The Lion's Mouth

by Brian Christopher Shea

  Chapter 14

  Nick entered the air-conditioned lobby of APD’s headquarters, flashed his credentials to the officer behind the bulletproof glass and signed in. He moved through the metal detector, setting off the buzzer and continuing to the elevators. He waited patiently as the elevator had already been called by the woman standing in front of him. The two entered as the doors parted. She had already pressed the button for floor number five.

  “Same?” she asked, ensuring that Nick didn’t need to go to another floor.

  “Yup,” Nick responded. The woman was attractive. Her long dark hair and light brown complexion reminded him of Izzy. Or maybe it was the smell of coconut that was quickly filling the small space of the elevator’s interior. Either way, he let his mind drift back to that night in the hotel room. I’ll call her as soon as I get a chance, he told himself. His mind was still reeling from the emotional release at Pine Woods. The ding of the elevator, announcing the arrival at the fifth floor, snapped him out of his momentary trance. The two exited and moved toward the sea of cubicles that made up Austin’s Special Investigations Unit, or SIU.

  “I swear I’m not stalking you,” Nick said, with a chuckle.

  “Never crossed my mind,” she said, shooting a playful wink back at him over her slender shoulder exposed by her sleeveless shirt.

  Jones stood as he heard Nick approaching.

  “Hi, Anaya. I’m glad you’re on this with us. I see you met Nick?” Jones gestured to him.

  “Not formally. He’s just been following me around for the last five minutes or so,” Anaya jested.

  “Anaya Patel of Child Protective Services meet Nicholas Lawrence of the FBI,” Jones announced.

  The agent’s hand extended, “Just Nick.”

  “Okay, Just Nick. It’s nice to meet you,” Anaya said.

  Nick noticed Jones appeared to be sucking in his gut. A failed effort, but one he’d never seen him make before. Maybe there was a history between the two. Or maybe just wishful thinking by Jones.

  “Where are we on this?” Anaya asked, switching the conversation back to the task at hand.

  “The kits are done. The girls are sleeping. Digital has the John’s cell and Nick got some out of him during booking. Other than that, we’re flying blind. Well, except for this,” Jones said, holding up the photograph of the girl’s hip.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Nick asked.

  He noticed a barely perceptible shutter by Anaya as Jones presented the image.

  “Yup. Sure is. Branded.” Jones gave the two a moment to process.

  “My girl that just disappeared had the same thing. Medical said the burn was recent. Maybe done within the last two weeks,” Anaya said. A wave of panic washed over her, and she continued, “What is it? A snake?”

  “Maybe. Maybe a seven. Maybe just some symbol. I’ve been pawin’ through my files,” Jones said. His drawl had returned.

  “Anything?” Nick asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “I’ll send it to our guy and have him run it through the database,” Nick said, knowing the FBI’s image recognition software had an expansive collection of pictures for comparison and could yield a potential link.

  “Sounds good. I know I’ve seen it before. I just have to find the case file,” Jones said.

  “Good luck. Be careful. That pile could bury you alive,” Nick said. The joke never got old. “And I know, I know, it’s a sign of genius.”

  “I’m going to see if any of the girls want to talk. And then I’m going back out to look for my girl. She may be in a lot more danger than I originally thought,” Anaya said, walking away from the two investigators.

  “If anyone can get them to talk, then it will be her,” Jones said with unabashed adoration. Whether it was professional or personal, Nick had yet to determine.

  Chapter 15

  “It’s time. Are you ready?” His voice was steady but tense. The adrenalin was hard to contain and spread rapidly throughout the man’s body.

  “Born ready.” A laugh accompanied the cheesy line.

  “On three. Call it.”

  “Three… two… hit it,” the commander’s voice projected by the bone microphone reverberated through the team’s headsets.

