Survive the Day

By E. A. Coe

A BUTNARI AND HILL CRIME THRILLER

Two forces collide, an FBI top-secret task force and an international criminal organization, but only one will Survive the Day.

> WINNER: Firebird Book Awards - 1st Place (x2) - Crime Fiction + Thriller
> WINNER: Literary Titan Book Awards - Gold Medal

FBI Special Agents Butnari and Hill join a task force charged with stemming human trafficking. They engage in a desperate battle with the criminals dominating the illegal trade, stalled by deceptions created by the mysterious genius who directs the well-organized syndicate, and hampered by compartmentalized intelligence within their enforcement group.

Not all is as it seems—on their side of the law... or the other. Random events and unrelated clues connect, leading to an inevitable showdown.

EVOLVED PUBLISHING PRESENTS a crime fiction adventure that features characters introduced in the multiple award-winning "Pedaling West" by E. A. Coe.

"Survive the Day is a recommended read for fans of crime thrillers and readers interested in the nuances of law enforcement. Its realistic portrayal of human trafficking significantly contributes to the genre, and its compelling characters ensure an engaging experience. This book is particularly suited for readers who appreciate a blend of action, emotional depth, and a glimpse into the workings of the FBI." ~ Literary Titan (Gold Medal)

Feathered Quill Book Reviews says, "In addition to the intriguing plot, the character development and the relationships between the characters are second to none... With Survive the Day, Coe has crafted an action-packed, thrilling crime story, complete with unexpected twists and turns, that will keep readers engrossed from the beginning until the last page has been read."

"E.A. Coe has crafted a winning thriller, sure to delight readers and build a loyal fan base. Survive the Day is keenly imaginative and highly entertaining." ~ Readers' Favorite Book Reviews, Golder Hazelton (5 STARS)

"Author E. A. Coe has crafted a crime thriller with a gripping narrative that keeps readers on the edge of their seats from start to finish.... Overall, Survive the Day is a must-read for fans of action-packed thrillers, offering a heart-pounding journey through the dark underbelly of crime and corruption." ~ Readers' Favorite Book Reviews, K.C. Finn (5 STARS)

"I was sucked in by the cast's personal conflicts where the lines between morals, work ethics, love, right, and wrong are blurred with secrets, greed, passion, vengeance, and fear. This is the type of story that will have your heart pounding as your favorite character is confronted with danger. You will be holding your breath as you wait for them to make it out alive." ~ Readers' Favorite Book Reviews, Keith Mbuya (5 STARS)

"Survive the Day by E.A. Coe is a page-turner that hooked me from the first one until the last." ~ Readers' Favorite Book Reviews, Alma Boucher (5 STARS)

"Action genre fans will find this novel immersive and focused on crime and its investigation in a way that stimulates the reader's imagination." ~ Readers' Favorite Book Reviews, Essien Asian (5 STARS)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evolved Publishing LLC
• Release date: Apr 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9781622533619

E. A. Coe

E. A. Coe… is F. Coe Sherrard, a former United States Naval aviator and career business executive. A graduate of Western Maryland College (now called McDaniel College), Coe is the award-winning author of five novels, as of April 2024, with more planned soon. Married to Jean since 1971, Coe has three children and six grandchildren, and lives in Edinburg, Virginia.

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~~~

SURVIVE THE DAY

A Butnari and Hill FBI Thriller

Copyright © 2024 E. A. Coe

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ISBN (EPUB Version): 1622533615

ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-361-9

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Editor: Lane Diamond

Cover Artist: Peggy Easterly

Interior Designer: Lane Diamond

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

At the end of this novel of approximately 86,893 words, you will find two Special Sneak Previews: 1) PEDALING WEST by E. A. Coe, the multiple-award-winning crime suspense thriller that first introduced the Butnari and Hill characters, and; 2) LOST AT LOGANS BEACH by Barry Metcalf, the fourth book in the intriguing The Oz Files series of paranormal crime thrillers from Down Under. We think you’ll enjoy these books, too, and provide these previews as a FREE extra service, which you should in no way consider a part of the price you paid for this book. We hope you will both appreciate and enjoy the opportunity. Thank you.

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You may not use, reproduce or transmit in any manner, any part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews, or in accordance with federal Fair Use laws. All rights are reserved.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

~~~

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

Books by E.A. Coe

Pedaling West

Survive the Day

The Road Not Taken

The Other Side of Good

Full Count

~~~

E. A. Coe Online

BONUS CONTENT

We’re pleased to offer you not one, but two Special Sneak Previews at the end of this book.

~~~

In the first preview, you’ll enjoy the prologue and first three chapters of PEDALING WEST by E. A. Coe, the multiple-award-winning crime suspense thriller that first introduced the Butnari and Hill characters.

