Thing Two wrenched the panel door shut as Thing One fired up the engine. I mentally ran through everything I’d been taught about hostage negotiation, but couldn’t think of anything that would help me. It was probably best to keep my mouth shut for now anyway.
Thing One wound his way out of the city and got on the 101 freeway southbound. I thought it was a really bad sign that they were letting me see where we were going. It suggested I’d be dead soon, so it didn’t matter if I knew our destination.
Eventually we took an exit for the airport and I wondered if maybe we were going to SFO, if I was being shipped off somewhere. But then we headed into an industrial area south of the airport, full of large warehouses and heavy industry. Thing Two pulled out a phone and dialed, then told whoever answered, “We’re here with the special delivery.”
The bay door of a big, nondescript warehouse was rolled open directly in front of us. And Thing One pulled Lucy up beside a shiny black (I’m guessing 1929) Packard. Ok, definitely another very bad sign. The bay door was shut behind us, and my heartbeat accelerated. Possibilities for escape where looking worse by the minute.
Panic welled in me as I tried to think, tried to formulate some kind of plan. But I came up empty. I wondered about my chances of being rescued, but that seemed impossible. No one even knew I was missing. And even when they figured out I was gone, no one would know where to look. The fact that the Packard was in this warehouse told me this location was totally off the grid, probably not registered under Sokolov’s name, someplace Dmitri had never heard of. No one was going to look for me here, because I was pretty sure very few people even knew that ‘here’ existed.
Sokolov and two other men were stepping out of a little office at the back of the warehouse as my hands were cut apart and I was escorted from the vehicle. “Well hey there, Jamie,” he said cheerfully, as if I’d come over to watch a ballgame.
Thing One and Thing Two led me to a concrete pillar and shoved my back up against it. They tied me to the pillar with rope as Sokolov smiled and said, “Well damn, you made that too easy. With you being a cop, I thought you might give my men a run for their money. But you came along as quietly as a little lamb.” I just stared at him, and after a minute he said, “Don’t you have anything to say to me, Jamie?”
He came and stood right in front of me, and I straightened up and held his gaze. And he said, “You know, normally I like it when the people around me remain silent. But in your case, I have to say, I find your silence really fucking irritating.” And then he sucker punched me right in the gut.
I gasped and doubled over slightly, as much as I could with the rope wrapped around my torso, pain radiating through me as I struggled to fill my lungs with air. And then he grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked me back up, and said to one of his men, “Tie him so he remains upright.” A rope was run around my neck and around the pillar, then tied so tight that I struggled to take a breath. I panicked momentarily and struggled against my bonds, but that only made the rope cut deeper into my throat, and I started to pass out. “Not that tight, you moron,” Sokolov admonished. “What good is it if he passes out?” The rope was loosened just a hair, enough so I was able to breathe at least, and I gasped desperately.
“So. Jamie. When I said earlier today that I’d see you soon, I never imagined it would be this soon. Did you?”
When I didn’t answer he punched me in the stomach again, and I couldn’t double over this time. I struggled to fill my lungs and pressed my eyes shut through the pain as Sokolov hissed, “I said, did you imagine we’d be meeting again so soon, Jamie?”
“No,” I ground out through gritted teeth.
“No what?” If he thought I was going to call him sir, he was delusional.
“No, you fucking piece of shit asshole,” I growled.
That earned me several more blows to my midsection. I had known it was stupid as hell to antagonize him, but I couldn’t help myself.
When finally he stopped hitting me, tears rolling down my cheeks, my body in sheer agony, Sokolov said calmly, picking up the conversation right where he’d left off, “I thought you’d merely merit supervision for the immediate future. I thought my fickle nephew would get bored of you and move on like he always does, despite all the lovely dovey bullshit that’s been coming from him the past few days. I really didn’t want to stir up trouble for myself by slaughtering a member of the SFPD. But then Dmitri forced my hand, didn’t he?”