Zara's Game

by Jo Black

  ‘I’m looking for my friend. He told me to meet him here,’ Vincent said, he took out a printed white business card and handed it to the girl. She looked at Vincent suspiciously. ‘He is expecting us.’ She stared blankly. These girls wouldn’t so much as give you a light without some sort of compensation. Vincent took out his wallet, removed a 50-Euro note and handed it to her. ‘For your time.’

  ‘Both of you?’ she asked nodding at Vincent’s colleague. Vincent took the hint. He took out another fifty and handed it to her. She opened the door and they pushed through. She gestured at the small corridor entrance to the back room. They walked through. It was atypical of the R.L.D — a double bed with no bedding — just a bedspread and a single pillow. A small stereo playing Eastern-European house music softly in the background, a bedside table with a variety of cosmetics and other paraphernalia and a large bin overflowing with used condoms wrapped in tissues. The stink of cheap perfume and stale sex hung in the air amidst a sickly scented fog from a burning incense candle. ‘You can wait here,’ she said. Vincent nodded. She went out of the corridor. Vincent and his colleague looked at each other. ‘You tempted?’ his colleague asked. Vincent shook his head.

  ‘I have never looked at another women since I got married. I love my wife.’ His colleague nodded, seemingly disappointed. Vincent picked up the cue. ‘If you want. She’s been paid.’

  He smiled a little embarrassed. ‘All these women on show...you know.’

  ‘Yes...I understand.’

  The girl returned. ‘Your friend will see you. Room at the top of the stairs.’

  ‘You want to keep my friend company?’

  The girl looked at Vincent’s colleague, now grinning a little sheepishly. She let out a demure smile. ‘Sure baby. We can have some fun.’ Vincent headed out from the small back room. The girl pushed his colleague down onto the bed and started removing his jacket.

  Vincent walked up the narrow stairway cautiously and through the curtains into the dimly red-lit room that took up most of the first floor. A large king-sized double bed draped in dralon. Laid down in the middle, fully dressed and nursing a Beretta 92 with a full can suppressor, sat Nish, flanked either side identical twins of 19, maybe 20 at most, year-old raven haired perma-tanned beauties dressed in identical push-up satin black bras, wafer thin lace thongs, stockings and suspenders.

  Vincent stared at Nish.

  Nish stared back.

  Piercing blue eyes, salt and pepper hair cropped short with a military graded No. 1 back and sides. Portly built with rugged well-defined features and a fearsome stare that was intimidating by design.

  ‘We’re in the company of a legend Ladies. You see this guy here...’ Nish said pointing at Vincent, ‘When this guy was in the French Riot Police, he took out eighteen scrotes with a baton. Not a single one of them has ever walked since. This guy is a pure fucking legend.’

  ‘The tale was exaggerated after the event. Most things are.’

  Nish laughed softly. ‘Not everything Vincent. Not everything...’ He spoke with an icy-cold hard-as-nails Scottish-accented English. Not a thick accent, he was educated, but the deep Scottish tone gave his words a serious intonation that you didn’t ever want to question. ‘How are you Vincent?’

  ‘Declining into old-age the best I can.’

  ‘I heard you mostly rode a desk in Paris these days. What brings you to this sinful place? Can’t be the entertainment, as enticing as they are...’ Nish buried his nose into one of his companions’ hair and took an exaggerated deep inhale. ‘And they are so very enticing...’ he turned his attention back to Vincent. ‘Have a beer.’ Nish gestured at the glass fridge full of bottles. ‘Come on Vincent. Have a drink with an old friend. You’ve come all this way. Sit down and drink with me to blood and glory.’

  Vincent walked over and picked up the bottle. He looked round for a bottle opener. ‘You have something to open it with?’

  ‘Hold it up,’ Nish replied. Vincent complied and held out his beer. Nish raised the pistol and took aim, a squeeze of the trigger and with a single spit from the barrel the metal top sheared clean off the bottle before the round embedded in the plaster wall behind. Nish smiled and blew the curling wisp of smoke from the end of the silencer can.

