CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cam decided to steer Oana’s mind away from the worst expectation of her life by asking a few more relevant questions.
“Where are the human trafficking vehicles?”
“Away from here, but not far. They take them into the deep woods at carnival time and use dedicated guards. The trucks are specially made. And they’re not all abducted, Camden. Some have paid for this and have brought their families, expecting a better life.”
Cam closed his eyes briefly, intensely sad for the parent desperate enough to use people like Marko Lupei. The anguish they felt was something he could barely imagine. “How many?”
“Trucks or people? There are three trucks, and the amount of people varies. I’d guess at thirty to sixty.”
Cam asked her about the politician, Dumitrescu, but Oana knew very little. Eventually he came back around to her own dire situation.
“Do you know when... you know?”
Oana sighed. “I was only told last night. I haven’t seen him since. Haven’t seen anyone since. What did you mean when I asked you about an army?”
Cam gave her a potted version of everything that had happened to him since he met Alicia Myles on the search for galleon’s gold, stressing how good the SPEAR team were. In the end, Oana shook her head.
“I don’t know what you expect, brother. What is your goal?”
“To rescue you and Alba for starters. To make my father pay. To save those poor abducted people and bring down Dumistrecu.”
Oana stared. “You set high goals these days.”
“I have new expectations. I’ve learned that it is possible to achieve more, reach higher, attain the unattainable. Even under the worst of circumstances.”
“Great.” Oana’s face was bleak. “But there’s not a lot more I can tell you.”
Cam nodded. “I can’t just pull you out. Or Alba. I need to talk to the rest of the team and come up with a plan. In the meantime, maybe you could obtain better information?”
“You’re asking me to spy on my family?”
“Well, yeah. The more information we have the quicker we can end all this. And prevent this Roma war.”
“That’ll never happen. The war has already started.”
“Our father can’t fight if he’s... locked up.” Cam had almost said “dead” and Oana knew it. She shook her head. “You won’t beat him through violence.”
“It’s the only thing men like him understand or respect,” Cam said. “Look, just snoop around as best you can. There are many lives at stake, including the trafficked people and our own carnival folk, not to mention any civilians that might get caught up in this. I’ll return to the team and let you know.”
They decided on a clandestine rendezvous point and a time. Cam gave his sister one last hug and left her to her thoughts. Outside, the carnival was in full flow, owning the night. Cam stood for a moment, taking stock, trying to come to terms with all that Oana had told him.
His father had sunk to new levels.
This has to stop. And he was with the perfect team to make it happen.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“What a shitshow,” Alicia said. “I thought carnivals were supposed to be for happy families and pickpockets.”
“Some, maybe,” Cam said. “But never one run by a Lupei.”
“All right,” Drake said. “So we have your sisters about to be married off to reinforce Lupei’s army. Dozens of poor bastards being trafficked. A Roma war about to erupt. And this corrupt Romanian minister. Looks like we’re back in the thick of conflict yet again.”
“Thank God,” Alicia said. “It’s been a long, hard road since the Blood King killed Coburn.”
“And it’s gonna get a lot harder,” Drake mused, “when we return to America to sort out that little problem.”
“Sorting out President John Lacey isn’t little,” Dahl said. “It’s the biggest—”
“Yeah, well, that’s next week,” Drake interrupted the Swede. “Shall we focus on the current problem first?”
“I figure Lupei is the catalyst,” Dahl said. “It all revolves around him.”
Hayden was standing at the window of their hotel room, studying an overcast Romanian sky, the rivers of drizzle that ran endlessly down the dirty pane, and the similarly gray people dashing about the streets below, all wearing coats and scarves, and some hidden under umbrellas. It was a dismal scene, and reminded her of a painting she’d seen in some far-flung part of the world. Probably just another unsigned canvas in some nameless hotel room and a faceless city. Her life was a rain-shrouded blur.
“I agree,” she said. “But there are other issues. People traffickers show no mercy. At the first sign of trouble the first thing they’ll do is get rid of the evidence. Locating those people has to be our priority.”
