Chapter 1
Two, very different sets of parents, settled down to sleep. One, a well to do couple, lived in a historical townhouse in George Town, Washington, D.C. The other couple, just getting by day-to-day, lived in a small house on the Jicarilla Apache Reservation in northern New Mexico.
As different as they were, the fact that both of their daughters had been trafficked by a self-proclaimed prophet who ruled a radical Mormon sect, united them. As they tossed and turned trying to sleep, they took some comfort knowing that The Crew continued to work to recover their daughters.
Two nights before, The Crew had broken into the Manse, where the Prophet lived and worked, and copied his computer hard drive. That gave them all the banking information they needed to empty the Prophet’s bank accounts. That money would be used to find and rescue the girls.
They now sat at the kitchen table of the Apache girl’s parents house on the Reservation, connected to John Hockman by a video call.
They and The Crew awoke that morning to the news that the Prophet and his wife committed suicide rather than see their beloved Gate to Heaven’s Glory Ranch fall into the hands of gentiles.
John, The Crew’s computer genius, who had used that banking information to empty the Prophet’s bank accounts, blamed himself and felt paralyzed with guilt.
He agonized to himself, “How did I ever get involved with this? Everything The Crew has done has been to protect people. That’s good. But I’m not like them. I’ve never known violence. I didn’t even played sports when I was little. It was too rough.”
He said, “I’ll never be able to live with myself knowing that I’m the direct cause of their deaths. But who would have thought they’d go that far?”
Melanie, the grandmotherly rock of the group and one of its two psychics, could sense the depth of his pain and said, “John, you’re no more responsible for their deaths than I am.”
“But I am, don’t you see? I cleaned out the bank account. It was because of me they were going to lose everything.”
“Dear, you didn’t let me finish. They didn’t commit suicide. They were murdered.”
“What? What do you mean they were murdered?”
“Just that. I don’t know if you remember, but early, on I detected a frightened and angry young woman living in the Manse with the Prophet and his wife. Well, she poisoned them.”
Like a drowning man grasping at anything to keep himself afloat, he asked, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I did a remote viewing this morning when I heard the news. They made her life a living hell and she took her revenge. I don’t approve, but I do understand.”
Melanie’s husband, Phil, a retired Special Forces officer who had been the driving force behind bringing down the GHG Ranch, said, “Now that John can sleep with a clear conscience, I propose we get to the most important part of our mission: to find and extract the two girls.
“Sorry for being tough on you, John, but we need to get you back on track before you go down a rabbit hole,”.
Not only had David Warren, the leader of the fundamentalist Mormon group, ruled his congregation with an iron fist, taking every opportunity to satisfy his own twisted sexual proclivities.
He had also been a human trafficker. Two of the young women he trafficked were the daughters of men who sat at the table.
Dulce Maria was a 19-year-old Apache girl whose beautiful waist-length hair had marked her as a target. Her father Chuy and his cousin Francisco Chacon, better known as Paco, had been seriously discussing murdering Warren, when they were saved by the young woman who poisoned them.
The other young woman was Julie Owens. Her striking green eyes in a perfect café au lait face had been her downfall. Her father, Jesse, a senior official at the Department of Justice, had mortgaged the family home and cashed in a fair chunk of his 401k to fund the search for her.
Notwithstanding his position in law enforcement, he too had seriously considered joining Chuy in killing Warren.
Phil continued, “I propose we reimburse Jesse the money he borrowed to carry out the search for the girls. And then we use the rest to locate and extract them. Is anyone opposed?”
They all shook their heads no. Jesse Owens, who had virtually bankrupted himself breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank you all. You don’t know what a load that takes off me.”
Chuy said, “Jesse, it was your money. It’s because of you we got this far. It’s only fair.”
Phil said, “Good. John, can you make that happen so that Jesse doesn’t get hit with a huge tax bill?”
Greatly relieved he wasn’t a murderer, he said, “Yes, I’ll set up an off-shore account. I just need Jesse to give me the exact figures. My rough estimate is that we’ll still have around $3.5 million left in the war chest after reimbursing Jesse.”
Phil said, “This is getting back into police stuff. Diane and Jesse, where do you see us going from here?”
