Any Opportunity Will Do Ch. 13byshandal©
This is a drama that as it is played out, it starts affecting so many, so as the story unfolds more people become involved, and not unlike real life, each action is like a ripple in the pond, causing other reactions.
Two people are trying to escape a sadistic human sex trafficker, and there are some scenes of violence and of a sexual nature.
The young Polish girl lay down, totally exhausted, both mentally and physically, her naked body shivering in the early morning light. Unable to gather up any energy to move, she waited for the two security men with the dogs to come and get her and take her back to that hell hole in the attic.
Looking up at the sky above her, she prayed that whatever was going to happen to her, she would die quickly.
Her ankle hurt where the manacle had bit into her flesh, scabs of blood from the wounds dotted around her small joint, her body hurt muscles aching, sore bruised limbs, scrapped knees, red raw nipples and aching vagina and bottom, she lay defeated and broken on the small concrete balcony awaiting her fate.
Whilst unknown to her the young Policeman on surveillance was walking forward towards the gates of the big house, ignoring his orders, intent on rescuing her somehow from the men and dogs entering the house through the front door.
As he walked forward away from his hidden spot behind a large tree on a hillock in the woods that surrounded the house, he noted the big black Iron Gate that stood joining the high wall together that ran round the grounds, shut and looking like it was operated electronically.
Looking through the gate he stared up at the balcony just as the two men appeared through the window over it, and watched as they bent down and between them hauled the limp and defeated body of the naked woman back through into the confines of the big house.
Listening to the shouts of his superior behind him, he started to climb the gate, only to feel himself pulled back down from behind, and dropping to his feet he swung around to find the team leader and another of his colleagues standing there, their faces furious.
"What the fuck do you think your doing McIntyre, get the fuck back under cover before someone notices you." Hands started to drag him away from the gate, back to the woods.
"We have to help her. We can't leave her in there."
"Yes we bloody can, until told different. I've appraised head office on the circumstances and until we're told otherwise, we leave her there and just watch. Watch and wait. Understand?"
* John listened to his Solicitor as they drove along, "I can point you in the direction of a friend who will lease you a caravan you can live in while we get the insurance sorted on the farm."
Grunting, John looked out at the buildings and people as they moved along in the early morning rush hour.
"You can give him a call, and go and tow the mobile home over to the farm. You should be set up before nightfall."
"My mobile phone and van was destroyed with my home."
Looking across at his client and old friend, Chris Gerard said, "I have a spare desk back at the office, you can set up there and start getting it all sorted out. The phone and facilities are at your disposal."
"Cheers Chris. It's just that I need to know what has happened with Josh and the girl. Any chance you doing your thing and finding out?"
"No problem, lets get some breakfast at the café round the corner from the office and then I'll make a few calls."
The Army and Police that had been hunkered down behind the limousines around the Bed and Breakfast had quickly gathered up Alexei's men and taken them off to the Station, leaving behind a smaller force, waiting to see if anymore people was going to come out through the broken front door.
The negotiator that had arrived in the helicopter knelt getting a briefing on what had been happening, and how many hostages were left in the cottage with Alexei Romanich. It was still not clear who had been shot, or how many, just that three shots in total had been heard, and the men surrounding the site were not taking any chances.
Inside the lounge blood was seeping from the three people that had been hit into the light green carpet. Red stains seeped and stood out stark against the soft colour, ugly, a reminder of just how fragile life can be.
One of them was dead, two badly wounded and another person lay badly hurt.
Phil Amery had got Johns message and was frantically trying to speak to the relevant people as he sped along the A36 from the West Country. Things had moved so quickly it had taken his breath away, and now he was hearing that there had been shots heard in the cottage where the hostage situation was taking place. Told that Alexei's men where waiting to be interviewed, demanding various legal representations and asking to do deals, he settled back in the backseat of the car and redialled.
Talking on the phone to Nottingham Police Station he found out that John had just left with his Solicitor and was OK. Relieved that at least one of the contacts in the case being pulled together against Alexei Romanich was alive, he watched as the rolling plains went by on his journey to Portsmouth, and then at the choppy dark waters across the Solent to the Island.
News had started to filter out to the world, and reporters, both from the newspapers and television with cameras started to stream down South to record what was happening, ready to fill the insatiable news slots in the media.
The first that the public heard that there was an 'Incident' occurring was on the nine o'clock news on the radio. It was reported that four hostages were being held and that it was thought there was injured amongst them. It had been confirmed by a Police Statement that there was a young policeman and a young woman amongst the hostages, and that it was not know if they had been injured by any of the gunshots heard.
Nothing enrages the British public like the possible injury or death of a Policeman in the course of his duty. Already reporters were trying to find out about his life, who he was, who he lived with, and to doorstep his parents to get some photo's ready for the one o'clock television news deadline.
Without any real news the reporters started to film themselves door stepping his parents and outside his boyfriend the surfer's house, showing the growing mob that was starting to form outside the homes.
The homes stood quiet and still with their curtains drawn, the people inside sitting worried, waiting themselves for news about their son and their lover, the continually ringing of their doorbell and ringing of the phone shredding their nerves, making them feel liked trapped animals with the pack of baying wolves outside of their doors.
The villager that had managed to film some of the drama on his mobile was busy doing a deal to sell it to the BBC news. His negotiations managed to get him a healthy payment, and he downloaded the video for them, earning more for the two minute video than he usually made working for four months.
Smiling to himself he wandered away, planning on seeding his own business with the money, going self employed and handing in his notice to his boss later that day.
Meanwhile in the lounge John's cousin sat slumped on the floor staring at the carnage in his lounge, "Don't be a fool man, let me get help for you all. Put down the gun and give up, were surrounded and it's useless. If you don't get help soon there will be more than one person dead here."
"Don't fucking move." Screamed Alexei, the gun pointed at the older man in his shaking hand, his other hand clutching his thigh where the bullet was lodged, the blood stemmed by the tourniquet tied onto him. Throbbing painfully, his temperature rising to fever pitch, his eyes wild, he surveyed the scene of the three people slumped in the centre of the room and knew that there was no way out for him now.
But he decided he wasn't going out without a real fight or without taking others with him.
"Don't fucking move or I'll blow your brain out and you can join him." Waving the gun towards the centre of the room and indicating towards the dead man laying on the floor, the blood pooling around him from the single shot that had hit his heart.