by Jack July
“A congressman.”
Cody laughed and said, “They should have given you a bloody medal.”
“I got life instead.”
“Hmm, maybe you just don’t go back? Maybe you get lost?”
Brandon shook his head and said, “No, then Tatiana goes to jail. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get shot.”
Cody reached over with a giant hand and patted him on the shoulder and said, “You never know. Enjoy the mission. I haven’t been this motivated in a roo’s age.”
“So, do you think we’ll shut this thing down and find that girl?”
Cody nodded and said, “With T in charge? Sure as there’s cold shit in a dead cat.”
Finally Brandon laughed a hearty laugh and said, “I think I’m going to like working with you.”
“Right back atcha mate.”
It would be seven hours until they touched down in Germany.
November 22nd, 4:00 P.M. Germany
“What’s that?” Edie asked Danny.
“It’s a report generated by the computer guy, Thing One.”
“I don’t understand,” said Edie quizzically.
“Okay, here’s what he did. The FBI put together a list of all the items seen in the room where the children were murdered. Who manufactured the stuff, who sells it and where it’s sold. What he did was research all the points of sale and build a common list of someone who bought all of these items. It’s a short list.”
Edie nodded and scanned the page. “Oh, I get it. Lots of interior design places, a couple of ladies’ names and Hong Phat Aviation.” Edie scrunched up her face. “Hong Phat Aviation?”
Danny arched his brow and said, “Yeah, that’s the one that jumped out at me too. I think T will want to see this.”
CHAPTER 28
November 22nd, 5:30 P.M. Germany
Bogus leaned back in his cushy leather chair as he read in the quiet of the underground communications center. Files with the dossiers of the top pornography producers and distributors in Europe lay spread out on a table.
Andric Huber: German. Specializes in BDSM and other forms of kink. Tried three years ago for the murder of a nineteen-year-old woman who suffocated while immobilized in one of his bondage contraptions. The woman had signed a waiver of liability and consent, and Huber was found not guilty.
Lesta Novikov: Russian, particularly brutal. Preys on poor Russian, Georgian and Ukrainian girls. Linked with white slavery networks supplying girls to wealthy African and Asian leaders. He has strong political connections worldwide.
Montrose Molyneux, a close personal friend of Bogus. Classic pornographer who takes care of his girls and boys financially as well as medically. He had more than once supplied women to parties Bogus had hosted. Bogus did not pimp them out, the girls made their own deals. One had ended up married to the President of France.
Hmm… Monty. I can call him, thought Bogus.
“Edie dear, I need Montrose Molyneux on the phone. Could you ring him for me?” Edie bought into the tabloid hype about his womanizing and didn’t like him at all.
“I don’t know, can I?” replied Edie without looking at him.
Bogus smiled and shook his head, then said, “Edie dear, could you PLEASE connect me to Montrose Molyneux?”
Edie punched a few buttons on her console, looked up the number and dialed, “Line one, Mr. Zielinski.”
Ouch, Bogus thought. Mister Zielinski? Couldn’t she have just punched me in the face?
Bogus picked up and a man answered the phone in French. “Monty, is that you?” asked Bogus.
“Bogus, my dear old friend, I don’t hear from you enough. Are you in town?”
“No, no, I’m away on business. I wondered if you could help me.”
“Anything for you my friend; you need girls?”
“No, not that. Who do you know that would be involved with snuff films?”
Monty went quiet, then sucked in a quick breath and said, “I am shocked that you would ask me such a question. I’m an honest businessman.”
“I’m sorry, Monty—yes, I know that. But I also know you have your finger on the pulse of the industry. Who would deal in such things?”
“I really don’t know. I can’t even imagine.”
“Take a guess—give me a place to start.”
“Novikov is a very evil man. I’ve had a few experiences with him. He tried to have me killed once. If anyone could be involved with something like that, it would be him.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking. How about Huber?”
“Yes, another sick bastard; I would look into him also. Why this line of questioning? What’s going on?”
“You are my friend, Monty. Can I trust you?”
