Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,140
men? “You know the King of Jordan? You guys have operators inside Saudi Arabia? Christ, how many agents are working my case?”
“All of them,” Alex answered evenly.
Sullivan held up three fingers. “Just me and the Sin Boys.”
Walker sagged back in his seat, humbled. Pride was a damned hard thing to swallow. “How… how many’s that, Alex?”
He crossed his ankles and settled one hip to Walker’s desk. “Let me tell you a story, Agent Judge. A few years back, my TEAM tangled with a syndicate out of China. The Black Dragons. Worst damned case of child abuse I’ve ever seen. We rescued hundreds of little Chinese girls and babies during that op, but we lost thousands more, simply because we could only reach the ones in America. Which I find an intolerable end to any operation. But the hard truth is, there’s no way to keep up with these human-trafficking bastards anymore. Much less get ahead of the game to save the women and kids before they get sucked into this shitstorm.
“The virgin trade and selling of minors is big business, even in the States. Guess you already know that, but know this, too. I’ve got a man in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, right now, who intercepts and rescues young girls and boys from sex-traffickers moving them into China. He runs my safe house. He gives them safe quarter, medical care, and a chance to just be kids. Usually, they were sold into prostitution by their families. But sometimes” —Alex nodded at the photos— “they’ve been kidnapped. Both ways are morally wrong, but I blame the assholes who buy these little ones, more. I blame the perverts and elitists who think they’re above laws of common decency. They’re the sons of bitches I’m after, and if it takes every agent I’ve got, and every dollar I ever make, I’m going to send as many of them to hell as I can!”
Whoa. Walker couldn’t think of a thing to say after that impassioned declaration.
“To answer your question, Alex has at least eighty agents on his payroll right now,” Persia spoke up, even as her fingers landed lightly on Walker’s tense shoulders. “That’s how many are working your case. Except for David Tao. He’s the agent in Phnom Penh. I’m with you, Alex. I’ve seen the worst mankind can do, and it’s time we end them.”
“Me, too,” Izza said staunchly.
“Me, three,” Walker said, then quietly added, “Boss.”
Alex skewered him again with a terse, “This is your yacht, Chief. What next?”
Walker ran a hand up the back of his stiff neck. Despite Alex calling him Chief, he felt more like a rotisseried Turkish kebob. “I appreciate everything you’ve done and are doing, Alex. Senator Sullivan—”
“McQueen. Please.”
“Okay, well… McQueen, then.” Walker sucked in a long deep breath that didn’t come near to restoring his O2 levels. “It seems like you guys have everything covered, even details I hadn’t thought of. But I need to know who’s in Wallace Goff’s grave. We’re going back to San Diego.”
Damned if Alex and McQueen didn’t nod in agreement at the same time. God, these guys were intense, and he hadn’t even shown them the flash drives yet.
Chapter Forty
Just as Alex and McQueen stood to leave, Walker said, “I still have a couple flash drives I believe are Commander Goff’s.”
Persia stayed where she was, on Walker’s six, gently massaging the blood back into those taut neck muscles of his.
McQueen took his seat.
Alex ordered. “Open them up. Let’s see who’s running this shitstorm.”
In seconds, the entire room had zeroed in on video clips of hundreds of girls and women who’d been surveilled and videoed in various stages of undress. At schools. At doctor’s offices. Inside restrooms and dressing rooms. Some images were grainy and bumpy, as if the person taking the clips had used a cell phone or mini camera stuck under a dressing room or bathroom stall door. Other times, the pictures were crystal clear, which meant the perpetrators had been trusted doctors, nurses, teachers, or friends. Man, it was a sick world out there.
“Scan the rest of these son of a bitchin’ files,” Alex ordered as he scribbled on the tablet beside the laptop. “Send them to this number in Virginia. They’ll go directly to Ember Dennison, who’ll sort these through her facial recognition program.”
Walker looked up at Alex then. “Thought only the FBI had software like that.”
“Guess not,” Alex replied curtly. Which Persia took as his stab at deniable plausibility.
Walker did as asked. When it became clear the first