“The party. The reason they called Kuntzman in the first place.”
“Exactly,” Pally said. “Now, this isn’t something they’re likely to throw up online, but there are things that they would need to put something like this together.”
My eyebrows rose slightly in response, the statement not quite what I was expecting.
But that didn’t mean it was wrong.
“Right,” I said. “Caterers...”
“Ground transportation, music, you name it,” Pally said. “Didn’t take long and a pattern started to emerge. I even found a damn ice sculptor heading out there.”
For years, the running joke on our team was that before long people like Pally would be putting the rest of us out of business. That the day would come when grunts like us with boots on the ground would be a tiny ancillary part of the process, the real heavy lifting done by guys on computers in a basement somewhere.
Apparently, those days were already here.
“Okay.”
“So, I took what the man said at face value and went to work on the address.”
Whether there was any dark humor intended with his word choice, I didn’t bother speculating. “And?”
“Place was bought months ago by a man named Sirr Asai,” Pally said. “Thirty-two years. Born in Okinawa, raised in California, educated at Berkeley.
“You ever heard of something called the Dark Web?”
My eyebrows rose slightly in response, the question not quite what I was expecting.
“Vaguely,” I said. “It was just starting to come around at the end of my time with the DEA. Some of the pushers down south were using it to contact buyers, arrange exchanges, stuff like
that.
“Clearly nothing in the last six years.”
“Okay,” Pally explained, “well, it’s come a long way since
then. We don’t have time for a full-on history lesson here, but
think of it like this: websites that still need the internet for
distribution, but cannot be accessed unless someone has specific
configurations and software.
“Think password protection to the millionth degree.”
Why Pally was taking us on this tangent, I hadn’t a clue, knowing only that it was relevant. And based on what he was saying, not good.
“And that’s where you found Asai?”
“And his sidekick Paco,” Pally replied. “One’s the brains, the other was Mexican special forces, does all the heavy lifting.”
Grunting, I felt my pulse pick up another tick. Information like that was why I had forced myself not to go charging ahead blindly. It separated a couple of amateurs like the house in Belle Meade from the professionals I was about to face.
A man like Paco would be prepared. He would have contingencies in place. He would make it difficult for me to just stroll up, posing as a guest.
“Seems this isn’t the first time these guys have put something together like this,” Pally said. “Portland, Austin, San Diego, they’ve made a ton of money and more than a few enemies everywhere they’ve been.”
“Which makes you wonder why someone hasn’t taken them down yet,” I muttered.
“They can’t,” Pally replied. “The Dark Web is littered with the stuff that goes on at these parties. And we’re talking some pretty depraved shit.
“If anything ever happens to Asai, this stuff all goes live, and a whole lot of people go down.”
Again, Pally hadn’t gone into specifics, but that did little to calm my nerves.
My gaze slid to the photo still tucked into the middle console where Amber had left it. Wedged beside the empty McDonald’s coffee cup, I could just see Elyse’s smiling face peeking out around it, her tan skin and blonde hair on full display.
If that wasn’t the human embodiment of something that had no business being at a party like he was describing, I didn’t know what was.
“Any visuals on the place?” I asked.
“A basic schematic,” Pally said, “but it’s rough. And it looks like the place was gotten a pretty extensive facelift since Asai purchased it to get ready for tonight.
“The best I could find was a simple aerial overview.”
A few times I’d used Google Earth in my work around the park, instances when I was new to the gig and wanted to get an idea for where I was headed.
He was right. They were patchy at best, giving a rudimentary overview and little more.
It would have to do.
“Send it over as well.”
“Done,” he replied. Pausing, it seemed as if he were considering adding something more. Even without uttering a sound, I knew what he was getting at, the unspoken warning he was trying to impart, the offer of assistance for anything he might be able to give.
I appreciated all of it, just as I appreciated everything he’d already done, had always done.
But right now, I didn’t have time for it.
“Any idea what time this shindig is set to get started?” I whispered.
“Definitively? No,” he replied. “But based on the schedules for the transportation companies I tracked down?
“Half an hour from now. At the latest.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
There’s a reason my sister-in-law decided to end her moratorium on speaking to me and made the call. It wasn’t because her son was shot and his nose broken, leaving him lying in a hospital bed. It wasn’t because her husband, for all the good qualities he has, simply isn’t equipped for this sort of thing.
It wasn’t even because her only daughter was missing, being left to the devices of whatever the most sadistic among us might levy at her.
It was because I was a man with institutional knowledge. Years of serving in the navy, of working with the DEA, had subjected me to first-hand experience of the worst the world had to offer. I had been places and seen things. Items that others might not even know existed, I knew without giving a second thought.
Things such as the fact that while the running attire I had on might have worked for getting me close to the S-2, there was no chance it was getting me anywhere near where I was headed next. People like them - that held evening galas and had private planes for jumping across town - were obsessed with appearances.
