Avenger

by Chris Allen

  The tiny woman she had met on what Jovana was told to refer to as “Day One” was named Jessie. No one ever mentioned the days before “Day One.” Did they even know about them? Jessie was responsible for Jovana in every way and she had two assistants who helped her: Abbie and Mikkie. Jessie, Abbie and Mikkie were almost identical. All of them were pretty, petite, and Asian. Jovana guessed correctly that they were Thai. They were all gentle and caring and looked after her in a way she had never known before. Jessie, a trained nurse, took care of Jovana’s health needs, including her exercise regime, nutrition, and her schedule throughout the day. Abbie ran Jovana’s beauty and spa treatments. And Mikkie looked after Jovana’s room and clothes, and made sure that all her meals were delivered to her at the correct time and that they were being eaten.

  Jovana took all of her meals, which she was allowed to select from a set menu, in her room. They were brought to her promptly at 7am, midday and 7pm every day. The food was the best she’d ever tasted although it was always very healthy and served in modest portions. Sometimes she craved a burger and fries with a chocolate shake but those things were discouraged and definitely weren’t on the menu.

  She decided not to think about anything too much any more and instead focus only on today. After a long swim in the pool followed by some time lying on a sunlounger listening to the waves crashing against the beach nearby, she’d return to her room for a light breakfast of fruit, yoghurt and juice. When this had been cleared, she’d take a few minutes to enjoy a herbal tea before venturing down the corridor to begin her treatments. This morning it would be an organic body scrub, hot oil wrap, full body massage and a facial. The entire process would take exactly four hours. Then she would return to her room for lunch, and after that the afternoon and evening exercise routine would commence.

  Jovana shut the door to her room with a gentle click. She walked along the corridor and past the spa, then strolled out through the gardens to the pool. She enjoyed these short walks and her swim first thing in the morning; it was the only time of the day when she was allowed to be alone outside. She wasn’t permitted to leave the compound and go to the beach, despite being able to hear the ocean a few hundred feet away over the wall – yet strangely she had no thought of trying to escape or even venturing near the gates that she’d seen in the huge wall that wrapped around the property. It just didn’t occur to her.

  The woman, the one who had saved her and then the next moment subjected her to utter degradation, was nowhere to be seen and no one seemed to want to talk about her. When Jovana had asked Jessie, Abbie or Mikkie about her, they would all give an ambiguous response, like, “You’ll have to ask her” or “She’ll tell you when she’s ready.” No name was used. No title. Just she or her.

  Jovana soon reached the pool, dropped her towel upon the tiles and jumped in. She swam back and forth, luxuriating in the warmth of the water as it caressed her skin, then stretched out on a sunlounger. She drifted off to sleep for a few minutes and was startled then instantly calmed by the sensation of long fingers moving gently through her wet hair, combing it back against the cushion, nails lightly grazing her scalp. She breathed deeply and opened her eyes.

  “How are you feeling, my darling?”

  Jovana found herself gazing up into the eyes of the woman who, despite her absence, had become everything to her: savior, guardian, benefactor and jailer. Her face was fine featured with high cheekbones. She, like Jovana, had razor-cut white-blonde hair. She was naked but for a black string bikini, tall, well-muscled and evenly tanned, and more strikingly beautiful than Jovana remembered, although surprisingly she was wearing make-up to swim. Her body was strong and powerful yet still feminine. Jovana felt a sudden surge of anxiety at the closeness of their bodies.

  “I’m better,” she answered, eyes still locked on the other woman’s. “Better than before.”

  “It takes time and time is what you have,” the woman answered, caressing Jovana’s face. “Your youth. Your beauty. Your whole life still ahead of you.”

  Jovana wondered if she could believe that. What had her life been so far but endless misery? Of course, that had changed in the last few days, but how long could it last? How long would she be allowed to live the way she was now?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” the woman said. “You’re wondering if this is all just a dream. Right?”

  Jovana remained quiet, gazing into the beautiful blue water of the pool.

  “My darling?”

  “I don’t know what to call you,” she said honestly. “No one has told me.”

