by John Ringo
“The tracer’s working fine,” Endar said, looking at the screen on his lap.
“Don’t pull out, yet,” Killjoy said from the backseat. He was one of the American trainers who had accompanied the mission. The Keldara were getting pretty damned good as shooters, but they still didn’t know diddly about moving around in the world. Killjoy wasn’t exactly a world traveller but he had more experience than the Keldara and could think on his feet. He also was somewhat smaller than Russell, which was why he was crammed in the back of the small car.
“He had a couple of girls with him,” Tolenka added.
“Could mean anything,” Killjoy noted.
“Speaking of girls,” Jov replied. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw Anisa!”
“Watch your mouth,” Endar snapped. Not only was Anisa his cousin, he’d worked with her in the intel section and respected her.
“I’m not saying anything wrong,” Jov said, smiling. “But… All Father! I never realized what legs she had!”
“Jov…” Endar said, angrily.
“Can it,” Killjoy said. “Jov, pull out. Endar, where’d he go?”
“He turned. Right. I think about three blocks away.”
“Turn right at the next street,” Killjoy said, looking at the map. “He’s headed across the river. We’ll parallel, then fall in behind at the Soseua or whatever that damned road is called.”
* * *
“He’s gone to a townhouse across the river,” Vanner said, looking at his screens. “Confirm it’s him by intercept. He called someone named Vass and asked him if he had any girls meeting your requirements. Also if he’d ever heard of you. No indication that he’s worried about Americans coming down on him.”
“Odd, that,” Mike said musingly. He was ensconsed on the bed with his fingers interlaced behind his head, looking at the ceiling. “She had to have told them that she was an American, right? She’s at the very least a legal resident. And she would have told them her father would pay money to get her back. I mean, getting back a kidnap victim over here is no big deal. You pay off the police, they don’t try to arrest the kidnappers.”
“So what’s really going on?” Vanner asked.
“That’s what I’m going to find out,” Mike said, sitting up. “Somewhere along the way. But right now, I need to know more about this guy. I’m heading for bed and so should you. By morning I want full intel on him.”
“Got it,” Vanner said.
“But put one of the girls on duty and you rack out,” Mike added. “I’ll be right next door.”
* * *
“He went back to the townhouse last night at eleven,” Vanner said, rubbing his eyes and sipping coffee. “He took two girls with him and no guards. Over the next six hours, girls came trickling in in ones and twos. Looks like about a dozen. There was at least one male present when he arrived and when he left he brought a different girl with him. The townhouse is two story, but it appears it may have a basement. I’ve got Sawn down at the building records office looking for blueprints. He returned to the coffee shop and has not left. Neither has the male at the townhouse and there appear to be at least three females still in the house. The surveillance team was relieved at seven am. Overnight they put up three surveillance cameras and laid in two window microphones on the townhouse, one of them by his apparent office and another by his bedroom. You want the take?”
“Is it what I’d expect?” Mike asked, biting on an already stale roll.
“Pretty much,” Vanner said. “The girls in the house are apparently not fully trained. They’re in the process of being prepared, so to speak. This is the analysis from my section and I’ve audited enough of the take to agree. I’m a little reluctant to have the Keldara girls doing point on this. It’s pretty brutal.”
“They’ll find out what it’s all about when they get married,” Mike said, shrugging. “Have a talk with them as a guy, though. I don’t want them getting so emotionally scarred they’re put off of sex for life. And who else is going to do it? The shooters?”
“Point,” Vanner admitted. “We also placed two mikes in the coffee shop, near his usual table, and I’ve, of course, got his cell phone wired.”
“If Adams ever shakes a leg, get him up to speed,” Mike said. “I’m going to go shopping.”
* * *
“Mr. Duncan,” Ahmed Pasha said, sitting down next to him. “A little early for Johnny Walker is it not?”
“The sun’s over the yardarm somewhere,” Mike said, swirling his drink. “Do you live here?”
“No,” Pasha said, lifting his chin and clicking in negation. “But it is a good place to conduct business. Many traders come in here. How are your girls?”
“Almost recovered from the rigors of the trip thus far,” Mike said. “We’re definitely leaving tomorrow morning.”
“I have found one girl that would possibly meet your requirements,” Pasha said, leaning over conspiratorily. “A young Ukrainian girl. Very nice, very pretty. Blonde. Not much in the breast department but unspoiled and very pretty. And they may yet grow; she is quite young.”
“Works,” Mike said, nodding. “Yours?”
“A friend’s,” Pasha said. “I can introduce you, if you wish.”
“Pasha, you don’t have any friends,” Mike said. “What’s your cut?”
“Ten percent,” Pasha said. “Minimum of one hundred euros, cash.”
“You really think this girl’s worth a thousand euros?” Mike said with a laugh. “Right. Pull the other one.”
“Pull the other what?” Pasha asked, confused.
“Sorry, doesn’t translate,” Mike replied. “I was saying that you were not being truthful with me. Girls here go for less than five hundred euros, even the best.”
“This one is unspoiled,” Pasha said, sternly. “She will get you much money where you are going. Enough that you will pay.”