Diane, a retired Air Force special investigations officer, cleared her throat. “Our first moves are pretty standard since we know who bought—it makes my skin crawl to even say that—the girls. John needs to follow the money trail and dig as deep as he can into this Santiago Ricciardi guy.
“Jesse, you haven’t had much success so far with the Argentine police. Do you think they’d give you anything now that you have a specific name?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it and I’m not sure we want to alert them we’re looking. If we have to take some drastic measures to extract the girls, we don’t want to point them toward us.
“No, I think the best place to start is with Interpol and the FBI. He might have already come up on their radar. John, do you think you could get into the Argentine police database?”
John shook his head in doubt. “Possible, but difficult. I’ll see what I can do. But I’ll be careful about running into a firewall. Like you said, we don’t want to alert them.”
Diane turned to her boyfriend, Peter Delgado, a successful artist and a very sensitive psychic. “What have you and Melanie come up with?”
“Not much so far. Hell, we just got the lead to Ricciardi. We’ll both do a remote viewing after we finish here. What I can say is that I’m getting two very different vibes from the girls.
“Julie is calm and almost contented. On the other hand, Dulce is like a caged tiger. I have no idea why the difference, but those are my first impressions. Melanie, have you gotten anything yet?”
“Like you, I got two very confusing pictures. I link Dulce to Mendoza in Argentina and Julie to Barcelona. That’s all for now.”
While The Crew did their best to find her, the Apache girl tied to the bed neither flinched nor cried out as her tormentor whipped her with his rebenque— the gaucho riding crop. And his frustration was a living boiling thing in his gut.
When the pain of the rebenque biting into her back almost overwhelmed her, she left the pain and traveled to the dusty open area where she had danced when she was thirteen.
Her mother and father danced beside her. Her older cousin, already having gone through her own Keesda, her Coming-of-Age Ceremony, danced beside her. Relatives and friends lent their support and filled the open space.
She was an Apache woman. She was the future of her clan and her tribe. And she would be strong. She would survive.
She pulled at the leather thongs that bit into her wrists and held her to the bed. Her own sweat and blood soaked the thongs and helped her to stretch them.
Finally exhausted, the fat man turned away to go to the kitchen for a glass of water and to rest for a moment. If he had to kill her trying to make her cry out, he would do it.
She sighed in relief. Her enemy had just given her the chance she had waited through all the pain for. She slipped one hand free. It was only a matter of minutes before she walked silently into the kitchen where the fat blond man had his back to her greedily guzzling ice water.
The block that held the cook’s knives sat in plain sight on the kitchen counter next to her and she selected one. She took a step, grabbed his hair, wrenched his head up and with a vicious left to right sawing movement severed his windpipe and both carotid arteries—just like she’d seen done to hogs at the annual matanza.
Ignoring him, she went back into his bedroom. Then the adrenaline took over and she began to tremble. She sat on the edge of the bed, bent over to vomit. She wrapped her arms herself until she finally gained control of the shakes.
She went to the bathroom and took a quick shower, wincing as the water stung the welts on her back. But feeling refreshed, she put on the gaucho outfit the fat man had made her wear—pants, shirt, and boots. She had to admit, she liked them and the boots were handmade and fit her perfectly.
She found his wide gaucho’s belt, the tiripá, and the long silver handled Argentinian dagger, el facón, complete with its silver scabbard. She cinched on the belt and stuck the dagger behind it at her back. She topped her ensemble off with a gaucho hat.
She finally went back to the kitchen, careful not to step in the spreading pool of blood and picked up the phone and dialed a number in the United States.
The phone rang in the kitchen at her home and her mother answered, “Dáanzho.”
“Mama, it’s me Dulce. I need help bad.”
Her mother gasped, but didn’t panic or break into tears. They could come later. Her daughter needed her now and she, like her daughter, knew how to be strong.
She turned and called into the next room where The Crew met, “You all need to come here now and hear this. Dulce is on the phone.
“Baby, your dad and uncle will be here in a minute. Are you safe?”
“For now. But I killed a man who was hurting me really bad. I need you to tell me what to do.”
Paco pushed down the rage that threatened to boil up and calmly asked Mama Chacon, “Does that thing have a loud speaker?”
