by Matt Lincoln
5
“Close the door,” Diane said. She dropped the frown and stared at the box. “Are those your coins?”
“Wrapped up and boxed, yes.” I glared at Holm. “Funny you should ask.”
Holm shook his head. “All I said was that we were running late.”
“I have my sources,” Diane told us. She took a deep breath and assumed her boss face. “New information came in this morning about the girls in the shipping container.”
I straightened. “And the survivor?”
“Nothing yet. No word is good word on that count.” Diane slid a manila folder across her desk. “Bonnie—I mean, Bonci and Clime got some information on your flora, and it jives with what we’ve learned from the shipping company.”
I tucked the box under my arm and reached for the folder. Holm got to it first and flipped to the first page.
“The Pride of Barbados.” He looked at me. “It’s the Bajan national flower. The leaves are from the flowers and the others from two other plants. Broomweed and… metastelma barbadense.”
His eyes widened, and he handed me the folder. Inside, it had old photos of a shrubby plant, the broomweed. The other was so rare it only had its scientific name. So rare that it hadn’t been found in a long time.
“Twenty years?” I leaned back. “Who gets fresh leaves of a supposedly extinct plant and throws them on bodies?”
“It’s not just that,” Diane said. “These species are the only two indigenous to Barbados. Everything else on that island was brought in by colonists and explorers.”
I set the box on the floor so that I could check the rest of the file. Underneath the lab reports was a shipping printout.
“The container came from… surprise, Barbados.” I scanned the document and frowned. “Why didn’t they have this info in the manifest?”
Holm stood and paced in the small space between his chair and the maps on Diane’s wall. He crossed his arms and looked at the map which was focused on the Western Hemisphere. Our territory.
“Maybe it was a silent pickup,” he said. “They could’ve loaded it after the Bridgetown port.”
“They definitely would’ve needed the ship’s crane,” I said. “That’s a serious operation. Have we been observing this boat?”
“The Somewhat There has been a low priority,” Diane said as she opened a file on her tablet. “They’ve passed customs, but we’ve had suspicions of low-level smuggling. Knock-off purses and watches. That kind of thing.”
“How do you go from fake Coach to human trafficking?” Holm asked. “That’s a hell of a leap.”
“They don’t.” I stood and looked at the map. “The operation is in Barbados, I believe that, but the Somewhat There is a dummy. It was supposed to drop this off.”
Diane narrowed her eyes. “What makes you so sure?”
“Low-key smuggling on a rundown tub is not how to ship human ‘merchandise.’” I spat the last word and then borrowed Diane’s tablet. “Did you catch the description that the guard gave in the report? He said it rode so low in the water that a few tall waves would swamp it. A sophisticated operator wouldn’t risk it, but someone with a message? It’ll probably make it into port. If not, too bad, a wasted effort, but it’s not traceable to its true origin.”
I handed the tablet back to Diane. She scrolled through a few more screens and then looked at the hard copies in the folder.
“No registration number on that box, is there?” I asked.
“It’s been cleaned,” she reported as I crossed my arms. “They had a blank box for their dirty work, and somewhere, they have a way to get it aboard a cargo ship.”
“Someone put a lot of thought into this,” Holm added. “We need to get to the ship, pull video records.”
“If they kept it. We could retrieve it…” I froze. “Diane, we need to stop that ship.”
The realization hit her and Holm at the same time.
“They’re going to destroy the evidence,” Diane growled. “Ethan, you two get airborne. They can’t be too far out. We need to pull the crew now.”
It’d been about eighteen hours since Somewhat There left the Port of Miami. They’d be in the open ocean with no witnesses to a sinking, and rescue could be hours away, depending on their route. It was the perfect place to scuttle the ship. I got on my phone to the Coast Guard.
“How d'you hear?” the man on the other end asked. “We just got the call.”
“Tell me what you got.”
“Debris, sir. They stopped pinging hours ago. We couldn’t establish contact and sent the closest cutter. The vessel went under before the unit arrived. Search and Rescue is still looking.”
