Sold Into Freedom - 2. Chapter 2

"It better is Adonis you bring me, Yankee boy." Oleg Sidorov put the telephone receiver down carefully and stared at it. "The cargo better is fucking amazing if you think I pay five big ones for him."

Sidorov was hungry. He got up and went to the tiny galley kitchen in his office. The Russian sliced two pieces of dark, dense rye bread and reheated some borscht. As he prepared his food, he thought about his life in North America. He often laughed at what strange and confusing people Americans were to him. "Stupid health care, fat and slovenly. Lovers of God and family but frightened to the point of hate of anything that does not fit their square mold."

He ate quietly at the table, dipping the dark, dry bread in his soup. Once he had finished, he washed the few dishes and left them to dry. "Back to work," he said.

Returning to his desk, Sidorav typed on his computer keyboard and stared at the results. "Damn it." Oleg picked up the telephone and dialed.

Smiling at his old hardwired phone, he heard the ringing at the other end.

"Hello?"

"Misha. I need favor."

A snort came from the other end of the phone. "What? You don't pay me enough for a favor."

"Fuck you. Listen, my two dogs have a new bone for me. Can you squeeze on another?"

"You want to sink me?"

"Your boat is for luxury of paying passengers. Merchandise doesn't need such comfort. You can surely fit one more."

"Can't your dogs keep this one until the next trip?"

Sidorav laughed out loud. "Are you kidding me? Those two idiots couldn't keep a cockroach."

"I suppose we can squeeze one. But no more. He doesn’t like last-minute changes."

"Misha, you're a prince among men. The dogs tell me this one is a beauty, and we should get fifteen for him, maybe more."

Misha's voice rang with surprise. "So much? Well, maybe he can have my bed then."

"He can have it as long as you're not in it."

Misha chuckled. "Dante called and said the sale is set for ten days from now. I need to sail by midnight to arrive on time. Can you deliver your bone by ten?"

"They will be there." The Russian switched the receiver to his other hand. "I appreciate it, Misha. Safe journey."

"Thanks. Talk soon, comrade."

Sidorav hung up. Then he picked up a cell phone. He tapped on Tomas from the contact list.

"Hello."

"Tomas. You need to have him at the Point by ten tonight. Tell me this is not problem."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. You have nearly fourteen hours for ten hour trip!" The Russian sat up straighter and tightened his grip on the phone. "Do not say you cannot do it, Tomas. I pay you to get my shit done."

Tomas winced as Ralf stitched his face. "No, I'm not saying that. If we leave in the next hour, we'll be there for sure. I'll get it done."

"Good. Good. Call me once the package has been shipped."

"Will do. I'm on top of it."

"Don't disappoint me."

Sidorav ended the call and put the phone down. "I will kill him if he screws this up."

⸛

"Hold still, I'm nearly done."

Tomas could feel the tug of the stitches pulling his skin together. Ralf had given him something to deaden the pain, but the tugging was creeping him out. "Hurry up."

"Just finishing. Who was on the phone?" Ralf snipped the surgical thread. "Done."

"Sidorov. We need to get out of here. We have to deliver the cargo to Point Jackson by ten tonight."

Ralf looked up, repacking his kit. "Shit. That's a lot of driving."

"Ralfie, we have to be there. We can fucking sleep later." He looked into the mirror at his stitched face. "You did a great job."

"Thanks." Ralf put his suture kit back into the medical bag. "I'll pack up the food, some Red Bull and stuff, and I'll fill up the car."

Tomas emerged from the bathroom. "Good. I'll get our boy ready to travel. You got anything to knock him out while we do? I don't want any fucking issues with him."

"Yeah, I've got a few things to keep him quiet and some to keep us awake if we need it."

Tomas was nodding. "Okay. Sounds good." He grabbed Ralf's arm. His voice was low and pleading. "Listen … we cannot fuck this up, man. Sidorov was beyond pissed off the last time. I think if we mess up this time …."

Ralf drew away. You mean we're dead. He nodded, his heart skipping a beat. "I get it. I'm on my way. I'm not gonna let you down. We'll get this done."

"Bring down something that will calm him down. I need to get him dressed."

