Frank reached into his pocket. For a second I thought he was going to pull out a wire, but instead he produced a pack of cigarettes. He grabbed two and stuck them between his lips, and then flipped the lid of his lighter. A two-inch flame shot out and he waved his head side to side. He removed one from his between his lips and handed it to Pablo.
"Gracias," Pablo said.
Frank said nothing. He continued around the table, behind me, and then sat directly across from Pablo.
The room felt heavy. It was quiet except for the sound of Pablo's labored breathing.
Finally, Frank spoke. "What should we expect, Pablo?"
Pablo shrugged. He took a long pull on his cigarette and held the smoke in for what seemed to be two seconds too long. He exhaled a stream of blue smoke into the air then said, "I'm thinking it's gonna be a white Christmas, man."
Frank's face turned bright red. He leaned forward. His fists were clenched tight. It looked like he used every last ounce of self-restraint to keep himself from flying across the table and smashing Pablo's head against the wall, again.
"We're done screwing around," I said. "Doc will inject you with something that will hurt worse than any pain you have ever felt. And as a side effect, you won't be able to resist answering us."
The half-smile on Pablo's face flattened. He turned his head in my direction, but kept his eyes on Frank.
"My partner wanted to give that to you right from the beginning," I said. "But from what I can see, you've been pretty straight forward with us. I'm willing to give you another chance. If you keep screwing around, we'll have no choice but to inject you."
Pablo shifted his eyes to me, then Frank, and then back to me. "You guys are gonna get me killed."
"Not if we get the guys you work for," Frank said. "The guys in that house."
Pablo chuckled. "You think it stops there?"
"I think it begins there," Frank said. "And we'll kill half of them, keep half of them alive. Bring them here. Question them. We'll get to where we need to go, eventually. Here's what I want to know. Are you going to be there with us? Or do you plan to work against us, leaving us with no choice but to dispose of you? You saw how we've been able to detain you without so much as a warrant. I've checked your background, Pablo. You're clean as a whistle. Totally legal. Not so much as a parking ticket. If we can do this, then surely you must realize we can dispose of you in such a way that no one will ever find your body."
I found myself impressed with how composed Frank handled himself. Two minutes earlier he was ready to kill the man, and here he was rationalizing with him.
"Just say you're ready to talk and we'll get down to business," Frank said.
Pablo nodded. "What happens to me if I do talk and give you what you want?"
"Then we keep you around a bit longer in case we need you again," Frank said.
"And then what? What happens when it's all over?"
"I'm sure we can work something out," I said.
That was the best I could offer. The truth was neither Frank nor I could guarantee him anything. Once we completed the operation, our superiors would decide what to do with the prisoners. Some would be killed. Others turned over to local or federal law enforcement. Some might even be let go. It wasn't up to us, and frankly, I didn't care what happened to them.
"OK," Pablo said. "What do you want to know?"
"Start with the house. Describe the interior."
"When you walk in the front door, the staircase is right in front of you. Dining room to the right, living room to the left. The dining room opens to the kitchen. The kitchen connects to the garage on the right and a family room on the left. A short hall leads from the family room to the front door and living room. Next to the door to the garage is the door to the basement."
"What about upstairs?" I said.
"Five bedrooms, plus a room over the garage."
"Who stays upstairs?"
"They do."
"What's in the basement?"
Pablo's eyes shifted and his head lowered and his voice dropped to a whisper. "The kids."
Frank's face darkened a shade. His jaw muscles rippled.
I continued with the questioning. "How many kids?"
"Uh, I haven't been there in a week."
"How many were there last time you were there?"
"A dozen."
"Twelve kids?"
"Yeah."
Frank turned to me. "We saw three go in yesterday. So we're talking fifteen."
I nodded. "Maybe more. Who knows how many they brought in since he was last there?"
"No," Pablo said. "There won't be many more than a dozen. That's about as much as the basement can handle. If you saw them bringing in more kids, that means they moved some. I was supposed to bring one, too. Based on what you say you saw, they shipped at least four out."