“Send me the coordinates and any other intel you get.”
“Yes, sir.” The Coast Guardsman paused. “I’ve heard of MBLIS. You think this is a big case?”
“Big enough for you to keep your nose out,” I growled. “Copy?” Our agency was low visibility, often need-to-know. Eager young ensigns didn’t need to know.
“Copy that, sir. I’ll get right on this.”
I ended the call and shook my head.
“How bad?” Holm asked.
“Bad,” I answered. “It went down fast. Probably no survivors. When they locate the wreck, I want to go on a dive and see what we can find.”
“If they locate it,” Diane said. “Ethan, you and Robbie are in no shape to go on a dive. Muñoz and Birn can handle it. Deal with the onshore investigation today. Get rest tonight.”
Holm nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He headed over to the door and paused. “I’ll see you at our desks, at your convenience, Marston.” Then, he was gone.
Diane raised an eyebrow at me. “What happened?”
“I pissed on his parade.” I picked my box up from the floor. “He wants me to sell the coins and rake in the big bucks. I shut him down.” I winced just a little. “And maybe I was an asshole about it.”
Diane sighed. “Apologize. It’ll be fine.” She shook her head. “You two are like children sometimes.”
I grinned. “Yes, ma’am. And shoot me if that ever changes.”
“Get out of here, asshole,” she said with a laugh.
I met Holm at our desks and sat the box in front of him.
“Why’s it so important to you that I sell these?” I asked. I kept my voice neutral. This wasn’t like my partner, and I needed to know.
“It’s all you’ve talked about for years.” He rocked back in his chair and kept his arms crossed. “You’ve infected me.” A hint of his usual grin appeared. “After all that we learned about Lord Finch-Hatton and finding the coins, it’s been, I don’t know… anticlimactic. I was ready for something more to happen.”
I busted out laughing. Holm scowled and scooted into his desk.
“Robbie, these coins are just a small part of the prize,” I explained. “I’m not going to keep them forever. Hell, I don’t know what I want to do with them. I went my whole life with no more than whispered stories. Maybe I want to enjoy this for a while.” I nudged the box. “I’m gonna store it in the vault here until I figure things out. No more houseboat treasure.”
Holm’s shoulders relaxed. He put his elbows on his desk and stared at the box.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have pushed. It’s your thing, not mine.”
I grabbed my chair, rolled it over, and put my forearms on my knees.
“I was an ass in the car and overreacted. Let’s call it even.”
“Forgotten,” Holm said. He leaned back again, this time with his hands behind his head. “Now that we aren’t on each other’s shit lists, I have an idea about this new case. You know that Fernando Clarke guy we’ve talked to about smuggling?”
“Yeah?”
“How much do you wanna bet he knows a few things about trafficking?”
“I would place money on that bet. I think I’m gonna give him a call.” I pulled out my phone and dialed.
Clarke was one of my informants for operations at the do
cks. If he didn’t know about human trafficking, I figured he’d point us to someone who did. Something told me it wouldn’t be that easy.
6
We met Clarke behind a local convenience store. The short, scrawny guy wanted a few twenties and a fifth of Absolut vodka. The guy jacked up his prices every time I talked to him, and I was tired of it.
“What happened to twenty bucks and a case of beer, Fernando?” I complained. “I thought we were friends.”
“Friends don’t threaten to put friends out of business,” Clarke said. Despite the oppressive humidity, he pulled his hood lower over his brow. Sweat dripped from his chin, which he wiped away with the crooked fingers on his left hand. “I’m feeling heat, man.”
“You don’t say,” Holm drawled.
“The better informed you keep me, the less we have to meet,” I said. “What’s going on at the docks?”
Clarke shrugged and tried to turn away. I snapped my fingers, and he faced forward.
“Usual shit,” he grumbled. “A lil’ weed, a lil’ Gucci-no-no.”
I narrowed my eyes. Clarke knew the look, and he took a step back. Holm moved in behind the small man. Clarke backed into him and froze.
