Lost in the Darkness (Crusaders of the Lost Book 1)

by William Mark

  “And they usually have around ten to fifteen ‘Johns’ per night!” Beth added.

  Rachel seethed with anger at the thought of defenseless girls being held captive and raped for an insulting pittance. It awoke a hatred deep inside her soul that had been hidden away for a very long time. She grew angry at the images of those poor women forced to endure sex. She wanted in on whatever plan Curt was in the process of hatching. Images from her own haunting past flashed in her mind as a shiver rolled down her body.

  “Okay, I’ve heard about that happening in Mexico, India, and third world countries, but here?” Louis added.

  “It happens everywhere. We had a case like that in Tallahassee when I was on patrol,” Curt stated. “The girls were basically kidnapped and brought to America on false pretenses, then forced into prostitution to pay a debt.”

  “How does that even happen?” Rachel asked.

  “Get the tracker on-line while we figure out our plan.” Curt directed Louis who nodded and fired up his machine in the back of the van.

  He addressed Rachel, “It’s rather brutal. There is usually some dolled up older woman, drives a fancy car, wears tons of jewelry, and looks like a million bucks. She drives through these small, poor towns in whatever Latin country you can think of and knocks on the door to ask if there are any able bodied females looking for real work in America.” “Okay?”

  “So of course she only visits the poor and ignorant people who’ll believe her without question and are just desperate enough to buy into what she’s selling.”

  “But she has to lie to them or something. I don’t want to believe they’ll just agree to be some prostitute in America just to leave some shit-hole country?”

  “No, she lures them in with offers of a job in an American restaurant, hotel, or somewhere nice where they can get paid American wages and send home money to help the family. The woman sells them on the fantasy by telling them that is how she became so rich, by following this path to America, and now, she is opening up the door for these poor girls.”

  “So with no other viable option to get out of the poverty stricken life, they send the unsuspecting girls with the lady?” Rachel surmised.

  “Right. But then, that’s where it gets messed up,” Beth chimed in. “Once the family agrees to send the girl, who is usually between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, they have to come up with a large amount of money to pay the coyote to get them smuggled into the country. It’s usually more than the family makes in two years, so they are loaned the money and wind up agreeing to work it off once they land in America.”

  “But, that’s not what actually happens,” Melinda figured.

  “Nope! Once they are successfully smuggled in, which is usually in the dark trunk of some smelly car and takes days to do, they are shipped off to wherever the network of traffickers needs them. Sometimes the girls have no idea what city or state they’re in, but they are now trapped and indebted to the traffickers.”

  “And, on top of all that, the traffickers usually rape them first, keep them drugged up for weeks at a time, and then tell them if they think about running away, the tyrannical American police will either kill them, arrest them, or send them back to whatever country they’re from. That’s why they are normally allowed to come and go as they please, because they are more scared of being arrested and sent back to their families with nothing, than fighting against the traffickers. They are totally brainwashed.”

  “That is truly awful.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “The tracker’s on-line Curtis. They are still west of town, heading up north off some road that seems to lead to nowhere,” Louis updated.

  “If I’m right, they’re going to where the girls are being kept. Let’s go.”

  “Hold on, hold on. What’s the plan?” Rachel asked.

  Curt paused for a moment realizing he was being challenged and let the anger toward the new girl dissipate. However, he understood her reasoning. They did need a plan.

  “We go and do some initial surveillance, find out how many girls are being held, how many pimps, guards, fortifications, and then we’ll figure how to deal with it once we know all that.”

  “Okay, so we are just taking a look?”

  “Yes, but I could be off and there could be nothing going on with those guys at all.”

  “Okay, let’s go. I’m driving remember?” Rachel stuck her hand out waiting for Curt’s keys. He hesitated for a second and then fished them out of his pocket and handed them to Rachel.

  Chapter 14

  Curt stood outside of the Crown Vic after they pulled over to the side of a two lane mountain road. He peered through a pair of Nikon binoculars across a deep ravine at a nice two-story chalet settled on a picturesque bluff. There was a long, winding dirt road that led away from the house back up toward the mountain road. It was very dark under the night sky offering concealment from the house across the ravine.

  The house was well lit from the exterior, which offered good intelligence to Curt as he formulated his plan. The group had followed the tracker data to the mountain house and stopped short to let Curt and Rachel conduct reconnaissance and validate his theory, before moving forward. The van stayed parked down the hill about a half-mile away.

  The migrant workers’ F-350 was parked in front of the mansion on a large, circular driveway along with three other cars. The driveway encircled an ornate concrete tiered fountain which sat dry. A black Range Rover was combat parked off to the side near a detached garage. This was looking promising, Curt thought. This was clearly not a house befitting the blue-collar workers, especially if they were innocently looking for a game of cards.

  This house was for people who had money, based on the feel, its size, location, and spectacular view of the mountainous valley; he could tell it was not for the common working man. If he was right about this house being used for human trafficking, they were well connected and had deep pockets. Two things, Curt figured, that made the traffickers that much more dangerous.

  “See anything helpful yet?” Rachel asked, fighting off a chill from the incoming autumn winds.

  “Not yet.”

