“Because,” Jake begins, sounding less patient. “Everything you do on the dark web increases your chances of getting made. Putting a tracer on one guy? No big. Putting a tracer on a dozen guys? That’ll get the wrong kind of attention.”
“So your cursory scan revealed nothing?”
“Correct. And that means they know a little bit about what they’re doing and are probably pretty good at deleting their footprints.”
“Fuck the dark web. Allows these guys to hide, to never pay a single price for the things that they are doing,” my brother spits out.
Thane ignores the grumble of the team and asks, “So we don’t know what we’re dealing with, only that it’s a group of men who are willing to speak freely with one another about their favorite child pornography sites.”
Clicking his tongue, Jake responds, “I said they were pretty good. I didn’t say they were perfect. Give me a few minutes.”
His comms go dead, which leaves us listening to these men plot about getting a “live one.” It’s the most torturous ten minutes of my life and every one of us has itchy murder fingers. I can imagine my brother is having to sit on his hands in order to stop himself from going into that room and raining hell on every last one of those motherfuckers. Jake comes back on the line, putting a stop to my increasingly morose thoughts.
“Okay, I’m back. Yeah, they managed to create a group that avoids most general searches, but just barely. Didn’t take much poking to find them. I sent their dossiers to everyone’s burners. It appears that the pictures and videos are no longer enough for these guys, and they are pooling their resources to buy both a young girl and a young boy to be shared amongst them.”
As that horrible truth hits us, one of the fine, upstanding Christian men starts to complain about the cost of doing business with human traffickers, and our mark explains very calmly that it’s too dangerous to get the kids “in the real.” He goes on to detail how two little girls he’d terrorized just weeks ago got away from him, complaining that parents teach their kids too well these days.
There is an ugly, gritty silence on the line, punctuated only with heavy breathing. After a beat, Anders whispers into the comms, “I have my knife and plenty of bullets. Just say the word, boss.”
DeShaun’s hand shoots out to hit the unmute button, and I grab it, wrestling him away from the comms. “He’s talking to Thane, darlin’.”
His nostrils flare and he yanks his hand away from mine. “I know, I know.”
Finally, Thane speaks. “Folks, there isn’t a single person here who doesn’t want to walk into that room and paint the walls red. Every single one of those assholes deserves it. But we don’t have the time to put the logistics to it. There are too many unknown factors, too many ways for this to go wrong. And might I remind you that you are, in fact, in a gun range. So I am going to say that we will continue with this op as planned, and we will go after the rest of those motherfuckers as soon as we can, within the next two to three days. Likely with the help of Wimberley. DB, are you on the call?”
His jaw strains to the point of injury, but his voice is dead calm. “Yes. I’ll reach out to the Wimberley team and get it squared away.”
Thane, of course, is right. I suppose this should make me feel better, knowing that we will get a plan in place, but it doesn’t. There isn’t a person on the line who doesn’t feel the way Anders feels, including DeShaun.
"Jake?" DeShaun asks, his voice quiet.
"Yeah, DB?"
“Do we know where they are sourcing these kids from? Is there any way, any fucking way, we can tie a knot in that?"
The sound of rapid-fire keystrokes crackles across the line.
"Mid-level operator, sending whatever details I find.”
"Can you trace that to a location?"
"I'm getting close.”
Meanwhile, the men continue to discuss the preferred attributes of the children, along with contingency plans, disposal, and next steps. DB gets up and grabs his cane, twisting it in his hands as he paces the room. Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he sends out a quick text. “I just let Hedy know what’s going on.”
I nod, tension ratcheting up.
Jake comes back on the line. “Fuck, boss. They’re pulling up the website now," he says, typing furiously. “Goddammit. They put two kids in the cart.”
That is, even after listening to these dickheads’ little planning session, the most god-awful thing I’ve ever heard anyone say. Two children in an online shopping cart, their future in the hands of anyone with a cryptocurrency account.
“We’re gonna find those kids, and then I’m going to fucking murder someone,” Anders says and is met with a whispered chorus of variations onhooah,depending on each Guardians’ branch and flavor of service. Anders and I were never officially part of a specific branch, so we’ve said—and meant—all of them. Heard. Understood. Acknowledged. However you say it, these shitbags aren’t getting anywhere near those kids, and anyone who is part of that transaction is going to have a bad day, and soon.
DeShaun picks up his phone and walks into the bathroom. I’m unable to make out the furiously whispered conversation, but I can guess the who and what. A few minutes later, he joins me on the couch and Thane’s voice comes across the line, low and steady. “Change of plans. Take them out; Anders is lead. Assume police involvement.”
Less than a minute later, Anders walks into the shop, masked up with guns drawn. The guy behind the counter immediately holds up his hands and steps away from the cash register.
“He just set off a silent alarm," Jake whispers as the phone rings in the background. “That'll be PD calling to verify. If he doesn't pick up and give them the proper password they send in a team, guns out."
