Page 18 of Savage Reckoning

This time he makes no attempt to stop me. “I’ll see you around, Megan. Or not.”

“Not.” I manage not to slam the door on my way out.

CHAPTER 4

Gabe

“Right. This needs to be quick. We go in, get the job done, leave no witnesses, and get out.”

Jack’s stony gaze rests on each of us in turn. There are no dissenters.

The debate over whether or not to go ahead with this attack on the flesh auction was heated. Not all the men see it as our fight anyway. Even though the Savages don’t go in for people trafficking themselves, everyone knows it happens, and it’s not our concern. Let the police deal with it, if they can. Added to that the current lack of top leadership, they would have shelved the problem for the time being.

That wouldn’t suit me. I’m right here, right now, and I want to get my hands on these murdering bastards. The UK branch of their little enterprise is probably the most lucrative they have. Its loss will be a major blow to Sokolov. Solid intelligence of an event such as this sale is as rare as hen’s teeth. It could be months before I stumble on another break like it, and I’m not about to waste the opportunity. I managed to convince Jack Morgan that the mission was viable with me as part of the command structure. He’s given me the benefit of the doubt, but it was close. I have a lot to prove.

Jack, Tony, Rome, and I, along with a marksman by the name of Nico, flew up to the Scottish Highlands together earlier today in the one remaining Savage helicopter. The rest of the Caraksay ‘army’, thirty-three of them in total, is to join us in a few hours, having made the journey by road. The plan is to rendezvous after hours in a National Trust car park not far from the barn where tonight’s fun and games are to be held.

I must say, I’ve led lethal missions in less picturesque spots. We’re surrounded by rolling moors cloaked in purples and golds set against a majestic backdrop of towering mountains with snow still on the summits. The crashing roar of a waterfall in full flow can be heard somewhere close by. We’ve even had a visit from a stag, who regarded us with casual disinterest from a hundred metres away before ambling off into the forest. It was ironic, I suppose. We’re packing a hundred times more firepower than the average hunter to cross his path, yet he saw us as no threat to him.

He was right. We’re hunting different prey tonight.

The five of us are hunkered down in a secluded hollow between two huge glacial rocks, with a good view of the barn where the auction is to take place in just six hours’ time. Nico is setting up his equipment. The intention is that he will use his marksman skills to take out as many of Sokolov’s men as he can from a safe distance, while the rest of us go in hard and close. Our task will be easier if the bad guys are confused by a surprise sniper attack. We can pick them off at close quarters while they’re trying to work out where the bullets are coming from.

There will be no survivors. No prisoners. No witnesses, unless you count the women we intend to free. Tony went in and did a reconnaissance when we first got here, and we know there are seventeen women, aged from about fifteen to maybe thirty. The plan is to get them out safely and move them fast to the Savage headquarters in Glasgow, and from there arrange onward travel either to return them to their homes or to a place where they can resettle. The men are bringing a minibus for that purpose.

Currently, there are nine Sokolov soldiers who can be seen wandering aimlessly around the perimeter of the barn. There’s no organised patrol and not much obvious by way of discipline or a command structure. It’s possible the key leaders are already dead, courtesy of their last little spat with the Savages, which will make this a lot easier.

We shall see.

The sale is due to begin at twenty-two hundred hours, so we can safely assume any punters who intend to bid in person will be here by then, but not that much before. They won’t be keen to hang around in this remote spot any more than we are. We’ve scheduled our assault for half an hour before the start, in the hope that will minimise the number of people we have to kill. We’ll be taking out punters and traffickers alike.

I’m to lead the team going in from the front through the main barn door. Jack is heading up the men at the rear, and Tony is in charge of anything that happens outside. Though his ankle has been set now, Rome is still confined to a wheelchair or crutches, so he’s our ‘eye in the sky’, operating the drone we’ll use to observe proceedings from a distance, pick off any of the gang making a run for it, and alert us to anyone arriving, whether police or punters, or even unsuspecting locals.

We’re all set. Now, we wait for the party to begin.

At twenty-one thirty precisely, Nico fires the first shots, taking out the two goons assigned to guard the doors. Two bullets in rapid succession lodge themselves neatly in the men’s skulls, and they crumple to the ground right in front of a party of Albanian thugs just arriving and no doubt looking forward to a spot of shopping. The Albanians go down next, like half a dozen skittles, in the hail of gunfire that follows as my team charges in to lead the first wave.

At the head of my men, I hit the barn door at a dead run, first spraying it with machine-gun fire then booting it open with a splintering crash. I somersault through the wreckage, picking out targets on the move. We can’t fire indiscriminately with so many potential innocent victims likely to be caught in the crossfire. We counted eight punters inside so far, and with the remaining seven Sokolov goons, our objective is clear.

Fifteen bodies required. Less than a minute later, that tick box is checked. Jack’s raised arm silences our guns, and we take stock.

The space had been set out with seats arranged in a circle around a raised platform in the centre. Potential buyers had congregated in the front row, hoping for the best view. And were annihilated where they sat with barely a bullet returned. We suffered no losses. Our task was made easier by the fact that the women had not yet been brought out to be put on display, though their screams of terror can be heard coming from beneath our feet.

We already knew that they were being held in some sort of underground storeroom. There’s a trapdoor beside the makeshift stage, which Jack hauls open with a thud. The din from below ceases, and Jack kneels to peer down into the void.

“It’s okay. We’re going to get you out of there. Get up here as quick as you can.”

There’s no movement from below, so Jack calls out again. “We need to hurry. Can you get out or do you need help?”

A lone voice replies. “W-we’re shackled to the walls…”

“Fair enough.” Jack holsters his gun and goes down.

I decide to follow him. There’s a rough staircase, probably put in quite recently when the premises were brought into their current use. Once I’m down there, the space is lit by a single swinging light bulb which casts eerie shadows, dancing over the terrified women lined up along both sides of the narrow space. Each is naked from the waist up and secured by a metal cuff around her ankle to a chain running along the stone floor.

“Toss some bolt cutters down, someone.” Jack crouches to examine the chain.

“Check the bodies for any keys,” I add. The ankle cuffs are secured with padlocks, and it will be easier to unlock those than rely on brute force.

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