by Matt Johnson
It was as I left the office that I asked about time-off to go to Marica’s wedding. I probably could have timed that better.
It didn’t take me long to find the first of my new workmates. Fortunately for me he was much friendlier than Youldon.
Matt Miller had just transferred in from Kentish Town. We were soon chatting like old mates. It turned out we had attended the same promotion classes when we had been studying for the inspector exam. There were fifty places that year. I had come fourteenth on the list, Matt was sixteenth. The more we talked, the more we realised we had in common. It seemed our paths had nearly crossed many times even though we had never previously spoken.
Nina Brasov still hadn’t arrived. ‘You’ll know her,’ was all Matt would say about her.
He was right. At about half past nine, Nina walked in: very tall, probably six foot, with long blonde hair, and, when she removed her long coat and hung it on the back of the door, the most incredible figure. Her tan, knee-length skirt was almost as tight as the black cashmere jumper that accentuated her curves. To say she was built like an Amazon was no understatement.
‘You must be Finlay?’ Nina shook my hand as I stood to greet her. ‘Nina Brasov, DS. I’m your bag carrier, but if you ask me to actually carry your bag then watch out.’ She laughed at her own joke, but I understood what she meant. Nina might be my subordinate but this was her world, and I was the new guy. It was clear she was a highly experienced detective and, although I had the strong impression she knew how to use her looks, she didn’t take advantage of it.
‘I’ve prepared some files for you to both look at,’ Nina continued. ‘Then there is a PowerPoint to view and finally some victim statements. Shall we make a start?’
Thus Detective Sergeant Nina Brasov began our education. For the next hour we read and discussed information she had managed to glean from a UN investigator called Irena Senovac. Irena had uncovered sex-slave trafficking across Europe on a previously unimagined scale. She had been sacked from her UN job, according to Nina, due to the corrupt involvement of people she worked with. Irena had taken her employers to an industrial tribunal. She had won her case and been interviewed in both the newspapers and on television.
I had heard of sex trafficking. Like many, I imagined it was a problem that was most prevalent in the Far East. I was only vaguely aware there was some in Eastern Europe. So what I learned from Nina in that hour shocked me.
We were shown personal accounts of women who had been abducted, tricked and manipulated into the trade. Once inside, they found it impossible to escape. We also learned how the trade infiltrated the corridors of power, how influential people became complicit in the business as customers, as organisers or simply by turning a blind eye.
The previous year, the UN General Assembly had debated and approved a resolution that had been called the ‘Palermo Protocol’, by which the UN Drugs and Crime Office would assist member states to develop anti-trafficking strategies and laws.
For the time being, the Met contribution to the fight was Matt, me and Nina.
One story I found particularly disturbing. A girl called Relia had been tricked into leaving her home in Romania to become a personal assistant in Bucharest. I was drawn to the story, having met so many Romanians in Egypt. Their lifestyle seemed a million miles away from this slave girl.
Relia described how she had been beaten, drugged and raped by more men than she was able to count. Even the women she met on her journey were exploitative and dangerous. She was sold to brothel owners in Bucharest, Milan and then London. Each time her new ‘owner’ would be provided with details of her family at home so she could be intimidated into work. Every new establishment she entered would warn what would happen to her family if she did not co-operate.
Relia wasn’t paid, and she was only given the barest of provisions to ensure she could survive and fulfil her role – to have sex with as many men as the owners decided. With girls like her no longer paid a wage and being required to service many more men, punters who could not have been able to afford the service previously, were now able to. This triggered a new cycle of demand and with it the need to supply more girls. It was a lucrative business for the criminals that ran it and a disaster for its victims.
The girls had a limited shelf life. Relia had been picked up during a police raid on a brothel near Euston Station. Just four hundred yards from where passengers passed by in their tens of thousands, there had been a massage parlour where nearly twenty East European, Thai and Polynesian girls were living in squalor.
Relia had been initiated only two years previously. She was already in her eighth premises and with her fifth different owner. By the time she was freed she weighed just six stone. Records found at the scene suggested attempts had been made to sell her on, but without success. There was a hand-written note against her name on a list that had been found in the owner’s filing cabinet. It read ‘for disposal’.
That note turned out to be the leverage the Vice Squad had needed to get Relia talking. It was clear to her that her popularity with the punters was low. She had already seen other ‘unpopular’ girls leave, the owners saying that they had been sold on or had bought their freedom home. Relia suspected otherwise.
Nina knew the truth. Sometimes girls escaped. Sometimes they really did make it home. But many others simply vanished. To Nina, the inference was clear. The girls were surplus to requirement – worn out. ‘Disposal’ meant one thing. They were murdered. And Relia had been scheduled to join them.
Irena Senovac had told Nina that many UN investigators had seen evidence in Eastern Europe of girls being killed, their bodies disposed of with little care or respect. With ineffective investigation and little prospect of being caught, the traffickers acted with impunity and thought nothing of leaving a corpse at the side of the road.
