“There are plenty of empty containers in the warehouse. Lock them in those. Now get moving.”
Nazarov nodded and rose. He stopped halfway to the door. “What about Tanya and the other two, should I put them with the rest of the whores?”
Arsov considered that for a moment. “No. They’re troublemakers and would likely infect the others. We won’t be able to use them in the UK any time soon. Export them.”
“How? Their pictures are all over the place, and all the normal routes will be closely watched.”
Arsov thought a moment. “Do we have any of the ‘special cargo’ boxes we can modify?”
“The only time we tried shipping whores by container, they were dead on arrival.”
Arsov shrugged. “Then disposing of the bodies will be someone else’s problem. Put Yuri and Anatoli on modifying a container while you attend to the other business.”
Nazarov nodded and left the room, and Arsov sat staring down at his cell phone on the desk. He sighed and picked it up to dial St. Petersburg.
Specialist Crimes Directorate 9 (SCD9)
Human Exploitation/Organized Crime
Victoria Block, New Scotland Yard
Boadway
London, UK
“We’re not the Clubs and Vice Unit any longer, Agent Walsh, and we haven’t been for some time, though I expect you lot in the exalted halls of Thames House don’t keep up with such mundane matters. However, I’d appreciate it if you’d use the correct unit designation.”
Anna returned the man’s gaze across the conference table and bit back a sharp retort. The meeting had started badly when the police inspector insisted on excluding Alex, Dugan, and the Russians. In fact, he made clear that the involvement of Anna and her MI5 colleagues was only tolerated on orders from above, a tolerance that did not extend to civilians. Alex had been near apoplectic at his exile to a waiting room along with Dugan and the others, and Anna was struggling to salvage the meeting. She gave the inspector her most winning smile.
“Apologies, Detective Inspector McKinnon,” Anna said. “It’s been ‘Clubs and Vice’ for so long I suppose it’s just a habit to refer to it that way. However, I’ll make a point to use the proper unit designation and make sure everyone else does as well.”
Flanking her on either side, Lou and Harry nodded their assent, and McKinnon’s glare softened — barely.
“That would be appreciated, Agent Walsh. As you’re no doubt aware, the old Clubs and Vice Unit had a long history, not all of it positive. Most of us are now new to the unit, and we’ve done our best in the last eighteen months to distance SCD9 from that legacy.” McKinnon sighed. “We’ve made some headway, but we’re still very much a work in progress.”
Anna nodded. The Clubs and Vice Unit had always been the backwater of the London Metropolitan Police and long considered a career-ending assignment. From its establishment in the 1930s, it had a checkered past, reaching its low ebb in the 1970s when chronic allegations of corruption were proven true and over twenty detectives were sacked. Since then, there had been periodic and to date unsuccessful attempts to upgrade the unit. The recent name change and infusion of new personnel was only the latest of those attempts.
“Understood,” Anna said, “and I assure you will have MI5’s support in that effort.”
McKinnon cocked an eye. “Which brings me to my first question. How does any of this concern the Intelligence Service? This is clearly a police matter, and I can see no rhyme or reason for MI5 involvement. What am I missing?”
Anna hesitated. “Alexander Kairouz, Thomas Dugan, and their company have provided exemplary service to the Crown on prior occasions. Because of that, and Mr. Kairouz’s political connections, they enjoy the favor of Her Majesty’s government, so it’s only natural that in a situation like this Mr. Kairouz would seek the government’s help.” She paused. “And as a word to the wise, Inspector, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to exclude Mr. Kairouz from these discussions.”
“Yes, well, I think there’s rather more to it than that, Agent Walsh — I sense a personal connection, but I’ll leave that for the moment. As far as this operation goes, I will deal with YOU with complete transparency, and what you tell Mr. Kairouz and his entourage or how you choose to involve them is entirely your concern. However, I also expect them to stay completely out of our way; is that clear enough?”
“Completely,” Anna said. “Where do we begin?”
McKinnon opened a thick file folder in front of him and passed Anna a stapled packet of papers.
