Page 23 of The Society (Spy Girl 3)
"Are you going with us?" I ask him.
Gallagher vehemently shakes his head.
"I want to. I can do a disguise, too."
"We don't have room for error," Gallagher says directly to me.
"What does the bracelet do, Ari?" I ask, changing the subject. I can tell, as far as Gallagher is concerned, Ari going with us is not up for discussion, and I have to trust his expertise in this situation.
"It's got a tracking device in it," Ari replies. "And the middle stud is quite sharp. It will cut through a rope or a simple zip-tie, but not metal."
"But I'm afraid they will strip it off you, possibly strip everything off you, before they leave," Gallagher says, picking up a syringe off the coffee table. "So I'm going to inject a bit of nanotechnology directly into your bloodstream that will allow us to track you. It only works for twenty-four hours. I promise to have you out of there well before then."
He sticks the needle into my arm, and I feel a burn as it enters my system.
Dr. Kate sets a tray of sandwiches on the table. Then she and Kate exit the premises.
Ari gives me a tight hug. He says, "You've got this," and follows them out the door.
"Eat," Gallagher says to me, glancing at the clock. "We don't have much time."
He goes on to explain his plan--how I should behave to attract the man's attention--and then he goes over everything that could possibly go wrong.
We exit the house and get into a car parked on the street. It's cramped and dusty. Once we are inside, he binds my hands together in front of me.
"Are you sure you shouldn't do it behind my back?"
"Yes, our informant told me this is how it's done. The slaves really aren't seen as a threat."
"That's one thing we have going for us," I say.
Upon arrival at the auction location, which is a dilapidated building in a seedy part of Brixton, Intrepid says, "Are you ready?"
I take a deep breath. "I am."
He wraps me up in a long black robe, puts a black hood over my head, and leads me into the building. The place has a dank, musty smell. I hear men murmuring in low voices, and then Intrepid is spoken to. The informant told him that entrance to the event was contingent on knowing what to say.
"The early bird," a voice says.
"Ends up dead," Intrepid responds.
"You may enter," the voice says.
Intrepid grabs me by the shoulder and pushes me. I struggle a little, not wanting to budge.
"Got a feisty one there, huh?" the voice comments. "We have a special buyer who loves such girls. What does she look like?"
"You know the rules," Intrepid says. "Only the buyers get to sample the goods."
He pushes me further. I can't see where I'm going at all. The hood's fabric is thick and doesn't allow much light through it. It's almost a little claustrophobic.
I can hear the auction getting started. I can hear the whimpers of the girls. I can smell their fear and almost feel their despair. I can also feel a predatory vibe in the air.
The men are whipped into an almost frenzied state by the auctioneer. If I had a gun under this robe, I would pull it out right now and shoot them all dead. No one should be allowed to be owned by another person. Ever.
I hear the auctioneer yell, "Do I have twenty-five dollars?"
I'm shocked. I don't know what I expected a slave to be sold for, but it wasn't that.
And it makes me very angry.
When it's my turn to be bid on, Intrepid whispers to me, "We're up."
Then he drags me to wherever I'm supposed to be going. He pulls the hood off my head. I snarl and snap at him like I'm going to bite him. My eyes are narrowed and my rage solely directed toward him.
He strips the robe off me and yells at me to stand still. Of course, I struggle some more. He slaps me across the face, which causes me to head-butt him. The men laugh when he falls backward onto the ground. He gets back up, takes out a knife, and brandishes it in my direction. I allow myself to show a flash of fear as he slices my shirt open and then pulls it off me, revealing my tank top along with the tattoos.
The bidding opens at twenty-five dollars and goes as high as two hundred before a short, portly man in a suit, who I recognize as our target from the photo Intrepid showed me earlier, steps forward and says, "Two thousand."
"Sold," the auctioneer says without bothering to give anyone a chance to outbid him.
The man walks up to me, puts his finger under my chin, and says, "You are but a wild horse needing to be broken. I will break you. That is a promise."
I spit at him, fully expecting a slap in response. Instead, he steps back, gives me a wicked smile, and snaps his fingers at two men. They pick the hood and robe off the ground and put them on me. Then one picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.
Before I know it, I'm being tossed in the back of a van and driven away.
