Titan Trilogy 3.5-Black Soul

by T. J. Brearton

  Sterling led the family back towards the shore. The boatman remained behind, tying off to the cleats.

  Sterling was entertaining guests, apparently. Down here to search for his missing daughter, but also meeting with friends, whoever they were.

  William was about to follow them but Hanna grabbed his arm.

  “Wait . . .”

  He followed her gaze. Further up the hill, almost hidden among the huts, were two other figures. Darker skinned, dressed in cargo pants, they didn’t strike William as bystanders. He edged closer, pulling Hanna along with him, trying to get a better look. No guns in plain view, but he was sure they were armed.

  “Private security,” Hanna said.

  They watched as Sterling and the tourists made their way up toward the resort’s main building. Even the main structure was just another, slightly larger Caribbean-style bungalow.

  One of the adults rounded up the children and ushered them inside.

  William pulled away from Hanna and trudged through the sand.

  She caught up with him. “Let’s keep a little distance for now. Find our room. The man who hired us is staying here, he hasn’t hidden it from anyone — Mateo knew right where he was. So if anything this will look like us being suspicious.”

  “Yeah, well, we wanted to talk to him and there was a place available for us to stay. That’s it. We’ve got nothing to hide, either.

  “No,” she said, eyeing the two men posted outside the bungalow. “But we might want to be careful.”

  * * *

  By the time they walked back from the beach, there was no sign of Sterling or the family. The private security was gone.

  The dozen or so small bungalows were spread out over the resort, connected by a dirt path. When William and Hanna located their unit they dropped their belongings and stared out at the spectacular ocean view from the upper porch. The only sounds were of the surf lapping the shore and the jungle birds. The hot breeze smelled of salty fish.

  William took out the laptop and the black box and linked them. There was a faint Wi-Fi connection from the resort, but he avoided it. They had their own mobile data connection routed through the deep web and he checked his email.

  Lazard had responded. He apologized for missing William’s call from the other day. He was cryptic, but said some things were changing on his end, though “not to worry.” He proposed a time for the update.

  William glanced at his watch. Perfect. Lazard would be ready in twenty minutes.

  While he waited, he leafed through the brochure and discovered that the resort was completely solar-powered. There were several gold badges throughout the document, declaring it an eco-tourist destination, a winner of several awards for sustainable tourism. Although it was mainly a diving destination, Royal Playa offered other activities. They could hike the national park, and there was a secluded Cay where they were invited to “spend a few hours.” He didn’t see where finding missing girls was included.

  It was time for the update. William logged on to the black box using his series of passwords.

  Lazard had hackers all over the globe. Some were affiliated with the group Nonsystem. Data on Sterling’s investments would be found in the files of his financial manager. The progress bar on the screen said that it would all be known in less than an hour. It was longer than an update usually took, but the connection was bad.

  The room phone rang and William snatched it up and said hello. He had a feeling who it was.

  Sterling only breathed for a moment, then said, “Mr. Chase. We need to talk.”

  No shit, William thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  They finally met over dinner.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been around,” Sterling said. “I’ve been avoiding someone.”

  “Who?” William asked.

  “Isabella.”

  “Why?”

  “And I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier — my cell service doesn’t work out here.”

  William waved a hand. “Why are you avoiding Isabella?”

  Sterling took a sip of his white wine. The restaurant was called the Pirate Cove, another open-air bungalow, this one right on the water. From their table William could see the sky turning purple as daylight faded.

  “She has ideas about me,” Sterling said.

  “Like what?”

  Sterling raised his eyebrows and set down his glass. He dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “She’s suspicious of me because I have business in Roatán. She thinks I’m a privileged white American. I think she’s only interested in Rene because it brings attention to her cause.”

  “Well that should suit you,” William said.

  “She’s done nothing. But she’s always here, not because she’s looking for Rene, but because she’s watching me.”

  “Isabella has gone back to the mainland, from what I was told,” Hanna said.

  “What makes you think she’s watching you?” William asked.

  Suspecting his daughter was kidnapped into a human-trafficking ring because of a young man she’d been spending time with was one thing. Now Sterling thought Isabella was investigating him. It bordered on paranoia.

  “I hoped you would follow me here,” Sterling ducked the question. “I tried not to hide it.”

  “So you said on the phone.”

  Hanna put her hand on William’s, and leaned towards Sterling. “What do you know about Isabella?”

  “What do I know? I assumed you would have looked her up by now. I’m sure you’ve looked me up.” His eyes switched back and forth between them, goading them to divulge what they knew about him.

  William kept quiet for now. The black box was fully updated, hidden away in their bungalow.

  “We don’t know about Isabella,” Hanna admitted. “Only what she told us at the meeting yesterday morning. Obviously she had something happen to her.”

  “Oh yeah,” Sterling nodded. “She had something happen.” He settled his weight, as if preparing to tell the story. “She was on the migrant route. She left Honduras and traveled to South Mexico. She and her group walked day and night. They were cold, they were afraid. In Mexico, the story goes, she ran out of money, so the coyote with her told her he had a job for her. He said it would be taking care of kids, but it turned out to be something else. They drugged her, kept her drunk, forced her into prostitution. Some of the girls she was with were fourteen years old. Isabella tried to help them out — they escaped, tried to jump a train. Isabella was helping one of the girls when she slipped.”

