Missing Jenny: A Tor Medina Thriller, #4

Preface

Two weeks ago – Raleigh, North Carolina

Thabo Dubaku was finishing his breakfast in the living room of his deluxe suite at the Grand Westin Hotel. The room was spacious and luxurious but he would rather be at home, in Atlantic City.

He had flown in last night, checked in under an alias and was now waiting for his business meeting. He would be back home later tonight.

This wasn’t the type of business trip he enjoyed. It wasn’t even about business but it was important. Too important to be handled over the phone and extremely important to his father.

The senior Dubaku was the boss of the Mai-Mai gang in the U.S. The African gang had been dealing a considerable amount of dope in the past months and was growing fast, especially on the East Coast. Dubaku’s fame was spreading quickly. They were known for being aggressive and ruthless. They trampled on the competition and became Raleigh’s main crack cocaine suppliers in just a couple of months.

Thabo was satisfied with the business in Raleigh. They were moving a lot of their product and were making a lot of money.

Thabo was ready to expand to other cities but his father was a superstitious man and wanted to make sure their luck did not change. They planned an offering to keep their good fortune intact. Thabo was to instruct his man in Raleigh but was not going to take part in the ritual. He respected his father’s motivations and their country’s traditions, but he did not want to run any unnecessary risks.

The phone in the room rang.

Mr. Smith, good morning, the concierge said. There is a Mr. John here to see you.

Please send him up. Thank you. Thabo was relieved his man had also used an alias. He knew discretion was paramount in their line of work.

In a couple of minutes, Thabo opened the door to Jonah Dybala, the gang’s man in Raleigh. They knew each other well and hugged briefly, then sat around the table in the living room.

Dybala was an efficient and trustworthy businessman and without being asked, reported his area’s performance to his superior. The crack cocaine business was growing faster than expected and the prostitution ring he set up, despite not being nearly as profitable, was a great gateway to bringing in new customers.

He also briefly commented on the human resources aspect of his organization. Dybala explained to Thabo how he kept his ‘soldiers’ in line, being a tough and demanding boss but rewarding them well for their loyalty. He had a lawyer working on resident visas and had been trying to pocket a few police officers, but admitted he wasn’t progressing as fast as he wished.

I am aware of all that. We are very satisfied with your work. And don’t worry about the product. We will be bringing some more soon. Thabo paused for a moment, then revealed the reason for his trip. I’m here because I want you to carry out a special assignment.

Sure, Mr. Dubaku. Anything.

You are familiar with our belief system. My father is a superstitious man and wants to bless your area. We are sending you one of our medicine men to perform a ritual to protect our business here. I want you to do as he says. He’ll be arriving later today.

No problem, sir. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. He can stay at the house and I’ll get him whatever he needs.

Good man. You are going to have to be very discreet. I want you to oversee the ritual personally.

No problem, boss.

Thabo insisted. He wasn’t convinced Dybala understood what type of a ritual the doctor would be performing. "I already know some of the things the doctor will need. He is going to want a secluded place by the water, so you have to find a lake or river where he can carry out his enchantments without being seen or bothered.

Not to worry. I already have a couple of places in mind.

Dubaku took a sip of his coffee. You also need to find a subject, a victim.

A victim? Dybala asked but was figuring out the kind of a ritual the doctor would be performing. For a sacrifice, you mean?

Yes. No children.

Yes, sir. Dybala had a lot on his mind but decided to keep to himself. He was contemplating the weight of his mission. It was serious: abduction and murder. Not that he minded the violence. He was used to it. It was a matter of taking the job seriously.

Thabo noticed the man became thoughtful. He saw it as a good sign and had some suggestions. I would hang out around a college and find one of those loner types. Look for someone walking around alone, playing with the phone, unaware of the surroundings.

The obvious, unsuspecting victim. Dybala was already visualizing his plan.

Yes. The doctor is going to drug the victim, then cut him. You have to dispose of the body in the water.

Yes, sir.

Be careful with the abduction. I do not want you to get caught. Avoid public places and traffic and security cameras. Make sure to search the victim and get rid of the wallet and phone.

Yes, sir.

You understand we are doing this to protect our business? Especially in your area.

Yes, Mr. Dubaku. Thank you.

