Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.
A/N: The background story about Olivia….ah…I made it up. Just clarifying, but ya'll know that already.
Very violent, very graphic and heinous stuff coming up. Govern yourselves.
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"Here's Kim Ong's life. Have fun with it and now if you'll excuse me, I've got a pillow with my name on. Enjoy the sunrise, Detective." Detective Antonio Moretti murmured slyly handing Olivia Kim Ong's pulled file in passing at Ong's penthouse door.
"Thanks." She called to his back.
"Don't mention it." He replied exhaustedly.
Olivia flipped the manila opened taking in his credentials and criminal history, Elliot by her side and Cragen who choose to wait behind as their counterparts entered the penthouse.
"Kim Ong, second generation Chinese-American. Did some time in Washington for the negligent murder of his brother, Huan, he got out on parole and did some time in Sing-Sing and California. He's sold drugs and guns. Has run some brothels in the city and some in 'Jersey. He's even done a little counterfeiting of the American dollar and the Euro, too." Olivia voiced, giving her partner and superior the just of his file, she skimmed some more.
"Know affiliations; Asher Kerr, David Hebel, Anita Garcia….Bale Braddock and Christopher Harris." She sighed at the mention of Braddock and Harris, two of Cate's pervious murders.
Her counterparts reacted the same, "I'm going to enjoy interrogating her." Elliot murmured entering the penthouse to make his own observations.
The squad unconsciously paired off in their respectable partnerships to observe the penthouse, while Cragen spoke with the lead CSU analyst and the officers first on the scene.
Fin and John stared at the bloodied floor of the master bedroom; the white carpet stained a dark red and a drying brown in various places.
The coppery smell was fading, but was still present enough that it attacked Fin's sinuses.
Bloody handprints and drag marks here and there, the armoire had two drawers wrenched and their contents franticly rifled through, smears of blood were plastered about the finely finished pecan wood.
A shattered lamp was nearby, bits of porcelain and glass scattered in one direction of the room.
"What gets bloodstains out? White wine?" John said slightly chipper than usual.
Fin cut his eyes in his direction, coming up with his own response, "I thought milk did. I know peroxide does. You seem really happy right now, you're not your usual cynical and paranoid Munch that we all know and love. Did you get laid or something?"
John smiled, "In more ways than one." He said grasping Fin by the shoulders gingerly before he walked out.
What? Nadia? No way. She wouldn't, would she? Fin thought to himself, they did arrive together at the hospital, before he did. Fin also sensed that John had meant much more to that comment.
Olivia lightly crouched next to Kim Ong's corpse noting the large protruding knife lodged in his throat; his head was turned at an awkward angle due to his severed spinal cord.
The smells didn't bother her as much right now, but they were there, hanging in the room along with gun smoke, coppery blood and human defecation.
Several bruises had developed on his face, along with nicks and cuts from Cate's fists. Kim's eyes had glazed over with a putrid gray film and rigor mortis was starting to attack his body.
Elliot looked over at the messy calling card;
"ITS JUST BUSSINESS"
It was nearly unrecognizable, "She was really losing it." He commented at the poor finger painting compared her other bold and clearer statements.
"Yeah, she must have thought she was going to make it." Olivia replied recalling the stairwell they viewed minutes before, it was bathed in Cate's blood, smears ranging from wide red scimitars to soft, subtle drops along the landing, walls, steps and railing.
"Nice piece he has there," Elliot gestured his foot to the blood stained AK forty-seven near Kim feet, "Betcha it's hot."
Olivia nodded, "More than likely."
She rejoined him standing straight and arched her back some to stretch her spine, "Let's see what else he had around here."
"Whoa, I'd love to have one of these." Nadia said in awe stepping up to the illegal mortar-launcher, in the large armory, she didn't touch it but observed it.
Andrew didn't reply his eyes darting around the room, several of the weapons he recognized.
Some of them he had personally used.
Nadia glanced over at her distracted partner, "Andy-man, you ok?"
He snapped out of his reminiscing haze, "Yeah, why?"
"Well, its just that since we left St. Marks you've been really quiet and favoring your crotch a lot more than usual and kind of limping. You get jumped or something?" Nadia questioned stepping into the pool of personal issues.
Andrew laughed when she said 'he was favoring his crotch more than usual', "Does it seem like I favor my crotch a lot in public?"
"Well, no more than others guys." She shrugged leering behind a closet door within the room, discovering several boxes of virgin ammunition.
"I ran into an old girlfriend a few hours ago, we didn't part in the best of ways either. Anyway, she said something and I said something…off color, without thinking and I paid for it." He was lying but he it brilliantly, she never suspected.
Nadia chuckled, "I hope you weren't drunk or anything."
"Naw, I'm sober now."
The various detectives sifted throughout the penthouse, bouncing ideas and observations on their respectable partner and vice-versa. None of them were prepared for the Pandora's Box, Elliot was about to open.
Elliot observed Kim's office, nice leather chair, neat and organized desk, complete with a Thatch laptop, various hardbound books aligned on shelves around the study; the Karma Sutra, Encyclopedia's and several law texts ranging from American to Chinese to Russian.
