by Regan Black
And put a chink in the armor surrounding her heart. "You can lead a horse to water..."
"Shouldn't that be my line?"
A familiar sound interrupted her, but she couldn't place it. "What is that?" She dragged him away from the horrifying chamber, not bothering to return it to its original condition. Better that Albertson know she was close.
"A train," he said. "This way."
They worked their way through the dim passageways to the back of the building. Above them, footsteps pounded.
"Guards?" she hissed.
He pulled into a shadow. "You said there wasn't any security."
"There isn't any visual or auditory set up." She paused. "But they're not searching. Hear that? They're all moving to one place."
He concurred and they continued until they reached what had once been a loading dock. She stopped and backpedaled, keeping them out of sight, when chains rattled and groaned to raise the rusty metal door.
Sunlight streamed in, a sweet contradiction to the black purpose of this hideaway.
To her astonishment, a three car train pulled by an old diesel engine squealed to a stop.
"What the hell?" Brian breathed.
Doors on the cargo cars opened and suddenly the loading dock was full of chained people. All female, all slumped with defeat.
"They're just kids."
"No," Jaden contradicted. "But he likes the young look." She ducked back further into the shadows as the cars were loaded. She had to think of a way to help them.
Brian opened his mouth and she saved him the trouble. "I know. Still no damned proof this is Albertson. It's probably some diligent squatter who started up a slave trade without consulting the owner of such a fine establishment." She rolled her eyes at the temper brewing in his. "Whatever. We need to get on that train."
"Hell, no."
"You've got a better way to find out the destination?"
Brian fisted his free hand. How to make her see reason? "Let's find the office and confiscate the records first."
"Okay." She lowered her eyes, but he wasn't buying the sudden submissive routine. He knew her brain was shifting gears faster than the old style dragsters his grandfather talked about.
"Proof's essential for conviction," he reminded her. "You do want your nemesis to spend more than a couple years in lockup."
The meek nod of agreement worried him more than her continued unexplained collapses. "Well?"
"We could at least tag the train."
Brian sympathized. He didn't want those poor girls hurt anymore than she did. But in his opinion this rescue was a close second to preventing more victims. If Judge Albertson was behind this disgusting mess he'd have an office and meticulous records. That meant evidence and evidence meant irreversible convictions.
He tempted her. "I bet the records name the destination."
"If there are records."
The sullen tone he chalked up to being overruled. He had to admit, defeat didn't look so good on her. "Trust me, Jaden. We'll figure it out."
She gave a last wistful look to the tracks, then fell in behind him, hand still linked.
Brian followed his instincts, shadowing the footsteps of the guards on the floor above. He was counting on another access, something suiting the powerful orchestrator of such horrible acts. And no, he still couldn't completely wrap his mind around Albertson in that role. But they'd know soon enough. He smiled at the sight of a narrow, spiraling staircase. No way it could be the Judge's access, but good enough for two not-so-dead investigators.
Beginning the corkscrew climb, he heard the distant grind of steel against track and the slow pulse of the train gaining speed.
Then he heard nothing but Jaden's scream as she tumbled down the stairs. Lights bloomed around them. There'd been cameras, at least sensors of some sort and he'd bet she'd known all along. Hell, he should've known all along. A voice from above told him to freeze–and he obeyed, praying Jaden would do the same. But when guards closed in on him from below, he realized she'd disappeared from the radar.
Some partner.
Chapter Eleven
The neighborhood grieves today over the loss of Mr. Harold Blair. Known as the grandpa-in-residence, he shared candy, time and wisdom with two generations of children on Gregg Street.
Preliminary police reports say he died of a gunshot wound to the heart. His foster son returned home during the attack, fatally wounding the assailant, an unnamed woman, while she tried to escape.
–From the Lancaster Ledger, 1962
Chicago: 2096
Jaden couldn't let herself look back. She might try to help him. The women on the train needed her more. This is what she should've done at the museum: let the doubting Mr. Thomas take care of himself. He'd contrive some reason for his presence in his buddy's secret torture hideout.
The thought bolstered her as the mill threatened to drain her and she moved at top speed toward the sunshine–and the train undoubtedly destined for a thousand hells.
Neither the shouts nor the gunfire on her heels stopped her. She was a woman on a mission. It felt good to be working solo again.
Putting Brian out of her head, she ran to catch the old diesel, swinging herself up onto the junction of the second and third cargo cars. Letting her body adjust to the rolling rhythm of the train, she found she preferred the smooth ride of the el. Brian would revel in the irony. And there, before she decided how best to derail the Judge's delivery, she said a prayer for Brian.
It seemed most expedient to free the prisoners, rally them to revolt and take over the train. She set out to assess the threat. Reality was depressing, at least as far as her innate desire for battle was concerned.
Cursory surveillance proved only the engineer and one other armed man stood in her way. Easy enough, she thought, slinking up and into the engine compartment, feeling like an actor out of an old black and white western.
"Howdy," she said, humoring herself.
