The Blue Tango Salvage: Book 2 in the Recovery and Marine Salvage, Inc. Series

by Chris Poindexter

  “V, we’re clearing out.” She had a zip line and didn’t need any help coming down. “Everybody head for the trucks.”

  “Van pulling in,” Jesse informed us from outside.

  “Pull up and give them some space,” I instructed.

  I walked back to the back hall where Amber had all the dancers facing the wall. One had a bloody nose and I assumed that’s the one who had the gun.

  “I am definitely better looking than this skank parade,” she informed me and she wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t why the girls were working here.

  “I’m clear,” V informed us, making her way over the tracks into the back of the van.

  “Did you get them?” I asked Amber.

  She handed over a stack of ID’s, in order of the girls along the wall.

  “What do you have?” Anita asked, coming through the door in her U.S. Marshal tactical vest.

  “Well, we have quite the selection,” I informed her going down the line. “Foreign national, expired ID. Foreign national, fake ID. Foreign national, fake ID, fake, fake, fake and foreign national, duplicate ID with one of the others. They’re all fakes.” I handed over the stack.

  “Nice,” she said, handing out flexi-cuffs.

  Working fast we cuffed the girls and herded them toward the van. As they got to the door Q gave them a dose of night-night and dumped them into the van, which said Customs and Immigration on the side.

  “9-1-1 calls coming through,” Deek informed us. “You got three minutes.”

  “We’re clear here,” I told him. “Jesse, go as soon as Q’s in the van. Bobby, hold up for Amber and I.”

  “Out the front,” he informed us.

  The water was getting deep and I splashed my way down the hall to find Amber in the bar doing a pole dance.

  “We should get one of these,” she said, hooking a leg around the pole and spinning around.

  “Okay,” I agreed immediately.

  “Really?”

  “You betcha.”

  “I always wanted to take lessons,” she told me as I helped her down from the stage.

  “Ab-so-fucking-lutely,” I agreed. Some expenses you just have to encourage.

  Bobby had the truck out front. Dugger helped Amber up the step and I clapped him on the back. “You did good, Dugger,” I said, stepping past him to join Amber in the panel truck.

  “Thanks, he smiled, pulling the door closed behind him.

  We fell in line behind the two vans and I pulled out my phone and called up the drone video. Deek put it in auto-follow mode and it trailed along behind us as we made our way back toward the warehouse. Once we were clear we stopped and Deek landed it on the van roof.

  “Cops are at the club,” Deek informed us. “I love that drone!” he beamed.

  We made our way back to the warehouse and secured the cash, which Mateo estimated was north of 300 large. Enough to cover the bills.

  “I’m going to go change,” Amber said.

  “Hold up,” I countered. “I got an idea if you think you got another one in you.”

  The club was only phase one. Since we couldn’t guarantee we could take the club down without someone getting word to Sergei, I had to wait until after to decide on phase two.

  “How’d we do, Deek?”

  “Nobody tried to contact any number except 911,” he said. “In my opinion we’re go for phase two.”

  “Did you get them?” I asked Bobby.

  “Right here,” he handed over the IDs of the two guards at the front door.

  I picked the one that looked most like Q and handed it to him.

  “You know what to do?”

  “Yup,” he agreed.

  “Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Amber asked.

  “Sorry,” I apologized, “this was the bit we planned while you were on your way down from West Palm. Deek managed to piece together another one of Sergei’s locations, but we weren’t sure we could do the club job without someone altering them. Deek thinks we pulled it off.”

  “He thinks?” Amber questioned.

  “A very high probability,’ Deek confirmed over the comm channel.

  “So we’re going to make a run at Target 2 and we’ll need you to do it.”

  “Okay,” she said automatically.

  “There’s a higher level of risk on this one,” I cautioned.

  “How much higher?”

  “A lot higher.”

  “In that case I should pee first,” she said, turning on her heel and heading for the bathroom.

  While the level of risk was higher so was our operational window. In taking down the club we had civilians in the mix but, if Deek was right about Target 2, anyone standing was a vampire. There was a third target over toward the ocean, closer to the beach but we wouldn’t have time for the trifecta tonight.

  “Saddle up,” I said to the room, getting some fresh mags for the Val. “Everyone in the van this time, head out when you’re ready.”

  The crew drew real weapons this time. Bobby and Mat had shotguns and only the first three rounds were beanbag stunners, the rest were the real deal buckshot. Jesse and Dugger pulled .45s. They piled into the van and rolled out while Q and I waited for Amber. I had to admit she did cut a fine figure in her cocktail waitress outfit. She probably could have made decent money at the club.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  “You have your gun?” I asked.

  She lifted up her skirt high enough to show me the Walther in a thigh holster. “Satisfied?”