Olivia walked over to the desk, picking up a thoroughly thumbed and worn address book, she flipped though the ink stained pages with her latex covered fingers, a few of the names caught her eye, one in particular; Bale Braddock.
Elliot stepped over to the bookshelves, scanning the titles, noting the very broken spine of the Karma Sutra when he left a slight breeze, vertically.
He half expected to see a vent when he looked to his right, but there was nothing but an adjoining wall, he stepped closer running his gloved hand over the corner of the wall, still feeling the breeze.
Elliot stopped listening to Olivia who was babbling about the address entries and focused on the puzzle of the breeze.
He chewed his lip, It's a false wall.
Elliot ran his fingers along the plastered wall searching for some sort of trigger or switch.
"I'm headed back to the station to start the paperwork, you both can have th—what the hell are you doing?" Cragen asked as Elliot was playing wallflower, it brought Olivia out of her address skimming.
Elliot looked back at his superior knowing he wanted an explanation, "This wall, its fake."
"Is anything in this world real to begin with?" Cragen philosophized sarcastically.
Elliot ignored his comment and continued to feel for a trigger when he noticed a small impression in the carpet. He recognized it as a faint electrical cord beneath the carpet; it ran from the wall to the desk. Elliot dropped to his knees and crawled to the desk, feeling for the cords exit.
Olivia looked on as if he was insane, Cragen watched intently.
He felt all around the underside of the desk until his fingers brushed against something small and knobby. Elliot glanced at the small flat switch and pressed it, the wall he just accused of being fake, slid aside quietly revealing a whole another room.
The three drastically shifted to cop mode, Elliot drew his weapon as did Olivia and the two stepped to the revealed room, going through the motions of clearing.
Elliot entered first, signally for Olivia who swept the room for any possible hazards, "Clear." She called after her sweep, re-holstering her firearm.
The room had several televisions rigged up in the center and several running laptops on various desks.
Olivia stepped over to the nearest desk where a lamp had been left on, focusing on an opened binder.
"It's a surveillance station." Elliot labeled as Cragen brought up the rear.
"Oh my God." Olivia whispered staring at the opened binder after flipping a few pages with her latex fingers.
"What?" Elliot asked in more alarm than worry appearing at her shoulder, flanked by Cragen.
"I—I've seen him, he's been missing for months now…" Olivia pointed at the photo of the missing boy in a clear shelve of the binder, Elliot eyed the photo then turned the pages of the binder revealing more photo's of children both boys and girls, all in various stages of age.
"What the hell is this?" He hissed erratically.
Intuition suddenly bit in Cragen's mind, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He stepped hard on his heal and fumbled with the switches of the various television screens, they all flickered on at various intervals and he gasped at what he saw.
Is this a live feed?
Cragen grabbed for his radio, "This is Cragen to base, I need any available electrical and computer techs to 647 Richardson Apartments, the penthouse floor, immediately!"
"Base responding and dispatching. Over and out."
Olivia and Elliot turned at his sudden outburst and faltered at what they saw on the multiple screens.
"Think that's live?" Olivia asked in shock and disgust at what she was viewing.
"I don't know but I'm not taking any chances." Cragen replied as he looked on at the screen that shifted from blocks of distorted pixels to clear images of children all in various states of despair, then back to distorted pixels as the camera shifted in the room producing the feed.
Most were half-dress and bloodied as they walked around a large room, in zombie hazes, stumbling blindly and lost.
Enslaved and held against their will.
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Several minutes after Cragen made the call to the station, several electrical and computer technicians arrived at the 647 Richardson penthouse, attacking the multiple laptops and surveillance step-ups. After a few minutes it was determined that the feed was live and the signal trace led to a waterfront warehouse on the opposite end of the city.
Specifically a building zoned for assembly line work, which was its front, its cover.
A SWAT team, several ambulances and fire trucks converged on the building, along with the Special Victims Unit.
The SWAT team stormed the building just as the sun was rising over the bay; a firefight broke out with Kim Ong's men stationed in the building. The SWAT team returned fire for what seemed like hours when in fact it took mere minutes.
After it was thought the building was cleared of any threat, the Squad and SWAT team reentered the building searching for the young lives they saw dwindling on the surveillance screens.
The building was massive, twelve levels, each one deserted of life but held small crude bedrooms. Several bedrooms in fact, furnished with sadistic devices and restraints attached to each bedpost.
Tension, frustration and disturbing images started to run though the minds of the detectives and SWAT officers.
They knew what this place was and what those bedrooms where used for.
They couldn't believe such—such evil existed in the world.
Fin felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins as John kicked in another bedroom door, finding dried, bloody sheets and no life in the room. Fin cursed knowing that so many children were in this building and they couldn't find them.
Nadia flanked another bedroom with Andrew finding magazines of child porn and a stripped mattress with bloodstains on the floral design.
Elliot stepped quickly on the darkening stairwell steps, his weapon draw and in front of him, Olivia at his side as they descended into the basement level, while the others searched higher.
The air started to change with every step from the humid and dry morning to a sticky and moist night, combined with a stagnant taste that caught in the back of their throats.
Elliot's heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears with every cautious step; Olivia controlled her breathing under her tight, nearly constricting Kevlar vest.
