Then the chase got even less interesting. The man started to slow drastically, and by the time I was a dozen yards behind him, he was leaning over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air.
Before I could say anything to him, he vomited onto the grass. That made me jump back. I can put up with a lot of unpleasant things; I’d seen more nastiness in my few years working in Miami than most people see in a lifetime. But vomit always made me gag and want to vomit myself.
I did a moonwalk away from the man. He was downwind so I didn’t smell it, but the second time he heaved, I almost lost my lunch.
Then the man looked up at me and said in a Dutch accent, “I can’t believe you guys figured out what I was doing.”
I just shrugged. “It’s my job.” I needed someone to see me as superior today.
The man started to ramble about how he’d gathered the birds over several months during a trip to the western coast of Africa. He had an agreement with the captain and first mate to split the money. That’s how he’d been able to get back and forth to the container so easily. “We needed a big payday here in America,” he said. “I already spoke to a pet-store owner in Miami and one in West Palm Beach. Between them, I was going to be able to sell almost my entire shipment.” The man sounded wistful and depressed. I let him talk. I hadn’t placed him under arrest, and these were voluntary statements. Although I kind of wished he’d shut up.
A few minutes later, an SUV with two U.S. Customs agents rolled up next to us. I identified myself, explained the situation, and told them about the man’s confession. The older agent, a tubby man about fifty, said, “We appreciate getting good cases like this, but why the hell didn’t a Miami cop working on an FBI task force call us about these concerns beforehand?”
“I was afraid it was just a wild-goose chase. Excuse the pun.”
The younger agent, a woman, said, “More like you didn’t want to share the credit for any arrest on human trafficking.”
Her partner said, “Why didn’t you follow protocol? We don’t bother you at your office.”
I looked over at the scared Dutch sailor and said, “Looks like you don’t bother people at your office either.”
U.S. Customs was not amused.
Chapter 64
AFTER ARRIVING IN Miami and checking in at the Miami Gardens Inn, Hanna and Albert rushed downtown. They spoke with several jewelers in the Seybold Building, trying to find a buyer for the diamonds that would arrive in Miami with their load of human cargo. Albert also made inquiries into where he might find a gun quickly.
They were directed to a pawnshop on Seventh Avenue near Twenty-Fifth Street, just east of the airport. Jeff’s Pawn and Gun was in a tiny strip mall with multiple vacant stores. The area looked like a ghost town.
Hanna checked the time. The sign on the shop said it was open until eight p.m. They still had half an hour.
Albert strutted into the place like he owned it. This was his area of expertise. Hanna thought it was only fair to give him some leeway in this side of their work, since he listened to her in business matters.
Albert smiled at the thin, older man behind the counter and said, “Howdy, partner. How are you this evening?”
The pawnshop clerk just stared at him over the frames of his glasses pushed to the end of his long nose. A pack of Camels sat in the front pocket of his plaid shirt. If this was Jeff, whatever money the store made was not due to the owner’s sparkling personality.
“You’re not on drugs, are you?” the man asked Albert.
Albert looked astonished and shook his head. “Just a visitor. I guess I’m a little too friendly. Sorry.”
Maybe-Jeff said, “I can deal with friendly visitors. It’s the drug addicts that traipse in and out of here all day that I have no patience with. What can I do for you?”
Albert looked into the glass case and pointed to a black semiautomatic pistol. “Could I take a look at that Beretta?”
The man retrieved the gun and racked the slide to be sure it was empty. “There’s a three-day waiting period, and you’ll have to show me ID.” He looked at Hanna, then back at Albert. “Where the hell are you from, anyway?”
Albert didn’t hesitate. “Belgium.”
“Good. You don’t look like it, but I wanted to make sure you wasn’t one of them Muslim freaks always interested in blowing something up.”
Albert chuckled and said, “Nope, not a Muslim. And anything I blew up, you would approve of.”
That comment earned a quick cackle from the older man.
Albert handled the gun briefly, checking the barrel and the breech. Then he shook his head and said, “Wish I could buy this right now. I’m afraid we’ll be on our way to Disney World in a few days. The only ID I have was issued in Europe.”
The pawnbroker said, “Yeah, even if they call it a gun-free zone, you hate to be unarmed when others are packing. More innocent people die in gun-free zones than anywhere else.”
“Guess I’ll be helpless too. Just want to protect my family.” Albert watched the man closely.
Finally, he said, “I got nothing against Belgians. I hear you’ve loved Americans since the big war. You seem to know your guns pretty well. And I hate how the government is always interfering.”
Albert muttered, “Me too.”
“I have a way to get you a gun right now, but there’s a premium.”
“How much of a premium?”
“A hundred percent of the cost of the gun.”
Albert held up the Beretta and said, “This gun?”
The pawnbroker nodded.
Albert smiled and said, “Done.”
A few minutes later, they walked out of the store with the Beretta and two boxes of ammo. Albert turned to Hanna and said, “America really is the land of opportunity.”
