Trapped in the Mayan Tattoo (34 page)

“We’re sending you
on another fact-gathering mission today,” Big Sam said.

Abbi looked tense,
but for most of recent events she and Louise had been under tight surveillance
and kept safe. She had no reason to think she would be a sitting target, not
again, not after the close call with the suicide bomber.

“The man you’re
going to see is called Mr. Schumann,” Big Sam said. “He had been working on an
operation that involved kidnapping, identity theft, stolen international
documents and human trafficking including the sale of children as sex slaves.
We were closing in on a sting operation. It backfired, leaving him shot in the abdomen.
We know the group NM2 was responsible and they’re the ones who kidnapped Miss
Shoe.”

Louise looked at
Abbi, wide-eyed as if she suddenly understood what Big Sam was saying.

            “Ladies, so far you
have done well. Maintain your poise. Where you are going has tight security.
You will be driven to a point. Then, from there, you’ll take the metro and then
walk a short distance. We will equip both of you with sound and GPS tracking
devices, just in case you become a target. You are to keep them on even as you
enter the hospital.”

 “The hospital!?”
Abbi’s heart felt like it made a flip. “Today?”

“We will be able
to hear everything you say, even when you whisper, but the other party in your
conversations may be muffled. This is the same system you used in the museum.
It works pretty well but, to be safe, repeat critical information that you
hear. Commit it to memory. Reword statements as if you are seeking
clarification. Mr. Schumann is finally able to speak, and he wants to talk. We
believe he will confide in you. Understand?”

            “Yes, sir. You want us
to relay any important information we hear or see back to you,” Abbi said.

            “You’ve got the idea.
Remember, you can whisper if necessary. We’ll hear.”

            A couple of people
stepped forward and re-attached the devices that the girls brought with them to
return.

            Whether the tall man
made the connection between Abbi and Mr. Shumann or Miss Shoe, Abbi couldn’t
tell. His poker-faced way of saying things did not reveal his thoughts, or any
emotion, for that matter.

The man filled in
the sketchy details he knew. He said that Abbi’s father had been taken by
secret transport to an army hospital in the D.C. area where he was in stable,
but still critical, condition.

“He would go in
and out of consciousness. At first he couldn’t speak, but indicated he wanted
to see his family.”

Abbi’s heart
raced.

“Now that he’s
talking, he asks to see his daughter repeatedly. Let him know she’s doing
fine.”

Abbi smiled and
fought back tears. Her secret identity was still maintained but these people
had to know. Someone, though, had leaked critical information to NM2, and that
put all of the rest of them in danger. She herself was probably the most at
risk since NM2 was gaining a reputation for going after family members when a
“slave” wouldn’t cooperate.

“Good luck with
your fact-gathering mission, Miss Kowalski. You’re free to go,” the tall thin man
said, and then asked, “May I see the Miss Shoe files?”

Abbi looked at Big
Sam who nodded.

“Sure, I guess,”
she said with hesitation and handed over her briefcase.

“That was an
impressive presentation!” Big Sam said as he started to lead Abbi and Louise
out of the conference room. “You have to feel exhausted.”

“I’m OK. Who is
that man?”

“Oh, him? That guy
in there who does all the talking? Never saw him before.”

Abbi punched Big
Sam.

“I guess I’ll get
that information when I need it. Do you think we’ll get to help with the drop
this time?” Abbi asked when they were out in the hallway.

“It’s not up to
me, but you have already helped considerably,” Big Sam said with gratitude and
renewed appreciation. “We’ll wait and see. Right now you have other business to
attend. Walk this way.”

“What about my
briefcase?”

 “You shouldn’t
need it.”

“But, Big Sam, if
there is a person who leaks information, then I would feel better if you put my
briefcase somewhere really secure.”

“It shouldn’t be
safer anywhere than here at headquarters.”

“No one else can
get in?”

“There are going
to be some analysts coming in.”

“I suppose they
need the reports.”

