Chapter 37
"There are some men in this world who are born to do our unpleasant jobs for us…"
To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
April 17, 1998 (Turkish Time) – Turkey, Anatolia Region
The inside of the humvee felt stuffy and warm. Discarded bits of Lahmacun filled the cramped space with the odor of day-old garlic. Clad in level three tactical gear, Enos folded his hands under his chin and prayed he wouldn't let anyone down.
He worried about many things.
He worried about Soonie's relationship, or lack thereof with her father, and that his daughters would grow up without a granddaddy. He worried about Annie and if he would have to call on Ginny to move her again. That might be up to Annie herself. She was a grown woman now and should be able to make her own decisions. Ginny was merely on stand-by as a contingency.
He worried about Daisy and her family. Though they all had a mobile phone to rely on other than the landline, Luke checked for bugs at the farm, Emma Tisdale's house, and Annie's daily. They seemed reasonably safe, though he believed Luke would not forgive him for putting them through the last two months.
He twisted the gold band on his pinkie finger.
That morning, before leaving for the airport, he and Soonie had held each other in the softly lit bedroom while the violin mix she had recorded for him drifted around them. His eyes registered the features of her face as if to etch them beside the grooves of the disc he would carry with him. She was the music. With only moments before he would have to let her go – for how long he didn't know – he had drawn her closer yet and pressed his cheek against hers.
"I'm not sure I can do this…leave you without knowing when I'm comin' back. Te amo. More than anything. More than my own–"
Her lips stopped him from finishing the thought. Soonie always knew how to stop him from saying something she couldn't bear hearing out loud.
He was able to walk out of the house only after he felt the warmth of the skin, lost himself in the eyes, and tasted the kiss of the one thing in the world he might not survive losing.
"Strate. Take a look around. Get your bearings." His team leader prodded him away from anxious thoughts while applying the INTERPOL patch to the back of his flak jacket.
Enos straightened up to look out through the humvee's thin slit of a window at Kurdish Turkey's mountainous terrain. Though the camp where Kate had been a prisoner for five months was so far back in the region you'd have to pump in the sunshine, Enos thanked the heavens it was located in a plateau area – bettered their chances.
"Yes, Sir."
"You must stay with the medical team until you locate Ms. Broussard and then retreat – nothing more. Are we clear on this issue?"
"Yes, Sir, we're clear."
"I spent an hour this afternoon convincing the Turkish Commander you don't have a hero complex. Do not make me a liar – especially to that arrogant son of a bitch."
"No, Sir. I mean, I'll do my best not to let you down."
"Then go. And keep your eyes open for Tansu. If we can catch him in the act of conspiring with that band of pirates, this operation will surpass expectations."
Tansu, a member of the Turkish government, was purported to have the power of life or death, at least over the locals, and was working with a Kurdish tribal chief's private armies – a deadly combination. 38
To be allowed boots-on-the-ground, he'd had to demonstrate his close combat skills to the Turkish Commander. It wasn't technically protocoled for an Interpol officer, especially one from another country's NCB. And he would go in unarmed.
Enos pressed his lips to the tiny peach pearl embedded in Soonie's wedding ring, lifted the camo neckerchief to cover his mouth and nose, then jumped out of the humvee to join the Turkish paramedics.
April 17, 1998 (Pacific Time) – Los Angeles
The raid in Turkey had come as a complete surprise, at least to Joseph Lance.
Nicholas Lazzaro liked torture in all its forms, and he practiced his most subtle techniques on those who dared to think they had him figured out. His nephew, by unfortunate birth, was such a person. Niki had given him tidbits of information about his twin brother over the years only to withhold the most important. He had just learned his brother's name was Darcy Kincaid and that he'd been murdered in 1986.
"…An' If you want to know who killed your brother, you gotta' come to Atlanta. I'll even have mah plane waitin' for you in Las Vegas. But you gotta get there on your own."
"You bastard. You'll tell me now." Lance trembled with fury and fear at the same time.
