Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

“And no one noticed the discrepancies?”

Sloan shook her head. “There’s no reason to review those records as long as all of the merchandise contracted for is eventually received.

Since the containers carrying the girls held no legitimate merchandise, there was no reason to track their contents. And you’d never Þ nd that out unless you followed individual containers from point of origin to Þ nal destination, and coming off those speciÞ c ships. These guys were counting on the fact that no one would. And no one did—until today.”

“It sounds too simple to work.”

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“Exactly,” Sloan said with a hint of respect. “The simpler the scam, the more likely it is to go unnoticed.”

“So—is tonight going to end it?”

Sloan’s eyes darkened and her expression hardened. “One way or the other.”

Michael drew Sloan’s face closer to her breasts, holding her tightly. Everything that needed to be said had already been said. Sloan had made her promise, and Michael trusted her to keep it.

Monday, 9:00 p.m., One Police Plaza

Rebecca leaned with one shoulder against the wall, her arms folded across her chest, taking stock of the others present as she waited for the meeting to begin. Avery Clark stood with his back to the room, his hands loosely clasped at the base of his spine, his legs slightly spread—a position that suggested military training somewhere in his background. He appeared oblivious to the low hum of conversation in the room, but Rebecca had no doubt that he was completely aware of everything that was transpiring. Sloan sat at the small conference table, her laptop open, apparently engrossed in whatever program she was running. Rebecca had no doubt that Sloan, too, knew exactly where everyone was positioned and precisely what was happening. Mitchell occupied another chair at the table and, with her legs stretched out in front of her and her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, appeared genuinely calm. Watts, looking bored, drummed his Þ ngers on the tabletop.

The door opened and Henry walked in, looking neither right nor left but walking directly to the head of the table. He did not sit, but leaned with his broad hands braced on the tabletop. “Lieutenant, bring us up to speed.”

Rebecca straightened. She was aware of Clark turning from the window to face her, but she kept her eyes on her captain as she gave a succinct rundown of the evidence they had gathered, stopping at one point for Sloan to update the group on the results of her computer searches at Port Authority. She ended by saying, “We believe that our undercover operatives will have the location of at least one stash house

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tonight. I’m sure there are others, but we should be able to get more information on that from the suspects we bring in.”

“And if you can’t,” Clark said mildly, “then all you’ll have done is apprehend a few midlevel enforcers while alerting the entire organization to how much we know. Or don’t know.”

“Between the inside men on the docks, the bodyguards, and the girls themselves, we’ll Þ nd someone who wants to deal,” Rebecca said with conÞ dence.

“The longer we wait,” Henry interjected, “the more chance that they’ll move the girls permanently or that someone may get wind of our investigation.” He grimaced. “God knows, this place leaks like a sieve.”

“Working on that, Captain,” Sloan said jauntily.

Henry just grunted.

“Since the moment we inÞ ltrated the Internet pornography ring,”

Rebecca said, “the organization has to have known we might get wind of the bigger picture. We can’t chance waiting until they move this arm of their operation somewhere else. I recommend that we go now.”

“I concur,” Henry said. “I’ll make the calls.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Clark said. “Since we have jurisdiction, we’ll handle that.”

“You might have jurisdiction,” Rebecca countered smoothly, in a surprisingly calm tone, “over some aspects of the investigation, but you won’t have anything at all if we don’t Þ nd the stash house.”

“Meaning?”

Rebecca lifted her shoulder. “Meaning, it’s our show. If you want your team to pick up the dockworkers and the inside men at Port Authority, be my guest.” She turned to Henry. “But it’s my people undercover, and I’m the one who will be leading the takedown team.”

“Seems fair,” Henry said. “Lieutenant, why don’t you and Clark coordinate the details of the joint strikes. We’ll have an assault team standing by in case you think it’s necessary. You’ll lead the assault on the stash house, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” Rebecca said, careful to keep the triumph from her voice. She waited until Henry left to make his calls and secure the necessary warrants before turning her attention fully to Clark. “Just how much of this did you already know when you put Jimmy Hogan undercover?”

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“We didn’t know anything,” Clark replied. “We’ve known for some time that trafÞ cking in girls from Eastern Europe and Mexico was picking up, but we didn’t know their points of entry and, more importantly, their destinations once they were over the border. Now and then we’d get intelligence from girls who’d been arrested or who’d run away from abusive owners, and we’d get some hint of how big this had become. Hogan never had a chance to get close.”

