Tracks

by Niv Kaplan

  “Will do, sir,” O’Leary acknowledged, increasing his pace. The teams were waiting. He would get there for weapon inspection and hustle them into the briefing hut where Harley would show up to address them.

  Ali’s bunk was all wood, immersed in the forest, hardly noticeable from twenty feet away. It was comfortable, extremely plain with the fundamental necessities, and no womanly extras. It was a single room with an attached restroom and shower, a small fireplace, a heavy oak table with two matching chairs, a narrow bed, and an oak closet. Ali had put up a few nature portraits on the bare walls and had a couple of photographs on a small nightstand by her bed alongside a tiny make-up kit.

  A folding field bed with a foam mattress and a military sleeping bag had been erected on the opposite wall across the oak table from where Ali slept. Ali pointed to it and Mai-Li flung her backpack on the floor next to it and sat heavily on the bed.

  Ali stood a minute looking at her, hands on her hips. Dressed in red training attire, running shoes and matching climber’s jacket, she looked fit and very attractive. She was tall, at least six feet, with an athletic, perfectly balanced slender body, long legs and broad shoulders. Her blonde hair was cut short and there was a boyish look about her, her face a dash freckled, her blue eyes sparkling, with an irresistible grin across her golden, well-proportioned face.

  “Not your average king size at the Ritz, but it’s all we have,” she said apologetically.

  “I’ve never been to the Ritz,” Mai-Li said.

  “Well I have, and this here is plenty better for body and soul.”

  “A trifle isolated for my taste,” Mai-Li observed. “Have you been here long?”

  “Been here for quite a while,” Ali said noncommittally.

  “They treat you OK?” Mai-Li asked, pointing back towards the men.

  “Like a queen,” Ali said, smiling.

  “And you don’t miss the company of women, city life?”

  “Yeah, I miss women sometimes,” Ali said after a pause. “City life, not at all. I come from a rural upbringing and never really lived in a big city so this suits me fine. Mind you, we do move around quite a bit so I get to see places.”

  Ali stripped to her under garments, thin knickers and a sports bra, fetched a towel from the closet and went for the shower. Her smooth white body did not have an ounce of extra fat, Mai-Li noticed. Ali was lean yet powerful, she moved like a cat, her stomach muscles well aligned and prominent, her hands and legs long and strong.

  Thinking of her own thin, susceptible body, comparing it to the specimen in front of her, Mai-Li sighed, partly to herself: “I need to get myself in shape.” Ali glanced at her and smiled as she entered the bathroom.

  Mai-Li began arranging her belongings in the closet when there was a knock on the door. Ali stepped out of the shower, dripping wet, wrapped in a towel barely covering her features, and opened the door. Sergeant Lizzy O’Leary, his face a blank, addressed the women, as if they were trainees on the parade grounds.

  “Mai-Li needs to be at Intelligence at 2200 hours. Ali, you get her there, then come see me. Understood?”

  Ali nodded. The sergeant did an about face and left. The two women looked at each other, and smiled.

  The Intelligence bunker was a hub of TV screens, computer displays, maps, communication and electronic equipment amassed along its walls producing a constant low hum as the operatives manning them talked in hushed, calm voices.

  Harley, standing over a subordinate, involved in deep conversation pointing at several of the screens, detached himself after several long minutes and walked over to Mai-Li who stood quietly in awe after Ali had dropped her off.

  As if on cue, the two involved operators who it did not hear her enter, turned to look and stood up as Harley walked over with Mai-Li.

  “Lieutenant Brian Copeland,” Harley said, introducing a springy redheaded aide, who seemed to be eager to get back to whatever he was doing, his shirt pocket overflowing with pens, pencils and markers.

  “He is the Jester,” Harley added. “As you can see, always jumpy.”

  Copeland, restlessly shuffling his feet, smiled, and offered his hand.

  “Pleasure,” he said and turned to look at one of the screens.”