“You have trusted me with your life, have you not?”
“Yes. Yes I have. Someone in Europe is making snuff films with children. I have been asked to help put a stop to it.”
“Good God, Bogus! If I hear anything, anything at all I will let you know. I will certainly ask around.”
“No, don’t. I would rather keep this search a secret. If they know we are looking, it could scare them away.”
“Understood,” said Monty.
“Thanks Monty, I will talk to you soon,” said Bogus, then he hung up.
November 7th 7:00 A.M., Mexico
Aida’s old steamer trunk was so full of stuff she could hardly close it. Kristy had a smaller case with a few changes of clothes. She looked up at the cargo ship. To her, it seemed gigantic. Actually, for a cargo vessel it was on the small side. The Constantinople was a 268-foot dry cargo vessel, boasting four cranes and kept very well maintained. Purchased new in 1995 by the Mexican government from Mitsubishi ship builders for 12 million dollars, she was sold immediately to the cartels for a fraction of the price. Its smaller size allowed it access into ports that were not so well monitored. What was truly special about her was her speed. The large Cummins turbocharged diesel made 4000+ HP and was run through a gearbox instead of direct drive. This pushed the Constantinople to a top speed nearing 30 knots and a cruising speed of 20 knots - very fast for a cargo vessel. On this run, she carried 45 assorted sports cars, four of which were packed to the headliners with marijuana, and 75 motorcycles, mostly Harley Davidsons, and all stolen from America. Three containers rode her upper deck, packed with the personal belongings of a cartel member moving to Europe. Rounding out the manifest: one blonde-haired little girl.
Captain Bruno Bastos, Constantinople’s Portuguese master, stood on the bridge watching through a pair of binoculars as every item was carefully loaded. Securing the cargo and ensuring proper weight distribution could be the difference between surviving rough weather and sinking, and he watched his crew closely, his trained eyes alert for any mistakes. Standing six feet, two inches and weighing 270 pounds, he was built like a bear, and shared the grizzly’s reputation for a foul temper when provoked. Bruno’s crew regarded him with a large measure of respect, and no small amount of terror, for he ruled his ship with an iron fist and none of the deckhands wished to be the one to draw down his wrath.
Then he saw Kristy walking up the steep gangplank. His crew cast furtive, confused glances at their fearsome captain, made suddenly uneasy by the look on his face. The thunderclouds they were used to seeing on their captain’s face cleared and his expression broke into a big, warm smile as Captain Bastos let out a quiet chuckle. Bruno loved children, and much to the displeasure of his brother and sisters, spoiled the hell out of his nieces and nephews. He had no children of his own. Bruno was married to the sea.
“Sanjay,” he called.
“Yes, sir,” replied his executive officer.
“Who is that?” Captain Bastos said, pointing at the little girl.
“We had a passenger request from Rosa. He said she was kidnapped and sent to America. Her German famil
y found her and we are taking her home.”
“Why transport her with us?” asked the captain.
“The Americans would not give her up, so she was taken.”
Captain Bastos narrowed his eyes, not sure what to make of that explanation. He didn’t much care for Rosa or any of the Cartel members for that matter. He was, however, quite sure that they owned controlling interest in his ship. “Okay, make sure the heat works in her cabin and that it is comfortable—if not, give her one that is. Also, invite her and her escort to dinner with me this evening.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Sanjay.
Captain Bastos smiled. He would make sure she enjoyed the three-week cruise.
November 22nd 8:00 P.M., NAS Corpus Christi.
Elle and Tatiana headed to the Special Operations armory. Elle walked in and her eyes went wide. “Frag grenades, I’ll take some of those.”
Tatiana rolled her eyes. “No.”
“Incendiary grenades?”
“Um, no.”
“C4, can we have a couple blocks of that?”
“No! Elle, this isn’t a candy store.”
The chief behind the desk laughed, “To the spec ops guys, it sort of is.”
“Tell him what size you wear, get your boots, tactical clothes and body armor.”
“Oh, all right.” Then Elle shot the chief a little wink.
