The Second Betrayal (21 page)

on his face. Nick needed only a couple of precious moments to shove the magazine back into the 10mm and the one

bullet into the gun's chamber.

From an inside pocket of his bomber jacket, he took a small plastic bag containing about two grams of crystal meth.

He stuffed it in the man's right hand, the hand that soon would be immobile in the corpse's "death grip."

He was back up the stairs within ninety seconds. To complete the setup, he found the spent shell casing from his initial shot at Jorge. He tossed it down the stairwell and it rattled on the concrete until it came to a stop by Mike's corpse.

Nick had already disappeared into the night and into Tompkins Square Park barely minutes before he heard a woman's

scream.

Nick headed back to HQ.

As long as no one put the pieces together, it would be slam-dunk case of one drunk killing the other over drugs.

Looked like Giger's stable of handlers had two new openings.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Bachmann /Hagstedt and aliases three and four

Karl Bachmann gripped his martini glass as he looked out the limo's window at the gray, wet afternoon and the

equally gray, dismal city. The driver guided the limo toward Columbus Circle at 1 Central Park West, to Trump

Tower, his favorite hotel. The word
hotel
was far too modest for the finest and most luxurious accommodations in New York City.

Of course Karl was checking in under a third alias, Isak Alexandersson, and not as Anders Hagstedt or Karl Bachman, or even a fourth alias. He ensured nothing tied the names together.
Nothing.
He had exceptionally well-made fake passports for all three of his aliases, as well as having an original passport for his real name, Karl Bachmann.

However, through his extensive channels of information he knew he could no longer travel as Hagstedt. He clenched

his jaw then forced himself to relax. That I name was now on law enforcement radar, which meant there had been a

leak.

The leak had probably happened when his Boston operation was taken down by an unknown organization. One day he

would learn the identity of the organization that had ripped apart his extremely profitable Boston-based Internet sex slave auction rings.

He had seen footage of a man and woman who had broken into Benjamin Cabot's office and were likely agents or

spies from that unknown organization. He would learn the names of the primary players responsible for destroying his perfect setup.

In turn, one day he would destroy them.

Karl tried to relax his grip on his martini glass as he adjusted his position to look in the direction the limo was going as it sliced its way through the sea of Yellow Cabs.

Unfortunately, due to Cabot's mediocre business skills, Karl had been unable to obtain other surveillance videos or photographs of those who had infiltrated his auction rings. Benjamin Cabot had been a mistake in every way as Karl's choice to run his Boston enterprise.

Raindrops splattered harder against the window, blurring images outside the limo. The people wearing primarily black trench coats and carrying black umbrellas looked like morbid figures painted in oils on a dirty canvas.

He averted his attention from the window and back to his dry martini, no olives. He took a sip, the gin rolling

smoothly over his tongue and down his throat.

His private jet had arrived at JFK with precisely enough time for him to get to his hotel, check in, and wait for the untouched treats to be delivered to his room.

Karl shifted on the luxurious leather seat of the limo, his dick growing uncomfortably hard.

Yes, untouched delicacies only, and absolutely no drugs in their systems. Virgins were perfect because he didn't have to use a condom. He didn't have to worry about what might have been in that pussy before the girl was selected and

brought to him.

Not to mention virgins screamed better.

Karl's limo pulled up to the Trump International Hotel and Tower. He was looking forward to relaxing in his room and looking even more forward to what would come not long after. The fabulous views of Central Park, along with Times

Square, Rockefeller Center, and the Ford Center were a few of the choicest views from the Tower.

Most men didn't give a damn who'd fucked a slut before they got a hold of her. A shudder traveled Karl's spine at the thought of dirtying his own dick in a well-used prostitute who was doped up on the heavy doses of the opoids Giger

liked to give his whores.

The driver came around to the side of the limo and opened the door. Karl tossed his martini glass on the leather seat, ignoring the remaining drops of liquid leaking onto the leather. He stepped out of the limo and into the covered area used for arriving and departing guests. He didn't acknowledge any of what might be considered helpful staff—his own, or the hotel's.

Karl's driver grabbed the light luggage to be taken directly to his room. The locally hired man had called ahead, and the room was already prepared and waiting for Karl. The driver would pick up the key from the concierge, give it to Karl, and follow behind him with his suitcase and dress bag.

Karl didn't need to worry about pregnancies and abortions with any of his girls around the world. That was thanks to the "morning after" pill and his ability to buy large, cheap quantities from a manufacturer in Mexico.

His men were required to force all of the girls who were trafficked as prostitutes to take the pill. Pregnancies and abortions were a waste of time and money, money that the girl could be earning on her back.

With the driver trailing him, Karl entered an elevator and was pleased no other person stepped into the car with them.

It rose smoothly to the seventeenth floor, to his favorite luxurious suite. His extensive trafficking organization allowed him to enjoy the most pleasurable amenities.

He was a businessman. Easily one of the most intelligent and cunning in the world. He was also one of the richest,

worth well over a billion. He controlled a multibillion-dollar trafficking organization that spanned the globe and was arguably the largest trafficking empire that existed.

Using humans was far better than dealing in narcotics. Once someone snorted a line of meth, that meth was gone,

never to be used again.

A human, on the other hand, could be used repeatedly. One woman could easily bring in three times as much money in

one night as it would cost to buy a single eight-ball of meth.

The driver opened the door to the suite and stepped back so that Karl could walk through. Immediately he was greeted with the clean scent of fresh flowers from the enormous bouquet on the table in the center of the suite. He ignored the card beside the floral arrangement. For now. It would contain the card key for his other room on the floor below.

He took off his suit jacket and handed it to his driver, a man of limited intelligence. In this man, Karl could easily see a resemblance to their Cro-Magnon ancestors.

