The Sacrifice

Chapter 1

Chapter One

There was something about the fall, the cool mornings, the days becoming shorter. It seemed everything was preparing for the cold that would soon be upon them. Mark listened to the crackle of wood as he started the early-morning fire in the woodstove to take the chill out of the air.

Still barefoot after pulling on blue jeans and a navy sweatshirt, he heard the familiar sound of Billy Jo’s three-legged cat, Harley, munching on kibble. Lucky, his mutt, and Sarge, a light lab, appeared at the sliding glass door, evidently ready to come in, too. He walked over to the door and opened it, taking in the quiet. He’d left his wife sound asleep.

“That was quick this morning,” he said to his dogs. The wind was cold, and the rain was just holding off. A light frost, the first of the season, covered the grass.

A door downstairs clicked, and footsteps came up the stairs just as the coffeemaker beeped. “Good morning, Mark,” Gail said, pulling at the tie of her pale green robe, wearing slippers and flannel pajama pants. She leaned down and gave Lucky and Sarge a good petting as Mark filled two dog bowls with kibble.

“Good morning, Gail,” he said. “Coffee’s ready.”

“Oh, I see you started the fire,” she said. “Think I’ll park myself in front of it with coffee this morning. You know, I feel spoiled, Mark. I get up in the morning and you have coffee ready and the house warm. But I’ve been thinking I can’t live here forever. There’s a point where I’ll need to go home.” She turned over one of the four matching green floral mugs that Billy Jo loved, which were sitting beside the coffeemaker, clean and ready. That was just something his wife did. “You get a coffee yet?” Gail asked as she poured hers in the mug.

“No, not yet,” he said. “Pour me one, too, please.”

Mark put both dog dishes down on the other side of the island, away from the cat, as Gail filled another mug and set it down there for him. “I take it Billy Jo is still asleep,” she said.

“No, I’m awake, and I can smell the coffee. Please pour me one, too,” Billy Jo said, emerging from the bedroom. She was in a long nightshirt and wool socks, her blue fluffy housecoat pulled on but wide open over her swollen six-month belly. It appeared for a moment as if the baby had grown overnight. Damn, she was a beautiful sight.

“You sleep okay?” he said.

She was still yawning as Gail walked over to her and handed her a coffee. Mark let his gaze linger as he waited for her to take a swallow and answer him.

“Only had to get up once to go to the bathroom,” she said, “but I have to say we can add the spaghetti to the list of meals we’ll skip until after the baby is born. Too heavy, and it left me with a lingering heartburn. Oh, and I got a text from Lisa just now, which is what woke me after I finally settled into a deep sleep, a dream I now can’t remember.” She pulled her cellphone from the pocket of her housecoat and handed it to him, something he hadn’t expected.

“You need to tell her to stop texting so early, or I will,” he said.

She only rolled her eyes and walked to the living room, from which he could already feel the heat of the woodstove. “Just read it, Mark, and stop nagging. Important is important.”

Mark took a swallow of the steaming coffee and typed in his wife’s passcode, then took in the text from Lisa:

Just checked messages at the office about the Palmer kid, Mila. DCFS returned her to her mother last night, but Mom wants to know what happened to her daughter, as she has a red medical incision on her abdomen, left side. I pulled up the file, but nothing shows.

Another text dinged: Scratch that. Mom is on the warpath. She’s at the ER right now. Got a call from the ER doc because Mom has threatened half the staff after they discovered her daughter’s left kidney was removed. They want us to go down and take daughter from her. Do I go?

Mark just stared. He could feel Billy Jo watching him as he squeezed the phone, and he flicked his gaze to her. She lifted her brows, blowing on her mug of steaming coffee, and said nothing. At what point would he need to yank his wife from this cesspool of the DCFS? Stress was stress, and he still couldn’t believe she wasn’t all over this.

Mark let his gaze linger on Gail and Billy Jo in the living room, his wife now in the leather recliner and Gail adding another piece of wood to the fire. A knock at the door had them both looking his way, and he took in the clock on the stove, which read 7:15 a.m.

“Yeah, I’ll get it,” was all he said. He put his coffee down beside Billy Jo’s phone and strode to the front door, feeling that unease that seemed to build every day and never leave. He flicked the deadbolt, and Lucky was already right beside him, letting out a woof. Sarge quickly followed, barking more.

