He navigated the maze of basement hallways, occasionally passing through other security doors, until he reached the prep room.
As expected, Slater was there alone, his men upstairs cleaning the dishes and helping with the morning activities. A small, trustworthy crew was the key to the gathering’s success.
“Is everything ready?” the host asked.
Slater opened one of the equipment lockers and pulled out several items. “Will be.”
“Problems?”
“Think they hit the new one we brought over last night a little hard with the gas. He’ll have to be the alternate.” As alternate, the man would be used only if one of the other two trophies didn’t perform as needed. And if he wasn’t needed, he’d have a place in the rotation the next day.
“But the other two are good?”
“See for yourself.” He nodded at a door across the room that led to the prep room.
The host walked over and entered the room. Though it was smaller than the one he’d been in, it was more than large enough for the six mobile holding cells present. Male trophies occupied three of the Plexiglas enclosures. Two were awake and standing at one end of their cells.
Though the nearest guy had been cleaned up and given a haircut, there was no removing the homeless aura he exuded. The host had seen enough like him since the beginning of the project to recognize his type: the furtive eyes, the over-aged skin, the facial ticks, the swaying, the look of resignation. He was white, which saddened the host. It pained him to see how low some people sank when they should have had it all. But a person who was a drain on society was a boon to the project.
The man stared at the host for a moment, looked away, and turned back, rocking side to side the whole time.
The other conscious man did not share the homeless guy’s sense of futility. He pounded the box, yelling, but the host could hear only the dull thuds the man’s fists made.
This one was of the much more common brown skin. Latino, definitely. The host figured him for Mexican, but the host had been wrong on that front before. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. The man was just another illegal, now fattening the host’s pockets. At the base of the Mexican’s neck, like with the homeless trophy, was the familiar red mark signifying Slater had tagged him with a tracking bug.
The third man, as Slater had mentioned, lay on the floor of his cell, dead asleep. Another Latino. And young, too. Maybe twenty or twenty-one. He was a real find. He’d make an excellent participant, and would provide the kind of experience attendees enjoyed the most.
Satisfied, the host exited the room.
“What about tomorrow’s stock?” he asked his cousin.
“I’ll be heading over to the barn after I’m done here to make the final choices,” Slater said.
The old barn was behind the host’s house near Bradbury, and was where they held inventory until it was needed.
“I was thinking that tomorrow might be a good day to send in the woman,” Slater said. “Maybe the midnight trials?”
The host considered it for a moment. “I love that idea.”
Chapter Nineteen
Rosario grabbed the mobile off the nightstand without looking, and pulled it under the covers with her. She checked the screen and hit ACCEPT after she saw who it was.
“This had better be good.”
“Were you asleep?” Shinji asked. “It sounded like you were asleep. I can call back…but…”
She groaned. “I am awake. What is it?”
“I ID’d some of the guys Ricky saw at that delivery. I, um, sent you an email with the details.”
“You called me to tell me you sent me an email?”
“No, no, no. That’s not why. I, um…well, uh…see, I got to thinking about the delivery, and it reminded me of the link you sent from the Bradbury Evening Independent.”
“What link?” she asked, still half asleep.
“The one about the accident.” He paused. “The truck.” Another pause. “On the highway?”
“Oh. Right.”
“Two trucks, in odd circumstances, and on the same day? I thought it might be a good idea to see if there’s a connection.”
She pulled the covers off her head and sat up. “That’s not bad, Shinji. Is there a connection?”
“The first thing I did was see if I could get some kind of ID numbers off the trucks, see if maybe they were owned by the same people, or came from the same place. It took a bit, but I got them. Only…”
“Only what?”
“Well, when I saw the numbers, it reminded me of something else. I double-checked, and it turned out my hunch was right.”
“Shinji, you are giving me a headache. Just tell me.”
“Patterson’s notebook. The long string of characters. Those are truck IDs. In fact, the IDs for both the burned-out rig and the one Ricky saw are on the list.”
She jumped out of bed and hurried over to her computer. “Send me the ID numbers.”
“Already did.”
She opened her email program.
“Any other surprises for me?”
“No. Sorry, that’s it.”
“Do not say sorry, Shinji. This is excellent. You have my permission to call me anytime you have something like this.”
“Really? Well, uh, okay.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
She hung up and began verifying what he’d told her.
Ananke’s alarm went off only a few minutes after Rosario’s phone had rung.
She killed it and lay still for a moment, wishing she could fall back to sleep. But she’d told the others they’d reassemble at Casa de Artisa at 8:30, and it wouldn’t look good if she showed up late. Plus, she needed to talk to the Administrator before she left.
She climbed out of bed and grabbed her phone.
“There have been some developments,” she told him after he answered.
“Tell me.”
“We don’t have a complete picture of what’s going on yet, but it’s coming into focus. We’re pretty sure the something strange going on you were worried about involves the involuntary transportation of people.”
Silence, then, “Explain.”
She told him about the very long day she and the team had experienced, ending with their adventure at Scolareon.
