fair presence of heavily-armed security on patrol. The way those guys were geared they looked more like mercenaries than policemen.
He wasn’t sure if they were just private security for the Sederek Trade Centre, or something external: government enforcers, maybe. If Azerbaijan even had a government; Aiden didn’t know. Either way, he doubted they’d take the Armenians’ side when the shooting started.
If it all goes to hell , he thought, just get back to the Iolaire .
As they turned off the main promenade of the market and down one of its side streets, Tovmas pointed out the warehouse they were aiming for. Aiden’s pulse stepped up a notch. He wished he was back in the Iolaire , like Fredrick and the two men Tovmas left, secure in his armoured-glass gun pod or sitting in the comfortable cockpit.
Fredrick was probably half-asleep by now, dozing in his seat with the cooling fan s on, the lucky bastard. And yet, if they managed to pull this off, Fred would get all the glory. The pilot always bloody did.
They stopped in a queue before the warehouse. Aiden looked behind him, but Tovmas ’ men who had been following had disappeared. Only Tovmas, Nardos and Aiden were standing in the line. The other two looked unconcerned about this, so he assumed it was part of the plan.
The queue crawled forwards. The people on either side of him, locals most likely, were excitedly jabbering away. Clearly a slave auction was something of a spectacle.
Eventually Aiden and the other two reached the front of the line. Two burly guards with assault rifles were acting as doormen, frisking each entrant and confiscating anything that could be used as a weapon. Aiden heard Tovmas mutter something under his breath.
Nardos did the talking, being the only fluent Azeri-speaker. The guards looked at Aiden as they listened, eyeing his strange attire. Probably pinning it on him being a Westerner, they frisked Aiden and the others, confiscated the weapons without fuss, and waved them through.
It was cooler inside; Aiden felt the sweat on his neck go cold. He shivered involuntarily. Ahead of him stood rows of strange cylindrical cages, each with a woman inside, illuminated by lights on the bars. Some stood, some sat, some crouched. All wore similar white, short dresses: more like long shirts, really. Every last one of them was beautiful ; each had the same distant, resigned expression which somehow made them even more alluring.
Aiden ’s pulse quickened at the sight of them, and he felt a little disgusted with himself.
Strange music with a distinct beat played from unseen speakers, and more than one of the local crowd were dancing drunkenly before the cages. Drinks were being sold at a bar to one side of the auction house. He reckoned most were here for the show and the booze, rather than to actually buy slaves.
He almost laughed. No matter where you went, people were all the same. It was a simple human response to an inhuman situation.
Tovmas was hurriedly walking around the cages, checking each for his daughter. It didn’t take him long to get round them all. When he returned to Aiden and Nardos, his face was ashen. He looked defeated.
“She isn’t here. They aren’t here. ”
According to the captured slaver at Kakavaberd, the girls had been flown to Baku just the day before the rescue party had shown up. The slavers left at the old fortress were waiting for a transport aircraft to return, to take them back east. Their organisation was leaving Armenia. Locals were becoming a problem, getting wary. There were plenty of other ‘districts’ to be exploited elsewhere, anyway. It seemed Tovmas’ daughter was one of the last to be taken.
“What now?” asked Aiden.
“I... I don’t know. ” Tovmas shook his head.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Nardos. “This establishment probably has records, yes? Their sale will have been in the last couple of days, so I’m sure we can persuade somebody to let us have a look.”
Aiden thought
He wasn’t sure if they were just private security for the Sederek Trade Centre, or something external: government enforcers, maybe. If Azerbaijan even had a government; Aiden didn’t know. Either way, he doubted they’d take the Armenians’ side when the shooting started.
If it all goes to hell , he thought, just get back to the Iolaire .
As they turned off the main promenade of the market and down one of its side streets, Tovmas pointed out the warehouse they were aiming for. Aiden’s pulse stepped up a notch. He wished he was back in the Iolaire , like Fredrick and the two men Tovmas left, secure in his armoured-glass gun pod or sitting in the comfortable cockpit.
Fredrick was probably half-asleep by now, dozing in his seat with the cooling fan s on, the lucky bastard. And yet, if they managed to pull this off, Fred would get all the glory. The pilot always bloody did.
They stopped in a queue before the warehouse. Aiden looked behind him, but Tovmas ’ men who had been following had disappeared. Only Tovmas, Nardos and Aiden were standing in the line. The other two looked unconcerned about this, so he assumed it was part of the plan.
The queue crawled forwards. The people on either side of him, locals most likely, were excitedly jabbering away. Clearly a slave auction was something of a spectacle.
Eventually Aiden and the other two reached the front of the line. Two burly guards with assault rifles were acting as doormen, frisking each entrant and confiscating anything that could be used as a weapon. Aiden heard Tovmas mutter something under his breath.
Nardos did the talking, being the only fluent Azeri-speaker. The guards looked at Aiden as they listened, eyeing his strange attire. Probably pinning it on him being a Westerner, they frisked Aiden and the others, confiscated the weapons without fuss, and waved them through.
It was cooler inside; Aiden felt the sweat on his neck go cold. He shivered involuntarily. Ahead of him stood rows of strange cylindrical cages, each with a woman inside, illuminated by lights on the bars. Some stood, some sat, some crouched. All wore similar white, short dresses: more like long shirts, really. Every last one of them was beautiful ; each had the same distant, resigned expression which somehow made them even more alluring.
Aiden ’s pulse quickened at the sight of them, and he felt a little disgusted with himself.
Strange music with a distinct beat played from unseen speakers, and more than one of the local crowd were dancing drunkenly before the cages. Drinks were being sold at a bar to one side of the auction house. He reckoned most were here for the show and the booze, rather than to actually buy slaves.
He almost laughed. No matter where you went, people were all the same. It was a simple human response to an inhuman situation.
Tovmas was hurriedly walking around the cages, checking each for his daughter. It didn’t take him long to get round them all. When he returned to Aiden and Nardos, his face was ashen. He looked defeated.
“She isn’t here. They aren’t here. ”
According to the captured slaver at Kakavaberd, the girls had been flown to Baku just the day before the rescue party had shown up. The slavers left at the old fortress were waiting for a transport aircraft to return, to take them back east. Their organisation was leaving Armenia. Locals were becoming a problem, getting wary. There were plenty of other ‘districts’ to be exploited elsewhere, anyway. It seemed Tovmas’ daughter was one of the last to be taken.
“What now?” asked Aiden.
“I... I don’t know. ” Tovmas shook his head.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Nardos. “This establishment probably has records, yes? Their sale will have been in the last couple of days, so I’m sure we can persuade somebody to let us have a look.”
Aiden thought
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