Precipice (18 page)

He spoke brusquely, “Dominic’s more concerned about a former agent, Amadi Babalola. They were best friends and partners until Amadi disappeared and was presumed dead. That was the going theory before he reappeared on our radar again, well-integrated into a previously unknown criminal network.” They made another left and the soliloquy paused. “But to answer your question, yes, I thought Shannon would have let me know.”

They came to an abrupt halt outside one of the many offices lining this hallway. Sloan wasted no time in twisting the knob and burst inside, but Krieger hesitated long enough to read the sign outside the door.
Information Technology Services.

Once inside, Sloan didn’t bother with the front desk, bustling past a surprised Asian lady who peeped out a shy “Excuse me?” that was summarily ignored. Krieger whispered a few quick words of apology as they blew past her post.

“Are you sure they didn’t just forget to check in?” Krieger understood Sloan’s concern, but surely this wasn’t the first time a young agent neglected to call in and report.

“Normally, that’s what I’d assume. They’re both young agents, prone to lapses on occasion. But there’s more.” His words sped up. “A few weeks back, the IT guys installed special tracking devices on our agents’ cars. It was meant as a security feature.”

They halted outside an ornate office door, fancier than the rest. The simple brass nameplate affixed to the door read
C. Dax.
“First thing this morning, when I realized they hadn’t reported in, I asked one of our tech geeks to track the GPS coordinates of their car. It hadn’t moved since last night.” His words accelerated to a frenetic pace. “A roaming agent in that neighborhood drove by the location to check it out. That was him on the phone. He confirmed what I feared. Their car’s missing.”

Krieger nodded. “But what about the tracking device?”

Sloan raised his fist to knock. “Lying at the edge of the parking lot, still transmitting. Someone removed it.”

Amadi stood in the corner of the room as Dominic worked over their suspect. The duo had been investigating a child smuggling ring, one of Amadi’s first cases with SISA. Children, mostly young girls, were being trafficked into the country from Eastern Europe.

The luckiest became household servants for the fabulously wealthy. Their masters generally didn’t treat them well, but it was still a major upgrade from the orphaned street life in their home nations. But most of the girls fared far worse and were sold into slavery as prostitutes.

A twelve-year-old girl had escaped two weeks ago and stumbled into the nearest police station. The case exploded and escalated up the ladder to SISA. The latest signs had led them to this man, Richard Salazar.

Salazar ran a way station for the girls, after they’d arrived in the States, but before they were shipped off to their new “home.” Salazar had been on their radar as a “person of interest” for a while, so when a neighbor reported seeing a young girl peeking out a back window of the house, local officials notified Dominic and Amadi, and they were on their way.

However, by the time they arrived on scene, no little girl was to be found. In fact, the only person on the premises was Salazar. They convinced a judge to issue a warrant for the thorough search of the home. It turned up no children, but did unearth a few interesting artifacts: a handful of long hairs that were not his, a ragged doll, and quite a bit of stored food, more than he could possibly eat himself.

They took Salazar into custody, where they planned to hold and question him as long as was legally allowed. So far, he’d denied involvement, but Dominic was confident they could get him to talk.

“Mr. Salazar, a girl was seen at your window,” he declared. He had already gone through the benign inquiries, designed to gain a basic level of rapport, and was reaching the thrust of his questioning.

“Allegedly.” Salazar wasn’t playing the silent game many suspects did, nor had he lawyered up. He was defiant. “A girl was
allegedly
seen at my window.”

“Sure….so where is she now?”

“Where’s who?” Salazar smiled.

“Right,” Dominic leaned back, rethinking. “What was her name?”

He was met with silence.

“Alright.” He shifted topics. “Do you know this man?” He pulled out a photograph of another suspect, Andrei Tankov, a man they believed was involved in illegal trafficking, everything from high-powered weaponry to human captives, including being the main transporter for these girls.

“Can’t say I do.”

“Really?” Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you take another peek? Study it closely.”

Salazar barely flicked his eyes toward the photograph before answering. “Sorry, mate. Doesn’t look familiar.”

“I see.” Dominic exchanged a look with Amadi, who arched an eyebrow in return. “I’m not sure I understand. You’re telling me you’ve never seen this guy before?” Salazar rolled his eyes and nodded, so Dominic forged ahead. “Then we have a problem. You see, I have it on good authority that you’ve seen him.”

“Whose authority? I run a store, buddy. I see a lot of people. Most I don’t remember. Do you remember everyone you passed on the way to work today?”

