The
first two containers held exactly what was stated on the manifest, crates of
machine parts, bound for Chicago. When they cracked the doors on the third
container however, it was all they could do to keep from vomiting. The
overpowering stench emanating from the open door was just the beginning. Greg
was the first one to regain his composure, and with a hand over his nose and
mouth, he entered the container.
“Sick
sons of bitches,” he said as he exited moments later. “We’ve got three inside,
dead. I didn’t get close enough to check, but my guess is that they died from dehydration.
And from the level of decomp, it looks like they’ve been here for a while too.”
Kelli
looked up at him, forcing down the bile in her throat. “Those Russian son of a
bitches. They kidnap these girls, throw them in this thing and then don’t even
give a fuck if they live or not,” she said, balling her fist, her face growing
hotter. “I want these fuckers, Greg; they have to pay for this shit.”
“Calm
down, Kelli. They will pay, but let’s get these girls out of there first,
okay?” He put his arm around her and eased her away from the container. “Gallo,
Graham. One of you want to get forensics down here, and a coroner,” he called
over his shoulder.
