Shadows of Our Past

by Tanya Jean Russell

  Just being quiet with Jackson felt more like home than anywhere, or anyone, and now the brief peace she’d felt with him was gone forever. He’d never forgive her deception. Not only had she been the person to get him arrested, she’d lied to him from the moment they’d met.

  Her mind flickered to their day on the estate, sitting in his thinking spot and realizing that the ink on his arm was an explicit statement of the value he placed on honesty, in others as much as in himself, but it had also showed the impact his mistake had had on him ever since. The lack of trust he had in himself. The responsibility for that weighed heavily on her.

  Over the years she had forced herself to remember that she was not responsible for the actions of the guilty. That she could not and should not take ownership of the guilt that was rightfully theirs, but it didn’t stop her from shedding tears for the victims caught in their path. Somehow though, over time, each hurt grew less, allowing her desire to fight for what was right to bring her through, and plant that guilt firmly where it belonged.

  This should be no different. Jackson was responsible for his own mistakes and he couldn’t shift blame to her simply because she stood up for what was right. He had chosen his path. It was his problem. It became his problem the moment he made his choice all those years ago. If anything, the value Jackson placed on integrity, on being true to yourself, should make him understand that behind her actions were the same beliefs.

  She methodically searched their belongings, looking for anything which might incriminate Berishka. The chances of finding something were pretty remote but it didn’t hurt to look. Into the rhythm of what she was good at, she carefully noted the placement of each item before lifting them for a thorough inspection and placing them back exactly as they were. Part of her wanted to hide away and curl up in a ball feeling sorry for herself, but every action she took pushed that feeling further aside. It let her reconnect with the competent, focused, expert she was. The familiar sense of pleasure at reading people from their belongings eased her pain. People’s belongings said so much about them—about what they cared about and what mattered to them.

  The type of people she normally spent time with didn’t have much in the way of possessions. The huge effort it took for them to keep anything made the few pieces they did hang onto more telling. The search wasn’t giving her anything. Both men’s belongings simply reinforced that they were hard, emotionless, and obsessed with the trappings of wealth. Everything had a designer label. Even their socks were cashmere with a discreet lion on the ankle demonstrating some brand. She’d known she wasn’t going to find a handy ledger with all his criminal activities detailed, this was real life after all, but the complete lack of anything personal was weird. There wasn’t even a scrunched-up receipt to be found. The items were oddly clinical.

  Having managed to attach one device to the back of the headboard in Berishka’s room and behind the curtain rail in Novak’s room, she put half a dozen more in her pockets to place them in the library and the drawing room, those being two rooms the men had spent the most time in during their last visit.

  The systematic activity reminded her why she was there and why it was so important. Damn Jackson, she thought. He had pursued her, and despite her best intentions she’d given in both physically and emotionally. She ignored the nagging voice in the back of her head that reminded her that he did have a very personal, very valid, reason for being so upset with her. She was doing her job and the result of that job mattered a damn sight more than his pride. It mattered more than anyone’s pride.

  ****

  Joined by Ed, Jackson and the other men had taken the jeep to the far side of the estate. The misty light added an eerie feel to their movements as they left the vehicle and walked quietly through the woods. Having spotted deer tracks, they followed them back toward the estate boundary, and the morning passed quickly enough. But Jackson couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting to Amory.

  After a time they stopped for lunch. Ed set out the blanket and unpacked the picnic that he and Jackson had taken turns carrying for the last few hours. Maggie had packed a sturdy meal of thick doorstop sandwiches and great chunks of her homemade cakes, along with flasks of strong hot tea and equally strong whiskey, although thankfully in smaller flasks.

  Once they’d cleared away their meal they headed off again and soon spotted a stag through the trees. Creeping through the undergrowth in the hazy light of the early afternoon, he could see the stag standing proudly ahead. While he didn’t find any pleasure in the kill itself he could understand the anticipatory tension pouring from his brother, Marek, and Pavol. The thrill of the chase, that sense of heightened awareness. Feeling every blade of grass, every curve in the earth as they slowly began to creep forward, inch by inch, gaining ground on their prey, the sensation from the dampness of the ground seeping into their clothes, a chill mitigated by the adrenaline pumping through their veins. The weight of the rifles on their backs pressed into their shoulder blades as they resist the urge to withdraw and engage their weapons too soon.

  They had taken a longer route than they would have preferred but the chilly easterly wind made the more direct approach impractical—the slightest whiff of them and the stag would have bolted. That would have been a spectacular sight and a damn sight more pleasurable than watching the amazing creature weep blood on the hillside.

  However, that outcome wasn’t likely to keep Marek happy, and now that he knew what was going on, Jackson finally understood why keeping Marek happy was such a big deal for William. Jackson’s own adrenaline spike had more to do with the unnerving presence of Marek. William and Pavol were absorbed in the hunt, but Marek was an ever-present shadow, hanging back from the group. He was creeping stealthily along, his rifle never pointing at the stag. Continuously reviewing their surroundings, ever alert, it was like he was on the lookout for something else to shoot.