“That you know of.”

Clark nodded. “I suspect he was closer than he realized, and that’s what led them to take him out.”

“If you’d told us,” Sloan said through clenched jaws, “we might have found the connections a lot faster.”

“If I’d known where to point you,” he rejoined, “I would have.

Only a team like yours has the street intelligence to make this kind of case.”

“Yeah,” Watts grunted. “And then when we do, you can take the credit.”

Clark smiled. “I don’t want the credit, Detective. I just want a good source of information.”

“Well, this time,” Rebecca said ß atly, “you’re going to have to get in line.”

Monday, 11:30 p.m., Seventh and Fitzpatrick

“It’s gonna happen tonight, isn’t it,” Sandy said as she watched Mitchell strap the ankle holster just above the bottom of her jeans.

“Probably.”

Sandy drew her legs up onto the sofa, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her chin on her knees. “You think the guy who killed Trudy will be there?”

“The lieutenant does.” Mitchell settled beside Sandy on the couch and draped an arm around her shoulder. “I think so too. He has to be a ground-level part of the operation, because every step we’ve made, he’s been right behind us. This guy knows who we are.”

“Do you think he knows Mitch?”

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Mitchell tightened her hold and kissed Sandy’s cheek. “I don’t know, honey. I don’t think so.”

“You’re gonna be inside that house alone with her, Dell.”

“Sandy, I’m not…”

“I don’t care what you do with her,” Sandy said vehemently, turning to press against Mitchell’s side. She kissed Mitchell’s neck, then her mouth. “Just don’t get your ass shot up.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Mitchell murmured, stroking Sandy’s cheek before kissing her again.

Finally Sandy drew away and took a long shuddering breath. She stood, extending her hand. “Come on, then. Let’s get Mitch ready to roll.”

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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Tuesday, 1:40 a.m., Tenth and Arch

Static Þ lled the interior of the Ford Taurus.

“Jesus, can’t you clean that up?”

Sloan heard the uncharacteristic edge of anxiety in Rebecca’s voice as she made some adjustments to the receiver. “Mitch is probably standing behind some kind of barrier—a concrete column maybe, or a steel door.”

“I thought you could get through anything with that. I’ve got to know what’s happening every second. Christ.” Rebecca looked out the driver’s window at the blacked-out windows of the long, low-slung building. There was very little trafÞ c, and the street was eerily dark. Even the streetlights had been knocked out by gangs using them for target practice. What little illumination there was came from the ß ickering red ß uorescent sign that announced Ziggie’s. The place looked like a black hole, and she had two of her people inside. She ß icked a glance in the rearview mirror and checked on Watts, moderately comforted to see him sitting in a similar nondescript department-issue vehicle on the opposite side of the street.

“Don’t worry, this kind of interference is usually temp—”

“Hello, new boy. You are late.”

“Oh yeah? Have you been missing me?”

Low throaty laughter. “Give me your hand. Mmm, you

feel? What do you think?”

“I think your nipples are hard because you’ve been

imagining my mouth on them.” Mitch’s voice came through the small speakers sounding rough and urgent. “I bet you’re wet too.”

“Maybe. But maybe not for you.”

“Oh no. It’s for me. You’re on Þ re.”

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“You think you know what I want, Mitch?”

“Give me your hand. Now feel that.” A quick gasp, a

deep groan. “Oh yeah, just like that.”

“You’ve been thinking about me too, new boy.” More

laughter, sharp and triumphant. “Yesss. I can feel what you brought me, so big and hard already.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought you wanted. Jesus, go slow.”

“Why? You want to come now, I can tell. Come in my

hand—do it. Come all over that big cock of yours.”

“Not here. Not like this.” The sound of quick, panting breaths. “Irina, don’t jack me off here. Come on, baby. You know how much I need to come inside you.”

“I have a room back there. I want you to fuck me now, new boy.”

“No. No. I want to touch all of you. I wanna take my time.” A rustle of fabric, a low keening sound of pleasure verging on pain. “You’re so wet, baby. I wanna make you come all night long.” Another whimper. “Take me home where I can make love to you, Irina. Please.”

v

In the hallway, Irina arched beneath Mitch’s hands, her head back, her eyes closed, her Þ ngers clamped around his wrist—pushing his Þ ngers deeper between her thighs. Mitch felt her clitoris lengthen and harden, and knowing she was about to come, lifted his Þ ngers and eased the dangerous pressure.

