Snatched

by Michael Arches

  Snatched

  Book One of the Vanished Series

  By Michael Arches

  Copyright by Pyrenees Publishing 2021

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Book 2 Excerpt—Nicked

  210113

  Chapter 1

  Grab-N-Go Store, Durango, Colorado

  On a beautiful mid-October day, Athena Kazan stood in the bathroom line at a discount gas station. The inside of the store reeked from overcooked hot dogs and breakfast burritos.

  Her shoes stuck to the tile floor where someone had spilled a fluorescent yellow-green drink. She prayed that the bathroom was cleaner than when she’d used it a month ago.

  Note to self—never buy gas here again, no matter how cheap.

  To distract herself, she thought about the aspens turning orange and yellow in the nearby San Juan Mountains. That was where she was headed next.

  She stood behind a tall, burly dude who probably weighed two-hundred and eighty pounds. Tattoos covered his neck and shaved head. A scar ran from his left ear down to where it disappeared under his Raiders jersey. Then, with a start, Athena noticed a telltale bump under his jersey at the small of his back.

  Can my day get any better?

  She thought about leaving, but she couldn’t remember any other public restrooms nearby. And she didn’t want to overreact. Lots of ordinary folks in rural Colorado packed guns. It was just part of modern rural-Western culture. And for women, a pistol was the great equalizer.

  Athena glanced around to make sure no one was watching her. They weren’t, so she reached inside her pink fleece jacket to her left armpit and pulled her Glock 43 out of its holster. Then, she slipped it into her jacket’s right front pocket.

  Having her gun in hand gave her comfort, even if it was mostly plastic. The nine-millimeter bullets it fired could drop anybody, including the super-sized thug in front of her. She knew how particularly effective head shots could be.

  Athena took a couple of long, deep breaths to slow her racing heart. She was probably overreacting, again. Like a cottontail, she freaked out too often.

  But on the other hand, she did have a hundred-grand bounty on her, thanks to the Santiago cartel. A woman in her situation couldn’t be too careful.

  The guy in front of her rocked from one foot to the other. “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath. A moment later, he strode forward and rapped on the door. “Jackie, Mia, let’s go!”

  When he turned, he glanced at Athena. Tattoos covered his face, too, including a pair of small horns on his forehead. Charming.

  Fortunately, she looked odd, with her glass eye, and wasn’t worth leering at.

  He apparently agreed because he turned his back to her again.

  Her urge to pee grew even more. She squeezed her legs together and leaned on her cane.

  Finally, the bathroom door opened. A skinny Hispanic woman wearing a Beyoncé T-shirt and tight, dark pants strolled out. With a cold glare, she passed the big dude. Behind her, a short, very pregnant brunette waddled out. She held a large purse in front of her stomach like a shield.

  “Sorry we took so long,” she whispered to him.

  The guy just shook his head and motioned for them to go toward the store’s entrance.

  He glanced into the bathroom, as though he thought they might’ve left something behind.

  Then, he hurried over to the Hispanic woman, who’d grabbed a bar of dark chocolate off a shelf. “Rico, I’m starving. Can we get—”

  He snatched the candy from her hand and put it back. “I told you, Mia, no screwing around. Shut up and go.”

  He pushed her hard with both hands, almost knocking her over.

  What a prick.

  Jackie uttered a quiet gasp, looked with pleading eyes at Athena and pressed an index card into her free hand. That done, Jackie hurried after Mia and Rico.

  Athena froze. What the hell was going on?

  But before figuring that out, she really had to relieve herself. She hurried into the bathroom and sat to do her business. Only then did she check out the three-by-five card.

  In clear block print, it said: Over forty women and girls—mostly pregnant—held prisoner! Five dead already. About an hour east of Durango. Call the FBI. Sheriff’s office corrupt. PLEASE HELP US!

  Athena fought a scream. Pregnant girls and women held prisoner? A cold chill ran through her. Worse, her right frontal lobe throbbed. That was where she’d been shot two years before. In stressful situations, it always ached. Her mind dimmed, but she pinched her cheek. That stinging sensation pulled her back to an all-too-ugly reality.

  She checked the opposite side of the card. It showed a crude map with a square boundary and several small rectangles inside. Those had to be buildings. No address. The only words were, Dorm has a tan asphalt shingle roof. Shiny metal walls. Two stories. An arrow pointed at one of the buildings.

  Athena’s throat tightened and burned. How the hell was she supposed to find the place based on such a lousy description? Hundreds of farms and ranches existed east of Durango.

  Unfortunately, Jackie had picked the worst possible person as their savior. Athena could barely take care of herself. Her right eye was blind, and her right ear deaf. In addition, she had to concentrate while moving the left side of her body or it would behave unpredictably. She couldn’t walk for any distance unless she used her cane.

  Then she remembered how the giant asshole, Rico, had practically knocked Mia down. Athena burned hot with fury—she wasn’t about to ignore the women’s plea for help.

