Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) (10 page)

Chapter Ten

Holding Warehouse
516 Copeland Road
Southwark, London, UK

Arsov glared at the collage of photos on the screen of the small TV in the shabby office and thumbed the remote to raise the volume.

“… believed to be victims of a kidnapping ring engaged in human trafficking. The suspected kidnappers are thought to be Russian or Eastern European, but that has yet to be confirmed. Anyone seeing these girls is requested to call the number on your screen. The Metropolitan Police have emphasized that the kidnappers are armed and dangerous, and no one should attempt to intervene. Again, if you see anything or have any information, you should call the number on
—”

“Shit!” Arsov screamed and hurled the remote across the room at Nazarov sitting on the couch. His underling ducked, and the remote slammed against the cinder-block wall and popped open, raining batteries down on Nazarov as the TV screen blinked off.

“I hope you’re happy, you idiot! Our very low profile and profitable business is now going to get a lot of attention. This is on every fucking station!”

“So what?” Nazarov said. “They couldn’t prove anything before, and they can’t prove anything now. We have the girls, and there are no witnesses. We keep the girls who aren’t fully trained out of sight and threaten their families for good measure. The trained girls will support us as usual.” He shrugged. “Nothing has changed.”

“Can you really be this fucking obtuse? Of course things have changed. How much juice and influence do you think it takes to get these pictures all over the media this quickly? And the lead story on every single channel? The shit is about to hit the fan, Nazarov, and we’re going to be splattered.”

“But they know nothing—”

“They know about the connection to Club
Pyatnitsa
, or at least the American and the
Spetsnaz
do, so we can assume the police know now as well. And besides, do you think our little pleasure operations are a secret? Our methods make it impossible for them to get a conviction, and we don’t get our girls from the local population, so they’ve learned that prosecuting us has a low political priority. We are out of sight and out of mind, at worst the public perception is that we are facilitators of a ‘victimless crime.’ In one afternoon you’ve managed to make us kidnappers and the subject of a media campaign. The authorities have no choice now. Even if they know it will be difficult to get convictions, they have to be seen as trying, and that will have a major impact on our operations.”

Arsov could see from the expression on Nazarov’s face that it was finally sinking in.

“Wh-what should we do?”

“Partially what you already suggested,” Arsov said. “They already know about Club
Pyatnitsa
, so there’s no point in shutting that down. However, make sure to leave no girls there except the most trustworthy. The same for the other clubs. They won’t necessarily know of our ownership, but in this shit storm you’ve stirred up, they will likely be hitting any adult business with suspected Russian involvement. Bring any girls you have the slightest doubt about back here to the warehouse. And shut down all of the brothels for the time being. Close the ones with the kids first. Bring everyone here. Stop all drug operations as well—”

“The street distributors won’t like that. The junkies will be howling, and the distributors may try to find other sources.”

“The junkies can howl for a month or so. They’ll come back when we’re ready,” Arsov said. “Brand loyalty is not exactly something junkies care about. And if the distributors desert us temporarily, it won’t be a problem. If they won’t come back when we’re ready, we’ll just kill a few and their families as well. Understood?”

“But where am I going to put all the whores? We don’t have enough cages here to hold them all.”

“There are plenty of empty containers in the warehouse. Lock them in those. Now get moving.”

Nazarov nodded and rose. He stopped halfway to the door. “What about Tanya and the other two, should I put them with the rest of the whores?”

Arsov considered that for a moment. “No. They’re troublemakers and would likely infect the others. We won’t be able to use them in the UK any time soon. Export them.”

“How? Their pictures are all over the place, and all the normal routes will be closely watched.”

Arsov thought a moment. “Do we have any of the ‘special cargo’ boxes we can modify?”

“The only time we tried shipping whores by container, they were dead on arrival.”

Arsov shrugged. “Then disposing of the bodies will be someone else’s problem. Put Yuri and Anatoli on modifying a container while you attend to the other business.”

Nazarov nodded and left the room, and Arsov sat staring down at his cell phone on the desk. He sighed and picked it up to dial St. Petersburg.

