Child With No Name

by Franklin Horton

  By the time the vehicle came to a stop, an armed team was swarming around it. The driver's door was yanked open and Karen's dead body was pulled to the ground. Other men went to work, gently removing the children from the vehicle while another carefully extended an arm into the bloodstained compartment and killed the engine.

  Baxter's chopper crossed the overpass and set down in the median. Word came over his radio before he'd even exited the aircraft. "Female subject is dead. I repeat, female subject is dead. All hostages are safe."

  60

  Abingdon, Virginia

  In the ensuing hours the clinic at Glade Spring, Virginia, was closed while investigators from the FBI and the Virginia State Police combed through the records. The preliminary investigation quickly revealed that one of the receptionists kept a handwritten appointment book in the reception office, something she found easier to manage than the computerized appointment system.

  A comparison between that handwritten book and the electronic medical record immediately revealed dozens of names that had somehow been erased from the computerized system. One of the first they looked for was Tonya Terry, the body they'd recovered on the farm in North Carolina. She'd been identified by her fingerprints. She was in the handwritten book as having been seen at the clinic but was nowhere to be found in the electronic medical record.

  When the list of erased patients was finalized, the Department of Social Services and an investigator would be visiting each of those individuals to determine if they'd been approached by clinic staff about selling their children. It was anticipated that many had actually gone as far as to go through with the transaction.

  Another team was combing through Karen's house, her finances, and her phone records. At DKI, Kel had turned over her initial research into the background of the clinic ownership to FBI forensic accounting specialists and they were working together to sort through the tangled structure. They already knew there were dozens of clinics under this corporate umbrella. No one had any idea how many children those clinics might have purchased over the years. Then there was the tangential relationship with the farms and the way that tied into the movement of undocumented immigrants and trafficked individuals. It was a complicated web of cash, flesh, and human suffering.

  Later that evening, a meeting was held in the federal courthouse in Abingdon. Ty was present in person, as were Lieutenant Whitt and Agent Baxter. Thumbnail video images on a massive monitor represented other participating agencies. Cliff and Kel were representing DKI. Other stern-looking faces represented various FBI divisions, the US Marshal Service, and US Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

  Agent Baxter began things on a serious note. "Before we get started, I'd like to mention that I intend to recommend former deputy Raylene Kidd for an award for valor. She made the ultimate sacrifice. You might also say a prayer for her children. They're with their father now but they've got a long road ahead of them."

  Each entity then gave an update on their part of the investigation, from the nationwide effort to the individual crime scene level. Those active crime scenes included the farm in North Carolina, the clinic in Glade Spring, Karen's house in Abingdon, and the scene on Interstate 40 where Karen had been killed.

  "So what ties all this bullshit together?" Detective Adams asked. "Who's at the top of this ladder?" He was from the US Marshal Service's IOD, or Investigative Operations Division.

  When no one spoke up, Kel interjected. With her colorful hair and piercings, she stood in sharp contrast to the buttoned-down agents on the screen. They were used to seeing people like her in the tech divisions of their various bureaus. If you wanted good "geeks", you had to accept that they might be colorful. "I pulled up something interesting today. The CEO of the company that owns the clinics speaks at every ribbon-cutting when they open a new one. His name is supposedly Allen Harden."

  "Supposedly?" Whitt asked.

  "Yes," Kel replied. "Take a look at these pictures from openings around the country." Kel clicked her mouse to share her desktop with the group. As she named off the locations, she clicked through various images taken from news services.

  "That's a totally different guy," Adams said. "Dark hair, similar build, but the faces aren't even close."

  "That's because they're all actors," Kel said. Her desktop disappeared from the screen and the sea of faces returned. "When I do an image search on those faces, they're all linked to different talent agencies around the countries. These are all actors who hire out for local commercials or as extras in films."

  Baxter shook his head in frustration. "Then who the hell is responsible for this mess? The lady we killed today was taking these kids somewhere. She had to be part of a larger network. Where was she taking them? Do we even know that?"

