Текст книги "The Forgotten"

Автор книги: David Baldacci

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

CHAPTER

53

ANOTHER EIGHTY HAD BEEN DELIVERED tonight.

Just like clockwork.

Four boats’ worth.

They looked just like the last shipment.

Destroyed.

Mecho watched from a different spot tonight. He did not like patterns. Patterns could get you killed. He had no reason to believe that anyone suspected he was here. But he had no reason to think they didn’t either. He imagined these men lived their lives full of suspicion.

Just as he did.

After the bomb went off at Lampert’s house they would have to proceed with caution. Calling off tonight’s shipment might have been tempting for them, but apparently the allure of a mountain of dollars was too much. And the boat was probably already on its way when the Bentley had been blown up.

So the show went on.

These folks wore the color-coded clothing of the previous group. As he observed them Mecho concluded that tonight was heavy on drug mules and prostitutes, by far the most profitable. The simple laborers, the ones who silently mowed grass in nice southern suburbs or mutely hefted cartons in warehouses in the Midwest, brought the least amount of money.

But the profit margins were still excellent, just not off the scale like those associated with the drugs-and-hookers revenue streams.

The fourth RIB turned and headed back out to the mother ship.

Mecho turned his attention to the truck in which the eighty people had been placed. The rear door came down and was bolted shut. The back of the truck would be soundproofed, of course. No screams would be heard, though Mecho imagined the prisoners were probably too terrified to utter a sound.

He hustled to his scooter and climbed aboard. When the truck started off with its two-SUV motorcade, Mecho fell in behind it, keeping about eight hundred yards back. He did not worry about losing the vehicles. He had placed a tracking device on the underbelly of the truck while the first shipment of passengers was arriving on the beach. The guards had made the mistake of moving away from the vehicles to draw nearer to the beach, never thinking that leaving their rear flank exposed would be a problem.

Yet it was a problem, a big one. But one man’s problem was another man’s opportunity.

They traveled east for four miles, their route gradually leading away from the Gulf as they did so.

The destination was not surprising: a warehouse in the middle of a decrepit industrial park. This was far away from the tourist traps and nowhere near the pristine white beaches or the emerald green waters.

This had the look and stench of the real world. A world where people toiled away for crap wages doing shit work and wondering when their ship was going to come in.

Mecho understood that very well. He had wondered that very same thing. Only far away from here. A universe away from here, in fact.

Where is my damn ship?

Well, maybe it was a RIB with human cattle on it.

After the truck drove through the open overhead door of the warehouse the door rattled down behind it. One SUV had driven in with the truck. The other had stayed outside. Mecho had a good idea what was happening inside the warehouse.

It was like U.S. Customs’ processing in a way, and in a way the farthest thing from it. The folks in the truck were being led off, dressed in different clothes, and given certain documentation, a bit to eat, a few ounces of water to drink. They were being told things. Things that would further demoralize their spirits.

Such as, “You will do exactly as we say.”

And if you don’t, not only will you die, but your entire family, back in the little village or town or city where we took you from, will die too. No exceptions. Ever.

The instructions would be given. They would be able to sleep for a bit. They would be segregated according to their ultimate function. The future prostitutes would be given the best accommodations and rations. Their looks and overall health mattered, at least for now; later, they wouldn’t. And then they would be discarded, most drugged beyond rehab, and they’d shuffle away and die alone.

The drug mules would be given things too, things that would allow their innards to receive more bags of drugs than they would have thought possible. Ten percent of them would suffer ruptures of these bags while they were still inside them. All ten percent would die from it. Heroin or coke pouring into one’s bloodstream in such profound doses is not something the body was built to endure, because nowhere in the evolutionary chain did humans have to adapt to such treatment.

That was good for humanity, bad for the ten percent.

The ten percent was known, in the industry, as a reasonable and acceptable cost of business. Indeed, like credit card companies that jack up interest rates to cover losses from hackers and deadbeats, the slavers upped their chattel rates to cover these losses.

Businesses always passed the costs along, whether they were selling hammers or humans.

Again, there was nothing Mecho could do to help the eighty people in the warehouse tonight. That was not why he was here.

He sat on his scooter just outside the gate of the fence that surrounded this industrial park and waited.

