“Why?” Jason asked.
“Because it’s not owned by anyone we know to be affiliated with Hirsch. He’s going to keep a low profile. He’s on edge. Either Walter Grayson is an alias or it’s an absentee owner or one of Hirsch’s associates. There’s line of sight out of all sides—tactically important. The waterway. I think Hirsch is there, or was there, and where Hirsch is, that’s where Bella is.”
Lucy’s phone pinged, and so did JT’s. Lucy looked down—Sean had sent a message to them, and copied in the entire Task Force.
With Kate’s help, I’ve identified Tommy Zimmerman, aka “Z,” the alleged partner of Martin Hirsch. Zimmerman, 41, was born in Bakersfield, California, and was in and out of juvenile lockup. Kate’s working on getting his juvie files unsealed. He ran away from a group home for teenage sex offenders when he was sixteen. I ran a search on the address and there have been numerous public protests over this group home from neighbors, until it was shut down ten years ago. There’s no active warrant for his arrest as the statute of limitations ran out on that charge when he was eighteen.
Zimmerman was in San Francisco where he was arrested at the age of 21 for rape, but the victim was deemed unreliable and the charges dropped. He owns no property, has never paid taxes as an individual, and lives off the grid except for one key fact: he is on the banking records of West-East Transport, which is headquartered in Louisiana. The records are being further examined by the White Collar division. Kate is putting a white collar prodigy in charge of finding a physical address for Zimmerman using all the information we collected.
I couldn’t find a recent photo of him, but downloaded his mugshot from twenty years ago and used age enhancing software to give you an approximate likeness.
“No,” JT whispered.
“What’s wrong?” Lucy asked, glancing around to see who was paying attention to them. Only Jason. Garcia and Hamilton were getting the Skype call ready for Rick and Kate.
“Tommy Zimmerman—he knows Bella. He knows her.”
“I don’t understand.”
“San Francisco. That’s where Kane and I found Bella eighteen years ago. He was there the same time she was. She told me about him—only knew him as Tommy. He was about twenty, she said, and he wasn’t in the house when we raided the place. We figured he skipped town to avoid the heat, but never seriously looked for him because we had Bella, and she was safe. If he’s here, he’s going to know she’s not a doctor.”
“People change a lot in eighteen years. Especially a teenager.”
But Lucy could see the danger, and she was just as worried as JT.
Before they could discuss it, Hamilton ordered everyone to quiet down. A minute later, Assistant Director Rick Stockton came on-screen.
“Thank you all for being here today at this historic moment. At no time in FBI history have we coordinated such a large multistate, simultaneous takedown—and never this fast. I don’t have to tell you all that the FBI never acts this quickly.” He paused, probably because he knew there would be some laughter. “But when the lives of innocent women and children are in danger, we can’t wait to act. Kate Donovan, the new Assistant Director at Quantico, has moved heaven and earth along with all of you to coordinate this strike in less than twenty-four hours.
“AD Donovan will brief you on the overall tactical plan, but I want to give you a brief background. We’re here today because one person refused to let an innocent child be exploited through child pornography. A civilian—former Seattle PD Detective Bella Caruso—learned that twelve-year-old Hope Anderson had been sold by her stepfather into a life of sex slavery. Hope turned fourteen last week. For fifteen months, she’s been raped, abused, and moved from state to state in a blatant and cruel act of sexual exploitation.
“Caruso has been undercover for nearly a year trying to ascertain where Hope had been taken. In the process, she has directly helped rescue from forced prostitution a minimum of nine underage girls, the youngest twelve years old, and indirectly saved dozens from continued exploitation.
“The FBI became aware of this private investigation when Phoenix police officer Roger Beck, who helped Caruso bring two girls to safety, was shot and killed in the course of his heroic efforts.
“While we can debate vigilante justice any other time, today is not that day. Bella Caruso is one of our assets, and finding and extracting her safely is one of our primary goals.