  She hobbled out of the bathroom. The three had already left the store.

  Athena made her way to the front door. Rico was climbing behind the wheel of a newish, dark gray, Chevy Suburban. It pointed away from her, so he couldn’t see her without turning around.

  Athena eased outside, carefully avoiding the spots where his mirrors might catch her movements.

  The bastard tore out, but not before Athena got a good look at his license plate. Colorado PL6-478. She needed to pass that info on to the Feds right away. The plate might take them straight to the secret prison.

  But a thought stopped her in her tracks. What if the license plate was fake or had been stolen? In that case, no one would be able to find the women and girls—unless she followed the SUV.

  The Suburban was fast disappearing south on US 160. Athena had to give chase.

  She jumped in her old, white pickup. She’d have to hang back so the asshole wouldn’t notice her. Hopefully, he’d been too busy herding his prisoners at the gas station and hadn’t paid attention to the other vehicles at the pumps.

  The weather was clear, so she could see the SUV far ahead. Her trip to the San Juan Mountains was going to have to wait. She turned onto U
S 160 and drove south.

  -o-o-o-

  Over the next few minutes, Athena ignored the voice in her head. It yelled at her for pretending to be a cop. She kept her one good eye on the Suburban while dodging traffic and dialing the phone number for the US Marshal’s office in Denver.

  After her long convalescence two years ago, she’d entered the Federal Witness Protection Program. Roger Conway had guided her through the process, and he remained her primary contact at the agency. Thank God, after a few rings, he picked up.

  “Listen, it’s Christina Nielsen, I’ve got a big problem.” Christina was the false identity the marshals had given her. She quickly summarized for Roger what’d happened.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said, “you’re in no shape to chase bad guys. You never carried a badge, and you’re too banged up these days.”

  “I know, don’t want this, but these women need help! If the plate’s bad, they’re totally screwed. That’s why I’m calling you. And I’m sure the women have good reason to be afraid of the local sheriff’s office.”

  He sighed. “This kind of thing is way outside our jurisdiction. But, you know, the FBI should be able to help. The man in charge of their white slave task force is Derek Washington. I’ve got his number here somewhere.”

  “Could you just conference me in?” she asked. “I am driving, you know.”

  “Sorry, can’t get involved, not at all. I’ll repeat the number a few times so you can memorize it.”

  After what seemed like forever, he gave it to Athena, three times.

  She called the Feeb. No answer.

  Athena actually knew Derek from her past life. She’d been an assistant US attorney in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Her office had often worked with the Denver FBI agents. Derek was a crusty, middle-aged black man from Atlanta. Athena needed to stay undercover, so she left her message as Chris.

  -o-o-o-

  US 160, southeast of Durango

  Jackie Humphrey held her head in her hands as she rode behind Rico in the Suburban. He’d overreacted wildly to Mia’s little diversion. Jackie tried to catch her breath, but her throat stayed too tight. And it burned like crazy.

  As the bastard drove down the highway, he yelled at them through an opaque plastic barrier. It separated the first and second row of seats and blocked their view forward. “I told you bitches exactly what to do. You still fucked up. Misha’s going to hear about this.”

  Misha Chekov was the big boss, a massive Russian almost seven feet tall. Every bit as monstrous as Josef Stalin, and like the old Soviet strongman, Misha seemed to enjoy torturing and killing people.

  Rico was right about one thing. He had warned Jackie and her nurse to go straight to the bathroom and return—without doing anything else—to the Suburban. He’d even told them they couldn’t speak in the store, not to anyone, including him.

  But some of the slaves had been locked up for nine months, and all were desperate. They had to take advantage of every chance to arrange a rescue.

  The SUV flew down the highway, and Jackie kept trying to catch her breath. But a huge vise seemed to squeeze her chest. Fear and fury. Tears soaked her cheeks. Months of attempts to escape had failed. And the bastards kept killing women and girls.

  Jackie reached over to hold Mia’s hand. The thin nurse was much more at risk because she wasn’t carrying one of Misha’s precious über-babies.

  The immediate question was, what would be the price of pissing off Rico? He’d already slammed Mia into the back-passenger seat and driven his elbow into her temple. That’d knocked her out for a few seconds, but he didn’t seem satisfied.

  And the risk they took may have been for nothing. Something had been weird about the woman Jackie gave the card to. Why was a thirty-something woman using a cane? The lady’s lips had been quivering even before she knew she had anything to worry about. And her right eye was fake. Why the hell did she have a Broncos cap pulled down to her eyebrows? The woman was obviously a nut.

  Jackie fought the urge to scream. The lady would probably go back to her normal life and leave the surrogate slaves to their nightmare. Maybe she was mentally handicapped. God only knew what she’d do with the card. Eat it?

  What a clusterfuck. But Jackie shouldn’t have been surprised. Over the last nine months, she and others had managed to hand out five cards. None had produced any help. Worse, the last one had triggered a visit from a corrupt sheriff’s deputy.