Here in the UK, it was different. Every single murder the police discovered was thoroughly investigated. Murder squads were wellmanned and the very best resources employed. It was no accident that the UK rate for clear-ups in such cases was the highest in the world. If a body was found dumped in London, the Met would not rest until the perpetrator was caught.
But this had Nina perplexed. As she explained to us, there were no reported murders of slave prostitutes, no unidentified bodies found, no sign of girls being smuggled back to the Continent. To all intents and purposes, they simply disappeared.
It was a different type of prostitution from the kind I had been familiar with as a young PC. In the recent past, being ‘on the game’ had been a euphemism many prostitutes liked to use and we cops had been happy to do likewise.
Even in those simpler days there had still been dangers, of course. Lying in wait for girls coming to London’s bright lights to ply the ‘game’ were the gangsters, the pimps and the drug dealers. As Nina explained, when word spread that the streets of London were not paved with gold, the supply of girls had started to dry up. So the gangsters had adapted their methods. If the girls didn’t come willingly they could be forced. The old ‘game’, in which punters paid individual girls for services, was now a deadly game, one in which life was cheap; the girls expendable.
It was a game our small team was about to join.
Chapter 27
After the presentation, while handing us some further victim statements to read, Nina looked me straight in the eye. ‘Standard blade or something special, Finlay?’
The question took me aback. I hadn’t heard ‘standard blade’ used outside the army. Nina was asking whether I was an ordinary Special Forces soldier or had moved on to further things. I decided to play dumb, not quite sure how much my two new friends knew.
‘My uncle was a Brigadier. Signals most of his life,’ she continued, ‘but he did a three-year tour on “A” squadron. My elder brother is Guards Regiment and thinking of doing SAS selection next year. You might say there is a connection.’
‘Superintendent Youldon seems to be the only one who doesn’t know,’ I laughed.
/> ‘Oh, he knows, he just doesn’t care. He only cares how much detective experience you have, which is none so far as I can see.’
Matt stood, walked over to the office door and closed it before adding, ‘We aren’t the slightest bit bothered by Youldon’s concerns, Finlay. Blokes like you have our respect. You can learn from us … well from Nina anyway. In return, I’m sure there are a few tricks we can pick up from you.’
‘My uncle heard a rumour that Al Q’aeda tried to kill the guys on the Iranian embassy raid and that you stopped them in their tracks,’ said Nina. ‘Our guess is you are here to maintain a low profile for a while, correct?’
I nodded. ‘That’s close enough. There are no secrets in this job eh? Does it bother either of you – having me around, I mean?’
Matt replied. ‘We all have secrets Finlay. How much you want to tell us about your time in the SAS is up to you.’
Nina extended her hand, warmly. ‘So long as you pull your weight, guv. I just hope that you can keep up with us youngsters.’
I returned to the paperwork Nina had given us and was quickly absorbed by the first victim statement I read. It was the story of Relia Stanga, the witness who was now providing first-hand information on the traffickers. Her words made for very uncomfortable reading.
Matt and I finished reading our files at the same time. We both took a deep breath. I could see that Nina was watching us as if she were waiting to see our reactions.
Our silence said everything.
It was time to go to work.
Chapter 28
Toni Fellowes reached Embankment with five minutes to spare. There was no sign of Howard Green. Anticipating a wait, she sat down on a wooden bench and started reading her newspaper.
The minutes rolled by. It looked like he was going to be late. Every so often she would look up from the pages to scan her surroundings. There was no sign of him. She wondered if he was intending to stand her up. It was now ten-thirty and he had said ten o’clock.
It had been a difficult week. Nell’s reaction to sending Robert Finlay to Egypt had been positively tranquil compared to how she responded to Toni’s plan that both he and Jenny go to the Romanian wedding. Add to that the complete lack of progress on the Monaghan enquiry, and even a meeting with a lecherous MI6 officer seemed attractive. So, when Howard had emailed asking to see her, she had jumped at the chance.
The decision to let the Finlays visit Romania had been a tough one. Despite knowing Collins was going to be there, she was still uncertain about how productive the trip would be. So she had run her idea past Dave Batey, her line manager. They both agreed that it was far too late to persuade Finlay to knowingly work for them, sending a trained agent to act as his spouse; and anyway, the risk that the Cristeas may have seen the photograph of his wife he kept in his wallet scotched that idea. So, as things stood, they had to balance the potential gain of intelligence versus the risk to Finlay and his wife.
In normal circumstances, Batey had explained, the risk would be too great. But these were abnormal times. MI6, the CIA and any number of other Security Services had been publicly caught napping on the day of the 9/11 attacks. Anything could now be justified in the desire to save face, salvage reputations and secure intelligence. The Finlays would be going to Romania.
For the first time in her career, Toni felt guilty about her decision to exploit an opportunity. And she knew why. When she had used people in the past, it had been wholly in the interest of national security. What she was allowing the Finlays to do was more about fulfilling her personal ambitions.
She hadn’t mentioned to Batey that Howard Green had warned her off. But that was her risk, not theirs.