~~~

~~~

~~~

Thriller readers will appreciate the intrigue and suspense that follows Carrie into these milieus; travel or bicyclist enthusiasts who anticipate an encounter with ordinary Americans will appreciate the extraordinary circumstances that force Carrie to adopt surprising positions of strength; and fans of novels that pair disparate elements of intrigue and growth will find her story compelling, riveting, and hard to put down. ~ Midwest Book Review, D. Donovan, Sr. Reviewer

~~~

OR GRAB THE FULL EBOOK TODAY!

FIND LINKS TO YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER HERE:

E. A. COE at Evolved Publishing

In the second preview, you’ll enjoy the prologue and first two chapters of LOST AT LOGANS BEACH by Barry Metcalf, the fourth book in the intriguing The Oz Files series of paranormal crime thrillers from Down Under.

~~~

~~~

OR GRAB THE FULL EBOOK TODAY!

FIND LINKS TO YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER HERE:

THE OZ FILES Series at Evolved Publishing

Table of Contents

Copyright

Books by E.A. Coe

BONUS CONTENT

Table of Contents

SURVIVE THE DAY

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

About the Author

What’s Next?

More from Evolved Publishing

Special Sneak Preview: PEDALING WEST by E. A. Coe

Special Sneak Preview: LOST AT LOGANS BEACH by Barry Metcalf

Prologue

Otras preguntas? he asked, pointing the revolver toward the six remaining women. Do others have questions?

The nameless young woman who’d asked the last question lay dead next to the wall, blood oozing from the wound to her forehead. Eighteen-year-old Carmen Vasquez, recently from Guerrero, Mexico, desperately fought the urge to vomit, terrified to move a muscle. The woman beside her sobbed softly. Nobody spoke.

Bueno, said the man. You should remember that your new guardian will be as impatient as me. In an hour, we’ll leave for the city where you’ll work. The box I brought contains a change of clothes for you, and the suitcase has cosmetics. Leave the rags you wear behind and be ready to depart when I return.

He paused to look at them ominously. My organization spent a lot of money to feed and clothe you. We also risked much to deliver you across the border, away from the famine and poverty you faced in Mexico. You must repay these expenses, and until you do, you’ll perform the services we require. This agreement isn’t negotiable, and severe consequences follow failure. The killer departed.

A woman covered their slain companion with the sheet from a bed. Several others clutched each other, crying, and Carmen raced to the only bathroom to retch into a filthy toilet. She cleansed her mouth with water from the sink, staring into a cracked mirror. The flawed reflection of her pale face ignited a mental one of her journey here.

***

Six Weeks Earlier, Guerrero, Mexico

Carmen’s father labored in the poppy fields with many other men from her rural village. A local drug syndicate controlled the harvest, but a competing cartel elected to reduce the participants in the regional heroin trade. When teams of guerrilla mercenaries descended from the mountain to its west, the village men grabbed automatic rifles to meet the attack. Carmen’s mother told her two children to throw clothes into backpacks, change into hiking boots, and flee their home.

But I’m old enough to help, sixteen-year-old Paco argued.

You’re big enough, strong enough, and brave enough, my son, but we own no other weapons. Your presence would only create a dangerous distraction for your father and our neighbors. As a woodsman, you know the plants, animals, and surrounding terrain better than your sister. She will need you for this journey, and I want you to protect her. Come back here in two minutes with your things, because you must hurry!

After Carmen and Paco returned to the kitchen with packs on their backs, their mother met them with another small duffel bag. I have placed the plastic tarp and mosquito netting from our porch in here, she said. Also, two pounds of dried Flor de Mayo beans, a metal bowl, matches, and chlorine tablets for drinking water.

But Madre, said Carmen. What about you? You’ve given us the family’s complete supply of chlorine!

My place is here with your father, and I want you away from it. You’re smart, resourceful, and speak English as well as most Texans. Find a way to reach the United States for a better life.

The sound of gunfire and an explosion interrupted the conversation.

That came from the fuel depot at the west farm boundary. You need to hurry. Stay hidden in the maize fields until the forest’s edge, and hike to the top of the mountain without stopping. The trip will take you into the night, but you’re familiar with the goat trail, Paco. Sleep when you reach the peak. The morning descent will lead you to the gravel road connecting to Coyuca de Catalan. Wait until dark to walk this route. The Culebra cartel controls the region, and they’ll gladly sell you into slavery or worse.

From inside her blouse, Carmen’s mother retracted an envelope. Walking to the town takes days, but then you can catch a bus to Matamoros. I’ve placed three thousand pesos in the envelope for the fare. Keep it hidden. Two bullets struck the side of the dwelling and she pushed the children through the door. "Go now! Vaya con Dios."

