Disclaimer: Ssh, I'm hiding right now because apparently Lecter wanted me since we couldn't get in to see Dick Wolf. Well tomorrow I plan on continuing my quest to own SVU.

Now onto the Meat and Potatoes

Lizzie

A cunning plan

Stabler, Munch and Fin found their airstrip. It wasn't a large area with only one building and two planes sitting out front. Stabler still seemed to be in a trance, so Munch took the lead. He reached for the handle on the door only to find it locked.

"Damn," he muttered. Why did they keep hitting dead ends?

Fin growled deep in this throat.

"They aren't gonna get away with this that easily." Walking past Munch, Fin balled up his fist and pounded on the door.

"This is the police! If you don't open this door in ten seconds, I'm gonna smash it!"

Stabler and Munch exchanged weak smiles. Fin's voice was firm and both men knew that they would have cracked under that threat.

Fin glanced around the strip then back at the two other men.

"One," he called loudly. "Two, three."

Stabler and Munch each took a look around the building. The place looked empty. Stabler wandered a bit farther and noticed there were indentions in the ground for two other planes. He mouthed a silent prayer that one was Yaburov's.

"Ten, stand away from the door."

Stabler and Munch returned to where Fin had grabbed a large brick off the ground.

"We don't have a warrant, can we still break the door down?"

Stabler didn't hesitate before seizing the brick from Fin and heaving it through the glass door. He plunged his hand inside and unlocked it. He kicked the door open, drew his gun and entered, Munch and Fin at his heels.

"Holler if you find anything."

It was a small building with two offices in the front, a long hallway and, what Stabler assumed to be, more offices in the back.

The first office was clear but just as he was entering the second office, he heard Fin shouting.

"Freeze, you son of a bitch, before I open fire."

Stabler hurried out of the office while Munch can sprinting down the hallway. Fin had exited the building and was chasing down a man wearing blue jeans and a green jacket. The runner refused to stop even with Fin's threat. Cursing, Fin let his gun down and ran full out. He easily out ran the guy and, seizing his around the waist, both fell into the grass and mud.

"Don't try and out run a cop."

The man was rambling on in Russian when Munch and Stabler hurried forward.

"John, you speak a little Russian, don't you?"

Munch squatted down in the mud beside the runner.

"Who are you?" When the man didn't reply, Munch repeated the question in Russian.

"I'll take that as a yes," Stabler whispered to Fin.

The two had a conversation for a brief period of time, while Fin and Stabler looked on. Finally, Munch stood back up, pulling the runner with him.

"His name is Anton Abankin and he's worked at this airstrip for ten years."

"Ask him why he didn't answer when we knocked."

Munch repeated Stabler's question and Anton was quick to answer. It took a few minutes, partly because Munch wasn't completely sure of the translation.

"He says that his boss arrived and told him that people would be coming by, probably three men, and they would claim to be cops but they were really criminals. Anton didn't think he'd be safe. He was also told not to let a soul on the premises after his boss's plane left."

"Ask him what his boss's name is."

Again, Munch repeated the question and waited for a reply. Finally one came and Stabler didn't need Munch's translation to know what Anton had said.

"Vaysl Yaburov."

So it was confirmed. Stabler wasn't sure if breathing a sigh of relief was appropriate or extreme worry. He decided on both. Fin, however, wasn't satisfied yet.

"Ask Anton who Yaburov had in his party."

This conversation was a bit longer but Munch soon had the answer.

"He said that he doesn't know anyone's name but there were several of them."

Munch then returned to Anton and asked another question. When Anton replied, Munch translated.

"He said that they were carrying lots of supplies. Anton believes they weren't coming back for an extended period of time and also…"

"Ask him if they had a woman with them," Stabler interrupted. He just couldn't wait any longer. The question had to be asked and all three of them had been putting it off.

Munch, if he was annoyed at being interrupted, didn't show it. He simply translated Stabler's question and Anton's answer.

"He says that there were several women in his party."

