Page 80 of Sam's Salvation
Max snorted. “Nice try. You don’t get more than his first name.”
Sam frowned at the FBI agent. They’d all agreed that the less the feds knew about them, the better. It was bad enough Moran knew their identities. He’d be able to figure out who the rest of their group was if he really tried. He was hoping they would prove helpful enough—and that Audra had enough sway—that the man would leave it alone, though.
Suddenly, Max laughed. “Oh, this is great.” He had his phone in his hand and looked up from it at Dean. “You’re going with me. As Bernard Almendinger.” He turned to Moran. “You too. As Manfred Ulrich.”
“What?” Dean snatched the phone from his hand and read the email. He groaned. “Ford thinks it’s too dangerous for Max to go in alone, so he made Asher create two more identities.” He thrust the phone back at Max. “That’s just fricking fantastic. Just what I wanted to do. Watch a bunch of sorry excuses for men salivate over scared, traumatized women.”
“Look at it this way,” Audra said. “You’ll get to be one of the first to liberate them.”
Dean grunted an acknowledgment. “I’d rather be a sniper on a neighboring rooftop, taking all the assholes out one-by-one.”
“I can probably get my hands on some explosives,” Sam said, watching out the window. “We could round the fuckers up after we get the girls out and blow up the place. Moran, you should probably turn your ears off for a minute. You, too, Dorset.”
Moran chuckled. “No dice, man. I like that plan, but we can’t.”
Sam sighed. It was a shame they couldn’t. The world wouldn’t miss men like that. “I know.”
Over the next couple of hours, they catalogued close to thirty cars arriving at the compound. It made Sam sick to think how many women were inside, waiting to be sold to some depraved human being. How many had already been sold. It would all end tomorrow, though. The Powells were finished robbing women of their lives.
Thirty-Eight
“Man, these are some fancy threads.” Moran smoothed a hand down the sleeve of his suit jacket. “I still can’t believe that tailor worked so fast.”
“Gotta dress the part to fool the Powells and their goons.” Max strapped a Rolex to his wrist. “It helped that I’d already bought three suits from him. He was more than willing to work overtime to make two more for you and Dean.”
Sam handed an in-ear earpiece to Moran. “We’ll be on comms the entire time.”
“So long as they haven’t scrambled communications.” Dean took an earpiece and put it in his ear.
“Hopefully, they still think they’re flying under the radar.” Sam handed the last one to Max. “You each have a camera, though, so at least we’ll have footage of the event Moran can use in court later.” They’d opted for some small tie-tack cameras with a built in micro-SD backup. It would transmit real-time video as well as record it on the card in case the signal was cut.
Moran adjusted his tie tack, straightening it. “Poppy said she doesn’t think they scan for bugs, and that the men use their phones throughout the auction. It’s only weapons they look for. We should be good.”
“Are we ready?” Dean tugged on his jacket. Straightening it over his broad shoulders.
“I think so.” Audra glanced at Jessica. “Are you picking up signals from all of their equipment?”
Dorset nodded. “Yep. We’re good.” She closed her laptop. “Let’s roll.”
They left their hotel through a side entrance and piled into Max’s rented SUV. They’d left the utility truck parked around the corner from the warehouse. Max would drop Sam, Audra, and Jessica off there, then continue to the auction site with Dean and Dominick. Another FBI surveillance van and several undercover state trooper units were waiting in the area, ready to swoop in to make arrests once their team had all the evidence needed to shut down the ring. Moran had done his best to limit who knew about the plan to people he trusted.
The drive to the van was a short one. In minutes, they were installed inside. Jessica hooked up the camera and audio feeds to her monitors, and they each took a seat in front of one.
“Here we go,” Sam muttered as Max pulled up to the gate. Mentally, he crossed his fingers and toes that the invitation Asher stole from their system would hold up.
Max flashed his phone screen at the guard.
The man took the phone and glanced at it, then peered into the car. “Who are your friends? This invitation is for you.”
“No one said I couldn’t bring my buddies. We all have certain… tastes, shall we say? And deep pockets. Your bosses won’t be disappointed that I brought them.”
The guard studied them once more, then handed the phone back. He stepped back and waved at someone out of view. Max rolled up the window and drove through.
“Bleck,” Max said. “I feel dirty having uttered those words.”
“Yeah, well, we’re about to feel even dirtier.” Dean took off his seatbelt as Max pulled up to the entrance.
Putting the car in park, they all got out. Max handed the keys to a valet and approached the door. Another guard scanned them for weapons, then waved them in. They entered into a long hallway that had been constructed with heavy black cloth and metal poles. Fairy lights lined the corridor, leading them down to the lounge Poppy mentioned. Inside, men in expensive suits milled around, sipping cocktails and champagne. Women in barely there dresses wandered the room with trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres.