Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) (3 page)

But it didn’t stop there. After Arsov had broken the girls to his will, he proceeded to reshape them. Top producers got special privileges, good food, and lavish gifts. Less enthusiastic girls were ignored, and if they failed to earn the minimum set by Arsov, they were punished. Repeated failure to meet quota meant a girl would be ‘sent away,’ which was rumored to mean she’d be sold to a brothel in some Third World shit hole that would make even her current lot seem wonderful by comparison.

Arsov was the first to admit the process was time consuming, but he prided himself on taking the long view. After a girl was trained by his methods, she had a much longer working life than those controlled with drugs, and made much more money. Additionally, he needed almost no muscle to control the girls, and he could devote that manpower to growing other areas of the business. He could always use more manpower in the drug trafficking, and loan-sharking to the small but growing Russian expat community was an expanding business as well.

“What about the new girl, Karina?” Nazarov asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Arsov smiled. Beria had done a good job with that one, considering. She was by far the most challenging project he’d seen to date. Perhaps if things went well, he’d have Beria transferred here to London; he was a much more competent Number Two than this idiot Nazarov.

“I’m enjoying little Karina, but I think she needs a bit more seasoning. I’ll keep her in my flat another week or so before she starts earning her keep.”

Belgravia
London, UK

Gillian Kairouz released the button as she heard the muffled sound of the bell chiming through the closed door. It wasn’t a harsh buzz or rapid ‘ding-dong’ but a slow, stately chime, totally in keeping with the upscale building in which she found herself. She heard footsteps inside, and then the door opened to reveal an attractive woman of somewhat matronly aspect and indeterminate age, her faced wreathed in a broad and welcoming smile.

“Gillian, love,” the woman said, stepping into the hall to fold Gillian in a tight embrace, “it’s been far too long.”

The woman released Gillian and stepped back, holding her at arm’s length. “And let me look at you! Father Time has been kind to you, I see. You’re as lovely as ever.”

Gillian laughed. “And you’re still the charmer, Gloria, and looking well yourself.”

“A girl does what she can,” the woman said, guiding Gillian through the door. “But come along. Let’s have a spot of tea and catch up.”

Gillian surveyed the apartment as Gloria closed the door.

“Belgravia no less. You seem to be doing well for yourself.”

Gloria laughed again. “Appearances are everything, love. To be successful, one must first LOOK successful.”

“I’m not even going to ask exactly what you’re successful AT,” Gillian said, moving through the well-appointed living room to a love seat Gloria indicated with a wave of her hand.

“Oh, this and that. Just this and that,” Gloria said with a sly smile as she took a seat across from Gillian and busied herself pouring two cups of tea from the silver tea service that sat on the coffee table between them.

“And how’s Cassie?” Gloria asked.

“Wonderful, thank you for asking. She’s more lovely every day, and she scored absolutely brilliantly on her last battery of tests. She tested at the low end of the normal range.”

“Well, bugger the tea!” Gloria stood and moved to an antique sideboard. “That calls for a toast!” She returned with an ornate cut-glass decanter and two brandy snifters on a tray.

“I really—”

“Just a small one,” Gloria replied, brushing aside Gillian’s objection and pouring a healthy measure into each snifter. “It’s not every day I hear such good news, and we mustn’t tempt fate by seeming unappreciative.”

“Very well.” Gillian took the proffered snifter.

“To Cassie.” Gloria raised her glass.

Gillian joined the toast and set her glass on the coffee table after taking a small sip. Across from her, Gloria settled back in her chair, snifter still in hand.

“And is Cassie excited?” Gloria asked.

“Very. It’s a heady time for her. She’s even started something of a relationship with a young man.”

“Well, good for her.”

“Yes, I think it’s healthy, but Alex is, of course, less excited.”

Gloria snorted. “And how is His Nibs?”

“He’s fine. And he sends his best, by the way.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Really, Gloria. Alex is a good man.”

Gloria nodded. “I never doubted it for a moment, but you have to admit he’s a bit rigid.”