"You got no wiggle room to go makin' demands. Ah'm givin' you information the cops and the feds don't have yet. You just better be thankful that my people in Turkey called me right after everything went down. And we ain't even discussed why you let the Broussard bitch live instead of disposin' of her as to mah particular instructions to do otherwise. So, ya'll better get a move on, Joey boy, b'fore the feds or the LAPD or the GBI put a warrant out on your ass that even my smart Atlanta lawyers can't get you out of. Or b'fore I change my mind about family responsibilities. I estimate you got about six hours or so b'fore a lotta folks get all hot and bothered about nailin' your hide to the barn door."
"Goddammit, Niki. Tell me who it was."
"Nope, don't think ah will." Niki was snickering on the other end of the phone. "Ah will tell you one thing. Ah'm not the only one knows who killed Darcy Kincaid. That 'hick' detective, you know, the one you underestimated? Back when he was a deputy in Hazzard County, he had your brother's killer cold, and he let her go. Covered it up too's my bet. But looky here…he's kinda outta your reach at the moment ain't he? So, you better be on that plane headed back here to Atlanta in a pretty damn quick hurry b'fore you find yourself in federal lockup."
Niki was a master manipulator, even to the extent he would let people believe he was losing it. Niki never 'lost it.' And that was Etienne Hebert's mistake.
In a dark house in Baldwin Hills, Joseph Lance peered through the second-floor bedroom window's blind before returning to his task.
Niki had been right. He would be a wanted man by morning. Abandoned in a ravine in the hills, his car wouldn't be found for days. A taxi had dropped him ten blocks away; he had walked from there. Inez De Pina's house was the last place anyone would expect to find him. After all, he was more intelligent than any of them. He'd fooled them all these years.
Rifling through closets and drawers, he stuffed her clothes and underwear into a khaki duffel bag, then added pictures from her nightstand, making sure to grab them the way someone would while packing in a rush. In the nightstand drawer, he found other photos, unframed – what a treasure trove. He scooped them up, letting a few of them slip through the grasp of his gloved hand.
"Be careful who you make your enemy, Detective," he said, bending to retrieve one of the pictures from the floor with a smug grin on his face. "HR might think you were lying to them all these years."
He'd only had five hours since Niki's call about Turkey's raid to make his escape. Now, a more complete plan began to take shape in his mind. De Pina and Strate had done half the work for him. Carefully lifting the bed pillow, he placed under it a four by six image of the two of them stretched out beside each other on a blanket. Likely her son had snapped the photo on some innocent family picnic, but the facts wouldn't matter. The seed will have been planted.
Placing the bag back into the closet, he listened for the sound of her car in the drive.
Inez sat in the car for half an hour before entering the house, partly because she thought about the last two agonizing days. Earlier, her day had consisted of going through the motions, feeling much the same as E had when he came back from Hazzard. Her problem could not be mended by finding love. She had been staying at the house again since just before Aaron had come home for Spring Break. The past few months were a downhill slide into despair and loneliness, interrupted only by Aaron's visit. As much as she had tried to pretend nothing was wrong, he'd seen through it, and she wondered what he'd told E.
What David had done, what he had exposed their family to, was nothing compared to the conflagration she would cause, and it was killing her. Mallory had noticed. Her department physical showed extreme fatigue, and the captain ordered her to take some time off – she had been driving herself too much, spending all her energy on work and not enough on herself. He wanted her to go and visit Aaron or go somewhere.
Turk had hit the nail squarely on the head. E was her addiction.
Once in the house, Inez sank into the couch where she could still see tiny traces of E's blood from six months before. In the place where they had raised Aaron together, the fear of the shitstorm that tomorrow would bring paralyzed her. If an earthquake opened a fissure in the earth and swallowed her now, it would be a blessing – and more mercy than she deserved.
Tangled webs are spun with secrets, and the spider is never far away.
In the morning, she would walk into Mallory's office and tell him the whole story – she needed him to know before the FBI received the envelope that would send her down the disposal with the rest of the garbage.
