Savage Alliance

by R. T. Wolfe

  She nodded as the car came to a complete stop. "It's part of the reason we're here." Opening her door, she climbed out and stood. It was her turn to mumble. "Dry heat, my ass." It was like standing next to the fire circle. The sweat was instant and useless in the zero wind.

  Duncan and Eddy got out too.

  A footpath led from behind the garage to the back door. Duncan stared at it, too, as he walked around the front of the car. "It could be squatters."

  She hoped it was squatters. Movement from inside the window she remembered went to the kitchen made her elbow Duncan.

  "I see it," he said.

  Nickie cracked open the car door. "Stay in the car," she said to Parker, then shut it again.

  "Hey, it's hot in here." His voice was muffled from inside the car.

  She considered ignoring him altogether, but chose a shrug.

  "You wouldn't keep a dog in here."

  Duncan opened the door and tossed him the keys.

  "Go ahead and escape," she said through the windows. "Jun Zheng would thank me."

  "To serve and protect," he said as he crawled into the driver's seat and turned on the AC.

  Duncan led the way.

  "I'll keep an eye on the back," Eddy said as he crossed his arms and locked his knees. Nickie assumed he meant Parker. Good call, considering.

  The back door wasn't latched. He eased it open and stuck his head inside. The hinges creaked and the sound was followed by the thumping of running feet. A door slammed open against a wall in front.

  Duncan waved a hand to her, then pointed to his chest before turning it toward the front of the house. She loved it when he used military signals. She nodded and stepped toward the basement door. Not many homes had basements in this area. The temperature was cool in basements, although that was relatively speaking. It was why she assumed the homeless chose this empty house as a place to hang rather the other dozens of empty ones in the area.

  An open palm pressed against the center of her chest and stopped her. She looked at Duncan's hand, then darted her gaze to his face. He shook his head. She did not love it when he did that. Pushing his hand away, she stepped toward the basement.

  He followed. At least he didn't step in front of her this time. She knew this house. She wished she didn't know it as well as she did. The FBI had first requisitioned her personal knowledge of child trafficking systems in a case that involved this home.

  The homeless weren't the only ones who chose it because of the basement.

  Fu Haizi used it to house children. As she turned the corner, she noted that the locks on the jamb to the basement door hung covered in dust and cobwebs. This was a good sign.

  She already knew what the basement would hold. Other than a potential scattering of homeless, mostly runaways, it would carry leftover evidence of trafficking specific to Fu Haizi.

  Creeping down the stairs, she dodged a spider's web. The familiar sound of shuffling and grunting came from within. As she reached the bottom, she peered around the stairway wall. They didn't notice her. Statistics said they were likely to be under the influence of something cheap and easy to obtain.

  Covered in grime, an old outlet strip hung from the wall. Scrapes and scratches next to it and on the concrete floors matched the sizes and shapes of the cages Fu Haizi used for children. Aged blood and human excrement stains colored the concrete where mattresses would have lined the floors.

  "Police," she yelled.

  Duncan pulled his brows together and turned to her.

  She looked right back at him as she said in an equally loud voice, "We are here to relocate you to a safe place."

  It worked. They scattered like flies, taking turns scrambling out the single accessible window that was barely large enough to fit a child.

  Duncan placed his hand around her upper arm, and tilted his head at her.

  "We don't have time. It was the easiest way to get rid of them."

  "Why are we getting rid of them? We can find them homes. You did so for the boy we found the last time we were here."

  "He wanted to be found. Not all do."

  A single female stood in the center of the room. She was filthy. Eyes dilated, she swayed back and forth.

  "You the guard, the decoy or the sacrifice?" Nickie asked.

  She was ready to catch her if she fell, but instead she spoke. "Are you Detective Savage?"

  It made Nickie blink several times. Had they been made? She double-checked around for perps, but all she saw was garbage, random clothing and strewn mattresses.

  "Johnny said you found him a place to live. He trusts you." The clarity in her voice was a contrast to her appearance, but Nickie knew all about how appearances could be deceiving. She paused before stepping toward her.