  The bang was loud from the street but would sound even louder to the men inside. The charges rigged to the glass shattered the facade. Two members of the unit swung long steel bars with hooked ends and raked out the remnants. Three flashbang grenades sailed through the air and into the now open storefront. They clanged across the cheap linoleum floor and slid to a stop against the wall of the ordering counter. The concussive explosion was deafening and sent a brilliant burst of light designed to overwhelm a target’s senses. A critical diversion when facing dangerous men.

  Stacked along the rear alleyway of the building’s backside, the Hostage Rescue Team entry team listened as the noise from the flashbang filled the quiet. The initiation signal given, the team began moving toward the rear door. No words said. They’d rehearsed this operation in the weeks prior and could carry it out in their sleep.

  The quick blasts from the breaching shotgun obliterated the hinges as the ram caved in the door. The team instantaneously filled the void where the door once stood. Another flashbang rolled ahead of the group and down into the dimly lit narrow hallway. The entry team briefly turned their backs away from the impending blast, shielding their eyes. The operators waited for the sound. The bang shook the walls, knocking off picture frames and rattling pans in the kitchen area.

  Speed, surprise, and violence of action. These men knew the value of the mantra. They closed in on the only door in the hallway. The point man held up one finger. No words spoken as the thick body of the breacher ambled past the line of men in cumbersome body armor. The narrow space did not allow for him to manipulate the ram effectively. He realized the mockups had made the hallway appear wider, which meant the entry tool was useless. Instead, he improvised, leveling his massive shoulder into the doorframe at the nod of the team leader. The impact separated the cheaply-made door from its frame.

  The breacher rolled back and out of the way as the door fell flat into the room’s small smoke-filled interior. Another flashbang immediately followed. The five members of the entry team poured in with weapons at the ready. A small round table overturned as the three men inside scrambled. Between the cigarette smoke and the remnants of the flashbang, visibility was minimal. A fat man was frantically moving across the floor on his hands and knees, cursing. It was a matter of seconds before the team had completely overwhelmed the room’s three occupants.

  The fat man whimpered as a size thirteen boot stepped down on his back and pressed his wide frame to the floor. Thick zip ties were put to work, securing their hands. Satisfied, the operators righted the arrestees, using their knees to stabilize them into a seated position.

  “Three in custody. All clear,” the entry team leader said. His voice was as calm as if he were ordering a coffee at a drive-thru.

  One of the operators stepped out of the room and into the alleyway behind J’s Pizza. He pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear, which was covered by his dry-fit balaclava. “You won’t believe where I’m standing.”

  The voice on the other end of the line belonged to Nick Lawrence. “Deck! Jesus your timing is impeccable. I was actually just about to call you.”

  “J’s Pizza,” Declan Enright said.

  “J’s Pizza? What are you talking about?”

  “We got three more assholes. The Translator’s phone led us here. It took a while. You know how the Bureau is. Lots of surveillance before they let us make the hit. But slowly we’re picking apart the organization,” Declan said.

  His calm voice couldn’t suppress all of the excitement in grabbing three members of the elusive group known only as The Seven. A terrorist organization that had plagued the country less than a year before.

  “That’s awesome stuff! I wish I was there to celebrate with you,” Nick said.r />
  “Me too, brother. Me too. But I bet you’d rather celebrate with someone else,” Declan chided. He knew the not-so-subtle reference to Izzy would not be lost on his friend.

  “Seen her lately?” Nick asked, somewhat sheepishly.

  “A few weeks back at an intel briefing, but aside from that, not much. We need to get the band back together one of these days.”

  Declan didn’t allow himself to get too close to people, but he’d lowered his guard with Nick and Izzy. Past circumstances dictated that, and now he missed the connection of that kinship.

  “I’d like that. Got any vacation time coming up?” Nick asked.

  “What’s up, Nick? If you need me, all you have to do is ask. You know that,” Declan said, with no hint of his usual sarcasm.

  “I’m working a bad one here. I’ll let you know. Not sure how this thing is going to play out, but I’ll keep you posted. Sorry to be so vague. I’m at the early stages and don’t know enough to be specific,” Nick said. His voice wavered and he cleared his throat. “Stay safe. Be in touch.”

