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  JUSTIFIABLE: OREGON

  from the series Justified

  by

  Pamela Wright

  Smashwords Edition

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  Published on Smashwords by:

  Reaction Press

  Justifiable: Oregon

  Copyright 2010 by Reaction Press

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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  Dedication

  Each year 800,000 or more children, women and yes, men are taken and sold as sex slaves or work slaves around the world. These people are stolen from their loved ones and the lives they had led. They are sold, abused, tortured, and murdered. I dedicate this book to all people whom have been taken, abused and tortured around the world. We will never stop looking for you. We pray for your safe return and we pray God will always be with you.

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  Acknowledgements

  I would like to acknowledge and thank those that have been so generous with their encouragement, their time and their talent; without which this book would never have been possible.

  To my husband and children whom endured late meals, missed appointments, and endless readings I thank you.

  To Author, Marie Crist your support and ambition carried me through. Your energy and determination kept me on point. Your help was without end and still is. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  To my daughters, Jamie and Jessica, and Debra you were always there to help wherever and whenever it was needed.

  To my friend Cheryl, who gave honest criticism, I thank you.

  To Carson Parks for the incredible book cover and web design, your artistry is exceptional you have my deepest gratitude.

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  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49

  Epilogue

  •

  About the Author

  The Justifiable Series Continues in Mexico

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  PROLOGUE:

  TILLAMOOK ROCK LIGHTHOUSE

  SEASIDE, OREGON

  He worked swiftly, the order of dispensing with the body down pat. There was a certain amount of pride in a job well done. There was relief in knowing that he had total dominion over the crematorium and that no one would or could disturb his work without his permission, or at least without his knowledge. The trip to the rock alone took thirty minutes on rough water, more.

  Closed circuit monitors and video kept him assured of his privacy as he gathered the Intel he needed to pass on to those who needed it to continue their missions. His mission was always the same. It never varied. Many would find his work unsettling even unnerving, but not him. He knew his work was all that kept so many others safe and out of harm’s way.

  Terrible Tilly, as the lighthouse was known, rose from the sea on craggy slabs of jagged rock. Native American folklore believed the rock looked like a sea monster to protect the evil spirits that dwelt beneath the depths of the ocean. More than one soul lost his life while Terrible Tilly was being constructed more than a hundred and thirty years ago.

  Supposedly, many of the lighthouse keepers lost mind and self-control as they kept the lights shining out to sea. The history of the lighthouse was fraught with stories that only Hollywood usually thought up. Even now, the old girl was steeped in intrigue and on a clear night with the stars shining, smoke could be seen wafting out to sea as the crematorium, housed inside Tilly, consumed one more soul’s lifeless body.

  Loved ones and friends alike weren’t likely to venture out to Tilly to see the tiny little cubicle that held the ash remains of their dead. The only visitor who had ever ventured out to the rock, in a speedboat, had become violently ill from the choppy surf. Once inside the lighthouse; insidious little sea worms that infested the porous surface of the lighthouse had fallen onto the poor guy. He couldn’t get back to shore fast enough.

  A pest control company was called but before the infestation was under control; three trips to the lighthouse had to be made by the company.

  No, no one else ever wished to pay their respects in person to Terrible Tilly. This fact played well with the new caretaker of the crematorium. On foggy nights and most are dark dank foggy nights, the smoke from the furnace was lost at sea.

  The room was set up like any other autopsy room, complete with instruments, drains, tubes, etc... Cadavers aren’t intimidated. However to the regular guy, one who’s still breathing, it can be scary as hell. Especially the way the caretaker liked to introduced them to the room and the equipment. Most of these guys are the ones who have been on the other side of terror. These guys are the ones that have taken great pleasure in inflicting pain and fear on innocent victims.

  The caretaker took no pleasure in the pain. He did take a great deal of pleasure in watching them turn from cocky, arrogant, tough sons of bitches into blubbering cowards that would tell him things they didn’t even know in the hopes of securing their freedom.

  Their freedom was not an option for a number of reasons. First and foremost, their freedom would destroy the ultimate mission. Second, their freedom would ensure the pain and suffering of countless more victims and their families and that was unacceptable to the team. The team’s mission was to save lives, to save innocents and to rid the world of the scum that preyed on others.

  These animals always knew of other animals, they were like packs. They delighted in hearing of each other’s conquests. They taught each other the tricks of their trade. They helped each other to trap torture and often kill their victims. No, he felt no remorse in his work.

  The interrogations were always performed during daylight hours. The windows in the tower let fairly bright light into the work area. Additional lighting would not be detected from shore or home telescopes. Nor could the interrogations be witnessed because the windows were few and high above the room. The constant crashing of the waves hitting the rock, on which “Tilly” was perched, blocked all other sound. All and all the lighthouse was the perfect place for these procedures.