  Harley was also watching.

  “Devlin’s almost there,” he remarked. Harley nodded.

  “Corporal Evans,” Harley turned, introducing a very thin, lanky soldier with a beard and round, wired-rimmed glasses who bowed and took Mai-Li’s small hand in both his huge palms.

  “Long-John at your service,” the corporal said, winked and quickly turned to the screens.

  Introductions complete, both Harley and the two intelligence men watched the screens intently, Harley quietly explaining to her what was evolving.

  “We set up a camp similar to what we believe exists in Kashmir. What you’re seeing on these two screens on the left is a team sent out to play the bad guys guarding the camp. They’ll be ready in less than an hour at which time we send in the rescue force.”

  Harley fell silent for the next ten minutes. Mai-Li watched the two thermal imaging cameras attached to the helmets of the point man and rear guard of the traversing team. The night view was incredibly clear as the camp finally came into view.

  “Take a look at the right screen and tell me what you think,” Harley said. The screen displayed a daytime recorded video of the site from above.

  “We tried to build the site according to your impressions,” Harley added.

  Mai-Li looked carefully, trying to recall what she had seen quite a long time ago. Harley handed her a sketch she had given him as part of the information file back when they met in Edinburgh. It all came rushing back. The fence; the two gates; the towers. The model Harley had built looked quite similar.

  “We sent a man there as well,” Harley continued. “He’s the man leading that team. Name’s Devlin. I’d like you to meet him.”

  Mai-Li could not ignore the admiration she felt for the thoroughness of these rough individuals. She heard the short wave radio come to life.

  “Red Tape in place,” a quiet, confident voice informed.

  “Yes, I see you Red Tape,” Harley replied to a hidden microphone. “Right on time.”

  “Send in Scorpion, we’re ready,” the voice said.

  “Right. Keep alert.” Harley said and signaled Long-John to switch frequency.

  “Scorpion, you ready?” Harley inquired.

  “Just say the word, old boy,” a new voice emerged instantly through the static.

  “Off you go then,” Harley said. “I’ll be watching.”

  The two right screens switched to live video of the rescue team as they began to move. The pictures on the left screens remained with Devlin’s team and were now quite static, displaying the shadowy Scottish forest around the guarded campsite.

  What evolved next was not entirely clear to Mai-Li, who carefully tried to follow the action. “Scorpion” was reporting progress when reaching agreed coordinate locations allowing Harley and the intelligence crew to closely follow on the maps. They moved like shadows and were in place to attack after an hour and fifteen minutes, at which time the team split up. With only four thermal cameras recording, two on each side, it was hard to discern everyone’s movements. Harley and his men seemed to anticipate everything.

  The exercise achieved only partial success to Harley’s dismay. “Scorpion” managed to enter through one gate and reach the prisoner’s quarters but the retreat was sealed off and the team was trapped inside the compound. It was back to the drawing board.

  “Our intention was to eliminate the two rear guards and towers, enter through the back gate, and then retreat through the front gate when reinforcements showed up at the back gate. The two front guards were supposed to be handled as soon as we had the prisoners. The men assigned the task were detected and we lost the edge.” Harley summarized regretfully. “We may need more people next time around.”

  Partial success meant fail
ure, in Harley’s book.

  Mai-Li spent the next two hours being briefed by Copeland and Long-John while Harley went to de-brief his returning force.

  In the months since she started meeting with Harley, his group had made incredible progress, gathering information and understanding the psyche behind the Lambda-B organization which was no different than that of numerous illegitimate groups and individuals who exploited children for labor and sex. They were simply bigger, with more resources, and better protected. The core people were not yet identified. They were assumed to be wealthy individuals who had a stake in the mines and other investments the children were used in. However, they kept themselves well hidden under false identities, behind false companies, using offshore, untraceable bank accounts to transfer monies used to run the operations. Their agents, or go-betweens, one level down, employed a net of locals in every country to find, kidnap, and transfer the children to the auctions where they were sold, or actually bought back by the mine owners and sent to work. The auction monies were used to keep the locals happy but the real benefits were reaped by the mine owners who worked the children to their death.