***

Later

Lake Crabtree is an artificial reservoir located only some twenty minutes from Raleigh. It was constructed to relieve any possible flooding in the region. During the summer it is full of visitors and it is known to be a great place for windsurfing. In the colder months, it is not unusual to find joggers and bikers enjoying the track and view.

At night though, it is always empty. The area is a good choice for a killing ritual and a body dump. The road around the lake leads to a small secluded nook, where Dybala instructed his men to take the victim.

When Dybala and the medicine man, Doctor Kgosi, arrived, the men were already there, parked near the water by the edge of the forest. Dybala stopped his car and helped the doctor unload his gear. The night was dark and quiet but Dybala wanted to move quickly.

Where is the victim?

One of Dybala’s two men answered, She is in the car, tied.

Dybala walked to the car and looked through the window. A girl looked up in a panic. The white in her eyes contrasted with the night. Her mouth was gagged and her wrists were tied behind her back. Dybala looked at his man, who was ready with an answer.

We tied her wrists with a cloth-like you instructed, so there wouldn’t be any marks.

Don’t worry about her wrists, the doctor added. He took his lantern, a small cauldron, and a sharp machete and placed them on the floor, near the water. Then he retrieved a small thermal bottle and ordered the men to bring the girl.

Both men walked to the car and brought the frightened girl to the doctor, practically carrying her. Dybala was careful to check her pockets for any identification cards but his men told him they had already done that and disposed of them and her phone.

The doctor then asked the stronger man to hold the girl still and the skinnier man to remove the gag and hold her mouth open. The doctor poured the tea he had previously prepared into the girl’s mouth. She choked and gasped but swallowed plenty of it.

The doctor sharpened his machete with a sharpening stone, while he waited for the effects of the tea to kick in. In a few minutes, he could tell the girl relaxed and the men were holding her with much less force. She was ready.

Next, the men did as the doctor ordered, released her wrists and laid her on the ground, right by the water. Then one of the men sat on her chest, immobilizing her. The other held her right arm to the ground. The doctor sat beside her and pulled her hand out, stretching her arm completely. He started chanting in a foreign language. Then he checked the girl again. Her pupils were dilated and she was smiling. The tea had kicked in and he could begin. The doctor raised his machete high, mumbled some words and struck her wrist! The girl screamed in pain and shock.

Good! The doctor was satisfied with her suffering. He took another whack at the hand and cut it off completely. He placed the hand in the cauldron and then did the same to her other hand. Then he ordered the skinnier man to clamp her head with his thighs and hold her cheeks. The doctor deftly took his sharpened machete and sliced the girl’s lips straight off. He threw them in his cauldron, with the hands.

The girl bled profusely from the wrists and was soon unconscious or dead. The doctor asked the men to hold her in the shallow water for a few minutes, while he took his cauldron and some other items into the woods.

After a brief ritual with the body parts, the doctor came back to the lake with his cauldron.

I’m finished, he announced. You can dispose of the body.

The men looked at each other, unsure of what to do. Dybala took charge and ordered them. Take that small rowing boat over there and dump the body in the middle of the lake. Take the cauldron too, put it in a bag and throw it over. It will sink to the bottom. And take the doctor’s machete too. Clean it up and bring it back. Then he turned to the doctor. Is that okay, doctor?

Yes. The doctor answered and headed to the car.

Dybala was also eager to leave the scene and left his men to dispose of the body. I’ll see you two tomorrow, at the office. He headed to the car and before entering, sent a text message to Thabo Dubaku.

It is done.

PART I

Boston

Chapter 1

Wednesday night, August – Seaport District – Boston

I read that over four hundred million containers are transported around the globe every year. That number represents about ninety percent of the world’s trade. At the same time, due to the absurd volume, only 2% of them are properly inspected by customs.

Wow! These odds sure sound attractive. What do you say we leave the force and start a smuggling operation, Medina?

Haha! That’s funny Løke, considering it’s my first month here.

Officer Tor Medina and his partner Dafne Løke were in plain clothes, chatting over dinner. They were trying the almost famous Rumpy’s Roast Beef at the Galley Diner on Drydock Avenue. The diner sat at the corner of the Massachusetts Freight Terminal, on Harbor Street. The greasy joint felt worn out and in urgent need of a renovation. The floor was stained, the paint on the walls was peeling and the tablecloth was spent. The food wasn’t that great either.