***

At the edge of the rows of maize, Paco instructed his sister to proceed to the woods. He picked up a stick while searching for something around the field’s perimeter. Carmen watched him walk several yards to the corner and then touch the dirt with his stick. She heard the loud snap of metal, and her brother lifted a trap used to kill voracious Mexican ground squirrels. The lethal device killed only the stick this time.

When he joined her behind the tree line, Carmen asked, A weapon?

No. Food, he said.

Carmen winced.

They crisscrossed up the slope of the modestly steep mountain using paths through the brush created by animals living there. When they reached the summit, darkness restricted a clear view into the valley of their rural village, but fires still burned.

Carmen, unleashing the emotion she had suppressed during their climb, cried.

Her brother sat next to her on the boulder.

Do you think they might have survived? she asked.

No way of telling, replied Paco. And we can’t change what happened. We honor our mother’s wish by succeeding... so let’s focus on that now.

Carmen sighed as she surveyed the surrounding boulders. So, what next?

We survive this night... then tomorrow... then the day after. Our situation allows no time to look back and no reason to look too far ahead. Let’s proceed carefully, one step at a time.

When did you get so smart?

On our hike today. Let’s find a place to spread the tarp and eat the burritos our mother packed. Do you still have water in your canteen?

Yes. It’s half-full, and I remember a stream along the road at the bottom of the mountain. We can re-fill our canteens tomorrow, she said.

Even better, there’s a spring below these boulders. Our father and I use it when we hunt, and I can locate it when the sun comes up.

But our mother warned us to travel only at dark.

And she’s right. We shouldn’t walk on the road at the mountain’s base during daylight hours, but we can go down from here safely in the morning. The Culebra Cartel camps start farther north, and nobody lives on this mountain.

Under a cloudless and moonlit sky, the siblings rested soundly under a tall fir tree on the first night of their journey. Few insects existed at this altitude, and Paco had piled layers of pine needles beneath the tarp to make their outdoor mattress more comfortable.

The sharp metallic crack created by the release of the snap trap startled both sleepers when it sounded in the middle of the night.

Did you hear that? asked Carmen.

Yes. Breakfast delivery, I think, said Paco.

Gross. Carmen returned to sleep.

***

She didn’t immediately embrace the introduction of exotic forms of protein regularly delivered by the trap. Hunger and Paco’s gentle encouragement, however, eventually prevailed. By incorporating flavorful jungle plants and edible roots into the daily stews, Paco obscured the gamy animal flavors. Carmen never became a fan of the meals but always partook in them.

They’d have reached Coyuca de Catalan in three days if they hadn’t been delayed most of one evening. Shortly after starting their walk on the road the third evening, Paco heard vehicles rumbling in the distance. He motioned his sister into the brush beside the road, and the two waited for the traffic to pass. It didn’t.

Two large trucks rolled past their position and then pulled to the side of the gravel road less than fifty feet from where the siblings hid. The men gathered at the lead truck’s hood and talked. After a brief discussion, all but one returned to the second vehicle, and it departed.

The first truck had broken down. Only one person stayed behind to protect the vehicle and wait for assistance. Paco saw the pistol on the man’s belt and assumed he worked for the cartel. Holding one finger to his lips, Paco warned his sister to remain quiet and not move.

She didn’t—for the next four hours.

A third truck finally arrived, and after another hour of repairs, both vehicles continued south. Carmen and Paco waited until the taillights disappeared out of sight to resume their shortened journey, but the rising sun forced them from the road two hours later. They arrived at their first destination a day later than expected, and Paco suggested revising their plan.

The road from here to Mexico City is better than the one we just took from home. It’s also much safer. We could reach Mexico City in five days even if we walked only at night and slept during the day. If we purchase a bus ticket from here to Matamoros, as our mother advised, it will nearly exhaust our funds. Would you consider walking to save our pesos and perhaps catch the bus from Mexico City? The fare to the border is cheaper from there.

Carmen agreed, and the couple finished the hike to the capital in four days. With hiking, eating, and bathing routines becoming more efficient as they traveled, they made another critical decision while resting in an abandoned barn outside the city.

If we hike, said Paco, I believe we can make our destination in two weeks. We can arrive earlier by bus, but what’s the priority? Getting there quicker or arriving with some modest savings?

