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He laughed. “Jet lag may be hitting me harder today.”
“Really? You seemed quite out of it yesterday.”
It took him a second to realize I was joking. “You’re funny, Nem. Real funny.”
“My crack orange juice appears to have arrived at my table.”
He smiled, shook his head, and motioned to Cayman, who was still inside.
“See you later, War God,” I said without waiting to hear if he had a response.
10
ARES
“What’s the plan?” Cayman asked when we were on our way to his car.
“I’ll grab my gear, then we can leave whenever you’re ready.”
“Roger that. Give me a couple of hours.”
Cayman dropped me off at the hotel’s rear entrance. From there, I took the service elevator to my floor.
After tossing the little I’d unpacked into my bag, I sat near the room’s window and opened Nem’s brief on my laptop.
So many things about this particular incident nagged at me. The loss of life—one hundred and twenty-four people—was devastating. For now, we had no answers as to how or why they’d died.
If they did cross through North Macedonia, the temperatures last week had climbed into the low eighties. Without proper ventilation or climate control, it could’ve easily reached well over one hundred degrees inside the metal unit. Maybe even as high as one hundred thirty-five.
If that was the case, most would’ve died within an hour, from heat stroke.
Only an inexperienced trafficker would’ve allowed that to happen. Each of those victims was worth anywhere from four to fifty thousand each. Which meant a minimum loss of half a million dollars. The best guess when talking about those kinds of numbers was that it was an accident.
So who would pay? Someone certainly would. There was a chance that whoever had transported the containers from their point of origin was either already dead or in hiding. If it was the latter, finding that person before the traffickers did would be the easiest way for us to take the entire ring down. There was a million-to-one chance of it happening, though.
With Wren and Wilder assisting Puck, I believed we’d be able to more accurately and quickly trace the containers’ route. Given where the ME estimated the victims were from, I’d also wager they didn’t originate from the same place.
As far as what else we knew, Josif had certainly thrown his cousin Lazar under the bus, as they say. When Lazar finally got around to talking, which I had no doubt he would, especially with the threat of Josif testifying against him, we’d get closer to the truth.
It was the job of the interrogators to get him to give up whoever he worked for, though. That wasn’t my expertise. I’d stay in my own lane in the same way I’d leave things like reconnaissance to the pros.
Next question. Who’d abducted these victims? Who’d funded their transport? There was someone at the top of any crime ring. Someone was the final decision maker. Someone determined how the money was spent and what happened with the profits.
I tapped my finger on the table. Who were these people? The primary tenet of profiling wasWhy + How = Who. In this case, the why was easy. Money. The how wasn’t difficult either.
A common myth was that trafficking involved kidnapping or physically forcing someone into a situation. While it did take place, it was the exception over the rule. The reality was traffickers followed common patterns of psychological manipulation. Their victims were lured, seduced, and groomed. The men and women who targeted potential victims were adept at recognizing vulnerability and exploiting it.
I sat back in my chair. How the fuck did you profile someone like that? There was one person—actually two—who could answer that question better than I. The problem was neither was available for an undertaking of this magnitude.
My phone vibrated with a message alert. Before looking at it, I checked the time. It had been almost two hours since Cayman dropped me off. Which meant it was probably from him. It also meant I’d have to decide whether we should leave now and let Nem meet us there or wait.
I set my cell down. If it were Zeppelin or Magnet I was waiting to hear from, I’d let the fuckers meet us there. I had to get my head as straight with Nem.
She was a task force CO. Same as me. I was a man, she was a woman. We were both equally capable. While I hadn’t worked with her for very long, the background information I received, coupled with statements from those who had, made me realize how competent she truly was. So, I’d let her meet us there.
I picked up my phone to tell Cayman I was ready to leave, but the text wasn’t from him. It was from her.
Ready. Have you left?
