Twisted Traffick

by Geza Tatrallyay

  “So what now, do you think?” Greg asked when she reemerged and started to towel herself down. “My turn.”

  “Well, come first light, the guards will probably go get Hetzel from his comfortable bed, and they will continue the journey,” Anne shouted above the noise of the shower.

  “So we had better be ready to continue then too,” Greg said, drying himself. “It’s time to hit the sack.”

  “Yes, but first there is nothing like a little loving to help us get a good night’s sleep,” Anne said, as her husband turned the light off and climbed in beside her. “Isn’t that so, my dear?”

  Chapter 25

  Julia was glad the flight from Moscow to Balandino Airport landed on time, and, as she had no baggage, just a few minutes after noon she was already on the M5 heading north toward Ozersk. The drive was uneventful. She had done it on many occasions, but always enjoyed the lush vegetation, each time observing to herself that this extravagant growth must have been at least in part the product of the contamination still lingering in the entire province, from those terrible accidents when Stalin was relentlessly focused on developing the Soviet bomb at any cost. And no doubt, so were the haggard and sickly faces of the local population she saw in the villages the closer she got to Mayak.

  By three-thirty she was just passing Lenin Park in Ozersk, which is where she had told Glinkov to meet her. At six p.m. She had just enough time to grab some late lunch and take a bath in her mother’s apartment, which was where she always stayed when she spent the night at Mayak. As she pulled up in the parking lot behind the building, she reflected that, in the morning, she would talk to Levinson, the American government representative at Mayak, and Georgy Sukhai, the Deputy Chief of Security, the one person in the security operation who had impressed her the most in the training sessions she had led. But now, her focus had to be on getting to Nadia’s father.

  She hoped the email message she had sent would be enough to get him to the meeting. It had been brief: “Gospodin Glinkov, I have news of your daughter, Nadia. I will be under the Kurchatov Statue in Lenin Park at six p.m. on Monday, May twenty-second. It is critical you be there. Respectfully, Julia Saparova.” She trusted that he would be checking his emails regularly after responding to Hetzel’s ugly video message.

  ***

  Mikhail had butterflies in his stomach as the Mayak shuttle van pulled up at the Lenin Park stop. It was just a few minutes after six, which is exactly how he wanted to play it. He had planned it so that this Julia Saparova--whoever she was--would be there first, so he could observe her for a few minutes before engaging with her. He wanted to make absolutely sure that she matched her picture in the file: the beautiful IAEA representative, responsible for ensuring that nuclear material is not trafficked from Russia. In fact, he and Pavel had remarked on her beauty the times they had caught a glimpse of her as she had passed through the gates where they happened to be standing guard, and he knew from overheard comments in the locker rooms that many of his colleagues lusted after the gorgeous Ms. Saparova.

  For Mikhail, as for many others at Mayak, it was hard to believe that such a stunning woman could be a nuclear physicist--she definitely did not match the Russian stereotype of a female scientist. And could it be really true that this very IAEA employee would be working with those gangsters who had kidnapped his darling daughter and were abusing her sexually? Those same perverse beasts who had told him to look the other way while this Julia Saparova smuggled some highly enriched uranium out of Mayak? The whole thing did not add up, but if true, it was monstrous, Glinkov thought. He had half a mind to kill this woman, but he knew he needed to listen to what she had to say. His daughter’s life may well depend on it.

  Mikhail circled around, and approached the blonde from behind the imposing statue of the father of the Soviet bomb. She was indeed exquisite, standing there in her full splendor--he could not take his eyes off those tanned long legs fully exposed in a mini-skirt--as she glanced down at her watch and then up again toward the main road. And, he observed to himself, rather vulnerable seeming, almost fragile. Could she really have sold out to the gangsters? Very hard to believe.

  “Gospodja Saparova?” Mikhail moved toward her.

  Julia was startled. Usually the “gospodja” was reserved for her mother. But she recovered quickly, knowing this was her contact. “Gospodin Glinkov? Thank you for coming. Shall we go over to the bench?” She said with a soft smile, pointing toward the one just along the path behind the statue, away from the road.