“We’ll see,” Mike said. “Here?”
“I have a room here,” Pasha said. “Two eleven. That is neutral ground, yes?”
“Okay,” Mike said with a sigh. “When?”
“I will call my friend,” Pasha replied. “Perhaps soon after noon.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “I’ll give you my cell number.”
Chapter Twelve
Pasha’s room, as befitted a more or less permanent resident, was much cleaner than the ones Mike had secured. That seemed to be mostly his doing. Whatever his failings as a slave trader, he was apparently quite neat in his housekeeping.
Mike was in an easy chair nursing another Johnny Walker when there was a knock at the door. When Pasha opened it, a man pushed a young girl into the room and then followed it up with a slap to the back of her head to make her step farther in.
“Here’s the stupid slut I was talking about,” the man said harshly. He was at least in his sixties with a red face and nose half hidden by a white beard. He’d make a nice Santa Claus and Mike wondered if he used that to pick up his victims.
The girl was clearly frightened, even terrified. And, yes, very pretty. About five one, long blonde hair and blue eyes. And no more than twelve. She was just starting to get the gangling growth spurt that kids hit at that age and might, indeed, grow some more tit. He wasn’t sure she was even menstruating yet.
“Very nice,” was what he said.
“Strip,” Santa Claus ordered the girl.
“Please,” she whimpered. “I just want to go home…”
“Strip, stupid whore…” Santa Claus snarled, drawing his hand back.
“No marks!” Mike snapped, standing up and walking over. “Girl, I must see what I’m buying. Take off your clothes.”
“Please, no…” the girl begged, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.
“This is how you do it without marks,” Mike said, sighing and gripping the back of the girl’s head with his thumb and forefinger. He applied pressure, hard, and received a gasp as the girl’s knees buckled at the pain. “Take off your clothes, you stupid slut
.”
The girl looked at the three hard-faced men and then closed her eyes and began removing her clothing.
When she was fully stripped, Mike walked around her, shaking his head. She had welts on her back, ass and budding breasts.
“You hit her on the breasts?” Mike asked angrily. “With what?”
“My belt, of course,” Santa Claus snarled. “What do you expect me to do? She needs to be trained but I’m hardly up to it anymore!”
“Christ on a crutch,” Mike muttered in English then continued in Russian. “These damned bruises will take weeks to fade! I’m planning on being in Montenegro the end of next week; she won’t be presentable by then!”
“She’s untouched,” Santa Claus snapped. “She’s a virgin. That is worth something.”
“She’s bruised,” Mike snarled. “Two hundred.”
“Forget it!” the slaver replied. “Put your clothes on, bitch.”
“Wait, wait,” Pasha said. “We are friends here. Let us sit and drink tea and talk.”
The girl had quickly scooped up her dress and underthings in her hands but Pasha shook his head.
“No,” he said to her, pulling the clothes out of unresisting hands. “Stand by the chairs; there is much to discuss.”
Pasha poured green tea and laid out a service on the table as the girl stood by, shivering in the cold of the room. Mike ignored her, as did the others.
“You have at least a week of travel, if you are staying off the major roads,” Pasha said, sipping his tea. “This will give most of the bruises time to fade.”
“Not all of them,” Mike said, poking the girl on the ass. “This one cut the skin for that matter. She’ll scar.”
“A virgin,” Pasha noted.
“No proof of that,” Mike pointed out. “She was probably raped by her uncle who sold her to this guy.”
“I took her from an arcade,” Santa Claus replied with a shrug. “These young girls, they trust me because I look like Saint Niklaus. And I did not rape her. Even with the Viagra, sticking it in young pussy like this is too hard. I use the older hookers who are looser.”
The girl had put her face in her hands and was quietly crying when Mike stood up.
“Lie on the bed,” Mike said, pushing her to the bed.
“If you take her here you must pay for…” Pasha said.
“I’m checking,” Mike snapped. “Lie on the bed, on your back, with your knees up in the air.”
“Please,” the girl whimpered through the tears.
“Shut up and do what I said, slut, or you’ll be hurt again,” Mike said sternly.
When the girl was on the bed he stuck his fingers in her pussy and spread it as wide as he could. Even with the dim light in the room he could see the hymen and it was unbreached.
“Virgin all right,” he admitted grumpily. “Get up and put your clothes on, bitch.”
“There, a virgin,” Pasha said, happily. “For that, two hundred is much too little. Fifteen hundred euros.”
“You’re crazy,” Mike said, shaking his head. “No more than three. So, Santa, you ever go over to Romania?”
“No, only the Ukraine,” Santa Claus replied as the girl finished dressing. “Little slut, sit on my new friend’s lap and show him how biddable you can be.”
Mike let the girl sit in his lap and ran his hands over her stomach as she quivered in fear. He was careful to try to skip the bruised areas but she still was quaking, which didn’t help much. He had a very real problem with being the sort of son of a bitch he was playing and the entire scene was turning him on more than he liked. He knew the girl could feel a very solid erection under her pert little ass and he knew that made him not only a Class A son of a bitch but a pervert. Unfortunately, short of castration he wasn’t sure what to do about his little problem. Other than killing bastards who actually let their demons out. Such as the two other males in the room.
