by Matt Lincoln
“Are you ready?” Smith asked me as he parked the car in front of the building.
“I’m ready,” I responded before climbing out of the car. We headed up to the front door while Fletcher and Macmillan stationed themselves around the back.
“On three,” Smith said as he positioned himself to kick the door in. I unholstered my gun and held it at the ready “One, two, three!”
He knocked the door in with a well-aimed kick, and we rushed inside.
“Put your hands in the air!” I yelled as we stormed into the building. The layout was open, the same way a store would be. Instead of clothes, however, the room was full of rows of tables. Dozens of children sat at the tables clutching sewing needles and pencils. Along the wall were washing machines and dishwasher units, and I could see children lugging bundles of clothes and fumbling with buttons.
Around the room, I quickly counted four men. There was a small room in the back that I couldn’t quite see into, so I couldn’t be sure that there wasn’t someone in there as well.
Every eye in the room turned to me as I yelled. One of the men pulled a gun from behind his back and brought it up to eye level. I fired a shot at him before he could pull the trigger. I cursed inwardly. I’d been the one to say we needed to hold off on shooting for as long as we could. Nevertheless, I couldn’t let him shoot.
He fell to the ground, and several of the children screamed. One of the other men moved as if to draw a weapon.
“Don’t even think about it,” I growled. He glared at me as though considering his options, but then he slowly put his arms up.
“Hello?” a tinny voice called through my radio. I lifted it to my ear without lowering my weapon.
“Patel here,” I responded. “What’s your status?”
“We’re upstairs,” Fletcher replied. “It’s clear up here. We also found the kids, but they’re all babies.”
“The older children are down here,” I responded. “Johnson and Crowe, move in now.”
Just a second later, the other two officers entered the building with their guns raised. I could see the faces of the men fall further as they realized they didn’t have a chance of escape.
“Get down on the ground,” Smith ordered. “Slowly. Face down, with your hands behind your head.”
The men glared at him but obeyed.
“Is there anyone else back there?” I asked, pointing my gun toward the backroom.
The men exchanged a look but didn’t respond.
I waited until all the men were on the ground before carefully approaching the backroom. There was a blind spot to my right, and I had a feeling I’d be attacked as soon as I tried to enter.
“Come out with your hands up,” I commanded.
My order was met with only silence, and I began to wonder if I was just imagining things. The next instant, a man came flying from around the corner, brandishing his gun. He fired. My first instinct was to jump aside, but a voice in the back of my head stopped me. The room behind me was full of children. If I moved aside, the bullet might hit one of them instead.
I fired my own gun and then fell as an intense pain bloomed across my ribs. I hit the floor with a thud, but I kept my eyes trained on the suspect in front of me, who fell to the floor as well. My bullet had definitely hit him, and once I was certain he wouldn’t be getting back up soon, I allowed myself to roll gingerly off of my side and onto my back.
“Agent Patel!” Smith yelled as he came to kneel beside me. “Don’t move. Crowe is calling for backup and an ambulance now. We have all the suspects in cuffs, and the upstairs is clear, so just relax for a moment.”
I sighed in relief at his words. I was glad we’d managed to apprehend all the suspects, but I couldn’t just lie here. We still needed answers, and I needed to have a look around the base.
I used my left arm to check the wound on my ribs and hissed in pain as my hand made contact with the injury. I gingerly undid the clasps on my tactical gear and felt for the spot where I’d been hit. My hand came away bloody, which meant that despite the protective vest I’d been wearing, the blow had just missed and managed to break the skin. Luckily though, the wound didn’t appear that deep.
I took a deep breath. My chest hurt, but my ability to inhale meant that my lungs hadn’t been damaged. That was definitely a good sign, as it meant that the bullet hadn’t managed to pierce all the way through and puncture a lung. A fractured rib could have easily punctured the delicate lung tissue as well, but it looked like I was going to get away with some bruising and a bit of blood.
“What are you doing?” Smith asked. “Stop moving! You’re going to hurt yourself worse!”
“Are the children okay?” I deflected his question. “Were any of them struck?”
“What?” Smith responded. “No, they’re all fine. Scared, but it looks like they’re all physically okay.”
“Good,” I replied as I pushed myself up into a sitting position. I fought back the urge to groan in pain as I did so.
“Are you crazy?” Smith demanded.
“A little,” I shrugged as I took a look around the room. Some children were crying, but they looked okay. Finally, I found what I was looking for. On the edge of one of the tables was a small indent where the bullet had buried itself after passing through me.
“Agent Patel, could you at least wait until the paramedics get here?” Smith implored. “You got shot at close range.”
“Fine,” I agreed as I pressed my hand into the wound on my side to staunch the flow of blood. I was itching to continue the investigation and find some clue as to where Amber might have been taken, but I needed to be practical. If I fainted from blood loss, I’d be nothing more than dead weight.