“What do you know about that box from Barbados?” I asked him. “The one with the three girls.”
He hunched over and mumbled something, and his hands went toward his middle. I put my hand on my holster, and Holm did the same as he moved back.
“Hands out, Fernando,” I spoke in a calm, even cadence. “Let’s not have a problem here.”
Clarke spread his arms with palms facing out. That mangled left hand was a reminder of a gang boss’s anger sometime back.
“They kill people’s family, man,” he let out as a clear case of nerves hit him. “Family. Lil’ kids first. No way, man. I don’t know nothing. Never did. Put me away, but I don’t talk.”
I grabbed Clarke’s shirt by the front and shoved him against a nearby tree. He looked up, eyes wide and haunted. This guy was spooked.
“Did you stop to think about what I might do to you?” I growled. “Three innocent girls were left in that death box. You know something. Spill it.”
Clarke shook his head, and the hood fell back. His closely shaven head was at odds with the natural hair I’d always seen him wear.
“Can’t. Don’t want my fam to die. This ain’t worth it. Those girls, they dead. My sis, my nephew, they ain’t.”
“Yeah, those girls are dead,” Holm said as he rounded on Clarke. “More girls are gonna get dead if nobody talks.”
Clarke kept his hands up, but he gestured in no particular direction. “Island girls, maybe. I don’t know them. They’re not fam.”
I released Clarke. He smoothed out his clothes and pulled the hoodie back up. He’d glanced over at the store several times as we spoke, and he did it again. I looked over and saw at the corner of the stucco building a surveillance camera pointed in our direction.
“You afraid of that camera, Fernando?”
“They’re watchin’ us.” He made a loud, swallowing sound. “Never know where. They see me and you, that’s trouble. Hey, no charge, Marston. Lemme go, hey?”
“You’re that freaked, huh?”
He nodded and looked to the ground. I didn’t let informants pull shit on me, but this guy wasn’t acting.
“I’m gonna give you a pass, Fernando.” I raised a warning finger and poked him in the chest, hard. “This time. But if I find out you’re lying about the threat, you’re done. Got that?”
“I got it.” He stumbled back a few paces and looked around as if expecting a hit squad right there. “I-I’m sorry, Marston. Really. You been good to me. Be careful, man. Real careful.”
Holm and I watched him run off and disappear down an alley.
“Way to set a bad precedent,” Holm said. “You believe him?”
“Yeah, I do,” I replied thoughtfully. “I’ve never had trouble with him. Have you?”
“Nah.” Holm stuck his thumbs in his pockets. “He’s your guy, but I’ve talked to him a few times. Squirrelly, but not a problem.”
My phone buzzed. The caller ID was Metro-Dade General.
“Marston,” I answered.
“This is Doctor Hill. The patient is awake, and she wants to talk to you.”
“We’ll be right over,” I said.
“Do not push your luck with this young woman.” Her strong voice came through loud and clear. “She wants to cooperate, but she’s just barely out of the woods. If we say out, you get out. Understand?”
“Understood, Doctor.” I flashed a thumbs-up to Holm. “I—”
The line went dead. I held my phone out and stared at it.
“She hang up on you?” Holm asked.
“That she did.” I caught my partner’s eye. “If someone tries to gank me in Miami, make damned sure I get Doctor Hill.”
7
“My name is Luciana Ramírez.” Luci’s long, black hair fell across her face and hid the tattoo we knew was there. “Friends call me Luci.”
“Where are you from, Luci?” I asked as gently as I could.
She winced and looked down at her hospital gown. It looked three sizes too big, and the way they’d taped the IV to her right wrist prevented her from doing much with that hand. A thin blanket covered her legs, but her arms below the gown’s short sleeves revealed cuts, scrapes, and more bruising.
“Agents, maybe next time,” the nurse snapped.
She moved toward us, but Luci held up her free hand. “No, please, stay. It’s not your fault. Those men… Lo siento. They tried to break me. Make me theirs. I refused, so they tried to kill me.”
