The Carnival of Curiosities (Matt Drake Book 27)

by David Leadbeater

  Men and women of all ages milled around, drinking all manner of alcohol from beer to expensive sparkling water out of champagne flutes. They were gathered in groups or standing alone, looking bored or grinning inanely. Alicia guessed a good percentage of Europe’s worst degenerates were crammed down here.

  The building above, the glitz and expense, made for good camouflage, taking attention away from the sordid deeds going on underneath. And, judging by the accumulated wealth and amount of people here, this auction was both well-respected and well-established among the nefarious.

  “A well-placed grenade would do a service to the world,” she told Dahl.

  “Agreed, but keep it down. We have to hope Oana and Alba are here.”

  “You telling me to be quiet, Torsty?”

  “Umm, no. Just advising.”

  Alicia passed the time taking her phone out of her pocket and surreptitiously filming the faces of the various gathered attendees so that later she could send the video to Interpol. No doubt there were some honest and decent officials that would appreciate putting faces to the anonymous monsters that frequented human slave auctions.

  Her own risk was low, since almost everybody appeared to have a mobile phone out. There were constant new arrivals: an assortment of figures from obvious gangsters to men and women that looked like they were headed to the opera. Alicia saw couples and men on their own, business partners, and well-dressed individuals clearly looking to restock their slave-pool.

  When the room had filled, a discreet gong sounded. Those who’d done this before and knew what was next, grabbed seats and relaxed. Alicia and Dahl were happy to remain at the back of the room, ready to observe unfolding events. The bright lights glared starkly across the entire scene, dust motes spinning between Alicia and the far stage. A respectful silence fell after a few seconds. Women crossed their legs and men adjusted their jackets.

  After a minute a man appeared, climbing the steps to the stage and slipping behind a lectern. Dressed in a dark suit, he had a close-shaven head and a bulbous nose. His lips were so red they appeared to be coated in lipstick, which entirely defied his otherwise brutish appearance.

  “Welcome to the Auction of Loqis,” the man said into a microphone. “And welcome back to some of our eminent customers. I am Abamarang, Master of Ceremonies. Over the next hour I will offer some particular European and Far-Eastern delights. I do hope that you see something you like.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  The gong sounded again. Alicia glared around the room, counting a total of eight armed guards that had drifted in when the auction began. Alicia and Dahl were forced to witness stomach-churning proceedings for the next twenty minutes, where all actions were insinuated and implied, nothing directly stated.

  Prisoners took the stage, standing in dejection, displayed by a woman wearing jeans and a T-shirt that read out their stats like a commentator at a soccer match. Once they were sold, the captives were led off stage, presumably to wait for their new owners.

  “No mercy,” Alicia said quietly to Dahl after thirty minutes passed. “When the time comes—no fucking mercy.”

  “Most of those who are sold here will never be heard from again,” Dahl said. “Some will have been kidnapped a world away, and are still being sought by their partners or parents, and the police. Ripped from a safe and secure environment to be thrust into a new hell they couldn’t imagine existed. We need to hold on to our loved ones,” he said. “Stay responsible for them. Never stop guarding them. That duty never ends. It’s lifelong, every hour, every day. Because if you slip for a minute, the dark and the demons might slide in.”

  Alicia knew that part of his concern came from being a father. Those that loved their children never lost that accountability, that protective need. She also knew that he was a man of honor. And no man—or woman—of honor could see this and take it without a strong reaction.

  “We are at the halfway point,” Abamarang said then, “and will take a ten-minute break.”

  Dahl walked over to a side table, upended a bottle of bourbon and poured himself and Alicia a shot glass full. Alicia knew it would dull the edge just enough to get them through the next session. A glance at the poised guards revealed nothing in their expressions except boredom. Dahl noted quickly that they carried some useful weapons: M4 Carbine Commandos with 5.56mm caliber bullets. Alicia would need about twelve seconds to get her hands on one.

  “And we are back,” Abamarang announced. “Next, I want to introduce you to two sisters. Now, I know—” the man laughed like a horse neighed “—I know... the normal rule is lots of one, but these sisters—they are exquisite, and most valuable. Do bear with me.”

