by Ian Andrew
“Well I’ll take your word for it. But just remember, we aren’t even sure this is him. The photo was found on a small digital camera about three years ago, in the digs of our missing CI. The CI was gone so we just had to assume.”
“Can’t you run it against all the hi-tech face recognition we hear about?” Kara asked.
“Nope, not a chance. The quality isn’t that great for a start but it’s a profile. We don’t have anything that’ll do a side-on match.”
“Okay,” Kara said. “So what else do we know?”
Her brother set his cup down, interlocked his fingers and stretched both his arms out. Kara hid her smirk at her brother’s habit that always reminded her of a pianist about to start a virtuoso performance. When he had finished his stretch, David said, “We haven’t got a name other than Chekov. We know he’s very, very security conscious. We do know from Interpol sources that he likely came from Gusev in the sticky out bit.”
Tien looked confused, “The what?”
“The Kaliningrad Oblast,” Kara answered and rolled her eyes. “My brother is a dolt but at least that explains the Chekov bit.”
“Does it?” David asked.
Kara sighed in an overly dramatic fashion, “Ho hum. Seriously? Was there not an explanatory note on file?”
“Um, seriously Kara, I have no idea what you’re getting at,” David said.
“Gusev might be a town in the Oblast but it’s also the title of one of Chekov’s short stories.”
David looked at her in disbelief, “Really? How the hell do you know that?”
“Aw c’mon. You know I learnt Russian when I first joined up.”
“Yeah but I figured they’d teach you how to say ‘tank’ and ‘gun’ and ‘for me the war is over’. I thought you joined up as a linguist, not a literary critic.”
“Very funny. I had a hard time with the language at the start so I used to read novels by Russian authors. Chekov was good because his stories were short and vibrant.”
“Well there you go. You really never do cease to amaze me Sis.”
“Thanks, I think. Right so he comes from Gusev and?”
“And he maintains some links back there. We also think he has some links in the Russian Far East. Thing is we have no idea how he smuggles his girls in. Any that we’ve picked up have been schooled to say they came in through Stanstead or Heathrow or wherever. They’re terrified of what will be done to them or their families if they tell us how they actually get in to the country so they stick to their stories.”
“What happens to them after you’ve arrested them?” asked Tien.
“Unfortunately, when we get to them they have no ID and very little money. The ones we’ve found have traced back to rental apartments leased through false names and the trail stops dead. Like I said he has a very tight organisation.”
“Yeah, but the girls. What happens to them?” Tien pressed him.
“We get their real names and where they came from and,” David paused and knew that what he was going to say would hurt Tien. He knew the struggles her family had gone through to get out of a desperate situation.
“And?” she said, her voice neutral.
“And they get deported back to wherever they originated from,” David said.
“You know that they’ll simply be scooped up again and forced back into the life, don’t you?” she asked, again keeping her voice neutral.
“I know Tien. We all know. But…” David couldn’t finish the sentence. He merely looked at Tien and shrugged.
Tien stood, wandered over to the kitchen and put her cup into the sink. She turned and looked back into the open plan living area. Gazing over the top of David’s head to Kara she gave a small nod to continue.
“What else David?” Kara asked.
“That’s it. We haven’t got close. We don’t know his name. We don’t know where he lives. We know he’s the background ‘Godfather’ of an organisation that runs drugs, prostitution and protection. He has obvious international connections and has been mentioned in a number of probable murders and disappearances. He runs a compartmentalised organisation that maintains tight security and never, never connects back to him in a way we can trace.”
“I assume you’ve followed the money?” Tien asked from behind him.
“Yes, but not too well. We tried a tracker in notes given to one of his girls and followed it to a house,” David paused and pulled out his mobile phone. He accessed the photo he had taken of Chekov’s thin file, “in Essex. A small village called Earl’s Colne. It sat there for six weeks before returning to London. Then it was spent in a restaurant by one of the girls. The only conviction was for the couple who owned the house in Essex and they provided no leads further up the chain. They just stayed quiet. In fact they insisted they were running the girl. Eventually they got three and a half years suspended for living off immoral earnings. We’re fairly sure the restaurant is a clearing house for a number of organisations but again, not enough proof. We get clever, they get cleverer and they have more money than us.”
The room fell quiet and the atmosphere seemed to reflect the frustration that was being felt by all three. Kara felt a rising anger at a criminal justice system that apparently favoured the criminal and was light on the justice. However, she also knew that she and Tien, the O’Neill brothers and the other associates that they could call on for assistance weren’t shackled like her poor brother and his colleagues.
“More tea?” Tien asked.
Kara laughed, “My how British you are Tien Tran. Yes, I’d love another cup.”
*
Tien was making another three mugs of tea and one coffee. David had gone home and her living room was now playing host to Kara, Eugene and Dan. The photo of Chekov lay on the table between them.
“So that’s everything we know,” Kara said.
“Which isn’t a lot,” Eugene said.
“And we’re taking the leap that the Sterling’s disappearance is down to this guy?” asked Dan.
The full weight of Dan’s question wasn’t lost on Kara. She really had nothing to go on that linked Chekov to the disappearance other than some very tenuous coincidences.
