by Sandra Hill
“Sure,” he said, belatedly, to Snake’s offer of a beer, but wavered over whether he should sit on the floor, which was covered with an oriental carpet purchased at Costco, or the ratty love seat that had been a wedding gift from Aunt Mel. He opted for the floor where he sat cross-legged, and leaned back against the love seat. After taking an extended draw on the Dixie longneck, he let out a sigh. “No, I didn’t get lucky,” he finally answered Brother Jake. “I’ve been working . . . and shopping. Oh, hell! I forgot. I have to unload all those groceries Tante Lulu asked me to buy on the way home.”
“I’ll do it,” Snake offered.
Which left Aaron alone with Father Frowny. Just great! Should he ask if it was true what they said about Navy SEALs, that they were badasses? Or he could tell him about his problems with the FAA? Then there was already the offer to hear his confession. But Aaron was saved from making some forced chitchat by Brother Jake’s blunt question.
“What are your intentions toward Fleur?”
Aaron choked on the beer he’d just swallowed. “I beg your pardon. Are you for real? Not to mention, are you her long-lost father or something? Wait—I forgot. You are a father. Ha, ha, ha.” Two could play at the jokey crap.
“No, I’m not her father, but I care about her. I’ve known Fleur since she was rescued. She’s been through hell, both during her kidnapping period, and after. If she’s going to jump the convent wall, I want to make sure there will be someone to catch her.”
“I’ll catch her,” Aaron said without hesitation.
Brother Jake nodded, accepting him at his word, which surprised the hell out of Aaron.
“I love the woman, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed, but the question is, does she love you?”
“Not yet.”
Brother Jake nodded again. “Good luck with that. She’s a strong-willed woman. Had to be to survive in those Mexican cesspits for six years. She would have made a great SEAL.”
Aaron had a million questions he’d like to ask about the place where they’d found Fleur, what condition she’d been in then, had she really tried to kill Miguel with a baseball bat, what work she’d been doing with the Magdas and Street Apostles, and so on. But, he decided, it would be wrong to ask someone else. If he really wanted to know, he should ask Fleur. And if she didn’t want him to know, that was that.
“How long have you been with the Street Apostles?” he asked instead.
“From the beginning, when they were formed, twelve years ago. I’d already left the teams . . . got too good at killing and my soul was turning black. So, I joined a seminary, studying to be a monk. But then, once I was ordained, I realized that the regular cloistered monk life didn’t suit me.”
“You weren’t into making wine, or cheese, or God forbid, fruitcakes?” Aaron joked. At Brother Jake’s arched brows, he explained, “I watched a Christmas special on the Food Network last year, featuring monkish gifts. That’s the extent of my knowledge about the religious life.”
“I’m lactose intolerant, and I would probably chug down all the booze, even the rum in the fruitcake. Hell, there was a time I would have stolen the little barrels of whiskey from the mastiffs’ necks at the St. Bernard’s Hospice, just to get a snort, not that those dogs ever really carried booze.”
Aaron noticed then that Brother Jake was drinking Diet Coke. The beer must have been Snake’s idea.
“No, I might have left the military, but I needed action. They say there are three reasons why a guy would want to become a SEAL. To prove something to himself, to prove something to someone else, or because he was bat-shit crazy. I fit all three at one time, and probably still do,” Brother Jake went on, obviously enjoying his captive audience. “Anyhow, another monk and I, Sebastian Oliver, started the Street Apostles after we saw a TV special on the sex trafficking of young children in the Dallas area. I had inherited a small ranch from my grandparents, and Seb, a computer guru, had made a bundle in tech stocks. So, we were set.”
Aaron hadn’t realized that Brother Jake was one of the founders of the organization. “Does the Pope allow you guys to still be priests and do all the stuff you do?”
“As long as we keep it low-key and weaponless.”
“Must have been difficult, though, to go from ‘spray and pray’ in the teams to weaponless fighting,” Aaron speculated.