  Kashmir was their center of activity. This no-man’s land between India and Pakistan provided an ideal place to stage such evil. The village where Mai-Li had gone to get a glimpse of the predicament was just one of many used to hold such auctions and hide the children. The locals used enforcers to keep everyone else quite. These bullies would gang up on anyone, including any authorities, who dared launch a complaint. These were the people responsible for guarding the sites which housed these children before they were sent to the labor camps. The camp sighted by Mai-Li and later by Harley’s man, Devlin, was one holding children ready for auctions.

  It was presumed the scheme of using the auctions was one designed to protect the real money people and finance the locals but it was not entirely understood why the children were not simply sent directly to the labor camps.

  A small portion of children, the females mostly, were also being used as sex slaves to the chain of individuals exploiting them from the work masters at the mines, to the guards, to the locals and all the way up the chain.

  “How would this one raid cease this entire operation?” Mai-Li wondered out loud once her brief was complete.

  “We’ve got the Indian authorities lined up to join us,” Harley said, entering the room, Sergeant O’Leary and another man at his heels.

  “They’ve agreed to send a few men with us so they can witness and video the scheme first hand. Once we’ve managed to expose the issue and show real evidence, the media will do the rest. Then none of the surrounding counties will be able to ignore the problem and Lambda-B will be exposed. One successful strike may very well put an end to this.”

  Mai-Li retreated to the corner as the three men filled up the small room.

  “This is Captain Mike Devlin,” Harley introduced the man who had followed in her tracks to Kashmir.

  The handsome, blonde Devlin, his face streaked with black charcoal, his military fatigues stained and muddy from the night’s exercise, flashed an enticing smile and approached her.

  “Quite devilish,” Harley added, before Devlin shook her hand. Mai-Li looked up at him.

  “Pleasure, finally meeting you,” Devlin said, holding her gaze. “It’s not every day someone gets this old crew overly excited.”

  Mai-Li smiled shyly, thankful for the dim lighting structure to hide her blushing.

  “Just doing my job,” she said weakly.

  “And a superb job at that,” Devlin remarked. “The information you provided turned out extremely accurate under the circumstances. My trip there added some depth but we could have moved entirely on your data. Great job.”

  “Thanks,” Mai-Li said. “You guys are miracle workers.”

  “We’ve still got lots to do before we’re ready,” Harley interjected. “I suggest Mike, you and Mai-Li find yourselves a quiet corner to compare notes, then help the rest of us figure out what went wrong tonight. Tomorrow you lead Scorpion.”

  Devlin took Mai-Li’s hand and pulled her out the door. Harley and the rest sat down to review the tapes.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Detective Orlov showed up for breakfast as he did every morning since being assigned lead agent in the “Flesh Trade” investigation, as the Romanians now labeled it after Natasha and Peka were stopped at the Bucharest airport. It had been an entire week since the Romanians promised action but none came. Natasha was losing her patience.

  The Romanian ate his usual hard-boiled egg, cottage cheese, cucumber salad and half a loaf of bread smeared with butter and jam. Then he lit up a cigarette and sat contently back drinking his stale coffee.

  “Won’t be long now,” he declared, as he did every morning. “The girls were assembled last night. We believe they are ready for shipment.”

  “Where were they assembled?” Natasha asked.

  “An apartment downtown. My men are watching them as we speak.”

  “How many?” Peka pitched in.

  “Five.”

  “Where are they headed?” Natasha asked.

  “Don’t know yet. We’ll have to wait for the airport.”

  “That might be too late to inform my people,” Natasha pointed out.

  “It is the best we can do,” Orlov said unperturbed.

  Natasha and Peka exchanged glances. They had been discussing their situation and were now almost convinced the entire accord was a hoax.

