One for All

PROLOGUE

Australia - December 1942

Rita Winger’s eardrums pounded even harder than the last time her husband had struck her. She grabbed both sides of her red felt hat and tugged it down over her ears. She could still hear the roar of the B-24 bomber’s engines as the treacherous weather battered the aircraft around in the sky. It bucked and shuddered then pitched with a ferocity that slammed her head into the metal wall. How in heaven’s name had she let Ann talk her into this? It had been raining when they took off from Brisbane but they had never anticipated this storm, which had grown more violent as the warplane pushed its way north.

As she rubbed her smarting head she glanced forward, locking eyes on her usually savvy nursing colleague. Ann sat tucked in a ball with her gloved hands clasped around her knees. Her hair had sprung from her ritzy hairclips where she had been clawing at it. Sweet mother of Jesus. This was no time for her to develop a case of the jitters! As Rita righted herself, she could see Ann press her hands firmly together. She couldn’t hear her words over the engine noise but her friend appeared to be uttering a frantic prayer. You better damn well pray for both of us! After all, this whole caper was Ann’s little brainchild. Using a bit of her hotsy-totsy charm with the U.S. fly boys, Ann had talked their way on board the B-24 Liberator that morning. God help them both if Rita’s husband ever found out.

She looked away but not before she caught the sneers from the crew and the few male civilian passengers on board. Unaccustomed to displaying her bare legs, she tried to tuck them beneath her. ‘What you all looking at?’

One of the civilians yelled over the noise, arching his head toward her like a snapping turtle. ‘You broads got no place on a U.S. war plane, or the battlefields of New Guinea.’

Rita huffed. She and Ann had no intention to be on the Liberator when it reached its final destination.

Looking again at the cowering woman in front of her, Rita wondered at the futility of Ann’s brash plan. She had been brazen enough when she discovered the warplane was scheduled to carry four month’s pay to the U.S. gunners stationed in New Guinea. ‘Pennies from heaven,’ she had claimed. Now look at her. She sat pinned against the wall with her smitten flyboy by her side, stroking her arm as she sucked in deep ragged breaths. Rita let her glance wander upwards. Tucked on a shelf above them, the satchel containing the payroll money taunted her. Was she going to have to be the one to take charge?

Rita had no experience of flying but she felt confident they were safe. The U.S. Air Force had only recently delivered the new Liberator from the factory back in the States. This shiny beauty was on her maiden Australian flight, just as she was. She smiled inwardly at the thought. Once this is over, I’ll be free. Free to get as far away as she could from her miserable life and her abusive military husband.

The aircraft rolled, throwing her sideways into the wall. She rubbed her bruised shoulder and her smile grew. Never again would she have to feel the pain of bruises left by a man’s fist. Lieutenant Carl Winger had fooled both her and her naive Australian parents with his U.S. Officer charms. Once baby Harry came along, she was trapped. Ann's plan to steal the money was a beacon of hope. If she were to escape with her son, she could never come back.

At least Ann was keeping their patsy occupied. The U.S. Officer looked overly concerned and continued to fuss over her. Rita glanced at her watch. She would have to take action. According to her calculations, they had almost reached the town where they had plotted to force an unscheduled landing. Her cohort had better regain her composure once they were on the ground and follow out the rest of their plan.

Rita took a deep breath. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. It’s now or never. She unclipped her restraints and crawled in the direction of the flight deck. She would feign acute illness. She was good at holding her breath and swooning – a trick that often got her out of trouble at home. The other passengers waved their arms and called out but their warnings were muffled by the sounds of the engine and the turbulent storm. She ignored them all as she propelled herself forward. It wasn’t easy in the tight dress that hugged her thighs or the high red stilettos cramping her toes. Ann had leant them both to her, insisting they were needed to make over her ruddy looks to get her on board the aircraft.

‘Nice pins!’ called out one of the men as he feasted on her bare legs. She cringed and cursed her slow progress. One of the red stilettos slipped from her foot giving her leverage to push forward with her toes but the parachute strapped to her back hindered her balance. She thought about stopping to remove it, along with the other shoe, but she didn’t want to stop now in case she lost her nerve.

