Tracking Evil: Nordland Part 1

Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Story note: This is a collaborative effort between Firsttimewriting (FTW) and Harry Flashman. The events take place in the fictional country of Nordland that is Harry's creation and characters from his series 'Officer Emelie Vikander' appear, action set after the events of 'Interracial Liaison Officer Part 1. Additionally, the storyline occurs after the events of 'Tracking Evil: The Web part 6' but before the not yet released 'part 7' Again, characters from this series created by Firsttimewriting appear.

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Chapter One: "If you have men who will only come if they know there is a good road, I don't want them. I want men who will come if there is no road at all." -- David Livingstone.

Failure can teach a person far more about themselves than success. Erica Anderson was getting tired of these lessons though. The back seat of the car she found herself in lacked nothing in comfort but still she found herself sitting in a rigid pose, muscles tensed with worry. The interior smelled of the fragrant cedar air freshener that swung from the rearview mirror by the driver. On its own, pleasant enough, however mixed with his aftershave which he must have showered in, it made her nose crinkle with distaste.

It had been about six months since Rufus had sought to enslave her to his will and Christ alone knew what else he'd had planned for her at the Spider's command. She didn't like to dwell on it but somehow she couldn't shake the feeling he was always close by, biding his time, content for now to just watch her. Time might have been a resource the Spider and Rufus were happy enough to waste, but for Erica and her friends, they felt every movement of the hands on the clock, sweeping through every clue they could gather, scattering them. Chasing down hopeful leads and impaling them with their lance-like forms. Because from the moment Shondra had told her, that was all Erica thought about, keeping hope alive and gathering clues and information. Information about Denisa.

Six months, one week, two days and coming up on four hours at present. That's how long it had been since her friend had been taken. Another piece snatched from the chessboard by The Spider, the man who controlled both a business empire and an organization of serial killers. On their own, these people would be terrifying enough. He had given them resources, training, support and purpose. Now all that Erica could think of was that each stranger she passed on the street could be a killer sent to end her. Even now as she was travelling down the road the scenery passing by her window was both seen and unseen. Whatever beauty lay beyond the limits of the car window faded into a blurring collage, only the people she noticed, checking for threats. Was it the bus driver sounding his horn at a distracted Tesla driver? The traffic cop waving them both on? Perhaps it was the Uber driver seated in front of her? Paranoia was exhausting and no doubt a weapon that The Spider was well aware of and had engineered circumstances to bring it to bear on Erica.

The car she was seated in, a Chevy Malibu in brilliant white, pulled up to the drop off point outside the international departures area at the airport. Erica smiled in thanks as the driver helped her get her bag from the trunk of the car, relieved to be escaping the cloying bouquet of the car's interior. He pulled away quickly while she cast suspicious glances to either side of herself before hurrying into the terminal and heading for the check in area. Until she was through security, Erica didn't mean to let her guard down for a moment. It was the middle of the week, not that it made any difference to the crowds clogging the departures section of the terminal. All Erica could do was to be glad that at least she wasn't travelling during peak season, as she found herself whipping her head from side to side with every accidental nudge by passing strangers. Steeling herself, as finding a sense of calm wasn't on the table, Erica tried to not overreact, knowing that it would only draw more attention to herself.

In the last six months, there had been three more direct assaults by members of The Web against Erica, Arlene and Shondra. Nothing as overt as Rufus's infiltration or as blatant as the heavily armed trio that had tried to kidnap Arlene, they had all been lone attackers. The strikes had all the characteristics of opportunistic endeavors, no real planning behind them. That had made them hard to predict but easy enough to defeat, the only injury sustained was a cut to Shondra's forearm from a knife thrust. Arlene's opinion was that these men had simply come across the women, recognizing them from their struggles against The Web and had just seen a chance for glory in dispatching the women. She felt that if The Spider had planned an attack it would have been more sophisticated than say a lone assailant hiding in a wardrobe of their motel room with a knife. Erica agreed with her.

Still, if any of them were being tracked, by only Rufus or The Spider's entire organization, this was a vulnerable moment for Erica. To travel abroad, she'd needed to ditch her alias and use her own passport when booking the flight. That meant she had no intention of dawdling because safety lay on the far side of the scanners and detectors at the security gates. She joined the queue, patiently shuffling forward while weary looking TSA agents processed the people in front of her. An old woman, clearly no frequent flyer, moved with glacier slowness as she placed her carry-on luggage on the conveyor. All around her, Erica heard the muttered curses of people as they saw the inevitable delay this one passenger would cause. Perhaps no more than two extra minutes having to queue but already there was tension so palpable you could cut with a knife.

A flight abroad, a holiday should have been a dream come true. Somewhere exotic where she could lie on a beach, sip margarita's and worry only about where she might dine that evening. That wasn't the purpose of this trip, much less that type of destination. She was on a flight to Nordland, a cold windswept island nation in Northern Europe. No beaches and warm weather for her, Erica's bag stuffed instead with thermals and thick woolen clothing. She'd opted to travel efficiently, wearing what she'd need on her arrival. Grey combats that were hard wearing and warm, close fitting so that her pert rear filled the seat of them to almost tailor-made perfection. A red and black flannel shirt, open now as the airport was warmer than anticipated, and beneath it a square necked black ribbed tank-top with three buttons at the front, two of them open to reveal her cleavage. Slung over her shoulder along with one of her bags was a grey mid length winter jacket. The fur lined hood promised to keep her head warm but still Erica had a woolen grey beanie cap stuffed in one of the coat's pockets along with a pair of gloves. Arlene owned the jacket, so naturally it seemed to be festooned with numerous exterior and interior pockets, the kind of practicality so typical of her friend.

It wasn't a holiday, because like everything else she'd done in this last six months, this trip was related to investigating Denisa's capture.

The TSA agent waved her forward, bespeckled and ferret faced, the middle-aged man had a decidedly officious manner about him which he combined with a supercilious look on his face. Erica passed her bags onto the conveyor belt leading to the scanner, stepping forward through the metal detector. It emitted a small beep, and the same TSA agent beckoned her over, requesting that she stand with arms raised to shoulder height while he passed a wand over her. She felt his hand settle with over familiarity on her hip as he passed around her, raising an eyebrow in a 'not fucking amused' arch that he caught as he finished his check.

"Ahem... yes, you're good to proceed... next," he mumbled, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Erica didn't push, for one thing, he wasn't worth her time and effort and for another, she was just relieved to be through, safe in the knowledge that no armed assailant could have passed through the security sweep and be waiting for her.

She walked to her departure gate, hitting one coffee stand on the way by. The aroma of strong Colombian coffee was so very tempting but instead she opted to go the decaf route, Erica hoping to snatch a few precious hours of sleep on the flight.

Sleep. Now that was an underappreciated activity. As a teen she'd fought to be allowed to stay up late, bugging her parents for ten more minutes and then ten more after that. As an adult, part of a small group looking to take on an unknown number of serial killers... the chance for sleep, in a bed she could call her own, had become an irregular event and always what sleep she did manage was haunted by dreams that left her more tired than before she'd closed her eyes. It wasn't sleep really; it was untroubled rest that she needed. The lack of it hadn't begun to materialize physically, maybe she was a shade paler in complexion these days but that was all. If the pressure didn't let up, dark circles would soon mar the hollows beneath her eyes and her brain, it would lose most of its sharpness. What good would she be to Denisa then?

Denisa's fate haunted her. She'd been wounded defending Erica and her baby, still recovering from them when she'd been kidnapped. Had she been a hundred percent, perhaps she'd have fended off her attackers? The niggling question and the spike of guilt associated with it had left Erica tossing and turning restlessly night after night. So, when this lead arose, she'd jumped on it. A change of scenery, a chance to find her friend.

It had been Sam, a senior FBI agent, who had provided the lead. Some of Denisa's attackers had been identified from blood left at the scene, their DNA popping a hit once Sam had pushed it through. These men had connections with organized crime, Mexican Cartels, some Mafia families in the East, New York, New Jersey and Boston, the last being the most significant to Denisa's abduction. Smuggling had been a part of their repertoire and Sam postulated that Denisa had been taken out of the country using their contacts. Airports, as Erica was seeing for herself at this moment, were sewn up tight. Ports, however, still offered opportunities for narcotics, weapons, even people smuggling. Armed with this information, some tenuous sightings of dark SUVs at different locations, a rough timeline and access to shipping manifests courtesy of Sam and his contacts... Erica had been able to develop a number of possible leads on ships that might have been used to transport Denisa.

Those ships that had taken their cargo between different harbors up and down the eastern seaboard of the US, Arlene had taken responsibility for. This was the bulk of the leads, so she'd enlisted help, Victor, Trent, Duncan, Lincoln, JP all stepping up. They'd faced killers before, helped Erica bring down The Graffiti Killer and avenge Amos at the same time. None had hesitated in volunteering their time and effort in this quest. Even as Erica was sipping her decaf and waiting on her flight, her friends were paired off and running down any witnesses, crew members or dock workers who might be able to help.

There were two other ships on the list, both listed as transporting chemicals, but Sam had flagged remote connections between their captains and the suspects in Denisa's abduction and that had been enough for them to be worth chasing down. The first ship had docked in Lisbon Portugal, the second travelling to Nordhaven in Nordland. Shondra and Erica had engaged in an increasingly bitter round of Rock, paper, scissors until at best out of fifteen, Erica had conceded defeat, Shondra getting to travel to Portugal. A little of the sexy black woman's devilish nature showed as she began expounding on the quality of wine in the sun-drenched country. It was all banter, Shondra every bit as intent on Denisa's rescue as Erica. Besides there was no other choice, Arlene unable to fly given her condition. The older redhead falling pregnant had taken everyone by surprise. If it hadn't been for the shadow cast by Denisa's crisis, it would have been cause for celebration. There was joy attached to it, Erica especially pleased for her, but it was muted.

The airport's Tannoy system squawked into life, the semi comprehensible voice typical to every airport in the world garbling out an announcement that Erica deciphered to mean her flight had begun boarding. Erica didn't know if Denisa was going to be there or how she'd begin looking for her. She'd armed herself with some guidebooks on Nordland and more importantly she'd been able to organize an actual escort from the local police; Victor reaching out via a friend in Europol to a sympathetic police captain who'd promised an officer would be waiting for Erica at arrivals and would provide her with assistance for a few days at least.

Finally settling into her seat by the window, Erica fastened her seat belt and closed her eyes, not even waiting for take-off before seeking sleep. She'd need to be on the top of her game for Denisa's sake, she just prayed to God it wasn't some rookie cop waiting for her in Nordland or worse, some grizzled veteran with a chip on his shoulder and an eye on retirement. In a few hours she'd know.

Chapter Two: "Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing." -- Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Grey

The Nordhaven International Airport terminal was bustling with activity as travelers, flight crew and airport staff crisscrossed the floor of the modern facility. Amongst the throngs of holiday makers and businesspeople, Emelie Vikander stood near the main display boards, staring up at the flight information, her heavy woolen coat draped over her arm. Skiing in Nordland had grown in popularity over the last decade so the sight of tourists carrying long equipment bags that seemed demonically predisposed to trip their bearer or just an unobservant passerby was becoming commonplace. Dressed in a business casual style of tailored black slacks, a fitted blue blazer over a nondescript cream blouse and low-heeled ankle boots, with her blonde hair tied back in a simple ponytail, the young policewoman blended easily into the crowd.

She tapped her finger against her chin as her eyes scanned the board, looking at the arrivals information. Hmm... just landed, she thought, spying the flight number she was looking for. At least thirty minutes or more to clear customs and immigration, another fifteen or so to collect any luggage... I've probably got nearly an hour to wait, she mused to herself.

Glancing around the busy terminal, Emelie saw a nearby café and started to make her way towards it. Having just come off a demanding shift cycle over the past fortnight, and having gone for a brisk run this morning, she felt in need of some caffeine. It probably didn't help staying up with Sven the night before -- he'd been quizzing her on various intricacies of Nordlandic criminal law, part of her preparations for her Detective exams.

What had started as an innocuous Q&A session had soon turned steamy with Sven gently teasing her leg as he lay next to her on the couch in their living room. Emelie had sighed to herself as he did, it hadn't helped that she'd only been wearing a singlet top and a pair of shorts, not expecting her fiancé to be in such an amorous mood. Despite her desire to complete her study session, his teasing strokes had soon aroused her.

It hadn't taken very long at all for both her and Sven's clothing to be stripped from their bodies with Emelie swinging her leg over his lap to straddle him as he sat on the couch. She'd let out a long sigh of pleasure as she had slowly sunk onto his hard cock, feeling it parting her pink folds and burrowing deep into her pussy. She'd ridden him for several minutes, enjoying both the sensation of her handsome Nordic fiancé inside her and the look of ecstasy on his face.

As Sven had unloaded inside her, Emelie had shivered with both guilt and pleasure. She had felt him reaching his peak and she'd whispered in his ear for him to come inside her, assuring him it was a safe time of the month for him to do so, when, in fact, she was secretly receiving birth control injections. Part of her hated the fact that she was forced to lie about her birth control with him, being honest with him about it might have made him ask questions about her past that she didn't want to confront.

As they had collapsed panting on the couch, Emelie realized that these quick, spontaneous fuck sessions had become more frequent. Not that she was complaining -- Sven was a handsome man with classical Nordic features and a chiseled physique as befitted a member of the Nordland Police Service Tactical Team.

But, as had been the case over the past several weeks, Emelie realized that she couldn't, or wouldn't deny, Sven's advances, rationalizing it as a way to assuage her lingering guilt over what she had done in that back alley with the young African migrant. God, I can't believe I did that... Emelie said to herself, pushing down the feelings of guilt and shame that arose every time she recalled the event. There were other feelings that went hand in hand with these recollections, one's she wasn't prepared to dwell on. She still didn't fully know why she did what she did, taking his cock into her mouth under the pretense of searching him. She could still recall the taste of his warm, thick seed that had flooded her mouth.

Perhaps it had been her lingering memories of Kofi, the young African migrant who she'd embarked on a torrid and highly illegal affair with several years previously and was now imprisoned for drug dealing and awaiting deportation back to Africa, that had caused her to do something so illegal and taboo that the thought of it sent a shiver of fear and excitement through her, even now.

Thankfully, nothing had happened to her since then. Emelie hadn't seen the youth on her patrols around Nordhaven as a member of the Interracial Liaison Officer squad. In truth, she hoped that she would never see him again, the guilt and shame would be too much. There was also the real possibility he might imagine he had some leverage over her now, if he tried to blackmail her in some fashion, things could turn ugly or worse, public.

Why did I do that? The thought echoed in her mind. Had it been because of her unresolved feelings for Kofi, their affair burning hot and intense before that fateful night when she had been forced to arrest him. There was another possibility, one that she tried as hard as she could to ignore but lingered in the back of her mind.

Maybe I wanted to do it... maybe I wanted to enjoy the feeling of intimacy with a Black man again.

She contemplated this disconcerting thought to herself as she lined up in the queue at the café to order behind several Air Nordland flight attendants in their trim blue uniforms. She vaguely overheard them talking about a colleague named Sigrid before she pushed the conversation from her mind and turned her thoughts towards the task at hand. She would deal with the lingering guilt over Kofi and the teen later, now she had a job to do.

"What can I get for you?" The voice of the young woman behind the counter jolted Emelie back to the present. "Oh... um... just a small espresso, please."

"That'll be seven euros, please."

Emelie dug out her wallet from her pocket. Shit! Seven euros! With a sigh, she tapped her credit card on the reader on the counter and made her way around to wait for her drink to be prepared. As she did, her mind drifted to her assignment. Ha! Assignment, she thought to herself. Nursemaid, more like it!

While she watched the barista make her coffee, her thoughts drifted back over a week to a family dinner she attended at her parents' house. Her father, a previous commander of the Tactical Team when he had served as police officer, had also invited several of his old colleagues over for dinner. To her surprise, Emelie had found herself in conversation with an Assistant Commissioner heading up the international engagement division in the National Investigation Service. He'd been delighted to hear that she was preparing for her Detective exams.

