Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.
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Friday June 8th, 9:28 AM, Phoenix, Arizona
When the room was cleared Carol asked, “You two know each other, right?”

“We meet at the Christmas party…,” Valerie offered.

“Yeah, and we’ve talked a few times around the office – last fire drill,” I replied.

“Good… So, you heard what Mike wants – update known details and to boost the traffic for this story. I’m not entirely sure why this is a hot button for him, but that’s beside the point,” Carol paused to consider her next words, “I think we know why Mike brought you in on this Cassidy.”

I managed to eke out a weak, “Yes…” I couldn’t decide whether that last statement was a dig or she was pissed about being micromanaged on this story.

“Alright… Well, you two divide and conquer. Going forward you two can decide your angles and division of work on this one. Valerie will add you to the byline. Questions,” Carol asked. When neither of us replied right away she stood, “I’ll get with Allen and let him know we’re borrowing you for a couple days Cassidy... Valerie, I want to review the updates by 11:30 and we’ll push it up the chain and get the story updated by noon…” Carol didn’t wait around for a reply and was out the open conference room door before I’d taken a second breath.

Friday June 8th, 9:31 AM, Phoenix, Arizona
"Well, that was awkward," I offered meekly.

"Yeah, with Lynn out this story got dumped on me. I thought what I had written was insightful and I reported the known facts of the abduction of Gabriella Estrada...," Valerie said with a little confidence, "I'm not sure what more I could have added..."

"I read both yours and Lynn's stories and they seemed on point. Curious this one has Mike's attention...," I replied not really thinking about whether I should be sharing that thought.

"I don't know why the increased interest... I mean, not that it's not a story that deserves any less attention or... You know what I mean...," she said backtracking her comment, maybe a little worried that I might be offended due to being, you know - a Trans Woman.

I considered my approach for a second and decided to just lay it all out, "Look, since we're going work this together - up front and all my cards on the table - it takes a bit of work to get me riled up about being Trans. Not that certain situations or triggers aren't out there, but I'm not a 'snowflake' by any stretch. Please, don't hold your tongue or walk on eggshells around me. If you say something that rubs me wrong, I'm going tell you straight up and politely. If it's really egregious I'll let you know and we’ll get to the root of the issue before moving on. I get I'm not the societal norm, but I promise I'm really no different from any of your girl friends or sister - if you have one. Can you live with that?"

Valerie looked relieved, "Oh God, Thank you... I don't know enough about being Trans or about all the LGBTQ issues, but I do care and... Well, I'm...," she looked like she was getting flustered, "I really appreciate your understanding of my ignorance...," she looked down at some papers in front of her.

"Just relax, we'll get through this and I promise it will all work out... So, how do we move this story up in the 'hits' and traction department?"

Friday June 8th, 11:44 AM, Phoenix, Arizona
This, this feeling I was experiencing right now, this is how I wanted to feel every day as a journalist. This was a real story I could get behind and maybe build an opportunity to branch out from my usual story assignments. I felt energized and nervous, but alive and anxious to dig into this story.

After Valerie and I had level set our working relationship and gotten past the first pangs of awkwardness, we divided assignments and my first task was to talk with the detective assigned to the Gabriella Estrada case. I knew through the grapevine that it would be next to impossible to get anyone on the phone at the police station, so the in-person approach was how I was going to get anything meaningful from the Phoenix police.

I checked in at the police stations front desk, filled out a form, got a visitors’ badge, and was led to what I guessed was an interrogation room to wait. Single table in the room with handcuff anchors, one-way mirrored window, and a camera in the corner on the ceiling. I assumed the camera was on, though there wasn’t an indicator light of…

A knock at the door made me jump, and as the door opened, I was trying to look calm and put together – I doubt I pulled that off…

“Ms. Ruiz, I’m detective Kovachev, how can I help you,” the man who had entered the room said.

He had a distinct accent, Eastern Bloc country I would guess, “Detective,” I opened a notebook and tried to guess how to spell his name. I could feel him watching me, he hadn’t sat, just stood at the chair across from me, “Can you spell your name for me, please?”

He moved a hand to his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and removed a business card, placing it on the table and sliding it towards me.

“Oh, perfect… Thank you,” I picked up the card read his name, ‘Detective Victor C. Kovachev’, then noticed a cellphone number, “Is it best to reach you via your cellphone,” I asked.

“Yes,” he paused, “You represent the Phoenix Post Intelligencer?”

“Yes…”

“No other affiliates?”

Interesting question, I wonder why he asked that, “No, just the Post Intelligencer. Are you concerned about media outlets contacting you?”

He thought about my question for a few seconds, “We try to control the number of sources we release information to…”

Okay, I'll buy that. It could be a full-time job having to wrangle the release of information and the need to keep some of the details out of the public domain. “Anything new with your investigation into the Gabriella Estrada case?”

He was staring at me, “I’m interviewing Ms. Estrada shortly… Do you speak Spanish?”

“I do…,” I wondered why he asked me that, was it because I was obviously Hispanic?

“Would you like to assist me with the interview? The hospital can be hit and miss with translators. You would not be able to use everything you hear during the interview, but you would be closer to her story than any other media outlet.”

Oh crap! YES! Yes, I would like to assist! I tried to maintain my composure, “How would this work? We go to the hospital, I ask her your questions, relay the answers, then get permission to publish the content of my story once I’ve written it,” I asked.

“Exactly like that, though you’ll work with our PIO officer about the facts you’re allowed to use.”

Wow, this was turning out to be a worthwhile meeting. “I can live with that… When do we meet with her?”

“If you’re free we could head over there now. I can drive and return you to the station or the Post Intelligencer…”

Friday June 8th, 12:39 PM, Phoenix, Arizona
It took twenty minutes for Kovachev to get whatever he needed wrapped up at the station done before we headed to the hospital. I texted Valerie while waiting and she was excited about our ‘in’ with the police. She also said the story had been updated on the site – which I skimmed on my phone because I had nothing else to do while waiting for the detective. The wait didn’t dampen my excitement, but I was aching to get this show rolling!

Once in Kovachev’s car, a standard issue unmarked police vehicle, the conversation between us was hit and miss. I pressed for details Mike had said the Times had reported and Kovachev confirmed everything to be accurate. When I'd exhausted my questions about the assaults, I took a stab at his feelings about the defunding of the police. Off topic, but I had plans to put something together on my own and shop the story, if my work on the assaults got positive results. Beyond just a story idea, I was genuinely curious about how he felt about the defunding - he didn’t disappoint and I appreciated his frankness, though not really surprised by his stance. It felt like he had more to say, but he stopped talking once we were parked and headed to the administration offices.

Once checked in, we waited at least twenty minutes to get a doctor to clear giving us access to Gabriella. Kovachev didn't look like he wanted to talk, so we sat waiting in silence. When we got the green light to go see her Kovachev stopped just outside her room’s doorway, “Here is a list of questions,” he handed the single sheet of paper to me and I looked them over quickly - I wished he'd have given these to me on the drive over or while we waited so we could have discussed them... Augh!

When it looked like I had finished skimming the list he continued, “Ask a question, translate her reply exactly as she states. I’ll be recording the interview, but her answers may spawn additional questions I might have. Do you have any questions about how I expect this interview to proceed?”

“No… Am I free to ask her questions of my own?”

“Ask me first, but it will be likely you can ask her your questions,” he replied, turned, and entered the room.

I followed after Kovachev, Gabriella was in bed, hooked up to monitoring machines, an oxygen hose at her nose, and two IV-bags – one plugged into her arm and the other in the back of her right hand. She had bruising on her left cheek that couldn't decide whether to be yellowish purple or deep purple and blue. Her lip was swollen on the left side and there were a few bruises on her arms as well as her wrists - likely from her struggling with her assailant. She had certainly been roughed up, I hoped it wasn't worse...

Kovachev touched Gabriella’s hand and her head moved slowly toward us, “Talk to her please…,” he said softly.

I moved to the opposite side of the bed, looked at Kovachev, then at Gabriella… I cleared my throat, she looked at me and began to cry. Shit, “No, no… It’s alright Gabriella…,” I spoke gently in Spanish.

“Do not make any promises, we need answers and leads. Just ask the questions…,” Kovachev said soothingly as if to not tip Gabriella over any further.

That was a little cold. You really are clueless on the dangers we face you asshole. Focus, I can enlighten him after the interview. I sucked in a heavy breath and exhaled slowly, taking her hand in mine. I started by telling her who we were and what we were here for. Kovachev showed his badge when I said 'policia' and I explained that I was a reporter there to assist him with questioning because he did not speak Spanish. She nodded slightly as if to say she understood. She didn't appear to be in pain, likely one of these drips in her arm was for pain.

I looked at the list of questions, but before I could ask the first one, she croaked, “He does not understand us?”

I smiled, “I’m sure he understands some words, but he says he does not speak Spanish…”

She turned to look at him, Kovachev looked at me, “What is she saying,” he asked.

“She asked if you speak Spanish...”

“I can say beer, bathroom, and I know how to count to ten…,” he said looking down at Gabriella. He pulled a digital recorder from his pocket and placed it on the bed.

She looked at it and shook her head and whispered, “I will not speak if he is recording…”

“Put the recorder away, she says she will not speak to us if you’re going to record her…”

He looked from me to Gabriella, picked up the recorder, clicked it off, and put it back in his pocket. “Ask her my questions, please…,” he said trying to smile, but certainly not happy that he could not record the interview.

I squeezed her hand lightly, “Do you know where you are?”

She looked confused by the question and replied, “Hospital…”

I smiled, “Yes, but do you know what city you are in?”

She hesitated, “Is this Phoenix?”

I nodded, “You are in Phoenix. When did you get here?”

“Can I speak without fear of being sent back to Mexico?”

I translated that for Kovachev, “She won’t be sent back to Mexico…,” he hesitated a second, “I can’t promise her that, but there are enough resources that will be made available to her after what has happened to her that it is unlikely, they will deport her.”

I relayed that to her, she said softly, “I cannot go back to Mexico…”

“I understand, he’s saying you won’t be deported. When did you cross the border?” It was Kovachev’s third question, but I figured it fit in better in the flow of things than his second question, which was whether she knew who did this to her.

“The sixth… What day is it?”

“Today is the eighth…”

She looked at me trying to gauge her next question, “How long?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but you were admitted yesterday, early morning… So, it hasn’t been but a day and a half here in the hospital...” I know I sounded confused, but I wasn’t sure what she was asking. Maybe she wanted to know how long she’d be out of it?

She shook her head slowly, winced, and set her eyes on me, “No, how long for you?”

Oh… Well, hello dysphoria my old friend! Haven’t talked to you in like a couple minutes. Augh! She could tell I was Trans; did she think my being here was planned? Had Kovachev invited me to assist because I was Trans? Whatever, it is what it is I guess, “About five years…” She was watching me, and I wondered what she really had on her mind. She had an air of quiet intelligence about her which made me wonder about how she got mixed up in this. Kovachev tilted his head, and I took that to mean he wanted to know what was said, so I told him, dumping a little more in the dysphoria bucket. Thanks for that you two.

“Ask his questions before he wonders about my willingness to cooperate…,” Gabriella said when Kovachev had looked as though he was up to speed on what had just transpired between us.

Interesting… She realizes there are pieces in play and knows there are processes being adhered to by Kovachev and the system. Did she not want to appear as a hostile witness or victim for fear of being sent back to Mexico? She was playing along - but aware, processing the context of the interview. Based on what she’d just said I was sure Gabriella was educated and more worldly wise than your typical immigrant trying to escape to this country.

“The detective was hoping that maybe you might remember some things that happened to you, even the smallest of details,” I explained, “Do you know who abducted you?” I pointed to the question for Kovachev, he nodded.

“I will handle part of that…,” she said.

“I don't understand, you do know who did this to you?”

“Tell him I don’t know,” she turned slowly to looked at Kovachev, “No se...” (I don’t know)

“She says she doesn’t know who did this to her…,” I relayed, but inside I was worried about her knowing who did this to her. What did she mean by 'handle'?

He nodded, “Are you concerned with that answer?”

Huh, concerned? Not if she’s going to track this fucker down and ruin their day – then no. I shrugged at him, looked back at her, “Can you tell us where you’ve been since entering the country?” That was his fourth question.

“A place called Gila Bend for food and a house…," she paused to think about that, "They said it was in Buckeye. I don’t remember much, but I remember being in an old hotel room somewhere remote, the road was very rough with many holes, I don’t know where... I don’t recall how far from the house in Buckeye, but I remember being in a car shortly after dinner on the sixth…”

“Why do you think the hotel was old?”

She thought about that question before answering, “The smell... Graffiti on the walls... It was a big building and looked to have many rooms. A dog was barking all the time outside somewhere...”

Okay, probably stale or whatever, “The detective says you were drugged…”

“I am sure I was…,” she said quietly.

“Do you remember much else? Can you describe any of the persons who did this to you?”

“I was very out of it; my mind and body were paralyzed... I couldn't...,” she stopped for a moment and began to cry.

I took her hand again, then looked at Kovachev, “She crossed the border, went through Gila Bend and then to a house in Buckeye. She says she doesn’t remember anything other than being taken somewhere, an old hotel possibly, somewhere remote and over rough road. It smelled, had graffiti on the walls - so someplace abandoned I'm guessing. She can’t describe her assailant.”

“Did you tell her about being drugged?”

“She knows…,” I replied squeezing Gabriella's hand.

“Does she know it was GHB?”

“I doubt that… What would that matter,” I asked.

“Wouldn’t matter... She wouldn’t have known it was administered; it could help with any guilt feelings she might have…”

“Guilt? You think she feels like she deserved this and being drugged is her get out of guilt free ticket,” I asked a little more gruffly than intended. Gabriella looked at me as though she was trying to understand the conversation I was having in English with Kovachev.

“That is not what I am saying, but whatever she walked into may have already been set up to exploit her. It usually is when these kids cross the border and get mixed up with the wrong people…”

I felt Gabriella squeeze my hand, “What is he saying?”

Kovachev looked at me, “She is asking what we’re talking about…,” I said.

“Next question…,” he chided.

“Are…,” I began in Spanish, paused to look at him, pointing to the question, “You want me to ask this question,” I asked in English.

He nodded.

“Are you a sex worker,” I asked her in Spanish.

She turned to look at Kovachev, “No…”

“You did not do this kind of thing from where you came from?” That was the next question on his list and I was kicking myself for not reordering them before this began.

She was still looking at Kovachev, “No…”

“She wasn’t a sex worker prior to coming here,” I relayed, even though I had pointed to the question I had just asked her. He nodded for me to continue.

I didn’t want to ask, but it was Kovachev’s script and pushed on, “You said your name is Gabriella Estrada… There wasn’t any ID found in your backpack and the fingerprints they took do not tell us who you were before your transition. There is no record of you having lived in Mexico; you came from and lived in Mexico, correct?” I noticed the word ‘backpack’ had caught her attention - had Kovachev?

She looked around the room, “Is my backpack here?”

“Yes, I think so… Is that it,” I said pointing toward the sink area.

She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, then answered the question, “There would be no record of me with any government agency, I have never been in trouble… I came from and lived in Mexico before crossing your border.”

“I think they want to know who you were before your transition…,” I said tentatively.

“That is not something I will share…”

I looked at Kovachev, “She said she’s never been in any legal trouble and will not share who she was prior to her transition… She came from and lived in Mexico.”

“Continue…,” he said dryly.

I asked the rest of his questions, which produced vague answers or that she didn’t remember. She did say she was eighteen, which was younger than I had originally thought, but maybe that made sense with some of her answers. She looked to be early on in her transition, I wondered how long she had been transitioning.

Kovachev seemed to listen to the exchanges, but something was up with him, I could feel it. He asked if I had any questions I wanted to ask.

I looked at him and decided to cut him out of the conversation. Do and ask for forgiveness after the fact, that's how I was going to roll. "You are not the only woman this has been done to Gabriella," I paused because there was no easy way to get to where I was going, "In just under two weeks you've become the third Trans woman to be assaulted in the Phoenix area. Each came from Mexico. Can you can remember any details, something spoken or some act or pattern of behavior? Anything could help lead them quicker to who did this possibly..."

Kovachev was looking at me concerned but remained silent.

Gabriella locked eyes with me, "I do not remember anything like that... I was," she struggled to continue, "I... He posed me for his cameras. I do not... What happened to me...," she stopped speaking to sob silently.

I squeezed her hand gently, then decided to bend close and hug her, "I'm so sorry... This is not your fault," I whispered.

When I finished hugging her, I could see Kovachev was not happy with me, "I asked if she remembered any details of the assault, some common trait. She said she was filmed..."

"You should have cleared that line of questioning with me first... There is more to information gathering, and victim considerations should not to be trampled," he said coldly, clearly annoyed.

"I understand that, but in our community these kinds of things end with the victim damaged much worse - like dead. You know that, you know this makes these three cases highly unusual," I paused because I was trying to maintain my cool in front of Gabriella, "I'm done here, are you?"

Kovachev nodded.

Gabriella must have sensed the interview was coming to an end and asked, “Would he allow us to speak privately?”

I looked at Kovachev, “Would you mind waiting outside? She asked if we could speak privately...”

He paused, “I will allow that. Consider what has happened to Ms. Estrada, she needs to work what happened to her out with professionals... Tread carefully."

Gabriella moved her hand towards his, he held it briefly, smiled, and looked at me, "We will talk about this private exchange – understand?” I nodded and he continued, “Tell her I’m sorry this happened to her and that we will do our best to find the person or persons who did this to her…”

I did as he had asked and without another word, he left the room.

When we were alone, she said in perfect English, “He understands more than he admits…”

Oh, shit! Well, aren't you just full of surprises! “You speak English? Why hide that?”

"I don't need to be asked ridiculous questions I don't have the answers to by someone I do not trust..."

"Why do you think he understands more than he's letting on?"

“I don’t know, I just think he knew what we were saying. I think he speaks Spanish better than he told you. You are a Trans woman, he used you to get information from me... I do not trust him.”

Shit... She was probably right about Kovachev using me, I suddenly felt stupid for having trusted Kovachev so blindly. It would be kind of shitty of him to use me like that and fake not speaking Spanish. “I think he just wants to help…,” I said finally, but deep inside I knew I'd been played.

“I’m sure... That is his job. Can you bring me my backpack, please?”

I picked it up from where it sat next to the sink in the room and gave it to her. One shoulder strap was attached at a single point as if it had been torn off in a struggle. The backpack felt empty, which would probably not come as a surprise to her. I watched her expression as she examined the backpack, looking inside of it, then running a finger along the one strap that was still intact. She looked relieved, which was odd since the thing was clearly empty.

“I need to get out of here, can you help me?”

Shit… That wasn’t what I was expecting her to say. “I really can’t… I mean, the police are going to need to get to the bottom of this and they really need your help,” I replied, but felt like I was complaining about my inability to assist.

“I wasn’t the only one they had at the hotel…,” she said softly.

“What? There was another woman being held?”

“Yes, there was one other woman like us at the hotel… She was younger, I think. He,” her voice broke, “Was filming us... Together and taking...," she tried to hold back the flood of emotions and began to cry.

I bent over her and hugged her, then got a box of tissue from the sink area, "We need to tell the detective this... Was there anyone else?"

It took a full minute for her to compose herself enough to continue, "There were three men...," she paused to consider her next statement, "I know more about this place, but I am not talking to the detective. Help me get out of here and I will tell you what I know..."

Fuck me!

Friday June 8th, 1:22 PM, Phoenix, Arizona
When I exited Gabriella's room, Kovachev was standing at the nurses' station. He finished speaking with the nurse and made his way over to me, "What did she say?"

I had to give this guy props, he wasn't hung up on Gabriella or myself being Trans. Not once did he misgender her or act as though she wasn't worthy of compassion, respect, or his help. But now, now I was at a crossroads and what I did or didn’t do to help her was going to be a problem. If I am truthful, I won’t be tripped up by a lie. Then again if I’m truthful I betray her trust. Would he understand? Would she? “She wants me to help her get out of here…,” I said waiting for an adverse reaction on his part.

“Why would she ask you this?”

Augh… “She said she was not the only Trans Woman being held…”

He thought about that a moment, “Why not tell us that?”

"I'm really not sure... She said they were filmed and that there were three men. Was she sexually assaulted," I asked.

“Another victim,” he sighed, “This is not good…,” he looked back to the nurse’s station, “No, the nurse confirmed she was not raped, but that does not mean there wasn't any sexual encounter. The other two victims reported there were two and three men involved. The abandoned hotel, this is new information for this case. Her not being raped is also different from the other two victims. Why do you think she asked you for help getting out of here," he asked.

“I’m not sure… But she suspects your motives to involve me in the interview and is sure you speak Spanish better than you let on.”

Kovachev’s face did not show any reaction to my accusation. In perfect Spanish he replied, “I speak four languages fluently and two others I can get by in most social or official conversations. I asked for your help because I thought she would be able to relate to you and you could gain her trust. I’m sorry I did not tell you…”

Fucking asshole! I was angry, but not surprised. “Not really a way to garner trust – from either of us,” I huffed.

“Correct, but let’s not lose sight of the problem at hand…”

I interrupted him, “Which is?”

“Gabriella is the third woman abducted in the past two weeks and released. She says there was another Trans Woman at the hotel, so we have a soon to be fourth victim. All the victims we know of so far all crossed the border and shortly afterwards ended up being assaulted. The first two, Solis and Morena, admitted to being sex workers. Gabriella claims she wasn’t a sex worker, so how does she fit with the first two victims? Why no sexual assault?”