“He is,” Gillian replied, “and that’s unlikely to change. He is who he is and so are you, and I’ve the rare privilege of loving you both. But I didn’t come here to discuss Alex. Were you able to find out anything?”

Gloria’s face clouded, and she leaned forward and put her glass on the coffee table before settling back in her chair.

“Aye, enough to concern me. Are you sure this is something you want to get involved with?”

“It’s not a matter of wanting, Gloria. Sergeant Denosovitch has nowhere else to turn, and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t help him do everything possible to rescue his niece. Not after what I… not after—”

“I know, I know, love. But these Russians are orders of magnitude nastier than our homegrown British bastards. I just want to make sure you understand what you’re getting into. To be honest, I’m a bit nervous to even be nosing around.”

Gillian was taken aback; she’d seldom seen Gloria more tentative. “Go on.”

“Well, the Russian mob is like an octopus with a lot of tentacles. The preeminent group at the moment seems to be called the Brotherhood, or
Bratstvo
. They’re into everything, from legit businesses to every criminal enterprise imaginable. They have strong ties to the Russian government, and many of them are former members of Russian police or intelligence organizations, making them practically untouchable in Russia — I’ve heard they pretty much do what they want there.”

Gillian nodded as Gloria continued.

“Outside Russia, they operate through legal fronts where possible. They always engage the best lawyers, and if they can, they buy police or government officials — their businesses throw off a lot of cash.”

“What about here?”

“Drugs, girls, loan-sharking — the usual.” Gloria shrugged. “As far as bribes go, it’s hard to say. Your guess is as good as mine, but given the money they have to throw about, I’ll wager at least a few coppers are on the take.”

“What makes them any more dangerous than any other criminals?”

Gloria shuddered. “Utter ruthlessness. They began to arrive in the UK in significant numbers eight or ten years ago, but the Armenian mob got here ahead of them and had established a foothold. Within a year of the Russians’ arrival, all the leaders of the Armenian mob were either dead, along with their families, or working for the
Bratstvo
. If you cross the
Bratstvo
, they’ll murder you and anyone close to you or, for that matter, anyone they even suspect is close to you, and they’ll probably torture all their victims first. Coercing people by targeting innocent family members is their stock and trade, and everyone is vulnerable. Italian mobsters are gentlemen by comparison.”

“If they have the girl here in London, any idea where they might be holding her?”

Gloria shook her head. “None of my contacts would be brave enough to poke their noses that deeply into
Bratstvo
business, and I wouldn’t even consider asking them to.” She stared hard at Gillian. “And you shouldn’t pursue this either. These blokes are VERY dangerous.”

“I’m only going to be passing the information along, so you needn’t worry.”

“You haven’t been listening, Gillian. If you’re involved in any way, you’ll be in danger.”

“Perhaps, but I have to pass this along nonetheless. It’s all general anyway. I take it you were unable to find anything more specific?”

Gloria opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it and shook her head.

“Gloria? What aren’t you telling me?”

“You don’t want to pursue this. Nothing good will come of it.”

“Gloria, if you don’t tell me, I’ll be forced to make inquiries elsewhere, and that might prove even more dangerous.”

Gloria sighed. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“All right. I don’t have much more, but I did find that the impression on the street is that most of the
Bratstvo
’s operations seem to be controlled from a single nightclub in Soho called Club
Pyatnitsa
. That apparently means Club Friday.”

Gillian took a notepad from her purse and began to write. “Do you know the address?”

“It’s in Berwick Street,” Gloria said, “but don’t even think of going there!”

Chapter Three

Kairouz Residence
London, UK

Alex was still at work when Gillian reached home, but an anxious Cassie greeted her in the hallway, and Gillian’s plans to phone Dugan and Anna were momentarily deferred.

“Did you tell him?” Cassie asked. “What did he say?”

Gillian considered her reply.

“Your father wasn’t exactly thrilled about your relationship, but I suspect he’ll come around eventually. I think we best give him time to come to terms with it.”