Jesus. I need a cigarette. Ralf rubbed damp palms on his hips. "Sure. I got something upstairs. Be right back."

Tomas watched as Ralf opened the door and trotted up the stairs. While waiting, he cleaned up the bloody towels and mess from his medical procedure.

Ralf returned with a needle in his right hand. "I'll give him this, and then get the car ready. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Let's get moving."

Ralf approached their prisoner, with the hypodermic pointing toward the ceiling. He smiled a little and said, "It's okay. I'm going to give this to you. It'll help you feel calmer."

Matt scrambled back. "Keep away. You're not going to give me anything. Fuck off." The headboard thwarted his escape.

Both men's attention was drawn to the kitchen when Tomas spoke. "Listen asshole. I can't kill you, but I know a bunch of ways to do worse. This is happening. Your only choice here is the easy way or the fucking hard and painful way."

Ralf turned back to the captive on the bed. "He's not joking. Don't make this harder than it needs to be, Matt."

Matt stared at his captors. The fight inside was slipping as he realized its futility. A huge sigh escaped his dry lips, and his shoulders slumped. They can hurt me. Make me do whatever they want. I want to go home. After a moment, he held out his arm to Ralf.

"Smart choice," Tomas said, moving closer, holding the pistol in his right hand. He pressed it against Matt's thigh. "Be quiet and do not fucking move."

Ralf knelt on the bed and quickly injected the contents of the hypo into Matt's arm. "Okay, you'll feel real calm and a bit tired. We're gonna help you get dressed now."

Matt's head rolled forward, and he mumbled, "Okay."

Tomas nodded at Ralf. "Get going. I'll get him ready."

"Right. Won't be long."

As Ralf left, Tomas turned his attention to his prisoner. He unlocked the chain that held the man to the bed. Tomas grabbed Matt's ankles and pulled him down to the end of the bed. Kneeling, he unlocked the restraints. Tomas retrieved the forgotten clothing, got the boxers over Matt's feet and up to his calves, and followed them with the sweatpants. Now we need to get you to your feet. "Hey … hey! Matt!"

On the bed, Matt moaned softly and tried to turn over.

"Not yet, pretty boy. Let's get you on your feet and get you dressed." Tomas slapped Matt gently to rouse him. He hauled the drugged man into a sitting position. "That's it. Come on, up we get."

"No, I wanna go home. Sleep."

Taking a deep breath, Tomas said, "Well, if you want to go home, you don't want your mother seeing that pretty cock ‘n balls of yours, do ya? You need to pull up your pants, Matt."

Matt tried to focus, but it was hard. "Help me then." His eyes kept slipping closed, and his tongue was a flaccid lump.

After a couple of attempts, Tomas managed to get Matt dressed. He left the man sleeping on the bed while he attended to getting things ready ahead of Ralf's return.

Ralf unlocked the door and stepped in about twenty minutes later. "I'm back. The car's ready. What needs doing now?"

"I packed your med kit and our jump kit. The food is in the cooler. He's dressed but could use his jacket. And we need to get him out to the car."

"Okay. You make sure all is okay in the house, and I'll load up. Then we can get Matt in."

Ten minutes later, the two persuaded and cajoled their captive up the stairs and into their vehicle.

Once the house and gate were locked, their journey began.

Ralf reached for his sunglasses on the dashboard, and Tomas pushed down the visor to block out the rising sun's bright orange and pink hues.

"Let's drive for two or three hours, and then we'll stop to eat and stuff," Tomas said. You know the route, right?"

"Yep. I'm good." Ralf was a good driver. If allowed, he could master nearly any skill he put his mind to. The stitches on Tomas' face would leave little scarring. He'd learned how by watching YouTube and practicing. Driving was the same. He enjoyed it, and he watched YouTube for tips and tricks.

"Okay, I'm gonna sleep; pull over when you're hungry, and we'll eat. Then I'll drive for a bit so you can sleep."

"Sure. Get some rest."

Ralf slipped one earbud in and turned on the Audible app to listen to his book while he drove. He was enjoying Mark Boyett reading The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury. The volume wasn't so loud that he couldn't hear Tomas's soft snore or their captives' breathing and occasional groan. He enjoyed the drive and the sleeping company.

