It's Personal

by Philip Bond

  Again, Matt’s quickest… “You’ve been infiltrated?”

  “Not quite,” the visual presentation stops, as Roland allows… “He may have friends within American intelligence.”

  Harry allows… “I know from experience, some in the CIA become entrepreneurial, building retirement wealth.”

  “Yes, that is problem.”

  Never one to knock back a helping hand… “Where do you suggest I start?” she asks.

  “With the lucky ones, those who make it to the west and forced to pay the smugglers levy. They will talk to you, tell you their story and maybe give you names. Be very careful, the smugglers do not discriminate when it comes to talking a life. If you get too close, you become target.”

  “I’ve been down that road already,” she offers, looking from Roland to Matt… “Maybe, I’m about to move from the frying pan into the fire.”

  *

  Briefing’s over, Harry and Matt retire to a café, however, she’s already decided… “Let’s go to the brothels, find the illegals and get them to open up.”

  There’s a sticking point… “I’m on the CNN payroll. I’ll have assignments.”

  Typical Harry, when road blocks hinder progress, first talk her way through and if unsuccessful, go around… “Then, we start in Berlin with Birgit Hollik, I’ll get her to assign you to me.”

  Matt’s on a ‘Harry at work’ learning curve, liking what he sees… “Sounds good.”

  “Harrietta,” it’s Jeanette with two other women… “I see you here through the window. You are here with a man.” Her pointed remark is both question and exclamation.

  Realising she hasn’t had opportunity to introduce her man, Harry moves to correct the situation… “Jeanette, this is Matt Leveaux,” Then a mischievous smile breaks out across her face… “My fiancé.”

  Jeanette’s aghast. Without acknowledgement to Matt… “Harrietta, black he is!” Jeanette first looks to her friends before returning… “Na, this cannot be. I show my friends news items from the internet, tell them about you. How heroic are you facing adversity; you do this to me?” Jeanette’s friends turn away towards the door leaving Jeanette blubbering… “Na, this cannot be.”

  “Oh my God,” Harry looks first to Matt then Jeanette… “You’re right, and all this time, I thought he just had a great tan.”

  Not amused… “Do not mock me, Harrietta. You do not share this knowledge to humiliate me before friends. This is how you repay my hospitality?”

  “Ma’am,” Matt’s fired up… “I’m just one of thousands of black men who for years stood the line staring down the Soviets in support of your democracy. Not far from here, there’re black Americans supportin’ ethnic minorities from a military onslaught not seen since the Warsaw ghettos of the 1940’s. Today, black Americans walk patrols in Iraq Afghanistan Korea and Bosnia-Herzegovina. Does that not give them equality?”

  Not acknowledging the verbal lambasting, instead looks to Harry… “Your family learns different things in Australia. Maybe, you are better off there.” She turns quickly, heading towards the exit ignoring all café patrons.

  Harry’s eyes flash around the room. Suddenly, it’s eyes down as if bingo is about to commence. Matt’s simmering; Harry places her hand on his… “I love you, sergeant.”

  He relaxes… “I love you too, babe.”

  *

  Realising the cultural divide erodes into a chasm, she reluctantly accepts Australianness marginalises her Austrian heritage. After packing their bags, Harry and Matt board the first train for Berlin, flying might be quickest, however, she relaxes into the comfort of rail travel, documenting her strategy of attack.

  *

  After listening intently, Birgit remains sceptical… “An exposé on people smuggling. If nothing else, Harry, I like this title. These people you identify.”

  She doesn’t wait for the question… “We’ve invested time in researching and developing useful contacts.”

  “How do you know Aufseher Stefan Tochatschet?” Brigit’s intrigued.

  “My cousin in Graz is a senior investigator with Bundeskriminalamt and liaises regularly with European Union law enforcement agencies; he provides useful German contacts.”

  “I know Stefan; nice man is he. Tell to me Harry, why Düsseldorf and Köln?”