“Don’t worry. Those
people are fine,” Big Sam assured her. “They all have clearance and you won’t
find a team of more professional people.”

Abbi sighed. “OK,”
she said.

“Are you sure you
need me?” Louise asked. “I could stay here with the briefcases.”

“You’re not just
sitting the bench,” Big Sam said. “Come with me.”

Big Sam led them
through a maze that took them out the back door where the driver Scott was
waiting for them. Louise rushed over to him to tell him about the museum.

“Scott will take you
ladies to the Metro station. Use your passes to get to the hospital.”

“Finally!” Abbi
said. “Thanks, Big Sam!”

“Don’t get overly
excited,” Big Sam said. “He may try to put on a good show for you today, but he’s
not well.”

Scott dropped them
off at the Metro, not nearly a long enough ride for Louise. There was so much
she wanted to tell him.

The ride on the
metro was unprotected, as far as Abbi could tell. No man with a hoodie, no red
shoelaces.

Inside the
hospital, the girls gave their names to a uniformed man who waited at the door.
After waving a security wand over them, the uniformed man instructed a staff
aide to walk them through a series of chambers.

Abbi repeated
information she was told to say to the nurse practitioner who met her with a smile.

“Miss Kowalski
here to interview Mr. Shumann.”

“Mr. Shumann is
more aware today. This should be a good time for a visit.”

 The nurse
practitioner instructed Louise to wait in the visitors’ lobby on that floor.

“Are there
magazines?” Louise asked. “Good ones, like fashion and such?”

The aide assured
Louise that there was ample reading material and then led Abbi down a hall.

            Abbi’s knees grew weak
and tears filled her eyes when she entered the room and saw her father, hooked
up with life support and monitoring systems that had him anchored down. His
eyes lit up immediately. He tried unsuccessfully to sit up in bed.

            “Miss Kowalski is here
to see you, Mr. Shumann. Are you up to a visitor?”

            He motioned for Abbi to
come in.

            “Hey, Sweetheart!” Abbi’s
father finally said with a hoarse voice as the door closed and they were alone.
Although injured and unable to sit, his face glowed with love.

            Abbi rushed to him and
whispered, “Oh, Daddy! Can I hug you without hurting you?”

            It was impossible for
her to stay in character as Miss Kowalski.

            “It doesn’t matter if
it hurts. Get over here!” he said with a huge smile. His words started gushing
out but he had enough presence of mind to mask the conversation. “I’m so glad
you could come! Before this interview begins, tell me, where’s Miss Shoe?”

Abbi fidgeted. He
knew the game plan. This would be treated as an interview. That would be hard,
especially when he just asked about her mother. What she was supposed to say
was not entirely true, but she was bugged.

“She called. The
FBI has a location. They’re negotiating with a contact and a rescue is in the
works.”

“You know more.
What do your senses tell you?”

“That’s pretty
much it,” she said in normal voice. Then she wrote on a piece of paper, “I think
she’s been moved to a shabby little shack in the mountains south of here, all
alone.”

She knew that talk
about anything as nebulous as “senses” would raise eyebrows at headquarters.

He seemed to
relax. Her father knew first-hand that the logistics of pulling someone out of an
illicit, criminally-operated Mexican cantina was very risky.

Abbi wrote, “With
her Smart Shoes, they’ll locate her soon.”

Her father read
the note and smiled.

“What about you?”
she asked quickly.

Her father spoke
slowly, “They thought I was a goner for a couple of days there. I remember
dreaming about you. They said I was in a coma for a little while, I don’t know,
but it was like I was home, with you. I could actually see you. I guess it was
just a dream but it seemed real. I flew there!”

            She stepped back when
she realized he was giving some very private information. Then Abbi moved in
close and hugged her father, whispering in his ear, “You ZINGED me!”

            She hoped that somehow
the listening device had not picked up any of this conversation, especially the
“zinging” part. The rest she could handle, but she didn’t want to have to
explain that.