This guy didn’t have a clue about the dangers of being Trans. I wanted to ask him if he knew about the rise in assaults and murders in our community? Kovachev looked like he was pondering something. His silence was annoying me, so I volunteered, “She said she would help me find the hotel; I don’t know how though…”

He snapped back to the present and looked at me for a long moment, “You don’t think she was part of this?”

“You’re kidding right? She’s an innocent and the fuckers who abducted her are sick bastards…,” I barked louder than intended. The two nurses looked up from the nurse’s station at me, I looked away. Did he really think she was part of these assaults or some fucked up sex ring?

“Both the other women mentioned being sought out while in Mexico and then being brought here with promises of lavish lives and lots of money. That isn’t what happened to them because they ran into 'sick bastards'. Do you think she was recruited,” he asked.

I hadn’t asked her that because no one knew that the other two women had been recruited. The police were holding a lot of facts from the public, so this case had to have more scope than present on the surface. I felt in my heart Gabriella wasn’t recruited, she was running from something, “I don’t think she was recruited… Why didn't you release that the other women were recruited for the sex trade?”

"We are investigating these cases from multiple directions. Mexican police, Border Patrol, FBI, and US Marshal Service. Last month a similar string of abductions and assaults occurred in El Paso. All the victims were illegals. It was decided to hold certain details from the public for now,” he stopped speaking as a nurse walked by us, “I agree with you, I think she came here to escape something, possibly her family, possibly something else…”

Whoa! This shit happened in Texas? Where's the effort been at stopping this crap?! Why haven’t you asked me about her asking for my help to get her out of this place? Bigger yet, why did it seem that Gabriella’s case was so different? Oh, and you know she said she would 'handle' these fuckers - that could blow up in everyone's face.

When it was obvious, I had nothing to contribute Kovachev asked, “If you were to help her, how would you go about that?”

Was this guy in my head? I was shocked he’d even consider that option. It really was the million-dollar question though, and one I hadn’t even decided whether I could help her with. “I'm not... I don't think she should just pick up and blow out of here. I'm really not comfortable with the idea of breaking her out of here and tracking down these assholes... Didn't you say there were resources available for her?”

"You were in the military," he asked, ignoring my question.

“And how did you know that," I asked taken aback.

“The paperwork you filled out for the visitor pass at the station; it says we may do a background check…”

So much for reading the fine print before signing. I was a little miffed that I hadn’t paid more attention to what I was signing, “Yes, I served. Did you?”

He thought about that for a moment, “Yes, but for a different country.”

“Which?”

“I was an intelligence officer many years ago in Chechnya. I worked my way into an immigration opportunity when I was twenty-six,” he replied with a smirk.

“Do you still have family there?”

“I do have a few family ties in that region," he said solemnly, the smirk gone.

"What do you mean by you worked your way into?"

"That is a long story for another time.”

Well, that tells me nothing, but my guess is he defected or something like that. “How old are you now?”

“I’m forty-eight,” he said, smiling because the shock on my face showed – he looked much younger, my age, late thirties at most. “Your leg,” he nodded, “Afghanistan?”

Really? What don’t you know about me? I nodded, I’m sure the frustration on my face spoke volumes.

“It is only logical. At the time of your military discharge that was really the only active conflict out there. You favor your right leg when you walk, barely perceptible. And your right shoe shows uneven wear at the heel,” he said pointing as if he were casually commenting about the weather.

Lovely… He knows more about me than he should and I’ve got nothing on him to hit back with because I was pissed and I wanted to hit him back with something! I was especially annoyed he noticed my gait, the wear on my shoe, and his ‘barely perceptible’ comment - did he think I needed that? I’d worked hard over the past six years to get to where I was today and had thought short of the four-inch scar on my right knee people wouldn’t notice any favoring of my right leg. I walked fine, could run… It wasn't like I had an artificial limb! Asshole…

“The nurses shift change is at 4 PM, and visiting hours end at 8 PM. An exit,” he pointed back towards Gabriella’s room, “Is right there, three flights of stairs and you would be near the main lobby entrance. The nurses told me her injuries will take a week to heal, but her health is not in any jeopardy. She just needs time. What is your phone number,” he asked pulling out his phone.

Not thinking I rattled it off for him as he tapped it into his phone.

“When you figure out what you’re doing, text me...,” he looked at me as if inspecting every strand of unruly hair on my head, "I'll leave you here, unless you want a ride back to the station or The Post..."

Seriously? Did he really wanted me to help her get out of here? What about her handling the person or persons who did this to her?

When I didn't answer he said, "Don't let her do anything stupid..."

I nodded that I understood, but truth was I had no idea how I was going to help Gabriella or if I could prevent her from doing anything stupid. How was I going to navigate this shit?

Friday June 8th, 1:39 PM, Phoenix, Arizona
I watched Kovachev walk away and when he'd entered the elevator, I went back to Gabriella’s room. A nurse was taking her vitals, and looked over at me, “I’m assisting the police, just a few more questions before I leave…,” I squeaked nervously.

“Sure…,” she said after finishing up and typing something into the hospitals record system, "We're going to get her up walking after you're done. Her body needs to move, it'll help her heal quicker."

I nodded and waited for her to finish. When she exited the room Gabriella spoke first, “The detective will allow you to help?”

I nodded. She had a fifty-fifty chance of knowing whether I would tell Kovachev about her request. She must have sensed I would, “You may not realize this, but there is something bigger happening here than what happened to you…”

"That is not my concern, I need to get out of here, out of Phoenix."

I had to think about her statement a moment. She was eighteen, alone, and had nothing to her name. I should cut her some slack, right? I couldn't help myself, "Whether that is a concern or not, what happened to you has happened to three other Trans Women locally and last month the detective said this same thing was happening in Texas. It needs to stop. You have to know these things don't usually end the way they did for you. Those other women all endured much worse. If you can help the police," I paused because I felt as though I was preaching, "You should..."

"Do not mistake caring for concern. I care, but I have other," she looked toward the door as a cart went past, "Pressures I need to manage. I am well aware of the deaths for women like us... I did not expect to be spared."

Whoa, she speaks as though she's twice her age, worldly! "Why do you need to get out of Phoenix," I asked.

I could see she was thinking about how to answer that question, "I have no fears now that I am in this country, but my past will want to bring me back home. I can't go back..."

"Why?"

"It is a family issue. You are Latina, do you have a relationship with your family?"

"My sister still talks to me... My parents, that's a long story," I said feeling the weight of sharing that.

"I have the same issues with my parents and it is a complicated story...," she smiled a little as if this was another similarity in our paths, "When can we leave?"

That million-dollar question hadn't gotten any cheaper over the bunch of minutes spent with Kovachev in the hallway, "Do you have any clothes?"

"I... I was not dressed when the police found...," her voice trailed off.

"The other two women had said the same thing." Kovachev had offered that nugget when I asked about how and where Gabriella was found.

She nodded that she understood.

"Okay, so we need some clothes. I could go get some things for you to wear, return around dinner time, ask if I can escort you to the cafeteria to eat, get you into a bathroom, you change, and we walk out of here..."

"I will repay your kindness Cassidy..."

"Cass... Cassidy is what my," I hesitated, "My mom would call me if we..."

Gabriella interrupted me, "It may happen one day, you cannot lose hope. Thank you, Cass. Thank you for helping me."

“I don’t have much of plan beyond getting you out of here, but if I help you – we are going to find that hotel and the other woman before you can leave Phoenix. Give me your word, promise me that, and I will help you…”

“I promise…”

She was slow to offer that promise, which was a little concerning, but I felt things had already been set in motion and I couldn't change the flow anyway. This was now more than a story and the chances it would break me were just beginning to weigh on me… We discussed clothes and shoes, what sizes for both she would need, and her preferences. When that was done, she had one last request - a pre-paid cell phone with the ability to call Mexico. I didn't ask, but if she didn't want to return to Mexico, why would she need to talk with someone there?

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Authors Note: Don't be afraid to "Like" this story if it's doing anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so and there are no prizes for most likes). If you comment – I will likely reply – so let’s chat…

If there are problems or you have criticism you'd like to share privately feel free to message me on the site or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a story teller, I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated. Thanks for reading...

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

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Friday, June 8th, 4:51 p.m., Phoenix, Arizona
Getting back to the office turned out to be a quicker trip than I thought it would be, though I had to use Lyft first to get my car from the police station. This late in the day, the office was almost empty, and my attempt to find Valerie and recruit her in my quest to deal with Gabriella fell way short. She'd gone home for the day due to a sick child. Damn it!

I saw Kevin while walking to my desk and asked about expensing purchases related to a story. He assured me that I just needed to keep the receipts for any reasonable expenses, and The Post would cut me a check fairly quickly. Hearing that was a relief because I really didn't have a pile of money in my bank account and had just paid twenty-three dollars for a ride I hadn’t expected to need.

I called Lena to break our date for tonight and got her voice mail. I told her I was working on a ‘real’ story, knowing she would know what that meant because I'd complained a few times about the crap assignments I'd worked on over the past year. I promised to call her later and would make it up to her with a nice dinner to celebrate tomorrow night. The act of leaving the message seemed very hasty, and I felt a pang of guilt, but I also needed to get moving if I was going to make it back to the hospital by 6 PM.

Target was my next objective, and upon arrival, I was glad to see the parking lot wasn't very full. Not that I was worried about 'passing' most days, but in my current state of rushing around barely in control of my shit, I didn't feel as in control of any 'passing' confidence I normally had. That one little thing—that constant fear, gnawing at your core—was extremely taxing emotionally and mentally at times.

Why do people even give a shit? I wasn't hurting them or getting some advantage in life over their existence by being myself. I shouldn’t have to worry about what others might say or think about me while in public or doing something as simple as shopping.

Little kids tended to have the best ‘Trans-dar’, aka tTrans radar. While maybe a little comical to watch some suburban housewife try and squash her three-year-old from pointing out ‘that lady is a man, mommy’ – I just didn’t need the distraction right now or unwanted attention.

Shop and get out of here that’s the plan. I made my way to the women’s clothing area and picked up three push-up bras, size 32 A, with extra padding per Gabriella's request. The same quantity of boy shorts panties - size small, three cute but blank T-shirts - size medium, so they would be baggy, hang low, and reduce tucking concerns. I had tapes and probably every item known to the Trans world necessary to solve any tucking concerns at my condo—there might even be ‘emergency’ tape or something in my car – I’d have to remember to check.

What’s next? I looked toward the athletic clothing section of the store. Two pairs of workout tights and a pair of shorts, all size small, made it into the cart. Shoes - I decided to keep it simple: one pair of white skateboarder-style tennis shoes. And the last clothing item was a three-pack of anklet socks. I hit the makeup section for a hairbrush and the basics: mascara, eye liner, a palette of eye shadow, foundation, and a cheap lip gloss. On an end cap for toiletries I grabbed a toothbrush.

The last item to get hadn’t been on my list of essentials, but was a request from Gabriella—a pre-paid phone with international calling ability to Mexico. The guy behind the counter assured me it would be simple to get activated and was the most cost-effective model for dialing Mexico. My 'Latina' look got me that assurance from him, as if I needed to call home or something. His sales tactics were very annoying, along with his assumption of my desire for the phone.

My debit card took a $162.88 hit to pay for all this stuff. Payday was at the end of the week, so my car payment should be safe if I don't use my debit card for anything else. My disability check from the Army was still two weeks out, so I guess I'll be loading up my VISA card for anything else—not ideal. I probably should have charged all this stuff rather than depleted my ready cash. I needed to slow my thought processes down or I was going to make mistakes at some point—maybe one neither Gabriella nor I could afford.

When I returned to my car, I organized my purchases into a nice stack and put them into my now-emptied backpack, which I used to cart my lunch and laptop to work. My work items were dumped unceremoniously into the empty bags from Target and placed in my trunk. What else would she need immediately? Think… Crap! An image of her in the hospital bed popped into my head, and I immediately thought about her request for bras with extra padding. She had breasts... Yeah, of course she did, you idiot!

Not that that was a surprise or anything, but that means we’d need to figure out her HRT medication and get a refill. If she'd had some with her during her border crossing or a prescription, it was long gone now. Okay, nothing I can do about that—maybe the hospital could step in temporarily? Slow your thought processing down! Cross that bridge when it becomes necessary. I just need to spring her from the hospital and move on to finding the other Trans woman who had been abducted with Gabriella.

Friday, June 8th, 5:57 p.m., Phoenix, Arizona
I still had my visitor pass from earlier, so I clipped it on and went to the floor Gabrielle was on without anyone giving me a second look. When I entered the room, she was sitting up and only had a single IV connection in the back of her hand. There was relief in her eyes; I could see the stress draining from her as she smiled at me.

In Spanish, she said, "I asked the nurse if I could go to the cafeteria with my guardian to get dinner, and she said I could."

I answered in Spanish, "Are you ready now? Do we need an IV holder thing?"

"Yes, I’m ready... I'm going to disconnect this tube," she said, twisting the base of the tubing and removing it from its connection point. "They will think a nurse did it; they are very shorthanded. It is only a hydration liquid. I can remove the flexible needle later."

"Are you sure?" I asked, sounding a little worried and kind of grossed out. We’d eventually have to ditch the IV; I guess it made sense to do it here and now.

"I am not fearful," she said, smiling as if this were something she did every day.

God, I would kill for half of her confidence right now! Focus...

"I have everything," I replied, patting the strap of the backpack on my shoulder.

"I need the old one; is there room for it?"

I looked towards the sink and picked it up.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes..."

Okay, it looked like shit, but if you say we need it, I'm not going to argue, not right now. I unzipped my backpack and folded hers into it.

"Let's go..."

I walked to the side of her bed and was present in case she felt woozy or something, but she stood without issue and took hold of my arm.

"For appearances..." she said, smiling.

Cafeteria, here we come!

Friday, June 8th, 6:07 p.m., Phoenix, Arizona
We stopped at the nurse's station on the way to the cafeteria, and Gabriella played the clueless, non-English-speaking illegal perfectly. I asked for directions, and she asked in Spanish what I was saying. I explained to her that I was asking for directions, and then told the nurse what she'd asked. The nurse told me to keep an eye on her and that if she felt dizzy, faint, or ill, she should call for assistance right away. She added that there were no dietary restrictions. Gotcha...

We took the elevator to the first floor, made a left, followed a long hallway, and could smell food wafting towards us as we walked slowly. Gabriella was still holding onto my arm. We could win an award for our acting skills, I thought absently as an older couple passed us going in the opposite direction. Just prior to the cafeteria, there were two single-person bathrooms capable of handling people in wheelchairs – it was just what we needed. We would certainly have plenty of room to move around and get her changed into street clothes comfortably.

I pulled the contents of the backpack out, setting her backpack aside, and let her choose from the limited choices of outfits I’d bought. She looked relieved to finally get a chance to wear clothing that validated who she was. She picked up a bra, removed the tags, which I should have done back in the Target parking lot, and turned away from me to put it on beneath the hospital gown. She made quick adjustments to the straps, and she turned back towards me, smiling as if she were pleased.

I offered a pair of boy short panties, which I'd removed the tag from while she made on last bra adjusted, and she didn't waste time shimmying up legs that looked pretty good for having been shaved a couple days ago. There was another smile.

"It has been a couple days since I have shaved my legs..." she said, a little embarrassed. I nodded, smiling back at her and offering her a choice of T-shirts. She chose the yellow one, snapped the tag off, and got out of the gown to dawn the shirt.

Given her legs needed a shave, I figured tights were the right answer rather than the shorts I’d bought, so I removed the tag from one of the pairs and waited to hand them to her. She turned, draped in the T-shirt that was sort of like a shift dress, and raised an eyebrow.

"We don't have a lot of time or resources just yet, so to help with," I paused, "The need to tuck, I thought this was the easiest solution." I had guessed that she hadn’t had any surgeries yet.
She looked at how she was swimming in the shirt, then back at me.

"Yes, you are probably right; this is good," she said with a little more confidence than the look she’d given me. She patted the fabric down around her hips and seemed satisfied with the choice I’d made.

I handed her the tights, and she wasted no time getting them on. I busted a pair of anklet socks loose from their packaging and gave them to her when she was ready to put them on. With each item of clothing she put on, she looked more and more comfortable with herself. Finally, the shoes, which apparently fit judging by her smile after she tied them, I gathered the gown and robe and hung them on the back of the door. Her slippers found their way underneath used paper towels in the garbage can. All that was left was a little makeup and whatever she could do with her hair.

"I'm sorry this stuff is so cheap." I said, placing the makeup and hairbrush I'd bought on the sink, "It's the best I could do."

I felt a little self-conscious about the things I'd purchased for her, but in truth, it was difficult enough to buy things for myself even after five years of doing things my way, in my comfort zone, let alone trying to do them for another woman. The age gap alone, styles, tastes...

"No," she said, reaching out to take my hand. "Everything is perfect. You did very well."

"Yeah, well, compared to you, I'm an old lady," I replied with a chuckle.

"You are," she huffed in a quick breath. "Very kind..." She lowered her head, trying to stifle sobbing outright.

I pulled her close and hugged her.

"It's alright...," I cooed. "Let's get finished up. You'll feel a lot better when we're out of here."

She squeezed me tight, then pulled away to wipe tears away. I smiled back at her and nodded toward the sink. She approached the sink and studied her face in the mirror, shaking her head a little and touching the still-swollen lip gently. There was resolve in her eyes; she was going to be alright. I laid out the exit plan while she began applying her foundation.

Friday, June 8th, 6:37 p.m., Phoenix, Arizona
I'd planned how we were going to make our exit from the hospital and where we were going to lay low. Once out of the hospital, we would crash at my condo. It certainly wasn't ideal, legally speaking, but easiest place to stash her.

Throughout this process, the lure of helping someone like me who was in trouble really pulled at my heart more than I expected. Having firsthand information for this story helped my 'All In' attitude, but helping her was my first priority, followed by finding the other Trans woman she’d mentioned. The story was frosting and M&M’s on the brownie.

How to get her out of the hospital was a loose plan I wasn’t so sure of. It involved leaving Gabriella to finish getting ready in the bathroom while I made my way back to my car in the parking garage. That would provide plenty of opportunity to get myself captured on the hospital's video system, and that was part of the plan. I would act like any other visitor, take the elevator to the visitor parking garage, get my car, and appear to leave. Then I would drive to the hospital's outdoor parking lot across the street and wait.

Before parking in the garage, I had cruised the outdoor parking lot checking for cameras; if we were lucky, there would be a blind spot somewhere so she wouldn’t be seen getting in my car. Optically speaking, chances were good the resolution of the cameras out there weren’t all that great, so they might capture her getting into my car, but good luck proving that in a court of law.

When Gabriella was finished in the bathroom, she was to retrace her steps to the elevators. The main entrance to the hospital was across the lobby from those elevators. There were no security guards, only a visitor’s center desk. She could walk right out the front door, cross the street, and I would be waiting for her in the parking lot. I’d see her coming, and I would flash my lights so she would head straight towards me. Video cameras would certainly capture each of our exits; the key was that we wouldn't be seen exiting together. I was hoping that would be enough to cover or deflect any blowback by officials—police, hospital, or both.

If or when they reviewed their camera footage, the best they could do was claim I got her clothing for her escape. Likely nothing legal would land at my feet, but I should have gotten written assurances of that from Kovachev. A text message, at least. So much for thinking I was doing better with my planning and execution, given I’d missed that detail. I’d been out of the game to long and my remembrances of complex military operations weren’t what they used to be; I certainly was showing my rust. Whatever!

It was only a matter of time before the hospital contacted Kovachev, and he called me. He'd sanctioned this operation, proving that would be something I would add to my bucket of stresses and find a solution for if it became necessary. I should call Lena for legal advice at some point. There were so many moving pieces, and this was just the beginning.

My biggest fear was: would Gabriella stick to the plan or bolt once out of the hospital and leave me high and dry?

Friday, June 8th, 7:02 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
"Are you alright?" she asked.

I know I was radiating stress, but I was hoping Gabriella wasn’t paying attention. I chuckled. So much for her not sensing my stress.

"Yeah, just a lot I need to process..."

"Helping me can't be more stressful than when you decide to transition," she said with a little giggle and smile.

I laughed. "Let's just say it's a different kind of stress today." She looked like she was going to ask something, and then thought better of it, so I pressed, "Do you have concerns?"

"I have many, but I feel like I need to hurry my journey along," she said, turning to look at the family who had just crossed the street in front of us at the light.

"Your transition?"

"No, but that is always on my mind. May I ask about your transition?" she asked.

"Everyone's transition is different, so mine is likely not going to be like yours..."

I hoped that didn't sound like I didn't want to talk about it. Over the years, I'd talked about the internal struggle with plenty of counselors and people I'd met along the way. My story wasn't remarkable by any stretch, and it wasn’t that I didn’t want to share, but right now I could barely keep my thoughts straight.

"I believe that is true, but," she paused, "I am only a few months from a year into my transition, and my HRT results are not like yours."

I looked at her, and then went back to concentrating on making our way through traffic. She looked uncomfortable about having admitted that.

"Again, everyone is going to react differently to HRT and T-blockers." I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Trust in the process; it can't be rushed."

She shook her head. "I have some, many anxieties, though."

"If you didn't, you wouldn't be human. I know CIS women who are more anxious than I am about the way they look or are perceived. Seriously, it takes time, and battling against the process will only make you go crazy."

"When I started HRT, nothing happened. Then I was sad all of the time, and it was very difficult to continue to present as male without making those feelings worse," she said, as if putting that out there was cleansing.

The obvious question was to ask was why she couldn't live her truth, but I decided to defer the question.
"You're progressing at the pace your body needs," I encouraged. "Do you have a prescription we can access for you? To get you back on track...

