Omega Sanction

Chapter Sixteen

"There’s a lot of drugs, sex, you name it, they do it." The driver of the car pointed out the window to a shadowy group gathered on a street corner. "Dealers. I've seen dependent girls — and boys — selling themselves to get money to buy drugs."

The car's wipers made loud squeaks every time they swept across the dirty windshield. Thorpe shifted his gaze from the exterior of the car to the driver. Morty Lorsen was the next point of contact that Master Sergeant King had directed him to after Major Rotzinger had turned out to be a bust. Morty was a wizened old man, so short he could barely see over the steering wheel, a thin fringe of white hair framing his wrinkled and age-spotted head.

King had told Thorpe that Lorsen was a retired master sergeant who had settled in Germany, his last duty station. Married to a German woman, he had spent almost half his adult life in Germany and knew the ins and outs of Stuttgart as well as any American. He spoke fluent German with a Bronx accent, a mixture Thorpe found most interesting.

"One of the girls I'm looking for didn't do drugs and she wouldn't have been standing on a street corner trying to sell herself," Thorpe said.

Lorsen gave him a sideways glance. "Says who? Her parents?"

"I knew her."

"We don't ever know kids," Lorsen said. "Even our own."

"Listen, I—"

"I've lived a lot longer than you," Lorsen interrupted. "I thought I knew things and every day I learn I don't know things." He tapped the side of his skull with a gnarled finger. "You listen to Morty, sonny boy. I know things."

"Do you know what happened to Terri Dublowski and the other girls?"

Lorsen turned a corner and drove down a narrow alley. He stopped the car, then leaned back in the worn upholstery. "Listen, my friend. I will ask around. But you might not like the answers you get."

Thorpe pulled out several bills and placed them on the seat between them. "I just want an answer."

Lorsen glanced at the money. "We Americans think we can buy everything."

"I was told you worked as a private investigator."

Lorsen pocketed the money. "I do. And I'm an American. You think you know so much, who were the guys watching your meet with Rotzinger?"

"How do you know about that?" Thorpe asked.

"Because I was watching you meet with Rotzinger," Lorsen said. "And there was other surveillance there. Lots of people around here watching each other."

"Who do—" Thorpe stopped as his phone rang. He pulled it out. "Thorpe."

"Mike, it's Parker."

He could tell by her voice that something was wrong. "What happened?"

"Takamura's dead."

Thorpe sank down into the car seat. "What happened?"

"His car hit a tree. The police think it might be a homicide. His trailer was burned down also."

"Jesus," Thorpe said. "What have we got into?"

"I don't know. He called Dan just before he was killed. Said he found something. We're going to check on it."

"Be careful," Thorpe said.

"You can count on that."

"Give me a call the second you find out what it was."

"I'll do that. You be careful too."

The phone went dead and Thorpe sat back in the seat, deep in thought.

"Bad news?" Morty asked.

"Yes."

"Care to share it?"

"No."

"Come with me." Lorsen got out of the car, pulling his old green raincoat tight around his frail body and grabbing a paper bag from the back seat. Thorpe followed as Lorsen slipped into an alleyway. The brick buildings on either side were three stories high and the alley barely wide enough to allow a car to pass if it weren't for the dumpsters and cans scattered throughout.

Lorsen was walking quickly, glancing neither to the right or left. Thorpe caught movement out of the corner of his eye and his hand was on the butt of the 9mm pistol Dublowski had given him.

"Leave it alone," Lorsen said.

A girl was on her knees, giving a blow job to a man, the two of them crammed between a dumpster and the brick wall. The man was watching Thorpe torn between pleasure and wariness, the girl concentrating on the job in front of her. She looked to be no more than fifteen, but it was hard to see in the dim shadows. The man was obviously over fifty.

Thorpe followed Lorsen to a narrow opening on the left side. Lorsen stepped in, motioning for Thorpe to follow. They went down a narrow space between two buildings, less than three feet wide. Lorsen suddenly disappeared to the right. Thorpe stepped up and saw that an entrance had been hewn out of the rock. He could barely see Lorsen inside. Hand firmly on the pistol grip, he stepped inside.

