by Nick Stevens
The second man took the glass without looking up. He only had eyes for his phone. The man’s age surprised her.
She then placed the metal tray on the coffee table between the two men. It held three glasses of amber liquid, one with an orange slice and blood red cherry. “I prefer old fashions.” Taking the middle seat on the couch facing the two men, she reached for the glass. The men took their glasses and leaned back into their chairs.
She heard her phone chime from across the room at the arrival of a new text message but didn’t bother to check it. She had more important matters at hand.
Holding her glass aloft, she offered a toast, “To new friends.”
Bon-Hwa looked at her, confused. He returned the toast by lifting his glass. Hwang did the same.
As the men lowered their glasses, Bethany added, “And to profitable business.”
Setting his glass on the table, Khang said, “You are Mr. Edwards’ partner? He said you only work for him. You find the girls, yes?”
“Yes, I recruit the assets you want, and I recruit for others.”
“What others?”
“Oh, Paul hasn’t told you? He’s begun working with Mexican cartels for assets to use as leverage over various parties. In fact, the Stewart asset, the one you’re collecting tonight, was a cartel acquisition.” Bethany used the term she’d heard Paul use - assets. They aren’t women or even human. Just things, used and traded like barrels of oil.
Haneul turned to Bethany. “There must be some mistake. We are here for the Fitzgerald, uh, asset.”
“Oh, Paul didn’t tell you? She died days ago when the kidnapping went to hell. He wants to smooth things over with you by giving you Chloe Stewart for free.”
Haneul stared at his boss. “That wasn’t the agreement, Captain.”
Bon-Hwa leveled his eyes at Bethany. “Tell me about this Stewart woman.”
“Not much to tell, really. Her father is a district court judge in D.C. and her mother works on policy at the Department of Commerce. She proposes policies to Congress on oil imports and exports.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Not that she doesn’t have value, but she won’t help you with the cash your regime needs, right?”
The two men traded rapid fire Korean for several seconds. Bethany watched it like a tennis match, with volleys going back and forth. She picked out the occasional word, like Paul and Fitzgerald.
Taking a sip of her drink, Bethany spoke over them. “Gentlemen, I can help you.”
Haneul froze mid-sentence. “What?”
“Laurel Fitzgerald is dead and there’s no fixing that. But you’ll agree with me that Paul’s gotten sloppy. Failed deliveries are unacceptable for men of your importance. A failure from Paul reflects on you and tarnishes your reputation with your leadership.”
The two men looked at each other, then to Bethany.
Bethany paused for a dramatic effect. “I have a proposal.” Without waiting, she launched into it. “I propose you get rid of Paul and leave your acquisitions to me. After all, I do the recruiting. Paul only wants women, but I can get men as well, which opens up your options.”
Bon-Hwa leaned onto an elbow. “What happens to Paul?”
“You shoot him, of course. Shoot all the girls in his twisted cult too, for all I care. If you leave this to me, and make me your partner instead of him, I’ll deliver the right assets at the right time. No more mistakes and less risk for you.” Her rehearsals over the last few hours came easy. Saying her proposal aloud, where rejection meant death or worse, brought her to an icy sweat. Bethany leaned back on the couch, letting the men absorb her offer.
Haneul rubbed his chin, intrigued by the gorgeous, brazen women in front of him. “What else do you want?”
Locking eyes with the man, Bethany said, “I need one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars in cash. Tonight.”
Bon-Hwa spoke first. “This is an interesting proposal, Ms. Kaine. I’d like to discuss it with my colleague. Would you give us a moment alone?”
“Of course, gentlemen. Whatever you decide, I’ll escort you to Paul when you’re ready. He’s eager to show you how his flock has grown, with my help, of course.”
Bethany placed her glass on the coffee table, picked up her purse and exited through the front door.
Sal cursed herself for the poor footwear choice she’d made two days ago. Had she known she’d be skulking around the woods looking for a missing girl, she would’ve brought boots. After an errant step into a muddy creek, each step shoved water from the mesh of her ultralight running shoes.
