These last few hours had been the happiest in her life. She had been shattered when she got to the departure gate and found no one. She ran down the boarding ramp and screamed at the flight attendant who was closing the cabin door. Achara expected one more obstacle, but when she showed her boarding pass, she was simply told, “Fourteen C, to your left.”
Those were the most wondrous words she had ever heard. There really was a seat for her.
“We will be arriving in fifteen minutes at John F. Kennedy International Airport. The local time is 5:15 p.m.”
Now the old fear came back.
She looked down at the faint outline of land below.
This was America. For the twentieth time, she checked her data sheet and passport. Now she had another document―the declaration form. What would they ask her? Would they detain her? Would they send her back because she had an accent? Or would she go to Guantanamo? She preferred Guantanamo to Thailand.
The plane touched ground and maneuvered to the hangar. Achara told herself to act normal. There were many Asians on this flight and she would blend in with them. She followed everyone up the ramp and then she saw the signs for Immigration. There was a ladies’ room and she ducked into it. Her hands were moist, her breathing irregular. She washed her face and arms and combed her hair with her fingers.
Out came the data sheet again. Going over every point, she got to the instructions about what to do once the plane landed.
Get on the line for U.S. Citizens at the immigration area. The officer will say hello. Say hello and smile. Answer all questions calmly and be friendly. Here are some questions they may ask:
How long were you in Thailand? Tell them.
What was the purpose of your trip? Visiting relatives.
Where did you stay in Thailand? Give a relative’s address.
Do you have anything to declare? This means did you bring anything illegal into the country.
Where were you born? Thailand.
They may test you with a few questions such as:
Who was the sixteenth president of the United States? Abraham Lincoln.
How long have you lived in the United States? Seven years.
What are the 2 baseball teams in New York? The Yankees and the Mets. You are a Yankee fan. And you hate the Boston Red Sox.
What high school did you attend? Northport High.
What is your home address? 114 North Cyrus Street, East Northport New York 11731
What is your home phone number? 631-555-1756. That’s my cell phone in case they call.
As a last resort, the instructions read: If they don’t believe you and detain you, say to them “I request political asylum.” Once you say that, they can’t deport you right away. They have to give you a date to appear before a judge. By then, we will be able to help you. So stay calm.
One more review of the bio and she went out the door to face the immigration officers.
The line went quickly. Most of the passengers who were called up stayed no more than one minute in front of the officer. That made her feel better. Her breathing was acting up again and she took long draws of air. She just needed to act normally for one minute and she was done.
The officer motioned her to step up. She handed him her passport which he swiped through the reader. He said, “How are you today?”
“Very good, thank you.” She smiled.
“What were you doing in Thailand?”
“Visiting relatives.”
“What part of Thailand did you visit?”
“Chiang Mai.”
“How long were you there?”
“Two week.”
“How long have you lived in the US?”
“Seven years.”
“You go to school?”
“Northport High School.”
He was typing something on a keyboard.
“Do you have anything to declare?”
“No.”
“Please step over here, miss.” He hadn’t told the others to do this.
A female agent came over and said, “I need to inspect your bag, Ma’am.”
Achara handed it over.
Half a chocolate bar and the vihara spilled out. The agent felt the sides of the knapsack for hidden pockets.
“This is all you brought with you all the way from Thailand?”
“My bag was rob at the airport.” Her face was no longer calm. They knew something was wrong.
“And how old are you?”
“Sixteen.” She was getting ready to request asylum, but couldn’t remember the words.
“Who will be waiting for you at the airport?”
“My sister, I hope.” She was trying to remember the exact words for requesting asylum as though it needed the preciseness of an incantation to succeed.
And just like that, the officer handed back her bag and passport.
“Thank you,” said the officer. “Welcome home.”
cKenna and the swat team entered the tunnel from the One Hundred and Forty-seventh Street side. Even he hadn’t been this deep in the bowels of the city. With the map given to them by the Transit Authority guy, the team descended three levels and got to the abandoned tracks that Olivia had described: dead rats; bats on the ceilings, dropping shit on top of them, covering the ground with it. They had passed a couple of homeless people one level up. Christ, how can anyone live down here?
Olivia said Sonia had been shot through the head. On the unlikely chance she was still alive, a medical team was waiting on the surface. She should be a few hundred yards from this spot. The air reeked of urine and dead rodents. They all donned their night vision goggles as the light died off. The medical folks said Brazos couldn’t have gone far with that amount of insulin injected into him if he was even alive. McKenna wasn’t taking any chances. The six men walked along the walls in full body armor, staggered, so one high-power bullet wouldn’t take out multiple targets. There was something lying on the tracks up ahead. McKenna could make out the shape of a girl. Sonia lay face down. He rushed to her and turned her over. She was dead. Damn. They picked up their pace. With any luck, Brazos would be lying on the tracks just as dead.
Swenson pointed to drag marks on the ground and footprints. The line of dragging feet ended. This is where Rachel had struggled with Brazos and Olivia escaped. There was the Coke bottle Rachel used.
