“Ian!” Amar called as he and his team hurried toward him, each carrying large duffel bags. It was a safe bet they’d brought a small arsenal of weapons with them, just as the Trident men had. The latter had an easier time of getting them into Jamaica though, after arriving in the company jet at one of the smaller airports that didn’t have a customs checkpoint. After a quick shake of hands between the two friends, Amar introduced Ian to his team as they all walked toward the exit leading to the parking lot. “What have you found out?”
During the drive to the police station, Ian filled them in on what little they had to go on so far. It was 5:30 p.m. local time. No ransom demands had been made. They still had no idea why the princess and her cousins had been taken.
Twelve and a half hours later, they were no closer to finding the women. That morning, Ian and Amar had paired up a Trident operative with a member of the royal guard. Foster and his partner were sticking with Investigator Lewis. The man was more than willing to accept their help. He didn’t want the headache that went with an international incident any more than they did. McCabe was with the crime scene investigators, who were processing the van for any evidence that may have been left behind. Morrison was over at the morgue, waiting on the autopsies of the two royal guards. Once the bullets were recovered from the bodies, he’d have the lab techs forward the images to Nathan, who would then run them through the NSA interface he still had access to after Trident had hired him away from the agency.
Without giving away any identities, the police had released a statement about the incident at the falls in time for the morning news, and Ian, Amar, and the guards had spent a few hours helping the detectives follow up on a few leads that had come in—unfortunately, none had panned out. They still didn’t know if the women had definitely boarded a plane or if the van at the airstrip had been a red herring and they’d left by boat or hadn’t left the island at all. They’d managed to track down and cross off their list four of the eight small planes that had allegedly taken off from the private airport in the two hours following the kidnapping. None of the aircraft, their pilots, or passengers had been involved in the crime. Ian wasn’t too hopeful that the remaining planes would pan out either. All it would take was a little bribe money to let one take off without filing a flight plan—an advantage not found at regulated, public airports.
Back in Tampa, Brody had returned from his honeymoon late yesterday afternoon, and he and Nathan had spent the entire night and morning scouring the Dark Web for chatter about the missing royal. They hadn’t found anything yet, but they were still at it. People went missing without a trace all the time, but the more well-known they were, the more likely evidence of their location would show up at some point.
Arriving at the police station, where everyone would be checking in, Ian parked the rented minivan. As he and Amar strode toward the building, Ian’s phone rang. Retrieving it from his pocket, he eyed the screen. Romeo.
Connecting the call, he said, “Mancini, unless it’s important, it has to wait. I’m in the middle of—”
“We’ve got a cluster-fuck, Boss-man.”
Ian pulled up short, causing the other man to slow, then stop and stare at him. “Batman?”
“He’s fine, but the mission has gone FUBAR and the objective has changed. You’re not gonna believe this, but, apparently, Princess Tahira and her two cousins have become guests of Diaz, and it’s not by choice.”
Disbelief and horror coursed through him, his body stiffening. “What!”
“That was my reaction too. Don’t ask me how it happened because I don’t know. But it gets worse. The time frame for the sale has been moved up. We have fifty-two hours before the women disappear into the wind.”
“Fuck! Hang on.” His gaze shot to Amar. “We’re headed to Argentina.”
The man gaped at him in confusion. “Argentina? Why?”
“Because we have two days before Her Highness and the others are sold as sex slaves.”
Amar’s olive skin paled. “Oh my God.”