"Go." Karl slipped the man a hundred-dollar tip and dismissed him by turning his back to look at the incredible view of Central Park through his floor-to-ceiling windows. He forgot the man almost immediately after the door closed

behind him with the whisper-soft sound and movement that Karl preferred.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. Karl withdrew it and saw a text message from Giger.

The merchandise has been prepared.

Where would you like it delivered?

Karl glanced at the envelope by the flower vase, the envelope containing the other room card. One of Karl's associates had booked the extra room and had paid cash for it ahead of time, under Karl's fourth alias. Again, no name

association.

Karl entered on the touch screen before he sent the return text:

Same location. Room 1612.

Giger responded:

What time do you want your purchases delivered?

Karl smiled.

Now.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Switch and delivery

'These girls will be leaving tomorrow?" I said as a sense of panic seized me when Stalder delivered the news.

Not now.
I had hoped it wouldn't be this soon, even though Takamoto had informed me of the group of Chinese girls who had been ushered into the side door of the Elite earlier today. I thought I'd have at least two days. Or rather, I'd hoped I had that long.

"I do not need to repeat myself," Stalder said with his cool expression.

My brief feeling of panic turned into anger at his information. Not only because we could lose the girls here that we were trying to save, but also because we'd found no clues to Jenika's disappearance.

"Ms. Chandra and I haven't had a chance to fully train these girls." It sounded lame, but it was all I'd been able to come up with. 'This is only our third day here."

"We have hired a group of young women from China who joined us this afternoon before you arrived, Stalder said.

"They are currently upstairs. Resting."

Hired, my ass,
I thought and tried not to scowl. And rather than resting, they were probably being "broken" so that they wouldn't try to escape in any way.

"Our customers like change." Stalder continued speaking in his precise English and looked as glacial as always as he added, "The Russian girls will work tonight then the Chinese group starts tomorrow."

"Where are the Russian girls being taken?" I asked, trying to keep my tone calm.

Stalder studied me with his icy eyes. "To another club."

I braved the cold. "Which one?"

From his expression I think I would have gotten frostbite if I touched him. Or maybe he was even cold enough that my tongue would have frozen to his jacket sleeve like a kid licking a metal pole during the coldest winter on record.

"It is none of your business," he said. "Your business will be strictly with the Chinese girls when they are brought to you." He tipped his head slightly. "If you are truly up to that task. I am not so sure of it."

I chose to ignore his comment because I had something more important to be thinking about. I hadn't expected Stalder to tell me where he was taking the Russian girls, but I had to try to figure it out. How could we help these poor girls, too, if we didn't know where they went next?

My agents would make sure they found out.
No worries, Steele.

"I'm sorry." I tried to look innocent. "I did not know that where you are moving them to is a secret."

"The handlers will prepare the Russian girls for the move," Stalder said, his expression bland. "Your job is to concentrate on the new group."

My heart was beating like crazy as I thought about Jenika. Christ. If she hadn't already been moved, would they take her away, along with these girls? My entire
Little Red
team was on the job, trying to locating Jenika, but so far not a clue.

Yesterday Kerrison and I had slipped away, at different times, for "restroom breaks." We both did some fast searching when we were on our own, but no luck finding Jenika. We tried talking to the girls, but the handlers wouldn't let us anywhere near them, much less speak to them.

During last night's show, after her first turn to dance, the girl named Dasha passed by as we gave her handler her

assignment. She looked at us with pleading eyes. There was nothing I could do but try to communicate back to her

with my own gaze and hope she saw what I wanted her to see.

We'll help you. I promise.

She'd turned away and her expression went blank before she passed through the gap in the curtain that revealed the lap dance booths. I'd taken a deep breath and looked away, feeling impotent again. For that moment. Last night Kerrison and I had decent opportunities to plant a couple of bugs we'd kept hidden in our clothing. I put one bug by the door frame in the girls' common room on the fifth floor, and Kerrison placed one in the men's restroom.

With the bug I had planted the day before, three were all we had right now. We needed more, including one in the

offices in the hall off the main floor. That's where Giger and his men seemed to spend their time when they weren't out on the floor.

Christ. Everything was going to hell. With Jenika gone, the Russian girls being taken away, plus the fact we had no definitive time and date when Anders Hagstedt would be arriving, we could be seriously screwed if we didn't make

something happen. And make it happen fast.

Kerrison and I had heard whisperings about two of the handlers, Jorge and Mike. Neither had returned after his night off, and none of the handlers knew what was going on with the pair.

Jorge and Mike were Nick's hit, no doubt. Next step, he'd get in, and we'd close down these bastards a lot faster.

"Alexis." Giger's voice jerked my attention from Stalder to the back of the club, where Giger was standing. The dim light from a spotlight reflected on the lenses of his eyeglasses and I couldn't see his eyes.

"Yes, Mr. G?" I said. Stalder stepped back and got out of my way as I walked toward Giger. Maybe I could find out something about the girls from him.

Sure. As if he was going to start telling me every bit of the day-to-day activities of the trafficking operation without some of RED's special version of a truth serum.

When I reached him, I noticed again the flash of the thick gold band and the sparkle of what had to be at least a three-carat diamond ring. Guess diamonds weren't just a woman's best friend.

Giger motioned for me to follow him down the hall toward his office at the very end. Excellent. Maybe I could plant a bug in his office now. I started to reach into my bra where two of the bugs remained. But when Giger looked over his shoulder, I moved my hands to make it look like I was adjusting my neckline.

Now I could see his eyes behind his glasses and his gaze wandered over my breast. I held back what would have been

an expression of total disgust. Alarm bells flashed in my head when his eyes met mine.