Карен Кингсбери - A Distant Shore [calibre]

Anger turned Jack’s stomach. Nineteen? “He’s been trafficking his own daughter?”

“No.” Oliver nodded at Pendergast and TJ. “From what we know, she’s never been touched. Her dad’s been saving her for the highest bidder. Pen… why don’t you fill us in?”

Pendergast—Pen to the team at the bureau—thumbed through the pages on his desk. “Like many governments and royalty, for the past decade Anders McMillan always intended to use his daughter to join his kingdom with another. TJ and I have lots of data on this.”

Jack listened intently as TJ explained the situation. McMillan had feelers out, trying to connect with a trafficking ring willing to agree to his terms. But none had jumped. So Pen and TJ had seized the moment and reached out to him on behalf of a major drug and sex ring out of Florida. A ring run by Henry Thomas Ellington III. The man had been a customer at the Palace a handful of times over the past five years, and was on friendly terms with McMillan.

“We faked a series of phone calls pretending to be Ellington the Third or his people.” TJ paused. “The truth is, Ellington’s organization is laying low right now. Rumors are that Ellington the Third is sick. End-stage cirrhosis. Either way, the Ellington family knows they’re being watched, so they’ve temporarily stopped all illegal activity.”

“Here’s where it gets good.” Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Pen?”

“Right.” Pen checked his notes. “We’ve made contact with Ellington the Third’s son. Henry Thomas Ellington the Fourth.”

“Okay.” Jack crossed his arms.

“The son has recently pulled away from his family. Doesn’t want anything to do with his dad’s dark empire.” Pen paused. “We worked with the bureau in Florida and they had already connected with the young man. He’s willing to testify against his family once protections can be set up for him.”

Jack leaned forward. “How does that play into this mission?”

“Henry Thomas the Fourth has given us permission to assume his identity for the raid. Obviously without his ailing father’s knowledge.” He paused. “In other words, Jack, the mission kicks off with you flying to Belize and playing the role of the groom.”

“McMillan will be convinced you’re the real deal. Ellington the Fourth.” TJ glanced at his partner. “Our contact with McMillan has been flawless, acting as Ellington the Third and his team, and arranging a marriage between his daughter and Ellington’s son.”

Pen crossed his arms. “McMillan has called for an in-person… trial, of sorts. He wants to meet Ellington the Fourth, show him the girl. Give him a few nights with her.” He hesitated. “The girl is beautiful. McMillan wants half a million dollars up front if the marriage is agreed upon. And of course, a new joint operation between the trafficking rings, one that would make both families richer and more powerful.”

The situation felt dicey, acting out the role of a groom in a power play that involved two crime families, lots of money, and no doubt even more danger. Jack took the pictures and studied them. The first showed a tanned girl with long pale blond hair. She was sitting on a rocky outcropping at the base of a cliff, her feet in the sand. The next was a close-up of the girl’s face.

No wonder her father thought he could sell Eliza Ann into a forced marriage. She was easily one of the most beautiful girls Jack had ever seen. The final picture showed the young woman sitting on a small stretch of sand along a breathtaking and familiar Belizean beach.

Despite the sunny sky, the girl’s blue eyes were colder than ice.

Never mind that her heart was still beating. It was obvious that the horrors she had lived alongside at the Palace had killed her long ago. Jack studied her. The anger and callousness in her eyes made her look older than her nineteen years.

Jack focused on what his boss was saying.

“Eliza and her father may have come from one of several Mennonite communities in central Belize. Or they may have come from the United States or Canada. We’re not sure. The girl is sometimes cared for by a woman named Betsy Norman. Aunt Betsy to Eliza. The woman claims she’s Eliza’s aunt. We aren’t sure about that. Surveillance tells us she’s in on the trafficking, so we plan to take her during the raid, also.”

“Yes.” TJ nodded. “Anders showed up in Belize City roughly a dozen years ago. We have recon on him since then—though never enough to arrest him and dismantle his ring.”

“Before that,” Pen shrugged, “we have no idea where he was, what he did for a living.”

Oliver crossed his arms. “We assume McMillan is a false name, since we have no record of him before his time in Belize City.”

Oliver paced across the room and stared out the window. “You’ll make a stop at a Mennonite village called Lower Barton Creek. There’s a historian there who might know something. Ike is our best hope to verify whether McMillan and his daughter came from a Belizean Mennonite village.”

“Right.” Pen nodded. “Ike Armstrong made a report eleven years ago about the disappearance of his granddaughter—Susan James—and the woman’s two young children. We haven’t found a connection between them and McMillan. But it’s worth looking into.”

Jack set his notebook down. “If Eliza knows she’s about to be forced into a marriage, why would she talk to me? Why would she trust anyone?”

“There’s more to the story.” Pen handed Jack a sheet of paper. It was a wanted poster with McMillan’s face. The first charge listed was murder. Three counts. “Last week we learned about McMillan’s other dirty secret. What happens to the Palace girls when they age out.”

Oliver hesitated. “On a girl’s twentieth birthday McMillan gives her an envelope of cash and a fake passport. Some fancy clothes, that sort of thing. Then he sends her off with a couple of his henchmen.”

Jack shifted in his seat. The pieces were coming together. “The girls never make it off the compound, is that it?” He leaned forward.

“Exactly. At least that’s what our research suggests.” Oliver sighed. “At twenty, the girls know enough to take McMillan down. We believe just after their twentieth birthdays, he pretends to give them a send-off. Then he has them killed.”

Jack clenched his jaw. “There has to be a special place in hell.”

“I’m sure.” TJ stood and paced to the window. After a few seconds he turned and looked at the others. “We have details about at least one case. We’re working with the Belizean police, and one of our contacts at the department says a Palace girl went missing a few years ago—a friend of Eliza’s named Alexa. Not long after, a tourist found the remains of a Palace girl. Beautiful brunette. Shot in the back. Her suitcase full of designer clothes was buried a few feet away.”

Oliver shook his head. “Here’s the point. If Eliza learns that Alexa was, indeed, killed by McMillan, by her very own father and his men, then we believe she might work with us. To save the other Palace girls.”

Jack waited. The finer details of his assignment were coming.

“What you’ll do, Jack, is head to Belize Monday morning. Like we said, you’ll visit the Mennonite community first. Acting like a long-lost Mennonite grandson, you’ll speak with Ike Armstrong, the community’s historian. Two Mennonite girls have gone missing over the last decade. We believe one or both of them wound up at the Palace.”

“Terrible.” Jack jotted down the name. Ike Armstrong .

“Ask Ike about his missing family. Rumor is they drowned, but see what he knows. And see if he’s heard of Anders McMillan.”

“Got it.” Jack looked at Oliver again. “Ask him whether Eliza and her father were Mennonites at some point, is that it?”