I know it’s New York City, but our new property isn’t going to be a billion dollar project, we don’t do Trump. In the end, Nikko decides to fund the construction from a blend of us and the Shaolin, the temple will provide half the mortgage we pony up cash for the rest.
Janah calls the Mayor, Nikko and I meet with him and a gaggle of aides. Then she has meetings with the Bronx representatives, zoning, the usual bureaucratic necessities. Being connected, and the undeniable fact that what is currently a deteriorating nothing will become affordable housing and locally owned retail, a park and a clinic, made the vote unanimous. We didn’t even have to bribe anyone.
Murakami-Sylk made the papers, but in the real estate section, there are no architectural renderings to drag out yet, so we stay pretty much under the radar.
Mrs. Epstein calls, we’re going for tea this afternoon, she didn’t say what she wanted.
I spend the morning bopping Chloe with a shinai, the bamboo swords used in kendo training, then she’s with Janah for yoga. I pummel the qi dummies until I’m breathing hard and sweat soaked.
Qi dummies are a dim mak practice tool dreamed up by my first taekwondo instructor, Master Kim. Full sized human forms with sensors under the leather exterior placed at the various pressure points on the human body. If I hit one, it buzzes from one to three seconds depending on the force of the strike. One second is a painful distraction, two is disabling, three is destructive to deadly, depending on the pressure point. Spots on either side of the neck or over the heart can kill.
We can also use mental qi to hit the points. I can get a one or two second buzz with my mind, Janah and Chan can crack off three second ones from across the room. Nikko can occasionally get it to buzz for a second. The drawback, and the reason we don’t use it in every combat situation, is that it is exhausting. A session of hitting the points all over the body is draining, a second session is nap time. If I press it, I can get a second wind, an endorphin high that allows me to continue, but afterwards it’s as if I’d run a marathon.
After showers there’s time for a short nap, then dress, our car is waiting and four of us are taken to the Epstein’s Park Avenue condo.
Mrs. Epstein, “Hello dears, come in, everyone is looking well I see, nice work in Tampa. Nikko’s new worst friend is recovering slowly. He’s decommissioned for a long while with a reconstructed knee and whatnot.”
“Cookies smell wonderful, chocolate of course, sugar too I think, toasted walnuts in there someplace.”
Mrs. Epstein, “That nose, they weren’t even baked here.”
Janah, “The doctor is out?”
“At the hospital. I have no idea why he retired, he’s still over there almost every day.”
“Dad is at fault. They’ve had too much fun together all the years. I think it’s good to keep Dr. Epstein active and involved.”
“He’s getting on, so am I, girls. I asked you over for reasons I suspect you expect.”
We take places around the table in one corner of the huge living room. Her place has a living room I’ve described as an old world hotel lobby. It’s got walk around room, with different collections of couches, chairs and tables arranged for more intimate conversations. One corner is devoted to an oriental theme, the focus of which is a calligraphy we’d given them years ago, still framed by two stunning black ceramic vases, four feet high, with gold leaf circling the mouth and the base.
When everyone has a cup of tea, linen napkin and a crispy cookie on a china plate, she begins.
“As I said, the doctor and I are getting on. So are most of the senior Society members. Member is just a word, it’s not a club. We are going to have to turn over operations to trusted associates before long. We have the contacts, and the contacts’ contacts, that network ebbs and flows, new sources are cultivated, older ones retire from positions of influence. The core senior members, need to hand off those contacts or we lose them. The good news is that the people who help us in these agencies have a vested interest in keeping the network in place. They have a place to go to obtain assistance or information from another agency without a formal request, no bureaucratic fumbling or turf battles. What we get in return for greasing their skids is occasional help with keeping local police, social agencies or others from interfering in Society projects. They also don’t mind us cleaning out scum they don’t have resources to deal with. It is costly and time consuming to chase around abusers only to have deals cut to keep them out of overcrowded prisons, then released to continue making lives miserable.”
Janah, “And there’s no big budget like for drugs, or terrorism, or even illegals.”
Mrs. Epstein, “No. The public isn’t afraid of somebody beating his wife or abusing his kids. They don’t understand that many violent men start in on family first, then move on to the public. Fear of illegals I can’t quite grasp, it’s not like the American public is lining up to pick fruit, clean hotel rooms or cut grass.”
