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To make sense of part two, you really do need to read the first part of the story.
This story is about a modern-day scourge. When many of us think about slavery, we have images of coloured people working the cotton fields in southern America, but it is as real today as it was back in the 1800s. This is part two of a very real slave trade, happening right under our noses.
The Modern Day Slave Trade Takes Many Forms:
? Slavery -- the conditioning of treating another person as if they were property.
? Forced Labour -- work taken without consent by means of threat or coercion.
? Human Trafficking -- the process in which people are bought and sold into some form of severe exploitation.
I took a sip of their coffee and wondered on what planet would this be called coffee, but this late at night was the only place that was open and I needed something hot and wet inside of me. This will have to do.
I sat there quietly, weighing up the options. If I turned up at the house it would take the AFP all of 30 seconds to ID me from their watching post and that would start a chain reaction that wouldn't end well for me. If I snuck in the backway, chances are I would be dead soon after I entered the house. I looked at the google map once again. Whoever had picked the house was smart, there was no way of sneaking up on it unseen. The houses on either side of it were being demolished, all that was left of them was the old footings. The block behind it was a church and well-lit. The back fence was torn down, which gave anyone in the house looking a clear view all the way back to the other side of the block. Thank god for google maps.
There was a small side street opposite the house, which rose up on a slight rise. Parked at the top of the hill, might be an advantage. I looked at the street map and found a way to get there without driving past the house and drawing attention to myself from the AFP or whoever was watching in the house. I was certain whoever was in the house was watching.
The rain had returned by the time I had finished my burger and the muck in a cup, which they called coffee. It wasn't as heavy as earlier in the evening, more a misty drizzle, which was good, it cut visibility down somewhat. I went to the boot and pulled out my original 1940s USAF bomber jacket, then took out some night vision goggles and my night binoculars, two cases of bullets and put them in a small carry-all bag and slammed the boot shut. I pulled the collar up on my dark leather flying jacket. At least I'll be warm I thought to myself. I looked around and saw no one.

I took off slowly and headed up towards the street address remembering to cut in through the back streets. I would have gotten lost if not for the monotone voice on the phone, "turn left in 50 meters, then turn the next right." I arrived, eventually, where I wanted to be. I reached under the seat and hunted around until I felt the handle of the Smith