by J. B. Havens
Shaking his head, Jackson turned to me. “Mic, I need an immediate report when you three return. Get going. An agent will meet you at the hospital entrance and take you to her room. Dismissed.”
I watched him march from the room and had a feeling there was something else at play here. We always reported back to Jackson, but it wasn’t like him to demand it like he had. He was acting weird—not that I had much room to talk.
“If you guys are ready, let’s get going. It’s already late enough as it is.” I stood and led the way out of the war room, tapping Phillips’s shiny silver star as I passed it. There was no name under it, but we all knew whose it was. I felt his absence keenly at the moment. I missed his silent strength at my back. He would have had valuable input into this situation.
I needed to get to Russia. The desire to bury these bastards was an itch that wasn’t going to go away until their blood flowed freely.
Chapter 4
We came to a stop at the hospital. Like most small-town medical facilities, it was mostly brick and a little outdated. The freaking parking lot was bigger than the building. Our breaths puffed out in front of us in a white cloud; the cold was vicious against my exposed face. I quickly led the way inside to the warm lobby.
Rook and Jordon stood at my back as I surveyed the room, looking for the agent. He was easy enough to spot. All federal agents have a cookie cutter appearance to them—each one molded by procedure and bureaucratic nonsense and formed into a walking, talking slice of government bullshit.
“There.” Rook pointed over my shoulder. Lounging in a deep chair next to a potted palm was a non-descript man in a black suit wearing dark sunglasses. His hair was perfectly combed and parted to the side and his shoes glimmered under the fluorescent lights. His manicured and buffed fingernails also reflected as he tapped them on his leg.
“I see him,” I said. The agent stood as we approached. He knew us by appearance just as we knew him. Then again, our sidearms in open carry on our thighs probably gave us away.
“I presume you’re Staff Sergeant Michaels?” He asked in a surprisingly thick southern drawl.
“Correct. And you are?” I held out my hand for him to shake, which he took after a brief hesitation. As if he needed permission to shake hands or something.
“Agent Nathan Cole.”
“Pleasure. Now that the polite crap is out of the way, where’s our girl?”
Agent Cole’s face hardened to stone. He turned from us and led the way down the hall to the elevator without another word. Walking behind him, I saw the tell-tale white cord running from his ear into his suit jacket.
Meeting Rook’s eyes, I pointed to it. He nodded slightly in response. Was there a reason for us to not trust this guy? It was simple. We didn’t know him; therefore, we didn’t trust him. Cover all your bases and you won’t ever get caught with your pants down and your ass in the wind. Unless you’re Flynn, that is.
We piled into the elevator, which thankfully was one of the larger hospital versions. Jordon stood unnecessarily close to me. Not quite touching, but as close as he could be without pressing his front to my back. The hairs on my arms were standing up in awareness. The space between our bodies felt full of heat and pressure. My spine was rigid with the effort I was using to force myself to resist temptation. Jordon had a knack for making me aware of his presence at the most inappropriate of times.
I was saved from the tension by the doors sliding open. Agent Cole exited first and led the way down the hall. It was the same generic paint and design that all hospitals had—pale blue walls and fake potted plants. Meant to be soothing I suppose; when in reality the stench of disinfectant, urine, and death permeated the walls.
Agent Cole didn’t need to escort us; it was easy enough to tell which room Rozalina was in. Another agent and a local policeman guarding the door were a dead giveaway.
Rook and Jordon stood at my back, flanking me.
“Agent Cole, I don’t need introductions. Let’s get on with this, shall we?” I reached for the door handle, but was stopped by a hand on my arm. I looked down at the offending appendage and restrained myself from ripping it off. My eyes followed the arm up to the face of the other agent. Middle-aged and brown from time in the sun, his face was flat and his eyes were cold.
“You’d be wise to remove your hand from my person. Not taking into account what I can do to you, these two men at my back will tear you apart with my order. Move your fucking hand. Now.” I glared up into his icy blue eyes.
