I cock my head. “They did what?”

“A British national in Manila, they walked in on him raping a little kid. I don’t know how little, and I don’t want to know, but with all the shit these guys had seen, whatever they saw in that room, they absolutely snapped. My buddy grabbed the British sex tourist by the throat and squeezed, didn’t stop squeezing till he ripped the motherfucker’s windpipe out. Dude bled out right there. Filipinos working at the house stormed in, unarmed, and the Americans opened fire on every last one of them. Thirteen dead in all. A damn bloodbath, right in the center of the capital.”

“That’s not Satan’s work,” I counter. “That’s God’s work.”

“Yeah, no shit. But the Philippine government didn’t agree. Bad for tourism. Sex tourism, which they tolerate, but also tourism in general. They arrested the seven Americans, held them in some Manila shithole for ten months, then extradited them to the U.S. Due to their ties with the Agency, they weren’t prosecuted here. They were just ordered to keep their heads low and stop doing what they were doing.”

“But . . .” I say. “You think there’s a chance they might do what they were doing again, if I just ask.”

Zack shrugs. “I don’t know. Neither does Hanley. But they were good shooters, and you can’t second-guess their motivation for one second. They lived for this shit before they got popped in Asia and sent home.

“You tell them what you told me . . . you might get yourself some backup.”

It’s worth a shot. “Who is this guy? Your friend.”

“Shep Duvall. Solid dude, or he was when I knew him, anyway.”

Upon hearing the name, I close my eyes.

“What?” Zack asks.

I say, “I know that asshole.”

“Yeah? Well, beggars can’t be choosers, Six.”

I open my eyes and say, “True, but beggars can be beggars. Any chance I can borrow a gun?”

Hightower makes a face of annoyance, but says, “When we land, when we’re off the aircraft, I’ll get a piece off one of Travers’s boys. That’s the best I can do.”

“Thanks, Zack.”

He nods at me, then gives me a little wink. “Go get ’em, Six.”

FORTY-FOUR

   The girl called Sofia and the girl called Maja were ushered out of the private plane and marched across the tarmac, far from the small terminal and into a waiting black Mercedes G-Class SUV. Dr. Claudia climbed in behind them.

From the backseat of the Navigator, Roxana saw the Director deplane, climb down the stairs, and look her way briefly as he climbed into the back of an identical Mercedes SUV, with his bodyguard Sean at his side.

Roxana was desperate to find some hint of where she was right now. She didn’t know how she could possibly communicate her location to her sister, but it was a moot point until she actually knew it herself.

She’d looked around for an airport sign, but she saw nothing.

The ocean was on her left as they drove away from the city, and although she’d been no geography wiz in school back in Bucharest, she knew this meant they were heading north if they were, in fact, on the West Coast. There were hills, canyons, and lots and lots of businesses and homes, then they drove away from much of the development and into more sparsely populated arid hills.

Minutes later Roxana Vaduva squinted into the sunshine, looking through the windshield of the van as it rolled through the iron-gated entrance of a large ranch. They rumbled up a paved driveway, past a pair of small, squat stucco buildings, and past four young men. The men eyed the vehicle as it drove by, and she looked through the heavily tinted windows at them, saw the big guns hanging from their chests. The vehicle rolled on; Roxana noted the trees and plants around her and she realized she had never been anywhere in her life that looked anything like this place, but it felt to her like movies she had seen about Mexico.

There was a low rise and once the G-Wagen crested it, she peered through the front windshield and saw a massive stucco house, the biggest home she’d ever laid eyes on in her life. It was clearly Hispanic architecture, and when they pulled to a stop in front of it, she saw more Latino men in suits standing around carrying guns.

She and the Hungarian girl followed Dr. Claudia up the steps and through the massive double-door entrance to the building. Inside it was cool and dark, and Roxana saw a beautiful young redhead wearing a low-cut evening dress standing there, a glass of champagne in her hand. Roxana was certain it was morning still, and she couldn’t fathom why the girl would dress in this manner so early in the day.

Claudia led the women up two flights of stairs and down a hallway. As they walked they passed other girls, all young, some very young, and all dressed exotically in one form or another. None of the girls talked to Roxana or Sofia; some did greet Claudia, but others just looked away.

Roxana was certain that most, if not all, of these girls had been drugged. She could see the distant eyes and slow movement, and she assumed it was more of the Xanax she’d been given sporadically throughout this ordeal.

Sofia spoke up as they neared a door at the end of an ornate hall. “Dr. Claudia? How many girls are kept here?”

Claudia answered, “No one is kept here, they all want to be here.”

“How many women want to be here?” Sofia asked.

“At any one time, twenty or so. I don’t know what the occupancy is now.”

They passed a window and Roxana slowed and looked out, again searching in vain for clues as to their location.

Soon Claudia led them into a bedroom, with an adjoining door to the next bedroom. “Maja, you will be in here, and Sofia, just through that door is your room.”

Roxana found the space to be beautiful, large, and well-appointed with antique furniture. A four-poster bed, a makeup vanity and a chest of drawers, a sitting area, and a massive oak wardrobe accented the room. She followed Sofia into her bedroom and found it similar but not identical, with a different color scheme. Claudia directed them to their closets, which were full of clothes, including expensive-looking evening gowns along with more revealing attire.

Roxana could see Sofia’s eyes light up upon seeing the clothes, upon taking in her new living space. The American psychologist had done a good job brainwashing her, Roxana determined.

After the women were settled in, Claudia said someone would be by shortly to take them on a tour of the house. She explained that although they were not allowed to go outside without permission, the building itself was theirs to roam if they wanted to.

Soon the door was closed between Roxana and Sofia’s rooms. Roxana and Claudia stood by her new bed, and the Romanian woman could feel the eyes of the American peering into hers, trying desperately, Roxana imagined, to see if her compliance was genuine.