She nodded and pushed a button. “Dulce this is Uncle Paco. Tell me exactly where you are and what has happened.”
“That Prophet sold me, uncle…”
“Keep her on track or she could lose it,” he thought.
He cut her off. “We know all that, honey. Just concentrate now and tell us where you are and what happened.”
She took a deep, calming breath. “OK. I’m near a place called Mendoza. They flew me here in a plane. It’s a ranch, but I can’t see anything else around.”
The words began to tumble out. “It’s called Estancia Alemana. The man here tied me to a bed and whipped me and got really mad when I wouldn’t cry out or flinch.
“When he got tired beating me, he went to the kitchen to get some water. He tied me with leather thongs and they stretched so I was able to get free. I went into the kitchen and took a knife and cut his throat.”
Her mother gasped, but a quick look from Paco quieted her. “Later, sister, we have to stay strong for her. We’ll be angry and sad later.” he thought.
He returned to the task at hand. “OK, honey. Is there anyone else there?”
“No, he sent them all away.”
“That’s good. Is there a car or truck there?”
“I don’t know. There could be. There are lots of barns and sheds. But, there’s a bunch of horses.”
“Alright. Did you see any other animals?”
“Yes, chickens, ducks in a pond, peacocks, oh and pigs.”
“That’s good, that’s very good. Do you know how long until the workers come back?”
“Two days, I think. We went riding horses and then he brought me back to the house and tied me up. I think he gave me something, because I remember drinking something then waking up tied to the bed. So, it’s been most of a day now. So, yes two more days.”
“Alright. Now tell me what are you wearing?”
“The gaucho clothes he made me wear.”
“You need to change out of them. They’ll be good to use when you leave. Does he have a maid?”
“He must.”
“Are you in the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“Now, look around to see if there is a door to the maid’s quarters. They’re usually right off the kitchen or nearby. So put down the phone and go look.”
She tried a few doors that turned out to be storage closets until she found the maid’s quarters. “I found it.”
“Now, go put on some of the maid’s clothes. You need to clean up the mess there in the kitchen. Use lots of water and don’t worry about being neat. Just get rid of the blood. Can you drag him outside first?
“Yes, I can do that.”
“OK, don’t hang up the phone while you clean up. We’ll be here and starting to get organized to come get you.”
They moved the table into the kitchen, gathered around the laptop and Paco continued with his plans.
“John, can you make a reservation to get me from Albuquerque to Mendoza, Argentina, as soon as possible. I’m also going to need a vehicle once I get there.”
He thought for a moment. “Better make it a truck or jeep of some kind. Something that can take rough use.
“Also, research the easiest route into Chile—but one without too much border security. And the closest American Consulate near that route.
“One last thing, open me a bank account with $50,000 in it. I may need to grease some palms and I’m going to have to buy a couple of heavy gold necklaces and bracelets in case they want gold.”
Phil asked, “Who do you want to go with you?”
“No one. I want to travel fast and light and one reservation is easier than two.”
Peter asked, “Do you speak Spanish?”
“Just the usual. Enough to order a beer.”
“If you’re going to go off the beaten path to get into Chile, you’re going to run into people who don’t speak English. It might be a good idea if I went with you. I’m not sure which was my first language, Spanish or English.”
Paco thought for a moment. “OK, John make those reservations for the both of us.”
Diane didn’t look pleased.
Dulce came back on the line. “OK uncle, I’ve mopped the kitchen and the man is outside.”
“Good girl you’re being very brave. Now, how far is it to the pig pen?”
“A couple of hundred yards, maybe.”
“Do you have a rope. If it’s a ranch they should have lariats.”
“No, they don’t use lariats they use bolas. It’s three pieces of rope with weights on the end. But I’ll go look for rope if you want. What do I need it for?”
“You need it to use to drag the man to the pig pen.” He didn’t explain why.
“Just find anything you could tie around his ankles and onto a truck or even a horse to drag him. Now, off you go.”
John couldn’t contain his curiosity, “Why take him to the pig pen?”
Paco didn’t sugar coat it. “So, the pigs will eat him.”
They could almost see John turn pale on the screen. Not being a combat veteran like Paco, where calm in times of stress meant the difference between life and death, he reacted like the college professor he was.
