Avenger (23 page)

Morgan spent the rest of the day making a show of his detailed analysis of the property and the Night Witch’s extant security arrangements, which were negligible. He had decided to be collaborative, at least on the surface, in order to appear professional and, above all, committed to the task she was paying him for. His objective was to cast his eye over as much of the property as he possibly could to find its vulnerable points so that when the time came, he could exploit them. In the meantime, if an opportunity presented itself, he would attempt to weaken the current security footprint without creating any noticeable gaps.

From a genuine security perspective, all that was needed were a few very rudimentary strategies that were important enough but would appear to the inexperienced eye to be much more significant than they really were. He began with the obvious stuff like CCTV and the main access points. For a start, most of the cameras he could see were pointing directly into overgrown trees. That was pretty common. It told Morgan that no one was actively managing the surveillance gear. Good to know. It meant it was highly unlikely that his image had been captured anywhere last night, although he couldn’t guarantee that.

He got Voloshyn’s gardener and his apprentice, a local man and a young boy, probably his son, to start cutting back the trees to, he told them, allow the cameras to get a much clearer view of all the approaches to the house and around the perimeter fence. Next, he headed for the gates. The first was the main gate, the north one. The second was the south gate at the back, the one he’d seen the night before that led into the property from the cabin and the fencing tunnel. He couldn’t let on that he knew about that one, so he expertly allowed himself, under the ever-watchful eye of Godek Kajkowski, to discover it in the presence of one of the local guards. Morgan eventually realized that there was another gate, located in the eastern wall, that led directly out onto Voloshyn’s private beach. As they came upon it, it appeared to be unlocked, secured by only a simple slide bolt with no evidence of a padlock or chain anywhere. Interesting.

His first step in weakening what security Voloshyn had was to reduce the number of Kajkowski’s men onsite at any one time. He ascertained that, with the loss of the two he’d killed last night, they were now down to just four: Kajkowski plus three. Dariusz didn’t qualify, although he definitely was around and loitering, mostly by the pool or else poring over the accounts on his ever-present laptop. Perhaps Dariusz could be of use.

Morgan set off to find the Night Witch. She’d withdrawn to her own quarters, no doubt shaken by the events of the previous evening.

“I need to float something by you,” he said. “You got a minute?”

Voloshyn was sitting at her desk in the office that adjoined her private suite on the villa’s top floor with its million-dollar views of the ocean.

“Sure, come in.”

“Of the two guests you have coming tomorrow,” he began, walking into the room but remaining a respectful distance from her desk, “which is the most important?”

“Well, whoever the investors send to represent them, obviously. I expect they’ll send accountants. Probably a couple of the men we met with in LA. They’re across all the financial details. The meeting with the Chinese is purely for their benefit. I have to impress them and show that I can bring the Chinese into the deal.”

Morgan could see that the performing seal role didn’t sit well with her. “OK, that’s what I thought. So, as a subtle but necessary show of respect, acknowledging their importance, I would recommend that you send your man Dariusz to meet them at whichever airport they’ll depart from, and that he travels with them all the way back here.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Traveling to Belize isn’t straightforward. There are transfers, layovers, a dozen little hoops to jump through just to get down here. Dariusz could be your eyes and ears. When there’s down time, he could be reinforcing your position and gauging where they really stand on the whole Chinese end of the deal. And at the same time you’ll be impressing them by showing that you appreciate the significance of them sending their emissary so much that you sent your own right-hand man to accompany him. Consider it commercial diplomacy.”

“What’s this got to do with you?” she asked. “It doesn’t concern my security.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong. An integral part of what I do is protecting reputations. Achieving that comes with all sorts of challenges. You want this to run smoothly, and sending Dariusz to escort them down here will instantly put you on the front foot. It means that your influence begins from their point of departure, not just when they get here. You’re in control all the way.”

Voloshyn spent a few moments searching the ocean for guidance. Then she said: “I’ll think about it. But how will Dariusz get up there in time? He would have to be in LA by first thing tomorrow morning in order to meet them and travel back here. It’s not possible, even if I agreed to it.”

“There’s a flight leaving Placencia this afternoon at two pm. I was booked on it. If he hurries, he’ll make it. Then he’ll be able to connect at Belize City for LAX this evening and get in late tonight. Meanwhile you can liaise with the investors and let them know what you’re doing. Dariusz is a big boy, I’m sure he’ll be able to sort it out.”

“OK, is that it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll let you know then.”

Morgan walked back downstairs in search of Kajkowski. He needed to lose another one and a simple solution came to mind. He found the big Pole at the dining table by the pool, apparently conspiring with Dariusz. The two of them fell silent as he approached.

“What the fuck do you want?” Kajkowski said.

