Trapped in the Mayan Tattoo (27 page)

Mrs. Hightower
held out her hand.

“Happy to see you
again,” said Mademoiselle Soufflé with a smile.

“As you have
probably guessed, I will remain Mrs. Hightower until either I marry or am out
of harm’s way and can assume my rightful identity, whichever comes first.
Safety is our prime concern. You won’t be assured of safety until you reach
headquarters. You will use a password to get past the public part of the
museum. When you get there, you may have to enter through a secret passage, so
watch for it. The code is MISSING SHOE. You will be trained with access codes
and be under constant surveillance. There will be food for you and you will
stay there until further instructions. Oh, and I think you may even have time
for a little fun. Did you bring your tools?”

“They’re in my
bag,” Abbi said.

Mrs. Hightower
looked behind them.

“Good. Your
luggage is at the airport? I’ll ask Scott to retrieve it for you. We’re
expecting a lot from you two, and it won’t be easy. The task at hand is
dangerous. We know you won’t let us down. Some of the details of your involvement
will be provided at the upstairs conference room in the House of Spies, our
temporary headquarters. It isn’t without risks but when this mission is
successful, you will be justly rewarded.”

Abbi and Louise
looked at each other and Abbi felt a sudden chill.

Louise turned to
Mrs. Hightower and asked, “Um, what’s my involvement in this?”

“Very similar to
what you’ve been doing. Two sets of eyes are better than one. In this town,
it’s not smart for a young lady to travel alone. The two of you will watch out
for each other. As to your series of tasks to perform, Miss Kowalski, I don’t
have all the details and some actions will be contingent on others, a kind of
‘if this, then that’ and ‘if not this, then this other task’. You’ll have to
think on your feet. Watch for signs. Trust people on the inside only. Let your
intuition be your guide. That’s all I can say.”

Mrs. Hightower led
the girls to the door and gave them both hugs before showing them out.

“I think you can
pass through security without a problem. Stay safe. You have my number should
you need it. Your phone is equipped with GPS, the internet, a camera and will
be multipurpose. Remember to keep it charged. One day, soon I pray, we’ll be
together again. This is truly a brave thing the two of you are doing. You have
my love. Always have, always will,” she said.

“Quick question. I
have a draft with me, my mother’s report in progress, what she worked on most
recently. You have not seen this one yet. I’ve studied it and it’s important.
What do I do with it now?”

“Bless your sweet
heart! I should have known you would find it. You are so like your mum. Allow
me to make copies before you leave. Keep the originals. Always. Between us,
we’ll make things happen.”

Mrs. Hightower
summoned her aide.

“Can you still get
into the copy room?”

“It’s not blocked
yet,” the aide said.

“Then please
quickly run a copy of each of the pages this lady gives you,” Mrs. Hightower
said. “You must hurry before we get evacuated.”

Abbi looked at
Mrs. Hightower questioningly and gave the file folders to the aide. Then she
turned to Louise who shrugged. It was hard to let them go into stranger’s hands.

“I understand.
Let’s follow. You’ll get them back sooner,” Mrs. Hightower said, apparently
understanding the risk.

Mrs. Hightower
started to open the door for them and stopped.

“Just one more
thing, Miss Kowalski, Madamoiselle Soufflé—if this falls through, I don’t know
you. You’ll be safer that way. Watch each other’s back. Not to alarm you, but
someone really is out to get you!”

When Abbi and
Louise left Mrs. Hightower and The House of the Americas, the investigators who
had been examining the attempted bombing wanted the building evacuated and
closed for the rest of the day. Big Sam appeared and ushered the girls out a
back passage to help speed their departure.

“You will contact Gate
Keeper when you arrive,” he said.

Louise quickly
opened her briefcase to look at the city map and get their bearings.  

Abbi looked at the
sky. Sunshine battled with gathering clouds. The wind had picked up. If the
weather took a turn for the worse, they could catch the Metro for a few blocks.

“I’d rather walk
if that’s OK with you. How’s your blister?” Abbi wanted the freedom to run if
needed, but not at the risk of her friend’s health.