“She’s been through a lot. I don’t want you upsetting her.” The agent’s voice was laced with a heavy Boston accent.
“Look at my fucking face. If anyone here has an idea of what she’s been through, it’s me.” I growled the words out, standing just inches from his face. I felt the butterfly bandages pulling and stretching as I spoke. His eyes flicked to my cheek and then back to my eyes.
“Staff Sergeant, need a hand?” Rook’s gruff voice broke into our staring contest.
“No, we’re done here,” the agent said as he removed his hand from my arm and stepped aside.
I opened the door and walked inside. Rook was on my heels and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jordon slam his shoulder into the agent as he passed him.
I couldn’t see anything beyond the privacy curtain in the room. A TV was on, the typical laugh track of a sitcom filling the room.
“Rozalina?” I asked softly, not wanting to startle her. I glanced at Rook and Jordon when I received no response. Motioning for them to stay put, I gently pulled back the curtain.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, her face turned upward toward the TV. The rays of the setting sun poured in through the blinds, casting long shadows across her face. Her hair was no more than a shiny blonde fuzz, with pink scalp showing in places. Her hands were limp in her lap, her long and elegant fingers in an awful juxtaposition with the raw, but healing, wounds on her wrists and arms. Her photograph didn’t do her justice; she was stunning in her natural beauty. Breathtaking, if I had to choose a word.
When she turned to face me, the red and gold sunset backlit her in a halo-like glow. It wasn’t hard to see why Julio has chosen her. She was elegance personified.
“Yes?” She asked.
Rook stepped around the curtain, closely followed by Jordon. She glanced at them, then back to me, looking nervous.
“I’m Staff Sergeant Michaels, but you can call me Mic. This is Corporal Riley, who we call Rook, and he is Corporal Jordon.” I pointed to each man in turn. “They are the ones who helped get you and me out of that basement.”
She flinched at the reminder, then asked, “What kind of name is Rook?”
He strode forward and the words that poured from his mouth couldn’t have shocked me more. Russian…he was speaking Russian as if he’d been born to it.
Jordon leaned closer to me and whispered, “Do you have any idea what he’s saying?”
“No fucking clue. Rook is full of surprises.”
“Apparently so…”
Jordon trailed off as Rook sat on the bed next to Rozalina. Taking her hands in his own, he spoke softly to her. His face was distraught as tears slowly fell down her cheeks. I felt as if we were intruding on an intimate moment when he brushed them away. She nodded a few times and took several deep breaths, gathering herself back together.
She finally stood, wiping her face as she did so. Walking to me with her hand extended, she didn’t seem afraid, only determined. My kind of girl.
Chapter 5
“I am Rozalina Petkovic. Please sit down and I will tell what I can.” Her English was excellent, but heavily accented.
Jordon and I sat on the other bed opposite her and Rook. We were gathered like children at story time.
“I need to record this, if that’s okay with you?” I held up my phone with the recording app ready.
“Of course, I understand. Are you ready?” I nodded and placed the phone on the bed beside her. “In my country, there are few opportuni
ties for young women. It is marriage or factory work. Or whoring. I saw advertisement in paper, looking for women to be maids in the United States. To come here, the land of opportunity and wealth, is dream come true. Those dreams cloud our judgment.” She paused for a moment, looking out the window at the sunshine. On a heavy exhale, she turned back to us and began again.
“I answered ad and was given address to report to the following day. It seemed a little strange, but my family needed money. I would do anything for them. It was my duty as oldest to help.” Clasping her wrist, she rubbed her fingers back and forth across the rope burns. I was reminded of my own growing habit of touching my cut cheek.
“I arrived at office building. As soon as I opened door, I should have turned and left. There were no furnishings, just man standing in the room. He was so large. His face is etched into my memory. He did not speak, just smiled. I saw the devil that day.” She crossed herself quickly and whispered something in Russian before continuing. “He told me I was now his property. By answering ad, I had placed myself in his care to do with as he saw fit. I tried to leave… but he grabbed me. Told me he knew all about my family. My sisters. My mother and father. He said if I didn’t do exactly as ordered, he would have them raped and killed.” A tear slid down her cheek which she absentmindedly brushed away.