Her eyes shut tight. The tears fell on the inside and burned into her throat like acid. Nothing would make amends for the pain she would cause…had caused. Blood pumped hard behind her ears like drumbeats.
Then, she felt the sting of a needle in her neck before everything went blank.
April 19, 1998 – Flight 71 from Amsterdam
Kate sat uneasily in the window seat on the port side of the plane, fidgeting with her hands and flinching at every subtle change in sound. Being able to look out the window helped, even if the only thing to see was an endless expanse of ocean, sky, and clouds.
Enos tried to disguise his concern at how drained she appeared. The auburn in Kate's hair had become a dull rust tone, her skin had taken on an anemic pallor, and having lost nearly thirty pounds, she was thin as a rake. She'd only had a day to recover before they boarded the plane back to the States.
"Kate, are you sure you're okay? Do you need anything?"
It wasn't the first time he'd asked, nor would it be the last during the flight.
"I was thinking of the others in the camp...the ones we left behind. Most of them are so young. Their childhood taken from them."
Enos thought of the twenty-seven youngsters still on his list of missing girls from Belarus and Ukraine. They were a few among thousands. Their files and Yellow Notices had to be updated or re-entered every three months to keep them in the Interpol missing person database.
"They're bein' cared for. I promise I won't let um get lost in the shuffle."
"I could never get a better assurance than that. You never gave up on me."
Sadness laced her voice, prompting him to take her hand. The warmth of Soonie's wedding band calmed her.
"I still can't believe you're married and going to be a father soon," she said and then reminded herself that Enos had been a father to Aaron for nearly nine years. "I mean…Aaron–"
"I know what you mean."
As if fretting over his responsibilities to Soonie and Annie were not enough, Aaron's last email had him tied in knots. The boy had written volumes between the lines of a few paragraphs. Hints dropped in earlier letters already niggled at the end of his nerves and vibrated his spidey sense. He hadn't been able to get Inez to return his calls or emails for the past week, and no one had heard from her in the last twenty-four hours.
"You wanna' see a picture of our little girl?"
"Of course, I do."
There had been no time after the raid for exchanging personal information. Everything happened quickly. After returning to the humvee with Kate, amid the deafening noise of gunfire, his memories of Halloween night came back like a rockslide in the canyon when he heard Kate's voice for the first time in months. She'd told him about Lance in the message she'd left on his phone that night. Why Lance hadn't killed her then and there, was still a mystery to them both.
When he flipped his wallet open, his Interpol ID was the first thing she saw. Something else Kate was trying to process. She had thought he would never leave the LAPD. But then, his being married, having a five-year-old daughter, and one on the way was not something she'd imagined either. From behind the ID he retrieved several photos and showed her the most recent picture of Soonie and the picture of a small girl dressed in a pink and teal hanbok and smiling under large glasses.
"Her name is Eun-kyung, but we call her Gem. In a round-about way, it's what her name means in Korean."
"She's precious, Enos…how hard it must have been for you to leave them…that beautiful little girl…your pregnant wife…it must have been hard for her to let you go off to find me…" Her voice trailed off, and she turned back to the window, tears escaping her best efforts to stop them. The magnitude of what he had done to find her was beyond her comprehension, even for him.
"Kate...please don't." His voice was low and gentle, full of so many things he was not saying. His attempts to divert her attention had done just the opposite.
"I wish I hadn't been the reason you had to leave them," she whimpered, turning back to look into his hazel eyes. "Not sure if I'm worth it. I was so stupid."
"Kate, stop it. None of this was your fault. You saved my life a year ago. I finally got a chance to return the favor. If you wanna' blame someone, blame Lance."
After Lance had drugged and transported her to a leaky freighter in San Francisco, she'd awoken in a makeshift cabin of rusting metal, suffering from seasickness. The sleeping accommodations were limited to the choice between a cot with a urine-stained mattress and the filthy floor.