  The furnace was large, loud and incredibly efficient as it worked under cover of night so the unauthorized cremations were virtually unnoticed. The lighthouse had its own mega generators and did not require local utilities and no record of power use was ever recorded. In the end, the ash left behind was dispersed among the foamy sea caps leaving one less monster to prey upon the weak.

  The t
eam delivered the three subjects to him as usual, the night before and sedated. By the time the first subject was regaining consciousness the caretaker had him strapped to the autopsy table, all the tools of the trade spread openly on high tables within sight of the subject. Mirrors were carefully placed for maximum view of the entire room and its intended purpose.

  This part of the interrogation was critical and the time it took varied greatly from subject to subject depending on a number of factors. He needed the subject fully conscious and completely aware of his surroundings.

  “Water, I need water.” The subject was clearly coming around fast. The caretaker stood silent and in full view of the subject, he didn’t move a muscle he waited patiently, quietly.

  “Hey, water, I need water.” The subjects voice was a little stronger, slightly annoyed. “Where am I? I’m thirsty. What the hell!” The subject struggled against the restraints.

  The caretaker could see the confusion and concern flicker across the subjects face.

  “Where am I? Where am I?”

  He remained still and silent letting the subjects predicament settle in.

  “Damn it I asked you a question! Answer me! Where am I? Answer me, damn you!” The table held steadfast but shook as the man struggled violently against his restraints.

  A few more minutes and the subject would take notice of his surroundings. The table, the instruments, the tubes already attached to his I-V, the mirrors and of course his interrogator. Each time it was very much the same in the beginning, confusion, annoyance, demands…

  “Was I in an accident?” The question was more to himself than to the interrogator. “Wait, wait a minute. This isn’t a hospital.”

  The subject was taking note of his surroundings now. The stone walls and the damp, cold, musty scent of the room added to his confusion. The mirrors he stared into, reflected all the tools of the trade, normally never seen by its clients. The drain that flowed along the edges of the table he found himself strapped to, drew a barely audible gasp from the subject.

  The subject slowly turned his head to stare straight into his captor’s eyes and he knew. He knew just as his victims had known, there was no way out. Not a sound was made. Not by either of the men, not even as the interrogator stepped closer to the table, all the while returning his stare.

  The interrogator calmly and quietly took a clipboard from the instrument table and began to scan the document. He had read it numerous times prior to the delivery of his newest subject. He knew every victim, every evil inhumane act perpetrated against each young girl. This part was important. It was important for him to be in the right mindset, to be reminded of the absolute necessity of this work. The photos of the innocent girls set his jaw in a clench and the subject took note of his captor’s clenched jaw, as their eyes met again.

  The interrogation began.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 1

  THE OREGON COAST

  2011

  The yacht had returned from Baja the night before, dropping anchor in a cove down the coast, south of Tillamook Head. There was no way to ever have seclusion along the coastline. The best one could hope for was an inlet with no beach access road leading to the shore. The 101 highway was often sprinkled with wide spots in the road where people could pull over for a scenic view of the Pacific.

  The yacht could be spotted by any number of sightseer’s above, but even the very best binoculars couldn’t give away the secrets below deck. Above deck, sunbathers and Grey Goose gave the appearance of lucky people living a luxury costal life.

  The Captain strode periodically about the ship, crisp white jacket and navy blue slacks lending prestige to the scene above deck. Sunbathers draped dreamily on the expensive chaise lounges, shot glasses at their fingertips.

  Captain Snell stopped and adjusted a sun-sail over the top of a sleeping bank executive. The banker snorted and twisted slightly on the chaise.

  Very soon now, the banker would come to and expect delivery of what he’d paid for.

  “Luxury at its finest,” that’s what the banker had called it, the catalog that is. The banker had spent a great deal of time perusing the inventory, eyeing something of particular interest, only to be carried away by a new find.

  To the banker they were dolls really, life sized dolls presented for his playing pleasure. The little beauty with the long dark lashes had his attention right away but the tiny little blond with a dimple just above the corner of her mouth captured his imagination and his imagination was going wild with possibilities. Eventually a decision had been reached and the fee had been wired to an account in the Caymans. This time though he would be more careful, he would take his time. Last time it had ended all too quickly he had miscalculated his strength; she had been so small after all.