"Who the fuck are you?" a voice growled in English to the left.

"Easy." Lorsen was holding the paper bag out to the owner of the voice, a black teenager with a shaved head. The kid took the bag, looked in it, then tucked it under his arm.

"What else you got, old man?"

Thorpe heard the crinkle of money exchanging hands.

"What do you want?" the kid asked.

Lorsen tapped Thorpe. "Show him the pictures."

As Thorpe pulled the pictures of the missing girls out of his pocket, his eyes were adjusting to the room they were in. It was about forty feet wide, by thirty long. Several thick beams rose from the floor to support the ceiling. There were other people inside, dim forms, most lying about on ratty mattresses, one or two moving about. The only light came from one boarded-up window high on the far wall and several candles. There was a dank smell of decay in the air.

Lorsen took the pictures out of Thorpe's hand and gave them to the black kid. He squinted, looking through them quickly. "Yeah, and?"

"Have you seen any of these girls?" Lorsen asked.

"What's it to you?"

"Is Crew here?" Lorsen asked.

"Yo, Crew!" the boy yelled.

Another figure came out of the shadows, a white boy, slightly smaller than his friend, his arms heavily tattooed. His face was drawn, dark circles under the eyes. "What's going on, Cutter?"

"Yo, Crew, these dudes looking for these girls." Cutter handed the pictures to Crew.

Crew nodded at Lorsen. "Old man. How you been?"

"I've had some better days, young man. Some worse ones too. You?"

"Living." Crew laughed. "Just living. But that's something, ain't it?" His body shook and Thorpe could see a sheen of sweat on his bare arms, even though it was chilly.

"We—" Thorpe began, but Lorsen nudged him to be quiet.

"One of those girls is the daughter of a friend of ours," Lorsen said. "We want to make sure she's all right."

Crew looked down at the pictures in his hands. "There's five girls here."

"They're all missing."

"Maybe they don't want to be found, old man. Not everyone wants to be rescued."

"Maybe," Lorsen agreed. "We just want to make sure she's all right."

"You're full of crap," Crew said.

Lorsen laughed. "No, I'm not." He held out another couple of bills, the money Thorpe had given him. "Those girls are missing. We want to find them. It would be worth your time to help us."

Crew shook his head. "Well, it don't matter, 'cause I don't know any of them." He tossed the pictures at Lorsen. They tumbled to the ground around the old man's feet. Thorpe turned as he sensed someone behind him. The girl who had been in the alley squeezed past, not saying a word. She disappeared into the shadows.

Lorsen sighed. "Maybe you could ask the others here for me?'

"Listen—" Thorpe edged forward. Lorsen put an arm out and stopped him.

"Who the hell are you?" Cutter's right hand was hidden inside his Dallas Cowboys jacket.

"He's my friend," Lorsen said.

"You got too many friends, old man." Crew stepped forward. Thorpe pulled his pistol out of the holster, keeping it hidden inside his jacket.

"A person can never have too many friends," Lorsen said. "Listen, we think these girls might be dead. That there's somebody killing them. And this person will kill again."

"I don't give a damn about—" Cutter began, but Crew put a hand across his friend's chest.

"Hold on, bro. Let's listen to the man. He's always been square with me."

"Whoever is doing this," Lorsen continued, "will kill again. Maybe one of your girls here."

"Hey, Marcy!" Crew yelled, his voice echoing off the brick. When there was no response, he yelled again. "Marcy, get your butt over here."

A slight figure came out of the shadows. A girl, her face thin and drawn. "Yeah, what do you want?"

"Check out those pictures." Crew pointed at the ground.

Lorsen beat Marcy to it, scooping them up, then handing them to her. "Do you know any of these girls?"

Marcy thumbed through, pausing at one of them. "That's Mary."

"Mary Gibbons?" Thorpe asked, remembering the names that went with the photos.

