I Am Justice

by Diana Muñoz Stewart

  “That’s a job I’d be willing to consider for you,” Tony said.

  Justice rolled her eyes like a fistful of dice. They came up snake eyes. Enough. “Let’s get to work.”

  She bent and took her steel-cased smart pad from her backpack. She punched in the clearance code. The screen showed satellite images of the ranch and surrounding area.

  “This is Walid’s home.” They huddled around the screen, though by this point, they all knew the plan and the layout. She just wanted to get them to focus. “The land is fairly open, but there’s a hill lined with trees that I’ll use to set up surveillance.”

  She pointed at it, then at the stables—practically up against the fence. “This is the easiest place for me to enter. Assuming Gracie disables the cameras and electric fence, this barn will provide cover for my entry.” She moved her hand from the barn to the old mineshaft. “The home itself is close to seventeen thousand square feet, but three thousand of that is underground, accessed through this old mineshaft.”

  “Seems like a Parish kind of place,” Victor said.

  Gracie’s head snapped up. “I’m not a bottom dweller. I live in the real world. Got it?”

  She waited for him to answer her.

  Gracie. So sensitive. Like the guy had any idea of their underground facility. Not everyone got the whole Parish-culture thing.

  Thankfully, Victor seemed to have bigger fish to fry. Namely, helping free his friend. “Sure. No problem, Red.”

  Gracie opened her mouth.

  No. Nope. So sick of this shit. “Gracie, get over it. The guy doesn’t have to instinctively know your issues inside and out. He just has to help.”

  Silence. Silence as heavy as ten mastodons encased in ice. Gracie and Tony stared at her. What? They acted as if she’d never stuck up for someone outside the League before.

  Chapter 64

  Sandesh was stripped of his shirt and his head was forced down. His hands bound behind him. A Taser was held to his neck. Two men steered him through a hallway. One on either side. They teased and mocked him, tried to trip him up, but he kept his legs under him. A miracle of willpower, considering how thirsty, weak, and dizzy he was.

  The walls and floor were pitted red brick with the memory of dark bloodstains, as if many bleeding victims had been dragged down this hall. The stains increased as they proceeded.

  At the threshold to a chamber, the sour, defeated smell of torture and blood twisted his gut. Apparently, Walid knew the most important thing about torture—fear.

  He hoped that’s where his experience ended. But judging by Dmitri’s story, he doubted it. Fortunately, he wouldn’t stick around long enough to find out. Even with his head forced down and his hands bound behind his back, he knew what to expect.

  Not much, but it gave him something to think about other than the stench. He mentally prepared himself for what was coming.

  According to Dmitri, the room was large, with several torture stations and a stone bath. The guards would secure his feet before they unbound his hands. Sandesh would rather have waited for that moment to attack, but Dmitri’s account of the room and the element of surprise forced him to act before that happened.

  The edge of the stone bath, cracked and crumbling gray cement, came into view. The moment he spied it, he planted his foot, twisted the energy up and out. His foot snapped back, slammed Taser Guard’s ankle. An audible crack. The man jerked, cursed, and fell.

  Sandesh spun, rammed his lowered head into the second guard. He drove him left. Into the spikes. The man stumbled, tripped. He fell against the metal wall. Sandesh threw himself left to avoid the same fate. He half fell, half rolled up and out of the way.

  Damn. The blood. The second guard had fallen at an angle. His body mostly on the ground. His right arm and shoulder stabbed with spikes. Blood ran in crooked lines down his chest. His lips were moving. Maybe in prayer.

  According to Dmitri, Walid didn’t appear until the guards secured the prisoner, stripped off his pants with a sharp knife meant to intimidate, and made the call. He’d be expecting the call.

  On his feet, he crossed the room to the first guard. The man had rolled and had the Taser up. Sandesh dodged. The man fired. One spike landed in Sandesh’s leg. The other went wide. Not good enough, pal.