She also reassured herself that she had taken every step she could think of to ensure that the couple would be safe. She had fully debriefed Finlay about the Egypt trip, learning as much as she could without alerting him to her reasons for asking. The fake profile Nell had set up had been tight and, from the recorded conversations with Maggie Price, it appeared that her Romanian contact was perfectly happy as to Finlay’s authenticity. Collins wouldn’t know he was talking to a cop.
There was just one small concern: the bodyguard. Finlay had reported that he had been interested in discussing their shared military backgrounds. If he raised the subject again, her suggestion was Finlay should be economical with the truth. Admit to being a former soldier, she said, just play down what you did. Finlay understood fully.
Once home she would debrief them. Finlay was observant. Without realising it, he would see and hear things that she could use. Jenny was the icing on the cake. She might even spot things he didn’t. They were the perfect moles.
A male voice brought her back into the real world.
‘Thought you were more of an Independent reader, Toni?’ It was Howard Green.
She folded the newspaper as Howard sat down next to her. ‘I like to keep an open mind. You’re late. Do you have anything for me?’
‘Yes, and my apologies; a conference call over-ran. So, I have some good news and something to ask of you.’
‘Let’s start with the good news, shall we?’
Howard handed her a small slip of paper. Written on it were two sets of numbers and letters. ‘Your access to Monaghan’s and Webb’s files has been approved. I’ve moved heaven and earth to get this for you, Toni. One day I expect the favour returned.’
Her manner softened, the annoyance at having been kept waiting subsiding. ‘I won’t forget … and thanks. What do you want from me?’
‘Dinner. One evening next week, perhaps? On me. A chance to talk about something other than work.’
She hesitated, for a moment uncertain if Howard was up to his old tricks. But it didn’t take long to decide; it was clearly in her best interests to keep Howard Green sweet. She said yes.
They shook hands. She was about to stand, but Howard held on to her tight. ‘You won’t let me down, will you, Toni?’ he said, his voice low, and with an intensity that surprised her.
‘I said yes. I’ll be happy to join you.’
‘I think you know what I mean. Don’t interfere … leave Collins to us.’
Toni didn’t reply as she pulled her hand away quickly and started the short walk back to New Scotland Yard.
Chapter 29
Did he know?
For the entire walk, Toni asked herself that question. Reaching no satisfactory answer she dismissed her fears. With only Nell and Dave Batey in the loop, there was no possibility. He was bluffing.
In the office, Stuart and Nell were huddled together at a PC. They both had headphones on and seemed oblivious to her presence. It was only when she touched Nell on the shoulder that her researcher jumped and her two assistants stopped what they were doing.
‘You need to listen to this,’ said Stuart.
‘Yes, yes … listen,’ Nell repeated, thrusting her headphones at Toni.
‘What is it?’
Stuart handed her a thin bundle of papers in a buff-coloured folder. ‘It’s the personal file on the literary agent, Maggie Price. The one you requested from GCHQ. The call transcripts are in there too. We’re listening to the latest one now.’
‘Is there anything new?’
‘It’s more like before. They think he’s a former soldier who now teaches people to drive cars.’
‘So, there’s definitely no suspicion at their end that Finlay might be a cop?’
‘None. They seemed quite laid back about him. The conversation only got really interesting when Mrs Price started to be a bit awkward over one of her authors who is also due at the wedding. They got a bit shirty with her.’
‘Anything juicy? That’s likely to be Chas Collins they’re talking about.’
‘That’s what’s fascinating. Apparently he’s been on the television a lot lately. The caller is really adamant Maggie brings him to Romania to see Gheorghe Cristea. But it sounds like Collins doesn’t want to go.’
‘So is he going or not?’ Toni realised her
voice was sounding insistent. If, after all her efforts, the author failed to turn up, she would have been risking all for nothing.
‘It looks like he is, yes.’
‘OK … great. That’s good. Do they say why it’s so important to them to get him there?’ she asked.
‘They don’t,’ said Stuart. ‘And, just out of interest, do we make a habit of tapping the phones of people like Maggie Price?’
Toni laughed. ‘The longer you stay in this job Stuart, the less surprised you’ll be. Security services have been listening in to authors and their agents for decades.’
Chapter 30
My new Superintendent rarely left his office. I learned that my leave application had been approved via a memo that was left overnight on Matt’s desk. In three days’ time, Jenny and I would be flying out to Bucharest.
Matt, Nina and I had been collating and researching information on trafficking. So it hadn’t escaped me that the luxury trip I was hoping to enjoy was the antithesis of the journeys made by many women who travelled in the opposite direction. Romania was the source of one of Europe’s largest number of forced sex workers.
According to Nina, poverty in Eastern European countries had made people desperate. The gangs had seen the opportunity and exploited it. Girls were routinely tricked into travelling abroad on false papers for jobs that didn’t exist. Once captured, escape was virtually impossible. Many of the slaves were poorly educated and lacked any knowledge of Western life. They couldn’t use public transport, speak the language, use the telephone system or access health services. Most believed foreign police to be as corrupt as in their home towns, so they wouldn’t go to the authorities to seek help.