He took a photo out of his pocket. While it was dark and he had killed his scooter light before approaching the warehouse area, Mecho could see, in his mind’s eye, the image of the young woman in the picture he held.

She looked a lot like Mecho. There was a reason for that.

Family was family.

Her name was Rada. In his language her name meant “joyfulness.”

And she had once possessed it in abundance.

But no longer. That he knew without knowing it for certain.

Sometimes Mecho wished that Rada were dead.

Being alive and doing what she was doing must be worse than being dead.

He had no idea where in the world she was.

He had come here to get an idea.

But that was not all.

There were other pictures in his jacket pocket. All women. All young.

These women were not related to him.

But that did not matter. There was another connection, a strong one. That was enough for him.

He had no idea where in the world any of them were.

And it was a big world.

He needed help.

Tonight would begin his attempts to find such help.

An hour went by and the overhead door opened. The SUV zipped out and the door closed once more.

The second SUV stayed where it was while the first SUV approached the gates. They automatically opened and the SUV sped through them.

Mecho knew there were four men in the SUV.

As he started up his scooter to follow them it didn’t matter to him which one of the four would provide the assistance.

He would work through them all until he got it. To him, they were no longer human. Just like they treated the people in the truck.

They were there for him to use, in any way he chose, to achieve his goals.

In a way he was a businessman too.

Only his incentive, his profit, was not measured in money.

It was measured in justice.

It was calculated in revenge.

And in Mecho’s case, those two things were exactly the same.

CHAPTER

54

THE HOTEL WAS FAR nicer than the Sierra. And it was right on the water.

The SUV was parked in the hotel’s garage. The four men had ridden the elevator to the lobby and then gone on to their rooms. They each had their own, a perk of this job. Money obviously was no limitation.

The man who had ridden shotgun in the SUV reached his room on the fifteenth floor and opened the door with his key card. He slipped off his jacket, revealing his holstered Glock nine. He made a beeline for the minibar and mixed a gin and tonic, then went to the window and gazed out over the Gulf. He took a long breath and slipped a cigarette from his pocket and lit up.

It was a nonsmoking room but he apparently didn’t care.

Thirty minutes later there was a knock at the door. Not his hotel room door, but the one connecting the room next to his. One of the other men was staying in that room.

He walked over to it. “Donny?”

“Yep.”

“What’s up?”

“Call from the boss, we got to roll,” replied Donny.

“Shit.”

“Got something for you,” said Donny.

He opened the door.

The blow hit him so hard it lifted him off his feet and he flew backward and landed on the soft bed, his nose broken and his consciousness gone.

Donny stood there with a gun barrel held against his right temple. Mecho was behind him.

“Please, man, don’t kill me,” moaned Donny.

Mecho shoved him into the room and closed the door behind him. A ferocious blow to Donny’s head dropped him to the floor.

When he awoke later he was tied to the bed along with his colleague, who was now awake as well. The two men looked at each other.

Mecho stood over them looking down. He duct-taped their mouths, pulled their pants and underwear down, and held the knife pointed at their privates.

When he cut him there, Donny screamed, but it was a nearly soundless one with the duct tape across his mouth.

The next instant Mecho slammed the knife straight into his chest so hard that the point came out the man’s back and stuck into the mattress.

Donny’s mouth sagged open as he died.

The other man looked in panic at his dead colleague.

Mecho took off the other man’s duct tape.

The man braced for the strike of the knife, but Mecho just looked at him.

The man glanced at dead Donny. “Why did you kill him? He’d tell you anything you wanted to know.”

“I killed him,” said Mecho, “because I could.”

“What do you want to know?” the other man said, his voice panicky.

Mecho sat on the bed next to him. “What is your name?” he asked quietly.

“Joe.”

“Where are you from, Joe?”

“New Jersey.”

“What is this New Jersey?”

“It’s a state. Of the United States.”

“Do you have a family?”

Joe hesitated, but Mecho pointed his blade at his chest and Joe said, “Wife and two little girls.”

“In New Jersey?”

Joe nodded, his eyes filling with tears.

“And you want to see them again?”

“Yes,” Joe gasped. “More than anything.”

“And the people from the boats?”

Joe’s chest heaved more and he sobbed. “It’s just a job.”

“They have family too.”

“I just do it for the money, I swear to sweet Jesus. It’s the only reason. I got nothing against those people.”

“They have people they love and who love them.”

