Chapter 6

Lana continues her story.

One day, a large, bald, goateed man came to me and spoke in Russian to me. I tried to pretend that I did not understand, but he simply smiled cruelly.

"Oh, but you speak Russian very fluently, do you not--Svetlana Alexeevna Savina?"

I was shocked that he knew in such detail who I was. I was confused as to how he could know so much. Then he began to speak with a voice of authority, and I knew then that I was in the presence of one of the most horrible men on the face of the earth, Vasily Radkevich himself.

Suddenly, I was very angry; furious, in fact, at the man who was behind so much horror, pain, and suffering for so many people--the man who had stolen the child that I had conceived and borne from love with my husband before falling prey to these animals. I stood straight, as if I were a free person, and not a slave to this barbarian in the Armani suit. I adopted an expression that I hoped appeared to be a sneer, and said to him, "Da, Vasiliy Il'ich Radkevich; v samom dele, ya govoryu po-russki ochen' khorosho (Yes, Vasily Illich Radkevich; in fact, I speak Russian very well)."

He gave me no warning as he simply grinned evilly and backhanded me to the face, knocking me back.

"Impudent slut; where is my money?" he demanded of me.

I looked startled at Vasily and said, "What do you mean; what money?"

He simply laughed and grabbed me by the throat with his huge left hand and began slapping me with his right, as he spoke to me between slaps, "Where ... is ... my ... money ... Slut?"

I cried out as much as I could with my throat being constricted and being rhythmically slapped. "I ... do not ... know about ... your money."

After a few more minutes, Vasily simply let go of my throat and I dropped to the floor, sobbing and massaging my throat where he had held me. He nudged me with the toe of one of his mirror-finish handmade shoes.

"You will remain with my enterprise for the rest of your life, then, and work off what you owe me. For, you see; I know all about your accounting talents and how that greedy fool, Van Horn, used you to locate and loot my resources. When I learned of this, I had your efforts monitored. I know how you allowed Van Horn to get his greedy hands on my money, supposedly routing it to so-called official FBI accounts.

"Then, one day, my smart business and networking people, who are monitoring your efforts out of Vadim's offices, notice another thing. Not all the money that is supposedly being..." finger quotes in the air, " ... officially confiscated ... by this greedy man, Van Horn, is going to the accounts that he had directed you to use as part of his so-called investigation--now they are going elsewhere. He is having you ship MY money to Van Horn's own private retirement account."

Vasily calmly lit a very aromatic cigar; and he paused before continuing. "My people discovered several more accounts all over the world through which a goodly amount of the profits from my enterprises were moving ... and not simply to accounts belonging to this Van Horn."

Vasily scowled at me, at this point. "They were being used as waypoints in a vast scheme to shuffle money, supposedly at random times and in varying quantities, away from my own accounts--eventually winding up vanishing into the black hole of the Cayman Islands banking system. This was money that was going to someone other than that greedy and arrogant fool, Van Horn.

"Now," Vasily leaned toward me as he puffed on his cigar--which actually smelled very aromatic and almost sweet, differing considerably from what I had expected. "Since you were the one discovering the locations of my resources via your accounting skills; and you were also the one moving my money to Van Horn at his behest; it only stands to reason that you are the one who took the rest of my money and knows exactly where it went when it disappeared."

Vasily blew smoke in my face as he said, "You owe me three-point-six million dollars, My Dear; and I want it back."

I could not help myself as I smiled at Vasily. I replied, rasping through my bruised larynx, "You can demand all that you want, Vasily Illich, but I cannot give you what I do not have; nor what I have no way of knowing about." I rose to my feet slowly as he watched me.

"I do not even know how long I have been here, and I do not know exactly how long or where I was before this. Your people have had me drugged and..." here I smirked a bit, " ... busy fucking any and all who come into my cell or room." Here, I scowled with fury at the man behind my circumstances. "And I have delivered a son ... whom you have stolen from me."

Vasily only smirked at me. I swear, at that moment, if I could have reached anything that I could have used as a weapon, Vasily would have been dead long before his big shootout with Federal agents. I would have beaten his head in, even if it meant that the others in the room were to shoot me dead. But it was not to be; so, in frustration, I continued with what I had to say to him.