Specialist Crimes Directorate 9 (SCD9)
Human Exploitation/Organized Crime
Victoria Block, New Scotland Yard
Boadway
London, UK

“We’re not the Clubs and Vice Unit any longer, Agent Walsh, and we haven’t been for some time, though I expect you lot in the exalted halls of Thames House don’t keep up with such mundane matters. However, I’d appreciate it if you’d use the correct unit designation.”

Anna returned the man’s gaze across the conference table and bit back a sharp retort. The meeting had started badly when the police inspector insisted on excluding Alex, Dugan, and the Russians. In fact, he made clear that the involvement of Anna and her MI5 colleagues was only tolerated on orders from above, a tolerance that did not extend to civilians. Alex had been near apoplectic at his exile to a waiting room along with Dugan and the others, and Anna was struggling to salvage the meeting. She gave the inspector her most winning smile.

“Apologies, Detective Inspector McKinnon,” Anna said. “It’s been ‘Clubs and Vice’ for so long I suppose it’s just a habit to refer to it that way. However, I’ll make a point to use the proper unit designation and make sure everyone else does as well.”

Flanking her on either side, Lou and Harry nodded their assent, and McKinnon’s glare softened — barely.

“That would be appreciated, Agent Walsh. As you’re no doubt aware, the old Clubs and Vice Unit had a long history, not all of it positive. Most of us are now new to the unit, and we’ve done our best in the last eighteen months to distance SCD9 from that legacy.” McKinnon sighed. “We’ve made some headway, but we’re still very much a work in progress.”

Anna nodded. The Clubs and Vice Unit had always been the backwater of the London Metropolitan Police and long considered a career-ending assignment. From its establishment in the 1930s, it had a checkered past, reaching its low ebb in the 1970s when chronic allegations of corruption were proven true and over twenty detectives were sacked. Since then, there had been periodic and to date unsuccessful attempts to upgrade the unit. The recent name change and infusion of new personnel was only the latest of those attempts.

“Understood,” Anna said, “and I assure you will have MI5’s support in that effort.”

McKinnon cocked an eye. “Which brings me to my first question. How does any of this concern the Intelligence Service? This is clearly a police matter, and I can see no rhyme or reason for MI5 involvement. What am I missing?”

Anna hesitated. “Alexander Kairouz, Thomas Dugan, and their company have provided exemplary service to the Crown on prior occasions. Because of that, and Mr. Kairouz’s political connections, they enjoy the favor of Her Majesty’s government, so it’s only natural that in a situation like this Mr. Kairouz would seek the government’s help.” She paused. “And as a word to the wise, Inspector, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to exclude Mr. Kairouz from these discussions.”

“Yes, well, I think there’s rather more to it than that, Agent Walsh — I sense a personal connection, but I’ll leave that for the moment. As far as this operation goes, I will deal with YOU with complete transparency, and what you tell Mr. Kairouz and his entourage or how you choose to involve them is entirely your concern. However, I also expect them to stay completely out of our way; is that clear enough?”

“Completely,” Anna said. “Where do we begin?”

McKinnon opened a thick file folder in front of him and passed Anna a stapled packet of papers.

“Lacking detailed intelligence and with time an issue, with brute force,” McKinnon said. “That’s a list of every known or suspected Russian-operated illicit business in London and its environs. We’re gearing up to raid all these locations simultaneously. No matter where the girls are, we should find them, and perhaps a lot of other things as well.”

Anna paged through the list. “There must be over fifty locations here. How are you going to pull this off? It will require massive manpower.”

“Fifty-seven, to be exact, and I suppose I have your Mr. Kairouz to thank for the manpower. People who would never give me the time of day are now calling to offer me resources, and magistrates who previously made us jump through hoops are now signing off search warrants with a minimum of hassle.” He smiled for the first time. “Actually, it feels a bit like Christmas.”

“Brilliant!” Anna said.

“When do you start?” Lou asked.

“In forty-eight hours, or maybe a bit longer,” McKinnon replied.

“So long?” Anna asked.