  Abamarang waved into the shadows. Alicia clenched her fists as Oana and Alba were shoved up onto the stage. The girls were heavily coated in makeup, probably to hide bruises, and walked as if they had broken ribs. Both had their eyes downcast and looked beaten, crushed and defeated.

  Alicia’s blood ran hot. “I so hate seeing that,” she said. “They try to break your spirit. Not on my fucking watch you don’t.”

  Abamarang shoved the girls together, grabbed a knobble-headed staff from near the lectern, and placed it under the women’s chins. Slowly, he raised their faces to the crowd, grinning.

  “Look,” he said. “Unbowed. Unridden. Untouchable. These are Roma sisters, the spawn of a famous Roma man. Would you dare buy them? To keep them in your collection? To show at special events? Would you treat them well, or drag them at your heels?”

  Scattered laughter and applause rang out around the room. The faces Alicia could see were all hard, all detached and cold. Any ethical or moral code these creatures might possess had been left at the door.

  “Oana and Alba,” Abamarang said. “Or whomever you want them to be. I start the bidding at one hundred thousand.”

  Dahl glanced at Alicia. “Any ideas?”

  “Are you kidding? We need to kill everyone here.”

  “I do like that plan, but I meant where to start.”

  “The Mad Swede?” Alicia raised a brow.

  Dahl’s face turned speculative and then creased into a grin. “Nothing I like better,” he said. “Are you ready?”

  “Yep, and quickly whilst we have eyes on Oana and Alba.”

  Dahl strode toward the bar, reaching for two unopened bottles of champagne. Alicia positioned herself close to a guard on the other side of the room. Dahl grabbed the bottles and approached the nearest guard.

  “And we have one hundred and fifty thousand,” Abamarang’s voice cut through the room. “Do I hear one seventy-five?”

  Dahl offered one of the champagne bottles to a guard, holding the base. “You deserve this, mate. Open up.”

  The guard held out one hand, shaking his head.

  “I wasn’t offering,” Dahl grated and shoved the bottle hard at the man’s face, drilling it into his teeth. As the guard reared back, the Swede threw the other bottle through the air, flinging it end over end at the next guard. There was a hugely satisfying clunk as it struck the man’s left temple, sending him into oblivion.

  Alicia whipped a plastic chair from under the bony ass of an old relic’s trophy wife and flung it end over end at her closest guard. The man flung his arms up. By the time the chair struck, Alicia was in his face, twisting the gun from his hand and ramming the barrel into his nose. The man squealed in pain. Alicia smashed him across the face then spun toward the next guard, opening fire just seconds before he did.

  The guard danced to his death. Alicia took hold of the first guard and hauled him in front of her as two more guards opened fire. Bullets riddled his body, making him shake and jerk. Alicia held him steady and when the onslaught paused, peered out, returning fire. Her first bullet struck a guard, her second the wall behind the stage.

  Her shield was a dead weight. But it didn’t matter. There were dozens more milling around, screaming, yelling and trying to save their own worthless hides. Alicia had no qualms about using any of them as s
hields.

  Dahl plucked the M4 from the man still trying to remove the champagne bottle from his mouth and turned it on the next guard that stepped up. That man spun and fell, blood flying from his right arm. Dahl saw two more guards lining him up, so dived and rolled among the panicking buyers, taking cover amidst expendable trash.

  After a moment, he rose, gun to shoulder, and fired at one of the guards. The man dared not return fire. Dahl crouched and crab-walked through the throng toward the stage, eyes fixed on Oana and Alba. Abamarang had a handgun out and was trying to sight on Alicia.

  Dahl fired up at the ceiling. Men and women screamed. He took another pot shot at a guard and missed by millimeters. Behind, he saw two more guards entering the mass of people and making a beeline for him.

  Alicia threw one arm around a short man’s neck and bent down behind him so that he covered her, shoving him in the direction of the next guard. She thrust her M4 under his armpit and started firing.