“Oana and Alba will try to find them,” Cam said. The young man, restless and agitated, was standing in a corner, unable to relax.
“I doubt they’ll do that without drawing attention,” Dahl said. “They’re not trained. And we don’t want any harm to befall them.”
Cam pulled away from the wall. “You think he’ll hurt them?”
“If you mean your father... I see nothing to convince us that he wouldn’t hurt his own daughters. I think the opposite if it benefits him.”
Cam gripped the bridge of his nose. “I’ve messed up badly. Leaving them behind. Damn, why did I do that?”
“Don’t worry,” Dahl said. “We can still work this through.”
Drake regarded the Swede warily. “Oh, no, I hate it when a daft lummox comes up with a plan.”
Hayden was also wincing. “Dahl... maybe...”
“You’ll love this.” The big Swede moved to the center of the room. “One of us goes in undercover. As a carny.”
Drake looked blank. “Oh, aye? What the hell’s a carny?”
Hayden raised a brow. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“You sound shocked,” Dahl grumbled.
“Well, I thought you were gonna blow something up, then set fire to the tents and jump off the fucking Ferris wheel.”
Dahl nodded in thought. “That’s a half-decent backup plan.”
“And who would we send in?” Alicia looked around at the assembled team. “Kenzie—the World’s Dumbest Bitch?”
Kenzie gave her the finger and opened her mouth to retort, but Alicia was far from finished. “I hear Mai performed a few special tricks when she was undercover in that brothel.” She grinned. “Mai The Bendy?”
“Taz.” The Japanese woman put her glass of water down. “I’m going to shut—”
“The Handy Bendy Mai?” Alicia chortled.
Drake jumped in between them, experiencing a deluge of déjà vu. “I can’t believe I’m still babying you two,” he said. “Cut it out.”
Alicia noticed Cam’s quiet distress and calmed in an instant. Mai made herself walk across to the fridge and grab another drink. Drake nodded at Dahl. “Sending someone inside is a good idea. Who’d you have in mind?”
“Someone with skills,” Dahl said. “Which rules you out. Yorgi could have pulled it off. Who else has circus skills?”
Drake looked like he wanted to rib the Swede some more but, after his outburst at Mai and Alicia, didn’t have the grounds to mount an attack.
“Mano?” Hayden ventured warily.
The big Hawaiian looked blank. “What could I do?”
“Strong man? Random wrecker of property?” Hayden suggested.
“I don’t do that on purpose,” Kinimaka said. “I—”
Shaw spoke up from the back of the room. “It’s me. You all know it’s me.”
Dahl nodded at her. “Of course. You were the first to come to mind.”
Shaw came forward, pulling her ponytail a little tighter. When she removed her leather jacket, Drake saw the handles of four knives she kept strapped around her waist. Shaw was the best knife-fighter he’d ever seen.
“You can throw them too?” Cam ask
ed.
Shaw’s right hand blurred. Cam saw the knife only when it embedded itself in the plaster wall, inches away from his skull.
“Does the Carnival already have a knife thrower?” Mai asked.
“They used to,” Cam said. “I don’t know now. But my father holds no loyalty. If he likes you, he will find a place for you, one way or another.”
“Are we agreed?” Dahl said. “We sleep on it and send in Shaw undercover in the morning. Are you okay with that?”
All eyes turned to Shaw.
The Native American knife wielder nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
*
Walking into a fairground devoid of people, at rest and outside business hours, was an odd experience for Shaw. Not that she’d visited too many fairs in her twenty-eight years, but this was different.
Nobody challenged her as she walked through the gate formed from three rusty poles shaped like a football goal. She saw one man sitting outside a van and another cleaning his windows. The ground was squelchy, the air bitter cold. Shaw could see her breath make clouds in front of her. The fancy leather boots she always wore were already in need of a good clean.
Several random noises reached her ears. The sound of an electric screwdriver making repairs. The slamming of a truck’s door. The grumble of several generators. High-pitched laughter from somewhere unknown.
