Mind Games

by Laura K. Curtis

  “I’m not coming to the apartment. I don’t want to take the chance on being seen with you. I’ll meet you at the auction. I’m sending the coordinates now. Give yourself a couple of hours to get there.”

  A second later, Eric’s phone beeped. Travis walked over and looked at the coordinates.

  “What time do we have to be there?” The others gathered around.

  “Tomorrow at four.”

  “We should scope it first,” Marco said.

  “Yeah. Grab some food and we’ll head out. We probably shouldn’t come back here. It’s Miguel’s hole, and since he’s been invited to the auction, he may be being watched. We’ll hit a no-tell motel for the night once we’ve checked out the auction spot.”

  They gathered gear in silence and left the apartment. Travis led the way. He and Eric had pulled more than their fair share of jobs in and around Mexico City. He drove with easy competence, not too fast, not so slowly that he’d draw attention as a tourist.

  Two and a half hours later, they drove past the coordinates Miguel had sent. The building looked like a warehouse from the outside, but it was set so far back from the road that Eric could not make out many details. They’d have to get closer on foot to make a proper assessment. Travis kept moving as Eric and Mac, holding binoculars, called out what they could see to Marco, who wrote it all down.

  A couple miles down from the warehouse, they pulled into a seedy motel. Mac, the least likely to be recognized by Velasquez or any of his men, made a three-day reservation. Travis drove around the L shape of the building to park out of sight.

  The room was everything the first glimpse of the motel promised. Paint an off shade of yellow meant to look gold covered the stucco walls. The two “queen sized” beds were doubles at best, and a faint scent of marijuana hung in the air. The television got three channels, none of which were in English. Eric turned it on anyway. They were too close to their target to chance being overheard.

  “We go in at three in the morning,” he said. “It’s our best chance of getting a good look at what we’re facing. I don’t want anyone getting too close, though. Miguel doesn’t think the women are held there, so we can’t afford to tip our hand early. They can’t know we know the location, or they’ll move the auction, and that would be disastrous.”

  “Got it.”

  “Until then, get some rest, eat, weapons check, whatever you need to do so you’re at your best. We’ll be hiking in tonight, probably tomorrow, too.”

  • • •

  JANE SAT ON the bed with Fritz, using the dropper that had come with the medicine bottle to drip Pedialyte—also supplied by Garcia, the driver who’d delivered her and brought the amoxicillin along with IV bags, a kit, and a stand—down the child’s throat. He was swallowing more easily but showed no sign of actually waking up. Of course, he might just be hiding inside himself. She knew that reaction all too well. She’d spent a shocking number of years doing it herself. Only now, having had the wall of science that separated her from the messy world of human emotions forcibly torn down, did she realize what a disservice she’d done not only to those around her but also to herself.

  Just let us get out alive. I’ll do better. She cuddled the child to her and rocked him slightly.

  Velasquez, Garcia, and Juan were in a heated conversation, but she couldn’t understand it. But whatever they were talking about couldn’t be good for her, so she interrupted.

  “Hey, I need to put Fritz back in the tub, and I can’t do it alone. Who’s going to help?” She kept her eyes on Garcia, ignoring Juan.

  Another heated exchange between Velasquez and Garcia, then Velasquez gestured for Juan to assist her. She tried not to let her relief show. Another chance to win him over.

  “I’ll carry him; you bring the bottles and dropper and stuff. I’ll need help holding him up while we keep his head wet, too.”

  They trooped into the bathroom, and Jane added some more water to the bath, testing the temperature so that it would leach some of the heat from the child’s skin without shocking the capillaries into clamping down.

  She unwrapped the quilt and handed it to Juan, then lowered Fritz into the water. His leg muscles clenched as she did, but she pretended not to notice. The child would open his eyes when he was ready. Juan had picked up the water bottle and brought it in with him, so she used that to scoop water from the tub and pour it over Fritz’s head. Some trickled down his face, and he squinched his eyes shut. Jane dropped the bottle into the tub and smoothed his hair away from his forehead.

  “Come on, Fritz, you can open your eyes. You’re safe with me. I just want to know you’re okay. Come on, sweetie. Show me your eyes.”

  Again, that little flinch of his eyelids, but then the child’s eyes opened. A brilliant, bright blue, they reminded her shockingly of Eric’s. This, she suddenly realized, was what Eric’s children would look like. Of course, he’d said he didn’t want a family, that he couldn’t guarantee anything for them, but surely there was more to fatherhood than financial security. And Eric had everything else in spades. Strength, gentleness, a true moral compass. Please let him be okay.

  “Hi there,” she said, shaking off the memories of Eric’s grin.

  He did not speak, merely regarded her solemnly.

  “My name is Jane, and this is Juan.”

  Juan scowled and Fritz shrank back under the water. For the first time he seemed to realize he was exposed, and his hands went to his groin. Juan reached over and got a hand towel and passed it to him. Fritz snatched it and covered himself.

  “You need to tell Velasquez we need some food. Soup would be good for Fritz to start. His stomach won’t take much more. Maybe some eggs and dry toast if that’s possible, but otherwise soup.”

  Juan stayed put.

  “What, you want me to tell him? Fine. Fritz, can you sit up a little?” She eased her arm out from behind the boy and stood. The front of her tank top was soaking wet, and the cotton clung to her body. Damn. Her mind flashed back to Velasquez’s perusal in the mansion the night he’d so coldly evaluated her potential for sale, and she shivered. Swallowing her fear and anger, she thrust her shoulders back—let him make of it what he would—and stepped out into the bedroom.

  “We need food. Both Fritz and I do.”

  “It’s being handled.”

  “His has to be easily digestible and nutritious. Not fast food.”

  Velasquez glared at her. “I said, it’s handled. It’s not your concern. Keep his fever down.”

  “We will need to keep putting him in the bath on a regular basis. He can’t be moved.”

  “Until?”

  “Until he’s better.” She spat the words. “I’m not a pediatrician or ER specialist. I don’t know when that will be.”

  “He has until one in the morning. No longer.”

  Jane glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Eleven hours. It wouldn’t be enough. Who would take care of Fritz if she could not? “What happens at one? What if he’s not well yet?”

  “He does not have to be well. Just alive. Then you both move on to the next phase of your lives.” Velasquez grinned, and it was not a pretty sight.

  Chapter 15

  IN THE THICK, green, predawn darkness Eric, Marco, Mac, and Travis made their way spread out in a ragged line through the woods around the warehouse that Miguel had identified as serving as the auction house. They all wore NVGs and earbuds from the Brownsville house.

  “You seeing what I’m seeing?” Marco’s voice in his ear made Eric twitch. They were closing in on the warehouse, about a hundred yards out, approaching from the side facing away from the road, where trees provided at least minimal cover.

  “Yeah.” He peered through his goggles at the men lingering outside the back of the box truck that had just pulled up. Each held an AR-15, and they surveyed the area with far more care than those he’d seen at
the lab compound. These men were nervous, alert. Whatever was in that truck was valuable.

  The back door to the warehouse opened, and two more men came out. These two carried pistols in shoulder holsters. The driver and passenger from the truck’s cab came out and greeted them, and the four spoke for several minutes.

  “The driver, that’s Fernando Ruiz,” said Marco. “He’s one of Velasquez’s lieutenants. He was in charge of one of the crews that came after us in the jungle.”

  “You know the others?”

  “No.”

  “I know one of them,” said Travis. “The blond. I’ve seen his file in Nash’s office. Gordie Ambler. He’s a trafficker, pimp, and all around scumbag. But I didn’t realize he was associated with the Hijos. Not sure Nash knows, either.”

  “All right. You’re getting this, Trav?” Travis wore special goggles that included a small video camera. Every mission was recorded for both intel and training purposes. “I want these guys. All of them.”

  “You know it.”

