CHAPTER NINE
Liv laid in her bed, the glass doors of her penthouse apartment pushed wide open, and listened to the traffic on Bond Street below as it sang its own special lullaby. Looking at the lights from the other buildings and the city traffic had always soothed her, but sleep hadn’t come tonight.
She was fortunate in her circumstances. Most agents would’ve been ruined financially if they’d been suspended without pay for the months that she had, pending the investigation of her involvement with Simon Locke. But she’d been the only heir to inherit after her father had died of a massive heart attack at the age of fifty-three. And her mother, who’d moved to New York during Liv’s first year of university, hadn’t felt she’d gotten the attention she’d deserved after becoming a widow at such a young age, and she’d overdosed on her anxiety pills the day after his funeral.
Margaret Rothschild’s death had almost been a relief. She’d never hidden her disdain for the daughter she’d been left with—the one who was never quite good enough. Liv had welcomed each and every school term, knowing for a short time, she’d be living in another dorm with other girls her age, and she could pretend she had a mother who sent her letters and care packages. When, in reality, the school term was a welcome break from the constant criticism and accusations. There was no doubt in Margaret’s mind who was at fault when Elizabeth went missing.
She tried not to spend time dwelling on the sad state of her family and that she was the only one left. The financial gain didn’t quench the loneliness. But it gave her options. She didn’t have to work, but she looked at what she did as more than work. It was her purpose and her passion. She’d have done it for free.
Exhaustion should’ve taken over her body after the day she’d had. It had been a week of little sleep and long hours, followed by the adrenaline rush of the raid that afternoon, making sure the girls had gotten settled with the social workers who had started the process of reuniting them with their families, and waiting anxiously while Donner was in surgery.
He was resting comfortably, and he’d called and reassured his wife, Karen, and daughters that he was fine and that the doctor told him to eat lots of carbohydrates and sodium to regain his strength. Karen had bought a plane ticket to London before he’d been able to finish telling the lie, and interrupted to tell him her mother would keep their girls. Donner had looked relieved, though he’d asked Liv for a double cheeseburger and salty fries before she left, because he knew once his wife got there he’d be eating cardboard and egg whites.
He’d made her laugh, which was what he intended, but she’d barely been able to keep her eyes open and had wished him a quick recovery before making her way out and to her car. She’d dozed off at a stoplight, only to be rudely woken from the blare of a horn behind her. But the minute she’d shed her weapon and clothes and fallen into the bed, she’d found herself unable to fall asleep, her mind occupied with the words of the little girl. The Sultan.
Who was he?
She’d tried willing herself to sleep for a couple of hours, but it was no use. She had to find out who he was. Where he was. And then she had to keep her promise to those little girls and make sure he was never able to hurt them again.
It was half past four in the morning, so she tossed the covers back and headed into the shower. It didn’t take her long to get ready for the day—black trousers, a black-and-white pinstriped sleeveless blouse, sensible black shoes, and her sidearm. It was too hot for a jacket, but she wore one anyway because it was policy to cover her weapon. She pulled her hair back and pinned it in a bun at the nape of her neck. She put on tinted moisturizer, mascara, and lip gloss and was out the door to her car within half an hour.
She lived ten minutes from Interpol. It was four towering glass buildings that were all connected by crosswalks. There were divisions of Scotland Yard in the other buildings, since they worked in tandem so often.
She found parking easily in the garage and grabbed her identification badge, heading straight to the elevators and the twelfth floor where her division was located. It was empty for the most part, but there were a few of the guys hunched over their desks, absorbed in endless paperwork.
She bypassed the bad coffee and went directly to her cubicle and the machine she’d brought from home, brewing a fresh cup as she sat behind her desk and logged in to her computer. Bixler was behind bars for the moment, and he’d been questioned briefly by Jonas Beck, the head agent for their division at Interpol.
Liv had wanted to be included in the interrogation, but her orders had been to go home and get some sleep and that she would get her chance with Bixler the following day. She saw the report of Beck’s questioning of Bixler in her email and clicked the link. Bixler hadn’t given Beck names. She hadn’t expected him to. But it would’ve given her somewhere to start on hunting down The Sultan.
But what knotted her stomach was that Bixler said he’d bought the girls at a private auction in Agra, India. They’d been lined up in the middle of a ring like horses for him to see. They’d been dressed up and scrubbed clean, and the girls had ranged in age from six to twelve, and Bixler had disliked the fact that he hadn’t gotten to select the ones he was paying for.