“To restate: Our goals are first to locate and extract the minor victim Hope Anderson. Locate and extract the FBI asset Bella Caruso. Arrest the known criminals involved in the multistate sex trade, and anyone else we determine through our raids is involved in their operation. Give an opportunity to those women who are willingly and unwillingly working for these people. In this order: all girls who you believe are under the age of eighteen or who tell you they are under eighteen will be admitted to a local hospital, put into protective custody until we can ascertain their name, medical and psychiatric condition, find their family, and determine if their home life is safe enough to return to. Any girl who is over the age of eighteen who gives you any indication that they want out of this business will be taken to a halfway house. Laura Dixon, with Genesis Road, an organization who works with and rescues sex slaves, is coordinating safe places for women who want to get out of the business regardless of their age. And women over the age of eighteen who do not want our help or who put your life in danger will be arrested and processed by the local police.
“Make no mistake: the work we do today will have a far-reaching effect on the sex trade all along the I-10 corridor. We are making a stand. We are standing with the victims and protecting them with the full weight and power of the Federal Bureau of Investigation united with multiple federal, state, and local authorities. You will not know what you are facing. I expect you to be cautious, but compassionate. I want no blue blood spilled today. I want no innocent blood spilled today. You are all well trained by your respective agencies, and I trust that you all will get the job done. Be safe out there.”
Rick turned over the tactical end of the briefing to Kate, but it was clear that Rick’s speech had both quieted and motivated the men and women who heard it.
“Damn,” Lucy heard from a voice behind her, “why can’t that guy run for President?”
She smiled at the thought as she imagined Rick hearing that comment. He would run far, far away. She glanced at JT, knowing he’d heard it too, but JT was frozen, fear locked on his face.
She whispered, “JT, we will find Bella. She isn’t going down without a fight. She’s a Caruso, don’t forget that.”
He nodded but didn’t look assured. Lucy had nothing else to say that might make him feel better.
* * *
At exactly seven a.m. local time, Lucy followed her Green Team leader, the Port Arthur SWAT assistant commander Gordon Fall, into action.
They had a team of eight, and Fall assigned everyone clear responsibilities. Early was clearly a smart move, because no one was awake. They announced themselves and their warrant, used a battering ram simultaneously on the front and back doors, and cleared the decrepit, two-story house room by room. A dozen girls were there, all underage, all dazed and confused.
Two men were caught in bed with girls. Neither made a move for a weapon, and no shots were fired. The men were separated from the girls.
Lucy and Jason were tasked with clearing the basement. She motioned toward the staircase—the only way in and out of the underground floor. She led the way, gun drawn. She’d clipped a tactical flashlight to her gun because the lighting was so poor.
The basement was damp and reeked of mold. There was a studio down here, and when she found a light switch, bright lights lit the room. An empty bed. Two stationary cameras. Film lighting on the ceiling.
Her stomach twisted and she still pushed forward. There were several rooms in the basement. One door had a lock on it. She broke it. Cautiously opened the door, flashlight covering the room in a wide sweep.
A
blonde girl slept in a twin bed. She didn’t move when the light hit her body.
Lucy found a light switch—on the outside of the room. There were no windows in the room, just the bed and a toilet and sink. Those who held her captive could lock her in the dark whenever they wanted. They controlled everything in her life.
Lucy quickly searched the room. Only the girl was there. She went to her side, looked at her face.
Hope.
She said to Jason, “It’s Hope Anderson. Clear the rest of the basement.”
Jason complied, and Lucy holstered her gun. She gently shook the girl.
“Hope, my name is Lucy Kincaid. I’m with the FBI. You’re safe now.”
“I don’t wanna,” Hope said, drowsy—or drugged. “Not now. I’m sick.”
“Hope, I’m going to take you to the hospital.”
Hope opened her eyes. They were unfocused. “Don’t make me. I’m sore. Not today.” Her words were slurred.
