Caruso took a deep breath. “One of them is in pretty bad shape. Veins were so collapsed from all the dope they’ve been giving her, medics had to use an IO gun to get fluids started.”
Dom winced just thinking about the drill-like device that shot a fifteen-gauge needle directly into the poor kid’s femur. She was so stoned from whatever these assholes had been shooting into her that she didn’t feel it, but the heavy thunk of metal puncturing the large bone made Caruso gag. There was a reason he’d gone into law enforcement instead of medicine.
“Anyway,” Dom continued. “She’s on her way to the hospital. Callahan had two Child Protective Services officers follow us out and hang back until we made entry. They’re with the other two girls now. Sounds like all three of them are from Mexico. How about you? Did you get anything good?”
Clark grunted. “Some. Coronet’s last name is possibly Chen. We also got a cell number he’s likely to ditch in the next day or two. I’ve already got Gavin working on it. These guys are the tip of the iceberg with this human-trafficking ring. It’s worth our time to talk to a few more. They may have more information on Chen and what he’s up to.”
“Copy that,” Caruso said. “You know that thumb drive we heard Feng mention on the GSM bug?”
“What about it?”
“Some kid—a girl he was sleeping with—swiped it from him, if you can believe that.”
“Where’s this drive now?” Clark asked.
“The girl gave it to the troopers, who passed it on to the FBI. Special Agent Callahan has it now. I didn’t hear all the interrogation, but somehow Feng got his hands on a bunch of data related to Coronet/Chen. She believes it has information about human-trafficking payouts et cetera. I haven’t seen it, but the way she talks, it’s coded.”
Clark was silent for a long moment. “Dom,” he finally said, “we need to get the information on that thumb drive to Gavin.”
“So put in a request,” Caruso said. “It’s national security–related. Gerry can get someone to back-channel the director. He’ll order Callahan to turn it over.”
“That’ll take too long,” Clark said. “I need it tonight.”
“Are you kidding me?” This whole conversation made Caruso’s stomach ache. “You want me to steal it from the FBI?”
He could almost hear Clark smile on the other end of the line.
“Now you’re tracking,” Clark said.
“The task force isn’t even located at the field office. I don’t have a code to get in the building.”
“Ah,” Clark said. “But you’ve got Gavin.”
“Seriously?” Caruso shook his head and looked skyward. He dropped his voice even lower. “Hell, forget prison, Callahan will just murder me. Due respect, boss, but—”
Caruso stopped talking and waved at Callahan, who was now marching across the shabby lawn, apparently on the hunt for him.
“She already trusts you,” Clark said. “I can hear it in her voice.”
Callahan stopped directly in front of him and folded her arms tight across her chest. Her eyes were narrowed, head tilted back so she was looking down her nose. The explain-yourself-mister stance made him feel like a seventh-grader whose mother had just figured out how to search the browser history on his phone.
“Are your friends responsible for that kidnapping?”
“No,” Caruso lied, giving her what he hoped was a sufficiently indignant smirk. He chose the more direct “no” because Callahan would have taken anything else for the dodge that it was. Why would you ask that? or I’m not going to justify your question were obvious attempts to obfuscate. A quick and direct denial was always best—making sure not to overreact. Did you sleep with that other woman? was at one end of the spectrum while Did you eat the last of the cereal? was at the other. Did your friends kidnap that guy? fell somewhere in the middle for the appropriate amount of indignation.
Still, lying about anything was a slippery game when played with trained interrogators, so he decided it was better to change the subject.
“Good job tonight,” he said.
Callahan nodded. It was obvious that she still didn’t believe him, but she unfolded her arms. That was something. “Still no Magdalena, though,” she said. “I don’t know why, but I thought we might find her here, too.”
“You saved three kids,” Caruso said. “That’s cause for celebration. Cut yourself a little slack.”
Callahan said, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy about that.” She sighed, choosing her words carefully. “Hey, I need to talk to Flaco, but the other two have already lawyered up. Want to get a drink after?”
“So you can interrogate me, too?”
“No,” she said, mimicking Caruso’s previous indignant smirk.
The radio in Callahan’s hand broke squelch. “Ellis County Fire to any unit at the Cantu residence.”
The fire department ran the ambulance, two of which had just driven away carrying the formerly imprisoned girls.
“Special Agent Callahan, go ahead.”
“Thought you guys might want to know there was a guy parked at the end of the lane when we drove out of there. He pulled a bootlegger’s turn when he saw us coming and beat feet.”
“Did you get a plate number?” Callahan asked.
“Sorry,” the ambulance driver said. “He made a right before we could catch up to him. We had to turn toward the hospital. I do have a description, though. A small dark blue pickup. I’m guessing a Chevy S-10.”
19
Coronet had no intention of telling Dazid Ishmael that his real name was Vincent Chen. The Abu Sayyaf commander didn’t concern himself with such trivialities anyway, and didn’t really care so long as he got paid.
Both men had chosen unforgiving professions, and they had not survived as long as they had by having lax OPSEC.
They’d elected to postpone their talk and parted company shortly after Coronet killed the off-duty PNP officer. Each man had spent the entire night running surveillance detection routes. Chen had no idea exactly what Dazid Ishmael had done. The fact that he was one of the most wanted men in the Philippines and was still alive was testament enough to the man’s skill at tradecraft.