Invincible

8.

We survived a rocky boat ride to Aruba. This neighboring island had the same vibe as Curaçao: tropical, humid, colorful. My eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and not even the black tar that Kyle claimed was coffee could wipe the fog from my brain. A restless night on the piece of shit boat coupled with vivid nightmares of Annie's fate had me feeling edgy and irritable. I couldn't relax until we'd gotten this shit done.

With the boat safely docked in a slip, the three of us made our way through the energetic market, elbowing through hoards of tourists and locals hocking their wares. The sun was already baking a sea of bodies on the stretch of beach and though I wore faded jeans and a frayed t-shirt with a cap pulled low over my eyes, I felt the heat heavy on my skin. I couldn't stop Vic from donning a tacky Hawaiian shirt, his attempt to dress like a tourist. Vic followed at a distance, strolling leisurely from shop to shop along the beachfront road.

We’d rented a car and reserved a hotel room in the middle of town. Until we found her, we wanted to make sure that we were staying in the center of the tourist hub so we could do our best to blend in with the throngs of visitors.

At night, Kyle, Vic, and I set out again, scouring the red lights. The ones in Aruba seemed more upscale than the ones in Curaçao. Most were set up like bars. Men could sit and order drinks at little tables and chat up the hookers. I guess that was great for the men who liked to pretend that these women were actually interested in them, instead of admitting that they were paying for sex. I preferred to be honest with my intentions so I never needed to play any games or delude myself any more than I already did.

But after another long night of too many drinks and too bright neon lights, we’d come up empty-handed. No Annie.

Kyle convinced Vic and I to cool off at the hotel bar, Enrique & Richie’s. It was dark and pulsed with loud music, heavy on the bass. Spring break was out in full force. Coeds writhed on the small dance floor with candy-colored drinks and short skirts paired with bikini tops. Most were already halfway to blitzed and I couldn't help but wonder if one of them would be the next Annie.

Vic and Kyle hit on girls at the bar, but I was too fucking depressed to make small talk. I sat alone at a table in the corner, drinking whiskey. Why should I be out having fun in paradise, while Annie was turning tricks in hell?

Think, motherfucker. What am I missing?

My mind drifted, and I zoned out listening to the Calypso music. The beat of the steel drums shook my shot glass.

Steel. Drums.

Annie had said that the last thing that she’d remembered the morning she had been taken was that the drummer entered into her elevator and drugged her. And the other American girl who went missing, Nicole Race, had been last seen at this bar. Annie had even said she knew Nicole, but Nicole had overdosed. This couldn’t just be a coincidence.

I glanced over to the drummer and my eyes narrowed. A larger than life man with piercing dark eyes; he wore a pink shirt and played those drums as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Kyle was busying grinding some girl on the dance floor, so I told Vic that I’d meet him back in the room because I wanted to take a walk. He gave me a look, like he thought I was up to something, and asked if I wanted them to come with me. When I said no, he just nodded.

I made my way to the alley near the back of the club. There was a van parked there. A tree was painted on its side door with the words Divi Divi underneath. I moved my rental car around the corner. When the band left, I’d be ready to follow them.

Hours passed. I was tired as fuck but didn’t so much as close my eyes to risk sleep. Staying up casing this van was easy compared to the training I’d endured. In BUD/S Hell Week, I’d survived on only four hours of sleep in five and a half days. To this day, every time I was tired during a mission, I could hear my instructors’ words echo in my head, taunting us, trying to get us to ring the bell three times and quit. “Anybody who quits right now gets hot coffee and doughnuts. Come on, who wants a doughnut? Who wants a little coffee?”

I needed a pick me up. I sprinkled some instant coffee into a water bottle. Time to hurry up and wait.

Eventually, the five-member band loaded up all their equipment in the van. But instead of taking off, they milled around, talking and smoking, no sense of urgency at all.

Another half an hour passed. Finally, they climbed into the van. When it pulled out on to the street, I slowly followed behind them, keeping my distance.

After a few miles along the road, the van stopped in front of a one-story plantation-style house. It wasn’t one of the brothels we’d investigated—I wasn’t even sure if it was a brothel at all. No sign, no man out front, just a door with some metal bars on it and some lights in the windows.

Could Annie be in there?

The men got out. Four of them took off in a different parked vehicle. Then the door to the house opened and the drummer walked inside and greeted another man.

I took out my binoculars and his face came into focus. It was that pimp. The one with my watch, I was sure of it.

Fuck. Annie had to be in there. But was it a brothel? A drug den? Maybe it was a holding place where they drugged up the women before they moved them elsewhere. And how many men? I could see two: the pimp and drummer. But as far as I could tell, only the pimp was armed.

I drove my car around the building. In a window to the back, I could see a girl stare out the window. She had dark hair but even with my binoculars that was all I could make out because she had left the window so quickly. Was she Annie? My gut told me she was, but there was only one way to find out.

I needed my men and my night-ops equipment. I drove off back to the hotel, careful to mark the path in my mind.

I couldn’t wait another day, another chance for them to move her. We had to move in tonight.