Tatiana picked up a couple more magazines for her SIG and a box of ammo then wondered what Elle was going to use. “Are you using your personal sidearm?”
“Yep.”
“You need a knife?”
Elle looked at her as if to say, “Are you kidding me?”
“Are you still carrying that KA-BAR?”
“Yeah, it’s lucky.”
Tatiana rolled her eyes. “Oh, okay, whatever.”
At NAS Corpus Christi, the women’s locker room was undergoing remodeling. T and Elle didn’t have time to find another place to change. “This is a guys’ locker room,” said Elle, looking at the half-naked men strolling about.
“So, don’t take off your underwear. Change, hurry up,” said T.
Elle quickly disrobed and stepped into the black tactical pants and jacket.
“Here’s a list of what you can take—no more, no less,” said Tatiana.
“That’s not much.”
“Yep, we travel light. Also, no ID cards or dog tags. Put everything in this bag and I’ll give it to the pilot. He’ll put it on the plane.” Tatiana looked her over. “Are you ready, do you have what you need?”
“Yeah, I’m just a little nervous.”
“You should be, but you’ll be fine. Just pay attention, cover my ass and I’ll cover yours, okay?”
Elle gave her a little smile and a nod.
It was a quarter-mile walk to the hangar that was set up for the briefing. Elle looked at Tatiana, “So, you wanna’ talk about Brandon?”
Tatiana took a deep breath and let it out, “No, I told you—I’ll tell you when I’m ready. Don’t ask me again.”
Elle nodded and said, “You know, I’m still your friend. I don’t want to push you—it’s just that I’ve never seen you act like that.”
Tatiana stopped and turned toward Elle, “Okay, just… well, it’s exactly what you think it is, but it’s so much more. I’m not going to talk about it with you now, okay?”
Elle nodded and said, “Okay.”
They started walking again when Elle asked, “What’s Bogus like?”
“Excuse me? Bogus? You got to be kidding me.” said T, with a surprised look.
“No, I was just wondering who he is. What he is,” said Elle.
“I’ll tell you what he is. Old enough to be your father—that’s what he is.”
“I don’t know, there’s something about him that’s interesting. He seems, I don’t know—sharp, crisp. Kind of… well, exceptional.”
“Well, he should be—he’s the Polish 007.”
“Really? Like the Ian Fleming 007?”
“Yep, just like. He’s a multi-billionaire European playboy that played a small role in bringing down the Berlin wall. He was… well, still is a Polish spy.”
“Wow, a billionaire? As in with a ‘b’?”
“Oh yeah. Amy—I mean, Elle, he’s not for you,” said Tatiana making an uncharacteristic verbal slip.
“Okay, thanks,” said Elle with a distant look in her eye.
Dear God, please don’t get involved with him, thought Tatiana.
The Story of Boguslaw Zielinski
In 1963, Boguslaw Zielinski was born in the coal mining town of Sosnowiec, Poland, the son of a German mother and Polish father. His grandmother passed down to him many stories about Bogus’ historic hometown, stories that had been passed down through an unbroken line of grandmothers. Little Bogus grew up a patriot, with a deep love for his homeland.
Sosnowiec suffered severe war damage during both the First World War, which caused massive destruction to the local industry, and World War Two, which brought about the terror of wholesale executions. Thousands of Jews were deported from the Sosnowiec ghetto to Auschwitz in June, 1943. The ghetto was liquidated two months later; almost all the remaining Jews were deported to Auschwitz. Few returned.
Sosnowiec was prevented from recovering to life as normal after the war ended when the Soviet Union incorporated Poland into its expanding sphere, forcing it into Stalinist communism. Still, Sosnowiec had an undeniable treasure in its coal, and it expanded quickly in the 1970s. Everyone had a job. No one had freedom. Bogus’ family was considered to be rabble-rousers by the Polish Communist Party. His father, Kostek, was a leader in the coal mines and constantly pushed his communist masters for better pay, safety and working conditions. In 1970 he was one of many leaders of a massive strike. A response by the police and army culminated in Gdynia when striking workers were fired upon. Over one thousand were wounded and forty killed. This was followed by the somewhat successful Lodz textile strikes by female workers in 1971, then in Radom in 76. A friend of Kostek’s, Catholic priest Roman Kotlarz, died after being beaten by Polish secret police for joining the Radom protests.