  “You say the word and I’m there. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it,” Declan said. Before hanging up, he followed with, “Give her a call, Nick.”

  Nick ended his phone call with Declan and scrolled through his contacts, finding the name. Izzy’s number stared back, taunting him. Nick sighed and put the phone away. He entered the black Jetta. Jones looked uncomfortable in the passenger seat of the German-designed compact sedan.

  “Windows down and air on?” Jones questioned, raising an eyebrow in bewilderment.

  “It’s all about acclimating to the environment,” Nick said, with a cocked smile.

  “It feels more like you’re trying to kill me. AC is my friend,” Jones said, grabbing at the belly spilling over his belt.

  The two laughed and drove off, heading toward CPS headquarters.

  “I assume someone from your office will call if any of our girls from the motel wake up and are willing to talk. Many hands make light work. Anaya could use our help finding this missing girl. Who knows, maybe she will be the piece that helps us open this thing up?” Nick said over the wind blowing through the car, as he sped away from APD’s headquarters.

  Chapter 16

  “I told you I would bring you in on this if I could,” Jones said, cracking a slight smile.

  “I really appreciate the opportunity. I owe you,” Harrison said, as he whacked his sweat-encrusted baseball cap against his thigh.

  “I hope this one has a better ending.”

  Jones’s reference to the dead girl at Hope Park was received. Rusty’s eyes tightened at the mention of it. An intensity and focus seemed to take hold. Jones liked the K9 handler.

  “I’ve just got to ask. Why are you so hell-bent on helping out with this case?” Jones asked.

  Rusty sighed and busied himself in the trunk of his cruiser, gathering his gear for the upcoming track. “My sister.” Rusty said, barely audible over the idling engine of his Crown Victoria.

  “Sister?” Jones asked, intrigued.

  “Melanie,” Rusty said, closing the trunk and looking at the detective.

  Jones stood awestruck. His eyes widened, and his mouth went slack.

  “Holy shit! Melanie Harrison. I never put it together. My God you’re her brother?” Jones asked, fumbling with his words.

  Rusty nodded but said nothing.

  “Well that makes sense,” Jones said, nodding to himself. He added, “That must’ve been a terrible thing for you and your family. You’ve done a hell of a job honoring her memory.”

  “Thanks. I do the best I can,” Rusty offered.

  He broke eye contact and freed the leash strapped over his shoulder. “I best get started. Time wasted is time lost,” Harrison said, freeing Jasper from the confines of the Crown Vic’s backseat.

  “Best of luck,” Nick said, injecting himself awkwardly into the conversation.

  The dog clamored out of the car and took his position next to his partner. He looked up expectantly, waiting for his handler’s command. The two walked in step through the parking lot toward the main entrance of the Child Protective Service’s headquarters building.

  “So, what was all that about?” Nick asked.

  “The thing with his sister?” Jones asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It was a big story around here about fourteen years ago. All over the news. There was even one of those made-for-television-movies about it. Melanie Harrison went missing. Big search party. Days went by and nothing. Then on the third or fourth day she was found. Raped and murdered. Only twelve years old at the time,” Jones said.

  “Jesus,” Nick said. “I guess that makes sense that he’d become a cop.”

  “Yup, but that’s not the worst of it. Do you know who found her?” Jones asked, solemnly.

  “My God!” Nick gasped.

  “Yup. Never stopped looking for his sister. He supposedly stayed out looking until she was found. Slept in the woods and everything.”

  “I guess he’s a born tracker,” Nick said.

  “Crazy thing. He was only ten at the time. Can you imagine what that does to a child?”

  “No. No I can’t,” Nick said.

  The two entered the Jetta and sat in silence.

  Anaya had already shown Rusty the location of her office and the small room containing the cot. Her boss and coworkers were all aware that the Malinois would be in the building.