He complained about it to Beck as if he were discussing produce at the market instead of children, and she hoped, not for the first time, that there was a special place in hell for men like Bixler.
The auction had been closed door, and there were only two other bidders, but Bixler and the two others were in their own private booths, so he never saw the other bidders’ faces. He’d needed a dozen girls to fill the orders he’d collected, so that’s what he’d put in his bid for. But the auctioneer selected the girls at random, not letting him choose, even though he’d had special requests from clients.
The other two bidders had specific buyer requests too, and they both ended up not purchasing that day. There had been twenty-two girls, and once Bixler had paid for his twelve, transport was arranged, and that’s the last he saw of the auctioneer or the other girls.
“Twenty-two girls,” she said softly. But they’d only recovered Bixler’s twelve. The auctioneer had to be The Sultan the girls had told her about. If she could find The Sultan, then she had a chance of finding the girls and getting them back home.
The floor was still empty for the most part, and she took her coffee cup from the maker behind her and put it on the desk. She didn’t want anyone to know what she was doing. Not until she had all her facts together to present her case. Whether she had approval or not, she was going after The Sultan one way or another.
She pulled her monitor closer and moved the picture frame on her desk slightly, so she could see the reflection of anyone coming up behind her. And then she logged in to Interpol’s database and typed in keywords.
Sultan
Human Trafficking
Auction
It didn’t take long for information to come up. A lot of information. Raj Mittal had been under Interpol’s watch for more than forty years for suspected human trafficking. He’d never been caught. And in Liv’s experience, that just meant that Mittal more than likely had enough money to buy his way out of any troubled situation. It was hard for anyone to go on that long without slipping up.
She did another search on Mittal and printed out a report tracking his passport and recent travels. In the last six months, he’d made trips to Thailand, Malaysia, Sweden, Portugal, Russia, and India. Not to mention the numerous trips he made between Saudi Arabia and Dubai. Mittal was able to cover for his extracurricular activities because of his legitimate businesses, all of which had holdings located in the countries he’d visited. They also happened to be countries that had an unusually high human trafficking problem. Girls went missing in those countries every day.
Mittal was The Sultan. He was the head. But he’d have a global network to do the dirty work—from the lowliest of the low who kidnapped the girls, to the middlemen who arranged transportation and secured safe houses to keep them hidden until it was time to move them again. Then there’d be the groomers—the monsters disguised as nice, gentle men, who made the girls feel relieved that they were no longer in the hands of those who’d taken them and, in some cases, beaten them, only to abuse them sexually in preparation for auction.
It wasn’t until the auction that Mittal came into play. There were so many steps before that had to go just right, and if things went wrong, he didn’t want to have his name associated. But the auctions were invite only, from buyers that Mittal personally knew had a taste for young girls or who had buyers of their own to sell them to. There were millions at stake at the auctions, and Mittal would be there to collect and make sure his clients were happy.
Then there was what to do if all the girls weren’t sold at auction. If it were only a couple of girls, they’d more than likely kill them and dump the bodies. But with twelve girls it wasn’t that simple. Mittal would have to set up another auction in another country with new buyers. But he’d need a place to hold the girls until then.
Eight days before, Mittal boarded his private jet in Agra, India, and flew the short distance to his son’s home in Dubai. Shiv Mittal was in Switzerland at a tech summit, and wasn’t there to greet his father, which seemed to be how Shiv preferred it. Even more interesting was the cargo crates that had been loaded onto Raj Mittal’s plane.They’d passed inspection, but bribes were second nature in that part of the world, and she knew it had been the girls who’d been shoved into those crates like cattle.
Liv spent another two hours researching, finding out everything she could about Mittal’s son and the palace where he lived. Mittal’s passport hadn’t made any more trips. He was still in Dubai. And so were the girls. But his son was due back in a couple of days. What she needed was proof the girls were there. Or at least probable cause like they’d had in Bixler’s case.
She took a card out of her wallet and dialed the number that was on the back.
“Jane Brubaker,” the voice on the other end answered. Jane was the social worker who’d taken over the care of the girls and who would work tirelessly to get them back to their families as soon as possible.
“Jane, this is Agent Liv Rothschild,” she said. “We met yesterday on the Bixler case.”
“Yes, of course. How can I help you?”
“How are the girls doing?”
“They’re traumatized, as expected. Several of them have been admitted to the hospital for dehydration. A counselor will visit with each of them today, and we’re busy matching fingerprints and photographs to the missing persons reports. With any luck, we’ll be notifying parents within the next forty-eight hours.”
