Page 3 of Scarred Souls
The thought of more trafficking victims spending another moment in captivity made fury burn through my veins. It was safe to say my firsthand experience of being held against my will had left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.
Brandon nodded like he understood, but if I kept losing my cool during ops, he’d pull me from the team until I was squared away. One way or another, I couldn’t keep going like this.
I gestured to the decrepit house where the team were bringing the last few women outside. “How many?”
“Fifteen in total. Mostly from Honduras. Owen translated for those who were willing to talk. They said their captors had scorpion tattoos on their necks.” Pacific Coast Cartel ink. “They’d paid to cross the border. The men and old women went.”
“And those bastards kept the girls.” I blew out a stream of smoke and tossed the butt into the dirt.
Drugs had always been a cash cow for the PCC, but nowadays, human trafficking was big business. It was the only product with the potential for multiple earnings. Undocumented immigrants who got deported had to pay the cartel each time they attempted a crossing. When they finally made it, their US-based relatives were often extorted to secure their release. And sometimes, those narco cocksuckers took desperate people’s hard-earned money with the promise of a new life in America, then forced them into sex slavery.
And it wasn’t just undocumented immigrants being taken. Every day, organized-crime syndicates from around the planet plucked vulnerable women from the streets and sold them to the highest bidder. You want a girl with green eyes? Easy. A virgin? No problem. If you had the money, there were no limits to what or whom you could buy on the black market.
This world was a messed-up place.
It sickened me, but it turned Brandon’s stomach even more because his sister had been a trafficking victim. When he’d called me a couple of years ago and told me he was putting together a team to take down the assholes responsible, I’d jumped at the opportunity.
“How’d they get away?” I asked.
“Kane found a tunnel in the workshop. It led to a hatch roughly a klick south of here. Tire tracks in the dirt. They must’ve had an escape vehicle covered with camo netting or the drone would’ve picked it up.”
I grunted and lit another cigarette.
Cartels and their damn tunnels.
Brandon leaned against the side of the helo. “If you want to take a real crack at catching Espinoza, I might have something for you.”
Carlos Espinoza. The elusive boss of the Pacific Coast Cartel. Finding him and putting his head on a spike was our ultimate goal.
“I’m interested.” Cutting the head off the snake was the first step in toppling the most powerful cartel Mexico had ever known. “What have you got?”
“The cartel is expanding its fentanyl production, which means it’s importing more precursor chemicals from overseas. The authorities have been making busts at ports, so now, cargo ships sailing along the Southern Pacific Coast are dropping drums overboard. I intercepted correspondence that suggests the cartel is recruiting fishermen from small coastal villages in Oaxaca to pick them up. I want you to head there and be our eyes and ears.”
I snorted. “Is this some bullshit ploy to get me to take R & R? Send me to a quiet palm-lined beach, and when my investigation comes up empty, tell me to stay a few extra days and sip cocktails?”
“No,” Brandon replied with mild irritation. “This is a legit opportunity, and you’re the best guy for the job. Fluent in Spanish. Local connections. You know the region better than anyone on the team. Not to mention you can fly yourself in and out without drawing attention.”
Plus, there was the fact that I was a Latino half-breed, which meant my presence raised fewer eyebrows than my teammates’.
“I’ll go, but I’m taking the King Air.” The turbo prop would be perfect for short, bumpy runways, and it was a hell of a lot of fun to fly.
Brandon’s brow pinched. “It’s brand-new.”
“Then it’s time I popped her cherry.”
“Fine.” He folded his arms. “Take the King Air, but be gentle.”
I grinned and blew smoke into the sky. “I can’t promise that, but I can promise I’ll show her a good time.”
Brandon only rolled his eyes. The last time I’d taken one of the team’s civilian aircraft to Mexico, I’d had to leave in a hurry, and the fuselage had received a bunch of scratches and bullet holes. I swore I didn’t go looking for trouble, but trouble always found me.
“Let me get this straight.” I tucked my lighter into my pocket. “You want me to find which villages are picking up the drums of chemicals, and when the cartel comes to collect, follow them?”
“No. That’ll just lead us to another lab. I want you to follow the money.” I frowned in confusion, so Brandon added, “Find out who’s paying the fishermen, then find out who’s paying them. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“Yeah. It’ll lead us up the chain of command until we get to someone important, and they might pay a visit to Espinoza’s compound.” Which we suspected was hidden in the mountains, where cartels often sought seclusion.
“You got it. Call me if you need any help from your friendly neighborhood black hat.”