by Karen Bell
No he’s still out but we’re keeping an eye on his car that’s currently parked in a hotel parking station. Don’t worry, we won’t let it out of our sight.’
Ryan went to make himself something to eat before trying to get some shut-eye. Officially he had the next eight hours off, and after one look at the uncomfortable chairs and some of the guys lying on the hard industrial carpet trying to sleep, he decided to take Jack home for a few hours. He’d wake up more rested and at least he could give the dog his arthritis and prostate medications, both of which he’d forgotten to bring.
There was no traffic on the roads at that time and Ryan soon pulled up outside his home. His mail was sticking out of the box and he allowed the dog to grab it on the way in.
‘Let me sort the bills from the junk,’ he instructed once inside, holding his hand beneath the dog’s mouth. Jack obliged, dropping the letters and Ryan walked down the corridor to his office, shuffling through the pile. He threw half a dozen catalogues and flyers into the recycling bin before putting the balance on the desk. Catching his eye as he turned to leave was a parchment style envelope with his name in unfamiliar handwriting on the front. No address and no stamp. He picked it up and turned it over before slipping his finger under the flap.
###
Mila had tried to free herself from the vice like grip, but she might as well have been trying to move mountains.
The moment a third man had walked into the room from the adjoining bedroom she had recognised him and Mila started struggling with renewed vigour, her vocal chords straining in an effort to be heard.
‘Let her speak,’ he ordered the man covering her mouth, ‘she will soon learn what happens if she tries to scream.’ The hand was lowered.
‘You…..you promised me a month...I’m getting the money together, you have to believe me.’
‘Yes, we have noticed you’ve been keeping yourself employed, but our meeting tonight is not about the money your husband owed. Now, we have a bigger problem.’
‘What?’ Mila asked, shuddering as the small, hard circle of metal pressed into her ribs.
‘Your new boyfriend. We did not know until this week that he is also working for the Drug Squad and the Federal Police.’
‘I…I don’t know anything about that.’
‘We believe you Mrs Taylor, but it seems you have a knack for involving yourself with the wrong people. Your boyfriend is currently at the shipping yard, looking for a very important delivery that belongs to us. We mean to ensure we get it.’
Mila felt a dead weight settling over. They were using her to get at Ryan. Plus they had just divulged that they were criminals, trying to smuggle in something illegal – drugs or possibly weapons – yet they were not in the least bit worried that Mila had seen their faces. It occurred to her with a cold clarity that they had no intention of letting her go.
Fifteen minutes later, she found herself in the adjacent bedroom, struggling feverishly against the bindings that secured her wrists and ankles to a chair. She’d heard one of the men leave, so that left her guarded by only two and both were on the other side of a closed door. Frantically, she scanned the room for means of escape.
There was a large air-conditioning return grille in the ceiling but she couldn’t be sure of the size of the ductwork behind it. The obvious route was the balcony beyond the sliding glass doors and maybe if she could just get out there, she could make it to another suite before they discovered her gone.
She leaned back, trying to pivot the chair onto its back legs, hoping to slide off the quick-ties binding her it. It was difficult to find the fulcrum point that would allow her to balance and after three attempts, she rocked too far, crashing to the carpet as chair toppled backwards. The thud was heard in the adjoining room and seconds later the younger of her captors, the one who had initially opened the hotel room door, burst in.
Mila was rewarded for her escape efforts with a vicious backhand to the face that had her seeing stars as she was dragged upright. There followed a barrage of threats delivered in Russian. Even if she had not understood the words themselves, she would have been left in no doubt as to their intention.
He tightened the plastic bindings until they bit deeply into her flesh while calling in Russian to his partner outside. ‘The whore thinks she can escape from the fourteenth floor. She’s spirited, got to give her that.’
‘Shut-up and bring her in where we can keep an eye on her.’ It was her original blackmailer also speaking in Russian.
He changed to English when Mila was carried in, still tied to the chair and dumped unceremoniously in one corner of the room.
‘I would advise you not to try and escape Mrs Taylor. You will most certainly make things worse for yourself.’
Mila felt a trickle of warm blood roll down her face where the other man’s dress ring had split the tight skin at the top of her cheekbone. She observed the fine blood spray both onto the pristine fabric of her white dress and also the carpet but her mind was racing elsewhere.
‘Clean her up you fool!’ the older one reprimanded his subordinate in Russian, ‘You don’t go around hitting fucking film stars, besides we have to get her down to the garage later and you’ll only draw attention.’
‘Porn star.’ The other one corrected with a snigger, ‘It’s not her face they pay to see.’
Mila’s shame prickled her like a hessian suit. Of course they would have relished seeing her perform at the strip club. They would have congratulated themselves, knowing what their ultimatum had forced her to do.
Her kidnappers spoke unguarded, swapping to English only when addressing her and it became clear to her, that they were unaware that Russian was her first language. She thought it a possible advantage in her intention to escape, but she was yet to figure out how she could work it in her favour.