“What happened next?” I asked gently.
“He took me to hotel room. An awful, dirty place. There were a few other girls in room, along with two more men. Girls were all my age and beautiful. I knew then I was to be sold like meat. We had all heard of traffickers before, of course. But like most young people, never thought bad things could happen to us.”
“They transported us in private train car to Prague. Once there, we vere locked in another hotel room. They brought in fancy clothes for us and had someone do our hair and makeup. I never learned any of men’s names. We were not permitted to speak to them or each other. One girl did ask us our names. They beat her horribly. Laughing as they did, like destroying us was sport. Even now, talking to you is… difficult.”
“Nothing will ever hurt you again,” Rook fiercely vowed, clutching her hands tight in his own. “Ever. You have my word.” The look in his eyes shocked me; the depth of feeling there and in his voice made me believe every word.
Rozalina nodded at him and then continued. “That evening, we were taken to nightclub. It was closed to regular people. Men took us to room in back and locked us inside. We waited for hours. Or, at least I think so; time dragged so slowly. I knew we were going to be sold, auctioned off like horses at market. I prepared myself for it. Some of girls prayed. Most were scared and in shock.
“One-by-one, girls were taken out of room and they did not return. I was one of last. Man hauled me out and stood me on stage. Bright light was shining on me; I couldn’t see anyone in club. It was strange; I remember the way light reflected off my red gown—shining in darkness. My feet hurt… shoes were too small. My hair was heavy against my neck… sticking to my sweaty skin. Men were shouting all around. So many voices yelling all at once. Man was turning me in circle, lifting my arms and twisting me into different poses. I felt like it was happening to someone else.”
We were silent as she told her story. I could feel her terror—taste it in the air like a bad smell. My resolve to find these men hardened with every word she spoke.
“Shouting voices stopped abruptly and I was taken away into club. The man pulled me by arm, not caring I was stumbling in stupid shoes they forced me to wear. He slapped me and told me to hurry. He said my new master was waiting.” She stood from the bed and walked to the window, staring outside. I didn’t think she saw what was out there. She was back in that nightclub, feeling the hot lights and stinging slaps.
“I was taken to booth where three Mexican men were sitting. One of them gave my guard envelope, then I was forced to sit. It was over so quickly, I wasn’t even sure what had happened. I was too terrified to move or run. Even if I did somehow escape, I was in strange city with no passport and no money. I was trapped and they knew it.” She rubbed her hands over her peach-fuzzed hair slowly as she spoke. “I was seated next to man who I learned was leader of their little group. His name was Franco. He told me I was his boss’s property now and if I didn’t wish to be hurt, I would comply and do as told. He said I would be released to go back to my family after his boss was finished with me. I didn’t believe him, of course. I knew I was going to die.”
“They took me by car to airport where we flew in jet to Mexico. You can figure out what happened to me from there. I don’t wish to relive it. I’m sure you understand, Staff Sergeant.”
“I do. We want to go to Russia and find these men. Do you know any of their names? Even just a first name? We have very little to go on at the moment and you’re the only survivor willing to speak with us.”
“Other girls have more reason to remain silent. I was told two days ago, my family is dead. Killed in a riot in Ukraine. I am alone in this world. The agents outside have promised me safety. You have promised me also. We shall see. The reach of Russians is long.” She sat down again next to Rook, lightly touching his bandaged nose and frowning.
He gently took her hand. “I gave you my word and I will not break it. You will never be harmed again. Not while I’m alive. Understand Roza?” The nickname slipped out with practiced ease. Rozalina glanced at him, rolling her eyes in a manner that had Jordon choking on a laugh. She smiled a timid little smile, a sparkle igniting in her eyes when she looked at Rook.