We can’t guess the challenges we’ll face at the border, Carmen answered, but we’ve managed the ones on the road so far. The highways ahead are safer, and time isn’t our enemy. Let’s conserve our money for when we might need it more.

***

Despite some drama, the siblings arrived healthy in Matamoros with most of their funds. They joined thousands of other asylum seekers in sprawling camps along the Rio Grande River, where limited access to essential services made conditions far from ideal. Their snap trap provided a more reliable source of food on their hike to the border than what was available in Matamoros. Fortunately, benevolent aid organizations from both sides of the river helped minimally sustain the masses by randomly dropping food, clothing, and medical supplies.

Carmen and Paco understood the magnitude of the border crisis within days. The volume of asylum seekers stretched the administrative process for evaluating requests to a breaking point that would take months to clear. Malnutrition, given the unpredictable food supply, seemed inevitable, and the unsanitary conditions provided an ideal environment for deadly disease.

For the siblings, extreme challenges wouldn’t become an excuse for failure, however. After the strenuous and scary journey from Guerrero, turning back didn’t represent a viable option. They couldn’t safely stay camped in Matamoros, so they resolved to find a way forward.

They compared notes for their respective plans to cross into the United States on their last evening together. Paco had befriended another Mexican youth his age, Mateo, who had walked alone from north of Mexico City. Mateo’s uncle supervised a large cattle operation near Zapata, Texas, about 150 miles west of Matamoros. Fewer asylum seekers tried to negotiate the river in this area, so not as many Border Patrol agents patrolled it.

If Mateo and Paco sneaked across the border successfully and found the ranch, Mateo felt confident his uncle would give them jobs. He warned Paco that pay would comprise only room and board, but Mateo’s uncle tried to help undocumented farmhands achieve legal residence. It would take six days to travel to Zapata on foot.

Paco initially didn’t embrace Carmen’s plan. She met a woman her age who stumbled upon a clever scam to get past the border patrol. A Texas-based domestic cleaning service operated a fake tourist agency offering guided tours of Matamoros to United States tourists. Tourists, however, never occupied the eight-passenger van, only Hispanic employees with valid United States passports. After legally crossing into Mexico, the driver and an assistant collected their passenger’s passports, ensconcing their hired shills at a hotel for a one-night paid holiday.

Afterward, the organizers, with an empty vehicle, circulated through the masses gathered in the camps. They looked for faces similar to the ones on the passports they held and promised a free ride across the bridge for employment as housekeepers on the other side. The van would return the next day with the borrowed passports and return employees to Texas.

I don’t trust this, Paco had argued. People tell me snakeheads, agents of human trafficking syndicates, infiltrate the camps. If it seems too good to be true, it likely is.

I understand, Carmen said, but as we’ve discussed many times on our journey, we can only focus on the next step... not future ones. The way you have chosen is also dangerous. You’ll hike for nearly a week armed with a steel trap to catch rodents, and then cross the river illegally with someone you barely know. Your future is far from predictable.

Paco reached for his sister’s hand, holding it gently before speaking. You are correct, Carmen. Neither of our alternatives is safe, but for some reason, I worry more about yours. I trust myself—and you, more than I trust others. I would not be allowed to go with you, however, and you would prefer to cross the river in a vehicle rather than swim. Our paths must part here, but I hope not forever.

It won’t be forever, Paco, because you and I will survive. Do you remember the password for the Facebook account our language teacher created for her classes at the school in Guerrero?

He nodded solemnly. Of course. Buenosdios1.

When either of us have access to a phone or computer, leave a message on that page. I will do the same.

***

Now, three weeks after she arrived on the United States side of the border, Carmen wondered if her brother had crossed the Rio Grande successfully.

His counsel had proved valid, because she had become the victim of an elaborate trafficking scheme. She spent her first night outside of Mexico in an overcrowded residence in Brownsville. Two men drove her and the others to San Antonio the following day. After an evening there, they stopped again near Juarez.

Until they arrived at the outskirts of Las Vegas, the men escorting the women maintained a charade that domestic service jobs awaited in Nevada. All pretenses of the ruse ended at the road trip’s conclusion. The traffickers locked the women in a three-room, block-wall bungalow, bringing them food and water twice daily. Today, the captors delivered the box of new clothes.

