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Slade watched as a trawler edged closer to shore. He couldn't make out the ship’s country of origin but figured that was info he could obtain later. These guys were gonna be toast, there was no way they were getting away, even if he died in the process. Big Dawg’s voice rasped into his ear.
“Slade, you see what I see?" Dawg’s voice pierced Slade's headpiece.
“Yeah. Think so. Looks like three guys got off of the trawler. Right?"
"Yeah, that's what we see, too. Still got nine heat images showing up on our monitors so should be nine other people inside the boat. Guessin’ they're probably prisoners or victims."
Slade nodded as anger burned through him. "Yeah, probably so. Can you check with the Coast Guard to see if that trawler has an itinerary? Maybe we can figure out where they were taking the victims."
"Sure thing," Big Dawg agreed. "But right now, we're running these guys through facial rec. I got nuthin’ on the men from the dark van, but one of the men that got off the trawler is a known human trafficker in Central America. I guess the other Central American is his sidekick. My guess is the first one is the boss and one of the major contacts for the Russian Mafiya in that area."
Slade nodded. "Yeah, probably. You see anything else? I'm about to give the order to move."
Big Dawg mumbled to his tech. "No, man, we've been panning all around and looking for other images, but we don't see nuthin’. I think what you see is what you get."
Stoddard's voice, harsh with anger, clamored into Slade's ear. "Detective, we just did a sneak and peek into the white van, and there are two women tied up and drugged in the backseat. One looks pretty beaten up. When’re you movin’ in?"
"Soon. Just waiting for surveillance to take one last video pan of the area. Don't want us to have any surprises on the backside.”
"Gotcha, Slade. We move on your word."
"Get the men into position," Slade ordered. "Tell them to move quietly. As soon as I hear back from Big Dawg, it’s party time.”
"Roger that," Stoddard said. “I’ll pass the word.”
Static blasted Slade’s ear as he tried to reach Dawg. "Is the perimeter safe? Can you pick up audio?"
Big Dawg nodded. "Nah, no audio. Yup. Surveillance is clean. They’re talkin’ in broken English so lip reading is hard.” He paused for a moment and continued, “Sounds like they're talking about the cost of the cargo." Dawg stopped for a second, observed and added, "Oh, looks like Dimitri's getting pissed, he's kicking the ground and shaking his fist. Madder than hell.”
“They’re having a disagreement?” Slade asked.
“Yup. No question. We could have a problem over money,” Big Dawg observed.
Slade smiled broadly. "Good." He gave a short laugh. “Let ‘em duke it out so they’re less likely to see us coming.”
“Yup,” Big Dawg said, “Lovin’ it. Maybe they’ll kill each other, and we won’t have to even draw our guns,” Dawg joked.
Slade watched for a moment as the two men continued to disagree. Dimitri took a giant step forward, pulled a shiny knife from his jacket pocket and, in an instant, slit the throat of one of the Central Americans. Slade could see the blood spurt from the man’s neck through his night vision goggles. The man remained on his feet for several moments before he slid to the ground. Slade stared, mesmerized, at the scene below him until he heard a crackle in his ear. It was Dawg.
“Man, did you see that? I called it. I guess the shit we heard about Dimitri is true. I didn’t ‘spect that,” Big Dawg said. “He’s a mean SOB, just like we heard.”
“Yeah, no question. Safe to go in?”
“Let’s dance. We’re ready, right, Smitty?” Dawg gave a short laugh. “Yeah, for sure. You ready? Lookin’ good from here.”
“Lieutenant, are we in place?” Slade questioned Stoddard.
“Ready,” Stoddard replied, confidence in his voice.
Slade spoke into his earwig. “It’s party time, gang. Let’s hit it.”
Suddenly, the entire dock area was covered in bright light. The lights were blinding. Dimitri and the remaining Central American guy covered their eyes while Redman and the other men reached for their guns. But it was too late. A volley of firepower from the Richmond police quickly took down Redman, the Central American, and the other two men from the trawler. Dimitri held up his hands in surrender. Richmond police officers moved in to secure the scene as Stoddard hailed an ambulance for the badly beaten American women in the white van. Within seconds, Richmond police secured the trawler and pulled nine additional women out of the hole. The woman appeared malnourished, bruised, battered, and dazed.
Slade locked eyes with Dimitri before speaking. "I'd cut your throat right now if there weren’t so many people around. What kind of an animal are you to beat up helpless women and steal their lives, you useless asshole?"
Dimitri winked and smiled at Slade and opened his arms wide to make his point. "I'm like you Americans. You capitalists. I'm a businessman. All of this is about business." A broad smirk sliced across his face and connected with the scar on the side of his jaw.
Slade’s eyes bored into Dimitri’s face as his Irish temper flared. He thought about Maria, Danielle, and Allison. He watched the paramedics load up the drugged, beaten women.
Dimitri continued to smirk at him.
Hell flew into Slade as his Irish temper flared. No one intervened when Slade knocked the powerful Russian mob boss to the ground. Dimitri lay in the snow and ice for several minutes as more police and emergency vehicles arrived at the scene.
Slade checked his watch and motioned for Lt. Stoddard. "Let's go. Mic knows where Allison Massie is. I've sent two units to the general location, but I think they may need some help.”
“I knew somethin’ was screwy with that guy,” Stoddard said, staring down at the Redman’s body. “Didn’t like him at all and he turns out to be a damned Bratva soldier masquerading as FBI.”
Slade growled, “Yeah, and he’s responsible for Danielle’s beating if he didn’t do it himself.”
Stoddard shouted for another officer to take command, and he and Slade hurried to their cruiser.
The entire takedown had taken less than three minutes.