The stairwell began to darken even more and Elliot started to rely on the slimly handrail and Olivia stuck to the moist residue tilted wall, then she felt abruptly cold.
She suddenly found herself thinking back to the fall of 'seventy-seven, when she and Manny, her best buddy, crept into apartment F10 of their building.
Apartment F10 was supposedly haunted by a wicked and renegade Irish banshee; the site had become a scary story to tell to frighten children.
The oral yarn started after the murder of the Kavanaugh family during the ninety-forties, the tale changed over the decades but kept to its core and was told to the young children in Olivia's building again and again.
The strappingly handsome, young Irish-Catholic son who killed his mother, then raped his sisters and dismembered two little brothers along with his father after he came home from work at the mill; the son was dragged away by police officers shouting the banshee told him to do it.
After the beautiful and overly sexual succubus bedded him and then mutilated his face and body with her kisses leaving demonic and wicked symbols etched in his pale flesh, as the story went.
They locked him away in Soam Threnody's Insane Asylum, he was forsaken and left to rot and die of dysentery.
As the story went.
Olivia had always noticed weird things happening around that apartment, she always got an eerie feeling when she had to pass by the door on the way to her own apartment, when the building elevator was out, and she'd have to take the stairs, which happened a lot.
She had learned to run by it as quickly as she could as a small child, she always seemed to feel something gnawing and pulling at her ribbon wrapped pigtails.
Or so she thought.
Then there where the strange things that happened around F10, like inhuman sounds, strange lights and shapes around the door, especially around four p.m.
Someone even tried to live in F10, when she was eleven, he was found six days after he settled in by the superintendent hanging from his bathroom curtain rod with an inverted pentagram etched into his forehead.
It was enough to scare any child or adult.
Olivia remembered her and Manny being double dared by Lindsey Martin, another preteen in the building, to go into F10 and bring something back.
Neither wanting to be labeled 'chicken' risked trespassing and took the dare.
When they both entered the eerie and musky smelling apartment, Manny grabbed a chipped heart-shaped glass ashtray discarded near the door and said for them to go. Just as quickly as possible, he was scared she could tell.
She was about to go with him when she suddenly felt fearless and had the urge to explore the apartment; the thirteen year old Olivia Benson creped slowly around the dusty and broken glass strewn floor, Manny still whimpering for her leave with him at the door.
"Just a minute." She called.
"'Livy, come on." Manny pleaded as she disappeared around a wall to the front bathroom, she noted the cracking police crime scene tape piled up on the floor in a dust wad.
Olivia kept moving around the bathroom, still hearing Manny call to her. Observing this and that; dust, chalky soap, old grooming utensils, rotting terry towels, shattered glass and a dead, crusty mouse trapped in the ceramic sink, its hallowed eye sockets loomed at her.
She had her fill there was nothing else.
Just as she was about to leave, she heard an eerie hiss, she wrenched her neck causing a terrible crick while turning to the sound.
It was a thinly and ribbed mother cat with bloated tits, with a mouse kicking franticly in her yellowing, sharp teeth. The cat blew at her and dove off the dusty toilet tank passed Olivia and out into the living room where Manny squealed.
Olivia rubbed her neck as she laughed at his squeal, "It's just a cat," she said leaning back around the wall to the living room, "Yeah, I know." Manny said hiding the tears of fear.
A rattle caught Olivia's attention and she turned back to the bathroom, the neck spasm forgotten and suddenly felt very cold, she eyed the room, fear pinching at her features and felt a swift sting in her upper arm.
She hissed in pain pulling her arm against her budding chest and stared at the tear in her shirt-sleeve and the swelling red flesh beneath it.
She didn't know what scraped her so viciously and glanced around the room expecting to see a piece of glass or serrated metal near her, but saw nothing.
Olivia knew her mother would beat her if she saw the rip in her clothing; hopefully she'd still be hung-over or passed-out-drunk when she got back to the apartment and would have time to stitch the tear.
Olivia heard another rattle and the hair on the back of her neck stood erect, she glanced up at the dusty mirror in the bathroom and for a split second she saw a face in it and it wasn't her own.
Or so she thought.
It was enough to scare her once again, Olivia and Manny left the apartment quickly, delivering the ashtray to the others, while she hid her arm.
The cut turned into an odd shaped scar and sometimes if the light hit it just right it looked like a snake, complete with forked-tongue and eyes.
Olivia still had the scar on her upper arm; she brushed away the old memories of apartment F10 and focused on the cold dark stairwell, Elliot at her side, her metaphorical and present day 'Manny'.
A dim haze filled her line of vision as the stairwell started to fill with light from the ending level.
The silence had been deafening for such a long time then was abruptly shattered by gunfire and not their own.
Elliot forcefully pushed Olivia back a few steps, she lost balance and fell awkwardly on the leveled concrete, she felt her back pop on the uneven steps and a sticky spray stippled her face.
Blood! She realized in haste, Is it mine?
Harsh curses could be heard as fevered steps echoed up the stairwell, several people where headed their way. Olivia gripped her Glock and instinctively reached for her ankle holstered Nine Milliliter, she knew she was going to need all the firepower she had.