She nodded. "It will take a little bit to get that and resume." She looked like she was struggling with something. "My mother and aunts have had much breast growth at a very young age; I have seen their pictures. You also... I have not much..." she stopped abruptly and looked away.

"Whoa, not everything is as it appears," I smiled. "When I started HRT, my doctor said I was probably not going to see much breast development due to my age and being well past puberty. After a year of struggling with virtually no breast development other than enlarged puffy areola areas, the anxiety of 'passing' and crushing dysphoria because I felt like a man wearing a dress, I got implants. The best money I ever spent on myself... Which brings me to the greatest piece of advice I can give you: do not compare your journey to others. You certainly aren’t doing this for them, so why involve them in the equation?"

She nodded, but I felt like she wasn’t buying it or something else was weighing on her, which was probably true given her border crossing and subsequent abduction. Were those things connected? We drove on in silence, and when I would look over at her, she appeared to be studying our route—filing landmarks, signs, names of streets—or maybe she was just curious about being in this country. So much I wasn’t sure about with this kid...

We entered Avondale and turned off West Buckeye Road to enter my gated condo community. Mine was the middle unit of three units per building, with an attached garage, which was a mess, but I could still park in it to keep the car out of the sun. I pulled in, cut the engine, and when the garage door closed, I said, "It's kind of a mess out there; watch yourself getting out."

She smiled, squeezed through the door, and walked around the back of the car. I waited for her at the door to the stairs leading up to my unit. She looked anxious.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, but the phone," she said, looking at the backpack. "I must make a call."

"Absolutely... Let's get upstairs and get it activated," I said, smiling but a little concerned.

Friday, June 8th, 7:08 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
We sat at my small dining room table and worked through the phone’s activation process. My 'friend' from Target was correct; it was simple to get the phone setup and activated. The first call was to my cellphone so I could capture the number. I handed her the phone after that.

"Okay, I think you're good to go." I watched her consider something, and then she set the phone down.

"There are many complications in my life, Cass. I am a complication for my father. People would be very happy to hurt him because of who I am as I become my true self. My father," she said, looking away. "He is a difficult man to please, and he does not understand who I am, but he is trying. I do not fear him, but there are others I do. I did not ask for this mind that cannot accept the body it resides in. You understand this struggle, and like you I must live for myself."

Shit... Part of what she had said sounded ominous; the rest was just what you get from trying to live life as yourself.

"I can understand all that... My parents would not accept who I was either. I feel empty because of that some days. But I can't live my life for them, so I don't dwell on it much." That was a lie; not having a connection with my parents weighed on me all the time, but I wasn’t going to say that.

"I wish this wasn't our burden, as we live for ourselves. The people my father works for are more troubling..." She looked around me to the kitchen, then towards the living room. "I must do something I was hoping I would not have to do, and you shouldn't know about it. Do you understand?" she asked.
I was beginning to figure her out a little – cerebral like me. That blade cut both ways though. What did she need to do?

"If you need to make a private call, you can do that in the spare bedroom. I certainly don't want to intrude."

I might not want to intrude, but I was certainly curious. Two lies in the course of twenty seconds, though—what kind of trust was I building? I needed to show trust to gain it, right?

"Thank you for this," she said, grabbing the phone, standing, and waiting to follow me to the bedroom.
I showed her to the room, took some boxes from the guest bed, and placed them on the floor near the closet.

"Take your time. I'm going to order pizza if that's alright."

"Yes, thank you... I am hungry," she approached me and, without hesitation, gave me a hug.

Friday, June 8th, 7:43 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
The pizza arrived quickly, and not knowing how long Gabriella was going to be, I inhaled a couple slices. Since she was making her call, my belly now full I had things I needed to do. The most pressing was getting something written that could be turned into the PIO (Public Information Office) at the police station. After they'd edited out details they didn't want released, I would probably have some rewriting to do. I was probably pushing my luck with some of what I wanted to get published; I guess we'll see after their review.

Regardless of what I submitted to them, what I wrote needed to be worthwhile and ultimately had to get past Carol Black. I was stressed, but as I typed, the story just poured out of me quickly as my fingers flew over the keyboard. There would of course be a rewrite and questions about the included facts, but I knocked out what I thought was a worthwhile addition to our story about these abductions and assaults.

Surprisingly, when I was done, I didn't hesitate to email what I had compiled to the PIO Office—my usual mode of rewriting and rewriting thrown aside. Shocker, where did that confidence in what I wrote come from? Was it because I had a personal connection with Gabriella that the story almost wrote itself? Had she inspired me?

I called Lena after grabbing another slice of pizza. She was happy to hear from me at first, until I started telling her about the story I was working on. I didn't hold back any of the details; that might have been a mistake. To say she wasn't pleased would be an understatement. She was stressing hard about the blurry line Kovachev had let me cross without guarantees of police support or immunity from prosecution if things went sideways.

I was legally exposed—by at least a half-dozen ways, and she complained about a few of those exposures pretty hard. She asked for Kovachev's phone number and said she would call him to get guarantees in writing and protection for my involvement with Gabriella. I pitied Kovachev. Lena was a partner at the second largest and most prestigious law firm in Phoenix; she would not take any crap from him. I was in good hands legally speaking, even if she was a little miffed at me right now.

She stressed a number of times that Gabriella was the responsibility of the Phoenix Police or the immigration authorities and that my involvement was a bad idea, which made her complaints about what I was doing seven times during the call. I had to assure her I wouldn't do anything stupid and tried to justify my reasons—she wasn’t buying any of them. I really appreciated that about her—no PC crap, just straight talk from an amazing woman who obviously cared about me.

Her last warning had to do with being careful and not taking any unnecessary risks. She was worried, and I could hear it coming through the tiny speaker on my phone. Her warning was that whoever was doing this to Trans women in the area wouldn't discriminate between US citizens and immigrants. I got the message that I was Hispanic, I was Trans, and my citizenship wouldn't matter.
The ‘Goodbye’ was tension-filled, and when I hung up, I felt very alone. Did I just screw up everything with her? I considered calling back to apologize, but the train I was on had already left the station. I’d make it up to her.

To quell my mind from screwing up with Lena and waiting for Gabriella to finish her call, I switched gears and began searching Google Maps. This was likely going to be impossible—finding an abandoned hotel or motel on a remote road, roughly twenty to thirty, maybe forty miles from Buckeye? My first couple searches got me nothing. So, I searched for 'Buckeye, AZ + closed hotel + remote'. The results only got me hotels to stay in that weren't closed. Think....

I heard the bedroom door open and the bathroom door close. I continued searching, but it was in vain. When Gabriella was finished, she joined me at the dining room table, sitting next to me to see what it was I was doing. She looked tired, her makeup was a little smudged, the fringes of her facial bruising were showing through ever so slightly, and her eyes were puffy. She'd been crying I suspected.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Yes, but my hunger could smell the pizza," she said sheepishly.

I stood and went to the refrigerator, pulled the pizza box out, got the oven going, put a couple slices on a sheet of tin foil, and slid them in.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes, please... water?"

I pulled a glass from the cupboard and began to fill it, but when I turned to bring it to her, she looked disturbed.

"Would you prefer bottled water? I wouldn't blame you; this water won't taste like home."

"No... That is how they drugged me," she whispered.

Oh crap...

"Let me get you a bottle of water..." I said, putting the glass in the sink and returning to the refrigerator to grab a bottle.

"Thank you..."

While she certainly saw me fill the glass, maybe it was a trigger of sorts. I wasn't going to discount her discomfort, and to switch the focus, I asked, "Were you able to get a hold of who you need too?"

"Yes," she said, taking the bottle from me when I offered it.

"Is everything alright?"

Gabriella looked down at the table and asked, "Do you believe there are consequences for our actions?"

"I suppose... actions have consequences; it's how we learn sometimes," I offered, thinking her call set something in motion she was battling with.

"I agree...," she said, turning her focus to the laptop and the Google Maps satellite image of Buckeye on the screen. "It was not a hotel I was brought too. It was a large building with many doors, a fence, and an angry dog that barked all the time."

"Why tell us it was a hotel?"

"Trust," she said, bowing her head. "Since I've been in your country, I have had little to trust in. I believe I can trust you, but I needed to get out of the hospital and continue my journey. Too many details presented to your detective may have made that impossible." She squeezed the bottle slightly, and it made a crinkling sound.

I wasn't sure how to react to that. On one hand, I'd certainly hung my ass out there to move this kid along on her journey—admittedly partly for my own gains—but come on! Did I need to bleed for her to cement some trust in me? Was her trust issues due to what had happened to her or something else? Grrr! I needed to remember that she was eighteen, and while she played the 'I've got worldly experience' game, in truth she was just a kid.

"Okay, trust begets trust, Gabriella. I trusted you at your word that you would help us locate the other woman who was with you. I trusted you at the hospital that you would meet me in the parking lot. I'm trusting you in my home... I've got plenty to lose here; legally, what I did today, sanctioned or not by the detective, could get me in a lot of trouble, even arrested."

"It was not my wish to make you feel as if I did not trust you or to put you in this position. Things went very wrong, very different than they were planned," she looked up. "If I involve you more, I fear it will endanger your life even more."

"These people who did this to you can't get at us," I stated as confidently as I could. I considered that statement for a split second; did I really believe that?

"What about after I am gone and you write your story for your newspaper? I cannot accept putting you more in danger."

There was certainly a chance there could be blowback from some shadow group of assholes doing this to Trans women, but I felt like the risk was pretty minuscule.

"I can handle myself, Gabriella, I promise..."

She was studying me, calculating her reply, "How?"

"How do I know I can handle myself?"

She nodded.

"Well, I may not look like it, but I was in the Army not too long ago." It felt odd to say that out loud after all these years, but also a little liberating and empowering: "I've been in battles with the Taliban in Afghanistan and Iraq... I'm still here; I don't fear these people who did this to you."

"Is this true?" she asked, surprised, maybe a little shocked.

I smiled at her, "Yeah, I can show some of my records if you don't believe me. Maybe I can even find my combat boots in a box someplace, probably in the mess you crawled around in the garage." I chuckled thinking about how keeping my combat boots after all these years was a little odd, especially since they wouldn't go with any of my current wardrobe.

"I believe you, but..." she stopped speaking.

"What's wrong?"

"How are you a Taliban fighter and now a Trans woman with much confidence?" she asked, sounding unsure if she should believe what I was saying.

"Oh, I am not that confident; trust me on that. I also told you that everyone’s journey is different. For me, thousands of hours of counseling," I smirked. "Counseling is what helped me understand the lie I was living. I had thought that if I joined the Army, that would fix my doubting my gender and make me a real man. It did not, and I wasted a lot of time, time I can't get back pretending to be someone I wasn't. I thought joining would reassure my father that I was man enough. I had to come to grips with, as you'd said about yourself that my mind could not function in the body it presented as.

“The Army never had a chance of making me the 'man' everyone thought I should be. And the Army certainly wasn’t going to make me happy with whom I truly was inside. That's been my journey, and I can tell you I've made a lot of mistakes along the way. I have many regrets and things I would do differently."

"Your sister, she is of support."

Her English was a little off, but she was trying, and I respected that.

"Yes, but we are not as close as we should be... I'm lucky to have that connection, though," I said, shrugging as if I couldn’t really explain that any better.

She turned to the computer and said, “I was not aware as they took me to this place, but when they were through, I had to act as if I were still drugged. I saw two signs when we left the bumpy road: ‘Arlington Wildlife Area’ and a sign that said, ‘Highway 80’. The man who took the pictures and video was Asian, but the other two were Hispanic—Mexican, I'm sure. The Asian said something about a restaurant we passed not being open very quickly after we were on this road, ‘Highway 80’.”

I sat at the computer and entered ‘Arlington Wildlife Area’ in Google Maps—so close to Buckeye, likely less than twenty miles depending on where she was originally stashed in Buckeye. The restaurant was there, but was there a building that matched her description? I zoomed in on the satellite image; there weren’t many options for large buildings.

"Here,” Gabriella said, pointing at the screen. “This is the building. I remember this house on the road here.”

“Are you sure? It had to be the middle of the night when they left there to go dump you,” I said, not considering my choice of words and regretting the use of the word ‘dump’.

She looked at me for a long moment and said, “I was nothing to them... They dumped me, but I remember this place.”

Certainly, it was a remote location, but did it fit with the other abductions? Would someone still be there? Was this a new location for them to operate from? Was this where the other women were taken? So many questions...

She interrupted the beginnings of my endless list of impossible-to-answer questions: "We must go there... But first, I must do something very important..." She looked at a clock across the room and said, “I am behind schedule.”

"Okay,” I said, not so confidently. “Is there something I can help with?" I asked.

"Does your computer operate with a VPN?"

Huh? She must mean my internet connection. That's an interesting question, though.

"Yes."

"May I use your computer to remotely connect to another computer?"

Where was this going? If this second computer was also on a VPN, say in a foreign country, tracking what she was about to do was going to be nearly impossible. Terrorists operated like this: shadow agencies, people with something to hide. Was this a consequence?

"You want to remote into another computer? May I ask why?"

"I need to initiate a bank transaction," she said, pulling the laptop square in front of her, then waiting to see if I had other questions.

"Is this an illegal movement of money? Are we talking crypto currency?"

She hesitated, stood, went to the stove, and pulled the pizza from the oven onto the plate I had set out. She figured out how to turn the oven off and returned to the table.

"My backpack contains a micro-SD card; do you have an adapter?"

"It does?”

“Yes, but I need an adapter,” she said.

“I have one... But back to my question, where are we with the legality of this transfer?"

I went to the living room and retrieved her empty backpack, which now explained why she was concerned about it in the hospital and needed it before we left. I found in the kitchen junk drawer a micro-SD card adapter she could use to plug into my laptop and scissors to cut the SD card out of wherever it was hiding in her backpack. Hiding it in the backpack was planned and certainly covert. Who was this kid?

"The money was gotten illegally by the employer of my father. Some will become payment for enslaving my father," she said dryly.

"Wait, I thought your relationship with your parents was strained?"

For someone who didn't want to divulge details about what she was up to and endangering me, she'd certainly changed her tune in the last couple of minutes. Trust?

"It is, but not because they are not supportive of me, but because of their fear of his employer."

"Who is?" I asked as if on cue.

"He is a man involved with many bad businesses—drugs, weapons, many bad things."

Fuck...

Friday, June 8th, 8:29 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
I watched over her shoulder as she pulled up a Word document from the micro-SD card she'd removed from the intact backpack strap. The document was in Spanish, but I could read the instructions, which she didn't seem to mind that I was doing. She would be connecting from my computer to another, and from that second one to yet another. Whoever came up with this plan wasn't expecting that her initial connection would be via a VPN, so in total, her transaction would be hidden three times instead of just twice; whatever she was about to do would be impossible to track depending on the backend setup of these computers and anyone else who might have access to them. Tracking software or keystroke trackers wouldn’t be of much use.

Gabriella certainly didn't strike me as being a terrorist, but if she was about to steal money from some cartel weapons or drug kingpin, there were going to be fireworks in Mexico tonight. Then it hit me: "What about your parents?" I asked, concerned.

She replied calmly, "They are already dead."

The look of shock and concern on my face was obvious.

"Dead!" I barked, surprised!

"Yes..." she said with no detectable emotion in her voice as she typed a computer IP address into a Remote Desktop Connection panel.

I could only stare at her in shock. There was no way she was this cold-blooded and heartless. Something wasn't adding up...

"I don't understand... How do..."

She interrupted me and said, "They are not killed, but it will appear that way shortly. I need to do these things to ensure their deaths were part of their captors torturing my father to get at the accounts. It must appear as though my father gave the account information to a rival."

She finished typing credentials, gained access, and then repeated the steps to another computer's IP address. Once connected to the second computer from the first, she opened a browser and navigated to Banco Mexico del Mundo, a bitcoin exchange bank, and clicked the 'Login' link. She entered the credentials from the instructions, typed the password, and hit enter.

The message was clear: 'The username or password entered does not match our records; please try again'. The page presented the two entry fields again, but they were now empty. The IP address of the request was captured and shown under the message. I pulled my phone out and took a picture of the IP address while she reentered the credentials. This time she clicked the 'Login' button rather than hitting enter. Same result: bad credentials. Gabriella looked on the verge of panic and froze.

"What if you just copy and paste from the document? Maybe you fat-fingered the password; I mean, it is a twenty-character or more mixed-case, numeric, and symbol password. I think the username looks correct," I offered.

"I may be too late..." she replied, defeated.

"Just try it..."

She copied the credentials from the document and instinctively hit enter. Success! She looked relieved but wasted no time celebrating the success. I watched her navigate to the 'Wire Transfer' option within the account. Two clicks later, she had the destination exchange account entered, and was asked how much she wanted to transfer. She entered the type to/from as Bitcoin, and then the amount of 3,149.10038, with a current individual Bitcoin value of $44,270.31 per coin (and fluctuating)—the total was over one hundred thirty-nine million US dollars.

"Are you serious? You are draining the account," I asked, surprised.

"This is one of many that will be taken. There are consequences for one's actions," she replied with a raised brow and the tiniest of smiles.

"Whoever's money this is, they are unlikely to rest until they've tracked this transfer down and who did it. Your parents and you are about to change your lives forever. Are you sure about this?"

She hit enter, and less than a second later, the screen showed the transfer as having been completed. She logged off, closed the browser, did something within the Remote Desktop Connection settings, and reopened the browser.

She navigated to Il Banco Espana el Intercambio, logged in, and verified the transfer was complete. All 3,249.10038 Bitcoins were sitting there. She took a deep breath, clicked 'Wire Transfer' and entered the routing information for another account in the document, this time to a different crypto exchange. The amount for this transfer was three hundred Bitcoin, or just over thirteen million US dollars. Completed, she verified that the crypto had been transferred and looked relieved.

"My family is not entitled to all of this money, but we are entitled to the three hundred Bitcoin I just transferred; that was the arrangement with your government."

"My government?" I asked, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.

"Yes, for the financial ruin of the Corbino drug cartel."

Shit...

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If there are problems or you have criticism you'd like to share privately feel free to message me on the site or via email ([email protected]) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a story teller, I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated. Thanks for reading...

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.
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Friday June 8th, 8:46 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
"Wait, you are working with my government?"

She nodded, "My father is the accountant for Louis de la Vega Corbino or as is he is better known Lupe. That name means something about a wolf and a river,” she said as if it was a ridiculous nickname.

I figured Lupe was short for Guadelupe, but was pretty sure it was generally a name given to girls. Maybe the ‘wolf’ was part of this guy’s mystic or fear campaign over his territory and assets?

“When I was thirteen, I could not hold longer my feeling of my gender being in conflict. My parents tried many things, quietly, to understand this and that is when the fear of Corbino began to grow for them. If Corbino were to know of my being Trans or his enemies, my family would be killed because of the shame, the weakness this presents to his organization. It is just their way; you know our culture. I do not know the government people who made the agreements with my father, but they will get my parents to freedom in exchange for Corbino’s money..."

"Your father agreed to bring Corbino down for thirteen-million dollars? Then what? Where are you going to hide to be safe?"

She looked to be confused, "My father never wanted this life. He is expendable in Corbino’s eyes. He is only doing this to protect his family... It is planned, your government will know at first where we are going to hide, but we will try to hide from them eventually also. What I took, which was the agreed upon amount, should help keep us hidden."

"Don't be too sure of that Gabriella. I cannot imagine a place on earth where you won't have to be looking over your shoulders for the rest of your life from Corbino or even my government...," I replied exasperated.

She tried to smile, "In any place we are, people would want to kill you and I. For Corbino, it is better to give him a little pain first, and hide after he is beaten by your government... I do not think Corbino will be alive for too much longer, his obligations too many will speed up his ending. He will be replaced by others, but they will be too busy recovering his business to look for us. I just hope your government can be trusted."

Oh crap! What was a story, a sick story, about Trans Women being abducted and abused, just got blown to hell with the revelations Gabriella had spilled. A weapons / drug cartel torn down by an operation being sanctioned by the US government? We were using citizens of a foreign country to screw with a cartel? Not that that wasn't in the typical playbook for our government, but Holy Fuck! Was this some kind of clean-up from the Obama era 'Fast and Furious' gun running? Had their pet Corbino out lived his usefulness or had he threatened to bite the hand that fed him? This was insanity...

Gabriella beginning to type again snapped me out of my going down a rabbit hole without a bottom.

"What are you doing now?"

"I have six other accounts to transfer. Your government and Corbino are surely aware now. My father said that they will try to block my access, but I must try..."

I watched her empty another crypto account, but on the third she could not gain access. She moved on to the fourth, same result - the credentials had likely been changed on these two accounts. Whoever was monitoring the money for Corbino as her father's backup was trying to stop the leaks. They knew they were under attack. It didn't slow Gabriella down. She methodically went to the next account if she couldn't get logged in. She was using the copy / paste method, so any error message trying to login meant she was too late at this point. Onto the fifth, sixth, and seventh crypto accounts - same results - no access.

In crypto transfers alone she had moved nearly two-hundred and fifty-two million US dollars. Totally untraceable... Her list of crypto accounts completed, she switched to a list of three standard banking institutions - the first two she had no luck gaining access. The third she was able to transfer the balance of nearly sixty-three million dollars to the il Banco Espana el Intercambio crypto account as cash.

That made the final total she’d stolen a little over three-hundred and two million US dollars. I didn't know how big of an operation Corbino ran or how much was in those accounts she didn’t get access too, but losing this money was going to hurt. Heads of innocents were going to roll, maybe even Corbino' at some point if her family and our government was lucky. It was going to be a bloody night in Mexico.

