The Swarm - Unraveling the Shadows

She managed to get into the twin-engine jet she'd flown into the jungle and flew out again as the remnants of his decimated cohort watched. They were stunned as she menacingly strolled through their midst. They made a path between themselves and the jet. Her warning and the conviction in her strained voice about an imminent airstrike struck a discordant desire to attack her and their sense of survival. They turned and fled. But the remnants of El Mas Loco's cartel army were too late for that escape. JW ensured they paid for the innocent victims they had murdered in that jungle as death swooped in from above.

Two years later, after a stent in some medical facility on Gitmo, I was hot on the trail of another cartel in Juarez, Mexico, a ruthless human trafficking cartel known as El Enjambre or The Swarm, which exploited undocumented immigrants as slave labor. I hadn't informed the Worthington accountants about that yet. However, there was a possibility that I would need their assistance. JW knew about the Colonel's trip to Texas and his former troop members' participation in the shootout. He deemed that a green-lighted scenario and took no action.

As my kata wound down, I reflected on this new sinister cartel and what little I knew about them. It all started with a lead from a victim I encountered on the Mexican side of Juarez, across the Texas border. The woman had paid to transport herself and her eighteen-year-old daughter across the border on the promise of work in a factory in Detroit, Michigan.

"Están por todas partes, como abejas en un enjambre," "They're all over the place, like bees in a swarm," a woman in her mid-thirties gasped, her eyes filled with desperation. Maria Hernandez, a grieving mother whose daughter had vanished without a trace as the cartel members separated them. The tearful mother begged me for help.

"They dumped me and left me behind when the truck was filled," she wailed.

Maria handed me a crumpled photograph of her daughter, Rosa, and a slip of paper with the scrawled name Muller International Freight Lines.

I fed that intel to JW back in Washington, D.C. It didn't take long before my lipstick-red Maserati winged its way northeast across the Interstates and landed at Muller International's headquarters. JW pointed me to Worthington and Worthington Inc. as a significant source of intel gathering. Worthington had been a principal player in bringing an end to a grifter group of truckers operating out of Texas the previous year.

The pieces of the puzzle I obtained today from Gina and Jim indicated that this was massive on two scales. The drugs were going west, and the one on my radar, human trafficking, went north. Those nuggets of precious intel painted a broader picture of the Swarm's prolific enterprise as it branched nationwide.

That evening, I telephoned JW from my motel and informed him of the situation.

"Jackie," JW declared, "I'll send this to the DEA. They can handle it from here. They have the manpower."

"JW, I gave Maria my word. I'd find her daughter. So, I'm not finished with this case."

"Jackie, we've talked about promises before ...."

"Yes. You always keep yours, just like the one you made to find the killer of Eulalia Rice's daughter in Georgia. Come hell or high water, JW, I keep mine, too. Have you forgotten that?"

My words were icy, bordering on disobedience; lately, that seemed more prominent in my life; it seemed more so when shit hit the fan. As I braced myself for his response, I thought —it was what it was.

The line was silent for a few moments. Bringing up my support role in solving Alaina's cold case from Atlanta was bitchy, I knew, but I wasn't above exploiting a soft spot to gain some advantage. Then JW's deep voice softened in reply.

"Be careful, Jackie — don't let Jade Dagger get carried away. Let me know what resources you need — good hunting."

Jackie Wilson's new persona, Jade Dagger, had solemnly vowed to Maria Hernandez: to uncover the truth behind Rosa's inexplicable disappearance and end the heartless human trafficking operation orchestrated by the notorious El Enjambre Cartel. As Jade pursued new leads daily, her resolve grew more robust, fueled by the unwavering belief that justice would prevail and Rosa would be reunited with her grieving mother. However, the grim reality of the cartels and their callous disregard for human life weighed heavily on Jade's mind. Money dictated their actions, eclipsing any semblance of familial bonds, friendship, or basic humanity.

In that worn and tattered photograph, the innocent expression on Rosa's face served as a poignant reminder of the vulnerable life into which she had been forced. The prospect of her finding legitimate work in a factory or elsewhere seemed nothing short of impossible. Instead, the harsh truth loomed over Jade — Rosa would likely become a prime target for unspeakable sexual exploitation. The mere thought of it drove Jade to unleash her frustrations upon the tranquil night air, slashing through it with fierce anger in the depths of the park.