She glanced at Elliot who was lying next to her, not moving or speaking. His Kevlar vest had several slugs lodged in the side impenetrable sheets and had a bullet in his right arm, it was bleeding profusely.
It was his hot blood that sprayed her face, neck and spattered in her hair.
A rage consumed her as she stared at her partner who lay wounded and vulnerable on the dimly lit stairwell.
Olivia stood warily, the black .three fifty-seven in her right hand and the nine millimeter in her left, new found adrenaline ripping though her body.
The footsteps on the stairwell slowed as her adversaries became hesitant.
Olivia held her breath and crouched eyeing the well armed men, four in total, "NYPD! Drop your weapons!" She screamed identifying herself.
The men looked up at her totally ignoring her order and opened fire with their AK's.
Olivia flung herself backwards knowing they would do that, but she followed procedure and identified herself, anything she did now would be self-defense.
She clicked her radio harshly about to call for back-up and heard the men start reloading, now was her chance.
Olivia discarded her radio without calling for backup and stepped out on the stairwell landing, "Drop your weapons now!" She screamed pointing her own weapons at the four heavily armed men an entire landings length below her.
The first two slowly lowered their AK's and quickly crouched so their counterparts would have the opportunity to shoot her down.
Olivia didn't hesitate as she fired both weapons simultaneously, the first to shots tore through the men about to shoot her, one recoiled from the force and fired upward chipping the concrete above them causing a spray of gray to rain down, the other's body smashed again the titled wall behind him, he slid down leaving a trail of red.
The first two men who had appeared to surrender, reached for their weapons, Olivia lowered her trajectory and fired with the .three fifty-seven into the nearest gunman, the recoil reeking havoc on her wrist.
His chest exploded from the force, but he managed to pull the trigger just as he fell backwards.
Olivia felt the hot lead sear though her lower leg and she lost balance, falling to her side, the .three fifty-seven clattered from her grasp, rolling down the steps, it discharged once into the concrete steps above them.
The last standing gunman took two steps forward and unloaded an entire clip into her Kevlar, but not before she steadied the nine milliliter in her left hand, aiming wearily and fired what was left in the clip into his body.
They where both struck by the multiple bullets at the same time, Olivia fell unconscious from the force to her chest and the other gunman flipped backwards on the steps from the fatal shots to his abdomen and upper chest.
She didn't know how long she lay there unconscious until she felt Elliot forcefully strip off the lead hot, constricting Kevlar. She gasped for air and choked with hot tears in her eyes as she looked up at her partner's face ashen with fear.
Olivia felt the urge to vomit, but refrained.
She couldn't have been out that long; gun smoke was still lingering in the dank stairwell giving everything a hazy bar effect.
"Ell—Elliot," she whispered brokenly.
"No, don't try to talk, the medics are on their way." He hushed at her, still holding her up in his arms.
"Did I get him?" She asked ignoring his request, Elliot huffed knowing she would.
He glanced down the poorly lit stairwell to the landing below with four bloodied bodies and strewn AKs.
"Yeah, you got him. Got all of them actually." He answered his arm had stopped gushing, but still bleed.
Olivia tried to sit-up, "Don't move." Elliot scolded her pressing his fist harder into her upper thigh to stanch the bleeding she didn't realize she had been shot twice.
She winced and brought her hand down to the wound on top of his fist, "I don't know he got me twice…" she trailed off suddenly feeling very tired.
"Hey, hey. Benson! Stay awake!" He ordered shaking her slightly, Olivia's eyes fluttered at his voice, then sealed into unconsciousness.
Just then the rest of the SWAT team arrived, along with the paramedics and other Squad members.
"That area is not secure!" Elliot called to the SWAT personal passing him on the landing, one nodded to him as the others passed. Two paramedics made their way to Olivia; one gently pulled Elliot aside so she could get a better look at his arm.
"What happened?" Cragen asked fevered as Olivia's unconscious body was loaded and strapped on to a folding stretcher.
"The area wasn't clear, I was hit first and lost conscious. When I came too Olivia was lying on the landing, her vest was nearly destroyed and the others where dead. I radioed and waited." He reported Cragen nodded.
"Go with her and get checked out." Cragen ordered, Elliot was obviously relieved and left with the paramedic checking his arm.
Cragen took a few steps after the SWAT officers, flanked by John, Fin, Andrew and Nadia, all still wearing Kevlar.
Nadia noticed Olivia's discarded and practically destroyed vest pegged with several AK slugs, steaming and a large red stain on the concrete, her blood and her police issue .three fifty-seven, tottering and tilting on a step.
None of them spoke as they took in the scene of destruction, Olivia had acted in self-defense, they all knew it and would never doubt it.
The aroma of blood hung strong in the air and mixed with gun smoke, along with human defection.
They surpassed the broken and punctured bodies to the dimly lit corridor where the SWAT team swarmed.
Cragen was pissed, the building had been designated clear, yet two his officers had been injured, neither seriously, but the fact remained.
Several children screamed up ahead in the dim corridor causing the officers to break into a run.
"What the fuck to do want from us?" A high male voice called hostilely.
"We found them!" A SWAT team operative called down the corridor.