From out of the pelting rain, the dark terrain of a mountain loomed in the vast expanse of glass in the observation nose of the aircraft. The navigator’s eyes widened. ‘Pull up!’ he shrieked. The pilot, recognising the crisis at the same moment, responded by hauling back on the controls and raising the nose of the aircraft but it was already too late.

Above the piercing engine noise, Rita heard shouting from the flight deck. She caught the words, ‘Mayday! Mayday!’ as the plane came to a violent halt that sent her flailing across the deck into the lap of Ann’s protective fly boy. The screams and shouts of the passengers were drowned out by a deafening crunch as the belly of the aircraft peeled open. A gaping hole shredded across the floor. Rita felt herself slipping toward it.

An Officer's hand tightened around hers. She looked heavenward in thanks as it halted her descent but then felt her sweaty palm began to slip from his grasp. Her wild-eyed terror was reflected in the Officer’s eyes as she began to slide downward once more. She closed her eyes, but images of her baby son flooded her mind spurring her into action. She clawed at the floor with her fingernails then thrashed out in search of a stronghold. Her fingers clamped around a thick canvas strap which held her mid-air. She was about to thank God a second time when the strap jerked loose. She slid from the hole into mid-air, still clinging to it for life as the cold rain hit her face. A shock jolted through her body as she hit the wet rock then bounced across the jagged surface of the mountain peak, tumbling over the edge of the cliff into a dark ravine.

Rita grappled for the ripcord on the parachute and moments later the fabric whistled from the bag, sending a further jolt through her body. She drifted downwards, the wind and rain still playing havoc with her descent. She cast her eyes down at the strap gripped between her other fingers. She was about to let go when she realised it was attached to a padded satchel. She hugged it to her face as an explosion ripped through the air above her, showering her with heat and debris. As a hot piece of wreckage seared its way through the parachute, she crashed through the leafy branches of the trees then came to a thudding stop on the mulched rainforest floor. The world went black.

Rita forced her heavy eyes open. A dull throbbing at the back of her skull made the world appear in soft focus. The ancient trees crowded in a shadowy and sinister presence around her, their trunks darkened by the moisture that hung heavy in the air. They whispered amongst themselves about her unwelcome manifestation on the rainforest floor. She clapped her hands over her ears but she could still hear the buzzing sound. Was she in a dream? She drew quick breaths. The unfamiliar dank smell of the rainforest told her otherwise. As the first rays of the dawn pierced the rainforest canopy, Rita looked up to find that she was interred by a dense shroud of leaves. Something rustled in the leaf matter beside her. She jumped then cried out as an excruciating pain shot through her leg. Nausea welled in her stomach and she screwed her eyes shut. Her breath quickened with the pain then the world faded out.

The next time Rita opened her eyes, her focus had sharpened but the light was waning. How long had she been out? There was an incessant ringing in her ears. She squeezed her palms against them but it only made the noise louder. She tried to push herself into a sitting position, moaning as a fiery pain shot through her lower leg. She attempted to wiggle her toes but it was hopeless. How would she get out of here if her leg was broken? A deep gash across her ankle would soon become septic in this tropical climate if it were not irrigated. She looked around her but despite the saturated earth, the only water she could see were small droplets that hung to the underside of low-lying leaves. All they managed to do was incite a deep thirst. She reached for some of the leaves and licked them greedily, bracing herself against another onslaught of pain. Twisting her head away from the agonising injury, the canvas satchel came into view. She pulled it toward her and chopped at its sides as if fluffing a pillow, intending to use it to elevate her ankle above the unsanitary rainforest floor. Surprised by the dull thud that the effort drew, she clawed at the zip and opened it a small way.

Rita laughed out loud. She thrust her hand in and pulled out a fistful of greenback American dollars then tossed them into the air. ‘Mission complete!’ she called out to the high canopy of the trees as a deep throaty laugh rocked her body. She grimaced as the exertion caused further pain. ‘Can you hear me Ann, you greedy cow? Here it is. Come down here and get it!’

Dwarfed by the tall tree trunks, Rita felt suddenly very small and alone. She had no idea how far she had fallen. If she were alive, there might be other survivors.

