Джеймс Паттерсон - Lost

Hanna considered the offer. It would certainly be easier if someone else arranged for vans and hotel rooms. They were also running short on cash, and with that thought, she made her decision.

Hanna reached across the table and shook Billy’s hand. “I will be calling you sometime in the next three days.”

Billy gave her a charming smile and said, “I look forward to it.”

Chapter 66

I SAT IN a conference room at the task-force offices with Marie Meijer and Steph Hall. Both of them looked fresh, while I looked like I hadn’t slept much. Because I hadn’t.

Marie’s informant in Amsterdam had said to expect the ship to dock somewhere in the Southeast sometime tomorrow, but that was all the information available. Marie said, “It comes from a well-placed informant, but they say they’re getting only bits and pieces. They pass the information on to me as soon as they get it.”

Steph shook her head and said, “That rules out undertaking any kind of rescue on the high seas, which was a long shot in the first place. But we’ve got to free those people as quickly as possible. There’s no telling what sort of conditions they’re being held in.”

That’s why I liked working with Steph Hall—she understood what was important. All the arrest stats in the world didn’t help someone who died while being trafficked.

Lorena Perez said, “I’ve been looking at some financial info we’ve gotten on Rostoff. Most of it appears legit. He donates a shitload of money to a Miami Beach councilman and charities associated with Miami Beach. He’s getting a humanitarian award there next week.”

I said, “Great. Everyone thinks he’s a prince while in reality, he ruins lives.”

Lorena said, “His main muscle, Billy the Blade, lives in Fort Lauderdale. He doesn’t owe anything on his condo or his Corvette.”

Lorena was matter-of-fact when she passed on information. She wasn’t an accountant, but she knew how to figure out relationships by following the money. She was good on surveillance too. No one suspected that a beautiful woman with big hair and perfect makeup was actually a cop.

I stood up. “I hate to say it, but it’s time I have a discussion with the boss about what we’re going to do.”

Steph said, “Good luck.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“Oh, hell no. It’s depressing to go in there. He sucks the life out of me. If I ever get that skittish, I hope someone shoots me.”

“You’ll be lucky if someone doesn’t shoot you for other reasons long before that.”

She tried to hide it, but she laughed. That gave me the courage I needed to march into the supervisor’s office. Still, I felt like I was walking the green mile.

To me, the supervisor’s office seemed antiseptic and fake. He had certificates and newspaper articles framed and hanging on the wall. Everything had a place. There was no mess on the desk. In police work, I considered that the mark of someone who was not doing enough. I don’t care how OCD you are, if you’re busy in law enforcement, shit gets messy. Both figuratively and literally.

I stood in the doorway until the supervisor looked up from the computer screen. I always got the impression he was a little annoyed when he had to speak to someone personally instead of reading a report.

He said from his desk, “Can I help you?”

It was hardly a warm invitation, but this had to get done. I stepped into the office and sat down in the chair directly across from his desk. I quickly explained the developing situation and finished up by saying, “All we have to do is identify the right ship, then make a tactical entry. Possibly get a search warrant to go through the containers as rapidly as possible. We don’t want to risk the lives of the people being trafficked.”

I sat in awkward and uncomfortable silence while my supervisor considered everything I’d said. After almost a minute he said, “So that’s all we need to do. Just identify the right ship out of the hundreds that enter our Florida ports every day, go to a magistrate with this pile of info coming from God knows where, then risk the lives of FBI personnel as well as civilian port workers by assaulting the ship. If that’s all we have to do, then I’m thrilled with your plan.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds almost impossible.”

“How should I say it? I’m the one responsible for everyone’s safety on this task force. And everyone’s actions.”

“Are you saying we should do nothing?” I kept my voice under control. Just barely.

He shrugged. “For now, keep gathering more intel. The information coming from Holland is sketchy at best. You’re talking about using multiple agents on surveillance for several days. Plus, I’m still clearing up some of your mess from that wild-goose chase down at Port Everglades. I’ve had more than a few calls from bigwigs at Customs who say you insulted their agents and agency. Is that true?”

“Insulted or enlightened. It’s a matter of interpretation.”

The supervisor said, “The Customs agents at Port Everglades would disagree with that.”

“Sure they would. No one wants to admit that it was a Miami cop who discovered a whole container of illegal tropical birds. And that the smuggler ran halfway across port property before anyone from Customs even bothered to waddle out to a car and see what was going on.”

The supervisor said, “So you see my point. Do more background and let’s see how things shake out before we commit too many resources to this human-trafficking case. We already have the one arrest of the Dutch guy at the airport.”

The lawyer in me was ready to debate the purpose of law enforcement in general and this task force in particular. Instead, I took a shortcut.

I said, “That’s fine. No problem. I’ll just call the Miami Police. Their SWAT team has a lot more experience than the FBI’s anyway. They’ll swoop in there and grab those people. That way we won’t risk any resources from the task force.” I had to fight to keep the smug smile off my face.

After considering this for ten seconds longer than I’d thought he would, he said, “Don’t call the Miami police. I can justify this as part of the task-force activity. I was just worried because intercepting a ship can be tactically difficult. I don’t want to risk lives unnecessarily.”

“I don’t know anyone who does. I’m sure we can handle it within the task force. Some surveillance, and we’ll get a DHS agent on the case with us. Most important, we’ll make sure to get some stats for the task force.”

I could tell by his smile that stats were his real goal.

Chapter 67

WE DECIDED TO focus on the port of Miami. It was a risk, one that was tearing at my insides. I couldn’t sleep. I barely ate. If we were wrong, there was no telling what would happen to the people on the ship.

Marie brought up an excellent point. “Hanna must have contacts in Miami, no? We know she had a contact here when she tried to smuggle the children through the airport. I have a stomach feeling she’ll do it again.”

“Gut feeling,” I said.

“Isn’t the gut the same as the stomach?”

I let it go.

As a Miami cop, I’d done a ton of surveillance at the port. Once, while waiting for a ship that was supposed to have a load of hash from Turkey, I witnessed a snatch-and-run. A young white guy grabbed a woman’s purse and sprinted out of the port toward the American Airlines Arena. I was the only one around, and the ship I was waiting on hadn’t docked yet, so I chased him.

Come to think of it, maybe I do chase after suspects more than your average cop. Probably an instinct carried over from my U M days on the field. He was fast at first, then lost some steam. I almost cornered him near Sixth Street, but he jumped over a fence and had a clean getaway in front of him. Then he stopped on the far side of the fence and turned back to me.