by L. T. Ryan
Frank placed both hands on the table and leaned over until he was no more than a foot from the guy's face. "So what's it going to be?"
The man pulled his head back a few inches. His lips thinned and his cheeks puffed out. Frank jerked to the side in time to avoid most of the spittle that flew out of the guy's mouth.
Frank reached out and grabbed the man's right wrist and yanked up, then down. The man screamed as the jagged edges of his broken bones grated against one another.
Frank pulled out a knife. "The bones are already broken. Shouldn't be tough to cut through. Then there's a mess of veins and nerves and meat and flesh. You want to see what it's like to hold your own severed arm?"
"Enough," the man said through clenched teeth. "I'll talk. I'll talk."
The left side of Frank's mouth turned upward in a smile. He broke the guy down fast. While we'd seen some turn faster, we expected this guy to last a few rounds before caving in.
Frank let go and the man pulled his broken arm to his chest and cradled it with his left arm. He let out a couple sobs, and then wiped his eyes dry. Tears stained his cheeks and settled into his thin facial hair.
"What do you want to know?" he said.
"I want to know what you were doing at the bus stop," I said.
He licked his lips and leaned back in the chair and let out a loud exhale. "Got a smoke?"
I looked at Frank and nodded. Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out a soft pack. He tapped the open end against his palm and retrieved three cigarettes. He lit two and handed one to the man, then rolled the third across the table to me. I tucked it behind my ear, choosing to save it for later.
"The bus stop is where the pickup was going to be made," the guy said.
"What pickup?" I said.
He shifted his eyes from the table to me. "The kid."
I felt Frank's eyes settle on me, but I didn't look back at him. "What kid?"
The man's facial expression changed. The pain and anger lifted, and a bemused look crossed his face. "What did you pick me up for, man?"
"We've been tracking you guys for months. We've got you for drugs, guns, and smuggling terrorists in and out of the country."
The guy his head back and laughed. The spasmodic motion of his body jolted his arm a few inches more than was comfortable and he scrunched his face in pain. After a few seconds he steadied himself and said, "OK, you're onto something with the guns and drugs. They pay well. But the terrorists in and out, you're way off."
"What then?" Frank said. "And what about the kids?"
"Is that all you got? You think these people entered and exited the country alone?" The smile returned to Pablo's face.
"Stop screwing with us," Frank said. "What are you talking about the-"
"Frank," I said. "He's talking about us being way off. This isn't a terrorist cell."
Pablo's eyebrows arched up into his forehead and his smile widened. He looked between Frank and me and nodded vigorously.
I continued, "They're child smugglers. He was at the bus stop today because he was going to kidnap a child."
"You son of a bitch." Frank charged the man and punched him three times in the head, rendering him unconscious.
By the time I got across the table, Frank had backed up. He looked down at the bloodied face of Pablo and shook his hand, which was equally covered in blood. I couldn't tell if it was all Pablo's, or if Frank had split a knuckle or two.
"Well, that was tactful," I said.
"I got kids, Jack."
"I know."
"Christ," Frank said as he stepped around Pablo and made his way toward the door. "What now?"
I followed Frank out into the lobby. The door slammed behind us, echoing through the room. The doctor looked up and saw us and opened his door.
"Need me to do anything?" he asked.
"Smelling salts," I said. "And check his arm. It might need to be set again."
The doctor reached for his bag. "That's why I went with the air cast," he said with a smile.
Frank stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips and his head leaned back.
"You need to get it together," I said. "I'll have you pulled from this."
"I'm good. I'm good."
"OK," I said. "We need to get some more information out of him. Now, I don't think he's going to give up anyone else, at least, not yet. But maybe we can get the location of where they are keeping these kids."
"You sure about this? What if he's jerking us around?" Frank said.
"That's why we need the location. We can verify it in person, then come back and hammer on him some more, and then we'll lead a raid on the place."
Frank nodded as the doctor emerged from the interrogation room.
"He's ready for you guys again," the doctor said.
I grabbed Frank by his shoulders. "Let me do the talking." Then I pushed him toward the room. I wanted Frank to enter first, figuring it would cause the man to feel a little more unsettled.
Pablo was conscious when we entered, but he looked confused.
"Where are you keeping them?" I said.
"Who?" Pablo said.
"The kids."
"In a house."
"Where?"
"Northern Virginia. Suburbs."
"Which one?"
"I don't know the name of the neighborhood. Spring Street. Ninth house on the right."
"Going which way?"
"You can only enter from the north."
I looked at Frank. He nodded.
"Good enough." I stepped to the door and pulled it open. Turned back and saw Frank stop in front of Pablo and lean over and drive his fist into the side of the man's face again.
"Was that necessary?" I said.
Frank looked at me, then at Pablo, then back at me. "Yes."
Chapter 3
Spring Street was full of cookie cutter colonials that sat side by side, a few feet of lawn separating them. The exteriors alternated between white siding with red or blue trim, and brick facades. The target house's lawn was cut close, now a mixture of green and winter brown. Not quite alive, but not totally dead. The entryway was inviting. Christmas lights wrapped the porch rails and lined the edge of the roof. It looked like a normal house and certainly not one that held the deep and dark secrets Pablo inferred.