He'd even offered her an opportunity to gain some experience. An easy task, as he'd called it, to be a liaison officer with an American, some sort of investigative consultant who had been vouched for by the FBI to do some background investigations. Emelie had nodded eagerly when the offer was made but she was still smart enough to realize that by sending her, the Commissioner didn't have to send a qualified Detective on the task. Nonetheless, it was an opportunity to work in plain-clothes and would look good on her record when the Board sat to consider her application for Detective.

"Thank you," Emelie said as she collected her coffee and made her way over to sit down at a nearby table to wait, her eyes glancing around the swirling mass of humanity that was walking by the café. With her blonde hair, blue eyes and fair complexion, she certainly didn't stand out in a Nordic country like Nordland, but she couldn't help but notice the increasing numbers of non-Nordic people in the terminal.

Southern Europeans, Eastern Europeans, Asians, Africans... Nordhaven was increasingly becoming an ethnic melting pot. In a place like an airport terminal, filled with lower paid manual labor opportunities, the influx of these migrants was especially visible amongst the staff manning the shops and cafes, amongst the airport staff that kept the terminal clean and functioning. This had been both good -- she and Sven had enjoyed a fantastic curry several nights earlier at a new Indian restaurant near their apartment; and bad -- the influx of migrants had brought a commensurate influx of criminal gangs. She had spotted at least six individuals, three Africans, one Middle Eastern and two Eastern Europeans, who she was certain were criminals, scouting out the heaving throng of passengers. Pick-pockets, human traffickers, pimps... she didn't know but she could tell they were up to no good.

Leave it to the airport police, she told herself as she sipped her coffee, wincing at the taste. That cost seven euros? The young policewoman shifted in her seat, trying to get more comfortable on the hard, wooden surface, the comforting weight of her Glock service pistol in its holster on her hip, still discretely covered by her blazer.

Another sigh. Sergeant Nilsen wasn't happy when the request had come through from the National Investigation Service for her to be detached temporarily to this task. She could still recall his stern expression as he'd told her that she was going to leave her shift even more short-staffed. The Interracial Liaison Team was doing good work, helping to defuse the tensions on the streets with the migrant communities, but she didn't want to stay there forever -- she wanted to land the coveted role of Detective. And every little task, even something as mundane as babysitting an American, would undoubtedly help.

Finishing the last of her overpriced coffee, Emelie stood up and made her way towards the arrival gate. Standing in sight of the passengers slowly exiting into the terminal, she fished a paper sign from her pocket and held it in front of her for the passengers to see: Erica Anderson. She had no idea what this Erica Anderson looked like or even what she wanted to do here in Nordland. The directions from the National Investigation Service had been vague. However, her father had always taught her to be flexible. If driving an American around to see the sights for a couple of days meant she would receive extra marks on her Detective application -- well, she could do that...

Her phone buzzed and she pulled it from her pocket. It was a message from Sven: Hope you're having fun with your special assignment! He'd signed off with a grinning emoji. Smart-ass, she thought good-naturedly to herself, he'd been teasing her about it that morning, calling it a super-secret mission to uncover a criminal empire. Her finger hovered over the screen, thinking up a retort when she heard an American-accented voice in front of her.

"I'm Erica Anderson"

Emelie glanced up at the young woman standing in front of her. Automatically her Academy training kicked in: Mid-late 20s, brown hair, blue eyes, about 5'6" or 5'7", around 120lbs. She certainly didn't cut the figure of a hardened investigator, more a pretty small-town girl making her way in the world, but there was something about her eyes, Emelie thought. A hardness and determination that shone through despite the clear appearance of fatigue from the trans-Atlantic flight.

Smoothly, Emelie pocketed her phone and reached out with her hand -- the message to Sven would have to wait. "Officer Emelie Vikander. Nordland Police Service. Pleased to meet you." The two women shook hands as Emelie's eyes glanced over Erica. She was dressed quite appropriately for the weather and climate, but she could tell that the gear was new, as if this had been an unexpected trip. Except for the boots, these looked to be well worn in and ideal for hiking. She had a backpack slung over her shoulder and a small travel bag at her feet -- clearly she travelled light.

Emelie hesitated -- now what? Her orders had been to collect this Erica Anderson and accompany and assist her. That was it. I just love my job... she mused to herself. At least this would give her a chance to practice her English. Even in her role as a police officer, she didn't find much opportunity to use it, mainly just lost tourists. "You look tired, Ms. Anderson. Would you like me to take you to your hotel?" she asked, somewhat formally.

Erica nodded. "Yes please, and its Erica, okay?"

The Nordic policewoman nodded, a small smile creasing her face. "Of course... and please, Emelie." Erica nodded in response and reached for the handle of her travel bag. "What hotel are you staying at?"

Erica pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and peered at it. "The... um... Havutsikt Hotell"

"The Oceanview" Emelie said in English, nodding as she turned to lead her towards the exit. "It's nice enough, not too expensive. It's down near the Harbor and Port facilities. You should be able to walk to most of the tourist areas from there."

"I'm sorry, I'm not here to see the sights," Erica replied. There was something in her voice that made Emelie pause, and she turned back to face the young American.

"And why are you here then, Erica?" she asked.

That was when Emelie took note of the wary glances Erica had been sending out towards the other people in the arrivals hall since first approaching Emelie. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Something's going on here... what is she really doing here...?

"Let's talk in the car, I'm a bit tired." Emelie nodded, wanting to push, to get to the bottom of what this was all about but knowing any discourtesy to this consultant would stand against her. "Of course, it's just outside."

As the two women made their way to the exit, neither of them noticed a man standing near the newsagent, his dark eyes following them.

Chapter 3: "First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do." Epictetus, The Discourses.

Thankfully the car, a nondescript silver Volvo EX30, that Emelie led Erica to was parked close by, the biting cold of this northern country with its proximity to the Arctic chilling her to the bone despite her winter wear. Some of it could be written off to tiredness of course but it was a blessing to get into the car all the same. She took a minute to evaluate the young police officer as Emelie navigated a path through the parking structure and out of the airport, swinging onto a highway leading into the city of Nordhaven proper.

The fact that she hadn't pressed Erica for answers or shown any irritation at being asked to wait was a good sign. Patience was a rare quality in most people but especially in those who were younger. That didn't make her a good cop of course and perhaps she was anything but, getting sent out to babysit Erica. Attractive, young and female, Erica was sure that Emelie had pulled more than her fair share of bullshit assignments before this. The fact that she'd cut straight to the chase though, asking about Erica's purpose here... it boded well.

The warm air from the heater in the car was tugging at her gently, lulling her towards sleep. Erica would have liked nothing more than to answer that siren call but she owed Emelie answers, so instead she shrugged off the now too warm jacket awkwardly beneath the seat belt, tossing it onto the backseat before clearing her throat.

"Guess it's probably easier if you tell me first what you know about my trip here," Erica said. Emelie didn't respond at first, eyes on the road as she overtook a car in front of her, sliding back into her lane before answering.

"Not much. You're an American consultant, working with the FBI and I'm to offer you assistance while you're here."

"Jesus, vague much? Well, I'm not sure actually how much my friend in the FBI shared with your superiors so the lack of detail might be on our end," Erica offered, comforted somewhat by the fact that at least Emelie spoke fairly good English. Her own Nordic was only as good as the translation app on her phone. "To keep it short, six months ago an American citizen, born in Romania, was abducted by armed men from a house in Massachusetts. We've reason to believe she was taken out of that state via ship. To somewhere else in the US or to Europe, we're not quite sure. I'm here following up one of the potential leads."

"And 'we' are?"

"The FBI, and some other... umm... Consultants."

"So, you aren't law enforcement, you're a civilian. Why wasn't an FBI agent detailed to travel here instead?"

"Good question. I'm part of a separate line of investigation. Less official." Erica stopped talking, seeing confusion and disbelief of Emelie's face as she glanced over at her. She wasn't good at bullshitting, and her tiredness wasn't helping. She needed this woman on her side and feeding her crap wasn't going to do that.

"Simple truth, the woman who was taken was a friend of mine. I'm invested in finding her. I have friends at the Bureau, and they pulled strings for me," Erica said, omitting a lot but speaking the truth all the same.

"She must be some friend, that sounds like a lot of favor's being called in," Emelie noted, offering Erica a half smile.

"I guess I never considered what Sam and Victor, my FBI friends, had to go through to organize this. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate what they've done, not like I'm selfish, not considering them. It's just...," Erica paused to yawn, jaw cracking from the stretch. "Sorry... where was I? Yeah... have you ever discharged your weapon in the line of duty? Killed someone?"

Emelie didn't answer, there was tightening in her face that could have been read as anything given the question, so Erica simply decided to assume the young cop hadn't had to face an ordeal like that so early in her career.

"My friend, Denisa. She put herself in harm's way. Killed two men who needed killing, to save my life and the life of my baby. Doing that might have led to her being taken. Coming here, burning favors... small price to pay if I can help her." There was silence for a couple of minutes, Erica's eyelids becoming heavy, her head sagging slightly. She started, head jerking, when Emelie spoke again.

"I still don't understand, why you? I understand it's personal for you. But what sort of consultant are you? What do you specialize in?" Emelie probably had a hundred more questions, good ones likely, but it made sense that she, as a police officer would want to know about who was sitting beside her first, the rest could wait. Another indication she was good at her job by not allowing herself to be sidetracked.

"I don't specialize in much of anything. I'm a reporter... was a reporter." Erica could tell Emelie felt about reporters much the same as most cops around the globe did, a look of distaste passing across her fine features. "I did some investigative work, looking for my break. My investigations put me in an orbit with a serial killer and I've had dealing with others since. So, my forte I guess is acting like a magnet for some of the worst people imaginable. So yeah, not something I'd put on my resume." That earned Erica a snort of laughter from Emelie, a nice way to bring this conversation to a close as the blonde cop pulled the car smoothly to a stop outside the hotel Erica was booked into.

"Do you need help checking in?"

"God no. Just give me five minutes and we can head out," Erica said, stretching behind her to reclaim her coat. There was no way she was stepping outside until she had it back on.

"Head out? You want to start now?"

"Sure, why not?"

"It's already after three. I assume you want to go to the docks where the ship arrived? Well, you need to give me the name of the vessel so I can trace the berth number, contact the dock supervisor and arrange a meeting. I'll be lucky to get them on the phone before they finish their shift, so forget about meeting them tonight," Emelie explained patiently.

'She probably thinks I'm an idiot,' Erica thought, rubbing at tired eyes, another yawn bursting free.

"You're tired, you aren't reasoning very well I imagine. Give me the ship's name and the date it was berthed. Let me do my job, helping you. All you need to do is get some sleep, have a shower and we'll start tomorrow. The Nordhaven Police Service is on the case. Does that sound good?"

"Yes, but no... but yes. You're right of course," Erica admitted. Emelie stepped out of the car to take Erica's bags from the trunk. By the time she'd set them on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, Erica had joined her, a folded piece of paper in her hand.

"The information," Erica said. She picked up her bags as Emelie pushed the paper into her coat pocket. "Oh, I added the address of my podcast there as well."

"Your podcast?" There it was again, the same look that signified Emelie's suspicion and distrust of the media.

"Give it a listen, it might give you a better impression of me than I've managed to make so far." Erica left it at that, her rueful smile crumbling with tiredness as she turned and walked into the lobby of the hotel.

Emelie shook her head muttering, "Americans... such a strange people." Despite this, she selected the app Erica had listed on the paper, scrolling till she found Erica's name. She pulled away as Erica's voice began to sound out from the speakers in her car.

'The Graffiti Killer, the true story behind one of the most devious serial killers you've never heard of. For me, Erica Anderson, the story began...'

<<0>>

"I'm coming... I'm coming... for fuck's sake" Erica grumbled impatiently as she hurried towards the hotel phone ringing on the side table next to the bed. Catching her toe on the leg of a chair made her turn the air blue with a string of curses. She was dressed in just a white towel, her brown hair still damp from the shower. Once she'd checked in, she'd debated whether to have a shower first or just collapse into the bed. The thought of a few hours of uninterrupted sleep had been too much and, to her surprise, the bed had been much more comfortable than she'd expected.

Fortunately, she had set her alarm on her phone, otherwise she would have likely slept through to the next morning. As it was, she'd managed three hours of blissful sleep before the beeping device had awoken her. The shower had been a godsend, the hot water washing away the fatigue and grime from her flight and leaving her skin pink and refreshed.

Hopping one-legged after stubbing her toe, Erica dropped unceremoniously onto the bed, snatching the phone from its stand.

'Ok... ok...' she thought to herself, seeking focus as she picked up the phone, noting the time on the clock next to it. 7:57pm. Her stomach rumbled instinctively. Little wonder having eaten nothing since the morning before, prior to the airport back in the States.

"Hello, Erica?" She immediately recognized Emelie's voice.

"Yeah, hello... Emelie" she managed to pull the young cop's name from her foggy brain, her speech sounding tired even to herself despite the nap and shower.

"I... um... listened to your podcast... Is it all really true?"

"Every word of it, if anything I left a lot out." Erica wasn't about to share her sexual journey that had somehow been set into motion, moving in tandem with her hunt for a killer.

"Then I think I understand more about what you are trying to do here. I stopped at my station and ran those details through our computer system. I think I might have some ideas about where to start tomorrow."

"Uh-huh," Erica responded, doing her best to stifle a yawn as she eyed the bed she sat on. If Emelie had heard her, the Nordic cop didn't give the impression of being affronted by Erica's lackluster response, she simply continued in her polite manner of speaking, "I was also calling to see if you'd had dinner yet. I wasn't sure if you were going to sleep. You looked quite tired this afternoon."

The mention of both her fatigue and hunger made Erica yawn and her stomach rumble again at the same time and she hoped to God Emelie couldn't hear that cacophony through the phone. "Yeah, I... uh... got some sleep and just had a shower."

There was a brief pause on the line. "Are you hungry? I was thinking you could come over to my place and have dinner with me along with my fiancé and we could... talk... discuss where we could start."

Erica realized that the young policewoman was trying to be friendly, and that she herself hadn't been putting her best foot forward. Erica's Mom would have kicked her ass for acting so ungraciously, exhausted or not. Then came the cynical voice, the part of her that had moved to the fore since Rufus's betrayal. 'She probably thinks I have some pull at the FBI, will be able to put in a good word for her after this', she thought. 'No harm in having dinner with her and it's probably better than waiting for room service or raiding the minibar fridge.'

"Sure, that sounds like a good idea," she replied, adding a swift 'Thank you" at the thought of her mother folding her arms in displeasure a few thousand miles away.

"Ok, my station is only a few minutes away. I'll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes."

<<0>>

Erica was standing in the foyer waiting when Emelie arrived. The young Nordic policewoman shook her coat as she came through the doors of the hotel lobby -- it was raining again outside; a cold, soaking rain that was common this time of the year with the onset of winter just around the corner. Thankfully the lobby was warm and bright, and she made her way to where Erica was standing, idly leafing through tourist guides for the small Scandinavian nation.

"I thought you didn't plan to do any sightseeing," Emelie said as she approached the young American reporter. Erica looked up and shook her head. "Not sightseeing, just getting a lay of the land."

Emelie's eyebrows raised fractionally at her words -- she didn't expect that. The young woman who looked like she had just left college was acting more like a police officer, soldier or spy, gathering information, understanding her environment. 'She's done this before', Emelie mused briefly to herself, there was something in this American's eyes, a hardness that seemed so out of place in her soft attractive features.

"Are you hungry? My apartment is about ten minutes from here. Nordhaven is fairly small, so it doesn't take long to get around."

"Great, I'm starving," Erica replied, grateful to have some food at last. From what little research she'd conducted she knew Nordlandic food was very similar to Norwegian and Danish cuisine. The thought of dinner made her stomach growl again, a red blush appearing on her face as she realized Emelie could definitely hear her body's reaction this time.

"Apparently," was all the comment Emelie made, and they both laughed, dispelling Erica's embarrassment.