  “Of course.”

  “Gospodin Glinkov,” Julia started the statement she had rehearsed earlier on the flight and then refined in the bath at her mother’s, as she sat down and turned to her companion. “We know you have had a horrible shock. Your daughter is in the hands of criminals--human traffickers, and this is terrible for any parent. These gangsters want to use her to get you to do something that would endanger the world but hugely benefit them. Let me tell you that until yesterday, I was a prisoner of these same beasts, and they did things that I do not want to talk about.” Julia’s voice wavered, and in that second Mikhail connected that in fact it was this woman whom he had seen with Nadia on that depraved video. Oh my God! And she had been handcuffed! Yes, clearly it had been she. He had seen her there.

  But Julia recovered and continued, “I was rescued by officers of Interpol and other friends. My rescuers sent me here to persuade you not to do what these criminals ask. They are this very minute trying to get your daughter to safety. I work for the International Atomic Energy Agency and we need your help, Gospodin Glinkov, to prevent some nuclear material from getting into the hands of terrorists. Tomorrow, we need you to do a very thorough search of the car that will try to cross through the East Gate at four p.m., with a woman made up to look like me, and using a fake ID in my name. When you find the uranium or plutonium, I will come out of the guard booth with reinforcements and we will arrest these people. I promise your daughter will be safe by then, as Interpol is very close to getting her released right now.” Julia knew she was committing to something that might not happen, but she needed to win the security guard over at any cost.

  “How do you know all this if you are not working with those crooks?” Mikhail was still not convinced.

  “We took Hetzel’s--Kalinsky’s laptop. And saw the horrific video they put up on your daughter’s website. And your answer to their message,” Julia answered, hesitating before she added, “also, as you may have gathered, I was the one in the video, handcuffed to the bed, when your daughter was forced to--to--” Julia stopped, as their eyes met, both experiencing the pain and the distress of the memory, now that it was out in the open between them.

  Mikhail rallied first, and put it all together. Yes, definitely, he had seen this beautiful creature naked and fettered! On the bed, with Nadia. He jumped right in. “Very well, Gospodja Saparova. You are a brave woman, I can tell. I will follow your instructions. And pray God, your friends can free my Nadia.”

  “Thank you. Now we had better go our separate ways. We do not want to be seen together if we can avoid it. But I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, at the East Gate, with reinforcements just in case. Good luck, Gospodin Glinkov.” And, as she started down the path, she added, in encouragement, “And maybe I will also have good news about your daughter.”

  “See you then,” was Mikhail’s glum reply.

  ***

  In the morning, Julia went into the office late. She wanted to make sure Charles Levinson was there already. She needed his support with the Deputy Chief of Security: she was a realist, and knew that a middle aged American professional carried much more clout than a young Russian woman--even a smart and beautiful one--in her still very sexist country.

  Indeed, Levinson was at his desk, so she poked her head in.

  “Julia!” She startled the tall, lanky American. Shirtsleeves rolled up, Levinson sprung to his feet and walked around the furniture. “Boy, we were really worried about you. What happened?”
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  “Charles, I don’t want to go into it now. But we need to talk.”

  “Okay. Come sit down.” And he pulled out the chair on the other side of the desk for her, before going to close the door. “Well, what is it?”

  “There isn’t much time, but Charles, I need you to come help me persuade Georgy Sukhai to put on extra security this afternoon at the East Gate. It seems that the same arms merchants who got to Kallay and Kolchakova are now at it again. Interpol has clear evidence that this afternoon at four p.m. they will be using someone dressed up like me, armed with a fake ID card in my name, to smuggle out some HEU. Their theory is that normally I would not be given a rigorous check since I am an IAEA employee, but just to make sure, they think they have convinced the guard on duty to let them through without a thorough going over.”

  “Wow! That is huge.”

