«Call him off! Oh God, call him off!»
«Duke, Aus,» Miller commanded.
The dog released instantly but stood over the man, barking inches from his face. Miller holstered his taser and dragged Kovich up, spinning him around and pressing him against the side of the truck.
He cuffed him, tightening the ratchets until Kovich winced.
«Who is in there?» Miller roared, keeping Kovich’s face against the metal. «How many?»
Kovich was hyperventilating, staring at his injured arm. «I don’t know! I just drive! I just drive!»
Miller grabbed him by the collar. «There are four bales, Kovich. Are they all full? Tell me!»
«Yes, yes, they’re all full! Just get the dog away!»
Miller threw Kovich into the back of the cruiser and locked the door. He looked at the trailer. Four bales.
If the configuration was the same, that could be four people. Maybe more. And the woman had sounded weak.
Miller ran back to the trailer. He was alone. The backup was still twenty minutes out. He couldn’t wait.
The sun had broken through the clouds, and even in the cool air, those boxes would be stifling. If they were sealed tight, oxygen was the enemy now. He keyed his radio, his voice shaking but clear.
«Dispatch, upgrade to a 10-33. Emergency traffic only. I have a human smuggling situation. Multiple victims trapped in sealed containers disguised as cargo. I need heavy rescue. I need EMS. I need everything you have rolling now.»
«Copy, 2-Adam-12. Units are running Code Three.»
Miller climbed back onto the trailer. He didn’t have specialized tools for this. He had a knife and a pry bar in his truck box.
He retrieved the crowbar. He attacked the first bale, the one with the woman. He jammed the crowbar into the plywood seam and heaved.
The wood screeched. He put his back into it, grunting with effort. The panel popped free.
The smell that hit him was visceral. Waste, sweat, and the stale, recycled air of terror. The compartment was tiny.
It was a coffin, essentially. A wooden box constructed inside the hay, maybe three feet wide and four feet high. Inside, curled into a fetal position, was a young woman.
She looked to be in her twenties, her hair matted to her forehead. Her lips were cracked and blue.
Miller reached in. «I’ve got you. I’m a police officer. You’re safe.»
She couldn’t walk. Her legs were cramped from hours, maybe days of confinement. Miller lifted her. She was light, terrifyingly light.
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