Network
The warehouse sprawled across three city blocks in Queens, a cancer disguised as commerce. From our vantage point on the adjacent rooftop, Nathan and I watched trucks roll in empty and leave heavy with human cargo. My stomach turned, but I kept the binoculars steady.
"Twelve guards on rotation," I murmured. "Four at the main entrance, two at each loading dock, two rovers. They change shifts every six hours."
"Security cameras?"
"Minimal. They're relying on bribes and reputation more than tech." I lowered the binoculars. "Cocky. Or very well connected."
"Both, according to our intel." Nathan checked his tablet, scrolling through data his FBI contacts had provided. "This hub feeds six major cities. Conservative estimate puts their monthlytrafficking at fifty women, mostly Eastern European, some Asian."
Fifty women. Fifty rabbits for new cages. The math made me want to scream.
"The assault team's planning a dawn raid," Nathan continued. "Full tactical, shock and awe. Should have the element of surprise."
"It won't work."
He looked at me sharply. "Why not?"
"Because they have contingencies." I pointed to the northwest corner. "See that shipping container? The red one that hasn't moved in three days? That's their panic room. First sign of cops, they'll stuff the most valuable assets in there and burn the rest of the evidence."
"Assets." His jaw clenched. "You mean women."
"I mean what they mean." I turned away from the view. "We can't think like rescuers here. We have to think like them. And to them, some cargo is worth more than others. The young ones. The pretty ones. The already broken ones." My voice went flat, clinical. "Those go in the container. The rest are acceptable losses."
"How do you know?"
"Because it's what Gabriel would have done." I started packing up our surveillance gear. "He consulted for operations like this sometimes. Teaching them psychological conditioning techniques, how to break subjects faster. I sat in on some of those meetings."
Nathan's hand found my shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Don't." I shrugged him off. "Save the sympathy for after. Right now, I need to be useful, not pitied."
"Bunny—"
"They need a new plan," I interrupted. "One that accounts for the panic room. One that gets someone inside before the raid, someone who can disable their contingencies."
"We'll get an undercover in. Michael is good at—"
I met his gaze steadily. "Me."
The silence stretched between us like a wire about to snap. I could see him processing, weighing options, arriving at the inevitable conclusion he didn't want to reach.
"Absolutely not."
"I fit the profile. Eastern European features, right age, already have the victim body language programmed in." I ticked off points on my fingers. "Plus I speak Russian, Polish, and enough Ukrainian to pass. Michael is six-foot-two and built like a linebacker."
"There are other options."
"Name one that can be in place by tomorrow night."
"We'll delay the raid."
"And let fifty more women disappear while we debate?" I shook my head. "You know I'm right. You just don't like it."
"Of course I don't like it!" The words exploded out of him. "You're talking about walking into a trafficking ring. Alone. As bait."
"As an asset," I corrected. "High-value enough they'll take me to the panic room when things go sideways. I'll have a tracker, subdermal. Once I'm inside, I disable the locks, neutralize any guards, and signal the team."
