Maggie charged into battle thrusting out with her knives to land wherever and on whomever they fell. Blade met skin, and she pushed forward, shoving the knife into flesh until it buried up to the hilt. A whimper gasped from surprised lips as hot blood spilled over Maggie’s hands. The person fell forward, and Maggie yanked out her weapon and stepped to the side before the dead man toppled her over.
A fist caught her at the back of the head, the impact vibrating through her entire body and making her mind swim. Hands grabbed for her, thick and strong as an ox, and found purchase with the back of her jacket.
Allowing her adversary to pull her toward him, Maggie used the momentum and swept her blades behind her, sinking the blade into what she guessed to be a thigh and abdomen.
A yell came from her left, and Maggie’s heart skipped a beat. Leon.
Not wasting time to celebrate her fatal hit, Maggie abandoned her opponent to die alone and shoved her way toward Leon.
Grunts and the smack of flesh meeting fists and feet played like a horrible soundtrack to the carnage.
Maggie caught sight of Leon as his body passed by the beam of light from the flashlight, along with two attackers who were ganging up to take him down.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Maggie said through gritted teeth. Leon had been hurt enough, and those men were going to feel her wrath for daring to touch him.
With one of the men’s backs facing her and still within range of the light, Maggie closed the distance between them by throwing one of her knives. The blade flew through the air and embedded itself into the man’s spine.
By the time he fell to his knees, Maggie had retrieved her knife from inside him and turned to face the second of Leon’s assaulters.
Leon was locked in a tussle with him, both men scrambling for advantage. Dalca’s men were brawlers, street fighters with more brawn than brains. Even in his condition, Leon gained the upper hand and wrapped his arm behind the fighter’s neck. He cupped the man’s chin and twisted his head in an unnatural angle, the snapping sound confirming the break.
“You good?” Maggie asked, panting heavily.
Leon brushed his fingers against hers.
Before he could answer, another three of Dalca’s men were upon them. One caught Maggie by surprise and got in a good smack to her jaw, filling her mouth with the familiar coppery tang of blood.
Two of the three lunged for Leon and left the other to handle the woman. That was their first mistake.
The second was thinking a single punch to the face would be enough to stop her. Maggie faked a fall and instead raised her knee and crushed it against the man’s groin, doubling him over. Next, she balled her fist and reciprocated the blow to the face with an uppercut.
The blow impacted her opponent more than his did Maggie, and she wasted no time slamming her palm into his nose. She felt the bone break and was on to the next guy as he crumpled to the floor next to the others.
“Ash?” Maggie yelled, having lost him in the confusion.
“Yes, dear?” cooed a Scottish accent.
Maggie tried to clothesline an oncoming syndicate member, but he foresaw her tactic and ducked, spinning on his heels and kicking her square in the stomach. Maggie stumbled back, and her heels met the back of one of the bunk beds.
“Just making sure you’re alive,” she called back.
The man lunged for her, and she threw herself back onto the mattress. She kicked out at him, but missed, the lack of light making her sloppy. The man swung for her, and she caught his arm in a hold, followed by his free arm as he hit out again.
With both arms in her grasp, Maggie pulled him toward her with all her strength. A clang rang through the air as his head rattled against the metal bars of the top bunk frame.
Maggie released her hold. Scurried off the bed. Got back to her feet.
Her foe landed hard on his back, and she stamped her boot into his face to make sure he wouldn’t get back up.
The grunts were fewer now, and Maggie had to step over squirming bodies splayed out on the floor to reach the last man standing who squared off with Ashton, Leon having dispatched the two gang members he’d been dealing with.
“Wait,” Ashton warned, as Maggie grabbed the Romanian by the hair. “He could tell us what he knows.”
Maggie took out her Glock, safe in the knowledge the others were out of commission, either dead or incapacitated. “Do you speak English?” Maggie inquired of the man as Leon collected his flashlight and shone it over their captive.
Either he was pretending not to speak the Queen’s English, or he had no clue what she was saying. He wriggled in her hold and reeled off a string of rushed sentences, begging from the cadence and look on his bloody face.
Maggie tried French, Russian, Japanese, and some sketchy Portuguese to no avail. After Leon and Ashton exhausted their roster of languages, it was clear the man spoke his home tongue and nothing else.
“Worth a shot,” Maggie said, still out of breath from the fight. She raised her Glock and thumped the last gang member on the back of the head with the grip, efficiently knocking him out. “Everyone okay?”
“Yup,” said Ashton, hands on his hips as he admired their handiwork. “These lot weren’t trained.”
Maggie rubbed her jaw, irritated at the blood filling her mouth. That one guy had clipped her good.
Leon sat himself down on one of the beds, his forehead shiny with sweat. “Any more of them, though, and the outcome could have been very different.”
Remembering the camera, Maggie returned to the tech room and switched it back on while Leon and Ashton kept watch over the carpet of bodies in case any of them decided to get back up for round two.
The latest video on file was time stamped. It was recorded yesterday, late at night when Maggie and her boys were waiting to get back in the air after their little talk with Samuel Thomas.