  Misha had beaten the shit out of several people that time and told them the next person who handed out a card would be sliced to bits, pregnant or not.

  A spasm twisted Jackie’s stomach as she realized that she, and even more likely Mia, had been too clumsy this time.

  Chapter 2

  US 160, southeast of Durango

  A few minutes later, Derek called Athena. That sent a thrill of joy down her spine…at least until he said, “I’m just responding to tell you we can’t help. No jurisdiction and my people are swamped. Planning a big raid in two days. Most sex crimes are a local matter.”

  Bullshit! “In my voicemail, I read you what the card said. Nothing about sex crimes, but five people have been murdered.”

  “Your card said dead, not murdered. Could’ve come from bad food, car crash, suicide? Who knows?”

  Fuck that. In her former life, Athena had worked extensively with FBI offices all over the West. She knew the ins-and-outs of their jurisdiction as well as he did. “You have authority to investigate child abductions, including babies, under the Lindbergh Law and trafficking under the Mann Act.”

  Derek paused for a minute then said, “Lindbergh is only for children already born. The Mann Act only applies to interstate or foreign transportation of sex slaves. No evidence of either in your case.”

  God, how I hate bureaucrats trying to avoid doing their damned jobs. “The FBI has no trouble horning in on ordinary kidnapping cases whenever they feel like it.”

  “A few uninformed people might say that,” he snapped back, “but at any rate, we’re incredibly busy now. I can’t spare anyone for a six-hour drive to—”

  Athena snarled like a panther ready to rip someone’s neck apart.

  “Uh, settle down, Ms. Nielsen. Listen, this office can’t help you, but the Bureau has one very experienced special agent in Durango. I don’t know if he’s busy. Let me give you Frank Costello’s number.”

  Goddammit! She knew him, too, and he hated Athena. “I have it.”

  “Then, there you go. Give Frank a call.” Before Athena could plead for help from anyone else, Derek hung up.

  Athena shrieked. It was a good thing she wasn’t standing in front of Derek because she’d be sorely tempted to punch him in the nose. Athena’s self-control had been slipping lately, mostly because she’d realized that a permanent injury meant forever. Her injuries would never go away. And life on the lam made coping much harder.

  But she couldn’t let herself be distracted by her problems. Needed to get help for the women and girls.

  Frank Costello was a grouchy old asshole who should’ve retired years ago. The problem was, the Feds had trouble convincing their young and ambitious agents to live in a backwater like Durango. The Federal cases here were mostly crimes on nearby Indian reservations.

  The thought of dealing with Costello again made Athena cringe. She’d gotten on his wrong side shortly after relocating from Cheyenne. Although she’d survived the bullet to her brain, she suffered from frequent temporary amnesia attacks. During those episodes, she’d often wander out of her apartment in the wee hours of the morning wearing her pajamas.

  Costello had been the only local Federal agent in the area, so the US Marshals had called him for help tracking down loopy Athena. After the third similar episode, he told her to lock herself in at night with some kind of timer that wouldn’t release her until morning. He was done with getting up early to search for her.

  Instead, her head doctor had switched her meds, and her brain healed further.
The amnesia spells ended, and she’d thought she’d gotten Costello out of her life forever.

  Not so. After getting control of her temper, she called him. He didn’t answer, so she left him a long, pleading message. He was the imprisoned women and girls’ last chance.

  -o-o-o-

  Athena kept the dark gray Suburban in sight way up the highway. Rico was speeding. It was too much to hope for that a cop would pull him over. That would be a miracle and might give the two prisoners a chance to escape.

  Like most miracles, it didn’t happen.

  But Costello called. Athena reminded herself to be extra nice. He was their last chance.

  “Yeah, so Ms. Nielsen, you’ve caught me at a particularly bad time. I don’t—”

  She cut off his low rumbling voice before he could spin out some pitiful excuse. “I’m so sorry, Frank, but this really is an emergency. I’m hurtling down US 160 southeast of town behind a stone killer and two potential victims. I saw him attack one woman, and many others—”

  “Hey, I’m already working twelve-hour days,” he said. “Two murders on the Southern Ute rez. A mom and a kid. That trumps your situation.”

  “They’re already dead. I’m trying to stop more murder and find out who kidnapped forty innocent women and girls. You know from helping me in the past that I’m in bad shape—not cut out for chasing monsters. If you could just run the license.”

  “Did that. Waste of time. It belongs to a 2009 Toyota Landcruiser registered in Pagosa Springs.”

  As she’d feared, but she wasn’t going to be discouraged. “All the more reason for you to get after Rico now. Or these women will really be screwed.”

  He blew out a deep breath. “Trying to be nice about this, but I’m tied up for a few days. And at the moment, I’m fifty miles away. Sorry.”

  Bullshit! That was the least sincere sorry she’d ever heard. “Then, I’m going to keep following this bastard. If something happens to me, I’m sure the US Marshals are going to ask tough questions. And my dad’s good friends with both of Wyoming’s senators, jerkoff.”