then tore the base of the armoire upward, stepping back and out of the line of fire of whoever might be inside.
The two policemen stiffened and snapped commands at someone in the hidden compartment, but their tones rapidly softened. They knew whom they were looking for, they’d seen pictures of Nisha Bhandari, Gregor Freed, and Amy Dreiss.
The officers let their weapons fall to their sides, their voices soft now, almost cooing with sympathy.
Hugo’s heart leapt, days of fear and anxiety evaporating into pure joy. Tears pricked his eyes as he stepped forward knowing that they’d done it, they’d found Amy, and they’d found her alive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Hugo stopped the stretcher just as they were about to load it into the ambulance. He’d caught a glimpse of Amy as they’d taken her out of the armoire, but he had been shooed back by the paramedics trying to treat her, and then shuffled out of the container entirely by the crime-scene techs there to collect evidence and photograph its interior.
Now, Amy lay on her back, with a red blanket covering her body and only her head visible. Her skin was like alabaster, stretched tight over her chin and cheek bones, giving her a fragility that made Hugo shake with sadness and anger. But when her eyes focused on his, there was still that spark in them, the glint of mischief that a little girl had carried with her into womanhood. He took her hand, a frail little bird that fluttered in his when he touched it.
“Hugo,” she said. Her voice cracked but she managed a weak smile. “I knew you’d find me. I just knew it.”
“I had a lot of help,” Hugo said, swallowing a lump
in his throat. “From a strong girl and her old friend, Asterix the Gaul. Now you rest, and I’ll come see you at the hospital a little later.”
“Is my dad here?”
“Yes. I’ll bring him with me, he’s been worried.”
“Is he OK?”
“He will be,” Hugo smiled. The truth was that Denum had not been doing well. After receiving treatment in the hospital, he’d been returned to his jail cell a broken man. No arguing, no pleading, just a pale, withdrawn shadow of himself. Hugo gave her hand the tiniest of squeezes. “You better believe he will be now.”
“I’m sorry. This is all my—”
“Hush,” said Hugo. “None of this is your fault. Not one bit of it.”
“Did you catch her?”
“Not yet. Do you know where she might be?”
“No.” Tears filled Amy’s eyes, and she squeezed his hand. “She’s evil, Hugo. I don’t think I was the only one, so you have to find her.”
“I know, sweet girl. I know. And I promise, I will.”
“Yes. Of course.” She held his eye for a moment, then relaxed her grip, settling into the thin mattress. Heavy eyes blinked with exhaustion, and she let out a long breath.
“Gracias,” Hugo said to the paramedics, stepping back so they could load her into the ambulance. Two of the armed response team climbed in with her, as much for Hugo’s comfort as for necessity but, as Hugo had learned over the years, you can never be too careful.
He stood there and watched as the ambulance left, its lights flickering on and its siren beginning a slow wail as it headed toward the main exit. Hugo turned and walked over to Chief Inspector Garcia. He sat in the passenger seat of a police van, his legs dangling out sideways as he talked on his phone. In the back of the van, Gregor Freed sat chained to a bench, his broad shoulders sagging, his head down.
Garcia nodded to Hugo, said a few more words, and hung up. “She’s going to be fine, sí?” he said.
“Sí,” Hugo said. “She’s a tough one.”
“Ay, she had to be.” He held up his phone. “I was just talking to the prosecutor. They won’t be filing any charges against Bart Denum.”
“Thank you, he’ll appreciate that very much. As do I.”
“He did it for the girl, not you two,” Garcia said. “No need to further traumatize her.” He hesitated. “And, as you said before, I couldn’t promise that I wouldn’t have lost my head too, in the same circumstances.”
“Well, whatever the reason, we all appreciate it.” Hugo nodded toward the back of the van. “Is he talking?”
“No, won’t say a word.”
“We need to find Nisha Bhandari,” Hugo said. “Amy was our first priority, but now she’s safe, we have to do everything we can to find that woman. I’m sure there were other girls; Amy wasn’t the first. If we get Bhandari, maybe we can trace them and bring them home.”
“I told Freed that, said he could help himself if we’re able to recover anyone else.” Garcia shook his head in frustration. “He didn’t seem to care.”
“Doesn’t surprise me, any help he gives us essentially confirms his guilt.”
“We have the airports and train stations locked on alert for her, as best we can. Her car is being watched, and I don’t think she can rent one without us knowing.”
“She may have already left.” Hugo eyed the docks. “A lot of boats coming and going. Once she’s on the dock it can’t be too hard to stowaway on one.”
“Good thinking, I’ll contact the port authority and have them start a search.”
Hugo frowned. “Although . . .”
“What?”
“That’s a little unplanned for her, isn’t it?”
“Not if she had the boat already picked out.”
“In which case it’d be the same one the container was going on, because she’d know about it, know where it was going, how long it’d take, and have someone on the other end to meet her.”
“Her brother.”
“Precisely. And if we found the container, we’d start looking everywhere else but the docks for her—train stations, airports.”
“She’s very smart, that one,” Garcia said. “Suggestions?”