Jade couldn't help but contemplate how Rosa's beauty contributed to her tragic separation from her mother. Should Rosa be found and returned, she would undoubtedly bear the scars of her ordeal, forever altered from the innocent girl her mother had lost. The aftermath of such experiences had been all too real for Jackie Wilson, who had returned from the unforgiving Mexican jungles a changed woman — emotionally wounded, akin to a cold, unyielding, jaded dagger.

"You're back. A glutton for more headaches from data mining or something else we can help you with, Ms. Dagger?" Gina quipped as Jade Dagger strolled into Worthington and Worthington's ground-floor forensic office.

"More mining, that's what I was thinking, Mrs. Anderson."

"So, how did it go with Rawlings last night? Have a nice dinner and discussion — about mining?" Gina teased.

"No, Mr. Rawlings had other plans. Something to do with snow plowing and gardening," Jade smiled back as she sat at the conference table.

"Que será, será," Gina thought, looking puzzled. She was sure two hot-looking young people would have had a pleasant evening together, especially after the looks she caught of each eyeing one another throughout the afternoon session yesterday.

Her hopes brightened as Jim Rawlings returned with a carafe of coffee. He froze in the doorway for a moment. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Jade in a bright yellow Asian-style dress sitting at the table. Gina saw that spark of interest in his eyes.

At least there is still an interest; she figured as she poured three cups of black java.

I tried my best to act casual, catching the FBI chic sitting at the table; I managed a halfway-normal greeting as I came through the doorway. After yesterday's departure, I hadn't expected to see the vibrant sword-wielding FBI lady back.

"Glad you made it out of the park okay," I said as casually as I could muster.

"Trouble in the park?" Gina quipped, gazing out the cleaned-up front windows. The data had vanished.

"No," Jade chimed in, grinning wryly. "The police didn't show up, and the campers kept their distance."

Gina's eyes widened in that what's-up-unspoken look she had perfected. The unvoiced women's art of facial expression communicates myriad meanings, interpretations — usually not understood by a guy. I had begun to interpret some of those looks. The twins were also perfectionists at that too. After some exasperating moments with the twins, I began to read it better.

I responded, "Gina, Jade had a workout in the park that caught a few eyes — two from the fourth floor."

"Must have been quite the workout for Brett to chime in," Gina joked before getting down to business.

Jade Dagger's conversational mode turned severe. "My boss has decided to turn the drug-related elements to the DEA for further investigation. However, I need your company to send an overnight package of the western route data to this address," she said, sliding an address across the table. "Mark it to the attention of Jack Wilson, Case Manager."

"Anything else, Ms. Dagger?" Gina responded.

I saw Jade Dagger take a deep breath before responding.

"Yes. The other routes will remain under my investigation for now. So, I need that information and our discussions to be kept discreetly under wraps until I can unravel that tangled mess. I also need the names of the truck drivers and anything you can gather from Muller's company regarding their current locations and addresses for anyone who drove out of Juarez on this date and timeframes. Can you obtain that information — without alerting Muller?"

I looked at Gina. She wore the same expression I imagined I had on my face.

"We'd need to run this by Brett," Gina responded, "but I'm sure we can get what you need. You suspect someone within Muller's company is up to no good — exploiting people?"

"Look, I know both of you have military backgrounds and Worthington. I was in the Navy for a while, so I know you all understand the value of data security. This may not be directly tied to Muller, but someone lower in the company could be involved. Lives are at stake here. I can't risk spooking someone and have truckloads of victims dumped in the desert to avoid detection," Dagger declared.

Gina called upstairs, spoke with Brett, and discreetly handled the documentation to be sent to Jack Wilson. She extracted the names and driver information from the deliveries on the northern routes from her other files.

Jade Dagger funneled the three drivers' names through JW, and his organization spits out the most-probable-driver connection based on IRS and other regional database information. It was a starting point for untangling the connections from Juarez to the routes traveled northward.

With the drivers' information in hand, Dagger looked solemnly at us and said, "Thanks for all your assistance in this case. I'll take it from here... and when I'm finished, I'll give you a heads-up on what happened."

