Whitaker demanded, planting a boot between one man’s shoulder blades. — The woman brought in tonight. Where is she?
The officer said nothing at first, breathing hard. — I’m not asking twice, Whitaker said.
— Basement, the man finally choked out. — She’s in the basement holding cells.
— Get up. You’re taking us there. The officer struggled to his feet, hands bound behind him.
He led them toward the stairs. At that moment, Lieutenant Missura came rushing from a side hallway.
He saw the armed team and reached for his weapon. Gorman was faster. He swung the butt of his rifle into Missura’s jaw.
A wet crack. Missura dropped unconscious. — Cuff him, Whitaker said.
The team moved down the stairs into the basement. Damp, cold, mildew in the air. Several old cell doors lined the corridor.
— Which one? Whitaker barked at the officer. The man pointed with his bound hands to the last door. — That one. Cell three.
Whitaker ran to it. A heavy padlock hung from the latch. He fired one shot into the lock.
The metal shattered. He kicked the door open. It swung inward with a rusty groan.
Whitaker entered first. His weapon light cut across the tiny room. Bare concrete walls. Rusted pipe. And a woman handcuffed to it.
Victoria sat on the floor, drained but conscious. Her face was bruised badly, lip split, one eye nearly swollen shut. Her wrists were torn and bloody where the cuffs had rubbed through skin.
But her eyes were clear. She raised her head and looked at him. — Holden. My God. You’re alive?
Victoria managed the faintest smile through split lips. — Still here, sir.
Whitaker dropped beside her, pulling a handcuff key from his pocket.
He had taken it from the desk sergeant upstairs. His hands shook as he worked the key into the lock. At last the cuffs clicked open and fell to the floor.
— Medic! Down here now! he shouted into comms. Their team medic, Andrew Peters, came in at once with a trauma kit.
He knelt beside Victoria and began a quick assessment. Flashlight in the eyes. Pulse. Neck. — Clear stun gun marks on the neck, he said.
— Deep abrasions on both wrists from the cuffs. Multiple facial contusions. Split lower lip.
— Possible concussion. She needs a hospital. Victoria tried to stand.
She swayed, and Whitaker caught her. — I’m fine, she said, voice rough but steady. — We need to move fast. We don’t have much time.
Whitaker helped her sit on the edge of the cot. Peters handed her a bottle of water. She drank deeply.
— Tell me what happened, Whitaker said, crouching beside her. — Start at the beginning.
Victoria wiped blood from her lip with the back of her hand. — Standard plant-and-shake. Highway stop. Fake lane violation. Officer named Igor planted the package in my trunk. Then they brought me here.
— Lieutenant Missura asked for twenty-five thousand to make the charge disappear. Whitaker’s jaw tightened. — Go on.
— When I refused, they escalated. Detective Vinokurov came in. They talked openly about building the case and sending it to their judge—Belokopytova. She’d give me real time.
— Then Missura started making it personal. He tried to assault me in his office. Whitaker went pale with anger.
His fists clenched. — I stopped that, Victoria said calmly. — Put three of them down in fifteen seconds.
— Then they came in numbers, beat me, and hit me with a stun gun. After that they chained me down here. And Rodion, here’s the important part.
She looked him straight in the eye. — I heard Missura talking with a major. Name sounded like Grusden. He’s the one above them.
— He’s running the whole thing. They were planning to kill me tonight. Make it look like an accident or suicide.
— I had maybe three hours left. Whitaker stared at her. — Kill you? You’re sure?
— Completely sure. I heard every word. He said I knew too much and couldn’t be allowed to leave alive.
— And this isn’t the first time. Whitaker exhaled slowly.
— Then this is bigger than a dirty stop. This is organized corruption. A criminal enterprise in uniform.
Victoria nodded. — It’s a well-oiled system. They’ve been doing it for years.
— They plant drugs, extort money, and if the victim won’t pay, they push the case through a detective and a judge who are both on the take. This place is a conveyor belt.
— How many victims? — I don’t know exactly. But one of the women in my cell said they bring somebody in nearly every week. Over three years, that’s hundreds of people.
Whitaker stood and pulled out his secure phone. — Where’s my phone? Victoria asked quickly. — The younger patrol officer took it at the stop.
— There may be messages on it. Maybe more. Don’t let them wipe anything. That phone matters.
Whitaker stepped into the hallway and called out: — Gorman! Find Major Holden’s phone. Seize every phone in this building.
— Take every desktop, every hard drive, every paper log, every sign-in sheet. Sykes, pull the surveillance system and take the whole server if you have to. — Yes, sir!
Whitaker dialed another number. — Lieutenant Colonel Whitaker, Special Tactical Command. Put me through to Internal Affairs duty command immediately.
— Yes, this is corruption-related. We’ve uncovered a criminal operation inside a county police department.
— Extortion, planted narcotics, fabricated felony cases, possible homicide cover-ups. Yes, I’ll hold. Victoria pushed herself to her feet.
Peters tried to stop her, but she waved him off. She stepped into the basement hallway. Nearby, the other cell doors were open.
The tactical team was helping detainees out. Lena was there, along with the older woman from the cell.
Victoria walked over. — You’re free. It’s over.
Lena looked at her battered face and burst into tears. — Thank you, she sobbed. — Thank you. I thought nobody would believe me. I thought I was going to prison for something I never did.
— My mom’s been trying to raise the money for three days. Selling whatever she can. Victoria put an arm around her.
— She can stop. They’re done. You’ll give statements, and this time somebody will listen.
The older woman stepped forward slowly. She looked at Victoria with hollow eyes. — Are you really with a tactical unit? she asked softly.
— Are they really going to prison? They can’t buy their way out?
