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Chapter Eighteen – Tank
I walk into my motel room at the Blue Bosh and shut the door before grabbing a bottle of water out of the minibar. The motel might look like something out of the seventies with its mustard-colored walls and brown and orange comforter with matching drapes, but at least it’s clean, and I can get a drink when I need one. We’ve been here for four days, and just about every waking moment has been spent going over the plan to make sure we don’t fuck up. Garrett video called this morning to say that he’s been trying to get intel on when the buyer is set to dock the ship, but he’s been unsuccessful. That’s a concern since he’s been in the inner circle for years now and is usually among the first to know what’s going on when it comes to a buyer meeting.
He looked bone-weary. More tired than any man I’ve served alongside, and it’s clear the job is taking its toll. How could it not? If what we’ve been briefed on is any indication, he’s seen some really fucked-up shit. I take my hat off to the guys doing this kind of job. It takes a lot to throw yourself into a world with this much depravity. Even what I’ve heard so far has me losing sleep.
When we first arrived, we were shown a tape of a bust a couple of months ago. Naked girls ranging from age twelve to twenty, wearing what looked like dog collars, were paraded around a stage by leathery-looking old women. Anytime a girl made a misstep or tripped in the six-inch heels they were forced to wear, the women yanked on the leashes and tugged the girls back in line. Tears streamed down their faces as they were screamed at, manhandled, and worse, gawked at like cattle by disgusting men inspecting them for possible purchase. In some cases, men would raise their hands and the girls would be steered offstage to be groped and “tested” by the men. It made me sick to my stomach, and I drank copious amounts of coffee just to keep the bile down.
I have no fucking idea why they showed us that video. Maybe they figured the visual of a real fucked-up situation would motivate us. I don’t know. The situation with Carys was different, although I’m sure it was going to be just as horrific. Saeed Khan was known to “shop” for girls for his harem. He’d house them on his boat till he deemed them suitable, and if they were, they would be taken to his home in Turkey and forced to do his bidding. If they weren’t suitable, they were never seen again.
Garrett said this time there was a small twist. He was “purchasing” Carys for his son. This was the reason Garrett was hopeful. He’d at least gathered intel that Khan would be delivering Carys to the home and not doing the usual “tests” out at sea.
We could only hope.
I lie on my bed, too weary to even take my boots off. If Jess were here, she’d give me a ton of shit for this since I’m usually the neat freak and she spends ninety percent of her life driving me fucking crazy by leaving everything she touches in a mess. What I’d give to trip over a pair of her sneakers right now.
What I’d give to hear her voice right now.
I glance over at my phone and chew on my lip. I make it a point not to involve Jess in this side of my life. We never talk about what goes on at the base, even if it’s a training exercise. I don’t like sharing that part of my day with her. In the beginning, she’d always ask me how my day was, and I’d quickly turn the subject to her. Lately, though, she doesn’t ask, and I’m grateful. I don’t want her drawn into all the ugly. It’s bad enough that she even lives in a world where a kid could be ripped from her family for the sole purpose of revenge.
I feel the burn of my stomach catching fire and sit up to take another sip of water. Being a marine has exposed me to a lot of fucked-up shit—kids with limbs blown off by grenades or mines, babies sitting on a pile of rubble, screaming for their dead parents. But this is so much worse. I can’t get the image of Carys’s face out of my mind. So young—just nineteen—so carefree, with her entire future in front of her only to be sold into a life of such depravity.
I debate a while longer on whether I should call Jess until finally I can’t take it anymore. Lying back down, I dial her number.
“Hey, baby.” Her voice comes through the line all groggy and gravelly, and for a second, I wonder if I woke her up. A quick glance at my watch tells me it’s 7:45 in the morning in Oceanside, and Jess will be about to leave for work.
I sit up and place my water on the nightstand. “Angel, you okay? Did I wake you?”
“I wish. I caught Tatum’s stomach flu, and I’ve been up all night vomiting.”
“Shit, are you taking enough liquids?”
“Yeah. Skyla feels bad, so she’s been bringing me soup and Gatorade. I think we’d survive a drought with all the… hang on…”
I hear her phone clatter to the floor and Jess heaving into the toilet. A feeling of utter helplessness comes over me for not being there to take care of her. She flushes, and I hear the sink running and then stop seconds before Jess comes on the line again.
“Angel, are you going to be okay? What can I do?”
“I’ll be fine. Keep doing what you’re doing to make the world a safer place, and I’ll keep sipping on fluids.”
Guilt hits me when she says I need to keep doing what I’m doing. Even though I know I can’t tell her, it doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Don’t you think you should go to a doctor?”
“Nah. Skyla said Tatum only had it for a couple of days. I’m sure I’ll be feeling much better tomorrow.”
A knock on my door makes me frown, and I stand to answer it. “Just give me a sec, angel.”
“Yeah?” I say when I open the door and see it’s one of the civilians working on our team. I think he said his name was Harry.
“Sorry to disturb. The grub has arrived, and Garrett is calling to go over the plan again in fifteen.”
“I’ll be right there.” I return to the call. “Angel, I’m sorry, I need to go. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
“Wait, why did you call? Is everything okay?” It punches me in the gut that she thinks something would have to be wrong for me to call her.
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“And instead, you got to hear me vomit.”
I chuckle. Fuck, I miss her.
“Lots of fluids, angel.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she teases, and it makes me feel a little better to know she’s still got her sense of humor.
I sign off and smile as the call ends. Taking a few more minutes, I pull up the internet and place an order for express delivery to Jess tomorrow, hoping it will at least bring a smile to her face.