  Two of the men climbed into the truck, and a minute later they lifted out a large metal crate and handed it to the two waiting below.

  “Fuck,” said Travis, “please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

  Eric looked through his binocs at the green glow of the crate and the person inside it. Was that Jane? No way to tell from this distance. “It’s exactly what you think it is.”

  “Fuck me,” said Mac.

  The two men carried the crate inside the warehouse, then came out and got another. And another. And another. All in all, seven crates of varying sizes were transferred. One was tiny, and Eric’s stomach heaved. Kids. Jesus. Who the hell bought and sold kids young enough to fit in a fucking spaniel-sized dog crate?

  “You want to go in ASAP?” Travis asked. “Now that we know they’re there?”

  Yes. He did. He wanted Jane out of there right fucking now. But Velasquez wasn’t there. Or at least they couldn’t be sure whether he was.

  “Velasquez will be at the sale. He has to save face. If we go in now, we lose him, and I don’t want to do that. Much as I hate it, we stick with the original plan.”

  “We have time,” said Mac. “More than twelve hours before the sale begins. You want to involve the federales?”

  “No. There are good guys in law enforcement down here. Trav and I have worked with them on kidnap cases. But police forces—all police forces—leak like fucking sieves. We tell them we’re going after Velasquez, and even with all the best intentions in the world, he’ll find out. We keep this small and private.”

  Marco didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Eric knew that was his preference as well.

  The men below finished unloading the truck—some nonhuman cargo had come in as well—and one drove it around to the back of the warehouse and into a garage. Then all the guards went inside.

  “I want to get closer,” Eric said. “The rest of you, hang back and cover me.”

  He slipped through the trees until he saw trip wires, which began some ten yards into the woods and hung about knee-high. He looked up into the trees and saw, closer to the warehouse, that cameras had been set into the branches. Luckily for him, they were all focused toward the open area of the property, not into the forest. Tiny lights blinked at the base of each. Motion sensors. The minute they got in front of those cameras, they’d set off an alarm. If they didn’t blow themselves up first.

  “Trav, we’ve got trip wires and motion sensors. Ideas?”

  “The trip wires are probably tight as hell out here. You don’t want every damned rabbit or coyote setting them off. But the motion sensors—you’d think even birds would drive those mad.”

  “They don’t need them all the time,” said Mac. “Maybe they turn off the cameras and alarms until they have something they need to protect.”

  “Give me a couple minutes,” said Marco.

  Eric leaned against a tree, a camera pointing over his head, and waited. Ten minutes later, Marco appeared next to him. In his hand, he held an assortment of leaves, twigs, cones, and pebbles.

  “Camera?”

  Eric pointed up.

  Marco passed his rifle to Eric and swiftly climbed the tree.

  “Get ready to move if this brings them running.” He passed his hand, covered in leaves, in front of the camera. At the first motion, floodlights popped on all around the warehouse. Obviously automated. Two men came outside, but after peering into the darkness beyond the lit plain, they went back in. The lights remained on for a full five minutes.

  Once the area went dark once more, Marco passed a twig in front of the camera. Nothing happened. Twice more and still there was no reaction.

  “Heat sensor,” Eric said.

  “Probably a combination. Pass me some tape.” Eric took a packet of duct tape out of his pack and ripped off a piece.

  Carefully, Marco inched a leaf down in front of the camera and over the small blinking light. Once the sensor was covered, he taped the leaf into place. He waited for a reaction from the warehouse, but nothing happened. Then he took his hand and placed it next to the sensor.

  Eric tensed, but once again the lights remained off and the guards inside.

  “You think they have visuals inside from these cameras?”

  Marco thought about it. “Probably not. There’s too much wildlife. They use a combination of motion and heat to trigger the lights, which notifies the guards.”

  “Good. So we find the sensors and disable them like this. That gives us a chance to get a little closer before the auction.”

  Finding the cameras and placing leaves took a little over two hours. In the process, they also discovered multiple trip wires and even a few bear traps.

