by J. M. LeDuc
This is no time for finesse, Sin thought. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and lurched out from behind the bar, firing as fast as she could pull the trigger.
Five pulls on the trigger, five men down.
Just as she saw another man on the boat, from the corner of her eye, she saw a long shadow come at her from behind. Before she could react, she felt the blunt force of a hard object strike the side of her head.
That was the last thing she remembered until she came to in the hold of the boat. Her head was pounding and her wrists and ankles were bound with zip ties.
32
Charlie stood in his hangar looking at the people sitting around him. His eyes first went to Thomas, Sin’s father. He looked tired and weak. Next to him was Carmelita, for the first time in Charlie’s recollection, she looked less than well-put together. On Thomas’ other side stood Troy.
“I’m sure everyone is wondering why you’re here.”
Everyone nodded.
“Charlie, I agreed to this meeting because you said it had to do with my daughter. What’s going on? Miller and the State Police have been to my house, questioning me about Sin’s involvement in a break in at church. They said she is wanted for breaking and entering and attempted murder. I haven’t been able to reach her.” Thomas sounded frantic.
“Well, that seems like a good jumping in point,” Charlie said, “so let’s address that issue first.” He straightened his posture as if he was about to be reprimanded by a higher up. “First of all, she didn’t try to kill anyone. She subdued a few, but―”
“Are you saying, she did break into Heap’s church?”
“She was just doing her job, Thomas.”
Sin’s father tried to stand, but the sudden movement appeared to make him dizzy and he dropped back into the chair.
Charlie handed him a bottle of water. “Give me a few minutes and I will try to make sense out of all of this.”
Carmelita helped Thomas steady his jittery grasp and bring the drink to his lips.
“I’ve known Thomas and Carmelita for most of my life, but as for Troy, let’s say your past was a bit notorious, so I needed to ease my suspicious mind. I did a little checking on you before I called this meeting,” Charlie continued. “I now feel confident that I can trust all of you with the information I’m about to impart.
“Sinclair O’Malley is not a Sergeant nor is she in the military. She is a FBI agent and is here on a mission.” He paused to gage everyone’s expressions and proceeded. “Thomas, I know that Sinclair told you some of what’s going on down here, so excuse me if I get repetitious. It’s important that we are all on the same level before we proceed with what Agent O’Malley expects of us.”
Thomas nodded.
“Troy, as you are well aware, there have been a series of bodies that have washed up around the Keys and gulf coast—bodies of young girls. What you might not know is that each of the bodies found has exhibited signs of bondage. Each has ligature marks—marks on their wrists and ankles where they have been bound. They also show signs of torture—varying degrees of man-made burn marks as well as broken bones and sexual sadism.”
“What does all this have to do with Sin’s whereabouts?” Thomas interjected.
“Sin was sent down here to investigate their deaths and the deaths of some other agents.”
“Why would anyone do this to innocent children?” Carmelita said.
“Are you with the bureau?” Troy asked. “And how do you know more than the state police?”
Charlie addressed Carmelita. “There are sick people in this world, and to make it worse, we believe they did this for money.”
“Who are your suspects?” Troy asked.
Looking at Troy, he said, “To answer your first question, I was part of the bureau. In fact, I was one of the people who recruited Sinclair for the job. We took her straight out of Quantico before she even finished basic training. As far as how I know what I know, let’s just say I have my sources—reliable sources.”
He poured himself a cup of coffee. “We’re getting off track here. We need to discuss Sinclair’s whereabouts and why she gathered us all together.”
“About time,” Thomas emphasized.
“She is in Central America gathering intel at the moment. I received a text from her early this morning stating that she will be returning by plane. She said that if she doesn’t contact me by tomorrow morning, we are to watch the first reef. If any boats anchor on it, we need to move in.”
“The first reef?” Thomas said. “I’ve been fishing these waters since I was old enough to cast a line with my dad, and everyone knows to stay away from the first reef.”
“Well, things have changed,” Charlie said. “Trust me, boats have been anchoring on the reef.”
“Carmelita, Sin thinks the orphanage or someone associated with the orphanage might be involved.” He thought for a moment. “I know your friend, Rosa, works there; does she ever take the girls on field trips?”
“Yes, sometimes,” she answered. “I have gone with them as a chaperone at times.”
“Tell her you have been given a generous sum of money to take all the girls to the Miami Seaquarium tomorrow. I will arrange the transportation.”
“If she asks questions,” Carmelita said, “what do I say?”
“Just tell her it was an anonymous gift. Once they are on the bus, I will take care of the rest. I want the girls away from the orphanage for a few days.”
“Si,” Carmelita said. “I will do my best.”
Charlie turned his attention towards Troy. “You are the linchpin to this mission. You are the only one who can get close enough to Bubba and the boys to find out what they know. I’m not sure how, but I need you to get back in with the gang and report what you’ve found.”
Everyone stared at the ground not knowing what to think.
“Look,” Charlie said, “I know this is all a bit James Bondish to all of you, and I’m sorry that it’s clear as mud, but this is the best I can do. Sinclair trusts each of you, or I wouldn’t have asked you here. She has never once let me down, so I trust her judgment.”