  Hanna covered her mouth. Then she picked up her wine and took a sip.

  William interrupted, “Again, this all seems to your benefit, to have someone like her involved, doesn’t it?”

  “Think about it,” Sterling said, as if it were plainly obvious. “She’s dedicated her life to this. She’ll do anything it takes to fight against traffickers. She’ll risk anything.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. On the one hand you say she’s done nothing, on the other, that she’ll do anything.”

  “You don’t know the desperation. The woman lost her legs at age sixteen. After being a sex slave for a year. They amputated when she signed consent forms she didn’t understand — her legs might’ve been saved.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “She had a golden pass after that — the United States offered her sanctuary after a newspaper reported her story.” Sterling’s eyes got wide. “But she returned to Honduras. She came back. She’s made it her life’s work to combat this. So, you know? She’ll go up against anyone. She’ll wreck my life, just because she doesn’t like who I am, or what she thinks I represent.”

  William sat back, looking at Hanna. Hanna’s expression seemed to say, Go ahead.

  William turned back to Sterling. “What does she think you represent? What would Isabella have on you?”

  Sterling glared, but they were interrupted by the waitress arriving with their food. They’d each gotten
the house special, a dish of lobster, shrimp, and assorted island fruits. No one touched their plates for a moment, the air was tense. Then Sterling took a bite.

  “My daughter has always had a mind of her own,” he said. “When she was in elementary school, she took up a cause about stray dogs in our neighborhood. She would go out and rescue them and bring them to the pound for adoption. She was going to college in the fall to pursue the humanitarian arts. She wanted to work for Amnesty International — that was her dream.”

  William noted how Sterling referred to his daughter in the past tense.

  Hanna asked, “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that my daughter is a good person. She’s kind, she wants to help people.”

  “You’re still not making sense,” William said, his patience thin. “Just speak plainly. Can you do that?”

  Sterling turned, his face flushing. “I am. You’re just not listening. I’m telling you what I can tell you. Okay? Rene is capable. But she’s still so young. Just find her. Would you? Would you find her for me, please?”

  His lip trembled and his eyes welled with tears.

  “We’re trying,” Hanna said.

  “She doesn’t know the world like I do.”

  “And how do you know the world?” William asked.

  “I know that Honduras is a dangerous place.”

  William nodded. “No question. But, you’re invested. Right? Is that what we’re talking about?”

  Sterling let his silverware clatter on the dish as he sat back. “There it is. I was waiting for that. I’m the guy who hired you and you’ve been investigating me. You’re just like Isabella.”

  “It’s only natural,” William said. “It’s part of what we do. And you’re sitting here, leading us to it. Of course it’s of interest to us that you have a major share in Paradise Cruise Lines. And that Paradise no longer calls at the Port of Roatán since the shooting six months ago. The company has to be feeling that.”

  “I hired people from the outside so that they could see this with fresh eyes!”

  His voice had raised an octave. Nearby diners cast nervous looks in their direction.

  Hanna reached across the table and gave Sterling’s arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright, Arnold. We’re here to help you. We want to find her.”

  Sterling faced her, his eyes glassy. “But only if she wants to be found, right? What if she doesn’t?” The tears spilled now, Sterling’s face a contortion of sorrow and guilt.

  “No,” Hanna said softly. “We’ll find her. But if she’s not in danger, and if she wants to stay here, that’s her right. You hired us to locate her. We don’t rescue people who don’t want to be rescued.”

  “She’s a minor,” he said and struck the table. He lowered his head and William and Hanna traded looks. The guy was an emotional wreck. He took his napkin and dabbed at his eyes.

  “You keep security with you?” Hanna asked.

  Sterling’s eyes came up. It was clear that he preferred gentle, understanding Hanna. William realized they’d fallen into a good-cop/bad-cop routine.

  “I do,” Sterling said. “They joined me here this morning.”

  “You’re worried about robbery?” William cut in. “Something else?”

  Sterling glowered. His tears had dried up and he was ornery again. “That’s my business. Who I am and what I do should be of no concern to you, or to Isabella. I’ve given you a generous retainer. And I’ll increase your reward for finding my daughter.”

  William slipped his cell phone out and scrolled to the picture of the license plate. He stuck it under Sterling’s nose. “Do you recognize this vehicle?”

  It was all over Sterling’s face. Not only did he recognize it, he didn’t like seeing it one bit. “Where did you get that?”

  “I took it,” William said, returning the phone to his pocket.

  “Where?”

  William wiped his mouth with his napkin and sat back. “Who owns that vehicle?”

  Sterling looked astonished. His red-ringed eyes traveled between them for a moment. He dug into his pocket and flung a wad of cash on the table and then stood up so fast that his chair rocked back.

  “Talk to us, Arnold,” Hanna said.