Finding a dark copse of trees for cover, Sal took off her sneakers and wrung the water out of the lightweight wool socks. “At least my feet won’t get cold,” she muttered. Only wool kept you warm when it was wet, as she’d learned from years of marathon training in many types of weather.
She spotted a stark light in the distance as she tied her shoes. The other buildings she’d found used low power incandescent bulbs or old-fashioned gas lanterns. This one had a modern intensity, a brilliant white light that carried for hundreds of feet. Checking her pistol in its holster for the millionth time, she hefted the shotgun and crept towards it.
Ducking behind a tree, she realized she’d approached the corner of a building, the light mounted high on the roofline. The two other corners she could see had similar lights facing outward. An unseen approach was impossible, she realized. The single-story building was modern, at least compared to the weather-beaten buildings she’d searched elsewhere on the grounds. Made out of cinderblock, it was rectangular, with a long wall stretching about forty feet to her left, and a shorter, she estimated twenty feet, wall to the right. Fluorescent light poured from transom windows mounted well above her eye level.
“I’m not getting in that way,” she muttered.
Sal remembered the building Mason talked about on the long drive from Washington, the structure that wasn’t on the old map but showed up on the satellite photos. She stepped back into the shadows and continued around the short side of the building, using the trees for cover.
She found an entrance to the bunker-like structure as she rounded the short side of the building. The gunship gray door looked heavy and industrial, like the fire doors common to hotels and office buildings. Dual lights illuminated the doorway from both sides, but Sal didn’t see any cameras.
Stepping out of her cover in the trees, Sal shouldered her shotgun and sprinted to the wall, the white cinderblock reassuring against her back. She reached for the matte silver doorknob with her left hand, her right on the trigger. The awkward length of the shotgun forced the barrel down as her hand, slick with nervous sweat, touched the cool metal.
She turned the doorknob. It spun in her hand. Pulling the door open, she entered a long, narrow hallway. She spotted two doors at the end of the hall, forking in different directions. As she stepped inside, the door clicked behind her and echoed in the silent building.
A man’s voice called out from inside. “Paul? That you?”
Sal halted at the sound, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum tile. Cursing herself, she double-checked the safety on the shotgun and advanced down the narrow passage. Before she reached the two doorways, the overhead lights in the cramped space cut out, leaving her in near darkness. Fragments of light spilled in from the windows she saw from outside, giving her just enough visibility to keep moving.
She spun into the left-hand doorway, sweeping the barrel of the shotgun around the room. The faint light left heavy shadows in the room, obscuring all but some metal tables against the far wall. Stepping into the room, moved to turn around and everything went black.
Chapter 21
“What would you like to do, sir? She could be useful.” Haneul asked his boss.
Shrugging, Bon-Hwa sipped his whiskey. “Are you thinking with your cock, Haneul? She is a dangerous woman. Almost more dangerous than Paul.”
Haneul hid behind his glass. “I only meant she could be us
eful getting what we need, with less, ah, overhead, than Edwards. With the US sanctions crippling us more every day, we need foreign currency, and fast.”
Bon-Hwa hated the reminder US sanctions. As a young student at the Pyongyang University for Science and Technology, he’d excelled in computer science and mathematics. When continued sanctions jeopardized the future of the regime, the party took his entire class out of school, gave them commissions, and stuck everyone into Bureau 121, the cyberwarfare bureau of the Reconnaissance General Bureau.
In Bureau 121, he spent countless hours going after American and European power grids and healthcare networks, gaining access with little effort. Bon-Hwa found the work uninspiring, but his superiors promoted him repeatedly for his successes. He reached the rank of captain in record time.
His rapid rise caught the attention of party leaders. In their wisdom, they moved him to Office 39, thinking success in one area translated to others. Far from his keyboards and connections, his career comprised acquiring funds for party leadership to spend on yachts, cars, and jewelry. Drugs and human trafficking scratched the surface. He’d orchestrated sales of chemical weapons and nuclear technology to unstable regimes all over the world.
