17. The Bleeding Stage

Belovaria in winter was a country carved from ice and silence.

The plane touched down at the capital's single airport, a relic of the Soviet era with cracked runways and a terminal building that looked as though it had not been renovated since the Cold War. Irina descended the steps onto the tarmac, her breath crystallizing in the frigid air, and looked out at the flat, snow-covered landscape that stretched to the horizon. Somewhere out there, perhaps a hundred kilometers from where she stood, was the Valdrak Estate. And somewhere inside that estate, if the records were accurate and if she was still alive, was Mira Danovich.

Katya and Sloane were behind her, their coats pulled tight against the cold. They had spent two weeks preparing for this journey, poring over the documents from Rivas's briefcase, coordinating with Kostova's office, and assembling the resources they would need. The prosecutor had been reluctant to authorize an operation in Belovaria, a country with no extradition treaty and a government that was notoriously hostile to Western law enforcement. But the evidence was compelling, and the political pressure back home was intense. The Westmore case had made headlines for weeks, and the public was demanding action. Kostova had secured a limited cooperation agreement with the Belovarian authorities, enough to get them into the country without being arrested at the border.

But the agreement came with conditions. They were not authorized to conduct any law enforcement activity. They were not authorized to carry weapons. They were not authorized to enter private property without permission. They were officially classified as "observers," there to gather information and report back. If they found evidence of trafficking activity, they were supposed to contact the Belovarian police and wait for them to act.

Irina had no intention of waiting.

"The contact is supposed to meet us at the airport," Sloane said, checking her phone. "Kostova said he's a former Belovarian intelligence officer who now works as a fixer for Western journalists and NGOs. He knows the country, knows the right people, and most importantly, knows how to keep his mouth shut."

"What's his name?" Katya asked.

"Dmitri. Just Dmitri. He doesn't use a surname."

The fixer found them in the arrivals hall, a wiry man in his fifties with a weathered face and eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. He wore a heavy military-surplus coat and smoked a cigarette that he did not bother to extinguish, despite the no-smoking signs posted everywhere.

"You're the girls from Columbia," he said, his English accented but fluent. "The ones who brought down the Westmore network. I've read about you."

"Then you know why we're here," Irina said.

"Kostova briefed me. You're looking for a Krovian girl, sold to the Valdrak Estate about a month ago. You want to confirm she's there and, if possible, get her out." Dmitri took a long drag on his cigarette. "I should tell you right now that what you're planning is impossible. The Valdrak Estate is owned by a man named Gregor Valdrak. He's one of the most powerful oligarchs in Belovaria. His security force is larger than the local police department. His connections go all the way to the presidential palace. If you try to break into his estate, you will be caught. And if you're caught, you will disappear."

"We're not planning to break in," Irina said. "We're planning to get invited."

Dmitri raised an eyebrow. "Invited?"

"Valdrak is a buyer. He purchases girls from the Eastern Consortium. That means he has a relationship with someone in the supply chain. If we can pose as representatives of a new trafficking operation, one that's looking to expand into the Belovarian market, we might be able to get a meeting with him. Once we're inside, we can confirm Mira's presence and figure out a way to extract her."

The fixer was silent for a long moment. Then he laughed, a short, humorless sound. "You're either insane or very well-informed. What you're describing is a classic infiltration operation. It takes trained intelligence officers months to plan something like that. You're three teenagers with no backup and no official support."

"We have support. We just can't use it until we have proof that Mira is there."

"And if you get caught?"

"We won't get caught." Irina met his eyes. "Will you help us or not?"

Dmitri took another drag on his cigarette, then crushed it under his heel. "I'll help you. But not because I think you'll succeed. I'll help you because I want to see the look on Kostova's face when she has to explain to her superiors how three teenage girls pulled off an operation that her entire task force couldn't manage."

The Valdrak Estate was a fortress disguised as a palace. It sat on a hill overlooking a frozen lake, its stone walls and wrought-iron gates suggesting a medieval castle that had been renovated by someone with more money than taste. Guard towers flanked the entrance, and security cameras monitored every approach. The grounds were patrolled by men with dogs, their breath steaming in the cold air.