Interesting…
“I think you two will get along just fine, Mic,” Jordon laughed. I couldn’t help it. Before I could stop myself, my eyes rolled back. It was an automatic response.
“See?” He laughed, pointing at me.
I reached out and backhanded him across the stomach. “Can you describe what the men look like? Did any of them have scars or tattoos?”
“The big man from office did. He had tattoo on each forearm. On his left was girl in long dress holding…what is word…f-fishing rod. Line was hooked to edge of her skirt. Like she was catching herself. His right forearm had pirate with knife between his teeth and ‘IRA’ was written on blade. It was so vivid and real looking.” She shook her head. “If other men had tattoos, they kept them covered.”
“Okay, you’ve given us a place to start. We might be back in touch if we have more questions. Are you okay with that?” I was trying to be as gentle as possible with her, though I suspected that she didn’t need as much care as I thought. She was strong. She had to be, to have survived what that bastard Julio did to her.
“Can I ask you something?” She asked, staring directly into my eyes.
“Sure.” I rubbed my sweaty palms on my pants. Nervousness gripped me.
“Why did he cut your face? He didn’t do that to any of us. Just beat us and…hurt us.” She was rubbing her wrists and looking at her feet.
“I taunted him. My face…” I touched my cheek lightly, feeling the bandages. “…was as much my fault as it was his. He warned me what he would do. I kept antagonizing him. I couldn’t…give in or give up. I was so angry. I’m still angry.”
“I’m glad he’s dead,” she whispered, tears again flowing down her face.
“Me too, Rozalina, me too.” I walked forward and hugged her gently, unsure of how much pain she was in. She held me tight, sobbing into my shoulder. I was unfamiliar with comforting anyone that upset, so I did what Aunt Beatrice would do for me when I had new bruises on my body and heart. I stroked her back in small circles and let her cleanse herself of her tears and sorrow. There was nothing more that I could do in the face of Rozalina’s grief than to hold on and keep her body safe while her soul wept.
Chapter 6
The drive back to the compound was quiet and tense. I kept one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. Warriors by Imagine Dragons filled the car.
“You’re wrong,” Jordon spoke from behind me.
I had an idea of what he was
getting at, but I played dumb anyway. “About what?”
“What Julio did to you wasn’t your fault,” he snapped. Rook remained quiet, watching the passing scenery. Snow was falling heavily, making it difficult to see where we were going.
“Yes, it was. He told me to shut up, to stop swearing at him. To be polite. I didn’t listen. And anyways, I thought all of you were out of sympathy for me. I went down there alone.”
“Yeah, and that was fucking stupid. No question about it, but everything after that is laid on the grave of that fucking lunatic. It’s not your fault you were tortured or cut. None of it. You need to get that out of your head.” Jordon fell silent then. I didn’t know what to say in response. He was right and he was wrong. I felt responsible for what happened to me and all of those villagers. I would never forget the butchered and burned bodies spread out and on display, my name carved into their foreheads.
I pushed that line of thought aside. If I started thinking about it, I would scream and didn’t know if I would be able to stop. So I decided to change the subject. “So Rook, where did you learn to speak Russian so well? And what was Rozalina saying to you?”
“I learned to speak it in Russia. And she was thanking me.” Rook was visibly agitated and deliberately evasive; and we all knew it.
Jordon joined in on the Rook roast. “There seemed to be more to it than that.”
“I’m not fucking discussing it. Period.”
I was getting angry now. I’d had about enough of the mysterious Rook act. He hadn’t been with us that long, even though it felt much longer. The time was near for him to come clean about everything. He still had many secrets that he was holding close to his chest. “I’m your superior officer and if I order you to discuss it, you will.”
“Are you ordering me, Staff Sergeant?” He asked, his aggravation evident in his tone.
“Right now…” I trailed off. I weighed the pros and cons of forcing the issue. Was my own curiosity worth this fight? “…no. I’m not ordering you to tell us. But you should anyway.”