"And, before all of this, I will admit that I was working out of Vadim's offices--you already know that much. But I was doing what I thought was legitimate investigative work, seeking to discover business irregularities on behalf of the FBI." Then, I had to put on my best innocent expression as I flat-out lied my ass off.

"I have no idea about your accusations against Supervisory Special Agent Van Horn. To me, he was one of the bosses on the job where I worked; even though he was also somewhat of a flirt, as I found out personally. You say he was a thief, but I never knew this. I simply identified to him and his people what I found, where it was originating, and where it was moving and how frequently." Vasily was getting angrier as I spoke. When I paused, he spoke.

"And you honestly expect me to believe all this bullshit?" he exploded. He slapped me so that I fell to my knees again. This time, I felt it prudent to remain there on the floor at his feet.

Vasily then unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock and began to urinate on me as he spoke.

"Piss on you; and piss on your fabrications. Remember that I now own you. I have already taken one of your babies and made a handsome profit from selling him." When he finished urinating on my face and torso, he put away his cock, zipped his trousers, and straightened his clothing, and said, "I will ensure that you remain with us long enough to have many more babies that we may sell for a handsome profit." He then grinned as I looked up at him in humiliation from the urine all over me; and the horror at his intentions for me; and my offspring.

"Sons are nice; but, in your case, I hope you give us many blonde daughters. They sell for much more money to the special clientele to whom we cater in the Arab world." I am sure that he only said this to make it seem more horrible to me, but I was already aghast at the barbarism shown by this man.

He left me there and I remained on my knees for almost five minutes after he and his men left the room, alone in my thoughts, before I moved to the bathroom adjacent the bedroom in which they were keeping me. I did not even remove the clothing that I was wearing. I simply stood in the shower in an attempt to rinse off both Valisy's urine and the idea of my own degradation at his hands.

From that point on, I was fucked anywhere from one to six times a day; by men I assumed to be customers and by those I knew to be Vasily's henchmen. At intervals of about a month each, several of the women and I were taken to parties, where men of obvious power and wealth would use us for their private entertainment and sexual gratification.

Our 'hosts' for the evening were evidently warned not to harm us in any way. I only know of one girl--she cannot have been more than nineteen--who suffered cigar burns at the hands of one of the men on one of the occasions. When we were retrieved by Vasily's men at the end of the night, they saw what had happened to her. Three of the five men who had come in the van entered the house and we heard gunfire. None of us was ever harmed again; I guess Vasily must have ensured that word of his vengeance got around to his potential customers.

After about six months of this, it happened--I became pregnant again. This time, it seems that Vasily's men took great delight in having sex with a pregnant woman, as the number of times I was visited daily increased noticeably from I was used to; it went to between four and seven times daily for about three weeks.

Then, something changed; I did not know what it was at the time.

I, along with all the women in the house where they were keeping us, were awakened in the middle of the night and told to dress warmly. It was fall and the weather outside was very rainy and windy. They loaded us into the back of a van--it must have been what you call a one-ton van--and we were allowed only one bag each. They pulled the rolling door down on us, leaving us in darkness as the van began to move. Luckily, one of the women had packed a flashlight, so that we could see each other a bit to move about in order to gain some degree of comfort.

We discovered later that we had been moved farther inland from the coastal region in order to avoid a hurricane. There had been mandatory evacuation of the region were we had been--evidently near the coast--and they were concerned that law enforcement and public safety agencies would be checking that all residents of the area had evacuated and discover what was going on at the house where we had been.

We were taken from the van, when it stopped after a few hours, and herded through the darkness quickly into a large house at our new location. We had no idea where we were, but it really did not matter. We would continue to be used for sex in the manner we had been used for the many months previous at the old site.

My pregnancy was a much easier one this time, as I had already delivered two children in my life to that point. Nevertheless, they continued using me for sex right up to about three weeks before their own people--who examined those of us who were pregnant--said I was probably due.