“In some ways, yes. In some ways, no. We’ve been forced to develop our own methods of covert ops, and they’re always evolving. Instead of weapons, we rely on timing, skill, stealth, teamwork, creativity, and lots of prayer. Hiding in plain sight by the use of disguises. That kind of thing.”
Aaron was beginning to like Brother Jake a little bit more. Not a lot. But a little.
Snake came back and asked Aaron, “You folks shit a lot around here?”
Aaron laughed.
Brother Jake asked, “What?”
“It’s a private joke,” Aaron said.
After that, the two men gave Aaron an update on the mission plans, and he was bowled over by how much had been done in his absence and how efficient the Street Apostles and Magdas were in planning their forays into the sex trafficking world. The situation was fluid and ever-changing, as Brother Jake had said, but they seemed able to adapt to those variations.
Aaron shouldn’t have been surprised, based on past experience with these professionals. Maybe it was because this particular operation seemed more complex in terms of numbers and the trickiness of all the time elements coming together just right.
“Tell me more,” Aaron encouraged Brother Jake.
“The perimeter of the truck depot in Lafayette has been secured as of this afternoon. The ETA for the big rig is twenty-three hundred on Friday night. The cargo from New Orleans should have arrived shortly before that. Everyone on our team will be boots on the ground and in place an hour earlier, no later than twenty-two hundred.”
“In fact, some of the Street Apostles are already there, working at various spots around the truck depot,” Snake added. “And, of course, we’ll have spotters along the highway from the border crossing upward, and from New Orleans to Lafayette, notifying us of any glitches or changes in plans.”
That was only two nights from now. Eleven p.m. for the exchange. Arrive an hour earlier. It was a two-hour drive to get there. All these calculations figured in Aaron’s mind as his adrenaline jacked up about a hundred percent. The same way he’d felt when preparing for a bombing raid over Iraq when he was in the Air Force.
But he had mixed feelings about this particular mission. Yeah, he wanted this all to be over and successful, but he also dreaded the possible negative outcomes, especially with Fleur involved.
“So, if timing is everything,” Aaron said, speaking his thoughts aloud, “there will be only that small window of opportunity when the exchange is about to take place. Are you prepared for that?”
“We are, as much as we can be, with God’s help. Of course, any operation is a FUBAR waiting to happen,” Brother Jake replied, a little pissed off by Aaron’s questions, as indicated by the frown that furrowed his brow.
“Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best. And pray, pray, pray,” Snake added with a laugh, clearly seeking to cool any rising temperatures. “We already have a rusted-out school bus, the smaller kind used to take kids on field trips or for special needs kids. It has a new logo painted on its side, ‘Sisters of Mercy Day Camp.’ It will hopefully carry a load of passengers back here to Bayou Rose. In addition, two vans, a Bayou Cable Co. box truck and Dick’s Plumbing cargo van, will also be there to transport six girls each to the airport.
“Oh, and did I mention, we’re hoping to use your pickup truck, Aaron?”
“Huh?”
“We’ll put removable decals on the side, spelling out, ‘Cajun Bob’s Produce.’ It’ll be loaded with potatoes and melons, high enough to cover some of the Street Apostles hiding underneath, if that becomes necessary.”
“We wanted it to be melons and pe
aches, but you know how the Irish are with their potatoes,” Brother Jake teased Snake, who just grinned.
Aaron shook his head to clear it of confusion. “I don’t see the connection between the nuns and Farmer Bob,” Aaron said.
“Several nuns from the Sisters of Mercy will be there, picking up donated produce from Bob’s farm. They’ll provide the distraction once the perps arrive in the lot so that we can gain control of their vehicles and the ‘cargo,’” Brother Jake explained.
“Nuns? Which nuns?”
“Sister Mary Michael. Sister Carlotta. Sister Fleur.”
Aaron groaned. “Oh, no, no, no!”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” Brother Jake countered. He explained in detail how the convoluted plan would play out.
“There are so many variables in this half-assed scheme that could go wrong,” Aaron countered.
“And more variables that could make it work,” Snake said. “Trust us, Aaron. We know what we’re doing.”
