Broken Birds, Part 5, Runaway Train

Part 5
Runaway Train

As the girls battled their demons, Beth’s revenge continued to gather steam.

Following the disappearance of Rachael Walsh and her two daughters, the death of Thomas Walsh and the suicide of his father, the police thoroughly searched the Walsh home. They discovered a cache of flash drives with video clips of rapes and underage sex in a locked cabinet beneath the lounge television. Oddly, they did not find his personal laptop, but they assumed he kept it at his office.

In fact, Tim’s operatives had taken the laptop and numerous other flash drives. They had staked out David’s house beginning with the disappearance of his wife and daughters. They reacted quickly to the sound of the muffled gunshot that ended David’s life. An unlocked sliding door allowed them free access. They searched for nearly an hour, before their lookout heard the police message.

Tim’s team easily broke the laptop’s encryption. The information detailed his theft from his wife’s and daughters trusts. It recounted David’s involvement with major criminals, money laundering, extortion and outright theft. It had voluminous data on international organizations with terrorist ties. The information could have explosive impacts!

Then they came on a file named “LANA”. It contained several video clips and numerous pictures. Several former military men almost vomited while watching David send Lana to a hell on earth. They weren’t snuff films, just horrifying brutal treatment of a once beautiful woman.

They sent the financial and documentary files from the laptop to Michael and Peter Gardiner. They began to open the flash files.

Several contained photos and videos. By now, the team had grown callused to David’s perversions. One file, though, related to global financial accounts. They sent that flash drive as well.

A week later the forensic accountant had deciphered the data and met with Michael and Peter.

“Good news of bad first?” the thin, bespectacled man asked.

“Let’s start with the bad.” Michael said softly.

“He stole about half of the trust assets for Lynne and Susan and about 60% of Rachael’s. We should be able to get it back, but it will require them to sign affidavits which will require them to disclose at least what state they’re in.”

“It may actually get worse. He also stole money from some of his clients, including some pretty bad people and mixed it with some of the trust money. And he put Rachael’s name on the accounts.”

“The good news is that he was a pretty good judge of investments. He grew the trusts considerably. That’s how he was able to cover up the theft. He basically took the profits he made and hid them.”

After a long minute of consideration, Peter spoke. “Do we know who these bad people are?”

The accountant nodded.

“Was he money laundering or investing for these bad people?”

“Money laundering, mostly.”

“Give me the names and amounts.” An envelope changed hands. It contained a hard copy of the list and the flash drive. He also handed them the computer.

After the accountant left, Peter and Michael sat beside each other in their main conference room, reviewing the spread sheet the account had just delivered, the anti eavesdropping device humming in the corner.

“What do you think?” Michael finally asked.

“I think we know who is behind the hitters. Zapata is one mean hombre. And now money stolen from him is in Rachael’s name in Mauritius? Not good. The others are not really violent, but Zapata’s not going to stop.”

Michael nodded grimly.

“Let’s get some intel on him. Everyone has a weak spot.” Michael did not seem convinced as a fresh wave of fear passed through him.

Six hours later, he called Michael into the conference room.

Peter was old fashioned. He carried a paper notebook and hand wrote his thoughts.

“There may be some good news. This guy is vicious but he will negotiate. The only two things he seems to hold dear are money and family, particularly his sister and little nieces. Unfortunately, his sister is here in prison and the best lawyers with the best connections can’t get her out. She’s one mean bitch as well. She was raped a couple of times and nearly beaten to death. They branded her and cut her up bad. Ripped her plumbing up so bad, she can’t have kids. Educated in the States, before she and her family were deported as illegals. DEA dragged her across the border last year, but Homeland now has her under the Patriot Act.”

“PCHA (Post Conviction Hearing Appeals) petition or amnesty?” Michael asked.

“Can’t do amnesty – too much publicity and it’s election time. We can look into the PCHA route, though. There are a number of criminal judges on that list. If we can get her a new trial, bail won’t matter, but we’re getting way outside the lines here. I will not stoop to extortion. Someone will have to negotiate with him.”

Michael nodded agreement.

“Let’s have Marissa look over the transcript and see if there’s anything there. At least we know who is behind the hitters.”

A thought hit Michael. “Peter, what about a trade. You said she was being held by Homeland Security? What if we can give them some of this in return for her freedom? Some of the stuff David had on these guys could be real helpful to Homeland. CIA could squeeze them like an orange.”

“Same problem. Someone will have to negotiate.”

Grimly Michael said, “I’ll go if we have a deal with Homeland and CIA.”


Michael was numb from the bouncing of the jeep over the goat paths they called roads. They drove through the mountain passes and across the arid deserts. They wanted to confuse him. He smiled inwardly. Not likely.

Finally they drove through a small village and up to a high, reinforced steel gate. They roughly put a bag over his head. It smelled of sweat and feces. The jeep lurched up the driveway, almost throwing him out. He grabbed the handle below the windshield, certain they were toying with the “Gringo”.

He was led into a building, searched very thoroughly and led through another door back into the heat.

“Strip”

Michael slowly removed his clothing, holding each piece out to be taken. He stood still. Waiting. Not his first rodeo.

A small hand lifted his flaccid cock and giggled. “A shame to have to cut this off.” A girl said in Spanish.

“Te gusta?” (You like it?) He said, hoping to sound confident and unconcerned.

“Maria, get out of there!” The voice of authority. “She is right, though, it is impressive.”

“Thank you.”

The bag was removed and he gulped the fresh air.

A young man with an AK over his shoulder handed him a pair of swim trunks, motioning Michael to follow. They led him through another building and onto a pool deck, then over to a large table beneath a huge canopy.

A small, slightly cherubic man sat in the shade, slowly puffing on a cigar.

“May I sit Mr. Zapata?” Michael asked, showing respect.

“Of course.” Motioning to a chair opposite him.

After a long pause, “My sincere regrets on what those animals did to your daughter. I would have been a bit more direct in dealing with them.” Another pause. “You were once a man of violence?”

Michael nodded.

“Tell me. Why did you not feed them their testiculos (balls)?

Michael considered the question carefully. “16 years ago I left the world of violence for my little girl. She is my life. Had I returned to the world of violence, I would have lost her. I also wanted to get all of them.”

“Did you?”

Mr. Zapata scanned this American’s hard gray eyes. “Not yet,” Michael said softly, “but it’s in motion.”

“And now you are here to talk to the viscous drug dealer.