Pat Ruger Box Set 2, page 24
part #4 of Pat Ruger Series
“Okay, I guess ‘Hong Nguy’ is better than ‘Irving.’ If you don’t mind, I’m going to use your phone.” I stepped away before Nguy could answer and tried to text Jimmy that I was calling. It was difficult to text on the flip phone, having to hit the same key repeatedly to get the right letters to appear. I hit send and noticed that what went was “Jimny, ths is Patt. I’m cling.”
I went ahead and dialed him and, thankfully, he did answer.
“Pat, where have you been? We haven’t heard from you.”
“Did Jake get back yet?”
“I don’t know — we haven’t heard from him. It’s getting late there, isn’t it? 10:15?”
I glanced at the phone’s screen and it did show 10:15 p.m. “Yup, it is getting late. Listen, I need you to call the FBI and have them call me on this number.”
“Will do. Are you okay?”
“For the moment, but I’m not sure where I’m going from here. That’s why I need the call.”
“Okay, I’ll do that right now.”
“Thanks.” I hung up and waited. In about five minutes, the phone rang with an Asian-sounding electronic tone. I connected without speaking, in case it wasn’t the call I was waiting for.
“Pat? Pat Ruger? This is Gretchen … from the FBI. Pat?”
“Gretchen? This is Pat. It’s good to hear your voice.” Gretchen worked in the New York office and had been working with us in Upstate New York when Amanda was killed.
“Same here. Jimmy asked me to call you. What’s going on?”
“I’m in Seattle. I was investigating a murder that brought me here. Your office already told me that they can’t — or won’t — help on this case because it involves the North Korean government.”
“Yes, I’ve heard some scuttlebutt about that.”
“Well, I just rescued about a dozen girls that were apparently being kidnapped by a Vietnamese group for the sex slave business. Is that something you can help with?”
“I would hope so.” She paused, as if to think about options. “Honestly, can’t you travel anywhere without being a hero?”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“I guess. Let me call an agent I know in the King County office, Suzanne Jordan. I think she’s in Bellevue … yes, here’s her number. I’ll give her your details and have her call you. I’m sure she can help.”
“That would be great. Tell her to use a code phrase, like ‘Wake up Little Suzy” when she calls so I know it’s her. I’m using a perp’s phone.”
“That makes sense. Oh, one more thing — you might get a kick out of it.”
“What’s that?”
“I heard that the FBI called our office asking if they knew where you were. It seems they were tracking your phone until it pulled up into a driveway in Bellingham. You ditched the phone, right?”
I laughed loudly. “Yeah, in case the Koreans were tracking me.”
“I guess it wasn’t just them.” She was chuckling, too. “We said we didn’t but would let them know if we heard from you. I guess we have now …”
My laughter dwindled. “Go ahead and let them know.”
“I will. It was good hearing from you, even under these circumstances. Will you call me to catch up when this is all over?”
“I sure will, Gretchen. Thanks.”
I heard the click as she hung up and I did the same. In a few minutes, Tracy and Megan came back with three white bags of fast food and a couple of trays of drinks. I was somewhat surprised that they returned, just about as much as I was that the bags still held their contents with the amount of grease soaking the paper sacks.
“What happened?” Tracy asked.
“We had a disagreement. Hong, here, well, let’s just say he lost the argument. Take the food in the other room with the rest of the girls and eat. I’m waiting for a …” The phone rang.
“Wake up, Little Suzy, wake up.” It was a husky voice but definitely female. I waited for a moment while the room mostly cleared and moved over to my right, away from Hong. “I like that song.”
“One of my mother’s favorites,” she answered. “This is Agent Jordan of the FBI in Seattle-Bellevue. I hear you have a few victims in your care.”
“That’s the gist of it. I’ve got their caretaker, too, or at least one of them. Hong Nguy. He’s been shot and needs attention.”
“Never heard of him. How bad?”