Kostek began to garner a reputation across Poland as a leader, along with a few others such as Komitet Robotnikow, Jacek Kuron, Jerzy Andzejewski, Anna Walentynowicz and an electrician at the Gdansk shipyards named Lech Walesa. As the violence in Poland grew, so did the Communist Party’s need to reestablish control.
When Bogus was thirteen he was sent to visit his mother’s family in East Germany. It was there that he saw the Berlin Wall for the first time. He was shocked to witness the reality that the East Germans were walled in and locked up. He wondered if he was, too. Bogus was promptly dismissed from school, along with his sister, after he wrote an essay on his experiences in Berlin, using unapproved vocabulary to describe the Berlin Wall. The Communist Party did not call it a wall, but an “anti-fascist protection device”. He had to continue his schooling at home. The Party imposed rigorous controls on what books people were allowed to possess, but as in every country behind the Iron Curtain, there existed a thriving black market for nearly every type of commodity imaginable. Bogus’ mother and father continuously bartered and traded for new books as Bogus continued his education in his home.
In 1977, Boguslaw’s world would change forever. His father left for work early one morning and never returned home. Rumors swirled throughout town about his possible fate. A late-night visit from a Catholic bishop named Karol Wojtyla convinced his mother that she should leave immediately with her children. They settled at her sister-in-law’s small apartment in Warsaw. They received new papers with help from the church under the family name of Beck, the maiden name of Bogus’ mother. Bogus and his older sister Cyla attended public school and Cyla was a shining star in the subject of science. Bogus did well but his mind always seemed preoccupied. His th
oughts were those of a son who was missing a father.
The four of them lived in a small two-room apartment. Food and money were scarce. His mother worked as a typist in the offices of a steel mill and his aunt as a cook in the company café. She sometimes brought food home, but getting caught would mean the loss of her job. In the summer of Bogus’ 15th year, he decided to try to help his family’s situation. Amongst his father’s things he found a container of black shoe polish and some old rags. There were small parks around the embassies and government buildings where Bogus set up shop—offering to shine shoes while the men relaxed and read the paper or just people-watched. After a couple of months, Bogus had developed a regular customer. Once a week he would see the same man, and that same man would have Bogus shine his shoes. He was impressed by the young man’s work ethic, and as Bogus buffed his shoes, he began to talk to him, seemingly feeling him out. After several weeks, their relationship changed.
He requested that Bogus call him “Mr. Q” and paid Bogus fifty zlotys for his shine. That was a lot of money to Bogus. Then Mr. Q asked if he would like to make more. Bogus was excited, and eager to learn how, but Mr. Q was quick to temper his enthusiasm with a warning: a young man with a sudden windfall of money in communist Poland would be informed on or found out and questioned by the authorities. He must hide and save his money. Also, their relationship must be kept secret from everyone. If Bogus needed to talk about what he was doing, he would be there for him. Bogus agreed.
Allen Quincy, special agent with Britain’s MI-6, decided to test Bogus using known assets. Giving Bogus a small, folded piece of paper or a single frame of a film negative, he would instruct him to approach a man wearing a certain hat or perhaps a certain color of socks and ask if he would like his shoes shined. While shining the shoes of these early contacts, he would retrieve messages from their socks and replace them with others. Quincy made it very clear to his budding asset that the man he contacted must answer Bogus’ offer of a shoe shine in a very specific way with the exact words Bogus was given. If one word was out of place, Bogus was to shine the man’s shoes, but not make the transfer. Using other agents and assets whose loyalty had long been proven, Quincy tested Bogus frequently over the next several weeks, and each time Bogus executed his assignment flawlessly. By the time Bogus graduated to the real thing, his first bit of tradecraft had been practiced to perfection.