Chapter 65
HANNA DIDN’T WANT her brother to see the tremor in her hands. She was as nervous as she’d ever been. It was just before nine o’clock and they were sitting at a booth in a bar called Glow inside the massive Fontainebleau Hotel on Miami Beach. The luxury of the place was mind-boggling to Hanna. The bar was on an outdoor deck with a shimmering pool and view of the Atlantic. The people at the bar looked like movie stars. Every one of them, men and women, could have been a model or an actor.
From a business standpoint, it wasn’t late, but from a parenting standpoint, it was getting there; she’d told Josie and Tasi they would be back to the hotel before eleven. Hanna didn’t like breaking a promise. She tried to set a good example for her daughter.
Across from her in the booth was her Russian contact, a fit forty-year-old who looked more like a lifeguard than a gangster. He had a dyed-blue goatee that gave him an edgy vibe, but he was friendly enough. He spoke with a Russian accent, and he’d told them to call him Billy.
Albert had whispered, “Somehow I don’t think that’s his given name.”
Hanna just gave her brother a stare.
Billy had ordered a round of Mojitos, but Hanna hadn’t touched hers. She wanted to get to the meat of the conversation now that they’d gotten through the small talk.
Billy said, “I can take ten girls as long as they’re not too ugly or old. My preference is for Europeans. I can make more money with them. The downside is they tend to form relationships with customers and make some of my men jealous.” He looked at them from under his dark, thick eyebrows, but he got no response.
He added, “I might be able to take the rest off your hands, but at a discount. The cops have been bothering us recently and nothing is easy. But what I can offer should cover most of your debt to the Rostoff brothers.”
Hanna saw what Billy was doing. She had spent five years in this business and knew all the negotiating ploys. Where others had failed or been murdered by the competition, she and her brother had built a decent business. If it hadn’t been for some bad luck, she never would’ve had to borrow the money she was so desperate to pay back now.
Hanna said, “By my calculations, it will cover
the whole debt.”
Billy smiled. “Let’s get the people in first, then we’ll see where we are with money. There’s a charge for using our contact in Customs, and there are a few other fees.”
Hanna didn’t want to ask what the other fees were.
Then Billy said, “I heard you might be interested in selling some high-quality diamonds.”
That took Hanna by surprise. “How did you hear about the diamonds?”
Billy chuckled. “My dear, I speak with my partners in Amsterdam at least twice a week. If they know about it, I know about it. I also know that, late this afternoon, you visited three jewelers in the Seybold Building. Nothing remains a secret there. By tomorrow, every jeweler in the city will be interested in your diamonds. I was just hoping to beat the rush.”
“Let’s worry about dispersing my load of people first. Once that’s settled, I’ll be happy to talk about other issues.”
“Where and when does the load come in?”
This time, Albert, who had been sitting quietly next to his sister in the booth, said, “That’s not information we wish to share before they arrive. I’m sure you understand.”
Billy flexed the muscles in his jaw. He understood, and that was the problem.
Hanna took control of the conversation again. “I need to arrange transportation and housing before I can do anything else.”
Billy smiled and said, “If you want, you can call me directly as soon as they arrive. I can have transportation ready to take much of the load off your hands right away. That should keep your expenses down.”
Hanna considered the offer. It would certainly be easier if someone else arranged for vans and hotel rooms. They were also running short on cash, and with that thought, she made her decision.
Hanna reached across the table and shook Billy’s hand. “I will be calling you sometime in the next three days.”
Billy gave her a charming smile and said, “I look forward to it.”
Chapter 66
I SAT IN a conference room at the task-force offices with Marie Meijer and Steph Hall. Both of them looked fresh, while I looked like I hadn’t slept much. Because I hadn’t.
Marie’s informant in Amsterdam had said to expect the ship to dock somewhere in the Southeast sometime tomorrow, but that was all the information available. Marie said, “It comes from a well-placed informant, but they say they’re getting only bits and pieces. They pass the information on to me as soon as they get it.”
Steph shook her head and said, “That rules out undertaking any kind of rescue on the high seas, which was a long shot in the first place. But we’ve got to free those people as quickly as possible. There’s no telling what sort of conditions they’re being held in.”
That’s why I liked working with Steph Hall—she understood what was important. All the arrest stats in the world didn’t help someone who died while being trafficked.
Lorena Perez said, “I’ve been looking at some financial info we’ve gotten on Rostoff. Most of it appears legit. He donates a shitload of money to a Miami Beach councilman and charities associated with Miami Beach. He’s getting a humanitarian award there next week.”
I said, “Great. Everyone thinks he’s a prince while in reality, he ruins lives.”
Lorena said, “His main muscle, Billy the Blade, lives in Fort Lauderdale. He doesn’t owe anything on his condo or his Corvette.”
Lorena was matter-of-fact when she passed on information. She wasn’t an accountant, but she knew how to figure out relationships by following the money. She was good on surveillance too. No one suspected that a beautiful woman with big hair and perfect makeup was actually a cop.
I stood up. “I hate to say it, but it’s time I have a discussion with the boss about what we’re going to do.”
Steph said, “Good luck.”
“You’re not coming with me?”