"Esha! Don't fuckin' touch her!" A feminine voice hissed at one of the SWAT officers.
They had located the lost souls they viewed on the surveillance cameras.
"No! Get away!" A small voiced cried in another dialect, Nadia recognized it and replied back in the child's native tongue for her not to be afraid.
The dirty and bloody little girl ran past a SWAT officer toward her voice and latched on to Nadia's leg speaking rapidly in Hindustani.
Nadia held back picking the child up and cooing to her in the dialect while the others continued on to the other children quickly taking cover in the basement level.
"Please calm down," Cragen tried to gain control of the situation, "You in charge here?" He gestured to the tall, lanky boy with the fevered mass of young children hiding behind him, ages ranging from five to eighteen.
The fitly young teenager stepped up to Cragen shaking in a ripped shirt, his face was flushed with adrenaline, "I am, sir. 'Cause I'm the oldest." The pimpled teen kept his eyes lowered like a dog that'd been beat in submission, but Cragen could feel his unforgiving rage and venom to strike if he had to.
"What's your name?" Cragen asked.
John felt his stomach turn as he started counting heads, "I got thirty-seven. You?"
"Thirty-eight, including Nadia's lil' leech." Fin replied.
A little girl around five walked up to Fin in all the excitement and tugged at his trouser leg, she spread her arms wanting to be picked up. Fin obliged taking the little tear streaked girl into his arms.
"Peter, sir. Peter Mason, sir."
"Peter, can you help me with something?"
"Well you get us the fuck out of here, if I do?"
"Yes, that's why we're here. How many are there of you?"
"Thirty-eight, sir. This is all of us." Peter spread his arms to all the faces that peeked out behind his thin, sheltering body; he was their protector, "And Esha. Where is she?" He demanded not fully trusting Cragen.
Nadia stepped into the doorway of large basement with the young Indian girl still in her arms, totally calm and relaxed in Nadia's warmth. Peter's hackles lowered immediately seeing that she was safe.
"Thirty-eight. Ok, follow him and he will take you out of here." Cragen pointed to the led SWAT officer, the children held back, waiting for guidance from Peter.
"Natalie, lead them." Peter whispered to a mid-teen girl next to him, his obvious 'lieutenant', the young blonde a few years younger or so then Peter tugged at the small hands in her grasp and followed the SWAT officers out of the dank basement, the rest of the children followed her.
Peter held back, "What state are we in?" He asked Cragen quietly, the other detectives coming to a partial circle around Peter.
Cragen looked taken aback, "You're in New York City."
Peter's face fell, "My God. I didn't know I was so far from home."
"Where's home?" Andrew questioned for the first time.
"Texas. What month is it?"
"August." Nadia interjected, swaying slightly with Esha.
Peter's face fell again, he couldn't believe it.
"What month did you think it was?" Cragen questioned.
"I know they took me some time ago, I didn't think it was that long. I've been living January." He whispered the tears of newly realized revelations singeing his eyes.
He was free, they were all free.
None of them would have to battle for sanity anymore, but they would have to fight the demons of trauma.
The long road of recovery now lay out before them all.
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Thirty-eight emotionally and physically tortured souls were drudged out of that, fitly, moldy basement back to the present, away from the twisted, surrealistic rape, molestation and sodomy of being whored out to the highest bidder.
Sex slaves.
Thirty-eight lost souls.
Each one had been reported missing ranging from days to months, some from various parts of the world too.
The small twin girls from Thailand; Daw and Mali, a boy from Russia; Pasha, then Mabelina the girl from Mexico City, just to name a few.
All their parents or appropriate guardians had been contacted within hours of their rescue and were on their way to New York, the department footing the bill.
Each one had been medically examined for STD's, AIDS/HIV and for pregnancy. Most had a clean bill of health, others weren't so lucky.
Like Natalie Yarns, Peter's lieutenant, she had suffered an illegal abortion, preformed by one of Ong's surgeons. There was little doubt she could ever bear a child naturally, not without medical and surgical assistance.
Or the boy Michael from Nova Scotia, he had recently contracted HIV and measures where being taken to prevent AIDS. But his future looked morbid.
The sad and ugly truth of the whole situation.
It was causing rifts throughout the entire Squad, what several of them wanted to know if Cate Monty knew about the basement salves.
And if she did, why she didn't do something about it then?
She had aided Petra Ramirez and Nathan Thorne, why not these children?
"Ready to go?" Nadia asked in Hindustani to little Esha Bhaskar, the little girl had become like a shadow to Nadia, she didn't mind. It connected her to what she could have had, if not for that British prison guards' Billy club.
Esha nodded and spoke rapidly in Hindustani, she was so happy to have someone to speak to her native language after so many months.
Nadia yawned and stood at her desk, Esha at her side taking her hand as they both walked to Cragen's open office.
She knocked wearily on the door frame; bringing him back to the present from all the paperwork.
"I'm taking her shopping for some new digs, then back to my place to catch some Z's." Nadia gestured with her thumb to the elevator behind her.
Cragen nodded, Esha had taken such a shine to Nadia, he was happy about it too, she felt safe around Nadia.