“Oh I think it was more than that. I was told the two of you were good friends,” Dominic bluffed, hoping to fool Salazar into believing they held more evidence than they did. A well-executed fake could draw a confession.

“Well then someone lied to you. I’m telling you, I don’t know this guy.”

“So you said,” Dominic responded.

“Do you normally forget the people you do business with?” Amadi piped up from the corner, entering the conversation for the first time. Dominic gave a slight smile at Amadi’s interruption. His partner liked to hammer the point home.

“Excuse me?” Salazar responded indignantly.

“We know you met with Tankov. Multiple times on multiple days.” Amadi moved closer and peppered Salazar, committing to Dominic’s bluff. “You not only saw him, but you spoke to him. Worked with him! Even fought with him on at least one occasion.” They, of course, knew no such thing, but the key to a good bluff is confidence. That and being specific.

“Uh…” Salazar hemmed and hawed as he struggled to defend himself. Worry lined his face. Amadi had hit a button. “I’m not sure…I don’t…what do you…I don’t know…”

“Andrei Tankov is about to be arrested for transporting smuggled children. Children who end up as slaves, beaten and abused. Physically. Sexually. Psychologically. Young children too. It’s horrifying. Any jury will agree with that. And you do business with this man.” He paused. “Federal law states any single member of a conspiracy or operation can be held accountable for the actions of all of them.”

Dominic sat back and observed the scene play out in front of him. Amadi placed both hands on the table and leaned forward as Salazar’s face blanched.

“Now, we know you just operated a temporary holding location for the girls. We don’t believe you abused or hurt them in any way. But if you don’t play ball with us, you’re going to go down for the whole thing. And if any one of those children died in the process, you’re on the hook for murder. That’s a long sentence behind bars and you know what they do to child killers in prison.” Amadi continued hammering away as Salazar fidgeted in his seat.

Within a few minutes under Amadi’s pressure, the poor man cracked and confessed to his role in the trafficking within minutes. He even agreed to help bring down the rest of the ring in exchange for a lighter sentence. An officer found the girl from the window shortly after, along with a dozen others, hidden in a secret closet behind his pantry shelves.

Dominic enjoyed watching his partner work at the interrogation table. It wasn’t anything in particular he said or did, but there was an intensity about him, a fierceness in his eyes that made you nervous even if his glare was directed elsewhere. He still had a lot to learn about interrogation technique, but that ferocity with which he attacked a suspect’s story was unteachable. Amadi was a good person, kindhearted and jovial, but when he chased a lead, his eyes flashed in a way that made you want to confess just to escape his wrath.

Dominic shook the memory away and the image of the interrogation room faded, this prison cell taking its place. A long time had passed. Minutes, hours, maybe days. There was no way to know. He could make no distinction between night and day in this dark prison cell.

Locked in this infernal chair, he’d spent at least a half hour, he guessed, yelling and cursing Amadi before deciding to save his voice and give up. That felt like maybe an hour ago, but could’ve easily been longer.

As he sat there, his muscles cramping, a noise broke the silence. A soft creak, originating from the hallway. Then another one. And another. Getting louder. Getting closer. He cocked his head, tilting his right ear toward the door. The faint squeaking came to a stop outside his cell. A jangling of metal against metal came next, followed by a subtle scratch and a squeak as the door handle began to turn.

Stiffening in his chair, Dominic’s muscles once again strained at the bonds as he braced for his visitor. A long, metallic groan accompanied the sight of the massive portal swinging inward, revealing a darkened figure haloed by the bright hallway light.

Dominic squinted as a small ray of light snuck past the shadowy intruder and came to rest on his face, sending his pupils into hasty contractions. He blinked a few times, allowing his vision to adjust to the new source of light. As he did, the man advanced into the room, his shoes squeaking with every step.

The door swung closed again, plunging the room back into shadows. The first things Dominic could make out were the man’s feet, slid comfortably into a pair of Velcro-ed sandals. A pair of dirty, ripped jeans, an inch or two too long for his legs, met the sandals near the floor. A collared, button-down top hung open and loose over the waistline, its sleeves rolled up to the elbows. A baseball cap kept his face hidden. The man stood tall and lean, his skin a unique shade of dark chocolate, a specific hue Dominic had only seen in person once before.

“You traitor!” he growled.

