Focus: Exposure Series Book Two Page 2

  Yet, I also knew that I couldn’t just wait around and do nothing while I waited for him to arrive. It was a 9 hour flight from St. Petersburg to here, so he would be at the airport in four hours, minimum.

  Four hours. It was only four hours, yet I knew that every second counted.

  I swiveled in my chair. Don’t get ahead of yourself, here. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve been dealing with underground business. You need to wait for Nikolai, because he’s in the business now. He has training that you never had.

  I again wondered if I could just buy CJ’s way out of this situation. Money always talked.

  I sighed. I didn’t want to do anything wrong. One false move, and CJ’s life could be in danger, even more than it already was.

  “Thank you, Arian,” I said to him. “I’ll wire the money to your account right now. Your intelligence was invaluable, and worth $500,000 to me.”

  “Thank you,” he said to me. “If there is anything more I can do for you, you know where to find me, of course.”

  “Of course.” Then I got off the phone and wired the money to him.

  White slavery. I knew where the Bardha clan was headquartered, and I would go down there as soon as Nikolai got into the airport.

  I called him. “How close are you?”

  “I’ll be landing in about three hours,” he said.

  “I’ll meet you then.”

  I couldn’t just sit there, though, and do nothing. I had to do something. Anything.

  Basically, I had to find out where they were keeping her. I knew of some of the locations where they worked, but, as Arian said, they moved from one place to the next all the time.

  It was time to go to at least one of the places that I knew about, though, and map it out. I made a list of the people I knew in this clan, and where I could find them. I got this ready while I waited for Nikolai to land.

  He finally landed some three hours later. He was packing, of course. He had all the weapons which were needed for this mission – AK47, Smith and Wesson revolver and a Molotov Cocktail. Of course, he took my father’s private plane, so it wasn’t a problem packing these.

  “Okay,” I said when he first touched down on the tarmac. I put my arm around him in a hug. “We have to move quickly. I’ve made a list of all the places where I know that this clan might be hiding CJ, and I’ve hit on the most logical place.”

  “What do you know about this Bardha clan?” he asked me.

  “They’re Albanian, as you know, so they’re very tight-knit and secretive. Thank God I have somebody on the inside, as I do for all of the ethnic syndicates around New York City. He gave me some information, but not enough to really go on.”

  “What information did he give you?”

  “Just that she’s being held by the Bardha clan and that he suspects that they might be wanting to sell her.” I took a deep breath. “This is going to sound strange, but I hope that’s what they want with her. If they want her because she was investigating them for her magazine, then they probably will kill her.” I paused, trying to regain my composure. Just saying the words that they might kill her put my senses into a state of near-panic. Taking a deep breath, I continued. “But, the fact that they apparently haven’t yet killed her is a good sign that they might be holding her for a different reason.”

  Nikolai nodded. “Have you considered that they might be trying to get to you?”

  I knew what he was talking about. But I doubted that was the case. Nobody would be stupid enough to try to get to me, considering how powerful my father was. That would be courting an all-out war, one that they probably couldn’t win. Besides, they would have contacted me by now to demand a ransom, and Arian said that my name never came up.

  “I’ve considered that, of course, but I don’t know why they would be short-sighted enough to try something like that. As you know, the only reason why I’ve been protected all these years is because of my father. Nobody has ever wanted to touch me, because they know that, if they do, there will be serious consequences.” I sighed. “But, then again, who knows? They might be desperate enough to try something like that. If that’s the case, then that’s probably the best-case scenario, because they won’t hurt her at all.”

  We then went over all the possible Bardha hiding places that I knew about. There were abandoned warehouses, trailers in the middle of the woods, and three penthouse suites. I had ruled out the penthouse suites, as these were the places where they held the working girls, and I had already figured that CJ probably wasn’t pressed into prostitution yet. She probably was in a holding pattern, which would mean that she probably was in one of the abandoned warehouses or trailers.

  “Let’s start at the warehouse in Jersey,” I said. “From what I understand, that’s closest to where she was picked up.” I figured that this would be the logical place to begin. I doubted very seriously that they would have transported her to one of the other warehouses, located in upstate New York, just because there really wouldn’t be any reason for this.

  At that, we got into my Jaguar and headed down to the abandoned warehouse that I knew about in Trenton.

  I prayed that they still had this warehouse as a holding cell for their girls.

  As we sped toward Trenton, however, I got an unexpected phone call. And I suddenly knew just what these men wanted, and exactly who was behind it all.

  Chapter 2

  CJ

  I woke up and had no idea where I was. I also was feeling extremely woozy, like I did when I took those sedatives at the hospital that one night when Scarlett had to pick me up. It was like that feeling, but yet, different. All that I knew was that it was dark, I was feeling slightly euphoric and not at all frightened. My subconscious, however, was absolutely panicking. I could feel it, just below the surface of my emotions.