Janah, “We’re constantly astonished at the waste of time and tax money chasing around people who could simply be given work permits, pay into the social security system and buy other products and services. Completely counterproductive.”
“Over the years, it’s become apparent that you have a decent network of your own. Much of it is New York based, but you have Shaolin contacts across the country. The Society has strong ties here and in Washington, it trickles down from there to localities. In the next twelve to eighteen months, we want to start working you into those directly. You are the obvious choice, not only because of organizational skills, also because, annoyingly I might add, you appear not to be aging. We may never need to replace the core again.”
“I doubt we get to live forever, but, yes, we’re on a very slow track. I have to discuss this with Nikko and Zi as well, and I want to explore roles for Black and perhaps Chan. We, Chan and Ning more specifically, inherited Mrs. Fong’s Chinatown affiliates. Every major city has a Chinatown, and the underground between them is well developed and influential. Chan inherited Mrs. Fong’s international network, nothing of significance happens Chinatown that Chan isn’t aware of.”
Mrs. Epstein, “Once the turnover is complete, it is yours to run as you see fit. We aren’t going to insert ourselves, we will all be available for consultation of course.”
“One other thing. Who is the tech guy? I know of him, I don’t even know his name.”
“His name is Kaleph, nationality unknown, appears to be from one of the break off republics of the former Soviet Union. His name for the Society is Spider, symbolic of the web. He’s a hacker extraordinaire, a paraplegic and people averse. To say he’s a recluse is to understate.”
“I know his disability is the fault of an abusive father, he’s found a way to extract something out of that.”
“Oh yes. He was quite willing to handle our network. We set him up with his own servers and a self generated power supply and backups. He’s never gone down. His technology is more than current, his software his own, hardware is another marvel. One reason he never gets hacked is nobody knows he’s out there.”
“Which leads to the obvious problem.”
“He knows he’s not living forever. He’s reluctant to share, not the most trusting soul, but incredibly trustworthy. I don’t know when he sleeps, he’s never not available.”
“As strange than he is. A female, waif of a thing I’m told. Doesn’t speak, don’t know if she can’t or won’t, he calls her Eloise, after that creepy girl in the books, wizard with the electronics. They say she’s like a mouse running over the wiring, her nose almost touching the equipment, like she’s smelling it. I don’t know what that means.”
“I need to bring Susan in, possibly a couple of monks who are tech skilled. She could recreate a secure website from scratch, we don’t need his particular technology, we need to know who is cleared for access. If he chooses to share his stuff with us, great, but it isn’t necessary.”
“That’s a relief. Still, he knows everything about us, cutting him out might not be a good idea.”
“I have no intention of that, he’s welcome to keep after it as long as he chooses. It just makes sense to have an alternative that can get up to speed quickly. All the Social Workers, Transportation, Placement, Extraction, Minders and Cleaners, not to mention contacts across the country are tied into him.”
“That information is not his, his technology is proprietary, not the Society structure. I have all that in a separate encrypted database. He knows who is who, the information all flows through his system, he may have his own file of course.”
“I would if I were him. I’ll need to meet him, not necessarily tomorrow, but sooner or later.”
“We’ll work it out. I take it you are agreeing.”
“If the Society disappears tomorrow, we will continue some other way. None of us are content to sit still while malicious morons run loose abusing women and children. How do you want to proceed?”
“We’ll slowly make introductions, make sure they understand we are handing the reins to people well versed in the system, have been with it since its inception. I doubt it’s much of a problem. A few have already asked about a continuation plan, it must be on the minds of others.”
“Chloe, Amaya, you have any questions?”
Chloe, “One pressing one.”
Mrs. Epstein, “What is it dear?”
“May I have another cookie ?”
Mrs. Epstein is still laughing when Chloe breaks the first piece off and feeds it to Amaya, she says, “Even the young girls show no fear or concern, Bernie will love hearing Chloe’s pressing question.”
I say, “She has priorities, spread joy, have fun with Amaya, she knows I’ll take care of everything else.”
Mrs. Epstein, “I never doubted it. And now, we also have work. Janah, you will want to review the site, after you’ve thought it over, let us know what you need.”
Janah scans the pages, the screen a blur. She absorbs the data, it’s in her head, she will unfold and study it later.
“This one will take some thought, you going to the loft?”
Janah, “May as well, we have a couple of hours until dinner, what are we having?”
“Nikko and Zi are picking up dinner from Fong’s.”
