Chapter 17

Jessica took care of forwarding everything that MI6 had on Evie’s disappearance to a blind mail box set up by Jack’s people. She also handled notifying Chief Younger that I was taking ‘extraordinary’ measures to find and rescue Evie. He wanted to kick up a fuss about it, but he was in a tough spot because they really weren’t supposed to be working in the states without bringing the feds into it, and we all knew how that would end up.

Almost before we could get started, the FBI would claim sole ownership of the case and spend far more energy and human resources protecting their turf than they would use finding Evie, so we each agreed to keep it to ourselves. If Jack needed help from Uncle Sam, he knew who to call and what to ask for. Chief Younger was going to have to sit this one out.

Leaving Deirdre and Jessica behind in Scotland, I took the family G650 to Texas where I would be near the action. Our home there was properly stocked with lots of toys that might be needed if I were to go out to help Jack and Roy. Joan, back home, would deal with my personal schedule and every scheduled appointment would be put off, just as every invitation would be politely declined.

Four very well armed and determined body guards met my jet at Ross Perot Airport, just north of Fort Worth. They were sent by Jack to see to it that I didn’t become a victim of the same people who took Evie. They never did give me their names. We settled for nicknames. The men protecting me were, Tiny, Shorty, Cracker, and the Wolf.

Tiny was six-foot ten. He weighed somewhere north of three-hundred pounds, but none of it appeared to be fat or soft tissue. Shorty stood nearly as tall as Tiny, but weighed closer to two-twenty, and seemed like what he really wanted to be doing was torturing drug couriers and killing peeping toms. Cracker had the biggest hands I had ever seen, and he looked like he cracked spines with his bare hands to help him limber up for the hard stuff. The Wolf just looked like a stone killer.

I was prepared and handed them each four five-thousand dollar gift cards to take care of any necessities that might pop up while they were looking after me.

It seemed to help them focus.

The Wolf was the obvious leader, and as such, he briefed me when we were safely inside the lightly armored Mercedes SUV that Jack arranged for me to buy while I was flying west. “We have a series of disjointed leads, already. Ross – we are to call you Ross, right?”

I nodded so he would keep going. “It seems like Jack followed the trail of arrests that came about from your abuse trial. There has been a lot of killing going on since you flew the coop for England. Since a lot of the child sex traffickers have been picked up, several chose to roll over on a particularly wealthy and powerful trafficker who happens to live in Mexico.”

My mind was going a million miles an hour as Wolf gave me news I never imagined.

“This particular sex trafficker likes very young boys and even younger girls. He has been quoted as claiming that they are easier to break down, and better behaved when things get painful. His operation has a central base in Texas, but his people can be found all over North America and Europe.

“Ross, their operation is a multi-billion dollar enterprise which includes drugs, children, pregnant girls, and films that go from straight sex between middle aged men and five year old girls and boys, to torture, and snuff.

“The snuff is all real.

“We have unprecedented access to federal intelligence that confirms that these people traffic in murder for order. You give them a lot of money and they kidnap a young child that matches your desires, and they torture them to death and send you the film. Several months later, they repackage the film and sell it in mass quantities through a variety of retail avenues.

“The Mexican government won’t touch them. They’re as protected as million dollar bribes can buy...”

I started to feel like we were going to be drilling in a dry hole, but the Wolf had an answer for that. “What we have been told is that the Mexican authorities would not be unhappy if these people ended up room temperature, as long as it happens quietly and doesn’t spill out into the streets.

“Ross, we’re golden here. They want these pigs roasted on a spit and they think you’re the chef that can get it done for them. To that end, we have a liaison from Mexican intelligence. He is a spy. We’ve already backtracked him to the people paying him to keep them informed of every move we make.

“He is going to suffer a very unfortunate accident involving a curvy road and deep gorge, but he just doesn’t know it yet. We’ll hold off on his demise until we have all the facts about his contacts and other secrets, but he is in the process of giving all that up as we speak. Roy was very happy to be asked to help us out when it came to loosening our spy’s tongue.

“Of course, when Roy finishes loosening the traitor’s tongue, it will not be attached to his body any longer, but sacrifices have to be made. You understand. I’m sure...”

Our SUV was traveling south, leaving Fort Worth behind and speeding towards the Mexican border. That felt wrong, If we needed to enter Mexico, we could have flown a lot closer and crossed at one of any number of illegal entry points. The Wolf saw my confusion, and said, “We’re not crossing into Mexico, Ross. We’re heading to an undisclosed location to witness the final act of Roy’s interrogation of our spy.” He said nothing else, and we rode in silence for about an hour.

The undisclosed location turned out to be an old farm, way off the beaten path. We bypassed the house and outbuildings, heading for a blind culvert, out of sight of both. The culvert led us to an opening in the ground that looked like a cave. The Wolf led the way and we quickly crossed the open ground and entered what turned out to be a large tornado shelter that someone had converted into a quiet place for our work.

Strapped tightly down on a table, under very bright lights, what used to be a man was writhing in agony as Roy and another man worked him over, never stopping the infliction of pain, but also never slowing down in their demands for information. The guy looked like proof positive of life after death. His skin was as white as alabaster, and there was blood everywhere.

As we took places just outside the glare of the lights, Roy asked the man another question. “Where do you deliver the information about our activities?” His question was accompanied by an unearthly scream as what looked like a pick-ax handle was shoved further up his anus.