“Just a damn job. That’s all,” moaned Joe.

Mecho took out the photo of Rada and held it in front of Joe. “Do you recognize this person? Her name is Rada.”

Joe’s eyes were so filled with tears that he could barely see.

“I… I don’t know.”

Mecho gripped him around the neck and jerked him upward as he thrust the picture closer. “Do you know her?”

“I… I’m not sure. Maybe.”

“Her name is Rada.”

“I don’t know any of their names. We don’t get names.”

“She is a beautiful woman. About a month ago she came through here. Were you here then?”

Joe started to nod, sensing perhaps that if he had valuable intelligence it would keep him alive. “Wait a minute, yeah, I think I do remember her. Right, a month ago. Yeah, Rada.”

“Rada,” repeated Mecho. “One month ago.”

“You want to find her, right? Maybe I can help.”

“One month ago,” said Mecho again. “Rada. She is beautiful.”

“Absolutely,” said Joe. “A real looker. I can help you. If you untie me—”

Mecho slammed the blade into Joe’s chest and drove it in up to the hilt. Joe gave a shudder and joined Donny in the land of the dead.

Mecho stared down at him. “Rada has been gone for one year.” He fingered the photo. “And this is not a picture of Rada.”

He looked at dead Donny.

“And your friend already told me all I needed to know back in his room.”

He pulled his knife free and some pent-up arterial blood squirted from the wound. With the heart no longer beating and zero blood pressure, there would not be any more significant blood loss.

Mecho said, “So you can see that I have no further need of your assistance. I perhaps forgot to mention that. Forgive me, Joe. I’m sure your family in this New Jersey place will mourn you.”

He stood, wiped the blade off on the sheets, and stared down at the two men.

For the money. Just for the money.

They did not know the names. They never knew the names.

But I know their names.

I know them all.

CHAPTER

55

PULLER SAT IN HIS ROOM at the Gull Coast staring at the wall. Sadie was curled up at the end of his bed. The dog had drunk so much water that she had peed in the Tahoe. Puller had cleaned that up and then walked her before coming up to his room.

It was four a.m. and he had not yet been to sleep.

There were many items swirling through his mind.

At four-thirty he closed his eyes and willed himself to rest for three hours.

When he woke at half past seven he felt like he’d slept for a full eight hours.

He showered and dressed, walked Sadie, and then fed her with food he had taken from Cookie’s. He walked the dog again to let her do her business and then went out to eat breakfast, leaving Sadie back in the thankfully air-conditioned room. He knew he would have to make other arrangements for the dog, but that was not at the top of his priority list right now.

He walked two blocks to the waterfront and found a small diner with a fifties retro interior and ordered the biggest breakfast it offered. In deference to the heat outside—the temperature was already in the eighties—he had water with ice in lieu of coffee.

Fully fueled, he left the diner and walked down the street.

“Did you get enough to eat?”

He turned and saw her standing by a mailbox.

Julie Carson was not in uniform. She had on jeans, sandals, and a green sleeveless blouse.

She didn’t look like the one-star that she was. She looked like a tourist. A very fit, attractive tourist.

Puller walked over to her.

“I’m more than a little surprised, General,” he said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment since I know it’s very difficult to surprise you, Agent Puller. And you can make it Julie. No uniform today.”

“And you can make it John. When did you get in?”

“Grabbed a free seat on a cargo plane into Eglin. Little perks we generals get. Got in around midnight last night.”

“And you found me how?”

“How many guys that look like you are in Paradise?”

He watched her, awaiting her real answer.

“Okay, I ran your credit card activity. Saw you checked into the Gull Coast.”

“Then you should have had breakfast with me.”

“I overslept. I knew you’d be up early to get chow. That diner seemed to be your sort of place. I was about to walk in when you walked out.”

“And you’re here why?”

“Had a week of leave I never took. Found out J2 could get along without me for a few days. Your description of Paradise sounded so inviting it was an easy decision.”

“It might not meet your expectations.”

“Let a girl decide that for herself, John.”

“I take it you want to be updated on my investigation even though you’re here on R and R?”

“I crave information. So why don’t we go back into the diner and I can eat and you can have a gallon of water to keep hydrated and we can have ourselves a nice conversation?”

And they did exactly that.

