The Protector

by Gennita Low

  Vivi straightened up. She wasn’t blinded by emotions, as Juliana had suggested. She had just been so busy with running another operation that she hadn’t seen this coming. She had felt the tension in the air, had known from the last confrontation between them that a big one wasn’t too far away, but had ignored the warning signals because of the events around her.

  She had sacrificed Rose with her consuming desire to save that trailer of girls. That didn’t sit very well right now.

  “Do you know who’s blind? You are.” The heat of anger had gone. Her heart fisted, holding all her emotions in. “You sit here with your numbers, playing with lives. You make excuses that the ends justify the means, so you say some of these ‘numbers’ can be slotted off because they don’t fit your columns. You ignore the fact that these kids are forced into that system you’re fighting against and they end up pregnant and their kids repeat the cycle. Voilà! You need more funds. You can continue with your cause. There will always be victims. Hitting too close to home, Juliana? I believe you just turned a tad white. And I know you want bigger things. All that media coverage and fund-raising galas—very nice to get all dressed up and be around the important people, isn’t it?”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about. What I do will benefit the kids—”

  Vivi shrugged. “Yes, you’re concerned about the children but you love these side things a little more, don’t you? There’s even more access to the spotlight if you can only get UN approval and UN funds. International foundation sounds so much more glamorous than a small organization of women without enough money. You’re addicted to being associated with the people and its cause but not its work.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I will for now. But don’t think I’ll just quietly go away. You think I don’t know what I’m talking about? I didn’t volunteer to help out. I did it because I was one of these kids here a long time ago and I know exactly which ones could be saved if given the chance or the push. People like you…” Vivi shook her head. “An apology? My going out with a military man—you’re going to use that as an excuse to remove me? And here I thought there were higher priorities and problems. I’m going to find Rose and if anything has happened to her, Miss Jung, I’ll personally make your life such a living hell that you will wish you weren’t that bitch you so proudly proclaim to be.”

  “I don’t like your threatening tone, Vivienne. If you can’t discuss this in a more businesslike way, please leave my office.” There was a tightness around Juliana’s lips. She pulled on the cord, retrieving the fallen phone from the carpet. “I have a meeting to schedule and as you point out, fund-raisers to attend. You might not think that’s important, but the people who matter see things my way, not yours. To them—to us—you’re trouble to this business. It’s out of my hands. Discuss your views with the board and see whether they will side with me or you. Personally, I’d be happy if there is a new liaison replacement.”

  There were many people like Juliana Kohl. They wanted to belong to an organization and the running of it. After a while, the cause became secondary.

  “This isn’t business. Business uses people to promote and propagate itself.” Vivi turned and walked to the door. She felt sick. That these people would do this to a group of women and children—people they were supposed to protect—how different were they from those who sell them as a trade? She glanced back and softly added, “When it’s a girl’s life you’re destroying, it’s personal. Will you please stop thinking of them as your precious numbers for once? My liaison isn’t with you, by the way. It’s between the organization and Interpol. You might not have me as a volunteer, but I’ll still be around in this office.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  She was going to give this woman something to see and think about. “One more thing. Getting your numbers right might get you the funds you want, but I’ve checked the breakdown of actual allocated funds. What would the public say when they see how expensive certain personal perks like vehicles and residences for public information officers are? Especially when the pat answer is it’s for media functions?”

  “How—” Juliana bit her lower lip, turning red as she realized she had betrayed herself.

  “I have my own sources, Juliana. Do you think it’d escape my notice that you hold functions that government officials attend? It gets in the papers, you know…your name, officials’ names. Does anyone on the board know that Minister Nguyen Onn has been known to frequent brothels?” The minister had been a strong supporter of women’s rights lately and had come to the functions to voice his opinions as well as get publicity. He had contributed some big checks to the cause, but Vivi and every local person knew about his hobby. She had wondered whether Juliana did, too. The other woman’s now pale face told Vivi she did. “I know you’re going to feed me some crap about money being money and that it’s all for the organization.”

  Juliana’s expression hardened with defiance. “I suggest you’d better be ready with facts and numbers if you’re thinking of doing battle with me about my paperwork,” she said angrily. “As for your insinuations, I’ll make damn sure it’ll appear I didn’t know anything about the minister. His contribution will be seen as just that—contribution. The board can choose to do whatever they want with it. I’m just a collector, nothing else.”

  Vivi raised her eyebrows. “Just a collector? Is that how you see yourself? Not the helper of young women in trouble, as you’ve stated in your pamphlet? Or that newspaper article that quoted you saying that ‘no young girls will be denied help’?”

  The other woman leaned forward. “This meeting is over. I’m going to destroy your credibility. Who would believe anyone who sluts around with one of the offenders? I’ll make sure the board get letters of complaint. Try denying that. You walked in here with him.”

  “Petty, Juliana, really petty, but then it doesn’t surprise me.”