Both men turned, gaping like landed fish. Before the armed man could swing his gun into position, Jaden kicked and disarmed him. With the butt of the gun pressed into his larynx and her knee to his chest, she let him contemplate suffocation while she found the rest of his weaponry.
"Afraid of the chained women, are you?" In addition to the rifle at his throat, the man had a pistol, two knives and a taser. She used the taser against him and then casually pocketed the rest. The women on board had gained a small arsenal.
Approaching the engineer, she drew her favorite dagger from the sheath at her back. Emphasizing her advantage she sent a hair-skimming stroke down the length of his arm. The ensuing pat down revealed nothing noteworthy.
"Weapons locker?" she asked.
"You just disabled it, ma'am." He cocked his head toward the guard.
"Where are we headed?" she asked in her best syrup-soaked tone.
"Chicago, ma'am. Hammond Street docks."
She appreciated his immediate and full cooperation. Maybe extreme violence could be avoided.
"Then what?" she asked.
"Routine transfer to the ferry. I'm not used to overseeing that, ma'am. Not sure if they'll approve."
"'They' who?"
"Guards like him handle the ferry."
"You're separate from his crew?"
He nodded.
"Where does the ferry go?"
Engineer shrugged. "I just drive the train."
"The ETA?"
He blinked, then understood she wanted the estimated time of arrival. "Oh, about another hour. This ol' girl's dependable, but slow."
"Fair enough." She'd have to hustle. "If anyone calls for your pal back there, tell them he's sick. It'll be true enough if he comes around too soon."
With that, she snatched the keys from the guard's belt and began putting her plan into action. She began to think Brian's wisdom was the better part of valor when she couldn't get Cleveland to answer his phone. She checked the time. Forty-five minutes to single-handedly save about forty women wit
h a plan B.
And what was plan B?
It started the same as plan A: first free and then rally the prisoners. But it needed a different ending without Cleveland to back her up at the docks.
She moved into the first car behind the engine. As she released the women from their shackles, she asked questions, but received only exhausted, wounded stares. If they'd been drugged, she didn't see obvious evidence. No needle tracks, glassy eyes or hypo-spray patterns.
She pushed open the second car to find conditions the same.
Her reassurances earned no reaction from the captives, but the silence spoke volumes about their lack of confidence in her and themselves. None bore Albertson's mark, but several willowy blondes wore braided sterling armbands in an infinity pattern.
"Take those off. I'll keep them for evidence." Slowly, they obeyed. "Where are you from?" she asked the waif nearest the door. But the pale shadow of a woman merely shook her head.
Jaden mentally crossed her fingers that car three would give the forming plan B a chance. She stuck the key in each binding presented, wondering how to rally the downtrodden troops into decisive action.
A firm hand touched her shoulder. "Ms. Michaels?"
Jaden looked up, straight into the distorted face of Maria. The woman had a black eye, a brutal handprint on her neck, and a lopsided, mile-wide smile.
"It's good to see you." She embraced Jaden with remarkable calm.
"I'm glad you're okay. I thought–well by now–"
"The worst. I know. When the guy snagged me, I was certain you were right behind him, ready to pounce. I'm glad I never gave up on you."
Jaden noticed their conversation had sparked other women to begin talking. So far, she didn't recognize any voices from attacks she'd been linked to. The knowledge gave her no comfort.
"I–we had to prioritize. A young girl was also at risk that night."
Maria waved it off. "No explanation needed. How can I help you?"
"Sit them down and let them know we're going to escape. I'm going for water, and then we'll work out the details."
Jaden turned back toward the engine when a dark, nagging question demanded an answer. "Have you seen any deaths?"
Maria nodded soberly.
"What happened to the bodies?"
"The woman who died in my cell was hauled away by a guard. He muttered something about ballast or filler. It sounded like nautical talk to me."
Jaden nodded. "Do you have any idea what's going on?"
"We've all been tested one way or another. Not all of us have been sexually assaulted. But the guards kept track of who was naturally blonde."
"Yeah. They're all one car back." Jaden paused to think. "I got the feeling he was capturing women with a specific look. Besides young," she finished.
Her mind raced over possibilities and concerns as she wove her way back through the first two cars of prisoners. What riddle did this train solve? And what new questions did it raise?
Albertson had women kidnapped from Chicago and brought to Gary, only to head back to Chicago for a ferry to who knows where. But where were the younger victims? Where were the innocent girls whose weeping haunted her every quiet moment?
She struggled to keep her balance as she relived the engineer's comments. A 'routine' transfer of this sort could only mean slave trade.
She fumed at her obtuse ignorance. Albertson had been supplying the black market slave auctions from docks in her own back yard. And she'd been so distracted by day to day assaults she'd missed the bigger picture. She swore viciously.
How many women had been sold into slavery because of her failure to accomplish her mission?
Just one was one too many. She would not allow these thirty-eight to join them.
Jaden steeled herself for the pending battle.
* * *
Brian let the guards haul him roughly into a huge office and dump him into a chair. With one eye swollen shut, the lack of depth perception created an interesting challenge to his observation skills. He shifted, and received a painful reminder of the billy club cracking his ribs. These guards didn't smile on visitors.