“It’s not certain but Chris Sterling is tied in with a major old-school gangster. His house looks like it was sanitised and he and his wife sure as heck didn’t get on a plane to Miami. It’s what we have,” she said as Tien handed out the drinks and retook her seat.
“That’s a thin assumption to be chasing,” Dan said.
“I know but either Chekov’s directly responsible or a rival gang is moving against him by targeting his associates. Either way Chekov is the only thing we have so we go after him until we get something better. Tien and I thought we could start by trying to find out who the girls report to. They must have some form of low-level pimp who reports up and up. If we can track and follow, then maybe we get to one of those that Ty saw at his flogging.”
“We could waste a lot of time doing that and it’ll also be expensive,” Dan said. “Those type of girls won’t come cheap and their minders normally take the fee up front.”
“I know,” Kara agreed. “But if it is Chekov that took the Sterlings then we don’t know how long they’ve got left. It might all be too late already. But we have to do something and we can only go with what we have. As for the money, the clients have provided an advance of sorts.” Kara saw Tien shake her head and smirk, unseen by the brothers.
“Okay, I can see the logic. What do you want us to do?” Dan asked.
“Keep your babysitters on Ty and find out from him how he got in touch with the girls he hired in the first place. I want to know how we get one of the top-end escorts. Once we have that and confirmed that Ty’s muscle is back in place, we can pull out of there.”
“Aren’t we worried he might go to Chekov and tip him that we’re looking for him?” Eugene asked.
“I can’t see it. I don’t think you go to someone like Chekov and admit you told us all about him but now yo
u’re here to ‘fess up and get brownie points for giving him a ‘heads-up’. I think all Chekov does is kill you for talking in the first place. So no, I think Ty will be safe enough. You can leave someone on him if you want but I think he’ll be okay,” Kara said.
“Okay, anything else you need?” Dan asked.
It was Tien who responded, “Yeah. Assuming we end up finding where the Sterlings are we’ll need a few more helpers. We were wondering if Sammi and her crew were in the country or are they back overseas?”
The brothers shared a look between them that was obviously a precursor to some bad news.
“I’m going to guess you didn’t hear?” Dan asked and looked across to Kara and Tien who both shook their heads in unison.
“Taff never made it back from their last run into Kabul. He was hit in the mortar attack that took out the US Senator and his entourage. Do you remember that, about six months ago?”
“Vaguely,” said Kara. “But I didn’t know Taff was involved.”
“Normal reporting,” said Eugene. “A civilian contractor. You know how it works.”
“Bollocks. I liked Taff. I mean he was a bit of a nutter, but when it came down to it you could trust him with your back,” Kara said.
“That’s really sad,” Tien said. “He always made me laugh when we were out in Helmand.” The friends sat for a moment in collegiate sadness at one of their own having passed.
Kara reached for her mug, “Here’s to Taff.” The soft clink of china was as much as they could do for him now. As was their way, the moment was marked and Kara nodded for Dan to continue.
“Funeral was a quiet family thing. We didn’t find out until about two months after it happened when we met up with Sammi. She was okay. Chaz had some shrapnel to his thigh and Dinger had part of his own Osprey body armour blown into the top of his arm but they’re all recovered now. I know they decided they weren’t going back anymore so we can give them a call and round them up if you want.”
“Yes please, that would be great. Now you both need to get going as Tien and I have an errand to run.
*
The white Ford Transit van was about as non-descript a vehicle as you could possibly get. It was the reason Kara and Tien had invested in one for their business a couple of years earlier. As a surveillance platform it was almost unnoticeable. On the A1 from London to Arlesey it blended in to the hundreds of similar vehicles like a white wildebeest on some strange migration.
With the Sterling’s house being relatively isolated and with no overlooking neighbours, Kara reckoned they would be able to complete their task surreptitiously enough. She had been assured by Timothy Yorath that the offloading of their cargo in the basement of his central London bank would be equally unobserved. The difference was his staff would do that aspect of it so Tien and Kara wouldn’t have to break sweat. But the loading in Arlesey was down to just the two of them. With no interruptions they reckoned it wouldn’t take too long to fill the thirty small backpacks that Tien had bought earlier in the day.
Each backpack could easily fit more than the allotted thirteen stacks of notes, leaving a few less for the last bag; it wasn’t the volume that was the issue. Tien had worked out that the problem was much more likely to be the weight of almost four million in cash. So she had gone for a limit of about seven kilos in each bag. More trips up and down the stairs, but easier to manage.
They re-entered the house, turning the alarm off and the lights on before making their way up to the loft. Once inside the space masked by the false wall, Tien held the torch and Kara packed the bags. Working in the hot and restricted confines of the loft it took them just over forty-five minutes to pack the notes and move the bags to the top of the loft ladder. It was another fifteen minutes to get the bags down to the landing, secure the false wall access door and leave the loft as it had been before. Minus the money.
They each hoisted a pair of the compact backpacks and began down the stairs.
It was on the way back up from her fourth trip that Tien stopped still on the sixth stair from the top. Kara was already on the landing swinging another back pack up on her shoulder.
