Between Master and Slave (Manxman, Mature)

Headquarters

When we finally land at our destination a large van is waiting for us. It's one of those vans that can carry 10 people or so on four different rows of chairs. The two back rows are removed right now and, Albert and I place Francesco's cage there. Albert sits at the front next to the driver as I sit on the back next to Mr. Stensky.

As we drive off, I decide to talk to him, just to break the oppressive silence and maybe reassure Francesco that I am still with him, in case he did not realize when we transported him.
"So where are we?"
First he just stares at me, then amused replies.
"You don't expect me to answer that, do you?"
I just shrug my shoulders, as I reply.
"Worth a shot. But I was really just making conversation."
He smiles.
"I always said I like you. For all you know we may just kill you soon and you just make conversation."
"If you wanted to kill me, you would have done so already, you have done that obviously in past. So for now at least you are not going to kill me, might as well make the time less dreary."
He smiles again.
"I will answer your question. We are going to our headquarters."
"Cool, and no chance as to know where exactly that is?"
"No chance." He answers amused.

The drive is not long and we arrive at a metal gate. On the outside there is a low stone wall with pointed metal spikes. Even if the wall is only a bit more then a couple of meters, the metal spiked rods would make it hard to climb it in or out, if not impossible. When we enter, I see that on the inside all along the wall is a layer of manicured bush line neatly cut just above the metal spikes and about 1/2 m wide, as if the occupant/owner wanted to keep privacy but also hide the unsightly perimeter wall.

Thanks to this clear demarcation, I can estimate the property is approximately 150m wide by probably about the same long. The grounds are well manicured gardens. Mostly grass with stone paths and beds of darker earth which contain colored flowers and low bushes. In what seems the center of the property is a two story building. On the ground floor I see regular spaced arches, with high windows on each arch. The central arch of the building houses a grand ornate door. On the second floor I see a narrow balcony running the width of  the three central ground floor arches, the rest of the building has tall windows that are centered on each of the lower remaining arches. From my limited knowledge of architecture, I guess the building must be western construction dating from the early 1900's.
The typical European building and clement weather for this period of the year, means that we must be in some Southern European country, Portugal, Spain, maybe even Italy, even if I don't recognize the terrain, nor the airport at which we landed.

If I could study it a bit longer I might discover some other clues, but we reach the central door, which opens and my attention is diverted by the Russian that states.
"Albert, bring the slave to the basement," then to me, "if you don't mind to help."
"Of course, with pleasure." I reply, might as well be courteous, at least until I figure out a way to free Francesco.
We lift the box and I am able to get my eye close enough to see the unmoving form inside. He is on his back, knees tight against his chest. Head squeezed against the door, his chin against his sternum. His arms are limp by his sides. He must be hurting terribly, he had to endure this position for over 24 hours.

We follow Vladimir through the main door. The grand entrance is nothing but a very wide, I guess 5m, vaulted ceiling corridor. On the right and left are smaller doors and at the end a grand marble staircase gives access to the upper floors.
We take the central door to the right, which gains us access to a room which spans the width of the building and is set up as a dining room that could easily sit about 20 people. At the end of this room we pass through another door with a corridor. On the left a closed door and on the right the door is open and I see a kitchen. After the kitchen we take a side door which leads to the basement via a narrow stone staircase.

The large vaulted room is made of small bricks and mortar. The coolness of the air and musty smell typical of the underground. On the side walls I see shelves with neatly stacked bottle of wines and other liquids, as well as other stores. From ceiling rafters hang different kinds of cold cuts and cheeses. The sparse light from conchs located on the walls is actually strong enough to give a clear view of the inside, so that I notice that a couple of shelves actually hold bottles that are grey with the amount of dust on them.