He focused his good eye on the man by the door. "Got an ice pack around here?"
"We got nothin' for trespassers."
It didn't seem likely the Judge would hire help like this personally. That gave Brian hope that the man he'd held up as a mentor for most of his life might still be worthy. Anyone could use an infinity symbol. Albertson didn't have sole rights to it.
To distract his body from the pain, he let his eye rove. Dark wood furnishings gleamed under brass fixtures. The lavish civilization was an obscene contrast to the torture chamber downstairs, but that wasn't what made his stomach pitch. No, that sickening feeling rolled over him when he spotted a burgundy leather cigar box embossed with an infinity symbol.
Anyone could use an infinity symbol.
The denial sounded foolish even in his head.
He reached out, willing it to be illusion, but his hand was shoved away before he made contact.
"Keep yer mitts off," the guard rumbled.
Brian nodded, unable to take his eye from the gift he'd presented to Judge Albertson when he'd graduated from the police academy.
On the off chance the Judge was being manipulated, Brian asked, "What is this place?"
The guard snickered. "A finishing school for the less fortunate."
If only. "Run by?"
"Shut yer trap. Ye'll know what the boss-man wants yeh to know soon enough."
Brian used the silence to review his options. Damned few. Fight or flight were the only answers his brain provided.
The guard drew a genuine Cuban cigar from the humidor on the credenza and made a show of lighting it for his half-blind prisoner. The flame jumped and flashed off a unique ring on the man's right index finger.
"Nice ring," Brian said.
"Gotta earn it, son. Yeh wan' in?"
"Maybe."
"Turn over the girl and I'll put in a good word." The guard came to hover over Brian who fought not to gag on the stench of bad breath. "An' don't waste my time playin' coy. I've been lookin' for that dame. I mean to find her."
The guard pressed a button on a remote and the paneling slid away to reveal more monitors. The feed was live from various cameras around the mill.
Brian knew somewhere, someone else watched him.
"The girl, huh? Then we're on the same team. Albertson wanted her delivered. Seems I held up my end, but you'll have a devil of a time explaining how you chased her away." His reward was miniscule, but satisfying, when the guard pinched his thumb in the hinge of the old fashioned lighter.
"You 'bout had me, son. But we don' know no Albertson. Better just come on clean."
"Fine. I followed her here."
"Film says otherwise." He pressed more buttons. "Lookie here. Y'all showed up together."
"Her idea. I'm just playing the devoted boyfriend."
"Fancy yerself some undercover hot shot do yeh?"
Brian bristled, calculating the effort required to fight his way out of the mill. Stamina or skill wasn't the issue. Time was. So far, none of the monitors showed anything about Jaden. Concern threatened to derail his concentration. When did it get personal? Sex, or near sex, was one thing. But when did she start to matter on this deep level? Unfortunately, he thought he knew.
"Well, boy, what'll it be?"
"Huh?"
"Better listen when I speak, son."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jackson, leave the boy alone."
Brian whirled at the sound of the rotund Judge and regretted the move immediately.
"Go get some ice." With an imperial wave, the Judge sent the hick packing. "Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but loyal to a fault."
Brian caught the tone-setting statement and hoped to keep this battle to words only. At least until he had the answers. "Some finishing school you've got here," he began, accepting the single ice pack. He applied it to his face to shie
ld any telltale expressions from the Judge.
Albertson laughed heartily and settled into the chair behind his desk. "Ah, you can't believe everything you hear. Or see." He paused. "This little venture caters to an eclectic clientele, Brian."
"A clientele you feel the need to satisfy?"
"Now, now. Don't go judging the man on the bench."
"You've commended my judgment in the past."
"True enough." He steepled thick fingers under multiple chins. "But we both know how this town works. How the wheels of power must be greased. Believe me, no one comes to real harm here."
Then where? Brian shut his good eye. "You're the real power in this town."
"From your lips to God's ears." A chuckle rumbled from the barreled chest. "It pays to know the weaknesses of men."
"Which are?"
The chair creaked in protest and the judge shifted forward. "In your case. The underdog."
Brian opened his eye, met the narrow gaze of the judge and decided he resembled the dark side of Buddha. "I believe innocent until proven guilty."
"Yes, yes." The flabby face relaxed. "But you're a sucker for a sob story. I blame your mother, really." He flipped off the monitors. "That girl you're with in the film? That's the Michaels woman. She's not what she seems."
"Not a security specialist?"
"Watch your tone. I sentenced her to house arrest."
"Her house no longer exists."
To his credit, the Judge put on an effective look of surprise, and then softened it to relief. "Until recently I thought you no longer existed. It's good to see you alive and well."
"Thanks."
"The services for the officer lost at the museum are this afternoon."
Brian hadn't known. And wondered where this new prickly path would lead.
"Tragic, tragic." Jowls swayed as Albertson shook his head in pity. "Responding to the museum call, right?"
"Yes."
"The Michaels woman was there."
"Yes."
"She can't be trusted. Whatever lies she's told you, she can't be trusted. She's a thief. And a stalker. She'll do anything to discredit me."