It took her fifteen minutes, but she came back on the line. “OK, uncle I found a big roll of wire like they used to tie rebar when they built the patio at Grandma’s house. Will that work?”
“That will do fine. Did you find a vehicle of some kind?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t find any keys. Maybe he was afraid I might escape. I saddled a horse, though.”
“Good girl. Now, wrap the wire together so it’s not just one strand, then take a good dally on the saddle horn and drag him to the pigs. Then just open the gate to their pen and leave him there.”
“They don’t have saddle horns. But I’ll just hold on to the wire.”
“Where’s the horse now?”
“He’s just outside the kitchen door. Why?”
“Is he close to the man?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s not skittish?”
“No uncle. I know about horses getting skittish around blood. I got an old horse.”
“Smart girl. Now, go drag him to the pigs.”
It only took a few minutes until she was back on the line. “Now what should I do?”
“Is there a computer there?”
“Yes, I saw a laptop in the bedroom.”
“OK, go get it and bring it back to the kitchen so we can talk you through what to do.”
She returned in a few minutes. “I’ve got it and it’s not password protected. What now?”
“Can you use Google Maps?”
“Jeeze, of course I can use Google Maps.”
“Find out exactly where you are, how far you are from Mendoza and where the nearest ranches or towns are.”
They could hear her typing on an older keyboard. “Mendoza is about 70 kilometers northwest of here. There are some other small towns along a road that are about 50 kilometers away.”
Paco looked at the map and saw nothing but open prairie. Good, that was easy terrain. He calculated in his head, “The old ones would run a horse to death, cut meat from its ribs and keep running. They could make fifty miles in a day that way. Dulce has fifty kilometers, thirty miles, that’s an easy two-day ride.”
John raised a finger. “I think I’ve got what you need. There’s good news and bad news. You and Peter need to be in Albuquerque with your passports by 6:00 PM. You won’t need a visa. Your flight will be around eighteen hours long. That’s the good news.
“Now, for the bad news. There are no consulates, only the US Embassy in Santiago. That’s where you’ll have to go to get Dulce home. I suggest you take some documentation to prove who she is and your relationship to her.”
Paco motioned to Dulce’s mom and she went to get her birth certificate and whatever picture ID she could find.
“The Andes Mountains are the show stopper. You’re not going to get across them. There are only a few passes around where you are, and you’d need an expedition to get there.
“There’s no grass and limited water so the companies that lead horseback treks have to bring everything with them.
“The best crossing in your area is at Cristo Redentor and it’s the major crossing between Chile and Argentina. It has all of the border controls you’d expect. So, it’s not a viable option—especially if some sort of alert goes out about the dead man.
“There’s a trekking service located in the town of Tunuyán, south of Mendoza. That sounds like one of the towns Dulce found. They charge $1,900 US dollars per person.
“I suggest you make them a very good deal to get you across the border. With any luck, they’ll have a contact on the Chilean side that can pick you up in a car and get you to Santiago.
“You won’t know what they’ll do until you talk to them. And frankly, I have no idea what to do if they refuse and threaten to call the cops.”
Dulce came back on the line. “You’re coming to get me uncle?”
“Yes honey, we leave this afternoon. We should be in Mendoza around…maybe noon tomorrow. Now, go back to Google Maps on the computer.”
“Yes.”
“OK, now find the town of Tunuyán. Let me know when you’ve got it.”
“Got it.”
“Now, look up Andes Equestrian Trekkers.”
“OK, I found them.”
“That’s where we’re going to meet. Let’s see, if we leave at 6:00 PM our time,” John held up nine fingers. “it will be 9:00 PM your time.
“So, we should arrive in Mendoza around 3:00 in the afternoon and with any luck will be in Tunuyán by 5:00, 6:00 at the latest.
“They may be closed then, and we’ll have to wait. You’ll just have to stay hidden and watch for us.
“I’ll wave a handkerchief if I want you to come out to us. It’s not too subtle, but we don’t need subtle right now. We can camp out for the night if we have to.
“OK, uncle. I’ll be there.”
With that, she hung up the phone, took a pillow case from the bed and filled it with food. She found a bota bag with wine and took that too. In the barn, she chose a good-looking dapple grey, saddled it and rode away from Hacienda Aleman.