  "We're analyzing her phone currently," an FBI tech said. "One of the numbers tracked back to the man who ran the farm in North Carolina. She also called a number while she was driving, but the ownership of that cellular number is part of this same convoluted corporate mess that we're trying to untangle now. We can't tell you who was on the other end."

  "Also, whoever was on the other end was running a piece of tech to obscure geolocation of the device,” Kel informed them. “We're certain it was in the Mobile, Alabama, area but we've been unable to get more specific than that."

  "Who can get tech like that?" asked Adams.

  "People with deep pockets," Cliff stated. "And there's plenty of them in this world. These people have no shortage of cash. At the upper levels of this industry, they can afford anything they want. They'd have access to the same gear as armies and governments."

  While they were processing this, Agent Baxter's phone rang. He glanced at the screen and frowned. "I need to take this," he said, getting to his feet and stepping out of the room.

  When Baxter returned a few minutes later, the group was discussing the disposition of the prisoners found at the North Carolina farm, some of whom were American children purchased from their parents. Others had been brought north from Central America. Cliff was talking about his latest trip to Guatemala, where children were often purchased by folks planning the trip north to the US. Many had the misguided impression that having a child with them would expedite their request for asylum so they bought one for the trip, same as a person might pick up a new piece of luggage. It was disturbing and terrifying information.

  Baxter didn't retake his seat. "We need to shut this meeting down for now. I need to clear the room. I've been told I need to provide a briefing to some beltway folks, but they won't tell me who."

  There were curious looks around the room.

  Baxter shrugged. "I have no answers, but hopefully I'll have some soon. I'm ending the call so I can clear the room now. Ladies and gentlemen, you have a good evening." He touched his laptop screen and the monitor at the head of the room went black.

  "What the hell is going on, Baxter?" Lieutenant Whitt asked, hoping that she might get more of an answer now that the audience was smaller.

  Baxter looked at the floor and shook his head. "Beats the hell out of me. All I know is I got a call from someone at the Bureau I've never spoken to before. Someone so high up the ladder they're prone to nosebleeds. She told me that I needed to be available for a briefing with intelligence in five minutes."

  "Intelligence?" Ty asked. "As in the CIA?"

  "No idea," Baxter replied. "And this is just between us, Ty. It could be anyone in the intelligence apparatus, not just the CIA. I won't know until the conference call and I may not even know then. I need you guys to go so I can get set up."

  Ty got to his feet, shook Baxter's hand, and headed for the door. A second later, Whitt was on his heels.

  "Buy you a drink, Ty?"

  Ty raised an eyebrow at her. "This some kind of pickup line?"

  Whitt barked a surprised laugh. "Ty Stone I'm twenty years your senior!"

  "Just joking," Ty said.

  "Besides, I'd probably lay a hurting on you," Whitt cracked.

  This
time it was Ty who laughed.

  "What?" she joked. "I may be older than you but I'm not dead!"

  They left their vehicles at the courthouse and walked to a barbecue joint on Main Street that had a nice bar. The place was lively this time of evening, the smell of smoked meat filling the building and rolling down the street. Lieutenant Whitt bought the first round and insisted on picking the drink, a Jameson on ice for each of them.

  "So, I may be moving to Arizona," Ty announced while they were waiting on their pour.

  Whitt's eyes went wide and she bobbed her head. "Well, that's kind of a surprise."

  Ty shrugged. "After I left the service, I came here because I had to go somewhere. My sister had just divorced and I saw this as an opportunity to help her out. Connecting with Aiden, her daughter, was an unexpected surprise. I'd never been around kids before and didn't know anything about them, other than that they were small, unpredictable people."

  "Interesting description of a child," Whitt mused.

  "I don't see much of a choice. I'm still struggling with my symptoms and my relationship with DKI is the only thing that's helped stabilize me. Cliff wants me to be part of the organization, but he's concerned that I'm still a bit..."