A couple of hours later, Ralf's peace and quiet were interrupted.

"Hey. I need to piss."

Ralf craned his head to glimpse Matt in the mirror. "You okay?"

Matt was having trouble focusing. "No … I really need to piss. Please."

"Okay, hold on, and I'll stop when I can." Ralf drove on but watched for a likely turnoff. He didn't want to stop at a well-known or populated place. After several minutes, he saw a sign for a tourist overlook. That's what we need. He signaled and moved the SUV over to the off-ramp.

Ralf continued along, looking for the promised overlook. He prayed there would be few people since it wasn’t tourist season. He needed to wake Tomas.

"Hey. Wake up." Ralf spoke loudly. "Can you hear me, buddy?"

"Mmmm, yeah. Okay." Tomas struggled to sit upright. "What's the time?"

"Nearly eight. The cargo needs to relieve himself." Ralf glanced over to his partner. "I'm hungry, but you must be starved."

"Yeah, I wouldn't say no to food."

"Me, too." Ralf drove on.

"Fuck. Please can you stop? I need to fucking pee, please." Matt whined from the back seat.

To Tomas, it was like nails on a chalkboard. He twisted around in his seat and glared at their young prisoner. "You need to shut it. Fuck. What kinda man are you? Always moaning about something. Soon enough, you'll have something to whine about. They'll fix you. You'll fucking learn your place."

Fear at Tomas' words gripped Matt. What the fuck are they going to do with me? "Where am I going? Just let me go. I won't tell anyone. You didn't hurt me."

Tomas sneered. "I'm not giving up five thousand bucks. You'll be picked up tonight and off to your new life. You better find your balls."

Ahead, Ralf spotted the tourist area. As he'd hoped, the few parking spaces were empty. He pulled in and drove to the spot closest to the trees and undergrowth. He turned off the engine and checked the gas gauge before doing so. Nodding, he turned the key. "Hey, I'll take him if you want." Ralf offered.

"Yeah, thanks. I'll get the food. Fucking starving." Tomas opened the door and stepped out into the cool morning air.

Ralf released his seat belt and did the same. He opened the passenger door. "Come on, let's get you out."

Matt was more aware, and he looked around. "Where are we?"

"Nowhere. Now, you wanna piss or stay here?"

"Okay, sorry." Matt swung his chained legs over and slid out and off the seat.

"Come on then." Ralf held the chains and walked the captive to the edge of the patch of trees. "This will do. Now get it done."

"Can you just leave me alone for a minute?" Matt fumbled with the sweatpants.

Ralf sighed. "No. Now, do your business, or I'm taking you back to the car." Ralf pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. He leaned back against a tree, ignoring the rough bark. The driver inhaled deeply.

Matt closed his eyes, and now that his dick was clear of his clothing, he willed his bladder to let go. After what felt like forever, it did.

The acrid smell of warm urine reached Ralf's nose, and he turned away slightly and looked at the vehicle. Tomas has the food ready. After that, I hope he'll drive for a couple of hours so I can sleep.

"I'm done." Matt had shaken off and pulled himself together.

"Good. Sorry, there's no hand washing facilities for you. But you can eat as you are or starve." After dropping his cigarette, Ralf pulled Matt around roughly. "Let's go."

They headed back to where Tomas waited.

"Fuck okay. You don't need to be so shitty." Matt glared as he climbed back into the vehicle.

Ralf grabbed their food and gave Matt a twelve-inch assorted sub and a can of cola.

"Thanks," Matt mumbled. He put the sandwich down and placed the can between his thighs. Then he carefully removed the wrapping and lifted the sandwich to his mouth.

The three men ate in silence.

Tomas finished first. He swallowed the last of the generic cola and screwed up the paper wrapper his sub had come in. He burped loudly.

"I'll get rid of the garbage." Ralf looked at his partner. "Give me yours, and I'll grab his too."

Tomas nodded and passed his trash to Ralf. "I'm gonna piss, and then we need to go. I'll drive for a few hours so you can get some sleep."

"Okay." Ralf then exited the driver's seat and opened the passenger's door. "Done?"

"Yeah." Matt handed the paper and soda can over. "Thanks."

Ralf stared for a moment before nodding. "Sure. You need to pee again?"