‘Help! Help! I’m down here,’ she called out but her voice rasped in her dry throat. Her plea was met only by the haunting sound of a cracking whip. She had read about the rainforest whip birds but the way their drawn out call rebounded through the trees disoriented her. A tingle crept down her spine then intensified into a shiver. Her body continued to shake as the damp cold invaded her veins like iced water.

She had to keep warm to prevent her body going into shock. She rifled through the side pocket of the satchel finding matches and a few packets of tobacco. To make a fire she would need some dry kindling but the rainforest was unyielding. She piled up some of the damp sticks then began to rip some fabric from her petticoat when she glanced back at the satchel.

What the hell? It’s no use to me here. She grabbed a fistful of cash then screwed it into a loose ball. Placing it underneath the sticks, she set it alight then watched as the fire licked the edges of George Washington’s curls. It fizzled out and it took several more attempts before the flames took hold.

Rita’s stomach rumbled but the satchel held nothing else but the cash, a small leather-bound book and a few pencils. The book listed the names of the officers due to be paid. ‘Damn you and your foolish plan, Ann!’ She tore the pages from the book and tossed them into the fire. They blazed briefly before settling down with the rest of the embers.

How long it would take them to find her out here? She was not even a registered passenger on the plane. Would they even search for her? She picked up one of the pencils and began to write to her young son, Harry, in shaky lettering.

My Dearest Little Harry,

Just yesterday I held you in my arms and it is hard to fathom that we are now parted. The six short happy months since I was blessed with you have been the most precious moments of my life. I love you my darling son with all my heart and shall always do so, and tho' I am far away from you this night I am thinking of you as I always do. Please God take care of him for me and keep him safe and sound, help him to bear the burden of our parting. I hope and pray the time will be short before I am rescued and your loving mother will be back by your side to hold and protect you. Until then, take care of him God and tell him I love him so much. God bless you my sweetheart xxxx

She drifted back to sleep with the pencil still in her hand. It left a wavering line down the page as her hand dropped heavily to her side.

CHAPTER ONE

The Trafficking Protocol (UN 25 December 2003) defines human trafficking as:(a) [...] the recruitment, transportation, transfer, harbouring or receipt of persons, by means of the threat or use of force or other forms of coercion, of abduction, of fraud, of deception, of the abuse of power or of a position of vulnerability or of the giving or receiving of payments or benefits to achieve the consent of a person having control over another person, for the purpose of exploitation. Exploitation shall include, at a minimum, the exploitation of the prostitution of others or other forms of sexual exploitation, forced labour or services, slavery or practices similar to slavery, servitude or the removal of organs.

T-MINUS 06 DAYS

Marley Nixon’s eyes fluttered open but the world remained black as pitch. A moment ago she had been tucked between the soft sheets of her bed, enveloped in the arms of her husband Ted. Her lips trembled as the security of her dream faded.

One arm extended upward into the darkness but she couldn't feel her fingers. She took a deep breath, coughing as the reek of stale urine stung her throat. She reached out with her other hand, feeling for something familiar in the darkness. As her hand contacted with the cold concrete floor, her whole body recoiled with a shudder. Memories of the past two days flooded back in nauseous waves. Marley could now feel the cold bite of metal on her wrist. She yanked hard. A chain clanked against the wall and pins and needles prickled down her arm. Her breath caught in her throat.

A woman's sobs echoed through the darkness. Marley gasped, spluttering again as she sucked in the putrid air. ‘Mom, is that you? Are you alright?’

‘Shush,’ came a nervous response from nearby. ‘They hear you.’ It was the voice of a young Latino girl, or had she imagined it? She tapped her fingers on her woozy forehead. ‘W…where are we?’

‘Los Mochis.’ The girl’s voice sounded strangled but quite real.

‘In Mexico!’ Marley’s stomach lurched. How would Ricky find them now? Her brother was barely able to look after himself these days, even when he was sober. She had known it was hopeless to rely on him to raise the ransom money.

‘Shush,’ the girl repeated as the sound of footsteps boomed down the hall.

Marley’s heart jolted. Was it the vile Mexican man? She reached out in the dark with her free hand, a sudden parental urge to protect her ailing mother. She heard a jangle of keys and felt her mother flinch. The lock made a sharp crack as the barrel turned and the door opened, accompanied by an unintelligible grunt.

