The Lost Girls ... and Nick Hammer

Tiffany Johnson woke from the pain in her mouth.  The inside of her lower lip was sore and she tasted blood.  Tiffany was not alone. 

          The effects of the fentanyl had worn off and she counted five other girls in the room.  But it was not a room.  It was a storage locker with a large orange garage type door.  There were two five gallon buckets and some toilet paper in the left rear corner.  As Tiffany’s head cleared, she talked with the other girls. 

          They girls came from all stations in life.  All had bar code tattoos on their lower inside lip.  None had any recollection when that happened.  The girls wept when they recalled their sale into slavery.  Soon, one said, a man would come with food for all of them.  Sometime after that, the same girl said, one of them would be drugged and taken away.  She saw it happen to three other girls.  The speaker was asked their destination – she was clueless.  Then came a jangling noise at the door.  

                     Copyright @2017 Terry Unger

A Snack ... From ... Nick Hammer - The Lost Girls

Mr. White spent the better part of his day playing golf with two influential people.  White never cared for the game.  Whacking a little ball around manicured grass was something he could live without.  But he was not playing for himself; he was playing for Watershed.  This was his bi-monthly golf outing with his state’s senior U.S. Senator and a ranking member of the U.S. House of Representatives.  Watershed has quite a bit of dirt on both of them.  If an everyday Joe would commit the least of these offenses and get caught, Joe would see the inside of a prison.  But so far, White had no cause to leverage either one of these men.  They always bought him lunch and dropped tid-bits of information that could prove useful in the future.  

          The luncheon followed the usual pattern:  the Senator and Congressman enjoyed a liquid lunch while White listened.  At some point they would chide him about his golf game.  When this chiding ended, they kidded him about his Watershed Group being some kind of spy agency.  White had no problem laughing along with them about that.   If these fools only knew the truth.   Soon, the Senator and Congressman, plied with alcohol, began to discuss things that really should be kept behind closed doors.  It was during these moments that White intently listened.  

            Copyright @2017 Terry Unger

A Sample, Nick Hammer - The Lost Girls

A sample from Nick Hammer - The Lost Girls ...

None of this data gave White any measure of solace.  It made him angry, at a level he had not felt in years.   Motherfuckers   But, after looking harder at the data, White saw that, at least in the States, slaving had a few components.  

          The first component was local, where the victim was taken.  The second component was regional, a type of distributorship.  The distributor auctioned his ‘property’ to another, the third component.  It was this third component that shipped their new ‘property’ out of the country and auctioned it off to the highest and final bidder.  It was not just girls and young women who were taken. 

          Pre-adolescent and teenaged boys were snatched to fulfill some sick bastard’s cravings.  White saw enough.  He went to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a tall glass of whiskey which he swallowed without taking a breath.  He then had his assistant find Sean McMann.  He was not hard to locate.  He was in the building. 

          The old man briefed McMann on the recent data. 

          “Mr. White … sir … this is sickening.  It’s heinous,” McMann said.  “I could kill this scum myself and not lose any sleep.” 

          “Yes, as could I … tell me about Hammer and Magda Gomez.” 

          “They’re meeting with the Wilson’s soon.  They have no idea about the other girls ...

                     Copyright @2017 Terry Unger

Nick Hammer - The Lost Girls....Published

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                         Author’s Foreword 

Nick Hammer – Blood Money dealt with horrific murder, drugs, greed, and obsessive behavior.  Nick Hammer – The Lost Girls focuses on child abduction and sex slavery.  It is something that cannot be denied.  This is a problem worldwide and strikes all social strata, rich or poor.  If the children are cute, handsome, and naïve they can fall victim to these predators. 

          The story begins in Texas and ends in England.  As an author, I feel that I did my best in portraying the great lengths that these predators will go to be successful in the sex slave trade.  Enjoy the story and by all means, guard your children. Terry Unger, 17 October, 2017

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 Mr. White spent the better part of his day playing golf with two influential people.  White never cared for the game.  Whacking a little ball around manicured grass was something he could live without.  But he was not playing for himself; he was playing for Watershed.  This was his bi-monthly golf outing with his state’s senior U.S. Senator and a ranking member of the U.S. House of Representatives.  Watershed has quite a bit of dirt on both of them.  If an everyday Joe would commit the least of these offenses and get caught, Joe would see the inside of a prison.  But so far, White had no cause to leverage either one of these men.  They always bought him lunch and dropped tid-bits of information that could prove useful in the future.  

          The luncheon followed the usual pattern:  the Senator and Congressman enjoyed a liquid lunch while White listened.  At some point they would chide him about his golf game.  When this chiding ended, they kidded him about his Watershed Group being some kind of spy agency.  White had no problem laughing along with them about that.   If these fools only knew the truth.   Soon, the Senator and Congressman, plied with alcohol, began to discuss things that really should be kept behind closed doors. 

