by Aden Lowe
Motorhead shrugged. "Sure, what you need?"
He filled them in on Vicki's disappearance and the connection to the invaders. "I need information on the man that sent them. This one looks to me like a perfect candidate to give up some info."
The man between the pair paled considerably. "I don't know anything, man."
"You know they used to hold runaway slaves in the basement here? The iron rings they chained them to are still there, and the shackles. I bet if I looked around, I could find a few other little flashes from the past."
Motorhead grinned. "I've got a few surprises in my saddlebags if we need them."
Kellen nodded. "Okay, take him down and put him in the chains. We'll make an example of him."
The prisoner resisted and begged, terrified of what awaited, with no luck. Motorhead and the other guy dragged him inside and down the worn stairs to the basement. While they took him to the cells, Kellen headed for the big iron lockbox at the other end of the space. As a kid, he'd dug around in that old box, and knew exactly what it contained. Stags Leap had a dark, dark past.
He selected a broad assortment of tools. If any of those men had information, they would give it up happily. He laid everything out on the table, not far from the chained man.
Turning to the men in the cells, he held up the first item. "In case ya'll didn't know, you're South of the Mason-Dixon, and we do things a little different down here. My great-great-great granddaddy hunted down escaped slaves for a living, and brought 'em back here. And then he got ever'thing out of them they knew about any others plottin' to run. He got real creative." The short whip in his hand had several lashes, all tipped with steel hooks. He bit back his distaste and fingered the hooks, making sure all the prisoners could see them.
"Man, you can't do this. You got no right to hold us here." One of them men staying out of sight in the back of a cell spoke up.
"Motherfucker, you come to my town. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He swung the whip so the hooked lashes hissed through the air. "Right now, I want information on your boss. But I'll take your blood instead. No problem." Turning, he slashed the whip across the shackled man's back.
The man screamed and Kellen had to pretend he didn't gag when one of the hooks embedded in the man's flesh and he had to jerk it loose. Fuck, he was getting soft. He steeled his resolve. Information. Vicki. No choice.
"Anybody ready to talk?" Motorhead grinned and pointed to a man in a cell. "You're next buddy, and I get you. Got a score to settle."
Several prisoners made choking noises and one vomited. As Kellen raised the whip for another blow, one of them spoke from the cell. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything about Rudolfo Mihalovich. His business. His family. Everything."
The guy stepped forward. "I'll tell you what I know."
Kellen nodded to the guard currently on duty, and waited while the cell was opened and the volunteer taken out. He personally shackled the man next to the one he'd just whipped. "Start talking."
The man stammered a little. "He's Russian."
"I know that, stupid. Tell me about his business interests."
"He started with weapons after the Soviets went belly up. I heard he was some big shit in their military, so he had access to guns. He came here and expanded—cocaine, heroin. Women. American women are his biggest seller after guns."
Kellen's belly tightened and threatened to heave. "Women?"
The man nodded. "He takes them and ships them overseas. Them rich oil sheiks will pay a fortune for some American pussy."
A chill shot through Kellen's blood. Of course. That was the way to get rid a female you wanted to disappear. "Where does he hold them?"
The man grinned. "In his compound in Pittsburgh. We get to break them in right."
"I'm done here. Put these in the cell. I don't give a fuck what you do with them, as long as none of them get loose." Kellen headed for the door and his bike.
Five hours to Pittsburgh. He could do it in three with a little luck. Maybe less. Fear pounded through his every fiber. Fear of what waited in Pittsburgh. Fear of what might be happening to Vicki while he sat helpless on his bike. Just fear.
While he rode, every moment he'd spent with Vicki played back through his mind, tormenting him with things he'd left unrealized, unsaid. Pushing his throttle as far as it would go, Kellen probably came closer to praying than he ever had. Nothing had ever been important enough for that. Only one thing mattered. He needed more time with Vicki.
Full dark had fallen by the time he reached the outskirts of Pittsburgh and made his way to the area where the prisoner said he would find Mihalovich's compound. It looked like the area might have once been a subdivision and Mihalovich had left several blocks of houses, maybe as a buffer between him and the highway. Whatever his reasoning, it had the same effect. Traffic noise and headlights were filtered out by the structures and his home lay, effectively hidden, behind the fringe of trees at the back of the last row of houses.
Kellen debated whether to ride through to the compound and risk someone spotting him and calling to warn Mihalovich. On the other hand, the majority of his weapons were on his bike, and he might need a way to get Vicki out of there fast. Hard telling what sort of shape she'd be in when he found her. That decided it.
Heart in his throat, he backed way off it and cruised through the neighborhood, bike just above idle speed to cut the engine noise. With any luck, no one would even notice his presence. At the treeline, he had a moment of concern since his chopper was hardly equipped for off-road travel, but he found a cleared path straight through. Someone, or, more likely, several someones, walked the hundred yards through the wooded belt between the remaining subdivision and the compound. Maybe Mihalovich used the neighborhood as a sort of company housing area or something.
He paused just inside the end of the trail for a first look at Mihalovich's lair. A low stone wall surrounded what looked to be several acres and a number of buildings. The trail passed through a gate with some kind of electronic lock and led on toward the interior. Now how the hell was he supposed to get in there without anyone noticing?
