“It sounds like human trafficking to me. Part of the project I’m working on,” she said.
“You think so? I don’t understand what the doctor is doing in this. Women are trafficked for sex, and they constitute the majority of victims. Then there are people trafficked for sweatshops. The men I saw could have fit into that category. But they had the address for Rosenbaum in their pockets. I can’t think of a sweatshop that requires a surgeon.”
She paused to consider, tapping her chin. “I wonder if it’s something like the pharma trials they did in poor countries. But there they brought the pills to Africa, not Africans to the pills. And it got a lot of bad publicity, like that case in Nigeria, where the control group was given an inferior medicine against meningitis.”
Vermeulen hesitated. “I guess it could be drug testing,” he said. “Maybe the bad publicity has brought testing back to the U.S.”
“It seems a far costlier approach.”
“And why would the contact person be a surgeon rather than an internist? Or a specialist for infectious diseases?”
“You’ve got a point,” Tessa said. “But if isn’t drug testing, what else could it be? It’s definitely human trafficking. But what for?”
A rustling came from the bed. They stopped. Vermeulen looked at Gaby. Had she moved? Nothing seemed different.
“I’d better pay attention to her,” he said. “I’m not here to solve that case.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The first crack in Vermeulen’s resolve to put the case aside appeared the next morning. Tessa had reserved a room for him at her hotel, where he’d crashed the evening before. He woke up from a sleep that hadn’t really refreshed him. The time change and the lack of rest the night before had left him disoriented, his head aching. He luxuriated in the shower, letting the jets massage his neck and shoulders. The soft-boiled egg with croissant and coffee almost restored his balance. He’d forgotten the pleasure of eating a perfectly done five-minute egg.
The pleasant feeling didn’t last long. His phone informed him that he had a voicemail. He tapped in his code. It was Jackson. The headache rebounded.
Jackson’s voice was tentative. “Yeah, Vermoolen. Earle here.” Pause. “You enjoying your trip? Is your daughter okay?” Another pause. “Listen, man, I done some diggin’ on the Broker. Since I work in the medical field, I figured I’d talk to one of my doctors. Asked him if he’d ever heard of a woman called the Broker. At first, he’s like I don’t know what you’re talking about. Then I mention Rosenbaum and he goes crazy on me. What d’you know about the Broker and Rosenbaum? Nuthin’, I say. Just curious. He looks at me, kinda angry and scared at the same time. You lookin’ for other work? I just shrug. He pokes his finger at my chest. You get involved with that woman, he says, you will never get away from her. It’s not just her, there’re others. They’re like the mob, except much worse. He said that twice. So, that’s what I found out. Call me.”
Vermeulen listened to the message again. Jackson’s news wasn’t surprising. He’d assumed the Broker was part of an organization. She took the time to meet with him. That told him she wasn’t at the head of the organization, but up high enough in the hierarchy to make decisions on her own. There had to be others above her who didn’t get their hands dirty by threatening to kill him.
Did she know he’d gone to Vienna? All it would take was a call to his office under some pretext. Jenna, the administrative assistant, would know better than to give out his whereabouts. But there were others. They might blab. He should have thought of that and asked Suarez to keep his trip quiet.
A more disturbing thought struck him. The Broker’s organization had to have operatives in Vienna. How else would they’ve been able to bribe a UN employee here to have these letters signed? That meant they’d be able to get to him here, too.
The next thought made his stomach clench and his breath turn shallow. The terrifying truth was that they were able to get to Gaby, Tessa, and Marieke, too.
The switch to survival mode was instantaneous. This thing had to be contained before it got out of hand. His first call was to Tessa. He filled her in on the new developments.
“Damn,” she said. “You’re right. What do we do?”
“First, there must always be someone with Gaby. We must keep the door closed and check before letting anyone in.”
“Right. I’ll go over now. Marieke is there.”
“Good, I’ll be there soon. I have to make a call first.”
“Should I tell Marieke?” Tessa said.