Before leaving, she turned to me and handed me a copy of the tattered photo of Rosa Hernandez. Her voice sounded edgy, tinged with worry. "Rawlings, if you don't hear back from me in a week, please, contact Jack Wilson. He'll fill you in." Her words sounded cryptic.

"Dagger, you sound like a one-person task force. You do have backup, right?" I asked, shaking hands with her again. I felt that Dagger was approaching this like the Lone Ranger--or an Army of One.

"My backup is in my trunk," she declared, glancing at me with those piercing eyes. It told me what I needed to know. This wasn't a by-the-book operation. There was more to Jade Dagger than she was letting on.

Gina observed quietly, taking in the scene as the lipstick-red Maserati sped out of the parking lot, headed north on I-75 towards Detroit.

"What backup was she talking about?" Gina asked as we climbed the steps.

"She was referring to those two swords, I suppose, that she keeps in her trunk."

"What swords? Is she some FBI ninja?"

I couldn't reach Gina's lightheartedness at the moment and replied, "She has that look of someone cutting their way through a dangerous jungle -- alone and seeking vengeance. That's my impression of her, anyway."

The photo she gave me was a clue to where her case was heading; it was personal, and probably not all of it was FBI related.

Jade Dagger, determined to locate Rosa, stood outside an address on Eight Mile Road in Detroit, Michigan. She knocked on the door, her heart pounding with anticipation.

"Wade Garrison?" she asked.

"Yeah. What dah ya want?" responded a gruff voice behind the door.

"Postal delivery for you, Mr. Garrison. Need a return receipt delivery notice signed, please, sir." The uniformed, postal-services delivery lady piped up.

The door creaked slightly, revealing Wade's face; his hands reached to grasp the brown-wrapped package. But before he could react, the sharp end of Jade's sword pierced through the box, pressing against his throat. Panic filled his eyes as he stumbled backward into the room, pinned against the wall with a thud. Jade followed, holding the hilt of her sword in one hand and a crumpled photo in the other.

"I'm only going to ask once, Wade. You get one chance at this. Where is she?" Jade's voice was firm, her grip unwavering.

The blade threatened to draw blood, causing Wade's breathing to quicken. He swallowed hard, his fear evident as he spoke, "She... I left her at a warehouse down on the corner of Rosa Parks and South Forte Street, a place called Import Enterprises — an old red-brick building facing the riverfront."

The blade tip began to cut. Wade felt a trickle of blood seeping down his neck. He swallowed hard again.

Jade's eyes narrowed, her resolve unyielding. She pressed the photo closer to Wade's face, demanding further answers. The tension in the room grew palpable.

A sharp edge underscored her words. "Want to keep screwing around with the Mexican girl upstairs, Wade?" she uttered after getting the info she wanted.

Sweat trickled down Wade's brow as his heart rate skyrocketed. Blood stained his collar, and he felt the wetness seeping down his collarbone. Fear gripped him, leaving him unsure of how to respond, afraid of the consequences if he answered wrongly.

"No, probably not," he squeaked in reply.

"Good answer, Wade," Jade's gritty remark cut through the tension as she pressed the photo against his face again.

"Wade, if I don't find this girl, I will come back looking for you. It ain't gonna be pretty, Wade. After slicing up the flaccid little thing between your legs, I will gut you like a fish. So ... Wade, I advise you to grab what little you can carry in your two hands and beat it out of Michigan after I leave; leave the girl with money to get home. And Wade ... I got everything I need to track you to the ends of the Earth: your mom's stuff in California, your sister's flophouse in Florida, and Raul Martinez's rat hole in Juarez. You know Raul, right? The guy who pays you cash to deliver the workers from Juarez?"

With her menacing words hanging in the air, Jade commanded, "Wade, stretch your ass out on the floor and stay there. Move before I close the door, and I'll cut you a new asshole right about here." Her sword left an incision mark on Wade before she departed.

Time ticked away; it was relentless and unforgiving. It had been a week, and the chances of locating Rosa in the forsaken warehouse dwindled like a dying ember. But Jade knew she had to unravel the following link in the chain, that one man who held the key to Rosa's fate tightly within his clenched fist.