Hmmm, what he needed was the keycard or whatever it took to open the damn thing. And the only way to get that was to take it from someone who used the gate. First he had to find that. Keeping his engine quiet, he headed back toward the houses. Maybe he could find one of the workers or whatever they were at home.
The edge of the forest offered scant concealment for his bike, but he couldn't chance it being seen on the street, so there was no real choice. Regretfully, he stashed it, and his cut, and pulled on a plain gray hoodie. He felt naked without the Hell Raiders patch. It meant his Brothers always had his back, whether they were physically present or not. Not wearing it made him feel truly alone, and he didn't like that at all. If not for Vicki, he probably wouldn't bother.
Trying to look casual and like he belonged, he crossed the street and cut between two houses and headed for another. It would have been easier to grab someone from the first house he came to, but also too obvious. So he moved up onto the back deck of the house that backed the first two. The glass slider opened easily and he slipped inside, hopefully without being seen.
The kitchen and living room were dark and empty. Figured no one would be home. Still, he checked the rest of the rooms. And finally, in the master bedroom, he found someone. A huge woman sprawled in a queen-size bed, sleeping soundly.
He took advantage of the opportunity and looked around quickly. On the bureau by the bed, he found a couple bucks in change, a cell phone case, an ID badge on a retractable clip, and a heavy set of keys. The ID, with Mihalovich Securities embossed on one side, and the keys disappeared silently into his hoodie pocket.
At the foot of the bed, a pile of discarded clothing drew his attention. Gray polyester slacks and a blue polo with the Mihalovich logo embroided on the chest. Finding that was a piece of luck. He wouldn't have thought of them wearing uniforms. Searching further, in the clo
set, he found a clean set identical to the ones on the floor. He snagged those and headed back to the empty kitchen.
Lucky for him, the woman he'd taken the uniform from was large. He pulled it on over his clothing. He had no intentions whatsoever of leaving his own stuff behind. Finally, feeling like a kid bundled up to play in the snow, he left the house and headed back to his bike.
He passed back through the woods on the little trail, wondering how he was supposed to get his bike inside unnoticed. A sick feeling settled in his gut as he considered the only real option. He would have to leave it and go in on foot.
At least the brush was a little thicker on the inside edge of the woods, so he had a better place to hide the chopper. He stuffed every possible weapon and as much ammo as he could physically carry into every pocket he could reach.
It took every ounce of nerve he had to walk out of that forest path and head for the gate, alone, no Brothers backing him. He fumbled a second with the ID badge, but managed to get it to slide through the reader and scan. A low buzz heralded the gate swinging on a silent mechanism, the way cleared for him to pass through. With a chill creeping up his spine, he stepped into Mihalovich's world.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kellen really had to resist the creepy urge to whistle as he strolled purposefully along the sidewalk between the buildings. Doors in the place were marked with code letters, so he had no clue what might be behind any of the walls there. From the massive cooling units one of the buildings had, he guessed it probably housed computer servers. Too technical for his needs at the moment.
He kept going, trying to look like he knew where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. What he needed was a sort of janitorial place where he could get a cleaning cart. That would give him an excuse to take his time and look around.
Rounding a corner, he caught a woman struggling with a heavy box. "Here, let me help you." He rushed up and grabbed the box as her grasp slipped more and barely caught it before it hit the ground. "Just show me where you need to go."
Startled brown eyes blinked up at him. "You don't have to do that, you'll be late."
He shook his head and tried to reassure her. "I have time."
"No, you don't. Everyone is in the auditorium already. He'll start any moment now." The bluish security lighting made her look terrified.
What the hell? He had to find out. "I'll risk it. But won't you be late, too?"
She nodded, almost frantic. "We have to get out of sight. Come on." She darted for a building nearby and fumbled with her heavy keys, similar to the ones in Kellen's pocket, searching for the right one. Finally, she had it and shoved the door open, motioning him inside. Apparently safe, she heaved a deep breath and leaned her back against the closed door.
It made no sense. "I'm new here. What's going on?" He held his breath, worried she might sound the alarm, but he'd had no choice. He needed to move fast, and figuring things out on his own wouldn't allow that.
She nodded. "I haven't seen you before, so I know you're new. It's been a long time since anyone else has come on staff. He doesn't usually trust new people. You must not have even had your briefing yet?"
"I haven't."
"Well, every night, ten P.M., Mr. Mihalovich requires every person on staff to attend a meeting in the auditorium. And everyone gets searched to make sure secrets aren't being smuggled out." She drew a shaky breath and closed her eyes. "I'll have to leave now. Since I missed the meeting, they'll start looking for me. The punishment is death."
Damn. He'd have to get her out too. But at least he had an ally and a source of information. He took his own shaky breath. "Look, I don't really work here. I came for something else."
Her eyes narrowed speculatively, wheels turning almost visibly. Could she turn him in and save herself?
"It won't work, miss. I've been a little thorn in his side, but by finding me, you now know too much. Punishment is still death." He couldn't swear to that, of course, but it suited his purposes.