  William caught the anxious eyes of the waitress, who was watching.

  “I need to make a phone call,” Sterling blurted. “Meet me at my bungalow in an hour.”

  He turned on his heel and strode away. He banged the arm of a diner as he hurried past, and left.

  The waitress watched him go, then timidly approached. “Everything okay?”

  “Delicious,” Hanna said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  In their bungalow, Hanna had the laptop open on the bed. William stood on the porch, smoking a cigarette. He could hear the gurgle of a water taxi in the distance, but couldn’t see anything from here. It sounded like an arrival rather than a departure, and then the engine shut off, draping the night in silence.

  “Look at this,” Hanna said.

  He dropped the cigarette into an empty bottle and walked back inside. She sat cross-legged in front of the MacBook.

  “Remember the Facebook crime-watch group I told you about?”

  He sat down beside her. She had the group’s page open. William saw it had close to a thousand members. “I’ve been going through the pictures,” she said. “And what do I find?”

  He leaned in for a close look. A group of people were gathered, smiling, in front of some mangrove trees. Sterling was one of them.

  “Arnold Sterling is a member. I wonder . . . what is it?”

  William stared, and felt his mouth go dry. Beside Sterling was another white man, just about Sterling’s age.

  “Will?”

  “See the guy with him? That’s the guy from last night who had the girl on the bed, the one I took to the hospital.”

  The two men had their arms around each other.

  * * *

  William and Hanna walked along a lighted path, searching for Sterling’s bungalow. The sun was almost completely gone, and William saw bats circling overhead in the dusk.

  They heard voices up ahead, and crept closer. The bungalow was elevated, like a treehouse, but William caught sight of a man on the raised porch. There was no longer any guessing involved — the dark-skinned man was sporting an AK-47, the infamous selective-fire rifle.

  William grabbed Hanna and put his hand over her mouth as they squatted down along the edge of the sandy path. Holding her close, he could feel her heart beating rapidly. His own pulse accelerated. They were unarmed, vulnerable.

  “Stay here,” he whispered.

  He saw the protest in her eyes but quickly slipped away. He needed to get a better look, which meant he had to gain some elevation.

  The jungle rambled up away from the bungalow path — the national park was mountainous, and the resort sat along the coastline below it. He was able to move to a better vantage point without causing a stir. And he could still see Hanna just off the path, hiding in the underbrush on the other side.

  Through a large open window, he counted four armed security guards, including the man on the porch, now out of sight on the far side of the bungalow. Sterling passed into view. He was gesturing with his arms. He looked furious.

  “Then we’ll just have to reschedule,” he said. “I can’t. I can’t keep going after what you did. What the fuck were you thinking, David?”

  “This isn’t on me,” said another voice. “This is your bullshit. Your own problem with your fucking daughter. What I do on my time is my own business. You never had a problem with it before.”

  “I never had my seventeen-year-old daughter here before!”

  Sterling was livid, his voice carrying out into the night.

  “Keep your voice down,” the man named David said, still out of sight. “Just settle the fuck down, Arnold. You were the one to let her come here—”

  “I didn’t know—”

  “—and you were the one to
bring in those other people. I saw the fucking guy. I saw him jump into the back of that cab.”

  William felt the adrenaline squeeze his heart. David was the man from First Bight, the one in the Facebook picture. Sterling had likely called him, and David had arrived a short while ago — in the water taxi William had heard earlier.

  William tried to settle his nerves as he watched and listened.

  “Yeah, and that’s your mess,” Sterling said, but he’d lost his ire and sounded whiny now.

  “Right,” David said sarcastically. “Right. Well, we’re not rescheduling.”

  A moment later, he stepped into view. There was no doubt now. William felt a nauseating twist in his stomach as David seemed to look out into the jungle — right at William. But the fifty-something white man didn’t see him, he just seemed to be thinking.

  William bet half the guards in the room were his, the others were Sterling’s. Two wealthy white American men with their own armed personal security. Both of them part of this crime-watch group on the island. Worried, maybe, about their diminishing returns from Paradise Cruise Lines, and whatever other holdings they had in Roatán. Who knew how much money they were losing to a high crime rate, dwindling tourism, police corruption.

  An idea began to form in the back of his mind. Before he had a chance to really turn it over, David disappeared from the window. William stopped breathing for a moment. He heard a sharp sound, like the snapping of a twig. He spun around and saw a pair of eyes watching him.

  He froze, then the eyes, lit from the bungalow, vanished. There were more crackling noises in the underbrush. He felt immobile, afraid to run. He realized it must be an animal the way it was moving.

  Gunfire rattled in the night. Bright bursts of light sparked in the bungalow. Someone screamed. The reports slammed his ears, like flat claps of thunder in rapid succession. Men were running about inside the bungalow.

  William broke free of the shock and ran down the slope to Hanna. He grabbed her and the two of them fled deeper into the jungle.

  More reports. Loud even at a distance. Another guttural cry from someone inside, then silence.

  A pause, and then footsteps. Someone ran out the other side and came around onto the trail.