CHAPTER 14
Elle had been separated from the other women shortly after Clark brought her to the old event warehouse near Candlestick Park. Elle remembered driving by this place many times, taking the back way home after baseball games, before they opened AT&T Park. She never paid it much attention. There would be boat shows here, RV shows, used-car discounts, and once a craft fair that didn’t do well with the sudden gusts of wind from the Bay. Now the pavement was broken with weeds growing in the cracks, and while the city might maintain it, they were rarely here. This particular back road had been shut down for well over a year.
It was a perfect place for criminal bastards like Christopher Lee.
And Clark.
She was still furious with herself for trusting him, but more than that, she was angry with Clark for being a two-faced bastard himself. The kids trusted him, and he used them. Buying and selling people? Kids? It was as horrid as it was cruel. Elle had never wanted to hurt anyone, but right now if she’d had a gun—and knew how to use it—she would shoot Clark. She didn’t want to kill him, she wanted to make him suffer.
What did that make her? Just as bad as they were? Because she had this driving need to hurt Clark?
She closed her eyes and listened to the young women murmuring and sobbing quietly in a walled-off room in the back of the warehouse. No windows, one door, crammed in like cattle. Clark had wanted to put her with them, but some creep named Jonny grabbed her and tied her up in a small office to the side. She couldn’t see anything, either, but she could hear. Their voices, how they planned to move the Chinese girls to Los Angeles, where they would be forced into the sex industry. The other girls, the ones Clark and Lorenzo had brought to Lee, were being taken farther south, to a Central American country where they were already sold to a brothel owner who only wanted blondes.
That she’d overheard all this information meant for certain that they planned to kill her. She had to find a way to escape and get help.
The large, metal door rolled open, making the entire structure rattle. Elle tensed, fighting her ropes, then winced in pain as her already chafed wrists burned.
She heard idling trucks slowly driving in, drowning out all other noise.
The office door opened and a gust of diesel exhaust filled the room. Clark entered with the big thug named Jonny.
“Showtime.” Clark was smiling. “Finally things are going right. Trucks ahead of schedule, we’ll be out of here before your boyfriend knows you’re missing.”
Jonny glared at Clark. “The whole job is fucked. You’ll be lucky to walk away with your head.”
Clark swallowed uneasily, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he didn’t sound scared when he said, “Without me, you’d have nothing, so shut the fuck up.”
Jonny didn’t say anything. If Elle had to choose, she’d rather stick with Clark. Jonny scared the hell out of her.
A cry in the small room next to theirs made Elle jump. “What are you doing to those girls?”
The men ignored her and walked out. The cry hadn’t come from the main holding pen, but from the other side of the wall. Elle didn’t want to think about what these barbarians were doing; she kicked at the ropes around her ankles, but couldn’t get those off, either.
“Dammit, Clark!” Elle shouted.
Nothing. She surveyed her surroundings again and eyed the desk. Maybe she could open the drawer and use the edge to cut through the nylon ropes. It was worth a shot.
The trucks masked the sound of her sliding her chair back two feet until she reached the desk. She ignored the pain and maneuvered her fingers to pull open the heavy metal drawer. She didn’t know if this would work, but she had to try something.
The trucks all shut down, one by one, until her ears rang in the silence. She moved her wrists, which were tied behind her back, back and forth against the metal edge, but didn’t know if she was making any progress. The heavy main door slid closed. The cargo doors of the trucks opened.
The sobs started up again. They were moving the girls. It was now or never.
She pulled at the ropes. Nothing. They didn’t break; they didn’t even loosen.
Tears of anger burning her eyes, Elle kept sawing.
She had to get help. Somehow.
* * *
Jack was angry with Patrick for going into an unknown situation alone and without backup. Tucker wasn’t happy about it either, but he also saw the potential.
“If he can take out their security without alerting them, we can approach and circle the warehouse before they’re aware of it,” Tucker said. “Wait until they reopen the doors. They won’t do that until the girls are in the trucks, and that gives us a modest degree of security that the hostages are at least marginally safe.”
Bullets could penetrate the trucks, but it would take both force and time. If the traffickers turned on the girls, Tucker and his team could take them out before they could do much damage. Minimize losses. But both Tucker and Jack knew that at the first opportunity, the traffickers would target whoever was shooting at them. They wanted to make the trade work, and without the girls, they had nothing.
One of Tucker’s men came over with an iPad. “Here’s the map of the area. There’s a drainage system that goes out to the Bay for runoff, and there’s a sewer lid just behind the building. We can access it here”—he pointed—“and it’ll take three minutes to get to the warehouse if we book it.”
“Good.”
“We have eyes on the building. There’s security cameras at each corner. There’s also a generator next to the sewer access panel.”
Jack said, “If we take out the generator, they’ll know we’re here.”
“We have to time this to the second,” Tucker said. “Grant, take your team into the sewer and let me know when you’re in position. Greene!” He snapped his fingers. Another team leader approached. “I want your men here and here.” He pointed to the two best sniper positions. “On my command take out the generator and keep eyes on the building and surrounding area. Go.”
To Jack, he said, “We don’t know how many are inside, but there’s a minimum of five, more likely eight to ten. There could have been reinforcements in the trucks. I want as many taken alive as possible. If Soldare is smart—and she is—I’m sure she left the city immediately after her meeting with Lee last night. I have everyone who’s free checking leads. But I know where she’s going—and I’ll catch up with her. I will nail her, Kincaid. But first things first.”
He pointed to Jack and Young. “The three of us will go in on foot as soon as we know security is down. How many more minutes?”
Jack looked at the timer he’d started when Patrick told him he was inside. “Four minutes, twenty seconds.”
“We’re cutting it close. Can he do this?”
“Yes,” Jack said. He hoped. Patrick used to be ahead of the curve on security systems, until his coma set him far back. RCK relied on Sean for computer security issues, but Patrick was still one of the smartest guys Jack knew.
“Let’s get in position.”
* * *
As quietly as possibly, Patrick slid off the top of the truck and fell to the ground. It was a much longer drop than he expected, and his shoes echoed in the large chamber. He slid under the truck to assess how many people were inside.
The doors rolled up on the back of the trucks, and suddenly, the cries of women broke through.
From Patrick’s hiding place underneath the big rig on the far side of the warehouse, he could see dozens of bare feet walk behind the trucks. The girls were tied with nylon rope around their right ankles, some so tight he could see bruising and blood. A male voice barked orders in Chinese, and Patrick saw two pairs of black boots flanking the captives.
It appeared that the girls were being loaded into the truck farthest from him, which made it difficult for Patrick to get to that side, where he could see unfinished Sheetrock walls and at least one closed door. Security panels would be near the truck bay door or in an office.
He glanced at his watch. Less than five minutes before Jack expected security to be disabled. Patrick couldn’t let him down—too many people were counting on him.
He looked west—the outer wall. The truck was close to the edge, which might give him a shield. Except he would be too exposed making his way to the makeshift office. There was really only one viable option.
Patrick rolled under all three trucks, stopping under each to check if anyone could see him. Only one driver had exited the truck cab. Other than the two pairs of boots with the girls, he only saw two more hostiles. Finally, he reached the last truck.
Three and a half minutes.
He waited for a man to pass who, based on his loafers, might have been Clark Grayson. That meant Elle was likely on-site.
If she wasn’t already dead.
He pushed the thought from his mind and focused on the job at hand.
When it was clear, he took out his gun and left the protection of the truck. He crawled to the office door and slipped in, hoping the room was empty.
It wasn’t.
A blond girl was lying on the dirty concrete floor, seemingly unconscious, her face pale. Patrick tried to lock the door, but there was no lock. Instead, he went to her side and checked her pulse. She cried out when he touched her.
“Shh,” he whispered. “I’m here to help.”
She moaned, and Patrick knew she was in a bad way. He couldn’t see any visible injuries other than cuts on her hands and bare feet.
“Are you Ashley?”
Her eyes fluttered open, blue and far too bright. Her skin was cool to the touch.
He put his finger to his lips.
There was a computer on the desk hooked up to a small box with red blinking lights on the wall. Patrick opened his phone to text Sean, then realized it would take too long to bring Sean in to help. He had less than two minutes to disable the cameras.
