Page 16 of Breaking the Code

We enter the building. Saws, drills, crying, and screams of protest welcome us. The smell of sawdust makes my nose twitch. I pinch it tightly between my fingers to ward off the possibility of a sneeze.

“Mr. Nicholson?” A man asks as he comes to stand in front of us. He appears very British, but his accent is more American than British.

Samuel nods. A sneer appears on his face at the man. Samuel believes he’s more important to the Order of Death than he is. Owen allows Samuel to keep me so that he can control Samuel and, in turn, so Samuel can control me.

The man waits. As does Samuel. They stare at one another. I know Samuel. He won’t break under this man’s gaze. I’ve only ever seen him back down to Owen.

The standoff lasts for several moments, and then the man clears his throat and says, “Mr. McGivern will be here momentarily.”

Samuel huffs, his hands going to his pockets, and he says, “And how soon is momentarily?”

The man’s eyes round, as does his mouth. “Umm…I’m not sure. I am not privy to any further information other than what I’ve already given you.”

“Fine. We’ll wait. Briefly. In the meantime, find me some coffee,” Samuel demands.

The man scurries away. Hopefully to find Samuel coffee.

My gaze travels around the area surrounding the dock, and the truck backed up to the building. I can still hear screams and power tools. The truck and the screaming combine into a nightmare of dire possibilities.

Those possibilities come to a reality when Samuel walks toward the sounds, pulling me along. The sight before me, as we move into the storage area next to the dock, twists my gut, sickening me.

The Order’s merchandise fills the room. Girls and boys, men and women, chained together next to the far wall. They’re all naked as the day they were born.

Averting my eyes, they roam over the rest of the room. Crates of military-grade weapons fill the floor between the door and the hostages. The wood lids are being secured one by one.

Then there are the workers. They’re building more crates. Big ass crates with holes cut into the sides, and mesh grids that are being added to the bottoms.

But for the grace of God…

Or the sacrifice of my ass and tech skills.

Either way, as awful as my life can be, they could have locked me up on the other side of the room with the others, awaiting an unimaginable fate.

That thought sets me off. Shaking takes over. My chin trembles, and my legs quake. I lock it all down and let everything fade away until there’s nothing but a floaty feeling left.

Dissociation isn’t new to me, but the level that latches onto me now is. The floaty feeling morphs into a full on out-of-body experience. My vision changes, as does my hearing.

Sounds in the room feel miles away, and I’m staring at myself like I’m looking in a mirror. My physical body is a shell. Nothing gets through.

My eyes stay focused on the other side of the room until the man from earlier returns with a cup of coffee for Samuel. He then moves to the people across from me. He pulls out a syringe, dosing each person as he moves down the line.

The lack of concern about bloodborne pathogens shocks me. It shouldn’t. The Order cares nothing for the people they victimize. They probably don’t care about the customers who buy them either.

The noise in the room lessens with each person he injects until all that’s left is the whirr of the drills and saws. Then they go silent too, only to be replaced with the sounds of the workers filling the crates with people.

Samuel’s face appears before mine, and he shoves me back into the other room. There’s a man in there who hadn’t been there before. I know him. Or rather, I know of him. He’s an underboss for the Order. Owen Black is the be all end all, but this guy, Lionel McGivern, is the boss in the UK, and word has it, he’s nearly as psychotic as Owen.

I stand next to Samuel while he and Lionel talk. I hear everything they’re saying, but none of it penetrates. All my attention is on the back of the truck.

As I stand there, a forklift loads the truck with the crates from the other room. The ones with weapons and the big ones with…

Sweet Jesus.

I bite down on my tongue and look away. A flicker of movement catches the corner of my eye.

There’s someone there.

That tiny flicker of recognition pulls me back to myself and I catalogue everything I can about the room, the people, the truck, and the ghost in the shadows. I continue scanning the room and notice a camera.

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