  ‘Still have your favourite party trick.’

  ‘Old dog they say. No new tricks. Sit down.’ Nish tossed the gun back down to his lap. Vincent cleared off the pile of discarded lingerie from the seat and lazed into it facing Nish. ‘What do you think? Beauties aren’t they? These two girls are the only pair of identical twins in the entire of Amsterdam’s sex market. You know how many punters want to fuck these girls? Tell me you aren’t at least tempted.’

  ‘Why ruin a fantasy with reality.’

  ‘Trust me Vincent, the reality really does outdo the fantasy...’

  Vincent raised his beer to Nish. ‘Salut.’

  ‘Nazdrovya.’ Nish downed his vodka. One of his companions picked up a bottle of Grey Goose and recharged his glass.

  ‘You know why I’m here?’

  Nish smiled and raised his shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘That rat fuck Dufort sold you out the minute you walked out from under Sacre-Coeur’s shadow. I was expecting Hunter, but I’m told he’s shitting blood out his arse in The Golden Triangle these days.’

  ‘He is not well.’

  ‘Poor fuck. Cancer?’ Vincent nodded. ‘The price of a misspent life. But better to live as a lion than lamb. Maybe I should send these two so he can go out with a literal bang.’

  ‘He might appreciate that.’

  ‘So what do you want with Aleksei?’

  ‘I don’t want anything from him, I’m merely here to pass a message on from Hunter.’

  ‘And you thought I would make a good carrier pigeon.’

  ‘Dufort would not co-operate. I could go to the Russians, but this is a personal matter, I felt Alex would appreciate the discretion of not making his sponsors aware of it, unless he chooses to.’

  ‘So tell me what the Frenchman didn’t.’

  ‘It is Zara. She’s been taken.’

  ‘Now who would be stupid enough to do a thing like that...’

  ‘I don’t know. Dufort knows, but I don’t have the resources to get that kind of information. He did say you and Alex were, shall we say...’

  ‘Jilted lovers?’ Nish asked rhetorically. ‘We have our ups and downs. Chechnya was one long fucking down. I needed a break.’

  ‘And Alex?’

  ‘I think he just wants to watch the world burn.’

  ‘Watch? Or set fire to it...’

  ‘Maybe both. He’s got a big fucking box of matches thanks to the Kremlin.’

  ‘I’m here because Zara is my friend. Hunter is where he is because Zara is his friend. Alex should appreciate that.’

  ‘She’s a popular girl.’

  ‘She is well liked.’

  ‘Yeah. She is that. That of course was Aleksei’s downfall. Like his father before him. But we don’t have nearly enough beers in that fridge or vodka in that bottle to tell that story. Save it for a rainy day when we’re retired. What else you got? If you want me to face the wrath of The Dragon then you better give me something to go with.’

  ‘Hunter said Zara was working a case with a C.I.A agent called Bishop. Bishop’s been framed for the murder of a financier called Ben Kaminski and his girlfriend. The F.B.I have him and Zara implicated in stealing 120 million U.S dollars from Ben then going to ground.’

  ‘So what makes you think Zara hasn’t eloped with this guy?’

  ‘Zara had a tape of a guy, Sanders, assassinating Ben’s financial partner: Eli Goldstein, in a hotel room in Dubai. Hunter met a Mossad guy: Gilad ben David. Something about an arms deal for a missile defence system. Ben David said whoever has Zara will trade for the tape.’

  ‘He offering to broker the exchange?’

  ‘I assume so. I can confirm it with Hunter.’

  ‘So how do we get to Bishop?’

  ‘H
e has a daughter, Megan. She’s a college girl. She works in a bar called the Firehouse or Fire Station in Mountain View, outside San Francisco. Hunter thinks they may be in contact.’

  ‘That it?’

