Lost(23)

Marie said, “I’ve tried to give you a good overview of the city’s criminal issues. The information I get on the group that tried to smuggle the kids into Miami comes from a couple of sources. The woman who runs the group is named Hanna Greete. She’s managed to keep a relatively low profile, but she deals with Russians, and Russians always talk about their competition among themselves.”

I said, “It’s been my experience they don’t hesitate to talk about their competition to the police too.”

“I haven’t been able to conduct decent surveillance on Hanna’s group because of a lack of resources. All anyone seems to care about anymore is terrorism. Human trafficking has taken a back seat. That’s why I work closely with our paramilitary agency, the Koninklijke Marechaussee. And that’s why I brought you here tonight.”

I noticed the activity at the far end of the block. “You’re taking me on a police raid for our first date?”

She smiled. “No, on our first date I dragged you all around the city after you had traveled for twelve hours. This is our second date. And things will only get more exciting from here.”

“Are these guys going to arrest Hanna Greete?”

“This apartment is used by several different smuggling groups. I got this specific tip from some Russians, which means they’re not holding any people here themselves. We don’t have a lot of information, but we know that the man who owns the apartment building tends to like younger girls. It’s very common among these safe-house owners. And that’s not something our friends in tactical gear down the block appreciate.”

I felt a twinge of excitement. This was a big deal. It also meant that Marie trusted me. She’d gone out of her way to involve me in this. After spending time with the kids we’d rescued from Miami International, I had a genuine interest in watching human traffickers taken down. I wanted to see a whole group rounded up. I wasn’t satisfied with the skinny Dutchman I’d grabbed at the airport.

It was a swiftly evolving, complicated crime, but it didn’t capture the public’s attention as much as terrorism or narcotics did. I’d learned in the short time I was involved with this case how dangerous these human traffickers could be.

Obviously, the Dutch police felt the same way. They were taking no chances. I watched as two different groups of men dressed in black tactical clothes with body armor and carrying MP5 machine guns hustled along the street in the shadows. They looked like a SWAT team from any major U.S. city. This was getting interesting fast.

I said a silent prayer for the poor people in the building who were trying to get to the States. They might not have realized the danger they were in from these scumbags who viewed them only as a source of income.





CHAPTER 30





I WATCHED AS the SWAT team lined up outside the wide, decorative wooden door that had probably been handcrafted three hundred years ago. They were all precise and quiet, the definition of a good SWAT team.

TV shows make SWAT teams look sexy and glamorous. In real life, it is a tough, physical job with endless training. Critics call them militaristic or threatening without ever considering the decisions SWAT members must make in a split second. And just the sight of a team has saved lives; that alone has made barricaded suspects surrender and dangerous crowds disperse. A SWAT team is the big dog you don’t always have to let off the leash.

At the end of the block, the support officers were pulling into position. They would be the ones to enter the building after it was secured.

This was one of the most dangerous activities for any SWAT team. When noncombatants or victims are inside a house with the suspects, tactics change. Like most cops, I don’t know how I could live with myself if I accidentally hurt an innocent, like a child, while executing a search warrant.

I felt nervous for the team about to enter the apartment building. You never know; the next entry might be your last. Marie listened on a radio. I couldn’t understand any of the Dutch being spoken, but I recognized the tone. They were getting ready to breach the main door. I’d bet there was another team that would make entry from some other point.

An older apartment building like this would have several doors. Most would crumple under a strike from a battering ram.

Marie Meijer said something into the radio, then turned to me and said, “If someone runs from the building in this direction, we’re the ones designated to stop them. Is that okay with you?”

I smiled. This was a lot more action than I’d expected. I no longer felt tired.

Then the SWAT team swung into action. Even from our position, I could hear the pounding on the door and the officer yelling in Dutch. I suspected he was saying something along the lines of “Search warrant. Open the door.”

A team member came up from the back of the line with a one-person battering ram. He swung and hit the solid wood door twice, and the booming thumps echoed in the ancient street like explosions. On the second strike, the lock gave way. The door flew open wide, with only the lower hinge keeping it attached to the frame. The team was inside in an instant.

My heart raced as I watched the raid commence. I was worried about the cops, worried about the victims, and bothered that I had no role in it.

I could hear a woman’s wailing scream like a fire alarm, then two flash-bangs—distraction devices that we also used in Miami to shock and blind. The loud boom, boom echoed through the apartment complex like thunder. Even at this distance, standing just outside Marie’s car, I could feel the vibration.