Trapped in the Mayan Tattoo

by Ronda Pauley

  “Thank you! One major difference between NM and NM2 is shown in Miss Shoe’s notes,” Abbi said. “NM2 uses initiation rights that have a violent nature.”

  She selected a few pieces to show on the wall, harrowing stories of initiation into NM2 and the club’s sometimes-deadly membership drive.

  “So, do you have a theory as to who did the bombings?” the thin man asked.

  “No idea, but if it was one of those groups behind the OAS bombing attempts, NM2 is more likely to be the one. They were in the area for the, can I say this, botched drop attempts. Still, I seriously doubt they would bomb the OAS. The only connection to the Organization of American States that I see is that there was an ambassador who was working on the recent extraction of the young girl in that Mexican cantina. Maybe somehow they knew that and held a grudge.”

  Big Sam stood up and said, “It is worth mentioning that Miss Kowalski was within feet of the second suicide bomber at The Organization of American States. She is speaking with a fair amount of authority on what transpired that day.”

  “Did you actually see the bomber?” the thin man asked.

  “I did,” Abbi said, trying not to react from the memory. “Not the first one, who has been arrested, but the second one. He looked right into my eyes. Strange, but it struck me that he seemed to have no soul. He had a look of sheer hate in his eyes. My impression is that he was forced to carry out the suicide attack.”

  “Do we have analysts who are talking to the first bomber?” the thin man asked.

  The unmistakable voice of Shoe Clerk spoke up, “We’re on that, sir. He is still in critical condition. We believe there may be a direct tie-in with one of these groups, even though he may very likely have been forced into it. Again, as Miss Kowalski said, it is good to proceed cautiously and withhold judgment.”

  Abbi directed her eyes on the person speaking, knowing that the man speaking was wearing a hoodie. She gave him a huge grin.

  “Miss Kowalski, may I take a closer look at these reports you talk about?” the thin man asked.

  “If it can help secure Miss Shoe’s release, absolutely!”Abbi said.

  She flipped to the files that held the information regarding NM’s cause, basically a mission statement with a few goals related to fulfilling human needs. Then she compared NM’s cause with the extreme greed and more deadly practices of NM2.

  Abbi related that recently, according to her mother’s reports, the main body of Nuestra Madre had been successful in gaining rapid increases in the memberships of young men, boys actually as young as twelve, but NM2 had been especially good at enticing young girls who have little hope of a good life, using seductive measures such as the promise of getting nice clothes or an education or, in some cases, the motivation to join was based on religion. For NM2, many of the targeted girls had been between the ages of 11 and 14, according to Miss Shoe.

  Abbi handed a report to the thin man.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll get these right back to you.”

  Abbi said, “The girl named Maria, mentioned in some of the reports, was lured in by not only gifts from her ‘boyfriend’ but by religion, based on the ‘boyfriend’s’ claims that this organization was a religious cult that went back to Mayan principles. She made the connection of Nuestra Madre to the translation Our Mother, thinking it was a branch of the Catholic Church. Her ‘boyfriend’ once lived in the NM commune, changed over to NM2 and had been given a fair amount of personal freedom in order to recruit other members,” Abbi said. She noticed the thin man was reading a report. “Sir, you will want to see this.”

  She laid the evidence out before them. There it was—case studies of child exploitation, sex trafficking of minors, and use of the Internet with the intention of promoting the sexual exploitation of children and selling children for slavery.

  For those just now becoming familiar with NM2, Abbi revealed that the worst tattoo of all was the flaming leopard with the trapped girl in its mouth. She put its image on the wall. That tattoo denoted a number of things--dominance, ownership, entrapment, and sex trafficking. The young girls who were entrapped and sold into this group became sex slaves for various locations of NM2 members, and they were the primary source of money to run NM2. The grooming, advertising, selling, entrapment, and branding of young girls were key points in the sex trafficking business model.

  The thin man went pale and immediately got on the phone.

  “This is bigger than anyone knew,” he said.

  Suddenly a flurry of activity began. Big Sam and the thin man began talking on phones. Mrs. Polter started downloading images that Mrs. Hightower sent simultaneously from her computer.

  Abbi had revealed what she had read in her mother’s reports, repeating names and locations when necessary. For awhile, she felt like a human encyclopedia. She connected the puzzle pieces for the key players in Operation Missing Shoe.

  In turn, the other key players revealed the pieces they had. For example, the analysts knew the meanings of the various tattoos. The flying NM denoted membership. The teardrop denoted a killing. Other tattoos on the knuckles revealed various operations. The bird in the hand denoted entrapment.

  Abbi thought the reports needed to go back into her briefcase. She quietly gathered them up for safe-keeping, while other people were sharing their knowledge.

  With the help of the U.S. Attorney, analysts and negotiators would use all of this information to work on a plan for the final secret drop attempt that would secure her mother’s release. Whether or not Abbi and Louise could be involved would be revealed later, after they examined all the materials and performed a risk-assessment.

  FIFTY-TWO

  “We’re sending you on another fact-gathering mission today,” Big Sam said.