  “Düsseldorf is the administrative centre for Rhineland businesses. Köln is the magnet to the avant-garde.”

  “Avant-garde, that is one way to describe Köln. These policemen Arndt Zech in Düsseldorf and Peter Lorenz in Köln, you receive these names from your cousin also?”

  “No, Stefan Tochatschet.”

  “Then you already talk with him?”

  “Yes, early this morning.”

  Birgit looks at her watch… “Now is 9:17. No time you waste.”

  “One of my rules, never stop when you’re on a roll.”

  “Your commitment is good. Okay, Matt goes five days with you, no longer. We meet for the review within seventy-two hours to justify continuation. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Harry flinches; the pressure is on; however, it’s better than nothing and besides, she has Matt with her and nothing could be better than that.

  *

  Birgit Hollik has much in common with Phillip Brookes; both in their fifties, both committed to their careers at the expense of personal life, both run television news bureaux, both subject journalists to ridiculous deadlines and both are tight as fishes’ arseholes when it comes to resources and budgets.

  Hiring an Audi wagon in Düsseldorf and of course with Matt driving, their first interview’s with Sylvia Broer, a doctor whose patients are predominately workers in the regions burgeoning sex trade.

  He wastes no time positioning the subject and camera for the best available light.

  Reluctant at first, Sylvia’s quick into the topic… “Many are in their teens, male and female seeking western prosperity. Once here, they find the only work is prostitution and some do not have choice.” It’s a nondescript office, an occasional wall photo, several posters explaining the body’s reproductive system and one small smoked glass window.

  “Can you explain?”

  “The youngest and prettiest are given additional fee to work off.” Covering her desk are several folders, possibly patients, a well-thumbed diary, computer screen and keyboard covered in post-it-notes.

  “Are they aware of this before they commence their journey?”

  “Of course not, would you pay people smugglers only to find when you reach the destination you must pay the same amount again to receive forged documentation?”

  “You say the youngest and prettiest, how young?”

  “I will only see those sixteen and over, but I have heard of children as young as eleven.” In her fifties, Sylvia’s face resembles a well-travelled potholed path, absent of makeup or any such care.

  “These levies, how much extra do these people, children have to pay?”

  “Each person has different value. Young beautiful girls may have as much as hundred percent levy, this scale reduces for older, less attractive girls and boys.” Sylvia’s finger nails are almost non-existent and constantly in her mouth, chewing.

  “How often do you see them?”

  “Test I do for sexual transmitted diseases, for a health certificate maybe every three to six months.” Dressed in pants, light top and comfortable shoes, she sits with one elbow on the desk and hand to her mouth.

  “Is that all?”

  “Some of the younger ones need treatment for both virginal and anal trauma. Rape by a man with large penis severely damages the delicate and fragile.” The room’s atmosphere is stiflingly oppressive, without adequate ventilation.

  “Do you report this to the authorities?”

  An almost empty box of tissues sits on Sylvia desk; she takes the last to blow her nose… “Police attention can be more devastating to the person than physical abuse.”

  “Can you explain?”

  “Only valuable work
ing is prostitute.” Facial expression betrays the seriousness… “Police attention gives more harm or worse, death.”

  “There have been many deaths.”

  Slumping in her chair… “I think at least five?”

  “What ages?”

  “Only the older ones,” revealing the darkest… “Even damaged children still have value.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Internet pornography.”

  Harry realises reports citing veiled examples of internet pornography are increasing. Like most others, she never felt inclined to increase her knowledge on the subject, until now… “Is there someone who would meet with me?”

  “They are too scared to go on camera.”

  “We agreed,” Matt jumps in… “I’ll be distorting your image and disguising your voice in production; what if I do the same for them?”

  “Maybe one.” Knowing her patient’s independent nature… “Twenty-two is she, Muslim from Albania. She might talk to you. Due is she here tomorrow morning, usually comes with two others.” Offering the caution… “There will be a minder, an ugly man called Max. He will be suspicious; you will need a reason to be here.”