Too many times to count, we had shown up at a third world stronghold carved into the dense jungle to find every person present wearing suits or dresses. High-end attire that was made specifically for them, no matter that it didn’t fit the location or the climate.
How someone presented themselves dictated how much respect they could command.
And respect, to them, was everything.
If I wanted to get within a mile of the place I was headed, I needed to at least attempt to blend in. While there was no chance I would ever pass close inspection, I had to be able to reach striking distance.
Already, I was going to be outmanned and outgunned. I needed every small bit of help I could muster.
Normally, that wouldn’t be such a problem. If I needed clothes, I could go to any of a number of establishments and have them give me a quick measure. While I was waiting, I could stroll down the street for a haircut and a shave.
A couple of uncomfortable hours and a lot of money later, I would be all set.
The issue now was, it was late in the evening and I had a clock ticking steadily backward hanging over everything.
“Will this be all?” the middle-aged woman behind the cash register asked without even looking up at me. The sole checkout line that was open at such a time, her eyes were barely open.
A blue Wal-Mart apron hung around her neck, not bothering to tie the waist strings, letting it swing free.
“Yes, please,” I said, inserting my credit card into the reader and waiting as she slowly rang up my items. One at a time, I watched them slide past, counting every second off, wishing so badly for her to hurry up.
First up was a can of Starbucks espresso, needing another jolt of concentrated c
affeine to sharpen the senses. Behind that was a pair of Gatorade bottles, flavors not mattering, grabbed as I sprinted down the aisles.
Next in order were two protein bars, followed by a pair of grooming scissors, a travel size tube of hair gel, and a comb.
After that was the cheapest black suit I had ever seen, the material so thin it was already wrinkled, resembling something like a hospital gown.
Last in order was a foldable hunting knife, the model a far cry from the hawksbill blade I preferred to carry back home, but the best I could manage in a pinch.
Like so much of what I’d acquired on this trip.
“That’ll be ninety-eight dollars and fifty-two cents,” the woman said. “Need a bag?”
I didn’t bother replying. The instant the credit card reader stated that I had been approved, I snatched up everything and headed for the bathroom, moving as fast as wouldn’t draw attention.
Chapter Seventy-Four
There was a single loud knock on the door, the sound reverberating through the holding cell. The echo of the metal door bounced off the cinder walls, pushing in on Elyse Denman from every direction, a spike of fear hurtling through her.
Pressing her heels into the top of the mattress she was sitting on, she attempted to push herself clean through the wall, her heart thundering in her chest as she sat and stared at the door.
Every moment since Paco left had been spent in desperation, searching the room for any means of escape, for any sort of a weapon that might present itself.
Unlike her first captors - the bungling trio of boys from the mall - these people were pros. Everything was welded directly into the walls, without so much as a sharp corner or jagged seam that could be utilized. No vents in the ceiling or the door.
Even the toilet was waterless, using reverse suction, eliminating any chance of trying to cause a flood and getting them to open the door.
Once she had realized that there would be no trying anything, she had settled herself back on the bed. Angled so she could stare up at the glowing red digits of the clock, she had watched as the minutes crawled by at an agonizing pace, a million different thoughts and fears fighting for supremacy in her mind.
Not a single one had won out, each as bad or worse than the one before, sending trepidation pulsating through her system.
This was not supposed to be how things went. It was just a trip to the mall to see a movie, a chore she had to perform so she could go to a concert in a couple of weeks.
There wasn’t supposed to be someone waiting to steal her car. Shoot her brother. Sell her off to a fate that she still couldn’t wrap her mind around.
These sorts of things didn’t happen in the real world. They were the stuff of cheap action movies and pulp novels.
Yet, here she was, the various thoughts and images swirling through her mind as the knock echoed out, snapping her from her trance. In its place was only wanton fear, fresh moisture underscoring her eyes as she watched the door swing open.
First one through was Paco. Taking a step into the room, he glanced around, ensuring everything was in order, before nodding slightly.
“Come in.”
A moment later, a woman appeared at the door. Her weight listing to one side, she was dressed in a long skirt that dragged the ground and a black turtleneck sweater. Appearing to be somewhere in her mid-thirties, her blonde hair was pulled into a pile atop her head. A series of necklaces and bracelets jangled as she shuffled inside.
In her hand was a black leather satchel zipped closed. Slung over her back was a matching garment bag.
Watching as she entered, Paco glanced to Elyse. Extending a finger toward the clock on the wall, he said, “Everything you do, we can see.”
Leaving his warning at that, he stepped past the woman, swinging the door shut in his wake. The sound of it was twice as loud as the initial knock, Elyse again pulling back, staring wide-eyed between the door and the woman.
Who, for her part, seemed to have not yet noticed Elyse. Focused on the items she’d brought with her, she unslung the garment bag from her back, carefully laying it flat on the floor in front of the door.