“Better wait. I’ll try to explain it when I come. Just find a reason to keep her there until I arrive.”
“Good. Who are you going to call?”
“A colleague of mine here in Vienna. He’s working this end of the case. But he doesn’t know all that’s involved.”
“I’m on my way. See you soon.”
The call to Dufaux took some planning. As far as the man knew, it was a simple case of fraud. A few unauthorized invitation letters. No big deal in the overall scheme of things. Vermeulen wasn’t sure if he should tell him everything. It was bound to get back to Suarez, and that meant trouble. He dialed Dufaux’s mobile number.
“Dufaux here,” a voice answered.
“Pierre. It’s Valentin Vermeulen.”
“Oh, hello. Any news on this visa thing? I called your office yesterday and left a message.”
“I’m in Vienna—”
“You are? How come?”
“My daughter was in a ski accident and is in the hospital here. I took some time off to be with her.”
“Oh no. I hope it’s not serious.”
“It is. She’s in a coma.”
“I’m so sorry, Valentin. We can never stop worrying about our children, can we?”
“No, we can’t. Listen, I’m calling to see if you’ve made any headway in finding out who secured the fake invitations?”
“Still on the job, eh? Just like what I heard about you. The short answer is ‘maybe.’ We’re going on the assumption that someone slipped those letters into a pile of correspondence that needed Wilmot’s signature. There are only two individuals who could have done that. One of them is on extended sick leave, which leaves the other the most likely culprit. Of course, if the signatures were forged, then we are nowhere. But I’m pretty sure they weren’t.”
“Why?” Vermeulen said.
“The signatures on the letters weren’t quite identical. That tells us they were actually signed by the right person.”
“How so?”
“Think of the letters you sign. There are always variations, you may be hurried and one of the loops isn’t quite as round as if you took your time. When forgers get a signature right, they write them without such variations. That’s why I’m pretty certain the letters were slipped in for Wilmot’s signature.”
“I need to speak to the person who did that.”
“We can’t do that yet. There are staff rules and regulations. She is entitled to representation. Besides, we won’t get anywhere if we come down hard on her.”
“Time has run out for such niceties. The forged letters are just a small part of a large conspiracy involving human trafficking. I’ve confronted one of the principals in the U.S. and she has threatened me. I’m sure the organization has a presence in Vienna as well. Finding out who they are is crucial. I don’t want my daughter dragged into this.”
There was a long silence on the other end. “The other thing I’ve heard about you is that I’m better off not listening to you, because it will get me into trouble,” Dufaux said.
“Is that true? Well, I don’t give a damn. I must speak to the person, and soon.”
“Relax, Valentin. I’m just telling you what I’ve heard. It doesn’t mean that I believe it. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve secured a place where we can speak to her.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Marieke looked confused when Vermeulen finished his explanation.
“Why would some
one be after Gaby? Or me?” she said.
“They aren’t. They’re after me. Possibly. I’m worried that they’ll go after Gaby or you to get to me.”
“So let me get this straight. You are involved in some investigation in New York and the bad guys are coming after you. And they might come after us, too. Or maybe they won’t? What the hell is this? I asked you to come and be with Gaby. I didn’t ask you to bring your shit with you. How dare you put Gaby in danger?”
Vermeulen looked out the window. There she goes again. It was as if the last nine years had never happened. He was back in Antwerp, desperately looking for Gaby, who’d run away during their acrimonious divorce. Of course, it had all been his fault. Marieke took every opportunity to point that out. He’d forgotten how bad things had been. He swallowed hard and brushed his hair from his forehead. This wasn’t the time to take the bait.
“I’m sorry, Marieke. I was in the middle of an investigation when you called. I had just confronted one of the principals of a criminal ring. I dropped everything and came here. This morning I received a voicemail that reminded me that this ring operates internationally. I don’t even know if they’re aware I’m here. So this is just a precaution. I hope you know that I would never do anything to put Gaby in danger.”