“Would you rather speak with a female agent?” Holm softly asked.
A puffy red eye regarded us with caution. I wondered if her other eye was swollen all the way shut. The photo Holm took on the scene showed the area around the tattoo and eye was black and purple. That, too, was hidden by the cascade of hair. The right side of her face was better by a mere margin.
“I will speak with the agents in charge of the investigation,” Luci said. “You two are in charge, yes?”
“We are.” I took a chair and sat several feet from the side of her bed. The nurse stayed at Luci’s side and nodded. “Tell us what happened, as best as you can. We can take breaks as often as you need.”
As much as I hated to admit it, I hoped she wouldn’t need to stop. Time was anything but our friend, and we needed all she knew. But I also didn’t want to burn her out or cause her more trauma. Too many detectives and investigators forgot to humanize victims. If I ever became that guy, I’d find a different line of work.
“Thank you, Agent Marston.” She nodded to my partner. “Agent Holm.”
“Start at the beginning,” I said. “Where are you from, and what brought you all the way here?”
“My family is from Caracas.” She shifted and took a series of steadying breaths. “My father, he is an important man, even before Chavez. In the eighties, he invested in American tech companies like Microsoft and Apple. No matter what happens in my country, my father is protected by his money.”
I looked at Holm. He kept his expression neutral, but a flicker in his eye told me he had as many questions as I suddenly had.
Luci continued, “When I turned fifteen, Papá sent me to Chicago for school. He wanted me to have a future outside our country. It is dangerous, and he sent me away to be safe. I lived with a cousin’s family during high school and graduated from Northwestern University two years ago. Against my father’s wishes, I flew home. My dream was to help Venezuela heal by changing our government, by protesting.”
She took a shuddering breath. Damn, that kid was brave… or stupid. Maybe a little of both. I kept my mouth shut, and Holm was smart enough to do the same.
“I made people angry,” she continued after catching her breath. “The ones who steal girls and women? They promise good jobs in America. Everyone is desperate. We tried to warn the women not to go, but
they did anyway. They said it was their only hope, but they were wrong. The people I worked with knew those women were taken as slaves, mostly for sex.”
Luci squeezed the side rail so hard that her knuckles blanched. The nurse moved, but Luci waved her off.
“You must understand that my friends and I worked hard to expose traffickers. They pay too much money to important people, though. We couldn’t do anything but protest and beg women not to go. Beg families not to send girls. People started listening because we showed proof. That’s when my friends and I were taken.”
She looked away and was quiet for several minutes. We waited, gave her time. When I thought maybe she was done, I stood. She looked straight at me.
“Agent Marston, they could not quiet us, so they sent us to the man who could break us.” She took a shaky breath and rubbed at her eye with the back of her hand. “They put people in cages there. Teach women and girls how… how to please men. Beat them until they obey.”
Her chin trembled, and the nurse handed her a tissue.
“We can come back later,” I offered. The job demanded I get everything, but dammit, she was barely more than a girl. “I know this is difficult.”
She shook her head and then flinched.
“I am alive, and I can speak,” she told me in a slightly stronger tone. She lifted her chin. “Those monsters wanted us to obey. My friends and I, we did not.” She moved a hand from the rail and grabbed a handful of blanket. “After his men beat us and… and… The men left, all but one. The boss came in and talked to him and to us. All I remember is his voice, not the words. I could not see him because my eyes were swollen shut.” One eye still was, beneath that curtain of hair. She blinked the one we could see. “Then, there was pain on my face. I know what it is now. It is his sign, and everyone can see it.”
Luci pulled her hair back. The tattoo and bruising lent nightmarish coloring to the flower and trident design. A mere slit of her eye was visible through the swollen lids, which the doctor told us had become infected during the transit.
“Most of the time after the kidnapping is a blur,” she said. “They drugged us with something, and we could not fight. Not until their ‘Breaking House,’ where we lived in those cages. I hear we were in Barbados. I couldn’t tell you. All I know is that when I woke in that lightless box, I thought I was in hell.”