Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

She didn’t notice the tears until Sandy’s Þ ngertips brushed over her cheeks.

“C’mere, baby,” Sandy said softly as she drew Mitchell’s head down to her breast.

“Sandy, honey, I…” Mitchell had no idea what she should say.

“Tonight—”

“Shh. It’s okay.” Sandy kissed her forehead. “I don’t need to know what you did. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

Mitchell turned on her side and wrapped her arms around Sandy, drawing up one thigh onto Sandy’s, trying to get as close as she could.

She closed her eyes and held on tightly. “I love you.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

• 265 •

• 266 •

Justice Served

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Monday, 7:20 a.m., Sloan Security OfÞ ces

Rebecca handed Mitchell a cup of coffee. “You did good work last night, Detective.”

They were alone in the conference room, waiting for Jason and Sloan to gather the preliminary data from Sandy’s review of the videotapes. Mitchell rested her hips against the counter and stared into her coffee.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Undercover work is one of the most difÞ cult things a police ofÞ cer can do,” Rebecca said conversationally as she leaned next to Mitchell.

She sipped her coffee and gazed through the windows opposite them at the crisp blue sky. “A good undercover ofÞ cer is an invaluable asset to a team like this.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Never doubted it.” Rebecca angled her body and studied Mitchell’s face. “Mitch is unique. He gets us in places that no one else could. I also appreciate that his assignments, especially this one, put added pressure on you.”

“It’s all so new,” Mitchell admitted quietly. “Mitch, the work, how it all Þ ts together. Me and Sandy.”

Rebecca nodded. “It’s a lot to handle, and you’re doing just Þ ne.

I wouldn’t put you out there if I didn’t trust you to deal with whatever comes up. No arrest is worth one of my people.”

“I just don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t. Not if you keep your head on straight.” Rebecca took a sip of coffee. “How’s Sandy doing?”

Mitchell colored. “She’s good. Okay.” She turned the coffee cup in her hands and Þ nally tasted the contents. It was hot, and that was about all she could tell. “I think she understands what I’m doing. On the job, I mean.”

• 267 •

RADCLY fFE

“Then you’re luckier than you know.”

“No,” Mitchell said softly. “I know how lucky I am.”

“You have a problem—on the job, at home—you come to me.

We’ll work it out.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Rebecca straightened as Sloan and Jason came in. “Okay. Let’s get to work.” She took her seat and the others followed suit. “Tell me you have something for me.”

Jason passed copies of a printout to both Rebecca and Mitchell.

“Not everything, not yet. But we’ve got a start.”

Rebecca perused the list of dates, mentally counting off the intervals between them. “It’s a loose pattern, but it’s a pattern.” She looked from Jason to Sloan. “Can we get the rest of this today?”

“Sandy’s on her way,” Jason afÞ rmed. “I think we’ll have the rest of the dates for you in a couple of hours.”

“I want to get a look at the central computers at Port Authority,”

Sloan said.

“I’ll make some calls,” Rebecca replied. “The captain down there is a good ofÞ cer. I think she’ll be willing to let us work outside channels a little bit. Watts is meeting with her this morning, so the two of you can coordinate at that end.”

Sloan nodded.

“When are we going to bring Captain Henry in on this?” Mitchell inquired.

Rebecca shrugged. “When I can bring him a solid package of evidence and enough of a plan to convince him that we don’t need the feds to run this operation.”

“Fucking-A,” Sloan muttered.

“At some point,” Rebecca advised, her eyes on Sloan, “Clark is going to get involved. The international human smuggling, trafÞ cking these girls across state lines, the Internet angle—it’s all federal. But before they grab up the perps like they did last time, I want the guy who did Hogan and Cruz. And I know he’s part of this.”

“Got to be,” Mitchell said. “He’s probably the enforcer for this arm of the organized crime network. I’m willing to bet he oversees the transfer of the girls from the port to the stash houses and probably runs all the guys who guard them too. That means he’s got rank in the organization.”

• 268 •

Justice Served

“I agree.” Rebecca appeared pleased with Mitchell’s assessment.

“Which means he’s just the kind of guy that Clark is going to want to try to turn—someone high enough up in the organization to name names. And I want him Þ rst for the murder of two cops, a bent ADA, and an innocent young girl.”

“Then let’s move fast,” Sloan said, eyes gleaming. “I need to stop by Police Plaza to see how my new guys are doing with the work on retooling the computer system. Then I’ll head down to Port Authority.”

“I expect that Irina will move on Mitch tonight,” Rebecca said.

“We’ve got Þ fteen hours to put this together.”

Sloan grinned. “Plenty of time.”

Monday, 8:45 a.m., Port of Philadelphia

Captain Carla Reiser passed Watts a pastry on a paper plate as she sat down next to him on the worn plaid sofa in one corner of her ofÞ ce.

She gestured with her coffee cup to the stack of printouts in front of him. “These are the most likely ships to Þ t the proÞ le and dates you’ve given me so far.”

Watts riß ed through the stack, softly humming a refrain that approximated “We’re in the money.” “Can we get duty rosters for the shifts when these ships came into port and also for the time they were being off-loaded?”

“I’ve already got the computers working on that.”

“That so?” Watts gave her an appreciative glance as he took a huge bite from the cheese Danish. He chewed, swallowed, and shook his head approvingly. “It’s nice you’re not busting my balls over sharing this info.”

Carla took a healthy bite of her own Danish and regarded him thoughtfully. “Why should I?”

Watts lifted one beefy shoulder. “Interagency cooperation is more of a pipe dream than a reality.”

“This is a big port, Detective. Tons of merchandise move through here annually. I could tell you that no one could keep track of it all, and

• 269 •

RADCLY fFE

that would be the truth.” She lifted the stack of papers and let it fall to the table in front of them with a thump. “If there’s evidence in here that large-scale—no, scratch that—if any kind of smuggling is going on at this port under my watch, I want to know about it. And if it is, it’s not happening without inside help.” Her chocolate eyes grew even darker with fury. “I want to see the son of a bitch who’s been using my turf like his own personal playground strung up by his balls.”

“Now that’s my kind of police,” Watts said with a happy smile.

“The shift lists will need to be cross-referenced, drivers checked, a lot of background info run—Lieutenant Frye says she’s sending over a computer expert to sort through it and nail down how the transfers are being made.”

“That would be Sloan,” Watts said. “If anyone can put it together, she can. She’ll need a secure place to work because we don’t want to tip our hand.”

“She can use my ofÞ ce.” Carla stood. “Let me take a quick tour around the docks before she arrives. Assuming we get a chance for lunch, I’m buying.”