The Wrong Girl (John Taylor Book 3)

by Travis Starnes

The other two guards were finally in motion, letting go of the beaten man’s arms and going for the weapons at their sides. It was, however, much too late for them, as both weapons Taylor held were now pointed, one at each man. While to an outside observer, it would seem that Taylor fired the weapons at the same time, there was actually a slight pause between when he aimed and fired the gun in his left hand, then aimed and fired the gun in his right. Even as good as Taylor was, he couldn’t aim two weapons simultaneously.

  The man on the left caught the first bullet in the right side of his chest, spinning as he fell, the gun never leaving his holster. The man on the other side had a beat longer, and actually had his weapon clear of its holster as a bullet punched through his throat, and his body flew backward.

  The beaten man just stood, blood from his tormentors dripping down one side of his face, his eyes wide.

  “Go,” Taylor said, gesturing at the door.

  The word unlocked whatever had held the man in place, and he scrambled toward the exit, disappearing from sight as Taylor moved toward the two other doors.

  “If you move, you die,” Taylor said to the man on the floor who had started to push himself up.

  At the sound of Taylor’s voice, the man froze, looking at the gun Taylor leveled in his direction as he sidestepped toward the closer of the two doors on the other side of the room. The door to the area Taylor had thought of as the ‘client’ rooms, opened, and the manager Taylor had spoken to the previous day rushed through, holding unbuttoned pants with one hand and not wearing a shirt. More to Taylor’s interest was the gun he held in his other hand.

  The man’s recognition of Taylor was visible across his face, causing a falter in his step and a moment’s hesitation, before he started to raise the gun. A bullet from Taylor’s weapon stopped the motion before his arm moved more than an inch, as it tore through his right shoulder, causing him to stumble. A second bullet followed the first, hitting the manager in the upper left leg with a wet smacking sound. The stumble from a second before, turned into a full collapse, as the injured leg gave way.

  Taylor could see a blond head peeking around a doorway along a short hall the manager had just come through.

  “Go back and hide until it’s safe,” Taylor said in Russian.

  The girl just looked at him, no sense of recognition on her face. He repeated the command in English, eliciting a nod this time, followed by the head disappearing.

  Taylor kept an eye on the uninjured guard and the downed manager, while also trying to watch the last, unopened door. After a minute of constantly shifting his gaze from one threat to another it became clear the situation was untenable.

  “Girl,” Taylor called out in English.

  The blond girl poked her head out, looking terrified.

  “I need some help. Is there rope or something you can find?”

  “There’s handcuffs,” a voice with a southern accent came back.

  “Bring them here, please.”

  She hesitated, looking at the bleeding manager and the guns in Taylor’s hands.

  “I’m not going to hur . . .” Taylor started to say and stopped as movement caught his eye.

  Apparently, the uninjured guard had decided Taylor was distracted enough at that moment to make his move, pushing himself across the floor to one of the discarded weapons from two of the dead guards that had ended roughly in his direction.

  It was an incredibly stupid move. There was way too much ground to cover, and nothing to hide behind. Unless Taylor was completely oblivious, there was no way the move would have worked.

  Taylor didn’t bother to shout a warning. His gun barked once more, and a bullet tore through the unprotected torso of the man, from right to left through his body. He stopped moving instantly, as if someone flicked off a switch. Blood began to pool under him.

  “Well, I guess that solves that,” Taylor said, partially to the girl who had disappeared back into whatever room she was in, but mostly to himself.

  Taylor walked closer to the manager, who was groaning and trying to hold his leg with his uninjured hand. Kicking the gun away, out of his reach, Taylor knelt next to him.

  “How many guys do you have in here?”

  The man just grunted. It, however, did not sound like a cooperative grunt. Taylor pressed the tip of the gun in his left hand into the wound in the man’s shoulder, causing a loud scream to erupt from his throat.

  “You don’t want to make me ask again.”

  “Five,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “You sure about that? Lying to me right now would be amazingly stupid.”

  “It’s only five,” he said again.

  Taylor holstered one gun temporarily, checking the man for any other guns. It wasn’t likely the bleeding man would have much luck going for a hidden weapon, but better safe than sorry.

  Finding nothing, Taylor drew the holstered gun and stood, stepping into the hallway the fallen manager laid in front of, opening doors and peeking in. There were four rooms in the hallway, all empty except for the last room on the right. The blond girl flinched back when he leaned into the doorway, gun first.

  Lowering his gun, Taylor said, “You should be OK, now. After I check the rest of the building, I will see about getting you headed back home.”