If they’d been faster in obtaining the address, they could have gotten here in time to stop the syndicate from leaving. To prevent them from leaking any more names. Maggie ran a hand through her hair, then pressed Play on the clip.
“My name is Tamira Kapoor, and I am being held against my will by sex traffickers. If you are watching this, then I beg you to hand this footage over to the authorities in the hopes they can find me and the rest of the girls before we are sold off.”
Maggie closed her eyes. The girls. For all she knew, Tamira and the others who’d been held prisoner down in the basement were sold off already. Lost for what could be forever in the cruel underworld of sex work.
“I don’t have much time, but here is what I know: I’m being used to read out demands to release a man called Ivan Dalca who I understand runs this operation of trafficking people. He is currently being held prisoner in London, England, and his people are trying to blackmail the government through terrible means to release him.”
Tamira’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke, her words rushed.
“I’ve helped to cause the deaths of the people Dalca is exposing. From what I understand, they are covert operatives, and their true identities are being outed to the targets of their undercover assignments. I didn’t want to do it, but they made me read out those names. Made me show their pictures to the camera.”
“None of this is your fault,” Maggie said to Tamira’s unhearing ears as she watched on. Tamira was a victim in all this, just like the lost agents and their families.
“One of the Romanian girls said she overheard them talking, and that they’re taking us to Belgium. They’ve secured buyers for us. I don’t know what it is, but something seems to have them angry and shaken. We’re leaving earlier than they said.”
Tamira sucked in a breath and fumbled with the camera. The recording ended, and the screen paused showing the poor girl’s terrified face.
“Good girl,” Maggie said. Even in the midst of such a horrific ordeal, Tamira was helping them track down Ivan’s people. The girl had guts, and Maggie could only hope she’d reach her on time before
she was sold. Even then, Maggie could track her. Save her from the nightmare she was living.
If she made it through this alive, that is.
The men left behind in Ferentari were street thugs, not important enough to be taken with the others as they crossed Europe. It was the leaking of her name she was most worried about, and the abundance of enemies who would stop at nothing to put her head on a spike for her actions against them.
“Tamira said they’re headed to Belgium.”
“Belgium it is,” Leon said, groaning as he got up from his seat on the bed. “I’ll call the Director General and see what she knows about traffickers there. My bet is they transport the girls by boat or ferry across the Channel. Easier to get through customs compared to flying.”
“Let’s get going, then,” Maggie said, keen to get out of there.
The casualties were still down, most of their complaints and squirming dying down now. Maggie ignored them, guilt-free knowing what these men did to those girls, and countless others who had the misfortune of passing through those doors.
“Hey, where did you get that?” Maggie asked, stopping halfway up the stairs.
Ashton pretended to be embarrassed, like a little boy caught in the middle of sneaking a bar of chocolate before dinner. “I told you it would come in handy.”
Maggie shook her head and continued upstairs with Leon, leaving him to it.
Ashton pulled the pin from the grenade and tossed it behind him before closing the door and jogging upstairs. They may not have arrived with a blast, but they certainly left with one.
Chapter 21
Amsterdam, Netherlands
15 July
* * *
Maggie kicked down the bedroom door and stormed inside. After one too many flights and nowhere near enough sleep, she was in a foul mood for having to return to Amsterdam.
Samuel Thomas woke with a start and sat up in his bed. Maggie drew back the curtains to let the morning sun pool in. As Maggie was kitted out as Celine again, Samuel roused from his slumber and yelped at the sight of her.
“Bjorn! Johan! Help!” Samuel scurried from the tangle of sheets and pressed himself against the headboard, curling up as if to create as much distance from the dominatrix madam as he could.
“They’re a little tied up at the moment, Monsieur Thomas,” Maggie informed him, standing at the foot of his bed.
“Get out of my house,” Samuel demanded, jabbing a finger at the door.
Maggie waggled a gloved finger in the air and tutted. “I warned you to keep your mouth shut. It was foolish of you not to adhere to my strict orders. Now you must be punished. Boys?”
With a clap of her hands, Leon and Ashton entered the room and snatched Samuel from his bed.
“I never told anyone anything.” Samuel fought in earnest to escape their clutches, but he was scared, disoriented, and most likely still suffering aftereffects from the potent drugs Maggie injected into his system on their last visit.
“No?” Maggie said, pausing at the sincerity behind Samuel’s terrified eyes. Maggie prided herself as an excellent reader of people, trained in body language and nonverbal cues. “You never let Ivan Dalca’s people know I was asking about them? Had acquired their address?”
“I got the message loud and clear, Celine. I promise I didn’t say a word.”
“Hmm,” Maggie said, swinging the same whip she’d used on him before. “What to do with you, then. I want to believe you, but then how can I trust you when we were ambushed at the address you gave to us?”
Samuel paled. “I know nothing about that.”
He may be a corrupt, morally deficient excuse for a human being, but Samuel was no liar. At least not a good one. His face was too animated, too much of a window into his mind. Maggie was willing to bet he hadn’t spilled his guts to Dalca’s gang. But if Samuel didn’t let them know they were on their way, how did Dalca’s thugs know to be there?