Anything for a dollar. Or a euro.
The party leadership’s corruption made his stomach churn.
“What do you want to do, Haneul? Kill Edwards?”
“It may be wise.”
Done with the conversation, Bon-Hwa slammed his glass to the table. “Fine. You kill him after we get the girl, whatever girl.”
Haneul turned pale. Bon-Hwa saw Sergeant Ong smile from the corner.
Mason made good time getting from the boathouse to where the SUV sat parked. He’d taken a direct path, but stopped for brief glances in any window he could peer into. Most of the structures appeared unused, with most activity limited to the few he’d seen with lights.
The buildings still had the signs from their earlier use as a scout camp. Names like ‘Little Lodge’ and ‘Pioneer Trading Post’ were out of place now. They reminded Mason of his time growing up as a Boy Scout in Pine Village, Indiana.
Of course, Mason thought, his scouting days didn’t involve human trafficking.
Using the tree cover, Mason darted from tree to tree, keeping noise to a minimum. He closed on the building he’d seen the mysterious guests disappear into, crouching low near a corner of the building. Light spilled from the windows onto the ground. He realized it looked more like a house than the other spartan structures he’d seen.
In the light, Mason recognized Bethany’s SUV. Standing a few steps away was Bethany, illuminated by the house lights. She swayed back and forth, unsteady on her feet. Mason saw her wince in pain, clutching at her right side. Bethany opened the purse resting on the hood of her car and dug inside.
She extracted a small container. Removing its lid, Mason watched the familiar motion of someone taking a pill. Maybe she’s an addict, or maybe she’s just injured, he thought as she put the bottle back into its home in her purse.
Mason debated snatching Bethany and dragging her back to the boathouse for a quick interrogation. He reached for the reassuring leather of his sap in his rear pocket, hefting its weight while considering his options. He didn’t know what role the new arrivals played here. They could step out of the house at any moment, putting him at a severe disadvantage. Even if he got away clean with Bethany, her disappearance would raise an alarm.
Pocketing the sap, he waited. He checked his watch. He had to meet Sal in twenty minutes.
“Wakey, wakey.” Aaron’s massive paw shook Sal’s head, jolting her awake.
She blinked and shook her head to clear the fog enveloping her. The motion gave her vertigo and she felt nauseous. She stopped moving to let the wave pass. Taking inventory, she realized the right side of her face felt numb. She guessed that’s where he hit her.
Sal slurred, “Where am I?”
“You don’t know?” Aaron held up the shotgun. “You carry this when breaking into a building?”
Sal stayed quiet. Looking around, she saw thick bundles of duct tape binding her to a metal chair. Sterile light from overhead fluorescent fixtures bathed the room, the intensity making her right eye ache and throb. Turning her head, she saw stainless steel tables along one long wall. Digital scales and boxes of plastic bags dotted the tables. Her pistol and mobile phone rested on one of them, out of her reach.
Calming herself, she again looked at the man staring at her. “Interesting place for a drug house.”
Aaron smiled at the small woman trapped in the chair. “Very good! Is it officer?”
“Detective.”
“Detective. Right.” Aaron dragged a metal chair across the concrete floor, the feet scraping in protest. The sound reverberated in the cinderblock room. Another wave of nausea overtook Sal as the sound assaulted her.
“Oh! Looks like somebody has a concussion,” Aaron gloated, dropping his bulk into the chair in front of Sal. “That should make the rest of this easy. Who else is here with you?”
A flash of sweat chilled Sal as bile rose in her throat. Getting herself under control, she said, “Nobody. It’s just me. I’m here looking for a missing girl.”
“You’re in luck. We have lots of those. How did you find this place? We do like our secrets. People don’t just stumble around out here.”
“Just got lucky.” Sal attempted a weak smile.
Aaron’s affable facade evaporated. “They found the last person I tied to a chair in Rock Creek park with three of his friends. I beat them to death with a hunk of steel.” He looked around the room, frowning. “Let me go get it.”