“That’s fantastic,” Liv said. “Sometimes I wish I could see them through to the end. To know that there will eventually be happiness back in their lives.”
“They have a long road ahead of them. It’ll be a daily struggle for them the rest of their lives, and their families will face challenges as well.”
“Yes, I know,” she said. “It’s something that will always be in the back of their mind, even on the days where things feel normal.”
“It sounds as if you know from experience,” Jane said.
“Yes, except my experience is knowing what it’s like when they aren’t ever found. My sister was taken when we were six.”
“I’m sorry,” Jane said, the sincerity in her voice making Liv’s eyes sting. She was overly tired. It had been a long week.
“My window of hunting down the man who did this to them is short,” Liv said. “There are ten other girls who were originally grouped with the ones we rescued yesterday, and you know as well as I do that they’re moved around frequently until buyers are found for them. I believe I have them locked down in Dubai, for now, and I believe I know who the man behind this trafficking ring is. I need to send you a picture to show to the girls. They saw his face. It’s all I need for probable cause to make an arrest.”
“You know I can’t do that to those girls,” she said. “They’ve been through enough. Bringing the pain back to them when we’ve promised them they’re in a safe place is not what we do.”
“It’s not about can’t,” Liv said. “It’s about won’t. This man has terrorized girls for more than forty years. I’m asking for you or one of the counselors to do this because of that safe space. But you know I have the authority to come myself and question them. I don’t want to do that.”
“And you know I can put up enough blocks to give you a headache. The girls will be back with their families by the time you get authorization to see them.”
The anger that swept over her was comfortable, like a warm wind. If Jane Brubaker had been standing in front of her, she would’ve realized her mistake.
“Really, Jane?” she asked. “Is that the kind of woman you are? Because if you keep me from finding those girls before their little bodies are broken and they experience the kind of torment you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, then you can bet your life it’ll be you I hunt down next.”
“Don’t threaten me, Agent Rothschild,” Jane said.
“And don’t fuck with me,” Liv said. “I won’t harm a hair on your head. But everyone will know your name. And I’ll make sure you see each and every one of their faces and what was done to them. I can promise you’ll never close your eyes at night without seeing them in your head. How long can you last without a decent night’s sleep? Without losing your mind?”
“I’m not a monster,” Jane said stiffly. “It’s my duty to protect these girls who are under my care.”
“It’s your duty to protect all of them,” Liv said hotly. “Time’s ticking. Which direction do you want to go?”
“Fine,” Jane said, her voice cold and all business. “But I won’t force them. And if I see that it’s doing harm I’ll make you go through every legal hoop possible before you’re able to continue to question them. To hell with sleeping at night. I haven’t slept well for twenty years.”
“The goal is to put this monster away,” Liv said. “These girls are safe, and they’ll be with their families soon. If you hold up the investigation and these other ten girls aren’t rescued, then that will be on you.”
“Where’s your compassion, Agent Rothschild? I’d expect more after knowing about your sister.”
“My compassion comes from giving these girls the justice they deserve. Your compassion shouldn’t replace our conviction to see justice served. It’s a disservice to those who need protection. I’ll email the photograph to your account.”
Liv disconnected and hit Send on the email to Jane, and then she refilled her coffee cup. Her instincts were humming. She was on the right track. She knew it. If she had her way, she’d be in Dubai as soon as possible to hunt that bastard down once and for all. Once she gathered her proof, all she had to do was present it to Agent Beck and get permission to go.
Jane made her wait several hours before she replied, but the timing was perfect, because Jonas Beck got off the elevator shortly after and made his way to his office. She grabbed her file and followed right behind him, because she knew if she waited he’d be tied up in meetings and she’d never find a time to slip in.
He had a big corner office, and his steely-eyed secretary sat out front, guarding his inner sanctum. Louise Farthing had thirty-years under her belt and had been through numerous head agents, and Beck wouldn’t be her last. She was big-boned and had short, steel-gray hair that was cut in a no-nonsense style. Her black framed rectangular glasses hung from a chain around her neck, and she was typing reports and talking on the phone at the same time.
“Jonas,” Liv called out, walking as fast as she could to catch him before he closed the door to his office.
He looked over his shoulder at her and said, “Hello, Liv. I figured you’d hunt me down sooner or later to talk to Bixler. He’s meeting with his solicitor as we speak, but they’ll be ready for us again in another hour. You’ll join me?”
“I wouldn’t miss it, sir. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Exactly five before my next meeting,” he said, holding open his office door for her.