No killer.
“Okay, boys, he’s alive. Watch out for anything that looks like booby traps. He’s trained.”
The team advanced block by block toward the collapsed end of the tunnel leading to the hideout below the Major Deegan Expressway. When they got there, they stopped.
It was the perfect place for an ambush. Only one man at a time could pass through the opening. It wasn’t a good place for a concussion grenade, either, as the whole tunnel complex could come crashing down. One man got up and shone a flashlight through the opening. He gave the all clear and lowered himself. The others followed. When they were all on the other side, they advanced toward the execution chamber.
On the ground there were more rats, hypodermic needles, and condoms, but no sign of the animal they were searching for. The door of the chamber was closed. One man tried the handle. Locked. Only Brazos could have done that. The safeties came off. The tunnel was much sturdier here and closer to the surface. One officer attached detonation cord to the handle. The explosion rocked dust and loose mortar from the ceiling and the men poured into the hideout. The lights were out, but the night vision goggles revealed a warren of chambers. A storage room full of rice and canned goods. Another with ammo, grenades, tear gas, a shotgun. Enough to make a stand. There was a metal X on the wall. A table with restraints. When all the rooms were secured, they found a light switch connected to a series of car batteries. Bloodstains everywhere. It was a slaughterhouse. Video and lighting equipment to record it all.
Damn prick got away. But no sign of Rachel, either, and that meant she was probably still alive. It would have been too easy to just find him lying on the tracks nice an
d dead for pickup and delivery. This bastard was going to put McKenna to a lot of trouble, and he wanted to be the guy to put the bullet through Brazos’ heart, if he had one.
t Lincoln Hospital, Olivia was recovering from surgery. Her feet had required ninety-seven stitches.
McKenna knocked at the open door. Her parents were by her bed. He hated delivering bad news to parents.
“Detective, come in,” said Ed Wallen. “Anything?”
“I’m afraid the tunnels were a dead end. He was gone. But Rachel was gone, too, so she seems valuable enough to him to keep her alive. I’d like to ask Olivia a few more questions, if you don’t mind.” Ed Wallen gave him his seat.
“How are you doing, kid?”
“I’ll live.”
“I saw Joules outside.”
“He’s still working on those files.”
“He’s got a job with the department when he graduates. I just don’t think we can afford him.” He took out his pad and pen. “Feel up to a few more questions?”
She nodded.
“During the time you spent in the tunnel, did Brazos ever give any indication that he had another hideout? Or maybe more than one house where he lived?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Did he ever mention another person? Someone he might be working with?”
“No. There were just those men on the other side of the camera. The foreigners that he called Client Number One, Two, Three.”
“How do you know they were foreigners?”
“He said at one point, ‘The skin is like pearl as you like it in the East.’ In the West, they like tanned skin. And it’s true that in the East they compare white skin to pearl.”
“You said he would leave periodically and come back. Any idea where he went when he left the tunnels?”
“I know he owned a bar in Long Beach. I just figured he worked his job and came back on his off hours.”
McKenna started thinking about what he’d like to do to Clients One through Three when Joules appeared in the doorway.
“Detective, I need to show you something.”
He motioned him inside.
Joules put the laptop on the nightstand and brought up Rachel’s email.
There was a message with the subject “Flight.”
“This is from Achara. She says she’s arriving on Singapore flight 3244 at 5:30 p.m. today. That’s thirty-five minutes ago. The original flight was Cathay Pacific.”
“She wasn’t on the Cathay Pacific flight,” said McKenna. “We saw the later email with the new flight.”
Joules opened Yahoo Messenger and entered Achara’s ID and password, which he had broken.
There was one offline message from Rachel.
I’ll be waiting for you, baby.
“This is time-stamped 10:14 p.m. two nights ago,” said Joules. “Rachel was already missing for nearly ten hours.” He looked at McKenna.
“Rachel didn’t write that.”
cKenna made a call to JFK Airport security telling them to detain a girl carrying a passport with the name Olivia Wallen. After a long wait, his face fell.
“She went through Immigration ten minutes ago.”
A disheveled man with a bouquet of flowers and a placard saying, OLIVIA WALLEN, waited at the arrivals area. The plane was on time, and that was good because he didn’t have much to spare. Just standing was an effort.
He observed as the passengers of flight 3244 exited the door. There were some nice looking Singaporean and Thai girls. Assuming she made it through Immigration, she would be coming out just about now.
When Achara appeared, he made his way through the crowd and flashed a smile as she made eye contact with him. He handed over the bouquet and said, “Welcome, Achara. I’m Robert, a friend of Olivia. She sent me to take you home.”
Her face lit up and she embraced Robert.
“Thank you, thank you. My journey is over. Where is Olivia?”
“She’s home waiting for you with her family. They have a big reception for you. Big celebration.”
As they walked out of the terminal, Robert kept up the conversation.
“It’s a long trip, eh? You must be very tired.”
“No. Not tired. Happy. Very happy. But you look tired.”
