Trapped in the Mayan Tattoo (16 page)

            Tina shook her head and
coughed.

            “Sorry,” she said.

            The doctor stood back
and looked at her.

“I’ll need for you
to change into a gown, one of these paper ones.”

 He moved toward
her to give her the gown.

“No,” Tina said,
refusing to disrobe.

Tina felt sure the
doctor was staring at her neck. Her shorter hair had gotten brushed to the side
revealing the tattoo. She straightened her hair. Tina could tell by the changed
expression on his face that he saw the leopard, the trapped girl inside, but
she was not prepared for the doctor’s next question.

            “How long have you been
a prostitute?”

Tina started
trembling all over, not just her hands. The cough started up again, a deep
productive cough that felt like the phlegm came up from the bottom of her
lungs.

She would have
talked to Mrs. Hightower who understood and would never use that word with her,
but not this man. She brushed past him, still coughing, and quickly left the
examination room.  She passed her father, still sitting in the lobby, and ran
outside.

Immediately her
father stood up to follow her but was detained by the doctor. Before the door
closed behind her, Tina heard part of their conversation.

“I’m sorry,” Dr.
Feldman said. “Bring her back. We didn’t finish the examination.”

“Let’s do it
another time,” Officer Benson said, and stepped outside.

“Wait!” the doctor
called at the door. In spite of other people in the lobby, he yelled from the
door, “I
think she’s sick, very sick. I suspect hepatitis, but I need to
do a test.”

“I’ll see what I
can do,” Tina’s father said and rushed out in search of his daughter.

“That’s just a
code name that the FBI uses,” the driver said. “Don’t you ladies worry. You’re
in good hands.”

Big Sam opened the
door to get in.

Louise and Abbi
put on their badges. While they fastened their seat belts, Louise leaned over
and said, “The driver’s kinda cute.”

Abbi wondered if
he was also an intern, like Lowell. Maybe they knew each other. “Yeah, but can
he drive?” she asked.

As soon as they
reached the highway, she found out he liked to drive fast.

“Hold on, Cowboy,”
Big Sam said. “Let’s not meet the local PD until we get to the station.”

The briefing room
of the law enforcement complex had one long table where a few key parties sat.
Big Sam indicated chairs in the audience for the girls.  

As soon as people
were gathered, coffee in hand, introductions were made. Big Sam seated himself
at the table.

Big Sam thanked
everyone for coming and thanked the people of the law complex for making their
facility available. Then he began the introductions.

The woman who sat
at the table beside him was introduced as Ann Sobori, an FBI special agent
specializing in Central American affairs. The agent, a pretty woman probably in
her twenties, previously worked closely as an analyst with Mrs. Hightower, she
said, and served as interpreter in negotiations when necessary. Agent Sobori
explained that Mrs. Hightower would not be there, that she was personally
involved in establishing negotiations with Miss Shoe’s abductors.

A U.S. Attorney from
the Attorney General’s office was seated at the table. He gave his name and
explained that he would remain available for legal consultation.

Big Sam did not
introduce himself. Abbi wondered at that. He introduced the girls by the names
on their badges and explained that Abbi would be assisting the operation as a
highly skilled rappeler for any eventual drop.

Then he invited
others who had gathered in the room to tell their names, positions, and why
they were there. The group included officers of the Virginia State Police and
members of local police and sheriff’s departments, an ICE agent, and a CIA
agent. A service coalition was represented by three women of different
organizations and one of the women explained that they would lend assistance
with rehabilitation after the rescue.

Special Agent
Sobori then stood and addressed the group.

“I’m glad you
could all come. Has everyone around the table heard of NM2? It broke off from
NM a few years ago and went in a different direction, dealing largely in drug
and prostitution rings. Big money. They seem to want Agent Shoe for their faction
in Brazil. There’s a market there for clean, professional-looking American women.
Miss Shoe fits that bill to a T and would bring top dollar at a sale to a
private buyer. If they can keep her drugged up, she won’t talk. Besides, the
Portuguese language is not in her profile.”