  Jonathon Cleary. He'd called himself Jane Doe. "Yes," she said. "I am Nickie Savage, and I can help you too."

  "Duncan," she said over her shoulder. "Secure the rest of the place, please, and get Parker and our luggage from the car. I think I have something in my bag that will fit this young woman."

  She turned to him. His expression was impressed, peaceful and proud. It seeped into her very soul.

  * * *

  The ringtone said it was Duncan's pilot calling. Parker didn't flinch his attention from his ereader, and the girl called Sylvia slept soundly on the dirty living room carpet. He extracted his phone from the front pocket of his pants. "This is Duncan."

  "Good afternoon, sir. Do you have an estimated time for takeoff that you would care for me to arrange with the Henderson airport?"

  "Hello, Andrew. Yes. It won't be until late, I'm afraid." He smiled before he said, "And call me Duncan." It was a dance of words he and his pilot continually bantered over the years they had worked together.

  "A late night departure. That will work quite well, sir."

  Smiling, Duncan disconnected and continued his search of the home. The living room, kitchen and guest bathroom areas were clean of any electrical surveillance or tracking devices. However, he was reluctant to think of the word in conjunction with anything in this home.

  He still had the master bath and two bedrooms to search. It would be nice to finish before Nickie returned. She would undoubtedly torment him mercilessly at the prospect of working surveillance cameras in homes long deserted by the people they searched for.

  The rooms were void of any furniture. Other than food, they truly didn't need anything in way of furnishings. They'd brought a folding table, chairs and air mattresses with them. The truck stop located at the end of highway 95 would suffice for bathroom breaks and showers. Duncan had survived with less and his Nickie on much less. The heat was an entirely different issue.

  He ran his fingers along the inside of the master bedroom closet frame with one hand as he called a local hardware store with the other. A simple generator and a few window air conditioners should solve that problem.

  Dale Parker stepped behind him, his ereader device in one hand and the earbuds for it in the other. "It stinks in here."

  "Indeed," Duncan said and pulled down the useless smoke detector.

  "I need to get to wifi."

  He searched the smoke detector for bugs of the electrical kind but found only that of the live and kicking variety. And a few that were not alive or kicking. "And why would a prisoner in witness protection need wifi?" Duncan asked.

  Dale held up his device as if Duncan were dense.

  "You'll need to wait."

  "I have to use the bathroom."

  "There isn't one. You can use the backyard or it seems any corner of the basement. You wouldn't be the first."

  "It's not the standup kind of bathrooming."

  Dale opened his mouth, but Duncan didn't let him finish. "We're not leaving the child, and I'm not waking her," he said and replaced the smoke detector to its spot on the ceiling.

  "The pound wouldn't allow a dog to be treated this way."

  "Yes, you've said that before. The difference is that shelter facilities don't care for
dogs who have served as police department moles for child traffickers or who have shot the volunteers and left them for dead." Duncan left for the kitchen area.

  His cell rang again. This time it was Nickie's ringtone. "My wife," he said as he answered.

  "Not quite, Pretty Boy." The voice of Eddy Lynx caused his teeth to grind.

  A small battle of wits ensued as to who would speak first. Duncan had endless patience as well as complete faith in his wife. Eddy used her phone for a reason.

  "Nick wants to know if you need anything. She's in the shower."

  The truck stop shower, which was not what Eddy alluded to. She hadn't wanted to leave Eddy at the house. She and Duncan would be leaving for South America soon. This was Eddy's last moment away from the prisoner in weeks. Mostly, Nickie didn't want to leave Eddy and Duncan without her to mediate.

  "Bug spray," Duncan said.

  Chapter 20

  The seat recliner didn't recline. One of the hinges on her tray table was stuck, and Nickie ended up in an aisle seat. Not that Duncan hadn't offered his, but it was in the middle between hers and Dr. Byrd's, who landed the window seat. She appreciated the bomb expert's willingness to tag along and everything, but he was close to getting airsick. How could someone who dealt with explosives—defusing bombs specifically—be airsick? The aisle seat turned out to be the lesser of two evils.