  “I’ll give you tonight, Detective, but if nothing moves, I’ll be seeking Ms. Taler in the morning. Then we’re out of here,” Natasha threatened.

  Orlov was not impressed. He drew one long last drag from his cigarette and got up to leave.

  “Be ready tonight,” he said. “Pack up your bags.” Then he left.

  Natasha looked questioningly at Peka as she had every day for the last week, blaming him for his people’s incompetence. Peka smiled, raising his hands in despair but still unwilling to take blame.

  “He should go arrest some people instead of sitting here eating breakfast every morning,” she said, exasperated.

  “Breakfast is more important,” Peka said.

  Natasha had had enough arguments with him over the period they had spent together and did not wish to enter another.

  “You get me Lena if he does not come through tonight.”

  “I said I will and I will but let’s give him tonight. He may come through!”

  “Yeah and elephants will grow wings and fly,” Natasha mocked.

  Peka remained silent. He had had enough of her skepticism as well.

  Orlov showed up as darkness fell over the city. He summoned the two to the lobby.

  “Get your bags ready. The girls are leaving tonight with Tarom to Athens. I’ve arranged for you to be on this flight. You need to alert your people.”

  It was not part of their job description. Staking suspects across borders should have been done by professionals but Natasha was eager to get out. The uncertainty, the waiting, the idleness, had pushed her to a point she was willing to go anywhere, do anything. Peka had gotten to a similar state and neither argued.

  Natasha, bags already packed, put a call through to an MI6 contact she had received from Sam informing him of their destination and flight number. She was instructed to follow the girls through customs, then disengage and take a taxi to the Athens Hilton where reservations would be made.

  Peka was not to be allowed to board the flight.

  They sat with Orlov in the back of his black sedan, staking the apartment building. His men, all in similar black cars, were spread around in the streets.

  At two in the morning a small white van showed up. Five, cold and frightened girls, in flimsy dress, were herded into it by three bulky ruffians.

  The van took off, racing toward the airport, Orlov and his units in pursuit.

  At the airport, the girls were made to approach the Tarom check-in counter one at a time at intervals of ten minut
es. Natasha joined the line behind the last one, making sure all five had checked in to the same flight.

  At the gate she had a chance to study them a little closer though they obediently sat separate from one another. They must have been no older than fifteen though their attire made them seemed older. Three were blonde and two were dark. All wore heavy make-up and a blank stare.

  On the plane she sat across the aisle from one of the blondes but was afraid to make contact not knowing their state of mind and who else was watching over them.

  She looked at her closely. From afar she looked a grown up woman but closer inspection revealed her youth: the smooth skin, fresh face, her unripe breasts and adolescent conduct, the make-up a touch too exaggerated. She should have been tucked up in bed somewhere resting for school, Natasha thought. Instead, the poor thing was on a plane to Athens, in the wee hours, parading as an adult, unaware or partially aware of what lay in store for her. A bleak future at best.

  Natasha inspected the dim cabin. Most were asleep, few were reading, the low hum of the engines piercing the night. No one looked interested though she was certain the girls were carefully watched.

  She thought of Peka and the last minute directive that left him behind. She had informed him in Orlov’s car. He meant to resist but instantly realized it would be fruitless. Those were the instructions and he could not afford to put the operation at risk.

  He had behaved a model gentleman throughout, though she felt his urges toward her. In his quiet way he had masterfully handled the authorities and all the logistics surrounding their visit and mostly kept his opinions to himself during a confrontation. In private they had their share of arguments and disagreements but he stood firmly by her side when it counted. He did not talk much about his sister but Natasha had managed to pick up the bits and pieces.

  Peka’s parents had divorced when he was five, his father returning to Croatia, continuing on to America as a diplomat ten years later with a new wife. They settled in Queens, New York, and Peka went on to study Political Science at Queen’s College and got a job at the Romanian Consulate on account of his mother and fluent Romanian.