Lucy inspected her eyes. She was clearly under the influence of something that hadn’t worn off. She was thin, far too skinny, and had bruises all over her body. Small bruises, from the fingers of men holding her.
“No one will ever make you do anything you don’t want to. Never again.”
Hope tried to focus on Lucy. “Who are you?”
“Lucy. My name is Lucy.”
“Lucy.”
Jason stepped in. He stared at Hope. “You found her,” he said, almost as if he hadn’t believed they would.
“She needs a hospital. Can you carry her outside? Right to the ambulance. Don’t let her out of your sight, Jason. Not for a minute.”
Lucy’s voice was tight.
“I won’t. I promise.”
Lucy turned to Hope. “Hope, this is Jason. He’s my friend and partner. He’s going to stay with you. He’s a policeman too, just like me, and he won’t let anyone hurt you. Okay?”
“A policeman,” she said dreamily.
“I got her,” Jason said. His voice was as tight as Lucy’s, but he spoke to Hope with warmth and security. “Hope? I’m Jason. I’m going to take care of you now. I’m going to wrap you in this blanket and carry you outside.”
“I can’t go outside, I’m not allowed to go outside.”
“You are now,” Jason said. “You’re going to be fine. I promise. You’re safe.”
Whispering to her, Jason carried Hope upstairs and outside to the waiting ambulance.
Lucy stared at the eight-foot-by-eight-foot room Hope had been in since she was moved from San Antonio on Monday. One week in this dungeon after more than a year of being exploited. Was this the worst she’d been in? The best?
Lucy breathed in deeply, forced herself not to scream at the injustice of what Hope had suffered. Of the memories that flooded through her of being chained to the floor and raped.
And the reminder that she did what she did because she could save girls like Hope.
Lucy walked upstairs and said to Gordon Fall, “We need to process the entire house. There’s a studio downstairs with equipment—tapes, computers, the works. It goes to the FBI ChildSafe project. All of it.”
“We’ve got it, Agent Kincaid.”
The two men who had been arrested were kneeling on the lawn, handcuffed, a cop standing watch. She wanted to hurt them like they hurt Hope. It overwhelmed her, this physical need to do violence. And it shocked her, because it came on so suddenly, so powerful.
She felt an odd kinship with Bella Caruso at that moment, and she hadn’t even met the woman. Because Lucy could see herself doing the exact same thing, if it meant saving young girls like Hope Anderson.
She approached the officer guarding the two men. “Make sure the warden knows that they’re pedophiles.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And she walked away before she did something she would regret.
* * *
The lone female SWAT commander in Texas, Sally Chandler, led the small six-person Yellow Team. JT trusted Lucy’s assessment, which is why he attached himself to Chandler, but he was having doubts. This was an ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood that had mostly been reconstructed. The houses were set far apart, but nothing was so bad off that it looked suspicious.
Of course, looks were deceiving.
“And it’s oh-seven-hundred,” Chandler said. “Deputies, you two inspect the boat at the dock. Be alert, you have little cover on the approach. Park, Rogan—take the back. Caruso, you’re with me.” They started moving, and Chandler held JT back for a moment. “You’re looking for your sister, and I’m not too happy you’re part of my team because when family gets involved we make stupid mistakes.” She stared him hard in the eye. “Are you good?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m good.”
“Follow my lead, Caruso.”
He nodded, and they approached the house from the front.
There were two cars in the carport, the same two that had been reported from surveillance the day before. JT felt the hoods. Cold. He followed Chandler to the front door, keeping an eye on the nearby windows.
“On my mark,” Chandler said over the com system, “three, two, one.” She pounded on the door. “This is Commander Chandler with the FBI. We are here to serve a federal warrant and are coming in.”
She nodded to JT and he used a small battering pole to force open the door.
Sally entered first and JT followed. He heard Sean and his partner break in through the back. Movement to the right had JT spinning around, gun aimed and read to fire.
An unknown man jumped up from where he’d been sleeping on the couch.
