Mind Games

by Laura K. Curtis

  “This is what happens when you go on a mission without me,” Travis grumbled from the pilot’s seat. “I have to come in and save your ass.”

  “Fuck off.” The guy was just trying to make him feel better, but it wasn’t working. Eric hoped to hell Jane didn’t hear the chopper flying off and assume it meant he was giving her up for good. Hold on, baby. Have a little faith.

  “Goddammit,” Travis said. “Someone down there has a MANPAD. Hang on.” The chopper dipped and banked sharply to the right, then rose again. “It’s gonna get rough.” Man-portable air-defense systems were cheap and easy to acquire. Velasquez’s men had used one to take out Miguel’s plane. If Eric hadn’t been so focused on Jane’s well-being, he would have warned Travis ahead of time.

  “Your friends don’t seem overly concerned with your safety,” Marco observed to Bryan.

  “Hell, killing the guy is probably what they planned all along. If he annoyed them half as much as he does me, they can’t have wanted to keep him alive,” said Eric.

  Over the whomp-whomp of the chopper blades, he heard Bryan trying to speak.

  “You wanna hear what he has to say?” asked Marco.

  “Might as well,” Eric replied. Marco removed Bryan’s gag. First, he just cursed, but when Marco offered to stuff the sleeve back into his mouth, he held up a hand.

  “You want to know who sponsored this? I can tell you, but you’ll never catch him at it, and I won’t ever testify, so it won’t do you a bit of good. I’m guessing you’re little Jane’s bodyguards, which means you work—or at least you worked—for Clive Handler at AHI. I have no idea what you’re doing out here, though, since he for sure didn’t tell you to come to Mexico. This is his project. Always has been. He recruited me way back when I was . . . released . . . from a lab for running an off-the-books experiment in gene doping on a pair of rhesus monkeys. It didn’t work, you understand, but he figured I’d be a good candidate to run the Mexican lab. I watched everything Jane and her pals did, sent word to my guys down here, and eventually when we had a good enough sense of the direction they were going to take, I came to oversee this lab, to start training Velasquez’s soldiers.

  “So, yeah, you go right ahead and try to catch Clive Handler colluding with the Hijos. Not a chance he keeps anything where you can find it.”

  “Why did Jane think you were so important? What did she think you knew about the data?”

  “How to retrieve it. Clive wouldn’t allow Velasquez to keep it somewhere he didn’t have access to it. There’s a cloud account they can both get to.”

  “Where? How do you access it?”

  “I think I’ll keep that information to bargain with someone higher up the food chain than you. They were going to kill me. You were right about that. It was just a matter of time. So I waited for my chance, and you gave it to me. Thanks for saving my life, by the way.

  “He’s lying. He doesn’t know anything useful,” Marco said. “Want me to kill him?”

  Bryan paled.

  Cowardly asshole. “Nah, let Nash at him. There may be more we need. But shut him up, okay?”

  Marco stuffed the cloth back into Bryan’s protesting mouth, then wrapped duct tape around his head to keep it in place. Eric kept watch out the side of the chopper as they left land for the Gulf, relaxing only when they were over the water, away from land where any of Velasquez’s men might fire on them.

  “We headed for Brownsville?”

  “Safe and close,” said Travis. “Easiest place to plan a recovery mission.”

  Eric climbed into the copilot’s seat and radioed Nash.

  Chapter 13

  THE ONLY THING that comforted Jane as two men marched her through the jungle at gunpoint was the sound of helicopter blades overhead fading away. Eric’s friends would not desert him. If they were taking off, they were okay, or at least on the way to being okay.

  The two men who had first taken her down stuck close to her, one holding a gun in her back, the other using the rope they’d tied around her wrists to drag her along. The other men spread out around them, beating through the woods. To be sure none of her friends survived, most likely.

  Jane dragged her feet through the undergrowth and tripped several times—catching herself on her elbows since her bound hands were being used as a leash—to slow down their progress and leave a trail. Not that it would make much difference. Wherever HSE’s helicopter had gone, it wouldn’t be coming back to this spot. Even she could figure out that Velasquez would leave a contingent in wait.

  They walked for hours. In the skimpy light provided by the flashlights of the men around her, vines appeared as snakes and leaves as creatures intent on harm. At last they came out onto a road, where two Jeeps and a covered truck were waiting. One of the men shoved a gun into her back and pushed her into the back of the truck, where she found wooden slatted benches affixed to the sides.

  “All the way in,” he said. She crawled forward and he followed. The rest of the men piled in, too, a stinking, sweating mass. Not that she figured she smelled like roses, either. How many days had it been since she’d last bathed? Or eaten, for that matter.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  No answer. The canvas covering of the truck blocked out even the light from the moon, and as they’d turned off their flashlights all she could see was the faint glint from the eyes of the men around her. She could make out no features. Were any of these men she’d met at the compound? Men she’d interviewed? If she could talk to them, could she change their minds?

  “Will it take a long time to get there? I really need to pee.”

  Still no answer.

  Jane waited about ten minutes, then began squirming in her seat.

  “Sit still,” said the man next to her.