Forcing herself to move beyond thoughts of the past, Carmen wiped her face with a wet rag from the sink. After glancing at the pale face in the mirror that stared back, she joined the other women. Several had already changed into gaudy garments from the box, while others sorted through the random pile on the floor.

Unsurprised to find nothing suitable for maid service, Carmen selected the most modest outfit. After replacing the tattered and dirty garments she had worn from Guerrero, she assessed the rest of her group. They looked exactly like what they would soon become, and for a moment, Carmen envied the dead woman under the sheet.

Stop it! she commanded herself, remembering the mantra she and her brother had adopted since leaving their burning village. I will survive this hour, this day... and then the next.

The building door swung open, and the armed man ordered, "Board the van! Everyone out! Andele! Andele!"

Chapter 1

Angel, this is Mountain. Anything happening on your side? Special Agent Hill whispered into the throat mic.

No, other than the curtain in the front window moving occasionally. Nobody has entered or left the house since we started watching two hours ago.

Special Agents Marina Butnari, codenamed Angel, and Douglas Hill, codenamed Mountain, worked from the Reno Resident Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but tonight’s secret operation found them staked out near a plain, block-wall residence south of Las Vegas. Both agents were assigned to an elite and covert multi-agency task force named Operation Night Landing, established to stem human trafficking. They had traveled down from Reno two days prior.

When local law enforcement suspected a notorious trafficking ring held seven Hispanic women, most likely illegal immigrants, inside the building, they contacted the FBI’s field office in Las Vegas. The bureau then engaged Operation Night Landing resources from Reno. If the information provided by an informant proved accurate, a ranking regional leader of the international crime syndicate, Santu, would supervise the transport of the captive females to a different location this evening. A key objective of the task force’s mission included capturing the suspect for interrogation.

Any chance the tip was bogus? Hill asked. The van’s an hour overdue.

Always that possibility, his partner answered over the radio. I don’t think so, though. Someone inside the building keeps checking the street from behind the curtain, and my gut says they’re waiting for the vehicle to show up.

Roger.

***

Great numbers of desperate Latin Americans seeking asylum in the United States gathered at the southern border, and entrepreneurial traffickers had been quick to capitalize on opportunities there. Crossing the Rio Grande illegally was dangerous, remaining in Mexico presented dire options, and the flood of requests for legal admittance had backed up administrative processing by months. This unfortunate collision of circumstances had created an ideal environment for trafficking agents, called coyotes. Their offers and superficially easy terms seemed convenient alternatives for some desiring entry to the country.

Conducted by gangs ranging in size from small mom and pop units to well-funded syndicates, human trafficking ranked as one of the world’s most lucrative criminal activities. The Santu, a group deriving from the union of three ancient Chinese Triads, had become a dominant participant in the illegal trade. Ruthless, mysterious, and efficient, the Santu’s United States operations had expanded from the populated cities of the East Coast to the Midwest. Recent activity in Houston, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles signaled the organization’s rapid growth. Almost destroyed years earlier because of a successful midwestern sting operation, the Santu had regained international prominence.

***

Fifteen minutes later, the radio crackled in Hill’s ear. Vehicle approaching.

Copy.

Seconds after Hill replied, a loud verbal command came from the house: Andele! Andele!

Hostages at door, reported Butnari. Van pulling up.

This exercise represented the first mission action for the two agents as part of the Operation Night Landing task force. Both seasoned veterans understood its importance, and carefully planned their execution to prevent harm to the hostages while arresting gang members alive. If the arrest unfolded as designed, the hidden agents would wait until the traffickers had moved the hostages to the van. When they returned to the front seat, the agents would incapacitate the vehicle. As the armed gangsters exited the vehicle, Hill and Butnari hoped they would realize their hopeless situation and surrender without a deadly gun battle.

Butnari occupied a covered position with a clear field of fire toward the vehicle.

Hill held a sniper rifle from behind a fallen log across the street.

Two in the van. Appears to be one in the house—he’s at the door, radioed Butnari.

Eyes, answered Hill, indicating he had a visual on the activity.

Only count six hostages. Now entering back of vehicle. Stand by.

Roger.

