Diamonds & Deception

by Ellen Butler

  “I’ve got two more to run through facial rec,” Hernandez remarked.

  The action sequence continued, and the couple’s attention remained riveted to the screen. Hernandez lifted the MAV upward and headed down the hall to the back bedroom. The door was closed.

  “We can’t get in,” I whimpered.

  “Just a minute.” He lowered the MAV to the floor. “There should be enough clearance.”

  We held our collective breath as the MAV inched forward beneath the door. Centimeter by centimeter, it crept forth. I fiddled with my ring as it advanced, until it finally reached the other side.

  Rick slid the door open, startling all of us. Luckily, Hernandez automatically removed his hands from the keyboard, so the MAV wasn’t disturbed.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “In the bedroom.” Hernandez returned his attention to the computer. The drone flew up and over the sleeping figure.

  She wore underwear and a light T-shirt. Mottled markings of bruises dotted her arms and legs. Her long dusky hair spread across her face, and she had one arm above her head—cuffed to the iron bedpost. I sucked wind.

  “Is that your sister?” Hernandez asked.

  “I don’t know, it’s so dark.” I chewed my lip. The small shimmer from around the door and filtered streetlight through the pink poster board on the window provided the only illumination. “Can you get any closer?”

  The MAV descended, the girl groaned and shifted, and her hair fell back, revealing a cut lip and swollen black eye.

  Air whistled through my teeth and I rubbed my temples. “It’s not Jillian. I believe that might be Trudea.”

  “Hector Cortez is dead,” Rick announced, the revelation dropping like an anvil in our cramped compartment.

  “What? Where? How? Was my sister with him?” I twisted around and peppered my anxious questions at Rick.

  “He was trying to get on a flight to Mexico, out of Dulles. He had a false passport, but the FBI sent out a BOLO and airport security recognized him. Hector ran, they gave chase. He pulled a gun, they shot him down.” Rick delivered the news in an emotionless tenor.

  I rubbed my temples harder and closed my eyes. “She isn’t here. Hector is dead, which means we can’t capture and interrogate him. What do we do now?”

  “How’s it going with facial rec?” Rick asked Josh.

  “Nothing yet. Still running.”

  “We got two more to run through the system,” Hernandez put in.

  “That’s good,” Rick said confidently, “more leads. Don’t give up hope, Cardinal.” He squeezed my shoulder.

  “With Cortez dead, do you think the gang will remove the contract on my head?”

  “Possibly.” Rick squinted at the monitor. “Where are you now?”

  “Closet in the front hall. Look at this.” The MAV pulled back and Hernandez pointed at a latch with a padlock on it.

  “What do you think they’re hiding in there?” Josh pondered, arms crossed.

  “Drugs. Probably a whole closetful to go with the ones on the coffee table.” I stated the obvious.

  Rick didn’t respond and I noticed Hernandez squinting at the monitor as he slowly moved the MAV around the lock. “I don’t think it’s for keeping people out,” he said, “I think it’s for keeping something in.”

  That got my attention, and I leaned in. “What do you mean?”

  “There was a heat signature here.” Hernandez moved the MAV closer to the door. “I thought it was a dog. You don’t put a pet in with your drug stash. It’s also not a smart idea to keep it in the front hall. That’s a rookie move. Something a dime-bagger would do.”

  “What kind of sick fuck locks their dog in the front hall?” Josh muttered.

  I pulled one of Hernandez’s earphones closer and heard nothing but movie noises. “Why isn’t it barking?”

  Josh and Rick turned to me.

  “The dog. Why isn’t he barking in a frenzy? I can’t imagine he likes being locked up in there. Unless you think they’ve drugged or beaten it into submission.”

  Hernandez put the MAV on the floor and crept toward the crack under the door. Unfortunately, the older house must have shifted, because there wasn’t enough room for the MAV to get very far.

  “There’s more space at the other end, near the door hinges,” Rick pointed out, and the dragonfly flew its way to the opposite side of the door.