"Be safe, see you in a few hours." He waved them off taking another caffeinated swig of coffee; he was wired for the rest of the day.
"Alrighty, in a few." She changed back to Hindustani as Esha started talking to her quickly and the two left.
Cragen focused back on the paperwork, knowing what blessing that it was that Esha's parents had been located and where on their way from Ipswich, England for their daughter as he sat there.
Everything seemed to be turning for the better for the Squad; Cate Monty had been captured, the murders where over with, the interrogation would start soon, then the trial and on top off it all, thirty-eight lives had been saved and would be returned to their families.
The news had already been leaked to the press about Monty's capture and the lives recovered in that basement.
The Chief of Detectives Caitlin O'Connell, held a press conference an hour ago to confirm the news, she was beaming, it positive press for the NYPD, that was always an up.
Then Vince Connors came out of the woodwork again, he demanded audience with Cate Monty, it was denied immediately by O'Connell.
Cragen had a feeling that it wouldn't be the last time they heard from Vince and just as a precaution he had more guards posted at Monty's hospital room.
Just in case.
His desk phone rang, "Special Victims, Captain Cragen," he cradled the receiver in the crook of his shoulder and neck.
"Hey Cap, it Stabler," Elliot's voice cracked some over the cell connection.
"Elliot, what the doctor's tell you? How's Olivia?" He questioned in concern for his two subordinates.
"Mine was just a flesh wound, but I'll be in a sling for a while. Olivia will be on crutches for a few days, nothing too serious."
Cragen nodded to no one, "We're on our way in, 'k."
"Great, I'll brief you both when you get here." He severed the connection and went back to his paperwork, in a much better mood then he had been in days.
He felt like he could relax and look forward to five o'clock this evening, he wasn't putting in any overtime today. He was going home to catch up on some much needed sleep.
It was over.
Or so he thought.
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Dale Kinsey said nothing when Andrew Gage opened the passenger side door to her Pontiac Trans-Am and seated himself, slightly shaking the vehicle. The overhead light powered off slowly and Dale looked back out to the dark bay.
The evening was darkening and she could see and hear the thunderheads rolling in the distance, from over the ocean.
"I knew Kim wouldn't hav gone down with out ah fight." Dale said in her noticeable Southern accent.
Andrew nodded, "Yeah, I knew too…Lord, she's killed so many…." He trailed off remorsefully.
Dale reached over and grasped his hand which was resting on his knee; she gave him a gentle squeeze.
"How does it feel ta be the angel of revenge?"
Andrew didn't speak at first, contemplating his answer, "Good. Most of the time it felt so good. So right. Like—"
"Justice had been severed?" Dale interjected sensing his answer.
"Yeah, but you know that. When are you going to get back in the game?"
Dale's eyes glinted some and she smiled taking his hand and placing it over her over lower abdomen, she looked back out to the bay through her clean windshield, "I've been takin' life for so long…Like it was all I was ever good at…I wanted to bring one in ta this world, instead ya know. I had an epiphany, down in Arizona. I'm done with the hits. Lengsfield has let me go, I'm no longer ah hitwoman, I'm ah gopher now…which is fine with me." She declared softy in her deep, rich accent.
Andrew felt her warmth through the soft downy shirt.
"Who's the father?" Andrew asked tenderly as she let his hand go and he pulled it back into his personal space.
"You don't know him, at least I don't think you do, Caleb Saxon."
Andrew shook his head, "No I don't. Is he a good guy?"
"Well if you mean he wants this child and wants to help me in rasin' it, then yes." She said with a lovely smile in the dark cab of the vehicle.
"You'll be an excellent, mom. I know it, if you ever wanna come back the door is open you know that. You were good, I always thought that and I'll always know that."
She smiled shyly at his compliment, "Thank you."
"I mean it, you weren't like Curie, Thompson or Anita."
Dale looked repulsed the mention of Anita, "That woman, ugh. There is something wrong with her. Business is one thing but what she does is just…Ugh…You remember Mobile."
He nodded recalling the multiple hit, "Yeah she's…Anyway who am I tonight?" Andrew asked wanting to drop the subject of that horrible memory and focus on his hit tonight.
Dale let it drop and reached behind her seat for the maroon folder and handed it to him.
Andrew thumbed it opened, "Your name, a schedule of the hospital rotations, both medical and NYPD, temporary id and your map of the floor." She rattled off reaching behind the seat for the brown paper bag.
"Male nurse; Nicolas Crane." Andrew said with an authority tone eyeing the medical id with the digitally doctored photo of him beneath the laminated sheet.
It was photo of him taken nearly four months ago for another hit, his hair was black then. He'd have to dye again it tonight before carrying out with the hit.
Dale handed him the crinkled paper sack, "Your scrubs and nurse shoes."
He opened the rolled shut the paper bag and eyed the contents, pale green scrubs and smooth bottomed shoes.
"Just what I've always wanted." He smiled at the rumpled uniform.
"How are you going to do it?" Dale asked.
"Lengsfield wanted me to make her suffer if I had the opportunity. I'm thinking a shot of Mojave venom. Slow and painful. She doesn't deserve any less."
She nodded, "Can I drop you anywhere?"