“Lacking detailed intelligence and with time an issue, with brute force,” McKinnon said. “That’s a list of every known or suspected Russian-operated illicit business in London and its environs. We’re gearing up to raid all these locations simultaneously. No matter where the girls are, we should find them, and perhaps a lot of other things as well.”
Anna paged through the list. “There must be over fifty locations here. How are you going to pull this off? It will require massive manpower.”
“Fifty-seven, to be exact, and I suppose I have your Mr. Kairouz to thank for the manpower. People who would never give me the time of day are now calling to offer me resources, and magistrates who previously made us jump through hoops are now signing off search warrants with a minimum of hassle.” He smiled for the first time. “Actually, it feels a bit like Christmas.”
“Brilliant!” Anna said.
“When do you start?” Lou asked.
“In forty-eight hours, or maybe a bit longer,” McKinnon replied.
“So long?” Anna asked.
“We have to make sure we get as many as we can, and that takes coordination. When we start the operation, word will spread quickly to any locations we miss. Understand that if we don’t turn up the girls on this sweep, they’ll likely get much more difficult to find.”
“Maybe we should hold off a bit and try to pinpoint the girls first,” Harry said.
McKinnon looked at Anna. “Do you think we have time for that, Agent Walsh?”
Anna looked down at the list and back up at McKinnon before slowly shaking her head. “No, unfortunately I don’t. I think your massive quick sweep is our best shot, but God help us if we’re wrong.”
Chapter Eleven
Holding Warehouse
516 Copeland Road
Southwark, London, UK
Arsov stepped into the empty container with Nazarov close behind. Nazarov let out a relieved sigh as Arsov looked around and nodded. A rack along one wall of the container held a long row of one-gallon bottles of water, and a few cases of ‘Meals, Ready-to-Eat’ were lashed in a corner. Three bare mattresses lay on the deck in the far end of the container.
“Looks like you have enough water,” Arsov said, “but are you sure there are enough MREs? We don’t want them looking like survivors of the Gulag. It will make them less marketable until we can put some weight back on them.”
“But we don’t want them fat either,” Nazarov replied. “Americans seem to like them skinny. Anyway, they have enough for one meal per day — it is enough, I think. But I don’t know about these.” He pointed to a row of empty twenty-liter plastic paint buckets with tight-fitting lids lashed to the opposite wall. “I think a chemical toilet would have been easier.”
Arsov shook his head. “It would fill up too fast and slosh around when the ship rolls, splashing all over the place and stinking. If they do their business in the buckets, they can seal them tight and prevent that. Just make sure they have enough buckets.”
Nazarov shrugged. “Who the fuck cares? So the whores arrive stinking — we give them a wash.”
“I don’t care about them, you idiot! I don’t want to draw any attention to the container. It’s not airtight, and don’t you think a container reeking of shit and piss might draw more than a casual inspection from a boarding inspector?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Arsov ignored Nazarov’
s glare and continued. “Make sure they have a flashlight and some spare batteries. They’ll need light to open the food and go to the toilet, but make them understand they are to use it sparingly — and put the fear of God in them about remaining quiet.”
“Da,” Nazarov said. “I will handle it.”
“When will they leave?”
“A drug shipment was scheduled to leave Felixstowe tonight for Jacksonville, Florida, but I’m substituting this container. There should be no problem. Containers originating in the UK receive less scrutiny these days; that’s why we’ve begun the drug transshipments through here.”
“The crew is reliable?”
“Da. Mostly Ukrainians and Croatians,” Nazarov said. “As usual, we first had to make a few examples to ensure their complete cooperation, but they’ve handled three ‘special cargoes’ for us so far. They know what to do, I don’t foresee any problems.”
“You’d best make sure there aren’t any. St. Petersburg is far from pleased, so we can’t afford any more screwups.”