The joint Interpol/Turkey operation had taken three weeks to plan and set up. Eventually, the public record of Kate's rescue would tell of the 233 sex trafficked victims liberated in four different brothel camps in Turkey. For now, Interpol and the Turkish government were not releasing details. The Turkish Human Rights activists were after bigger fish in the Black Sea. There was little doubt the East European trafficking trade would have failed to catch wind of it by now. There was an intricate network and connectivity in the underworld, even between competitors when it came to having holes blasted in their operations.
Since Joseph Lance had seemed to disappear off the face of the earth, the sooner they touched down in Los Angeles, the better. Enos gave Kate a weak smile, then sneaked another peek at his watch, wishing he had one of the cheat sheets Soonie always made him.
"We're going backward in time. Still have a hard time wrappin' my brain around it."
His goal was to distract her from what she'd been through. He felt as if he was failing miserably. She had enough on her plate, so he hadn't shared the details of his call to Turk and Tommy with her.
Kate went quiet for a while.
Daisy had taken photos of Annie and Bo, one of which she held in her hand and rubbed between her fingers as if it was a piece of satin from a childhood security blanket.
"Mignon is the only thing that kept me alive. Do you think I'll ever be able to see her again?"
Enos had no answer to that question and could only hope Annie had been told about the rescue. Turk had become his lifeline to Hazzard – and to Daisy. And he'd said to him that Bo was refusing to tell her or let anyone else tell her just yet.
"Never mind, forget I asked. I'm just anxious. Can't help it." Kate's eyes shimmered in the cabin light. "It's hard to believe she's been in Hazzard all these years...Enos, tell me about Bo."
The next three hours were spent reprising to Kate an abridged but unvarnished travel guide of Hazzard County and what he knew of her sister's life there. He made no mention of any bad feelings Bo might be harboring for Kate. They would have to cross that bridge at some point, but not today.
Afterward, she leaned her head toward the window and fell into an uneasy sleep. The fire and venom that marked her first thirty days in captivity had dissipated into despair over the long months of thinking no one would ever know what happened to her.
Enos felt a hand on his forearm and looked up at their flight attendant, Myla. The airline upgraded them to first-class when they learned why an Interpol officer and his charge had boarded the flight in Amsterdam.
"Mr. Strate, I'm sorry to disturb you," she said in a low voice to be sure she didn't wake the sleeping woman in the window seat. "The air marshal would like to speak with you, and he didn't want to disturb Ms. Broussard."
"Thank you, Ma'am. I'd be much obliged if you could sit with her while I talk to him. If that's alright."
"Of course," Myla said, moving to give him ample room in the aisle, then took the seat beside Kate.
Enos walked the short distance to the front row in the economy section where Air Marshal Dirk Ledger was seated. He'd been placed on the international flight in Amsterdam as an extra precaution to safeguard a federal witness, namely Katherine Denine Broussard.
After sitting in the seat next to Ledger, Enos asked, "Sir, you needed to see me?"
"No need for the 'Sir,' Mr. Strate."
"Sorry. Upbringin.' Just comes natural. I wanted to thank you for bein' on the flight. Gives both of us some peace of mind."
"I'm just a glorified babysitter, so no need to thank me. From what I understand, you're the one who did all the heavy lifting."
Enos flushed. After all the years out in the big wide world, he continued to be embarrassed by accolades.
"Anyway," Ledger continued, "The captain asked me to let you know your flight to Los Angeles has been changed. When we land in Newark, we're switching to a flight to Atlanta."
"Why...Atlanta?" Enos asked. Instinct kicked in and made his heart beat faster.
"I don't have that information. The message said a Lieutenant Adams would meet you at the airport when we land."
"Why would Turk be in Atlanta?"
Enos had said it to himself, but Ledger asked, "You know the Lieutenant?"
"Yes, Sir…yes. Drug enforcement."
Air Marshal Ledger looked as if he were going to ask another question but decided to let it go.
"Wish I could tell you more. The pilot said the airline will make sure we get to the connection, but it looks tight on timing. You might have time for a phone call between flights."
Enos vacated the seat and put out his hand to Ledger. "Thanks again. I better be getting' back to Kate now."