Stabler was on Anton faster than the wind. He grabbed the man by his jacket and shook him. "She was blond, about five seven, five eight. She's well built with brown eyes and an amazing smile."

Anton looked confused and frightened. He started yelling in Russian, trying to shove Stabler off of him. Munch took a hold of Stabler's upper arm and, although he was barely pulling, managed to guide the detective off the terrified man. He than translated Stabler's question, adding that she might have been restrained or carried in some way.

Anton quickly began rattling off information and Stabler prayed silently that he had seen Benson.

Munch glanced back at Stabler and Fin. "He says that no one was retrained in any way but there was a woman in the party with them who was taller then the others and she had blond hair. He doesn't remember her eye color."

Stabler felt his heart pounding in his chest.

"Did she get on the plane willingly or did they have to drag her?"

"Willingly," Munch replied after Anton had finished.

Stabler cursed and turned away, kicking the soil as he went.

"That wasn't Liv. They would've had to force her, kicking and screaming, onto any plane."

"Not necessarily," Stabler turned to Fin.

"What d'ya mean?"

Fin turned to Munch. "Ask Anton how many people were in Yaburov's party."

"Around fifty," was Anton's reply once it was translated into English.

Fin turned back to Stabler. "Liv's intelligent and she wouldn't try an' run with fifty people watching her. That would be a death sentence. She'll be looking for an escape but she won't do it unless she thinks there's a slim chance of success."

Stabler saw the knowledge in Fin's statement and the bile rising in his throat settled.

Meanwhile, Munch had continued his conversation with Anton.

"London."

Fin and Stabler looked up.

"What was that?"

"Yaburov was headed for London. He left around seven this morning. Wherever he is, he's probably settled."

Stabler turned and began to stride towards the road. "We need to get moving. We don't have much time."

Fin and Munch followed, with the former pulling out his cell phone and calling for transportation.

"I just hope there's a flight to London soon."

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Anton waited until the taxi had arrived and the three men had vanished before he returned to his office. He collapsed in the chair and breathed a sigh of relief. He hoped that this would mark the end of his service under Vaysl Yaburov. Anton only hoped that the three men who had just interviewed him would be quick and find Yaburov before his boss found out he was a rat. A gentle knock on his door made him jump.

"Enter," he called out in Russian. The door slid open and a man also dressed in jeans and a green jacket entered.

"Sergi, what are you still doing here? I thought you went home."

Sergi glared at the older man and, drawing a gun, took a step closer.

"What did you tell the Americans?"

Anton shook his head. "Nothing," he whimpered.

Sergi cocked the gun and placed it up against Anton's forehead. "I'm sure you wish to rethink your answer. Tell me what you told the Americans and I won't blow your head off."

Anton squeaked out his reply and Sergi's eyes narrowed. He reached over and seized Anton's phone. He dialed a familiar number.

"Boss, it's Sergi in Latvia. We have a bit of a problem."

Anton waited in fear. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. He knew that soon he would be joining the many other men and women who had angered Vasyl Yaburov over the years. He listened while Sergi told their boss that Anton had been visited by Stabler, Munch and Fin. He also stated that while Anton wasn't talking, Sergi was sure he had told the Americans where to find him.

This was followed by several minutes of complete silence. Finally, Sergi muttered a, "yes, sir," and hung up the phone.

"Mr. Yaburov is very displeased with your cowardice. However, he does wish to send his greetings."

Fortunately, for Anton, he barely had time to react before Sergi raised the gun and put three bullets into his skull.

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In London, Vasyl Yaburov closed his phone and gave a laugh at the situation. He should have spotted a weak fool like Anton ten years ago when he was hired. That idiot would crack if he had his thumb bent backwards, let alone if threatened by American police officers. So Elliot Stabler had decided to come to London. This meant that he had yet to report his information to his superiors back in the United States. Still, Yaburov called Kendal Evans and told him of the happenings. Evans had reported everything being fine and profitable. So the situation was still in his control although not as securely as it had been twenty four hours ago.