  As they crept forward the stag began to wander further east, toward the old airfield. The whole thing was a relic from World War II. As the Allied effort against the German air attacks had grown, air bases in the south of England were at capacity. The incumbent Duke of Fordeshire, strongly supportive of the war effort, had offered as much of his substantial land holdings as were required to the military. An area of over thirty acres had been requisitioned and turned hurriedly into an air base. Within months there had been a decent sized runway in place and over the next few years a number of buildings cropped up, providing suitable housing and infrastructure for the United States Air Force squadron that was subsequently based there.

  Following the end of the war and their recall to the US, the base, like many others across the country, slipped into disrepair. Jackson and William had spent many days exploring the buildings, the full force of youthful imagination creating worlds where they roamed as explorers, soldiers, cowboys and Indians, spacemen, and most regularly, Indiana Jones, searching for yet another lost treasure, arguing about who would be Indy and who would be Short-round, both wanting to be the eponymous hero.

  Even now just thinking of the two of them bent double, tears streaming as they completed their dash through the shabby buildings bellowing, curved the corners of Jackson’s mouth in fond remembrance. His gaze swept the landscape as he sought his brother, feeling the warmth of his memories.

  It had been more years than he could remember since he had been out to those ramshackle buildings, but the love he felt for his brother when he remembered that time wasn’t diminished by the passing years.

  Although the airstrip itself was serviceable and used by the local flying and gliding clubs and some of William’s visiting friends, the surrounding buildings were dilapidated. He knew William had dreams of renovating them.

  As Jackson took stock of his surroundings the stag continued its meandering toward the ruins.

  “I become bored, we return to the house now.” Pavol’s abrupt announcement startled Jackson out of his reverie.

  Oddly Marek quickly accepted Pavol’s statement. He wo
uldn’t have expected a bodyguard’s feelings to have been of any consideration at all.

  “Yes, I agree. We return now, Your Grace,” Marek added.

  Pavol and Marek’s expressions, faces flushed with a sheen of sweat, looked as far from bored as possible. Glad for the reprieve, Jackson sent his silent congratulations to the stag before joining the others as they made their way back toward the house. The weak sun finally burned through the clouds as if pleased at their failure.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Putting the 4x4 that William had loaned her, all in the interest of making sure she looked the part, into gear, Amory flinched as the passenger door was pulled open and Jackson thumped into the seat next to her.

  “Well, get on with it then,” he said quietly, crossing his arms and staring straight ahead the moment his seat belt was in place.

  “What are you doing in my car?”

  They’d managed to avoid each other completely since seeing off Berishka and Novak a few days earlier and now he wanted to go on a drive together?

  “Your car?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I need to go into town on estate business, and this is an estate vehicle as I have been so politely informed by Ed. Meaning neither of us have any choice in the matter, so just get on with it and make this as quick as possible.”

  She looked at him cautiously while he continued to stare steadfastly ahead, and calculated her chances of getting him out of the car. She didn’t think she could take being so close to him when he wouldn’t speak to her, and if he’d decided he was ready to talk, this really wasn’t the time for that conversation. Unfortunately, even with her training, he was too strong for her to be able to wrestle him out of such a tight space.

  If she had any choice about delaying her trip she would climb out of the car and let him get himself into town, but with the DCI and an assembled team waiting on her arrival so they could plan for the so-called party Berishka had told Marek he’d be having at the Halland estate in a few days, she didn’t have that option. Which meant she was stuck with her new passenger.

  “Just drive,” he said as she reluctantly concluded she was going to have to do this. “I’m not talking to you. It’s not like you wouldn’t lie to me if I did.”

  She kept her eyes fixed to the road as she pulled away. Her stomach churned with a guilt she didn’t think she’d ever be free of when she thought of the lies she’d told him, the secrets she’d kept.

  “Can we talk later?” she asked.

  “No.”

  The single word came out sharp and harsh, as though he’d blurted it instinctively.

  “I want to explain,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed steadfastly on the road ahead.

  “No.” His response was more measured this time, as though the few seconds he’d had to absorb her request had been enough to make his decision.

  She squeezed her eyes briefly against the prickles. She hadn’t really expected him to simply agree to give her a chance to explain herself, but it hurt just the same.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you,” she said quietly, unable to help herself as the silence between them grew.

  “Not sorry for putting me in prison though,” he said, his words flat.

  She blinked hard as she absorbed his words. She readily took responsibility for deceiving him. The fact he’d gone to prison though, that was all him. Pushing her turmoil down, she sighed deeply. She was sick to the back teeth of dealing with people who thought the world owed them something, who thought the fact they wanted something meant it was okay for them to do whatever the hell they could to get it. Without any thought for the consequences. Without any thought to damage they caused to the people in their path.