“We have to make sure we get as many as we can, and that takes coordination. When we start the operation, word will spread quickly to any locations we miss. Understand that if we don’t turn up the girls on this sweep, they’ll likely get much more difficult to find.”

“Maybe we should hold off a bit and try to pinpoint the girls first,” Harry said.

McKinnon looked at Anna. “Do you think we have time for that, Agent Walsh?”

Anna looked down at the list and back up at McKinnon before slowly shaking her head. “No, unfortunately I don’t. I think your massive quick sweep is our best shot, but God help us if we’re wrong.”

Chapter Eleven

Holding Warehouse
516 Copeland Road
Southwark, London, UK

Arsov stepped into the empty container with Nazarov close behind. Nazarov let out a relieved sigh as Arsov looked around and nodded. A rack along one wall of the container held a long row of one-gallon bottles of water, and a few cases of ‘Meals, Ready-to-Eat’ were lashed in a corner. Three bare mattresses lay on the deck in the far end of the container.

“Looks like you have enough water,” Arsov said, “but are you sure there are enough MREs? We don’t want them looking like survivors of the Gulag. It will make them less marketable until we can put some weight back on them.”

“But we don’t want them fat either,” Nazarov replied. “Americans seem to like them skinny. Anyway, they have enough for one meal per day — it is enough, I think. But I don’t know about these.” He pointed to a row of empty twenty-liter plastic paint buckets with tight-fitting lids lashed to the opposite wall. “I think a chemical toilet would have been easier.”

Arsov shook his head. “It would fill up too fast and slosh around when the ship rolls, splashing all over the place and stinking. If they do their business in the buckets, they can seal them tight and prevent that. Just make sure they have enough buckets.”

Nazarov shrugged. “Who the fuck cares? So the whores arrive stinking — we give them a wash.”

“I don’t care about them, you idiot! I don’t want to draw any attention to the container. It’s not airtight, and don’t you think a container reeking of shit and piss might draw more than a casual inspection from a boarding inspector?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Arsov ignored Nazarov’s glare and continued. “Make sure they have a flashlight and some spare batteries. They’ll need light to open the food and go to the toilet, but make them understand they are to use it sparingly — and put the fear of God in them about remaining quiet.”

“
Da
,” Nazarov said. “I will handle it.”

“When will they leave?”

“A drug shipment was scheduled to leave Felixstowe tonight for Jacksonville, Florida, but I’m substituting this container. There should be no problem. Containers originating in the UK receive less scrutiny these days; that’s why we’ve begun the drug transshipments through here.”

“The crew is reliable?”

“
Da
. Mostly Ukrainians and Croatians,” Nazarov said. “As usual, we first had to make a few examples to ensure their complete cooperation, but they’ve handled three ‘special cargoes’ for us so far. They know what to do, I don’t foresee any problems.”

“You’d best make sure there aren’t any. St. Petersburg is far from pleased, so we can’t afford any more screwups.”

Holding Warehouse
516 Copeland Road
Southwark, London, UK

Arsov looked around the seedy office and grimaced — it was a far cry from his well-appointed office at the club, and he was already sick of this dump. He cursed Nazarov’s ineptitude and stood up from the squeaking office chair to stretch his aching back, a by-product of his night on the threadbare dilapidated sofa. He thought of the nights he had yet to spend here and regretted his own lack of forethought in establishing a more comfortable hideaway. Still, the warehouse was their most secure location, known only to a handful of his underlings, and he could manage here until the worst blew over. He’d send Nazarov to run things at Club
Pyatnitsa
and to take whatever heat might be generated there. It would serve him right, and a night in jail might teach the stupid bastard a lesson, presuming their solicitors couldn’t free him within a few hours of any arrest.

He thought back over the day’s events — he was as prepared as possible. All of the questionable whores and the children had been brought to the warehouse and locked in the cages or containers, and Yuri and Anatoli were here to watch and feed and water them. Drug operations had been temporarily suspended, and as Nazarov predicted, the distributors had started to moan, but that was a minor problem. And most importantly, the container with the troublemaking whores had left earlier this afternoon and should be at sea and out of reach by tonight. He was ready.