Once it was in position, she reached into the satchel, taking out various makeup items and lining them along the sink.
Watching her work, so many questions came to Elyse’s mind. So many concerns, from where they were to what happened next.
All of them underscored by terror, fear seeming to grip her from within.
“Who are you?” Elyse whispered.
The woman continued moving, not bothering to look over at her. “My name is Tracee.”
Once, twice, Elyse opened her mouth to speak, trying to make sense of what had just been shared. “No...I mean, yes, but, why are you here?”
For the first time, the woman paused. She ran her gaze the length of Elyse before stating, “To get you ready.”
“For what?”
A small quiver passed over Tracee’s face. Her lips parted as if she might speak, moisture collecting under her eyes, before she snatched up a compact from the sink beside her and held it at arm’s length. Resting it on Elyse’s cheek, she said, “Yes, I think this color will do nicely, don’t you?”
Seeing the look on the woman’s face, hearing her words, gravity won out, pushing the tears down Elyse’s cheeks. Snapping her hand up, she grabbed Tracee by the wrist, holding her in position, the compact still touching her skin.
“Please,” she whispered. “What is going on here?”
Tracee made no effort to pull her hand back. A single tear pushed south, pulling a smear of mascara with it. Her nostrils flared as she said, “It doesn’t matter.”
“How can you-“
“Because I was once just like you,” Tracee said. “I was once sitting exactly where you are, and I tried to figure things out. I tried to make an escape.”
Pulling her hand free, she took a step back. Grasping the front of her skirt between her middle and index fingers, she slid the material upward, revealing her foot.
Or, rather, what was left of it.
The entire front half had been severed clean, ending abruptly in a stump just before her heel. Stuffed into the back end of a shoe, the front half was filled with a wad of tissue paper.
“So I tried to run,” she said. “Paco did this. Of course, nobody would want me after that, but they kept me around to serve as an example to anybody else that got any ideas.”
Pops of light began to dance before Elyse’s eyes. Her chest constricted, her lungs fighting to pull in air.
So badly she wanted to ask who didn’t want her. Or for what. Or why they needed her to act as an example.
The words wouldn’t come, though, her body too fraught with fear to even consider speaking.
Rocking her head back, she rested it against the wall, her fingers digging at the vinyl mattress beneath her.
“Exactly,” Tracee replied, dropping the skirt back in place. “There’s nothing either of us can do.”
Turning back toward the sink, she added, “So let’s get you ready before he comes back, okay?”
Chapter Seventy-Five
Everything was in order. Standing before the bank of monitors lining the back of his office, Sirr Asai could see the entire interior of the mansion. More than sixteen screens in total, they were arranged in a square grid, each one shuffling through a variety of angles inside the respective rooms.
Made to loop in eight-second bursts, they were staggered so that two of the sixteen switched each second, like watching a kaleidoscope in real time.
Throughout each of the screens, a bevy of staff could be seen bustling about. Caterers put food on the buffet line. Bar backs placed bottles of beer and wine into ice while others arranged handles of high-end liquor beside them.
In a couple of spots, guards could be seen giving things once last look, their dark suits standing out, meant to be gone before the first guests arrived.
Standing with his arms folded, Asai stared at the screens. He remain
ed in that position until his eyes blurred, letting his mind race, seizing on the enormity of the evening.
Thirty-two years ago, he was dubbed Sirr by a woman that had been mistreated. Even after she’d broken free and returned home, she had carried that weight, letting the feeling of inferiority drive her, spurring her to modest wealth.
Wealth he had transformed to now effectively own three major cities.
And was just hours away from controlling some of the most powerful people in a fourth.
Every camera angle that flashed on the screens before him was set to begin recording in fifteen minutes. Programmed to run all the way until morning, the footage they pulled would be sent to a holding tower in the basement, a veritable bastion of incriminating evidence that would live forever.
An unending source of leverage, ensuring that he got what was owed to him, regardless of cost.
The corners of Asai’s mouth pulled up slightly, his head bobbing just a fraction of an inch as the door to the office cracked open. Sliding inside, Paco closed it in his wake, stepping up beside Asai and assessing the cameras as well.
“Everything set?” Asai asked.
“She’s with Tracee now,” Paco replied. “They’ll be ready for their grand entrance, just as planned.”
On the surface, the girl was not remarkable in any way. Though he had yet to see her in person, the photos he’d received from Kuntzman and the images he’d seen onscreen were of a completely typical midwestern girl.
Average height, average looks, average intelligence.
To anybody besides a drunken frat boy, she would barely harbor a second glance, but to some of the Japanese businessmen that would soon be arriving, her combination of blonde hair and blue eyes would be more than they could resist.
Much like his mother had been too much for his father to turn away.
Ditto for the other piece she offered them, Tracee’s early assessment of her as The Virgin being surprisingly spot-on.
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