  I held my breath as it slipped beneath the crack . . . into utter blackness. “I can’t see a thing,” I said. “Doesn’t this drone have a light source?”

  “No,” Rick and Josh answered at once.

  “Can you tell your CIA friends to put one on?” I suggested.

  Hernandez shushed me, put the second headphone on, and pushed them tight to his ears. “Something’s . . . breathing.”

  “Dog?” Rick shifted closer and squinted at the dark screen.

  Hernandez’s face pinched in concentration, but he shook his head. “I can’t tell. I’d better get out, in case it wakes up.”

  He backed the MAV under the door, into the light. A finger followed it. The nail was broken and ragged, but it wore a distinct bright neon-pink fingernail polish, and it reached toward the camera.

  Holy shit! I gasped, reaching out my own hand.

  Hernandez backed the MAV further, and the finger followed as far as it could.

  I jumped up and grasped Rick’s arm, shaking it with the might of a wolverine. “It’s her. She’s in the damn closet. My sister. It’s her. That” —I pointed— “is her fingernail polish.” I looked back at the screen, but the finger had disappeared. “Go closer. Do it again.” I pounded Hernandez on the shoulder.

  Hernandez did as he was told, and the finger reached out again.

  “It’s her. I knew it. Let’s go! Move! Get out of my way!” I tried to push past Rick to the door.

  “Slow down, Cardinal. Slow down.” Rick gripped both of my wrists, forcing me to a halt. “Calm down. We are going to get her out, but we need a plan first. We can’t go running out of here with our pants on fire. Someone’s going to get killed.”

  I stopped trying to pull away as his words penetrated my excitement. “You’re right. I’m sorry. What do we need to do?”

  He released me. “First, you aren’t doing anything. Remember our deal? You. Remain. In. The. Van.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but at his stern look, I thought better of it and nodded instead. “Okay. Yeah, I get it. Now what?”

  “I need to make a call. Then I want to review the footage. Hernandez, I want you to check the rest of the house. Make sure we know what we’re dealing with. See if you can get into the basement. I don’t want any surprises.”

  “On it, boss.”

  Rick exited the van; Josh laid his tablet on the counter and followed Rick, slamming the door shut behind him. In the meantime, I chewed a hangnail as I watched the bug fly throughout the rest of the house, getting the lay of the land. My knee bounced in nervous anticipation, which probably annoyed Hernandez, but he was gentleman enough not to comment on it. Another bag of pills, yellow this time, lay on the kitchen counter, and dishes piled up in the sink, but there were no other human beings. He ran into an issue trying to get into the basement. The door was closed, and the gap at the floor was simply too small for the MAV to get through. Dim light shone through the cracks, and Hernandez grunted with frustration.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” I asked.

  “The boss is not going to like it.”

  “Any other way of getting down there? Maybe a peek through an outside window?”

  “I’ll give it a try.” He navigated his way out through the back screen door, which luckily had not been shut, and winged the MAV over to a deep window well. We encountered more darkness. Not a speck of light shone through the dirty glass.

  I chewed my lip as Hernandez checked the well next to it, and then the two in front of the house with the same result. “Does this mean Rick won’t go in?”

 
“Not necessarily. It just means we don’t know what’s down there.”

  “Which will make it more dangerous for you.”

  He didn’t respond. The dragonfly flew out of the well, and Hernandez returned it to the umbrella to observe our smoking man, who was still wandering the back porch. His conversation with his girlfriend must have ended. He now concentrated on his phone, as if reading a deep philosophical debate espoused by Plato or Socrates. The cigarette hung out the side of his mouth, forgotten.

  The van door slid open, drawing our attention away from the monitor.

  “Christoph is here,” Josh said.

  Hernandez removed his headphones and hopped out. I watched the footage for a few moments, but our smoker did nothing of interest. Giving up, I trailed Hernandez, curious to meet this Christoph. I found the four men standing in back of a green SUV parked behind Rick’s car. The rear liftgate was open, and they spoke in quiet tones.