  "Impulsive?" Whitt suggested.

  "Yeah, I was going to use the word 'fuck-up', but your wording is nicer. He put me on probation for placing those cameras at the farm in North Carolina. He told me the only way to remain on the team was to come to Arizona, where I can work closely with my doctors and he can play a more personal role in monitoring me."

  "The boss wants to keep an eye on you, huh?"

  "That's pretty much it," Ty agreed. "And I get it. I'm a loose cannon. He can't have me running around being an embarrassment to his company."

  Whitt took a sip of the cold Irish whisky, pursing her lips as the first drink of the day announced itself. "You're enthusiastic, Ty, and you care. Those are qualities that can't be cultivated. The rest can be learned. I think this is a good opportunity for you and you should take it."

  Ty took a sip of his drink. He didn't drink much liquor, having learned years ago that it could sneak up on you without warning. The Jameson was smooth though. "I'm going. It's not going to be easy to leave Aiden and Deena, but it's easier than sticking around and letting them watch me go into a downward spiral. They shouldn't have to see that."

  "I don't think that's where you're headed, Ty. This is a life-changing opportunity. Even if your role at DKI isn't a permanent fit, I think this is the way forward. This step will lead to the next step."

  Whitt was into another sip when her phone dinged with a text. She pulled it out of her pocket and studied the screen. "Shit," she mumbled. "This can't be good."

  "What is it?"

  "Baxter needs me to call him." She punched his contact and he answered almost immediately. "That was fast, man. Your call done already?"

  "It was short and sweet," Baxter replied. "Basically the Deputy Director of the FBI just told me that the scope of our investigation was limited to the immediate crime scenes. We're free to investigate and arrest any locals who might have committed crimes uncovered by our investigation, but we are to immediately cease all investigations into the corporate entity and into the counselor who took Raylene's children."

  "What?" Whitt demanded.

  Baxter let out a frustrated sigh. "I was warned that our investigation could potentially compromise an ongoing CIA operation. When I questioned that, I was told that I didn't have the clearance to have those questions answered."

  "So basically we're allowed to mop up this mess and that's all? That's just great."

  "I'm too pissed to talk about it now."

  "We're down the street," Whitt offered. "Join us for a drink?"

  "Sure. I'll be there in ten minutes."

  "I'll have you one waiting. What do you want?"

  "Double bourbon. Woodford."

  Whitt looked at Ty with disgust on her face. "You get any of that?"

  "We run into a wall?"

  Whitt nodded. "Investigation has to stay local. No more poking the nest to see what flies out. We've been called off."

  Ty took another sip of his drink and stared off at the bar.

  "Aren't you pissed?" Whitt asked.

  "I'm completely pissed, but I can't say I'm surprised. Ever since the Vietnam War, you poke into the international drug trade and who do you find?"

  "Spooks or people connected to spooks. People with enough intelligence value to allow them to do whatever the hell they want to do."

  "Exactly," Ty said. "What happens if you start looking into the international arms trade?"

  "Same fucking thing," Whitt mumbled.

  "Trafficking is the third fork of the trident. I guess it only makes sense that there are intelligence assets in this business too."

  Whitt shook her head in disgust. "You'd hope there was some decency in the world. You'd think some businesses were so dirty that people wouldn't want any part of them."

  Ty laughed. "No business is too dirty for governments. They want intelligence and they don't ask questions about how they get it. Cliff has told me stories. I can't pass them on because they're not mine to tell. Think about it though—if you compromised someone in power, if you had evidence they'd had sex with someone underage—you'd own them forever. They'd do whatever you asked to hold onto their power. They'd tell you everything you wanted to know. If you buy someone off, they can always come back and demand more money. If you compromise them in this manner, you literally have them by the balls."