  “I told you, I have to pee.”

  “No one is stopping you.”

  Was he serious? He just expected her to sit there and wet her pants? And the bench on which he himself was sitting? Apparently so, because he leaned forward and spoke rapidly to the man across the way, ignoring her.

  The truck clunked through a giant pothole, and Jane’s bladder protested. A few minutes later, they came to a stop.

  “Now we wait,” said the man next to her.

  “Can’t you let me go out in the woods? I mean, really. What am I going to do? Run away?”

  A quick conversation between two of the men, and the one next to her picked up the rope tying her hands.

  “Let’s go.” He walked to the back of the truck, lifted the canvas, and looked around before jumping out and tugging on the rope to pull her along.

  They’d stopped on the side of the road by a crossroads of sorts. The headlights of the truck and SUVs shone down the road, but her captor pulled her off into the darkness.

  “Go,” he said.

  She moved as far away as the rope would allow, behind a bush to give her a modicum of privacy.

  All too clear in her mind as she allowed her bladder relief was Velasquez’s threat to sell her to the highest bidder to recoup his money. She feared privacy would be in short supply once she was returned to him. But she had escaped him once, with Eric’s help, and she would do so again. No matter what else happened. She just had to remember that.

  The rumble of engines caught her attention. Would the transfer happen now? Was Velasquez coming to get her? The man who held her tugged on the rope and brought her close to his side just as a box truck pulled up.

  The truck’s driver stepped down, and she recognized him immediately. He’d been at dinner the night Velasquez brought his entourage.

  “Garcia,” said her captor.

  “Lo has hecho bien. Usted será recompensado.”

  Okay, she didn’t need much Spanish to understand “recompense.” The guy was going to get a reward. Bully for him.

  “And you, Dr. Evans. You’ve cau
sed a number of problems. But that’s all about to change.” Another man came up beside him. Bulky and bald headed, he was one of the experimental subjects. “Juan, put Dr. Evans in the truck.”

  Juan grabbed the rope and yanked on it, almost pulling Jane’s arms from their sockets. “Move.”

  She followed him to the truck, where he rolled up the back gate. “Climb up.”

  Not likely. She couldn’t fight back, but she didn’t have to cooperate, either. She stood where she was.

  “Fine.” Juan reached into the truck and grabbed a stick. Was he planning on hitting her with it? And then prongs jabbed into the skin of her neck and electricity shot through her in waves of screaming pain. Cattle prod. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She crumpled to the ground, and her vision faded into a white blaze speckled with black spots.

  From far away, she felt herself being manhandled, lifted, then dropped on the floor of the truck. Hurricanes of blood roared through her, and she couldn’t hear what the men said to each other.

  When she came back to herself, she was inside a cage. She could feel it around her. Like a crate used for transporting livestock, it had walls composed of metal bars set three or four inches apart. She reached up and felt the top. The whole thing was maybe three feet wide by three feet tall by four feet long.

  Oh, Jane, you are in it now.

  She felt around the front area, where an animal crate would have a door, and found a padlock. The back gate of the truck was still open, and outside she could see the crowd of men breaking up, heading back to their individual vehicles. Juan jumped up into the back of the truck and began repositioning a bunch of boxes around her crate. From his grunts, they were heavy. More boxes—lighter ones—were laid atop her crate until she was completely surrounded and all the light was blocked.

  “If we get stopped,” he said, “you will make no noise. If you make a noise, it will result in the death of all those who have stopped us, in the death of your father, and in the death of your friend who is now in the hospital in Dallas. Los Hijos are everywhere. You will obey, or you and everyone you know will suffer. Do you understand?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Answer me, Dr. Evans, or I will make certain you understand.”

  “I understand.”

  • • •

  THE BROWNSVILLE PROPERTY was small and rundown but only a few miles from the airport where the chopper was housed. Eric and Travis did a lot of their work in Mexico out of the property, so they’d fixed it up some, but it was still little more than a flophouse. They’d never brought prisoners to it and had no place to secure Bryan, so Eric took him down to the basement, where they’d set up a minimal gym, and handcuffed him to the power rack.

  “I’ll make grub,” Travis said as he came up the stairs. “Get Nash on the line, and let’s see what he can do for us.

  Before Eric could even dial, his satellite phone rang. It was Miguel.

  “I hear things went to shit.”

  “Yeah. You know these guys. Where would they take her?”

  “Velasquez has a lot of hideouts, a lot of places he stores cargo. I don’t know where he’ll hold her, but I just received notice that their auction scheduled for three days from now will have additional, special items.”

  Were they selling us? Dani’s question the first night he’d found her and Jane slipped through his memory. The threat had turned him inside out even when it was unlikely. Now it had become a reality.

  “You know where that will be?”

  “Yeah. I know the auction salon. It’s a warehouse in Tenancingo.”

  “You don’t think he’ll move it?”