"Yeah."

"Do you know where she is?" Lorsen asked.

"She's been gone for a while," Marcy said. "I ain't seen her in weeks."

"Do you know where she went?" Lorsen pressed.

Marcy giggled. "To a party. She went to a party."

"What party?" Lorsen asked.

"With the Jewel Man."

"Oh, fuck," Cutter said. He pushed Crew. "See, man? See what you getting us into? You don't want to fuck with the Jewel Man."

"Who is the Jewel Man?" Lorsen asked, but he was ignored as Crew shoved Cutter back.

"Hey, man, that dude is weird," Crew said. He tapped the photos. "He could be doing these girls, man. Doing 'em bad."

"I don't want nothing to do with this." Cutter turned and walked away.

"Who is the Jewel Man?" Lorsen asked once more.

"Some crazy dude," Crew said. "I only seen him a couple of times. He always got drugs and money, but he's only interested in girls."

"Jesus." Marcy was looking at the pictures more closely. The giggle was gone. "All these girls are missing?"

"Yes," Lorsen said.

"I knew the dude was screwy," she said. "He's asked me to party a couple of times, but you can look in his eyes and tell he's weird. Freaky." She tapped the side of her head. "Some weird shit going on in there."

"Who is he?" Lorsen's voice was patient.

Marcy was still looking at the pictures. "Hey, these other girls look like Mary. Except this one." She held up Terri Dublowski's picture. "That's like weird, isn't it?"

"Have you seen her?" Thorpe tapped Terri's picture.

Marcy shook her head. "No."

"Who is the Jewel Man?" Lorsen asked once more.

"I don't know," Marcy said. "Wears rings on every finger. Lots of jewels." She giggled. "Guess that's why he's called that. He's not too big. Speaks with a weird accent. Dark-skinned like an eye-talian or Greek or something. Got weird eyes. Blue. Like really strange. Always looking around."

"Where can we find him?" Thorpe asked.

"He just shows up," Crew said. "Don't hang out nowhere I know of. Like she said, he's bad."

"Sometimes he got another guy with him," Marcy volunteered. "Big guy. He's, like, even scarier."

"A second man?" Thorpe asked.

"When's the last time you saw either of them?" Lorsen asked.

"The small guy," Marcy said, "a couple of weeks ago. At a rave."

"A rave?" Thorpe asked.

"A party," Lorsen explained. "The location changes all the time. Techno music."

Marcy nodded. "Yeah. Haven't seen him since then."

"Could this Jewel Man and his friend be soldiers from post?" Thorpe asked.

"Maybe," Cutter shrugged. "Their hair is short. They act like soldiers, but I don't know. There's something different about them. The way they speak. And they got drugs and money."

Lorsen pulled some cards out, handing one to Crew and one to Marcy. "You see either of those guys — the Jewel Man or his buddy — you give me a call right away. I'll make it worth your time." He nudged Thorpe. "Let's go."

They retraced their steps to the small alley. Just before they entered the larger alley, Lorsen put his hand out, stopping Thorpe.

"Let me ask you something."

"Yes?" Thorpe waited.

"These kids you're looking for. You know they're probably dead?"

Thorpe nodded.

Lorsen ran a hand through his thinning white hair. "Those kids we just talked to…"

"Yeah?"

"They're alive. It might not be much of a life, but it's all they have. It isn't up to you or me to judge them. You were ready to pull your gun on them, weren't you?"

Thorpe didn't answer.

"They've had that all their life — people threatening them."

"What was in the bag?" Thorpe asked.

"Needles. I got a buddy at the post hospital who gets them for me. Crew — you saw the way he was shaking? He's got AIDS. A lot of the other ones do too. Heroin is real big now. That place is not exactly the cleanest and they tend to share needles. And sex."

Lorsen jabbed a finger in Thorpe's chest. "It isn't up to you or me to get them killed. So if you catch up with this Jewel Man, you better make sure you make a clean sweep of things. Because he might come back here asking questions and I don't think he'll be as nice as we were. Do I make myself clear?"