She nodded at Louise, ignoring the woman’s look of irritation that Beck was more than likely going to end up off schedule. Beck closed the door as soon as she entered and took off his suit jacket.
“It’s hot as blazes outside.” He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top collar button. “I’ve been in meetings all morning. A man like Bixler has political clout, and there are plenty of people twisting my arm for his immediate release. We’re going to have trouble keeping him behind bars for too long. He’ll be released on his on recognizance.”
Beck was a decorated agent with more than twenty years on the job. He was just over six foot and trim—a runner—and his hair was graying at the temples, making him look distinguished. His face was thin and handsome, and he wore wire-framed glasses. And there’d been a time before she’d met Dante that she and Beck had been on the verge of something that had started as a flirtation and could’ve ended up as much more if she hadn’t put a stop to things. There were no policies about being involved with other agents, but she wasn’t prepared to test the waters either. She’d worked too hard for her career.
“Maybe he’ll get an attack of conscience while he’s sitting in that cell and hang himself. It’d certainly save us time and taxpayer money.”
Beck smiled, but it was cold as ice. “Everyone deserves their day in court. At least that’s what they tell us. But you and I both know that’s bullshit. Some people just deserve to die. There’s evil in this world, Liv. Normal people sit in their social bubbles and can’t comprehend the things we see on a daily basis. It would make them insane. They believe that justice always prevails, or they think that everyone can be negotiated or reasoned with. Or maybe they think they were deficient of love growing up and that’s what turned them into monsters, and if someone would give them a hug and a little compassion that they’d see the error of their ways and sin no more. But what they are is evil.”
And that was why she’d always liked Beck. Why she’d been attracted to him for a time, and how they’d formed a friendship over the years. They saw eye to eye on just about everything.
“Bixler is evil,” she said.
He nodded. “Did you get the transcription from the opening interview with him?” Beck asked.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Speaking of evil, I believe I have a lead on the remaining ten girls.”
“I had a feeling you’d be zeroing in on them, but Bixler didn’t give us much information before he asked for his attorney. What was your source?”
“The girls we recovered at Bixler’s,” she said. “They kept saying ‘The Sultan’ over and over again, and they were terrified of him. They were afraid to be returned to their parents. He’d threatened to kill their entire families if they talked to police or tried to escape. We’ve seen what these monsters do to these girls, but I’ve never seen that kind of terror before. Especially once they were told they were being returned to their families, that information sent them into a panic.”
“The Sultan,” he said.
She could tell by the way he said it that he’d heard the name before, and she could tell by the crease between his eyebrows that he wasn’t going to like where she was going with this.
“Raj Mittal,” she said, but he was already shaking his head.
“Catching Raj Mittal in the act is like trying to pin down a leprechaun. You can’t go on the word of terrified girls. The Sultan could be anyone.”
“They saw him,” she said. “And they’ve identified him. I sent a picture to social services and they interviewed the girls about him. I just got the confirmation right before you came in.”
“You don’t know the can of worms you’re opening, Liv. Raj Mittal is ruthless. He’s cruel. And he’s dangerous. And those are the descriptions of him from his legitimate business partners. You can imagine how he is with his not-so-legitimate businesses.”
“So what? I’m supposed to let him get away with it because he’s scary? We agree there’s evil in the world. This guy is near the top. He’s gotten away with this for forty years. Countless numbers of children taken from their families and sold as sex slaves to the highest bidder. Countless women he’s maimed and murdered. Who is going to stand for them if we don’t?”
“I’m not disagreeing with you,” he said putting his hands up to get her to calm down. “Show me what you’ve got and let’s go from there. But you know I can’t authorize an expense and operation of this magnitude without having rock solid proof.”
She took a breath and dropped into the chair in front of his desk, and then she handed him the file so he could look through it. She knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.
“You know this is all circumstantial at best,” he said. “It’s not even his home. It’s his son’s home, which is sticky territory, especially if the son isn’t aware of his father’s activities.”
“How can you not be aware that there are ten stolen girls being hidden somewhere in your home?”
“It’s what the defense will use. And it’s a possibility he doesn’t know. It’s a palace. And he’s not even home. There are hundreds of people who go in and out on a daily basis if you include the tour groups. Who even knows if the son is in residence at the same time his father is. And I have to ask the obvious question: say you’re correct and that Raj Mittal is hiding these girls in Dubai. Where’s he hiding them? He can’t just lock them in a bedroom and hope they don’t make any noise.”