“Oh, hell no. It’s depressing to go in there. He sucks the life out of me. If I ever get that skittish, I hope someone shoots me.”
“You’ll be lucky if someone doesn’t shoot you for other reasons long before that.”
She tried to hide it, but she laughed. That gave me the courage I needed to march into the supervisor’s office. Still, I felt like I was walking the green mile.
To me, the supervisor’s office seemed antiseptic and fake. He had certificates and newspaper articles framed and hanging on the wall. Everything had a place. There was no mess on the desk. In police work, I considered that the mark of someone who was not doing enough. I don’t care how OCD you are, if you’re busy in law enforcement, shit gets messy. Both figuratively and literally.
I stood in the doorway until the supervisor looked up from the computer screen. I always got the impression he was a little annoyed when he had to speak to someone personally instead of reading a report.
He said from his desk, “Can I help you?”
It was hardly a warm invitation, but this had to get done. I stepped into the office and sat down in the chair directly across from his desk. I quickly explained the developing situation and finished up by saying, “All we have to do is identify the right ship, then make a tactical entry. Possibly get a search warrant to go through the containers as rapidly as possible. We don’t want to risk the lives of the people being trafficked.”
I sat in awkward and uncomfortable silence while my supervisor considered everything I’d said. After almost a minute he said, “So that’s all we need to do. Just identify the right ship out of the hundreds that enter our Florida ports every day, go to a magistrate with this pile of info coming from God knows where, then risk the lives of FBI personnel as well as civilian port workers by assaulting the ship. If that’s all we have to do, then I’m thrilled with your plan.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds almost impossible.”
“How should I say it? I’m the one responsible for everyone’s safety on this task force. And everyone’s actions.”
“Are you saying we should do nothing?” I kept my voice under control. Just barely.
He shrugged. “For now, keep gathering more intel. The information coming from Holland is sketchy at best. You’re talking about using multiple agents on surveillance for several days. Plus, I’m still clearing up some of your mess from that wild-goose chase down at Port Everglades. I’ve had more than a few calls from bigwigs at Customs who say you insulted their agents and agency. Is that true?”
“Insulted or enlightened. It’s a matter of interpretation.”
The supervisor said, “The Customs agents at Port Everglades would disagree with that.”
“Sure they would. No one wants to admit that it was a Miami cop who discovered a whole container of illegal tropical birds. And that the smuggler ran halfway across port property before anyone from Customs even bothered to waddle out to a car and see what was going on.”
The supervisor said, “So you see my point. Do more background and let’s see how things shake out before we commit too many resources to this human-trafficking case. We already have the one arrest of the Dutch guy at the airport.”
The lawyer in me was ready to debate the purpose of law enforcement in general and this task force in particular. Instead, I took a shortcut.
I said, “That’s fine. No problem. I’ll just call the Miami Police. Their SWAT team has a lot more experience than the FBI’s anyway. They’ll swoop in there and grab those people. That way we won’t risk any resources from the task force.” I had to fight to keep the smug smile off my face.
After considering this for ten seconds longer than I’d thought he would, he said, “Don’t call the Miami police. I can justify this as part of the task-force activity. I was just worried because intercepting a ship can be tactically difficult. I don’t want to risk lives unnecessarily.”
“I don’t know anyone who does. I’m sure we can handle it within the task force. Some surveillance, and we’ll get a DHS agent on the case with us. Most important, we’ll make sure to get some stats for the task
force.”
I could tell by his smile that stats were his real goal.
Chapter 67
WE DECIDED TO focus on the port of Miami. It was a risk, one that was tearing at my insides. I couldn’t sleep. I barely ate. If we were wrong, there was no telling what would happen to the people on the ship.
Marie brought up an excellent point. “Hanna must have contacts in Miami, no? We know she had a contact here when she tried to smuggle the children through the airport. I have a stomach feeling she’ll do it again.”
“Gut feeling,” I said.
“Isn’t the gut the same as the stomach?”
I let it go.
As a Miami cop, I’d done a ton of surveillance at the port. Once, while waiting for a ship that was supposed to have a load of hash from Turkey, I witnessed a snatch-and-run. A young white guy grabbed a woman’s purse and sprinted out of the port toward the American Airlines Arena. I was the only one around, and the ship I was waiting on hadn’t docked yet, so I chased him.
Come to think of it, maybe I do chase after suspects more than your average cop. Probably an instinct carried over from my U M days on the field. He was fast at first, then lost some steam. I almost cornered him near Sixth Street, but he jumped over a fence and had a clean getaway in front of him. Then he stopped on the far side of the fence and turned back to me.
He said, “You’re Moon, right?”
“Yeah.”
He laughed. “Anti–Ray Lewis. I can see why the ’Canes never made a decent bowl while you were playing. See ya later.” And he was gone.
Every time I’m at the port, I daydream about catching that guy. Even though he had a point.
I tried to imagine what it might be like to live in a shipping container for over a week. It gave me the willies. We had to get this right. I didn’t want to see another dead girl someone had been trying to smuggle. I didn’t care if I was kicked off the task force for not making arrests. Right now, I just wanted to find those people.
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