Janah, “Yum. See you in an hour or two.”
Janah goes off and up, I catch the girls, “Janah’s in the meditation loft, Nikko and Zi will be here in an hour or so. Find something quiet to do.”
Amaya, “Let’s take a walk up and down Bleeker and Hudson, see if the Village has morphed into Queens.”
Lacy is coming out of the elevator as we leave, “What’s up?” I ask.
Lacy, “Finishing up a couple of parent conferences, you guys going out? Where’s Janah?’
“There’s a project, she’s in the loft. We’re going for a walk, want to come along?”
Lacy, “Yes, can I get a minute to lose the heels and get some sneakers?”
“We’ll wait here.”
Three minutes later we’re exiting Chapmans, walk a couple of blocks over to Bleeker and stroll aimlessly.
Lacy, “I had dinner with Susan and Taylor a couple of nights ago. Taylor has eased into a comfortable domesticity.”
“Lucky for Sis, she’s non-domestic, wrapped up in her work, Taylor takes charge of the house, has a housekeeper over weekly, neither of them cook. Taylor shops for prepared stuff, a couple of nights they go out to dinner, frequent the diner for breakfast or lunch.”
Lacy, “Taylor says she’s busy with Amaya too, I mean, they have the Chapmans girls, and the moms’ class.”
Amaya, “She is all into it. I never have to do much of anything, she makes up a lesson plan, which goes out the window when the girls start with their questions, but she at least goes in with one.”
“Typical. Instructors have been telling me for years they don’t know why they bother with lesson plans. All they do is answer questions.”
“You don’t mind that?”
“The questions invariably demonstrate they already have a grasp of the subject matter. They don’t ask questions to distract the instructor from hard stuff, the questions are the hard stuff. Our instructors say they have to do homework to catch up to the girls. The good ones love it, others decide to move on. I’m good with that, they do me and themselves a favor.”
Amaya, “Do you fire them?”
“People fire themselves, I mean at our school. I don’t know about corporations. New instructors start out confident they can handle it until it comes time to handle it. Some are fine being challenged, asked questions they don’t have an answer to, others think they know everything a student needs to know. When they get backed to the wall in class, it disturbs them.”
Amaya, “It sounds like the ideal teaching situation, engaged students, learning together.”
“You haven’t lived with Janah and Daphne these years without discussions about fragile egos.”
“Yes, I say it because it seems sad. A teacher not understanding how to be a student.”
“The difference between an authentic instructor and a dilettante, the former is about the student, the latter themselves.”
Chloe, “Would Chapmans have room for a class in tea ceremony?”
Lacy stops stock still, looks out into space, then, “Chloe, I have no idea how I could have been so stupid. I should have asked about it myself, that’s wonderful, are you willing to handle it?”
“If my geisha will help me overcome my incompetence.”
Amaya, “Do not be ridiculous, freckles. How could I let you go off and botch instructing the tea ceremony, it would reflect poorly on me. I do not allow poor reflection.”
Lacy, “Make the course rigorous, learn about teas, not only the ceremony. When do you want to start?”
“It’s near end of fall term. I can offer something in the spring, or wait until next fall. No more than six students though, perhaps one from each grade, seven through twelve.”
We’ve walked up Bleeker, down Hudson, it’s time to get back, I invite Lacy for dinner but she begs off, lots of school things going on and she’s ready for a quiet evening alone.
When we return, Nikko and Zi are in, Janah comes down from the loft.
Janah, “Just when I was wondering how we would have time to do what’s already on our plate, you guys are adding things to the week.”
Amaya tells her about out talk with Lacy.
Chloe, “In a way, it’s down time. It’s something we know how to do well. It will be a way to ingrain our own skills and share them with the girls, nothing is lost, much is gained.”
Janah, “Good enough. I’m hungry, Daphne, can you get this warmed up. I think I have the outline of a plan.”
Amaya, “A cocktail for me, Chloe, would you care for wine, a drink, champagne?”
“Wine is good, any kind,” Nikko, “Whatever you pull out for Janah.”
They sip drinks while I get the food prepped, Ning fixed a fair amount of dishes, I crisp the spring rolls and have them as appetizers, egg drop soup, then on to the main courses, our favorite, shrimp with garlic sauce, also mixed vegetables with fried tofu, Szechuan beef, brown rice and maybe the world’s best wings in a sharp tangy orange sauce.