“I want you to send one of your boys to sit at the airport as our forward recon man between now and tomorrow, before all this shit starts to happen.”

“Forward recon? What the fuck for?”

“So he can report back to us about any unusual new arrivals coming into Placencia ahead of the main players. I doubt that a Triad boss is going to travel anywhere outside his own patch without an advance party, and we know they only really trust their own. So he should keep an eye out for any Chinese-looking types. They’ll be nondescript, gray men; good at blending into the background. Not gym junkies like you and your circus troupe. Your guy only needs to call it in if he sees anything, and then follow them to see where they’re staying. I’m sure even your men could manage that.”

Kajkowski stepped slowly around the table and approached Morgan, shaping up for a confrontation. He had obviously used this particular approach against easily intimidated ne’er-do-wells from the underworld, who most likely instantly responded with retreat mode. His movements and openly aggressive, puffed-chest demeanor were like a pantomime; all slow motion, pause-for-effect stuff that Hollywood was to blame for. With great showmanship, Kajkowski’s powerfully muscled arm reached around to the flashy silver Magnum he wore in a leather holster under his arm, but before he’d even managed to close his fingers around the grips, Morgan had the Beretta drawn from the elasticized holster beneath his loose polo shirt and aimed directly at the other man’s gut. Kajkowski stopped dead in his tracks.

“Jesus,” said Morgan casually. “Two or three more minutes of that routine and I reckon you would have had me.”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” the other man snarled, but didn’t risk drawing the gun. Instead he spat on the ground at Morgan’s feet.

“Godek!” Dariusz barked. “Not now.”

“I’m happy to sort this out,” said Morgan, eyes fixed on Kajkowski. “The sooner, the better, so I can get on with my job.”

“You know, Mister Big Time Security Expert, you might have her believing your bullshit,” Dariusz began, “but Godek and I think it was you out there in the swamp last night.”

“Great minds think alike, I suppose. I don’t give a shit. Think what you like. Now, are you going to let your dog off his leash so we can settle this once and for all, or are we going to send a man out to the airport so we can start protecting your boss and get this deal done? If I understand correctly, you stand to make quite a bit of money out of this yourself, am I right? Two of your guys being killed outside the wall last night as well as a gunfight here in the grounds today, the day before this deal is supposed to be done, won’t exactly fill your investors with confidence, will it?”

“They’ll never know, you fuck!” said Kajkowski.

“They will,” said Morgan. “How do you know I’m not working for them right now?”

A stunned silence ensued until a cell phone on the table buzzed and broke the deadlock.

“Get one of your guys out to the airport now and forget about this creep,” Dariusz said, picking up the phone and dismissing Kajkowski. “There’ll be plenty of time to deal with him later.”

The big man dropped his hand from where it had been hovering near his gun and kicked a chair hard enough to send it flying, narrowly missing Morgan. He didn’t budge and the Beretta remained locked on its target.

“When this is over and she doesn’t want you around anymore,” Kajkowski yelled, full of frustration, “I’m going to slit your fucking throat!” He stormed off.

Calmly, Morgan holstered the Beretta and turned his attention back to Dariusz.

“He doesn’t sound very happy.” The cell phone, which had stopped buzzing during Kajkowski’s tantrum, had started up again. “You really should take that call.”

“What’s it to you?” said Dariusz.

“Nothing. But once she gets through telling you where you’re going, if you pack really quickly, you might just make the flight in time.”

The departure of Dariusz came with an unexpected bonus. Such was the level of anxiety and paranoia circulating among Voloshyn, Dariusz and even Kajkowski – following Morgan’s carefully timed suggestions about the property being under surveillance by Triad forward recon teams, and that he himself may or may not be working for the investors – that Dariusz flatly refused to leave the villa unless he was accompanied by a bodyguard. Now desperate to regain some control, Voloshyn reluctantly acquiesced, leaving herself down to just Kajkowski, one of his men, and a slack handful of local guards to cover her own protection and security for the villa. And, of course, she still had Morgan. His deliberate attempt to destabilize her security had had the desired effect.

Earlier in the afternoon, when Kajkowski had personally driven Dariusz to the airport along with the bodyguard who’d been selected to accompany him, Morgan managed to convince the last of Kajkowski’s men to show him the security control room which, in theory, should have been the villa’s nerve center. It wasn’t. Instead, Morgan found a hang-out space for the crew. The room stank of booze and cigarette smoke, and the walls were covered with explicit images of naked women. Some were clearly favorites torn from the pages of the literally hundreds of porn mags that littered the space, but many others appeared to be computer printouts of images snapped from cell phones. These included the all-too-familiar mugs of Kajkowski and his men in graphic selfies snapped during sessions of group sex with a variety of young women. All featured half-a-dozen men, always including Kajkowski, and only ever one girl. The pictures adorned the walls like trophies. In every case, the young girl seemed to be completely out of it, drugged out of her mind, no doubt, and passed around like little more than a sex doll for a pack of depraved assholes. Gang rape, not group sex. What Morgan was looking at was nonconsensual. It had to be.

