Page 73 of One Minute Out

“You are just trying to get rid of me.”

She’s right, but I don’t admit it. “Not at all. If I find that boat they’re talking about, I’m going to need to follow it. I’m also going to need to know about the owner of it, where it might be going, that sort of thing.”

After a moment she nods. “I... I can help with that.”

“I know you can. Keep that phone on; I’ve got the number programmed into an app on mine that will keep me untraceable, but you will be able to reach me when you need to.”

“Okay.” She seems unsure, but right now I just want her out of danger.

I add, “Also, you may not know it yet, but you are going to be very sore tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Not tomorrow, you won’t.”

She climbs out of the car and I follow her, then walk over to a pair of scooters parked along the street next to the hotel. Both are locked, but I pull my pick set and quickly free them both.

One is a Gilera Stalker, a little 50cc two-person two-wheeler. And the other is a Derbi Boulevard, a more powerful scooter with a 150cc engine.

“Where do I go?”

I don’t really have an answer for this. “Just get out of town. Find a little suburb, sit tight, wait for instructions from me.”

“That’s it?”

I shrug. “Pick up some ice, painkillers, bandages, and antibiotic ointment.” I add, “Trust me.”

It takes me a few minutes to hot-wire both scooters, and soon she is heading east, and I’m heading west, looking for a boat next to the President Hotel.

It’s not much to go on, but it’s all I’ve salvaged out of one hell of a shitty night, so I do my best to think positively as the aches and pains from all my activity continue to make their presence known across my body.

TWENTY-TWO

Maja was well into her second night in the bombed-out warehouse with the rest of the women and girls. It was a warm evening, but the breeze off the water coming through the blast holes in the walls and the blown-in windows made it bearable. Bedding had been brought in by the guards, and there was plenty of room to lie down on the dusty concrete floor.

Maja now lay with her head on a little pillow, her eyes tired and bleary from the stress, and she looked around the room, which was difficult with the intermittent moonlight. The female captives around her lay on blankets and mats; most slept, but a few, like Maja herself, tossed and turned.

She heard a vehicle pull up and come to a stop outside, and then she heard car doors opening and closing. The three Albanian guards sitting around the room stiffened up and then the scuffle of what sounded like a dozen pairs of shoes echoed up the ruined staircase.

She sat up, as did many of the girls around her.

She couldn’t make out the faces of the men who appeared out of the stairwell. Some seemed to be more of the group who had taken over from the Serbians, and they all carried rifles over their shoulders. But there were also four or five silhouettes that didn’t match any of the men she’d remembered seeing since arriving here.

A tall and fit man with short hair and a clean-shaven face passed through a shaft of moonlight, looking over the women, but Maja didn’t get a good look at him before he moved on towards a back wall. Others followed behind him, and she could see white faces, serious eyes, and well-made but casual clothing. She saw no weapons, but the men moved across the big dark space with true authority.

These guys were in charge, not the guards.

Maja wondered if this meant they would be leaving again soon.

She knew she was being smuggled and trafficked for the purposes of sex, but she had no idea where she was going or who she would be made to serve when she got there.

Not that it mattered. Her life was over; she held no hope for rescue or escape.

Maja looked over the new arrivals and focused again on the tall bald man, now in a darkened corner.

The light was insufficient to reveal any of his facial features, but something about his gait, his posture, and perhaps even his dark aura reminded her of someone she had met before.

•••

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