  I felt the material underneath my body, and it felt like an old cot or something. There were men, milling about. I could see them just outside the room that I was in. I looked at my wrists, and one of them was tied to a stake that was right next to my bed.

  Somebody was speaking a language that I didn’t understand. The cadence sounded familiar, though. I was sure that I had heard this language spoken before, if only on television or in the movies.

  I heard a voice. A man’s voice. He was speaking English, and was clearly an American. At least he didn’t have any kind of foreign accent. Unfortunately, he was speaking low, so I didn’t quite know what he was saying.

  A woman came into my room. She sat down next to my bed. She was a beautiful woman, very dark, with black hair. “I’ve come to check on you,” she said. She had a thick accent, but her English was perfect. I couldn’t quite identify the accent, though. Again, I had to rely upon my limited knowledge of the world and the accents and dialects of different countries. My knowledge of all of this pretty much consisted of my watching television and movies that had people with different tongues. Of course, living in New York, and having traveled the subway, I heard people with different accents all the time. But I was never actually able to identify any of them all that well.

  With a hoarse voice, I said “where am I? Why do I feel this way?”

  She whispered. “You’re safe for now. Please don’t worry. You won’t be sold like these other girls.”

  “Sold?” I couldn’t quite comprehend what she meant by that. “Sold? I’m sorry, I don’t think that I understand.”

  “Shhhh,” she said. “I said that you won’t be sold.”

  “Why would I be sold? And for what purpose?” I felt incredibly naïve to even be asking this question. White slavery didn’t quite occur to my brain during this time.

  She brushed my hair off of my forehead. I sighed as she did this. I remembered all the times that my mother used to do the same. Whenever I was sick, she would put a cool rag on my forehead and lightly brush the hair off my face.

  Tears came to my eyes, but not because of where I was and the situation that I was in. I felt this acute pang as I rememb
ered, anew, that I no longer had a mother, for all intents and purposes. And I remembered, anew, exactly why that was.

  Why was I thinking about this, of all things? Why wasn’t I panicking about the fact that I was apparently being held by somebody unknown and for apparently evil reasons? I felt as if my feelings about my situation were muted, though, because I still had the slight feeling of euphoria.

  “What happened to me?” I asked the woman. “I was given something, I can feel it. I don’t really even know if this whole thing is real or if it’s a dream.” It was telling that I said the word “dream,” not “nightmare.” Because I wasn’t exactly emotionally feeling like I was in the middle of a nightmare. I was feeling simply that my environment was unreal, including this beautiful woman.

  In a very low voice, she said “you were given morphine. That’s why you don’t feel fearful or anxious. And it’s just as well that you’re not feeling these emotions. You shouldn’t be fully conscious considering what has happened to you.”

  “I guess I don’t really know what has happened to me.”

  “You’re being held, but not for the reasons that you might think.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t have any thoughts on why I might be held. So, please, tell me the reason why I’m here.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “Not right now. I’ve probably already said too much.” At that, she looked over her shoulder. “I have to go,” she said. “I just came in to check on you. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.”

  I nodded my head. I could still feel nothing, emotionally. Or physically, for that matter.

  At that, she left. In her place was a man. He was short for a man, about 5’5”, balding, with a moustache. He had some kind of weapon slung over his shoulder, along with two belts that had bullets across his chest. He was with another man who was quite a bit taller. The first man spoke to the second man in the language that I didn’t quite understand, and couldn’t place where I had heard it before, and the second man answered back in that same language but with a slightly different cadence and accent.

  It was as if the first man was speaking in his native tongue and the second man was not. Perhaps the second man was an American who happened to know this other language. Or perhaps the second man was simply from a different country than the first man.

  The taller man nodded his head while the first man spoke with him. They seemed to be negotiating something.

  I just laid on that bed, looking at them, trying to figure out what was going on. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t fathom anything at all.

  Finally, after what seemed like a long time, the shorter man nodded his head, and took off my handcuff from around the post. He then handcuffed my other hand with the hand that was now free, so that my wrists were cuffed together.

  The taller man smiled, and said a few words to the shorter man.

  And the next thing I knew, I was being led by this taller man into a black car. I was pushed into the backseat, and the car sped off.

  Chapter 3

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked the man, who was driving the black car that I was pushed into.

  “Do not worry. I will not hurt you.” This man knew English, but it was broken, and his accent sounded Eastern European. Russian, maybe. Again, I couldn’t be certain, because I had never actually heard a Russian person speak in a Russian accent. Asher, and Sophie for that matter, didn’t count, as both of them spoke perfect English and sounded American. My only knowledge of Russian accents, like everything else, came from the television and movies.

  “That wasn’t what I asked you,” I said, suddenly feeling the effects of the morphine gradually wearing off. Anxiety was beginning to bubble up, along with a keen sense of fear. I found myself wishing that I could have another dose of the morphine, because I didn’t like the feeling that I was getting, being in the back of that car.