  “They aren’t kidding around,” Travis said as he played a small light across the iron jaw of the bear trap.

  “Nope.” Eric squatted next to the trap. “And the advantage to traps is that—for the most part—people don’t die in them. They get prisoners to question, find out who’s gunning for them. I bet these set off some kind of alarm in the warehouse. They don’t send men out to check them every day. We’ll have to avoid them when we go in because we can’t trigger them in advance.”

  “Also means we can’t just let the innocents make a run for it,” Travis said. “Which is going to make our lives more difficult.”

  “When has anything ever made our lives easier?”

  “True that.”

  • • •

  JANE PRESSED HER back against the top of the cage again, pushing with all the strength in her legs. Again, as they had in the motel, the bars bit into her spine, but this time she did not stop. Was there give? Anywhere? Around her in the utter blackness of the truck, she heard the sounds of other prisoners. They’d stopped twice during their interminable drive, and each time things were loaded into the truck, but she couldn’t tell whether guards remained inside the back of the truck with them. Did she dare speak? But then, what difference could it possibly make?

  “Hello?”

  No one answered. But Fritz, at least, was nearby. She’d seen them load him in, forcing him into a tiny crate the same way they’d shoved her into hers, with the threat of the cattle prod.

  “Fritz? Where are you, honey?”

  “Fritz?” Another voice from the darkness, this one female. “Fritz? Are you in here?”

  “Helene?” A scrambling sound, and then a rattle she imagined was the child shaking at his cage. “Helene!”

  “Fritz,” Jane said, “who is Helene?”

  “My sister.”

  “Oh my God, Fritzie, they told me you were dead. They told me…” The girl’s words ended in a sob. “Gott sei dank, es dir gut geht. Wo bist du gewesen? Haben sie dich verletzt?”

  “I was sick. Miss Jane helped me.”

  “Thank you, Miss. Thank you.”

>   “Of course. I didn’t do much, really. But I promise, I’ll help you guys get home, too.”

  A bitter laugh came from the back of the truck. “Good luck with that.” The woman’s English was heavily accented. “Once they sell us, we’ll never see each other again unless one man buys us. You have as much chance of helping them get home as you do of getting home yourself. None.” Fury vibrated in her voice undiluted by even a hint of defeat.

  “There’s never no chance.”

  “American. If you lived here, you’d know hope is a dream, a waste of time.” Again the words seemed out of sync with the tone. Who was she trying to convince?

  “What’s your name?” Jane asked. “Where are you from?”

  “Raquel.”

  “What about faith, Raquel? Could you find any faith, if no hope?”

  “God abandoned the poor of Mexico years ago.”

  “I believe, Miss Jane.” Fritz’s confidence in her brought tears to Jane’s eyes.

  “You hang on to that, sweetheart,” she said. “I promise, no matter how long it takes, no matter what happens, I won’t give up. I won’t ever stop trying.”

  The truck jolted to a halt, and Jane dropped from her cramped crouch back into a seated position. Her legs gave thanks, but she wished she’d had more time to try to break the cage. The tailgate opened, and dim light filtered in. Men clambered aboard and began to lift the crates, handing them to others, who carried them inside a large warehouse.

  Now would be an excellent time to show up, Eric.

  But he didn’t, and Jane found her own pen lifted and passed along. Should she scream? But the moon’s pale light shone on a desolate landscape, nothing but the warehouse and parking lot hidden in the midst of a thick forest. Who would hear her? Who would care? And if she screamed and Velasquez or his henchmen punished her, how would she protect Fritz?

  Inside the warehouse the cages were assembled into a rough semicircle on a platform of some kind, and Jane saw that there were seven of them in all. A blonde was placed next to Fritz, and the boy reached through the bars of his cage to take her hand. This must be the sister. Helene. Even in the half-light, Jane could see heavy bruises beneath her red, swollen eyes. Like her brother, she was too thin and her long hair was a matted mess.