  She nodded, her eyes never leaving the gun Taylor held at his side. If things had been different, Taylor would have stopped and tried to reassure her, but he still had a section of the building unchecked that took precedence.

  Taylor eased out of the hallway, a gun trained on the manager and the other sweeping the warehouse. Thankfully, everything was as he had left it. As much noise as he’d made, it was probable that the manager was telling the truth. Any other guards would have come running by now.

  Not that Taylor could ignore that last door.

  With one last look to confirm the manager wasn’t going to be a problem, Taylor headed toward the back of the warehouse, walking around the fallen guard. He wasn’t terribly surprised when he found the door locked. Stepping back, Taylor lurched forward, foot raised, its flat base impacting just below the doorknob.

  The flimsy door burst open, the frame splintering, and banged against the other wall. Taylor could hear shouts of fear as the door crashed open. The short hallway was similar to the one on the other end of the warehouse, except there were three doors on one wall and a single door near the end of the hallway on the other wall.

  Two of the doorways led to small, empty rooms with a single metal framed bed in each room. Taylor couldn’t help but notice the chains or straps attached to each bed frame, and from Karla’s brief descriptions, Taylor had no doubt what those rooms were used for.

  The third door was a small restroom with a single shower stall. He hadn’t expected that, but it made sense. None of the girls he’d seen at the auction struck him as overly dirty, so there had to be a place for them to get cleaned up. He noticed there was a metal loop on the wall by the shower, which made the otherwise ordinary room much more sinister.

  Inside the door on the other side of the hallway, Taylor found the rest of the girls. It was a large room with a few mattresses thrown on the floor and a metal toilet against one wall. There were six girls in the room, all wearing dirty T-shirts and underwear. They were huddled together at the far end of the room. They’d probably heard the gunshots and, being unable to see what was happening, must have been worried about.

  “Americans?” Taylor asked in English.

  Four of the girls nodded or said ‘yes’ and two didn’t respond, although they’d clearly recognized what he’d said.

  “I’m here to get you guys home. You can come out now,” Taylor said, holstering his gun and switching the guard's gun to his right hand.

  “Really?” asked one of the girls, a brunette.

  It wasn't exactly true since he was actually here for Mary Jane and they were just others he wanted to free in addition; not that he was going to say that.

  Instead, he said, “Yeah. If y
ou could follow me.”

  Four of the girls started moving, seeming weary, but clearly recognizing his American accent, lending some credibility to his statement. The other two looked mildly confused, however.

  “I’m here to get you guys out and home,” Taylor repeated in Russian. “Please follow these others into the main room.”

  This made the American girls pause, but it got the other two, who were either Russia or from one of its former satellites, moving.

  “We need to get moving, please. I’ll explain everything in a minute,” he said again in English, now they had slowed.

  He also walked out of the doorway, so they didn’t have to squeeze by him. Odds were they weren’t going to be big on any kind of physical contact with a man, considering what had happened to them over the last few weeks.

  The girls in the front of the pack froze briefly when the dead guard by the door came into view, but they managed to skirt around the pool of blood under him and continue out into the warehouse. They still huddled in a group not far from the doorway as they took in the bodies scattered around the room.

  “Could one of you go to the other rooms along that other hallway?” he said, pointing at the door that led there, with an ashen faced man holding his leg, leaning against the door jamb. “There is one more girl back there, and I need you all together when it’s time to go.”

  None of them said anything but one girl, braver than the others, broke from the group and headed toward where Taylor directed.

  “Ignore the guy on the floor. He’s a bad guy, but he’s shot up enough that he isn’t going to hurt you.”

  She nodded, trying to watch the group behind her, Taylor, and the bleeding man on the floor all at the same time, which would have been funny if it hadn’t been so sad.

  Taylor turned away from her and dialed Andre.

  “Are you going to make it?” he asked when his friend picked up.

  “We are about ten minutes out. I’m sorry it took so long. We had to gather separately to keep from being noticed. My bosses made it clear they didn't want us spending too many resources on your manhunt.”

  “Will you get in trouble for this?”

  “Not if we find the girls, or at least some girls being trafficked. Success has a way of getting sins forgiven.”

  “Well, then, I have good news for you. I found five of the Americans and two Russians.”

  “Found?”

  “Yeah. I moved on the warehouse this morning,” he said, almost apologetically.

  “You what?” Andre said, sounding somewhere between angry and stunned.

  “The auction ended last night, and most the guards left with them. I had information that at least some of the Americans were still in the warehouse.”

  “When you say you moved on the warehouse . . .”

  “I went in, eliminated most of the bad guys, and have the girls freed. I just need some logistical support.”