Zi, “Geez, Ning’s raised the bar, maybe I’m just extra hungry.”
“No, I can tell, she’s exceeded Mrs. Fong’s high standards, the dishes are just exquisite. She’s jumped up the spice level, the sauces add bite without burn.”
Janah hasn’t gone into details of the work, not dinner table discussion. After the table is cleared and the dishes are scrubbing in the washer, we have wine and tea in the living room.
Janah, “There is a woman in San Antonio Texas running a high end brothel on a large estate just outside the suburbs. Well connected it appears, some of the clients include politicians, other well heeled locals. Her stable of girls are attractive, several college students avoiding student loans by renting their bodies. Nothing we would find of interest. Prostitution ought to be legal in my view, but that’s neither here nor there. She’s also running a string of children for hire. Not sixteen or seventeen either. Eight to fourteen.”
Zi, “How do we know this?”
“Society contact tipped off by someone who doesn’t know the person is a Society contact. The contact could hardly go to the authorities, he was a customer of the place, the college girls. The way our contact heard it was over drinks. The source was a few sheets to the wind, started talking about very young women available for fun. Said he’d heard about it while he was at the brothel, claimed not to have seen any young girls.”
Amaya, “Wonder how the subject even came up? At the brothel, I mean.”
“He said he was talking to the madam about how splendidly youthful her girls were, that he’d been to places in Nevada, most of the women are past prime. Just general whorehouse bullshit I suppose. Then madam told him she knew of a place where the girls were even younger, very young, for men who liked that sort of thing. The guy said he expressed surprise, said the woman told him she’d discovered it was a big market and how, in her line of work, these stories floated by. Said she’d heard it from more than a couple of her customers.”
“But he didn’t take her up on it.”
“So he says, we really don’t know, I can’t tag him specifically. Surveillance got inside the place, as customers, one made the acquaintance of the madam, chatted her up, shared a few laughs, a few visits later he told her he’d heard of a place where young girls could be had, high end, first rate quality, as if he were making conversation, not asking for anything. A couple of visits later, she brings it up. He said it might be interesting, a new vista. She offered him a name and phone number with the caveat that, as far as she knew, the whole thing might be rumor, the number might even be a scam. He followed up, turns out it isn’t. After a week of back and forth, he’s brought to an isolated house twenty five or thirty miles southwest of San Antonio near a place called Castroville. It’s a tiny community, three thousand or so residents. Ten miles down a nothing two lane, Texas has a lot of open land, there’s a house, mostly off the grid, solar power, its own water well, farmland, chickens. Our guy was introduced, left alone in a bedroom with a twelve year old, she started undressing, he told her not to, said he just wanted to talk, story of losing his daughter when she was twelve.”
Chloe, “What did the girl do? Did she talk? Act surprised?”
“Surveillance said she was articulate, a well groomed pretty child, sympathized about his daughter, sat in his lap uninvited. She kissed him, squirmed around suggestively in a short skirt and tank top. Wanted him to feel how smooth her legs were. He made her get up, said he wasn’t there for that, just to talk. She seemed okay with it, she told him sometimes men came to talk, or just to look. She offered to undress if he wanted, he says he declined, she didn’t react one way or the other.”
Nikko, “Rather thorough report.”
“He is obliged to describe exactly what happened. He did a good job. The rest of the report is descriptive, how the place looks, kids outside doing farm work. It’s more a big garden of vegetables, hardly what we’d call a farm. It keeps the kids occupied, outside, healthy. The house was neat, a couple of dogs, but labs, nothing formidable. He noticed a few cats, likely helpful with rodents. A barn, no horses, nothing a kid could get on and ride away.”
Zi, “How are they guarded?”
“During the day customers are unusual, a few come and go. Business picks up at night. There are twelve kids, all girls. Two adult women, two adult males. The men carry sidearms, there are rifles in gun racks in two pickups.”
Amaya, “Can’t the kids just walk away?”
“First, its miles from anything. Second, the front and sides of the house are surrounded by a ten foot concrete and stucco wall, the back, at least a full two acres, is fenced with chain link, eight feet high with razor wire. That would keep most varmints out, prevent attacks on the chickens or damaging crops. I guess they get field mice, that’s what the cats are for.”
Nikko, “And keep kids in.”
Zi, “Doesn’t anyone ever ask about the place? All those girls?”