Frank looked like he was ready to explode. He placed his hands on the table and inched forward, subtly.
"Frank, leave," I said.
He looked at me, eyes narrowed and mouth partly open. "What?"
"Leave for a few minutes. Get a drink and then come back."
He got up, slowly, and made his way to the door. I waited for him to exit the room and then continued.
"Where do they take them?" I asked.
Pablo shrugged. "Dunno."
"I'm only going to ask one more time. Where-"
"I'm telling you, I don't know. I don't stay at the house. I'm not that far up the ladder, man. All I know is when I bring a new kid in, ones that had been there are gone."
I decided to change it up a bit. "Who were you targeting at the bus stop?"
"It's not like that. It's random. We're not looking for ransom or anything. All kids sell." Pablo stopped and grinned. "Well, some sell better than others."
I felt my blood start to boil. I took a deep breath and composed myself before continuing. "So you've never been asked to pick up a specific kid?"
"Nah." Pablo looked up, his face twisted. "Well, that's not true. A few weeks ago they gave me a picture and told me to get the kid."
"What did he, or she, look like?"
"He. Blond hair. Maybe ten years old, not sure."
"Where did you pick him up?"
Pablo leaned back and crossed his arms. Brought one hand up to his chin and rubbed his forefinger and thumb against his beard.
"Where, Pablo?"
"I followed him and his mom for a few miles. They pulled into a gas station. It was late, dark. I smacked the lady. She dropped to the ground. I took the kid. But, I can't remember exactly where. I was, uh, not sober."
Frank opened the door and stepped in. He didn't sit down. Instead, he leaned against the back wall, never taking his eyes off of Pablo. I decided to get the questioning back on track. We could revisit the abduction after the raid.
"OK, Pablo, back to the house," I said. "How many guys are there?"
"Five or six at all times."
"Up to?"
"I dunno, maybe eight. Never seen more than ten. If you go after eight you'll only have five or six. And one will be sleeping. There is always someone on duty watching the cameras, so someone is always sleeping in preparation of their shift."
"What kind of weaponry?" I asked.
"I think everyone is armed in there. I know I'm always armed with at least a pistol on me. They have some assault rifles, too."
"How many?"
Pablo shrugged and said nothing.
I glanced over at Frank. He met my gaze and nodded.
"See you for a sec, Jack."
I got up and we stepped out of the room. I looked around the lobby. All the offices were full with agents waiting to meet and discuss the raid.
"Full house," I said.
"Yeah." Frank nodded as he looked left, then right. "So what's your feeling? Is he telling the truth?"
I shrugged. "Guess so. He could be lying, but we know the house is there. We know there's going to be people inside. I'm thinking we should have a sniper set up across the street and watch the house all night. Get another guy up there in the morning. That way we'll have some kind of count on how many guys when we head in."
"Think it's really only five or six?" Frank said.
I leaned in and spoke low. "You worried?"
"A bit."
"You and I can handle five or six guys and barely break a sweat doing so. We got this."
Frank nodded. "OK. Take him downstairs and get him into a cell. No point in keeping him in the room."
"OK."
"We'll be down in the conference room. Meet us there."
I locked the solid steel door to Pablo's cell and made my way to conference room, which was located on the same floor. The underground levels of our building were twice the size of the first floor. Half of this floor was holding cells. The other half was split between the conference room and a few more offices. There were two more floors below. One was all offices, and the other had a workout room and our warehouse, which housed all our weaponry. An elevator on the bottom floor could take us down another hundred feet or so to an emergency bunker. I doubted we'd ever have to use it. At least, I wouldn't. I'd always been of the opinion that if something happened that destroyed the world, I wanted to go down with it. Call me spoiled, but the idea of trying to survive on cans of franks and beans held little appeal for me.