The man chuckled softly. Grabbing the metal folding chair from near the door, he swung it around in front of him in a wide arc. It opened as it rotated and at its apex, he adeptly spun it to a halt in front of Dominic, facing away from him. In one fluid motion, he stepped forward and swung a leg over the chair as it came to a stop, settling himself into the seat and straddling it to face his prisoner.

He deftly snagged the cap off of his black, bald head. Casually resting his muscular arms on the backrest, cap held nonchalantly between two long, lanky fingers, he leaned forward jutting his face out over his arms toward Dominic. Doing so moved his face into the beam of light from the small window. He grinned.

“But –who?” Dominic was bewildered. The man sitting in front of him wasn’t Amadi Babalola. He didn’t fault himself for the confusion. At a distance, the two men looked enough alike to confuse even a close friend, but up close, it was obvious he stared into the face of a complete stranger.

His partner had been a warm person, making friends with everyone he encountered, but staring into this man’s eyes was chilling. They were harder and blacker, like coming face to face with a wild animal, a deadly beast. A fierceness and a demonic ferocity lurked behind those eyes. The soulless pits on either side of his nose sent a shudder down Dominic’s spine, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Here was a man who’d lost his humanity, condemned to walk amongst the living while the better part of him had died and been buried long ago.

“That’s right,” his deep, raspy voice resounded in the concrete room.

“Then who…?” Dominic stammered, “And where?”

Another sinister chuckle. “There’s an interesting story behind that.” He casually twirled the ball cap in his hands. “Would you like to hear it?”

Dominic said nothing. That creepy grin, plastered on this man’s face, unnerved him. Something about it wasn’t right. It looked abnormally wide, like the scarred freak from the Batman movie. A couple teeth were missing, which only drew further attention to that disturbing smile. Dominic’s stomach turned.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The man smirked even more at the silence. “Let’s start with the second question of ‘Where?’” Raising his arms, he made air quotes with his fingers, a gesture that felt out of place—teenage-girl-esque—coming from a dangerous man who’d him knocked unconscious, expertly tied to a chair and stowed away in a dingy prison cell.

“You’re underground, beneath one of the warehouses owned by a Mr. Hiroto Sasori.” His voice was deep and gravelly, his words delivered in a spine-chilling, emotionless manner.

“Don’t worry. Your dear Amadi is safe and sound.” He hesitated, as if to reconsider that statement. “Well, he’s alive anyway. Barely. Actually, he’s busy sitting in a room much like yourself.” One arm swung out wide to point at the wall to Dominic’s right.

Dominic muttered under his breath, “Go to h-”

Mocking outrage interrupted him. “Oh no, Dominic. Watch your language. You wouldn’t want to insult your host.” Extending those long fingers inside the folds of his shirt, he grasped a thin cord and pulled it out, revealing a small hanging token. Dominic stared. It was a tooth. Not a shark’s tooth. Human. “I’ve gathered quite a collection from individuals who offend me.”

Dominic swallowed hard, but chose not to say the words that came to mind.

The man gazed down at the tooth for a few seconds before he snapped his head up to stare at his captive. “No comment? I guess that’s probably for the best.”

He let the necklace fall against his muscular chest and leaned forward in the chair, lifting two of the legs off of the concrete and balancing precariously on the other two. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Olayemi, but my friends call me Yemi.”

“I’ll stick with Olayemi.” Dominic grunted.
I can think of a few other names
.

“Your choice.” He shrugged. “Try out Yemi, though. It’ll grow on you. Besides, any friend of Amadi is a friend of mine.”

“If this is how you treat friends, I’m glad I--”

“Yeah, yeah…glad you’re not my enemy…such a cliché.” The man rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen American movies too.”

Dominic ignored the minor reproach. “Who’re you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” The man frowned and narrowed his brow at Dominic’s lack of understanding. “I’m Amadi’s brother, Yemi. His twin!”

Now it was Dominic’s turn to look bewildered. “His…twin? But he said his brother was dead…”
Surely Amadi would have mentioned a living sibling, especially a twin…

Olayemi shrugged again. “Did he really? I suppose that was a logical assumption after he watched mercenaries kidnap me. I supposed I’d think the same thing in his shoes.”

“You survived?’

The creepy grin disappeared, giving way to a disapproving frown. Still, none of his facial expressions appeared genuine. He seemed to put them on for show. “Do I look dead? I expected better. Amadi spoke so highly of you. You’re supposed to be a chip off the old block, he told me. John Randal would be so disappointed to know he raised such a failure. I can only imagine how disheartened he’d be, knowing that you can’t even tell a dead man from one who’s still walking and breathing.”