"Come on then, I'm parked just outside," Emelie said, leading her towards the doors. "You'll need those clothes, especially that coat... it's raining again outside." Erica had pulled on the same clothes she'd worn earlier, too tired to dig around in her bag for something else. Besides, she was here to look for Denisa, not take part in a fashion parade. The young Nordic policewoman didn't mention anything, her clothes slightly more fashionable but still professional.

As they walked to the car in the rain, Erica pulled her hood up to shield her head from the rain and her eyes glanced over at Emelie. The Nordlandic woman seemed unconcerned about the rain and the cold. 'I guess she's used to it', she thought. They stopped in front of the car that Emelie had picked her up from the airport in and Erica was grateful to get out of the foul weather.

As they drove towards her apartment, Emelie did her best to engage Erica in light conversation. It was clear that the reporter was tired despite the nap and the shower, but she gamely carried on answering Emelie's questions. Both women became visibly more comfortable with each other through the relaxed exchange of banter. Emelie explained a few landmarks as they passed by them and Erica nodded politely. Soon, however, Emelie turned the conversation towards more practical matters.

"I have some information that might be useful for us," she told Erica, using the word 'us' instead of 'you'. She still wasn't sure what the American's story was, but she wasn't going to let her go wandering around Nordland by herself. If anything happened to her, Emelie would be the one explaining herself to her superiors.

"I wasn't able to get the dock supervisor who was on duty the day your ship arrived, but I did manage to get hold of his manager before he left for the day," Emelie continued. "We have an appointment to see him first thing in the morning."

Erica nodded. "Do you think he'll be able to tell us anything?"

"I don't know," Emelie replied with a shrug. "I don't know how it is in America, but here, well it's a pretty unionized workforce down there, and they tend to be rather reluctant when it comes to cooperating with the police." She paused for a moment. "If we don't have any luck with them, I might have a thought regarding a different approach we could take..."

The reporter turned her head to look at her. "What do you mean?"

Emelie paused for a moment, as if weighing her words. "My, umm... my team that I'm part of... we deal with migrants, I'm what you would call an inter-relations liaison officer." Erica nodded, not sure where the young cop was going with this.

"The docks are a good source of work for migrants, the unions might control a lot of the official activity but there are always unpopular tasks they are happy enough to farm out to undocumented workers. The dirty jobs essentially. It's cheaper, and easier, to use migrants for some of the more dangerous manual work." She paused, as they arrived at an intersection, her eyes darting in both directions before she turned the car and continued towards her apartment.

"I have a few contacts down there at the docks; if we aren't lucky with the manager, we could try them and see if they saw anything when your ship arrived."

Erica shrugged, it seemed like a good idea. From her experience over the past several years, sometimes it was quicker, easier and gave better results to skip the office-workers and talk to people on the ground, the ones who really knew what was happening.

A few minutes later the pair were pulling up at Emelie's apartment building, a relatively modern structure that screamed middle-class, young family housing. Thankfully the rain had eased somewhat, leaving a cold drizzle that hung in the air as the pair made their way to the entrance. "Is the weather always this good here?" Erica asked half-jokingly, shaking the water from her coat.

Emelie gave her a little grin. "This is mild as we are on the coast. Wait a few weeks or better yet, go a bit further north of where we are now. You'd gladly swap the arctic conditions for a bit of rain then." Erica huffed out a breath in agreement, she was cold enough as it was without Emelie invoking images of Arctic tundra, so she'd keep her observations about the weather to herself for the moment.

Just as they reached the front door of Emelie's apartment, it opened in front of them and a tall, well-built man emerged, clearly in a rush. "Em, sorry... I've got to go," he said to Emelie in Nordic. "We've been called out."

The cop turned to look at the young reporter. "Umm... Erica... this is my fiancé, Sven."

Sven gave Erica a brief smile. "Erica, nice to meet you. Apologies, but I need to go," he said in heavily accented English. He gave Emelie a quick peck on the lips and said something in Nordic, flashed Erica a final smile of contrition before dashing down the stairs, pulling on a heavy coat.

"He's a police officer too, a member of our Police Tactical Team," Emelie explained as she ushered Erica into her apartment and closed the door behind them. "He's been called out for a job."

"Does that happen often?" Erica asked as she doffed her coat and hung it up next to Emelie's on the rack near the front door. "Sometimes, we're used to it now," she replied as she led Erica into the apartment. It was cozy... and warm. Immediately Erica yawned, feeling a wave of fatigue washing over her in the over-heated environment.

While Erica settled on the sofa, Emelie busied herself in the kitchen, bringing out a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses. "Whoa, that's some strong stuff," Erica said as she took a sip. "Traditional Nordic wine," Emelie told her. "You could use it as a decent paint stripper," Erica replied with a laugh, Emelie joining in when she realized Erica wasn't actually complaining about the quality of the wine.

Despite her protestations for Erica to relax on the sofa, the young American helped Emelie prepare some dinner -- several hearty Nordic dishes that made Erica's stomach rumble in anticipation. Soon the pair were sitting at the dining table, eating and drinking, the connection between the two growing as the conversation progressed.

"So here in Nordland we have just about every criminal gang you can think of," Emelie said as she took a sip of wine. "We're a small country, but in a very fortunate location that has made it appealing to a certain element. It's easy to get to Scandinavia, Germany, Belgium, Holland and the United Kingdom."

"Makes sense, so who are your biggest gangs then?" Erica asked as she stabbed a piece of delicious lamb on her plate and popped it into her mouth.

"Well, the one that is causing the most trouble at the moment is a large migrant gang, the African Kings. They are mainly made up of migrants from West Africa. Most of them are here illegally. They are involved in drugs, prostitution and the extortion of members of their own communities."

"Do you think they could be involved?" Erica asked. Emelie shook her head. "Not so much at the port. That's controlled by the unions, who are backed by several other Nordlandic crime gangs. The Kings prefer to deal with the downstream aspects, like distribution of narcotics once they've entered the country. There are others of course, but thankfully we have nothing on the scale of the criminal organizations you have in America. We have no Mafia, no cartels. Though we do have a significant biker gang presence, so far they have remained exclusively Norlander in their make-up. They have colorful names of course, like, The Blood Eagles, Ship Breakers, Raven Brotherhood."

Erica nodded as Emelie reached for the wine bottle to top up her glass. Despite the alcohol content, or maybe because of it, Erica found the wine to be very enjoyable and easy to drink, leaving an almost perfect aftertaste in her mouth.

"Thank you," she said to Emelie as she reached for her topped up glass. "then we'll head down to the docks in the morning?"

The cop nodded. "Just leave the talking to me." She grinned at Erica. "Unless, your Nordic is better than you let on."

"Afraid not, it's only as good as my phone," Erica replied, somewhat sheepishly.

"Don't worry," Emelie replied. "English is fairly common here, we're taught it in school from an early age."

As Emelie refilled their glasses, Erica looked about her, a photo on the wall catching her eye, where a younger Emelie was captured standing next to an older man that Erica presumed to be the young cop's father. He was dressed in a police uniform, both of them smiling broadly for the camera at what was clearly Emelie's graduation from the police academy. Erica, feeling she should set aside thoughts and discussions about the hunt for Denisa for a moment, drew Emelie's attention to the photo with a pointed glance.

"Your father?" Emelie nodded before sipping from her own glass.

"Looks like we have something in common then," Emelie's eyebrows rose in an unspoken question, so Erica elaborated. "We both took after our fathers, you became a cop, I became a reporter... of sorts anyway."

With dinner basically over at this point, Emelie didn't immediately respond to Erica's observation. Instead, she rose from the table, lifting the remnants of the bottle of wine, and the two women moved to the sofa, Erica doing her best to fight the effects of a full stomach, good wine and the heating system that seemed to be working overtime as she sank into the padded sofa.

"You said you are a reporter, sort of. What did you mean by that?" Emelie asked it in a light tone, but Erica's backstory intrigued her; the bits of the podcast she'd managed to listen to only adding to her desire to know more about this American sitting in her home.

"Short answer, I thought I was smarter than everyone else, figured I'd break my way into a top job with the New York Times or the Washington Post by exposing a series of crimes that nobody else had seen were linked. Only problem was that I hadn't counted on the fact that when you get drawn into that world, getting back out is a lot harder than you'd think. People died. People I cared about. Fortunately, I also made friends who've made me a better person." Erica paused, clearing her throat that had suddenly grown raspy, despite the wine. "I've seen the face of evil, that's not hyperbole it's as true a fact as its impossible to deny that I'm sitting here in your apartment. Anyways, after all that I couldn't walk away, I couldn't sit around simply reporting on what was happening. I needed to find a way to stop the murders and the man behind them. I wanted to prevent anyone else from being taken." Erica gave Emelie a sheepish smile. "You probably think I'm either full of it or just an idealistic loon."

"No, no... if you were telling me lies, I think they'd be more plausible and if an FBI agent is telling my commander to give you help, well that rules out you being insane," Emelie said; she held up the bottle, but Erica waved it off. It was too late to be hoping for a clear head in the morning but there was no point doubling down on it either.

"I know you've been ordered to help and it's probably the last thing you wanted to do. But I appreciate it, the help, the meal, not judging my story... fuck, oops sorry," Erica raised a hand to her mouth in embarrassment. "Sorry, shouldn't be swearing, it's a bad habit I've fallen into. Shouldn't be getting so maudlin as well. Too much wine, too little sleep."

"Well how about a small coffee and then I'll drop you back off at your hotel? I promise, we'll still start early tomorrow," Emelie offered, Erica nodded, a shot of caffeine was exactly what her brain needed.

Emelie was rummaging around in the kitchen making a coffee when Erica decided to close her eyes. Just for a minute, she told herself.

When Emelie returned a moment later, she saw the young American reporter had drifted off to sleep on her sofa. Americans... can't hold their alcohol, she thought good naturedly to herself. She quite liked Erica and her down to earth, but dedicated approach to her work, not to mention her clear loyalty and commitment to her friends. Her father had instilled similar values in her, which had only grown over the years as a member of the police service.

Grabbing a blanket from the cupboard, she draped it over Erica's body, watching as the reporter shifted slightly in her sleep, looking for a more comfortable spot on the sofa.

'Better get some rest myself, tomorrow's going to be a big day,' she thought to herself as she made her way back to the kitchen to clean up.

Chapter Four: "The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes." Arthur Conan-Doyle

Good to her word, Emelie woke Erica early the next morning. Through eyelids made thick with the detritus of sleep, Erica croaked out an unconvincing declaration that she was awake although this became more convincing when she was passed a mug filled to the brim with strong coffee, the steam rising from it declaring it was burning hot. It didn't put Erica off however, she sat up and quaffed a couple of mouthfuls finding it had been sweetened lightly just as she liked it.

Sven had returned from his call out and not too long ago judging by the state of the good looking man's disheveled state. A streak of grime marred one side of his face and the knuckles of the hand which he held his own mug of coffee appeared grazed.

"Rough one?" Sven looked towards Emelie, the Nordlander cop already dressed and looking none the worse for wear given what they'd drunk the night before. She spoke a few words in Nordic, clarifying Erica's question. Sven nodded affably, he set his mug down and clenched the injured hand with a slight grimace.

"Yes, a rough one. But... uh, you should see the other guy?" he said in accented English. Erica laughed, giving him a thumbs up for his use of the colloquialism.

"Sven needs to sleep, if you like I can make some breakfast, and we can go?" Erica winced at the idea of food, her stomach wasn't up for that challenge. This was her first, never to be repeated, brush with Nordic wine. She gulped back the last of her coffee, resolutely ignoring the burn she gave her tongue in the process. Sven wasn't the only tough guy in the room. Finished, Erica passed the mug to Emelie and went in search of her coat.

Outside, the rain of the previous day had passed and the morning sky over the small Nordic city was bright and cloudless. It was also bitter with cold, and Erica found herself shuffling from one foot to the other as she watched Emelie pat herself down in search of her car keys. It was only a few seconds, but it seemed much longer. Keys located, they hopped into the car, Emelie started it up and turned on the heated seats along with the heater; then watched with a smile as Erica groaned with relief as the sting of the cold faded from her skin.

"Perhaps next time you should visit in the summer?"

"Sure, right, next time," Erica replied with a wry tone.

Since she hadn't planned on sleeping over, Erica had left her notebook in her hotel room. In the digital age it was an anachronism, but she'd learned the benefit of note taking from her father and as a reporter, as an investigator, she had come to rely on it as part of her process. Mentioning it to Emelie resulted in the blonde woman fishing a police notepad from the car's glove compartment along with a pen. Armed with these, Erica felt better as the car swept along the roads towards the docks. The traffic was thickening now with the morning commuters inching along the route ahead of them.

"How long?"

"Ten minutes," Emelie said.

"Sweet... wake me up in nine," Erica said, closing her eyes, in no hurry to leave the warmth of the car.

Three heartbeats by Erica's reckoning, almost ten minutes by Emelie's watch, the car pulled through the security gates of the docks; Emelie flashing her identification at the guard stationed by the gate. The dock manager's office was clearly signposted and Emelie drew the car up in a spot marked for visitors beside the office building.

"Okay, let's see if we can get you the answers you're looking for," Emelie said as she opened the car door.

"Hope so, otherwise I flew thousands of miles just to freeze my ass off," Erica muttered darkly, her mood still sour that morning from the jet lag and the self-inflicted hangover. She followed Emelie into the office block, passing through a nondescript hallway that was lined by cramped looking offices, filled with burly men who didn't acknowledge their presence openly, and yet Erica felt her neck itch from the suspicious stares and outright leers she imagined directed at her.

Emelie stopped in front of an office at the end of the corridor, this one markedly different as it had a door. She rapped her knuckles on the wood paneling just beneath the small sign that read 'Havnedirektør'. There was a loud but unintelligible response to her knock and Erica followed her police escort into the Port Director's office. The man sitting behind the deck fulfilled Erica's notion of what a Viking would look like. He was in his late forties, his skin leathery and wrinkled from a lifetime of working outdoors. Pale blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, his beard had a reddish tinge to it and hung to his chest in two plaits. He slowly rose, extending his hand towards them and Erica felt the work calloused skin as he gripped her own hand in a perfunctory handshake, pale blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. Clearly the route to his present position had been straight from the bottom, this man having started on the docks as a laborer and gaining promotions through hard work, certainly not having it just handed to him.

As they had already agreed that Emelie would take the lead, Erica settled to look through the large window in the office, watching as a crane began to hoist a container from a ship anchored opposite the office building. The port was a hive of activity, trucks and forklifts moving about, men with checklists everywhere, cataloging cargo and directing its movements. Beyond the dockside, barely visible as she peered to the left, a forest of containers spread out in an expanse of dull painted metal. Behind her, Emelie was in conversation with the Port Director and already Erica could tell that they'd learn nothing from this interaction, the man's tone one of weary disinterest, her ignorance of the language not an impediment to her understanding the direction of the exchange.

"Erica." She turned at her name, nodding as Emelie beckoned to her that they were leaving.

"No luck?"

"No. He says he spoke to the supervisor who oversaw the ship's arrival all the way through to its departure. No passengers left the ship including the crew. It was berthed for less than a day, took on cargo for Britain; then left just before the supervisor finished his shift."

"Do you believe him?"

"I am not entirely sure," Emelie answered honestly. "He had no reason to lie, we weren't accusing him or his employees of any misconduct or illegal activity. I just have the feeling he didn't push his dock supervisor too hard when he spoke to him; I'd have preferred interviewing him myself. He knew we had no legal reason to insist on a formal interview and made it clear that this was as much help as he was obligated and inclined to give. Essentially, it's not a definitive answer to the question of whether your friend arrived on the ship or not."

"Plan B then," Erica said.

"Indeed."

They left the office but didn't return to the car, instead liberating some spare hi-vis vests that were hanging up in the outer office before Emelie led them towards the docks themselves, Erica shoving her hands in her coats pockets, regretting leaving her gloves at the hotel. They walked in silence for a couple of minutes, focused for the moment on avoiding being run over by the port's hectic traffic, the hustle and bustle more energetic and noisier now that Erica was observing it from close range and not from the remote comfort of the Port Director's office. Finding a quiet space beneath a large crane, Emelie turned to regard Erica.

