Fatal Secrets f-2

by Allison Brennan

  “Yes, boss. I told them. They’ll be here at midnight.”

  “It’s nearly midnight. They’d better be on time.”

  Trace Anderson drove up the mountain with lights flashing and no siren, half a dozen deputies following. He urged the driver to go as fast as possible. They slowed a fraction to round a ninety-degree turn and saw taillights in the distance. He didn’t like the look of the black truck in front of them.

  “Catch up with them,” he told the driver.

  As they approached, the truck lurched forward as the driver pushed on the gas.

  “It’s a suicide run to go up this mountain at that speed,” the deputy told Trace.

  “Just keep up as best you can without driving off the edge.”

  “O-kay.” The deputy pressed down on the accelerator again, then radioed in the license on the fleeing vehicle.

  Trace sent Sonia a text message.

  Suspicious black full-size truck plates 5EET608 refuses to pull over. In pursuit. Stand by.

  Dean shined his light around the mine. Sheffield had provided them with hardhats and lights and Dean turned his on. The others followed suit. Cammarata approached the elevator cautiously.

  “You know how to work that thing?” Dean asked.

  “Yeah, but I want to check it out. Something feels … off.”

  “What?”

  “No guards for one. You don’t leave your prized possessions in the open.”

  Lawson said, “I hardly call this the open.”

  Dean agreed, but this was still an area he wasn’t an expert in. He’d worked the field enough, but in white-collar crimes it was pretty cut-and-dried. Some resisted arrest and Dean dealt with each situation as it arose. This mine reminded him of his military tour, and that was a long time ago.

  He didn’t want to rely on Charlie Cammarata, but right now he didn’t have much choice.

  While Cammarata inspected the elevator, Dean shined his light around the entrance. There were several dark holes cut into the mountainside. One had a bright neon X painted on the side. Underneath was written: 200+ ft drop.

  The other tunnels didn’t have marks on them, but Dean wasn’t about to test them. He just wanted to go down, get the women-if they were, in fact, here-and leave. They’d stake out the place for a couple days, hoping Marchand would show up.

  “God-fucking-dammit!” Cammarata exclaimed.

  “What?”

  “It’s rigged.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The bastard has another way in. This is a false bottom. If we step in it and start moving, the bottom would give way and wham! We smack down a hundred feet below. The actual elevator must be down in the room.”

  “How do we get it up?”

  “Find the other way down.”

  “Sheffield didn’t say anything about another way.”

  “There’s always another way.”

  “We need to ask him.”

  “We have the blueprints. We’re wasting time!”

  “We’re being smart,” Dean said. “No rash moves. I’m not jeopardizing my team until I’m confident it’s as safe as possible.”

  Cammarata glared at him. “I’ve worked in mines before. Undercover. There’s another way down.” He held out his hand and motioned toward the blueprints that Dean had folded and put inside his flak jacket.

  If he was going to trust Cammarata about the elevator trap, then he would have to trust that he knew what he was doing in the mine. Dean handed him the blueprints.

  Cammarata spread it out between them. He put his finger on the elevator, turned the map to face the same direction they were facing, and traced a line to one of the tunnels. He looked up.

  Dean followed his gaze.

  It was the tunnel with the two-hundred-foot drop.

  “That’s a red herring,” Cammarata said.

  “You’re not going down there.”

  “Yes I am.”

  “No.”

  “It’s the only way. Look, the inspectors haven’t been out in years. These blueprints don’t have that marking. I’ll bet Christopoulis or Marchand himself painted it.”

  “No,” Dean said. “I can’t risk my men on a hunch.”

  “I’m not your man.”

  Cammarata started for the tunnel.

  Dean grabbed him and pushed him hard against the rock wall. Dirt crumbled onto their heads. “This is why you lost your job. You put people in jeopardy.”

  Cammarata attempted to punch Dean. Dean countered, grabbed his fist, and spun him around, holding his arm high behind his back in a deadlock. He growled, “Don’t try it.”

  “You’re in love with her,” Cammarata spat.

  “Don’t talk about her. Don’t even think about her.”

  “The elevator is in the room. The only way to get it up here is from the room. The crank up here is booby-trapped. Therefore, the staircase is safe. I’m willing to risk my life. I’m not asking you to risk yours. I go down, verify the women are there, and bring the elevator up, thereby disabling the trap.”

  “Why not bring the women up the staircase?” One of the SWAT guys said.

  “We may be able to, but we don’t know what condition they’re in until we get down there,” Dean said.

  Cammarata nodded. “They’ve been through hell, Hooper. Let me do this.”

  Dean let go of his arm. “I’ll go with you.”

  “It’s not necessary-”

  Dean interrupted. “The rule is, no one goes alone. Including a bastard like you.”

  Dean told the others, “Be alert.” He turned to Cammarata. “Lead the way.”

  Without hesitating, he turned and started down the marked path.

  Dean followed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “Did you hear that?” Sonia whispered to Agent Clinch.

  It had been only ten minutes since Dean and the others had descended the mine, but each minute felt like an hour, and Sonia caught herself beginning to pace a half dozen times.

  “You mean your feet crunching the dry pine needles?”

