Currents of Sin

by Arleen Alleman

  We exited the northeast elevator, and Mick immediately proceeded west. As he walked away, I heard him speak a few words into his mic. At the end of the building, he would turn onto the west side hallway, where Lyla’s room would be about a third of the way down.

  When he was about halfway to the corner, I began walking south, then west toward the elevator at the opposite corner. Stopping at the junction with the west side hallway, I peeked around the corner. Seeing no one in the long corridor, I assumed Mick was already inside Lyla’s room. So far so good. I went to stand nearby at the stairwell door and waited with my cell in hand open to Mick’s line.

  64

  Mick hesitated only a few seconds outside Lyla’s room to collect his thoughts before knocking. The door opened quickly, and another guy with a Mediterranean look and an expensive business suit opened the door. His face was marred by a scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to under his chin. It pulled the corner of his mouth down, giving him a permanently surly look.

  He didn’t bother to introduce himself but asked for identification. After Mick produced his room key and wallet opened to his DC license, the man invited him inside.

  “Government?” the man asked as he closed the door. He was still studying the license.

  “No, there’s no money in that. I’m CEO of a tech company in Bethesda.” Mick held out his hand.

  Instead of handing back the wallet, the man scowled at it a few moments longer. “Michelangelo Clayton? Why does that sound familiar?”

  Mick plucked the wallet out of his hand and scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? You’re asking why Michelangelo sounds familiar?”

  There had been some discussion with Hollister about whether Mick should use his real name. He’d been mentioned many times in Darcy’s books, but they decided it was doubtful any of the traffickers read them. Mick was wondering if that was a bad decision.

  He decided to change the subject. “So now what? How much will this cost me?”

  With an obnoxious sneer, the man said, “What services do you want?”

  The bathroom door opened as if on cue, and a beautiful girl with high cheekbones and long black hair walked out, swinging her hips. She wore a short filmy black negligee with gold trim, a matching peignoir, and four-inch heels. When she smiled provocatively at Mick, his breath caught at the sight of her—not because she was stunning, but because he was almost positive this was not Pammie after all. She was the same type but looked to be more of Asian descent than Native American.

  “Want some champagne?” she asked. “I’m having some. I just love it.” She pursed her lips, then opened her mouth partway and ran her tongue over them. Mick almost laughed at the obviously staged sensuality. He figured this was intended to arouse him so that he would be willing to fork over more money.

  Trying to act appropriately embarrassed, he said, “Sure, I’ll have some with you. Lyla, right?”

  She poured two crystal glasses of sparkling wine and handed him one. Then she sat on the couch, crossing her long legs in a predictably provocative pose. He stared for a moment, then turned to the man.

  “You asked what I want. Just regular sex, whatever you call that, nothing kinky.”

  That caused a fit of sarcastic laughter, which did not entirely erase the frown caused by the scar. “Straight sex. Bareback?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Man, you don’t do this much, do you? That means without a rubber.”

  “No, I don’t, and I’ll use a condom.” He let his annoyance show.

  “Fine, fine. Lyla will suit you up. That’s four hundred up front.”

  Mick opened his wallet and pulled out four one-hundred-dollar bills from a conspicuous half-inch slab of money. Handing it over, he said, “I’m playing poker at eleven.” He looked at his watch.

  “Don’t worry, I guarantee you’ll be done in plenty of time. And anyway, you’ve only bought an hour.” He laughed derisively and turned to the door.

  Mick wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted or not but didn’t care. He turned away and went to sit beside Lyla on the couch.

  After the man—the pimp—closed the door behind himself, Mick turned to the girl with a reassuring smile. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out the picture and handed it to her. “Do you know this girl?”

  The hard expression she’d been trying to maintain fell away as she stared at the picture with her mouth open. He waited until finally she looked up at him.

  “Who are you?”

  “It’s okay, I’m only here to find this girl. Her name is Pammie. Do you know her?”

  She dipped her chin and took another look. Shrugging, she said, “I don’t really know the other girls. Maybe I’ve seen her. We’re not allowed to talk to each other.” She looked down at her lap, apparently embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry, I understand your situation here, and I’m going to help you.”

  In his ear, a voice said, “Get the information now, and let’s get this show going.”

  He said to her, “In order to help you, I need you to describe this whole operation as much as you can. Tell me everything you know about the rooms, the girls, and the men. How many are there, for starters?”

  As she began to speak, Mick heard a strange clicking sound in his earpiece. He put his hand up against his ear.

  “Are you there?”

  There was no answer. The signal was gone, and he was on his own. Lyla watched his changing expression intently. Then she cocked her head to the side.

  “Cell phone? That often happens up here and other places in the hotel. The men often leave and go to the other side of the building to make calls.”

  65

  It required a couple of attempts to convince Lyla it was safe for her to share information with him. She was understandably afraid. Mick told her about the impending raid and explained that she was being rescued and the men would not bother her anymore. Finally, she agreed to tell him what she knew, saying that it wasn’t very much.