After playing the part of a faithful cartel associate and helping unload the shipment of guns and ammo that had arrived last night, Darius had returned to his room in a cottage on the estate property. “Glenn Hamilton” was the playboy son of a wealthy businessman, portrayed by a Deimos operative. His cover had been solidly cultivated over the past several years by the black-ops agency, and the computer geeks there had easily photoshopped Darius’s image into dozens of photos and flushed them out onto the internet. In the meantime, Hamilton also had an extensive history on the Dark Web as being a wheeler and dealer in all sorts of dirty markets—drugs, guns, and human trafficking among them. As far as Diaz and his men knew, Darius had become an “acquisition manager” for several very wealthy men with perverted appetites for women, after his father had cut his monthly allowance. He’d contacted Diaz after his former supplier had been killed in a raid. With his airtight background in place, it hadn’t taken Diaz long to welcome him into his organization. While Secada had been warier than his boss, Darius had done what he could to ease the man’s suspicions. So far, it had worked.
There had been no chance to slip out of the compound unnoticed during the night, so he’d caught up on his sleep, thinking he had plenty of time before the auction to alert his teammates of Tahira’s presence. A few hours wouldn’t hurt, and he couldn’t risk any actions that were out of the ordinary and would raise suspicions. However, when he’d joined Diaz, Secada, and two cartel lieutenants for breakfast, he’d been advised that the sale date for the women had been moved up a week and all bidding parties would be made aware of the change throughout the day. At Diaz’s directive, Darius called his two “clients,” two Deimos operatives posing as men in the market for sex slaves and letting them know about the change of plans. Once that was accomplished, Darius’s main concern was letting his Trident bosses know about Tahira and her cousins. The auction would take place at the compound with the bidders arriving an hour or two before things got started to look over the “merchandise.”
A raid was planned for when the auction started, and all parties were in place. Not only did the FBI, DEA, ATF, NSA, CIA, and Deimos want to destroy the Diaz cartel, they also wanted to take down as many of their clients as possible, no matter what illegal business they were in. The problem, until recently, was the higher ups believed there was a mole in more than one of the US alphabet agencies, which was why the Trident team had quietly been brought in. With Diaz constantly moving between estates in several Central and South American countries, it had been hard to nail the guy down. They’d almost had him about ten months ago, but he’d escaped, using his wife and two kids as shields as they boarded a helicopter amid the gunfire between his men and the Deimos agents and two black-ops teams.
After breakfast, Darius had volunteered to head into town with Guillermo Torres, one of the cartel members he’d befriended, to run a few errands. One of the things they had to do was pick up the clothes Secada had ordered from a local dress shop for the women to wear the night of the auction. As usual, it hadn’t taken much to convince Torres to stop for a beer or two at the cantina. The man had the hots for the bartender and would be too busy to notice when Darius spent a few minutes in the restroom, leaving a message for Mancini, then activating the code yellow signal. His two teammates would make sure the troops would arrive early for the raid. It would be hairier than expected with Tahira thrown into the mix. No matter what, there would be a chance the women would be harmed when all hell broke loose. Darius hated the fact, but they needed as much evidence as possible to bring the cartel and its clients down for good.
Tomorrow night, he’d suggest to Torres and one or two others that they head into town for a drink after hours. By that point, the black-ops teams would’ve covertly made their way into the area. At the cantina, Costello would be waiting for him to hit on her after she’d gotten into a fight with her “boyfriend.” A trip to a local hostel up the street for a little nooky would be the cover for Darius
to meet with the team and quickly go over the planned raid. He just hoped like hell the op didn’t get any more fucked up, because it had already become a cluster-fuck and the clock was ticking.
6
Tahira shivered under the threadbare blanket and tried to ignore the fact she had to urinate. Their “toilet” was a foul-smelling bucket in the corner of the cell. After inspecting every inch of the prison, she finally admitted what the other women had said was true. There wasn’t any way to escape. The only time anyone had come down there was to bring them food and water, three different times. From the contents of the meals, she’d figured out that they were breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was the only evidence of what time of the day it was. At first, she and her cousins had been afraid to eat or drink anything, but the other women had all scarfed everything down, proving that nothing was drugged. Knowing they had to keep up their strength in case a moment presented itself where they could get away, Tahira had encouraged her cousins to eat. Lahana had refused at first, demanding the guards delivering the food let them go. But the younger woman’s arrogant confidence had faded as the day wore on.