When my contractions began in earnest and my water broke, they took me to a specially-prepared room in the basement of the house--a breeding house, they told me later--and I delivered my third child--my second while in captivity--a girl this time. I knew that they did not plan to allow me to keep it past the first several weeks, but I named and baptized her anyway--Angela Corinne Brodie--yes, I gave her your name as well, Maddux; OUR name; even though you were not her biological father. In that way, I could still retain hope that someone would somehow rescue me and reunite me with you--my one true love--someday.

I had recovered from the delivery within a week and my baby and I were together for just one more day. I was breastfeeding her when the door opened and one of Vasily's men came in and told me to get ready to go within the hour. I knew by then not to question; simply to comply.

I packed the minimal things I might need for myself in the small zippered soft case I had used before. I had to find a plastic grocery bag for diapers, 3 changes of clothing, and a hand towel to use as a changing pad for Baby Angela. I was using skin cream--from the cosmetics they insisted I use to look nice for customers--for use on the Baby Angela's bottom, in case she developed diaper rash.

Once again, the women--and this time several babies and toddlers--were loaded into a van without windows. We were transported to a different house over a period of time that I estimate was probably three hours' drive time away from where we had been staying before.

Our new location was not as nice a place as the one before. The rooms were smaller and the house was much older--one could tell by the smell and the look of the door and window molding strips--they were much older in style. We had windows that looked out over hills and valleys, so we knew that we were farther inland, and probably in the piedmont or mountainous region somewhere in the Eastern United States; other than that, we had no clue where we were.

For the next several months, the men had us set up shop in that house. We had some minor relief from our sexual duties for a couple of weeks when we first got there--a quick fuck or blowjob to the men overseeing us once in a while. But the business began again in earnest; too soon for us to believe that we could really relax.

We began to receive visits from men of all economic strata--businessmen, truckers, college students, and even farmers. After all the time we had been involved in the sex business by now, the other ladies and I could easily tell what these men and boys were from the way they dressed and the way they spoke and treated us.

And that bastard, Gennady Sokolski, returned to torment us all. He took great joy at simply walking into my room any time he felt like it, and announcing to me, "Game time, My Little Slut!" And then he would force me to blow him, if he was pressed for time. Then, on those occasions when he had more opportunity to dally, he would force his loathsome cock into my pussy.

And, thus, it went on for another year-and-a-half. For some reason, they had allowed Baby Angela to remain with me until she could walk. Then, one day, they devastated me by taking my daughter away. I did not have time to be miserable, as they increased the number of sexual events in my life from then on.

At some point, I became pregnant yet again--as you can see from the swell of my abdomen. But I had become something similar to a zombie at that point--complying without complaint, and simply going through the motions of life.

Until a few weeks ago...

There was a loud noise in the middle of the night, followed by shots and the sounds of many booted feet moving through the house. I sat upright in my bed--my last customer had left just two hours previously and I had been asleep when the noise broke out.

A man dressed in what appeared to be SWAT gear, with the letters HRT on the front of his vest, burst through my door, carrying an assault rifle with a light on the end. I did not even have the presence of mind to raise my hands--I just sat there. He did a quick search through my room, including my small closet, all the while telling me--in English AND in Russian, if you can believe that--to remain calm and to stay in my room until further notice.

After an hour or so, armed men escorted us all taken downstairs, and we assembled in the large front room. There were several more people--men and women both--all wearing windbreakers with different letters on them. The labels varied, including 'FBI, ' 'DEA, ' 'Sherriff, ' 'ICE, ' and 'Police.' I guess everyone in law enforcement had wanted to get in on the action at some point.

There were red and blue lights flashing outside. Looking through the lower floor front windows, I saw a couple of high-intensity white lights atop vans behind the police vehicles. I had to smile to myself as I thought--for some reason--that the presence of these vans probably meant the BATF was involved as well, since the press was obviously here so quickly.

Several people with medical bags in hand had come in and were in position to help the women. Two of the Russian gangsters were laid out on the floor, and one was receiving medical attention, while the other was obviously dead, lying in his own blood. I did not see any of the other gang members, assuming they were either dead outside or had been hauled away already.