  “I talked to the guard who is supposed to be on duty then--Mikhail Glinkov--yesterday, when I got here and he is willing to work with us. The problem is, I don’t know whom else these crooks may have turned. In fact, come to think of it, we had better get security to do more thorough checks everywhere for the next few days at least.”

  “You know that is very unlikely. Given the poor quality of the guards here.”

  “Yes, but there is no harm in trying.”

  “Of course. You are right. In any case, Julia, I am glad to help. Shall we go see Georgy now?” Levinson said, picking up the phone. “I’ll see if he is available.”

  ***

  Julia and Levinson made sure they were at the East Gate by three-thirty p.m., and listened as over the phone the Deputy Chief of Security finalized the arrangements to position extra guards about half a kilometer down the road, just beyond a curve. In case the smugglers tried to blast their way through the barrier in the event that things went awry with the attempted heist. The three then watched from the guard booth as Mikhail and Pavel, armed with radiation detectors, checked the cars one by one at the East Gate. Just before four p.m., there were ten or eleven vehicles backed up, which was not unusual, but according to the guard in the hut, just a little more traffic than at this time most days. Julia had her eye on the eighth car in line, a nondescript white Ford Focus, with a blonde woman in the back seat, a man sitting beside her and two men in the front. She vaguely wondered to herself what arms they might be carrying, and whether indeed they would use them if things did not go to plan.

  She saw the flimsy barrier close behind the car in front after it passed the checkpoint, and the Ford Focus pulled up to the guards. Pavel, standing on the passenger side, asked for their IDs while Mikhail instructed the driver to open the trunk. He walked around to the back, but since the lid did not open, he returned to the driver side as his friend pored over the papers. Julia saw that Mikhail had a heated discussion with the driver, pointing over to the guard station, probably telling him that he would need to go there unless he opened the boot. It seemed this time though it worked, and the trunk flipped open. Mikhail ferreted around inside, taking his time. He went over to Pavel’s side, asking to look at the IDs, and then leaned down to talk to those in the vehicle, again gesticulating toward the guard booth. Julia heard the car’s engine come on, but instead of turning right toward where they were watching from, the Focus accelerated with a big Vroom and crashed into and through the barrier. To her horror, she heard gun shots add to the cacophony. As Georgy pulled out his gun and rushed out of the booth, she saw Mikhail go down on his knees clutching his side, and Pavel fall backward. Julia did not hesitate a moment, but ran after Georgy, as a startled Levinson yelled, “Julia, no!”

  But she couldn’t care less for her own safety. She felt responsible, and she needed to get to Nadia’s father as fast as she could.

  As she reached Glinkov, Julia saw that Georgy was on his knees behind one of the pillars, shooting at the Ford Focus as it receded. It seemed to her that he had managed to knock out one of the car’s back tires, and it careened off the road just before the turn beyond which the extra security forces were hiding. But she had no time to confirm all this. Mikhail was bleeding profusely in the leg. For want of something better, she tore off her cotton T-shirt and tied a tourniquet above the wound, at the same time yelling to Levinson who had just arrived by Pavel’s side to call an ambulance.

  “There is a false bottom in the trunk, I think,” Mikhail whispered between teeth gritted in pain. “The detector indicated there was definitely radioactive matter in there. A very strong signal, for sure. And the woman had an ID card in your name.”

  “Good work, Gospodin Glinkov,” Julia said, as she tried to make him comfortable. “And thank you. Now rest.”

  “Nadia?”

  “No news yet, but she will be safe,” Julia lied a little to comfort the man who was bleeding profusely. Hearing the sirens, she tightened the tourniquet. “Hold on, Gospodin Glinkov, the medics will be here very soon.” She looked up to see Georgy running toward the car and shooting from the hip, as the security forces in hiding down the road started to close in on the Focus. And then, in a split second, the car went up in flames--Georgy must have hit the fuel tank--and it was all over for the perpetrators of the heist. She was confident though that the nuclear material would have been in a lead case of some sort--nobody in their right mind would have been transporting radioactive substances without this kind of protection.