  “John, this is going to be delicate. Please don’t tell me you left a bunch of bodies lying around?”

  “Define a bunch . . .”

  “Shit. OK. We are almost there. We can take the girls off your hands and get them to your embassy. What about the girl you were searching for?”

  “She’s not here. They took her with them. I’m still trying to find out where.”

  “Fine. Just stay where you are until we get there.”

  “Sure thing,” Taylor said and hung up.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said timidly behind him in English.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, slipping the sat phone back in his pocket. “Help will be here soon.”

  “You were speaking Russian?” she asked.

  “Yes, I can speak Russian, although I bet if you asked those two,” he said, pointing at the two girls who weren’t part of the American group, “they’ll tell you I do it with an accent.”

  “And you were sent to get us back?” she asked hopefully.

  Apparently, she had been elected spokeswoman, as the rest of the girls were leaning in, listening, even the two Russian speakers. Although, if he had to bet, he’d say they spoke some English. Unlike in the US, people in Europe, Eastern Europe, and Russia tended to speak two or more languages, with English being the most common.

  “Yes,” Taylor said, still glossing over the fact that it wasn’t exactly accurate. “I just missed you girls on that boat out of Miami. They somehow got you off before we could get the Coast Guard to intercept it.”

  “That was you,” one of the other girls said.

  “Well, I was along for the ride. That was the Coast Guard.”

  “You’re going to take us home?” the spokeswoman said.

  “In a few minutes some men from the Russian government will be here, and they will take you back to the US embassy, who will then get you back to the States.”

  “You’re leaving us with them?” one of the other girls asked, sounding dubious.

  “Yes, but you can trust these guys. The man who looks real mean with one eye is named Andre, and he has a little girl who is cute as can be. He’ll take good care of you.”

  “Where are you going?” the spokeswoman asked.

  “There is still one more of you unaccounted for.”

  “Mary Jane?”

  “Yes. Do you know her?”

  “No, but we talked on the boat ride. It’s all we could do, sitting in that metal box all day.”

  “Well, you just hang out here for a few minutes. Maybe try not to look at any of the bodies. I need to go talk to the bleeding man over there.”

  Taylor turned his back on the girls and walked over to the manager, kneeling next to him.

  “Where did they take the other American and the girl you sold to me?” Taylor asked in Russian

  The man didn’t say anything, and Taylor sighed. His head still throbbed from the whack the night before, and he was getting tired of having to force answers out of people.

  “Look, I’m tired, and you’re slowly bleeding out. We can do this the hard way if you want and, after a few extra bullet holes and broken fingers, you’ll tell me what I want to know. But honestly, I’d prefer to just skip that shit if I can. So how about this, you tell me what I want to know, and I’ll bandage your wounds and make sure the guys who pick you up soon get you to a hospital. What do you say?”

  “Reuya,” the man said through gritted teeth.

  Taylor had already begun moving the gun barrel in the direction of the man’s other leg when he spoke the word. Taylor had to consciously stop from pulling the trigger as he realized the man had given the information. Usually, they cursed him, or sometimes spit at him when he started asking questions. He was actually surprised the man had given in so easily.

  “Where is that?”

  “Belarus. Two miles over the border. Malik has a compound in the town."

  “Malik?”

  “He’s in ch . . . charge. We work for him.”

  “I thought that was someone named Timor.”

  “No. Timor is his right hand. Malik is in charge of procurement.”

  Taylor had to push down a wave of anger, knowing exactly what the man meant by ‘procurement.'

  “So, Malik is the boss? Was he the fat guy hanging out by the door to where you kept the girls?”

  “Yes,” the man said, looking away.

  A door opened behind Taylor, causing him to stand and begin raising his weapon, only to stop when he noticed Andre.

  “Dear God,” his friend said when he looked around.

  “Look at the flip side, I have five American, and two Russian girls kidnapped to be sold into sex slavery, and I left one guy who knows enough about the organization alive for you to question.”

  “Go check on him,” Andre said to one of the men with him who was carrying a large black bag while Taylor walked away from the fallen manager.

  “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. These guys got what they deserved.”

  “Yeah . . . fine. It’s just going to be a pain
in the ass.”

  “Then you’re really not going to like the next part.”

  His friend crossed his arms and looked Taylor in the eyes, “What?”

  “They took the last American girl, plus the girl helping me, across the border into Belarus.”

  “John, you can’t—”

  “Andre, do you think I’m going to give up, now?”

  Taylor met Andre’s eyes levelly and didn’t look away. His friend flinched first, closing his eyes, and rubbing them.