  As Jasper entered the CPS office space, several gasps were expelled from the onlookers. Some gave the quiet awe of dog lovers, while others were panicked by the presence of Rusty’s four-legged companion. It was always the same no matter where they went. Jasper was smaller than a German Shepherd but his coloring and snout were comparable. Rusty liked the temperament of the breed. They were intense when the need dictated but calmer than their larger counterparts. Working dogs were also a mirror of their handlers.

  Jasper entered Anaya’s office and Rusty guided him to the small bed. The sheets were crumpled at the foot of it. Anaya had already advised him that she hadn’t touched anything since the child had run off. Jasper navigated the cramped space, nudging the bedding as he circled. He inhaled loudly as he gathered the scent.

  “C’mon boy. Let’s find her,” Harrison said to his partner.

  His voice was animated and the excitement was contagious. Jasper perked his head up, looking at Rusty. He had the scent. Time to go.

  Jasper moved quickly. His toenails clicked as he traversed the lobby of the CPS headquarters. The two burst from the sliding doors of the building’s exit and into the blinding light of day. The Jetta idled quietly on the street. Jones had pleaded with Nick that they follow in the car rather than on foot. He’d agreed to the overweight detective’s request, albeit reluctantly. Nick intentionally lagged behind the pair so as to minimize the interference of the car’s exhaust with the scent.

  The track went north on Guadalupe Street. Rusty shot a thumbs-up at the Jetta without looking back. The K9 and handler were in sync, moving quickly along the sidewalk. The dog stopped at the intersection with West 51st Street. He started to turn left but then stopped again before redirecting across the street. The two continued west. The Jetta crept slowly behind with the windows down and the air conditioning on.

  Jasper walked to the intersection of Guadalupe and Lamar Boulevard and then turned around.

  “Looks like he’s lost the scent,” Nick said.

  Rusty did not look back at the two investigators. He focused on his partner.

  “What is it, boy? Where’d she go?” Rusty said, in a hushed tone.

  Jasper’s head moved from side to side. His nose grazed the concrete of the sidewalk and then he perked up again, pulling Harrison to the double doors of the 7-11.

  “I guess the dog wants a Slurpee,” Jones jested.

  “This might be good for us,” Nick replied.

  The K9 emerged a few seconds later with Rusty Harrison close behind. Jasper’s snou
t was all over the place, dipping low, looking up, and scanning left and right. He then pulled his handler back to the storefront. Harrison gave a command and the dog sat. He looked over at the two investigators and shook his head. The track was over.

  Nick and Jones exited the Jetta and approached Harrison, who was praising his dog in a high-pitched, excited tone. Jasper’s dark tongue lapped at his partner’s face.

  “Sorry guys. This is as far as it goes,” Harrison said, with a trace of defeat.

  “What are ya thinkin’?” Jones asked. His accent was thicker than usual.

  “Not sure. It could be that too much time has passed. Or it could be that she got into a car,” Harrison responded.

  “That could be a bad thing,” Nick said.

  “Very bad,” Jones confirmed. “Rusty, thank you again for your assistance. I took into consideration your request and made a couple calls. You’re going to be assigned to us as our dedicated K9 asset until we get a handle on this thing. Get some rest but keep your cell handy in case something comes up.”

  “That’s great news! Thank you,” Rusty said, rubbing the chin of his four-legged partner. “I live local, so I can be anywhere you need fairly quickly.”

  Nick and Jones entered the cold air of the 7-11. The contrast to the day’s heat was shocking and it took a moment for them to adjust.

  “Oh, thank the lord!” Jones pronounced, raising his hands above his head like an invigorated worshipper.

  He bypassed the clerk and walked straight to the refrigerated drink section. When Jones opened the door, the suction released and a fog of colder air rolled out. He leaned into the cooler as far as his expansive waist would allow. After what seemed like several minutes, Jones separated himself and returned to Nick at the counter with a Diet Coke.