"No, I'm okay." Matt rubbed his hands on his thighs.

"Good." Ralf closed the door and moved away.

Matt watched. The meds had worn off, but he had no desire to try and escape. I won't get far with these chains on. The two of them can take me quickly. He rubbed his face, feeling the smooth, cold chains as he did. What's gonna happen? I had to be the big shot, thinking I'd be okay living alone. I want to see Mom again. He laughed softly. I wonder if she’ll notice I’m gone. He pressed against the headrest and closed his eyes.

After several minutes, they were back on the road. Tomas felt good after his nap, and Ralf was settling down to begin his.

Matt shifted to his left and looked out the window in the back. The tears that ran down his face were visible in his reflection.

⸛

Meanwhile, from his home on his small private island off the northwest coast of Scotland, in the island chain known as the Outer Hebrides, Andrew MacCabe was now reaping the reward he had spent the past three years working toward.

He'd become interested in human smuggling after following a story in a national newspaper. Temporarily putting his career as a fiction writer on hold, he jumped in with both feet, deciding to write an in-depth book about the subject.

After reading all he could, he researched and then reached out to Kyle Jackson, a childhood friend who now worked for the Security Services. When pressed for help, Kyle admitted he knew someone who could provide the name of an agent who worked in the Anti-Human Trafficking Unit.

"I want to find out how best to speak to a smuggler."

Kyle coughed, choking slightly as Andrew's words surprised him. "You're not joking, are you?"

Kyle had accepted Andrew's invitation to lunch in Edinburgh. They'd each chosen fish and chips. The sweet aroma of the fish and the slight acrid odor of vinegar made his mouth water.

"No, I'm not joking." The writer picked up a fresh hot chip. "You think it's a bad idea."

"It's dangerous. These people don't fool around."

"Yeah, I've kind of noticed, but I want to try and get their side of things."

Kyle sighed and enjoyed the crispy batter before continuing. "You always like to play with monsters. Listen, Andy, I'll put you in touch with Samantha Coleson at the National Crime Agency. She may be willing to talk to you, but she's a tough nut."

Andrew grinned. "Well, I don't mind hard work. I really just need some information and background."

⸛

Samantha wasn't so tough, it turned out. Andrew promised to name her his expert advisor in the book, but she was more interested in the writing process. The pair met for drinks and appetizers to discuss it.

After their server placed the caramelized tomato and goat's cheese bruschetta, grilled shrimp and drinks in front of them, Samantha looked across the table at Andy. "I hope to write a book about my experiences one day."

Andrew smiled over his glass of chianti classico. "Well, I think it would make an interesting book."

"You've written how many books now?" Samantha selected a shrimp, dipped into the lemon sauce, and popped it into her mouth.

"Six fiction. This will be my first non-fiction. It's a lot harder to write the truth accurately, I'm finding."

"Well, maybe I can reach out to you when I'm ready to start mine." Samatha sipped her white sangria.

Andrew tapped his lips with a napkin. "I'll be happy to help."

"You didn't meet me to talk about my book." Samantha held Andrew's gaze. She frowned and pursed her lips. "These people you are interested in are dangerous, Andrew. They are not people to be trifled with. They can and do kill those who they feel may be a threat."

"I understand that."

Samantha sat back in her seat and exhaled. "I hope you do. You will also need a lot of patience to get close to them. You will have to wait to be invited in. If you push too hard, they will just disappear."

"Okay. So, where do I start?"

Samantha shared the information she had. "I can't give you more. I'm sorry. You'll have to go forward on your own if you want to get close to them. We shouldn't meet again but if you get into trouble, call."

⸛

Following his meetings with Kyle and Samantha, he'd slowly gained the trust of a man who knew someone believed to be involved in buying and selling men, women, and children. Getting close was painstaking. These people did not trust easily.

After a couple of years of patiently talking, reaching out, being rejected, and again waiting patiently, he was contacted by an employee of the man he knew only as Mr. Black. The employee said Mr. Black would call and provided the date and time.

"If you miss it, he will not try again." The call was then disconnected.

Andrew stared at the phone and put it down. He gazed at the date and time he'd written on the pad. "I'll be ready."

****