At Blackwood, we were put through kidnapping scenarios. The first time it happened to you, an instructor would be lying on the floor of the van with you explaining what to do. I have two main objectives. The first is to determine my odds. In most situations, you have a much better chance at trying to escape from the van than to wait until they take you out in the middle of nowhere or to an enemy camp where you could be tortured.
We also had torture simulations. In one such event, I accidentally broke my trainer's wrist and nose. I had been sleep-deprived for thirty-six hours and given only a few sips of water. They'd roughed me up a little and then tied me to a chair. I'd flipped upside down, bringing the legs of the chair straight into his face. While lauded for my escape by the dean, the trainer wasn't very happy with me. He was quickly fired, but I suppose that's not true. He was probably killed.
The other thing we were taught is to conserve energy. Stay relaxed. Wait for the right moment. And, also, try to figure out where you are going.
I've been counting in my head and memorizing the turns the van has taken. And, based on what I know, I'm not being taken all that far. Most of our time is spent stopped, not moving. If I had to guess, based on the noises, traffic, and the fact that one of the men mentioned how muddy the Thames looked, I'd say we are in central London. From the river to stopping, it's only been a short distance, which strengthens my chances of escape when the time is right.
The van stops. A window is rolled down. A four-digit code is tapped out. A door opens, and I can tell by the echo that we are in a parking garage.
A few moments later, I'm being pulled out of the van. I struggle a little, being careful not to hurt anyone, but am punched in the ribs in response. Fortunately, my arms are still tied in front of my body, giving my ribs some protection.
I'm jostled around and then pushed down a set of stairs--literally. I tuck and try to roll down them in a way that doesn't do too much damage, but it still hurts a lot.
I lie still, assessing my injuries. I'm feeling stunned, my head hurts--probably indicating a slight concussion. I'm very lucky that I wasn't knocked out. My elbow is throbbing after taking the brunt of the fall, and my cheek feels like it's starting to swell.
One of the men rushes down the stairs, yelling at the other, "What the hell did you do? Boss is going to kill you. He never pays that much."
"Whatev--" the guy starts to say, but he stops mid sentence at the sound of a gun's retort.
I can hear a man tumble down the stairs. He lands on me with a thud, knocking the wind out of me and making it hard to breathe.
"Dispose of the body," I hear the money man say. "If you touch that girl, you'll be digging your own grave. Are we clear?"
"Yes, boss," he says.
"She'll be joining me for dinner."
"Yes, sir."
Very quickly, I hear him running down the stairs then feel him lift the probably dead man's body off of me. Once the body is moved aside, I'm stood up, and the hood is ripped off my head.
He roughly pushes my chin up. "Hold still," he says, surveying my face, presumably looking for signs of damage.
I don't have to look in a mirror to know that both my right cheekbone and a spot along my jawline were injured in the fall. And I'm sure my body will be quite bruised in the places hit by each stair on the way down.
But I can't worry about that now. I pull my face out of his hand. "You're lucky that I can't touch you tonight. But, once the boss grows weary of you, all bets are off."
He pulls my robe off and then leads me down a hallway. I take note of the decor, surprised to see hand-carved egg-and-dart crown molding in a basement. I can't imagine how lavish the rest of the place must be. The man takes a key from his pocket and opens a door in front of us.
It's dark inside the room, but I can tell we are not alone. For the first time since this charade has started, I start to feel nervous. And when he flicks on the light, my nervousness grows to fear. I'm shocked at what I see. Rows of what appear to be oversized dog kennels are lined up in the room, one after another. Inside each is a young girl. Most have hollow stares and don't even glance in my direction, but the ones who do, look at me with pity. They know what's going to happen to me because it's been happening to them.
I want to lash out at the man, but I push it down. I can't do anything yet. But I know this; these girls will be set free if it's the last thing I do. This is horrible.
The man unties my hands, which normally would be a big mistake, but I just willingly step toward the cage.
"Guess that roll down the stairs took some of the fight out of you, huh, baby?" he sneers and then smacks my butt.
I respond by punching him in the throat. If I had done it harder, I'd have smashed his Adam's apple, crushing his trachea and making it very difficult, if not impossible, for him to breathe.
"Ow! You little bitch," he yells, backhanding me across the face.
I take the hit and then allow him to push me into the cage.
He quickly shuts the door, puts a padlock on it, and leaves the room.