That was debatable, in Aaron’s opinion. He decided then and there that he was going to be carrying a weapon.
“And don’t be thinkin’ to hide a pistol in your pocket, laddie,” Snake said, as if reading Aaron’s mind.
“Laddie my ass,” Aaron muttered.
Brother Brian just grinned, then continued explaining the plan in more detail. “The commercial vehicles will go to the airport outside Lafayette. I’ve arranged for two planes to be gassed up and approved for take-off sometime between eleven p.m. and one a.m., one destined for Mexico where the girls will then be taken to the convent, the other for Dallas and ultimately the ranch.”
“It’s a two-hour drive from here to Lafayette, and, yes, we could have operated from a base closer to the target site,” Brother Jake said, “but, in the end, the remoteness here is an advantage that overweighs that long drive to and from.”
Aaron nodded, reluctantly, knowing one of those planes was designated for him. Even so, the mission seemed monumental and fraught with possibilities for screw-ups. Most dangerous of all was the fact that the bad guys would be carrying guns, and they would not.
His continued skepticism must have shown on his face because Snake went into a lengthy explanation of the day’s happenings, probably to illustrate that they were not amateurs. “Mother Jacinta’s crew has been busy and incredibly efficient here at the plantation, making arrangements for the late-night arrivals. As you know, the Magdas have a network of volunteers that kick into gear on a moment’s notice. A medical doctor from Alabama is coming in, which means that Dan won’t have to be involved, although he did offer to come in as backup, if needed.”
When had that been arranged? And how come Dan had failed to mention it tonight?
“A social worker from Dallas will work with the girls, starting Saturday morning, getting family histories, notifying parents in some cases, looking for placements in others. Most will be under the age of eighteen. That’s considered experienced and ‘tired goods’ in the prostitute business when they’ve started at thirteen,” Snake went on. “By Sunday, the dozen girls here should be down to six or fewer. They’ll all be gone by midweek.”
It sounded great in theory, but would it pan out in reality? “Exactly how many people are involved in this operation, including volunteers for the small jobs, like highway spotting?”
“Seventeen,” Brother Jake replied.
“Unbelievable!” Aaron said.
“We’re a well-oiled fighting machine when we have to be,” Brother Jake concurred, taking Aaron’s exclamation as a compliment, “even without artillery. It’s all in the planning.”
Aaron rose, about to depart. “One more question. Besides being a nun, what will Fleur be doing in this operation?”
“Driving the bus,” both men answered with grins.
That was just great, Aaron thought, as he returned to his garçonniére apartment. Right in the middle of the fray. Possibly chased by gun-toting bad guys.
But that settled it. There was always a danger in any military operation, whether it be on behalf of Uncle Sam or some poor kidnapped girls, and there was always a chance that someone was going to get hurt, or killed. He needed to get up close and personal with Fleur before that happened, and tomorrow was the only time he had to do that.
The Brothers Jake and Snake weren’t the only ones good at making plans. Aaron had a few strategies of his own and a skill set he hadn’t yet utilized.
He smiled.
Fleur didn’t stand a chance.
Chapter Twelve
God’s dream team at work . . .
Brother Jake might think he was the king of the hill upstairs, and Mother Jacinta clearly ordered her nuns and volunteers about with an iron hand, but Louise ruled the kitchen. She was busier than a moth in a mitten, ordering everybody about down in the kitchen.
By ten a.m. on Thursday morning, a huge pot of gumbo was boiling away on the stove, two Peachy Praline Cobbler Cakes were baking in the oven, five loaves of bread were rising on the counter, and that was just the start. A triple batch of Alaskan Fried Green Tomatoes sat draining on paper towels for munching throughout the day. They were yummy, even at room temperature.
Of course, she had lots of helpers. Mel, Fleur, Mother Jacinta, whom she had known for a long time, and the Sisters Mary Michael and Carlotta. They were all preparing for the influx of girls who would arrive tomorrow night, God and St. Jude willing. But there was work to be done for all the folks already here, as well.