Hearing her mother
talked about in this way came as a shock to Abbi. She suddenly felt sick, but
she’d rather upchuck right there on the spot than to miss what Special Agent Sobori
was saying.

“We’re getting the
Mexican ambassador involved in this case. He will be here for a meeting this evening.
I want you all present. It’s imperative that we get Miss Shoe out of Mexico
before any transaction takes place. I can’t express how expedient we need to
be. I met with the ambassador at early o’clock this morning.”

A chuckle came
from every part of the room.

“What we were
hoping to do was another surgical procedure, an extraction, similar to what we
did with the young lady we took out of the cantina. Some of you are familiar
with that sting.”

There were nods
around the table.

“Unfortunately, we
have lost the use of that agent. He was seriously wounded at the border when
Miss Shoe was taken captive. He is no longer available.”

“You’re talking
about Mr. Schumann?” Big Sam asked, and cast a discreet glance toward Abbi.

“That is correct,
sir. His condition remains critical.”

At this point,
Abbi could not hold back. Mr. Schumann had to be a code name for her father. She
quickly put her head down, her tears flowing, as she tried hard to keep her
shoulders from shaking. Louise reached over and patted her knee.

“Go on,” Big Sam
said. “How do we proceed then?”

“NM2 is
transnational as you know, sir. Besides having their networks in Brazil, San
Salvador, Colombia and Mexico, they have infiltrated the United States with active
units in California, Texas, and the broader Washington, D.C., area. Yes,
including Maryland and Virginia. They are well-connected and highly
sophisticated.”

People around the
room nodded their understanding.

“In layman’s terms,
they have a bigger budget than the FBI.”

There was nervous
laughter.

“OK. Maybe not
entirely true, but they have plenty of money on hand. We are making plans for a
covert operation. This needs to be held under tight wraps. Operation Shoe Drop
begins today. We think we can fool them into a ransom deal, and our offer, we
believe, will exceed a wealthy Brazilian businessman’s offer.”

“May I remind you
the President doesn’t like ransom deals?” someone asked.

“We’re aware of
that and in constant communication, I assure you. Remember some of his other
involvements.”

“So how much are
you offering?” the same man asked.

“Probably
millions. They won’t see that much, but that’s what we’re talking. I’m getting
a little ahead of myself but Operation Shoe Drop will be a sting operation. It
requires the utmost cooperation and secrecy from everyone around this room as
well as from key people in the Mexican government.”

“Why are they
involved?”

“First we have to
convince NM2 to bring our agent across the border. The logistics of getting her
here won’t be easy. They’re not going to want to give her up. For one thing,
they already know they can make a bundle off her in Brazil. For another thing,
if they return her, they know she’ll talk. We’ll try to keep it civil to keep
her safe. We’ll need our best negotiators to pull this off. Our plan is that the
ransom drop will be right here in the Jefferson National Forest. ASAP.  Today,
tomorrow, the next day, who knows? That means everyone in this room needs to be
on call. Forget about any plans you may have made for the next few days. We
need you here.”

“What do you mean
‘on call’?” a police officer asked.

“Those of you who
work local departments can return to your jobs. But closely monitor Operation
Shoe Drop. For the rest of you, and you FEDS, we have lodging set up at Cave
Spring. Go hang out there if you want but it’s not fancy. I suggest you stay
close and keep a low profile. You can put on your hiking gear or whatever you
guys wear, complete with bullet-proof vests, anytime. I’m providing topographic
maps of the specific area where we’re setting up the drop but, unless you’re
involved in that drop, don’t go there yet. Wait until you’re called. Let’s not
muddy the water.”

She passed the
maps around the table.

“Why here?”

“This is central
for us. They’ve got money. Let them pay the travel cost. Besides, some of the
members of NM2 know this area well. This is what they call the Killing Forest. It’s
their dumping ground.”

There was some
uneasy shuffling around the room.

At this point Big
Sam stood up.

“This may not be a
pretty operation. Some of you may get hurt. Watch each other’s backs out there.
We know we can’t break NM2, but we can put a hole in their operation. They’ll
find out they won’t mess with us again without getting their asses kicked.” Big
Sam pounded his fist on the table.