“He’s not going to do anything mean to Nigel, is he?” Cassie asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Papa will ruin everything!”

Gillian wrapped her arms around her stepdaughter and pulled her close. “Calm down, sweetheart. Your father isn’t an ogre; he’s just concerned about you, that’s all. He’d do anything to keep you from being hurt.”

“But Nigel would never hurt me, Mum. He’s kind and wonderful! He doesn’t care at all about… about a lot of things. Actually, he’s a lot like Papa.”

Gillian smiled. “Perhaps you should keep that observation to yourself for the moment. I’m not sure how your father would take it.” She held Cassie at arm’s length. “And where is young Nigel now, and what do you hear from him?”

“He was in Europe, and we’ve been emailing when he could get a connection. But his ship gets into Southampton late tonight, and I hope we’ll be able to video chat via Skype. It’s ever so much better when we can see each other,” Cassie said.

“I’m sure. Hmm… Southampton. Perhaps it’s time we renewed our acquaintance with young Mr. Havelock. I think we should invite him to dinner while his ship’s in port.”

Cassie looked terrified. “No! I mean, I don’t know. He… he doesn’t know I told you, so I don’t know if he would want to come to dinner.”

Gillian nodded. “I suspect facing your girlfriend’s parents is intimidating enough. When the girl’s father is also your employer, it would be more daunting still. That said, he’s got to do it sooner or later, so there’s no time like the present. I think I can give Mr. Havelock an assurance that I can keep your father on good behavior.”

“Okay,” Cassie said, doubt in her voice. “I just hope Nigel’s not mad. I… I didn’t tell him I was going to tell you about us.”

Gillian hugged Cassie again. “I’m sure it will be fine, dear. Now off you go. Are you having dinner with us tonight?”

“If it’s all right, Ingrid and I were meeting some friends for pizza.”

“That’s fine, but finish your schoolwork before you go, and let Mrs. Hogan know you won’t be here for dinner.”

“Thanks, Mum.” Cassie returned Gillian’s hug and flashed her a bright smile before rushing off to the kitchen.

Gillian watched her stepdaughter’s retreating back, momentarily overwhelmed. She’d cared for Cassie almost since birth but had only become ‘Mum’ in the few years since she’d been married to Alex. At times when Cassie called her that, Gillian was almost overcome with emotion. She hoped for his own sake that Nigel Havelock was as wonderful as Cassie believed, because if he hurt the girl, Alex Kairouz would be the least of his worries.

Gillian composed herself and moved to the phone.

Kairouz Residence
London, UK

Gillian arranged the meeting with a single phone call to the offices of Phoenix Shipping Ltd., where Alex Kairouz and Tom Dugan were equal partners and respectively the chairman of the board and the managing director. Dugan arranged to ride home from work with Alex and then called Anna at the MI5 offices in the nearby Thames House. She agreed to swing by their apartment and pick up the two Russians for a meeting at the Kairouzes’. They were assembled around the dining room table within an hour of Gillian’s call.

“That generally tracks what I learned from the Clubs and Vice Unit boys at the Met,” Anna said, after Gillian had related what she’d learned from Gloria. “They mentioned this Club
Pyatnitsa
, though they didn’t identify it as the nerve center. Either they don’t know that or they were purposely a bit obtuse. They weren’t particularly keen about me poking my nose into their playpen.”

“Well, if they don’t want us mucking about, did they present an alternative?” Alex asked. “Perhaps an offer to investigate themselves?”

Anna shook her head. “No, and I’ve no leverage. Clubs and Vice are a very specialized unit within the Metropolitan Police, and they normally have very little contact with MI5. No one owes me any favors there.”

“Okay, I guess I need to go to this Club
Pyatnitsa
and see what I can find out,” Dugan said.

“
Nyet
,
Dyed
,” Borgdanov said. “I think it is better if Ilya and I go. As Gillian says, these are very dangerous people. I appreciate help with information, but Ilya and I should do this thing.”