Despite these reassurances, Yaburov still felt the need to be cautious. Surely Stabler wouldn't do anything stupid. Stabler couldn't be certain if Benson was alive or dead and Yaburov was sure the American wouldn't act rashly without knowing she was safe. That was his bargaining chip and he planned on manipulating it to the best of his abilities.

Opening his cell phone, Yaburov quickly dialed another number. If Stabler was flying into London, he needed to know when he left Latvia and when he would reach London.

"Yeah, boss," came the greeting from Akin Pankratov, a man in his mid fifties who worked at the largest airport in Latvia, Riga International Airport. If anyone could help him, it would be Pankratov. He was a pilot and Yaburov had often used him to transport his young women abroad.

"I need to know when the next flight out of London is."

For several minutes the only sound Yaburov could hear was typing as Pankratov looked up the requested information.

"Boss, you still there?"

"Yeah, what've you found?"

"A plane's leaving for London in two hours. It'll reach Heathrow around four this afternoon, your time."

"What's the flight number?"

"American Flight 426 from Latvia. It'll be from gate C16."

Yaburov hung up the phone and replaced it in his pocket. He then got up and exited his office.

Yaburov's mansion just outside of London, England was his largest. It was in a small country area so there was little activity and he was able to accomplish much from here. He walked down the hall and found three men sitting at a small table playing a hand of poker.

"Mikhail, are you up for doing me a favor this evening?"

The Russian got to his feet, while he nodded. Mikhail Saakov wasn't the largest of the body guards and Yaburov had chosen him for this reason. He needed someone to tail Stabler and give details to him. The last thing he needed was for Stabler to make any moves without his knowledge.

"I want you to report to Heathrow airport around three thirty this afternoon. You'll be looking for the plane from Latvia. Detective Elliot Stabler will be on that flight, probably accompanied by two other men. I want you to follow him and report all of his movements to me. His flight number is American 426 and you'll approach gate C16."

He than turned to the other two men, both of whom had been listening intently to Mikhail's orders.

"Platon, Lazar, I want you to pay close attention to Mikhail's descriptions. I want all three men eliminated immediately."

Platon Vahidov nodded stiffly, but Lazar Gaaz had another concern.

"Sir, what about the American bitch? Who's supposed to baby-sit her if we're out assassinating American cops? You just gonna kill her?"

Yaburov walked over and took a seat next to his body guard.

"I'll take over for you tonight."

All three men couldn't disguise their shock at Yaburov's statement.

"You, sir?"

Yaburov gave the three men a queer look. "What? You don't think I can handle the little bitch?"

Platon shook his head quickly. "Never, sir! We just thought it was beneath you to take care of her yourself. Surely someone else is around tonight."

"Never," Yaburov had walked over and placed his hand on the doorknob behind Mikhail. "I just wanna make sure the job on her gets done right, in case the three of you fuck up. Which you'd better not," Yaburov added as an afterthought before opening the door and vanishing inside.

Mikhail, Platon and Lazar exchanged worried glances. They had never fucked up a mission before but this sentence made all three of them nervous. There was much riding on the proper execution of this plan against the Americans.

Yaburov shut the door behind him but kept his ear pressed up against the door, wondering what his three men would say. He could hear the nervousness in their voices as they continued to play poker. They didn't discuss the mission but Yaburov knew his threat had gotten the job done. He smiled to himself. Fear was what kept people in line. Everyone who worked for him knew what he was capable of. The knowledge of this control made him smile. Yet there was still one person…

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

The smile on Yaburov's face widened and he turned from the door to face the person he had come to see.

While most people cringed before him, Olivia Benson had yet to show her fear to him. Yaburov knew she was afraid of him but she kept it bottled up inside so well. This Olivia Benson was the exact opposite of the shy and submissive woman he had worked with for the past several days.

He turned away from the door and approached her. Yaburov knew screaming, ranting and threatening did little to get a rise out of Olivia Benson. Instead, he fixed her with a very calm face and nodded.

"Yes. But not right now."

