26. Axel
AXEL
EMERGENCE – SLEEP TOKEN
Moisture dripping and the distant whirr of a ventilation system fills the otherwise lifeless silence.
For a clandestine criminal lair, this nondescript storage facility fulfils every last stereotype.
I expected more from the infamous Nolan Madden, despite his forced retirement from London’s criminal world.
“Three assailants gagged and bound on the roof.” Warner taps his earpiece, keeping his voice low. “We’re inside and descending. Status report?”
“In progress.” Hyland’s reply is strained with exertion.
“What does that mean?”
Silence is the only response.
We all exchange worried looks, save for the bored-looking dick hovering on the outside of our trio. Being lumped with Gunnar wouldn’t be my first choice, but my twin seems determined to ensure that his grand prize doesn’t slip out of sight.
Accessing the fire escape was relatively easy. All the buildings in Tallinn are in close proximity, the city growing on top of each other to compete with rising demand. It was child’s play to scale a nearby residential block and move across to Madden’s rooftop.
“Rayna?” Ember taps her comms. “Can you see them?”
“Four guards at the rear exit, two down and two still standing,” she replies quickly. “Archer’s handling it. No cause for concern.”
Warner heaves a tense breath. “Let’s advance.”
“I hate this,” Ember mutters.
Keeping my semi-automatic locked and upright, I flash her what I hope is a reassuring look. “We have to split up sometimes.”
“You’re only saying that because I’m on your team.”
“Last time I let you out of my sight, you were beaten within an inch of your life,” I say unapologetically.
Fist balled, Warner waves for us to be quiet. “Hear that?”
We halt in the middle of a long, echoing corridor, surrounded by sealed storage rooms. Warner already cracked a couple open. Hidden in plain sight, Madden has a smorgasbord of illegal narcotics packed and ready for immediate export.
If the authorities knew about this place before we turned up, they’d have enough to hang his hide from the port’s front gates. It’s bordering on absurd how he’s running a criminal regime in the heart of Estonia’s capital city.
“What is it?” I strain my ears.
Ember cocks her head to the side. “Crying.”
“Close by,” Warner confirms.
We follow close behind him and Gunnar, taking the lead deeper into the dimly lit structure. It’s so cold, I can see my breath fogging in front of me. No one could live for long in this hellish prison. Not without succumbing to hypothermia.
It’s a thought that I don’t vocalise. Ember’s on edge as it is. With no sign of Gracie, Madden or Gael, each step onwards feels like inching into the belly of the beast. I can only hope its jaws haven’t closed behind us.
The sound of faint whimpering becomes a treasure trail, leading us farther into oblivion.
The more storerooms full of all manner of substances we pass, the more my shock settles in.
If Madden’s dabbling in the skin trade, he certainly isn’t doing it for profit. This drug operation is huge on its own.
“Incoming!” Rayna warns. “Straight ahead, seven o’clock.”
Right on time, multiple encroaching feet cover the sound of crying. Gunnar moves in a vicious whirlwind, charging ahead of us to intercept our attackers before they can swarm. He meets the burly, over-muscled shadows at the end of the corridor.
I bar an arm over Ember’s chest to hold her back from joining in. She hisses at me but soon realises that Gunnar has it handled. Apparently, four on one is meagre odds for someone of his extensive skill set.
The three of us watch in awe and mild horror while my twin brother mows through human beings faster than a meat grinder. He seems almost reluctant to drop their unconscious bodies, lip curled in a look of derision.
“Keeping them alive is a waste of my talent,” Gunnar calls to us.
“Bloody hell.” Warner adjusts the gun trapped in his grip. “Are we certain he’s sane?”
“You’re asking that question now?” I glance at him.
“Perhaps a little too late.”
“And stupid. He’s clearly not.”
Watching the monstrous whirlwind, I decide his brutality is a little much even for me to swallow. Two of the guards now boast matching pulpy messes where their faces should be, one’s collapsed in a pool of blood, and the last is still breathing but with a leg resembling snapped dried spaghetti.
I can inflict some horrific damage when the need arises, but that was a new level of violence for a mere thirty second beating. The worst parts of my nature seem to be magnified to an extreme extent in my less-than-stable twin brother.
“Onwards?” Gunnar steps over one of the sentries, disregarding his mess.
“Did you even break a sweat?” I gawp at him.
“Why would I? They’re overpaid thugs. Child’s play.”
Shit. He broke that poor fuck’s leg without blinking. I’m starting to understand why my mother told me to run. If I have any hope of escaping this bargain, I’ll need to make the first move and kill my twin before he kills me.