Unless they’d been positioned there. Left behind in case the Unit tracked them down and arrived to take them out just like Maggie had planned. A backup crew watching and waiting to trap and take out anyone suspicious who turned up at the apartment building to snoop around.
Whatever their reasons, Samuel not being the one to alert Dalca’s crew to their arrival meant the members in Belgium didn’t know about their little visit. Or at least, didn’t think it was Celine who was the one to call on them in their home base.
Thanks to Ashton’s lack of ability to do as he was told, the grenade had solved the issue of any surviving members reporting back to the heads in Belgium. Even if the residents of Ferentari alerted the rest of the syndicate about the massacre left behind, they had no way of knowing for sure who was responsible. Meaning Celine Delacroix, and Samuel Thomas for that matter, were still of use.
“Perhaps you’re telling the truth.” Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know, but we’re here now, and I do hate the idea of a wasted trip.” Maggie turned her attention to Leon and Ashton. “Handle him and be quick about it.”
“Wait, wait,” Samuel pleaded. “I can help you. Please, I’ll do anything.”
Celine cocked her head to the side. “Anything?”
Samuel shrunk under her stare and ducked his head to avoid eye contact. “Well, nothing sexual. Not after last time.”
Maggie suppressed an amused laugh. “You need not worry your little head about me requesting anything of that nature from you. Believe me.”
Samuel dropped to his knees and clasped his hands together. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”
“First, put some trousers on. My eyes are hurting.” Much to Maggie’s disgust, Samuel slept naked.
Leon tossed him some trousers and Samuel did as he was told.
“Are you still after some girls?” he asked after he was decent. “You can have some of mine. Take them. Free of charge.”
Maggie pretended to consider. “Generous, but I still want what I came to you for. I want a fresh supply from Dalca’s syndicate. You are going to set up the meeting.”
The same resistance stirred in Samuel as last time, his jaw tightening. “I am?”
His hesitation was understandable, even in his current predicament. If Celine were planning something untoward against Dalca, then Samuel would be implicated and in turn, face the same wrath if Ivan and his crew sought vengeance for Celine’s actions.
“Unless you want me to leave you with my boys, of course,” Maggie said, reminding him of the more imminent threat to his well-being.
Samuel rubbed his face where a bruise had blossomed from the lashing she’d given him. “All right, all right. I’ll do it. Just say where and when.”
“I have it on good authority the syndicate are in Belgium.” With any luck, Tamira and the other girls would still be there, too.
“Fine,” Samuel said, resigned to his forced fate. “Let me get my phone, and I’ll set up the meet.”
Leon hoisted him back up from the floor with ease, as if Samuel were a small child. “After that, pack a bag,” Leon told him.
Samuel froze, and his face fell. “Why?”
Maggie shot him one of Celine’s devious smirks. “You’re coming with us.”
Chapter 22
Zeebrugge, Belgium
16 July
* * *
Samuel scheduled the meeting for the next day, giving them time to fly in, find a hotel, eat something, and then fall into bed for some much-needed rest. Maggie slept a full eight hours and woke up the next day refreshed and ready to take down a syndicate of sex traffickers.
Dalca’s crew agreed to the meeting without any pushback or questions, indicating the extent to which Samuel had dealt with them in the past. Thankfully, his shady dealings worked in their favor, and they were set to come face-to-face with the people who had put in motion the series of events that had killed so many of Maggie’s former colleagues.
They’d arrived at Ostend-Bruges International Airport under the guise of Celine and her entourage, cont
inuing the charade when checking into the hotel for both Samuel’s benefit and to keep up appearances for anyone paying them unwanted attention. You never knew who could be watching. Though they may work together when required, criminals didn’t trust each other as a rule, and Dalca’s men could have lookouts to spy on Celine Delacroix. Especially since they’d never done business before.
Samuel’s involvement would help, but they’d be smart to be suspicious, and as much as Maggie would like to think she was up against a collective of foolhardy petty criminals, Ivan’s syndicate was highly organized, powerful, and well connected. They were the real deal and would do anything to protect their organization at all costs.
“They’ve paid off the coast guard,” Leon said, sitting next to her on the beach that stretched across the coast adjacent to the port. It had taken a while to find the traffickers in the chaos of the busy port, but they were right where they’d told Samuel the day before.
“And whoever’s in charge of customs here,” Maggie agreed.
Zeebrugge was located on the coast of the North Sea and had the most important port for Belgium’s fishing industry. As well as fish, they also acted as the central port for many of Europe’s automotive manufacturers, held terminals for passenger ferries, and apparently now facilitated the transportation of trafficked girls.
At first, Maggie assumed the syndicate was selling the girls to buyers around western Europe and using Belgium as a temporary central base, being so close to many neighboring countries. The fact they were in Zeebrugge port changed that and proved Leon’s theory correct. They were moving the girls by the sea. Given the proximity to Britain, it was a safe bet that’s where they were headed.
“You think they’ll go through Hull?” Maggie asked. The P&O ferries carried British tourists from Hull to Zeebrugge every day in their overnight route. Not that the syndicate would use the ferry to move the girls.
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