"We can go to the building... Yes," Gabriella asked after she had logged out of each remotely connected computer and was back on the Google satellite image of the building where she said she'd been taken.

I could only stare at her, still in disbelief of what she’d just done…

Friday June 8th, 9:29 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
I opened my bedside gun vault and pulled the Smith and Wesson 9C it contained. It felt cool to the touch, weighted in my hand as though it was something foreign I was holding. It did not lack a flood of unresolved emotions I had kept buried deep for a long time, from a previous life.

I could have to use this thing tonight and that realization made me anxious. It had been months since I last held this thing, and it had easily been a year since I’d squeezed off any rounds. Augh! Don’t over think the use of this tool…

I changed into a pair of dark black jeans, with a belt, and secured the pistol in a IWB (In Waist Band) holster. I took two extended round magazines from the vault and put them in a back pocket. That gave me 51 rounds, plus one that was already in the barrel. I would need to pay attention to my round count if there was a gunfight – I hoped that wasn’t going to be the case. I adjusted a black baggy shirt over my holstered weapon - am I ready for this, right?

No way I would be going anywhere near this abduction sight without an equalizer… If confronted I could either throw nasty words or hot nasty hollow-point bullets – the choice was easy. I had a concealed carry permit, so legally I wouldn’t be violating any laws – being legal, on the side of right – while a justification for violence was not a pleasant thought. Fuck it! Don’t over think it…

Before I left Gabriella at the table to get ready, we discussed Kovachev’s involvement - it was a point of contention between her and I. We agreed, after much discussion, we would contact him once we were through searching the property. This excursion was probably a huge mistake alone and especially without backup. Not to mention we were likely impeding a police investigation and possibly contaminating any evidence at the scene.

I did not like the plan or the lack of backup, but Gabriella was insistent we needed to go and said that she cared about bringing this part of her journey to some kind of conclusion. She seemed different after the money transfer; I wasn't sure why. Then I remembered Kovachev asking whether I had thought Gabriella was involved with these abductions. At the time it seemed like a stupid question, but now I was wondering about her motives. She had insisted that we check out the building tonight, why? To say I wasn’t concerned would be a lie. Could I trust her?

I left my room and found Gabriella at the table closing up the laptop. I nodded; she knew we needed to get going. I mentioned as we walked down the stairs to the garage that I planned a quick stop along the way and hoped it wouldn't take too long.

Friday June 8th, 9:52 p.m., Avondale, Arizona
"You want to keep Kara over night?"

"My friend is considering adopting her," I nodded towards Gabriella, she smiled, "And she just wants to see how Kara fairs in her townhouse," I replied trying to sound like it wasn't a big deal or an odd request near the end of a volunteer’s closing shift at the shelter I volunteered at.

"Kind of an odd request Cass..."

"I know, but Gabriella works from home now and after her breakup with her boyfriend, she'd just feel more secure having a dog around... She has the cutest little fenced backyard, patio area – plenty of room to run and play. I promise I'll bring her back tomorrow, fill out all the paperwork if this is going to work, vouch for Gabriella, and even pay the fees. What do you say?"

Marty shook his head a little exasperated, but agreed after flirty looks from both us women. His shift was nearly over and he just wanted to be out of there. Plus, he knew me and there may have been interest in getting to know me outside of working at the shelter - though I might be all wet on that thought.

We were back on the road twenty minutes later - Kara would make a difference and it was dumb luck that I'd remembered a story I'd heard long ago in another life. Gabriella was confused by the reason for the side trip, but understood once I explained it to her in detail.

Friday June 8th, 10:41 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
I missed the turn onto the dirt road that led to the building Gabriella had said she was taken too. I doubled back and as I approached the turn my phone rang. I pulled it out and could see it wasn't a number I recognized, a 619-area code number. I didn't know if it was Kovachev's phone number, so answered it on the fourth ring, I pulled to the side of an empty and dark Highway 80.

"Yes..."

"Ruiz," the caller asked.

"Yes, who is this," I asked not recognizing the voice. The caller wasn't Kovachev, no thick accent.

"You are not in an operational area you should be...," the caller stated.

Huh? This guy knows where I am? Operational? Was this guy ex-military or something?

"Excuse me? Who is this?"

"Look, you've got our assets son and we need to get him reunited with his parents..."

Shit! His words sent a chill through my body and I turned to look at Gabriella.

"I think you're mistaken, I have no one's son. Either tell me who you are or this conversation is over..." I could feel the rush of adrenaline hitting and my anxiety would be spiking like being hit with a baseball bat. Breathe…

There was a long pause, "This isn't a game Ruiz and I'm not going to argue biology with you. Go back to Avondale, we'll meet you at your townhouse around midnight..."

I shuddered, this was an unexpected twist and only added to this crazy day, "Good, I'm glad I don't need to school you on the latest studies regarding biology. Maybe one about the legality of the CIA operating on US soil would be more appropriate?" I could feel my chest tightening, I wasn't comfortable hitting back at this asshole, but I wasn't about to be steamrolled either. I was purely guessing he was CIA.

"You're mistaken Ruiz..."

"About what? The CIA not being able to operate on US soil legally," I offered tentatively.

"We just want the kid...," he said, the exasperation in his voice evident because I wasn't complying.

I killed the connection and powered off my phone. Gabriella was looking at me concerned, "That was the CIA," she asked nervously.

"I don't," before I could finish my answer Gabriella's phone began to ring.

She looked at it, and gave it over to me when I reached for it. The area code was 765.

"We're not playing this game," I stated angrily after I answered it. No one had this number, so I was sure they'd figured out I'd called her number and could see we the phones were pinging off the same cell tower.

"Good! It's not a fucking game Ruiz. Just bring the 'kid'," he said with some inflection like it hurt, "Back to your townhouse, midnight. Don't make this harder than it needs to be..."

It was the same guy, but his misgendering Gabriella had temporarily been squashed, so we were making some progress.

"Who are you, who do you work for, and where are you right now," I asked in a series of run-on on questions without taking a breath.

"Mitchell Allen, I work for the government, and I'm on a plane headed to Phoenix, I'll be there shortly and at your townhouse at midnight..."

Okay, he was sharing but was it only to keep me on the line. Why? He knew where I was obviously.

"Is someone coming to intercept us?"

Tactically that made sense, but if we knew they were coming they wouldn't have the element of surprise and we could make contingent plans, maybe even get some help. I felt distant glimpses of my military training kicking in and shuddered.

"No, but that could be arranged. We'd much prefer working together than make this any more difficult..."

I didn't trust what he said, I was sure someone was heading our way. Were they CIA or a sister organization like FBI, US Marshal? Play along, buy us some time.

"We will head back, but I'm going to have a lawyer present..."

"We would prefer not involving Ms. Cantor, the reason for that is the less people involved the safer our assets family will be," he said trying to sound reasonable.

Damn it! Lena's last name, her maiden name was Cantor, they knew about my connection to her! Think!

"I get that, but I think we're going to need legal representation to keep your organization in check. Whether you want to admit it or not, Gabriella has some rights, as do her parents given the operation you're running. I don't want to know what your deal with her parents is, but I do want to make sure you're holding up your end of the bargain," I replied trying to sound confident, but probably failing.

"The family will be protected and the money promised appears to have been acquired already, including that which was to be held by us. So far, we're holding up our end of the bargain Ruiz. Head home, let's not bother Ms. Cantor, and we'll meet you at your townhouse, alright?"

Something wasn't adding up...

"Okay," and I hung up on him.

Friday June 8th, 10:49 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
"That was the CIA?"

"I'm not sure, but likely... He knew too much to not be involved," I replied trying to organize the herd of cats racing around in my mind like they'd been rolling in catnip the past however many minutes.

"We are going back to your townhouse?"

That wasn't a good idea, not public enough to keep them from hauling us away and making us disappear for a little bit. Think! I looked at Gabriella's phone in my hand, they know where we are - we needed to make them think we're heading home. Misdirection, then control the meeting venue, and make sure we've got backup this time.

I put the car in gear and began heading north on Highway 80.

"We're going to make them think we're heading that way and then we'll turn your phone off. We'll turn around and check out the building, get a hold of my lawyer friend somehow, call the detective also, and figure out how to navigate these people. I don't trust the guy who called. He said his name was Mitchell Allen do you recognize that name?" She shook her head in answer. "I might be able to check him out, but not without turning my phone back on..."

"Are we going to see if the other woman is in the building," Gabriella asked, nervous concern in her voice.

"Yes...," I said trying to squelch my own nerves. Was I supposed to check that building out? One camp said return home, Gabriella was saying we needed to check – what was I walking in to?

Friday June 8th, 11:11 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
We traveled north for ten minutes on Highway 80, far enough I guessed to be picked up by a second cell tower – I hoped. We hadn't seen any other cars on the highway since the one that passed us while we were on the side of the road talking to Mitchell Allen. Time to turn off Gabriella's phone and kill their tracking of us.

I spun the Mustang around and headed south, eventually turning onto the dirt road the building Gabriella had said she was taken too was located on. We drove slowly over potholes a quarter of a mile until the building was faintly lit up by the car’s headlights ahead. I couldn’t see a dog, but I could certainly hear it. I killed the lights, used my parking brake to slow us to a stop - no brake lights that way - and killed the engine.

Besides the occasional tick or click from the cooling engine the only other sound was the barking dog. So much for the element of surprise. We were probably two hundred yards from the house Gabriella said she remembered, it's lights were all off, except for one on the porch. The building the dog was protecting was also dark, no vehicles appeared to be parked on the road or within the gated area that I could see in the darkness. I could feel my hands were slippery on the steering wheel, nerves. Recon and get the fuck out of here…

"I'm going to take Kara with me and see if I can get a look inside the building. You stay here. I'll leave my keys, push this button to start her up. If something spooks you or you see someone, drive up to the fence and I’ll come running. Flash the lights or honk and I'll know we need to get out of here..."

"Can I not come with you?"

"Best that you stay here. You're my safety valve. If you hear gun shots get out of here, turn my phone on, check my contacts, and call Lena. She's my lawyer friend and she'll get you help..."

Of course, that wasn’t going to work – her turning my phone on and getting access to it – but I didn’t have the heart or time to come up with a better sounding plan. What we were doing here was a mistake, a big one.

"I do not like this Cass..."

"I'm not a fan of this plan either, but we need to check that building out..."

Friday June 8th, 11:16 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
It took a little over three minutes to carefully walk up to the fenced property and with every step the Pit-bull's barking became fiercer. I tried to mitigate the sounds of my footsteps by walking in the ruts on the dirt road, half-crouched, and half trying to keep Kara in check.

At the corner of the property, the barking monster of a Pitbull figured out that Kara was with me and the barking all but stopped. I watched it pace back and forth sniffing, panting, and occasionally jumping up against the fence. I tied Kara to a small scrap of brush near the fence and stepped away. The Pit-bull stayed focused on Kara, but would look towards me as if begging me to bring her a little closer. Sorry buddy, not tonight.

Kara was in heat. I knew this from working at the shelter the day before yesterday when she was brought in. We were keeping her separated from the other dogs until she could be spayed this coming weekend. Colonel Flagg had told me a story while in Afghanistan of how he had defeated the security perimeter of a Taliban compound by using a dog in heat to distract the dogs that protected it - hence Kara being here. It appeared to be working and I walked around the corner of the fence without the dog following me. The only sounds were my footsteps and the big Pit-bull whimpering. Thank goodness Kara wasn't a barker.

As I moved along the fence, hyper aware of my surroundings, cooled by how much I was perspiring – I realized that never happened while I was in the Army - sweating while on patrol. Focus!

I couldn't see any cameras on the build in the darkness, but that didn't mean they weren't there. The fence didn't have any obvious easy entry points, so when I was about even with the building, I began to climb it gingerly to keep the noise down, but quickly to reduce the time I was exposed. I was over it within a couple seconds. I crouched, focused on the Pit-bull, but he hadn't noticed I was over the fence. If he came at me, I would likely have to put him down – that wasn’t going to be good on a number of levels.

Friday June 8th, 11:21 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
I pulled my weapon; it was warm now from my resting against my body. My hands being cold probably made it feel warmer than it was. Concentrate!

I snicked the safety off, looked around once more, and slowly made my way to the side of the building. The building almost looked like it was a storage unit, but lacked any garage type roller doors. Flat roof, only a ground floor level, concrete block construction, and certainly appeared abandoned and run down.

Along the front were eight doors, no windows. Gabriella had said the door she had been behind had red and blue graffiti on it. I couldn't see it from the corner, but figured I'd run into it eventually. First though, a peek around the rear of the building to check for access points, threats, or signs anyone might be here. Nothing…

Back to the front of the building, a look over towards the dog – still dry humping whatever fantasy he thought he was having. Time to go…

I made my way towards the first door. It was painted a dull gray and a check of the handle - locked. I would need to pay close attention to each door I passed in case someone behind one of them appeared while I was deeper into exploring the building.

Memories of my time in the Army came flooding back and I wished I had an over-watch team member watching my back right now. I looked toward the fence corner again to make sure the dog was still preoccupied by Kara, yup. I had no idea how long it would be before he got frustrated about not getting his rocks off and came looking for me. Flagg hadn't said how long his Taliban incursion had been or how long the dogs were distracted by the bitch in heat.

The second door was dull gray with some kind of black graffiti on it. It was also locked. Third door, red and blue graffiti adorned the front of it - and it was ajar. I raised my pistol, checked my surroundings, and listened. I tried peeking in cautiously, but it was too dark to see anything. I hadn't brought a flashlight and didn't have one I could have put on my pistol's rail - tactical mistake. Too late to worry about that now.

No sounds except the thumping of my heart pounding in my ears. I pushed the door open slowly until I could get a better look inside.

Nothing moved, no sounds, so I moved to where I could see inside a little better after I checked my surroundings. A faint glow was coming in through the window at the back of the room – moonlight, I’d seen that it was about three-quarter full tonight while checking out the rear of the building.

The window was half covered by a sheet of fabric or plastic though, so not much to see. There looked to be a mattress on the floor and something black looked to be covering part of it. There was possibly graffiti on the wall behind the mattress. The rest of the room, as best I could tell in the dark, looked to be dust or dirt covered. It smelled stale, musty – Gabriella had said that about this place – could I trust I wasn’t being set up?

I felt the wall with the back of my hand, and found a light switch. If I flipped it on my night vision would be shot, but without the light I couldn't see anything. I could use my phone’s flashlight, but it was a paperweight in the car with Gabriella.

I entered the room fully, closed the door behind me using my shirt to twist the knob and engage the lock. I waited a few seconds and clicked the light on with the back of my hand. The bulb in the center of the rooms ceiling shot out a creamy hue of light – nothing blinding.

My stomach dropped... The mattress was covered in what was likely dried blood and the wall graffiti I had seen in the dark was blood splatter from a gun shot. A couple small divots in the wall confirmed that thought. Shit...

Friday June 8th, 11:53 p.m., Arlington Wildlife Area, Arizona
"What did you find?"

I finished putting Kara in the back seat and climbed into the driver's seat after Gabriella had shimmied over the center counsel to the passenger seat. I rested my hands on the steering wheel and bowed my head.

"What?" Gabriella pressed.

"Nothing... No one was there and I only stayed long enough to confirm that. All the other doors were locked, so unless she was in another room, the place is abandoned." my voice trailed off.

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure..."

I wasn't going to tell her about the blood. It's likely the woman she was with had been killed in that room a few days ago. Kovachev needed to get out here, I needed to call him but also not have a run in with Mitchell Allen or some other government agency representative. I had Kovachev's business card, so I could call him if I just had access to a phone.

"We need to get to a phone. I need to call the detective and my lawyer friend," I finally said.

Saturday June 9th, 12:29 a.m., Buckeye, Arizona
We stopped at the first gas station we came across in Buckeye as we made our way back towards Phoenix. Luckily, they sold prepaid cell phones. It wasn't the same brand as Gabriella's phone and getting it activated at this early hour took longer than I expected. Once activated I got out of the car and walked a few feet away to call Kovachev.

"Yes," the voice asked sleepily.

"Detective Kovachev, this is Cassidy Ruiz..."

"Is there a problem," he asked, instantly more coherent.

"We were able to find the building Gabriella was taken," I began.

He interrupted me, "I'm not going to be happy to hear you went to check this place out Ms. Ruiz..."

"That's a long story detective for another time," I replied using the line he'd used on me about his immigration to the US.

"Please tell me you did not enter the hotel."

"I can't tell you that, but I can tell you I did not disturb the crime scene."

"Crime scene?"

"I'm going to send you an image from Google satellite maps of where this building is. It's near the Arlington Wildlife Area on old Highway 80. You're going to need animal control for the dog and a full crime scene team. I think the other Trans woman who was with Gabriella may have been shot."

There was a short pause and I could hear Kovachev exhale slowly, "Where are you now?"

"That's another long story, but we need to be off the grid for the next couple of days. There's another government agency involved that you and I weren't aware of," I said trying to not sound cryptic.

"That might explain a call from the US Marshal Service earlier tonight asking about where Gabriella was," he said as if trying to figure out a missing word in a crossword puzzle, “I meant to call you.”

"Did you get a name?"

"Allen Mitchell, why?"

"We were contacted by a Mitchell Allen while on our way to the site. Could he have mixed the name up on you, like in the military we were always addressed by our last names?"

"I'm not sure, but now I'm going to get to the bottom of that. I have his phone number," he said, annoyance dripping from his tone. "What are you going to do now?"

"First, get a hold of my lawyer. Next, find someplace to lay low and get some sleep," I said realizing I was certainly tired after the adrenaline dump from exploring the building they had taken Gabriella to.

"I spoke with Ms. Cantor; it would be good to speak with her. She chewed on me fairly hard," he commented as if impressed. "Am I to understand that you're not going home. How do I contact you?"

"Lena chewed on me also, I'm sure you got it worse than I did though," I couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, we're not going to my townhouse... They wanted me to bring Gabriella there, but that isn't going to happen. I need to get some answers and I need to keep her safe. After this call, I'm turning this cellphone off. I'll call you at noon."

The pause before he began speaking almost had me asking if he was still there, "Let me make some calls, find someplace to lay low. Would you consider meeting me at the police station," he asked.

"Don't think Gabriella's opinion or trust level concerning you has changed much in the past nine hours..."

"Understood. I'll be waiting for your call. You both be careful," he said, the worry in his voice evident.

"Thank you, we will," I said before killing the connection and powered off the phone.

Saturday June 9th, 1:09 a.m., El Oso Park, Maryvale, Arizona
I'd driven around the block three times before pulling into the El Oso Park parking lot. No one was following us, no one was sitting in a parked car looking out for us on any of the streets we’d cruised. We were fifteen minutes from my townhouse and maybe twice that from Lena's place at this hour of the morning.

The Phoenix Police station I'd met Kovachev at was between us and Lena's place - close enough if I needed to crash my Mustang through the lobby door to get someone's attention. I knew these streets well enough to be able to escape in pretty much any direction, so I felt comfortable to shut down here for a little bit. The neighborhood was safe and it felt good to finally be sitting still. Kara was curled up in the back seat and didn't seem to mind either of us had cranked our seats back slightly to get more comfortable.

Gabriella had plenty of questions, especially about the contact with Mitchell Allen or as Kovachev knew him, Allen Mitchell. I wasn't ripe with answers, but tried to reassure her that things would work out. Of course, not having found the other Trans woman who was held with her wasn't something I was feeling good about. There wasn't anything we could do about that right now.

She asked what our next move was and I told her I needed to talk to Lena in a couple hours. No sense in waking her up in the middle of the night for a crisis there probably wasn't much she could help with at this hour.

Somewhere in our conversation about Lena, Gabriella figured out that we were dating. That of course lead to all sorts of questions / answers we batted back and forth at each other. Gabriella was attracted to men and I had certainly experimented with both men and women. She told me of an older man she was attracted to in Mexico, but didn't say whether it was something she could have built on. I told her about a few failed relationships – both male and female – and tried to impart some things I'd learned along the way.

"You have been on HRT for how long," she asked.

"Five years, maybe... I've struggled with becoming who I am now, so I started and stopped for a short period, and started back up. So, like four years straight," I answered.

"I have only been allowed the HRT for ten months and I have seen many changes... I am anxious for more, to be complete – but I wish these changes came faster."

"I was wondering about that, how long you'd been on HRT. I worry about 'passing' a couple times a day depending on what I’m doing. I wonder if finally becoming complete, GCS, will make things different. The dysphoria can be crushing with that appendage between my legs still," I tried to chuckle, but it sounded flat.

"I know it is very expensive. I would like to have the surgery soon; I understand the feelings and depressions. I have struggled because I am hiding every day in Mexico..."

"Anyone who thinks we transition and there isn't a lot of pain and struggle for us are fools. I am constantly amazed by the lack of understanding by those in the medical community as to what we're going through or how they can really help us. Throw in the uneducated haters, idiot politicians, and it's certainly not the easiest journey to take. Being Latina adds another layer of cultural stigma and pressures. But, one day, I'll have saved enough for GCS, so it's coming. In the meantime, I try not to get too wrapped up in that part of my body that tends to be my biggest source of self-loathing. It's hard though, a constant reminder that I'm not fully me...," I stopped speaking because I sounded like I was complaining too much. My life certainly could be worse, it could easily be better too.

"Will you have other surgeries," she asked.

"Probably not. I do a few laser hair removal appointments every couple months... Probably a trachea shave at some point," I stopped speaking to watch a black Suburban roll by the parking lot slowly - it didn't stop, but I was instantly on edge.

