Page 69 of Collateral Damage


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I clench my hands behind my back and meet the major’s steely gaze. “With all due respect, Major, this was more than just a domestic violence case. I’m certain we were looking at a child trafficking transaction.”

“Captain, I don’t care what you were looking at. Your orders were clear, were they not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you follow them?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

He hesitates for a beat, and we both know what I’m going to say. He stares me down. “Samuels, Webster, you’re dismissed.”

Samuels gives me a quizzical look but then hightails it out of there. They both do.

“Speak.”

“Sir, you read my file and know what went down with the McNamara kid. So how is what I did today any different from what I did there? Those kids deserved just as much saving as Carys McNamara did. The difference is that today I didn’t fail.”

He sits down on the table and scrubs his hand over his face. “Why did I know you were going to bring that up? Captain, I don’t disagree, but I can’t just have you going rogue whenever the inspiration hits. I should bust your ass now, but the fact is, I can’t. You struck it lucky today. The woman you found was part of an ongoing case in South Africa. She—her name’s Casho Erasto—was taken from South Africa at the age of fifteen. She’s been here having children for the son of a bitch you put a bullet in for the last thirteen years. The three left weren’t sold because she marked them, and they were considered defective. For whatever reason, they weren’t killed. The father just continued to try to sell them. Unfortunately, moments before I called you in here, the mother died during childbirth. Her baby boy made it, and they need to be repatriated back to South Africa.”

Jesus, that fucker got off lightly. I should’ve set him on fire from his feet up. The words that come next stop further thoughts of missed opportunity and torture.

“We’re sending you with them to South Africa. This isn’t a reward, Captain. You’re on a three-month suspension while we figure out your fate. I suggest you take a couple of weeks to get your headspace right and get a good lawyer. You’re going to need it. Dismissed.”

After being briefed on everything I need to accompany the kids and Geesi Abdi, their caseworker, I head back to the waiting room. My head is reeling, but as soon as I see the three kids crying next to a woman with a baby in her arms, I forget all about my worries. These kids have been to hell and back today, and as a final eff you, they lost their mother.

When I reach them, the eldest almost looks relieved to see me. Maybe it’s because they have seen so many strangers today.

I face the woman covered in a shawl. “Are you Geesi Abdi?”

She stands and smiles politely. “Yes, I am.”

“Can you translate for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

I kneel in front of the eldest and hold out my hand. “Hi, my name is Tank. I’m sorry about your mother.”

Geesi repeats in Somali, and all three kids tear up.

“I want you to know that I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help take you back to your family. To your grandparents and uncles.”

Again, Geesi translates for me, and the kids look scared this time. It kills me that there is nothing I can do to ease their anxiety right now. Their own father just tried to sell them for the umpteenth time. How will they trust a stranger?

I straighten and address Geesi. “How long will it take to get all the paperwork in order?”

“The South African embassy has already got most of the paperwork sorted. I think by the day after tomorrow at the latest, we can leave.”

I nod. “And where are they going to stay in the meantime?”

“We will take them to the local orphanage where they will stay until further notice.”

Another bunch of strangers with a million added risks. Yellow fever was rampant in orphanages because they didn’t have the money to vaccinate, and if they did get the vaccines, orphanages often sold them.

“Can they stay with me?”

“Uh, I don’t think that will be possible.”

The baby starts fussing, and this causes the little girl to start crying. I decide I’m done asking politely. I hold out my arms. “Give me the baby.”

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