I took my time walking down the narrow hallway that led to the conference room. The
whirr
of the overhead fan was missing. The still air smelled like corn chips. I made a mental note to mention to Frank that we'd need someone to look at the system. And that we'd have to get the cleaners out soon. The situation warranted quick action, but I wanted to make sure all my thoughts were solidified before giving the group an overview, and the time between Pablo's cell and the conference room was all I had.
I stopped outside the open doorway of the conference room and leaned back against the wall. The soft murmur of chatter drifted past me like leaves on a windy day. Insignificant, individually. However, when taken as a whole, it was as if death brushed up against you, and circled you like a shark in the water. That's the vibe that voices in that room had. Everyone in there knew the stakes, no doubt about that. We always faced the very real possibility that one of us wouldn't return home. Not alive, that is. And it didn't matter. Not a single man in the building could say that they didn't know the risks when they signed up for the job.
"The man of the hour," Frank said as I stepped into the room. The group gave me a mock cheer as I took my seat. Frank looked at me and said, "We're ready to go."
A large diagram of the house had been drawn on the white board. Next to it, a street map of the neighborhood had been pinned to the wall. I got up and went to the head of the room and pointed at the house. "We're looking at a minimum of five guys, possibly up to ten, with one asleep." I circled the upstairs. "Bedrooms are here. First two through the door are going to hit the stairs and head up. Next two are going to the right," I paused and pointed at the dining room, "and the two after that to the left. You'll meet up with the team coming in through the back, which should be in place before we enter the house. We'll have snipers in place as well, two across the street and at least one in the back. They'll be able to cover us against any outside interference."
Harris raised his hand and said, "Is two enough for upstairs?"
"No, it's not," I said. "Me and Frank will go in last and hit the stairs, unless things are out of control downstairs."
"What about the feebs?"
"Good question. As of right now, the FBI is not involved."
"Right now, huh? OK. Locals?"
"No. You know how it is, Harris. Both are a possibility. We'll make tactical adjustments on site if necessary."
"And what's the objective? Custody? Kill on sight?"
I glanced at the drawing and pointed to the space between the garage and the kitchen. "The men are secondary. I'd say kill on sight except for the leader of the group, but we don't know who that is. We risk losing information by taking them out. Shoot to neutralize if you have to. If you feel threatened, then kill them."
I surveyed the faces in the room and saw everyone nodding, some in agreement and others just to be doing something. Frank shot me a look that said
let's get this thing moving
.
"The true objective of this operation is in the basement," I said.
"What's in the basement?" Carmichael asked.
At that moment my mouth felt like twenty cotton balls had been stuffed in it. I forced my tongue down in an effort to wet my mouth, and then licked my lips. A thin layer of sweat formed on my brow and neck. Why? I'd been preparing myself since we drove away from that awful prison of a house earlier that afternoon. Why all of a sudden was I panicking over it? Because I knew that telling the group would make it real.
I scanned the room. All eyes were on me. Anticipation hung thick in the air, like black smoke racing ahead of an out of control fire. They were expecting an answer like guns or drugs or a dozen illegal aliens. Christ, over half the men in the room had kids, and not a damn one of them was prepared for what I was about to say.
"Jack?" Frank said. "You want me to take this?"
"No, I got it." I walked to the table and placed both hands on it, palms down. Sweat created a thin, cool barrier between the laminate top and my skin. I leaned over and looked at each man in the room, one by one. "A dozen kids, give or take. Each one taken randomly, save one, to be sold and shipped overseas."
A collective groan filled the room. Faces turned red. Some men instinctively reached for their holstered weapons. Others clenched their fists or slapped the table. I began to wonder if we'd take any prisoners out of the house alive.
"Holy shit," McKenzie said.
"Yeah." I had to control the room before thoughts and tempers got too far out of hand. "So be extra careful when we're clearing the house. I don't know for sure if the kids are allowed out of the basement or not. So watch for little people."
"I'm ready to go now," Carmichael said.
I raised both hands and held them in front of my chest. "We go tomorrow. Get your rest tonight."