  Abbi looked tense, but for most of recent events she and Louise had been under tight surveillance and kept safe. She had no reason to think she would be a sitting target, not again, not after the close call with the suicide bomber.

  “The man you’re going to see is called Mr. Schumann,” Big Sam said. “He had been working on an operation that involved kidnapping, identity theft, stolen international documents and human trafficking including the sale of children as sex slaves. We were closing in on a sting operation. It backfired, leaving him shot in the abdomen. We know the group NM2 was responsible and they’re the ones who kidnapped Miss Shoe.”

  Louise looked at Abbi, wide-eyed as if she suddenly understood what Big Sam was saying.

  “Ladies, so far you have done well. Maintain your poise. Where you are going has tight security. You will be driven to a point. Then, from there, you’ll take the metro and then walk a short distance. We will equip both of you with sound and GPS tracking devices, just in case you become a target. You are to keep them on even as you enter the hospital.”

  “The hospital!?” Abbi’s heart felt like it made a flip. “Today?”

  “We will be able to hear everything you say, even when you whisper, but the other party in your conversations may be muffled. This is the same system you used in the museum. It works pretty well but, to be safe, repeat critical information that you hear. Commit it to memory. Reword statements as if you are seeking clarification. Mr. Schumann is finally able to speak, and he wants to talk. We believe he will confide in you. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir. You want us to relay any important information we hear or see back to you,” Abbi said.

  “You’ve got the idea. Remember, you can whisper if necessary. We’ll hear.”

  A couple of people stepped forward and re-attached the devices that the girls brought with them to return.

  Whether the tall man made the connection between Abbi and Mr. Shumann or Miss Shoe, Abbi couldn’t tell. His poker-faced way of saying things did not reveal his thoughts, or any emotion, for that matter.

  The man filled in the sketchy details he knew. He said that Abbi’s father had been taken by secret transport to an army hospital in the D.C. area where he was in stable, but still criti
cal, condition.

  “He would go in and out of consciousness. At first he couldn’t speak, but indicated he wanted to see his family.”

  Abbi’s heart raced.

  “Now that he’s talking, he asks to see his daughter repeatedly. Let him know she’s doing fine.”

  Abbi smiled and fought back tears. Her secret identity was still maintained but these people had to know. Someone, though, had leaked critical information to NM2, and that put all of the rest of them in danger. She herself was probably the most at risk since NM2 was gaining a reputation for going after family members when a “slave” wouldn’t cooperate.

  “Good luck with your fact-gathering mission, Miss Kowalski. You’re free to go,” the tall thin man said, and then asked, “May I see the Miss Shoe files?”

  Abbi looked at Big Sam who nodded.

  “Sure, I guess,” she said with hesitation and handed over her briefcase.

  “That was an impressive presentation!” Big Sam said as he started to lead Abbi and Louise out of the conference room. “You have to feel exhausted.”

  “I’m OK. Who is that man?”

  “Oh, him? That guy in there who does all the talking? Never saw him before.”

  Abbi punched Big Sam.

  “I guess I’ll get that information when I need it. Do you think we’ll get to help with the drop this time?” Abbi asked when they were out in the hallway.

  “It’s not up to me, but you have already helped considerably,” Big Sam said with gratitude and renewed appreciation. “We’ll wait and see. Right now you have other business to attend. Walk this way.”

  “What about my briefcase?”

  “You shouldn’t need it.”

  “But, Big Sam, if there is a person who leaks information, then I would feel better if you put my briefcase somewhere really secure.”

  “It shouldn’t be safer anywhere than here at headquarters.”

  “No one else can get in?”

  “There are going to be some analysts coming in.”

  “I suppose they need the reports.”

  “Don’t worry. Those people are fine,” Big Sam assured her. “They all have clearance and you won’t find a team of more professional people.”

  Abbi sighed. “OK,” she said.

  “Are you sure you need me?” Louise asked. “I could stay here with the briefcases.”

  “You’re not just sitting the bench,” Big Sam said. “Come with me.”

  Big Sam led them through a maze that took them out the back door where the driver Scott was waiting for them. Louise rushed over to him to tell him about the museum.

  “Scott will take you ladies to the Metro station. Use your passes to get to the hospital.”

  “Finally!” Abbi said. “Thanks, Big Sam!”

  “Don’t get overly excited,” Big Sam said. “He may try to put on a good show for you today, but he’s not well.”

  Scott dropped them off at the Metro, not nearly a long enough ride for Louise. There was so much she wanted to tell him.

  The ride on the metro was unprotected, as far as Abbi could tell. No man with a hoodie, no red shoelaces.

  Inside the hospital, the girls gave their names to a uniformed man who waited at the door. After waving a security wand over them, the uniformed man instructed a staff aide to walk them through a series of chambers.

  Abbi repeated information she was told to say to the nurse practitioner who met her with a smile.

  “Miss Kowalski here to interview Mr. Shumann.”

  “Mr. Shumann is more aware today. This should be a good time for a visit.”

  The nurse practitioner instructed Louise to wait in the visitors’ lobby on that floor.

  “Are there magazines?” Louise asked. “Good ones, like fashion and such?”