“Quiet down,” Mark said before he pulled open the door and took in two tall men, one in a dark coat, the other a light brown. Something about them screamed Fed, and he spotted the familiar bulge of a sidearm under each of their coats. No badges, but everything about them, the way they stood, the way they stared at him, said enough. He let his gaze linger on their clean-shaven faces and two black SUVs parked behind his Jeep. There were three more men in his driveway, one by the side of the house, wearing dark clothes, and one in military fatigues, watching, standing guard.

What the hell? His heart thudded, and he thought of his gun tucked inside his gun safe in the bedroom. Sloppy. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Mark Friessen?”

He didn’t turn around even when he heard footsteps behind him. “Mark, who is it?” Billy Jo said. Damn, why couldn’t she stay put? There was the cold fear he recognized and never wanted to feel again.

“Billy Jo, take Lucky and Sarge. Stay in the house.” He knew it had come out rather sharply, and he glanced only once to Billy Jo and his baby growing inside her, seeing the moment she understood.

“Come on, you two.” She reached for Sarge’s collar, then Lucky’s, and pulled them back down the hall.

Mark stepped out of the house, barefoot, feeling the chill in the air. He pulled the door closed and wished again that he had his gun. He didn’t like being caught off guard. “Who are you, military? Why are you at my house?”

The one at his door, dark hair, close cropped, about Mark’s height and build, gestured to him. “Would like to have a word with you,” he said. “Wondering if we could talk over here.”

He realized it wasn’t a question, as the other guy was already down the stairs. Mark took in the security camera outside, which still had to be hooked up, and followed them both down to the side of the house. They walked as if they knew exactly where they were going, and the hair rising at the back of his neck was just another warning about how vulnerable he and his family were. Everything in him was screaming, What the f**k?

“Okay, you have me here at the side of my house,” he said. “Who the hell are you?” He couldn’t make out the other two guys by the vehicle, but he had a feeling they were special forces, maybe. It was just something about the way they stood, the way they were positioned to the side, as if each had a job.

“We’re with the military,” the dark-haired man said. “We’ve been following you, Chief Friessen, and we’ve put together a special unit going after human traffickers, child traffickers. We’d like you to join our team.”

He just stared. For a second, he couldn’t come up with a reasonable response. “What?” He glanced between the two men. The other was chewing a piece of gum and glancing everywhere but at Mark. He had a mustache, light brown hair, and was a few inches shorter. These men were not desk jockeys, judging by how pumped they appeared, from weights and training or something. “I’m not clear,” he said. “You’re with the US military?”

“No, not entirely US,” said the dark-haired one, jumping in, and Mark picked up something in his accent that said he wasn’t from around there.

“Look, boys, I need a little more than what you’re giving me,” he said. “I’m not entirely comfortable with you showing up at my door, either. My family is here. You say you’re not entirely US, so what does that mean, exactly?”

The shorter one with light-brown hair and a mustache dragged his gaze over Mark. His eyes were brown, and the edge in them gave nothing away. “We can’t disclose too much,” he said. “Let’s just say we’re a team comprising some former military, some current military, former law enforcement, and former intelligence from the US and a few other countries. What we’re doing is putting together a team to put an end to trafficking on a worldwide scale. Right now, I’m sure you’re aware human trafficking was once surpassed by guns and drugs, but there’s more to it, and we can’t say too much unless we get a commitment from you to join our team. We operate under the radar, but we’re tackling head-on something that has remained untouchable.”

Mark let out a rough laugh, which, he realized, was likely not what they’d expected. He jammed his hands through his thick red hair. He didn’t know what to think, and he wondered for a second whether this was a joke.

“I understand you may be a little thrown,” the man said. “This is highly unusual, but we’re in a different world now, Chief. Let me ask you something. You feel as if your hands are tied at times? We’ve been following you. We know about the trafficking ring you discovered on the island, the one the old chief was a part of, and the church minister who was a staple of the island. For how many decades have children been moved through here, under the radar? One of your cops was even part of it, and a prominent pediatrician, and how many on the town council were aware? This is only one island. You brought it down single-handedly, but you’ve found yourself in a constant political battle ever since. You’ve been looking into every resident of the island because you have a feeling this is bigger than you can imagine. You’ve battled constant red tape, district attorneys refusing to prosecute, working against you. You’re up against a line of predators who can operate unscathed because of who they are and the power they hold. Then there was the social worker before your wife. How many kids disappeared, were trafficked and sold?”