She nodded. "I know. I just hoped for a second." She looked up again. "I can help you. Whatever it is you came for. If you'll help me get out."
Exactly what he'd hoped for. He concealed his sigh of relief. "Would you? Of course I'll help you too."
"Oh, yes, just tell me what you need."
He took another shaky breath. All or nothing, right? "I think my fiancé was brought here to be shipped out as a slave and sent overseas. I need to find her and get her out." Had he really said fiancé?
The woman blanched. "Oh, dear. That's really bad. Really. He has guards on the women waiting to go." She shook her head. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do."
"I can't accept that. If she's here, I have to get her out." He wanted to grab the woman and shake her, force her to see reason.
She looked at him a moment. "What makes you think she's here?"
He spilled the important parts. He had to make her see. "That's the easiest way to get rid of her."
"Oh, my!" She put her fingers over her mouth in a gesture of dismay. "Oh, dear. His own cousin's child. Yes, he would do that. He's a cold fish with no values other than money. Yes. Tell me, what's her name? What does she look like? And when did she disappear?"
Kellen described Vicki, remembering to use her real name, and explained the last time he'd seen her.
The woman shook her head. "Oh, no, I'm sorry. She isn't here. The last one came in over two weeks ago. He's very choosy what he sends to Dubai. Perhaps she wasn't beautiful enough? Or intelligent enough?"
Kellen's turn to shake his head. "No, she could be on the covers of the biggest magazines, and she can fit in anywhere, from professors to biker gangs. It isn't that. Maybe they just haven't arrived yet?"
"No, he has us prepare when new ones come in. We haven't had any word to get ready. Maybe he had her killed outright, since she's a relative. He would do that too." The woman looked as if she were really getting into the mystery, proposing solutions.
Of course, she could be right. Vicki could be dead, body hidden anywhere. "No. I would know if she was dead. How do I find out what he has his people doing right now?"
"There's no way of doing that. Everything goes through the computers, all top secret."
Kellen remembered the building with the big cooling unit. "Do you know how to get into the building where the servers are?"
"Servers? What do they have to do with computers?" She obviously had no clue what he meant.
He described the building he'd guessed held the infrastructure for whatever digital things Mihalovich had going on. "I need to get in there. I might be able to get into something and find out where she is."
"Okay, I take things in there all the time. That's my job. I move things from one building to another." She started to open the door.
"Wait!" He grabbed the door. "We can't go now, can we? Not during the meeting? Shouldn't we wait so we won't be seen?" Last thing he needed was to get grabbed right before he got his fingers on the information he needed.
She glanced at her watch. "No, we're good now. We have about thirty minutes with everyone, including the guards, in the auditorium. Come on." She opened the door and rushed out, leading him to the building he'd described.
The cooling unit roared, busily keeping hot tech cool. Damn thing was nearly the size of a box truck. If nothing else, he could kill that thing and let the servers melt themselves. He followed the woman inside.
How the hell was he going to find anything on a bunch of computers? He stopped, awed by the floor to ceiling arrays of flashing lights, all behind glass walls, probably to keep dust out of the machines.
"We can't go past here. The people who work in there have to wear some kind of clean suit. It's really important that no dirt or moisture get in there."
Kellen almost rolled his eyes. "I'm not all that worried about ruining his stuff. What I am worried about is how I might find anything in there."
"Oh, that's easy. I've seen them on a regular computer, just inside the door. They
keep track of where everything is. I've heard them talking about it to. That one computer is in charge of making everything work." She smiled, happy to have given a hint.
He sighed a little. That still didn't help him all that much. The likelihood of their main computer being anything similar to his little cheap laptop back in the clubhouse was about nil. Still, he wouldn't know if he didn't try. He started for the door the woman had indicated.
"Oh, wait. You have to go over to the monitor room first. The camera in there will record you if you don't change where it's aimed."
Cameras? Why the hell had she not mentioned that before? "Where's this monitor room?"
"This way." She led him around a warren of glass enclosed rooms, all filled with rack upon rack of busily whirring computers.
Finally, at what looked like the last little glass room, he spotted the monitors. All four walls, from the ceiling to the top of a control console, held row after row after row of ten inch video monitors, each showing something different. He went inside, looking everything over in awe.
Mihalovich's operation seemed to go far beyond what he'd thought. One section of monitors was labeled Prague. Other groupings held labels for a dozen European cities. What the hell?
Finally, he found the screen that showed the room he needed to get into. Now how was he supposed to know which camera to move? He looked at the screen closely, and found a small number label at the bottom left. That little sticker corresponded to a mini-joystick among the hundreds of others on the console.
Kellen was a little surprised the system seemed less than the most modern. Of course, after the investment in that room, he didn't blame the guy for keeping it for a while. He moved the camera he needed, then took a moment to look at some of the other screens.
Movement caught his eye on one of the lower screens. Hadn't the woman said everyone had to be in the auditorium? Seemed like someone else had missed that memo as well. He searched out the right controller and took a closer look at the screen. Fiddling with the little joystick, he managed to follow the dark figure as it darted across an area between two buildings.