  ‘That’s all Hunter told me.’

  Nish downed his vodka. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay as in okay, or okay you will get the message to Alex?’

  Nish stared at Vincent. ‘You know he’s likely to blow my fucking head off the minute I tell this to him. Where she’s concerned... you don’t ever want to be the bearer of bad news.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, if you want me to put my head on that particular chopping block, instead of you, then you need to do something for me.’

  ‘Is this going to be illegal?’

  ‘It’s a grey area...’

  ‘When was Group Thirteen ever not a grey area?’

  ‘This is personal. And since we’re all about personal favours right now...’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘These two delightful young ladies were the victims of a sex trafficker. Now, call me sentimental in my old age, but the thought of such beauty being repeatedly salivated and fucked over by several thousand drunken whoremongers is upsetting. Besides which, the trafficker in question is a wanted Serbian war criminal who slotted one of The Regiment’s finest back in the Balkans. And the guy he slotted happened to be a very dear friend of mine.’

  ‘A war criminal?’

  ‘Former war criminal. Now runs drugs, girls, and moody motors for export. But once a war criminal always a war criminal in my book, so we won’t let bygones be bygones for once and we will cry over spilt milk.’

  ‘He’s not called Radic is he?’

  ‘That’s a very good guess. Has someone been telling tales?’

  ‘No, it just seems fate has destined for our paths to cross. On our way here a pair of Radic’s guys were planning to take our car. They’re in Dutch police custody.’

  ‘That is a fortuitous turn of events.’

  ‘So what’s your plan?’

  ‘I was planning to wait for the twins’ pimp to show up then take his fingers out using pliers, hence the tool...’ Nish waved his Beretta.

  ‘I thought that was for my benefit.’

  ‘Come on Vincent, we’re friends. We don’t need that kind of hostility over a few sherbets now do we? No, you caught me otherwise engaged.’

  ‘Let me guess, Dufort set this up.’

  ‘Indeed he did. I’ve been chasing this ass-clown for six months now. He’s more slippery than this pair covered in baby-oil. But if you’ve got two of his boys in custody, I’m sure we can arrange to interview them under duress.’

  ‘I take it you aren’t going to take him alive.’

  ‘Actually I was. There is a substantial Interpol reward for his capture that will make better compensation than the pitiful amount his wife and kids got from the Ministry of Disgrace, therefore I was planning to hand him in then arrange his untimely death after his conviction at the hands of his fellow inmates.’

  ‘Then I don’t see why we can’t help each other to help ourselves. You claim the reward, I turn him in with you so I can cover this little Dutch adventure on expenses.’

  ‘Nobody ends up out of pocket. We take care of this, then I’ll nip down to Baku and face the music with Mister Green.’

  ‘Can I ask you one question?’ Nish shrugged with indifference. ‘What did you do to him at Group Thirteen that made him so...’

  ‘I didn’t do anything; he got the training all the boys got. But Alex had a latent talent for mischief far beyond anything we could have aspired to. After Zara, well, let’s hope we get her back with all her fingers and toes because I don’t think humanity is ready to face the next evolution of devilment Alex will ascend to. Whoever took her, not even god can help them now.’ Nish raised his vodka glass and downed it in one shot.

  8

  A couple of phone calls from Vincent’s contact book quickly located where Radic’s minions were currently incarcerated. Nish and Vincent sat waiting patiently in a Transit van outside the rear entrance to the police station watching passively as Amsterdam’s police deposited an endless stream of drunks, pill-heads, and assorted human trash into the over-crowded cells. ‘How long you been staking this Radic guy out?’ Vincent asked.

  ‘Too long...’ Nish replied with a lazy exhaled sigh.

  ‘That’s not like you.’

  Nish shrugged. ‘Busman’s holiday. I’ve been trying to take it easy. Chechnya is enough to knock the wind out of anyone’s sails.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘If you want a post-apocalypse vision of humanity, book a tour round Grozny. Still you have to hand it to the Ivans, they’re nothing if not efficient in dealing with the Islamic problem. Wouldn’t work for us of course.’