“It’s a short
walk. I can try,” Louise said.

The two girls
started walking toward the International House of Spies.

While they walked,
Abbi told Louise specific details from her mother’s unfinished report,
additional information that revealed news articles and video clips concerning a
teen street gang that had started in South America.

“This gang quickly
moved into urban underprivileged areas of the United States that had dense
populations of Latinos. Their purpose was, according to some, to gain support.
In reality, they looked for children and young adults that fit a certain
profile, people they could use in their horrible money-making scheme,” Abbi
said.

            “Kids who were
at-risk,” Louise said, trying to understand.

            “Yes, you could say
that. Basically, they looked for those children seen as on the fringe—the runaways
or troubled children, often abused or neglected in their own homes. Those were
the ones who had little hope of a good future, the ones who suffered the most
from food insecurity and neglect.”

“You’ve really
studied this,” Louise said.

“Yes, but others
didn’t fit the profile. These kids were drawn in because of the promise of
adventure or, in some cases, an exciting new church.”

“Religion was a
lure?”

“Yeah, that was
the biggest thing, really. Some of the groomers led their victims to believe
that this gang organized as a religious movement for a religious movement, as a
break from the traditional Catholic Church. The gang, NM for Nuestra Madre,
would offer food, clothing, shelter, travel, religious training and even
education. In short, they offered anything the disadvantaged kids needed—a promise
of a better way of life.”

“So, I get it!”
Louise said. “The group does a service for kids, kind of like child advocates.”

Abbi stopped for a
moment. While she talked she had been cautiously looking around. That feeling
of being followed was still there, ever-present. The reports she carried had to
get to headquarters. She clutched the briefcase tighter, so tight her hand
ached.

“Not really. That’s
a romantic way of looking at it, Louise. It certainly does not tell the whole
story but that’s enough for now. There is a very dark side to this group.
Actually, the group that split off from the main group is the one they have to
negotiate with. They call themselves NM2, and they are very dangerous.”

“OK. I keep
hearing of them. So how is your mother involved?”

“From what I can
piece together from her notes and things Mrs. Hightower has told me, Mom had
thoroughly researched the groups and knew they split. She had had some
encounters with some members of NM2 and someone had seen her from somewhere.
Word gets around. She went to Mexico to rescue a nice American girl named Maria
who fell for a guy she thought was becoming her boyfriend. They met at a mall,
and became Facebook friends. But the rescue didn’t go smoothly, and now they’ve
figured out who they caught. They figure she’s worth a LOT of money. So that’s
what we’re dealing with.”

“How much is a
lot?”

“I don’t know how
much they want, but what scares me is that she knows a lot, and if they know
that, they won’t want her to talk.”

“We have to do
this, Abbi! The boyfriend. He was what they call a groomer. What’s that?”

 “He would set
girls up: flattery, gifts, promises of whatever he figured they wanted, whether
it was education, food, travel, or in Maria’s case, a new and exciting church. Then
he would use the Internet to sell girls to buyers. Mom’s report shows that he
has an innocent-looking face. That’s mis-leading! Mom rescued Maria but then got
caught and kidnapped, and my father was shot at the same time, trying to rescue
her. He had surgery today, and he’s up here in a hospital somewhere.”

“We can call
around and ask where he is.”

“Mrs. Hightower
knows. She’s been to see him a couple of times. She tells me how he’s doing. He
made it through surgery today. And I’m not sure about his assumed name. I think
I heard it.”

“Don’t you want to
see him?” Louise asked.

“Sure, I want to,”
Abbi said sadly.

Abbi stopped
there. While she talked she had been cautiously looking around.

“I’m working on
that,” she said. “In the meantime, I’m taking you on this great vacation. What
more do you want, Louise? Maple sugar candy?”

“Sure. You never
buy me anything anymore,” Louise said with a laugh. Then she added more
seriously. “I didn’t know your grandmother was black.”

            “Now that you know, does
it matter?” Abbi asked, raising her eyebrows.