Puller saw that Carson had an appetite. She put away eggs, pancakes, bacon, and grits, and while she drank three glasses of water, she also had two cups of coffee.

While she worked through her meal Puller brought her up to speed on all events, including the explosion at the Lampert mansion the night before.

Carson took one last sip of water and set her glass down. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve been reactive, actually. Not an ideal situation.”

“Eight guys. I’m impressed.”

“I only took out six. If the big man hadn’t been there we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“So if I’ve got this right, you’re investigating your aunt’s suspicious death. And her neighbor’s murder. You also have the disappearance of this kid Diego. There are two guys down here following you who are so well connected the Pentagon gets stonewalled. And some rich prick gets his Bentley blown sky-high. And I almost forgot the murders on the beach.”

“The two guys might not have been following me. They could have picked up my tail from when I visited my aunt.”

“Meaning their focus was her not you, which lends credence to the theory that she was murdered.”

“That’s how I see it,” said Puller.

“Which prompts the question of what the hell she was involved in that would get her that kind of attention. You sure she wasn’t some retired spy with a dark past?”

“If she was, she was damn good at keeping her cover. No, I think she found out something down here and that’s what got her killed. I wish she had been more specific in her letter, but she wasn’t.”

“You mentioned mileage on her car.”

“Right. Five miles out and five back. At least that’s my speculation. Jane Ryon said that five miles east seemed the best bet. But I’m not sure about her now, considering what happened to Cookie.”

“Have the police found her?”

“Don’t know. By now they should have, I guess.”

“She might be able to clear some things up if she is involved.”

“Maybe.”

“So what’s the next move?”

“You really sure about this, Julie? I mean, you don’t have to do this.”

“I’ve been covering enlisted men’s backs most of my career. It’s why I’m beloved by the rank and file. Besides, my last few vacations have followed similar patterns and have been pretty boring. And my J2 assignment, while necessary for my career path, is pretty damn uninteresting at times. I need some excitement.”

Puller looked across the table at her. “Well, I think you came to the right place. But keep in mind that at least four people have died so far.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I thought the same thing about me, and I almost bought it. The punks I dealt with are nothing special. I just messed up but got lucky. I can’t count on being lucky again.”

She looked across at him, her amused features turning more serious. “So we treat this just like combat?”

“Just like combat,” he replied.

“So the next move?”

“The most obvious. We find out if the police have picked up Jane Ryon.”

“And if they haven’t?”

“Then we find her, before someone else does.”

“You really think she killed this Cookie person?”

“I have no idea. But if she did, she also might have killed my aunt.”

“And all the other stuff that’s been happening down here, you think it’s all connected?”

Puller thought about this for several long seconds while the sounds of traffic picked up out on the street as Paradise came to life.

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“Meaning exactly that I don’t believe in coincidences.”

CHAPTER

56

WHEN THEY CAME OUT of the diner a police car was zipping past. It screeched to a stop and Cheryl Landry leaned her head out.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she began, before her gaze came to rest on Carson.

Puller noted this and said, “General Julie Carson, Officer Cheryl Landry.”

As Puller’s gaze swiveled between the two women he felt a pang of guilt. He had been out twice with Carson, though the first time was not a real date. However, he sensed the general was interested in something deeper than mere friendship. Landry clearly wanted a relationship with him. Thus having the two women together was deeply discomforting.

Carson nodded and said, “Nice to meet you, Officer Landry.”

“I’ve never met a general before.”

“Well, now you have, and we don’t look any different from anyone else,” said Carson.

“I won’t believe what?” said Puller.

“Two more murders. At the Plaza Hotel two blocks down. Two guys in a bedroom stabbed to death, it appears.”

“Two guys,” said Puller quickly.

Landry nodded. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t know if it’s the same two who you think have been following you.”

“You want us to come?” asked Puller.

Landry glanced at Carson and then at Puller.

Puller, sensing her indecision, said, “Make the offer to Bullock. He can make the call if he wants.”

“Thanks.”

“Did you pick up Jane Ryon?”

But Landry had already hit the gas and the car had sped off.

Puller looked at Carson. “Two more dead.”

“Who knew Paradise could be so damn bloody,” said Carson. “And of course it can’t be a coincidence,” she added, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Don’t think so.”

“So we wait until we get the okay from this Bullock guy? And what about Ryon?”