  She'd used Duncan's plane for so long, she had become completely spoiled. The guys at the station never even gave her shit about using it anymore. When did she become a married cop who was trying to get pregnant and whined about riding coach?

  Andy rode next to Gloria somewhere in the back. She would trade seats with him as soon as the seat belt sign went off. The plane jumped. Again. Who knew when that was going to be? She tugged on her blouse, fanning her chest.

  "I have Dramamine," Duncan offered.

  "The turbulence that's coming from the plane isn't the kind of turbulence that is the problem."

  He placed his hand on hers and curled his fingers around it.

  "I should be in Henderson with Eddy and Parker."

  "I know."

  "I should be in Vegas with the Lyonses."

  "I know."

  He knew? "I should be in Daytona with Hurst and Dave."

  "I know."

  Did not. "Gloria should be home making plans for Sunday dinner with her family."

  He turned her hand over and traced the lines with his thumb. A melody of clarity washed from the side of his thumb, through her hand, her arm and over her shoulders. "Are you going to be okay with all this?" His thumb stopped. She referred to the flashback he'd had the last time he was in Peru. He would know this. And he wouldn't be able to answer her. It was a low blow. "I'm sorry."

  He reached beneath his seat and took out his tablet. She wasn't forgiven. She didn't deserve to be. He didn't just have PTSD. He had an eidetic memory. It was much of what brought them together in the first place. She'd been suspicious of him. He recalled details like he was reading from a text book. She thought it was a memorized alibi. He had something to hide.

  Then, his sight became invaluable. He was able to memorize scenes, remember details others had missed. No camera needed.

  At first, she thought of it as a gift, but crystal clear memories of learning his parents died in a plane crash when he was four years old were not a gift. Neither was helplessly witnessing the beloved aunt who raised him like a son as she was blindsided with a baseball bat. The time he was a boy and used as bait in the attempted murder of Brie. Memories of his time in the Middle East. "I'm really, really sorry."

  As he worked his tablet, he placed his free hand on her knee.

  "One way or another," she said. "This will all be over soon."

  Seat belt sign be damned. "Screw it," she said and released the buckle. She stepped into the aisle, tiptoeing in her boots. Two of the nearest stewardesses turned to her. "Bathroom," she mouthed and pointed to the back of the plane. Grabbing the tops of the seats as she staggered, she cursed the fact that she'd chosen her four-inch heeled boots instead of the two.

  Andy's eyes met hers as she reached him. His expression matched the stewardesses'. She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "Your brother wants you."

  He unhooked his seat belt and pulled himself up using the top of the seat in front of him. "Liar," he said and smiled as he maneuvered around her.

  She slid in and grinned at the stewardess police as she buckled her seat belt. "I thought we could sit girls and boys," she said to Gloria.

  No response. Turning her head to the only true mother she ever knew, Nickie recognized the look. Distant, serious and sad. "What's the matter?"

  "Why?" Gloria asked and shook her head slowly.

  Why had Gloria bullied, insisted and barged her way into a life-threatening operation? Why had she gotten involved with a girl who attracted trouble like flies at a picnic?

  "Why children?" Gloria asked. "Why not guns or drugs?"

  Nickie sighed. The forever asked confusion. The question.

  She wrapped her hand around Gloria's. The contrast in color meant nothing. Neither did the thin, crepe lines next to Nickie's taut skin. Together they were humans. "Guns and drugs are a onetime sale. Humans can be sold over and over again."

  Gloria's nose dipped but not her gaze. She stared at the back of the seat in front of her. "We will take these men, yes? Tell me we will take them and save the children."

  Nickie clasped her hands together. "Count on it."

  * * *

  As they exited customs, Duncan placed his hand on Nickie's back. Warm muscles flexed beneath the cotton. It wasn't just the stress, but also the humid climate that would immerse them for the next twenty-four hours.