  Curt had been watching for nearly an hour and didn’t really see anything confirming his suspicions. The alcohol in his system had evaporated and left his head throbbing. That and the lack of activity to prove his hunch was making him irritable. He needed something to happen.

  Just as his patience was about to be lost, the group of Mexican immigrants exited out of the chalet’s massive front door. They were jovial, drunk on spirits, and lustfully satisfied from the sex slaves within who had fulfilled their needs. They lingered in front of the house, talking loudly in Spanish and slapping each other on the backs and shoulders in joking camaraderie. Their voices carried over the ravine and up to where Rachel and Curt were positioned. The men’s carefree attitude only made her angrier at the possible horrors that went on inside the house.

  A well-dressed man with jet black hair and tanned skinned followed the group out. He stood on the top steps of the chalet’s porch and conversed in Spanish with them for a moment. They listened intently, and when he was done talking they quickly piled into the F-350 and left the house, traveling back down the dirt road.

  “Is the tracker still working, Louis?” He eyed the truck as it made its way down the long, winding road back toward the main road.

  “Yes, Curtis, it’s got them leaving the house now.”

  “Okay, let me know where they stop for the night.”

  “Will do.”

  The well-dressed man returned inside, but only for a moment as he exited from a side door that was out of Curt’s view, and he climbed into the Range Rover. He looked around, taking in the scenic view like he’d never seen it before. He lit a cigarette, and after the first drag he took out a cell phone and began talking.

  “He’s got a cell phone. Louis, can we do anything with that?”

  “Uhh, I can try…but without knowing the number, it will be ve
ry tough.”

  “Okay.”

  Curt kept watching. The man moved with confidence and purpose around the house, much like a general as he inspected the barracks.

  Over the next twenty minutes, two more men, who accounted for two of the other three cars, exited and left the house. The well-dressed man saw each one out, hugged the last guy like they were close friends, and walked back inside the house. Hosting was clearly one of his duties.

  After the last car left the house, the well-dressed man stalked the front yard area, smoking another cigarette. He was on and off his cell phone, talking to someone. As Curt watched carefully from the concealment across the ravine, movement from the front door caught his attention. A demure female, dressed in a silky robe and high heels, stepped to the threshold of the door. She peered outside and spoke out to the man. He quickly barked something back at the girl which Curt couldn’t make out, but he figured out he was yelling at her and shooed her back in the house.

  “Did you see that?” Rachel asked excitedly.

  “Yeah,” Curt said, keeping his watch through the binoculars.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think he could be a controlling asshole yelling at his young girlfriend after hosting a party for friends….”

  “What?”

  “We don’t know enough yet. There is a lot here that suggests human trafficking, but we don’t have the smoking gun yet. Let’s just wait a bit longer.”

  “Fine. She’s an awfully young girlfriend if you ask me.” Rachel walked back to the car in search of a jacket or sweater to combat the cold mountain air.

  Thirty more minutes of waiting, and it was nearing midnight. The group was getting tired and wanted to call it a night. Curt was steadily watching the face of the beautiful chalet through the binoculars, fighting off his own exhaustion. He could feel that he was right, but he needed more. He offered to stay while the team went back, but just as they were packing up, Curt’s patience paid off.

  “I got something.” A slight degree of excitement in his voice woke up the team. Rachel perked up from her near slumber in the front seat of the Crown Vic. She jumped out of the car and walked up to Curt.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Look.” Curt passed the binos over to Rachel.

  Rachel looked through the binoculars and saw a large panel van pulling up the circular driveway to the chalet’s front door. The well-dressed host was standing out front, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and waving the van in. Once the van stopped, he yelled out to someone inside the house.

  “I don’t understand; it’s just a van,” she said, pulling away from the binos.

  “Just keep watching.”

  As Rachel looked back, the oversized front door of the chalet pulled open and a large Hispanic man dressed in a button-up dress shirt and slacks stepped out and looked around. He stepped onto the porch with his partner and waved someone on from inside the house.

  Rachel’s eyes bulged in astonishment at what she saw next. It inspired a mixture of excitement and disgust.

  A train of five girls, all dark-headed with Latin features and tan skin, walked slowly out of the chalet toward the van. They were all dressed provocatively in various outfits to incite the fantasies of the men who visited. One was a school girl, the other a nurse, the girl in the robe from earlier was dressed in black, lacy lingerie and high heels. None of the girls looked mature enough to consent to sex, and all had a defeated look of enslavement. The girls walked slowly, huddled up against the cold night air, and climbed into the van like a matter of habit.

  “Give me those back for a second.” Curt took back the field glasses from a shocked Rachel Goodwin.

  Curt took a step closer to the edge of the ravine and stared purposefully through the binoculars. He was focusing on the larger man loading the girls into the van. After the girls were all loaded, he returned to the porch and locked up the house. Curt studied his waistband. The man didn’t hide it well. A nickel plated semi-automatic handgun, possibly a 9 millimeter, was stuffed in the back waistline of his pants. He was the muscle, Curt figured.

  As the house was secured, the two traffickers gave the van driver instructions and watched the van drive away. As the van made its way up the dusty road back to the mountain highway, the traffickers got in the Range Rover and followed.