He drew in a deep breath and assessed the system. It was simple. Outside movement would launch a program in the computer that would turn on each camera and trigger an alarm. Four cables. He almost pulled them out, but considered there might be a fail-safe that would set off an alarm.
He typed on the keyboard. A basic program ran the security system, and it was simply a matter of shutting it down. He almost smiled as he exited the system, powered down the computer, then pulled out the cables.
No alarms.
He was about to send Jack a message that it was done when the door opened. Patrick dropped behind the desk and squatted there. Two men were arguing. If anyone came around the desk, he was trapped. He glanced over at where Ashley lay, half conscious. If they went for her, they’d see him.
He had his gun in hand. He could take them both, but the sound of gunfire would bring in the others he’d heard in the main warehouse. He prayed it didn’t come to that.
“What the fuck are we going to do with her?” a voice said. “She won’t survive the trip.”
Ashley moaned and Patrick froze.
“Leave her.” It was Clark Grayson’s voice. “We have two dozen blondes, they’re not going to miss one. Are we ready? We need to roll fast. I’ll take the decoy truck.”
“No,” a third voice said, “you’re going to Los Angeles, Grayson.”
Great, Patrick thought. Now there were three, and time was running out.
“Like hell I am.”
“Your cover’s been blown.”
“I’ll take care of Santana, and no one will know.”
“Her boyfriend knows, and Lee said he’s connected to the feds. They’re not going to let you walk. It’s L.A. or I kill you now, because no way am I allowing you to be arrested. The second truck is almost loaded, then we’re out of here.”
Grayson didn’t argue, and they left the office talking about bypassing checkpoints, the door still open.
Elle was here, somewhere.
Ashley moaned, “Help.”
Patrick crawled over to her. “Shh,” he whispered. “Stay here for—”
He was cut off when the main doors rumbled open. The trucks started their engines, one by one.
Patrick heard a
pop-pop!
outside, then the lights went out. A second later, shouts and more gunfire.
He dragged Ashley behind the desk where he hoped she would be safe, then he flattened his body against the wall and looked out into the truck bays. The trucks blocked his visibility, but one of Lee’s people saw him and fired. The girls were screaming from the backs of the big rigs, but it was clear that the middle rig was empty. The decoy.
Patrick leaned back, waited a beat, then, using the doorjamb as a shield, leaned out and fired three rounds. The guy who’d been aiming at him went down.
Where was Elle? He searched the other two offices. In the last, he found ropes, but no one was there. Had she escaped? Had they packed her up in the trucks?
The door burst open and Jack was there, in full SWAT gear. He motioned for Patrick to follow him.
“There’s an injured girl in the third room,” Patrick said. “Elle’s here somewhere.”
Jack didn’t say anything. He was listening to something in his earpiece, and then opened the cab of one of the trucks and held his gun on the driver. “Turn off the truck,” Jack ordered. “Hands where I can see them.”
The driver complied. Patrick covered Jack while the driver stepped out of the vehicle. Jack searched him and then escorted him outside. Two ICE agents brought out the other two drivers. An FBI SWAT unit took custody of the three.
“Two down inside,” Jack told Tucker.
“Three,” Patrick said. “I don’t see Grayson or Soldare’s right hand, Jonny.”
“Or Lee,” Jack said.
“He wasn’t here,” Patrick said. “Jonny’s giving orders. And they have Elle.” But where?
More cops and FBI showed up, but it was clear Tucker was in charge. He motioned for two three-man teams to take each side of the warehouse. They searched, found no one else, and Tucker ordered Jack to open one of the trucks.
This one had the blondes inside, all young runaways like Ashley. Tucker called in an FBI team to escort them to safety. They opened the middle big rig. Empty.
The last was full of more than a hundred Chinese girls. They were sobbing and hysterical and started pouring out of the truck. Tucker fired a round into the ceiling to catch their attention, then he spoke to them in Chinese. Patrick had no idea what he said, but they calmed down and moved single file out of the big rig. ICE and FBI agents, all in full gear with automatic weapons, flanked them. As the young women reached the open door, they cringed at the sunlight. More cops led them away from the warehouse and out of sight.