Lieutenant Whitt excused herself, stepping outside to make the call.
Cliff faced Baxter. “If you check with your colleagues out west you’ll find that we’re a good organization to partner with. We know our limits and respect the boundaries. We’re not about glory and photo ops, and we’re not out there to do law enforcement’s job. It’s all about saving kids.”
Baxter nodded. “Your reputation precedes you. I’ve only heard good things. I haven’t sought approval for an operation yet but I intend to file a report after this meeting. I wanted to hear what you had to say first.”
As he spoke, Cliff unconsciously moved his fingertips around the tabletop like he was laying out a battle plan. Occasionally he tapped one against the Formica surface for extra emphasis. “You’ll find that one of our specialties is operational planning. Whether it’s a raid or an undercover sting, it’s what we do best. We excel at it because that’s our background. Whether it’s buying kids in Afghanistan, Honduras, or Thailand, or whether it’s setting up predator stings in small-town America, we own this type of operation. That’s what we have to offer you here. We can offer evidence collection and investigative hours. We do this in concert with whoever is assigned primary jurisdiction of this case.”
Baxter nodded. “Sounds excellent to me. After we’re done here today I’ll be in a position to take this up with my superiors. Hopefully we can get a fast approval.”
“Yeah, hopefully.” Cliff was unable to hide his sarcasm. He had no tolerance for people dragging their feet when children were at risk.
“She can meet us in about thirty minutes,” Whitt said, returning to the table. “She doesn’t want us coming by her house. I think she’s kind of embarrassed, being a former cop and all. She wants to meet at this parking lot where I met her last time. It’ll take us about thirty minutes to get there.”
“Excellent,” Cliff said. “Can we just follow in Ty’s vehicle?”
Whitt nodded. “I told her I’d have people with me. She was fine with it. I think she was pleased that we were taking it seriously.”
“Then let’s get going,” Baxter said, rising from the table.
19
Vacant Furniture Factory
Marion, Virginia
“That must be her,” Ty said, pointing out the car already sitting in the vacant lot.
“If a show of force like this doesn’t scare her off, it’s a point in her favor,” Cliff said.
Whitt pulled in alongside Raylene Kidd’s car, then Agent Baxter pulled in alongside Whitt. Ty pulled across the front, an effort toward giving their meeting a degree of privacy. It may have even been an extension of his military training, an attempt to provide the team with some form of cover in this exposed roadside position.
Raylene exited her vehicle with no hesitation, standing there in a Walking Dead t-shirt and pink sweatpants, her arms crossed protectively in front of her. Whitt shook her hand, and when everyone was out of their vehicles, made the introductions.
“Gentlemen, this is Raylene Kidd. She was formerly a deputy with a local sheriff’s department until she was injured on the job. In the interest of full disclosure, I don’t think Ms. Kidd will mind me saying that after her injury she developed an addiction to painkillers due to an overzealous doctor.”
Raylene nodded in agreement.
Cliff stepped forward and extended a hand. “Raylene, I’m Cliff Mathis. I run an organization known as Door Kickers International that targets human trafficking. This is Ty Stone. He lives here in the area but works for my organization.”
Ty shook Raylene’s hand, noting that she had a firm, authoritative shake.
“And I’m Agent Baxter from the FBI,” Baxter said, reaching out to shake Raylene’s hand.
She smiled at Baxter. “We never met but I heard the name when I was on the job.”
“Raylene, I know you probably have things to do so I won’t waste your time,” Cliff said without preamble. “The lieutenant passed on your concerns about the suboxone clinic you visited. The reason I asked to meet with you is that I’d like to hear what happened in your own words.”
“I understand,” Raylene said. “Like I told the lieutenant, I’ve been going to the clinic since I was having trouble stopping the medication my doctor prescribed. I live here in Marion but I prefer to go to the clinic in Glade Spring so I’m less likely to run into people I’ve arrested. I still see a few.”
“Comes with the territory,” Lieutenant Whitt offered supportively.
“It’s a pretty strict program. In the beginning you have to get all your medications there. You have to earn take-home medication, then they make you come in on a regular basis so they can do pill counts and make sure you’re not selling your meds. They drug test you every time. They’ve never done counseling, but they have suggested that it can help. If you wanted to go that route they recommend attending local Narcotic Anonymous meetings, and have a list of local meetings that they used to hand out.”
“But they’ve never offered on-site counseling?” Cliff questioned.
Raylene shook her head. “Not until this last visit. Then they said I needed to meet with their counselor before I left. I didn’t mind, I just thought it was a new component to the treatment. So after I see the doctor this woman named Karen comes in. She immediately focuses in on the fact that I have kids and starts talking about the difficulties of recovering from addiction when you have to deal with the stress of raising a family.”
“How long would you say you were in there with her before she turned the conversation to your children?” Cliff asked.
“Less than two minutes,” Raylene replied. “I was just going to let it drop but I got this feeling like the hair standing up on the back of my neck. You know that ‘cop vibe’ you get where you just know something is wrong with the situation? This was like that. So I asked why she wanted to know about the kids.”
