Page 90 of Savage Warrior

We all nod our agreement and understanding. This is no one’s first rodeo, we know the drill.

Four men, armed to the teeth, meet us at the entrance. They bar the door.

“Passcode?” one of them demands.

“Mozart,” I reply. “This is Ethan Savage. He’s expected. Orders of Fedor Morozov.”

There’s a brief conference between the guards, then their leader commands that we be let in.

“No weapons,” he snaps. “Guns and knives in there.” He gestures to a metal barrel by the door.

We unload our guns and submit to a cursory search. By the time we get inside, I’m down to a single Glock and a dagger in my boot. I assume the others have fared much the same.

“Crap security,” I mutter thankfully as we head through a second set of doors to be greeted by another armed guard.

“Are you the one wanting a viewing?” he grunts.

I pretend to confer with Ethan, then, “Are there many to pick from this time?”

“A couple of dozen,” he tells us.

“Any recommendations?”

“One fuck’s much like another if you ask me.” He jerks his thumb to his right. “In there for a look. That way to the auction.” He gestures to his left. “It starts in a few minutes, so be quick or you’ll miss the first batch.”

I give him a smile, thank him for the heads-up, and lead the way through the right-hand entrance,

We’re in a long gallery-style area carved out of one entire side of the cavernous building. It’s perhaps ten feet wide and maybe a couple of hundred feet long and clearly purpose-built for these functions. Chains are secured the whole way along at intervals of about six feet. Each chain is attached to the wall by a heavy rivet on one end. On the other end is a thick leather collar, secured with a padlock.

The merchandise to be sold today is displayed here. Maybe twenty or so women, various ages, many of them naked, are chained to the wall by the collars around their necks. The chains are not long enough to allow them to sit on the floor, and I have no idea how long they’ve been held here. My stomach churns at the picture of terror and abject misery before us. Most do not even raise their eyes when we enter.

“How will we know which one is Natalija?” Tony asks.

Good question. I’ve never met Natalija, don’t even have a general description. I know she’s young, and I have to just hope there’s a family resemblance to Arina.

“Let’s have a look, then.” Ethan leads the way slowly down the line.

We peruse the frightened, tearful faces, pausing each time we arrive at one aged under about eighteen. There are four such candidates, and nothing to distinguish one from another.

We reach the end of the line, and Ethan turns to me. “Well?”

“Could be any of those four youngest, boss.”

“That’s what I thought. Right, then.” He summons the guard over.

The man has been following us, which is why I couldn’t simply ask the girls their names.

“I want to buy a job lot,” Ethan announces. “How much for four?”

I translate, and the man’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Four? You want to buy four?”

“That’s right. I’ll expect a discount for taking them off your hands.”

He seems confused and more than a little worried. “I can’t agree to that. It’s not my job to do deals.”

“Well, find someone who does,” I snap. “Mr Savage doesn’t have all day.”

He babbles something about fetching his boss and scurries off. As soon as he’s out of earshot, I march back down the line, stopping by each of the younger girls to ask her name.

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