"Okay so this area is supposed to be a secure area, you saw the gate and the guard we drove in through. There's a chain link fence that surrounds the entire area and from what I understand, there is a small security force that patrols the perimeter and access points 24/7. For all that, there are a few hundred people who sleep rough here. Most of them shelter in the container storage area. Containers with goods in them are locked, customs seals on the doors. There are always empty ones though and these are put to use as makeshift shelters by the homeless who stay here."

"And the port authorities are okay with that?" Erica peered towards the lines of stacked containers just a few hundred yards away from where they were standing.

"No, but the effort of evicting them isn't deemed as a sensible use of resources. They aren't causing any damage and if you move them on, they simply manage to get back within twenty-four hours. Also, its seen as a source of cheap labor for some of the more unpopular manual jobs. Some dock workers... let's say they subcontract out work... paying a pittance, so the management here just turns a blind eye."

"Right, got it. Well, you are the liaison officer, you liaise, I'll watch as I'm just a perfect stranger here."

Emelie gave her a thumbs up which Erica didn't mirror, there was no chance she was taking her hand out of her pocket and followed the young officer towards the container storage area. Moving through the towering stacks, passing clear signs of inhabitation. Food wrappers, discarded items of clothing and other debris were like breadcrumbs scattered on the ground, a trail that Emelie followed until they came to a fairly open space and Erica could see maybe fifty people huddled against the cold, spread out between a number of open containers or stood beside old oil barrels that had been repurposed into fire pits. She hung back, Emelie striding forward confidently, raising a hand in greeting to a number of the migrants who nodded back in a familiar manner.

Soon Emelie was in animated conversation with a number of homeless people, moving from one to another as she began to trace her way through the crowd, seeking anyone who might have been working dockside on the date the ship had arrived. Not bored, but feeling the bitter cold now she was standing still, Erica paced along the edge of the open space, glancing about as she did. About fifty feet away, she spotted a Nordlander, his pale features setting him apart among the mostly African or Middle Eastern migrants, approaching one of the migrants. From his attire, he was a dockworker and Erica suspected she was about to witness one of these subcontracting events Emelie had mentioned.

There was something amiss however and it took her a moment to realize that the person the dockworker had approached was female. It was the layers of clothing that had misled her at first. Erica had supposed the work farmed out to the migrants would be quite physical and she was surprised he was approaching a woman about it. Then, as she continued to watch, the woman stiffly dropped to her knees in front of the man, and it began to make sense. Feeling like a voyeur and yet unable or rather unwilling to walk away, Erica glanced over to where Emelie was still locked in conversation before looking back towards the two figures at the edge of the plaza in this fabricated container city. The woman was fishing the man's cock out from the front of his work pants, probably no easy task with her fingers numbed from the cold. The emerging cock seemed a good size though it was hard to tell at this distance; that might have been a factor in the migrant woman's clumsy movements in freeing it.

Now that it was free, she lost no time in dipping her head over it, Erica watching as the pale skinned cock disappeared into the woman's mouth. Given the circumstances, watching a destitute woman prostituting herself in public and in the freezing cold to boot, Erica was taken aback by the evident enthusiasm the woman displayed as she went to work. Even at a distance, she could see the energy being put into the blow job and the man's pleasure was obvious, his head tilting back, mouth opening in slack jawed euphoria.

She was so caught up in watching, that the unexpected touch on her arm made Erica jump like a scalded cat. An elderly looking woman stood beside her and the expression on her face made Erica instantly contrite over having scared the poor woman by her extreme reaction.

The woman spoke slowly, the hesitations coming from a nervousness rather than a lack of skill with the language. It was Nordic, but of course Erica had no clue what she was saying and so she spread her arms, hands growing cold instantly in the frigid air, in a gesture of helplessness. The woman switched to French, a language Erica could identify but had no more command of than she did Nordic. She did recognize the word for 'Police' however.

"I'm sorry, do you speak English?" Erica pushed her hands back into her coat, shifting her feet so she could act as a barrier between the old woman and the sex act taking place behind her.

"You are with the police? With the other one?" she said in halting, accented English. The woman motioned towards Emelie still talking animatedly with a young man now whose dark, handsome features looked pinched from cold and hunger.

"Well, I am with her but no, no I'm not with the police," Erica answered in English, glad to be able to communicate with her. The woman's face crumpled with sorrow and Erica moved to pat her comfortingly on the shoulder.

"Hey, come on, is there something wrong?"

"My husband. I not able to find my husband," the woman answered, her heavily accented voice thick now with emotion.

"I'm sorry, is... was he here, in the docks I mean, with you?"

"Yes, yes but now it three days and I not find him. He not leave me, he not do that."

"Okay, umm well here, let me get his name, his description and I'll pass it on to my friend, I'm sure she'll look into it, she's a liaison officer with the police." She pulled out the notepad and pen Emelie had gifted her and began taking notes. Encouraged that someone was willing to listen to her, the old woman rattled off details, only Erica's ability with shorthand allowing to keep pace. Finally, Erica moved off, giving the now slightly mollified woman a parting comforting pat on the shoulder, the woman's thanks following her as Erica sought to rejoin Emelie. She'd timed it well, the young liaison officer waving her over even as she began walking towards her.

"Found something?" Erica drew up beside Emelie, throwing a cautious glance at the young man who'd been staring at her approach. At her accent, he gave her a big, toothed grin.

"American! I love American's," he exclaimed.

"Yeah? You know a lot of people from the US?"

"Of course," he said before proudly going on to list half of Hollywood's A-listers with relish. Erica quirked an eyebrow at this, not exactly blown away by Emelie's 'contact' or his knowledge of movie stars.

"Chima... Chima... Chima, forget that. Tell my friend what you just told me." Emelie had to wave an open hand in front of the young man's face to get his attention back on the matter at hand.

"Sure, sure, no problem. I was working when that ship docked, the one you asked about."

"And what makes you remember it? Must have been hundreds that docked since then," Erica said, still not convinced the excitable young man was a reliable source of information.

"Nothing. Nothing. I remember nothing about it. Same as all the others. Pick up cargo, drop off cargo. Sailors shouting, guys working on the docks shouting back. Same-same every day, every week."

"Jesus Christ," Erica muttered turning away.

"Chima... the other thing you told me," Emelie said, plucking at Erica's elbow to stop her from walking off.

"Oh yeah. Sorry. Yeah I did not see anything because I was working and when I'm working I have to concentrate... lot of dangerous things can happen here. People get hit all the time when they move containers or people fall into the water. That be plenty dangerous. People getting hurt, people dying... not me though, not Chima. I got my head on right, always checking my back..."

"CHIMA!"

"Sorry Officer Emelie, sorry. Yeah so I did not see anything but if there was a good-looking woman coming off that ship then one of the scouts for the Oshun club would have seen her."

"Oshun club?" Erica directed that towards Emelie who shrugged and instead of replying indicated that Chima should continue talking.

"It's a club in the city. Never been, way too expensive for me. Lots of pretty girls there, lots of guys looking to meet them. They got guys working the docks, the airport, all over. They keep an eye out for good looking women to work there, immigrants mostly but not always. Way I heard it, they got girls there from all over. If someone sexy sets foot on Nordland, these guys is to spot them."

Erica nodded, stepping away and inclining her head so that Emelie would join her. Before doing that, the cop pulled out a couple of bank notes, passing them to the young man who quickly made the money disappear before bestowing another massive grin on the two women.

"What do you think?" Emelie watched Erica's face, trying to see if this was something she felt deserved pursuing.

"The people who took Denisa wouldn't have done everything they did just to sell her off to some seedy sex club in the back end of nowhere," Erica said. "Sorry, I didn't mean that... I just meant they wouldn't stick her on a ship after the death and mayhem of her kidnapping just to off load her in Nordland. Still, if this Chima is right, there's a good chance one of the guys who spots for the club might have seen her. It's all I've got to go on, so it's probably worth a visit at the very least. You familiar with this club at all?"

"No, I'm afraid not, nor with whatever gang is operating it. I think I need to head back to the station, see what I can dig up on it before we turn up there. I'll drop you off at the hotel along the way, let you get some more sleep... and a shower."

"Sounds like a plan," Erica said. "Wait, before I forget, there's this." She tore out the page in the notebook, handing it to Emelie. "I met a woman, her husband's gone missing, I promised I'd pass it along to you."

"Thanks," Emelie said, glancing at the information before folding the sheet and putting it into her pocket. "I'll take a look, see if he's on file. Have to say though, Chima's not wrong. This place can be treacherous. There's every chance this man simply fell into the harbor water, got pulled out with the tide. I'll look into it though. Right, let's get you back to the car, if your teeth start chattering any louder you'll chip them."

"Seriously... it gets colder than this?"

"Erica, you have no idea," Emelie said smiling.

<<0>>

Emelie tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear and then leaned back in her chair, arching to give the stiff muscles in her lower back a much-needed stretch. The chairs at the station weren't exactly ergonomically friendly. What budget the department had was normally reserved for equipment and training that members of the department would need on the streets. Stab vests, batons and bullets would always take precedence over comfortable chairs or coffee machines that could make something halfway drinkable. She winced as she realized her ass had become numb from sitting in front of her computer for so long without a break. Standing up, Emelie wondered wryly if her battered chair predated even her father's time on the force.

Discomfort aside, her time going through police records at the station had borne some fruit. There was a business operating under the name of the Oshun club, the address was in a part of the city that Emelie wouldn't associate with a night-club, the other businesses in the area leaning towards warehouses, garages and the like. Tracking back through the files, there had been a few complaints regarding it, all claiming that it was operating as a brothel; however, according to the records no admissible evidence had been found to substantiate those claims.

Emelie had put a call into a friend who patrolled that area of the city, Maja, and from that conversation Emelie had discovered that the club was heavily populated with women that could loosely be described as 'escorts'. Since any financial transactions that occurred were strictly for the pleasure of spending time with the women, zero evidence of sexual favors being part of the deal, there had been no grounds for making any arrests. So far. Maja was able to give her a little more background on the club itself, describing it well run with zero call outs for assaults or robberies, the staff entirely consisting of migrants. Emelie was still surprised that such a club had been allowed to continue existing and had evidently operated under the radar, so she dug a little deeper.

City records showed that the money behind its opening came from a small number of wealthy Nordlandic individuals. Running her eyes down the list of names behind the club's finances made Emelie shake her head ruefully. It read like a list of Nordhaven's rich and powerful. She counted two city councilmen on the list and the brother of an assistant police commissioner. She also found a submission made by one of the councilors, as part of an application for a liquor license, extolling the virtues of a new business venture for migrants seeking to make something of themselves in this country. She understood then that any 'improprieties' associated with the club would be ignored for the sake of 'the greater good'. As a rookie, this would have appalled her, but she'd become more seasoned this past year, understanding that when money and power were involved, justice and the law sometimes took a backseat.

The last slice of information she'd gotten from her call with Maja was regarding the people fronting the business: West African's. They appeared to be an extended family, brothers, uncles, cousins... all working together. As such they tended to be clannish in their approach to other migrants. The 'spotters' used to identify potential 'staff' for the club were hired help, the family keeping themselves concerned with the club itself. Security, bar staff, DJs, management, even the cleaners... they were all related in some way. She hadn't had much in the way of dealings with them personally, her area of responsibility lay on the other side of the entertainment district, so all Maja could add was the name she'd heard in regard to the family running the club: Abrafo.

A Google search told Emelie that this was a Ghanaian name meaning warrior. She could have started through the records, seeing if this was in fact the surname for anyone in the city but she felt there wasn't much to be gleaned from doing that. Erica needed answers and if any were to be found, Emelie realized that it'd be at the club itself. Maya had given her the descriptions of a couple of key players in the gang, commenting that any of them could be at the club. It was a long shot, but the best they had.

She sat back down in the chair, starting to log off the computer when she remembered the missing person information given to her by Erica. Emelie glanced at the clock on the wall, she had things to do before meeting Erica at the hotel. Feeling a little guilty but reasoning that one night wasn't going to make a difference, she set the paper in the in-tray on her desk, deciding to complete a missing person's report tomorrow instead. Decision made, computer switched off, Emelie left the station, her mind focused on what she needed to do next.

Chapter Five: "Everything in life that's any fun, as someone wisely observed, is either immoral, illegal, or fattening" P. G Woodhouse

"No way."

"Erica, please, you have to, its necessary," Emelie said, almost imploringly.

"I'll freeze. I will literally freeze my ass off. There is no way in hell I am wearing that," Erica continued to protest.

The 'that' in question lay on the hotel bed, a burgundy-colored sequined mini dress. Emelie had removed her coat once she'd entered Erica's hotel room to reveal her own outfit for the night. A black satin midi dress, the thin spaghetti straps barely noticeable especially as anyone's eyes would be immediately drawn to the form-fitting silhouette as the fabric clung to Emelie's lithe, toned body like a second skin. She'd smartly accessorized with black heels and large white hooped earrings.

"Why? For God's sakes, it's not like I'm here to go clubbing. I'll go as I am, we ask some questions and leave. Simple."

"Erica, it will be the same as when we went to the port, only more so. Trust me, I've been doing this job long enough to know that these people don't talk to the police. Period. And from what I've heard about them, they aren't likely to be moved to tears by the story of a kidnapped woman. We need to move through the club like we belong, identify someone senior enough to give us the answers we need, then we can strike a deal. No offence, but looking as you do now, we won't even get through the door." She could see that her words were winning Erica over, the young American woman's bullish demeanor softening into grudging acceptance.

"Fine, but make sure the cab drops us right at the door. I want to be exposed to the cold at night as little as humanly possible."

"That won't be a problem," Emelie assured her, relieved that Erica seemed to be going along with her plan.

"Okay... Shit, I didn't pack for this, I don't even have shoes to go with the outfit, never mind the underwear," Erica groused. If she had to dress up, she wanted to do it right.

"It's all taken care of," Emelie said, holding up a bag. "I borrowed the outfit from a good friend, she's the same size as you. Shoes as well plus makeup and some jewelry."

"Can't knock you for efficiency anyway," Erica said smiling. She picked up the dress, took possession of the bag Emelie was holding towards her and retreated to the bathroom to get changed. Emelie spent a minute in front of a small mirror in the bedroom, checking her own appearance. She'd told Sven that she was taking Erica out for a meal and some drinks, she didn't want to worry him about where they were really going and besides, she wasn't sure how much of what was happening that Erica might be comfortable with her sharing with others.

Emelie had the distinct impression that Erica had been holding back, reticent regarding her experiences tracking all those killers she'd spoken of. Despite looking how she did, the sharp humor she employed, Emelie sensed a darkness around Erica, secrets and deeds that weren't meant to be brought into the light. Sven hadn't pushed, he was working a night shift anyway, based at the station as part of a tactical response team. He'd merely kissed her, made a comment about kicking the ass of anyone who'd try to get it on with his fiancée, and then left for work.

She glanced at her left hand where her engagement ring normally sat -- her finger bare; Emelie had left the ring in her jewelry box at home. She didn't want to answer any uncomfortable questions or let anyone in the club know more about her background than they needed to know. It felt strange to be without it, but she pushed the thought aside, rationalizing the decision to be what she needed to do.

With a sigh, she reached for her purse, she checked the contents one last time: lipstick, phone, some cash, credit cards and her driver's license. Nothing that would reveal that she was a member of the Nordland Police Service. It was skirting regulations not to carry her police ID whilst technically still on assignment, but if her purse was searched, she didn't want anything incriminating found. If anything happened, she could always call for assistance. She fervently hoped that it wouldn't be necessary.

The young Nordic policewoman turned at the sound of the bathroom door opening, Erica walking out. She looked gorgeous, the dress fitting her perfectly. The low-cut front accented Erica's full chest, the short dress complimenting her perfectly formed legs that were as pale and toned as Emelie's own. The silver dangle earrings that Emelie had lent Erica moved as she did a slow turn, the bright blue topaz stones that hung from them matching Erica's eyes so well. And just like that, the 'girl next door' guise that Erica had worn was gone, Emelie for the first time seeing how attractive Erica actually was when she wasn't jet lagged, face marred with a scowl. Her 5'6" figure stood taller now thanks to the three-inch heels Emelie had provided. The dress seemed to mold to the contours of her body as if the revealing dress's fabric clung tight to a wet body and Emelie couldn't but notice Erica's 37-22-34 shape. The brown hair was pulled back, showing off not just the sparkling earrings but Erica's smile as well.