  I stationed myself next to Josh and whispered, “What’s going on?”

  He must not have heard my approach—I was learning from Rick—because he gave a slight jerk. “You should be in the van,” he hissed.

  My arrival caught the eye of the fourth man, a thin guy with stringy, light brown hair that fell in his eyes. He wore ripped jeans, a dark windbreaker, and was in need of a shave.

  “Hi, you must be Christoph.” I held out my hand. “I’m Karina.”

  He stared at me for a moment, taking in the vest and utility belt. “Is this who I think it is?”

  My hand dropped.

  “Tell me you didn’t bring the witness here.” He glared at Rick.

  “Don’t worry, I stay in the van where it’s safe,” I assured him.

  “You know there’s a contract on her head?” He continued to ignore me and address Rick.

  “Hey!” I snapped my fingers in front of Christoph to get his attention. “I am well aware there’s a contract out on me. As you can see, Silverthorne has taken precautions.” I pounded my vest.

  Christoph seemed to finally focus on me.

  Rick sighed and shifted his weight. “It was either bring her, or handcuff and forcibly detain her. Not exactly protocol for a client.”

  “That’s why you should have left her in FBI custody,” Christoph admonished, taking off his windbreaker and pulling his own bulletproof vest out of the cargo area.

  “She wouldn’t stay. Besides, she’s been helpful in identifying her sister,” Rick said in a deadened tone.

  Christoph replaced the windbreaker, zipping it over the vest. “So you have confirmation?”

  “Well—” Rick hesitated.

  Josh answered on behalf of his boss, “We’ve got a partial identification.”

  “What does that mean?” Christoph pushed his long hair back and placed a baseball cap on backward to keep it out of his face.

  “I recognized her hand,” I provided.

  Christoph’s attention returned to me. “Her hand? Does she have some sort of identifying tattoo? Birthmark? Scar?”

  I shook my head at each question. “I recognized her nail polish.”

  “You’re shitting me. Her nail polish?” he snorted derisively.

  “It—it is very distinctive,” I supplied defensively.

  Christoph crossed his arms and surveyed the other men, one by one. Hernandez stared down and kicked at a pebble. Josh stuck his hands in his pockets. Rick watched me with a slight curl to his lip. I couldn’t tell if he was amused or disgusted.

  “Whether it’s her sister or not, there is a woman locked in a closet, and another imprisoned in a bedroom, cuffed to a bed,” Rick explained.

  “And the drugs?” Christoph asked.

  Rick’s scrutiny finally left me to return to Christoph. “Don’t worry. They’ll be there.”

  Christoph clipped a holstered gun to his belt. “They better be. It’s my ass on the line if there aren’t any drugs.”

  “Charming.” The sarcasm oozed out of my mouth. “And rescuing two women from human trafficking isn’t good enough?”

  “Look,” he informed me as he hung a badge around his neck. “I’m DEA, not FBI. And while I want to get these girls released just as much as the next guy, I’m in it to bust the dealers and confiscate the drugs. Trafficking isn’t exactly my bag.”

  “DEA! What’s DEA doing here? I thought you called your FBI friend!” I turned on Rick angrily.

  “The FBI is” —Rick coughed— “rather busy at the moment.”

  “So, what? We get the B-team today?” I flung my hand at the DEA agent.

  “I can see why you brought her,” Christoph drawled. “She’s a real barrel of laughs.”

  I itched to slap him, but refrained, instead delivering a glare that could stop a charging water buffalo.

  “Cardinal, can I speak to you a moment?” Rick gripped my bicep almost painfully and led me back to the van.