Marieke looked at him and shook her head. “How much do you know about this?” she said to Tessa.
Tessa shrugged. She obviously didn’t want to be drawn into the fight.
“I’m just as surprised as you are. But I think Valentin’s precaution is a good idea.”
Marieke took her bag and stormed from the room.
Vermeulen stared out the window. “What does she want?” he said after a moment.
“I can see why she’s upset.”
“You think I can’t? Hell, I’m upset, too. I didn’t want any of this. But why does she always have to blame me? As if I personally conspired to put Gaby in danger.”
“You know she didn’t mean it that way. She’s under a lot of stress. We all resort to familiar behavior patterns when we’re under stress.”
“I guess. Except her familiar pattern is to make me the shit heel. I haven’t seen her in nine years and I’m already tired of it.”
Tessa pulled him toward her and held him. “She’ll come around. Don’t let it distract you.”
He brushed his lips against hers. “Thanks.”
All the ruckus hadn’t affected Gaby one bit. Her face had the same blank expression as the day before. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly open. The only movement was her chest rising and falling with her breath. He took her hand and stroked it gently.
“Come back to us, Gaby. Please,” he said.
At three o’clock, Vermeulen phoned his New York office assistant at home. It was six in the morning on the East Coast. She was an early riser, and he wanted to catch her before she went to the office.
“Hi, Jenna, this is Valentin. Sorry to call so early. Did anyone call and ask for me yesterday?”
Jenna was the public face and voice of the OIOS. For the past decade, she’d screened visitors and callers before they were allowed to meet or talk to whoever they were looking for. She took her responsibilities very seriously.
“Let me think,” she said. “There were only two calls for you. One was from Pierre Dufaux in Vienna. I sent that to your voicemail. Bridget took another call for you. A woman having information you requested. She didn’t want to leave a voicemail. But Bridget noted it and I put the slip in your mailbox.”
Bridget was the other front office person. She was new and being groomed to take Jenna’s place after her retirement.
“Did she tell the caller that I went to Vienna?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. I’ll have to ask her. Call me back in five minutes.”
Bridget hadn’t yet learned the stoic façade Jenna deployed to dispatch callers without being unfriendly, but also without revealing anything that wasn’t the caller’s business. Her chattiness on the phone was a constant thorn in Jenna’s side.
“That girl is impossible,” Jenna said when he called back. “She thinks she said that you were abroad. She can’t remember if she said where. She might have said Vienna. Why do you need to know?”
“It’s a long story. From now on, please keep my location under wraps.”
“I’ll tell her. How’s your daughter? Any improvement?”
“Not yet. But they expect her to wake up soon. All we can do is wait.”
“I hope you won’t have to wait long.”
“Thanks.”
He ended the call still not knowing if he had to worry about the Broker or not. There was no other option but to assume that some gangsters would show up sooner rather than later. Which made interviewing whoever had obtained the signatures all the more urgent. But Dufaux was taking his time.
“Anything new?” Tessa asked, looking up from her book.
“No. A woman called my office. The assistant doesn’t remember if she told her where I was. So nothing has changed. We still need to be alert. And I need to go for a smoke, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t let anybody in.”
She grimaced.
He followed a long corridor to an interior courtyard. Despite the cheery off-white paint and the red and green highlights, the ambiance couldn’t change the fact that behind these doors lay sick people who’d much rather be well and elsewhere.
A male nurse walked past him, pushing a small cart with a box. As soon as they passed each other, Vermeulen slowed and looked back. Was that a real nurse? Or someone pretending to be one? Or was he being paranoid?
The nurse entered a room. Vermeulen took a deep breath and continued. Once outside, he lit his Gitane and inhaled deeply. He didn’t know how he’d cope with stress if he didn’t have a cigarette. The courtyard was a surprisingly green oasis in the middle of this concrete structure. A large tree that almost covered the sky provided pleasant shade for the benches along an oval path that enclosed a grassy area. A few patients ambled along, one of them pulling along a wheeled IV pole holding a sac of clear liquid.