“Have the ship searched, top to bottom. Use dogs, thermal imaging, whatever it takes.”
“Bueno.” He punched numbers into his phone and gave rapid commands in Spanish. When he hung up, he said to Hugo, “What do we do in the meantime?”
Hugo looked at the ground, frowning. “Give them what they want, but have a backup just in case.”
“What?”
“She was talking about her business, what made it successful. She said you give the clients what they think they want, but you have to have something special on stand-by just in case.” Hugo looked up at Garcia. “She said the backup was as much for her as for the client, to save her neck when things were looking bad.”
Garcia raised his arms by his sides. “I don’t understand.”
Hugo pointed to Freed. “Is the van locked?”
“He can’t get out, don’t worry.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Hugo said. “I want to know if I can get in.”
Hugo stepped into the rear of the van and pulled the door closed behind him. Chief Inspector Garcia’s face peered in at them through one of the two square windows, brow knitted with worry. The stench of sweat and urine filled the small space, but the man shackled to the bench didn’t seem to notice and seemed barely to care that Hugo was there. Gregor Freed sat with his elbows on his knees, his head drooped, his eyes fixed on the dirty floor.
“Mind if I sit down?” Hugo asked.
Freed grunted but didn’t move.
“Thanks. I have one question for you,” Hugo said mildly. “And don’t worry, it’s not about you or your little business. I’ll leave the cops to handle that.” He paused, but Freed gave no acknowledgement that he’d heard. “I’m interested in your friend, Nisha Bhandari. Nice scheme, to leave you stuffed in a can like so much tuna while she makes her getaway.”
Freed’s head shifted, just an inch, but enough to let Hugo know he was listening. And interested. Hugo continued as if he’d not noticed. “I mean, I know she’s coldhearted, but leaving you as the decoy, as bait even. What are you, Gregor, some goat tethered to a stake for us to find and chew up?”
Freed turned his head and threw a hard stare at Hugo, but something in the man’s eyes wavered, an uncertainty settling in, a seed of doubt nestling into soft earth. Hugo gave him a sympathetic smile and kept talking. “The police have locked down the airport, are watching the train stations, and patrols will be all over the main roads. If I were you, I’d be pretty mad at being duped like that, sucking up all our time and attention so that she can fly away into the sunset.”
Freed snorted and shook his head.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” said Hugo. “She’s literally flying away and leaving you to rot in a tin can on the ocean. And now, Gregor, you get to move from that tin can to another one, a jail cell. Could be there for the rest of your life, too.”
Freed shuffled his feet. “In that case, why should I tell you anything?”
“Because I can help you. I don’t want much, just one little thing, and in exchange you have my word I’ll tell the chief inspector that you cooperated.” Freed gave a deep sigh but said nothing. “Not much time here, Gregor.”
Freed turned and looked at Hugo. “I used to be a footballer, did you know that?”
“No, and right now I’m not very interested in your life story.”
“I was good, quick feet. They used to say I was like that guy on the Flintstones when I ran. But I wasn’t quite good enough, and I liked to eat. Got to be, some of the time I would dance past the defenders and some of the time I’d fall flat on my face. Ach, I think I fell flat on my face again.”
“Listen to me.” Hugo leaned closer, his teeth clenched. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me getting my hands on the woman who kidnapped one of the most pr
ecious people in my life. Which means that either you help me, and help yourself in the process, or you can sit there feeling sorry for yourself, stinking of piss, and telling me stories that waste my time. You do the former, I will do what I can for you; but if you don’t, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you spend every single day of the rest of your life in prison.”
Freed stared at the floor again. “Fine. You said you had one question? You might as well ask. I will help if I can.”
“Which airport is she flying out of?”
“I don’t understand. You said you had the airport covered.”
“You taught her to fly, and right now I’m guessing she’s very grateful.”
“Wait, you think . . . she’s taken my plane?”
“That’s exactly what I think. Where do you keep it?” Freed stared at Hugo as his cohort’s plan sank in, but Hugo didn’t have time to waste. “There are dozens of airfields and airports within a hundred miles of Barcelona. If you keep stalling, she’ll be up and away—we may never catch her. She’ll sell your plane for a few thousand in cash and you’ll be here, with us.”
“Saucedo Airport, it’s about sixty kilometers away.”
“Thank you.” Hugo pulled out his phone and opened the Notes application. “When did you last fly it?”
“Me? About two weeks ago. Why?”
“Just wondered. What kind of plane is it? What markings?”
“It’s a Piper PA-44-180 Seminole. Registration is EC-FLP.”
Hugo tapped in the information as Freed spoke. When he’d finished, Hugo opened the van doors and stepped out to a waiting Garcia.
“You need to get on to the Saucedo Airport right now. Have them ground a Piper PA-44-180 Seminole, registration EC-FLP.”
Garcia stepped away and made the call, pacing as he moved up the chain of command. After a moment, he barked a question and strode over to Hugo as he listened to the reply.
“Gracias,” he said. He covered the phone’s mouthpiece and spoke to Hugo. “The plane’s there, but they don’t have security, there’s not much they can do except deny permission to take off.”