Holding Warehouse
516 Copeland Road
Southwark, London, UK
Arsov looked around the seedy office and grimaced — it was a far cry from his well-appointed office at the club, and he was already sick of this dump. He cursed Nazarov’s ineptitude and stood up from the squeaking office chair to stretch his aching back, a by-product of his night on the threadbare dilapidated sofa. He thought of the nights he had yet to spend here and regretted his own lack of forethought in establishing a more comfortable hideaway. Still, the warehouse was their most secure location, known only to a handful of his underlings, and he could manage here until the worst blew over. He’d send Nazarov to run things at Club Pyatnitsa and to take whatever heat might be generated there. It would serve him right, and a night in jail might teach the stupid bastard a lesson, presuming their solicitors couldn’t free him within a few hours of any arrest.
He thought back over the day’s events — he was as prepared as possible. All of the questionable whores and the children had been brought to the warehouse and locked in the cages or containers, and Yuri and Anatoli were here to watch and feed and water them. Drug operations had been temporarily suspended, and as Nazarov predicted, the distributors had started to moan, but that was a minor problem. And most importantly, the container with the troublemaking whores had left earlier this afternoon and should be at sea and out of reach by tonight. He was ready.
The big question was, ready for what? Security surrounding the anticipated police operation was tight — much tighter than usual. His informant could only tell him the planned operation was ‘big’ and that it would happen ‘soon.’ With preparations complete, the timing of the attack no longer concerned him as much as the scope. He’d downplayed the situation to his superiors in St. Petersburg, hoping he’d be able to contain things and ride out the storm. He could probably survive if the pending operation shut them down for a week or ten days — he’d skimmed enough cash to make up the shortfall — but beyond that there would be a serious cash-flow problem. Then he’d be faced not only with admitting his ‘error,’ but also explaining why it had taken so long for profits to dry up. A visit from an ‘auditor’ from St. Petersburg wasn’t an event he’d likely survive.
All because that buffoon Nazarov couldn’t obey a simple order. And that being the case, it was only right that Nazarov take the fall should things go badly. Arsov sat back down, ignoring the tortured squeal from the office chair as he swiveled back to the battered desk and opened his laptop.
Dugan and Anna’s Apartment
London, UK
Anna stood in front of the bathroom mirror, fresh from the shower and wrapped in a towel. She was reaching for her toothbrush when Dugan stepped in from the bedroom, clad only in a pair of boxers. He stepped close behind her and wrapped her in his arms as he smiled at their reflections in the mirror.
“Alone at last,” he said as he pressed his body against hers. “All our houseguests are bedded down for the night.”
Anna returned his smile and pressed back against him. “And why do I have the feeling that you have further plans for the evening, Mr. Dugan? I see the crack on the noggin had no impact on your libido.”
“What can I say? I could never resist a woman in a towel.”
“Yes, well, if you don’t let me finish brushing my teeth, we’ll see how you feel about a woman in a towel with the breath of a camel.” She reached behind her with her free hand and placed it on his cheek. “Off with you now. I’ll be in bed straightaway.”
Dugan leaned down and kissed her neck. “See that you are.” He caressed her bottom before moving away.
Five minutes later, Anna slipped naked between the sheets, to find Dugan lying on his back with his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling with a scowl on his face. She moved to his side, and she saw him smile in the dim half-light leaking from the partially closed bathroom door.
“All right, Dugan, what were you lying here thinking about? I could tell by the scowl it wasn’t sex.”
“Nothing that won’t keep.” He pulled her close and nuzzled her neck.
She pushed herself back from him and looked him in the eye. “Sorry, not good enough. I want your undivided attention. Now what’s troubling you?”
Dugan sighed. “Nothing we can do anything about. I was talking to Borgdanov while you were in the shower. He and Ilya are very concerned with the impact all of this may have in Russia.”
“You mean repercussions against their families?”
Dugan nodded. “Borgdanov’s parents are dead, and he has no close relatives, but Ilya’s concerned about his sister’s family. He called them as soon as we figured out this asshole Arsov knew we were looking for Karina, and they went into hiding. But they can’t hide forever, at least not in Russia.”
“Have they had any indication anyone is looking for them?”