I watched as Smith, Johnson, and Crowe began to corral the suspects against the wall. While they did that, Fletcher and MacMillan came down and ushered the older children upstairs. It would be safer for them not to be in the same room as the suspects, and we’d be able to keep track of them if they were all in one place.
A few minutes later, I heard sirens outside as a swarm of police cars and ambulances came to a screeching halt outside the building. It must have been quite a shocking scene for all the civilians and tourists milling around outside. I watched through the window as more and more ambulances pulled up one after another. It was understandable, considering the dozens of children we’d discovered. While they seemed relatively healthy and unharmed, we couldn’t be sure they were okay until they were examined by a medical professional.
“Over here,” Smith called out as the police officers and paramedics began to enter the building. “We have a federal agent with a gun injury and two suspects down. The children are all upstairs.”
Everyone got to work, and two of the paramedics rushed over to me at Smith’s beckoning.
“You should really go to the hospital,” one of the paramedics said as he pulled my hand away from my wound to examine it.
“I will,” I answered. “Right after I’m finished with my investigation. Right now, I need you to patch me up as best you can.”
“Ma’am, I really don’t--,” the young man tried to argue.
“If you don’t,” I interrupted, “I’ll just continue investigating the case as I am now. I’d much prefer not to collapse from blood loss, but if you’re unwilling to accommodate my request, then I will have no choice.”
The young paramedic leveled me an incredulous look but ultimately conceded and began to patch me up.
“I know you folks are busy,” he mused as he wrapped thick bandages around my ribcage. “But isn’t this a little extreme? You’re not a superhero.”
“Tell that to the dozens of children this group has kidnapped and sold into slavery,” I quipped back. “I may not be a superhero, but I’m the one those children depend on right now.”
“I get it,” the paramedic nodded somberly as he finished his work. “Just try to take it easy, okay? I wrapped you up nice and good, but you really need to get an x-ray to see if you
have any internal damage. It won’t do you much good to have everything bandaged up if your organs and getting sliced up in there.”
“Thank you for the advice,” I responded as I carefully flexed my side. Moving more than a few degrees hurt, but it was manageable. “I assure you, I’ll go to a hospital as soon as I’m finished here, but I can’t call it a day yet.”
“Alright,” the paramedic shrugged. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He turned and walked away briskly then, likely off to help his comrades examine the children.
I made my way slowly around the room as I tried to take in every detail I could. There were cops and paramedics everywhere, so it was difficult to get a good look. After a few minutes, I decided there was nothing noteworthy down here. We’d ascertained a long time ago that the traffickers were teaching the kids how to do domestic work in preparation to sell them off, so there was no new information to be gained by looking around the first floor.
With that in mind, I made my way up the stairs. Every step sent a shock of pain through my ribs, but about halfway up, the worst of it seemed to subside. There was no sign of blood through the bandages, so I at least hadn’t made my injury any worse.
The second floor of the building was similar to the first in that its layout was wide and open. Unlike the first floor, however, there weren’t any tables or washing machines up here. Rather, two rows of bunk beds were shoved against the far wall. Beside them, piles of blankets and pillows were spread out around the floor. Along the wall immediately to the left of the entrance were six cribs. Fletcher had said that they’d found babies up there when they’d come in through the back door, but the cribs were empty now. Presumably, they’d been the first children that the paramedics took out of the building.
On the other side of the room were two adult-sized beds with a desk between them. I assumed this was where the men guarding the children would sleep at night. It was impossible to get to the stairs without passing directly in front of those beds, so it would have been virtually impossible for the children to sneak away.
There were several paramedics up here rushing about as they tended to the children. Every once in a while, one of them would carry a child out of the room and down the stairs. I couldn’t imagine how much work it would be trying to transport all of these children out of here safely.
I approached the desk. It was piled high with papers and folders. Most of the papers appeared to be receipts and sales transactions, as well as dates and descriptions of children. It was similar to what we’d found in Aaron Brown’s house. He’d had all of these records as well since he was the one tasked with tracking the children’s whereabouts.
As I riffled through the documents, something peculiar caught my eye. It was a flier with a design I’d seen before. I pulled it from the stack and gasped when I realized what I was holding. It was a flier for the Hope for Children organization. The same flier we’d found in the Weavers’ home.
Fear and horror clawed at my stomach, and I rushed back down the stairs. I was vaguely aware of the pain in my ribs as they protested the rough treatment, but I barely paid any attention. I needed to confirm that my suspicions were wrong.
I pushed my way through the throngs of people on the first floor toward the wall the suspects had been lined against. The wall was bare when I arrived.
“Where are the suspects?” I asked Smith, who was speaking to one of the police officers.
“They’re being taken back to the station,” Smith responded, frowning at the haggard expression on my face. “Aside from the two who were injured, they’ll be ready for interrogation by this evening. I thought you were going to go to the hospital first. Is everything okay?”
“How long ago did they leave?” I asked, brushing off the rest of his comments. I didn’t have time to explain right now.