The one who’d hit her, mended the small gash on her face using gaffer tape, then proceeded to use serviettes from the mini bar soaked in water to clumsily wipe the blood from her face and her dress. While standing over her, he used the opportunity to try and feel her up. Her tight skirt made access difficult as he groped for her crotch but Mila felt her blood boil and barely resisted the urge to try for a headbutt as he smirked at her, from inches away.
The older man, clearly the more senior of the two was speaking on his phone.
‘We’ll wait until pre-dawn when the hotel’s quiet, then we’ll bring her to the warehouse... Yes, we’ll leave Victor’s car here and come in the Merc. Is the container still secure?... Good.’ He hung up.
‘When is Maslak getting there?’ It was the younger one asking the question.
‘How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to use his name – especially in front of her – do you ever think before you open your mouth?’
‘But you just used mine, and anyway she doesn’t understand.’
‘That’s not the point. We don’t compromise his identity in any way. The rules are the rules.’
The thug was quiet for a minute but couldn’t contain his curiosity.
‘Why did he come to Sydney this time anyway? He’s usually in Kiev or Moscow. I’ve never laid eyes on him in the two years until now.’
‘He spent the last six months building contacts in China and positioning workers at both ports to ensure an ongoing supply, but then the fucking authorities somehow found out about it on the first run. He’s got fifty million US riding on this one container alone, that he’s already forked out to the Chinese and he won’t see his profit until the delivery and handover are complete.’
‘What if they discover the container?’
‘They won’t. Our man at Port Botany has made it so that the container has been crossed off the search list. He’s changed the manifesto to something that doesn’t require duty or customs either, so we should be fine.’
‘So why not leave the operation to Gilyov? He’s handled similar exchanges before?’
‘You ask a lot of questions don’t you,’ the older man noted wit
h some exasperation. ‘I just told you, how much is at stake. He’s not about to let anyone screw it up for him. Anyway, the buyers here insisted on meeting him in person. You forget he’s been out of the country. He used to know all the key players but in the last few years, the faces have changed, and most times you don’t know who you’re really dealing with anymore, who owns the labs or who’s running the supply chain at the other end.
‘I heard it’s the Comancheros who won the deal. That there was a bidding war among the clubs and various syndicates and that it came down to them and a Vietnamese syndicate out of Cabramatta.’ The hustler was clearly keen to show his boss that he was well informed.
‘That’s right. But the bikie gangs have been blown open over the past few years and in reality, the funding could be coming from anywhere. Anyway some heavyweight in the Comancheros is demanding that the boss be there when the shipment comes in, before he’ll make payment. Information is power and they’re as suspicious of us, as we are of them.’’
‘Isn’t the boss worried it’s a set up? I’ve bought shit from those guys before. You can’t trust them. They’ll shoot you, as soon as spit on you.’
‘They have their own warped code of ethics but the deal’s clean, it’s going down on our turf and they stand to make a fortune so the boss isn’t worried about them. He’s more worried to make sure the shipment isn’t seized by the Feds now that he knows they’re aware of it, and he’s trying to stay one step ahead so the whole thing doesn’t blow up in our faces at the last minute. That’s why she’s here,’ he added with a nod in Mila’s direction. ‘She’s his insurance in case there’s trouble.’
Mila’s was looking down, trying to make herself invisible, but her head was spinning as she tried to process the information and memorise the names as they were revealed. If she was to somehow make it through this, she would have to find a way to outsmart them and she would have to retain enough detailed information to help Ryan put them all away for a long time. She bet that the unidentified keys on Robert’s key-ring would open the doors to a lot of answers also.
Evidently they weren’t your average thugs and con men. Their organisation was sophisticated and resourced enough to have tailed her from the day of the first break-in and to have picked up the leads connecting her to Ryan and then him to their drug shipment.
Mila wondered if Robert had been involved with importing drugs in any way. She just couldn’t picture it but then she’d never have taken him for a spendthrift or a money launderer either.
‘Hey, you.’ Mila looked up, hearing him address her in English. ‘How did you go getting that money together that you owe us.’
‘That my husband owed you,’ she corrected, just a hint of defiance etched in her words.
‘It’s true, you were not the one gambling, but you are the one with the access now to his assets and the brigada doesn’t allow its debts to go unpaid.’
So it was confirmed. That was where their money had gone. By now nothing surprised Mila. ‘Did you get him involved in gambling through money laundering for your organisation?’ She was fishing for information but wanted to sound somewhat clued in. She’d gathered after their last visit, that Robert’s ‘services’ must have been related to illegal book-keeping practices.
‘No. We met him at the casino. Your husband was an opportunist. He believed he could use his skills with numbers to make a quick profit.’
‘And did his system help to line your pockets at the same time?’ Given the state of their debt, Mila couldn’t imagine that Robert’s system had ever come to fruition, but she didn’t want to divulge that he’d left her penniless. The possibility of extorting her further might be the only thing keeping her alive.
‘Not mine personally. I’m just employee. But your husband’s confidence convinced my boss to fund him heavily, as you know.’