  The banker had set aside a few days of vacation time to fully enjoy his new acquisition. The staff at the bank had been told of his much-anticipated diving trip to the Grand Cayman Islands, a ruse insisted upon by the sellers of his luxury purchase. Grey Goose never had this effect on him before. Groggy and listless, he lay a little longer on deck. It was mid-morning and he knew his new toy was onboard by now. Excitement and anticipation stirred his emotions, helping him clear away the fog of the drink from the night before.

  Ted had boarded the ship after dark along with two other buyers in Baja. The limo driver had begun by serving them champagne on the drive to the docks. The three buyers met for the first time in the limo and were a little uncomfortable with each other at first.

  The champagne followed by the extravagance of the yacht and flowing liquor loosened everyone up and soon the three began sharing stories of wild escapades that lasted well into the night. By morning, each one was passed out on deck and unaware that the ship had dropped anchor along the calm Oregon coastline.

  Ted struggled to stand, his legs wobbled beneath him. The Captain informed his employer of his guest’s waking.

  “Good morning, Mr. Anderson.” Ted jumped at the unexpected and unheard arrival of his host behind him

  “Err…good morning, Mr.Jackman. Has my purchase arrived?”

  “Yes it has, if you will follow me to the main salon.”

  “The salon… I though, I would rather...”

  “Would you prefer your cabin Mr. Anderson?”

  “Well, yes actually. I would prefer my privacy.”

  “Very good then, follow me to the main salon for a coffee while I instruct the crew to have your purchase placed in your cabin. Did you sleep well?”

  “Not really I’m still a little groggy from the liquor I guess.”

  “Sea air, expensive liquor and good conversation will exact its toll Mr. Anderson.”

  Dark Columbian coffee filled the main salon with its scent and Ted was ready for a cup or two. “Black no sugar, please,” Ted instructed.

  “As you wish,” Jackman extended the cup and saucer and Ted gratefully took the cup and breathed in the rich aroma before taking a sip. The coffee was strong and seemed extraordinarily delicious to his taste.

  “It must be the sea air,” he mused as he poured a second cup and again drank deeply. He felt revived and the anticipation of seeing his new toy was foremost on his mind.

  Jackman hung the phone up. “I believe all is ready, if you will follow me.”

  “I can hardly wait, but first, tell me how are we to dispose of … of the…merchandize when I’m done?”

  “That’s of no concern for you, Mr. Anderson. You’re package deal is all inclusive and those worries are ours to incur.”

  “I want to know for peace of mind, you understand.”

  “Very well Mr. Anderson, we have… an understanding with the Mexican government. There is a lucrative market for secondhand merchandise in Mexico. We sell to Mexico and the merchandise is shipped all over the world, without a trace…are you ready?”

  “Absolutely,” Ted said smiling as he whistled a lively little tune and strutted eagerly behind Jackman. The ship was large and the walk seemed some
what endless and just as Ted was about to ask Jackman exactly how much longer it would take, Jackman came to a halt in front of a row of cabin doors. “About time,” Ted muttered under his breath.

  Jackman opened the door to the cabin and entered ahead of Ted. Ted entered and anxiously looked around. Irritation and confusion scowled his face as he watched Jackman close the door and turn to face him.

  “Well?” Ted waited for Jackman to respond. Jackman said nothing. Ted’s eyes narrowed to slits. “If you think you can swindle me out of a shit load of money, you’re… you’re…” Ted swayed unsteadily on his feet though the ship was calm and still. “I want what I paid for!” Ted felt groggy and light headed just as he had when he woke earlier. “The coffee, the coffee had… You…you’ll….”

  “Never get away with it, I know Mr. Anderson. Everyone says that… funny really, coming from men like you.”

  “They’ll know I was never in the Caymans’!”

  “Mr. Anderson, you’re upset, it’s understandable, given your circumstances. You do remember buying a coach airline ticket don’t you? You went to the airport, you checked your bags and you even spoke to the agent when you showed your documents at customs, as per our instructions.”

  “Yes,” Ted’s voice rasped.

  “You were instructed to go to the men’s room and change clothes, yes?” Mr. Jackman kindly nodded his head to his own question and Ted slowly mimicked his movement. “You were asked to drop your ticket into the trash receptacle along with your clothes. I assume you did so?” Mr. Jackman’s methodical voice encouraged a response.

  “Yes,” Ted whispered.

  “Well then, there it is, don’t you see?”

  “I never got…”

  “On the plane… I know, Mr. Anderson. Our Mr. Anderson got on that plane, our Mr. Anderson who bore a striking resemblance to you. He wore your discarded clothes, retrieved your ticket from the trash bin, boarded your flight and promptly took a nap, conversing with no one. Upon landing, our Mr. Anderson went to the men’ room, changed clothes put on a ball cap and boarded a return flight using documents we prepared for him.”