“That’s the strange part. These Russian mob types don’t normally screw around, but some of Borgdanov’s old Spetsnaz buddies are keeping an eye on the house, and they’ve seen no indications anyone is after Karina’s family. It’s almost like what’s happening here isn’t being reported back to Russia. That doesn’t add up.”
“What do Borgdanov and Ilya think?”
Dugan shrugged. “They’re clueless but don’t think it will last indefinitely. They’re working on some sort of plan for dealing with things in Russia, but they won’t elaborate, at least not yet.”
Anna looked concerned. “They’re not going to go ‘cowboy’ on us, are they? Now that the Met is officially involved, I won’t be able to protect them if they try to take things into their own hands.”
“They understand the situation. I don’t think they plan anything here in the UK.”
“Well, that’s good to know, if somewhat tentative. Let’s just hope we get the girls back on the sweep tomorrow night.”
Dugan nodded in the dim light. “Amen to that.” He looked into Anna’s eyes. “Are we done now?”
She pressed her body against him and ran a hand down his bare belly. “Not by half, Mr. Dugan. Not by half.”
Chapter Twelve
Berwick Street, Soho
Near Club Pyatnitsa
London, UK
Dugan sat in the back seat and fidgeted as he looked out at the night lights of Soho, concentrating on the neon marquee above Club Pyatnitsa. Beside him he heard the low squawk of Anna’s tactical radio, the volume lowered. He looked at his watch.
“How much longer?” he asked, not for the first time.
“From the sounds of the radio traffic, not long,” Anna said from the front passenger seat. “But remember Detective Inspector McKinnon is coordinating a citywide strike, so he’s got to ensure all the pieces are in place before he gives the go-ahead.”
“I know, I know,” Dugan said, “but it seems like we’ve been here all night.”
“Two hours, actually,” Harry said from behind the wheel. “Hardly any time at all a
s these things go, so don’t get your knickers in a twist, Yank.” Harry smiled at Anna. “He’s an impatient sod, isn’t he? I wonder if Lou is having to put up with this from the Russkis and the kid?”
“I suspect our Russian friends’ military background has made them a bit more accustomed to lengthy waits,” Anna said, “but I expect young Nigel is fit to be tied. He’s been beside himself ever since the kidnapping.” She looked over the seat back. “By the way, Tom, that was nice of you to square things for Nigel with the captain.”
Dugan shrugged. “It was pretty obvious he wasn’t going back to the ship, no matter what anyone said, and I didn’t want the ship to sail shorthanded. He’s just lucky personnel was able to find a replacement for a pier-head jump. Anyway, I figured I better do something, because Nigel’s obviously not Alex’s favorite person.”
“I don’t quite understand that,” Anna said.
“I suspect it’s a ‘dad’ thing,” Dugan replied. “Remember Alex had just learned about Nigel and wasn’t too happy about it to begin with, and then in the space of forty-eight hours, Cassie was taken and Nigel was the one who delivered the bad news. I’m sure Alex realizes it’s unfair to associate that with Nigel, but on a gut level it’s probably something he can’t control. I think it’s best just to keep them apart.”
“Which reminds me, Yank,” Harry said, “just how did you keep Kairouz away from our little party tonight?”
“With great difficulty, but ultimately with the truth. I pointed out that Gillian’s at her wit’s end, and he shouldn’t leave her to wait for word alone. He was obviously torn but had to concede the point.”
“Yeah, well, he’s probably just as well off at home,” Harry said. “It’s not like any of us are anything more than spectators at McKinnon’s show. We just have a bit better seats.”
Anna and Dugan nodded agreement. Detective Inspector McKinnon had made it abundantly clear they were to take no part in the raids. Dugan and the other ‘civilians’ were allowed to observe only if accompanied by an MI5 agent. He did provide them radios to follow the progress and agreed that when the girls were located they would be informed and could go straight to them. He also allowed them to choose their vantage points, and they’d elected to split up into two cars and position themselves outside Club Pyatnitsa and Arsov’s apartment building.
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