"No, I'm parked a block away. Thanks for this." He held up the folder and bag.
She nodded, as Andrew stepped out of the car, the overhead light clicked on.
"And Jon," She called; Andrew held back and looked at her.
"Give her one for me. I wish I could be doing what you're doing. I hate it that Chris won't get to hold his niece or nephew." Dale unconsciously touched her abdomen.
Andrew nodded, "I will, night Dale."
He shut the car door, Dale backed up and drove away from the bay, he watched her taillights fade in the distance as he trudged toward his Charger.
Thunder clapped in the distance, "There's a blue northers commin'."
Andrew heard his grandmother's words echo in his mind, he hadn't thought of her in years.
He didn't want to either.
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It was a quarter pass ten that evening before Andrew finally adopted his new identity for the next few hours, the assassin guise; St. Marks male nurse Nicolas Crane.
He'd dyed his hair black; it was temporary and would wash out the next time he shampooed.
Pulled on the pale green scrubs and laced up the smooth soled shoes, then slipped the St. Marks Hospital id lanyard over his head, ringing it around his neck.
Grabbed the small, black zipped pocketbook, it housed the syringe and the medical vial filled with Mojave Rattlesnake venom, given to him by The Doctor, another one of Lengsfield Philips's associates.
Andrew palmed the pocketbook while locking his apartment, took a cab to St. Marks Hospital and watched the soft rain drizzle on the dark city streets. He ignored the rain and made his way into St. Marks lobby, talking to various people as if he worked there his entire life.
Avoided security cameras at every turn, took the elevator to the appropriate level, faked a clock-in saying he was the other guys' fill-in for the night.
Waited around a few hours faking nurse routines, before managing to gain access to Cate Monty's recovery room, Andrew flashed his id at the four NYPD uniforms and they waved him in.
She was perfect.
Cate Monty lay out and strapped to the bed before him, vulnerable and unconscious.
He absorbed her physique briefly, Cate was well shaped and formed, her muscles developed to a dominating strength, but not to an unfeminine intimidating bulge.
The burn tissue was very noticeable at her throat, upper chin; and trailed back down to her collarbone, ruined breasts and distorted lower torso.
Andrew couldn't see that region, it was covered loosely, but modestly by the thin hospital gown, but he could imagine. The same with her arms, her left was much worse than her right, discolored and uneven in areas, some of her flesh had been seared off by the flames.
Even with the charred flesh she was still beautiful. Her body was speckled with permanently reddened and blackened skin spots and discolored to a silver white in some areas, but she remained beautiful.
Her bleach blonde hair was starting to show its original roots, a light brown pepper was spotted about her scalp.
The bruising on her face had started to recede and the cuts were scabbing over, she had some fingers wrapped in pale blue castings with surgical steel pins protruding from her joints.
She was recovering.
Her heart monitor beeped rhythmically, steady and strong, the IV drip inserted in her inner elbow continued its life giving feed into her body.
She was getting stronger.
Andrew looked down at her, angrily, a rage boiling in his veins.
He hated her for what she had started, he couldn't take the good with the bad; killing Jack Kershaw, Andrew never carried much for him, Mark Garston, who had nothing to do with anything, Christopher Harris, who was a dear friend to him and Dale's brother, Bensyn Connors, the great gun and drug lord, Bale Braddock, who he would never forget and Kim Ong.
Andrew looked at Kim like he did Jack, he was a sick bastard, Andrew didn't care about his life or work, he never did in the 'eighties or the 'nineties.
That basement warehouse he had been in today proved had proved Kim was a sick bastard.
Andrew could still see those dirty, smelling children's faces as they where loaded into ambulances headed to Jude's Hospital where some would learn that they had contracted life threatening STD's and others would be told that they would be fine, luck ran rampant in their veins, truly blessed.
He hated Kim Ong for that and briefly agreed with Cate, Andrew Gage, the hypocrite.
He cared about Christopher and Bale, even if Bale had problems…well, that didn't matter now, anymore.
Andrew sighed whole heartedly, wishing he could do more to Cate then just inject her with the fatal poison; he wanted to physically tear her apart, in the name of his fallen friends.
He shrugged at his torrid thoughts; time was running short as he unzipped the pocketbook, removed the sterile syringe from its slip and penetrated the foil sealed vial.
Andrew pulled the plunger away from the barrel watching the deadly clear fluid bubble and flood into the virgin barrel. He extracted enough to kill three adults, enough to make her feel the excruciating pain of her body hemorrhaging from the inside out.
After he replaced the empty vial in the pocketbook again, he leaned down to her neck and pressed the hollow needle to her coarse, supple flesh and forced the plunger with his thumb.
He smiled sadistically seeing her face pinch with pain briefly as the barrel emptied into her bloodstream. His work was done and he exited the room, nodding to the uniforms; avoiding cameras again on his way out.
This time he walked home in the soft rain and dumped the pocketbook, empty vial and used needle into East River on the way.
Andrew returned to his apartment destroyed the scrubs and started to wash up for the night, popping three sleeping pills in the process.
As he toweled off rubbing his slightly darkened blonde hair, he inspected his penis in the process, the swelling and inflamed redness had finally stared to subside compared to this morning.