  “Honestly? He can run his auctions anywhere.” Disgust dripped from Miguel’s words. “But if he wants to show that he’s still in control, he won’t want to admit he has to change from the plan he sent out last week. And there are very good reasons to keep the sale in Tenancingo instead of elsewhere. The police who run the district where the Hijos’ auction parlor is located are kept men. They don’t touch the auctions. In fact, if they see girls they think would go for good money, they’re allowed to break them in themselves and then bring them in.”

  “Christ.”

  “It is worth a reminder here that not all of Mexico is like this. My country has a sickness. Yours does, too. The disparity between rich and poor, the lack of resources . . . It is hard to see a way out. Evil breeds evil when there is no hope.”

  “You’re telling me this because . . . ?”

  “Because you cannot give up hope. Nash has many resources. We will get your girl back.”

  “Yes. We will.”

  He wondered what kept Miguel going, where he found his hope, but didn’t ask. The man had lost his family. Maybe cleaning up the worst of the mess was the way he managed.

  “You say you were notified of an addition to the auction?”

  “Yes. I was told that there would be more openings for bidders than previously expected. I was asked specifically whether I knew anyone outside the country with similar taste to my own who might be in the market.”

  “They don’t want Jane in Mexico.”

  “No. And between that and the fact that my cover is not a wealthy man, I cannot simply purchase Dr. Evans for you. From the question I was asked, I can tell you that they don’t want what is left of her life to be easy. There is a man from Thailand who I suspect will be invited. And one from Belgium. Believe me when I say you do not want either of them to get their hands on Dr. Evans.”

  “You’ve actually bought women from Velasquez?” Acid burned at the back of Eric’s throat.

  “Usually, I am outbid. But yes, this is how one maintains relationships in Tenancingo. You must be a procurer, a salesman, or a customer. Otherwise, you are looked upon with suspicion. At the auctions, no one wants me to succeed. The women I buy are rarely seen again. I do not put them out on the street to recoup my losses when I tire of them, so the assumption is that they do not survive.”

  “What really happens?”

  “In many ways, they are dead. They are not allowed to contact their families or friends. My housekeeper and I train them as domestics and find them positions outside the country where they will not be recognized. It is not the life many of them hoped for—their dreams of fame and fortune end when they are sold—but they are better lives than they would have elsewhere. But it does not happen often because, as I said, my cover does not have vast sums of money. He goes to the auctions, occasionally buys a woman, and sees who else is there. If those men get picked up after the auctions, well, he is grateful to live in a country that turns a blind eye to such things.”

  “How many women are apt to be there? Are we going to be operating around dozens of innocent civilians?”

  “No. At most five or six. The great majority of sex slaves are sold in bulk to padrotes—pimps—who transport them to houses either across the border or to places here in Mexico where they won’t be recognized. Others are kidnapped by special request—a trusted customer requests a blond-haired, green-eyed teenager—and he pays outright. Only those deemed special go to auction. Very young boys or girls who fit a certain profile, those with exotic looks, high-profile victims that some clients will spend good money to own . . . These Velasquez reserves for the auctions he holds three or four times a year.”

  Hold it together, Eric.

  “So if he’s collecting these women for weeks or even months before the auctions, he must be keeping them somewhere.”

  “Believe me, I’ve looked for them. Two years ago, a friend of my daughter’s was taken. I thought I would find her first, buy her if necessary, but I could not find the holding location no matter what I did and she did not turn up at the auction. She had asthma. She may have died before they could sell her.”

  Jesus. “I’m sorry.”

  “I am still looking. I can hope that she was taken for other reaso
ns. As long as there is no body, she may be out there, waiting to be saved.”

  “So five or six innocents.” He looked over at Marco, who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “I think we can work around that.”

  “You will have to be quick and quiet. The salon is very secure. I will do my best to protect Dr. Evans, but no weapons are allowed inside the auction area and the minute your attack begins, Velasquez will know exactly who you are there for. I advise you to approach as quietly as possible.”

  “Yeah, I see your point.”

  “How do you plan to get here?”

  “The quickest way is probably to rent a private plane and fly into Mexico City.”

  “Yes. You remember the apartment?”

  “Of course.”

  “Go there,” said Miguel. “I will call you when I can. Is Trey with you?”

  “No. It will be me, Marco, Mac, and Travis unless someone else can get there in time. I can’t wait around.”

  “I will leave a key for you in the boiler room in the basement of the building. It is easy to jimmy that door. The key will be on top of the hot-water heater.”

  “Great.”

  “Mac and Travis I do not know. Be sure they do not kill me at the auction.”

  Chapter 14

  IN THE DARKNESS and heat of the truck, memories of Velasquez’s threats assailed Jane. He’d been very clear about how he intended to recoup the money he’d spent on the lab if she couldn’t provide him with his supersoldier formula. How much angrier would he be now that his nephew had been killed trying to capture her?

  The truck jolted to a stop, and she heard voices outside. Damn her lack of fluency.

  They started up again without the back opening. This would be one of the stops Juan was worried about. How many men were at these stops? Could Juan really fulfill his promise to kill them all if she made a sound? Could she take that chance? And what did he mean by the Hijos were everywhere? Were there men actually watching Dani in the hospital? Surely Trey would protect her. She had to believe that. Had to believe Dani, at least, was safe.