  His legs ached from the sedentary flight. The drastic changes his body had gone through in the past few weeks were catching up to him. He and Nickie didn't have a private pool in their basement with which to exercise their bodies and quiet their minds. No longer did they have a basement. Neither had they taken the time to swim in a public facility. Since these were all first world problems, he chose to both keep them to himself and shake them from his thoughts.

  The Jorge Chavez International Airport was sparse this time of night. Or was 3 a.m. still considered nighttime? Jess Larsen waited on the other side of customs as did his driver Duncan remembered as Samuel.

  "Nickie," Jess said and opened his arms.

  Duncan knew this about Jess Larsen, yet it was unfortunate. He didn't interfere but watched for how Nickie responded.

  She held her arms out longer than appropriate, then patted him on the back as he pulled her in close. "I hope the flight was smooth," he said as he pulled away.

  Nickie's reluctance at physical warmth with others. The corner of Duncan's mouth lifted. It was the highlight of his day, and it had barely started.

  "The flight was fine," she lied. "It's good to see you." She rotated her body and stepped away from him. "This is my—" She lowered her brows and looked at Gloria.

  "Mother," Gloria finished and held out a hand to him. "I am the one who will pose as—"

  "And this is Dr. Tyler Byrd." Nickie interrupted, saving Gloria from speaking publically of their operation. Dr. Byrd adjusted his Indiana Jones hat along with the collar of the suit jacket he wore over the open-necked button down shirt that would, even in the South American winter, smother him as soon as they stepped outside. "You know Duncan and his brother, Andy."

  "Good to see you again. Thank you for your time and service." Jess smiled.

  Said the man who dedicated his life to the rescue and rehabilitation of victims of trafficking.

  "Shall we find more suitable accommodations for private conversation?" Duncan asked.

  Jess nodded, turned and led them to the sidewalk outside the building. Duncan didn't recognize the car, but he was glad Jess had brought one that would fit the seven of them. It was a VW van, Duncan guessed around a 1962 model. The driver, Samuel, was a local. Although under the radar, Duncan co
nsidered him a key player. He knew the land, the people and was worthy of trust.

  Duncan spoke to him as he rounded the end of the van. "Samuel. How have you been?"

  Samuel nodded and held out a hand. "Good, my friend. Good. Welcome back."

  Duncan and Andy assisted Samuel as they secured the luggage on the top of the van. The rest of the group took their seats, but not before Dr. Byrd removed the suit jacket and puffed out his chest. "It's good to be here, friends. Good to be here." A large oval sweat mark had formed in the center of his back. "I've always wanted to be part of a mission trip, and here I am."

  Andy paused and glanced at Duncan.

  The van had three rows of seats. A single spot was left at the edge of each. Jess took the front passenger seat, Duncan the middle next to Dr. Byrd and Andy in the back with Gloria and Nickie.

  Looking down at the floor of the van, Duncan noted the carpet was missing, exposing the painted metal from end to end in the vehicle. The vinyl seats were cracked and padding escaped, but Samuel had covered them with bamboo beads. The windows were down and the ride was quite comfortable.

  Dr. Byrd removed his hat and ran his hand over the top of his sweaty head. Samuel pulled away as Jess began. "Is anyone hungry?" he asked.

  Dr. Byrd opened his mouth, but Nickie answered from the back. "Can you drop some of us off at the safe house and take the rest on a tour to get the lay of the land?"

  The doctor inhaled then let out a visible sigh.

  "Of course. Nighttime in Peru is a beautiful sight to remember," Jess said and turned around.

  The drive to the safe house took them around a section of the slums of Lima. Rows of single-room homes made of shared corrugated metal walls and roofs stood butted up next to each other. Alleys, most not big enough to fit a vehicle, wound between a few of them and disappeared in the city of metal sheeting.

  It was surprisingly dark and quiet for an area filled with so many people. Chickens squawked as they stirred from their sleep from the noise of the van. "Everyone except me will stay the duration between now and the day we infiltrate the compound. Two others come next week."