  The guard went down instantly, shot through the neck. The one behind him gave up any pretense at trying to worry about the audience and fired on full auto, attempting to shoot through the human shield Alicia was using. Bullets riddled the body, making it hop, wriggle and jerk spasmodically. Alicia felt a bullet pass through the man and singe her right side.

  “Crap.” She threw the body to the floor and dived headlong. The good news was that Abamarang turned his handgun on the guard who’d fired into the auction’s customers, killing him instantly.

  “Protect our guests!” he screamed. “Protect them!”

  Too bloody right, Alicia thought, grabbing hold of another.

  Dahl ignored the men trying to cut a bee-line toward him and barged his way to the stage. Men and women sprawled in his wake, tripping others. Abamarang saw him coming and turned the gun on him.

  “Stop!” the auctioneer yelled.

  Dahl slowed, ready to grab one of the human traffickers to use as a shield. Never in their lives had they been worth so much. The situation became much stickier as the guards closed in from behind.

  But then, from the side, Oana flew at Abamarang. She struck the gun from his hand, grabbed his neck and flung him from the stage. Abamarang landed face first, breaking at least his nose. Oana turned to Alba.

  “Run!”

  “No,” Dahl cried. “We’re here for you.”

  Oana nodded at him, holding Alba as the younger sister ran to her.

  Alicia realized she’d run out of guards to kill and turned toward Dahl. “Where the hell do we go now?”

  The Swede grinned, and did his best Drake impression: “Straight out the front bloody door, love.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Alicia put Oana and Alba between her and Dahl as the Mad Swede headed for the exit door. Together, they pushed and threw buyers out of their way, aiming them at other buyers or solid concrete walls to help break their fall.

  The narrow passage outside the leather clad doors was busy. Dahl kicked and shoved his way forward. They reached the steps and sprinted up; Dahl even lifting a man over his shoulders and throwing him back over Alicia’s head into the lower stairwell.

  A man tripped in front of Dahl, only to feel the Swede’s huge hand close around his skull and then be flung aside like a rag doll. Dahl had no time for this filth, this vile and shameful tumor that plagued mankind. Within a minute, they were at the top of the stairs.

  “Straight ahead,” Alicia said as Dahl hesitated.

  “Not possible,” Dahl said, darting right.

  Once the Swede moved, Alicia saw the reception committee awaiting them. Guards with guns filled the corridor ahead, blocking the way that led past the outer booth to the street. On seeing them, several men shouted. People who’d attended the auction were being herded into a nearby room.

  Dahl ran deeper into the building. Sighting another guard in their way, he took hold of a trash can and threw it at the man’s head, making him stagger. Dahl then jumped in, knees first, battering him with elbows until he slumped. The final indignity was when the Swede shoved the trash can down over the man’s head, trapping his arms to his sides.

  Oana and Alba stuck close to the Swede, watching him work. Alicia covered their backs. The corridor branched now, its polished floor gleaming, its white walls covered in framed photographs and celebrity handprints.

  “Ah, shit...” Alicia began.

  But Dahl didn’t stop. After the corridor branched, he came to a smoked glass door and pushed it open. Alicia followed him through, finding herself in a wide, high-ceilinged, air-conditioned space filled with gym equipment. It was relatively quiet, and opulently appointed, with some of the best machines Alicia had seen. At first, the only people that took any notice of them were the personal trainers.

  One man wearing a tight T-shirt and a haughty attitude came straight up to Dahl. “Hey asshole, you’re not allowed in here—”

  Alicia grinned as the man cartwheeled through the air, ending upside down across a treadmill, groaning, bleeding and looking like he might need a doctor. Alicia guessed he’d show more respect the next time he asked someone to leave.

  They hurried through the gym. For now, they hadn’t been followed. Oana turned her head to Alicia.

  “Thank you, thank you. We can never thank you enough.”

  Alicia held a hand up. “Thank us later. We’re not out of this yet.”

  “Did my father send you?”

  “Are you kidding? He’s as bad as the people bidding on you.”

  “But who...?”

  “Cam,” Alicia said. “Cam’s our friend and so are you.”