From their observation point in a grove of bare trees on the opposite hill, Irina studied the estate through a pair of binoculars. "How many guards?"

"At least twenty on the perimeter," Dmitri said. "More inside. Valdrak is paranoid. He's made enemies over the years, and he knows that the Westmore case has put pressure on the trafficking networks. He'll be on high alert."

"What about the girls? Where would he keep them?"

"There's a separate building behind the main house. It used to be a guest house, but Valdrak converted it into private quarters for his... acquisitions. If your Mira is here, that's where she'll be."

Irina focused the binoculars on the guest house. It was a smaller version of the main building, two stories high, with barred windows and a single door that looked as though it could withstand a battering ram. Getting inside would require more than an invitation. It would require a miracle.

"We need to know his schedule," she said. "When he leaves the estate. Where he goes. Who he meets. If we can intercept him somewhere outside the walls, somewhere he doesn't have an army of guards, we might be able to approach him."

"That's a better plan," Dmitri said. "Valdrak has a weakness. He's a gambler. Every Friday night, he visits a private casino in the capital. It's an exclusive establishment, members only, but he always brings a small entourage. If you can get inside the casino, you might be able to arrange an introduction."

"How do we get inside?"

"Leave that to me. I know a man who owes me a favor."

The casino was called the Golden Bear, and it occupied the basement of a hotel that had once been the finest in Belovaria. Now it was a faded relic, its velvet curtains threadbare, its chandeliers missing half their crystals. But the clientele was still wealthy, and the games were still high-stakes. Gregor Valdrak sat at a private table in the corner, a stack of chips before him, his face a mask of concentration as he studied his cards.

He was not what Irina had expected. She had pictured a monster, someone whose cruelty would be visible in his face. But Valdrak was a handsome man in his forties, with dark hair and a cultured manner that suggested an education at a European university. He spoke with a faint accent, his voice low and pleasant. If she had met him at a party in Greyhaven, she would have found him charming.

Now she found him terrifying.

"The introduction is arranged," Dmitri murmured, appearing at her elbow. "A business associate of Valdrak's will present you as representatives of a new trafficking operation based in the southern islands. You're looking to expand into the Eastern markets, and you've heard that Valdrak is a man who appreciates quality merchandise."

"Will he believe us?"

"The associate has been paid a great deal of money to vouch for you. Whether Valdrak believes you depends on how well you play your part." Dmitri looked at her, his expression serious. "This is the moment, Miss Volkov. If you can't convince him, the operation is over. If you can, you might get close enough to find your friend."

Irina straightened her dress, a designer gown that Helena Wallingford had purchased for her and that she had kept, with a certain bitter irony, for just this occasion. The diamonds were gone, returned to the federal authorities as evidence, but the dress still fit her perfectly. She looked like exactly what she was pretending to be: a young woman who had made her fortune in the trafficking trade and was looking to expand her operations.

"Let's go," she said.

The introduction took place in a private room off the main casino floor, a space furnished with leather chairs and a bar stocked with expensive liquor. Valdrak was already there, seated in the largest chair, a glass of vodka in his hand. He looked up as Irina entered, and his eyes swept over her with the same assessing quality she had seen in Helena Wallingford, in Lars Vandermeer, in every buyer who had ever looked at a girl and seen a price tag.

"You're the southern representatives," he said. "You're younger than I expected."

"Age is not a barrier in this business," Irina said, taking the chair across from him. "What matters is results. My organization has been operating in the southern islands for three years. We've developed a network of suppliers, transporters, and buyers that extends across four continents. We're looking to expand into Belovaria, and we've heard that you're the man to talk to."

"Who told you that?"

"Mutual acquaintances. People who value discretion as much as you do."

Valdrak studied her for a long moment. Then he smiled, a cold expression that did not warm his eyes. "You speak very confidently for someone who has just arrived in my country. But confidence can be faked. What proof do you have of your organization's capabilities?"

Irina opened the briefcase that Katya had prepared and removed a set of documents. They were forgeries, created by Kostova's team based on the records from the Westmore case, but they were good forgeries. Transaction records. Shipping manifests. Photographs of merchandise. Everything a real trafficking operation would use to demonstrate its bona fides.