"So? Think I'll make it through the door?"

"Definitely. Huge improvement," Emelie said with a grin.

Laughing together, the tension of going into a gang's club in plainclothes and without support making them a little giddy, Erica and Emelie emerged from the hotel, heading to where the cab Emelie had arranged waited on them. Neither noticed a lone figure standing just beyond the ring of light surrounding the hotel. Even the soft glow from the cellphone's screen didn't draw their eye as the figure held it up, panning it to one side as he tracked their movements.

As promised, the cab Emelie arranged dropped them right outside the address listed for the club. When Emelie had given the driver, of Middle Eastern descent from his looks and accent, the destination, his smile had slipped slowly from his face, eyes hardening as he concluded that he was transporting two women of low morals. Had he made any comment to that effect, Emelie didn't need her identification, she would have been more than happy for the opportunity to report him for harassment and conduct offences as a civilian. He had kept his mouth shut however and simply grunted his acknowledgement of the tip Erica included when she paid him the fare on their arrival.

If the location of the club had seemed odd to Emelie, the building it inhabited was downright strange. The red bricked façade looked like it had seen better days. Last century, she mused. The faded white painted letterings halfway up its three storied front announced it to have once been the property of Haavik & Sons -- Merchants est. 1927. An old warehouse, now a club and the only indication of its new employment was the two burly looking men standing like sentries beside what once had been a side door into the warehouse. The door itself was closed but the two women could hear the faint strains of music from inside as they tottered forward across a pothole strewn pathway to the door.

The men were both West African, as Maja had intimated they would be. At the sight of Erica and Emelie in long coats, hints of their dresses peeking from beneath them, one of the men rapped three times on the door and it opened up, Erica leading the way as she surged forward to escape the cold Nordic night air.

Emelie caught up with Erica a few seconds later, drawing to a stop beside her, a look of incredulity matching the one Erica wore on her face. If the outside of the club had been a nod to yesteryear, then the person decorating the interior had decided to carry that theme onward when he'd set to designing the club's aesthetic. It looked as if they'd stepped back into the sixties.

'What the...?' Emelie thought to herself.

The club was carpeted throughout, drapes hanging from load bearing pillars to soften the original spartan architecture of the building. Scattered through the club were sofas and small round tables designed to accommodate no more than three people around them, chairs positioned strategically about these tables. So far, so normal, she reasoned to herself.

It was the colors and patterns that sealed the deal, however, on this revival of the era of The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. Pea green, yellow, pink and orange were the primary colors. Floral or psychedelic the patterns utilized throughout. Clinching the ambiance was the music the club obviously adhered to. As they stood there, the opening notes of 'White Rabbit' by the iconic band Jefferson Airplane filled the expansive room.

"Not what I was expecting," Erica said looking around, in almost as much disbelief as Emelie.

"I agree," Emelie said, cocking her head to the side as she continued to take in the décor. She noted the clientele nearest her, a strange mixture that in a way made the Inter-racial Liaison side of her police role rejoice, to see the mixing of all these cultures under one roof. However there definitely seemed to be a theme to the interaction between the people she could see. White men, Nordic in appearance, talking to black women in the main. Black men talking to white Nordic women. It was early in the night but there weren't many more than a hundred people in the club, staff included, the expansive area feeling somewhat sparse and empty. Emelie instinctively knew that the number of patrons wasn't the key, it was no doubt exorbitant prices they'd pay that was. There was also a clear imbalance between the racial makeup of the women in the club, of the sixty or so there, maybe fifty were black.

"I don't think we're going to blend into the crowd as well as you hoped we might," Erica said, giving voice to Emelie's own concerns. Emelie nodded, still slightly confused by the composition of the clientele.

Grasping that just standing there would only invite unwelcome scrutiny, they crossed the dance floor to where the bar lay. A friendly looking barman, except for a puckered scar that marred his chin, leaned forward so he could hear their orders over the music. 'One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small. And the ones that mother gives you, don't do anything at all.'

"Two tequilas and... another two tequilas," Erica ordered. "I'm not drinking that wine of yours again... ever," she said to Emelie who was in the act of raising a hand in protest. The blonde cop relented though she wondered if recklessly hammering back shots of tequila was the most professional of decisions.

'But she's not the professional here. You are,' she thought to herself.

<<0>>

Erica leaned against the bar, feeling the warmth of the tequila shots lingering in the pit of her stomach. Despite Emelie's protestations, she'd joined her in downing the drinks, the blonde's face flushing pink as the alcohol had washed through her bloodstream. Two attractive young women standing alone at the bar, downing shots together, had quickly attracted attention. Just like they hoped it would. Erica was content to leave Emelie to handle the conversation when the first group of men had lumbered over, their eyes dancing over the tantalizingly clad bodies of the two women.

Erica had raised an eyebrow in surprise when Emelie's responses to the men in Nordic turned sharp and brusque. Erica had been around enough nightclubs in her youth to understand that the men were looking for some easy fun and, potentially, a quick fuck. It had been a while since Erica had been with a man, any man. Rufus being her last partner. And look how that turned out, she mused as she watched Emelie dismiss the men with an invective of Nordic. I guess they're not the ones we're looking for, she thought to herself.

She wasn't sure if the disappointment she felt twinge in her stomach was that the men weren't able to shed light on Denisa's whereabouts. For the first time in an age, Erica almost felt like she was enjoying herself. Emelie was good company, the club was... odd but the music and tequila were on point. Of course, as soon as she acknowledged that mentally, then the guilt rose within her, coupled with the ever present worry about her missing friend. Erica watched as Emelie dispatched a tall, good looking black man with a curt shake of her head. Looking at his ass as he strode away, she wondered if the disappointment had a different source.

Emelie turned back to her and reached for another shot that Erica had lined up on the bar behind them.

"Not your type?" she asked the Nordic policewoman with a little grin.

The blonde cop shook her head, though Erica thought she caught a little glance of interest from her towards the man as he retreated.

"No... not really," Emelie replied. "Not the people we are looking for anyway."

As the crowd continued to grow, Erica saw Emelie glancing towards a table in the far corner. It was subtle, but Erica was sharp enough to pick up on it. "What is it?" she asked, doing her best not to stare at the group of West African men sitting there, several women, both Black and White, draped over the surrounding seats.

Emelie didn't reply, simply reaching out to grab another shot of tequila. Downing the drink, she said, "Wait here."

Erica watched, somewhat bemused, as the young policewoman made her way through the crowd, casually weaving past groups of men who ogled her as she passed, Procol Harum's 'Whiter shade of pale' the soundtrack to her journey across the club. Reaching the table, Erica could see her engage the man sitting in the middle of the group, clearly the leader, in animated conversation. After a few moments, Erica saw her open her purse and hand him a picture of Denisa that she had given her back at the hotel.

When Emelie returned to the bar, Erica quizzed her as to what that was all about. "Who was that?" she asked, nodding her head towards the group. Emelie let out a long sigh.

"His name is Bediako... From the look of his entourage, I took a chance on him being the man we needed to see."

"Is he part of the gang? The boss?" Erica asked, suddenly attentive. Emelie nodded in response. "We talked... I... I asked about your friend. He looked at the photo, said he didn't know her. I couldn't get a read on him though, so I can't tell if he was lying."

"Just like that?" the American reporter asked. "He just said he didn't know her. What about asking the rest of his gang?"

Emelie glanced back towards the table, suddenly nervous as she realized Bediako wasn't among the party of people anymore. "We have to take it slow. I'm here unofficially and besides, if I just launch into questions, they'll all be unwilling to talk."

Erica couldn't disagree with that, she'd learned herself as a reporter how best to get people to open up to you and charging in like a bull rarely worked. She was just lifting her fourth shot of Tequila to her lips when the man Emelie had identified as Bediako appeared beside them. Older, fifty at least, he wore a fine tailored suit, sported an expensive looking watch, but one look at the flat, emotionless eyes he turned on Emelie and then herself told Erica that the businessman look was pure pretense. Emelie had it right, silks and Rolex aside, this guy was a hood.

"Ladies," he spoke in a baritone voice, he had an exotic accent that enriched even that single word. Both Emelie and Erica wondered how he knew to address them in English though neither wished to ask. Erica finished downing her drink and so managed to avoid responding, while Emelie settled for a cool nod.

"That isn't how I do business," Bediako said to Emelie. "Business is not to be conducted in front of women of that type."

"What type?" Emelie glanced over his shoulder towards the table he'd been at, looking at the small group of heavily made up women still fawning around the men still seated there.

"The type whose mouths are open almost as often as their legs," he replied calmly and without rancor. He signaled the barman to set the bottle of tequila and another glass on the counter and he topped up their glasses, filling his own which he then left untouched. "Now, let's talk business."

Emelie looked towards Erica, it was her friend who was missing after all. Erica spoke quickly, supplying the date, ship's name and dock number to Bediako. She flattered him slightly as she outlined their hope that his 'organization' might have observed someone matching Denisa's description on the day. Bediako didn't reply at first, instead he idly toyed with the photo that Emelie laid on the bar counter beside his drink.

"A simple enough request, what's in it for me?"

"I'm going to take a wild guess and say that the pleasure of doing someone a good turn isn't going to get it done for you," Erica said with black humor.

"I don't scare you, do I?" He seemed genuinely intrigued at this. Emelie's eyes flicked between the two of them as she felt her own pulse start to rise -- there was certainly more to the young American reporter than met the eye.

"Mister, you don't rate top ten on scary bastards I've had the displeasure of meeting the last couple of years," Erica said, meeting his basilisk like stare with her own.

"A favor," Emelie said quickly as an uneasy tension began to rise.

"Oh? No offence but..." He pointed to the women around the club. "It's not like I haven't other places to turn to for... womanly favors."

"Not... not like that," Emelie said, her face coloring pink as an image of his dark hand settling on her pale skin popped into her brain. "I'm police... I mean I'm a police officer. Do this and I'll owe you a favor."

He tapped a finger on his chin, looking from Emelie to Erica and then down to the photo of Denisa. When he reached inside his jacket suddenly, Emelie suddenly wished she'd come armed to this place. However, he only pulled out a phone, not a gun. Bediako took a quick picture of the photo, sliding it back towards Emelie.

"Give me a little time to reach out to some people," he said. He picked up his shot glass, raising in a salute before throwing back the tequila in a single gulp. "In the meantime, enjoy yourselves, drinks are on the house," he said convivially.

"You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have traded a favor with that guy, not for me. I appreciate it but I wouldn't want you crossing a line on my account," Erica said, eyes tracking the powerfully built black man as he walked away, working his phone one handed, lifting a glass of champagne that an attractive black woman passed him once he returned to his table.

The young blonde cop favored her with a little smile. "It's ok. Trust me. If it helps your friend, it will be worth it. Let's see what he says."

Erica nodded slowly, still uncertain, but willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. "Okay. Fine. Look...", she refilled their glasses. "To getting answers and new friends." They clinked their shot glasses together, Emelie echoing the toast and downed the shots before either of them could reconsider. Not usually fond of drinking spirits, the young Nordic policewoman found herself enjoying doing shots with Erica, there was something Hollywood about it all. The gang, the club, Erica with her American accent. It was a big change from her usual assignment with the Interracial Liaison team, and she was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

"Ok... looks like he's got something to say," Erica said a little while and two more shots later, nodding across the room as Bediako made his way towards them, two heavy-set men following him, clearly bodyguards or muscle.

Approaching the women, the African man glanced at Erica, his eyes travelling up and down her body with an appreciative grin before turning his attention back to Emelie. There was a flurry of Nordic between the two of them and even though Erica couldn't understand the words, she could see Emelie's shoulders slump. Not a good sign, she thought.

He grinned at Erica, reptilian eyes bestowing a sleazy look in her direction before he turned as someone called his name. A younger man, slim but bearing some resemblance to Bediako, waved him over to where he was clearly glad-handing a pair of wealthy looking white men who'd just entered the club. Bediako strode off, his two bodyguards trailing behind him. Emelie watched as he joined the younger man, recalling how the gang were all related to one another. 'Son, nephew maybe?' she thought.

"What? What did he say?" Erica asked, drawing Emelie's attention away from her appraisal of the young man near Bediako.

It was disturbing, and perhaps down to the tequila, but he reminded the young policewoman of Kofi. The face, the build, the mannerism, the confident swagger... She quickly shook the thought away and turned to face the reporter.

"I'm sorry. He said that no one matching Denisa's description came through the port."

A deep sense of anger and despair came over Erica as she processed Emelie's words. 'Fuck! I came all this way for nothing', she fumed silently. She spun back towards the bar, reaching for the half empty bottle. Her fingertips glanced off it, almost knocking it over, Emelie reaching out quickly to steady the tottering bottle before it fell over.

"Maybe we should go, call it a night?" Emelie looked at Erica, unable to imagine the frustration of the other woman and feeling helpless in that all she could offer was sympathy.

"Know what? This club's beginning to grow on me," Erica said after a minute's pause. She turned her face from Emelie, looking out into the club and its small dance floor. The patrons of the club had perhaps doubled in number since the women had arrived, but the expanse of the building allowed it to remain uncrowded.

Even as Erica watched the dance floor a fat white Nordic man, sweat gleaming on his scalp beneath a bad comb over, took a stunning looking black woman by the hand, leading her deeper into the club. He was twice her age and under any normal circumstance wouldn't have a prayer in pulling her. The ten thousand dollar suit he wore and the fake smile on his face told the true tale.

"Really? You like it here?" Emelie gave her new friend a surprised looked and wondered if she should have cut Erica off from the alcohol a couple of shots earlier.

"Loving the music," Erica answered, a smile working its way onto her face as Janice Joplin's voice entreated for someone to 'take another little piece of my heart now, baby'. "Come on," Erica said, swaying as she walked towards the dance floor.

<<0>>

Erica knew hanging on in the club, now that she had her disappointing answer, was a mistake. She knew exactly what sort of people frequented this place and from the few sly appraising glances she caught being sent her way, dancing here was like a doe shaking its rump at a pack of wolves. And yet, she didn't care. It hadn't been mere bravado when she'd told Bediako he didn't scare her. The mental tests that life had sent her way since she'd first caught the scent of The Graffiti Killer, her first serial killer, had nearly broken her on a couple of occasions.

But rising up, supported by her friends, she'd become stronger each time. Erica would never rate as dangerous as the likes of Arlene or Denisa, but she was no longer the innocent reporter caught up in her desire to find a name-making story.

She watched Emelie dancing, swaying to the sounds of the Mamas and the Papas and stealing a few appreciative glances of her own towards the young black gang member who'd been in conversation with Bediako earlier. Erica stepped closer, throwing an arm familiarly around Emelie's shoulders, leaning in so she could make herself heard above the music.

"Doesn't matter how they look. You need to remember that." Emelie looked quizzically at Erica, her blue eyes betraying her own level of intoxication. Erica pressed on, feeling a bit more worldly at that moment, despite their similar ages. "Take away the cute smiles, the sexy accents, the great bodies, the expensive suits... under it all they are hungry predators. These guys take advantage of people's base desires. Money and sex. If you get mixed up with them, you better remember you're going to be swimming with sharks." Erica left it at that, spinning away as The Doors 'Light my Fire' drew more people to the dance floor, mouths moving as they sang along.

As she swayed with the music, Emelie couldn't help but contemplate Erica's words. Was this what she was doing? Swimming with sharks? She was no longer the bright-eyed young woman who had graduated from the Police Academy, the one who wanted to dedicate her life to serving her community, the one who unquestionably desired a martial future with Sven by her side.

That woman was gone -- replaced now by a more mature, hardened, pragmatic version. But it was more than that. She had done things that she had sworn she would never do. The affair with Kofi, the pregnancy, hiding things from Sven, her fiancé.