Okay, Løke. Tor put his sandwich down. Can you tell me now why we’re here? My investigative palette is telling me it’s not because of the roast beef!

First, tell me more about what you read. Dafne, Tor’s new partner, was a gorgeous blonde and a seasoned cop. She was strong and stern, and her voice was authoritarian. At first glance, she was extremely attractive, but it was easy to tell she was bossy.

I only had a couple of hours to do the research you asked. Tor got no sympathy from her so he continued. This is what I learned: When port authorities are suspicious of the cargo inside containers, usually because of funky ship manifests or shady origins, the first thing they do is use imaging technology and radiological sensors to attempt to detect nuclear materials. Of course, that happens rarely, and it is quite costly. Most of the time, they perform a Cargo Inspection Exam, using gamma rays to x-ray the interior. It’s a non-invasive exam, so they don’t open the container. He paused for a second to give her time to process the information. You know that gamma rays created the Incredible Hulk, right?

Come on Medina. Don’t be a goofball.

Fine. So these gamma-ray exams are usually completed shipside or within the port facility. If the authorities are still suspicious, they move to a backdoor exam. He paused and looked up at Dafne. Don’t worry, I won’t make a crack, already making one. Then he resumed, This means they open the container’s door, but don’t mess around with the cargo. The door just happens to be at the back…

What’s next? She interrupted, forcing the conversation to move along. Tor had a feeling she already knew where it was heading. She was leading him. He also realized why they were in this area of town. She was looking for a container. He also knew where. He played along and continued his report.

Next is what they call an Intensive Exam, performed by a Contraband Enforcement Team. They open the container, go inside and examine everything. This is the one that shippers hate the most. It takes the longest, and they have to pay for the costs of the layover.

How do the shippers know what’s going on with their cargo?

They can track their container on the shipping company’s website. It’s similar to tracking a parcel. The shipper is also notified by the shipping company if the shipment is singled out for inspection.

Dafne nodded slightly. Medina had done a good job. There was still more, though.

Okay. Tell me more about this Intensive Exam. Is it done on board or at the port? She was being obvious now. Tor smiled and answered. He had enough playing coy.

No. They take it to a designated facility. There is one near every major U.S. port. By ‘coincidence,’ he gestured air quotes, the Boston one is right around the corner. He pointed to the building from across the window, the same building she had been occasionally looking at since they had sat down. The Massachusetts Freight Terminal.

Good job, Medina. Now tell me, if I want to smuggle something, how do I do it?

I think with these odds you play the numbers. Expect to lose a few shipments and cash in on the ones that get by Customs.

Okay, but how do I get my stuff in these containers?

"Your best bet is to find someone who already exports. Track records and reputation count when Customs single out which units to inspect. Spread your stuff over a few shipments to minimize risks. In case you might need to make shipments ‘disappear’ from the system, you should also hire a hacker. He can break into the system and change dates, weights and contents, confusing the shipping companies into discharging the units.

Once the cargo arrives, if you can avoid detection from a couple of non-invasive exams, it will be delivered to your door. If it gets busted, your name doesn’t show on the manifest and the shipper can argue the cargo was tampered with. The system’s hack will be proof.

What if it gets flagged for examination?

Then you’re screwed. Just like with the IRS. That’s when you’ve already lost.

No, seriously, Medina. How do I retrieve my stuff if it’s under examination?

You have to wait for it to be cleared! If you want to get your stuff before the examination, you have to break in there. It’s a federal offense, you know? He paused. It was clear now. The lame roast beef was only a ruse, and they were on a stakeout.

Tor looked out the window and examined the area. The freight terminal was a large staging area with about eighty container bays. It was conveniently located less than a mile from the port’s unloading dock. The containers that were selected for inspection were brought here by trucks and inserted into the bays. They remained sealed until the inspection began.

The whole complex was fairly open and accessible. A road divided the lot and was constantly busy with trucks carrying cargo to and from the docks. The few fenced areas had a simple three-foot-tall chicken wire enclosure. The entrance was lightly protected by one security booth next to a barrier gate. It served mostly as an information booth. Once the containers were inside their bays, a door was lowered and locked, so there was little need