  It suddenly occurred to me that I might die that night. I sadly realized that there would be exactly one person who would miss me – Scarlett. Everybody else in my life had turned their backs on me.

  “I know what you asked me,” he said. “And I cannot give you information about that right now. You will be safe with me. Just trust me about this.”

  I shook my head. All at once, the feeling of disorientation was starting to hit me, and I just started to feel that I was coming out of a dream. I felt like I was in the middle of a weird dream when I was back at that dark place, and I was slowly coming to realize that my surroundings were real. That I actually was in the back of a black car with some guy that I didn’t know and I was going to God-knew-where.

  “How am I supposed to trust you?” I asked the guy. “I don’t know you. I’ve never seen you before in my entire life.”

  He shook his head. “You need another injection,” he said. “I will take care of that when we get to my home.”

  I had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I felt helpless to fight what was happening to me. For one thing, I had no idea what was going on. My mind was still foggy, and I was fighting to remember the last thing that was happening before I woke up in that other place.

  So, since I was feeling helpless, yet increasingly frightened, I felt that perhaps having another dose of the morphine wouldn’t be such a bad idea. That drug appeared to dull my senses and made me feel as if nothing was really wrong.

  In other words, if I was stuck in this situation, whatever this situation was, I certainly didn’t want to face the horror completely sober.

  At the same time, though, I was coming out of my drugged stupor and realizing that I possibly needed my wits about me. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t make it out alive.

  That thought sent chills through my body.

  I had to think. Not that this would do any good at all. I noticed that this man, like the short man from the previous place, had a weapon. So, there would be no way out of this for me, unless somebody came to save me. Or I could figure out some other way of escaping once I got to wherever it was I was being taken.

  “Please tell me what is going on. Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “Then why am I here? You were talking to that guy back there, talking in a language that I didn’t understand. It certainly did seem like you want me for something.”

  “You talk too much,” he said. “I will have to give you some more morphine if you don’t stop talking so much.”

  “Listen,” I said, suddenly remembering where I was when I was picked up by the strangers who forced me into a van. I was talking to that homeless guy on the street. I had been living with them in their encampment for two days. I felt it necessary that they learn to trust me so that I could complete my story that I was assigned from the magazine who hired me to do a photojournalism story about their plight. And then I saw those two men who were hassling the homeless guy…and I was put into the van.

  It all came flooding back to me. It was as if a dam had burst open, and the memories came in, cascading through my brain.

  “Listen, what?” the man said to me, as he watched me warily from the front seat.

  I had lost my train of thought. I was too preoccupied with the memories that were tumbling in, and trying to make sense of them. “Nothing,” I said to him.

  He shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that. What were you going to say?”

  “I was simply going to say that if you want my camera, you can have it. I’m not sure, but I was given the impression that I had taken a picture of something that was damaging to somebody, and that was why I ended up getting abducted.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “A man. Somebody. I can’t remember who it was.” And I couldn’t. “I have been informed by my magazine that if my life was ever in danger because of something that I shot, that I was to choose my safety over getting the picture to the magazine. Apparently there have been too many journalists who have been killed for their pictures
or their words, and this magazine doesn’t want that to happen.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not a problem, of course. Your camera has been confiscated already, and destroyed.”

  I tried to remember if I had the chance to back up anything to my computer, which I typically did remotely. But no, if the picture in controversy was the one that I took right before I got abducted, that photo wasn’t backed up anywhere.

  I had the feeling that this man knew this piece of information.

  So, the camera was destroyed. Yet I was still in the back of this car, going God-knew-where. “Okay. So, if it’s not the picture you’re after, then what is it?”

  The man screwed up his face. “I can’t tell you this, of course. You will get nothing out of me, so it’s useless for you to keep trying.”

  “But I’m going to keep trying,” I said, realizing that I was pressing my luck with this guy. “I’m going to keep trying, so you might as well give me information about what is going on.”

  He shook his head. “Later. In the meantime, you have to get out of the car.”

  He stopped the car, and I realized that I was being grabbed by this man and, as I struggled, he forcibly led me into the middle of a field.

  Panic started to set in at this time, of course. I nervously looked to see if he still had his weapon, which appeared to be a pistol. He did. It was on his side in its holster.

  I started to breathe, heavier and heavier. My instinct was to run, but my hands were still cuffed behind my back, and I knew that I wouldn’t get far before this man shot me.

  It was then that I realized that my feet were bare. I walked along beside this man, with him forcibly leading me along, and I was stepping on rocks and other sharp objects. These objects should have been painful to my bare feet.

  They should have been, but they weren’t.

  I wanted to protest. I was feeling that I was going to die out here in this field in the bitter cold. I was going to die, and nobody would ever notice that I was gone except Scarlett.