“Actually, Tom’s right,” Anna said. “No offense, but you two would stick out like sore thumbs. And it’s unlikely that you’ll just go in and spot Karina. A more likely scenario would be having to ask around discreetly.”

“But most girls are Russian, and we speak Russian,” Borgdanov reasoned.

“Which might do more harm than good,” Anna said. “You told me yourself that some former
Spetsnaz
accept employment with the Russian mob, right? You lot may as well have ‘military’ tattooed on your foreheads. Don’t you think it likely that if you show up and start asking questions, the girls will think you either work for their employer or a rival? Either way, they’ll be reluctant to talk or at best will tell you what they think you want to hear.”

Both the Russians nodded. “
Da
, I had not thought of this,” Borgdanov admitted.

“Perhaps I should go,” Alex said.

Dugan shook his head. “I think I’m a more convincing john, Alex. You’re too obviously a local, and if you just show up out of the blue, the mob boys might get suspicious as to why they haven’t seen you before. With my accent, I can come off as a horny middle-aged American, in town for business and looking for a good time.”

“Accurate on several counts,” Anna said with a smirk, “though I’ll refrain from specifying just which ones.”

Dugan shot her a dirty look while Alex and Gillian laughed and the Russians looked confused. As the laughter died, Ilya Denosovitch shook his head.

“I do not like it. Is my family, so I should take risks. These are very bad people,
Dyed
.”

“I’m not keen on putting Tom in harm’s way either,” Anna said, “but we can work around that. We’ll fit him with a wire so we can hear everything he says and you two” — she nodded towards the Russians — “can wait with me just outside the club. If he runs into trouble, you can go to his aid.”

“
Da
,” Borgdanov said as Ilya nodded. “This, I think, will work.”

“When?” Dugan asked.

“I have to organize the wire and a van,” Anna said, looking at her watch. “Obviously this will be an evening operation, and it’s too late to get things going tonight. I’d say tomorrow evening.”

Berwick Street, Soho
London, UK

Dugan looked out the window of the cab as it turned south onto Berwick Street. Soho had changed in the last decades, transforming from a seamy area of sex shops and adult entertainment to a district of theaters and an eclectic mix of upscale shops, restaurants, and offices. But here and there remnants of the sordid past remained, sex shops and adult entertainment venues scattered in the mix, now almost ‘upscale’ by association. It was no wonder the Russians had chosen this more prosperous location for Club
Pyatnitsa
, where the clientele was undoubtedly more prosperous. It was almost respectable.

Anna and the Russians were already in place in a van parked on a side street near the club, and Dugan was arriving by cab, a typical foreigner on the prowl in the big city. He saw the club just ahead, and the cabbie pulled to the curb.

“Here we are, guv,” the cabbie said, looking at the meter. “That’ll be sixteen quid.”

Dugan passed the driver a twenty and waved away the change.

“Thanks, mate,” the driver said as Dugan closed the door.

Dugan looked around and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He held it to his ear as if he were talking to someone and then said, “I’m here. How do you copy?”

“I hear you fine, Tom,” said Anna’s voice in his ear. “But are you making a spectacle of yourself by standing on the street and talking to your invisible friend?”

“Sheesh, give me a little credit, will you. I’m talking into my cell phone.”

He heard Anna’s laugh in his ear. “Okay, Tarzan. Now that we’ve got our com check, you best lose the earbud before you go in. You remember the safe word?”

“No,” Dugan said, “I’ve forgotten it completely in the thirty minutes since we last spoke. Of course I remember the safe word. It’s
Stoli
.”

“Good. Just don’t forget and order vodka by mistake, or our two Russian friends will come crashing in to rescue you.”

“I’ll try to fend off senility long enough to remember that. I’m taking out the earbud now, so I don’t have to listen to any more of this abuse.” He cut off Anna’s laughter as he discreetly plucked the small earbud from his right ear and pocketed it.