  Q pulled out a pair of flexi-cuffs. “Turn around,” he instructed, pulling her hands behind her back.

  “Oww,” Amber gushed, “this usually costs extra.”

  “Make sure you can get your hand loose,” he said tugging the cuffs just tight enough to look good.

  She knelt down, then stood up quickly, pulling her strong hand loose and coming up with the Walther.

  “This what you had in mind?” she asked, dropping into a two-handed shooting stance. If she looked good walking, she looked even better holding the gun.

  “That’ll do,” I said. “We have no idea what’s behind Door Number 2 this time.”

  “I that case someone’s in for a big surprise,” she said holstering the Walther and working her hand back into the cuffs. They were just tight enough to hold if she kept her hand in a fist.

  I called Anita. We weren’t in any rush, the van would need a few minutes to set up. “How we doing?”

  “Phase one complete,” she said, “but they’re still asleep.”

  “Probably will be another couple hours. If all goes well on round two then you’ll have a more meaningful conversation when they wake up.”

  “On my way,” she said hanging up.

  “We’re not expecting civilians this time,” I said as much for the comm link as Q and Amber. “Try not to kill anyone, if you can avoid it, but do what you have to do.” This was more an old school op, a game we knew well.

  “In position,” V announced. It was convenient that Target 2 was only five minutes away. V would be on top of a line of railroad cars on the siding of the building next door. “Outside of the building is clear. Three cars in the parking lot.”

  “In position,” Bobby confirmed. “Tally three in the parking lot, but the building is metal so we’re not getting anything inside. None of the cars are still warm.”

  That was good news, that means no one had arrived recently.

  “Okay, show time,” I said.

  I took Q’s Vintorez besides the Val and helped Amber into the back of the van. I sat opposite to her and Q drove.

  “This is kinky,” she said with a mischievous grin. “You ever want to try bondage?” she asked, slipping her foot between my legs.

  “Comm,” Deek reminded us. “Even though I really hate interrupting that conversation.”

  “Goddamn it!” Amber swore. “I keep forgetting about that fucking thing. Sorry.”

  Talk about spoiling the mood. It was, how
ever, the perfect faux pas to humanize Amber for the rest of the team. Now they would have something to tease her about.

  “At least we know you have an active imagination,” Deek conceded. We could hear the other guys failing to suppress their laughter in the van.

  “Oh, god,” Amber breathed.

  I laughed in spite of myself.

  “You shut up,” she demanded.

  “Coming up,” Q advised from the front of the van.

  I slid farther into the van’s interior so as not be seen when Q opened the back door.

  This warehouse had a camera in the call box but it was small enough to be covered by the stolen ID. Q pushed the button and held the ID between his face and the camera and he kept his head down, a baseball cap covering his face.

  “What?” a voice demanded in Russian.

  “Vaz-moo-TEE-tel spah-KOY-stvee-yah,” Q answered. Troublemaker.

  To everyone’s surprise the gate opened. Getting lucky once in a night is a good thing, twice is a miracle.

  “We’re on the move,” Jesse confirmed.

  “Clear in the lot,” V informed us.

  “No calls,” Deek advised.

  Of course, that would be just the kind of trap Sergei would set. Sure, everything is cool, come on in. This was a little different as I was starting to get the feeling Sergei hadn’t been in town for a while and people were getting sloppy.

  Steel shipping containers were stacked along one fence. While it would have been possible to hide an army in those, that was V’s primary coverage area. Anyone coming that way would have to get past her and I wished them the best of luck with that.

  The warehouse had a covered pull-through lane down one side with a door set about half-way down. A light came on over the door.

  “Camera housing above left and right,” Deek announced, watching from the drone.

  Q pulled a bit past the door which means the truck partially obstructed the far camera, so we would put on the show for the other one. I had to sink farther back in the truck to stay out of sight.

  Getting out of the truck Q kept his head down so the ball cap would obstruct his face. He opened the right rear door of the truck, which left me in shadow, and pulled Amber roughly out of the truck. He half dragged, half pushed her to the door.

  “Izvititee! Izvititee!” she said. Sorry. Sorry. When they came back from training our people knew how to say that word in ten languages. It was the most disarming phrase in the human vocabulary and one word that could buy precious seconds in a tight situation. I was, once again, proud of her as she acted out her part with no rehearsal.

  Q pushed her down to her knees next to the door and gave the camera a good long look at her outfit. Then he knocked on the door; three short and one long. A moment later it opened and Q grabbed the door and jerked Amber up to her feet and pushed her into the guard opening the door. She came up with the Walther but was careful to do out of sight of the exterior camera.