“What did she say?” asked Baxter.
“She told me they had families who wanted children and had the means to pay for private adoptions, without all the hassles of the public system. She implied that they wouldn’t just pay for the cost of the adoption, but that mothers would be reimbursed. I don’t know about you guys, but that sounded to me like she wanted to buy my children. I kept replaying that conversation in my head all evening and I came to the same conclusion every time. I wasn’t reading things into this. I wasn’t being paranoid. She was telling me that they would pay me cash for my children if I didn’t want them.”
Raylene paused and looked at the faces around her. No one said anything but it was clear that they were thinking the same thing. “Even though I personally have no interest in selling my kids, you know there have to be women out there who would do it. Hell, when I was a deputy I worked a case one time where a couple sold their baby for two twelve-packs of Budweiser and a carton of Marlboro Lights. I worked cases where children of all ages were abused to pay for their parents’ drug debts. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that this counselor would have offered to buy my kids if I’d expressed an interest.”
All eyes were on Cliff while his were focused on Raylene. Finally he spoke. “What do you want to see done here, Raylene? Why did you contact Lieutenant Whitt and take this to the next level?”
“If they’re buying kids from desperate women with drug problems, those bastards need to be locked up,” Raylene responded immediately. “That’s taking advantage of vulnerable people in the worst way. One day those women are going to get their lives together and they’re going to realize what they’ve done. They’re going to have to live with that decision and I can’t imagine what that must be like.”
Cliff was pleased with her answer. No request for a reward; nothing in it for her. Her motives appeared sincere. “What do you think they do with these kids after they buy them?” Cliff was interested in her theory, interested to see what her instincts told her.
Raylene shrugged. “I guess they go on to live with rich families and they never see their mothers
again. If they’re young, they might even forget their mothers entirely.”
“The selling of children is trafficking, whether it’s for the purposes of illegal adoption or whether they’re being trafficked for sex,” Cliff said, never one to sugarcoat a subject. “You don’t sell a human for any reason.”
Raylene’s face clouded. “Surely you don’t think this could be sex trafficking?”
“It’s more likely than private adoption,” Cliff said. “Building a fake paper trail to enroll a kid in school is expensive and difficult. How does a couple suddenly explain the appearance of an older child in their life? One who can speak and contradict any story the parents make up about where they came from? You might be able to fool your friends and neighbors with an infant, but not with a ten-year-old. Traffickers don’t have those concerns with the underground sex trade. Those kids will never go to school again. They’ll never again be around people who care for their welfare.”
“Then what are we going to do about it?” Raylene asked, her voice revealing her grit and determination.
“I like the way you said ‘we’, Raylene.” Cliff nodded in encouragement. “If we can get approval from the FBI, would you be willing to act as an informant? To go undercover and maybe wear a wire?”
Raylene looked concerned. “Would my children be in danger?”
“No,” said Cliff. “We won’t put you in that position. If we make an actual transaction, a sting operation, we have a team of child actors who are trained for this. We'll make it as safe as we possibly can."
Raylene looked at every face in the circle, then returned her gaze to Cliff. “Damn right I’ll do it. You just tell me what you need.”
“Thank you, Raylene.” Cliff smiled, then addressed Baxter. “The ball’s in your court, Agent. I have to catch a flight to Guatemala. Please message or email me with any updates. If your superiors insist on a meeting with me, we can set that up when I return. I’d also suggest they contact their colleagues in Tucson who can speak to the success of our prior operations.”
“Will do,” Baxter confirmed. “I’ll get on it immediately.”
They said their goodbyes and everyone loaded into their vehicles. Ty pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the interstate.
Cliff was studying his phone. “You think we could run by that clinic on our way back to your place?”
“Sure. It’s on the way. You got an address? I haven’t spent much time in that little town.”
“I’ve got the address right here.”
It took them about twenty minutes to reach the tiny farming community of Glade Spring, Virginia. It was one of those hamlets that faded away with the advent of the interstate highway system. The downtown was a square of historic unrestored nineteenth-century buildings that were either abandoned or housed local businesses, from hair salons to variety stores. There had been a time when this community had tourists visiting their Victorian-era hotels and mineral springs, but those days were long gone. It was a bedroom community, home to folks who worked and shopped in other towns.
It didn’t take them long to find the clinic. It was a modular office structure set in the middle of a freshly-graded gravel parking lot. The only indication of what was going on there was a discreet sign on the side of the building with the hours posted. The sign was so small and unassuming that you wouldn’t notice it unless you were looking for it.
Because there was no way to circle the block in a tiny one-road community like this, they made a slow pass and then had to continue on to a wide intersection where they could make a U-turn. On the way back, Cliff snapped several pictures of the clinic.
“See anything of interest?” Ty asked.
Cliff was staring at his phone again, reviewing the pictures he’d taken. “Not really. I just have this thing where I like to be able to visualize my target. It keeps me focused.”