“We can check her out. But while we’re here I want to find out something else.”

She followed him down the street and away from the beach. The sun seemed to be fighting its way to the top of the sky with astonishing speed. Carson wiped a bead of sweat off her brow and picked up her pace so she was walking next to Puller.

“What’s this place we’re heading to?”

“Diego’s.”

They passed the Sierra and Puller arrived at the building with the blue awning. He marched up to the second story and knocked on the door. No one came.

He knocked again.

And then a third time.

He heard footsteps and relaxed slightly as Carson looked at him expectantly.

The door opened. Puller had thought it would be one of two people. Diego or Isabel. Well, maybe three if one counted little Mateo.

It was none of them.

The woman standing there was in her sixties, short and plump with brown hair streaked heavily with silver. Her face was thickly lined and a prominent mole had grown in the crevice between her cheek and nose. She was dressed in sweatpants, cheap sneakers, and a dark top. She looked curiously from Puller to Carson.

“Sí?”

So this was the abuela, thought Puller, the grandmother.

“Habla inglés, señora?” asked Puller.

“Yes. Poquito.”

“My name is John Puller. I know Diego and Isabel and Mateo. I helped them out the other day. They might have told you.”

“Yes, they tell me.” Then her face collapsed and her shoulders started to shake. Puller put a hand under her arm to keep the woman from slumping to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“Los niños, they no here.”

“Where are they?” asked Puller.

“Donde están los niños?” amended Carson.

“No sé. Desaparecido.”

Puller looked at Carson. “They vanished?”

Carson nodded. “That’s what she said.”

Puller said, “Have you called the police? He llamado a la policía?”

She shook her head. “No policía. Nunca la policía.”

Carson said, “Doesn’t sound as though she likes the police very much.”

“She could be undocumented. And the kids too.”

“Right.”

Puller looked at the sobbing woman and said to Carson, “it could be the guys I beat up. But something feel me it’s not. But Diego did help me track down the two guys.”

“So the two guys made them disappear?”

“I guess that’s the most likely answer. Diego was following them. Maybe they spotted him and Isabel and Mateo were with him.” Puller felt sudden guilt for involving Diego in this.

“Unless the two guys are lying dead at the Plaza.”

“Still could have been them. Diego and his cousins might have escaped from them.”

“After killing the two guys?” Carson said skeptically.

Puller looked at the woman again. “Lo siento. Podemos ayudar de alguna manera?”

The woman shook her head and told Puller that only God could help her now. She shut the door and Puller stood staring off over Carson’s shoulder.

“Should we report it?” she asked.

“We might do more harm than good if the kids are okay. They might end up getting deported.”

“Better than being dead, John.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“We can ask around. Maybe someone has seen them.”

“That’s a good idea. Diego has some friends around here. They might know something.”

It took them twenty minutes to locate two of Diego’s friends. The first had not seen Diego for two days. The second one had seen him yesterday.

“Was he with anyone?” asked Puller.

The boy held out his hand.

Puller put a five-dollar bill in it.

“Yes.”

“Who?” asked Carson.

The boy held out his hand again.

Carson put a dollar bill in it. The boy said nothing.

Puller said, “You tell us something useful there’ll be more. Otherwise, the ATM is shut down for the day.”

The boy looked around and said, “He is with the dueños de la calle.”

“The street kings?” said Puller.

“Yes. The street kings.”

“What is he doing with them?”

The boy held out his hand and Carson put another dollar bill in it.

“I think he is trying to join. If he is, he is stupid. They are a very bad gang.”

“What about Isabel and Mateo?” Puller asked.

The boy withdrew his hand and put the cash in his pocket. He shrugged. “I do not know about them.”

“Where do we find the street kings?” asked Puller.

“You do not want to find the street kings, señor,” said the boy.

“Actually, yes, I do. Where?”

Puller held out a twenty. “Ahora!”

The boy gave them an address and then ran off.

Puller looked at Carson. “You don’t have to go with me.”

“The hell I don’t. This is just getting interesting.”

“You have any weapons?”

“You’re asking a one-star if she has any weapons? Other women might like shoes and nail polish. I grew up on Winchesters and Colts on a farm in Oklahoma. So I brought some goodies with me.”

“Okay. So we might want to gun up for this.”

“Hell, John, I don’t think there’s any ‘might’ about it.”