“In the leg. I’ve applied a tourniquet but he needs a doctor. No hurry, though, since he tried to … well … take me out.”
“OK. We have been trying to find a way to break up the Vietnamese sex traffic. How many girls?”
“About a dozen, I think.”
“I can send a couple of vans for them and I’ll come pick up Mr. Nguy and take him to the hospital.”
“Wait,” I said. “I sort of promised them they wouldn’t have to go back to their parents if they didn’t want to. That’s the only reason they stuck around.”
“Good call. We’d rather they were available to testify than disappear back into the Seattle underground. I’ll make sure they get a fair shake with CPS. They won’t have to go home if they don’t want to.”
“They’ll be glad to hear that. How soon?”
“Well, let me see where you are.” I heard some mouse clicks in the background. “Got your phone, there. We can be by in about 45 minutes. Stay put ‘til we get there.”
“If I can, sure enough.”
Jordan hung up almost before I had replied. This was getting to be an abrupt world, I said to myself. I walked up to Hong and let him know he’d be going to the hospital soon. Hong nodded, but was still in quite a bit of pain. I called out to Tracy, who came hurrying into the room from the corridor still holding the remnant of a burger in a wrapper in one hand and a drink in the other.
“What’s going on?”
“I just spoke with the local FBI office,” I replied. “Good news. You guys don’t have to be returned to your parents if you don’t want to be. You don’t have to see them.”
Without letting go of her food, she rushed up to me and out her arms around me. “Thank you so much!”
I was feeling a little awkward but stayed in the hug until she let go. “Tell the others. I don’t want them running out into the night because they think they are going to be forced to see their family.” Tracy nodded with a smile and left. In a few minutes, there were pleasant sounds coming from that room and I knew they had been informed.
I grabbed a chair and pulled it up closer to Hong. “How long have you been with this gang?”
“Gang? I guess you can call it that,” he replied. “It’s more like a business. These kids are just products, you know.”
“How long in the business, then?”
“My brother got me in a few years ago. Why?”
“Just wondering what the life expectancy is in your group, that’s all.”
“Hey, I don’t like what I’m doing. But I’m stuck and that’s all there is to it.”
“Are you sure?”
Hong seemed taken aback. He contemplated before answering. “Yeah, there’s no way out for me. It’s death or prison.”
“What if there was a way?”
“You’re dreaming.”
“Maybe.” I stood up and stretched. “You’ll be going with the feds in a few minutes. Think about it.”
Hong shook his head and I decided not to push it. What they were doing with these girls was deplorable and I wouldn’t feel sorry for this guy even if he hadn’t tried to kill me. I walked to the front and peeked out the door. No one was around and all was quiet.
One by one the girls came out front from their meal, mostly seeming in good spirits. Tracy came over and asked why I had risked my life to help them. I explained about my misadventure in Colorado, where a large number of kids their age were poisoned. “All but a handful had died,” I explained. “Once I saw you, I couldn’t just do nothing.”
A car, then another, pulled up outside and I went to the door to check them out, gun drawn. The cars, both white minivans, had “FBI” stenciled on them in several places and the people who got out were definitely feds. Another car, a 10-year-old black Crown Vic, pulled up behind them and a woman got out.
I called out from the door, careful to keep an eye on Hong. “Agent Jordan?”
“I think I have a new nickname, thanks a lot.”
“Little Susie?”
“Yeah, asshole.” She sounded irritated but was smiling. “My name is Suzanne, or at least it was.”
I chuckled. Jordan was a stout woman, compact. She appeared to be about 5’4” and was dressed in as bland a brown business suit as I’ve ever seen a woman wear. Her hair was extra short, a blend of blond and brown. The agent seemed to be about 40, by my guess. “Sorry about that,” I said as she reached the door.
“I’ve got a couple of transports here. Is this all of them?”
“I think so.” To Tracy I asked, “Could you go make sure?”