Glaring light penetrated the room. Marley blinked hard. She tried to focus on the silhouette in the doorway but her vision blurred. Something glinted. She blinked again then the sour taste of fear filled her mouth. It was the same man - and he had a knife!

Marley lunged for him as he headed for her mother but the chain stopped her short. He aimed a warning look at her then grabbed for her mother’s hand with the knife raised. It came down with a sickening crunch through flesh and bone.

The young girl chained to the opposite wall muffled a scream.

Undercover detective, Sol Ramirez, stepped through the doorway cursing under her breath in her native Spanish tongue. It had all happened so fast.

Marley’s eyes beseeched her in a silent plea for help while her mother sat whimpering in shock. Sol stepped around the Mexican brute with a first aid kit in her hand. He pointed and ordered her to tend to the injured woman. It took all her will to resist the urge to lay the kit box across his smug face. She nodded then went to work on stopping the bleeding and dressing the woman's wound.

There was nothing more she could have done. Not without risking her cover and she couldn’t do that. She was too close to learning the truth about her past.

CHAPTER TWO

T-MINUS 18 DAYS

(12 days earlier)

Detective Sol Ramirez could feel the perspiration pooling on her skin even though the sun had long since disappeared over downtown Phoenix. Her leather pants clung to her thighs like an impermeable membrane. Damn! She wished she had worn a short skirt. It wasn't like she had anything to conceal. The Sarge hadn't even allowed her carry a weapon. She flexed her fingers to alleviate the pain of the restraint cutting into her wrist as she gazed past the squalor of the room. Her lips pressed together in a scowl. Chained to six paint-chipped iron beds, none of the other young Latinas had asked to be here either. Bundling her long dark hair above her head with her free arm, she pushed herself up the bed and rested against the wall, desperate to escape the infusion of sweat and vomit wafting from the stained fabric of the mattress. There was an audible squeak as the rusted springs declared their protest.

The faces of the other five chicas were being highlighted by the intermittent red glow of the flashing neon sign outside the window of the small club. Sol hoped the signal from her hidden tracking device was transmitting back to base with as much intensity. The bastards had not counted on that when they picked her up off the street earlier in the day then locked her up here like a caged animal. She tossed back her hair. How she would pay to see their faces when they realised their error, but she could never enjoy that satisfaction. Not without jeopardising her undercover career. She could only let them remember her as she appeared now; just one of the many runaway teenagers they preyed upon.

The others had been here when she arrived, for varying periods of time she guessed. Three of them sat in silence, drugged and resigned to the conditioning they had endured. The bruised and swollen faces of the other two told the tale of horrors they had recently suffered. Horrors she knew too well. Another time, another room just like this one. She looked through the barred window and her eyes grew cold and distant.

One of the more talkative girls had told her she had been abducted on the way home from school in Mexico. Her gut told her this operation was cartel-related. She had heard word on the street that a local gang operating in cahoots with a Mexican cartel was bringing children into the U.S. for the sex trade. With her Brazilian martial arts training, she could have easily taken both the Mexican thugs who had grabbed her from behind. Instead, she set off an alarm back to the station just before they smashed her cellphone across the pavement then let them bundle her into the back of the van. The day wasn't a total waste of make-up.

Not yet conditioned beyond the loss of hope, one of the girls whispered, ‘I’m Luisa. I try to escape tonight when they get us ready to go to the other room. You wish to come with me?’

Sol shook her head and hoped the fearful look on her face would be enough to deter the girl. She had witnessed what could happen if Luisa tried to escape. She was barely fourteen when she had been dragged from her parents' arms and forced into prostitution. The cruel memories were softened only by the kindness of the youth workers who rescued her from the hospital, but not until after a john had tried to kill her. Fingering the scar that blemished her throat, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The memory faded back into the past where she kept it hidden. Mercifully, Luisa wouldn’t have to live through an experience like that.

‘I will not go in there again.’ Luisa gripped the bedpost so tight her small muscles bulged. ‘Last night they send so many men. I lose count. I think even more than one sometimes. They hurt me so bad.’ She rubbed her small hand between her thighs and began to sob.