  The aide assured Louise that there was ample reading material and then led Abbi down a hall.

  Abbi’s knees grew weak and tears filled her eyes when she entered the room and saw her father, hooked up with life support and monitoring systems that had him anchored down. His eyes lit up immediately. He tried unsuccessfully to sit up in bed.

  “Miss Kowalski is here to see you, Mr. Shumann. Are you up to a visitor?”

  He motioned for Abbi to come in.

  “Hey, Sweetheart!” Abbi’s father finally said with a hoarse voice as the door closed and they were alone. Although injured and unable to sit, his face glowed with love.

  Abbi rushed to him and whispered, “Oh, Daddy! Can I hug you without hurting you?”

  It was impossible for her to stay in character as Miss Kowalski.

  “It doesn’t matter if it hurts. Get over here!” he said with a huge smile. His words started gushing out but he had enough presence of mind to mask the conversation. “I’m so glad you could come! Before this interview begins, tell me, where’s Miss Shoe?”

  Abbi fidgeted. He knew the game plan. This would be treated as an interview. That would be hard, especially when he just asked about her mother. What she was supposed to say was not entirely true, but she was bugged.

  “She called. The FBI has a location. They’re negotiating with a contact and a rescue is in the works.”

  “You know more. What do your senses tell you?”

  “That’s pretty much it,” she said in normal voice. Then she wrote on a piece of paper, “I think she’s been moved to a shabby little shack in the mountains south of here, all alone.”

  She knew that talk about anything as nebulous as “senses” would raise eyebrows at headquarters.

  He seemed to relax. Her father knew first-hand that the logistics of pulling someone out of an illicit, criminally-operated Mexican cantina was very risky.

  Abbi wrote, “With her Smart Shoes, they’ll locate her soon.”

  Her father read the note and smiled.

  “What about you?” she asked quickly.

  Her father spoke slowly, “They thought I was a goner for a couple of days there. I remember dreaming about you. They said I was in a coma for a little while, I don’t know, but it was like I was home, with you. I could actually see you. I guess it was just a dream but it seemed real. I flew there!”

  She stepped back when she realized he was giving some very private information. Then Abbi moved in close and hugged her father, whispering in his ear, “You ZINGED me!”

  She hoped that somehow the listening device had not picked up any of this conversation, especially the “zinging” part. The rest she could handle, but she didn’t want to have to explain that.

  Her father smiled and their eyes met, communicating a very special understanding. They hugged, both being gentle. Abbi studied the monitors that read his vital signs and the tangle of tubes holding life-saving fluids that nourished his body.

  “Then it’s true,” her father said quietly.

  “Yeah,” she nodded, knowing that he must have been near death at the time. “You remembered!”

  “What else do you know about Miss Shoe?” he asked.

  Abbi was allowed to tell him that analysts and a negotiator were optimistic at the feasibility of getting her out within a couple of days. This made him smile. Abbi imagined that Big Sam had prepped her father in the work she was doing for the Bureau. Her father seemed to accept it.

  It was time to do some questioning.

  “Now, Mr. Schumann, I need to ask some questions. What was the name of the man who ran the cantina?” She pointed to her recording device, used his assumed name, and he seemed to understand.

  “Ramon.”

  “Ramon,” she repeated.

  “How did you know to go there?”

  “We had been able to follow a kid named Gopher who had business dealings with Ramon. Specifically, we knew he sold Ramon a young girl, fourteen years old, whose father, a policeman, had filed a missing persons report. A missing child alert had been issued. The Mexican Ambassador and Border Patrol, a whole slew of agencies actually, had been helpful in arranging for us to go into Mexico, make the extraction, and get t
he girl out.”

  “Are there other American girls there?”

  “Yes. We had a list.”

  “Where is that list now?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, after all that happened.”

  “Is there another way into the cantina?”

  “There’s an entrance from the backyard, but you can’t get directly into that area because of the penitentiary-style fencing. The rooms in back are where the girls are held.”

  “Are they free to come and go?”

  “Not at all. If they have a driver’s license, Social Security card or U. S. Passport, it is confiscated. They are prisoners.”

  “Do they earn a paycheck? Or tips?”

  “No, they have to work and they have a quota to earn, but the money is not for them. They’re not allowed to handle any money.”

  Abbi repeated the information.

  He told her about the sting operation that he was on, detailing his role and how it turned ugly. As he spoke, his words became slower, his eyes and hands less animated as if struggling for the words to describe the event pained him. When he came to the part where Miss Shoe was captured and he was injured, his voice sounded gravelly and fatigued.

  “Take your time.”

  “I’m tired. After that, it got fuzzy. This line of work can take a lot out of you,” her father finally said and he heaved a sigh.

  “Do you remember who was with Ramon at the border?”

  “I don’t know. I thought he was alone, but I may have been mistaken. That’s all I remember.”

  “Do you know if there are still other American girls at the cantina?”

  “The young lady indicated there were.”

  “No more zinging. OK?” Abbi asked with a grin, forgetting not to use the word.

  “Oh, that,” he said and chuckled. “I figured you had to know. I think I’ll make it.”