Dugan crossed the sidewalk towards the club, and as he approached, the doors opened and a large well-dressed man emerged, his arms around two attractive girls, one on each side. Pounding rock music blared from the door before it closed, and the man gave Dugan a drunken smile. “A wonderful place,” he said in a thick German accent. “I’ve invited these two lovely ladies to dinner.”

“Ah … well, good luck with that,” Dugan replied.

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it,” said the man, his smile broadening. “No luck required. Come, my lovelies, dinner awaits.”

Dugan watched the trio lurch to the curb as the drunken German hailed a cab.

“Don’t get your blood pressure medication mixed up with your Viagra, asshole,” Dugan muttered under his breath.

He pushed through the door to be engulfed by music. Just inside, a man at a podium gave Dugan an appraising look. “Good evening, sir,” he said, with the slightest trace of a Russian accent. “The cover charge is forty pounds, which includes two drinks. However I’m sure a prosperous-looking gent like yourself will want a stage-side table — only ten pounds extra.”

Dugan nodded. “I always go top shelf,” he said, pulling out a money clip prepared for his little excursion, holding a thick wad of fifty-pound notes. He peeled one off and passed it to the man.

The man nodded and pocketed the note. “I could tell you were a man of distinction.” He motioned for Dugan to follow him.

The music was even louder in the club proper. A long, wide, horseshoe-shaped stage dominated the room, with brass poles at regular intervals, each occupied by a gyrating girl. All the dancers were nearly nude except for lingerie designed to highlight rather than conceal. The stage also served as the bar, and the barmaids behind it were equally scantily clad and attractive, smiling at the customers nonstop in hopes of receiving some of the notes that weren’t being stuffed into the dancers’ lingerie — or elsewhere.

Tiny tables crowded one side of the stage/bar, each with two chairs. The less affluent were seated at larger tables some distance back from the stage. Girls not onstage circulated through the crowded room, drinking and talking to customers. Occasionally a girl would take a customer by the hand and lead him to one of the booths that lined the back wall and then close the black velvet curtains behind them.

“Here you are, sir,” the Russian shouted into Dugan’s ear, motioning him to a small table. Dugan nodded and sat down just below an amazingly flexible girl as the man deposited two drink tickets on the small table and left.

He was staring up at the smiling girl and reevaluating his seating choice in light of his plan to remain low profile, when another girl sat down in the empty seat at his table. She looked to be somewhere between eighteen and twenty, with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that reached the middle of her back, and she was wearing the briefest of black bikinis. He felt a hand on his thigh as she leaned over, her smiling face only inches from his, her ample breasts barely contained by her halter.

“Hello, handsome,” she cooed in accented English as she picked up the drink tickets. “Buy me a drink?”

“Ah. Sure,” Dugan replied, and the girl held up the tickets and beckoned to another scantily clad girl nearby who was carrying a tray of assorted drinks.

Dugan’s new companion took something in a champagne flute off the tray, and Dugan took a glass of what turned out to be lukewarm and watery beer.

The girl sipped the drink and then bent close again, her hand now on his inner thigh. “So tell me, handsome, what is your name? I am Tanya.”

“I’m Tom.”

The girl’s smile widened. “Ah. You are American, I think. What brings you here, Tom?”

“Business.” Dugan returned her smile. “And now pleasure.”

“I know much about pleasure,” Tanya said as she leaned closer still, slipping her hand between Dugan’s legs to begin rubbing his crotch — with the inevitable result. “Would you like me to suck you?”

So much for small talk
, thought Dugan, as he glanced around self-consciously to find no one was paying the slightest attention.

“Ah… here?”

The girl laughed. “Of course not. You must upgrade to a champagne booth.” She nodded toward the curtained booths along the back wall. “Only fifty pounds for a bottle of fine champagne and a private drinking place.” She smiled. “My tip we can discuss in booth.”

“I’d like a little more privacy. I saw a guy leaving with a couple of girls when I came in. How about coming back to my hotel.”

She shook her head. “
Nyet
. I am training. I cannot leave. But if you want more privacy, there are rooms in back but more expensive. One hundred pounds for thirty minutes. Room you must pay for before we go back.”