The big question was, ready for what? Security surrounding the anticipated police operation was tight — much tighter than usual. His informant could only tell him the planned operation was ‘big’ and that it would happen ‘soon.’ With preparations complete, the timing of the attack no longer concerned him as much as the scope. He’d downplayed the situation to his superiors in St. Petersburg, hoping he’d be able to contain things and ride out the storm. He could probably survive if the pending operation shut them down for a week or ten days — he’d skimmed enough cash to make up the shortfall — but beyond that there would be a serious cash-flow problem. Then he’d be faced not only with admitting his ‘error,’ but also explaining why it had taken so long for profits to dry up. A visit from an ‘auditor’ from St. Petersburg wasn’t an event he’d likely survive.

All because that buffoon Nazarov couldn’t obey a simple order. And that being the case, it was only right that Nazarov take the fall should things go badly. Arsov sat back down, ignoring the tortured squeal from the office chair as he swiveled back to the battered desk and opened his laptop.

Dugan and Anna’s Apartment
London, UK

Anna stood in front of the bathroom mirror, fresh from the shower and wrapped in a towel. She was reaching for her toothbrush when Dugan stepped in from the bedroom, clad only in a pair of boxers. He stepped close behind her and wrapped her in his arms as he smiled at their reflections in the mirror.

“Alone at last,” he said as he pressed his body against hers. “All our houseguests are bedded down for the night.”

Anna returned his smile and pressed back against him. “And why do I have the feeling that you have further plans for the evening, Mr. Dugan? I see the crack on the noggin had no impact on your libido.”

“What can I say? I could never resist a woman in a towel.”

“Yes, well, if you don’t let me finish brushing my teeth, we’ll see how you feel about a woman in a towel with the breath of a camel.” She reached behind her with her free hand and placed it on his cheek. “Off with you now. I’ll be in bed straightaway.”

Dugan leaned down and kissed her neck. “See that you are.” He caressed her bottom before moving away.

Five minutes later, Anna slipped naked between the sheets, to find Dugan lying on his back with his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling with a scowl on his face. She moved to his side, and she saw him smile in the dim half-light leaking from the partially closed bathroom door.

“All right, Dugan, what were you lying here thinking about? I could tell by the scowl it wasn’t sex.”

“Nothing that won’t keep.” He pulled her close and nuzzled her neck.

She pushed herself back from him and looked him in the eye. “Sorry, not good enough. I want your undivided attention. Now what’s troubling you?”

Dugan sighed. “Nothing we can do anything about. I was talking to Borgdanov while you were in the shower. He and Ilya are very concerned with the impact all of this may have in Russia.”

“You mean repercussions against their families?”

Dugan nodded. “Borgdanov’s parents are dead, and he has no close relatives, but Ilya’s concerned about his sister’s family. He called them as soon as we figured out this asshole Arsov knew we were looking for Karina, and they went into hiding. But they can’t hide forever, at least not in Russia.”

“Have they had any indication anyone is looking for them?”

“That’s the strange part. These Russian mob types don’t normally screw around, but some of Borgdanov’s old
Spetsnaz
buddies are keeping an eye on the house, and they’ve seen no indications anyone is after Karina’s family. It’s almost like what’s happening here isn’t being reported back to Russia. That doesn’t add up.”

“What do Borgdanov and Ilya think?”

Dugan shrugged. “They’re clueless but don’t think it will last indefinitely. They’re working on some sort of plan for dealing with things in Russia, but they won’t elaborate, at least not yet.”

Anna looked concerned. “They’re not going to go ‘cowboy’ on us, are they? Now that the Met is officially involved, I won’t be able to protect them if they try to take things into their own hands.”

“They understand the situation. I don’t think they plan anything here in the UK.”

“Well, that’s good to know, if somewhat tentative. Let’s just hope we get the girls back on the sweep tomorrow night.”

Dugan nodded in the dim light. “Amen to that.” He looked into Anna’s eyes. “Are we done now?”

She pressed her body against him and ran a hand down his bare belly. “Not by half, Mr. Dugan. Not by half.”