  61

  Cliff wasn't surprised that their investigation got shut down. He'd been down that road before. He was a positive man with boundless drive, so he continued to focus on projects where they could make headway. He didn't give up on the clinic investigation though. Even if law enforcement didn't have the ability to investigate people higher up the chain, that didn't mean DKI couldn't continue to investigate behind the scenes. Cliff wanted the intelligence because you never knew when it might come in handy. It could help them piece together some part of the puzzle of how trafficked people were moved around the globe.

  Ty made the move to Arizona and found the transition to be less traumatic than expected. Deena and Aiden came out to visit him after he got settled and they took a trip to the Grand Canyon. Ty settled into life as part of the DKI family, training on the range and at the gym on a daily basis with his DKI brothers and sisters. They worked together, trained together, and socialized together. It was like being part of the mafia, only with a nobler mission.

  Cliff encouraged Kel and Ty to work together on the investigation that had been shut down in Virginia. It wasn't their primary mission but something they fell to between other jobs. They spoke to no one about their findings, meeting with Cliff once a week in private to update him. They made substantial progress, eventually determining that the secretive CEO of the company was an elusive man named Harrison Prescott.

  Cliff made discreet inquiries to men he trusted and confirmed that Harrison did indeed have intelligence connections. He'd been caught trafficking once before and would likely have gone to prison for life if he hadn't had the ultimate bargaining chip—a library of compromising footage of some very powerful men having sex with underage girls. While some of the girls had been close to legal age, others were clearly not.

  Harrison Prescott was wealthy but his lifestyle outpaced his fortune. He lived a billionaire lifestyle on a more modest income, with most of his wealth coming from extraordinarily fortuitous real estate deals.

  "He just bought a place in Greece around the time of our investigation," Kel said. "The price he paid was only a fraction of the value, so it might be safe to assume there was some blackmail involved in the negotiation. He's been spending a lot of time there lately. We suspect he's been laying low since his clinic operation in Virginia and farm in North Carolina were exposed."

  "I'm sure his CIA handler tipped him off," Cliff said. "Probably recommended an international v
acation."

  Although Ty was disgusted with what they were turning up, he kept his mouth shut. And while there was nothing they could do about this particular situation, DKI continued doing good work. In his first few months living in Arizona, they rescued dozens of children and put several low-level traffickers behind bars. As he learned more about trafficking, Ty knew DKI's efforts were merely a temporary measure. Those low-level traffickers would soon be replaced because the upper echelons of the industry, men like Harrison Prescott, continued to go free.

  After he'd been there several months, Cliff suggested Ty take a couple of weeks to go home and visit his family. "You've been working non-stop, man. That level of commitment isn't healthy. You need balance. Go do something different for a couple of weeks and come back. If you start to fall in a hole, if the demons get pushy, call the doc."

  Ty didn't argue. For the first time in a while, there were things out there in the world that he wanted to do.

  Instead of booking a flight to Tri-Cities airport, the closest to Deena and Aiden, Ty drove to Los Angeles and booked a flight to Adnan Menderes Airport in Izmir, Turkey. It was a long flight, requiring a layover in Newark, NJ, and then another in Amsterdam. In Izmir, Ty rented a car for the one-hour drive to the coastal resort city of Cesme.

  During his flight and substantial layovers, Ty had used the internet to rent a small fishing boat from a boat rental firm. The rental cost him nearly as much as his flight. When the rental firm required he have a sailing license or be required to pay for a skipper, Ty found an online school and obtained his license that way. Two hours, six videos, and three hundred dollars took him from being a landlubber to a licensed skipper. Hopefully, no one would be watching too closely as he negotiated his way out of the port.

  Through the miracle of modern GPS navigation, it was a relatively simple procedure for a novice like Ty to navigate his way from the Icarian Sea into the Aegean. He anchored in the shallow offshore waters that night and had a dinner of fresh sea bass that he caught over the railing. He drank cold Carlsberg beer, one of the few brands he'd recognized in the Turkish market where he'd bought his supplies for the journey.