They all shook hands and were about to leave when Charlie squeezed Troy’s forearm. “I need you to hang back for a few minutes.”
“What do you need,” Troy asked once everyone else left.
“Come on,” Charlie said, “let’s take a little ride.”
He and Troy stood in the library of the Johnson place.
Troy was taken aback, first by the fact that Charlie owned the place, and second at the sophistication of Charlie’s setup and the intelligence that he had been able to discover.
Troy scratched his head, staring at the pictures on the monitors. “So let me get this straight, Sin believes Heap is involved in this slave ring and might be filming the girls’ deaths?”
Charlie nodded. “You seem doubtful. Tell me why?”
“Look,” Troy answered, “I haven’t been back that long myself, but I have a hard time picturing Heap raping little girls, not to mention Bubba and the boys.” He pointed to the photos of the dead girls. “They might be immature assholes, but they’re not pedophiles.”
“You’d be surprised what people are capable of,” Charlie said, “now let’s get down to business.”
33
Charlie paced his hangar. The plane Sin should have been on landed, and there was no account of her. The airline had no record of her ever purchasing a ticket.
He unfolded the note she had given him and dialed the number.
“Who the hell is this?” The voice was curt and had a distinctive Australian accent.
“A friend of Sinclair O’Malley,” Charlie said.
“I doubt that. She has no friends.”
“She has one and since she gave me this number, I assume she has at least two.”
“I’ll give you another ten seconds to tell me who this is, or I’m hanging up.”
“My name is Charlie, and―”
“That’s a
ll I needed.” The voice went from one of indignation to concern. “I’m Fletcher, second in command of Sin’s unit. She told me if she ever got into a jam, I might hear from you. What has the little spitfire gone and done now?”
Hearing that it was someone from Sin’s unit worried Charlie. He thought they were with her. “She went after Veloz.”
“Alone!”
“She told me her unit was meeting her in Choluteca.”
“I’m her point man. I never heard from her. Listen mate, let’s cut to the chase. How can I help?”
“I need you in Key West by tomorrow morning. Is that possible?”
“I owe that spitfire my life. The whole unit does. We will all be there. Tell me when and where to meet you.”
34
The smell of diesel fuel was beginning to make Sin nauseous as she lay in the bottom of the fishing boat. Opening her eyes, her vision was blurry from the hit she took on the back of her head.
She tried to roll over and felt a jackhammer go off in her head. “Damn,” she groaned. “My head hurts like hell.” Ignoring the pain, she rolled onto her back and saw six pairs of eyes staring back at her. Each pair attached to a scared little girl. “If I didn’t know better,” she mumbled, “I’d swear I woke up in the middle of a scene from Little Orphan Annie.”
“How long have I been unconscious?” Sin asked in Spanish.
No one answered, they just looked confused.
Let me try that again, Sin thought. “How many times have you been fed on the boat?”
“Four.”
More than twenty-four hours. Sin squinted and tried to focus in on the girl who answered. “What is your name?”
“Ximena.”
“Ximena,” Sin said, “there was a young girl with me at the dock, did you see her?”
“She ran to you when you were hit. The man who hit you grabbed her and carried her on the boat.”
“Where is she?”
All the girls started to mumble and Ximena shrugged.
“Can you help me sit up?” Sin asked.
Shaking off the cobwebs, she began to move her arms and legs as best she could to assess her injuries. The ties cut into her flesh, but nothing seemed broken. My face feels bruised. Sin dragged her tongue over her dry lips and tasted blood. “Did anyone hit me?” she asked Ximena.
“Not since we have been in here, but your face is swollen and black and blue.”
Sin opened her mouth wide and moved her jaw from side to side. That explains a lot.
Suddenly, a thought came to Sin. “Ximena, did you see any of the men touch me in any other way?”
“Si, every time the men come down here, they give you a shot.”
A shot. No wonder I’ve been out for almost two days.
Sin contracted the muscles in her chest, trying to see if she felt anything between her breasts. Nothing. “Are you sure no one touched me?”
Ximena nodded. “They threw you down here when we first came on the ship.”
Sin smiled. “I need you to pull the bottom of my shirt out of my pants.”
When the girl did, Sin expected to see her straight-edged razor fall out of her shirt, but nothing was there.
Suddenly, the door to the hold opened up and familiar face glared back at Sin. He had an uncanny resemblance to Veloz.
“You’re an ugly fuck,” Sin said. “You have a name?”
The face sneered back with broken teeth. “You may call me El Diablo.”
“The devil, how original.”
Sin watched his eyes as they went from her face to the bottom of her shirt which was hanging in front of her jeans.
A lecherous laugh bellowed from his lips. “Did you think I left you with your blade?” He held her pearl-handled razor in his hand. “I’m going to enjoy cutting you.” He looked over his shoulder and yelled. “Grab the puta and bring her to my quarters.”
Two men grabbed her and cut the ties around her ankles.
First mistake, she thought.
Sin was brought—dragged—through the ship. She tripped twice in order to get a better look at the boat and to try to ascertain how many men were on board.