The morning had started at sunrise with Mass in the library for those who were up. Brother Brian had celebrated the Sacrament, assisted by Brother Jake, both in traditional priestly attire for once. The service had been simple, but rejuvenating.
There had been no sermon, except for Brother Brian’s words, “Please bless our work, Lord, as we go about Your business today. We especially ask for Your holy assistance with the rescue of all these young women, and keep us pure of heart so that we may forgive those who perpetrate these evil deeds.”
“Amen,” Brother Jake had said.
Louise had felt compelled to interject a comment then, even though it was not right to interrupt a priest during Mass. “And doan fergit St. Jude. Nothin’ is hopeless when he’s got yer back.”
Brother Jake had winked at her, right in the middle of Mass, and said, “St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless cases and namesake for our very own Street Apostles, let us never lose faith. No mission is impossible if we trust in you and our Holy Lord.”
Everyone chorused, “Amen!” then.
At about one o’clock, Louise said to Fleur, who was helping her clean up the kitchen, “Come with me upstairs to my room. I’m gonna take a little nap. Bring yer laptop and the receipt book, too.”
Fleur looked up at her with alarm. “A nap? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. A power snooze never hurt no one. Besides, it’s good to have some alone time.”
Still, Fleur was overprotective of her, helping with an arm under her elbow as they climbed the stairs. Not that Louise needed her help. She might be slow but she still got where she was going.
When they got to the guest room which she shared with Mel now that there were additional folks about, Louise lay down on one of the twin beds, propping herself against two pillows, and Fleur drew a chair up beside her, opening her computer on her lap.
“Where did we leave off las’ time we talked about herbs?” Louise asked.
“Bayou plants useful with babies.”
“Thass right. Oh, before I fergit. I was thinkin’ las’ night how I tol’ ya ’bout all the trips through the swamps I took with my mother and my MawMaw, lookin’ fer rare plants. Didja know, when snakes are threatened, a water moccasin smells like cucumbers and water snakes stink like rotten cabbage?”
“Is that really true?”
Louise shrugged. “All I know is, if I start getting’ a sudden hankerin’ fer sauerkraut or a stalk of salted celery, it’s time ta skedaddle.”
“Oh, my! I don’t think I’ll
be able to eat anything with celery or cabbage in it anymore.” Fleur shivered with distaste.
“Snakes ain’t so bad, and I’ve seen my share over all the years I’ve traveled up and down the bayou in my pirogue. I s’pose you and me’ll hafta go out and gather more plants if those lowlifes ruined some of my stock.” Something occurred to Louise then and she turned on her side to look at the girl. “You are comin’ back ta my cottage with me after this is over, aren’t you?”
“I suppose so.” Fleur sounded uncertain, though, and her face flushed with color.
“What? Did ya decide ta become a nun, after all?”
Fleur shook her head. “No. I haven’t made a firm decision, but it’s looking more and more like that’s not the life for me.”
“Because of Aaron.”
“No!” Fleur said, way too fiercely, but then she amended that to, “Maybe.”
Louise nodded. Things were going just as St. Jude and the Thunderbolt intended.
“It’s not that Aaron and I are a couple, or anything like that. But I’m attracted to him, and if I can be drawn to a man—any man—then I must not have a true vocation.”
“Doan be lookin’ all guilty like. Ya kin still serve God without bein’ a nun. Even if ya got married and had babies.”
“Oh, I’m not thinking about that! Besides, I already told you that I probably can’t have children.”
“You never tol’ me that, or mebbe I forgot.”
“A doctor who examined me one time said I would probably never be able to conceive. Something about scar tissue.” Fleur’s face got even redder, and Louise knew there must be more to that story.
“You kin have children without bearin’ them yerself. And, by the way, Remy and Rachel adopted a bunch of kids because he was wounded in the Iraqi war and became sterile. And guess what? He and Rachel became pregnant after all. Turns out, the doctors ain’t allus right.” Louise yawned behind her hand and shimmied down on the bed a bit.