They’d been given no further information on what the man in charge had been talking about, so they could only speculate, but it wasn’t too difficult to figure out. It was clear to the women that they were going to be sold into sex slavery. Why else would this many women, in their late teens and early twenties, be kidnapped and held as prisoners? Tahira couldn’t come up with anything worse than that, although, she was certain she could imagine how bad it would be. There was a good chance some, if not all, of the women would be begging for death in the near future to escape the horror that their lives will have become.
Over the past several hours, Tahira had gotten to know some of the other women—a few were too shy or traumatized to talk to her. The ones who had spoken had all been kidnapped from various places throughout the Caribbean and South and Central America. Most had been vacationing from the US and Canada, while a few had been taken from their hometowns or somewhere nearby. None of them knew where exactly they were being held, but several thought they were somewhere in the lower half of South America due to the lower temperatures and the dialect of Spanish that most of the men holding them spoke.
One of the women in the next cell had introduced herself to Tahira as Melinda Stuart, who’d been abducted from the island of Caicos, by an American man she’d met at the resort where she’d worked. Tahira had been shocked when she realized the young woman had been held captive for almost two months, based on the date she stated she’d been taken. But then several others gave their kidnapping dates—all arriving after Melinda. Although she’d been the first of this group of women—the second showing up a day or two later—Melinda believed there had been others before her based on some evidence she’d found in the cell areas. She now believed they’d been sold into sex slavery, and everyone there now were part of the next bunch to be auctioned off. Unfortunately, Tahira agreed with her—especially after what the man in charge had asked her about being a virgin.
Despite her initial shock and horror, Tahira had told him she was sorry to disappoint him, but she wasn’t a virgin. She wasn’t sure if he believed her lie or not.
Taking a seat on the floor next to Nala, Tahira leaned back against the stone wall and put her arm around the shoulders of the nineteen-year-old. She been crying softly for hours, stopping only when exhaustion had forced her to sleep, and Tahira did what she could to comfort her. A few feet away, Lahana was curled up on her side, with her blanket wrapped around her. She tilted her head back and looked up at Tahira. “What’s going to happen to us?”
“I do not know, cousin, but as God is my witness, I will do everything in my power to get us out of here. All of us.” Her gaze swept the other cages. “Or I will die trying.”
“We’re going to be raped and killed,” Nala muttered flatly.
“No!” Tahira responded. “We will get out of here. We just have to wait until a chance appears and then take it.”
The heavy door leading to the outside world opened with a clang and three men strode in—none of them were the man in charge. As always, when any of their captors showed up, most of the women cowered in the back of their cells. One of the men moved slowly along the walkway, studying the women with a cruel eye. A shiver shot through Tahira. She’d seen him with the man in charge when she’d first woken up. He’d given two other men orders about checking a delivery and killing someone if it wasn’t right. But she’d been too focused on the man with the cigar to give the other man any consideration. Now that he stopped in front of her cell, she could see his aura was darker than she’d ever seen on anyone before, and it scared the hell out of her.
His gaze met Tahira’s, holding it for a moment before shifting to Lahana. “Get up.”
Lahana’s eyes went wide. “Wh-why?”
The man unlocked the cell door and took a step inside. “Because I said so, bitch. Get. Up.”
When Lahana still hesitated, he reached down, grabbed her by her arm, and yanked her to her feet. Her cry of pain combined with Nala’s scream of terror. Tahira jumped up, lunged forward, and grasped Lahana’s other arm, trying to pull her back to safety. “Leave her alone!”
With a sneer, the man backhanded Tahira, sending her sprawling to the floor again, pain exploding in her cheek and eye. Her head spun, and nausea roiled in her stomach. Through unwelcome tears, she watched helplessly as her cousin was, literally, dragged out of the cell, crying and begging to be let go. After locking the iron door again, he forced Lahana from the prison. The other two men followed. Once the main door was relocked, a heavy silence filled the air as Lahana’s cries faded away the further she was taken.