Lights flashed behind Sal’s eyes as Aaron scraped the chair across the floor as he stood. “Don’t you go anywhere.”
An arc of light emerged from the house, framing Bethany against the trees. Mason backed away, keeping out of sight.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “I hope we have an agreement.”
A voice spoke. “Yes, Ms. Kaine. We accept your proposal, but only after we collect what we came for.”
The door closed, and four shapes descended on Bethany.
“Perfect, General. I’ll escort you to Paul, then collect the Stewart asset for you.”
Hiding in the shadows, Mason pumped his fist on learning that Chloe was alive and somewhere on the sprawling compound. He needed to find her. First, he had to regroup with Sal.
Mason went prone as the Mercedes’ headlights swept across his hiding place. The car turned right, heading deeper into the compound along a narrow dirt path that doubled as a road.
Springing to his feet as the taillights faded into the distance, Mason took off at a light jog to the rendezvous location he and Sal selected.
Chapter 22
“Welcome! I know some of you have been here before, but with our turnover, it’s always a new experience.” Paul greeted the men as they stepped from the car. The North Koreans kept him on his toes. He never knew what to expect.
Khang Bon-Hwa shook Paul’s offered hand. “Mr. Edwards, thank you for your hospitality. Ms. Kaine is an exceptional hostess.”
“Yes, she’s a treasure.” Paul beamed. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Motioning to the former dining hall, the single space long ago converted into several private rooms, Paul said, “Before we discuss business, I thought we’d enjoy some distractions.”
Paul motioned to a few plush chairs against the window. The four men sat, looking puzzled.
Opening a door behind him, Paul led a group of women into the room. A few swayed back and forth, enjoying the euphoric high Paul demanded they accept. Others stood still, enduring the ordeal with half-closed eyes drifting in and out of focus.
Paul sorted the women into a line. “Gentlemen! Take your pick. Some of these ladies have been with us only a short time.” He winked to Bon-Hwa. “If you prefer newer vintages, I’ve arranged them from youngest to oldest.”
The stunned men looked at each other, unsure if thei
r host’s offer was serious.
A thin trickle of sweat ran down Paul’s back. “Oh, don’t be shy now. We’re celebrating.” Paul nudged a tiny redhead, Marcy, toward Haneul, who stood, his eyes wide. Haneul put a light hand on Marcy’s shoulder, moving her back a step as he reached out for a taller blonde standing next to her.
“Ah, Rebecca. An excellent choice. Just one? Or would you like another?”
Without taking time to consider, Haneul snatched Marcy’s hand as well.
Waving to the door the women emerged from, Paul announced, “Bedrooms are in the back.”
Haneul rushed past Paul, his two prizes in tow. With the ice broken, Bon-Hwa and Ong choose their women and raced down the hallway. Only Kim Wook remained seated. He looked younger than his years and kept his eyes glued to his phone.
“Take your time, boys. But remember, if you break it, you buy it.” Paul’s hollow laughter followed the men.
The men walked up the stairs, past Paul. As the door banged shut, he pushed the remaining women in to empty room, locking them inside.
He stepped outside, grabbing Bethany by the arm, digging his fingers into her bicep. “Get the Stewart girl and bring her back here. She’s in cabin seven and shouldn’t give you any problems. She hasn’t had a hit in over twenty-four hours. Withdrawal has to be setting in. You have about an hour, so there’s no rush. These guys won’t last long.”
Mason leapt over a small ditch, hearing the gentle gurgle of water flowing over rocks an instant before he fell in. He’d spent ten minutes searching for Sal after waiting at their agreed meeting point. His concern grew as his search area increased.
He ducked into an ancient three-sided Adirondack shelter. Digging into his bag, he turned on his phone and discovered he didn’t have any service. Picturing the map from Sal’s phone in his mind, he knew the path they agreed to put her near the building he saw on the satellite photos. Mason dropped the phone into his backpack, but not before a last check for cell service.