In the stillness, the crying sound resumes. We’re getting closer to its source. Walking onwards, the thin metal door at the end of the corridor leads to a larger space, almost resembling a mess hall. Empty tables and chairs are spread throughout, all strewn about like their occupants fled fast.
“Fan out,” Warner commands, his head flicking on a swivel.
The first door tucked into the corner of the room leads to a bare-bones kitchen. Rusted metal appliances boast no signs of use. Even the fridge is empty, save for a few stale sandwiches. Madden must run this place on a minimal crew.
Emerging from the kitchen, we congregate in the centre of the big room. Warner holds a finger to his lips, causing a hush to fall. The crying continues, closer but still muffled. Ember surveys the space then nods towards an ajar door in the farthest corner.
“That way.”
“Behind me.” Warner gestures ahead, taking the lead with his finger on the trigger.
We’re all marble-carved columns of tension. Not even the deserted corridors loosen the anxiety strangling my windpipe. The only person who looks remotely relaxed is Gunnar.
“We’re in and ascending,” Hyland reports through the comms. “Four perps subjugated.”
“Copy,” I murmur back.
With each step deeper into the facility, pained weeping escalates to a keening, ever-worsening sob. It sets my teeth on edge. Only wounded animals caught in a hunter’s trap make that kind of desperate noise.
The next room beyond another empty corridor is much smaller. A disgusting stench marks its main difference from the previous rooms. The scent smacks us all in the face and coats our skin in the scent of rancid human waste, causing me to gag.
It’s gloomy as hell without any windows to illuminate the obvious filth. Ember and Warner pull their flashlights, the bright beams cutting through thick plumes of dust.
“Christ,” Warner exclaims in horror.
A handful of tiny metal cells seem to be built into each of the four walls, the bars clumsily cemented in place to form makeshift holding pens. My stomach fights against the noxious smell of rotting bodies, filth and decay, causing vomit to rise.
“Bodies?” I choke out.
“It’s a morgue,” Warner agrees.
The revolting smell is almost to the point of overwhelming. I can feel it crawling all over me. Multiple people were imprisoned in here and left to rot. It’s the only explanation for such a hideous stench.
A rustling movement on our left causes us all to tense up. When a single, dirt-caked hand slams against one of the barred doors, Ember shudders all over.
“No.” She’s turned white as a sheet. “They’re alive.”
The sobbing comes from the nearest cell where two bloodshot eyes and a swollen, badly beaten face joins the small hand. Young. Male. Lips trembling, he strains to reach us, barely visible in his cell.
“H-H-Help me.”
Ember drops her flashlight to the floor in front of the cell, collapsing onto her knees to peer inside. She stares at the creature for a long second then starts to survey the crudely built prison cell.
“You’re okay.” She attempts to sound reassuring, but her voice is edged with very real panic. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
“H-Help,” he weeps.
“I know. You’re safe now.”
“C-C-Cold. Please.”
“Shh, it’s okay. We’ve got you.”
We huddle around her, casting more light on the cage door’s shitty mechanism. Warner curses, eyeing the thick bars and messy welding with a frown. Hardly a high-tech prison cell.
“Whoever built these don’t give two shits about the people they’re stuffing inside. It’s barely big enough to fit a child.”
“Eight cells.” I gulp down the sickness bubbling in my throat. “Are they all full?”
“Sold,” the boy gasps. “Just m-me.”
Ember’s head bows low, her entire body shaking. But I know she’s not crying. It’s taking all her willpower to remain calm for the sake of this poor kid instead of tearing this room apart brick by fucking brick.
“Rayna?” I depress the comms piece. “Do you have our location?”
There’s a pause before she responds.
“Looks like the fourth floor? The heat signatures aren’t registering well. I’m flying low overhead, but there’s a lot of interference.”
“We have a live victim.” I study the boy’s gaunt face. “Young male, perhaps eleven or twelve. We’re going to need something to jimmy this cell door open to get him out.”
“Did you say live?” Hyland joins the exchange.
“Yes.”
No one else tunes in to offer a reply. I’d imagine they’re all picturing the horrors that we’re seeing in real time. We expected there may be evidence of trafficking, but nothing like this. Not a starved, innocent child, rotting in a frozen wasteland.
“We’re two floors below you,” Blaine eventually says. “I think I saw a crowbar in one of the storage rooms.”
“That should do it.” I fight to keep my tone level.
“Sit tight, and let us find you.”
“There could be more.” Ember rattles the cage bars in frustration. “We need to be fast.”