“There are two options,” she said, leaning over his desk and flipping through the data she’d collected. “The palace was originally built in the eighteenth century, and there are still dungeons at the basement level. Actually, there’s an interesting bit of history with the palace. In the mid-nineteenth century there was a smallpox outbreak in Dubai, and they gathered up all the infected and put them down in the dungeon to try and contain the disease.
“The palace is built at the edge of the Persian Gulf, and a sewage drain was built through the dungeons and it flowed out into the gulf. But a bad storm rolled in, one of the worst in their history, and the rain flooded the drain and pushed water into the dungeons, filling them rapidly with water. They all drowned.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s haunted,” he said, brow arched.
“Of course not,” she said. “I don’t believe in that. But the locals do.”
“You think the girls are down there?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t put them there. It’s too risky for merchandise at that price point. He’d want to make sure they’re secure and ready for transport. And the drain pipe is still down there. In fact, in the fifties, a man tried to break into the palace using the pipe as his point of entry. He got just outside the master suite before a guard saw him and killed him.”
“What’s the other option?”
“The son is a billionaire in his own right, and the palace belongs to him. He’s a technology genius, but he has a passion for art. He’s got a vault where he keeps his most treasured pieces. I just watched a special 60 Minutes did several years ago on the son. He took them inside his vault, and it’s the size of a tennis court. It’s climate controlled, and there are separate vaults within the vault, all requiring special access. If I were Raj Mittal that’s where I’d keep the girls.”
“But what about the son? I’m not convinced he’s not part of this. It’s his own vault.”
“Shiv is still very much ruled by his father, despite his own successes. Raj would demand having full access to anything his son owns. And the vault space is so large, Shiv rarely goes through the entire space. Probably the only time is when he wants to trade out a particular piece of art somewhere in the palace. But all the pieces in the vault are numbered and labeled, and he’d know exactly where to go to find what he was looking for.”
Beck flipped through the files, looking at the reports Jane had sent from social services. “Liv,” he said, shaking his head, “you know I can’t authorize this. You don’t have enough to warrant a manhunt of this scale and cost.”
She stood to her feet and put her fists at her hips. “What do I need to have? A signed confession before we can go after him? The girls identified him.”
“Girls that have been victimized and traumatized over the last several weeks. You know they’ll start screaming diminished capacity.”
“This is bullshit, Jonas, and you know it. My gut is telling me we have to move now to catch this bastard. He’s going to move them again soon. It’s too risky to keep them in the same place for too long.”
“I’m sorry, Liv, but there’s nothing to be done about it. We can’t go off your gut. Bring me something more concrete and then we’ll talk.” He stood from behind his desk and took his suit jacket back off the hook, slipping into it. “I’m late to my meeting.” He stopped and looked at her. “And don’t even think of doing anything stupid. I’ve known you for too long.”
Her body flushed with anger. They were trained to follow their instincts. To rely on them. But then when it came down to it they weren’t allowed to use them. She was right and she knew it. And if she had to go in alone to rescue those girls then that’s exactly what she’d do.
“I’m taking vacation time,” she said. “I’m five years past due.”
“No,” he said, buttoning his top button and straightening his tie. “We’ve got a dozen other cases open. You’ve got plenty of work to do.”
“Then I’m resigning,” she said. “I’m tired of fighting for the good guys only to have the bad guys holding all the cards in the end. When did you turn into one of the suits, Jonas?”
He sighed. “I don’t accept your resignation. There are rules, Liv. You know this.”
“Do you know who follows the rules?” she asked. “Losers. Guys like Raj Mittal don’t follow the rules. He gets a free pass to rape children and disfigure women because those of us following the ‘rules’ can’t outmaneuver him without getting permission from someone whose pockets have already been lined to protect him.”
“Careful, Liv,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “My pockets haven’t been lined by anyone. Go home and get some sleep. Give your mouth a chance to rest before you get in trouble.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said, removing her weapon and badge. “I’ve just resigned.”
“Fine,” Jonas said, opening his office door. “Leave your things with Louise and clear out your desk. Best of luck in the future.”
His face was flushed red with fury, but he was controlled. Too controlled. He didn’t look back as he headed toward the elevator and his next meeting. Liv didn’t waste any time. She gathered the file, put her gun and badge on a very surprised Louise’s desk, and went to clear out her things. It would take them at least twenty-four hours before her clearance was wiped from the system. She could do whatever work she needed to from home for the time being.
By the time Jonas called to persuade her to come back, she’d be long gone.