I started to wonder whether or not Pablo had purposefully led us in the wrong direction. Maybe he had something worked out with the group that if he didn't return by a certain time, they'd take off and go underground or into some state of emergency. In which case, we'd be screwed. And by sending me and Frank out to the suburbs, they'd have even more time to get the hell away, damn the consequences to Pablo.
We sat in a parked car three houses away. The engine had been off for close to three hours and the air inside the car was almost as cold as the air outside. Steam rose with each breath we took.
We positioned the car so the main road was behind us. If anyone entered or left the house, we'd see them. We could also monitor who turned into the neighborhood by looking in the rear and side mirrors.
"Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"Think we're wasting our time?" Frank turned his head slightly and looked at me out of the corner of his right eye.
I shrugged. "Was beginning to wonder that myself."
Frank took a deep breath and exhaled loudly and said nothing.
A flash caught my attention. I looked from the house to my side mirror. A van approached from behind. I nodded and said, "Look."
Frank reached for the steering wheel. The muscles in his forearms flexed as his hands gripped the leather cover that wrapped around the wheel like a boa constrictor.
"Relax," I said. "Even if it's them, we aren't doing anything yet."
Frank's behavior, while understandable, was not typical. I referred to the guy as Ice Man at times because there was no one cooler under pressure. Stress rolled off him like water off a wax statue. He never made a mistake. Not while in the military, and not sin
ce I'd worked with him in the SIS. I believed he was incapable of screwing up. But his behavior started to worry me, and worry wasn't a feeling that men in our position could afford.
The van passed us at a steady pace. Stenciled on the side was Freddy's Cleaning Service and there was a phone number and the phrase We've Got A Lust For Dust written across the rear doors. It didn't slow down as it neared the house. Passed right by, and then continued to the end of the street where it pulled into a driveway.
"Watch the van," Frank said. "I'll keep an eye on the house."
"Got it."
A heavyset man got out of the van and walked toward the front door of the house. His shoulders were hunched over, like a man who'd busted his ass all day long to afford the four bedroom house that kept his family sheltered. I kept my eyes trained on the front door and the windows of the place after he went inside. A minute passed, then two. No action. I glanced to the side and checked the mirror. Another car had turned onto the street and was approaching at a speed slower than the van had traveled.
"Frank?"
"Yeah?"
"Look behind us."
The car slowed as it passed. It was red with four doors and had tinted windows. Our car had the same. We couldn't see him any better than he could see us if he had attempted to look. The driver slowed to a crawl as he passed the house. Frank tapped on the dashboard with his right hand and pointed.
"I see him, Frank. Give it a minute." Despite the calming tone of my voice, I felt as anxious as he acted.
The vehicle continued past the house, but not for long. It came to a stop half a block away and parked next to the curb. The driver's door swung open, but no one got out.
"Think they're watching to see what we do?" Frank said.
"I think you're paranoid," I said.
He waved me off. "I want to get one good look at the guy. If he fits the bill, I'm taking him down."
"We don't know what the bill is. You bring this guy in and one of two things happens. A, someone tries to sue the government because they think they were illegally detained. Or B, you blow the operation."
"Operation? We don't have an operation, Jack."
"Not yet." I felt like yelling at him, asking, what the hell is wrong with you? Instead, I bit my tongue and kept calm, at least on the outside. I needed to find my inner calm as well, because both of us acting like jack asses wasn't going to do anyone any good, least of all kids who might need to be rescued.
We watched the car for ten minutes. There was no movement. The door remained open. The brake lights lit up. A slight halo circled the red dots due to a film of condensation on our windshield. Maybe whoever was in the car watched us. Maybe they had called another group of guys and were waiting for them to arrive. Or maybe it was some guy on the phone with his mistress, wanting to finish their illicit conversation before heading inside to kiss his unaware wife.
"Look," Frank said. "He's getting out."
I leaned forward and watched as the man stepped out of the vehicle. There was nothing special about his clothing, which consisted of jeans and a sweatshirt. It looked like he wore hiking boots. He wore a red cap on his head. He looked South American.
He fully emerged from the vehicle and turned his head to the left, then the right. His eyes moved constantly, scanning every house, every car. He stopped on ours, watched for a few seconds, and then moved on. Were we not a threat? Or was he good enough that he identified us and knew not to give it away?
I looked over and saw that Frank had his left hand on the door handle, and his right hand wrapped around his pistol.
"Easy Frank," I said.
"Making sure I'm prepared," Frank said.
He had a point, but the fact was that we were closer to the house than the man who stood next to the car.
The guy closed his door and walked around the back of the red vehicle. He didn't move fast. He didn't move slowly. He rounded the trunk and came to a stop next to the back passenger's door. He opened it and leaned over and then his head disappeared inside the vehicle.