She nodded and left the room, returning in a couple of minutes.
“This is Tracy,” I told Jordan. “She’s been very helpful, and the others seem to look up to her.”
Jordan shook hands with Tracy, who was taller than the agent. “Thank you for your help, Tracy. Can you let the others know we’ll be taking them into a woman’s facility, not to their homes?”
“They know,” Tracy answered. “Thanks for that.”
“It’s the least we could do. I’m just glad Mr. Ruger, here, was able to intervene. I shudder to think where you’d be otherwise.”
“Yeah.” She sounded like she was choking up. “He was …” Her voice tailed off and she moved to my side and hugged me.
I waited for a moment out of respect for her feelings, then reached for her arm to help her step back. “It’s okay, really.”
She let go reluctantly and asked, “What now?”
Jordan turned and pointed her arm slightly toward a couple of uniformed female officers who had entered and were standing near the door. “You can join these officers. They’ll take you to the shelter … the safe house.”
“C’mon,” Tracy said to the others. “We’re safe now.”
“Wait,” I said before the girls filed out with the officers. I found the girl who had shot Hong and pulled her out of the group. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Janie,” came the soft answer.
I explained to Jordan that this was the girl who had shot my adversary and that she might need some counseling. Jordan agreed and took her aside, handing her off to a female officer. Two male uniforms entered as they left the room.
Tracy was the last one to leave, and before she left, she came over and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks, again.”
It surprised me and she joined the others without a reply, leaving me, Jordan, Hong and the two remaining officers in the old office.
“Introduce me,” Jordan suggested.
“Agent Jordan, this is Hong Nguy, member of a Vietnamese ‘business,’ or so he calls it, that is dealing with sex slaves. Apart from trying to kill me, he seems like a reasonable guy. Hong, this is Agent Jordan from the Seattle office of the FBI.”
“King County office,” she corrected. “Mr. Nguy, you probably know how this works. You give us your boss and we recommend a reduced sentence for human trafficking.”
“You know they’ll kill me if I say a word. No way. I’d rather do the time.”
“Suit yourself, but a word of caution …” She turned to me and asked, “Is his the phone I called?”
“Yes, indeed.”
Back to Hong, she said, “Sorry, Mr. Nguy, they’re going to kill you anyway, once they find out that two different FBI offices have calls on your phone. Long discussions, not hang-ups …”
Hong hung his head.
“So,” she continued. “You need to cooperate to stay alive, don’t you? Your best bet is to do what I say, right?” Hong didn’t answer. She went right up to his face and repeated, “Right?”
Hong tensed his lips and finally said, “Right.”
Chapter 15
“You know, I heard about the kids you found in that mine.” We were sitting in Agent Jordan’s old Crown Vic, binoculars in hand, waiting for the gang to arrive to meet with Hong. She continued, “Agent Robinson … Gretchen … told me that you still blame yourself for the tragic … well, for not saving their lives.”
“Yeah, I guess I do,” I said pensively.
“Well, we’re taught that we can’t prevent everything, and sometimes you’re going to miss something that costs lives. You can’t let it eat you up or you would never move forward to do good things. Besides, didn’t a few kids live?”
“Yes,” I answered thoughtfully. “We got to a handful of them in time.”
“So, focus on that. Wow, I wonder what their parents would tell you.”
“Intellectually, I know that, obviously. But it’s not that easy.”
“I know, believe me.” The agent pulled out her phone and flipped through some pictures. She found one and blew it up on the screen, then turned it around to show me. “See this boy?”
In the photo was a young boy, maybe from a school pic. The African American kid looked about nine or ten and had a youthful smile that matched his colorful outfit of bright red and white. “Cute pic. Who is it?”
“My reminder that there are bad people in the world. It was my responsibility to keep him safe while we searched a crack house. I had him behind a squad car and he got away from me just when the shooting started.” She paused as if to gather strength to continue. “One bullet hit him — he didn’t have a chance. Anyway, if I had gripped him harder, or laid down on top of him, or something …”
“I get it, I really do.” I didn’t know what else to say.