  “You can call me Dee,” she said warmly. “Just you.”

  “Dee,” said Jovana, and smiled. “Is this a dream?”

  “No, my darling. It’s real and you’ll never have to go back to your old life again if you don’t want to. I’ll take care of you now.”

  “But why? Why am I here?”

  “Because, when I first saw you, I knew that you were a girl just like I was once, a long time ago. And when I looked into your eyes I knew immediately where you had come from and what your life had been like. You deserve better; much better. All I want to do is take care of you. You’re a very special girl, Jovana. Destiny has brought you to me. I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted. All I ask in return, when you’re ready and I’ve trained you, is for you to represent me from time to time in certain places, at business meetings and things like that. That’s all. You’ll see the world. You’ll be safer than you’ve ever been. You’ll be looked after, day and night, and you’ll never want for anything ever again. You see, I used to be just like you once, a young girl with no one to look after her. I know what it feels like.”

  “What happened?” Jovana asked. “How did you end up here?”

  “There’s plenty of time for you to hear about that,” Dee answered. “Right now, the most important thing is that you rest and get well, and there is no better place in the world to do that than right here, with me.”

  Dee smiled at her. Reaching down, she took Jovana by the hand. The girl responded obediently, naturally. She stood up until her face was just inches away from that of this cruel, mysterious, beautiful woman to whom she owed both devotion and fear. Dee led her to the edge of the pool and then released her hand. Jovana watched as Dee undressed, undoing the straps at her back and on her hips, allowing the threads of the bikini to drop to the ground before stepping into the pool. She swam languidly out into the middle and then turned to face Jovana, still standing mesmerized at the edge.

  Without a word, Jovana undid the ties on her own bikini, dropped into the crystal blue water and swam over to her.

  CHAPTER 42

  Alex Morgan looked out north-west, across the mangroves, palms and buttonwood of Placencia lagoon and beyond to the distant Cockscomb Range. High above the Maya Mountains a mass of rain clouds were galloping like a field of wild mustangs around the flanks of Victoria Peak, racing unfettered across the hinterland toward the border with Guatemala. What a relief. With the heavy blanket of cloud being pulled away to the west, the sunshine was finally making a welcome return to the coast.

  Morgan was in the rear passenger seat of a Mercedes-Benz GL550 SUV with one of the steroid abusers driving. They were heading north toward Riversdale along the red dirt road that ran from Placencia Village and eventually connected with the southern highway. Familiarizing himself with a local map in the hotel, Morgan had discovered that the Placencia region was essentially a long peninsula, about twelve miles from end to end, that hugged the southern Belizean coastline. It seemed they were currently heading for the mainland.

  The road was little more than a winding red-dirt line within an almost endless tunnel of mangroves. At this end of the peninsula, the mangroves began at the roadside and grew well above twenty feet. In contrast to those bordering the lagoon on the other side of the road, the seaside mangroves had the appearance of a massive fortress wall, too high to scale and utterly impregnable. The coast was to their right, and the occasional
breach through the mangrove wall revealed small private roads built over white sand leading to a scattering of established residences and new developments of luxury condominiums, all with beach frontages no doubt, facing directly on to the Caribbean Sea. Sporadic “For Sale” signs told him that many of the developments had been a gamble on the burgeoning popularity of the area. Developers had been capitalizing on the damage caused by a hurricane back in 2001 and were hungry to make Placencia the new go-to destination of Belize. From what Morgan had seen of the place so far, they had the right idea but were a long way from achieving it.

  The steroid abuser hadn’t said a word since arriving to collect him from the Paradise Palms Resort. Morgan had watched the car pull in, immediately recognized the driver as one of Godek Kajkowski’s crew from the night before, and jumped in. As soon as he was settled, the driver sped off without a word. That didn’t bother Morgan. He preferred the silence. It gave him time to think.

