Chapter 65 Alison
ALISON
ACS Transport was a low, ugly building on a run-down industrial park south of the city. There was grass growing in the parking lot, and the neighboring buildings were all boarded up: it was the perfect place for a hideout.
We circled around the back and found a loading dock and two ambulances, both with fading paint and sagging suspension.
Valentin picked the lock, and we stacked up outside the door, guns at the ready.
Finn had brought six men with him: I wasn’t sure which were brothers or cousins and which were just on his payroll because they were all dark-haired and broodingly good-looking. I just knew I was glad of the backup.
Valentin opened the door, and we rushed inside. There was a garage area where an ambulance was half-disassembled, probably being stripped for parts to keep the other two running. The van from the warehouse was there, too. The place smelled of engine oil, damp, and disinfectant.
A shot rang out, and we ducked for cover.
Gennadiy shot back, downing a guy half-hidden behind the van.
But more men ran in from deeper in the building and opened fire as well.
Gennadiy pulled me protectively behind him.
“You and Mikhail go and find the donors,” he told me, pointing to a hallway. “We’ll take care of the guards.”
Part of me automatically wanted to argue, resenting being kept away from the action. But he had a point; we had to make sure the donors were safe. I nodded and hurried off with Mikhail and the dogs, but I threw one last, worried look back over my shoulder as I ran. Please, Gennadiy, be careful!
We found an office and then a couple of basic treatment rooms with gurneys in them.
But there was no sign of the donors. We kept going, past more offices and then a break room.
And surprisingly quickly, we reached the end of the hallway.
Where are they? The only place left was the garage where the firefight was going on, and they weren’t there.
My chest tightened. What if we were too late? What if Grushin had already killed them and taken their organs?
I looked at Mikhail, but he looked as worried and confused as me. We backtracked, and then he put a hand on my arm to stop me. He went into the break room to grab something he’d seen: a t-shirt, too small to be an adult. The boy! But where was he now?
Mikhail bent and held the t-shirt out to one of his dogs, muttering a command. The dog sniffed twice, then charged to the end of the hallway and sniffed at the wall, thumping its tail excitedly.
I took a closer look at the wall. Its paint wasn’t exactly the same color as the others, as if it had faded less. A big photocopier was pushed up against it. “Help me move this,” I said, and together we heaved it out of the way.
Behind the photocopier, a fake wall had been built.
A section near the floor had been hinged, like a human-sized cat flap.
I pushed it gently open...and looked right into the face of the boy I’d seen at the warehouse.
I felt myself sag in relief. Then I looked behind him, and my stomach knotted.
All of them were there, men and women packed together in a bare, windowless space only about ten feet square.
There was bottled water and a bucket in the corner for a toilet.
Jesus. “Come on!” I waved them over. “We’re getting you out of here! ”
One by one, they crawled out through the hole.
The little boy started to cry, mumbling in Russian, and Mikhail, normally so happy, looked completely overcome.
He scooped the boy into his arms and held him, shh-ing him and talking to him in Russian.
“He wants his mother,” he said to me. “There, there, little one. It’s going to be okay. ”
One of the women heard the gunfire from the garage area and nervously plucked at my sleeve. “You...from other gang?” she asked.
I looked down at myself. I guess I didn’t look much like an FBI agent anymore. In fact, maybe another gang was closer to the truth, now. “You’re safe now,” I told her.
But the gunfire from the garage area didn’t seem to be dying down, and that was the only way out. Something must have gone wrong, and that thought made me go cold inside. Gennadiy!