  The other woman shrugged. “The letters will be anonymously written, of course. The board will have plenty of reason to replace you. I told you I won’t let you hurt the cause.”

  Vivi shook her head. “You’re under some delusion that you’re promoting a cause when all you’re doing is destroying yourself and those around you. How can you sit there on your ass calmly telling a desperate young girl being beaten by her father to go find a job?” She acted out a scene. “‘Hello? My father wants me to be a prostitute. Please help me.’ ‘Oh go find a job, dear, and everything will fine.’”

  Juliana answered her with a frozen stare. Vivi knew she was going to send those anonymous complaints that very afternoon. The woman hated her guts because Vivi saw through her. Turning to leave, Vivi added, “You’re a zealot, Juliana, you and those like you. While you say you’re for the cause, you won’t admit to the fact that it’s the side trappings and accoutrements of being associated to wealth and power that you love. Try visiting the red light district sometime. Look at the faces of the girls working there. You will see Rose staring back at you, Juliana. And I truly hope you don’t think their being there is just a job for them.”

  The walk out of the building was less strident, as she tried to figure out where to find Rose. She had planned to spend the day catching up with paperwork and calling Interpol for reports but that had to wait—the missing young girl weighed heavily on her mind.

  She knew exactly where to find Mr. Tham. Rose had often pointed out the gambling den hidden in the street corner. That was where the small-time gamblers went but they were all the same—Triad sanctioned nests filled with thugs and addicted men playing with dice and cards.

  There wasn’t any time to dress up as Grandmamasan, and she knew she couldn’t walk into that place all by herself. The only option she could think of was to wait outside until Rose’s father stumbled out. That could be hours. She slammed her car door in frustration. She didn’t have time. Damn Juliana Kohl. Damn her own inability to find a safe place for Rose. Damn everything.

  This was a personal war and she knew
she couldn’t drag T. or her agency into it. They had a job to do. This wasn’t a covert operation. It was something that Vivi knew how to do if she only had the damn man outside alone—put the fear of God into a bully.

  For once in her life, she couldn’t let her pride keep her from asking for help. Rose was missing and—

  Vivi flipped open her cell. She waited impatiently as her request ran through the chain of human messengers. God, she needed to teach some people to keep a cell phone on them.

  “This is Jazz.”

  His voice sounded so good. He was exactly what she needed. Muscle. And a big heart who would understand her pain.

  “I need your help. Rose is missing and I can’t walk into a gambling den without causing a lot of unwanted attention. Can you get away for a few hours?” She kicked herself mentally. She could have at least started the conversation by asking how he was.

  “Hang on.” There was a short pause as she heard conversation in the background. “Come pick me up now, Vivi.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Jazz? I don’t mean to just be calling you for help.”

  “I know, chouchou. I’d rather you don’t walk into that place without telling me, anyway. You don’t have a few dozen goats with you, do you?”

  That sexy drawl of his, laced with his brand of Cajun humor, was exactly what she needed to restore a semblance of calm. She didn’t even mind being called that stupid pet name he always used. She massaged the crick of her neck to release some tension.

  “Your presence will be able to do the same work my goats did,” she told him lightly.

  “Ouch, chouchou. I’ll wait for you in that underground garage they have here.”

  Stefan climbed the stairs slowly, aware of the eyes on him and his companion. During the drive out of town, he had briefed him about Dilaver and what to expect. Room 212. He rapped three times. The door opened immediately.

  “You’re late.” The man’s accent was heavy. “I don’t like people who are late.”

  Stefan took a couple of steps into the room, keeping his hands by his sides. There were four other men in the room, armed and ready. He signaled for his man to follow and waited patiently as two of the guards searched them. They took away the few weapons they could find.

  “These will be returned to you when the meeting is over,” one of them told him.

  Stefan nodded, keeping his eyes on the one sitting at the table, drinking beer. “I’m a busy man. There are many people in town who are in need of my services right now.” He stood where he was, letting the other man decide what he wanted him to do. He could feel the tension. Someone was in a very bad mood, and from the bottles on the floor, alcohol wasn’t helping rid him of it. “It would have been easier for me if you had made this meeting there instead of here.”

  “You brought only one man. You’re either confident or stupid.”

  “He’s my interpreter. I’m a middleman in Southeast Asia. Since you’re from the former Yugoslavia, I wasn’t sure whether you could speak English or any of the local dialects well enough and misunderstandings in this region can be deadly.” He purposely did not let Dilaver know where he came from and why he was there.

  “So now you’re saying you came here alone. Again, either confident or stupid.”

  They studied each other, gauging strengths and weaknesses. Stefan was used to it. Trust wasn’t exactly a strong commodity in this business. When engaging with a potential new associate, especially one new to the territory, one had to figure out quickly whether his word could be trusted. This individual was discovering that, too.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” the man said, as he opened three bottles of beer. “You have different names. Over in Kosovo, you’re known as Ice. Here, I suppose they don’t think that’s a tough name, what with it being so damn hot and sticky all the time. Ice easily melts, doesn’t give the connotation of how cool you are under fire. Over here, my interpreter says they call you Ghost Lightning. That is so…scary.”