  So far, all he knew was that Voloshyn had invited him to her home under the pretence of engaging his expertise. What if I told you that my life was in danger? It sounded legit enough considering her line of work. Her security was shit, that much was obvious. Otherwise the intelligence data available on her via the Interpol database wouldn’t have got Intrepid this far. All the information was already there, it just required someone to connect the dots; follow it from the page to the person, as General Davenport would say. The fact that Voloshyn had allowed her protection to be handled by the likes of Kajkowski confirmed, in Morgan’s view, her background. Night Witch or not, she was from the street, where the biggest, strongest, ugliest bastards were the resident experts on security. Their philosophy was if there was a problem, hit it, and, in fairness, it worked – up to a point. It worked in the underworld where violence was respected. And it worked in clubs and bars, places like Domingo’s, where fear and intimidation cowed impressionable young people who were only really interested in having a good time. But it didn’t work for long if you were trying to keep the world’s law-enforcement agencies, with all the global resources available to them, off your trail.

  Of course, the invitation to Voloshyn’s home could just be a blatant ruse, designed to get Morgan out of the hotel – please bring all of your belongings – and as far away from public view as possible, before killing him for interfering in whatever it was they had in mind for the girl, Ştefania. No matter what the reason, he had to follow his instinct and see the operation through. It wasn’t enough just to ID the Night Witch: he had to learn as much about her operation as possible, including whatever she was up to with the Chinese. Then all he had to do was dismantle it and bring her in. Simple.

  Jesus! What a job.

  A cell phone rang in the front. Morgan watched the driver lift it to his ear. There was no chitchat; the guy was listening to orders. Morgan caught himself being checked out via the rear-view mirror. Great. The call was about him. It took less than twenty seconds. The guy grunted a barely coherent “OK” and tossed the cell back into the center console.

  They arrived at a break in the mangrove wall on the eastern side leading to the sea. The Mercedes-Benz turned off the main road and on to a private, barricaded, single-track road. It was built within what could only be described as a tunnel through the mangroves and it curved in a series of tight bends before reaching a heavy metal gate built into a wall. Morgan noticed that the vegetation had been cleared back from the wall for about ten feet or so. A boundary patrol route no doubt. Two men with the distinctive features of their Mayan ancestry stood guard. Both were armed with M16s and Browning 9mms. As the Mercedes pulled to a stop, the guards stood fast and the gate opened automatically.

  The SUV passed through the gate and the driveway took a sharp right-hand turn to the south, approaching a stunning five-story Spanish-style villa, surrounded by snow-white sand and framed by the columns of magnificent palms, all swaying in the wind. Morgan was instantly taken by the opulence of the place. It had been built on a north–south axis, the eastern side of the house configured toward the sea. Surmounted by an aged terracotta-tiled roof, the villa’s stucco was not quite white and not quite beige, with stone features the color of a weak latte. All the windows and glass doors were set within sweeping arches, and generous verandahs wound around the entire structure. There were ten-foot-high walls separating the garden in front of the property from a compound at the back that appeared to be enclosed within further walls surmounted by three strands of barbed wire.

  The car looped around a bizarre fountain featuring stone figures of a tethered Ulysses attended by a siren at each of the four compass points and pulled up alongside some wide concrete stairs leading up to the front entrance: a pair of magnificent antique studded doors. It looked like a dream home in paradise, but Morgan knew the ugly reality. This was no dream home.

  The driver got out and Morgan won a private bet with himself when the guy walked around the front of the car, bounded up the stairs and disappeared inside, leaving him to get the door himself. Morgan knew he wouldn’t be receiving any special treatment from Kajkowski’s crew. He’d sensed latent hostility from the guy throughout their short drive and gathered that there was some kind of tribal retribution in the offing; all they were waiting for was the safety catch to be released. Made sense, considering what he’d done to Kajkowski at Domingo’s last night. For a guy like him there’d be no getting past that kind of public humiliation in front of his men and Morgan would have to remain prepared for a sudden, unfettered reprisal. At this stage at least they were still obeying Voloshyn’s orders. But it was only a matter of time. As he stepped out of the air-conditioned comfort of the Mercedes and into the oppressive cloak of humidity, he couldn’t help but wonder what he was about to walk into.