Sol felt enraged and sickened. She had seen some of the men downstairs on her way in. If assholes could fly, then this place would be an aviary. Most of the girls in the room looked to be under age and had likely been abducted too. She ached to let the girls know help was on its way but she couldn’t take the risk.

From the corner of her eye, Sol caught a silhouette lurking in the doorway but when she turned her head, the figure had melted into the shadows. She offered an unseen salute to her faithful partner, Madge, who had been her saviour on too many occasions to list. In contrast to Sol’s dark complexion, the woman’s milky skin and flowing brown hair had always reminded Sol of the Madonna. That was why she had nicknamed her Madge. She felt a smile forming but turned it inside, reassured to know her minder was here. It wouldn't be long now.

Sergeant Kirk Donovan sat in an unmarked police car outside the small club east of downtown, fanning himself with the warrant. The evening was hot but he daren’t turn over the engine to fire up the air conditioning in case the noise gave him away. He could see a number of police vehicles already queued up across the street at the staging point, just out of the line of sight of anyone who might peer from the club windows. His human trafficking task force were hungry to make the bust.

Detective Emilio Hernandez tapped on the window. Donovan stepped from the car and began to set up a mobile command centre on the trunk of his car under the streetlight. He opened a case folder and stared at the photograph of the missing Spanish tourist. Her name was Luisa and she was the same age as his daughter. Barely fifteen. A vein pulsed in his neck. The young Spanish girl had disappeared off the streets just a week before. In the bordering country of Mexico kidnappings were as common as graffiti-marked buildings but the threat was becoming ever-present on the Phoenix streets. It made his job all the harder. ‘I hope to hell we find this young girl inside,’ he said to Hernandez. His undercover team had made the place as an illegal brothel and now his newest recruit seemed to have got herself tangled up in it as well. Ramirez’s tracking device indicated she was inside the building now.

He returned his attention to the club. ‘Where the hell is that SAU team?’ He had delegated the task of taking down the suspects to the Special Assignments Unit, who had the reputation of being the smartest, savviest and most seasoned officers on the force. What was taking them so damn long?

He flicked through the case notes, his lip curling. It was a familiar story. Young girls came to Phoenix then fell prey to the Mexican cartels, or they were trafficked over the Mexican border illegally with promises of jobs and better lives, only to find themselves bonded into prostitution. ‘That Spanish girl’s sister is lucky she wasn’t grabbed too. Naive young thing. Don’t know what their parents were thinking, letting them wander around alone. Reckon they were mistaken for illegal Mexican immigrants?’

Hernandez gave a slight nod. ‘Maybe, or the cartel tracked their moves and marked Luisa as the more vulnerable target, being the younger one.’

Donovan flung the file onto the trunk, its contents scattering over the surface as a transport vehicle pulled up across the street. He caught his breath as eight officers outfitted in black body armour and helmets crept toward them in the half shadows. They were always an ominous sight, with their high-powered rifles slung over their shoulders and their vests loaded with radios, tools and ammunition. He waved over their leader, Lieutenant Ray King, who moved away from the team then headed toward Donovan, hands in pockets.

King consulted with him over the trunk of the car. ‘My SAU team will assume tactical control but we’ll deploy your task force officers to strategic positions around the perimeter of the property to cover any potential escape routes.’ He pointed out the spots on the site map, away from the building.

Donovan nodded and handed King the warrant, who then moved between his and Donovan’s men issuing orders.

The SAU team formed a line up. ‘Move out,’ King commanded.

Donovan stood watching intently as the SAU team inched toward the heavy front door of the club. He heard King’s voice crackle on the radio. ‘Sierra One, Two and Three, I need eyes on the sides of the building. Cover the exit doors.’ King turned to one of the sharpshooters, pointing. ‘Sierra Four, cover us from those bushes.’

The remaining men moved into point and cover positions either side of the door with two taking up the rear guard.

‘Go, go, go!’ King spat into the mouthpiece. The steel rod on the outer door showed no resistance as they prised it from its hinges with a crow bar then entered the building with repeated shouts of, ‘Phoenix police! We have a warrant!’

