W.E.B Griffin - The Traffickers

“Omar!” the male inside the kitchen yelled. “What the hell’d you just do?”

As Jim punched Omar in the face, Omar’s pistol went off. The round went into the ceiling.

Matt had his pistol aimed at the pair, but could not see well enough in the dark to get a good aim.

Then he heard Jim mutter, “You sonofabitch.”

The pistol went off again. This time, the round found Omar, who suddenly stopped fighing. He moaned and clutched at his chest.

Then Payne suddenly heard and saw the swinging door get kicked open-and he saw and felt it hit him, pushing him back against the wall.

He instinctively kicked the door back.

And there he saw the other Hispanic male. He was bringing up the muzzle of a bullpup-style weapon, about to get an aim on Jim Byrth.

Matt Payne followed Jim Byrth’s lead-and jumped at the man, wrapping his left arm over the man’s left shoulder and grabbing the forearm of the weapon. As he pulled it upward, the gun went off, the muzzle spraying a stream of lead up a wall and across the ceiling.

Payne began pummeling the man’s head with his pistol, and threw him to the ground. And then he felt another pair of hands on the man’s body-Jim Byrth was stripping him of the bullpup weapon.

Payne hit him in the head again. And the man went limp.

Payne cuffed him and left him on the floor.

Matt and Jim stood. Jim had the P90 submachine gun slung on his right shoulder.

“Nice work, Marshal.”

“You okay?”

“Yup. No more holes in me than I came with.”

“Let’s clear the kitchen and the rest. Then you can get this asshole trussed up.”

They found the kitchen clear but for one person who looked to be a woman. There was a pillowcase over her head, and she was taped to a chair. They immediately deemed her not a threat.

Payne went to the back door and looked out the window. He just barely saw Tony Harris to the side of the door, waiting for someone to flee.

“It’s me, Tony!” he called. “Matt Payne!”

Matt thought he heard the woman whimper.

He unlocked the door and opened it.

“C’mon in, and clear the rest of the house with Jim!”

Tony Harris entered and said, “Jesus, Matt! What’s with all the gunfire?”

“Just another day at the OK Corral, Tony.”

Through the open swinging door, Harris saw a stream of blood on the floor. He moved for a better look, then saw the dead body of the Hispanic male on the floor of the next room.

He raised his eyebrows. Then he raised his pistol and followed Byrth out of the kitchen.

Matt Payne glanced at the kitchen table and saw a plastic storage box containing a score or more of used cell phones. On the table itself was a battered fancy phone with a big glass touch-screen.

He slipped his.45 in the small of his back and turned to the woman bound to the chair.

“It’s going to be okay,” Payne said softly. “I’m a Philadelphia policeman.”

As he pulled out his folding pocketknife, he thought he heard her start sobbing heavily.

“I’m going to cut open the top of this pillowcase, okay?”

Her head bobbed enthusiastically, the pillowcase moving in a rapid manner.

“Okay, now don’t move your head.”

Taking great care, he grasped the pillowcase’s seam at the top of her head, pulling it up and away from her head so that if she suddenly did move again, his knife blade would be a safe distance away.

Very carefully, he slipped the tip of the serrated blade into the fabric. He sawed slightly, and the blade slit the fabric all along the seam.

Well, she’s a blond, was the first thing that he thought.

Then he tugged the case down so it fell to her shoulders.

“Jesus Christ!”

Payne had to force himself to go slowly while unbinding Amanda Law, first removing the strip of gray duct tape from her beautiful face-the strip literally went from ear to ear-then removing the tape from her wrists and ankles.

What made it harder was that he was shaking.

Are my emotions taking over?

Not good.

It’d be better if it’s just the adrenaline kicking into overdrive…

He started by kissing her on the forehead and saying, “This might hurt…”

Then, as gently as possible, he began pulling the tape from her left cheek and, a moment later, her right cheek.

“Oh, Matt!” Amanda cried out.

Excitedly, she tried to sit up higher so that she could kiss him, but, still bound to the chair, she collapsed back into it.

“Slow down, baby!” Matt said, smiling, then leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

He looked her in the eyes. They were all puffy and wet from the crying.

“Are you okay?” he said in a soft tone. But there was anger in it, too. “Did they… do anything to you?”

Her eyes were big and expressive. She shook her head vigorously.

“Thank God,” he said, then kissed her again. “Now, let me get the rest of this tape off.”

She nodded gently.

He put the knife blade on the tape securing her left wrist.

“You heard the girl screaming on your voice mail?” Amanda asked.

Matt paused and looked at her.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, slightly confused.

“They left a terrifying message on your voice mail. They were holding me for ransom. But it wasn’t me. On the message, I mean.”

Matt nodded as he tried to digest that.

A voice-mail message?

I wouldn’t have gotten it because my battery is dead.

He glanced at the box on the table, then went back to cutting the duct tape. He was really worried he might accidentally cut her in his haste. He had to saw slowly through the tape. They had made at least four wraps of each wrist and ankle, and it took more slow sawing than he could believe.

Paco Esteban came into the kitchen.

“Sergeant Byrth-he said tell you ‘house clear,’ ” Esteban said.

“Thank you.”

Payne reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Paco, would you look in that box of phones and see if you can find a battery that works with this phone? Or maybe a charger, if there’s one in there.”

“S?.”

Jim Byrth walked into the kitchen.

“Okay, I’ve got El Gato secured in there,” he said, and grinned. “Taped to the chair just like he likes.”

He handed Payne’s handcuffs back to him.

Then he said, “The guys in Dallas described that stash house they raided. This place is set up just like it. It’s a damn prison. Actually, our Texas prisons are nicer.”

Byrth then tossed a nice tan leather wallet on the kitchen table. And two State of Texas driver’s licenses.

“El Gato is one Juan Paulo Delgado, aka Edgar Cisneros. I called it in to the office. He’s got a few priors, but nothing serious like this. Born at Parkland in Dallas at taxpayer expense-both parents undocumented Mexican nationals, later given amnesty in that law President Reagan signed-and educated in Dallas at taxpayer expense. Too bad he learned all the wrong lessons.”

Payne raised his eyebrows at that.

So he is a U.S. citizen, and preying on illegals, ones like his parents. Unbe lieveable.

But an animal’s an animal, no matter the circumstances.

“Here, Sergeant Payne,” Paco Esteban said, holding out Payne’s cell phone.

Payne took it and saw that Esteban had already pressed the 0/1 button. The phone was coming to life.

It vibrated three, then four times. Its small screen announced that he had five missed calls, including two voice-mail messages and two text messages from Amanda Law.

Payne hit the speakerphone key. He played the first voice mail; it had been blank.

The second voice mail was El Gato’s threat, with the screaming boy and girl recording and the threat to kill Amanda.