  *

  “There’s been a slight change of plan,” Voloshyn announced. “But I’m sure you’re trained to expect the unexpected, right?”

  Morgan was standing in the entrance foyer of the house, looking up at a grand central staircase. The Night Witch was leaning Scarlett O’Hara style against the balustrade at the very top of the stairs. She was dressed immaculately in a white jacket and matching short skirt, complemented by a thick gold chain around her neck, gold bracelets and rings, and finished off with a pair of gold sandals with straps that sat high above her ankles. A huge painting, The Departure of the Witches by Luis Ricardo Falero, dominated the wall behind her, capturing the eye from the moment one entered. He doubted it was a reproduction.

  “OK,” he replied. “Care to enlighten me?”

  “I like to challenge the people who work for me, to see how they react to my sudden changes of heart.”

  Kajkowski and the driver both entered silently, edging into the foyer a little to Morgan’s right. They stood there quietly, deliberately out of his sight line. Morgan could hear Kajkowski’s labored breathing through his smashed nose.

  “I see. Well, for a start, who said anything about me working for you? I only agreed to continue our discussion about your security and to enjoy your hospitality.” Morgan began to ascend the stairs. He figured he’d at least try to gain the advantage of higher ground in the event that the two bodyguards decided to take him on. He also needed to demonstrate that he wasn’t in the least bit intimidated by this obvious attempt to unsettle him. “So I think you’re jumping the gun a little if you’re expecting me to roll over and fetch or howl along to the radio like the rest of your crew.”

  Behind him, Kajkowski took a deep breath, causing a strained whistling sound as the air struggled to make it past his smashed septum. Here it comes, Morgan thought. He wondered if they were armed and if there were more of them somewhere close but still out of sight. If there were, then this probably wasn’t going to go well for him, but he liked his chances better by being higher and close enough to use the Night Witch as a shield if necessary.

  “That’s not very nice,” she said. “You’re not a very nice person, though, are you?”

  “I’m nice when people are nice to
me. I just don’t like being dicked around. So, unless you have some legitimate business to discuss, you can send one of these guys to do whatever it is that they don’t do around here and get the other one to drive me back to town. The ball’s in your court.”

  Morgan was now just three steps below where she was standing, close enough to reach her in a bound if he needed to. Kajkowski and his shadow were shuffling nervously at the base of the stairs, crying out to be let off the leash.

  “I like you,” she said. “You don’t take any shit. It’s very sexy.”

  Morgan said nothing. His expression remained impassive.

  “It’s quite simple,” she said. “I don’t want you to stay here anymore.”

  “If you didn’t want me to stay,” Morgan replied, trying to gauge her tone and mood, “then why did you invite me all the way out here?”

  Voloshyn began walking down the stairs toward him. She maintained eye contact all the way. This was a game, he decided, nothing more. A cheap power play designed to unnerve him. She was obviously very used to getting her way and to other people falling into line, but it wouldn’t work on him. Finally she reached him, standing just a step away, and ran a spindly finger across the line of his jaw.

  “My plans have changed. I have to fly to Los Angeles and I want you to come with me.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Bouchon Bistro

  North Canon Drive

  Beverly Hills, California

  They were sitting out on the terrace of the Bouchon Bistro overlooking the Beverly Canon Gardens. Alex Morgan had never been to Beverly Hills, he’d never had the need. His first impressions, particularly given the contrast between his current surroundings – a stone’s throw from Rodeo Drive – and almost everything else between LAX and here, was that it was all a little too perfect. The houses, the lawns, the palm trees, the cars, and especially the people, were a thousand miles removed from the life he knew. That said, and despite the circumstances, he wasn’t averse to soaking up the affluent atmosphere, although he couldn’t get over the nagging sense of shame he felt for every moment he spent pretending to be nice to Voloshyn. The devastation she left in her wake every day as a result of her business endeavors, the ruined lives, the broken families, the heartbreak, the suicides, the penury, the imprisonment and the bondage of innocent people simply trying to get by, none of this collateral damage seemed to register with the woman. It was nothing more than the consequences of the slave trade, and not something she concerned herself with.