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I position my chair so I can see both the screen and Lexie, who has put up a color-coded graph.
“Tell us everything.” I peer into her washed-out hazel eyes, narrowing my gaze. “I mean everything.” My tone is pointed, but not as pointed as the consequences will be for her if she fucks with me on this. From the way she glares back, with her chin out, I’m quite sure she got the message.
I ask a few questions and jot down facts while Lexie and Tamar engage in a discussion that I struggle to follow. Not because of my dyslexia, but because most of it is highly technical.
Lexie’s graphs and charts were created using software programs that are beyond my capabilities. Fortunately, Tamar is used to distilling complex technological information for me and the rest of the team, and she restates the jargon in ways that are understandable to the average person.
I might not be a tech whiz, but here are two things I do know: Tamar is impressed by the data Lexie has amassed, and if it didn’t scare me half to death, I probably would be too. And second, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Lexie so engaged or so happy. Even after everything that’s happened in the last few days, her eyes are bright and alert as she shares the details of her discovery. That’s what makes the next part so difficult.
The evidence Lexie collected is impressive, but not actionable. It’s all circumstantial—at best—and there are huge holes in it. It’s enough for me to haul some asshole in for questioning, but it won’t be enough to convince the authorities to take any measures beyond those they’re already taking. Tamar knows this too. But I’m going to have to be the one who breaks the news to Lexie.
“The risks you’ve taken aside,” I say as kindly as I can, “this is a remarkable effort.”
“Extraordinary,” Tamar chimes in.
“Then why can’t I get anyone to listen to me? I understand why the cities operate as silos. But Interpol? I’ve contacted them so many times, and I’ve never heard a peep back.” She drums her hand on the table. “I probably should have used my real name.”
“No,” I snap. “That would have put a big bull’s-eye on your back.” I scratch my forehead, because I know this is going to hurt her. “As salient as the evidence is, it’s not actionable.”
As her face deflates, I feel it in my chest.
“He’s right,” Tamar adds gently. “In theory, there’s a striking pattern, but there are too many unknown variables at play. It appears a city that begins with R is next, but what would a practical recommendation be? Should they shut down all European cities that begin with the letter R? And for how long?” She shakes her head. “We need more. There has to be more. Something we’re not seeing yet.”
“But Quimper,” Lexie says with the tang of frustration. “That’s a clearer target. Rafael, you can talk to the authorities. They’ll listen to you. It’s important to catch them before Quimper—because if we can’t…”
Lexie’s voice trails off, but I can finish her thought. Because if we can’t, I’ll have another victim on my conscience.
“They’re going to Quimper,” she pleads. “I’m sure of it.”
The room is quiet. She’s not wrong. But she sees it with a hopeful optimism that’s in short supply in my world. There’s an innocence about it that snakes its way into my heart. I’ve always believed that as a child Lexie wasn’t sheltered anywhere near enough, but sometimes she surprises me. Neither Tamar nor I are pessimists, but we trade in reality, not in hope.
“So that’s it?” She looks squarely at me, disappointment clouding her features. “We just sit back while women keep getting kidnapped and sold into slavery?”
That’s not what I want, nor what I’m thinking, but even if it were, there’s no way Lexie’s getting off this crusade. I either take control and let her come along for the ride, or when I’m distracted, she’s going to steal the keys and drive the car headfirst into a ditch. No survivors.
I fill my cheeks with air and blow it out with a loud whoosh.
“All right. This is what we’re going to do. For the next week, or for as long as it takes—the two of you are going to work together to gather more evidence. You’ve been enmeshed in this for a long time, Lexie. A fresh pair of eyes might bring clarity—especially Tamar’s.”
Lexie’s face lights up, again, with newfound hope. But my head of IT looks like she swallowed a toad. Tamar’s clearly impressed by what Lexie found, so I don’t know what the problem is, and quite frankly, I don’t care. It’s been a shitty few days, and seeing Lexie happy—even if it’s just for a few minutes—boosts my spirits.
Lexie glances from me to Tamar and back. “Should we inform the authorities in cities that begin with R?”
Tamar responds before I can. “There are so many of those cities that if we tell them, I guarantee the traffickers will learn everything we know and change their patterns. That will put us back at square one.”
“Tamar’s right. No one gets a heads-up yet.”
We’re essentially making a decision to sacrifice an innocent woman or two for the greater good. But it can’t be helped. We have to proceed strategically. The bile rises in my throat as I contemplate the consequences of playing God. Because that’s what we’re doing.
“What about Interpol?” Lexie asks.
“I would have expected someone at Interpol to run with the info you sent,” Tamar says, “even if they never got back to you. It might not be enough in and of itself, but they could have developed the information—set up some undercover operations. They have the resources. From everything I know, they’re still operating in the dark.”
“They’re useless and untrustworthy,” I announce flatly. “One-half of the agency is on the take, and the other half are lazy bastards. Give me the name and contact information of everyone you alerted. Especially at Interpol.”
Lexie nods, stifling a yawn.
She needs to sleep. This has been a hellish night for all of us, but Tamar and I have experienced hell before. Lexie is not a soldier—far from it.