“I worked late last night. Did you have dinner on the plane?”
“They serve chicken. Very good.”
“I think you’ll like the food in America. You like pizza?”
“Never have.”
“Oh, you’ll like it. It’s my favorite food. I eat pizza four times a week.”
“Olivia house far?”
“About an hour from here. There was a lot of traffic from that direction, so they asked me to pick you up. I live in Manhattan and there’s no traffic from there at this time. Easier for me and I can get you home faster.”
“Oh. So nice.”
“Well you look just like your sister―just as beautiful.”
“No. Only flowers are beautiful. But I happy.”
They took a cab to the JFK long-term parking lot, about two miles away on Lefferts Boulevard. When they stepped into the parking lot, there were few people in sight. An elevator took them to the fourth floor. Now there was no one and their footsteps echoed against the cold concrete walls.
“My car is just over here. Almost there.”
Achara smelled the roses.
He opened the back of the van and threw Achara’s knapsack into it. Then he slammed his fist into her stomach, crumpling her. He tossed her into the back and stuck a gun in her face.
“Make any sound and I’ll kill you and your sister. I have her, too.”
hat’s her,” said the female Customs officer when McKenna flashed a photo of the girl.
“We need to see any security cams that would have a view of the arrivals area.”
In the security office, the officer entered the time of the flight’s arrival.
“This is when they just started exiting the door,” said the officer.
“Is there a view of the people in the waiting area?”
“Sure.”
Multiple screens showed a three-sixty view of the passengers exiting the door.
McKenna’s eyes darted between five monitors. The guy had to identify himself to her in some way. Everyone was waving at someone. Hugging, family reunions.
“These views are all synchronized, right?”
“Right.”
Then she appeared. Achara walked out the door and scanned the crowd. On another screen, a man stepped forward and held up a sign with OLIVIA WALLEN on it. He smiled at her and she smiled back. Then she stepped from one screen into the next as though entering another realm. He gave her a bouquet of roses and they embraced. A death embrace. Then they walked out toward the taxi stand.
“Get hold of the dispatcher. I want to know who was taking fares at that moment and where they went.”
Ten minutes later, the answer came back. “Car 876 took two people fitting that description to the long-term parking lot on Lefferts Boulevard. The girl was carrying roses.”
“You have cameras in long-term parking?”
“That’s a private parking lot, but they have surveillance.”
“Is that self-park or valet?”
“Self-park.”
“Why the hell would he go to long-term parking?” asked Marchese. “He must know they have cameras there.”
“He was already here to get Rachel. Doesn’t want to take a chance someone recognizes him or the car out in the open―my guess.”
“I need to see the surveillance video for the last hour,” he told the security guard at the parking lot.
“Which level? There are six.”
Shit. This was going to be much harder.
“All of them.”
To make matters worse, these cameras were analog, not digital, so the tapes had to be wound back, then fast forwarded. There were long stretches where they were just looking at cars sitting there. The detective looked
at his watch. It took over fifty minutes before they got a hit. They were on the fourth floor, Achara carrying a bouquet, holding them to her nose. Brazos yapped away, flashing a smile, pointing to his car. The girl had no clue. He opened the back of the van and put her bag in it, then turned and slammed a fist into her stomach. She crumpled. He caught her before she hit the ground and threw her in the back. A gun appeared and he pointed it into the van, his face now tied into a grimace. He shut the doors and walked around confidently. That confidence was what got McKenna. He’d break him of that confidence.
“Can you zoom in on that plate?” They could see only four of the numbers, but the vehicle make and year would complete it. McKenna called it in and it came back. The van was registered to a Simon Zarazuela. It was reported stolen two months ago.
“Put out an APB for a white Econoline van, plate number ZYP189, and an Amber Alert. Use Olivia’s picture for the alert and make sure the media knows that this is Olivia’s twin sister to make it more newsworthy. I need a chopper out there immediately. He’s got about a two-hour head start. He won’t go for any of the bridges or tunnels. He’ll figure they’ve already been alerted. He’ll stay in Queens, Brooklyn, or the Island.”
“He could have made it to the Queensborough, that’s only a twenty minute ride,” said Marchese.
“He’d have to take the Van Wyck. If he made the bridge in twenty minutes, that’s a new world record. That would put him in Manhattan, not the fastest driving. From there, he could go for the Lincoln Tunnel or the Holland. Outbound, there’s no toll, but I just checked―there’s a thirty-minute delay and this is rush hour. Everyone on the other side has already been alerted. He’s got to know that. I say he stays local.”
Achara tore up the floor of the van and pulled at some tools to fix flats. There was a jack and a tire iron. She couldn’t pull the jack out, so she freed the tire iron and rammed it through the rear light. She screamed through it, but no one heard her through the din of traffic. Achara knew a lot of girls who were kidnapped like this. A girl at the brothel told her what to do if it ever happened to her. She destroyed the other bulb. Now when it got dark, the police might pull him over for no lights. It was broad daylight. What time did it get dark in America?
The Schwarzschild Radius Page 25