Even after the events with the black youth in alleyway, she had tried her best to push those thoughts, those illicit desires from her mind. But here, now, with the best part of a bottle of tequila inside her and surrounded by handsome young black men, she found her self-control starting to waver. The sight of the young black man, the one that had spoken to Bediako, on the other side of the room, caused her to pause.

Was it because she still missed Kofi? Or was it something else, something deeper than that? Focus, Em... focus on your job... she chided herself as she pushed aside the turmoil in her mind, content for the moment to just enjoy herself. As she did, the young policewoman noted that Erica wasn't following the sage advice she'd laid at Emelie's feet.

One of the hulking black men who'd shadowed Bediako earlier had joined the crowd on the dance floor and Erica was leaning her back against him as they both moved to the sound of Mick Jagger's voice, his search for satisfaction not a problem Erica seemed to share as the large black man curled an arm around her, his hand pressing into her stomach, holding her closer still. Emelie wasn't sure if the lascivious look on Erica's face was provoked by the tequila or the man she was backing up against. Then she felt a hand settle on her hip, her head whipping to the right as the man she'd been staring at as covertly as she could manage moved to dance alongside her.

"Majid," he said, leaning in to introduce himself. Emelie's throat tightened as his dark face moved to within inches of her own.

"Emelie," she replied, throwing a glance to where Erica had been dancing. All she saw was the burgundy-colored sequins of Erica's dress disappearing from the dance floor in the direction of the bar.

"You okay?" She turned to see Majid following her gaze with his own. "Your friend must have gotten thirsty from all the dancing. How about you? Want to get a drink?"

"Sure, yes, yes please," Emelie said, her mouth and throat dry but not from dancing.

They'd found a booth against the wall, very much like the one Bediako and his coterie had been occupying when Emelie had first approached them. Soon Emelie was propped in the corner, Majid sitting with an arm around her, their sides pressed close as he kissed her throat in slow sensual movements. Her eyelids fluttered like a hummingbird's wings, the sensation of his thick, black lips on the sensitive pale flesh above her clavicle along with the champagne she'd had on top of the tequila was making her head spin. Spin in the best possible way of course. She was aware that Erica was close by; the last she'd seen of her, Erica had climbed onto the lap of the big man, his name was Adam or Abam or something like that. Straddling him, her dress hiking up her thighs, Erica had begun making out with the black guy, exhibiting a hungry passion that seemed out of character given the tragic backstory Emelie had on her.

Majid's hand slid over her knee, questing higher up her bare leg and Emelie's breath quickened at his touch. Instinctively, she opened her legs slightly so that his fingertips glided against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh as the palm of his hand brushed further up her leg, now hidden under her dress.

"Ohh, oh, oh... we should stop," Emelie whispered, her protest sounding feeble and unconvincing even to her.

The foraging mission his hand was engaged in brought it still higher up her body until Emelie squirmed in response to strong fingers glancing against the front of her sheer underwear.

"Ko- Majid, no, I-I... ohhh... oh, God," she stuttered as he circumvented the protective barrier of her panties, a thick, black finger probing past the outer pink lips of her pussy, discovering the wet heat that his touch had expedited in her.

"What's wrong?" The handsome young black man took his lips off her skin, his head tilting to look her in the eye even as his finger wormed a knuckle deeper inside her, causing her to gasp and clench tighter around the invading digit. "You looking for me to stop?"

"Nh-uh, yes... no... uhh... yes?"

"Or maybe you are shy? Privacy would be better?"

"Yes! I... I mean yes, privacy please," Emelie said in relief at the suggestion. 'If anyone saw me here... doing this... I would find myself in front of an ethics board at the very least,' she thought. That concern didn't stop her head from swaying slightly as Majid stirred his finger inside her, creating an explosion of intense sensations.

"Abam... Abam. Come on, we're going upstairs," Majid said loudly. This drew Emelie's attention to the other couple sharing the booth with them. Erica's brown hair was a little mussed from Abam's fingers combing through it and her mouth seemed a little puffy from the intense kisses she'd been trading with the broad-shouldered West African man. Majid led the way, the blonde policewoman keeping her head down and averted from the crowd they skirted, the fear of being recognized stronger now that she wasn't distracted by his exploration of her body. Erica and Abam brought up the rear, the brunette's slim figure seeming almost petite beside the bulk of the imposing gang enforcer whose hand she held.

They passed through a curtained exit, passing another gang member obviously standing security, before climbing a flight of stairs to the second level of the converted warehouse. The theme of psychedelic nostalgia ran rampant here as well, the floors covered in shag carpeting that the heels of Emelie and Erica seemed to sink into as they tottered along. Erica quickly came to the assumption that the closed doors they passed by were where couples retired once a deal had been struck. None of it bothered her overmuch. Not that she condoned the gang's actions, but it was a small evil against the type she normally found herself pitted against. Besides which, she hadn't known the touch of a man since Rufus six months before this and while this wasn't a holiday, it still offered her the opportunity of being able to fuck a guy without worrying about running into him again. It wasn't like Nordland was a place she'd find herself again anytime soon.

Majid reached an open door to an empty room, and the four of them disappeared inside, closing the door behind them. First in, Majid had laid claim to the large bed for himself and Emelie, leaving Abam and Erica with a giant pea green colored bean bag to work with. The two men lost no time, both starting to remove their clothing, eager to be done with the task. Emelie looked on, watching as hard ridges of muscle were revealed; the men's dark skin an antithesis to the lurid colors of the room's décor. She almost missed the fact that Erica was letting her dress fall to the floor, following the men's example. Emelie couldn't help but gape at Erica, standing there in black heels and lacy black G-string underwear and patiently waiting as Abam kicked his boots free to pull his pants off.

"Need some help?"

Emelie started, jumping back at Majid's words and ending up in his arms by doing so. Saying she was self-conscious at that moment would have been the understatement of the year, Emelie was way, way out of her comfort zone. Going to basically a bedroom with a random stranger, a stranger she knew to be a criminal. Upstairs from a criminal operated night club that was a front for a brothel. And the icing on the cake, finding herself in a room with another couple. Emelie's recent experiences had been eye-opening for her but this wasn't just a step forward, it was a giant leap into the unknown.

His hands found the zip for her dress, and he pulled on it, drawing it down slowly so that the tearing sound rippled out in an audible taunt to her better judgement. She should have stopped things then. But she didn't. She just stood like a doe in a hunter's sights, muscles quivering as fight or flight instincts battled for supremacy within her; letting him undress her while in front of her.

Erica and Abam had sunk into a clinch on the huge bean bag. Emelie looked on as her dress fell from her body, watching Erica and the black man clutching and grappling against one another, lips locking only to break apart to allow a gasp or moan free, then crushing once more in a passionate kiss. Majid started on the matching black bra and panties Emelie was wearing. The push up bra's clasp seemed to open at a touch from him, the thong appeared to melt from her body at his deftness, Emelie barely registering its removal as every graze and touch of his hands against her now nude body seemed to send a tendril of electrical current through her.

Erica was scrunched over, curled around Abam's lower half as they lay together on the bean bag. She'd taken his large black cock into her mouth, the feverish quality to her actions calmed now, the lovely brunette sucking contentedly on his length. Emelie looked at her new friend's face, seeing her as relaxed and content for the first time since meeting her at the airport. A spike of jealousy souring her stomach, irrational given Erica's missing friend and the comparative stability of Emelie's life, her job, her relationship with Sven. But Erica just looked so happy sucking on that big black cock and Emelie had reacted sublimely to that. Majid turned her then, so that Emelie's back was to Erica, facing the bed and Majid naked beside it.

He looked so much like Kofi, she found it hard to shake the confusion. All that had been left unresolved with him, the fact that she would never see him again before he was deported, it had to be the reason she was here in this room. The alcohol, the thrill of working the case with Erica and then this curveball of meeting someone who reminded her of Kofi. Those were the factors at fault here, the blame for this not falling on her. Despite what she had done, with both Kofi and the youth in the alleyway, Emelie loved Sven. She truly did. She loved him and she would make it up to him, she'd never stray again. Not ever, not after tonight. She moved past Majid and onto the bed, the handsome black man joining her there.

<<0>>

Emelie lifted her head to look up the length of Majid's body. Her lips might have parted company with his dark-colored cock, but her delicate white fingers remained wrapped around it, slowly pumping up and down its impressive length.

"I didn't... I mean I don't have any... you know..." she said, seeing the blank look in his eyes as he failed to follow her thought. "Protection. I don't have any. Do you?"

"No," he answered simply, before adding, "I don't make a habit of doing this, so I don't carry any."

Emelie knew that was a lie, but she still felt a flush of pleasure, imagining herself, this encounter, to be something special. Cheating on Sven again was a terrible act, and all the more so because she kept doing it, but if both she and Majid hadn't planned it, surely that lessened the guilt and wickedness attached to it? In a place like this, there would be a supply of condoms. Finding it though would mean stopping and going to look; she couldn't take her hand off his length, much less get dressed and leave to find some. There was every chance if she walked out the door, good sense would return, and she'd keep on walking.

"Okay, then you need to tell me when you're close to finishing," Emelie said, the black man answering with a slight inclination of his head. It wasn't a question of pregnancy, she was on birth control; it was a small attempt on her part to set some sort of limit to this encounter. Something she could delude herself with later on; imagining that she hadn't completely betrayed Sven, to prove that she had changed and learned since her time with Kofi. Emelie reluctantly released his cock, moving with graceful agility to throw a leg over his slim waist, her hands resting on his defined abs as she steadied herself to mount him. Emelie bit her bottom lip as the head of his cock first pressed against and then penetrated her pussy. Both sighed as slowly she began to sink onto his hardness.

Across the room, Erica lifted her own head from the meaty slab of hard black cock she'd been dining on, Emelie and Majid's joint exhalations drawing her attention. The sight of the young blonde Nordic policewoman beginning to slowly ride on top of the young black guy got the itch in Erica working overtime. She'd been deliberately holding off, contenting herself with sucking on Abam's cock; letting her need grow. Now it was overcoming the young reporter's entire form, her mind soaked in desire, her body physically aching for release. She gave one last twirling lick to the bulbous head before dropping a wink towards Abam who read her intentions with eager anticipation.

Before Erica could follow through, the click of the room's door being tried caught her attention. She turned her head to see the door opening quietly, a man stepping into the room quickly before shutting the door behind him. It was Bediako. The older gang leader turned the locking mechanism on the door with an audible click, ensuring that this 'private party' had no further gate crashers. With the sort of confidence that only age and experience can bring, he began removing his clothes. Assuming an invitation that hadn't been extended, Bediako was supreme in his confidence that his part in this gathering would be not be rebuffed.

She watched while he stripped down completely, only the gold of Bediako's watch, rings and chain offering any contrast to the very dark tone of his skin. He acknowledged Erica's stare for the first time since entering the room, giving her the same reptilian look he had before, emotionless. Desire, and he clearly felt it for her judging by the powerful erection he had, wasn't an emotion for this man. It was a basic physiological need. Like eating or sleeping, Erica instinctively felt that Bediako saw fucking as something essential, only the quality of it a factor he would influence. He moved to stand above Erica, still curled in Abam's lap.

"Boss," Abam said, respectfully acknowledging the older powerfully built man.

"Still not afraid of me?" Bediako stood stroking his black cock, looking down at Erica. Twice her age but fit. To stay on top, to ensure he wasn't toppled from his place at the head of the table by any of the monsters he called family, this man had kept himself in shape, remaining capable of defending himself. A monster, older, wiser and deadlier than any seeking to usurp him. She didn't fear him, but she respected him. And his big cock.

"On all fours," he said, not a request, a command. Erica shivered, nipples throbbing. Abam eased himself up to stand beside his boss as Erica took up the position on the bean bag. Bediako then circled around and presented her with his cock, already hard and throbbing with the pulsing blood that flowed through the snarl of veins that interlaced across its surface. She opened up, using just her mouth on him, head bobbing as she felt Abam sink onto the bean bag behind her. Then came the touch of his cock against her slit, a fleeting one as he lined up, was all the warning she got. Or needed. Erica braced herself as best she could, moaning on the inches of hard cock in her mouth as Abam's thick shaft began to work itself into her body.

Six months. It felt like six years since she'd felt the heat, the skin-on-skin sensation of blood engorged flesh moving into her tightness. A flash of Rufus's face skipped through her mind, but the shivers working their way through her body were all related to the cock inside her; not the man who'd sworn revenge on her. Abam held her hips, slamming forward into her with all the stamina of a young fit man. It took about a minute before her pussy yielded enough to allow over half his length into her but once it did, her body's capitulation came quickly.

Bediako cradled her face with a hand while she slobbered on his hard dick, small breathless gasps making spit bubbles on her lips as Abam worked tirelessly behind her. There was a momentary lull as Abam adopted a squatting position, striking down and forwards now as he forced his cock inside. His deep thrusts soon had her orgasm breaking free and Erica was forced to pause sucking cock in order to give voice to the pleasure.

"Uuuhhhgghhh," she moaned, slapping a palm rapidly against the green bean bag.

"There is nothing to compare to the sight of a beautiful woman climaxing," Bediako commented, tilting Erica's face so he could see it better, a finger beneath her chin. "And I believe he has warmed you up enough for me."

On the bed, Emelie had torn her eyes from Majid's handsome features at the sound of Erica orgasming. She prided herself on her fluency in English and the sight of the two large naked black men arrayed around Erica's pale form had her searching for an appropriate word. Stupendous, awe-inspiring, inconceivable... words she'd rarely, if ever, used but they seemed wholly appropriate now.

Distracted by the sight of so much hard, muscled, dark flesh, Emelie let out a surprised whoop when Majid twisted his hips, turning her onto her back on the bed in one smooth motion. He'd stayed inside her, now set between her toned legs that had curled of their own volition around his trim waist.

"Like watching my Uncle and cousin work your friend?" His dark eyes were fixed on her sparkling blue ones, and she sensed he was reading her more than she would have liked.

"I wasn't watching... I... uh," Emelie blushed, cheeks burning suddenly. It seemed odd to be embarrassed by that given everything else, but her reactions hadn't been exactly logical all night.

"Perhaps I should be more diligent to keep your focus on me," Majid remarked with a little grin. His hands found hers, fingers interlocking and then he pushed them onto the pillow either side of Emelie's head, pinning her to the bed. Wide eyed, she tugged experimentally only to find his grip was unwavering, easily holding her in place despite the strength of her trained, toned body. He had her attention now, and he kept it by starting off at a much faster pace than she'd used when riding him. His hardness cut a trail through the confines of her vaginal tunnel, nerve endings pummeled aside in a delicious display of strength and size. Hips still moving at a rapid pace, Emelie could only watch, open mouthed and transfixed, as his face descended down, down, down, until the end of his nose brushed her own. She was releasing small oufs and uhhs in time with his deeper thrusts, wheezing as he set her body and mind aflame. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, could hear the fleshy soundtrack of their black and white bodies slapping against one another. Suddenly, her climax became imminent, a knot of tension on the brink of unravelling inside her.

"H'ah, ahh, ahh, Ko... uhh, I'm... uhh... cumming, Majid, you're making me... uhh... cum," Emelie confessed in a panting rush, almost calling the man burrowing between her thighs Kofi in the heat of the moment. It felt so much like him, his size, his thickness, the dark color of his skin against her; her mind swirling in ecstasy, lost between memories of Kofi and the pleasure that Majid was drawing seemingly effortlessly from her body.

By now Bediako had taken charge of Erica's young body. He'd shooed Abam away with a single, level look, then he'd turned Erica onto her back, feeding his thickness into her gradually. The pleasure he got from watching the carnal need that twisted Erica's face was clear, slowing the pace as his cock sank into her; drinking in her frustration and need like some sort of dark carnal vampire. Eventually though he worked almost his entire length into her tight snatch, pausing as she fidgeted in anticipation on the bean bag.

"You walked into my club like a wild cat, but I think there's a kitten at your core. Let's see if I'm right," Bediako said, beginning to move in and out of her. Abam shifted to one side of the prone beauty, taking one of her ankles in a firm grip, splaying that leg out to the side. Erica filled one of her own hands with Abam's cock, pumping on it even as her body shuddered from Bediako's thrusts that grew ever more powerful as her body opened up under the force.