Gabriella watched the vehicle, "You are worried about that vehicle?"

I tried to play it off, "I'm concerned about any vehicle right now, but they," I stopped speaking as another black Suburban from the opposite direction rounded the corner and pulled into the far end of the parking lot. Shit!

"Okay, we might have a problem," I said quickly cranking my seat back up and starting the car.

Gabriella looked over at me, "They are here for me..."

"No, that's not happening..."

Saturday June 9th, 1:42 a.m., El Oso Park, Maryvale, Arizona
The back passenger door opened on the parked Suburban and a lone male exited. He raised his hands and spoke loudly, "Ruiz... Let's not do anything stupid... Just want to talk, I just need my assets kid."

Fuck! How did they find us? And as soon as I thought that I saw the On-Star button on my mirror... Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Stay here," I said and opened my door, drawing my weapon, holding it to my side just out of sight. There wasn't anyone I could see behind me, but there had been two Suburban's, so they certainly had the numbers and someone was likely behind me somewhere. "What do you want Allen, or is it, Mitchell?"

"It's Allen, last name Mitchell. I've been talking to a friend of yours from Afghanistan, said you Rangers called him Colonel Flagg. He had nothing but good things to say about you, you were a hell of a tech savvy soldier he said..."

"Yeah, well not smart enough to know my On-Star system was going to screw me."

"Easy item to overlook. If it's any consolation it took my team twenty minutes to get the trace on you after you shut down your phones. Even the one you picked up and called Kovechev on and hour and a half ago."

These guys weren’t playing. To have that kind of free rein to track us – they were connected and whoever was sitting on the top of this shit pile had juice to make things happen and happen quickly. He mentioned Flagg, that was unexpected.

"Yeah, sorry, not much consolation. What do you want?"

"Let's start by putting your weapon away."

"What makes you think I'm armed," I asked.

"The guy in my ear says he can see you're holding a nine-mil or maybe forty-cal, probably a Smith and Wesson, extended magazine... Plus, it’s unlikely you checked out that building without some form of equalizer."

Fuck... There was no getting out of this, and a gun fight wasn't something I wanted to be in. Would they give a shit if the lead started flying and Gabriella was somehow eliminated? They had their money, they didn’t need her, right? I pulled my shirt up, holstered my pistol, and walked around the front of my car.

"Okay, let's talk, but let's agree to not do anything stupid," I said.

Allen made his way over to me and stopped about twelve feet from me, lowered his hands, "We're not the bad guys here Ruiz... Just trying to help my assets family out here. You've got their kid, we need to reunite them, get them hidden in their new lives."

"Where are her parents now," I asked.

"Safe..."

"Not what I asked," I said annoyed that he seemed to be playing with me.

"Bolder Colorado in a safe house," he replied after a moment.

If true it wasn't their final destination, so it was safe to tell me that.

"What guarantees do I get that she'll be safe and reunited with her family?"

"My word for one, I guess. Not sure why we'd go through all this trouble and not just take her from you if we really wanted to do anyone any harm. I'm trying to be reasonable here," he chided.

So, you do need her? Why?

"Yeah, well I got involved with Gabriella due to her abduction and then it turned into a story of our government taking down some drug kingpin in Mexico for a price, her family’s freedom, a bunch of cash," and as soon as I said that I regretted it. I didn't want to appear to know more about this operation than I did. Damn it - mistake...

"That's the story, but you realize that story can't be told," he said calmly.

"Who says it can't?"

He chuckled, "Be reasonable Ruiz, you can't tell that story, but I've got one you can."

"Really? One that's as big as this mess you're involved in?"

"Depends on your loyalties I guess."

"Don't fucking wave the flag at me asshole,” I barked, “I gave this country my all, my blood, they discarded me six years ago!"

He'd pushed the wrong tact at me and I could feel the anger within me boiling over. Another mistake I’d just made – losing control of my emotions.

"I'm aware of that, but where do you stand with the Transgender community and these recent assaults, the ones that were happening in Texas?"

"What do you know about that," I snapped.

"What if I can give you the whole story on that in exchange for dropping any interest in our assets story."

"What can you give me that I already don't know," I ask sarcastically.

"I don't know, maybe the warning I gave you about being somewhere you shouldn't have been?"

"In Arlington," then it hit me, "You knew what I was there for?"

"Possibly..."

"You knew what I would find?"

"Possibly, but I'm going to assume you think the wrong person died in that building. I'll lay it all out for you; you get the inside story, which leads to some international shit, maybe, you look like a rock star for your Transgender community, there's some justice delivered, and a focus on this kind of senseless violence. Are you interested in that story in trade?" he asked.

"The other Trans Woman wasn't shot?"

He shrugged, "We have a deal?"

Fucker! That means they were trying to find Gabriella, didn't know she'd been dumped and hospitalized until they stormed that remote building. They were slow to figure out her whereabouts, but they figured them out in the end. If I read between the lines, the other Trans woman had been in the building as Gabriella had said, Mitchell's people got there, and maybe eliminated one or more of her assailants, and hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up their mess. Fuck!

"And if I agree, what happens next?"

"We run to the airport, fly to Boulder, you get to see the family reunited, we talk abduction story, you write an amazing story that maybe becomes a mini-series for your newspaper, it gets pickup up by affiliates, and sheds light on this kind of issue within your community..."

I could feel the honey being poured into my ears... Mother fucker!

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Authors Note: Don't be afraid to hit the "Thumbs Up" icon for this story if it's doing anything for you (you don't have to have an account to do so and there are no prizes for most likes or payouts for that matter (I’d have bot’ed that bitch long ago if there were)). If you comment – I will more than likely reply – so let’s chat or not or whatever floats your noddle…

If there are problems or you have criticisms you'd like to share privately feel free to message me on the site (you’ll need an account) or via email ([email protected](link sends e-mail)) - I'd love to address them if I can.

I'm trying to grow as a storyteller; I'm far from perfect, so any help is much appreciated and valued. Thanks for reading...

Author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

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Saturday, June 9th, 2:10 a.m., Avondale, Arizona
Mitchell agreed to let us return to my townhouse to get the clothes I’d bought Gabriella. He let me drive us there and followed us in the two Suburbans. He was trusting me—why? He had requested I put my pistol in the trunk. I agreed because, at this point, it was dead weight unless I wanted to take on four armed agents from the US Marshal Service—at least that’s who they claimed to be representing.

Somewhere along the way, I was going to find out who Mitchell really worked for. I was pretty sure he had some connection to the CIA; he mentioned Colonel Flagg. Mitchell having possibly talked to Flagg was certainly interesting, and I wondered if he was part of this operation in some way. For now, though, I just wanted to appear as cooperative as possible.

I powered on my phone as we left the El Oso Park parking lot and called Kovachev.

“Ruiz?”

“I can’t talk long. I’m with Allen Mitchell. He says he’s in the US Marshal Service, but he’s in bed with the CIA, I think. I can’t explain that right now, but he’s taking Gabriella to her parents in Boulder. We’re leaving from Scottsdale Airport in an hour. He’s going to give up details on the abductions and how they’ve been 'resolved'. I think you should be there," I blurted out quickly, hoping he could meet us there.

"Slow down... You're going with him to Boulder?" Kovachev asked.

"Yes. It's a crazy story I can't really get into, but he says the abduction case has been 'resolved'."

"I can meet you at the airport... About Mitchell, I couldn't find any record of him working for the US Marshal Service," he said, concerned.

"I didn't press for a badge, but I will ask to see it when we get to my townhouse," I replied, trying to sound confident I had all the bases covered. Why hadn't I asked for that while we were talking in the parking lot? I'm slipping. Fatigue? Certainly, we could produce fake badges, I guess, do did it matter?

"If you can stall him at your townhouse, I will just meet you there."

"I don't think that's going to be possible; we're just picking up some clothes for Gabriella; you'd never make it there in time."

"Fine, I will be at the airport. I'm in Arlington. We were able to get a warrant to search the property. The dog was an issue, but we were eventually able to get into the building. You shouldn't have entered the room. The CSI team is processing evidence now. Did you touch anything?"

"No, and I only entered the room enough to close the door and lock it behind me. I used my shirt to do that and to turn the knob when I exited. I even used the back of my hand to turn the light on and off. I did not linger any longer than sixty seconds," I explained.

"They have found foot prints from eight different people. There are also some fingerprints, but we haven’t had a chance to get them run yet.”

"One set of footprints would be mine if they were looking at the doorway, Gabriella's, the other Trans woman, and the three men who were with them. So, we've got two sets of footprints unaccounted for," I mused. “Oh, and like I said, I didn’t touch anything—my prints won’t be found.”

"She told you about her assailants?"

"Only that there were three men, two of them Mexican and an Asian," I replied, and then thought about what Mitchell had said about the story he was offering me having 'international shit' implications: "Mitchell mentioned an international connection with these assaults."

"How does he know these things?"

"I'm not sure, but the blood you've found isn't the blood from the other Trans woman who was with Gabriella."

"He told you that," Kovachev asked, surprised.

"Not in so many words," I replied, glancing over at Gabriella, who looked shocked, maybe even worried.

"Okay, we can talk at the airport. I'll meet you there. Be aware of your surroundings, Ruiz."

"I will," and the line went dead.

We got to my townhouse in about twelve minutes, with Mitchell's contingent right behind us the entire way. He and another agent escorted us in and allowed Gabriella to load my backpack with the few items she'd used before we went in search of the building she'd been taken to—a toothbrush, makeup, and the other changes of clothes. I grabbed my laptop and noticed the SD card adapter was missing. I looked at Gabriella, and she looked away. She'd taken it; why? Insurance? Were there other things on the card?

"Why the laptop?" Allen asked.

"I've got deadlines to meet, and if you're detailing the solving of these assault cases, I need to get ahead of it and get something written," I said. It was true, and there wasn't an ulterior motive for bringing it along.

"Okay," he conceded.

"So, you work for the US Marshal Service?" I asked as I was rolling up my power cord.

"I do tonight," he said, fishing something from his suit jacket and holding it out for me to see.

It was an ID and badge in a leather-bound holder. It said his name was Allen Mitchell and all the other official stuff you might expect on a government organization's credentials, including his picture. He nodded to the other agent, who produced the same type of credentials, but there was a difference between the two. Mitchell's badge said "Marshal Service Deputy," and the other agents said "Marshal Service Marshal."

I wasn't positive, but I assumed Mitchell was functioning as a deputized member of the US Marshal Service at the moment. He likely worked for another agency, and this was his 'legal' way of functioning within the US outside that agency. Probably why Kovachev couldn't find anything on him with whomever or however he tried to check with him.

"Thank you for that; good to know we're all here on the up and up," I commented. "We ready?"

"I'm just waiting on you," Mitchell said.

"You promise to get Kara back to the shelter,” I asked.

“Yeah, we’ll get her back,” he said impatiently.

Are the bases all covered? God, I hoped so.

Saturday, June 9th, 2:49 a.m., Scottsdale Airport, Arizona
We made better time to the airport than I expected we would, and the Learjet we'd likely be flying on had just finished taking on fuel. The tanker truck pulled away as we came to a stop a hundred feet from where the jet sat. No Kovachev. I looked around and wondered how I was going to delay us leaving without having a confrontation with Mitchell or tipping him off to my asking Kovachev to meet me here.

"Wait here," Mitchell said over his shoulder as he and the other agent both exited the vehicle and began speaking to the agents in the other suburban.

I leaned over to Gabriella and whispered, "You took the SD card?" She nodded. "Is there something else going on here that I should know about?"

She took my hand, and I felt the adapter. "Keep this; they cannot access their account without you," she whispered in my ear.

"What does that mean?"

"Two factor authentication; I changed that while you were getting ready earlier and used your phone number... The site will send you a six-digit access code necessary to complete the login process. They have the initial password for the login credentials we agreed upon, but they didn't take into account the two-factor authentication requirement. These accounts are very secure that way."

Shit! Adding that was probably a smart move, but why involve me? And that they somehow forgot—someone was not on their game. But why give me access to information or make me a key player in this mess? Then I thought about it a little more—she was trying to protect herself and her family from the devil. She might have just outsmarted them with that move, or at least insured some concessions for access to that pile of money. On the flip side, I really didn't want any further involvement with whatever these two sides of the operation were up to or that third party, Corbino.

Saturday, June 9th, 2:56 a.m., Scottsdale Airport, Arizona
Mitchell returned to our vehicle and opened the door for Gabriella. "Alright, we're good to go."

Gabriella looked back at me as if needing my approval to get out of the Suburban.

"Our destination is still Boulder," I asked, trying to delay, hoping Kovachev would show any second.

"Yes, that's where our asset is, her family," he said, looking away to watch the other Suburban begin to drive away. "Detective Kovachev won't be joining us, I'm afraid. He's been called back to the crime scene in Arlington. The agents," he nodded toward the suburban pulling away, "Will brief him as I will be briefing you. If you'd have asked, I could have saved him some time heading this way."

Shit!

"Yeah, well, ferrying us away without anyone knowing seemed like a risk I wasn't willing to take," I said, not hiding that I was annoyed.

Mitchell chuckled, "You act as though I'm the bad guy here, Ruiz. I assure you, I've been on the same page with you about everything and will continue that until I either can't trust you or we run into details that you shouldn't be privy to."

If the shoe was on the other foot, you'd be making all kinds of noise about getting flown away to a 'supposed' destination. Asshole...

"Can I call my lawyer?"

"I'm not sure what that's going to get you, but if it will make you feel better, go ahead," he replied as if it weren't a big deal.

I opened my door and stepped out. I dialed Lena, and two rings later, a sleepy voice answered, "Cass?"

"Hey, sorry to wake you, but this story took a crazy turn."

She interrupted me, "Are you alright? Where are you?"

I could hear and feel the panic in her voice.

"I'm fine, but I'm with the US Marshal Service. A guy named Allen Mitchell. I saw his badge; he's a US Marshal Service Deputy. The number on his badge was 3118. The twist to all this is that I think he's actually CIA."

She interrupted me again, "CIA?! What the hell, Cass?" She was completely awake now, judging by her tone and the unhappy inflection blaring from my phone pressed against my ear.

"I know, I know... I have a long story that I can't really get into, but I'm going to take some pictures and text them to you. I'm getting on a jet bound for Boulder, Colorado, to reunite Gabriella with her parents. I had contacted Detective Kovachev to meet me, but they or someone squashed his coming along. I'm not comfortable with any of this, but I felt like I needed someone to know."

"NO! Don't even think about getting on that plane, Cass! Don't let Gabriella either. I can make a few calls and roust a judge for a protection order for both of you to slow these people down," she complained. “Where are you?”

"I think if this was a bigger problem than it appears on the surface, they would have just taken Gabriella from me already. This Mitchell guy is offering me the real story about these abductions and what happened to the other Trans woman who was with her."

"You're risking the safety of both of you for the 'hope' of a story? Seriously, Cass?" she asked, the disappointment in her voice thick.

"I know it sounds crazy, but he says he's talked to a CIA agent I worked with when I was in the Army... I can try to reach out to him." I pause to see Gabriella walking with Mitchell towards the jet. She was looking at her phone. "Shit..."

"What now?" Lena barked.

My phone vibrated, and I looked to see a text message with a six-digit account verification code. Someone was trying to access the government account.

"Mitchell is walking Gabriella towards the jet. I have to go," I whined.

"Cass, this isn't a good idea. Let me at least make some calls; stall them, please," she pleaded.

"I think it's too late. I'll send you some pictures. I... I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"God damn it, Cass! This isn't 'Goodbye'; don't even give me that... Get me those pictures. Get a number. I can reach this 'Mitchell' guy or your CIA guy from the Army. Cass," her voice became quieter, "Don't do this. I can come get you."

Gabriella and Mitchell were at the stairs to the jet.

"I'm sorry, I gotta go. I'll get you pictures and a number. I'm sorry, Lena." My heart sank, and a lump in my throat made it difficult to speak anymore.

"Cass...," she whispered.

"I gotta go..." I said, choking up and killing the connection before she could reply.

I pulled up the camera on my phone and took pictures of the Suburban's rear plate and the tail letters of the jet. Unless these things were both fake, they would be something someone could use to track us. They had to file a flight plan; we would be in shared or controlled airspace over Phoenix, and there should be a trail that could be followed. Of course, I could be fooling myself, especially if Mitchell was really working for the CIA. I texted the pictures to Lena as I walked towards the jet.

A few seconds later, she texted me back, "I'm making calls now. I'll see what I can get from these. Be careful. Don't turn your phone off!"

I put my phone in my pocket after reading her message, but it vibrated again. I looked at it quickly. Another verification code...

Saturday, June 9th, 3:09 a.m., Scottsdale Airport, Arizona
The inside of the jet wasn't expansive, but it was certainly plush. Leather swivel captains’ seats that reclined and had foot rests that extended, plenty of leg room all around, and there was even wood paneling throughout. Once we were all seated, one of the two flight crews pulled the door shut, and the engines began to spin up.

I'd flown many times while in the Army—noisy Air Force hops on their C-17 Globemaster', C-5 Galaxy', and even a couple C-130 Hercules. Being 'Airborne' qualified, I'd jumped out of many airplanes, which I was sure wasn't on the flight plan today, given the cabin would be pressurized. I felt a little caged at the moment. Was chasing this story a mistake? I needed to see Gabriella make it out of this, right? Get the real story?

I watched Mitchell pull his phone out, read something, then get up and head towards the front of the jet. He was speaking to the pilots, but I couldn't make out what was being said.

"Someone tried to access the account," I said quietly to Gabriella.

"Yes, I acted as though it hadn't been sent to my phone yet, though it was supposed to go to another number... I said it was supposed to come to mine," she replied in a whisper with a hint of a smirk.

"They are going to figure out something is up. Then," I stopped speaking when the conversation with Mitchell ended and he returned to his seat. Change of plans? I decided to probe, "What's up?"

"Unexpected detour. I'd prefer you didn't share that with your lawyer friend; in fact," he said, reaching out, "I'd like to hold both of your phones for the duration of the flight. You'll get them back once we get to Boulder, but right now I'd like to control the flow of information," he said, holding his hand out to take our phones.

Gabriella looked at me, and when I didn't move, she offered hers to Mitchell.

"Where are we going now?" I asked.

"Quick trip to Mexico..." he said casually.

Gabriella looked panicked, and I’m sure Mitchell caught the concern: "I assume this is a necessary detour, especially given one part of her family is quite valuable to the shithead you guys ripped off in Mexico last night. I would think Gabriella being anywhere near Mexico right now is a bad idea.” I had to pause a second to think about this—was I also bait or in danger?

"Noted. We're picking up other assets. Let's just call it a reunion of sorts... And as far as the 'shithead' worrying about her family," he gestured towards Gabriella, “They think they were blown up in a vehicle, so they aren’t actively searching for them.”

"Yeah, but they know they’ve been ripped off, and Gabriella could have information on that. You can’t tell me they aren’t looking for her right now. If for nothing else to have someone to throw their angst at. How about Gabriella and I get off this jet, and you can go down there? We'll wait at my townhouse with the Marshals."

The jet engine began to whine loudly, and we started moving.

"It might be a little late for that," he said, chuckling. "I can see why Flagg likes you, Ruiz. Phone, please..."

He’d mention Flagg; had he talked to him, or was he just fucking with me? I saw his extended hand beckon for my phone. Shit… I had the latest Apple iPhone, and short of Mitchell having access to the 'Hide UI' app or the Grayshift device to connect my phone too, he wasn't getting into it without my cooperation—unless I was forced.

I was worried about the two-factor identification Gabriella had set up to use my phone number and Mitchell seeing a pop-up message on my screen, so I turned my phone off before handing it to him.

"What's in Mexico we need to be reunited with?" I asked, annoyed.

"I told you to pick up assets. A little something for the both of you, actually."

Gabriella looked at me worried.

"Knock it off, Mitchell. Why are you taking us to Mexico?!" I barked at him.

"We're extracting Flagg and Eduardo Caesar Lopez."

Gabriella took in an audible breath, "Eduardo?"

I looked at her and asked, "You know this person?"

"He is a close family friend," she said. There was no mistaking the connection, and I wondered if this was the 'older' man she had feelings for.

"Flagg is part of this OP," I asked.

Mitchell only nodded. Guess I didn't need to reach out to Flagg after all—of course now I could add more anxiety to an already full bucket of worries that was beginning to spill over. A reunion with someone from my past—could this day get any worse?

I was a completely different person from what Flagg would remember. It was going to be awkward, no matter how much either of us put the past behind us and focused on the OP at hand. Stay focused on the end game I commanded; it’s going to be what it’s going to be with Flagg. He’ll understand. Maybe…

Saturday, June 9th, 4:01 a.m., Mar de Cortés International Airport, Puerto Peñasco
It felt like no sooner had we reached the cruising altitude that we were descending. Mitchell hadn't shared where we were going, and I had no idea what airports were however many miles south of Phoenix and into Mexico we'd just flown. Why hadn't I asked him?

I was tired and had let my guard down. I was never like this in the Army while on an OP. Fatigue during operations tended to get people killed or injured. Okay, focus... I'm not that person anymore; I’m not operational or an operative. I’ve moved on, but I need to stay sharp.

We'd be on the ground shortly, given my view outside the window and popping ears. The jet was beginning to make a wide banking turn close to some coastline. I guessed the view had changed from twinkling city or town lights to an expanse of black, which would most likely be the Pacific or maybe even the Gulf of California. I should have asked where we were going. I need to focus!