“If I’m understanding correctly, the human trafficking assertion is still speculation,” he said.
“Technically, I guess. But it’s hard to ignore.”
“What would Scolareon’s purpose be in undertaking this kind of thing?”
“That’s one of those things we still need to work out.”
“Then I repeat—speculation.”
“Not for long.”
“All right, tell me your plan.”
Everyone had arrived at Casa de Artisa by the appointed time. Dylan had been kind enough to have coffee ready, and Ricky, unprompted, had picked up croissants, donuts, and a big bowl of chopped mixed fruit.
“Anybody come up with any ideas why Scolareon might be into shipping people?” Ananke asked.
“Could be smuggling in cheap labor,” Ricky suggested.
“We didn’t see anyone who looked forced to work there when we walked through,” Dylan said.
“Do you really think they’d expose you to them?”
“Maybe not, but I can’t believe they could hide something like that from their regular employees. And there’d be no keeping it quiet then, would there?”
Dylan was right. The biggest enemy to a conspiracy was the number of people who knew the truth. The larger the group, the more likely someone would spill the beans.
“They could have a different facility,” Liesel suggested. “Off…away?”
“Off-site?” Ananke asked.
“Yes, off-site.”
“It’s possible,” Ananke said. “Anyone else?”
“Whatever the reason, they have been doing it a while, and at a pretty steady pace,” Rosario said.
Ananke looked a
t her. Rosario had been surprisingly quiet on the drive over, as if lost in thought. “What do you mean?”
“Shinji cracked the code Patterson used in her notebook. The character strings are truck identification numbers. One in the list belongs to the truck Ricky saw. Another belonged to the truck that burned on the highway.”
“The one we passed?” Liesel asked.
“Yes.”
Ananke stared at her. “How long have you been sitting on this?”
“He called me not long before we drove over here.”
“And you couldn’t have mentioned something then?”
“If I did, I would have had to repeat myself.”
“What about the other numbers on the list?” Dylan asked.
“I do not know for sure, but it seems likely the dates are delivery dates. And the number could be how many people in a specific delivery.”
“We should have Shinji track down the other trucks on the list,” Ananke said.
“He’s already doing so.”
“Damn,” Ricky said. “Good job, Shinji.”
Rosario nodded. “There is one more thing.”
Ananke said, “The floor is still yours.”
“The white pickup Ricky saw is owned by a man named Dalton Slater.”
“You’re like Santa Claus,” Ricky said. “Please tell us you have an address, too.”
“Of course I do.”
Ananke looked at Rosario. “Is that it?”
“For the moment.”
“Well, then, I guess in the spirit of Shinji and Rosario, today’s the day we find answers.”
Ricky grinned. “I like the sound of that. Are we going after the Scolareon guy?”
Ananke shook her head. When they went after Scudder, she wanted to be armed with as much information as possible. “I have someone else in mind first.”
“Wake up.”
It wasn’t so much the voice that pulled Harris from her dream as the squeezing of her foot.
She blinked, her mind still processing what was happening. The moment she realized a hand was tugging her, she yanked her foot away and shoved her hand under the spare pillow.
“Sorry, it’s not there.”
Shawn Ramey stood at the foot of her bed, dangling the pistol Harris always kept nearby. The woman had not come alone. Caroline Cruz stood close to the bed also, as did the two others Harris had seen in the Mustang the night before. The only person she didn’t recognize was a man standing by the empty side of her bed.
Every single one of them was armed.
“Sorry for waking you early,” Ramey said. “I know how it is. Night shift. Already a pain in the ass to sleep during the day. The problem is, we don’t have time to waste waiting for you to get in your eight hours.”
“Give me back my gun and get out of my house!”
“Good. Get that out of your system.”
Harris’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“You’re angry. You wake up and find a bunch of strangers in your bedroom. That would irritate the best of us. So let it out. You’ll feel better.”
“This is breaking and entering! Of a police officer’s home, in case you forgot! You are in deep shit.”
Laughing, Ramey said, “Oh, my God. You are a pro at this. Keep going if you need to.”
Harris threw back her covers and started to get out of bed, but the man she didn’t recognize grabbed her shoulder and firmly pushed her back down.
“Better if you stay where you are,” Ramey said.
Harris tensed. “Can I at least sit up?”
“That’s a reasonable request. Make yourself comfortable.”
Harris propped herself against the headboard. “Am I allowed to ask what the hell you’re doing in my house?”
“Morgan—may I still call you Morgan?” Harris just glared at Ramey. “We’re going to ask you a few questions. How you answer them will determine how we treat you.”
“Screw you!”
“That would be an example of a wrong response. I’ll give you a pass this time.” Ramey smiled. “I know your instinct will be to lie and cover yourself, but trust me, that never works. Not with us. Here’s the first question. Where’s Natasha Patterson?”
When Ananke asked the question, she thought things would go one of two ways: Ramey would get defensive and claim to know nothing, or she would withdraw into herself for a second, surprised by the question, and then try to give an answer that put her participation in her girlfriend’s disappearance in the best light.