  “A doctor in training?” It’s worked previously for Harry, so why not here?

  “Maybe.”

  Believing a new large black man will raise questions, Matt questions… “And me?”

  “You can be our protector, out of sight in the pharmaceutical room.” She has all bases covered.

  *

  Seat belt latched, the engine fires up… “You know, this is the first occasion I’ve seen you at work, I mean, real work, doing stuff on camera. Babe, you’re cool. You put her at ease and she opens up, also offerin’ to get others to go on camera.”

  In a rare moment of bashfulness… “I don’t think it’s me so much as her wanting to do something positive for her patients.”

  “We’ve chewed up the best part of a day just getting’ the first interview.” Something else is on Matt’s mind… “We’re gonna run outta time; when are we meetin’ with that cop in Düsseldorf?”

  “Polizeioberkommissar Zech agrees to speak with me, he’s on afternoon shift.”

  His stomach does the talking… “Why don’t we meet him somewhere? I’m starved; I could eat a horse.”

  “I’ll phone him.” Digging into her bag

  Following the exchange, she alouds… “He’ll meet us 7 pm, Füchschen, a brewery-restaurant just over the Rhein on Ratinger Straße. There’s a parking station just along the street.”

  Keying the location into the navigation system… “These things are the best addition in automobiles since disc brakes.”

  *

  Just under forty minutes, up four parking levels and a short walk to arrive at the restaurant. Specifying a no-smoking table; a waiter instantly follows. Matt eyes him over… “Bier bitte.”

  “Zwei Füchschen alt.”

  A beer will go down real nicely right now… “Danke.” turning to Harry… “What do you want to eat?” The waiter disappears.

  “What’s on the menu?”

  “There’s either a knuckle or leg of pork both with sauerkraut.” He could eat a horse.

  Just the vision of the arriving plate’s enough to turn her off; besides, she’s not that hungry… “No, something light?”

  “I’m gonna have Viennese style schnitzel with fried potatoes and salad.”

  “Maybe I’ll just eat the salad.”

  He runs a finger down the page… “There’s a large salad with vinaigrette sauce, baked potato and herb quark.”

  “The salad sounds nice, that will do.” The waiter departs.

  Returning as quickly as he departs, the waiter returns with another man in tow, the stranger looks to Harry… “Frau Reisner?”

  “Yes.” Looking up.

  The stranger looks to the waiter… “Herr Ober andere und Meine übliche bitte,” returning to Harry… “Mein name ist Arndt Zech.”

  Thrusting out a hand before looking to Matt… “Und Ihnen bist?”

  Matt grabs his hand… “Matt Leveaux, wie geht’s?”

  “Danke es geht mir gut.” Occupying a seat opposite Harry… “As you speak English, I too will speak it.” He takes off his jacket and settles into the seat… “There is much on the internet about you from Australia. So, do tell me, how long are you here in Germany?” The plain-clothed policeman is balding, in his forties with a manicured goatee.

  “I arrive very recently and you could say it’s a labour of love.”

  “Interesting,” the policeman ignores Matt, preferring instead the attractive journalist… “You enjoy the danger?”

  “Quite the opposite. I’m hoping there’s not going to be any excitement.”

  The waiter returns, placing three glasses before the trio… “Good is beer here,” Arndt allows… “The food hearty and I do not have time to waste.” Instructing… “You must order your meal.”

  To the waiter, Matt orders for both.

  Arndt moves proceedings along… “You tell to me some things on the telephone, so what is it you want?”

  “How much the problem is illegal immigration?”

  Arndt samples his beer before wiping his lips… “It is not so much a problem for police as problem for the Länder and BAMF, Bundesamt für Migration und Flüchtlinge.”

  “Do you see many illegals in criminal statics?”

  Only two centimetres remain after Arndt’s second mouthful… “Aware I am, reports of raids on construction sites, however, most are connected to prostitution.”

  “Do you arrest them?”