  While Lyla described the traffickers as best she could, downstairs, four Asian gang members walked into the hotel right past security and confidently strode across the lobby to the nearest elevator. On the way, a few patrons briefly glanced up from their cards or machines, then resumed their gaming without much reaction.

  The Asians wore traditional Korean garb made of vibrantly colorful silk and cotton. The short loose-fitting upper garment called a jeogori featured long wide sleeves. The trousers, or baji, were likewise wide and loose with a drawstring at the waist. These roomy pants were originally designed for comfort while sitting on the floor. Over these garments, each man wore a po, a long outer robe secured with a ribbon. Each man wore his long hair either in a topknot or in a tail hanging down his back.

  This hanbok—a South Korean term for clothing—is worn today primarily at festivals. However, the gang members imported theirs for a very different purpose. The men did not appear threatening. Rather, one would assume they were entertainers or important visitors attending some sort of traditional celebration. The clothing briefly drew attention and yet allowed them to move about freely.

  It also provided another distinct advantage. It allowed them to carry weapons that would otherwise be difficult to conceal. Under his po, each man secreted a MAC-10 machine pistol loaded with 9 mm shells and capable of unleashing 1,250 rounds per minute. The gun featured a folding shoulder stock and a sound suppressor that created a unique shape difficult to conceal under normal clothes.

  The gang loved these weapons developed in 1964 for the now-defunct Military Armament Corporation even though accuracy dropped off dramatically after fifty feet. The long suppressor not only abated noise, but also made the weapon easier to control on full automatic because it could be held with two hands.

  Illegal in the United States, the armament arrived in shipments from Eastern Europe via Korea. A private
plane made the delivery to an airstrip in the desert—the same one used to send girls to Mexico and the Middle East.

  Curtis was one of the four flamboyant guests who were now moving quickly down the twelfth floor hallway toward the west side of the building. His anxiety was mounting as he tried to think of a way to thwart the coming attack. The boss made the decision to move on the hotel operation only an hour earlier, and he hadn’t been able to warn anyone at Metro without blowing his cover.

  Before Horus died, he revealed the floor and room numbers the Athens Olympia traffickers were using for their operation. The gang members planned to secure the five rooms and take back their girls. They would kill the men they found in the rooms, then pay a visit to security, where they would finish off Nate Mirabelle. In order to pull this off and get away, they needed to move swiftly and show no mercy.

  66

  I was still holding my position near the southwest corner when a group of Asian men outfitted in traditional attire approached from behind me. I turned to them, marveling at their beautiful costumes, and nodded a friendly greeting.

  One of the men had black tattoos covering a large portion of his face with intricate lines swirling in geometric patterns. As he passed by, he stared at me in a way that was both menacing and predatory, and I wiped the friendly smile off my face. Up close, he looked scary as hell, but it took a moment for me to connect him with Marta’s description of the tattooed gang member who kidnapped and beat her and Lucy.

  I wondered if this was traditional Korean body art and therefore fairly common because otherwise what were the odds I would encounter another man with the distinctive tats so soon after hearing her story?

  Before I could react further, the men pushed past me as if I wasn’t there and turned the corner onto the west hallway. I watched their faces as they rushed by me. Oh my god! I was stunned to see Curtis bringing up the rear. I opened my mouth to speak, but he made a quick patting gesture with his hand down at his side, indicating that I should not intervene. I couldn’t believe these were gang members, and they were heading straight for Mick and Pammie.

  As they continued toward the traffickers’ rooms, I whispered into my cell to alert Mick and the police about the gang’s visit. There was no signal. So much for the high-tech gear, which was still dependent on a cellular network. Panic started to overwhelm me, and I forced a couple of deep breaths so I could think what to do.

  Knowing a little of the history of how Mirabelle’s people stole girls from the gang, I could only imagine why the Asians were up here, and it wasn’t good. I peeked around the corner in time to see them slowing down to check room numbers. I needed to figure out how to help without making matters worse. There wasn’t time to go downstairs to find the detectives. I didn’t have a plan, but I had to do something. I quickly backtracked around to the east side and rushed into the connecting hallway heading west.

  That would bring me closer to the traffickers’ rooms and also to the gang members. Maybe I could get a signal to Curtis since he might not be aware of the impending raid. My arms and legs felt like ice as I rushed along the hallway. Up ahead, a couple with two small children came out of their room and started toward me.

  I slowed down and smiled, not wanting to alarm them. When I reached the far end, I looked back. The hallway was empty. The family was already gone. I flattened my back against the wall and quickly looked around the corner, then immediately drew back.

  About forty feet away, each of the four gang members was standing in front of a door, two on each side of the hallway. I felt utterly helpless. I crept back a few feet and whispered into the cell, but there was still no signal. All I could do was stand there, waiting to see what they would do.

  I was scared to death for Mick and Pammie. Then a solution occurred to me. Why hadn’t I thought about the house phone on the wall near the elevators? Damn, I needed to go back.