  “Hi there,” she said, shouldering the guard up against the wall and sticking the Walther in his face. “Give me a reason,” she begged, pushing the gun into his temple. He hesitated before raising his hands as best he could in the clumsy position.

  “We’re in,” Q said evenly, dosing the guard, who slid slowly down the wall.

  I swung out of the back of the truck and squeezed off half a mag from the Val into the camera housing, which exploded. Q held the door for me and I tossed him his Vintorez. Amber was down on one knee in a shooting stance covering the hallway right, Q and went left and down the hall. So far no alarms, usually a good sign. Amber stayed with us, walking backwards, covering the rear. I was, for some strange reason, reminded of the great line from Ginger Rogers who said she did everything Fred Astaire did but backwards and in heels. We moved quietly up the hall and could hear voices from a room up ahead. Q tossed a stun grenade through the open door. The boom seemed a lot louder this time but the effect on the occupants was basically the same.

  This was not the A-team, either. I dosed them and cuffed them both after searching them for weapons. Amber holstered her Walther and kept watch in the hallway. While someone running up to see what happened would immediately drop Q or I, they would hesitate to shoot one of the girls who appeared to work at the club. The gate controls and camera monitor were on a desk.

  “We’re go, go, go,” I said, opening the gate and the outer door. “Through the door and left.”

  The van wheeled in less than a minute later and the team piled through the door.

  Jesse and Mat moved past Amber to cover the hallway, Dugger joined Bobby inside. I tossed Bobby a ring on key off the guard’s belt.

  “Search the building,” I instructed.

  “What are we looking for?” Bobby asked.

  “You’ll know it when you find it.”

  A few minutes later there was an audible BO-BOOM-BOOM! over the comm link. “Got a rodent problem here in the warehouse,” Bobby advised. There was some yelling and a loud crashing noise before Bobby declared the area was secure.

  It was only a couple minutes later that Bobby came on the comm link. “I think we found what you’re looking for,” he said evenly.

  “What you got?” I asked.

  “Easier if you come down and see for yourself,” he said with a guarded tone.

  We left Mat and Amber to stand guard and Bobby gave Q and I directions to where he was. One part of the warehouse had been converted into a long hall lined with doors. The smell was one part urine, two parts body odor and one part musty warehouse. It made my eyes water.

  We found Dugger watching a cuffed prisoner in a small room at the entrance, the man on the floor was still coughing from the bean bag hit. There was a junky refrigerator and boxes of insulin syringes. I had a bad feeling I knew exactly what was going on here.

  We met Bobby in the hall and he pushed open one of the doors and confirmed my worst suspicions. We went down the hall and were met with the same scene each time. In each cramped room were four beds, two along each wall. In the middle was a plastic toilet bucket, some had been emptied recently, most had not. The smell almost made me wretch. On each bed had a girl, ranging in age from their teens to lower 20s, chained to it in various stages of undress. They were gaunt and pale with bruised arms with track marks where they got their drugs. They shrank from the light.

  “There’s more over here,” Bobby pointed out. These rooms were bigger, each girl had their own room and decent clothes. This is where they got lessons on how to practice their new trade, finishing school before they were sent out.

  I called Anita and told her to get down here on the double. She said they were right around the corner.

  “What the fuck?” I heard Amber swear through the comm link.

  “Amber, stay out of here!” I barked, but it was too late. I sprinted down the hall and found Amber brandishing a small metal bat that had been by the door. Dugger was between her and our prisoner.

  “MOVE!” she roared at Dugger who, to my total surprise, stood his ground.

  “He’s a handcuffed prisoner and you know I can’t let you do that,” Dugger said easily, careful to keep his distance but not moving out of the way.

  “You move or I’ll kill both of you!” she spat.

  “Stand down!” I yelled, but might as well have been yelling at a hurricane for all the good it did.

  “I’m sorry,” Dugger said as calmly as he could, “but I can’t let you do that.”

  “Let her,” the prisoner joined in, using the wall to get painfully to his feet and moving to one side to face Amber directly.

  “Let her kill me,” he demanded. “We’re all dead anyway. You are all dead,” he said to the rest of us. “Maybe boss man let me live long enough to see him kill all of you first.”

  “Hey, did you think hookers are all pissed off teenagers from the Upper East Side?” I said.

  “This isn’t prostitution,” she spat, “this is SLAVERY!” She had tears streaming down her cheeks.

  �
��You call slavery, we call business,” the man countered. “All these girls come here to make money. They get money.”

  “You’re an animal,” she said cranking the bat back.

  “You go ahead and kill me,” he said. “We all dead anyway.”

  She hauled back to take a swing but someone caught the end of it.

  “We might be able to help with that,” Nick said easily.