  She froze. Listened. Nothing.

  Sheffield stood right next to her among the trees near the entrance of the mine. “What did you hear?” he whispered in her ear.

  “A car door shut.”

  “It was from the mine. The elevator.”

  Maybe, but Sonia was poised. Every hair on her skin rose, and she sensed someone else in the woods.

  “Shh.” She closed her eyes and listened.

  First, her own breathing. She internalized the sound, put it aside. Then Clinch’s slow, steady, calm breaths. Dr. Sheffield’s faster intakes, sounding a bit winded. Or scared.

  Then the far distant sound of helicopter blades slowing down.

  A hoot of an owl. An answer in return.

  The scurrying of a rodent in the leaves.

  She internalized all the sounds and focused her mind and senses on one: listening.

  “Two people are approaching from the east,” she whispered.

  Clinch put his ear to the ground. “It’s from the west. Callahan and the others.”

  She shook her head, removed her gun from its holster, and flicked off the safety. She put her fingers to her lips. “They’re coming from the east, and it’s not Callahan. Trust me.”

  Clinch was skeptical, but unholstered his gun as well.

  “Slow down, Cammarata.”

  “It’s Charlie.”

  Dean had no intention of being friends with Cammarata. They continued slowly another twenty or so feet down the mine in complete silence. The staircase had been cut out of the earth, with wood planks laid loosely, so old they cracked and splintered under their weight. As they descended, the air cooled and the hard-packed earthen walls seemed damp to the touch. The sound of distant running water echoed through the shaft, which was disconcerting considering they were at least fifty feet below the surface.

  “You’re taking care of her, right?” Cammarata asked.

  He wasn’t go
ing to talk about Sonia with this man.

  “I was never good enough for her,” Cammarata continued.

  “Where are you going with this?”

  “Just making small talk.”

  “Bullshit.” Dean refused to be sucked into whatever game he was playing.

  “I’ve always loved her, you know.”

  Dean’s jaw clenched. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

  “I want her to be happy.” The light bobbing from atop their hard hats cast shadows all around, showing darker tunnels leading off this main staircase. They turned again, down, and one tunnel to the left was marked with an orange neon X. Inside, Dean saw a large mound of earth sealing part of the opening.

  Dean remembered a mission to rescue a trapped caravan in Kuwait. They’d occupied an abandoned bunker while fending off the enemy. When he and his unit went in, all they found were the dead.

  “Hooper?”

  “Shut up, Charlie.” He was getting on Dean’s last nerve. If he thought “I’m sorry” would fix everything, he was an idiot.

  “Tell her I was wrong.”

  “She knows that.”

  “She doesn’t know I know it.”

  “Sonia’s moved on. Leave her alone.”

  “I want her forgiveness.” Charlie’s words were barely audible.

  Dean paused in his step, wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “She asked me to drop the charges against you. Said your word meant something. She also insisted that even though you fuck up often, your instincts are good and we needed your help. But how can you expect her to forgive what you did to her?”

  They descended ten more steps. Slowly, methodically, testing each landing.

  Dean said, “I think you’re in this because you care about the victims. I think you’ll do anything to save the helpless. Including sacrificing your partner, your friends, the people who trust you. You justify it because they’re trained, they know what to do or who to call. So you feel comfortable leaving them to fend for themselves because if they fail, it’s not your fault. Except you lied to Sonia.”

  “I never lied to her.”

  “What the fuck do you call it, Cammarata? She didn’t agree to be sold to a pervert. She didn’t agree to be on her own in that room. She thought you were there.”

  “I never told her that.”

  It was all Dean could do not to push him down the rest of the stairs.

  “Lies by omission are still lies. She had every reason to believe you were her backup.”

  Silence.

  “I know.”

  Dean barely heard him.

  Cammarata continued. “I haven’t slept through the night since I found out Sonia nearly died.”

  “You lied to your superiors.”

  “Only after I knew she was okay.”

  “You wanted her to look like an idiot, a failure, and you to look like a hero. Screw that. You’re a prick, you’ll always be a prick. I don’t like you. I don’t want to get to know you or listen to your apologies or excuses. Sonia is who she is in spite of your influence. When this is over, never contact her again. If you do, I’ll arrest you.”

  “For what?” he chortled.

  “I’m sure you’ve committed plenty of crimes that have no statute of limitations.”

  Dean paused. Scrape. “Did you hear that?”

  “Rats?”

  “Listen.”

  Scrape, scrape.

  A female voice. Dean didn’t understand the faint plea. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him. They’d found the girls.

  Charlie said, “It’s Chinese. Xiang. I think she said, ‘Ming is dying. Help Ming.’”

  “Let’s go.”

  Sonia saw the men emerge from the east, at first two shadows in the filtered moonlight.

  They grew distinct. One tall and dark. The other shorter, five ten, lighter hair. Pale.

  Sergio Martin. Pierre Devereaux. Noel Marchand. She wondered if any were his real name.

  She swallowed thickly, put her finger up for Sheffield and Clinch to remain quiet. She motioned for Clinch to silently alert Callahan and his team to hurry. She sank down behind a tree and watched.