“Please,” she moaned. “Mitch, Mitch…”

“I’ll make you come, baby,” Mitch murmured, his mouth against her neck. “I promise. I’ll make you come until you scream. Just take me home with you.”

Eyes glazed, breasts heaving, she dug her Þ ngernails into his arm.

“Let me come now.”

He moved his Þ ngers from between her legs and cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb gently over her nipple. “Wait, baby. Wait. It will be so much better when I can do you right.”

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Irina’s eyes ß ared with anger and need. She twisted her Þ ngers in his hair and kissed him, her teeth closing on his lip until he groaned.

v

“Come on, come on,” Rebecca muttered, staring at the rectangular metal box propped on the console between the front seats. Her Þ sts were closed tightly on her thighs, and she had to Þ ght the urge to jump from the car and storm into the building. “Give us a fucking address.”

“He’s almost got her,” Sloan said quietly, intently. Every few seconds she made minute adjustments to the dials, modulating the sound and damping the background static.

“Bastard!”

“Oh, come on, baby, just think about me inside you,

how good it will be.”

“I don’t know— ”

“They’ll be closing here in twenty minutes. I’ll just follow you home.”

“No.” Firm and sharp. “No, they will be watching for that.”

“Who? Who will be watching?”

“It is not important. You come in an hour.”

“An hour’s a long time to wait when I’m this hard.”

Laughter, light and relaxed. “Then you’ll be sure to come, no?”

“Oh yeah, baby. I’m going to come all right. And so are you.”

v

Five minutes later, Jasmine exited the club and walked at a leisurely pace down the street. No one followed, and after one quick scan of the street, she crossed directly to Watts’s vehicle and got in the passenger side. Ten minutes later, Mitch came out the door and strode directly to the car that he and Jasmine had arrived in.

“He’s got the address,” Sloan said with satisfaction.

Mitch’s voice came through the speaker clearly. “I’m supposed to

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park in an alley behind the 500 block of Levick in North Philly. She’s going to let me in the back door in an hour. She didn’t give me the exact address but said she’d ß ick the light over the door twice when she was ready to open it. She’s careful.”

“Too careful to be taking a stranger into the stash house,” Rebecca said with a frown, frustrated by the lack of two-way communication.

“And that’s what’s worried me the whole time about this setup. Why the hell would she risk it?”

“Mitch isn’t exactly a stranger. He came with the regulars, and that made him part of the scene. And let’s face it. He’s got her hooked so bad, she’s not thinking straight.” Sloan laughed softly. “Jesus, he’s dangerous.”

“Still, I wish I could talk to him.”

“Mitch knows the plan. He’ll be Þ ne, because we’ll be right behind him.”

“Let’s make sure we are.” Rebecca checked her watch. “We’ll wait another twenty minutes to make sure Irina and the girls are gone.

Then we’ll drive ahead and set up a perimeter around that block.”

“Black-and-whites?”

“I don’t see any reason for an assault team at this point. They’ll just—”

Mitch’s voice cut in. “I’m going to drive around for a while, because I don’t want anyone who might be looking to see me hanging out here.” There was a beat of silence. “See you when it’s over.”

Rebecca watched Mitch’s car pull away, then reached for her two-way. “This is Detective Lieutenant Rebecca Frye, requesting backup at the following location.”

Her mind was clear, her focus sharp. It had begun.

Tuesday, 2:46 a.m., North Philadelphia

Mitchell sat in the car in the dark in the narrow alley that ran behind a series of opposing row houses identical to those that lined every block in North Philadelphia like so many Monopoly houses arranged on a board. Every fourth or Þ fth building showed a light burning somewhere, but less than a handful had the single lamp adjacent to the rear door

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lit. Ground-ß oor garages opened onto the alley with narrow second-

ß oor decks jutting out over them. The back door was tucked beneath the overhang adjacent to the garage. She guessed that the door opened into a room or hallway that led to the stairs to the rest of the house.

With luck, the rear entrance wouldn’t be guarded, at least not on the basement level. She could only assume that was the case, since Irina apparently planned to let her into the building that way.