                  Copyright 2017 Terry Unger 

Our Visit to Sutton Hoo

When walking the grounds, you can feel the specialness of this place.  It is quiet, save the wind rustling through the trees.  The ages speak to you, from the silence of the mounds.  It is a holy place, as it was meant to be.  A 'hoo' is the plateau, the flat spot on the top of a hill.  The trees that grow today where not present over 1,400 years ago - there were well hewn, to clear the view below from the River Deben.  A traveler could look up at the greatness in reverence from almost a mile.   

The discoveries that began in 1938 dispelled two things.  The mounds were not remaining Roman earthworks.  And that the northern Germanic peoples were grossly ignorant, living in mud huts.  The discoveries showed a vibrant, colorful culture punctuated by artifacts from distant lands.  These are facts.  

The Deben Estuary was an ideal waterway for trade with all of Scandinavia, northern Europe, and even the Mediterranean.  As an example of the reach, the garnets in King Raedwald's gold jewelry came from India.  The silver and bronze bowls are Coptic, and come from the eastern Mediterranean.  Then we have the workmanship and craftsmanship of the Saxons.   

King Raedwald's burial ship was a used clinker built craft that probably saw service in the North Sea and beyond.  The clinker boats were the original 'shift boats' of their time.  This particular craft was 90 feet long and measured  16 feet amidships.  It had to be his personal ship - the people dragged it one mile uphill to bury him.  The King's jewelry was all handmade with extensive filigree work depicting animals and men.  For the time, the King's military equipment was state of the art.  His sword, a pattern welded sword, is one of the best to be found.  The military gear sat in stark contrast to the neatly folded, colorful stacks of woven fabric.  Raedwald's personal drinking horns were included in the burial, believed to be from the extinct Aurochs.  

There is much more that I could write in this small venue, but rather than write, I encourage you to investigate Sutton Hoo for yourself.  But there is one thing that needs to be written.  The King was buried with his dinner service.  Nine solid silver plates and spoons.  What mud hut culture uses a dinner service made from silver?  

                                                      

                                                          Copyright @2017 Terry Unger

A Final Spoonful of My Book, Nick Hammer - Blood Money

Hammer wasn’t in the mood for Magda’s less than subtle verbiage; the mosquitoes were eating him alive.  “I’m outside.  So our guy rents a vehicle at 3:00AM.   What’s your take on this, Mags?” 

          “He’s doing something at this time to minimize his chances of getting caught.” 

          “Yes rookie, he is,” Nick said.  “John Howard or what ever his real name is came back for two reasons.  He ran out of cash.  He took some with him but not enough.  He blew through what he took, that’s why he used the credit card.  Now he’s back for the rest of his stash.  He didn’t put it in a bank – to many reed flags.  More than likely he put it in a storage locker, someplace innocent and out of the way.” 

          “So we need to saddle our horses and find this guy.” 

          “We will.  But we’re not gonna spin our wheels looking for his stash locker.  There’s just way too many of these things.  By the time we find it Howard will be long gone or Sonia finds him first and kills him.  We lose both of them.” 

          “Alright, so what’s the plan, boss man?  What are we gonna do?” 

          “Not we.  Just me.  The second reason he came back is in Kemah.  I’m gonna go check out the roller coaster in Kemah.”  

          Copyright @2017 Terry Unger

A Tasty Morsel From My Last Book, Nick Hammer - Blood Money

Humans have intuitive ability that manifests itself in various ways.  Sean McMann called it ‘his gut feeling.’  He finished some pending business for Watershed in Austin and on the way to the airport, ‘his gut’ told him to swing down to Houston to touch base with Hammer.  Just a drop by to say hello so that Hammer knew   Watershed had not abandoned him. 

          McMann was eating his burger at the counter and enjoying it.  When Nick and Magda walked through the door, they couldn’t believe their luck. 

          “Hey Southie, how ya’ll doin’,” Nick said. 

          “I thought you would be here Mr. Hammer.  I just wanted to let you know that Watershed hasn’t forgotten you.” 

          “Don’t see how they could, Sean.  Yeah, your bugs, you turd, tell all. Why don’t you come back to our table and enjoy your meal with Mags and me.” 

          “Thank you Mr. Hammer that would be lovely.” 

          Nick left Sean slide into the booth first; he followed.  Magda sat opposite McMann.  He was trapped. 

          “Now tell me you piece of pond scum,” Nick said. “How did you shits plant those listening devices in my office and bedroom?”  

                           copyright @2017 Terry Unger