Sobbing, Nala crawled over to Tahira. “Are—Are you okay? Where are they taking her?”
Sitting up, Tahira caught Melinda’s gaze. The blonde shook her head sadly. “I think his name is Secada—I heard one of the guards call him that—he’s second in command to Diaz, who’s the asshole with the cigar from last night. Secada has taken a few of them upstairs over the past three weeks. I get the feeling Diaz doesn’t know what he’s doing, but I’m not sure.” She nodded in the direction of several women who’d remained quiet the entire time Tahira and her cousins had been there—the ones who appeared traumatized. Melinda lowered her voice so only Tahira and Nala could hear her. “The lucky ones had enough time for whatever drugs he gave them to kick in before he raped them. The others . . . they remember most of what happened. From what a few of them said, if they don’t make him hard, that’s when he beats them.”
Tahira wasn’t so innocent that she didn’t understand what Melinda meant. Apparently, the man had some impotency issues and blamed it on the women. Wrapping her arms around Nala, Tahira prayed for Lahana. It was all she could do, and she never felt as terrified in her life as she did at that moment.
7
Lindsey sipped her glass of beer—her first at the cantina, but as far as everyone could figure out, she’d had plenty more before she and Val had gotten there. Her partner appeared just as plastered, if not more. When he wasn’t nuzzling her neck and making her giggle, his droopy gaze had been roaming, landing on several woman in the bar. With his good looks and flirtatious wink, he’d garnered plenty of female attention. Since his upcoming fight needed to be with Lindsey, he was wisely avoiding the women who obviously had a green-eyed significant other with them. Someone in a jealous rage was not what they needed tonight—except Lindsey, of course.
Darius and his cartel cohorts had shown up a little while ago. The plan was for Lindsey and Val to wait about a half hour before getting into an argument. Val would storm out, leaving her behind for Darius to hit on. In her “inebriated” state, it wouldn’t look strange for her to leave with him after another fifteen or twenty minutes, getting back at her dog of a “boyfriend.”
After checking an incoming text on his cell phone, Val drunkenly swayed in close to Lindsey and whispered in her ear, “Everything’s al
l set. Whenever you’re ready, kick my sorry ass to the curb.”
“What!” she shrieked, in indignation, shoving him and making him stumble back a few steps. “Who the fuck is Brenda, you cheating son of a bitch?” Grabbing her half-full glass, she tossed the beer at him.
Pretending to be shocked, Val dried his face with his shirt sleeve and slurred, “Babe, w-what the fff-uck?”
“You just called me Brenda, you asshole! Who is she? Another one of your fucking whores?” She threw a basket of tortilla chips at his head, but he managed to duck, and it landed on the floor behind him.
They argued back and forth, with her throwing a few more things at him, while the bartender and patrons looked on in amusement. Lindsey was careful enough to keep things directed at Val and not anyone else. She didn’t want to get kicked out of the bar.
After another round of cursing at him, Lindsey sent an off-balance kick at Val’s crotch that he easily blocked. Finally, she huffed and pushed her dark hair, which was now in disarray, away from her face. “That’s it! You know what? I’m fucking done with you.”
A sneer spread across his face as he swayed on his feet. “That’s fine with me. You’re nothing but a fucking bitch, you know that? Find your own way back to the US—I’m getting out of this fucking piss-hole.” Turning, he stumbled and weaved out the door, disappearing into the night.
With calm and order now restored, the rest of the bar went back to their own conversations while still sending amused looks in her direction. Taking her seat again, Lindsey slapped the bar top and let her inner bitch, which she only let out every once in a while, continue her ranting. “Can I get another beer, here?” When the bartender ignored her, Lindsey snapped her fingers a few times. “Hey! Hey, you! Cerveza! Do you understand me?”
Forty Days & One Knight: Trident Security Omega Team Book 2 Page 4