What happened instead was, Harris shot toward Ananke like a missile, her hands extended to latch on to Ananke’s face.
Ananke started pivoting to redirect Harris to the floor, but the cop never reached her. Ricky and Dylan dove at her from both sides. Ricky caught her in the hip, while Dylan wrapped his arms around her ankles, sending her plummeting back to the mattress. Her head hit the bedframe with a whack.
“I think we have a wild one, boss,” Ricky said. “Back on the bed, lady.” He started pulling Harris toward him.
“Ricky, wait,” Ananke said. She crouched next to Harris’s head. The woman’s eyes were shut and her face had gone slack. Ananke lifted an eyelid. “Well, that’s just great. You knocked her out.”
“Would you have preferred we let her tackle you?” Dylan said.
Ananke almost said yes, because she would have subdued the cop without Harris losing consciousness, but Ricky’s and Dylan’s instincts had been good and she couldn’t fault them for protecting her.
“Help me turn her over,” she said.
After they got Harris onto her back, Ananke examined the woman’s head. The cop would have a nice welt right above her ear, but the cut wasn’t bad enough to need stitches.
“Dylan, wet towel,” Ananke said. “Rosario, see if there’s any Neosporin or antiseptic and a Band-Aid. Ricky, chair and rope. And Liesel, help me with her.”
They got Harris cleaned and bandaged, then tied her to a dining room chair Ricky brought in. In addition to the other items she’d been sent to collect, Rosario found a bottle of aspirin, so they had that and a glass of water standing by. Liesel grabbed a kitchen towel and filled it with ice, which she now held gently over Harris’s wound.
After a few minutes, Ananke began to wonder if the injury was worse than she’d thought, but finally the woman began to moan, a hushed hum deep in her throat. As it grew louder, her head slowly tilted from side to side. Her brow creased with the first signs of pain.
When her eyes opened, Harris looked confused again, but then she saw Ananke. She tried to jerk away but the ropes held firm.
“Let me go!” she screamed, rocking the chair. “Get this off me!”
“Relax,” Ananke said calmly. “The rope is for your protection, not ours. I’m worried my friends won’t be quite as gentle if you tried something stupid again.”
Harris yelled in frustration and strained against her bindings. She rocked again, this time tipping the chair far enough that she started to fall. Liesel caught and righted her.
Harris huffed and puffed and glared at Ananke.
“We get it,” Ananke said. “No one likes to be unprepared for guests. They always catch you when you haven’t had a chance to clean the house.” Harris didn’t laugh. “Like I said before, the more cooperative you are, the quicker and easier this will go.”
“Go to hell.”
Ricky leaned in from behind and whispered in the cop’s ear. “We’re going to get our answers one way or another. If you want this to be difficult, we can do difficult.”
Keeping her face neutral, Ananke resisted the urge to slap Ricky on the side of his head. His comment had not been part of the script. She was the one who was supposed to do the talking. No one else.
His words seemed to have some effect, though, as Harris got her breathing under control and quit fighting her restraints. The glare remained.
“Shall we start again?” Ananke asked.
Zero change in Harris’s expression.
/> “Where’s Natasha Patterson?”
Harris’s breathing deepened and sped up again, her nostrils flaring, but her mouth stayed shut.
“It’s a simple question.”
Harris’s eyes narrowed.
“Where’s Na—”
“Like you don’t already know,” Harris said through clenched teeth.
“If we did, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
“Bullshit! You’re the ones who took her!” She rattled her chair again.
“Why would you think we have her?”
“You don’t want to play games? Great. Let’s not play games. I know you’re not who you say you are. You don’t work for a company thinking about coming up here. And I’m sure your friends don’t do whatever it is they’ve been telling everyone they do, either. I checked on you. And though I don’t have enough to prove it yet, I know there’s no such person as Shawn Ramey. Not the Shawn Ramey you are, anyway.”
“You’ve checked on me, have you? Have you shared that information with the people you’re working for?”
“I sure did. And when the chief realizes something’s happened to me, he’ll call in the FBI. Meaning you’re screwed. The only thing you can do is untie me, tell me where Tasha is, and then get as far away from here as possible before they start looking for you.”
“I’m not talking about the police,” Ananke said. “We both know I’m talking about the people you really work for.”
Though the fury remained on Harris’s face, a touch of bewilderment passed through her eyes. “People I really work for? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
All four of the others snuck looks at Ananke. They had clearly heard the same thing she had in Harris’s voice. The truth.
“I’m talking about the people who took Tasha,” Ananke pressed. “The people you helped.”
“Why in God’s name would I help someone take Tasha? I—” She took a deep breath. “You’re just trying to trick me.”
“Into what? Saying you and Tasha were having a relationship? We know that already.”
An instant of shock, followed by a look of guarded denial.
“It was a ruse, though, wasn’t it?” Ananke said. “You were ordered to get close to her, weren’t you? She had no idea you were scamming her.”
Town at the Edge of Darkness (The Excoms Book 2) Page 18