They chatted about the bad roads, the problems with weather and the unreliability of finding virgins as they sipped green tea. From time to time one or another would make an offer. Mike almost walked when they balked at thirteen hundred euros until he realized that would be leaving this poor kid in their hands. He finally dickered them down to nine hundred euros but not a penny less. He only got the hundred euros off because of the bruises and by actually getting up and walking halfway to the door.
He pulled out the cash and forked it over with a grim face, then slapped the girl on the back of the head.
“If you think that you have had it bad so far, try to run away from me,” Mike growled in her ear. “I will do terrible things to you. Terrible terrible things. Are you going to try to run?”
“No,” the girl said, resignation in her voice.
“You could run from the old man, maybe,” Mike pointed out. “But I can outrun you. And if I have to even hurry, not only will you not be a virgin by tomorrow, I will sell you to the worst whorehouse in Istanbul for seamen to fuck all day long. And the reason I will sell you there is because you will be too messed up for anyone else to buy you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” the girl replied, her head down.
“Let us go,” Mike said, nodding at Pasha and the still unnamed Santa Claus. “If you can get more like this, we can do business in the long term. But no marks!”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Santa Claus said, smiling and standing up. “It was good doing business with you.”
“The same,” Mike said graciously, taking the girl by the wrist and leading her to the door.
His rooms were a flight up and down the hallway. When he got to the command center room he paused.
“I’m glad you didn’t run,” he said, quietly. “The reason is, I’m not a slaver and I would not want to have to hurt you. But you must not talk about what you see in here, do you understand?”
“No,” the girl said fearfully.
“You will,” Mike replied, knocking on the door.
One of the Keldara girls answered the knock and looked in surprise at the girl Mike still had by the wrist.
“Greznya,” Mike said, thankfully. “Just the lady I needed. Come on, girl. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Oksana,” the girl said, quietly, her eyes widening as she saw the computers and electronics set up around the room.
“This is Greznya, Oksana,” Mike said, gently pushing her farther into the room. “She’s not a slave, not a whore. She works for me. We’re doing something here and it’s necessary that I act like a slaver. I’m sorry that you were put through that, but you are safe, now.”
“Really?” Oksana asked, panting.
“Really, really,” Greznya said, smiling. “This is the Kildar. He is a renowned fighter and he does not harm women.”
“Unless I have to,” Mike pointed out. “Sorry about what happened in there. But that fat bastard was about to smack you one across the face. Again.”
“Come in,” Greznya said, sighing. “We know something of what you have been going through and we are very sorry. Where are you from?”
“The Ukraine,” Oksana said. “Near Kremenchug.”
“Well, we have much to do,” Greznya said, pulling her further into the room and settling her in a chair. “But we will see if there is a way to get you back there. You have family?”
“No,” Oksana replied quietly. “I was raised in orphanage. They had sent me out only the day before. I was at a fair when the man, Hadeon, approached me. He offered to buy me lunch and I was very hungry. Then he said he could get me a good job in Italy.”
“Which is one of the places you might have ended up,” Mike said, sighing. “I won’t speak as to the quality of the job, since that’s rather obvious. I’m sorry, Oksana, but that story is very common. This is how many girls end up in places like this.” He paused and looked around the room at the monitors. “Well, not like this.”
“What is this?” Oksana asked, finally settling down. “What are you doing?”
“We’re tracking a
girl who was kidnapped, as you were,” Greznya replied. “We know she came as far as here. We are trying to find out where she went.”
“Why?” Oksana asked, suddenly tearing up again. “Why do you look for her when nobody cared about me!”
“Because her father is rich and has powerful friends,” Mike said bluntly. “You have neither a rich father nor powerful friends. Well, you didn’t.” He looked at her and cocked his head on the side. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do with you. I needed to buy you because it made our cover stronger, but I’m not sure what to do with you, now. I’d hoped you’d have a family to go home to.”
“So you could get more money?” the girl asked unhappily.
“No, I have plenty of that,” Mike said, waving his hand around the room. “This isn’t cheap. No, you were going to be returned gratis. But with nobody to go home to… Well, that presents me with a problem. I’ll think about it.”
* * *
When Mike left the room, Oksana looked at Greznya with wide eyes.
“He is very strange,” the girl whispered. “He frightens me.”
“Well, you don’t have to be frightened of him any more,” Greznya replied. “And as for the being strange… you get used to it.”
* * *
“We got anything different?” Mike asked as he wandered next door. Vanner had moved the data analysis section to the adjoining room since the other one was both crowded and busy.
“Very straightforward,” Vanner said. “We haven’t really had a lot of time to pin down his movements, but it looks like he mostly is a repeater.”
“So we have a choice of taking him down at the café or at his house or in movement. And he’s got, effectively, hostages, at each point.”
“He didn’t bring a girl back with him in the morning,” Vanner pointed out. “If he doesn’t tomorrow…”
“Works. I’ll send Adams out to find a quiet spot.”
