Preston noticed a local news car showed up just in time to video the departure of everyone but the sergeant and his original crew.
He and Angie did their best to hide from the reporters and their camera. The sergeant seemed to understand and allowed them to get back into the van. They sat in the back and watched until another crew came and relieved him to take them back to their campsite. When the other officers appeared to be staying, Angie and Preston moved to the middle seats for the ride back.
The sergeant said, “We saved this group of children for now. Maybe they will do well. But you know the same madmen who wanted their bodies will simply find more.”
Preston and Angie were silent. Eventually Preston asked, “I don’t suppose you know who the customers are.”
The sergeant smirked. “You don’t want to know.”
“I know the Israelis are in on this, with the possible complicity of the CIA and other national spying agencies,” Preston offered.
The sergeant turned to glance at Preston sitting behind him. “You know too much.” He drove in silence a moment. “Okay, so maybe you could guess for yourself, but most of the trade ends up serving in places where NATO, the UN and EU government bodies meet and their branch offices. Most of these kids would end up near The Hague, but working for different pimps scattered around the area. My understanding is the pimps all work together in a loose confederation. This is a very loose but very large organization. You can guess the rest.”
Again, it was anti-climactic.
As they drew in sight of the Albert Heijn shopping center, the sergeant said as if to no one in particular. “You know, Roermond is a rough city. You have friends here, but your enemies are quite dangerous. It’s probably very wise to pack and ride out away from here right away. Catch the train. Maybe ride it north to Venlo and back over to Eindhoven or something.”
The sergeant had avoided the highway, taking the secondary main routes instead. So driving north of the shopping center, he crossed under the autobahn and kept heading in a northerly direction. A bit short of Swalmen he turned and drove back down into Boukoul. He said something about not even trusting his own fellow officers too awfully much, and then pulled up on a side street where a narrow graveled lane dropped south into the woods. “It’s just a short distance from here that way.” He pointed down the bike path.
Angie and Preston already knew it came out just a few meters from where they were staying. They understood. This was the nature of their business.
They had already half packed before leaving, so getting things loaded on the bikes took less than an hour. Using it as a hint, they followed the same route back up into Swalmen. A train heading north came along shortly. At Venlo they had to change trains, but almost at random decided to head off into the German side, ending up with one change in Mönchengladbach. With only a short wait, they caught another train south to Herzogenrath. It was a bit longer there, and the ride into Heerlen was actually shorter than the layover.
Preston stayed awake while Angie dozed, curled up against him. He couldn’t have slept if he wanted. They were back at Heerlen Central shortly before dinner. Exhausted, they eventually fell into bed rather early and slept late.
While Angie went about making breakfast, Preston passed everything on to his boss. Over the next few days, they processed the footage and photos for cataloging. Eventually Gary sent an email.
One real MP, two impostors, working out of Rheindahlen. Cargo picked up at differing beaches in Düsseldorf parks, moved from the barges by skiff as you suggested. Vans decommissioned now. Final destination you were told is confirmed. Now you know why this is so hard.
Angie and Preston went to the Prancratius Church the next morning for Sunday worship.