But the mind numbing throb that had turned to a dull ache due to Lengsfield's sadistic grip, did remain.
Well, maybe it won't turn black and rot off from gangrene.
His member was the least of his problems now, with Cate taken care of he could focus on his original hit; that SVU officer.
He was close now and still hadn't decided when to carry out with the hit or how, but soon.
Thoughts of Dale Kinsey penetrated his mind…
…she had gotten out.
The mirror reflected his tired face and swollen nose, I could get out too. This could be my last hit.
No, I can't. This is all I'm good at, all I've ever been good at. Or maybe…
He shrugged at the idea and depressingly pulled on a pair of boxers and passed out on his unmade bed at nearly one a.m, oblivious to any problems with his now inactive hit.
Cate Monty is dead or so he thought.
Andrew Gage didn't count on Cate Monty's body having an almost immediate allergic reaction to the venom.
It occurred nearly five minutes after he left, her body started to convulse and seizure as the hemotoxic enzymes in the venom started attacking her blood cells and began eating away at her tissues.
She started writhing and arching uncontrollably like she was being possessed by a demon. She sprained her wrists and ankles in the restraints, pulling muscles and even dislocated her left shoulder. Then her saliva glands kicked into over production nearly drowning her before one of the uniforms posted outside her door noticed the violent racket within the room and called for help.
No, Andrew Gage didn't count on anything like that happening, but it did.
She was supposed to die slowly, painfully and quietly.
But she didn't.
Cate Monty was intended to die within twenty minutes after the lethal injection, without any allergic reaction or complication.
But she didn't.
Cate Monty lived…
…and the rain droned on into the morning, the thunderheads rolled and roared early during that tepid fall.
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The Eighteenth Day
August 27, 2005 Saturday
"This is an outrage!" Chief Surgeon Sara Heffner screamed in Captain Donald Cragen's direction, "Are your officers not trained properly! He, who ever that was, is not one of our staff!"
You know what else is an outrage? I've had a combined ten hours of sleep the last three days…I could snap at any minute, "Doctor, I understand, but keep in mind your staff didn't even think to check his credentials. Your people didn't even know anything was wrong. It's happened…What is her status?"
Sara pinched the bridge of her nose feeling a migraine coming on and looked out her office window, watching the rain patter and run down the slick pane.
"She's comatose. She might wake up in a few hours, days or years. I don't know. I've never had to deal with venomous bites or in this case injection. It just attacked her nervous system and ate away at her blood cells and she's anemic to begin with." Sara shook her head at the chaos.
Cragen nodded at the negative news, "I believe it is in both of our best interests that this doesn't happen again. I'll take further security precautions, I expect you to do the same."
"Oh, I will. I have the State Medical Commission Board breathing down my neck because of this."
"I have the Chief of Detectives breathing down mine."
Sara gave a twinge of a smile, Cragen found himself returning it, sensing what could be said had been said, "You will keep me posted, Doctor."
"Yes, I will."
It was a quarter passed eleven when Cragen finally returned to the station; it was still raining steadily as he pulled his jacket off, seated himself at his desk and continued to etch on various forums, observing the several days following, quietly.
The Cate Monty investigation would put on hold, save for the attempt on her life last night, an investigation on that was active. Then the leak to the press and the tampering of the criminal database was under its own investigation.
The next few days around the station were quiet; they where all playing the waiting game, anticipating, lingering patiently for Cate Monty to wake up from her coma.
Life continued for the thirty-eight rescued from the basement, they were all returned safely to their families. It was hard on Nadia, Cragen could tell. But she and Esha Bhaskar exchanged information; they would become modern-day pen pals and traditional ones too, using e-mail, etc and handwritten letters.
Nadia was content with that.
Olivia was healing from her gunshot wounds; she was limping quite a bit on one crutch for several days. She was also evaluated by Doctor George Huang over the self-defense she exhibited in the warehouse and deemed stable and ready to return to work. As for her bizarre behavior; it seemed to falter some, and yes Cragen had noticed she was acting differently.
A look here or a mood swing there, he had inquired to Elliot about the situation who chalked it up to stress from the case, the same circumstances he was feeling. If things got out of hand for her, Cragen would have a private conference with her, to figure out what the hell was going on and get to the bottom of it.
Elliot was recuperating too, his arm was in a sling for a few days but he healed much quicker than Olivia.
Work continued for the Special Victims Unit, assaults ranging from rape to molestation filtered in and were handled accordingly; reported, investigated, warrants and arrests, interrogated, trial and imprisonment.
Again and again waiting for Cate Monty to wake up.
Reported, investigated, warrants and arrests, interrogated, trial and imprisonment.
Case after case, small to large, simple to complex, straight forward to distorted.
Reported, investigated, warrants and arrests, interrogated, trial and imprisonment.
Then even celebrated, drinks all around at Vasquez's after a successful case and trial.
Like a drumbeat.
This went on for nine days. Three case where completed or the lose ends of cases occurring during Monty's murders were tied up. Not a bad track record.
The city was returning to its norm and most had forgotten about Cate Monty.
They were about to remembered her.
(End Chapter Ten)
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