On what I assumed was the final approach given the angle of attack—compared to the darkness and lights below—the small jet ran into some pretty good cross winds, buffeting it around uncomfortably. By the look on Gabriella’s face, she was not liking the controlled chaos that was bringing the jet in for a landing. I think we were all happy to hear the screeching of the tires on the tarmac and to be on terra firma when it was all over.

At nearly the end of the runway, the jet turned twice to make its way back down the adjoining taxiway. We passed a single, dimly lit terminal building and appeared to be heading towards the furthest corner of a large aircraft parking area. There were two other small aircraft parked there, both prop planes, and both tied down, which I assumed would keep them from taking off unexpectedly due to the winds. The parking area could have accommodated at least thirty aircraft, maybe more. Wherever we were, we didn't rate an airport capable of large jetliners, and it seemed too infrequently used—at least at this hour of the morning.

I could see parking lights on vehicles as we approached and as we got closer to the end of the lot area, I could make out three vehicles. When we were a hundred yards away, they all turned their headlights on, lighting up the area in front of them. I nodded to Gabriella, and she looked a bit petrified. I tried to smile at her to reassure her.

When I turned back towards the window, that smile quickly faded. In the glow of the headlights, I could see dark figures emerging from the vehicles, moving into defensive positions; at least it appeared that way. Okay, that's not good... Men, armed with what looked like automatic weapons—no uniforms!

"Shit," I said, looking over at Mitchell. "We're expected, right? That's an awfully big and unfriendly-looking party out there." I stated, the worry evident in my voice, I'm sure.

I watched Mitchell lean over and look out the window. Gabriella leaned over my seat to peer out. There was fear in her eyes.

She whispered, "Corbino's men?"

"No, Dirección Federal de Seguridad, the Mexican secret police." Mitchell had heard her and commented calmly.

The jet stopped twenty feet from the nearest vehicle and rocked slightly back and forth for a second. The engines were still running, and the men outside were now pointing their weapons at the jet!

"Tell me you've got more than your sidearm on this jet!" I snapped.

"Relax, both of you," he chided.

I watched one of the flight crews undo the jet door and deploy the stairs, then step back as if surprised by something.

"I would feel a lot better armed," I complained.

"Not necessary..." Mitchell replied.

The passenger doors of the vehicle furthest from the jet opened, and three men exited. It was difficult to see them, but one of them appeared to be limping. As he passed the headlights of the second vehicle, I could see one of his pants legs was darker than the other.

"One of those guys looks like he's been shot!" I yelled and stood. "I'd like a weapon, Goddamn it!"

"Sit the fuck down, Ruiz!" Mitchell snapped.

"I'm not getting dumped here, and neither is Gabriella," I said as I stepped towards him.

He continued to look out the window and said, "If you were in danger, would those men out there be shaking hands right now?" Mitchell asked calmly.

I bent over to see the armed contingent lower their weapons and begin loading themselves back into their vehicles. Mitchell was correct; there were handshakes happening out there, and I recognized something familiar about the way the guy with his back to us was moving—tall, lanky—that had to Flagg.

Mitchell got up, before saying, "Wait here."

I had been dismissed and could only watch as he exited the jet.

Saturday, June 9th, 4:18 a.m., Mar de Cortés International Airport, Puerto Peñasco
Eduardo limped through the tiny jets’ doorway, and Gabriella rushed towards him. She was in tears, rapidly speaking Spanish, asking about his injury, her parents, and Corbino. She finally shut up and hugged him for a long moment, burying her face in his shoulder. He hugged her back, but then patted her back, signaling that they needed to get seated. She released him, took his hand, and escorted him to a seat across the aisle from me.

Eduardo looked to be annoyed—maybe because of all the attention or maybe he wasn't supposed to be here with Flagg. I'm not sure, but something was up with this guy. I clearly heard him say to Gabriella that it was only a scratch. He told her he’d been looked at by a doctor and would be fine in a couple weeks. He looked like he might be on painkillers, not just because he dropped heavily into the seat, but because his head bobbed a lot as if he were struggling to stay awake or be fully in control of his faculties.

After he was settled, Gabriella went to the rear galley and grabbed a bottle of water for him, which he gladly took and swigged two long pulls. She looked worried. Had I missed something in their exchange? A look, a gesture, or something whispered during their embrace?
He put the bottle in the seat cup holder and looked over at me. “Who is this person?" he asked, looking from me to her.

Interesting… Not, ‘Who is she?’ or ‘Who is this woman?’, but ‘Who is this person?’ I wasn’t getting a good feeling about this guy.
Gabriella rattled off the highlights of who I was, explaining I wasn’t part of Flagg’s contingent and leaving out any details of the abduction or hospital. Her lip was still a bit swollen, and he’d probably press her for an answer to that at some point—he certainly wasn’t an idiot. He nodded and reached towards me as if asking for my hand, which I offered.

“Thank you for looking after Gabriella,” he said, squeezing my hand lightly. “You are a very kind woman to look after her and keep her from danger.”

“My pleasure,” I said, pulling my hand back after noticing shadows at the front of the jet. The guy who had opened the jet's door stepped back as if to make room for someone to enter.

Mitchell appeared first, followed a moment later by Flagg, who turned and threw a loose salute to someone on the tarmac. He turned, slapped a hand on the shoulder of a flight crewman, and said something I couldn’t make out over the whining jet engines blasting loudly through the open door of the jet.

He looked into the cabin, looked down the aisle at me, and nodded, then turned to poke his head into the cockpit while the door to the jet was being secured. It got a little bit quieter, but there was a persistent ringing in my ears, my chest felt tight, and my stomach was now fully in knots.

Seeing Flagg brought on a rush of emotions. Fear—because who I was now might be a disappointment to him, shame because of that fear, and an odd excitement because I had always respected and liked him. Would he understand who I am now? Fuck! Get a grip!

I'm not living my life for him... He's either going to be an ass or the Colonel Flagg I remembered. I huffed a breath slowly out, realizing I had been holding my breath... Good God! I noticed Mitchell was looking at me from the seat across from me with a concerned look on his face.

“You, okay? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost. Shit; it’ll all be over in a second," he laughed.

He was obviously enjoying this 'reunion' and that I was visibly uncomfortable; “I’m fine..." was all I could muster in reply.

I could feel my heart wanting to explode out of my chest. The weight of the anxiety leading up to seeing Flagg again was crushing me, but seeing him in the flesh multiplied every. Augh! No amount of mind tricks I could employ, if I could remember how to do them right now, was going to work to calm my anxiety. Could I ask Mitchell to snuff me out with one of the pillows?

I sat slowly, my eyes locked on Flagg’s back. The jet engines began to spin up, and we began moving. Flagg pulled the cockpit door closed and made his way down the aisle, stopping next to Mitchell.

“Let’s get the laptop fired up,” he said, then turning his attention to me. “Ruiz, good to see you,” he said, smiling, his hand extended.

I could barely breathe.

"Sir...," I fumbled, “Colonel, good to see you." I shook his hand politely, but likely not as he expected. WTF! Why did I have zero confidence in front of this man?

“Something to drink?”

“Water. Water would be good, sir." I stammered with barely any control of my emotions.

He would sense that; he has to know how difficult this is for me, right?

He walked past me toward the rear of the jet. Mitchell was smiling ear to ear.

“You should relax, Ruiz. He’s got a lot of respect for you. On the other hand, I’m not so sure about you,” he chuckled, then added, “I’m kidding."

“You really are an ass, Mitchell."

“I’ll own that,” he grinned back at me.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see Flagg presenting a bottle of water, which I took and said, “Thank you, Sir."

“You were an unexpected surprise,” he said, smiling. “A good one, but a surprise. I always wondered what had happened to you. Shit hand, you were dealt by the Army. Sorry about that. I wish you'd have called me,” he said, taking a seat next to Mitchell.

Flagg was exactly as I remembered. The voice, mannerisms, everything—just a little older looking, a little more white in his medium-dark brown hair, one might even say he was handsome even.

“Thank you, Sir..." I replied and looked out the window at the fading darkness. The sun was on its way up.

We were making a turn off the taxiway to the main runway, and as we got lined up, the pilot throttled up the engines to full power, and we began picking up speed. I looked over at Gabriella; she had her head on Eduardo’s shoulder. His eyes were closed, and I couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or just passed out from whatever painkillers he was fighting against until this moment.

It took nearly no effort for the jet to jump into the sky, and unlike the landing, our egress had less buffeting to contend with.

Saturday, June 9th, 4:36 a.m., Mexican airspace, 74 miles south of the US border
The wheels clunked beneath our seats, and the jet began a slow banking turn north. At least it felt as though we were heading north, given that the sun was rising outside the right-side array of windows.

Eduardo opened his eyes, looked towards me, smiled, and then closed them again. Gabriella had her head against his shoulder at an odd angle; she was asleep. They had been whispering back and forth before we started to taxi.

I envied that she could just unplug and felt safe enough to sleep given all that had happened to her. There was something going on between them; it was obvious. I wondered if he was here so that Flagg could leverage that connection. How did he even end up with Flagg?

Flagg pointed at the laptop screen in front of Mitchell, and the movement caught my attention. He looked at me and asked, “Any idea where she sent the two-factor authentication code too?”

Fuck… How do I stall?

“We could ask her,” I offered while shrugging.

“It’s not being sent to her phone, and it’s not being sent to the phone number given to her father—which is a whole other twist we weren’t expecting. That could have screwed up the extraction of her parents. Her father and I are going to discuss how she ended up doing the transfers rather than him and why they let her coyote her way to Phoenix rather than let us extract her with them. Was there a burner or some other phone she had access to too?" he asked.

Now Mitchell was staring at me; he’d obviously tried to access the account, had her phone, and there was no two-factor authentication text message appearing.

“No, not that I’m aware of, Colonel. She was never out of my sight long enough to have picked one up. When we met in the hospital, she had nothing; her backpack was empty. She asked for a phone, so I got her one from Target when I was buying her clothes to get her out of the hospital. You have her phone; maybe there’s something up with her phone getting text messages or something simple like that."

Complete and total fabrication or at least part of that story was. Would they buy it? Would they figure out that my phone was the key? I added absently, “Maybe his phone,” I asked, nodding toward Eduardo.

Mitchell got up and headed towards the cockpit, pulling a bag from the doorway where you enter the jet. He pulled out two phones, looked at their screens, and returned to his seat.

"Nothing,” he said.

“We’ve got time; we can ask her in a bit,” Flagg offered. “Tell me about you and this version of your true self,” he said while waving a hand at Mitchell, essentially saying that getting into the account could wait.

Mitchell closed up the laptop, stood, placed it on the seat, and headed towards the cockpit to join the pilots. Did that mean something?

“We’re heading to Boulder now, right?" I asked.

“Yes. Should be there in about two hours, maybe two and a half, depending on head winds. You have reservations?”

"No, sir, just… Well, it’s been a long day, and I’m fried. My operational readiness is crap right now, and I can barely hold my eyes open,” I replied, trying my best not to sound like I was complaining or stressed beyond my capabilities, which I was; he probably already knew that.

“You’re welcome to rack out Ruiz... Do you go by Cass now as your short for Cassidy?" he asked casually, but with some interest.

“Cass… I’d always been Cazz up until five years ago, and Cassidy was a way to kind of honor being named after my grandfather and still be comfortable with how people addressed me.”

I hadn’t skipped over the fact he’d asked me about becoming my ‘true self’. That was an interesting inquiry in itself and either a lucky guess at how to ask me about who I was now or he knew more about my transition than he was letting on.

Flagg was an information purveyor for the CIA; he knew how to pull information out of people and, of course, feed false information. Did I need to be on guard? Was he fishing for something? What does he know about my life now? Certainly, enough to know my new name now and remember that I was once Casimiro, Cazz...

“Why not Cassandra?”

“I considered that; it is more like my grandfather’s name, maybe, but it felt too stuffy, proper..." I answered.

“How did your parents react?”

I paused, “Typical Hispanic disdain for anything veering from the machismo norm."

He’d know what I just divulged would mean my parents thought I was gay and were not happy about that. I wondered how much data he had on me. Would he know I was bi? Did I care? Fuck!

He chuckled, “I can see that... It couldn't have been easy.”

“It wasn’t and hasn’t been, but I’m more at peace with my inner self, less doubt, less...," I didn’t want the conversation to turn dark so stopped speaking.

“You look comfortable in your skin. I had no idea back in the 'stan you were conflicted,” he mused.

“I didn’t know, or I should say, I didn’t want to accept that who I was presenting on the outside wasn’t who I was on the inside.” I felt a twang of embarrassment, but fuck it. I'm me, and I'm not apologizing to anyone for that.

"I'm not sure how you held your shit together back then, Cass, given the internal conflict, but I’m happy for you that you got it figured out. From what Mitchell tells me, you’re still operational; I warned him you had skills." He turned to look out the window, then back at me, “So, you’re a reporter now?”

I wanted to like what I just heard, but I was guarded. Was he fishing for something specific? It’s like he had just finished reading a deciare file on me and was probing the facts within, trying to find some wrinkle in those facts, trying to gauge me in regards to this OP. I needed to get this conversation moving in a different direction.

“Thank you, sir... Yes, I work for a news outlet in Phoenix, and I’m writing the story of Gabriella’s and other Trans women who were abducted, but you already know that." Now to push the envelope, “Mitchell said I would get the full story on that, but I’d also like to report on Corbino’s demise.”

I held my breath, waiting for his reply, and gave him my best deadpan stare.

Flagg pursed his lips and said, “I’m aware of the deal Mitchell floated; we will deliver on that. Corbino, that’s something I would need to look into, and it could come down to you helping us secure the account before I can lobby for that request.”

Shit… He suspects I know more about Gabriella setting up the account.

“I’m happy to assist, sir. I could talk with Gabriella, see what I can find out, and I understand why there would be concern," I said, trying to show I was a team player. "Could we talk about the abduction story first?”

Please take the bait. We were both playing a game of chess, and he had to know I was trying to outflank him on the sly.

He smiled and said, “Alright, but we’re going to talk about the account before this plane lands. I’m getting some uncomfortable pressure from those above me about not having those funds secured.”

I nodded that I understood, and he began by saying that anything I wanted to get published would first need State Department approval. I said I understood. He began with a story about a Chinese ambassador’s son, who apparently has a Transgender fetish. I pressed for the ambassador’s name, since I didn’t know it offhand, and was given Xi Sung Lu. The son’s name was Qin Lu, but he went by Bobby. He was 36 years old, bisexual, and, most recently, a person of interest in a child molestation case out of New Orleans. And, of course, the abductions of those Trans women in Texas and Arizona.

I interrupted him, “How long have we known Bobby was a predator?”

“For a while. He popped up on our radar as a sexual deviant a few years ago. Then last year, his father was appointed China’s ambassador to the US, and we passed Bobby’s background on to the FBI,” he offered.

“So, this guy has been feeding his fetish for about a year on US soil, and nothing has been done to put an end to it?”

“His father was warned we had concerns."

“Warned? Like a slap on the wrist?”

“Come on, Cass, politics... Things move slowly, and China isn’t a dog anyone in power wants to beat in the public eye,” he offered.

“Someone gaming the son? Trying to extort information from him in exchange for free rein to be a predator here?”

“Doubtful, I really wouldn’t know though, not my sandbox... From everything I’ve been able to learn, Bobby isn’t the brightest product to come out of China,” he said deadpan.

“You do understand that being Trans isn’t a popular life choice and that fucks like Bobby are everywhere,” I complained. “And if that wasn’t enough, being Trans increases your chances of being assaulted or killed by a factor of ten or more,” I added, feeling like I was preaching and shutting up before I really let my Trans flag fly.

He was staring at me, contemplating something possibly, and said, “I understand Cass... I’d put a bullet in this guy’s head if that were possible, but it’s not, at least not yet.”

Harping on the injustice of what Flagg had told me so far was pointless, so I conceded the point.

“Pisses me off, sir, that our government hasn’t stood up for my community with this asshat." I needed to stop and dial it back, so I asked, “What happened in that building out in Arlington? Gabriella had been taken too."

“We were looking for Gabriella, and we’re tipped off to Bobby being out there with her. On site, he was MIA; however, there were two Mexican nationals and another Transgender woman there. The two guys made the mistake of going for their weapons and were eliminated. The woman is safe and getting an expedited run through the citizenship process via the Marshals Service,” he said as a matter of fact. Then he smiled and asked, “How’d you get past the dog? I understand you did a recon of the grounds.”

“Some guy told me a story about using a bitch in heat once to get around some warlords camp that was protected by dogs,” I said, grinning. “I volunteer at an animal shelter and was lucky... How’d your guys get past the dog?”

“Tranquilizer gun,” he said. “Cleaner, quick, and honestly, no one thought about finding a bitch in heat,” he chuckled. “I wish you’d have called me after the Army booted you, Cass."

“Thanks, but I doubt I would have been in the right mindset for a job with the CIA after the Army."

“I think you’d have fit in just fine. You hid who you were; better than half the job is appearing to be someone we aren't."

I nodded my appreciation but was already thinking about my next question, "Where’s Bobby now? What about his collection of videos from these assaults?" I asked.

“I heard from Mitchell about the videos; I wish we could get them back, but by now they’re all over the internet or some dark web space, or he's got them someplace private. Where Bobby is, that’s complicated, Cass."

“How so?”

“Someone leaked to Ambassador Lu that the FBI was gearing up to make some very public inquiries about Bobby’s activities through Texas and Arizona. Then the New Orleans thing popped up right after that warning to the ambassador. It was enough for daddy to put him on a plane back to China. I was told he left last night, and it's been confirmed he is in China. Sorry,” he said, a slight pang of regret in his voice.

“And how do I rap a bow around this story, Colonel?”

“I expect you’ll summarize it as the Marshal’s Service led a raid on a building; they were tipped off to where two Transgender women were being held. The confrontation led to the deaths of two Mexican nationals. It’s an ongoing investigation. What you say about Gabriella is up to you, but for her safety, it’s probably best to not mention her or any of these women who were abducted, for that matter."

I nodded. “So I can’t implicate Bobby?”

“No solid proof, Cass; you’d be in for a liable suit if you blow his name up out there."

“And Corbino?”

“I told you, that can’t be reported on without the approval of someone well above my pay grade, and my help with that is going to depend on you helping us get those funds secured.”

“I think I’ve got a solid enough relationship with Gabriella to assist with that, but if she’s not reunited with her parents, it’s going to be impossible to get anything out of her."

He looked at his watch and said, “Less than three hours, and that will happen, Cass; you have my word."

“Thank you, Colonel."

There wasn’t anything else I could think of to ask, other than time to peck out the outline of a story, get it approved by the Feds, and then get it past Carol Black for publication. And I wanted to jump on that, but I was just too tired.

The chemistry between Flagg and me was casual and relaxed, like we were still doing our thing back in Afghanistan. He seemed genuinely interested in my life, nonjudgmental, and showed no outward disgust for who I was now. I had to wonder if he gaming me or was he being genuine?

Flagg excused himself, saying he needed to use the bathroom. I sat back to rest my eyes for just a moment, to contemplate...

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The author retains all rights to this original work of fiction.

FINAL CHAPTER?
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Saturday, June 9th, 6:51 a.m., 53 miles south and southwest of Boulder, CO
The engines throttling back woke me. Flagg was watching me get my bearings, then raised a bottle of water to his lips and finished it off.

“Get a good rest?”

Those anxiety feelings I had prior to meeting Flagg all came rushing back as if I were slapped with them all over again. I could only nod in reply. I was surprised I slept, but I was happy to get a little bit of recharging for my nearly depleted batteries. We never slept like I had just done in the Army while in the field. We always hovered above getting deep into the Zzz’s, aware of every sound, our weapons at the ready. I felt guilty for having slept and I doubted Flagg or Mitchell had clocked out.

"We should be on the ground in 10 minutes,” he said, looking out the window. “The safe house is about thirty minutes outside of the city, an old ski cabin.”

“Boulder, Sir?”

“You really aren’t very trusting, Cass; why wouldn’t we be landing in Boulder?”

“I don’t know, Sir; it’s,” I looked over towards Gabriella and Eduardo and said, “There’s a lot on the line and a lot of money. I saw the transfers happening; she nearly got to every account.”

I didn’t want to say more about this and have to dodge questions or say something without at least speaking to Gabriella. I looked at her; she was listening to the exchange and nodded. If we ended up with her parents, moot point, anything less, and it could be a problem for all of us.

“We’re landing in Boulder Cass; I gave you my word on that,” he said.

“I know, sir… I’m, I'm just not operational; it’s been awhile.”

That was so true. Would he fault me for the tactical mistakes I had made these last twenty-plus hours? Could I use being out of the Army for so long as an excuse? Excuses in the field tended to get people killed and this, whatever this OP was he was running was likely no different…

"Understood," he looking towards Gabriella and, in Spanish, said, “We are bringing you to your parents; they are being well cared for and are safe. When you’re satisfied that we’ve delivered on our promise to safely extract your family from Mexico, we’re going to need access to the account.”

In perfect English, she replied, “I understand, but your government will need to include Eduardo in their offer for protection. He cannot return to Mexico."

“I believe he wants to stick it out with you and your family, correct, Eduardo?” Flagg asked him in English.

“Yes, I would like to be included in their arrangement.”

“I figured as much and have the bandwidth to make that happen easily enough. You’re all safe; Corbino will likely be out of the picture within a week, thanks to your families' help. That’s a lot of gun, drug, and sex trafficking removed from getting across our border."

Saturday, June 9th, 7:19 a.m., Boulder, CO
Wheels on the ground, the tiny jet made its way to a large, unmarked hanger near the west side of the airport, next to one that said ‘Brungard Aviation’. I could see a group of three black Suburban’s waiting and six agents milling about.