“Besides madam’s connections, it’s also reputed to be a foster home. It isn’t registered in any formal way, not within the state or county system.”
Nikko, “I still don’t see why the District Attorney doesn’t just issue a warrant, go in and question the kids.”
“I assume he’s being paid not to, there are no complaints against the place, the customers sure aren’t going to raise the question. We can’t out our Surveillance guy. He took a big enough chance that he wasn’t being set up himself. The Society would have fixed it, but still.”
Nikko, “Did our man notice any sort of weirdness with the kids, drugged or disoriented behavior?”
“Just the opposite. Lots of chatter while they worked, laughs, friendly with the dogs, healthy and active. There was fresh produce stacked up in the kitchen, washed and ready to cook, house is air conditioned, flat screen TV, satellite dish outside. Computers, but no sign of internet connection, might be in the adults’ bedrooms. Aren’t going to let the kids have e-mail or Facebook accounts. The place is big, three stories, he was taken to the third floor, that’s the business floor.”
Chloe, “I did lots of farm work. It will keep you busy, even their small farm.”
Amaya, “How many customers?”
“Surveillance followed for a full seven days, four customers a night minimum, up to eight or ten. Weekends are actually slower, daddy has a harder time explaining being away from home one presumes. Part of the night deal is dinner and drinks, girls around in little or nothing, most customers stay three or four hours, only one of the hours is with a private girl. Daytime, there’s no supplemental service, just the hour with a girl. It’s three grand for an evening, per customer. Revenue is around fifteen thousand a day.”
Chloe, “Cripes. Ninety thousand a week! How many customers do they have?”
Amaya, “What happens, Chloe, is that the customer base is actually quite small. It is repeat business. Say there are thirty customers a week, I bet they go at least once a month, so you only need a hundred or so. Some drop out, die or move too far away, but there are always replacements. They probably turn away business, or keep a waiting list.”
Janah, “Likely. Easier to know who you’re doing business with. Remember, our guy was vetted, I’m sure they investigated him. The Society had him set with a fake identity. He would have checked out, no ties to law enforcement or social services, some bland career. He was offered a day trip, nothing about a night time gathering was mentioned. It’s how they ease a customer in, figure out if he can pay the freight. If he’s anxious for more, a waiting list is good, can charge the max, that it’s hard to get in makes it more appealing.”
Amaya, “So they connected the madam to the farm somehow.”
“It’s all cash, cash that has to be moved someplace. Surveillance followed one of the men to the brothel with the obvious, a full duffle bag, and watched him leave ten minutes later with an empty one. He wasn’t carrying fresh produce.”
Nikko, “Now what?”
Janah, “We go visit, explain our concerns to management, they get out of the business.”
Nikko, “I’m good at explaining.”
Fly to San Antonio on Sunday, collect Amaya’s favorite, an Escalade, drive to the Grand Hyatt on the Riverwalk. We have two suites, big rooms, very plush, king beds, dining tables in each, wet bar, lots of fancy toiletries in the bathroom. Decide to treat ourselves to a stroll on the vaunted Riverwalk adjacent to the hotel. Up and down, it’s quite nice, casual, lots of open air cafes, margaritas abound. We pass a restaurant called Bohanan’s, I check the menu, this is our dinner spot, something for everyone, posh. I flag down one of the staff and make a reservation for seven.
Janah naturally wants to bubble in the Jacuzzi, I briefly wonder how many hours she’s spent in the one at home, she must be parboiled by now.
Amaya, “Luxuriating in our suite sounds preferable to infinite Mariachi music, Chloe is feeling the need to attend to me while I sip champagne.”
Nikko, “You sure? Or is it you feeling the need to be waited on hand and foot?”
Chloe, “Not this time.”
“See, it is not all about me, well, actually it is, but my well being infuses the world with joy, so I reciprocate.”
Nikko says in Japanese, “Nothing but Japanese for the evening, may as well get something useful accomplished.”
“How we going to order dinner in Japanese?”
Nikko stares her death stare, “Don’t be an idiot.”
Chloe, Amaya and I peel off to our room, they go to shower, I find a bottle of champagne in the bar refrigerator, ice up a Diet Coke for me. There are bags of nuts and crackers, I pour out a couple in a bowl and bring it to the coffee table, click on a football game, mute the sound, find an acceptable jazz station and adjust it to just audible.
They come out in hotel robes, settle on the couch in front of the TV, I open the champagne and pour. Duty done, time for my shower.
