Brute Force

Chapter 37

Camille Thibodaux thought she would feel some kind of elation at holding the power to hurt this evil man in her hands. He’d tried to drug her — and she shuddered to think what else he had in mind. Instead, she felt sick to her stomach. It was in her nature to yell at Jacques with fiery Italian curses, and even threaten the boys with all sorts of mayhem if they didn’t do their chores, but actual violence, that was her husband’s department. She did not know for sure what he and Jericho Quinn did on their little secret missions, but looking down at the quivering lump of hairy lard who wore nothing but a sagging pair of briefs, she assumed it had something to do with people like this.

There would be no bluffing with this man. If she said she was going to hit him with the hammer, she would have to hit him with the hammer. The trick was neither she nor Kim knew where to begin. In the end, Camille supposed it was the clinical once-over she gave Benavides while deciding on an appropriate target that made the man spill the beans.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he sobbed, flopping and arching so much he nearly wriggled out of his underwear. “I’ll tell you… I’ll tell you what I know.” His eyes rolled back in his head, unable to even look at the hammer anymore. “Just… please, put the tools away.”

“That’s all we ask,” Camille said, shooting a look at Kim, who narrowed her eyes and gave a slow nod.

“Where is she then?” Kim said, seeming a little disappointed that she wouldn’t get to pinch him somewhere painful with the pliers.

“She’s being held at a black site,” Joey groaned. “It’s a boat really. Mr. Walter has us put certain high-value prisoners there. The ones he wants to keep out of sight.” He craned his neck to watch her put the hammer back in the toolbox. “There are a shitload of guards. It’s impossible for you to get her out.”

Camille had heard Jacques talk about black sites and prison boats, but she’d assumed such awful places were overseas, a long way from American soil.

“Impossible?” Kim fumed, still holding the channel locks. “As impossible as knocking out an IDTF agent and tying him to a bed?”

“You let us worry about what we can and can’t do,” Camille said, grateful for Kim’s bravado. “You just answer our questions.”

Joey swallowed hard, sniffing back his tears. “Yes,” he sobbed. “Sure. Absolutely.”

Camille leaned in close enough she could smell the sickening odor of sweat that beaded beneath the mat of hair on his quivering body.

“Now, where is this boat?”

“Southwest of Salisbury… In Maryland, out on the Delmarva.” His words were now spewing like a geyser. “I mean, we get to it from the Delmarva side of the Chesapeake, but the boat’s actually anchored off Bloodsworth Island. The Navy used to do artillery practice there so it’s off limits to civilians.”

“I’m going to ask you this one time,” Camille said, stooping to pick up the hammer again so Benavides would know she was serious. “There are Internet stories of the horrible things IDTF agents did to the Director of the CIA. Are those reports true? Did your people really strip and torture a fifty-year-old woman?”

Joey’s head fell to the side, nodding as he looked away. “It was always on Mr. Walter’s orders. All any of us ever do is follow his orders.”

Camille let the hammer fall back into the metal toolbox with a loud crash. The sudden noise brought a squeaky fart from the terrified Benavides. His head fell back on the mattress when he realized she wasn’t going to hit him for his confession.

Camille shook her head in disgust and motioned for Kim to follow her to the walk-in closet at the far end of the bedroom. “What do you think?” she whispered. “These are the same guys that took Virginia Ross. That means Ronnie Garcia is in real trouble.”

“Isn’t there anyone you can trust to call?” Kim said.

“Jacques keeps work stuff separate from our family as much as he can. I don’t even know how many other guys in the Corps know what he’s up to most of the time.”

“I was just thinking about something Jericho always says.” Kim gave a heavy sigh, as if she’d finally come to understand some mystery that had been eluding her. “He says if you’re going to make a mistake, you should err on the side of action.”

Camille threw her head back and laughed out loud. She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head.

“What?” Kim asked. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m probably the first woman in my family to ever contemplate hiring a babysitter so she can go break a friend out of a secret boat-prison. I guess that counts as erring on the side of action all right.” Camille stretched up on her tiptoes and began to search through the shoeboxes on the closet shelf above the rack of dresses that she never wore anymore. “Got it,” she said at length, finding the holster Jacques had given her, along with the little stainless-steel .357 he’d wanted much worse than she had. She remembered it was called a “Small of the Back” holster, or SOB, because those were the exact words that came to her mind when she saw Jacques had given her a gun for a present.

Peeking around the corner to make sure Benavides was still on the mattress where she’d left him, Camille stepped out of the loose basketball shorts and into a pair of heavy-duty Carhartt pants she wore to work in the yard. She rarely wore a belt and had to rummage around on the floor behind piles of clothing and boxed knickknacks, before she found a wide leather one that still fit her.

“Sorry you had to see in my closet,” Camille said as she fed the belt through the loops and then the holster so it wouldn’t slide around, just like Jacques had shown her. “I just throw junk in here to get it out of the way…”

“Have you got another gun?” Kim said, mesmerized by the little revolver. “I only have one leg, but you have to let me do something to help. These guys are the reason my little girl is hiding out halfway around the world.”

Camille gave her a leather belt from the pile on the floor. It was smaller but looked like it would probably fit Kim. “There’s a gun and holster in the bathroom gun safe.” Camille rolled her eyes. “I know. Right? Don’t even ask.”

“Remember who I used to be married to.” Kim took the belt and gave a nervous laugh. “A toilet gun safe doesn’t seem odd at—”

The sudden chime of the doorbell nearly sent Camille falling into the rack of dresses. The color bled from Kim’s face. Out in the bedroom, Joey Benavides began to scream for help at the top of his shattered voice.

Camille ran to the bedside and grabbed the hammer from the toolbox. “You better hush, mister,” she hissed.

The door was solid core but anyone standing near the window would be able to hear his yelling outside. If it was another IDTF agent, they were finished.

Benavides was obviously smart enough to know that this might be his only chance for escape. Leaning over the bed, Camille struggled to stuff the gag back in his mouth. He arched his body and jerked his head back and forth like a baby not wanting to eat his peas, all the while shrieking for help as if he was being burned alive. In a near meltdown panic, Kim began to whip him with the belt across the pale flesh of his thighs, which only added to his terror and made him scream even louder.

Realizing the situation called for desperate measures, Camille sprang onto the bed and threw herself astride Joey B so she knelt on his chest, trapping his head between her knees. He bucked and bounced beneath her, but she was finally able to stuff the gag between his teeth without getting bitten. She’d just pulled back her hand when she heard the bedroom doorknob rattle behind her. Terrified, and still straddling Joey B’s naked chest, she turned to find all six feet, four inches of her husband filling the doorway.

“Jacques!” Camille said, frozen in place. “Sweetie, I can explain.”

Thibodaux leaned a massive arm against the doorframe and cocked his head to one side, taking in the scene.

“Oh, Boo, you’re wearin’ the gun I bought you.” He grinned, nodding to the revolver on her hip. “I don’t believe I ever wanted you more.”