  ‘What will?’

  ‘That Hitler fella had some good ideas...’ Nish said with a shrug. Vincent looked at him with raised eyebrows before Nish broke into a grin and winked. ‘Here we go. Our customers.’ Nish nodded at the pair of Radic’s goons being thrown out of the back door of the police station. He turned round and knocked three times on the metal divider to the cargo compartment. ‘We’re on.’ Nish and Vincent got out of the van; Nish walked round and opened the side cargo door. Four of his men got out and walked towards the pair. Nish and Vincent observed as the lead member of Nish’s quartet approached one of Radic’s men and asked for a light, as he checked his pockets for his lighter the others sprung into action putting black hoods over their targets’ heads before quickly taking them down onto the floor and securing them with wrist ties. They smartly picked them up by their shoulders and dragged them to the waiting van before shoving them inside. Nish closed the door and got back in the driver’s cab followed by Vincent. They departed the police station car park and headed out onto the ring road towards the airport.

  Radic’s men squinted at the bright incandescent light shining directly at their faces amidst the near black gloom of the deserted warehouse, trying to pick out the various figures moving in the shadows before their eyes fell on the clearly illuminated bench table with an assortment of tools laid neatly out in a row. One of the men smiled and nodded at the table, turned to his compatriot, spoke briefly in Serbian then laughed. ‘Something funny?’ Nish asked from the dark somewhere behind him.

  The Serb shrugged. ‘You think this shit is intimidating; you want to do war in our country. Then you see what is best way to scare people.’

  ‘I’m a keen student of torture. Why don’t you educate me.’

  ‘Give me cigarette and I tell you.’ Nish appeared in the light. He took out a cigarette, placed it in the man’s mouth and lit it with a brass zippo. The man took a drag off it and inhaled it through his nostrils. ‘Once we had this guy, at home with his wife and children. We know he has information on where the Bosnians are hiding, so we take his baby and put it in oven. You know what happen to baby in oven at two-hundred degrees?’

  ‘Did he talk?’ Nish asked.

  The man shrugged. ‘Turned out it was not his child.’

  Nish pulled a chair around and placed it in line with the floor stand mounted floodlight. He sat down and stared at the man. ‘So what is the point of that little tale? You think that makes you hard as fuck? Sticking an infant in an oven. What is your name?’

  ‘Why I should tell you?’

  ‘Just your first name. Start on a polite footing.’

  ‘You can call me Marko.’

  ‘And your friend here?’

  ‘You don’t need to talk to him. What the fuck do you want?’

  ‘I want us to be friends.’

  ‘Why I be friends with you?’

  ‘I got you released.’

  ‘That was nothing, you think I could not get out of this problem without help?’

  ‘Well here’s the thing Marko, word is going to get back to your employer that you cut a deal to get out.’

  ‘He will not believe it. We go way back.’r />
  ‘Do you now? That’s interesting.’

  ‘Why is that interesting?’

  ‘I don’t mean it’s interesting.’

  ‘So why did you say it was interesting?’

  ‘Because that is what you say isn’t it, you say something, and then I say, ah that’s interesting, but really it isn’t.’

  ‘Maybe it is. What do you want with Radic?’

  ‘I want to do business with him.’

  ‘This is not how you do business with Radic.’

  ‘It is how I do business with Radic.’

  ‘And what business do you do?’

  ‘Take a wild fucking guess, Marko.’

  Marko frowned at Nish and stared intently at him trying to squint past the bright light. ‘I recognise you. Where I know you from?’

  ‘I don’t know Marko. Where do you know me from?’ Nish got up and walked over to the table. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘With what?’

  Nish surveyed the tools before settling on an electric cordless drill and selecting the smallest drill bit and putting it in the chuck. ‘The baby. In the oven. What happened?’