  Suddenly, there were voices loud and raucous approaching from the far end of the west hallway. I heard the gang members murmuring something to one another. Peeking around the corner again, I saw a group of men who were obviously tourists and probably drunk pass by the end of my hallway and stop outside a room a couple of doors from my position.

  After a minute of comedic argument, the group staggered back the way they came. I quickly took another peek. The tourists had turned the corner onto the south corridor, leaving the gang members alone in the hallway.

  Suddenly, each of them pulled a large handgun from beneath his clothes and pointed it at the door in front of him. I jumped back against the wall just as all hell broke loose.

  67

  With the loss of their cell signal and the ability to communicate with their civilian counterpart, the Metro detectives, along with two FBI agents, came onto the twelfth floor from the southwest elevator. This was the spot Darcy recently vacated. They planned to wait for Mick to leave Lyla’s room and obtain whatever information he’d gleaned from her. Then they would work out the details of the raid.

  Dressed in shorts, jeans, and T-shirts with colorful logos, they appeared to be a group of tourists, possibly attending a bachelor party. As they started down the west hallway, they immediately saw the Asians up ahead, each standing in front of a door. They continued, at first unalarmed—confused by the men’s traditional clothes. They assumed these must be customers of the traffickers waiting to gain entry. Still, they did not want to draw attention to themselves or risk injuring civilians.

  Quickly improvising, they continued down the hallway, laughing and acting a little drunk. Stopping at a room several doors away, they stupidly began asking one another who had a key, laughing all the while.

  Curtis looked at them and realized they were cops. He made eye contact with a detective who recognized him. With discrete signals to each other, the officers started back the way they’d come, talking loudly and jostling one another. They paid no attention to the Asians as they passed them by on their way back up the hallway.

  The Asians watched the men recede and waited until they turned onto the south hallway, out of sight. In another minute, they pulled weapons from under their pos and began yelling into the rooms, saying they would shoot the locks if the doors were not opened immediately.

  Around the corner, two detectives dropped to their knees while the lead detective and two FBI agents stood above them. While they aimed their weapons around the corner toward the Asians, the lead detective jumped into the hallway and adopted a two-handed weapon stance with legs apart. He yelled “Police!” and told the Asians to drop their guns.

  Stunned by this turn of events, the gang members scattered, but there was no place to go except to run and get shot in the back. Crouching next to the walls, they began shooting wildly toward the detectives, who were thirty yards away. They failed to hit anything important except for a mirror at the end of the hallway.

  The police returned fire with much greater accuracy and a lot more noise.

  “Don’t hit Curtis,” yelled the lead detective. “He’s the one in the orange coat. Shit, what a FUBAR this is.”

  The brief gun battle ended with one gang member sprawled across the hallway dead. Another one shot through the locking mechanism on one of the doors. Within seconds, he entered 1248—Lyla’s room.

  As he slipped inside, the door banged back against the wall. He swung his weapon from side to side in wide arcs covering the room, which appeared to be empty. Quickly checking the closet and the bathroom, he ascertained that he was alone. After closing and barricading the door by pushing the dresser in front of it, he went to the window to assess whether it afforded any avenue of escape.

  In the hallway, Curtis was feeling thankful he hadn’t been shot by his own people when he turned to see the last remaining gang member run into the connecting hallway, heading east.

  “I’ve got this one,” he yelled, already sprinting after him.

  Up ahead about midway, he watched th
e man collide with a woman who was standing against the wall. Grabbing her arm, he began dragging her along with him.

  “Stop. Wait a minute,” Curtis called out, but the man kept running and turned the corner heading north.

  Outside the traffickers’ rooms, the detectives regrouped to plan their next move. They radioed down for a special weapons and tactical team and requested two battering rams, knowing girls and probably traffickers were now trapped in the rooms.

  They were also aware that Mick was in room 1248 with Lyla and the gang member. That was their primary concern. As soon as the SWAT team arrived, they identified themselves and began calling for the doors to be opened.

  Farther down the hallway, hotel guests were coming out to see what was going on. The police were worried about someone getting in the cross fire if the traffickers resisted arrest. The lead detective called down to the front desk to implement a prearranged measure. Within thirty seconds, an emergency message similar to a reverse 911 call was broadcast to every guest room, telling the occupants to stay put and not leave their rooms until told it was safe to do so.

  68

  As the enraged man pulled me along with an iron grasp on my upper arm, my jaw clenched so tightly I thought my teeth would break. I tried to wrench out of his grip, but it was no use. Behind us, someone yelled for him to stop, but he only increased his pace toward the east side of the building.

  Moments before, at the sound of gunfire, I retreated back down the corridor. I was standing with my back against the wall, when the gang member dashed around the corner and headed toward me. There was no place to go, so I stayed where I was and watched him approach, trying to appear harmless. That wasn’t a stretch. I hoped he would run right past me.