‘And did they win? Ever?’
‘It took your husband a long time to get the system just right, then, just as they started to make good money, your husband was banned from betting at the casino. So then they switched to on-line gambling accounts, registered in changing profiles and names. They were doing okay but gambling, is more like a hobby for my boss. Not real money like this.’
‘And was my husband involved in this too?’ Her captor understood that Mila was referring to the smuggling.’
He laughed aloud at the question before answering. ‘No your husband stuck to what he knows best – creative accounting and making pornography. You know you have many fans in the Eastern Bloc States.’
Mila’s blank and then confused expression was not lost on either of the men and it was the younger one who banged the table before yelling in Russian ‘Sergei, fucking hell, I don’t think she knows about the movies! Should I go and get one from my place to show her?’
‘Shut up! Let me handle it.’
Mila was looking from one to the other as the implication morphed to realisation, before being confirmed.
‘You were unaware that your husband was filming you in that room? All those years and you never knew?’
Mila felt as though she’d just had the wind knocked out of her lungs by a steel-capped boot. She turned her head away as she gulped for air. With wrists tied, she had nowhere to hide and the two men continued to scrutinise her, finding great humour in her state.
Robert had cameras concealed in the dungeon? She’d never seen them. Not even when she’d torn the room apart. And yet they were speaking of movies – plural.
‘What do you think we were looking for that day we sent our men in to your house, your father’s wedding band, your husband’s cufflinks? No, we were looking for unedited footage, digital files, your husband’s laptop. We were looking for evidence that might connect your husband to us or to any of our business dealings. Oh and bank statements so we would know how much he was worth and whether the boss can expect his investment back.’
Mila couldn’t talk and the man continued. ‘He didn’t keep his records at home did he, but we still have plenty to work with - enough to make several more films...Your audience is not too – how do you say – discerning.’
Mila’s head was exploding as if scatter-bomb had just been detonated in the base of her skull. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to block out their words.
Eventually they lost interest in her torment, and she retreated into her own world. Submissive Mila was despairing, telling her just to give up, stop fighting, stop trying to think of ways out. Resilient Mila had taken a beating but refused to surrender, and kept reminding her that there were no second chances or second prizes. You have only yourself to rely on, don’t miss an opportunity.
The exhausting discourse continued in her head for a long time until finally survival instinct got the upper hand and she steeled herself for whatever was to come and forced herself to plan.
If by some miracle Ryan came looking for her, he would eventually make enquiries at the club. Anyway, Vivienne might try to follow up on the new client – she said she always did – and realise that Mila had gone missing. They would work out that she’d last been sent to this hotel. She needed to leave evidence, some kind of sign so they’d know she’d been here. She could see the traces of mopped blood on the carpet but that could belong to anyone and she couldn’t risk leaving it to chance.
It took another few minutes to come up with an idea. Each time her abductors were distracted or looking the other way, Mila rubbed one ankle against the leg of the chair, hoping to loosen the small diamantes that ran in a row along the sling back of her mother’s shoes. Within half an hour, four tiny sequins lay sparkling in the carpet. Soon they’d be moving her and then she’d have little chance of escape. The best she could hope for was to memorise the directions to her next location and then to somehow get hold of her phone.
She asked to use the bathroom, hoping to have her hands untied, hoping to find something she could use, but when the wise guy, eyes glassy with excitement, insisted on taking her, she changed her mind.
‘It’s okay, I can wait.’
The reply was smug. ‘Suit yourself. I’m going to be with you all night.’
###
Ryan slipped the folded sheet of paper out of the envelope, opening it and scanning straight to the bottom of the page where he saw her signature. Where had this come from? She hadn’t given him any letter and he’d been extra careful to check the mailbox since Sunday. It could only have been Jack. He sat down heavily on the chair as he began to read.
Dear Ryan,
I don’t know how to begin this letter so I’m just going to give you the facts and hope that you will choose to understand.
Last Wednesday, when I was at home alone, the same intruders who’d previously broken into the house, came and forced their way in. This time they came demanding money, half a million dollars that they said my husband owed them.
They threatened me, they threatened Holly and even you, if I told anyone about their visit. They told me to keep seeing you – which I wanted to do anyway – and warned me that my telephone was bugged and my house was being watched.
They gave me one month to get their money and threatened me with ‘consequences’ if I did not.
I believed that there was money in our bank accounts and equity in this house. I hoped that they would leave us alone if I paid them, but when I went to the bank I learnt that it was all gone. Robert had withdrawn it, spent it - I don’t know how - and he had allowed his life insurance to lapse.
I was scared. These men are professional criminals. They had guns. I fully believed and I still believe that they will carry out their threats if I can’t pay them.
I had no one to turn to and no way to earn or borrow that kind of money. I hoped that if I could give them something, anything, to show them that I was trying, they might hold off on their threats.
It’s not an excuse, and I understand that it won’t lessen the betrayal you must now be feeling but I wanted you to know that it was only my second night of that kind of work and I was only there because I truly believed I had no other choice.