Flagg was watching out the window also, so I decided to ask, “Marshals?”

“Yes, my team is on ‘loan’ to them while we’re stateside.”

“Understood, Sir…”

Mitchell appeared from the cockpit, smiling like a little kid, and looked over at Flagg.

“Nice landing, eh?”

“Don’t tell me they let you fly this thing again,” he said, chuckling.

"Okay, I won’t tell you that. Good landing though, right?”

“Any landing you can walk away from is a good one, Mitchell,” he replied trying to suppress a laugh.

“Ha ha ha… Screw you!”

Their playful banter continued with a few more digs at Mitchell’s expense, but was set aside quickly once the plane came to a stop and the engines were spinning down. We were ushered off the jet and secured in the middle Suburban of the caravan. No one said much of anything, and we were moving towards the airport exit in under a minute.

To set everyone at ease, each of the Marshals in our Suburban flashed their badges; all of them were “Marshal Service Marshal,” not “Marshal Service Deputy,” as Mitchell’s credentials were. I was positive now that this was the legal way for Flagg’s team to operate on US soil and not have some case, they were supporting interagency, get thrown out of court. Sneaky, but I would expect nothing less from the Colonel. I’d be interested in seeing his credentials; maybe I could stop calling him Colonel or Flagg.

Saturday, June 9th, 8:01 a.m., West Boulder, CO
We eventually got out of Boulder proper and began heading west on Highway 119, getting off of that onto Four Mile Canyon Drive and exiting that onto a dirt road that ran next to a closed yoga studio and a lodge called Boulderhaus. The dirt road took us up the north side of the canyon to a non-descript house at the end of the road. There were two other Suburban’s parked out front when we arrived.

The Marshals exited first, and when they were happy with their perimeter security, we were escorted into the house. Inside, the reunion between Gabriella’s parents and both she and Eduardo was heartwarming, if not a bit loud, and emotionally charged. Tears were flowing, and I felt a deep pang of jealousy that she had such a secure and supportive relationship with her parents. Mine were…

"Are you okay?" Flagg asked quietly as we watched the reunion from a few feet back.

“Yeah, I’m good, Sir." Was I wearing my reaction to this reunion that openly?

“Mind if we talk?" he asked, nodding toward a hallway that looked to go past the kitchen to a back door.

“Sure…”

I followed him to the door and took a seat on the patio. He looked at me for a moment, and then commented, “I’d really appreciate your help with Gabriella and securing the account... No BS, Cass, short hairs are getting pulled pretty hard right now.”

He sounded worried, and I would be too if there were over three hundred and two million dollars on the line. Certainly, a lot more than the OPthat led to my medical discharge from the Army, but likely in the scope of what I assumed were our national security interests, this OP had people’s attention up his chain of command.

“You’ve delivered, Sir; I’ll assist. But I’d like to speak with Gabriella alone; are you good with that?”

He nodded and said, “Get the account secured, and I’ll push the Corbino story access. I was thinking you could tie Corbino to the human trafficking of the women that were abducted. You can't pin anything on Bobby, but it does shed some light on the dangers to your community and how the border is less secure than it should be.”

"That’s a good angle, certainly. Thank you for the consideration, Sir... I'd like my phone; I need to check in with some people."

He hesitated. “I’m fine with that, Cass, but you can’t tell Ms. Cantor or Detective Kovachev anything about Corbino. You might not want to give either of them our address either. You want to say Gabriella is safe and the story has a finite ending? I can authorize that. Anything else," he paused, "Operationally, it could cause my team some problems, understood?”

“I do, Sir; I just want to check in to calm some nerves. No mention of your team...”

He pulled my phone from his coat pocket and handed it over.

"Figured that request was coming," he said, smiling.

I pressed the power button, and it began to boot. They hadn’t thought to check my phone after I’d handed it over to Mitchell, and since Flagg was still asking for my help, whoever had used my phone as a tracking device wasn’t actively keeping tabs on the messages being sent to it. That means I had a sliver of leverage, at least until someone woke up and realized I was gaming Flagg.

“We’ve got two Spec Ops guys out there someplace,” he said, waving his hand towards the mountainside. “Don’t go wandering off."

“Yes, Sir… Two quick calls, and then I’ll get you the account access.”

“I’d appreciate that, Cass... There is a time crunch,” he said with the slightest hint of stress in his voice as he got up and headed towards the patio door.

I nodded that I understood and watched him enter the house. When I was alone, I pulled up my text messages: four messages with two factor authentication codes, two messages from Lena, and one from Kovachev. There were at least that many missed calls from both of them and voicemails. I started with Lena.

“Cass! Where are you? Are you alright?!”

“I’m safe, as are Gabriella and her family. I can’t really expand on that, but I would guess I’ll be back in Phoenix later today.”

“Good! Something isn’t right with this story, Cass; something bigger must be going on,” she rattled off quickly. “I contacted Judge Baton and Ninth District Court Judge Billington and got warned that I needed to back away from getting involved. I know these judges personally, Cass, and they wouldn’t talk to me. They were warning me off. What the hell is going on?”

“I can’t say much, but there are international implications, and everything has worked itself out. We’re with the US Marshall Service right now, and like I said, I can’t see why I won’t be home later today, probably tonight. I’ll let you know when I know something firm on that.”

“Okay, well, that’s good news and all, but you need to be careful, Cass. I’ve been worried sick since you called this morning,” she complained. “And you turned your damn phone off!”

“I know, you said not to do that, but I’ll explain why it was necessary when I see you—promise. I’m so sorry I involved you, Lena; I promise to make it up to you." I gulped. Here comes the hard part: “I hate to do this, but I really need to go. This was the first chance I got to make any calls, and you were my first call. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Three promises in the span of ten seconds? You’re going to owe me more than a nice dinner, Cass," she said, trying to sound less worried, but I could still hear it in her voice—the concern hadn’t gone away.

“I would really like that... Dinner and owing you..." My heart was swelling, and I felt that lump in my throat grow.

Saturday, June 9th, 8:23 a.m., West Boulder, CO
“Ruiz? Where are you?”

"Boulder..." He already knew that was where I was going with Mitchell, so it wasn’t a tactical slip. “Hopefully back in Phoenix later today. I wanted to call and let you know Gabriella is safe and I’ve been briefed on the abduction story, but before I get my story updated for your PIO,” I left out, maybe needing the State Department’s blessing if I was given the go-ahead to wrap Corbino in this story, “I’m wondering if you could tell me what you were told by the Marshall Service?”

He hesitated a second, as if considering my request, but parroted back to me the same story Flagg had laid at my feet.

“Did they tell you differently?" he asked.

“No… That’s exactly what I was told. Something seems off though,” I said, wondering how far I could push him for information without showing him any of my cards.

“Yeah, this whole case doesn’t feel right. The two Mexicans who were killed in the raid on that building they held Gabriella led us nowhere—no gang affiliations, no cartel connections, nothing. There will be no inquiry into the ‘justification’ of those deaths either, which in this day seems is more problematic for law enforcement, but this case feels like way more is going on.

“In fact, it’s been my experience that when you’ve got nothing on the surface, it means the bulk of the iceberg is under water and unseen. It’s unlikely the two men killed were the masterminds behind abducting Trans women here, in Texas, or anywhere for that matter. I don’t like this, but I’ve got other cases I need to move on too. The Asian connection is an unsolved mystery at this point,” he said, sounding a little dejected and maybe realizing that the return on investment of his time wasn’t worth pursuing this case any further.

If he only knew...

“Sorry about that... I don’t do enough work with law enforcement to know the intricacies of what makes someone a good criminal,” I replied, hoping that was enough opening for him to give me an in to ask a question.

“Be glad you don't; the criminal element operating around here can really make you question humanity."

Here goes nothing...

“I’m sure… Have you heard the name Corbino before?”

“Corbino? Why do you ask?”

“Two of the Marshalls mentioned that name, but I didn’t hear what they were saying about him," I replied as if the question was an off-handed curiosity on my part.

“That’s an interesting name to be speaking, especially right now. A CI (confidential informant) for another detective mentioned this morning that someone had made a play for Corbino’s business. I don't know to what extent, but his name being tossed around by you is certainly curious. Are you sure you didn’t hear anything else?”

I ignored the question, “Is that common, cartels pushing out other cartels?” It was my attempt to show him I didn’t know more than just a name.

“When they are big enough to impose their will, it is,” he paused, “But this takeover doesn’t sound right; there was mention of Chinese backing, which would be an interesting twist if true."

“The Chinese, in Mexico? That doesn’t sound right."

“You must not keep up with China’s global expansion efforts,” he quipped.

“I keep up on current events, Detective; I tend to gloss over conspiracy theory bullshit." I swung back at his dig.

“You might want to look into the WH Group and their 2013 purchase made in this country. Maybe look into who’s pouring money into the Panama Canal. I don’t buy theories easily, Ruiz, but facts tend to strengthen truths. China is expanding and stretching its grasp on the world quietly and subtly.”

“Okay, let’s say the Chinese took out Corbino. Why? What do they gain?”

“Do you think Mexico produces fentanyl in quantities that make it worth their effort?" he began, not waiting for an answer before rolling onto his point. “No, they don't; at least the smarter cartels don’t bother with it. Mexico has nearly no control over their ports, so importing fentanyl is as easy as China shipping computers or toys to the US, maybe even easier. The fentanyl goes directly to the cartels to move north through the border at a cost to China. Wipe out the middleman and increase your profits,” he said, taking a breath. “I’m hypothesizing; the CI is probably mistaken about a Chinese connection to Corbino being taken down. But the ease at which they can get drugs across our border does screw this country. They are making a play subtly for world dominance whether you believe that or not.”

“I guess we will see..." I said, wanting to get off this call now and having something else to chew on. I hated having conspiracy theory arguments. To my knowledge, our greatest threat from China was their military, or maybe their holding of loans for all we borrowed. Whatever…

“I guess we shall. When you get back to Phoenix, call me; I’d like to go over some legal aspects of this case.” He added before I could question him, “You won’t need Ms. Cantor; you’re not in any trouble, but I have paperwork to get handled and will likely need an official statement from you and a couple signatures... All that will end up on microfiche or some hard drive in some vault and barely be a blip on anyone’s radar.”

He was not taking the dead end that this case appeared to be very well.

“I can come down to see you, but I think I’d like my lawyer there with me; it can’t hurt,” I said, smiling, thinking he probably didn’t like that response.

“As you wish... Safe travels, Ms. Ruiz, and thank you for working with me.”

“You’re welcome, Detective. I appreciated getting to work with you also.

“Stay safe…”

“I’m doing my best."

Saturday, June 9th, 8:39 a.m., West Boulder, CO
The line went dead, and when I turned to the patio door, Gabriella was standing in the kitchen, looking out at me through the kitchen window. I waved for her to come out. She did…

“I didn’t want to disturb your call."

“Just touching base with Detective Kovachev,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s got some paperwork I’ll need to get reviewed and signed. How are your parents?”

“They are relieved I’m here and safe,” she hesitated, “But they do not know about the abduction. I’ve made Eduardo promise not to say anything. I told them my lip was split and the bruises were from slipping in the desert while getting to Phoenix. I told them we met by chance, and you helped me when I had lost everything except the SD card."

"Gotcha—lost everything, helped out. But Eduardo knows what really happened. How does he feel about that?”

“He is still unhappy,” she said, lowering her head. “He did not have time to handle that problem before Corbino’s men came for him."

“The consequences you asked me about? You set that in motion with him; he was going to handle your coyote problem?" I asked softly, no judgment in my voice or tone.

She could only nod and say, “The coyote I used to get across the border recognized Eduardo; he was with me the night I met this man and said something to someone in Corbino’s organization. They came for him and tried to kill him, but the man you call Flagg was able to get him to safety and medical attention. I feel very guilty for this...”

I was close enough to her to put a hand on her shoulder, “Let all of that go... You’re about to get a new life,” I said, lifting her chin. “Right? And it sounds like he wants to stick around and be there for you. Take the win! You’ve got so much to be thankful for, and I’m so excited for you! Your life is going to really start moving in the direction you’ve always dreamed of."

She tried to smile and hugged me, whispering, “Thank you, Cass... Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’m sorry to have made this so difficult.”

“Don’t worry about it... But,” I paused, “There is the matter of some money that needs to be secured. I need to speak with Flagg and get him that access. I know this man, and you can trust what he tells you. If he says you’ll be safe, he will deliver," I said as if I were a cheerleader for the CIA, Flagg, or our government.

“Yes, he has earned my trust... Do you want me to tell him?" she asked.

“No, let me... I’ve got some questions I need to ask him before we give him his prize." I smiled and hugged her quickly, “Oh, and the SD card—is this something I should hold onto or give to him?”

“He will find many pieces of information my father gathered on there that will be of interest,” she smiled slyly.

Okay, Flagg isn’t getting that until I snap a copy of it onto my laptop.

Saturday, June 9th, 9:05 a.m., West Boulder, CO
I’d seen Flagg after Gabriella and I came back inside; he was on the phone but quickly wrapped up talking to whoever was on the line. On the surface, he might not look stressed, but I felt like he was hovering—was that a sign? Things were about to start moving quickly to the end game. He gave me a look, and I nodded to the door I’d just come in. Once alone on the patio again, I didn’t waste any time.

“I’ve got your access, Colonel, but I need to understand Corbino, and I want to tell that story."

Bold move, bold ask? Was I pushing the bounds of any professional relationship we had?

Flagg thought about it for a moment: “I can’t authorize that, Cass, but I can push it up the chain, and with some oversight on what you’d like to report, maybe they’d go for it. I really am not in control of that decision, but I promise to lobby for you.”

“I understand, Sir, and thank you... Is this because Corbino’s takedown has Chinese implications or support?”

There was the slightest movement of his brow as if I’d just about hit the target, ranging that target with a long-distance sniper rifle round.

“The Chinese? Why would they be involved, Cass? Corbino was our OP.”

“I don’t know; that’s why I’m asking."

Was I pushing my luck with that lame retort?

“What makes you think I would know whether the Chinese were involved?”

“Because it’s your OP. Because Bobby the Chinese Ambassador’s son was hanging out in Arizona and Texas with Mexican nationals, no one can pin him to any group or organization. It seems a little suspicious, Sir." I thought I sounded as though I was whining, so I added, “Drugs coming north are straight out of China for the most part.”

He thought about that, pursed his lips as if he were going to say something, and then thought better of it: “I don’t know where you got this intel from, Kovachev maybe, but it’s not going to catch you anything, Cass. There’s no connection between this OP and the Chinese, loosely speaking. Red herring..."

I wasn’t sure I believed that.

“Okay, loosely then, but the fact that fentanyl comes straight from China can’t be ignored. So, why would we want to knock Corbino off his throne? What do we really gain? Three hundred and two million dollars? It makes no sense."

"China—fentanyl—that's ‘loosely’ and as much as I can comment on because I don’t know much about that, loosely speaking, mind you. The decision to hack Corbino off at the knees was handed down way above my pay grade. The money is just part of sticking to a cartel shithead,” he offered.

“No, not buying that, Colonel..." I was about to dig my heels in.

He chuckled as if knowing that’s what I was doing, “What part? I don’t make decisions about the covert operations I’m assigned to. Maybe you just have to ask the right questions if you’re looking for answers." He looked as if he were contemplating something, and then smiled, “Any news stories of late that you could tie to this mess?”

Huh? Right questions? I’m asking good questions! Was he baiting me with stories about current events? No, I did... Oh fuck!

“The President’s son?”

Flagg smiled and shrugged as if he were impressed that the long-distance sniper round had now hit maybe an outer ring of the target.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

My reply, pursed lips for a moment, then, “Is there a question in there?”

My mind was spinning; the story of the President’s son went something like, Fuck! The kid was at some, and I couldn’t recall the entire story because I tuned out those morning news staff ‘kudo’ meetings while Carol Black was 'rah rah' praising Kevin. Damn it!

“Is the President’s son really an addict?" I finally asked, pulling that question out of my ass and verbalizing it even though I knew it was lame.

"Would take someone with real juice to set this OP in motion, wouldn’t you think?”

Not an answer to the question, but then it hit me what had been reported. The kid’s security detail was around when the Tucson Police and DEA were making a drug bust and assisted in the takedown! Reportedly, the President’s son wasn’t around and was never in any danger. More likely, the kid was buying and stepped into a sting operation, but then there was, of course, the political spin. Good God!

“Colonel, I don’t buy right-wing conspiracy bullshit."

He interrupted me, “I can assure you, in this instance, no fucking wing sanctioned this OP."

“Then it’s a cover-up, a redirection of attention? Retaliation maybe? All with the benefit of maybe doing some good by stopping shit from coming across our borders, which us news reporting lemmings will lap up eagerly, spinning it to benefit the President. Is that what you’re selling me here?”

“Cass, if you want the Corbino story—that last piece about ‘doing some good shit'—is the only way you’ll get and spin it. Otherwise, kiss this story goodbye. You think after I run your request up the chain, they are going to let you rip the guy running this country or blow their narrative? Come on, ain’t happening,” he motioned a hand towards the door. “Let’s talk accounts?”

Fuck! How deep was this fucking rabbit hole?

Saturday, June 9th, 9:49 a.m., West Boulder, CO
Flagg, Mitchell, and I gathered in the laundry/mudroom that was between the kitchen area and garage. Mitchell already had the banking site up on the laptop when he set it down on the washing machine, entered the credentials, hit enter, and turned to look at me. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, pulled it out, and after unlocking it, navigated to messages and brought up the code.

Mitchell just stared at me.

“Fuck you!" he yelled angrily inches from my face, droplets of spittle hitting me, his eyes dark and menacing. He turned and stormed out of the cramped little room we were in, bumping me none too kindly as he exited and slammed the door. My shoulder began to throb from the contact he’d made bumping into me.

That shook me, and meekly I looked at Flagg and shrugged, having zero confidence in myself, and could only say, “I’m sorry, Colonel; I figured your team would have picked up on this sooner... My mission was to protect Gabriella, keep her confidence, and see this play out. Mitchell didn’t make working with him something I could trust, Sir. I had no idea you were involved and had considered even reaching out to you a number of times but got swept up in the current. I’m… I’m not operational, far from it."

Flagg moved to the computer, entered the code, and navigated around the site, confirming there was actually a pile of money there—three hundred and two million dollars. Next, he went to settings and changed the authentication phone number from mine to another. That couldn’t be accomplished without yet verifying another code sent to my phone, which hadn’t moved. He typed the code, hit enter, and a popup message appeared on the screen. The laptop was running a mirroring app for the phone number he’d changed the authentication to. A code was entered, and he hit the enter key.

The account was now secured; he logged out, closed the laptop, and finally looked at me.

"Mitchell is an ex-DELTA operator. I trust that man with my life, much like I thought I could trust you, Cass,” he began, the disappointment in his voice just barely perceptible. “What was your game?”

“My game?”

“Yeah, what did you gain from playing both sides in this?" he asked quietly.

“The mission objective - that Gabriella is safe and has been reunited with her family; I would imagine that is what was negotiated: get them all out of Mexico in exchange for financially kicking Corbino where it hurts. I stepped in not knowing the beginning OP details, so I winged it. Mitchell may not like me much right now, but my integrity is intact, Sir. I completed my mission, he did also - though in more of a round-about way," I answered without really thinking any of that out.

“And ‘if’,” he emphasized the word heavily, “Her parents had just kept her with them as planned, none of this crap would have been necessary!” His anger was showing through now.

“Understood, but I… I think she was their safety valve, their marker to make sure you, our government, delivered, for them helping you to take down Corbino,” I replied sheepishly.

There was some hesitation, restraint, but he continued, “You remember our after-action briefings in the 'stan?" he asked. I nodded I did and he continued, “This was Mitchell’s first command and control OP, I..." I could tell he was trying not to lose his shit right now. “He’s been training with me for four years. I had my hands in things, but he ran this operation, and he made the decisions on everything that was laid out, including the x-fil of Eduardo and me from Mexico. Want to guess what kind of hit your stunt just did to his confidence and the other assets under his control?”

Fuck! Okay, I feel bad a little now for playing this guy, but I... Wait—that's the nature of any covert OP. Shit goes sideways, you get a fucked-up hand, you adjust...

“Then he learned a valuable lesson, Colonel.”

Flagg looked as though he liked my answer, but I really had zero confidence in it—other than at this moment, that was how I felt. Later, when I replayed this conversation, maybe I’d feel differently and have answered differently.

My life now had different parameters I needed to navigate—OP’s, protecting the lives of people in my unit—all distant memories that did not apply to who I was now. My biggest risk to losing my life was a car accident by some old snowbird on the roads in Phoenix or running into the wrong character while in public hell bent to snuff out my existence because I was Trans. Fuck them all and fuck Mitchell! I did what I... What I did was what I needed to do, and as best I could given being out of the game for so long!

Flagg picked up the laptop and headed for the door.

“Sir, what now?”

He stopped, not facing me, and replied, “We’ll get you back to Phoenix. Better hope Mitchell isn’t the one flying you back.”

He reached for the handle and disappeared into the house. If I had to guess, this would be the last time I would probably see Flagg. That thought hurt more than I expected, and I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. I shut the door to the mudroom and sat with my back against it, silently sobbing. Everything that had happened these last however many hours was just too much to bear at this moment.

I wasn’t the same person I was six years ago; every fiber of my being had made a shift to who I was now. The emotional toll of being pulled back into that past life would be hard to deal with. This pain was going to be difficult to reconcile, just like being kicked out of the Army. Just like transitioning. My sobbing alone left me feeling emptier than I'd felt in a long time...