  Sandesh brought his knee down and landed all his weight on the guard’s neck. The man’s hands flew up, tried to push him off. Tried to roll his leg under him. His eyes bulged. Must’ve forgotten that leg no longer worked. He gurgled, wheezed, went slack. Not dead. But out of the way.

  Squatting over him, Sandesh fished the keys from the man’s pocket. He undid his cuffs with a practiced hand.

  Sweating and breathing heavily, he crossed the room—a well-used torture chamber with a dentist’s chair, chains from the ceiling, spikes coming out of the wall, and several blowtorches. He bent to the stone bath. The water was foul. It had probably been bathed in by miners a hundred years ago. He was so damn thirsty. He didn’t dare drink it. He dipped his head in and rubbed the blood from his eyes. He stood, shook off the water. That nearly did him in. So dizzy.

  The room had no windows.

  Of course not, it was at the bottom of a coal mine on a large compound. According to Dmitri, Sandesh couldn’t escape the compound. Unless he took Walid with him. And he would. One way or the other.

  Chapter 65

  When Justice had imagined security at the front gate of a British national sex-trafficker, born in India, living on a ranch in Mexico, she hadn’t once pictured an American guard. Well, a guy who looked American, like he’d stepped straight out of Blackwater and into a more lucrative profession.

  He wore a baseball cap with USA lettering, dark sunglasses (at night), a .45 snugged in a chest holster over muscles so jacked they strained his T-shirt, and a stay-ten-feet-from-my-person-at-all-times vibe.

  Gotcha. She’d shoot from here. Here being the top of a tree-lined hill overlooking the fenced-in compound of Rancho de Grim y Grimy. She was stretched out along a natural depression, with her head behind a shrub. Forearms tensed on the scratchy ground, finger on the trigger. She watched the guard through the night vision scope on her rifle.

  The lime-green Cadillac drove down the road toward the front gate.

  Justice’s headset clicked. Gracie. Again. “How much longer, Justice? I’m roasting.”

  “Please, you’ve been in there for two hours. People smuggled out of Mexico stay in that compartment for days.”

  “Yeah, well, not me. If my cyber skills weren’t needed to rescue your boyfriend, nothing could get me into this Dante’s Inferno. Nothing.”

  Yeah, it was a shit place to be. Telling Gracie that would only make it worse. “Chill your white privilege. You’re almost inside the compound.”

  Her earpiece clicked again. Even the click sounded angry. Justice kept her focus on the gate, but listened to Gracie vent, responding here and there, mostly to encourage her—better anger than the fear it covered up.

  When the car pulled to a stop before the guards, Justice silenced Gracie with a play-by-play. “There’s a big American Ninja Warrior security guard talking to Tony and Victor. He seems to be in charge of the five men at the gate. He’s gesturing our boys out of the car.”

  Tony and Victor got out. Victor exited, did a cute little pirouette that showed off his finely toned ass, and threw his head back with laughter.

  Ninja Warrior shook his head, motioned them both to the side. They obviously had no weapons on them. And, at this point, were chilled to goose bumps. Unlike Gracie, who must be holding her breath down there, sweating and miserable.

  “They’re going to check the car.”

  With Tony and Victor away from the vehicle, huddled together like two men used to each other’s intimate company, Ninja Warrior motioned two men to check the car.

  Justice’s heart rate, which had been eleva
ted already, launched itself to top speed.

  While the vehicle was searched, Tony and Victor were held under armed guard—guy looked maybe twenty, with a scruffy mustache that didn’t pass machismo. Justice kept her eye on him.

  She held her breath. Let it out. Don’t find her. Don’t. The guard got into the car. He crawled into the back seat. Holy shit. He was practically sitting on Gracie.

  The guard inspecting the car climbed out. She couldn’t take any more of this. Yes? No? What?

  They cleared the car. The guard got out and into the front seat, backed the car up, and drove it down the road a little ways. They weren’t going to let it inside.

  Gracie must have felt the car reverse. “Justice—”

  “Fuck. Parked it outside the compound. You’re like twenty feet from the front gate.” She clicked off, then back on after Gracie assured her she could still get inside. “You’re east of the guard tower.”