  The ambulances arrived, and the medics quickly placed Mikhail and Pavel on gurneys. Within moments, they were on their way to the hospital. Julia tried to collect herself, wrapping a light cotton blanket--the medics had given her one in exchange for the now bloody top that had served as Glinkov’s tourniquet--around her shoulders to cover up a bit as Levinson sauntered over.

  “Well, that was way more excitement than I thought we would have,” the American said. “Good work on the intel.”

  “Thanks, but it’s Georgy and the two guards we have to thank. They’re the ones who stopped these thugs.”

  “Yes, I’m surprised they were successful.”

  They walked up the road to where Sukhai had now joined the other security forces by the burning car. “Well done, Georgy,” Levinson congratulated the young Russian. “You guys were terrific.”

  “Yes, thanks,” Julia added in appreciation. “Georgy, good shooting. You will recover the nuclear stuff when the fire burns itself out? Glinkov said there must have been a false bottom in the trunk. The detector picked up strong radioactivity, he said.”

  “I am glad you warned us about this attempt. Often the guards don’t bother with the detectors, because just about everything sets them off. There is just so much radioactivity around here. But yes, I will put a guard unit around the car and retrieve the uranium or plutonium when things cool down somewhat.”

  “It must be in a lead case, I would think,” Levinson said.

  “We’ll see. But I sure hope so.”

  “Will you make certain Gospodin Glinkov is all right?” Julia asked the Deputy Chief of Security. “I have to get back to Vienna. To report to the IAEA and Interpol.”

  Actually, she was going to join up with Anne and Greg. But first she would have to find out where they were.

  Chapter 26

  They did get an early start, fifteen minutes or so after their prey hit the road. With Labrecque at the wheel, they took the A1 most of the way, until they saw signs for Dubrovnik.

  Admiring the sights, Greg turned to his wife. “We must come back here, one day, Anne. This is so beautiful!” And indeed it was.

  From the famous medieval fortress city, they switched to the coastal road--Highway 8, and it was Greg’s turn to drive. They did wonder why their quarry did not take the more direct route, nevertheless, with the tracker poised on the dashboard and continuing to beep, they followed the car carrying Hetzel’s jacket and--they hoped--the evil man himself, Nadia and some members of a gang of Russian criminals. But they kept their distance. They wanted to be close, yet out of sight at all times. It would not do, if the human traffickers noticed t
hat a suspicious car with an Austrian license plate was following them so deep inside Croatia.

  The sun was close to its zenith, as a little past Gruda they turned onto the smaller but still paved Route 516 that took them through the villages of Plocice and Durinici. And it was already well past noon when they pulled up at the empty border post just before Njivice in Montenegro.

  “It seems that Hetzel and co. might be heading for Porto Montenegro,” Greg said, consulting Google maps after the friendly Montenegrin border guard had welcomed them to his country with a big smile and the comment, “Hope you have a wonderful time here!”

  “Yes, you’re probably right, Greg,” Anne agreed. “There is a posh seaside resort there, where a lot of Russian oligarchs and wealthy criminals from other countries have bought properties, I remember. It was being built up when I was stationed in Vienna. These crooks would certainly fit in well there.”

  “So maybe our friends Hetzel and gang have a villa in Porto Montenegro,” Labrecque reasoned. “Or two, for that matter. And, talking about oligarchs, Polyakov probably, too.”

  “That’s where they probably intend to hole up with the girls,” Greg continued. “And maybe rent them out to their buddies there. I certainly wouldn’t put it past these sickos.”

  Indeed, as they wound their way through the small villages along the Montenegrin coast, they noticed that they were coming closer to their target. The locator had stopped moving.

  “They must have arrived at their destination,” Greg observed. “But it’s not quite Porto Montenegro where they’re at, according to the GPS. It is some small town on the coast. Let me see...it is called Lepetane.” And then a moment later, he added, “Oh yes, it seems that there is a ferry there. Over to Kamenari. It cuts the distance around the bay by quite a lot.”