“If I recall,” Mark said, knowing he sounded pissed, “you guys showed up and took all the case files, shutting down my investigation into the kids the caseworker was responsible for, who basically disappeared. The missing money and all the evidence is gone.”

The dark-haired one had the same expression as the other guy, a hardness that gave nothing away. “Not us,” he said.

“It was the military.” Mark leaned in, hearing the asshole tone of his voice. He didn’t like being blown off.

“Chief, you can’t be that naïve,” the man said. “You know there are multiple branches within the military. Units follow the orders they’re given and don’t even realize that the people whose orders they’re following aren’t the ones they swore allegiance to. You were over the target, getting too close, and have stepped on toes. Others are watching you, too, not just us.”

He thought his ears were ringing. “What? Who’s watching me?” He found himself looking over his shoulder. The chill that went up his back bothered him in ways he couldn’t have explained to anyone.

“Those whose toes you’re stepping on. You don’t want to be on their radar. Leaves you with that nice, tingly feeling, doesn’t it? Maybe you want to sit with this for a minute. And that camera you have at the front door? You should get it hooked up.”

Then both men turned and started walking back to the front.

“Wait,” Mark called out. “I don’t even know who you are, your names, how to get a hold of you. You just show up here and drop this bomb on me?”

The mustached man looked back to him, and Mark figured he was the one in charge. “You can call me Dion, but understand we didn’t have this conversation. We’ll give you a bit to think about what we’re offering, what it is we’re asking of you. Just know that it’s best you don’t share this with anyone. This isn’t a job, Mark Friessen. We’re asking you to join the team. There will be training. We’re going after these traffickers, after the children. Some we can save, but many we can’t. Think about it, Mark. How many children go missing every minute, never to be found again? Who’s taking them? This is bigger than you think. We’ll give you the morning.”

“Wait,” Mark said. “I have a wife and a baby on the way.”

Dion didn’t pull his gaze, which, for the first time, held something that resembled emotion. “Maybe that’s another reason we’re asking. Again, Mark, we’ve done our homework on you and your wife, the social worker. Billy Jo, is it?”

He liked this even less, these men he didn’t know anything about bringing up his wife. “Who do you work for, then? Who funds you? Who do you report to? I kind of need to know more than what you’ve told me, just showing up here and asking me to join some task force. I’m the chief on this island. You’re asking me to walk away from my job. Who is going to watch over the people here, keep things safe? The former chief wasn’t part of it by choice, so you evidently know somebody got to him. My question, are those same somebodies watching me? I won’t keep this from my wife. We have no secrets.”

Dion gestured to him, standing at the front of the house now. There was no window at that side, and three tall, thick fir trees also sheltered them. They were out of view of everything. “You’ll be briefed in full detail when you decide to join the team. You’ll sign a military NDA. What you learn will be classified, and you can share only what isn’t. You’ll have to explain it to your wife. We have our own families, too, who understand that what we’re doing is important. You can share the general gist, just not ops. Those details don’t get released to anyone outside the team. I shouldn’t have to explain why. Your chief was gotten to because the people responsible, who have you in their sight now, operate in the shadows and compromise those they can’t buy, those like your former chief, among others.”

How much did Mark really know about the intelligence community? Less than he should. For a second, as he stood there, he couldn’t get his brain to come up with anything he knew he should be asking. “How do I get a hold of you?”

Dion only shook his head, then started walking, “We’ll contact you,” he called out over his shoulder.

Mark followed, stepping over the pinecones on the grass, and watched as five men climbed in two SUVs, backed out, and drove away. He took a second, standing in the cool morning air, unable to shake the feeling that he was now at a crossroads, and whatever choice he made would forever change his life.

It was unsettling. His wife was pregnant, but what was the thing he’d always promised her? Kids and animals, he’d sworn to protect them.