Shaw made her way along the main thoroughfare, hoping to bump into someone soon. It would be embarrassing to walk all this way unchallenged and then have to turn back because she couldn’t find anyone.
“What do you want?” The female voice was a disembodied grumble. Shaw turned around, unable to make anyone out at first but then saw a flicker of movement inside the cotton-candy kiosk.
“A job,” she said. “I came last night and saw that I was better than your guy.”
“Better at what?”
Shaw showed her the knives, happy that the first person she’d found spoke decent English. Cam had told her that half the camp spoke passable English; his parents and siblings were fluent.
“You’re a knife thrower? We have one of those. And you’re no Roma either.”
“I asked and was told you don’t have to be. The Wall of Death guys are picked solely for their skills on a motorbike.”
The cotton-candy woman picked up a small two-way radio and spoke for less than a minute, switching to her native tongue so that Shaw couldn’t understand. Two minutes later a man approached, followed by a woman and a younger man. Shaw could tell from Cam’s descriptions that this was Marko Lupei, his wife Aurelia, and one of the brothers. Lupei stalked right up to her.
“You are American?”
Shaw nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why do you want a job with us, All-American Girl?”
“I want the experience. I’m the best at the job. And I’ll draw a crowd for you.”
Lupei let his eyes crawl up and down her figure, nodding. “That you would. You like to show off, do you?”
Shaw smiled. “I do as I wish. I’m spending a year traveling Europe after issues back home. I want to see some life.”
“Maybe you’re running from something?”
Shaw shrugged but didn’t answer.
Aurelia was staring at her as if she couldn’t tell whether to slap or kick her. The brother was clearly interested in something less harsh. Lupei himself had a feral light in his eyes.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Shaw ignored the obvious double-entendre, slipped out a knife and threw it at the ground, dead-center between his feet. At the same time, she threw a second at the cotton-candy cart, where it quivered, stuck dead-center in the painting of a donut. A third cleaved the air, ending up in a nearby tree-trunk, and a fourth parted Lupei’s hair, sending a single strand fluttering to the ground...
A hair that Shaw caught and handed back.
Lupei’s face remained emotionless as he took the strand and threw it away. “You do as I say. You wear what I say. You perform when I say. We will try you for one night—tonight—and see.”
Shaw nodded. She then smiled at Aurelia and the brother who both dipped their heads at her then turned away. For a moment she wasn’t sure what to do next, but Lupei half-turned and beckoned her to follow.
Against her best instincts, Shaw pressed deeper into Lupei’s camp.
*
Hours later, she realized she hadn’t properly thought it through at all.
Without explanation, Lupei had taken charge of her introduction, ferrying her to the correct tent and standing close by as she met several permanent carnival folk. Shaw had been hoping for some time alone, time to get acquainted with the site and perhaps liaise with Cam’s sisters and pin down a location for the abductees, but Lupei didn’t leave her side.
A target was erected for her and she spent almost an hour following his instructions, cleaving coconuts, dummies made of straw, and then practicing on a real person. Shaw could get close without issue, but Lupei wanted her to get closer still, and then nick the skin. Shaw declined in the end, refusing to do any harm. Lupei nodded as if he’d been testing to see how far she might go.
The others in the tent were friendly, even the current knife-thrower, which told Shaw not to expect much longevity here. She was likely here for the amusement of Lupei. Hours passed. Opening time approached. Lupei lounged in a far corner of the tent, talking on his cellphone in Romanian or maybe a local dialect, Shaw couldn’t tell. The only time he switched to English was to curse.
Shaw kept an eye out for Oana and Alba, but never saw them. She hoped they were okay, as they were still unaware that they had an ally in the camp. She kept an eye on her watch. Twenty minutes before opening time, Lupei wandered over to her.
“Tonight, you get two shows,” he said. “Eight p.m. and 9 p.m. Stick to what we have practiced. I will gage the crowd’s reaction and then we’ll see if you still have a job. But stay in costume all night.”
“In... costume?”