  A golf cart was coming down the driveway. Looked like they expected Tony and Victor to ride in it up to the house.

  Tony and Victor were motioned forward. Justice kept her finger poised on the trigger. Her boys were scanned and frisked. Like they could hide anything on their person that wasn’t already visible.

  They were motioned forward through the gate. Justice held her breath. Sweat beaded on her forehead. “Gracie. They’re in. They’re—”

  A nerve-rattling alarm punched a hole right through the fabric of night and the thinnest of bad plans.

  And hell, which had been biding its time waiting for the exact moment to royally fuck them, broke loose.

  Chapter 66

  Dragging feet through the underground chamber, Sandesh listened to the general chatter on the two-way he’d boosted from the guard after he’d used the room’s equipment to handcuff the man to a wall.

  An American with a Southern accent spoke on it a couple of times. Alternating between English and Spanish, he seemed more interested in sharing stories. Clown.

  At least he kept Sandesh in the loop. And it helped to have that voice to focus on. As if somewhere, someone thought this was just another day at the office.

  God, he was nauseous. He hadn’t realized just how damn sick he felt. His body was feverish and his steps sluggish. To top it off, he’d gotten lost in this medieval stone-and-shit tunnel.

  Twice.

  He’d only found his way this far thanks to Dmitri, whom he’d backtracked to get. Good thing the keys he’d taken from the guards he’d handcuffed had worked on the oubliette.

  “I can’t walk,” Dmitri said.

  Yeah. Sandesh had already figured that out. Using one arm, he dragged the guy—whose naked body was riddled with injuries. They sounded like shuffling zombies. Good thing the guy now weighed next to nothing. And that no one else was down here. The two guards he’d taken out seemed to be it.

  “I’m dying. Let me die.”

  Not likely. If he could’ve gotten out of here on his own, he would’ve left the guy to die in peace. “Which way?”

  Dmitri moaned. “I told you.” He broke into a fit of coughing. He wheezed. “Down to get up.”

  Yeah. That was the crazy-ass shit directions that hadn’t helped. And all that talk of uneven stones. “A little more specific.”

  Dmitri raised a trembling hand, as pale and bony as a concentration-camp corpse. “There.”

  Where? The stone corridor was lit with caged lights spaced haphazardly along the ceiling. They didn’t do dick. And… Wait. He did see.

  A brick a little larger than the rest with a white streak down the center.

  He dragged Dmitri forward, used his shoulder to prop him against the wall, and hit the brick with his elbow.

  The wall slid open. Hallelujah. Sandesh blinked at the brightness. Stairs? Stairs leading down. And…shit.

  He grabbed Dmitri, pulled him back. A camera.

  Damn.

  Leaving Dmitri, he crept around the side, used the wall to support his gun hand, aimed, shook, steadied his hand, aimed again, and took out the camera.

  He picked Dmitri up—guy was practically unconscious—and hoisted him into a fireman’s carry, leaving one hand free for his gun. He stepped down the first step.

  Three things happened at once. Dmitri began to convulse. An alarm sounded. And two armed guards appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

  Chapter 67

  Justice kept her scope on the scene as Ninja Warrior reacted to the alarm. He immediately told Tony and Victor to get out of the golf cart and get down on their knees. They did.

  The guard with the gun trained on Tony and Victor began to shout. He looked jittery.

  Fuck.

  He lifted Tony onto his feet and got in his face. Had they identified Tony? This wasn’t good. Her finger twitched. Don’t shoot. Wait. Wait and see.

  Ninja Warrior stepped forward, hand on his gun. He was shouting too. The guard screaming at Tony dropped one of his hands, began to pull out his weapon. Justice took a breath. Held it. Focused. Aimed her scope.

  Shot.

  Snap. The bullet struck the temple of the guard holding Tony. The guard’s head jerked. She didn’t wait to see him go down. She swung the rifle left. Aimed. Shot another guard straight in the face as he’d turned toward her position.