  The others followed their leader’s snort of laughter. Stefan still hadn’t moved from where he was standing. He was being challenged. What he said next could either make or break whatever deal was in his opponent’s head.

  “I’ve also heard a lot about you, Dragan Dilaver,” Stefan said. “You were just an underling KLA thug when I left Europe. You’ve done well since the war.”

  Dilaver shrugged. “Sit down. Beer? I’m afraid these are”—he gestured, looking for the words—“American shit-water. No one around here eats or drinks right.”

  Stefan joined Dilaver at the table. His man remained by the door. “He doesn’t drink while he’s working,” he explained to Dilaver easily.

  “Good man.” Dilaver took a swig. “I don’t trust any of these slant-eyes anymore, not after what happened. That’s why I chose you.”

  Stefan nodded. “I understand the comfort level.”

  “You know your way around here. You speak their language.”

  “It’s a plus.”

  Dilaver took another swig. “My first mistake. I thought an interpreter and I could do this, but I need someone in this area, who knows the ins and outs, who understands whatever the fucking rules are around here.”

  “There aren’t any.” Stefan took a drink from his bottle. “The Triads rule these parts. Or at least the second brother.”

  “But there’s something going on in town. My man told me there are some big names meeting up. How is it that the Triads allow them there?”

  Stefan cocked a brow. “You’re full of questions, Dilaver. Your man told me you have a business deal to discuss with me and I came without any questions. Suppose you tell me why you need me.”

  It was the other man’s turn to raise his brows. “Need? That is a weak word.”

  Stefan shrugged. “You need me because the Triads are looking for you. That little bit of news is no secret. They have men looking for you everywhere.”

  “They reneged on a business deal. Like I said, there are these big names in town, people who deal in Europe. Arithmetic is still the same in this part of the world, isn’t it? Two and two makes the Triads wanting my weapons to do business with the visitors. My question is—why? I took a lot of trouble working out this deal with them, took a long trip to come here for a vacation, and it’s been hell so far.” Dilaver finished his beer and carelessly threw the empty bottle on the floor. He barked something in Slavic at one of the men. He picked up another bottle. “I’ll make this simple for you. You’re the middleman. Cash. American dollars.”

  The man came back with a small briefcase and laid it on the table. He snapped it open. Stefan looked at the greenbacks stacked neatly inside.

  “In case you didn’t know, the Triads are in the business of women and drugs. The eldest brother deals with piracy and smuggling. He’s known for international slavery. The Southeast Asian oceans are filled with his thugs.” Stefan gestured at his interpreter with his beer. “Another brother lives in the States. My man here deals with him and reports to me. Same things—gambling, women, drugs. The brother here—the one you were meeting—is small-time. He is regional and has been working to expand his power base.” He was the weakest link and that was why Stefan had chosen to come here. “He allows any activities in his territories as long as you give him coffee money.”

  “Coffee money?” Dilaver looked at his interpreter for explanation.

  Stefan’s man answered first. “Bribery, payments, rents…permission money. You pay the Triads for the right to do business in their territory.”

  The Slavic thug nodded, thoughtfully eyeing the man at the door. “I don’t hear anything about weapons. This brother wanted weapons.”

  “Perfect timing,” Stefan said. “He had accepted the coffee money to let a group of arms dealers in town to do business. He can’t have a foothold in the industry unless he has some weapons to move himself. He buys it from you and shows up at the meeting. Like I said, he wants more power. Sibling competition is also common around here.”
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br />   “He owes me a big sum of delivery money. I intend to collect it,” Dilaver said, his voice deadly.

  “You claim he attacked you.”

  “I have lost…enough about what I lost. I’m sure you know the details already. I’m leaving this damn place with a loss.”

  “I’ve heard about the incident at the bridge,” Stefan acknowledged. “I deal with arms. I have had no dealings with the Triad drug business so if you want their drugs, I can’t help you.”

  “I don’t need you to do that for me. I just need some information in exchange for that cash. My second mistake was to want to start international arms dealing with a slant-eye. I got bored of politics back home and thought a few days with some Asian females…” Dilaver shrugged and drank down his beer. “I suppose it’s the same in any business. A few days of pleasure and make some deals. I obviously dealt with the wrong brother. Maybe I should talk to your man over there. He’s got the right contacts.”

  Stefan smiled humorlessly. “Is that what you asked me here for?”

  “No. This cash is for you for one thing and one thing only. And, I intend to have enough leftover weapons for you to play middleman for me at this meeting. I can’t go, not with the Triads looking for me and my weapons, but you can.” Dilaver raised his beer bottle. “Salute.”

  Stefan looked at the crisp new cash in the suitcase. “Fifty percent. You keep the weapons till I make the deal. The money will be electronically transferred to a Kosovo account of your choice.”