Shouts sounded from inside the building. Donovan’s pulse raced but he could no longer see the team. He could only monitor the directives on the radio. Gunshots rang out and he ordered his uniformed men to retreat to the protection of their patrol cars. He hacked up phlegm to clear the dust from his parched throat and spat. The thirsty ground sucked it up as he paced back and forth in the intense heat awaiting the call for his men to make the arrests.

The club’s male clientele ducked for cover as the SAU team pressed forward into the room. Breaking glass sounded from above. King radioed one of the lookouts. ‘Sierra One, eyes out for a perp exiting via the back stairs.’ King’s earpiece crackled to life. ‘Check,’ the officer replied. ‘I’m on that.’

The piercing screams of women echoed through the building. King pointed out another perpetrator herding a bunched up group of girls toward a side door. ‘Go, go, go!’ The SAU team confronted him with four rifle barrels.

King spotted the man’s hand dart inside his coat then pull out a semi-automatic pistol. ‘Take cover!’ he shouted.

The team ducked behind a stack of supply crates as King called, ‘Drop the weapon and put your hands up or we’ll shoot!’

The man nodded as he raised his free hand then reached toward the floor with the gun. The squad members edged around the crates. ‘I’ve got it,’ King said into his mouthpiece. As he made a dash for the gun, a sly grin spread across the perp’s face. In a swift shift, he lifted the gun and pointed it at King’s head. Before he could squeeze the trigger, another member of the team shot a crippling rifle round into his knees. The perp dropped the gun then crashed with a thud to the floor. The shooter continued moving toward him and kicked the gun out of range. He restrained the man, checked his vital signs then nodded to the rest of the team to move on.

The team stole into the next room where the frightened girls quivered in the corner. One of the girls eyed the men then nodded in the direction of the opposite corner. King called again ‘Phoenix police. Come out with your hands above your head.’

The suspect’s head appeared and he fired off a shot without aim. ‘Take cover!’ King said as he pulled out a ‘flash bang’ device and hurled it toward the corner. There was a loud explosion followed by a bright flash of light. He motioned with his arms. ‘Move out.’

Two of the squad members dropped to the floor and combat crawled toward the crates. ‘I’m on the gun,’ one of the officers called as he launched himself upward and knocked the gun from the perp’s hand. The second officer tackled him to the ground. ‘Don’t move!’ he shouted as he nuzzled the rifle barrel into the man’s temple.

King motioned to a nearby staircase. ‘Sierra Four and Five, check upstairs.’

The men reported moments later. ‘Clear up here. There are six women chained to beds that look like they require medical assistance.’

King radioed Donovan to send in his team. As the suspects and women were escorted from the building, one of the women in tight fitting black pants and stiletto heels broke off then made her way over to Donovan.

Sol could see Madge standing just beyond Donovan, illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlight. As she approached, Madge vanished like a mirage. She would thank her later.

‘Good work in there, Ramirez,’ Donovan said with a pat on her back.

She hated being patronised but even more so, she hated being referred to by her surname. ‘You took your sweet time! I think for a while there, perhaps I was going to have to work my ass for those perverts!’ Her strong Latino accent made the comment seem harsher than intended but she enjoyed watching him squirm. She glowered a moment longer then laughed at her own joke. His body relaxed.

Sol turned her back on Donovan as the SAU team made their way back to their transport vehicle. The paramedics nodded their respect to the team as they passed. She felt a stab in her chest. What she wouldn’t give for that kind of respect. Bulbs flashed. Reporters and photographers had materialised hoping to get a close-up for the late evening news but the SAU team strutted past ignoring them. Their tactical gear made for good viewing but they didn’t seek any recognition.

Ramirez wiped perspiration from her brow as she looked back at the women. Her mouth twisted into a sour expression. They were scared witless; a bunch of broken, beaten up girls whose souls had been stolen. She had worked Domestic violence before getting into Violent Crimes. She had plenty of experience with traumatised women. She doubted any of them would agree to testify against the cartel. Their work with them had only just begun but for now, her job was done. She could still smell the filth lodged in her hair and clothes. She couldn’t wait to get home to wash the grime from her body and sleep in her own clean bed. As for the