Saturday, June 9th, 10:25 a.m., West Boulder, CO
It took longer than I thought to compose myself and get off the damn floor. Eventually I got up and searched the mudroom cabinets above the washer and dryer set to find something—anything to clean up a bit. I found an old towel that looked clean, and I went about trying to clean my face from the dust and grime of...

My phone buzzed, a text from Lena asking what was going on and replied:

‘They are getting ready to bring me home. I can't wait to see you!’

Which was true, but I was struggling to hold my shit together right now, tearing up again just typing that text message out.

Lena: ‘I can’t wait to see you too!’

I lost it all over again after getting that reply and began sobbing quietly. A knock at the door and a tentative Gabriella poking her head in to see what was going on brought Titanic efforts to stiffen my upper lip in me. I made it appear that I was just washing my face off in the sink and couldn’t bring myself to look at her for fear I would flood the room with even more tears. Breathe, just breathe...

“Are you alright?” she asked.

I steadied myself at the laundry sink and shrugged.

“Good enough." My voice holding, praying she wouldn’t tip me over with some kind word or whatever.

“My father is with Mitchell and your Flagg; I’m worried they are unhappy that we did not do as they wanted,” she said quietly.

I huffed out a slow breath.

“Yeah, well, they weren’t too happy with me either, I suppose. I’m out of here soon. How’s Eduardo?”

“He is resting," she replied.

“That’s good,” I said, turning towards her and trying to pat my face dry with the damp towel. It felt good, but I didn’t want her to think I had been crying. I’m sure my face looked pale, even though my skin had that natural Latina brown hue even without makeup.

“Did you want to shower? I can give something to change into; the clothes you bought for me should fit, yes?"

I tried to smile, I'm sure it looked fake...

“That sounds great, but at this point I’m spent, Gabriella. The tank is empty, and I just want to get home. I’ve got a story to write yet, and I’m sure my editor is going to be a bitch about it,” I said, trying to chuckle.

“Come, my mother is cooking some food... At least eat.”

Saturday, June 9th, 11:41 a.m., West Boulder, CO
My belly was full, and all I wanted to do was get back to Phoenix to see Lena, shower first, and then get lost in her embrace for a week. I got part of my wish soon enough—a trip to the airport by the Marshal’s Service.

Saying goodbye to Gabriella was harder than I thought it was going to be, and really, we just both hugged and cried in each other’s arms. Her mom was the one to console us both, hugging me and profusely thanking me for watching out for daughter. If she only knew to what depths, that hug might be a little tighter than it already was...

And then it was time to say goodbye to Flagg. We both needed time to process, at least I did. He said he would run my request for the Corbino story up the chain and would reach out. I thanked him for that, but I could tell there was something different between us now, something lost.

He had one parting bit of advice: “Keep looking for those answers to your questions; you never know what you might stumble onto."

I got a smirk out of him with that last offering. Cryptic certainly, but that was Flagg—a riddle rolled in, whatever. Nothing else was exchanged between us; I didn’t even ask what he was trying to get at I was so spent and drained from this experience. I got a firm, quick handshake and was escorted out of the house to a waiting Suburban by two US Marshal Service agents. Mitchell and Gabriella’s father—MIA, Eduardo, too for that matter.

I felt empty beyond anything I could recall, a different kind of empty, similar to when I was struggling with who I was and my decision to get my gender righted. I needed to soldier on somehow—if that was even possible since I was nowhere near being what a soldier was anymore or could have been back when I was one for that matter. Was Flagg’s advice one last attempt at getting me to hold onto that past life? Unknown…

I had texted Lena on the way to the airport and gave her an estimated time I’d be in Scottsdale. She was quick to reply and added that we’d be alone tonight because of my promise to make things up to her. That meant she’d talked to Marisa and likely put the 'sock' on the door handle for us. I chuckled and sent her three heart emoji’ in return.

I was the only passenger on this flight to Phoenix. There's no reason to think I was going elsewhere, though I’m sure Mitchell would have been happy to have dumped me in Mexico with the aftermath of Corbino’s shit storm going on now.

See you later, Boulder! I thought as the engine began spinning up louder and louder. I watched as the pilots secured the cabin; one even threw me a ‘thumbs up’, which I returned. This felt like the proverbial rock bottom, though, I felt more like I was in a ‘thumbs down’ mood right now.

How much of my life was just one big lie? Had I just faked my way through this ordeal with Gabriella? The woman I was now conflicted with the soldier I was once... And for what—a glimpse at a story? Was all of this just a measure of who I really was? Did I even know? I need to get a grip and stop the spinning. Fuck it…

Yeah, fuck it! Fuck you, Flagg, Mitchell, Corbino... And as if slapped across the face out of nowhere, I got it! I got what Flagg was trying to tell me. Wait! The plane jostled and began moving. I need the internet, I needed to research something. Phone—this thing would work in the air, right? Better on my laptop!

I bolted to the still-open cockpit door and said, “Hey, there’s internet on this thing, right?”

I already knew the answer, but not how to access it.

The older of the two pilots replied, “Credentials are taped up in the closet right there to your left by the entrance or in the galley, maybe on the refer,” he said, unsure of that last location. “Have at it... Your phone should work too, by the way. We’re roughly two hours out of Scottsdale. There might be some food in the back still; make yourself comfortable."

“Appreciate that… You want this door closed?”

“Nah, unless you’re concerned about it?”

“You’re my Uber out of here; I’m good with whatever; just get me home,” I said, sparked with a new-found purpose and energy.

That got me a couple chuckles from the two of them and a crack about Mitchell’s landing. I rolled my eyes and went to get the credentials for the internet.

Saturday, June 9th, 12:01 p.m., in route to Scottsdale Airport, 23 miles south of Boulder, CO
It took nearly no effort to confirm I understood Flagg’s cryptic message to me before leaving the safe house in Boulder. My first search, thank you Google, was whether there was any news in Mexico regarding a car bomb.

The first listing in the search results was a car bombing in Mexicali, Mexico, that occurred last night, killing a husband and wife. Not really that far from Phoenix, I mused. I clicked the link and read the highlights: car bomb; two dead; husband and wife; identification withheld pending notification of their family; suspicious nature; property damage; no other casualties; and of course, ‘Yet another bombing having all the earmarks of cartel justice—Corbino justice. When will the government step in to curb the drugs and human trafficking to the United States?’

Even the Mexican press corps was calling this a cartel strike on innocents by Corbino, and that was some bold ass shit! Calling out the government! Oh fuck!

Kudos to Flagg for pulling off the bombing and not injuring anyone else—likely making it easy for whomever was going to investigate this to confirm it was Gabriella’s parents. Offhandedly Flagg made it so I could tie Corbino into my story of Gabriella abduction—without every detail, of course, by suggesting I look to see if the questions were already asked. I still had to keep her safe, but as Gabriella Estrada, we’d reported that as her name, it was most certainly not the last name of her parents, the two dead in the car bombing. That’s why Kovachev couldn’t find anything on her during his investigation.

I could assign blame for the abductions to Corbino without State Department buy-in and sprinkle the China/cartel connection to drugs coming across the border in support of the President and the recent Tucson drug bust his kid was probably in the middle of.

Had I just put a bow on all of this and gotten closure?

I opened up a new Word document and began banging out the outline of a story. I rolled Gabriella's story into a blend of US Marshals Service heroics—he'd given me a name to use as heading up the freeing of the other Trans woman held with Gabriella—and I tied the smuggling of women and kids across the border to the work of Mexican cartels—Corbino specifically. That last detail might get me some pushback from Carol Black, but I’d worked it into being a fact through the Marshal Service connection.

I didn’t need to involve Kovachev or the Phoenix Police; I had jumped a level above them by using the Marshal Service and the Mexican press. And my final point, my ‘get on the lemming, tow the line’ point Flagg had made—that the US Marshal Service had delivered yet again on our President's promise to clean up the border. Some wouldn’t like that, but Flagg had said the Corbino takedown was pushed from the highest levels; why not get ahead of that? Maybe get less pushback or ire from the POTUS political machine?

Proofread—a minor rewrite on something I probably could have just as easily left alone—and I was satisfied. I emailed it to Carol and then got her on the phone.

“Cassidy? Where are you?" she asked.

“Hey Carol, sorry to bother you on Saturday, but this Gabriella story took some unexpected turns, and I’ve got a breakthrough—a real story. I sent you a draft; would you mind taking a look and seeing if it’s worthy of pushing up to the site?” I held my breath.

“I can do that,” she said, sounding confused. “Are you calling from inside a tunnel or something?”

I couldn’t tell her where I was, so I just blamed it on my phone. She bought it and clicked off the line. Ten minutes later, she was calling me back, questions in hand. I must have had the right answers because she said that other than a sentence that was maybe a little ambiguous—which she proposed a change for, and I agreed with the rewrite—the story was good to move up. She said she would handle it and that she appreciated the careful and tactful focus I’d given to this kind of crime. She was certain Mike Beaty would approve too.

I was blown away, speechless to the point she had to ask, "Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah… Ah, my phone is really acting up. I’m sorry."

“Alright, good. I’d like you to consider a feature targeting these kinds of crimes, but I’d like it to be wider than just the Trans community. I imagine this kind of crap happens within all LGBTQ+ factions."

Speechless again, but I didn’t diddle around before replying, “I would appreciate taking that on Carol. I know of a few other staff at The PI (Post-Intelligencer) that could assist, but I can outline that after talking with them. ”

Wait a second? Factions? I didn’t like that label.

“I know we’ve got many of those ‘letters’ covered in our place of work, Cassidy, so do as you see fit. Monday, after our staff meeting, let’s discuss this some more. Excellent work, excellent work."

Shocked, speechless again to get a compliment from her, but I had a point to make: “Thank you and I look forward to working with you on this... I do want to state that those 'letters' are not a faction and not anything but real people just wanting to live a life without fear, hate, or discrimination..."

She interrupted me, “Cassidy, I’m one of those 'letters'..." Her voice steeled to the Carol Black I thought was angry all the time hit me, “I often feel like I’m looked at as part of a faction, an abomination, so don't put too much thought into my poor choice of words; it wasn’t meant as derogatory."

Whoa! Carol was one of us 'letters'. I was yet again blown away as I had no idea and hadn't heard anyone even speculate something like that about her.

“Alright then... We will discuss our tribes’ issues Monday then,” I concluded.

“I look forward to it, Cassidy; I feel like it will be liberating for us both."

“I concur…”

Carol signed off, and I sat dumbfounded, just looking at my phone absently. Wow…

Saturday, June 9th, 1:59 p.m., Scottsdale Airport, AZ
We were on the ground, and I was up at the front of this flying tin can as we taxied to where I’d gotten on this ride. I could see Lena by her car; she had her phone in hand. She then looked towards the plane. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Lena: 'Get off that damn plane!'

I couldn’t help but smile. Then I got out of the way of the pilot, or co-pilot for that matter, to pop the door and wave me out. I looked back at my seat, I had everything and wasted no time getting down the stairs and over to her. She was taken aback—a flash of shock mixed with deep worry given my appearance—but happy to get her arms around me in time for me to completely lose any composure I thought I might have seeing her.

Tears that would not stop, sobs that racked my bones, and her voice in my ear telling me, “I’ve got you..."

Saturday, June 9th, 2:43 p.m., Scottsdale, AZ
First course of business: a long, long shower. I had stubble on my legs and I happily shaved those troubles down the drain, hopefully with some of my regrets. Hair washed, conditioned, and every inch scrubbed twice—I was beginning to feel human, like the woman I was—less like the soldier I had escaped all those years ago and pretended to be the last day or so.

When I got out of the shower, there was a glass of wine on the double vanity, and I saw Lena staring at me from the corner of the bed—almost as I had done the last time I was here and she caught me staring at her. I took a sip of the wine—damn good wine, I might add—and raised the glass to her.

“Your story has been posted; I just finished reading it,” she said.

“And?”

“And I am ‘not’ happy that you got yourself mixed up in that mess, Cass."

I had a bath towel wrapped tightly under my arms over my breasts that made the lower part of my body look somehow like a botched magician’s illusion because of the way the towel hung. My hair was a complete wet mop, dripping absently everywhere. What could I do, say? I shrugged…

“You know, you’re beautiful,” she said.

Oh crap… My chin dropped, and again, I was a blithering wreck of tears and sobbing.

She had me in her arms quickly, “Hey, hey..." she cooed, taking my face in her hands. “Easy Cass... You’re safe; you’re with me now."

She took my hand and led me to the bed, got me sitting, and let me have that moment of weakness. I got to cleanse the last few days away and happily let her comfort me. She cared for me, I could feel it in my bones.

“I’m sorry, Lena..." I eventually got out, but then I rode another wave of emotions I couldn’t quite tap.

She had my face again, brushed away tears, kissed my cheeks, kissed my lips, and then kissed me deeply. I greedily took from her, my arms pulling her awkwardly closer until we clumsily fell back onto the bed, her face eventually even with mine after some fine adjustments of our bodies.

“I hadn’t thought the payback wouldn’t start this quickly, but," she kissed me again. “I know you’re probably tired; we don't…"

I kissed her to shut her up, and she had her answer as to what I wanted. She dug at the folds of my towel and got it partially off. I rolled and lifted a shoulder to help her, and the towel went flying.

Naked and wanting—not completely the woman I wanted to be—but she didn’t care, and truth be told, I didn’t either right now. We both took a breath, and while I moved to get onto the bed proper, she was stripping off her blouse, dispensing of the bra in a flash, and gliding down her jeans and panties with barely a breath taken by either of us.

I reached for her and pulled her on top of me, and we were yet again kissing like love-struck teenagers. Her hands found my breasts—so gentle, a warmth in that touch, affirming, and sensual. Her hips were slowly grinding over that last proof that I was male—even if I couldn’t achieve a much of an erection—though I could get close with enough stimuli, like right now! There was fear it would happen to quickly, like the other times we’d been together.

My orgasms prior to this moment were all embarrassingly quick with her and in my mind I kept trying to stay calm while my senses were being bombarded from multiple points of stimuli. Her body on mine was a blur of deep sensations, excitement, lust, and I could sense I was closing in on that climax—even just a minute into our passions. That final wave—the hit, the rush—was coming, and I didn’t want it to be over like those other times.

I rolled to my left, and she followed, and I was on top of her. I pushed up away from her, looking into her caring eyes, our breasts playing a game of tag, and leaned in to slowly, sensually kiss her. Our nipples touching sent sparks between us as we jockeyed for more, to give, and to feel that connection. We were two women giving their everything to one another.

Her moans were in concert with mine, and I felt the need to distract myself from the eventual finale approaching. I broke our kiss and moved down her lean frame to her breasts. To say anything but they we’re 'spectacular' would do them injustice. I did not linger and kept kissing and licking to where my fingers had found the depths of her arousal.

She bucked as my tongue licked that first taste of her love, and again from the pressure I put between those lips. I sucked at them, and my reward was her hands wrapped in my wet hair, guiding me, willing me to push her ever closer to her plateau, and when I had gotten her there, a moan and subtle shaking of her body was my reward.

But that was just the beginning. I was fighting her will, her hands in my hair, my own wants to please her battling her directions to get her more from my actions. I wanted to satisfy her, while basking in her revelry. I swear it felt like I was in a dream; this couldn’t possibly be real.

"Wait,” she huffed, almost as if she were outside her body.

I did not wait; my finger entered her slowly and easily. She stiffened and mashed my eager lips into her with that death grip in my hair, and the shuddering was intense, way beyond what I was expecting.

"Fuck, Cass,” she hissed. “Jessssus,” she moaned slowly a moment later.

Had she spoken? I was too far gone, and the flicking of my tongue on her clit, the brushing of my fingers over and against her labia, as one finger was now two inside of her. Gentle pressure, searching for the right, pressure at that spot... And through cries and moans, I felt my own plateau had been reached. I was stiffening instinctively as I felt warmth at my own hips, and that familiar glow as it was waning quickly.

Focus… I quickened every action and every movement, and she responded, awash in her own glories.

I had climaxed while moving in sync with Lena and it was glorious!

Saturday, June 9th, 3:06 p.m., Scottsdale, AZ
I had fallen asleep in her arms, but she moved, and I woke with a startle.

“I’m sorry… I gotta pee,” she whispered, sliding away from me. “You can sleep some more; it’s okay." I must have had a lustful look because she continued, “Ah, I don’t think I’ve climaxed like that since, hell, when I was in my twenties."

Her smile was infectious, and I couldn’t help but return it.

“I’m glad, because somewhere in there I hit a mark that was pretty moving for me too."

“I noticed a spot on the comforter that wasn’t near anything I had going on." She snuck back over and kissed me quickly. “I’m happy I could do that for you, but I didn’t really do anything. You did all the work..." she chuckled, then said, “Gotta pee, gotta pee! Something else?”

“Go… Go pee… I was just going to say I’m hungry."

“Why didn’t you just say that? We can figure that out when I get back..." She ran a hand over my right breast as she trotted off to the bathroom.

A flushing sound from the bathroom, followed by the sink being run, and she was back, playfully placing her them on my breasts as she kneeled on the bed.

“Hey now, cold hands!” I complained.

“You’ve got tits I would kill for!”

“Thanks, I guess... Trade them for..." I tried to reach between her legs, but she slid back on the bed playfully out of reach.

“Yeah, yeah… You’ll have one of these one day and not want this old one."

The hurt on my face at that comment must have been way too evident because she followed up by hugging me, then apologizing. I forgave her and changed the subject to make her feel better to getting something to eat. I was hungry, and said maybe after food we could satisfy another hunger - again.

Sunday, June 10th, 1:25 a.m., Scottsdale, AZ
Lena and I were similar in size, but her daughter and I were probably more so. I complained about borrowing a hoody and sweat pants that were her daughters, but happily accepted a pair of Lena’s panties to wear while my stuff was in the wash. Won’t lie, something oddly erotic about wearing one’s girlfriend's panties, I thought to myself after she left me with everything to get dressed in. We didn’t argue about need to wear bras, which seemed in line with both our wants.

Uber Eats brought us a meal, and we polished off one bottle of wine—she had opened a second, and...

I woke with a start and looked around. I was on the couch and alone, still at Lena’s, still wearing Marissa’s clothes, but alone. I panicked, stood quickly, and carefully climbed the stairs to Lena’s room. The door was open, and she was sound asleep. The relief washing over me made me shudder.

Unfortunately, I was now wide awake now. I considered crawling into bed with her, but I now needed to pee.

I retreated back downstairs, answered the call of nature, grabbed a glass of water, and decided to log into work to check out how my story was being received. Well, very well, judging by the hit counts and comments, which ranged from thanking those in service of our country (the US Marshal Service) to POTUS. Not too many crazy comments, but it was early yet. I wondered if we’d get this one picked up by affiliates.

Then I thought about the Colonel. Would he be proud that I didn’t take this story elsewhere and figured out his cryptic hint? I had a quick pang of guilt thinking about Flagg, but decided to see if there were any emails I needed to worry about instead of dwelling on that. Nope, just a bunch of praise for a well-written story—even Valeria had sent me a note.

I reached for the screen, intent on closing it up, and remembered the SD card Gabriella had given me. I should have just given that over to Flagg. But I raised a eyebrow to no one, since I was alone; and thought it couldn't hurt to peek at what was on it.

I found the card and inserted it into my computer, and Windows automatically opened up an Explorer panel. I could see the document Gabriella had worked from and a single folder that said “Facturas” (Invoices). Double-click, and there were easily hundreds of pictures. Okay, what are we looking at here? I changed the view to “Extra Large Icons," but everything just looked like pictures of paper—invoices, pretty much - duh.

Double-clicked the first one—some chemical I’d never heard of, ‘tert-butyl 4-(phenylamino) piperidine-1-carboxylate’. Whatever. The company it came from was CPR Holdings, out of Chongqing, China. Interesting… I searched for the company and found it was run by BF Kong. Eh, not familiar; would it matter if it was? The chemical search, though, that had Google screaming ‘fentanyl’ is a dozen ways just on the first page of results. Not good…

I scrolled down the folder of invoices and picked the last one; the company was Zheng Arms Limited of Anyang, China. The founder was someone named Q'Sung Lu. That name sounded familiar and turned out to be because this guy was related to Xi Sung Lu, the ambassador from China Flagg talked about. That’s certainly an interesting connection. Gun maker, China, cartel in Mexico that just got kicked in the ball by Flagg... Hmmm, no connection to China? And all I could think was that Flagg had said, 'loosely' when I tried to pin a connection to his OP and China. Bastard...

I checked out what Corbino had received—one hundred cases of twenty each of something designated as ‘191 Series’ and the initials QBZ further down the page, separate from the ‘191’ that looked like some kind of designation code. No clue what I was looking at...

I searched Zheng Arms, and their non-descript website said they made guns—after I let the Chrome browser translate. The site was a single page with pretty much a phone number and address. Lots of help, guys... That was a waste of time. I searched ‘191 Series’ and got hits for a book by Harry Turtledove—yeah, probably didn’t order cases of books. I then did a search on ‘QBZ’, and a nasty-looking weapon of war was returned in the results. Fuck…

I made the call, but surprisingly, there was an answer: “Ruiz, you were about to be my next call?”

“Okay, but first, you might have a bigger problem, Sir... China isn’t loosely an issue, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“You still aren't asking the right questions."

FIN -

Actually... Not the end, but the follow-up to this story is slow to get moving due to other projects. Hang in there, keep coming back to Big Closet, and I'll wrap this story up for good in a sequel or maybe get it set for yet another set of questions. Thank you for giving this work of fiction a chance.

R

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