            Her father smiled and
their eyes met, communicating a very special understanding. They hugged, both
being gentle. Abbi studied the monitors that read his vital signs and the
tangle of tubes holding life-saving fluids that nourished his body.

            “Then it’s true,” her
father said quietly.

            “Yeah,” she nodded,
knowing that he must have been near death at the time. “You remembered!”

            “What else do you know
about Miss Shoe?” he asked.

            Abbi was allowed to
tell him that analysts and a negotiator were optimistic at the feasibility of
getting her out within a couple of days. This made him smile. Abbi imagined
that Big Sam had prepped her father in the work she was doing for the Bureau.
Her father seemed to accept it.

            It was time to do some
questioning.

            “Now, Mr. Schumann, I
need to ask some questions. What was the name of the man who ran the cantina?” She
pointed to her recording device, used his assumed name, and he seemed to
understand.

“Ramon.”

“Ramon,” she
repeated.

            “How did you know to go
there?”

            “We had been able to
follow a kid named Gopher who had business dealings with Ramon. Specifically,
we knew he sold Ramon a young girl, fourteen years old, whose father, a
policeman, had filed a missing persons report. A missing child alert had been
issued. The Mexican Ambassador and Border Patrol, a whole slew of agencies
actually, had been helpful in arranging for us to go into Mexico, make the
extraction, and get the girl out.”

            “Are there other
American girls there?”

            “Yes. We had a list.”

            “Where is that list
now?”

            “I couldn’t tell you,
after all that happened.”

            “Is there another way
into the cantina?”

            “There’s an entrance
from the backyard, but you can’t get directly into that area because of the
penitentiary-style fencing. The rooms in back are where the girls are held.”

            “Are they free to come
and go?”

            “Not at all. If they
have a driver’s license, Social Security card or U. S. Passport, it is
confiscated. They are prisoners.”

            “Do they earn a
paycheck? Or tips?”

            “No, they have to work
and they have a quota to earn, but the money is not for them. They’re not
allowed to handle any money.”   

Abbi repeated the
information.

            He told her about the
sting operation that he was on, detailing his role and how it turned ugly. As
he spoke, his words became slower, his eyes and hands less animated as if
struggling for the words to describe the event pained him. When he came to the
part where Miss Shoe was captured and he was injured, his voice sounded
gravelly and fatigued.

            “Take your time.”

            “I’m tired. After that,
it got fuzzy. This line of work can take a lot out of you,” her father finally
said and he heaved a sigh.

            “Do you remember who
was with Ramon at the border?”

            “I don’t know. I
thought he was alone, but I may have been mistaken. That’s all I remember.”

            “Do you know if there
are still other American girls at the cantina?”

            “The young lady
indicated there were.”

            “No more zinging. OK?”
Abbi asked with a grin, forgetting not to use the word.

            “Oh, that,” he said and
chuckled. “I figured you had to know. I think I’ll make it.”

            Although Abbi didn’t
repeat the conversation about being zinged, she did repeat other things that
her father had said as she had been instructed to do at headquarters. She felt
like a spy each time she repeated his words. He didn’t seem to mind and
probably understood the process. He was much too weak, his voice too quiet to
be picked up well.

“It has been a
very good interview. Thank you, Mr. Schumann!”

            A nurse poked her head
inside.

            “Time, Miss Kowalski,”
the nurse said and then closed the door again.

            Abbi and her father
embraced and kissed each other. Her father kissed her on both cheeks and her
forehead, and when he held her hands, she knew he did not want to let go.

Then he whispered slowly
for her ears only, “As a person who’s been near death, I look at life, at our
fleeting mortality, differently now. I’ll tell you something this one time,
since I may never have the chance again, so remember: Do what you love in this
life and love the people in your life with all your soul. Making it a better
world can be as simple as loving your family and friends. Plant some flowers. Be
happy. Life is too short to be otherwise.”