“Just a few minutes,” he replied. “What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, I took off out the door. If I hurried, I might be able to catch them before they left. I caught sight of one of the men being loaded into a police car just a few feet from the entrance.
“Stop!” I yelled as I ran toward the car. The cop loading him in slammed the door shut and reached for his holster in response to my outburst.
“I’m Agent Patel,” I explained. “I need to speak with him. It’ll only take a moment. Please, it’s urgent.”
The officer relaxed and pulled the door back open.
“What is this?” I demanded to know as I thrust the pamphlet in the suspect’s face.
“Get away from me!” he spat.
I leaned into the car and placed my hand against the suspect’s windpipe. I positioned myself so that the officer outside wouldn’t have a clear view of what I was doing, but I wouldn’t be able to stay concealed for long.
“Answer my question,” I commanded through gritted teeth.
“It’s the place we send the kids to,” he gasped. “Our contact in the United States. She organizes the sales for us. We get the kids for her, and then we split the profits. She makes those fliers to hide what she’s really doing.”
I released my grip on his neck and stumbled backward away from the car. I felt as though I couldn’t breathe. How could we have missed this?
“Agent Patel!” Smith yelled as he leaned forward to look into my eyes. “Can you hear me? You’re bleeding again. You need to get to the hospital.”
“I need to call my team,” I mumbled as I reached a shaking hand into my pocket for my phone.
Smith was still saying something, but I blocked him out.
“Hello?” Wallace’s anxious voice answered after just a few rings.
“Sandra Baker is the supplier,” I blurted out. “The founder of the Hope for Children organization. She’s the one who took Amber.”
35
Charlie
The five of us waited anxiously around the phone. I’d sent the message to the kidnapper, offering monetary compensation in exchange for Amber’s return. The sum I’d offered was ridiculous and way more money than I had, but the kidnapper didn’t know that. If my hunch was correct, the prospect of money would be enough to at least lure him into calling.
I glanced over at Fiona, who was staring determinedly at her computer screen. The plan was for her to start tracing the call as soon as the kidnapper answered. If we kept him on the line long enough, we would hopefully be able to pinpoint his location. She’d seemed terrified by the plan when we’d first proposed it to her. I could understand her apprehension. After all, everything came down to her and whether she’d be able to trace the suspect. It was an unfair amount of pressure to put on her, but it was our best shot. Now, though, there was no sign of the earlier fear. In her eyes, I could see only anger and determination.
I froze as the phone we used to contact the kidnapper suddenly rang, his number flashing brightly across the screen.
“I’m ready,” Fiona announced, her hands poised to begin moving above her keyboard.
I answered the call.
“Hello?” I called. For a long moment, my greeting was met only with breathy silence.
“Hello, Agent Hills,” the kidnapper finally replied with a chuckle.
“I’m assuming you got my message,” I spoke deliberately slowly, trying to give Fiona as much time to trace the call as I could.
“I certainly did,” the kidnapper replied. “And yesterday, I might have taken you up on that offer.”
I felt a sense of dread at his words.
“You still can,” I started to say, trying my best to remain calm.
“You shut up when I’m speaking!” the kidnapper roared. “I didn’t have anything against you, you know. I wasn’t planning on hurting her. But imagine my surprise this morning when I received a phone call from my mother, letting me know that my brother was found dead in Jamaica.”
My head was spinning. I had no idea what he was getting at. I hadn’t killed anyone while we were in Jamaica. I’d had a few scuffles, but no one was dead at the end of them
.
“I don’t understand,” I ground out.
“Leroy Jackson,” the kidnapper stated coldly. “The man you arrested three nights ago in Trenchtown. Rumor has it one of the cops there enjoyed using him as a punching bag during your interrogation with him.”
My heart sank as I realized who he was talking about. Jackson was the suspect that had made lewd comments toward Patel. He’d finally cooperated with us after one of the police officers at the station physically hit him several times.
“I didn’t kill him,” I tried to explain.
“No, you didn’t,” the kidnapper scoffed. “But you may as well have. He was found dead this morning in his cell. Apparently, word got out that he had committed crimes against children, and someone decided to enact their own form of justice against him.”
My heart began to pound as I realized that the kidnapper had no intention of letting Amber go. He was looking for revenge.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” I argued.
“It’s too late for apologies, agent,” the kidnapper cut me off. “By the way, I know you’re attempting to trace this call. I won’t be staying on this call for much longer. Say goodbye, sweetheart.”
I was about to come up with some excuse to keep him on the line, but my words died in my throat at his last sentence.
“Hello?” A tiny voice I would recognize anywhere came through the line. “Who is this?”
“Amber?” I called frantically. “Are you okay? Tell me where you are.”
“Hey, Uncle Charlie!” Amber responded. She didn’t sound scared, but I couldn’t find it in myself to feel relieved. “Are you going to come to pick me up soon?”
“Yes,” I responded. “Just tell me where you are.”
“Time’s up, agent,” the kidnapper’s gravelly voice taunted. “Now, you’ll get to feel what I did when I received that call this morning.”