  “C’mon, we need to follow them,” Curt ordered Rachel, pulling her from the ravine ledge back to the Crown Vic.

  “Mel, start making your way up the hill toward the house. We need to follow them out. We’ll take the Range Rover, you guys take the van.”

  “Okay, be there in a sec.”

  Melinda jumped into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes Sprinter and put the van in gear. She pulled out on the street and pushed the accelerator to the floor as the van fought against the gravity of the uphill climb. The engine roared in protest as it labored up the mountainside.

  Rachel made her way to the driver’s seat, but Curt moved her over and took the wheel without debate. Rachel knew it wasn’t worth the time to argue and stayed quiet. Plus, it had been almost three hours since they left the hotel.

  They sat in the blacked out car waiting for the headlights of the panel van to make the length of the windy road back to the highway. The Range Rover caught up to the van just at the intersection of the highway.

  “Okay Mel, they’re at the highway. Standby for direction.”

  “Copy,” she replied.

  Curt sat up in his seat ready to crank it back to life and begin the chase. Rachel felt her heart pounding in excitement.

  The panel van lurched out onto the dark mountain highway, going west away from town, but before Curt could say anything, the Range Rover made a left heading toward town.

  Curt was about to crank up the engine but held off as he noticed the Range Rover was slowing down as it neared their position.

  “Shit, get down.” Curt lunged over Rachel who crouched down into the floorboard of the passenger seat. Curt wrenched his head around and saw the headlights of the Range Rover slowly approach the driver’s side of the Crown Vic. He noticed they were slowing down as if they were stopping.

  “Fuck…get out! Get out now!” he ordered.

  “What? Out?” Her head was down, and she didn’t understand what was going on.

  Curt reached over Rachel’s huddled body and yanked against the passenger door handle; they only had a second to react. The door opened just wide enough to squeeze their bodies through, and Curt, without preparation, shoved Rachel out of the small opening and followed her. He landed on top of her awkwardly just outside of the car. Thankfully, Curt kept the interior lights disengaged during surveillance, a habit he developed through common sense from operations as a cop.

  Rachel lay still with Curt’s weight uncomfortably on top of her as she realized the cause for panic. The traffickers had pulled up next to the Crown Vic. She was trying to remain perfectly still and calm her breathing. Curt pushed the passenger door shut just as the Range Rover came to a stop next to the car.

  Curt slowly moved off of Rachel and toward the back quarter panel of the vehicle, staying low. The tall grass of the ravine’s edge moved slightly as they moved around. Curt had his handgun out and ready. Rachel’s excitement had turned into frightful panic as she realized the severe danger she was now facing. She questioned the commitment she made with Alexis, as this wasn’t in the fine print. She focused on the matter at hand and remained perfectly still, lying as low as she could, praying the tall grass was enough concealment.

  The Range Rover stopped just on the other side of the Crown Vic. If one of the men got out to look around the car, a confrontation was guaranteed and would turn deadly. Curt looked around for an avenue of escape, but there were only a few feet of tall reeds and grass followed by an eighty-foot drop into the ravine. Looking through the grass into the ravine was like looking into an endless abyss. Taking this route posed its own dangers, not to mention the traffickers could hear their
escape and still give chase. He gripped his Glock tight…ready.

  The two men spoke from inside the Range Rover. They spoke too fast for Curt to translate properly but he heard the word for lamp or light. He looked over at Rachel. She was lying as low as she could against the ground, frozen with fear. He felt sorry for putting her in harm’s way, but she had to learn this was part of the job. However, he realized that an armed confrontation with the traffickers would mean any chance of getting to those enslaved girls would be gone.

  A beam of light broke through the passenger side window and the vehicle’s interior. Curt slunk down as he stayed in a very low crouch up against the back quarter panel. They were searching the interior of the car with a flashlight. He was glad they had not remained inside.

  After the beam of light searched the inside of the Crown Vic, the Range Rover pulled forward sending a sense of relief through Curt and Rachel. But, before they could relax, the hiss of slowing brakes and the unmistakable sound of a car door opening broke the silent night air. Curt stared at Rachel, telling her with his eyes, to remain calm and not to move. She fought every urge to run away as flashes of being trapped in that small dark room as an abducted child came over her, but she stayed still. She had no other choice but to trust Curt.

  Footsteps against the gravel shoulder of the road resonated loudly over the mountain like death stalking a fresh soul. One of the traffickers walked and now stood at the front of the car. Curt, still in his crouch, aimed the Glock just over Rachel’s head toward the hood of the car, should the trafficker make the fatal mistake of looking a few inches to his left. After the footsteps, there was a long pause. Curt watched anxiously and waited for the man to simply pop out.

  “Es Frio!” The man said. It’s cold.

  Curt quickly understood what he was doing. It was something he did as a young patrol officer when responding to alarm activations or possible crimes in progress. The man felt the hood, checking its warmth, trying to gauge how long it had sat there. Someone doing surveillance in the cold night air would have left the engine running for warmth, a cold hood meant that it was probably abandoned or simply out of gas, and, therefore, not a threat.