  Justice could feel the adrenaline flood her system, feel it make everything slow. She rode the hyperawareness, found Ninja Warrior scrambling away. She shot. Missed. Shot. Shit.

  She returned to Tony and Victor and let off a round of suppressing fire as they bolted.

  Meanwhile, Ninja Warrior, understanding where the danger was coming from, had zigzagged to the Cadillac, ducked, and swung his gun in her direction.

  His first shot missed by a mile. He needed a rifle.

  She fired at the car, forced Ninja Warrior to stay down but kept clear of where Gracie hid. The car was bulletproof, but no need to take chances.

  She hoped Ninja Warrior wouldn’t notice Gracie. Had he opened the car door? Damn tinted windows. She shot again. Keeping him hunkered down, though he’d probably give instructions via two-way.

  Yep. A black Land Rover with dark windows tore out of the gate. It raced up the hill, over brush and stones, toward her. She fired at it. Seriously, was the whole country bulletproof?

  Someone in the car fired at her. The dirt in front of her burst up. She ducked her head. The shots stopped. She took two deep breaths. Fuck this.

  She surveyed her escape route, then spoke into her mic. “Gracie?”

  Gracie’s voice came through the headset, clear but soft. “Go. I’ve got American Ninja Warrior.”

  Justice didn’t need more encouragement. She unhooked her night vision goggles from her belt, put them on, crawled backward, rolled, and ran at a crouch.

  Chapter 68

  Hidden among the trees and darkness, Justice adjusted her night vision goggles and watched her pursuers. The Land Rover stopped at the edge of the woods.

  A group of men got out.

  She ran, pinning the stock of her rifle with her forearm, aiming the barrel safely away. Her lean legs stretched out as she skirted through the trees, and her mind sifted through her catalogue of satellite images. From this hill, the ground sloped and became even and flat, a straight and open shot to the barn.

  She heard movement behind, men dispersing into the woods.

  Shit. She ran faster. Not good. If she ran toward the barn, breaking from the cover of trees, someone would spot her.

  Stumbling on a root, she worked her feet to regain balance. Nope. Holding out her weapon like a chicken wing, she slammed into the ground. Dirt, broken tree limbs, and a muffled umpf. Way too much noise.

  Someone shouted. Her head began to buzz. Her heart rate doubled. Her ears thrummed. She got to her feet, double-checked her rifle, focused her hearing, sought out identifying sounds, determi
ning location, distance, and intent.

  They were close. Time to do the unexpected. Resettling her NVGs, she began to backtrack. It was a gamble, but she had an idea. Or the memory of an idea.

  Years ago, when she and Gracie were teens, they’d gone down to Philly and had gotten into what Momma would later call an “unacceptable altercation.” Basically, they’d gotten into trash-talking a group of older kids, after one had whistled at them outside a convenience store.

  Even back then, Justice had had a way with words. Enough of a way that one of the kids had pulled a gun on them.

  Being younger, unarmed, and slightly inebriated, they’d run. The four kids jumped into their broken-down Expedition and gave chase.

  Using a bit of evasive tactics—Gracie’s idea—they’d led the gang to a nearby apartment complex. At the complex, Justice hid while Gracie let them see her darting into a narrow alley. The driver had slammed on the brakes. They’d all gotten out and sprinted after Gracie. They’d left the car, as expected. The girls’ plan had been to try and hot-wire it, but the guys had left the car running.

  Justice, who’d backtracked, jumped into the car and took off. She picked Gracie up at a prearranged spot. Being fifteen and having had two beers, they’d made it a few blocks before she’d crashed into a parked car.

  Lessons learned: Don’t drink and drive hijacked cars. And if you leave your car running, because you may need to give chase, station a guard.

  Keeping her breath controlled, she slowed near the Land Rover. Hoping. Praying.

  All four doors open. Lights on. No one home. Car idling.

  Same state. Different city.

  She ran in a crouch alongside the Land Rover and slipped into the front seat. Seat warmer. Nice.

  * * *

  Switching off the Land Rover’s lights, Justice headed down the hill and straight for the stables. She clicked her mic. “Gracie?”