Valdrak examined the documents, his expression unreadable. "Impressive. You've moved a significant volume of merchandise. Your prices are competitive. Your network seems well-established." He set the papers aside. "But there's something I don't understand. If your operation is so successful, why do you need me?"

"Because the southern markets are saturated. Competition is increasing, and prices are falling. The Eastern markets, on the other hand, are underserved. There's a demand for high-value merchandise that isn't being met. We want to be the ones to meet it. And we need a local partner who knows the territory."

"And what would this partnership entail?"

"Access to your network of buyers. Your distribution infrastructure. Your security arrangements. In exchange, we offer a steady supply of premium merchandise. Young, healthy, properly conditioned. The kind of product that commands top prices."

Valdrak swirled the vodka in his glass. "You're offering a great deal. Almost too good to be true." His eyes narrowed. "You're not law enforcement. I can always tell. There's something about the way you carry yourself that doesn't fit."

"I'm not law enforcement. I'm a businesswoman."

"A businesswoman." He smiled again, and this time there was something predatory in it. "Then let's discuss the terms of our arrangement. But first, I'd like to show you something. A demonstration of the kind of merchandise I'm interested in."

He stood and gestured for her to follow. Irina's heart was hammering, but her face remained composed. She followed him out of the private room and down a corridor to a door guarded by two men. Valdrak nodded to them, and they stepped aside.

The room beyond was a bedroom, furnished in the same faded opulence as the rest of the casino. And on the bed, dressed in a silk gown that was clearly not her own, sat a girl.

She was young, perhaps fifteen, with dark hair and dark eyes. Her face was blank, her eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance. She did not look up when they entered. She did not move. She looked like a doll.

"This is one of my acquisitions," Valdrak said. "From the Eastern Consortium. She's been with me for six months. Fully conditioned. Completely compliant. She does whatever she's told, and she does it without complaint. This is the kind of merchandise I'm interested in. Can your operation provide this level of quality?"

Irina looked at the girl, and she felt the rage burning in her chest. But her voice was steady when she spoke. "We can. Our conditioning program is state-of-the-art. The girls we produce are indistinguishable from this one."

"Good. Then we may have a basis for partnership." Valdrak turned away from the girl as though she were a piece of furniture. "I'll have my people draw up the initial agreements. We'll meet again tomorrow to discuss the details."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Valdrak."

"Thank me when the deal is done, Miss Volkov. Business is business. Sentiment has no place in it."

Back in the hotel room, Irina sat on the edge of the bed and let herself feel what she had been suppressing. The rage, the horror, the sickening familiarity of seeing a girl turned into an object. It was the same feeling she had experienced at the Wallingford gala, looking at the girl in the gilded cage. It was the same feeling she had experienced reading the conditioning reports, seeing the photographs of bruised faces and empty eyes.

"She's not Mira," Katya said quietly. "The girl in the room. She's not Mira."

"I know." Irina had known the moment she saw the girl. She was the wrong age, the wrong build, the wrong face. Mira was still somewhere else. Still waiting to be found.

"But she's someone. Someone who was taken from her family. Someone who was conditioned and sold and broken. We can't leave her there."

"We won't. When we move against Valdrak, we'll make sure she's freed along with any others." Irina looked at Dmitri, who was standing near the window. "How soon can we move?"

"Not yet. You need to cultivate Valdrak's trust. He's suspicious by nature, and he's testing you. If you push too hard, he'll shut you out. You need to be patient."

"I've been patient for weeks. Mira has been in his custody for a month. Every day we wait is another day she's suffering."

"And if you act too soon, you'll get her killed. Valdrak is not Vandermeer. He won't hesitate to eliminate evidence. If he thinks the authorities are closing in, he'll destroy everything. The girls, the records, anything that could connect him to the trafficking network. You need to be absolutely certain of your position before you make your move."

Irina closed her eyes. She knew Dmitri was right. She had learned patience in the queues of Kostov, in the corridors of Westmore, in the long weeks of waiting for the Solstice ball. She could wait a little longer.

But not much longer. Mira was out there. And Irina was going to bring her home.