“Kara,” Tien said.
“Yeah?” she answered without looking at Tien.
“Put the bag down and come here.”
It wasn’t what was said but the way Tien had said it that caused Kara to immediately do as her friend asked. As she stood on the stair above Tien she followed her friend’s pointing finger and looked at Zoe Sterling’s Graduation photo.
“Fuck me!”
“Not quite my thoughts exactly, but close enough,” Tien said.
Chapter 16
Thursday Midday. Central London
Zoe sat at a window table in the curved gallery of the Royal Albert Hall’s Italian Kitchen Restaurant. As Kara entered and saw the graceful figure waiting she couldn’t help but think that the setting and the sitter complimented one another perfectly.
She had rung Zoe at 06:00, quickly assured her she had no news as yet but needed to meet with her or her brother. Apparently Michael was sleeping after a late night of international trading and Zoe had to go to the London Coliseum for early rehearsals, but after those she was due at Markova House, the home of the English National Ballet, for a production meeting. Zoe offered to meet Kara for lunch at the splendid Italian Kitchen just across the road.
“This is very nice Zoe. Thanks for taking the time to meet,” Kara said as she leant her bag and the wrapped parcel she had brought with her on the window ledge next to the table.
“No problem,” Zoe passed a menu over, “Are you going to eat?”
“Do you recommend anything?”
“Do you want light or heavy?”
“Light I think,” said Kara.
“The Arancini Siciliani is a starter but it’s good for a light lunch,” Zoe said, pronouncing the Italian flawlessly.
“Sounds great.”
Zoe caught the attention of a waitress and ordered two of the starters. The waitress returned momentarily with a carafe of mineral water.
Once the young woman was out of earshot Zoe asked, “So you said you needed to talk. How can I help?”
“You know Tien and I have been up and down to your parent’s house checking for anything that we might have missed?”
Zoe nodded. Kara reached for the parcel and eased the tissue wrapping from it. She took out Zoe’s graduation photo, still in its frame. “I was wondering if you could tell me who the people are in this photo?”
“Where did you get that?” the question was asked with a surprised tone rather than any shock or anger.
“From the wall next to the stairs in your parent’s house.”
“Oh yes, quite. I’d forgotten they had it there. How sweet,” and Zoe laughed before the sound caught in her throat, smothered by the remembered fear that her parents were still missing.
“Can you tell me when this was and who these people are?”
“That’s my graduation from Central in 2003-”
“Sorry Zoe, Central?”
“The Central School of Ballet. You were correct when we first met. I did attend a London School. As for who, well that’s me obviously, Michael and Mum and Dad,” she answered and pointed to each in turn. “That’s my Nana, Mum’s mum. I’m afraid all the rest of the Grandparents had passed by then.”
“And these two people?” Kara asked, indicating the male and female who stood at the far left of the group photo.
“Oh that’s my best friend Nat and her dad, Uncle Illy,” Zoe said as she pointed to the other girl dressed in gown and cap and the man next to her. The one who looked like Chekov.
Kara’s kept her voice as even as she could manage, “Uncle Illy?” she asked.
“Oh not a real Uncle. You know how it is when you’re little. Family friends get Uncle and Aunty when they’re not really.”
Kara nodded and feigned her best smile to show she knew what Zoe meant, “Can you tell me about Nat?”
“Well y
es, but I thought you wanted to know more about my parents.”
“I do Zoe, but for now it’s important to know about Nat and her father. It’s very important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.” Kara considered the fine features and high cheekbones of Zoe Sterling and saw a confusion in the other woman’s eyes.
After a brief pause, Zoe shrugged, “Nothing really to tell you about Nat. Her proper name is Natalya. She was born in Russia but came over here when she was little. She’s the same age as me and we went the whole way through Central’s prep and senior school together. After graduation we both got contracts with the English National.”
“Do you still see her, are you still in touch?”
“Oh yes, of course. She’s the assistant choreographer on our current production. I saw her this morning in rehearsals. Why? What’s the matter with Nat?”
“Nothing Zoe, nothing. Well not as far as I know. I’m sure she’s fine. You said she’s a choreographer?”
“Yes. She got a career-ending injury in,” Zoe frowned as she tried to remember exactly when, “Gosh it’s nearly ten years ago now. It does happen to a lot of us. I’m a rare beast that is still dancing in the Corps de ballet at my age.”
“Do you mind me asking?” Kara said and smiled to hopefully lessen the intrusive nature of the question.
“Oh no, not at all. I’m rather proud of the fact. I’m thirty-three and still dancing. Although I’m probably in my last year or two and even now I can’t do mid-week or Saturday Matinees. I’m down to one show a day at best.”
Kara could hardly believe it. “Wow! You’re only a year younger than me. I wish I knew your secret because you don’t even look like you’re out of your twenties. You look amazing.” Kara meant every word. Zoe blushed.
“Ha! I wish I felt in my twenties. But thank you. That’s very kind. And you don’t look old Kara.”
“Maybe not, but I do look my age.”
“Perhaps, but I think I’ve had the easier ride being a dancer than what you chose to do.”