Benson said nothing and didn't even acknowledge the Yaburov had answered. The Russian walked over and stood directly in front of her. When she tried to turn away, he seized her shoulders and held her in place. Realizing defeat, Benson had looked up to meet his eyes. She was only a few inches shorter than him and his stature did nothing to frighten or intimidate her.

"What did you think I would do, Olivia?" His grip on her shoulders tightened. She winced but only slightly. "You're far too old for my brothels. The men who come to me are looking for underage girls who would never be able to press charges. I also can't keep you around since, if you escaped, you'd know exactly where to go." Benson was now flinching noticeably as Yaburov's grasp became even more tenacious. "Also, I can't have you being a drain on my resources unless you have a way to repay me for my kindness. Olivia, what would you do if you were in my situation?"

Benson never blinked and her brown eyes never left his gray ones.

"If I were you, I'd let me go right now. Killing a police officer is an automatic needle in the arm. But, then again, if they catch you you're already facing the death penalty. And they will catch you. Believe me."

Her voice was firm and unafraid. She didn't beg or plead or even ask him to stop hurting her. She simply answered his question and kept eye contact. She wasn't glaring or snarling. Her face was as calm as his.

Yaburov gave her a cold smile before throwing her onto the floor. Benson, caught by surprise, cried out as she hit the ground, her lip splitting and bleeding onto the carpet. Yaburov was on the ground beside her in an instant. He threw the nightgown she had been wearing for nearly twenty four hours up to her waist and laid on top of her so his face was even with her ear. His hand gently stroking her in a way that was meant to intimidate and threaten rather than sooth.

"Many of my girls come to me with mouths like yours. But after they're broken in they rarely speak to me with anything less than reverence. It's time to see if you're the same way."

Yaburov laid there for several minutes with Benson breathing heavily beneath him, his weight baring down upon her. Letting her feel everything he was doing, Yaburov undid his belt and trousers. Deciding that the fight was out of her, he grabbed a hold of her panties. Before he could rip them off, however, her elbow came in contact with his nose, the same nose her partner had broken several days prior.

With a howl of pain Yaburov grabbed his face, trying to stem the flow of blood. Benson quickly covered herself and was on her feet in seconds. Her eyes wracked her captor, seeking out a weapon. When none was found, she turned and made a mad dash for the door.

Alerted by their boss's scream of pain, Mikhail, Platon and Lazar hurried into the room, where their eyes first caught sight of Benson, who had frozen, before landing on Yaburov, who was laying on the floor with blood oozing out from the fingers that were holding his nose. Lazar, the largest of the three, seized Benson and pushed his gun under her chin.

"Want me to waste her, Boss?"

Yaburov found his feet and walked over to Lazar and Benson. Platon handed him a handkerchief, which he used as a replacement for his hand, as he passed by. He took Benson's chin in his hand and met her eyes.

"You want me to say yes, bitch? You want me to meet your partner wearing your brains on my shirt?"

Benson said nothing and Yaburov released her chin. "Not yet, Lazar, but soon. That's a promise, Olivia. Soon."

Lazar returned his gun to his coat pocket but before he could release Benson, Yaburov punched her twice, one in the face and once in the stomach. The latter knocked the wind out of her and she would have sunk to the ground if it weren't for Lazar holding her up. Her legs had given out and her captor was now supporting her entire weight. Yaburov grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back so she was looking at him.

"And I'm sure I'll take more pleasure in watching your life blood spill out of your body than I would fucking you."

He threw Benson's head forward and her world began to spin from the whiplash. Lazar than shoved her away and she sank to the ground, still in pain from the attack. All four men exited leaving Benson alone to use her nightgown as the only means to soak up her blood.

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival."

C.S. Lewis

Author's notes: Here's another chapter as promised. Keep the reviews coming and I'll see you tomorrow night with a new chapi:) I also got a bio up.

Kelly of the Midnight Dawn - I'm sorry if I stole an idea of yours (or one that's already published). Just know that I didn't do it on purpose and I hope you'll continue to read and enjoy my story. Please write (if it isn't already written) your story since I'm sure your ideas are very different and just as good as (if not better than) mine.