  The two killers paused on the edge of the woods, the trees obscuring them. Were they listening? Watching?

  Sonia never thought she’d see her father again. She’d never wanted to. She hated everything about him, about her childhood and the lies. But he’d still raised her. She’d followed him from village to village. Why did he play the role of a missionary? Of someone who helps others? Was that all a lie, too? A front?

  A gasp caught in her throat as she realized they’d never returned to a village. Why? Because he’d committed atrocities? How many girls had he sold without her knowing?

  The men in the shadows moved through the trees. Toward the mine.

  Dean was in there. She had to warn him. But how? How without being heard?

  Dean was a Marine. Though the military no longer used Morse code, they’d used it when Dean was enlisted.

  She tapped her walkie-talkie.

  Danger. Two men approaching. Danger. Two men approaching.

  She heard nothing in response. No Morse code, no voices, nothing.

  “They’ll be ambushed,” she whispered to Clinch, itching to go into the mine and warn them.

  Clinch put his hand on her shoulder. “Stay,” he whispered.

  The men stepped out of the trees and scurried into the mine. They had guns in hand.

  Dean.

  Sonia rose to her feet, rock in hand. She threw it as hard as she could toward the mine. It hit the wall with a thump. Fell to the ground. So did Sonia. Waiting. Waiting.

  One of the men emerged.

  Her father.

  He looked in her direction. God, did he see her?

  Then he turned back toward the mine. She heard his voice, “It’s nothing. Animals.”

  No!

  She jumped up and fired her gun, aiming into the high branches of the pine trees. Snap. A branch split.

  “Shit!” she heard from the mine.

  The two men emerged and hunkered down behind a stack of old lumber outside the mineshaft entrance.

  They were at a standstill. Sonia whispered to Clinch, “Get Callahan and the others.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Dammit, we need them now!”

  “Believe me, they heard your gun. They’re on their way.”

  Dean stopped walking. “Did you hear something?”

  “No.” Cammarata stopped and shined his light on the door. “This is it. It’s padlocked.” He knocked on the door and spoke in Chinese. The women inside started shouting and crying.

  “Can you tell them we’re here to help? They need to quiet down,” Dean said.

  “They’re scared.”

  “They’re going to be dead if Marchand is here. I need to listen.”

  His walkie-talkie was making noise, but with the noise in the room he couldn’t hear it.

  Danger.

  Someone was alerting him to danger. Was someone approaching the mine? Or was it the mine itself that was the danger?

  “Charlie, someone’s coming.”

  Charlie spoke firmly in Xiang through the door. The cries didn’t stop, but they quieted a bit.

  “We have to get them out. Several are sick. They need water. Shoot the lock.”

  “Wait. There’s danger. Someone upside is trying to reach me using Morse code.”

  A faint echo hung in the air.

  “That was a gunshot,” Dean said.

  “We have to get them out. Now.”

  Dean didn’t have a choice. He shot the lock.

  They were at a standstill, the two killers behind the trees. Sonia inched closer, staying under cover.

  The darker man made a run for the entrance only five feet away, then fired his gun in Sonia’s general direction while Marchand followed.

  “They’re going back in!” Sonia exclaimed. “Dammit, Dean is in
there.”

  “And he gave us explicit orders-”

  “To watch the entrance. Not to let that bastard breach it! How far away is Callahan?”

  Sonia couldn’t wait for the answer.

  She slid out of hiding. “Marchand!” she shouted. “Dammit, you motherfucking bastard, show yourself!”

  Silence.

  Then her father stepped out from the mine. She wanted to shoot him right then. Be done with him and the misery he caused.

  “Sonia. I somehow knew you were here.”

  “Sergio Martin, aka Noel Marchand, aka Pierre Devereaux and any other damn identity you use-you’re under arrest.”

  He laughed. Her finger itched to pull the trigger. But she couldn’t kill him in cold blood.

  “Put your hands up!” she shouted. He laughed and dove behind a tree. But at least he was away from the mine. Away from Dean and the others.

  She stood, obscured by brush, listening to the moving laughter. Where was the second man?

  “Clinch, number two, where did he go?”

  A volley of gunfire came from the mine.

  Boom!

  The ground shook, but Sonia stayed on her feet. “Shit, Clinch, that was an explosion.”

  Before Clinch could respond, the entrance crumbled, the sound of the collapse tearing at Sonia’s heart. Dean. No, no, this couldn’t end in death. She couldn’t lose the victims. She couldn’t lose the man she loved.

  In the woods behind her, the laughter continued. “Are you going to try to save them? Please do. I’ll find you, Sonia. Next week. Next year. I will kill you after I kill everyone you care about. And I will enjoy every minute watching you suffer.”

  Sonia inched toward the voice, which was too close. “Don’t.” Clinch put his hand on her arm. But he didn’t understand. No one did.

  The ceiling began to cave in around Dean, and the women inside the room screamed. Cammarata pushed open the old door and spoke rapidly in Chinese. He pushed past them, and a chunk of granite slid loose and blocked part of the doorway behind him. The smell of rotting food and feces clogged his nose and lungs.

  “You’d better be able to get that elevator running, because I don’t think we should go back up the stairs.”