"Jesus... right, right there," Erica gasped as his cock found and beat against her sweet spot. Restrained by the men's hands upon her body, her eyes saucer-like as they drank in the arresting physicality of the two dark skinned strangers, Erica was only too happy to sink into the submissiveness that she enjoyed so much. She didn't care for or about Bediako and his petty criminal empire. All that matter for the span of time she would remain in this room was that her body got fucked and used as it needed.

"Please... uhhh, so close, ke-keep going," she whimpered. Bediako grunted, slowing briefly as he contemplated the squirming woman he was taking.

"I am never wrong, thirty years doing this, I can smell a wanton kitten a mile away. Cum on my cock then little slutty kitty."

He drove himself forward, spearing into her as if in search of her guts. Erica lost her hold of Abam's cock as she screamed, spasming into a blistering orgasm that had her humping wildly as her body lost all control.

Screams, grunts, moans... the room moved to a more intoxicating beat than those that had drawn the women onto the dance floor below. Erica and Emelie both cast aside their reservations and any remaining hint of reluctance that had shadowed them into Club Oshun. Guilt and the blinding obsession to rescue her friend was set aside for Erica. Confusion and contrition, torn between feelings of love for her fiancé and a confused mix of longing for a man she'd never see again, Emelie was giving herself over to her illicit, taboo desires; helped there by Majid's skills in bed.

"Oh, oh, oh my, oh my God... Majid... don't stop," the blonde woman wailed, her fingers clutching at the dark skinned man that was turning her world upside down.

"Need to, getting close, you wanted me to tell you," he said, driving in and out of her at a fever pitched pace. She wrestled with the temptation to let him continue. Each stroke of his big dick brought another climax closer. But she couldn't tell what would happen first, her climax or his.

"Pull out," Emelie whimpered reluctantly. There was a squelching plopping sound as his dark cock emerged fully from the snug confines of her pussy, liberally coated in her juices. Majid eased back up onto his knees, his hand furiously beating along the length of his shaft; good looks spoiled as he grimaced, on the edge of finishing. On an upward stroke of his hand, the first wad of sperm shot free, spitting from the tip of his black cock to arc over her crotch, landing on her washboard stomach, just beyond her navel. Emelie watched as he continued milking his cock, each stroke conjuring a steadily declining amount of sperm until finally the last weeping remnant was squeezed from the eye of his cock to hang from the shiny head. Her stomach had caught all of his gloopy white tribute, and she began to rub it against her skin, finding the thickness and volume of it remarkable.

Idly toying with her cum covered stomach, Emelie looked over to see how Erica was faring. Bediako was still between her legs, sweating now as he fucked the visiting American passionately. Abam lay on his side, fucking Erica's mouth almost as fervently as his boss was using her pussy. A choking sound and Abam's sudden stillness signaled his ejaculation. Erica gurgled loudly but Emelie couldn't detect any of the black man's seed being lost.

Emelie waited, fingers sticky with Majid's cum; watching for the moment Erica told Bediako to pull out.

"Do it... uh... give it to me... fuck... yes... give it to me... I need it, uh, uh, need it," Erica warbled loudly, clearly lost in her own ecstasy. Bediako let out a coughing grunt, slamming into the young American reporter with one final thrust that set Erica's firm breasts wobbling. Emelie raised a hand to her mouth in shock, her new friend had actually begged for him to cum inside her! Only then did she realize the hand against her lips was soiled with Majid's gooey seed. Seeing he was looking on at his uncle seeding Erica, she took a tentative lick, finding the taste very agreeable.

<<0>>

Majid had left the room briefly afterwards; Erica and Emelie feeling far too satisfied with themselves to move for a few minutes, content to enjoy the post-coital haze. Erica did register his return, a fresh bottle of tequila in hand and a fistful of shot glasses. She beckoned him to bring her a shot, her mouth feeling particularly viscid with the bulk of Abam's cum shot still lining it. The sensation of Bediako finishing in her left Erica with a warm glow in the pit of her stomach, a 'good steak and scotch' kind of tingle. She'd frozen her ass off, drawn a blank on her search for Denisa, but this trip to Nordland hadn't been a total bust at least. Majid passed her a shot which she threw back, holding her glass out for a refill immediately. Grinning, he topped her glass up again.

Bediako carried a shot glass over to Emelie who refused it with a mute shake of her head. The fifty-something gang leader simply shrugged and tossed it back into his own mouth, setting the glass onto the floor. He stood beside Emelie who was now sitting upright on the edge of the bed.

"So, Officer... how are you liking Club Oshun?"

"Okay, I won't make myself appear a fool by offering excuses for my behavior. What happened here was wrong, end of story," Emelie said, cross with her weakness and with his arrogant nature.

"Wrong?"

"Fine. I will give you my reasons then," Emelie said, finally looking up at him. "I had too much to drink and something about your nephew struck a chord inside me. What happened here was a ghost from my past skewing my good senses. It's that simple. I have someone. Someone very special. We're getting married soon and I love him."

"Well congratulations. Who is the lucky man?" he asked as he sat down next to her on the bed.

"Sven," she answered, wishing she hadn't as soon as she answered him. "Dammit, Em... you're revealing too much about yourself," she berated herself.

"Sven," he repeated. Emelie hated the way her fiancé's name came out of this man's mouth.

"Exactly. When we got engaged, he becomes the only person for me. That's something significant, something that can't be mocked." Emelie wished she believed the words she was saying as she tried to convey a semblance of sincerity in her voice. Something in the back of her mind realized that Bediako could see through her attempt. Nonetheless, he nodded at her words.

"Indeed, it is a significant step. I have a wife as well, children too. My organization is built on family. So, I agree, it isn't something to be mocked. Very significant."

Contemplating his words, Emelie was placated somewhat as he agreed with her, but a part of her couldn't help but wonder for a moment if his wife knew of the side 'perks' of his business.

"Still," Bediako said, "I wonder about the significance of what you are doing now."

Emelie was confused as to his meaning for a heartbeat before she glanced down and discovered that, while they'd been talking, she'd been toying with his balls and cock, totally unaware of her actions. She yanked her hand away as if scalded, looking up at Bediako in hopes he'd drop the matter.

No hope of that.

"Your friend over there," Bediako said, jerking a thumb towards Erica. "She's a convert. One of those people who, when they find their mission in life, throw themselves into it blind to the cost. I could see it in the way she takes a fucking. She's all in, no boundaries. You... you're obviously still working things out." He reached out for Emelie's hand and, for a reason she couldn't fathom, she allowed him to place her hand back on his semi-hard cock.

"My club, it's all about putting people with the object of their desires. I don't know about this ghost from your past, but I guarantee if my nephew reminded you of him, then I don't. Now ask yourself, was it really a memory that got you onto that bed? A few tequilas? Or is it you find yourself enjoying a little danger? Something taboo? Wrong? Something... black? Big and black?" Emelie was moving her pale hand again as he spoke, his dark cock swelling to its full impressive size as she did.

"If you are still working things out, you should go with what you like. It likes you, you can see that can't you?"

"Yes," Emelie hated admitting it but lying to him was effectively lying to herself at that moment.

"Perhaps you should continue to work things out then a bit longer," Bediako said, his hand coming to rest on the back of her head, pulling it down so Emelie could begin to suck on his cock.

"Not a bad idea," Erica said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, the tequila having caught the back of her throat. She gave a half smile as she watched the young Nordic policewoman begin to give the head of the gang... well, literal head.

A memory rose up inside her. Sitting watching old comedies with her father. They'd watched Animal House together and she'd laughed so hard when Dean Wormer had announced that 'fat, drunk and stupid was no way to go through life. In her case, 'fucked, drunk and obsessed by serial killers' wasn't an ideal life choice either. The alcohol helped though, a crutch for when the psychological scars that came with her self-appointed mission began to hurt. The sex was the same, both a bonus and a balm for body and mind. It worked, so long as she didn't lose control as she had with Rufus, it always worked.

"Come on then," she said, rising, taking Majid by the hand and crossing the room. Erica sat beside Emelie and lifted up Majid's heavy cock, licking around the head, down the shaft, tasting the last vestiges of his nut and Emelie's juices from his black flesh.

The light dimmed in the room, nothing to do with the bulb hanging from the ceiling, it was merely the shadow cast by Abam as he moved to join in, squaring up to Emelie. It was clear that he wanted to sample the delights the Nordlandic policewoman had to offer.

Emelie shifted between the two cocks, rapidly bobbing on one before shifting to the other. She felt so nervous, as if she thought at any moment the door would burst open to reveal Sven, catching her in this depraved act. Her hands tingled with stress related fear, and she found that it was only by gripping the black cocks tight that the tremble in her hands abated. A loud knock on the door made her squeak, a moment of madness as she thought her fears had become corporeal and Sven was standing outside.

"What?" Bediako barked towards whoever was now knocking insistently on the door.

"Sorry Boss. It's Mister Strindberg. He's just arrived downstairs. You wanted me to let you know when he got here," the disembodied voice spoke from the hallway.

With a regretful sigh, Bediako pushed a finger into Emelie's mouth and pushed down so that she released his cock. He stepped away, Majid and Abam obediently echoing him, the three men moving towards where their clothing lay.

"Get him a drink and tell him I'll join him in five minutes," Bediako called out. He dressed swiftly as did the others. Slipping his suit jacket back on, Bediako adjusted the cuffs and nodded to Emelie and Erica who were still sitting on the bed; still somewhat stunned and surprised at how the evening had turned out.

"Ladies, a pleasure. Young lady, I hope you find your friend. Officer, I hope we can continue our conversation another time. Soon." And that was all they got, no explanation or apology. The three men simply left the room, Abam closing the door behind him as he went.

"Well, that was unexpected," Erica finally said. Emelie looked at her, nodded and then began to giggle. At first, there was just a touch of hysteria to her laugh but as Erica joined in, real mirth took over Emelie's giggling.

"Gives a whole new meaning to 'Cum to Nordland'; you should talk to the tourist board about this place," Erica joked, getting to her feet and walking to where the toilet lay.

"Oh God, please stop," Emelie said, a fresh bout of laughter came peeling out.

"Wolves, skiing, ice fishing and big, black cock... Nordland has it all," Erica said in a sing-song voice, aping a TV advert voice over. She sat down to pee while Emelie continued laughing uproariously on the bed.

Erica washed up, rinsing her mouth in the ensuite sink, before rejoining Emelie. The young cop had gotten herself under control, wiping away a few tears of laughter as Erica sat back down beside her.

"Now what? What will you do now?"

Erica shrugged, having no real answer for herself, much less Emelie.

"I guess book a flight back to the States. This was a long shot at best. We've been looking for six months now and... fuck, it's a big ass world. She could be anywhere now. Alive, dead... no, no she's definitely alive," Erica said.

"Yes, I am sure you are right. And I am sure you will find her," Emelie said encouragingly.

"From your lips to God's ears," Erica said, using one of her mother's favorite sayings. "Well, I guess I'll head back to the hotel; you should get back to Sven. Maybe we can meet tomorrow for lunch? I doubt I'll be able to get a flight out before then."

"Of course, and naturally, I will give you a lift to the airp... ort." Emelie was interrupted by a knock on the door, turning to see who was outside even as she finished her thought.

The door, left unlocked by Abam, opened to reveal two strangers, both black, who stepped into the room quickly and without invitation. Emelie covered her chest and crotch with her arms, Erica grabbing a pillow from the bed to shield her own nakedness.

"The fuck?" Erica blurted. She recognized one of the men, he had been the first guy who had approached them when they'd entered the club.

"Help you?" Erica said, annoyed as the two men just stood there leering at them. The tall good-looking one, who'd approached them earlier, seemed to shake off whatever had kept him silent till then.

"Yes, hi," he said in English. "Majid said you were available now."

Beside him, his friend nodded emphatically. Not quite as tall as the first man or near as attractive, he seemed nervous. There was a sheen of sweat on his shaved head, and he rubbed at the back of his thick, bull neck in a twitchy gesture.

"Available?" Emelie was aghast at this thought, and she shared a look with Erica before turning back to the men. "No, sorry. We aren't who... we aren't what you think. I'm with the police. An Inter-Racial Liaison officer."

"Oh, that's just so sexy. I love a bit of role play," the man said, starting to unbutton his shirt, revealing a dark, muscular chest. "Yeah, you be the police officer and I'll be the bad guy who has you at his mercy."

"No. Seriously. I'll show you my identity card," Emelie said, casting around with her eyes for her clutch before she remembered she hadn't brought her ID with her. "Okay, wait, I can't show it to you, I left it behind at my apartment, but I am telling you, I'm with the police."

"Me too, look at my police baton," the guy quipped, pulling his cock free of his pants. Emelie saw the long, flaccid cock emerge and her objections stalled in her throat as her eyes widened in surprise. "Get yourself another room," the man said to his broad chested, bull necked friend, and went back to removing his clothes. The heavy-set man began herding Erica from the room, fingers poking at her so that she would start forward before turning to give him an angry look.

"Listen baldy, if you think..." The door closed on them and Emelie was left alone with the stranger.

"Sexy, sexy, sexy," the man said, switching now to Nordic. He plucked at Emelie's arms, overcoming her reluctance through physical touch, whistling in appreciation as her arms fell to her sides and he could see her properly.

She wondered if Majid sending the men to their room had been done in a spirit of generosity, an apology for the interruption. Remembering Bediako's almost dictatorial control of his gang, she decided that the men had been sent there on his orders; the gang leader probably setting an amusing test for the young police officer. Her decision would tell him something about herself.

It wasn't a question of making the right decision though. Emelie was still worked up from having Abam and Bediako's cocks in front of her and she knew she couldn't leave this room without some form of closure. Or satisfaction.

Without another word, the black man pushed her onto her back on the bed, lifting her legs and pushing forward till her ass rose in the air and her knees almost touched her shoulders. The stranger then pressed thick lips against her pussy, lapping at the wet folds of her labia and then bearing down so that his tongue burrowed inside her.

"Oh!" Emelie said in a small voice, lips framing the exclamation with a pursing 'O' that she held then in silence as he worked his tongue in and around. He moved up, sweeping over her clit and then back down across the pink lips of her pussy. He was good. Very good, she realized to herself. Unexpectedly, he then moved down further, hands moving to grip each of her raised butt cheeks, holding them apart as he now began working on the puckered flesh of her anal passage.

Her 'eeew' of surprised distaste became an 'uhh' of pleasure as the man worked his mouth like a professional, his powerful tongue entering her in a way she'd never contemplated. He was a consummate multitasker, using a hand then to toy with her sensitive clit even as he ate her ass. Emelie's moans grew in volume as he worked her into a lather, a small climax causing her stomach muscles to clench as he pushed two fingers inside her damp vagina.

"More than ready for me," he said, drawing the fingers out and running them across his lips. His tongue swept the taste of her clear from his thick sensual lips and he made a contented smacking sound with his mouth before getting to his knees. He steadied Emelie's legs, keeping them pushed back towards her knees, placing his long ebony shaft in line with her moist entrance. He went slow, both of them enjoying that first splicing of their crotches. Her pussy stretching to welcome him in, his cock submerging in her pussy, inch after inch of it disappearing into the sweet, wet heat of her sex.

He began drawing back, making slow pumping motions as he judged her ability to take him. Finding her equal to his size, he sped up a little, Emelie letting loose quavering gasps as he thrust a little deeper, a little faster.

"So deep," she moaned, her eyelids fluttering as waves of pleasure washed over her.

"That's the best way to open you up copper," the man said. "Yeah, thought you were taking me down, only now you will find that crime does pay."

Emelie was lost for a moment before she understood he was pursuing his role-play fantasy, blissfully unaware she really was a cop.

They fucked like that, locked in the same position for a full five minutes, the black stranger loving the way Emelie's face telegraphed every sensation she was living. Eyes going wide, lips drawing back in silent and not so silent screams of pleasure as his cock pushed her to the brink of a big orgasm, before kicking her over the edge with a concentrated burst of fast, hard thrusts. When she'd recovered, he turned her over. Emelie found herself resting a cheek on the bedsheet, her knees sinking into the soft mattress, her pale bottom raised high, ready for the next round.