Thorpe looked down the narrow alley, taking in the garbage, the used needles and condoms. "Yeah, I hear you."

"No," Lorsen said, "you only hear half of what I'm saying." He pulled the pictures out of his pocket. "You know one of these girls. The others are strangers. Would you be here if you didn't know one of them? Would you give a shit about these girls you don't know?"

To that, Thorpe didn't have an answer.

The sergeant major had checked the post's reverse directory and learned that the number Takamura had called was in the G-l section in SOCOM's headquarters building. Parker and Dublowski were both on the access roster for SOCOM headquarters, so while most of Fort Bragg was out doing physical training they entered the building, flashing their ID cards at the security guards. There was no one in the G-l section and they split up, checking the phone lines until they found Takamura's desk.

"This is it," Parker said, sitting down in front of the computer that took up most of the space on top of the desk. She noted the little pewter Star Trek figure on the desk next to the monitor. She turned the computer on and they both waited as it booted up. Getting the main screen, she accessed the fax/E-mail program.

"Here it is." She pointed at the screen. "Incoming E-mail early this morning. Same time as the call from Takamura's cell phone."

"What is it?" Dublowski demanded.

"It's not that easy," Parker said. She typed in several commands, each one ending in a beep and accessed denied. "I can't get into it without Takamura's password."

"It's a goddamn army computer," Dublowski growled. "It can't be that hard to beat."

"Well, it's harder than I can handle." Parker sat back in the chair and checked her watch. "And this place is going to start filling up with people in half an hour."

"I know someone who can get in there," Dublowski said.

"Can you get him here in the next twenty minutes?"

"No," Dublowski said, "but I can bring this to him." He knelt down and pulled the CPU for the computer out from under the desk. He pulled out his Leatherman and cut the lines in the back and tucked it under one arm. "Let's go."

"How long before you can deliver what you promised?" The Russian was flawless, the accent strange.

The colonel eyed the stack of bills piled on the table in front of him. "I did not expect you back so soon."

"I do not care what you expected." The man pointed at the money, jeweled rings flashing. "This is what you asked for."

"It will take some time. I was not prepared."

"Why not?"

The colonel laughed. "There are so many pretenders in the world. Men pretending to be something they're not."

"I am for real."

"I know that now."

"The only reason I am here," the Jewel Man said, "is because your German contact was legitimate."

"I heard you tested the product," the colonel said. "I assume it was to your satisfaction?"

"It worked," the Jewel Man allowed.

"Of course it worked," the colonel said. "It was used in Afghanistan. The test wasn't necessary."

"It was for me."

"What do you plan to do with the material?"

"That is not your concern."

"It could be."

"Just get me the material."

"Many people have spies watching many places," the colonel said. "It could be dangerous. It was dangerous to set up the German meeting. And expensive. You could have just come here in the first place."

"That would have been foolish," the Jewel Man said. "What's done is done. Just get the material."

"It will cost more than we agreed on."

The Jewel Man sighed. "You have been paid."

"Transfer another two million in American dollars to my account."

"I will pay," the Jewel Man said, "but do not ask for more. How large will the package be?"

"Not very large. A little bit goes a long way. For what you said you wanted, about six briefcases."

"How long will it take you to get that amount of material?"

"It will take me at least two days."

The Jewel Man looked out the grimy window of the hotel. He shook his head. "Two days in this pigsty?"

"I could perhaps arrange some company for you?" the colonel was stuffing the bills into a black sack. "Chernovsty is not such a bad place. I have been stationed at worse. Especially when I was in the Soviet army."

"I am sure you have seen worse," the man said. "I will survive without your company. You may go now."

Anger flashed in the Ukrainian colonel's eyes, but the weight of the black sack in his hand forestalled his words. He turned on the worn heel of his boots and left the room.

Alone, the Jewel Man pulled a chair to the window and stared out at the street. He pulled the titanium case out of his pocket and began flicking it through his fingers as he thought.