  I pulled my arm away and snapped, “Why did you invite him? I don’t understand why the three of you haven’t gone in already. There are only two guys with guns.” I held up two fingers for emphasis. “What’s up with bringing the DEA? If you were going to bring someone in, why didn’t you get one of the cops, like Perez, or someone in the FBI? Don’t tell me you don’t know some more law enforcement who would help in this situation. I mean, c’mon, who is that Christoph guy, anyway? He looks like he’s been sampling some of the product he confiscated, and he needs a damn haircut.” Okay, maybe I was being a bit harsh, but lashing out came from concern about my sister, and I didn’t appreciate this Christoph guy’s laissez-faire attitude about two prisoners in a gang den.

  Rick remained silent during my rant and took a beat before answering. “Christoph is one of the best undercover DEA agents on the force. He recently came off a job and had some time on his hands. And, to answer your question, no; my friends at the FBI are busy chasing down PJ-the-snitch’s leads.”

  “What about Sadira’s leads? My sister is here. I bet if I called Perez and Garcia, they’d get themselves on over right now.”

  “It’s my understanding that your friend Perez and his partner are following a few other leads from Sadira. Additionally, last I heard, the joint task force has got viable intel at the warehouse site, and there is a raid about to go down. It’s all hands on deck.”

  “But, she’s not at the warehouse. Why didn’t you tell them what we found?”

  “And how would I explain how we found a woman locked in a closet who we think might be your sister because we saw a finger?” His brows rose.

  “Oh, c’mon, you’re the King of Crap. You could’ve made something up.”

  “And what if it’s not her? What if she’s in the warehouse where they think she is?”

  I paused. He made a good argument. What if Jilly wasn’t here? Still— “I don’t see how diverting a few cops over here would make a difference.”

  He rubbed the five o’clock shadow on his cheek. “There’s another reason I don’t want to bring the force down here. A full-on SWAT raid will take time and put those girls in further danger. The moment we call police or FBI, we’re in a holding pattern until they come up with their own plan. This is a precision extraction, anything else can lead to collateral damage. Bringing in a DEA agent for the drugs gives the raid legitimacy and keeps it small.”

  What he said made sense. I knew military spec ops were highly trained to make maximum impact with a small team and minimum body count. “Christoph has the DEA’s blessing to raid this joint?” I asked.

  “Something like that,” Rick hedged.

  “Do I want to know the exact story?”

  “Let’s just say, the pills on the coffee table give him probable cause.”

  I sighed, rubbing my arm where Rick had held me. “When are you going in?”

  “Soon. Since Hernandez can’t get in the basement, I’d like to have one more on the team. We’re waiting for Jin to get here.”

  “Can I be on coms while you execute the raid?”

  He gave me one o
f his analytical hard stares. His eyes narrowed and he finally said, “Tell you what, I’ll put a body cam on Josh, and you’ll be able to hear the coms through the computer. I’ll also leave the MAV up. You can watch and hear it all from the comfort of the van, but it’ll be one-way. You won’t be able to speak to us. I can’t have you interfering in the raid or throwing the team off balance with an ill-timed comment, or smart-ass remark. Deal?” He held out his hand.

  “Deal.” I shook his hand and climbed back in the van to wait.

  The boys suited up in tactical gear while I watched the MAV’s footage.

  Rick directed his men to use nonlethal force unless absolutely necessary. “That means beanbag rounds and tasers. I’ll need someone to interrogate in case our target isn’t in the house.” Rick, along with Christoph, returned to the trunk of his car to retrieve more gear. Josh and Hernandez were in the rear of the van, loading up on weapons and body armor.

  Smoking guy got a call, jumped up and started agitatedly pacing. I listened in the earphone, but Spanish spurted from his mouth far too quickly for my poorly trained ear to follow.

  “Hey, the guy on the back porch got a call. Something’s up.” I held the headphones toward the boys.

  Hernandez snatched them from my hand and jammed them on his head. “FBI raided the warehouse.” His brows turned down into a glower. He stuck his head out the door and barked, “Boss!”

  Rick came around to the van. “What is it?”

  “They’re moving the girls.”