  Returning with the plates, the waiter sets the table… “If no criminality, we do not. Nordrhein-Westfalen treasury have the interest as they pay twenty-five euros each day in advance, taxes you understand. Prostitution is not illegal, so it is the problem for BAMF.” The policeman’s usual is the pork with sauerkraut.

  “And if they are underage?” She pokes her salad.

  Finishing his beer… “That is illegal and a different matter.” With an expansive appetite, he attacks the pork with knife and fork… “Sixteen is the legal age.”

  “Have you investigated any reports?” Matt’s into the schnitzel.

  “Yes,” the attentive waiter materialises with a fresh beer for the policeman… “Seventeen last un five so far this year.”

  “Did you detain anyone?” As if in contest, Matt equals the policeman mouthful to mouthful. She picks her salad.

  “No,” Arndt folds back the skin to cut into the meat underneath… “We find no one and no proof to convict.”

  “Do you think they might be dead, murdered?”

  “I hope so.” Half the pork’s gone and so to his beer, the waiter again materialises with a fresh glass… “Reports suggest child is drugged, secreted away for internet pornography.” For different reasons, Matt and Harry decline another.

  “Who are the culprits?” Harry matches one to three Arndt and Matt mouthfuls.

  Using his knife as a pointer… “Eastern European crime gangs,” Arndt offers… “are the new industry to combat. Gypsies from Albanian, Bulgaria and Romania, these are the worst. They take over drugs and prostitution. These people are ruthless; life means nothing to them; they sponsor illegal immigration. The illegals become slaves for profit.”

  “What can I do to help?” While her appetite is not for food, she is, journalistically, ravenous.

  Matt and Arndt race to empty their plates as if cyclist, sprinting to The Avenue des Champs-Élysées finish… “If we stop the smugglers, the income source for these criminal gangs evaporates. This night, we raid a bordello that we believe harbours underage prostitutes.”

  Jumping on the opportunity… “Can we come along, maybe film the raid,” adding the sweetener… “It would be great public relations for you?”

  It takes seconds for… “Okay,” thinking there just might be some good PR for him in this… “Why not, we do this in two hours. It is why I rush.”
/>   *

  Eight Spezialeinsatzkommandos with Matt in their shadows, lead Polizeioberkommissar Zech, Harry and the Landeskriminalamt officers into the building. Punching open the door… “Polizei Hände hoch!” Policemen storm reception and on into the lounge startling everyone.

  Heavily armed police swarm the establishment surging forward pushing people down… “Polizei, Kuß der Dielenboden! Polizei, unterkriege!”

  Adjusting the camera’s auto-tracing white balance compensating for the poor internal lighting, he follows as armed police fan throughout the building… “Polizei, unterkriege! Polizei, Kuß der Dielenboden!” Matt steps in the team leader’s shadow. He’s participated in these scenarios many times previously, albeit leading the assault and not just recording its progress. Following the leader through a door… “Polizei, Kuß der Dielenboden.”

  Inside are two males and three females… “Polizei Hände hoch!” All in various stages of undress, Harry enters moving forward on camera… “In this room, there is a bed two men and,” one of the men obviously annoyed at being the spectacle strikes out at Harry’s leg. Although the viewfinder distorts his field perception, Matt lands a retaliatory blow with his left foot to the man’s shoulder, still keeping Harry in shot.

  She returns to camera; he puckers his lips into a kiss.

  The commentary continues… “There are two men and one, two, five girls. Two of the girls are possibly just teenagers. All are naked.”

  More police officers fill the room. Polizeioberkommissar Zech barks… “Identifizieren Sie diese Menschen,” as the SWAT team evacuates the room to continue searching the building.

  Then a gunshot!

  Three follow in quick succession!

  Matt spins around, off in search of the combatants. With camera rolling, he heads along a corridor to a room near its end. Two Spezialeinsatzkommandos stand aimed at a man lying on the floor bleeding profusely from wounds to his chest. One, the youngest team member utters… “Er zieht eine Pistole!”