Pendergast—Pen to the team at the bureau—thumbed through the pages on his desk. “Like many governments and royalty, for the past decade Anders McMillan always intended to use his daughter to join his kingdom with another. TJ and I have lots of data on this.”
Jack listened intently as TJ explained the situation. McMillan had feelers out, trying to connect with a trafficking ring willing to agree to his terms. But none had jumped. So Pen and TJ had seized the moment and reached out to him on behalf of a major drug and sex ring out of Florida. A ring run by Henry Thomas Ellington III. The man had been a customer at the Palace a handful of times over the past five years, and was on friendly terms with McMillan.
“We faked a series of phone calls pretending to be Ellington the Third or his people.” TJ paused. “The truth is, Ellington’s organization is laying low right now. Rumors are that Ellington the Third is sick. End-stage cirrhosis. Either way, the Ellington family knows they’re being watched, so they’ve temporarily stopped all illegal activity.”
“Here’s where it gets good.” Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Pen?”
“Right.” Pen checked his notes. “We’ve made contact with Ellington the Third’s son. Henry Thomas Ellington the Fourth.”
“Okay.” Jack crossed his arms.
“The son has recently pulled away from his family. Doesn’t want anything to do with his dad’s dark empire.” Pen paused. “We worked with the bureau in Florida and they had already connected with the young man. He’s willing to testify against his family once protections can be set up for him.”
Jack leaned forward. “How does that play into this mission?”
“Henry Thomas the Fourth has given us permission to assume his identity for the raid. Obviously without his ailing father’s knowledge.” He paused. “In other words, Jack, the mission kicks off with you flying to Belize and playing the role of the groom.”
“McMillan will be convinced you’re the real deal. Ellington the Fourth.” TJ glanced at his partner. “Our contact with McMillan has been flawless, acting as Ellington the Third and his team, and arranging a marriage between his daughter and Ellington’s son.”
Pen crossed his arms. “McMillan has called for an in-person… trial, of sorts. He wants to meet Ellington the Fourth, show him the girl. Give him a few nights with her.” He hesitated. “The girl is beautiful. McMillan wants half a million dollars up front if the marriage is agreed upon. And of course, a new joint operation between the trafficking rings, one that would make both families richer and more powerful.”
The situation felt dicey, acting out the role of a groom in a power play that involved two crime families, lots of money, and no doubt even more danger. Jack took the pictures and studied them. The first showed a tanned girl with long pale blond hair. She was sitting on a rocky outcropping at the base of a cliff, her feet in the sand. The next was a close-up of the girl’s face.
No wonder her father thought he could sell Eliza Ann into a forced marriage. She was easily one of the most beautiful girls Jack had ever seen. The final picture showed the young woman sitting on a small stretch of sand along a breathtaking and familiar Belizean beach.
Despite the sunny sky, the girl’s blue eyes were colder than ice.
Never mind that her heart was still beating. It was obvious that the horrors she had lived alongside at the Palace had killed her long ago. Jack studied her. The anger and callousness in her eyes made her look older than her nineteen years.
Jack focused on what his boss was saying.
“Eliza and her father may have come from one of several Mennonite communities in central Belize. Or they may have come from the United States or Canada. We’re not sure. The girl is sometimes cared for by a woman named Betsy Norman. Aunt Betsy to Eliza. The woman claims she’s Eliza’s aunt. We aren’t sure about that. Surveillance tells us she’s in on the trafficking, so we plan to take her during the raid, also.”
“Yes.” TJ nodded. “Anders showed up in Belize City roughly a dozen years ago. We have recon on him since then—though never enough to arrest him and dismantle his ring.”
“Before that,” Pen shrugged, “we have no idea where he was, what he did for a living.”
Oliver crossed his arms. “We assume McMillan is a false name, since we have no record of him before his time in Belize City.”
Oliver paced across the room and stared out the window. “You’ll make a stop at a Mennonite village called Lower Barton Creek. There’s a historian there who might know something. Ike is our best hope to verify whether McMillan and his daughter came from a Belizean Mennonite village.”