“We ran photographs of the suspects through the NCIC, our National Crime Information Computer,” Agent Curtis said. “Ramon Gutierrez, who goes by the alias Buggy, came up wanted on a federal drug offense. We’ve brought the marshals in on our operation as a courtesy.”
Bryce Taggart made an awkward wave to the agents seated around the table. The Bureau was interested in sex trafficking, not drug offenders. The marshals had a fugitive interest in this operation and he said as much. “We have one dog to put back in the pound, you guys got at least three.” Bryce understood the concern that the marshals might get in the way. Nadine couldn’t care less about roles and responsibilities. She just wanted out.
Angie’s phone rang. She answered immediately. “Nadine?”
“It’s me.”
“You’re on speakerphone,” Angie said. “I can take you off speaker if you want. There are a lot of people here who want to help you.”
“No, no. Don’t leave me. Just get here soon.”
“Can we get a room layout from you, Nadine?” Agent Curtis asked. She enunciatied her words as though suggesting each one mattered.
“Who . . . who was that?” Nadine asked.
Barbara Curtis rose from her seat, giving Angie a good look at the black suit and grey shirt she wore. She strode to the front of the room, put her hands on the table, and leaned her body over Angie’s phone as if it was an intercom. “Nadine, my name is Special Agent Barbara Curtis and I’m with the FBI’s—”
Inwardly, Angie cringed. Nadine might not even understand what she was involved in, or what human trafficking meant.
“I’m with the FBI,” Agent Curtis repeated. “I’m organizing the group that’s going to help get you out of there. We need some information if you can provide it.”
“I can try. What do you need?”
For the next several minutes Nadine did her best to describe the layout of various floors. Angie got a good visual of a maze of makeshift rooms in the basement constructed out of cheap particleboard. Her heart broke for Nadine. Getting her out safely was only half the battle. The road to recovery from her ordeal would be a long one, and might last a lifetime.
Nadine was brave and composed on the phone, providing agents with the location of the entrances and exits, the details of the apartments above, and the location of the hole where Tasha would be found.
“How many men are involved?” Agent Curtis asked.
“Ivan is the head,” said Nadine. “Some people call him Stinger. He speaks Russian. A lot of the girls, not all, speak Russian. Then there’s Casper. He’s really big and kind of protects us, and another guy named Buggy.”
Angie noticed the two marshals whispering to each other at the mention of Buggy’s name. One of the marshals had rugged good looks, dark hair, ice blue eyes and a jaw line that could slice bread. She remembered his name was Bryce Taggart, but heck if she could recall the other guy’s name.
Mike had pointed Bryce out to her soon as he’d entered the room and said, “Whatever that guy’s flaw is, I bet it’s a doozy.”
Angie had returned a warning look, but she couldn’t help but notice Bryce. If he were on Tinder, she would have certainly swiped right.
Agent Curtis asked Nadine, “Are there any other people involved? Names, descriptions, anything you can give us?”
“Well there’s Ricardo. He’s my . . . was my”—Nadine was having a hard time getting out the words—“he was my boyfriend.” Then she started to cry and everyone, including Angie looked dismayed at the depth of this perp’s cruelty.
Agent Curtis held up a picture of a tall, thin, good-looking man. “We think this is Ricardo.”
Nadine began breathing hard into the phone. “Look, I gotta go. Someone is coming.”
There was a lot of noise and Angie strained to make out some words, but didn’t have much success.
“Oh. Oh my God. I think they’re letting Tasha out,” Nadine said in a breathless whisper. “Look, I gotta go. Gotta go. I’ll call when I can. But please tell me you’re still coming. Please!”
“We’re coming,” Angie said, sounding confident. She glanced around the table at representatives from the FBI, State Police, and U.S. Marshals. For a moment she forgot she was the lowest notch on the law enforcement totem pole.
“Please, Angie. Please come.”
The call ended and a heavy silence filled the room.
“Look,” Agent Curtis said, “this isn’t going to be a shoot ’em up breach and clear. I don’t want any of those girls leaving in body bags.”
Amen, Angie thought.
CHAPTER 35
Exhibit D: Excerpts from the journal of Nadine Jessup, pages 58-60