The surviving females walked from the house as the trafficker who had guarded them followed, his revolver drawn to cover the women. The van’s driver watched as the third gang member held the cargo door open at the back of the vehicle. Once the hostages entered the cargo area, he closed and latched the door from the outside. The three traffickers proceeded to the front of the van, but after the driver opened the door, he stopped.

Something’s going on, reported Butnari. Driver’s on a cell phone.

Got it.

Suddenly, the driver yelled something to his accomplices already seated in the front of the van. He slammed the door shut and raced toward the vehicle’s other side, peering down the street. The other two exited the van and stood outside next to the driver.

We’ve got a problem, said Butnari.

No shit! came the reply.

Moments later, a white sedan appeared from down the street, screeching to a halt next to the three gang members. Two jumped in the back, and one ran to the passenger side.

Mission tanked, yelled Butnari. Need to improvise. You take the engine block and driver. I’ve got tires. Her Glock already sent rounds to the car’s tires even as she said it.

Copy. Hill’s first rifle shot passed through the windshield and driver’s head on its way to the back seat. The next three entered the vehicle’s engine compartment. The car had only gone a few feet but now rolled slowly without power toward the opposite curb.

Through the rifle’s scope, he counted two passengers exiting from the back of the car and another from the front passenger’s side. His peripheral vision also caught sight of his partner racing to the vehicle, her Glock drawn but not firing. In the distance, he could hear her yelling commands to the criminals.

If they heard, they weren’t obeying, and as two raised their revolvers in Butnari’s direction, Hill screamed into the mic, Drop and roll right!

***

Following Hill’s instructions, Butnari dove to the ground and rolled. The air above her rustled as a stream of bullets passed over, and she rolled one more time, trying to assess her position on the way. She raised her head from a prone position and noticed the gunman who had been closest to the van lying motionless in the street. Another solitary shot from Hill’s location revealed a second shooter as he fell dead behind the sedan.

A flash of clothing dashed from the back of the sedan headed toward the cargo van, and Butnari reacted automatically. Her loosely aimed volley caused the man to stop several feet from the van.

Drop the gun on the street and raise your hands! Butnari yelled.

The criminal stared calmly at her, then quickly lifted the pistol to take a shot. Before his arm reached the horizontal position, a red blotch appeared in the center of his forehead, and he toppled backward.

When Hill joined her from his position across the street, Butnari said, I guess we don’t have anyone to interview. Could your shooting have been less lethal?

Not and still save your impetuous butt.

Good point. You were four for four. I got squat.

Not really. You decimated four tires.

Oh, yeah. Thanks, but our results won’t make Bluntforce happy.

Nope. We saved the hostages, though, and our cover is secure because we left no gang members able to report. I think Bluntforce will be more concerned about who alerted this group to our mission.

I hope you’re right. Take the hostages out of the van. Do you have a mask?

Yes, and state troopers are on the way to clean up. They have a vehicle to take the women to the federal center for a briefing.

Butnari stopped by the passenger side door and stared at the dead female in the street beneath it. I know this person.

Hill joined his partner. From where?

Her name is Mei Feng, and she’s the one who escorted me from Moldova. Feds arrested her at Dulles.

Are you sure?

Check out the neck tattoo.

That confirms the Santu connection, then.

It should. Butnari continued to stare at the body, deep in thought.

You OK? asked Hill.

Yeah... yeah... stuttered Butnari. I’m fine, but what are the odds I’d help rescue trafficking victims from the same woman someone saved me from years ago? Isn’t that eerie?

A little, but I don’t see a connection. We suspected a senior Santu leader would supervise this transfer, but I don’t think we had a name.

Think?

Are you paranoid?

Maybe, but you’ve told me you don’t believe in coincidence. I don’t either. Listen, if it’s OK with you, I’d like to talk to the hostages for a minute.

No problem. Wear the NP-95 mask. Neither witnesses nor suspects are supposed to see our faces.

Yeah, well, too late for the suspect part, because none of them lived. I’ll put the mask on when you open the back.

Butnari led the hostages to the residence’s steps, where she asked them to sit. Hay alguien que hable ingles? she asked the group, wondering if any spoke English.

All of us are bilingual, said one of the younger ones. The men would only take women in Matamoros who spoke English across the river.

Good, said Butnari. You’re safe now, and I’m sorry for what you’ve experienced. We expected to save seven women, but you number only six. Did one escape?

Most of the hostages looked down, and several covered their mouths. Finally, the teen who answered the language question said, "The seventh one lies inside on the floor. The hombre shot her."

Butnari winced. "I wish we had arrived in time