When I finish and dry my hair, I pull on a t-shirt and go to refill my Coke. Chloe is kneeling in front of Amaya, robe open and legs spread, Chloe doing girl sex things. Amaya is mumbling in Japanese, her head thrown back, hands clutching Chloe’s hair. I love live porn.
I scooch in next to Amaya, do a breast tasting, then a neck and shoulder tasting, appetizers before dinner. I decide her legs need kisses, as I’m working down her left, she begins to shiver, as I work back up, she shakes in a nice vibe, then gasping, not necessarily Japanese, sort of universal linguistics, then the climax gasp, holds Chloe’s head against her.
Amaya, takes a deep breath, “It was atomic. The world is now ecstatic.”
Chloe eases in to the other side of her, they kiss, “I don’t know about the world, I’m very happy, you are non fat organic gourmet.”
We’re holding to Japanese, Nikko will be satisfied.
Chloe, “I’d like to watch Daphne do herself. Stretch out on the couch, Daphne, Amaya and I will have another glass of champagne and observe from the other end.”
I’m a strum queen, a lez who likes women to watch while she self pleasures, so is Chloe, today it’s my turn. I offer a slow, then momentum building performance, fingers in, lick, in again, then to the hot button, tease it for a bit, back inside, more tastes until I’m off in the distance, flush with serotonin and dopamine, not to mention electrically squishy.
Chloe, “Virtuoso, lovely rose blush aura, now, do me.”
Amaya, “We will both do you, spread, freckles.”
Amaya and I kneel side by side and take turns, work the legs while the other is working the V spot, then the G. Chloe’s already tuned up from the prior enticements, it doesn’t take nearly long enough and she’s babbling something in Japanese, or just babbling, hard to say, I think I hear, ‘I am weightless, flying.’
She’s all giggles, “That was unreal, just as I orgasmed, the Cowboys scored a touchdown, I felt like the guy doing the end zone dance.”
After the lively set of couch aerobics, we’ve worked up an appetite and go to dress for dinner.
Janah, “I’m starving. We did our own version of dance, I scored twice. Then we punted Nishiko out of the end zone.”
An hour later, we’re in the restaurant for our Super Girl Celebration party.
Bohanan’s is excellent, if you’re in San Antonio, go. Spinach salad with warm goat cheese and almonds, onion, mushrooms and vinaigrette, French onion soup, a filet, rack of lamb with roasted vegetables, a vegetarian platter with fettuccine, superb seared sea bass in a shrimp and tomato broth. Alaskan halibut, roasted with lobster essence and oysters and a couple orders of white truffle oil steak fries.
For dessert, we share a crispy apple tart, a double chocolate brownie with dark chocolate ice cream and vanilla crème brulée, enough calories to fuel a small country. The waiter is happy, particularly because the four drinkers polished off a bottle of Chateau de Beaucastle, running up the tab nicely. Dinner came to around a hundred per, six large and a Benjamin-Jackson gratuity.
The Society covers our extravagances, even though they can’t deduct it as expense since it doesn’t pay taxes, or even exist. We have over the years, however, enabled them to lift many multi-millions from the accounts of drug lords and child sellers. The Society started as a project of a few very well heeled people, but has amassed so much cash, it is self funded now. The assets they’d impounded are in the double plus hundred million category, the actual costs of operation, while substantial, are more than covered by earnings, they hadn’t touched the principal in the last five years. Our group is an anomaly, the other teams are two people each, which explains why we get this job. There are four adults, two armed, and a dozen children whose reactions are unpredictable, difficult to handle with a two person team.
We take a walk to digest the lovely dinner, then gather in Janah’s suite to outline tomorrow.
Janah, “Amaya will drive us to the house. Zi and Chloe need to gauge the attitudes of the children and the temperament of the adults. Daphne and Nikko will figure out how to get in.”
Nikko, “I’ve given some thought to that. I think we can cut the risk and get in without climbing walls at night or cutting through the fence. They make a money run on Monday, tomorrow. If we take the guy on the road, we get two things accomplished. First, one armed man out of the picture. Second, the front gate opens with a remote. That will be in his truck. If we snag him and the truck, we simply drive up.”
“Then what? It’s flat ground, if we rush the place, we have another armed guy and two women with rifles available.”
Amaya, “I have an idea,’ she explains, it can work.