“Get down, put your hands on your head,” Sally said.
The man put his hands up just as a new person came into the room. JT recognized him as Damien Drake.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Chandler said to Drake.
Drake slowly put his hands behind his head. He didn’t take his eyes from JT.
“You’re her brother. You have the same eyes. She didn’t lie to me.”
As Chandler cuffed the first man, JT kept his gun on Drake.
“Where is Bella?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you!”
At that moment a gunshot went off in the back of the house.
“Armed suspect coming your way!” Park said over the com.
A man rushed into the room, seemed startled to find JT and Chandler in the living room. It was Martin Hirsch, JT recognized him from the recent photos, and he had a gun.
“Drop it!” Chandler ordered.
Hirsch aimed at JT, his eyes wild. Drake moved at the same time, and JT thought he was reaching for a gun. But he rushed JT, knocking him to the ground as Hirsch fired his weapon. Chandler fired three times in rapid succession, hitting Hirsch in the chest twice and the head once. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Drake was on top of JT. JT pulled himself out from under his body and turned him over. He’d been shot in the gut.
Chandler had the first man handcuffed, and then approached Hirsch, gun drawn, and kicked his fallen weapon out of reach of any of the three suspects. She felt for his vitals.
“He’s dead.”
JT knelt next to Drake, putting pressure on his wound. “Call an ambulance!” JT said. Why had Drake jumped in front of him? Why would a bastard like him want to save JT?
“Where’s my sister? She was here, right?”
“She didn’t lie to me.”
“What?” That’s what he said before and it made no sense. “Do you know who I am?”
“Doc.” Drake smiled. JT couldn’t stop the bleeding. There was some serious fire power in the .45 Hirsch used. Drake’s innards were leaking out of JT’s fingers as he tried to hold them in, but Drake was smiling as if he didn’t feel anything. “Doc’s brother.”
“Yes. The doctor. Where is she?”
“She said her brother was in town. I didn’t believe her, but I wanted to.”
“What are you t
alking about? Where is she?”
“Z knew her. Took her.”
“Tommy Zimmerman has her?” JT didn’t want to think about what was happening with Bella. He must have known who Bella was when he saw her. He would kill her, if she wasn’t dead already. “Where did he take her? Dammit, Drake, tell me!”
“He’ll call you. It’s a trap. He’ll call because he’s twisted that way. She said he was twisted and I didn’t understand. Why hurt someone to hurt someone else? But now I know. I understand.”
“You’re not making sense. Where did Tommy take Bella?”
“Tell Doc for the first time in my life, I’m sorry. I never knew what feeling sorry was like—but I understand. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t let her go when I had the chance. I wish … I wish I’d…”
Drake lost consciousness.
JT shook him. “Wake up!”
Chandler said, “An ambulance is on its way. There’s no one else in the house or the boat.”
Sean came in from the back of the house. “The surveillance photos from last night show two boats at the dock. One’s missing.”
Chandler said, “Park, secure this guy.” She gestured to the man who had been sleeping on the couch. He looked confused and hungover.
JT left Drake and walked over to the man. “Where is Bella?”
“Who? What’s going on?”
“The doctor! Where is she!”
JT hit him. He couldn’t control himself.
“Caruso!” Chandler shouted.
Agent Park pulled the man up. JT took a step back, worked on his temper. “Where is the doctor,” he said slowly. Methodically.
“I don’t know. Really, I don’t know! I just drive, see? I drive Mr. Hirsch where he wants. Z took the doc last night, out on the boat. I … I don’t know why or what for, I’m just a driver.”
Chandler said, “Park, get him out of here. I’ll put an APB out on the boat. Rogan—which boat is it?”
Sean took his phone from his pocket, showed Chandler the surveillance photos he downloaded from the FBI server. “This one,” he tapped.
“Keep an eye on your partner,” she said and stepped out of the house, her phone already to her ear.
Breaking Point Page 33