Jubal counted out a stack of twenty-dollar bills but hesitated midway, pulling his hand back just as he was about to hand it over.
"Uh, quick question—if I pay for the $900 session but don't end up using all the time, do I get a refund? Or maybe a discount?"
Hannah, listening in, couldn't help but laugh, glancing sideways at Jack.
Jack looked exasperated, thinking, As if I've ever been the one left crying! Just give me time—if I'm still here in 40 years, you'll still be the one begging for mercy!
Finally, playing the part of a miserly middle-aged man to perfection, Jubal peeled off a few bills, leaving just $500 before handing it over.
"Uh, alright then. You ladies just wait here a moment. There's no minibar in the room, but I did bring a bottle of champagne." Jubal fumbled in his pockets, shuffling toward the bathroom in a way that suggested he was hiding a blue pill for some private assistance, making the three girls exchange knowing smiles.
"So this is what FBI professionalism looks like?" Jack stroked his chin, pretending to take notes.
"Get to it!" Hannah gave him a shove. The short-haired girl had just messaged the driver. If they didn't move now, Jubal might have to take this act further than intended.
Jack knew it was time—he was just having a little fun. The black Mercedes outside had already shut off its engine.
The two split up, approaching the vehicle from opposite sides while staying out of view of the mirrors. From his angle, Jack could see a thin man in the driver's seat, just putting his phone down and leaning back as if ready for a nap.
Crash! Jack smashed the passenger window with his gunstock, startling the man. Simultaneously, Hannah moved in, her Glock pointed directly at his head.
"FBI! Don't move!"
The driver instinctively reached toward the gun in the console, but Jack leaned through the window, grabbed his arm, and yanked him out of the car window with brute force.
The man was clearly "Spider"—his gangly limbs and wiry frame fit the description. Like Boar, he suited his nickname well.
Spider wasn't much of a fighter. While Jack's earlier comment about Boar being beaten to tears was an exaggeration, Spider really did break down crying after Jack accidentally dislocated his arm.
Hannah led the three rescued girls from the motel to the parking lot, where they watched with mixed expressions as Spider whimpered in pain. Just moments earlier, this man had been their tormentor, the one who'd verbally abused and beaten them into submission.
"Yes, it went well. He gave us the address—it's still on Long Island. Alright, see you soon." Jubal hung up and turned to Jack and Hannah.
"The SWAT team is set up. You two grab your gear and join them. It's all in your hands now—stay safe."
Jack gave him an OK sign and instructed the NYPD officers arriving on the scene to look after the rescued girls. He then returned to the Dodge Hellcat, opening the trunk.
Even though they'd mostly be assisting the SWAT team, he still prepared ceramic plates for himself and Hannah—safety first.
Stepan Teshak and three of his men were hiding out in a seaside villa in Southampton, on Long Island.
The SWAT team had staked out the area overnight, waiting for the perfect moment. At dawn, once all the gang members had returned with the girls, they prepared for the raid.
"Two adult males spotted on the first floor, both armed," reported a sniper.
The villa was a three-story building in a desolate area, surrounded by a fence lined with cameras and an electric wire. The SWAT snipers, dressed in ghillie suits, had to observe from behind a distant tree.
"They've got at least four armed men inside. The rest could be upstairs or in the basement. We need to move fast to avoid anyone being taken hostage," Hannah reminded the SWAT commander, a bit apprehensive.
The commander gave her a reassuring thumbs-up and began issuing commands. "Alpha team, take positions for targeted fire."
"Three...two...one...engage!"
Two muffled shots shattered the glass on the first floor. A SWAT team moved low toward the front door while another squad disabled the electric wire, climbed over the fence, and moved toward the villa's back entrance.
Upstairs, a commotion broke out as someone yelled questions in Ukrainian, reacting to the sound of breaking glass.
"Teams, advance! Move, move, move!" the commander urged.
Jack, his FK 7.5 equipped with a silencer, moved along with the team, covering their rear alongside Hannah.
Crash! A SWAT member used a battering ram to breach the front door. The team split into groups of three, sweeping through rooms with precision.
"Bang!" A shot sounded upstairs, followed by a report over the comms. "Upper floor clear! Four civilians secured."
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Shhh." Jack held up a finger to Hannah, noticing a small closet door under the staircase by the entrance. If he wasn't mistaken, it was likely the basement entrance.
They positioned themselves on either side of the closet, waiting silently. There was a faint shuffling sound from inside. The door creaked open a crack, and Jack shot Hannah a look. He then yanked the door fully open and stepped aside. Hannah moved in, kicking the person inside right in the face as he peeked out.
The man in the cramped space took the kick head-on, screaming in pain. Hannah wasted no time, firing two silenced shots when he refused to release his gun.
Thump, thump. The man tumbled down the narrow staircase, followed by the gasps and screams of young women below.
Thanks to her smaller frame, Hannah crouched and crawled into the closet space first, while Jack followed behind. Luckily, it seemed this guy was the last of them—there was no immediate danger.
The basement was more of a storage room, about ten square meters, where over twenty scantily-clad girls were packed like sardines.
In the flashlight's beam, the girls shrank back, staring at Jack and Hannah in terror, trying to avoid the man lying at the bottom of the stairs. It took them a moment to grasp what was happening.
Jack exhaled in relief. Mission accomplished. No innocent lives had been lost.
"FBI! Теперь ты в безопасности! (You're safe now!)" Jack said in clumsy Ukrainian, crouching to grab the wounded man and shine a light on his face.
Sure enough, it was Snake, also known as Stepan Teshak—the monster Hayley had described.
---
Jack couldn't tell if the relatively mild power of the .40 Smith & Wesson round or the skills of the surgeons at Columbia and Cornell Presbyterian Hospitals in New York were to thank, but Stepan Teshak miraculously survived, despite two chest wounds.
Though fate hadn't entirely spared him—one bullet had lodged in his spine, leaving him paralyzed from the shoulders down. It was likely this villain would spend the rest of his days in a hospital bed.
During a search of his residence, the FBI and NYPD found horrifying items: the hair and photographs of 19 victims, along with parts of skin bearing the crown tattoo, preserved as twisted trophies.
Jack doubted Teshak would live out his sentence in peace. With the media now digging into his story as a sadistic serial killer, it was only a matter of time before he paid the ultimate price.
Jacob Losha, his boss, also faced severe losses. Although the FBI couldn't immediately extradite him, they succeeded in freezing his bank accounts and seizing his assets. When the full story came to light, it was unlikely Losha would forgive the man whose twisted crimes had led to the collapse of his empire.
After rescuing the trafficked girls, Hannah immediately reunited Hayley's sister, Brooke, with her at the hospital. Though the physical and psychological scars would take years to heal, Dana Mozhe ensured their safety by placing them under the Witness Protection Program (WPP), along with the other survivors.
Even if only at the lowest level, the WPP would provide these young women with the anonymity they needed to rebuild their lives.
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