Glasses of water spilled.

Big Sam continued,
“Be smart. Let’s do this without any of our people getting hurt. At 1800 hours we’re
doing a basic runthrough here at the law complex. I want everyone, you local people
too, to participate in the scenario. You’re all part of the rescue/restore coalition.
You can do some target practicing later.”

Abbi’s tears had
dried by now and she saw the significance, as well as the danger, of her role
in this sting operation. She held Louise’s hand and gave a little squeeze.
Louise squeezed back.

Then Abbi looked
at Big Sam who gave no indication of emotion as he sat down. Funny that Big Sam
never introduced himself but everyone at the table seemed to know him already.

            Miss Sobori stood up
again. “You’re all free to leave now but, before you do, check at the door to
see that I have everyone’s contact information. I cannot stress enough how
important it is that you monitor your systems. When the time comes, I need to
be able to reach you.”

Big Sam stayed at
the law complex, but he sent his driver to take the girls to the hotel. As they
approached, Abbi wondered about the cheap-looking place, long forgotten by the
mainstream of travelors after routes 419 and 221 were constructed, fast new
highways that allowed people to bypass Cave Spring. The hotel had declined over
the years and appeared to be the no-tell hotel variety that rents by the hour,
where you try not to wonder if the sheets have been changed or how many people
might check into the room on a busy day.

When they arrived
at their first-floor room, accessible straight from the parking lot, the driver
put Abbi’s luggage on the rack, saying it should stay off the floor. He hung
her rappelling bag on a hook. Then he checked the room for peepholes and
wire-tapping.

“You’re very
thorough,” Abbi said to him.

“It’s my job,” he
said. “Big Sam’s orders.”

He returned to the
SUV to get Louise’s luggage and started to set it on top of the low dresser but
there wasn’t room. It was obvious that Louise wanted his attention when she
made a dramatic entrance and moved the phone, coffee maker and hotel literature
to the side to make room for her bags. Then Louise posed against the dresser,
hiked up her knee and gave the driver a wide open smile.

The driver, who
was maybe Lowell’s age or a little older, appeared nervous at Louise’s attempt
to be friendly.

“I’ll be nearby if
you need me.” He showed Abbi how to beep him on her federally registered phone.

“That’s good to
know,” Abbi said, and then added, “There’s something a little creepy about this
place. Frankly, I was feeling insecure here.”

“Relax. I’ll keep
you covered,” he said. “My name’s Scott.”

“Thanks, Scott. I
guess we’re Miss Kowalski and Mademoiselle Soufflé.”

“You guess,” he said
with a laugh. “OK.”

“Call me Louise!
Don’t I need your number?”

Abbi shook her
head at Louise. When the driver closed the door, Abbi watched through the
curtain as he went back to the SUV, where he sat in a position to keep a
watchful eye on their room.

“He can keep me
covered, if he wants to,” Louise said. Then she looked around at the shabby
room. “Then it wouldn’t be so creepy in here.”

“I think he’s got
work on his mind,” Abbi said, sensing that the driver had to know this was a
dangerous mission. Still, danger or no danger, the growling in her stomach told
her it was time to put some food in there.

“I’m exhausted,”
Louise said. “But I don’t want to touch anything, not the bed—nothing! This
place, ugh!” Her normal penchant for drama was kicking in again.

“Let’s get out of
these wigs and things and go for a short hike before it rains,” Abbi said.

“Let’s not,”
Louise said.

“You would if the
driver went, too,” Abbi said. “I’m hungry and I need to unwind. I felt like I
could scream during the briefing.”

“I thought so. That
wasn’t easy to listen to,” Louise said, “especially since you couldn’t say,
‘That’s my mom you’re talking about!’ and your dad, too, I’m guessing. I didn’t
know. I’m sorry. I would have told you.”

“Would you?
Really? Today is the first day I really felt that people were telling the
truth. Even Mrs. Hightower had kept things back.”