  Dahl threaded his way to the far side of the gym where floor-to-ceiling windows gave an unobstructed view of the street. They were on the third floor. Alicia watched the doors through which they’d entered but, so far, nobody was following.

  Dahl had trapped them in a room with no exit and knew it. He walked to another wall of windows, evaluating options.

  Alicia followed. By now, she’d noted that four out of eight privileged few allowed to use the gym equipment were watching them. Alicia gave them a wave and told them to relax.

  “On the other hand,” she said after a moment of reflection. “I’d call your chauffeurs and get the fuck outta here.”

  As if she’d planned it, the gym doors flew wide open. Four guards pushed through, guns hidden for now, and surveyed the space.

  Dahl hid as best he could behind an elliptical stepper. “Why the hell aren’t they getting clear?” he whispered. “Their cover’s blown. They should be running.”

  “Revenge,” Oana said. “That speaker, Abamarang, was so egotistic. So inhumanly superior. I’ve never met another man like him. He’d want revenge on you guys.”

  By now the apparent celeb on the stepper was glaring down at them. “Don’t worry, Miley,” Alicia drawled, having no real clue who she was talking to. “We’re with the CIA.”

  The woman tied her top around her waist, giving them a self-important look, which caught Alicia’s attention.

  “You think we’re here to look at your ass? Really? Anyway, you call that an ass? I’d call it a skeleton covered by a rasher of bacon. Now if you really wanna see a fine ass you gotta tune in to Peaky fu—”

  “Alicia,” Dahl hissed. “Be quiet.”

  Alicia turned her fire onto Dahl. “I told you, Torsty, that if you ever—”

  Dahl grabbed Oana and Alba and bore them to the floor. Alicia, without checking, hurled herself at the celeb and pulled her to the ground. Seconds later, gunfire filled the room and bullets split the air, hammering into the stepper, the treadmill beside it and the windows at their backs.

  The celeb screamed. Alicia kept her pinned to the ground, preventing her from running in fear and getting shot in the back. Dahl hefted his M4 and returned fire. The guards scattered, taking cover behind various forms of equipment. Alicia held on to the celeb as windows shattered. Glass flew everywhere and a cold gale gusted into the gym. Celebs, wealthy individuals and YouTubers l
eapt for cover, followed closely by their bodyguards.

  Alicia rested her M4 over the celeb’s back, wriggling around for cover. “Sorry,” she said. “Just getting comfy.”

  “Please...” the celeb wept.

  Alicia patted her shoulder. “Just stick with me. I’ll get you out of this.”

  “You caused it.” The young woman turned a feisty, tear-streaked face on her with an attitude that Alicia approved of.

  “Look, Miley,” she said. “We didn’t cause this at all. We saved two young women from being sold as slaves and now we got human traffickers trying to kill us. So save your anger for them, eh?”

  The young woman’s mouth moved but nothing came out. Though her eyes were scared Alicia saw a modicum of new respect there. “My name’s not Miley,” she said. “It’s Kylie.”

  “Right, well, I was close enough. Just keep your fucking head down.”

  Alicia loosed several shots in the direction of the guards before turning to Dahl. “Ideas?”

  “Plenty. None good.”

  “No surprise. How about we just shoot our way outta here?” Alicia climbed to her knees and sprayed the far side of the gym. Bullets destroyed metal and plaster and glass, and a swathe of rowing machines. One guard screamed and another flew backward, bleeding. The rest curled up tighter.

  Alicia stood, a foot keeping the celeb pinned to the ground. “Move.”

  Her word was for Dahl. The Swede leapt up and fired, M4 pressed to his shoulder, keeping the guards low. Another guard appeared at the doorway, taking a bullet for his troubles and collapsing, dead.

  Dahl ran at the enemy.

  Alicia swore and bent down to shout at her celeb. “Stay there and kiss the floor. If you run, they’ll kill you.”

  She chased after the Swede, backing him up. They converged on the guards’ hiding places, jumping over a weight rack and a cross trainer. Dahl swiped his opponent across the face whilst Alicia shot hers in the shoulder. Alicia ducked back as someone fired, bullets searing the air where she’d been.