Across the range of the photos, he counted at least a dozen different girls. All of them looked to be white Europeans, tall, attractive, and no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. He thought one of them was possibly
Ş
tefania and wondered how many of the others had met a similar fate.

Hiding his revulsion and ignoring the obscenely juvenile boasts of Kajkowski’s man, Morgan turned to the rest of the room. He eventually discovered a computer tucked away in a small alcove at the back, together with multiple flat screens, a filthy keyboard, a joystick and a variety of games consoles. The monitor was on standby. He could see the flickering of an external modem, indicating that it was connected to the internet. Through a disjointed few seconds of gesticulating and broken English he soon ascertained from Kajkowski’s man that this was also the CCTV operating system but it was never used for that, just games and porn. Excellent. An idea began to form.

At 5pm Morgan looked at his watch. He was outside again now, checking around the perimeter of the property. He could see that the gardener and his boy, chainsaws in hand, were still working away, clearing the final few obstructions to the CCTV fields of view. They’d made good time considering the extent of the work he’d ordered, and would be done within the hour. Then they’d have to clean away all the debris they had created before nightfall – the place had to be immaculate by first thing in the morning.

Their progress and the absence of the others gave Morgan an opportunity to return to the security control room again, this time unaccompanied. If anyone asked, he would say that he was checking on how much the view of each camera had been improved by the hacking and slashing of overgrown vegetation. His actual intentions were a little more complicated: if he could get it working properly, the CCTV system could be of real value.

Carefully, Morgan eased open the rickety flywire door, flicked on the single-bulb light and stepped inside. He was making his way across to the computer when something on the photo trophy wall caught his eye. Was that what he thought it was? He stepped between the maze of dilapidated lounge chairs, empty beer cans, spilled ashtrays and stacks of porn magazines, to one of the trophy photos. Four guys, a girl, and just visible in the shadows of the background – barely captured by the cell-phone’s flash – a tuft of peroxide-blonde hair and a face of pure evil, laughing in ecstasy. She was surrounded by her attack dogs, sitting in a big chair, watching as they pack raped just another girl. Darja Voloshyn. The Night Witch liked to watch.

Who the fuck were these people?

Morgan shook his head and moved on to the computer, intent only on his mission now; he couldn’t allow any more emotional baggage to cloud his judgment. He didn’t have time to acknowledge how much his mind and body ached for respite. He didn’t have time to consider just how many girls had fallen victim to this pack of sub-human scum or how long these people had been free to operate worldwide, unfettered. He didn’t have time, because in less than twenty-four hours, two of the world’s biggest players in the slavery trade were going to be here, under the same roof and within striking distance of Intrepid. He was ready to activate the extraction plan.

He sat down at the computer, moved the mouse and listened to the whine as the machine came back to life, slowly. It wasn’t top of the range, that was for sure. After minimizing a dozen screens featuring first-person shooter online games and sex sites, he eventually reached the desktop and identified the CCTV operating system icon. It was an old model, about ten years old. No surprises there. As he maneuvered his way within the various fields of the operating system, he soon found the activity log and confirmed just how neglected the system had been. According to the log, the last recorded use of the CCTV system was almost six months ago. Complacency wins once again.

Now that he had the cameras going, he ran a general visual sweep across the entire property, all the while formulating a number of potential plans for how he might extract Voloshyn when the time came. Morgan opened a new tab, found the website he was looking for, established a guest user account – designed as a try-before-you-buy option – and then diverted the entire battery of CCTV cameras, twelve in total, to his new personal surveillance monitoring site. He picked up his iPhone and activated an app that linked him to the monitoring site he’d just created and was instantly able to both monitor and control the cameras from his phone. He hid the monitoring site, cleared the immediate past history, and expanded the pages he’d minimized, returning the computer to the state he had found it in.

Finally, again via his iPhone, he sent an email warning order – a heads-up – to his new contact, AJ Armstrong, and then emailed a link for the monitoring site along with a cryptic pre-arranged message direct to a faux-business email address that had been set up to support his cover as a private security consultant. In reality, the email address would divert straight through to the Intrepid operations duty officer, who would immediately report any activity to the chief of staff, at that moment Mila Haddad, and ultimately General Davenport. His message read:
Four Three: 2 8 3 6 4 3 7. Twenty Four
. He hit send and dropped the phone back into his pocket. Now they would know what he was up to, what he needed and when.

Just at that moment he heard a familiar voice rasp: “What the fuck are you doing in here?”