"What do you think he's doing?" Frank said.
"Probably getting his rocket launcher. Then he's going to aim it at us and end our beautiful partnership."
"Asshole."
"Isn't he?"
"Not him, you."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Stop being so uptight. We've got…"
The man emerged, and he wasn't alone. After his head popped back out, his right arm remained. A few seconds later, I could see a smaller, thin arm being pulled out. The body of a small child followed. The kid was maybe seven or eight years old. Of course, I'd always been bad at judging that sort of thing.
"You see that?" I said.
"I see it," Frank said.
"How old you think that kid is?"
"Nine or ten."
I shrugged. Frank had kids. He'd be able to tell.
The man and child started walking toward us. Even from this distance, it was obvious they were not related. The man had a dark beard, and dark hair stuck out from the edges of his cap and whipped in the wind. The kid, on the other hand, was pale and blond.
"Think they're related?" I said.
"Not a chance in hell."
"Maybe he's babysitting."
That, also, had no chance of being true. The kid let his body drop in an effort to break the man's grasp. It did nothing but enrage the man, who yanked the kid up and proceeded to drag him along with the kid's knees scraping along the pavement. Fortunately, he had heavy jeans on.
Frank and I both flinched forward. My hand raced to my holstered pistol and I pulled it out.
"Easy there, Jack," Frank said.
I leaned back and turned my head toward him.
"Let's see where they go," he said.
Looking at the man's eyes, it was obvious where they were going. He had tunnel vision, and the reward at the end of the tunnel was the house we were staking out. The kid still fought and pulled back. The man finally reached down and picked him up and tossed him over his shoulder.
"Pretty damn ballsy walking the kid in like that, don't you think?" I said.
Frank nodded and said nothing.
"Maybe he's had the kid around a while?" I said. "You know, neighbors are used to him. That kind of thing."
Frank still said nothing.
I let a few moments pass without talking while I watched as the man walked up the cracked driveway, his foot trampling grass that struggled to survive in a concrete wasteland. He reached the door, and then reached into his pocket. His hand returned with a key, which he inserted into the knob. A moment later, man and child disappeared into the house.
"Seen enough?" I said.
"Let's watch for a few minutes. If I think rationally, I can explain what we saw. That could be the guy's stepson. He could have adopted him."
Frank's waffling emotions had started to concern me. Here he was neutral and calm, normal Frank. But not too long ago he had been ready to storm the neighborhood.
I shrugged. "Guess that's possible."
We sat in silence, watching the house and the street. No one entered. No one left. The sun was deep in the western sky and long shadows enveloped the house and the yard and our car. The vehicle's tinted windows now worked against us, making it harder to see with accurate detail.
"Want me to call for the van?" I said.
"Let's give it a few and if nothing happens we'll head back to the office and work on Pablo some more."
Ten more minutes passed, and with it, the light faded further. Then the glare of headlights reflected off the side mirror and caught my attention. I reached out and tapped Frank. Tension filled the car.
"I see it," he said.
Both of us hunched lower in our seats and waited as a van passed and then slowed down in front of the house. The right blinker flashed rhythmically, as if telling us, come on in boys, we got just what you're looking for.
Inside our car, it was dead quiet. We both held our breath, afraid that any noise or movement
we made would scare off the van.
The vehicle turned onto the driveway and stopped near the garage door. The driver's side was blocked from our view, but the front passenger's door flung open and a man hopped down onto the concrete drive. He had on a green coat, but it was impossible to make out any facial features or even tell what his race might be. He faced our direction for a second while he arched his back and twisted side to side, then he spun around and reached for the sliding side door. He grabbed and pulled out and back, whipping the door open. The man that I assumed was the driver now stood at the rear of the van, his back to us. The other guy reached inside and pulled out a child. He pushed the kid toward the driver, then reached in and yanked out a second kid. He grabbed the boy by the collar of his jacket and led him to the side of the house. The four of them walked past the garage. Large hedges provided cover and they slipped past our line of sight.
"Christ," I said. "Start the car and move slowly."
Frank already had his hand on the ignition, and he fired up the engine and dropped the transmission into drive. We inched along and almost came to a complete stop once we had a full view of the side of the house. We were too late, though. We passed by as the last man entered and slammed the door shut.
Frank raced toward the end of the street and whipped the car around in the cul-de-sac. Again, he floored it and we hit fifty by the time we passed the house again. A stop sign approached fast. Brakes and tires squealed.
"Christ!" Frank shouted.
"Want me to drive?"
Frank slammed his hands on the steering wheel and said nothing.
"First day of driver's ed I remember them telling us to never drive angry. Or maybe that was never drive drunk?"
"Shut up, Jack."
I grinned at myself for a couple seconds and then let my feelings turn somber. I knew what we had witnessed. One man and a kid was a coincidence. A van showing up with two more kids was evidence. Evidence of something I didn't want to believe was real. How had this gone on for so long completely undetected?
"This shit's legit," Frank said.
"Yeah," I said.
"I want to go back."