  “No,” she said honestly. Damn it, she really didn’t want to do this now. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m not sorry for that. You broke the law. I tried to talk you out of it but you did it anyway. Did it hurt to do it? Damn right it did, but you made that choice. You got in that car and you were part of that robbery. You chose to not only abandon your principles, but to break the law as well.” She sucked in a deep breath.

  “I’m sorrier than I will ever be able to say that I lied to you,” she continued. “But I won’t be responsible for your choices.”

  She pulled into the car park in the center of town and threw the vehicle into the first available space. Clambering out and closing the door she rubbed at her face, trying to regain her balance as she walked away without so much as a glance at a silent Jackson.

  Nodding to the landlord, she pushed through the pub to a door at the side of the bar and made her way upstairs. Dave had run the pub for the best part of seven years, until an arrest gone wrong left him with a pronounced limp and had forced him into early retirement. Despite the injury he never had any trouble in his pub, and it certainly wasn’t because he was an ex-copper. It had more to do with the fact he was six foot five and solid, enough to put off your average troublemaker.

  Unknown to the public, the old function room upstairs hadn’t actually turned into a private rest space for Dave and Sarah when they’d taken over the freehold. Instead, it was regularly used by Dave’s old Regional Organized Crime Unit colleagues as a situation room for the covert divisions.

  She’d been visiting the pub during undercover assignments for years. It didn’t matter what her mission was or who she was pretending to be, no one in England was ever suspicious of someone going to the pub. The situation room was busy with well over twenty people milling around—some were familiar but others not, and the general buzz of conversation slowly trickled to silence as people noticed her arrival. She had a reputation for being tough and for delivering the goods, and along with her experience, that made people curious. Spotting Holly and their DI, James, she headed straight for them, hugging Holly briefly as James drew everyone’s attention.

  “Although I’m sure you’ll know her by reputation, for those of you who haven’t met her, this is Sergeant Amory Parker. Let’s get this briefing rolling.

  “As you know we have never been able to get a confirmed visual ID for Marek Berishka. The pack that you have all been given has the first confirmed photo we’ve ever had.”

  He paused and looked over at her as the assembled group settled into their seats and opened the files.

  “Thanks, Amory,” he said before turning back to the assembled group who were all members of Holly’s tactical units.

  “Berishka has previously managed to avoid being caught clearly on film which has made the task of tracking him near impossible. That said, while we know he is behind a number of criminal activities which we will cover in a moment, we have also been unable to find evidence of his direct participation. There has been even less evidence against his right-hand man Pavol Novak.” He paused again to let people take in the image of Pavol on the screen behind him.

  “Berishka’s criminal activity covers fraud, theft, blackmail, drugs, vice, people-trafficking, and murder.” James stopped, letting the silence continue beyond comfort, making absolutely sure everyone had digested just how prolific Marek’s criminal activity was.

  “He has been on the general law enforcement community radar for over five years, however, when his human trafficking activities came to light around three years ago, it put him firmly on the National Crime Agency radar and his activities in this area mean they have tasked our regional organized crime unit with running this op.

  “As you know, there are over thirty million victims of human trafficking worldwide…”

  Amory tuned out her commanding officer’s voice as he continued to talk through the statistics of people-trafficking. She didn’t need to hear the numbers again to know how huge a problem it was, how half of everyone affected by trafficking was subjected to horrendous abuse.

  “…this is Berishka’s area of expertise.” The words filtered through to her as the DCI stopped, wanting to be sure everyone understood the seriousness of what they were dealing with. He’d risen through t
he police and then ROCU ranks at an amazing rate and had been their DCI for the last seven years, yet despite his comparative youth for his role he had a real knack for catching and holding one’s attention, as well as their respect.

  “In addition to contributing to the growing issue of people being trafficked in and out of the country to facilitate fraud, we believe his main focus remains the sex trade. He brings young women in on the promise of a better life and then through a combination of complex psychological and physical approaches, including violence, intimidation, addiction, and shame, convinces the girls that there is no option but to submit to whatever is asked of them. In January we began building a case against him with the NCA, and the woman the case depended on was placed into protective custody. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to take her out of Berishka’s reach, Sergeant Parker will brief you on this part.”

  “Thank you, DCI Lancaster,” Amory began, stepping forward as James stepped back. “Katja Mlakar had been trafficked to the UK under the usual deception of a chance at a new, more affluent life. She had been a teacher in Serbia but due to regime changes had been dismissed for her political beliefs and couldn’t get work. Marek’s network lured her to the UK with promises of a better life and a chance to support her parents back home.”

  She paused for breath, taking a moment to hold onto her composure before she got to the difficult part. The part that woke her up, heart pounding and skin slicked with sweat in the deep of the night. Tone flat, she continued. “Katja wanted to help, and against the advice of the tactical advisor at the UK Human Trafficking Centre, we set up a sting. Katja was going to lead us to Berishka and get evidence of his activity. She was as motivated as we were to stop him.”