Lupei waved a hand. A bare-chested wrestler came over with a large sack across his back, looking a little like a muscular Santa. He dropped it next to Lupei who knelt to rummage through a mountain of different colored costumes.
“Ah,” he said finally. “This’ll do.”
Shaw blanched when he held up a short black dress studded with sequins. It was risqué, but it wasn’t as if she needed to move much. She grabbed the dress and went over to a two-section changing screen. Shaw made sure it wasn’t backlit before trying on the dress. She wouldn’t put anything past Lupei. The dress fit well, a little too well, clinging in all the wrong places. Shaw felt uncomfortable but strapped her knives around her waist and stepped outside the screen.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” Lupei said. “I think you’ll do well tonight, All-American Girl.”
Shaw practiced a few dry runs, trying to get over a slight nervous feeling at wearing the short dress. Her normal uniform of tight black jeans, leather jacket and ponytail was everything she was used to. Outside her comfort zone, she put her full focus on hitting the target perfectly.
When the crowds formed, she focused harder.
It was clear she couldn’t escape to carry out her mission, so Shaw performed at 8:00 p.m., throwing a series of eight knives at a human target and missing by less than an inch every time. The crowd cheered and whooped, the noise ear-splitting inside the tent; the men whistled and the women slapped their more amorous partners. Shaw bowed gracefully and made an exit, sitting with the other performers backstage.
“Don’t worry, my love,” one older woman said to her. “You’re good. Just do your job.”
Shaw nodded, drank water and then saw a bottle of homemade bourbon being passed around the crew. When it reached her she swigged a mouthful, swallowing the burning liquid easily to the nods of respect from those around her. The bourbon was reminiscent of lighter fluid.
Nine p.m. came, and Shaw performed once more to an even more enthusiastic crowd. The show went without a hitch. Thi
s time, afterward, the crew started to drift away, and Shaw tapped the arm of the woman who’d spoken to her.
“What next?”
“We’re done, my love. Time to retire to our abodes.”
“Ah...” Shaw dropped her eyes, stoked that an opportunity had finally arrived. “Thanks.”
She turned away, found her clothes and changed, leaving the black sequined dress in a heap on the floor. She exited the tent and walked through the Carnival.
It was winding down, signs and lights being turned off. Men and women squeezed past, heading for the exit, some carrying their winning trophies, others holding bags of donuts and cotton candy on sticks. A cold breeze didn’t appear to bother anyone, but when it started to drizzle, the crowds thinned more rapidly, making Shaw’s covert job even harder.
She left the main byways and slipped among the trailers, trucks and vans, ducking low and rising only to glance in various windows, getting a long and varied snapshot of what happened in mobile homes and vans when this particular carnival ended.
The fire-eater and the ring-tosser sat cross-legged on a carpeted floor, facing each other and throwing back shots of whiskey so fast it coated their faces and ran down their chests. The burlesque dancers, half out of costume and mostly in their underwear, were partying in a cramped van so that it rocked like a boat pitching on the high seas. The Strong Man and the fortune teller were leaning over a lacquered black table decorated by six powdery white lines.
The tattooist, a well-muscled man with a six-pack, bore not even an inch of unmarked skin on his body. Shaw knew because she saw him naked in the next van, naked and slow-dancing by himself, holding a microphone in one hand and crooning softly. Shaw blinked twice, spent a few seconds longer staring than she should, and then moved on.
She spotted the donut woman with two motorcyclists, the men still clad in their leather and servicing her from both ends. The woman’s eyes were closed and the men both held half-empty liquor bottles in their hands. She saw more drug use, and a duel between kiosk staff who used knives to cut each other’s bodies. She saw everything from sex to board games, from good-natured companionship to brutal arguments. The world surrounding this Carnival of Curiosities was deep, passionate and extreme. Shaw even saw the older woman who’d spoken to her back in the knife-throwing tent standing talking to a painting, a cigarette in one hand and a machine-gun in the other. It was all wickedly surreal.
The Carnival of Curiosities (Matt Drake Book 27) Page 10