She located the guy in charge of the warehouse and squeezed that clue out of the greasy bastard who peddled the new girls brought in from Mexico. He offered them jobs and threatened deportation over their heads if they didn't provide the cleaning services for his contract with the luxury apartment buildings. It was slave labor. He delivered them to the hotels and apartment complexes at night and collected them by day. They were kept under lock and key.

But not all his girls met the cleaning service criteria — the lookers provided other services. He eventually admitted under duress — as Jade's sword nicked an artery.

Giovani was a stubborn man. At first, he had been a recalcitrant blowhard. But that didn't last long. He thought he could take anything the puny Amerasian could dish out. After all, she'd caught him off-guard, and when he came to, she had him tied to a chair in a dimly lit, old coal cellar in the basement.

"Beat me, bitch! You ain't gonna hurt me much. When I get loose, I'm gonna fuck you up!" he sneered. He said that like he expected her to cut him loose and say,"Forgive me, Giovani, I was so stupid to think I could hurt you."

"Giovani, I'm giving you the same advice I gave a friend of yours — talk — talk now while I'm in the mood to listen, or I'll feed you to those northern pike in the Detroit River," Jade growled as she reached over her shoulder and unsheathed her sword. Giovani's breathing ran heavy at that point. His eyes bulged. Fists he felt confident to handle ... a damned ninja sword pressed against his throat was a whole new ballgame. She was like a Detroit Tiger out of the batting cage — loose and wild-eyed.

"I hear those Detroit River pike enjoy bite-sized bait pieces, Giovani. You look like you got a lot of bite-sized pieces. I got two razor-sharp swords. So ... Giovani ... I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse."

It wasn't Jade's further lack of words that got to Giovanni. What got him talking was the short-blade sword she unsheathed and slashed across his pant legs. Not deep, but deep enough that his pants ran red. Hot and flushed with anger, Jade Dagger had momentarily lost her deft control of that ancient weapon. Still, it got her what she wanted as she stripped his shirt for a tourniquet and tied it around his leg.

"Get your ass to a doctor — or you'll bleed out in an hour. Good luck, asshole. And Giovani, if word gets out, my crew will return for you, your wife, and — your three kids. Capiche?"

I left the fat man untied in the cellar, expecting not to hear from him again. Going up the stairway, I dropped a photo on each step as a reminder of his family ties, including his father and mother. It was a successful technique from past criminal cases that I counted on for his silence.

Armed with newfound knowledge, it took me two days to design a plan for extraction. Giovanni had reluctantly revealed the identity of the kingpin--Montgomery Whitmore-Smythe, a man consumed by wealth and inflicting pain on women as if they were disposable objects. His opulent fortress resided on the twenty-sixth floor of the Detroit Tower Building, an emblem of his power and corruption on Jefferson Avenue.

Undeterred by the risks involved, I set out to take down this influential figure, regardless of the personal cost. My plan relied on a swift and surprise assault, executing a deft raid allowing me to strike and retreat without being caught by him, his accomplices, or the police. He was a cruel bastard but not a terrorist, so I expected this to be at least a fifty-fifty chance of getting out.

I had no way of knowing in what shape I would find Rosa or if she even was willing to flee if offered her freedom. The escape down the elevator held the greatest danger. Unknown would be the number of stops between the penthouse and the garage level of people unknowingly trying to get on, and worse, if the opening would be covered by police when the door rolled open in the garage. But that was an acceptable risk factor, given my hunger for justice.

The feelings weren't new; they burned my soul like an unyielding flame in the jungle's depths at night. With my Maserati parked, I strolled across the dank garage and announced my arrival for a private dinner, using it as a ruse to gain access.

The garage attendant's gaze lingered on me, drawn in by my commanding presence. Whether it was the sway of my hips or the irresistible allure of my Amerasian heritage, I had always known how to captivate attention. Tonight, it was no different. The attendant's eyes remained fixed on my feminine form, oblivious to the true purpose of my visit.

Adorned in a tailored, yellow Chinese dress, a modified Cheongsam/Qipao, I exuded elegance and a hint of availability. The high collar accentuated my slender neck, while the side-slit skirt concealed my short-blade swords with cunning precision. However, it limited my agility, the strategic slit allowed for mobility in moments requiring speed.