Returning to first-class, his brain involuntarily ticked off the possibilities, none of them good.
Memories are a strange thing. Some reassemble themselves and flow back in a linear timeline. Some are scattered bits and pieces that must be re-created like a puzzle. Yet others are lost, the mind keeping a placeholder for it in hopes that one day it will be found.
Filling the placeholder of Enos's memory was the final puzzle piece that Thompson needed to prove Elektra's coincidence theory. When he confronted the teenagers who had accidentally injured an off-duty police officer with the two by four they had been using to tip dumpsters on Halloween night, he found they were more relieved than scared. The idiots still had his mobile phone. There was no end to how stupid seventeen-year-olds can be with a vehicle, a credit card, and a snootful of alcohol.
While Enos was trying to distract himself from why Turk would be in Atlanta when he was supposed to be meeting them in LA, Kate was reconstructing her own memories in a fitful sleep.
[[Existence in this camp is an endless cycle of drugs, alcohol, and sex. Except when it serves my captors' purposes to service their grimy horde, I am drugged most of my 'stay' here at Hotel Hell to keep me under control and keep down the fire I spit and spew at them while not under the influence. Some of the brothel patrons appreciate the challenge.
I hear the gunfire – as common an occurrence as the men that frequent my cell.
Gunfire again.
and again.
I will get through it. Like I've survived every night since the beginning of this nightmare, divorce my mind from my body and go numb.
Thirty or so minutes have passed.
No one has unlocked the door.
The gunfire is closer now.
Closer.
Scuffling. Something hit the floor outside.
Someone is jiggling the latch.
Finally.
The quicker, the better, then I can sleep. Or maybe tonight I will just let go and allow myself to die without my revenge, without ever seeing Mignon again.
Banging. Banging. Something is striking metal.
The door is rattling again, then crashes into the dust, landing askew against the chipboard wall. The man who stepped into the room had to force it open to enter. His face is covered. But that's not unusual either. I cower in the corner, watching the blurry figure in fatigues and tactical gear – not the typical guerilla garb. There have been rumors about gangs raiding the brothels, killing their captors, and raping the women before killing them.
I recoil instinctively, and a short scream makes its way out of my throat.
The man is coming closer, saying something. His mouth and nose are covered, and the gunfire and noise outside muffle his voice. My ears are ringing. He is coming closer yet as I try to bury myself in the chipboard wall.
Until I hear his voice.
He pulls down the neckerchief. I see his face. HIS face.
It's a dream. I must be dreaming.
The dream I never allowed myself.
Then let it be a dream I surrendered to. Throwing my arms around his neck, I hold on tight. I can't let this dream go. I won't.
I am lifted off the mattress and carried into the night. It feels like I'm floating as we cross the field. Of course, I am dreaming – or – I'm dead, and this is heaven.
But why would bullets be flying by us in heaven?
P-yung-zzee. P-yung-zzee. P-yung-Thwack.]]
Kate awoke, startled to see the face in her dream sitting next to her.
The diazepam was wearing off. Enos hated that she needed drugs, but what Kate had been through warranted taking away the pain, even if temporarily while she tried to heal, was justified.
"You…were dreaming." Deep concern etched his face. The doctors had told him she would likely develop night terrors.
"I'll be alright. How is your arm?"
"Stop worryin' about me. Just a little ole flesh wound. I used to get worse climbin' over Mizz Maudie's fence to fish in her pond when I was a kid."
"Liar."
He smiled at that tiny glimpse of the old Kate.
"There's somethin' I have to tell you. I talked to the air marshall while you were sleeping. He said once we get to Newark, we're gettin' rerouted to Atlanta."
Alarmed, she opened her mouth to say something.
He reached out to take her hand. "I don't know why. I'll call in when we land and try to find out."
References:
(38) Source: Le Monde Diplomatique, July 1998, "In The Shadow of Generals, Hired Killers, and Drug Traffickers – Turkey's pivotal role in the international drug trade" by Kendall Nezan