She didn't have long to wait as the stranger climbed onto the bed, feet on either side of her as he squatted over her ass; sinking his cock back inside her in one smooth motion, her pussy now resized to accept him. He steadied himself with a hand on her back, pushing her against the mattress that began shifting against her breasts as he started fucking her hard once again.

Majid had been surprisingly considerate, so alike to Kofi in the way he'd coupled with her. This man, however, saw her as an escort, a prostitute, however high-class Club Oshan might envision the women working there as. As such he fucked her like he owned her. In a way he did, leasing her for whatever price Majid, or Bediako, had set.

He got a hand around her throat, pulling her up so she was on her hands and knees. The grip he held her with was tight enough to control her without being so tight as to hurt. His cock banged in and out, the man beating a path to her womb with each mighty thrust. She came again, her left leg trembling uncontrollably; whimpering under the exquisite pounding.

"Nasty, nasty slut cop. Do you dream about this at night? Dream about all the criminals using your body? Like to be in uniform while all those bad men come and fuck you? Long line of them, all for your needy pussy."

"Cumming," Emelie squealed, dropping to the bed, her arms weakened by pleasure as she climaxed again. In her mind's eye she saw herself succumbing to the gang who owned the club. Bediako and his men taking her over and over for their pleasure in a train of black cocks extending to the horizon.

"Fuck you're sexy. Not the usual type that work here, half bored out of their heads or just too doped up to care," he said in frank appreciation for the young blonde woman. "Best money I spent booking you for the three hours, even the extra to have you bare."

'Three hours?' Emelie's sex-soaked mind couldn't believe it. It was already midnight by her reckoning. She'd be staggering back to her apartment bed, to Sven, far later than she'd anticipated. Would he be able to tell she'd been cheating with multiple men that night?

"Getting... close..." he gasped, picking up speed again till Emelie's poor abused pussy began making wet noises as it lubricated and creamed along his pounding length. "Gonna... finish... in you... slut... cop..."

He suddenly collapsed on top of her, his big cock almost springing free of her body. With her honed reflexes, Emelie got a hand down to her crotch in time, palming his cock so that it stayed embedded in her pussy. She sighed contentedly as she felt him pump spurt after spurt of his hot seed into her.

<<0>>

"Now wait a minute. You don't get to shove me around. I'm an American citizen and a journalist, I'm not a fucking cow you can herd into a field," Erica spluttered indignantly in English as the blocky black man drove her down the hallway and through an open door into an empty room. He shut the door and turned to her, taking half a step back as he saw Erica standing, pillow still clutched to her front angry eyes visibly fuming.

"Sorry... sorry. My English..." he made a so-so gesture with his hand and shrugged.

"Yeah... well... rude is rude in any language," Erica said; he looked like he understood, or at least he looked apologetic.

"My friend... he bring me here. This, this time one I am here, yes?"

"Uh, yes," Erica answered. So, he wasn't a club regular. They stood there for a moment in awkward silence, the man glancing around the room. He saw something on the wall, smiled at her and walked to it. There was a small panel with buttons on it, he pressed one and abruptly the room was filled with music from the club below. They both winced simultaneously at the volume, and he scrambled to turn it down to a bearable level. The sweet sounds of Dusty Springfields 'Son of a Preacher man' filling the room.

"Good, yes?" Erica nodded and again silence fell between them. At least now she could understand why he'd appeared so nervous when he'd walked into Erica and Emelie's room. She spotted a wedding band on his left hand and she lifted her own hand, pointing at her bare finger.

"Married?"

"Yes, yes. Wife... uhhh. She is," he made a billowing gesture over his stomach. 'Fat or pregnant,' Erica thought. Then he sort of stomped on the spot, arms curved to his side, and she figured he meant fat.

"Wife... she... she see sex is... work. Yes, sex is work," he grinned as Erica nodded. "She not like to work." She couldn't help it, a snort of laughter escaping at his description. That kind of made her mind up for her. She was horny, he was here and now it had a kind of 'public service' feel to it.

"Fine, fine, so let's see what we are working with." Erica set the pillow to one side and then mimicked that he should remove his pants. He grinned and immediately set to opening the belt and buttons on his pants, whipping them down with the sort of flourish reserved for a magician revealing the rabbit at the end of his trick.

"Oh... shit," Erica said as the club-like black cock was revealed, swinging like a pendulum between his legs. "Yeah, that looks like it will take a lot of work." His face creased in confusion and Erica didn't feel like trying to explain so she just indicated for him to remove the rest of his clothing. Jesus, he was built like a tank. Not gym fit, just muscled by nature. Slabs of hard looking pecs, biceps, triceps, and his neck thick with overdeveloped muscles.

It was her turn to herd him, Erica walking over, lifting his cock and using it like a tow rope to guide him toward the bed. The weight and girth of his cock had her pussy trembling with gluttonous desire. Her touch had been enough to send blood coursing into it, the impressive cock becoming troubling in its scale. Erica came to a stop at the edge of the bed, taking a moment to run her hands over his body. He shivered at her touch, dark nipples growing as hard as her own pink ones already were.

"Erica," she said, "from America."

"Adama," he said, touching his chest. "Cote d'Ivoire."

Erica let her hand trail down over his stomach, looking up into his face. "I'm going to suck your dick now Adama." She slowly sank down, her hands moving across his tree trunk thick thighs until she was on her knees in front of him. Poor English or not, he knew what she was about even before her lips touched his big cock.

"Oui, mmmmh, tres bien," he said, fingers smoothing Erica's brown hair. The size of his cock was a serious challenge, Erica choking as she tried to take it in her mouth. Not wanting to strain her jaw, she opted to slurp along its length, using the trail of spit she left on it as a lubricant for the two hands she needed to stroke it properly. He was hard as a rock, moving his hips lightly, sliding the beast of a cock through her soft grip and over her lips and tongue. She hadn't paid much heed to his scrotum, his cock had really demanded her attention, but as he moved it swung to hit her hand, and she wondered how much cum he had backed up in there due to his wife's reluctance.

"Oh wow, your wife fucked up letting this beast loose," Erica moaned, pushing her face against the base of his cock, pink tongue flickering across his heavy balls. Adama groaned, fingers clenching in her hair. He tugged on her hair, and Erica rose smoothly to her feet. He'd been sweating earlier with nerves, the sheen on his forehead now was more about trying to restrain himself.

"Jesus," she said nervously. The submissive inside her though couldn't let things lie with that.

"I am not your wife," she said slowly, Adama nodding that he followed her.

"You... you need to fuck me hard." Erica tried to remember her French from high school. "Umm, pareil que les chiens... same as dogs. Tu me possedes... own me, understand?" He was nodding again, something changing behind his eyes.

"Comme si tu me detestais... like you hate me. Yes?"

"Oui, yes I understand. Ton corps pour mon plaisir." Erica translated that as 'your body for my pleasure' and she nodded. Language barrier overcome she smiled and then he had her by the throat. The bumbling gentle giant had disappeared in a flash. Henpecked by his wife for years maybe... there was some well of pent up aggression inside him and Erica had tapped into it. God help her.

Arms that were freakishly strong picked her up, posing her at the end of the bed on all fours, her knees on the edge. Adama pushed his horse cock into her, heedless of the high-pitched shriek it tore from her as he did it. He set to fucking her without mercy. Size and power were his strengths, and he used them effectively. Erica collapsed half on her side under the weight of his thrusts, his cock triggering an orgasm in a dozen seconds after entering her.

"You love it," Adama said in halting English.

"Yes, YES, YES," Erica yelped.

"Say it."

"I love it, I love it," she moaned, the big black man powering on.

Steppenwolf was now blaring from the club below, 'heavy metal thunder' an apt description for the fucking Adama was unleashing on her. He held her in place, her body a sheath for the long sword of his cock. He seemed to have taken the prompt of 'like dogs' literally, fucking her like a bitch in heat. Hard, fast strokes that set Erica into non-stop moaning, fearing the power of his body would loosen her teeth with the powerful impacts.

Adama stood up, still buried inside her and turned, leaving Erica now sitting on his cock. He sat on the edge of the bed, a drooling, squealing white girl impaled on his thick shaft. He began lifting her up and down, Erica cumming again, juddering on his cock that seemed better suited to some farmyard animal. After that third orgasm, she moved under her own steam, trying to set a more sedate pace which he allowed, dark hands groping her pink-capped tits.

'In the daytime Mary Hill was a teaser, come the night she was such a pleaser,' the lyrics to Cherry Hill Park reached Erica's ears. The changing of songs were her only way to mark the passage of time aside from her orgasms. But since they were coming thick and fast, she could hardly keep track based on them alone.

He turned her, clutching her slender body tight while he whipped his cock in and out of her, Erica squealing in ecstasy as his big hands gripped her ass, slamming her onto his cock.

"Fuck... Jesus, Jesus help me. You're a bull, a fucking black bull," Erica sobbed.

"Taureau reproducteur," he grunted, understanding something of what she was saying. Erica didn't recognize the French but 'reproducteur' was easily figured out.

"Oui, oui, uhhhhhh, cumming," Erica wailed. He threw her onto her back, pinning her legs to either side. Adama was perspiring heavily now, teeth gritted and gleaming behind lips stretched into a grimace.

'Under my thumb is a squirming dog who's had her day, under my thumb, a girl who has just changed her ways' sang Mick Jagger as Adama pounded away into Erica's pinned body.

English was a challenge, never mind her rusty French, but the submissive in her wanted to play a final hand, to bring the beast out in the man fucking her.

"Impregne-moi... uhhh, Adama, impregne-moi... knock me up baby, gimme a baby, put your black baby in me, uh, uh, uh... you sexy black motherfucker."

"Petit lapin... little white bunny... so sexy... so sexy. Say again, say to me again."

"Impregne-moi, cum in me, please, please, do it, do it," Erica begged.

He came as powerfully as he fucked, bucking on top of her, Erica cumming one last time as he pounded his ejaculation deep into her, the process seeming to last for an age as he shed himself of perhaps months of sexual need. He collapsed on her, kissing her forehead as both their hearts began to return slowly to a normal rhythm.

"Holy. Shit. You almost broke me," Erica said in a lazy drawl, running a finger over his dark skin, pushing rivulets of sweat together. She wondered if Emelie was done by now, Erica needed to get back into the other room to collect her clothes. She tried to shift from under the big man's bulk. They'd been lying entwined now for over ten minutes, his cock soft but still filling her tight pussy. Her effort to free herself made the cock inside her twitch with renewed life.

"Again. We go again," Adama grunted, seizing her by the throat once more.

Chapter Six: "A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water." -- Carl Reiner.

Chima tried to stay awake. He was so very cold and the metal floor he was lying on was uncomfortable enough that fighting sleep shouldn't have been an issue. But the blow he'd taken to the back of his head had knocked him out for a time and since regaining consciousness, he found he was struggling to stave off the inky darkness.

He was aware that he was in a van and that it was moving. He hadn't been hit so hard that his brain had stopped working. He just had no clue where he was or why. What he did know was that whoever had placed him in the van weren't nice people, the throbbing of his skull and the cable ties securing his wrists, evidence of that.

The van turned a corner sharply, sending the young black man tumbling across the floor with a yelp. From up front, behind a solid looking panel, Chima thought he could hear the muffled laughter of the driver.

He'd always prided himself on his sense of self preservation, boasting of possessing eyes in the back of his head. Avoiding the dangers associated with laboring at the port or the sad inevitability of one of the other homeless people he lived among trying to steal what little money he'd earned. That someone had managed to ambush him, to bundle him into the back of a van. It hurt his self-esteem as much as his throbbing skull. 'Never again', he vowed to himself silently; if he got out of this, he'd never leave himself open and vulnerable again.

He had no watch and the cheap pay-as-you-go cell phone he carried had been taken by whomever had kidnapped him. That meant he had no idea of the time. It had been dark, the evening time in Nordland got dark early this time of year when he'd been jumped. Since his stomach wasn't complaining of hunger yet, he supposed it was still the same night, maybe midnight?

Not knowing the time would not do him any good, but at least it might help him figure out where he was. Supposing he'd been driven for most of the time he'd been knocked out, he could be a hundred miles or more from the port right now.

The van pulled to a halt and Chima could make out the crunch of snow under the tyres before it stopped moving. He pulled himself into a crouch, waiting for the doors to open. Like a spring waiting on release, he set himself in place to leap to his freedom. Hands restrained, running away was basically his only option. Even if his hands had been free, Chima saw himself as a lover, not a fighter.

He waited, one minute, then two. Finally, the doors opened with a crash, and he thundered forward heedless of who or what might be in front of him, simply lowering his head like a bull.

His path to freedom was blocked, Chima running full tilt towards an unseen arm holding a steel flashlight. It struck him a blow on the top of his head as he reached the doorway. Not as vicious a strike as the one he'd been dealt earlier but enough that he stumbled as he exited the van, landing face first onto the snow-covered earth.

That same flashlight then turned its beam full into his face, blinding him as he was rolled onto his back courtesy of someone's boot on Chima's side.

A low moan of pain and desperation escaped his lips at this treatment, the moan rising as the flashlight flickered away to now reveal two men standing over him, masked and armed.

The two figures looked down on him, one carrying a shotgun in one hand, the flashlight in the other. The second figure had a crossbow, the crude weapon looking quite sophisticated with a laser pointer and telescopic sights mounted to its frame. The men were dressed head to toe in winter camouflage; not cheap looking either, military or high-end hunter apparel if Chima was any expert judge which he wasn't. African winters hadn't prepared him for Nordland, but he recognized expensive goods when he saw them. Even the faces of the men had been hidden with a nod to the elements, their identities concealed beneath white ski masks.

"Get up nigger," one figure spoke, the one carrying the bow. The one who'd kicked him onto his back. Chima could identify him by his accent as a native Nordlander. He got to his feet, feeling the slow seep of blood on his face, a cut on his scalp from the escape attempt.

"You understand me? You know what I am saying," the same man continued. Chima thought about playing dumb, saw no profit in it and so just nodded.

"Good. Very good. Now you listen up. You and us, we're gonna play a game. You know how to play hide and seek?"

'Mad men, I've been taken by madmen,' Chima thought but he just nodded, hoping to humor them. Who drags someone into the middle of nowhere to play a children's game? And it was the middle of nowhere, he couldn't see a light anywhere except for the stars in the sky. They must have driven to the north of the city to end up somewhere so remote.

"Very good." The man leaned down, his free hand suddenly holding a wicked looking knife that he used to cut the cable tie from around Chima's wrists. "Here goes then, we will count to two hundred and then we'll come and find you. Isn't that simple? Now, best get to running."

Chima shook his head, trying to clear it but the other man just took it as a sign of refusal. Chima's eyes went wide as the man pumped a shell into the shotgun, the click-clack as it was chambered, sounding bloody unnerving. More so when it was then leveled at the black youth's face.

"He said, get to running."

Chima ran. He didn't think about directions, just running towards where he was currently facing. In the distance, the moon's illumination revealed a black expanse that must have been trees. A forest was a good place to hide, he figured.

The snow was knee deep and after a couple of hundred yards of wading through it, he was already exhausted. Poor diet and a lack of exercise had sapped him of the energy levels a young man like him should have possessed. Chima looked behind him, seeing the white panel van properly for the first time, but he couldn't see anyone standing beside it.

He slowed down, barely moving as he searched about himself, looking for the men, for movement. Nothing. Had it just been some cruel joke, an attempt by men of low character, racists, to humiliate and frighten him? Chima came to a stop, leg muscles burning after the effort. Still nothing to see.

"Run!" The voice came from a distance, his tensed body reacting to it like he'd been shot.

"Who are you?" Chima yelled into the night, eyes darting left, right, straining to see.

"Run." This time a whisper, almost in his ear. Chima ran, lungs bursting with the effort, the dark forest filling his horizon as it loomed ever closer. Safety, sanctuary it seemed to promise.

Barely fifty yards from the first spruce trees, a figure rose from the snow in front of him.