She was shoved through the door to the main cabin and fell on the hardwood floor.
The door behind her slammed shut and the room went dark.
“Fuck, that hurts,” she said.
She could sense the presence of another person in the room. “Who else is in here?”
She heard footsteps and the click of a light switch. Tia was standing by the switch.
“Thank god you’re all right, Sin sighed.
Tia ran to where Sin was sprawled, wrapped her frail arms around her neck, and bawled like a baby.
“Isn’t that sweet.” Sarcasm bled through the words.
Sin moved her eyes from Tia to the man standing at the door—El Diablo.
He moved like a man in charge. Sin couldn’t help notice that her pearl-handled revolvers were strapped to his waist.
“Nice guns,” she said.
He sat on a leather couch, opened a humidor, and pulled out a cigar, sliding it under his nose and inhaling deep. “They say Cuba make best cigars,” he said in broken English. “I think Nicaragua.” He pulled Sin’s razor out of his pocket, flicked it open, and cut the end off the cigar. “You have good taste in weapons.” He lit the cigar with her pearl embossed lighter and slowly let the smoke trail from his lips.
His voice took on an evil tone as the smoke blurred out his beady eyes. “I can’t wait to use them on you.”
Sin whispered to Tia who then scooted away from her.
“So, ‘El Diablo,’ do you have a name, or do I just call you dickhead?”
He slammed the lighter down on a table, leaned forward in his seat, and flicked his ash on Sin. “I am the man who is going to take your life, that’s all you need to know,” he spit through broken, stained teeth.
“You’re too ugly not to be related to Veloz. Brother?”
“Cousin,” he replied.
Now, we’re getting somewhere, Sin thought. “Where the hell did you come from. I killed every maggot in that building.”
He took another pull off his cigar. “I work the other end. While my cousin sat around getting fat and stupid, I was collecting the girls.” He leaned forward in the chair. “You didn’t see me because you got sloppy. You were too worried about the girl,” he pointed his cigar at Tia, “to see me jump off the back of the truck in front of the building. When I saw no guards and couldn’t reach my cousin, I grabbed a shovel from the side of the building and snuck up on you.” He had a grin on his face almost as big as his ego as he rehashed the story.
Sin’s demeanor didn’t change. “Who’s running this show?”
“You did me a favor when you killed Sebastian.” He finger pointed his chest. “Now, I am running show.”
“Buull-shit,” Sin elongated the word for emphasis. “If that was true, I’d be dead. You take your orders from someone else.”
She could see him getting flustered with the questions. Sin knew if she continued to push him, she would have him questioning his own thoughts. That made her smile—on the inside. “You think you’re a big man—a man in charge?” she said. “You mean nothing to them. You’re as dead as I am.”
The man flew off the chair and backhanded Sin. “I run show!”
He stormed through the cabin and slammed the door shut.
Sin licked the blood off her lip. He’s dumber than I thought. That makes him dangerous.
Her eyes went to the table―and her lighter.
Second mistake.
35
Sweat dripped onto the dark mahogany desk as Jeremiah Heap held the phone away from his ear.
“You listen to me!” bellowed the electronic voice. “I will pop that over inflated ego and bust in your fucking skull if you say another word.”
“I . . . I . . . I was just trying to—”
“Not a-nother god damn word.” Anger rasped through the phone line. “Y
ou’re being paid a shitload of money to rent out your studio and to keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?”
“There are rumors going around that I had something to do with the dead girls,” he hissed. “I am not taking the fall for something I was never a part of.”
“If I want you to take the fall, you will. I dragged your fat ass out of a shit pile from the bayou of New Orleans and plopped you in the lap of luxury of the Florida Keys, and I can put you right back there. Is that understood?”
Heap wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve and slammed his fist onto his desk. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked, but I’m not part of this―whatever this is.”
Laughter could be heard funneling through the cell phone. “You really are just a dumb Southern preacher, aren’t you? Do as you’re told and you’ll be fine. Step out of line and I’ll see that you get locked up, not just for murder, but as a pedophile.”
Heap could hear his pulse emanating in his ear like waves crashing on the shore line.
“And we both know what happens to pedophiles in jail.”
Heap jerked his phone away from his ear as the caller slammed the phone down. He felt defeated as he stared at the black screen of his cell phone, his heart pounding against his chest wall, as if trying to break out of its own prison.
“Is everything all right?”
Heap looked up and stared at his wife. He hadn’t even heard her come in.
She stood by the door that connected their offices. She had a tanned complexion, was moderately dressed, yet she oozed an innocent sex appeal—she was the embodiment of everything he ever wanted. The reason he was in the trouble he was.
She liked nice things and he was determined to be able to provide them. That was why he agreed to rent the studio to an anonymous tenant and why he tried so hard to grow his flock.
“Jeremiah, are you even listening to me?”
Her voice—as tender as a baby bird, yet as compelling as a seductive songstress—snapped him out of his inner thoughts. He plastered a Sunday morning smile on his harried face. “I’m fine darlin’. Just some financial issues to deal with, that’s all.”