Ty nodded. “I get that. Almost like some sort of affirmation. Like posting how much weight you want to lose or how much you want to be able to press at the gym.”
“Exactly.”
“So when are you going to be back?”
“This trip to Central America is an informational and organizational meeting. Guatemala is putting together an anti-trafficking unit under the Special Directorate for Criminal Investigation. It’s a division of their National Civil Police. I’m going to do a workshop for them and see if they’ll allow us to run some sting operations on gangs selling kids. If they go for it, we’ll head in with an ops team and they can make some arrests. With a few successes under their belt, I think they’ll be motivated to make more arrests. Guatemala has some issues. They need all the help they can get.”
“Anything I can be doing while you’re gone?”
Cliff shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’re off the schedule this week. Relax. Do something fun. Try to unwind.”
That was easy for Cliff to say, not so easy for Ty to do. Free time and Ty Stone didn't mix well.
20
Ty’s Townhouse
Cliff didn’t dawdle when they got to Ty’s place. He got his stuff together, shook Ty’s hand, and raced off toward DC. The man lived in a blur of activity that exhausted those around him. The last two days had been a whirlwind for Ty also. He collapsed onto his couch and settled back, his feet on the coffee table. He was considering a nap when the darkness and depression came, settling onto him like a cold, wet blanket.
The familiar feeling was soul-crushing and unexpected. These episodes came less frequently now that Cliff’s doctor had tweaked his meds but was there no escape? There was nothing more soul-wrenching than thinking you had the demons under control, finally banished, only to have them return. That was why people pulled the trigger. That was why they swallowed entire bottles of pills. It was the awareness that there was no escape. That no moment and no place in your life was safe from them.
With the episode came that odd sort of paralysis that Ty understood was only in his head, but still felt real. It was like the couch suddenly became deeper and rose to swallow him. As if it would take an inhuman amount of effort to wrestle himself from it. He felt like one of those kids stuck in a ball pit and unable to fight his way to the edge, except he was not laughing. Inside he was screaming and sobbing, desperate to pull himself free.
Ty’s eyes landed on the dark screen of his television. The remote was on the coffee table in front of him, only inches from his feet. Part of him thought that turning on the television might help break the spell but the remote seemed so far away, the effort required to reach it monumental. He stared at the remote with the forlorn expression of someone hopelessly lost.
He lashed out with his left hand, pushing against the seat cushion until his body toppled over to the right. His legs slid from the coffee table and his shoes thumped heavily onto the floor. He used that momentum to roll his body onto the floor, falling between the couch and the coffee table. Anyone watching would have wondered what was wrong with him. Was he drunk? Was he on drugs? Why the hell wouldn’t he just stand up?
He couldn’t though. Couldn’t force his muscles to cooperate. Couldn’t overcome the way his mind was impairing his body.
His plan was that once he was on the floor he’d force himself to crawl out of the living room, but instead he laid face-down on the floor. He inhaled the smell of the carpet, felt the low, scratchy pile of it pressing into his forehead. He could see beneath all his furniture. It was the perspective of a dying man.
“You are a loser, Ty Stone,” he whispered to himself. “After all the progress you’ve made, you’re laying on the floor like a fucking loser. You’re giving up. You never had what it took to be a soldier and now you don’t have what it takes to be a civilian either. Real men fought and died for this country and you can’t even get your face out of the carpet? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He was ashamed.
He’d always been ashamed of the way PTSD gripped him and derailed his life. It was the dark secret no one wanted to admit. I
t was why so many would rather eat their gun than say the words. It was with that very thought that Ty knew he was a dead man if he didn’t get off of that floor. The demons had caught him unprepared and had him just where they wanted him.
He forced himself to his knees, pressing his upper body from the floor as if he were doing a pushup. He was used to doing body-weight workouts at the gym every day but his upper body felt unnaturally heavy, as if his bones were made of lead. Every move required extreme effort.
When he was finally on his knees, the next logical transition point was sitting on the edge of the couch but there was no way he was doing that. The couch had nearly eaten him and he wasn’t giving it another chance. He went straight to his feet where he wavered unsteadily for a moment.
A drop of sweat rolled down his back. He was soaked in it. He took a deep breath and forced himself to walk to the kitchen. He snatched his keys from the counter and stumbled to the front door, out into the light, into the heat of the day.
Ty knew beyond all certainty that he couldn’t take a break as Cliff had suggested. He couldn’t just hang out and unwind. If he didn’t get back on-mission, this would happen again. He had to reengage. He had to be immersed or he’d be swallowed.
He had to fight or he would die.
He got in his truck and started the engine, flipping the air conditioning to the highest setting. Cliff had told him there was nothing he could do, but there had to be something. Baxter was working on getting approval for a joint task force that would combine the efforts of DKI with the Virginia State Police and the FBI. In Tucson, staff from DKI’s investigative division were digging into the clinic’s paper trail, exploring the ownership structure and their regulatory paperwork.
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