“Call it retribution, then—for the women I was with. For the things they went through. And those I was able to save, before anything too awful happened to them. Now I’m thinking of the thousands of women and girls Spaulding has trafficked through there that didn’t get saved. It’s retribution for them.”
“I understand.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t say this to take anything away from you, or minimize what you’ve done, or anything. But you can’t understand. Even I can’t—not totally. I wasn’t kidnapped from my home like those women were. I went into it voluntarily, with the knowledge that there were heavily armed and elite warriors backing up my play, ready to knock down those doors and get me out. I had a weapon. I had a plan, and a purpose. So even I can’t fully understand. Those women were taken from their homes, against their will, bound and shipped across the world to be sold like so much fucking cattle, destined to be raped time and again until they were no longer of any value, and then murdered.” Her voice is venomous. “But for a while there, I was one of them. Bound like they were. Helpless, like they were. At the mercy of the armed guards like they were.”
I squeeze her hand again. “If you need to do some of the wet work yourself, then I’ll be there at your side while you do it.”
She finally softens a tiny bit, looking at me. “Because you’re a good man, Apollo Dimitriou.”
Something niggles at me—a thought. An idea.
A realization.
Karahalios, Dimitriou. Neither name reflects the legacy I want to leave.
In fact, there’s only one name that does.
Roth.
I glance at Rin, and peace settles over me—I know what I’m going to do.
First, though, we have to get out of this alive.
We wait in silence for a few minutes, and then her phone rings again.
“Hi, Daddy,” she answers it, putting it on speaker again.
“Actually, it’s Harris.” His voice is no-nonsense, as always. “Take the P-1 south out of Tunis. About a mile after the built-up strip along the beach ends, there’s a dirt turnoff that heads east to the sea. Take that. You’ll see us from there.”
“Got it.” She hesitates. “Tell me you have a lock on him.”
“What the fuck do you think we’ve been doing this whole time, while you and Apollo have been single-handedly decimating his mercenary force?”
“I don’t know about that,” I say. “We’ve only taken out a few squads.”
Harris laughs. “You don’t have the benefit of our perspective. What you don’t and couldn’t know is that Spaulding’s resources are actually rather limited at the moment. He went all out for one last big gamble—those women you guys rescued represented a massive gamble for cash. He had to scrounge up every favor, scrape together every dollar he could to pay for the manpower necessary to run that operation. You cut his legs off, with that program you and your friend ran. He was running from people he owed money to, thus his presence in Tunisia. So, between his forces at that fortress getting wiped out and the guys you two have taken out, he’s on the ropes. He’s got no money. He’s got no credit with any of the underground lenders. He’s got very few men left to do his dirty work, let alone to throw at you.”
“It seems to us like he’s got an endless number of people to throw at us. Every time we turn around, every time we think we’ve lost them, they show up.” Rin’s voice shows her strain, her tension.
“That’s because he has a truly astonishing informant network set up in Tunis. We got lucky, you see. He was so focused on making sure his shipment of women came in and the auction went off without a hitch that he neglected to collect information from that network, or the fact that you guys were in Tunis asking about him and his operation would have been communicated to him. But he didn’t ask, so he didn’t know. That was his big mistake. Once you guys got away, he put out word that anyone with information on you two would be paid a thousand US dollars. I think that bounty alone has been burning through what cash reserve he has left.”
“He forced me to get a money-laundering front going for him,” I say. “It was all real estate, through a commercial real estate arm I own. Or, owned. He made me sell it to him and then set up a series of transactions to move his money around.”
“We know,” I hear Mr. Roth’s voice say, distant and then approaching. “I have my own informational network—when that subsidiary of yours got sold and then there was a flurry of major transactions, I knew exactly what Spaulding was up to.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“I sent a tip to a few friends in, not the highest places, necessarily, but therightplaces. The transactions were flagged, and the accounts in question frozen. He can’t access any of it. Which I’m sure only adds to his panic.” Roth clicks his teeth. “The real estate firm he forced you to sell to him is going to have to be a loss for you, I’m afraid—there’s no way to undo that. But I’ll see that you have whatever you require to start over. Perhaps we could go into business together.”
I laugh. “What’s a few hundred million matter, in the grand scheme of things? I’m just glad you were able to catch it and stop it.”
“The rendezvous point is several miles away,” Harris says, cutting in over the conversation. “We need to get moving and so do they.”
“I agree,” Rin says. “See you guys in a few minutes.”
The call is ended and we head out—at this point, we have crossed and recrossed the city enough to know how to find the P-1 going south out of the city.
It’s a quiet ride—traffic isn’t too bad yet. I’m glad for the AC in this vehicle, as it hadn’t worked in the ancient Toyota; the day is hot, already, and promises to get even hotter.