After a couple of minutes Jordan broke the silence. “I didn’t know your fiancé, I’m sorry to say. I heard she was kick-ass.”
“That she was. I miss her.”
“I’m sure. Gretchen said that she …”
Three cars abruptly pulled up to the office and several urban dudes got out, some carrying what looked like small submachine guns, perhaps Berettas or Ingrams. From our vantage point, parked half a block away, it was difficult to see much even with binocs. The rain had picked up, which didn’t help. We heard some Asian language from Hong’s hidden microphone in our earbuds.
“They are asking what happened,” Jordan said. “Nguy is telling them he was ambushed by another gang and the girls were taken.”
“You know Vietnamese?”
“That and Korean and Filipino. Almost 100 million people speak Vietnamese.”
“I’m impressed. And at least he’s following script so far,” I said, relieved.
More voices. “Now he’s saying that they shot him and tied him up. Sounds like they are going to untie him.” She brought her handheld radio to her mouth and instructed, “Everyone stay put until we get more.”
“Ten-four,” a couple of the squad leaders replied.
The Vietnamese sounded angrier and I wondered if they shouldn’t move in, but Jordan stayed put. “Sounds like they aren’t totally buying it yet.”
“Shouldn’t we move in?”
“Not yet. We need them to incriminate themselves. A few more minutes.” On the radio she asked, “Anyone have eyes on Nguy?”
“I do,” a male voice replied. “He’s still sitting on the chair but someone is behind him, looks like they are untying his bindings.” There was a pause. “Bad news, they have his phone.”
The conversation in Vietnamese began again and it sounded like Hong’s voice. He seemed to be pleading.
“What are they saying?” I asked nervously.
“Just Nguy saying he wanted to help find the girls. He asked how much time before they would miss the transport on Pier 70. They didn’t like his question. Now the other one is saying that it’s none of his business.” More conversation. Jordan asked the “eyes” what was going on.
“They have him up. They seem to be looking at his gunshot wound.”
“The leader just said their customer’s going to angry if they don’t find their girls.”
“Isn’t that enough?” I asked.
“I think it is.” On the radio she said, “Move in. Go!”
We both jumped out with our handguns drawn and I tried to get there without getting too much rain in my face, my left arm shielding some of the moisture. Just before we reached the door we heard a gunshot. I waited for a half-dozen agents to enter and Jordan and I followed them in. The scene was fairly secure by the time we stepped in. About a dozen gangsters were on the floor, each with an agent on top of them, handcuffs flying onto wrists.
“What was the shot?” I asked.
“Looks like Nguy bought it,” one of the agents replied. He didn’t seem too shaken up about it.
“Too bad,” Jordan said. “We could really have used him.”
“I guess so,” I mumbled. I was torn. I didn’t really know why I was upset that the guy who tried to kill me was shot by his own gang. I supposed it was because he was becoming to seem salvageable to me, a human being that could have started to do good things to make up for the bad. In the end, he hadn’t killed me and was cooperating.
“Listen,” she said, seeming like an afterthought. “I’d like to take you to our office to debrief you. You mind? We can stop for dinner, if you’d like.”
I was hungry, I realized. “Sure. I can eat.”
“Great.” To one of the agents across the room, she yelled, “Bob! I’m taking Ruger with me.”
Bob nodded and she looked around. “I don’t see anything we need to take with us. Come on.”
I followed her out of the building and back to her car. It was still pouring and I wondered out loud why anyone would put up with it.
“Well, it’s green here,” she answered across the car’s roof.
“So I’m told. Not worth it.”
“I’d rather have rain and fog than wind and snow. There are lots worse places to live. Ever been in Phoenix in July?”
We climbed in the Vic and buckled up. “Okay, I get it.”