“No, it’s just
that I thought, since your mother’s fluent in Spanish and always looks tan, she
was Hispanic!”

“Close but no
cigar, little lady!” Abbi said in her best street carnival voice.

The two girls continued
walking. Abbi became silent, watchful, knowing that in the hubbub of pedestrian
travel on these busy sidewalks, someone kept their eyes on her and Louise.

Abbi looked up at
gathering clouds, expecting rain, and took a moment for another look at map
from her briefcase.

“I hate looking
like a tourist,” Abbi said. “It sets us up for crime. Notice anyone watching?”

“No. But we’re not
as close as I thought. Not to complain, but these shoes are hurting my feet,” Louise
said.

They were getting
near the Yellow Line. From the map, that looked like the best choice.

“OK. Let’s hop on.
We could do a little micro-tour of D.C. from the Metro,” Abbi said. “It would save
your feet.”

They boarded the
Yellow Line north to take it to Gallery Place/Chinatown on their way to the
International House of Spies.

“How do you know
all this stuff?” Louise asked.

Abbi explained
that she remembered things from when Nanny took her around Washington, D.C., a
few years ago. For example, she had been in some of the buildings that they
could see from the Metro.

“Besides, I have
this map.”

“Not just that.”

Abbi shrugged.

“I read Mrs.
Hightower’s packet!” she said. “And Mom’s notes and her report. And oh, the
stuff I’ve had to swallow. Yeah, that too!”

“Other stuff. The
things you know that no one told you.”

“Different ways of
knowing,” Abbi said. “I don’t know but I’ll bet someone who has been following
us gets on the Metro. Watch.”

“I didn’t know
anyone was following us. That’s creepy,” Louise said with a shiver. She started
watching more closely.

“I know! I never
saw things so clearly until now!” Abbi said, as they used their passes. “Maybe
hitting my head during that explosion did it.”

“If I’d known
that, I could have hit you a long time ago,” Louise said with a nervous laugh.
She reached for her phone.

“Who are you
calling? You know, using a phone can make you look vulnerable, like you’re not
really paying attention,” Abbi said, in a rush to beat their follower into the
waiting Metro car. There were six cars to this train, but only one had its door
open.

Louise put the
phone away and said, “I’m trying to get Mom. Why won’t she text me?”

Abbi empathized
with Louise and knew how important it was for Louise to hear her parents’
voices. Especially at a time like this. With one suicide bomber already in
their midst today, how likely was it that they were the target?

            “Maybe she’s in a
meeting,” Abbi said, trying to be helpful. “Come on. Hurry!”

Abbi looked to see
if anyone else picked up their pace. Someone was following them, but she had
not yet seen the person. That in itself was enough to almost hit the panic
button.

Finally seated,
Abbi had the chance to see each person in the car. She decided to be obvious
about it. She swiveled around in her seat to memorize people’s faces.

“I need your
peepers,” she reminded Louise. “Whoever it is following us has to be on here
now with us. This was the only car open. Memorize faces. We need to hold our
enemy close.”

The fifteen minute
Metro ride took them close to the International House of Spies. Louise soon
grew tired of looking at the group and started pointing out sites on the way.                     “You
know you’re looking like a tourist again,” Abbi said flatly, still studying the
people in the car, some seated, some standing and blocking her view.

“You said
mini-tour.”

“I didn’t say to
look like a tourist, though.”

Only one person
seemed to stand out, but it could be anyone. She reached deep inside to get a
feeling. Specifically, she needed to know if she was in danger. The easiest way
to do that was to close her eyes and get into a trance-like state.

“I need your eyes,
Louise. Watch the frumpy-looking man.”

“Are you
profiling?”

“No. He’s keeping
an eye on us. Maybe he’s not the only one. Give me a minute here.”

Abbi pulled deep
inside. Breathe in, breathe out, slowly, slowly, repeat. Suddenly, Abbi
remembered the cryptic message from Gate Keeper: I only have eyes for you. I
will be seeing you.

 That’s it, she
thought. She opened her eyes, turned and looked at the disheveled man. Then she
winked at him. He smiled.