Vermeulen had just taken a seat on a bench when his phone vibrated. It was a text from Tessa: Come quick!
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Vermeulen ran through the corridors. He bumped into visitors, nurses, staff without taking time to apologize. His mind was busy laying blame. He shouldn’t have left for a smoke. He should’ve known they were on his heels. He shouldn’t have come in the first place and put Gaby at risk. He shouldn’t have ….
A looming collision with a doctor jerked him out of the stream of incriminations. The doctor stepped to one side and shouted at him in German. Something about not running and not putting the patients in danger. Vermeulen didn’t have time to respond. He kept running. The maze of hallways was confusing. At one intersection he hesitated before recognizing the colorful stickers someone had plastered on a door that probably led to some kid with a broken arm. He turned and hurried onward.
After the next turn, he saw Gaby’s room near the end of the corridor. Two nurses pushed carts with plastic cups and medications. A nurse left a room, noting something on a clipboard. A man in a blue and green tracksuit walked toward him. He was in his forties, had a pronounced widow’s peak and a five o’clock shadow. He seemed in no particular hurry. As Vermeulen ran past him, the man nodded to Vermeulen with the sort of expression that said, I hate hospitals, don’t you? Vermeulen didn’t have time to nod back.
From the distance, Vermeulen could tell that the door to Gaby’s room stood open. Tessa was supposed to have closed it. He searched his pockets for a suitable weapon. The key to his apartment in Manhattan was the only useful object. Another key would have been great, but the hotel used keycards. He wedged the blade between his index and middle fingers and closed his fist around the bow. Just in case. Worse than brass knuckles, but better than nothing.
The room was quiet. Through the door, he could see Gaby, eyes closed, the monitor beeping s
oftly.
“Tessa?” he said.
No answer.
“Tessa?” Louder.
Still no answer.
He inched into the room, holding the fist with the key ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The room was empty. He looked again. No Tessa. He opened the closet. Empty. He went into the bathroom. Nobody. Where was Tessa? She shouldn’t have left Gaby alone.
Hasty steps came from the corridor. He stuck his head out. Tessa came jogging toward him.
“What happened?” he said.
“Something strange.” She stopped at the door and caught her breath. “I don’t know what to make of it.”
“Where did you go? Gaby isn’t supposed to be alone.”
Tessa pulled him inside the room and closed the door. “First, I thought I heard a knock on the door. Nothing unusual. The orderlies do that before they come into a room. But then nobody entered. There was a second knock. I went to the door and looked through the little window and saw what looked like an orderly. When I opened the door, he said that I should come to the nurses’ station. There was a phone call for me. He knew my name. I asked who was calling, and I think he said it was my office. It didn’t make any sense. My office has my mobile number. But my German isn’t very good, so I wasn’t sure I understood him. He kept telling me to come.”
“And you went?”
“I texted you and waited. But he became agitated, saying it was urgent. I figured I’d take the call, tell them to call my mobile, and come back. We left and went to the end of the hallway.”
“Which end?”
“This one.” Tessa pointed in the opposite direction than the one he’d come from.
“What did he look like? Did he wear a blue and green tracksuit?” Vermeulen said.
“No, why? He wore what orderlies wear, that weird light-green smock and pants. He also wore one of those funny caps.”
“So you followed him?”
“Yes. I know I was supposed to stay here, but it could have been important. When we turned the corner, he started walking faster. I had to hurry to keep up. The nurses’ station is in the middle of that corridor. The guy just pointed to it and kept going. I stopped one of the nurses and asked where the phone was. She told me that it wasn’t for private calls. I told her that an orderly had just fetched me because there was a call for me. But she just looked at me as if I were loony. I asked if she’d sent an orderly to get someone from Room 412. She shook her head and went back to work. I came back as fast as I could.”
Illicit Trade Page 11