by Jack July
I’ll be damned, Jack mused.
“In national news, local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies are continuing the round-up of Mexican gang members, focusing on Rosas Cartel associates…”
Jack starting putting more pieces together. Explosions in Mexico, dead cartel leader, human trafficking…
“And from Cape Girardeau Missouri, still no word on Kristy Ann Wilson, the eight year old who was abducted from near her home…”
Jack sat back in his chair, smiled, and thought: She’s hunting for that little Girl. Go get ’em kid.
CHAPTER 32
November 24th 11:00 A.M.
“Karaoke? You’re shittin’ me!” T exclaimed.
“Yes, that’s his thing. Apparently he does a pretty good Sinatra, for a Russian,” Bogus explained.
T looked around the inside of the helicopter and inquired, “Okay, which one of us knows how to sing?” She glanced over at Elle and declared, “That’s right, you do.”
“I only know country music. Do they even listen to that over here?” Elle implored.
“Some do,” answered Bogus. “Do you know any show tunes? Something from the theater?”
“Yeah, I know a few from Les Misérables.”
“Very well then. Now we need to clean you up a bit,” he remarked with a smile.
“What do you mean, clean me up,” she asked suspiciously.
“It’s not personal,” Tatiana assured her, “he is surrounded by beautiful women. You are going to need to stand out. I guess we need to go shopping.”
“No need, I’ll handle this,” Bogus offered, a big grin on his face.
The helicopter touched down next to a hanger at a rural airport outside of Prague. Inside the hanger were two four-door black Mercedes. After the team loaded their things, Bogus yelled back at Cody, “Follow me!”
Thirty-five minutes later they pulled up in front of a large mansion with a stone façade. Ornate gargoyles decorated the corners, and a set of sweeping steps led to the entrance where a single doorman stood dressed in a classic Czechoslovakian military uniform. At least a dozen limousines lined the streets, their drivers standing around, smoking and laughing among themselves. The group ascended the stairs when the doorman announced in Czech, “Mr. Zielinski, Babette awaits your arrival. Welcome.”
They walked through a small entry then into a great hall that resonated old world opulence at every turn. What wasn’t marble was polished wood and brass, with 18th century antique furniture and separate, intimate sitting areas dotting the enormous room. Cody’s and Brandon’s faces lit up as they took in the sight of what amounted to an assembly of the most beautiful women on the planet.
Elle crossed her arms, shook her head and announced curtly, “This is a whorehouse.”
Bogus chuckled under his breath. “Oh my dear, this is a whorehouse like the great pyramids of Egypt are sandcastles. This is a sanctuary for the most wealthy and powerful in the world.”
“Like I said, a whorehouse,” she repeated with a little more edge to her voice.
An older woman approached. She was in her mid-30s and quite beautiful, with large black curls of hair cascading down her back and shoulders and obvious French sensibilities in fashion and jewelry. “Bogus, you irascible cad, have you finally come to take me away from all this?” she asked in French.
“Oh my dear, if only,” he replied with a smile as he gently caressed, then kissed her hand.
“Are your friends in need of my services?”
“No my sweet, I need a small favor. Oh Elle,” he called. “Over here please.”
Dressed in jeans, hoodie and tennis shoes, Elle reluctantly strolled over and stood beside Bogus. “I need you to turn this young nubile woman into something that a Russian gentleman would sell his soul to obtain.”
Babette examined Elle with a critical eye, as if she was inspecting a slab of beef. Then she whispered with a twinge of excitement, “Bogus, are you playing spy again?”
Bogus moved close enough so she could feel his warm breath on her ear and he whispered softly, “Maybe.”
She giggled and blushed like a schoolgirl. As with all of the other women who played in that stratosphere, Babette wanted Bogus for herself. He was that rare combination of super-rich and movie-star handsome. When she’d kept her eyes locked on Bogus for just a little too long, an impatient T interrupted, “Anytime now people, we only have a couple of hours.”
Babette waved a servant over and whispered something; moments later an older oriental woman emerged. Babette then whispered in her ear, prompting the woman to give Elle the once-over before nodding and instructing in broken English, “Follow me.”
As they walked away, Babette leaned in to Bogus and promised, “When Tia is finished, even you will fall in love with her.”
Too late, he thought.
The team sat and servants brought them drinks. Bogus purposefully sidled next to T and whispered, “What is your problem with Elle and me?”
“She’s my friend. I will not let you use her like one of your concubines. She’s very special to me and I will not tolerate you treating her the way you treat other women.”
I deserve that, he thought. “Look, I have come to a few conclusions about my life and you are right: I haven’t been the most moral man. But I’m at a point in my life where I want to settle down, have children and be a father. And she is unlike any woman I have ever met. Believe me, I don’t see her that way.”
T stifled a laugh and countered, “I think you believe what you’re —until the first little super model shakes her ass in your face; then you won’t be able to help yourself. I know you, remember?”
“Do you not have enough faith in her to let her make her own decisions?”
“Bogus, dammit!” She leaned over close and whispered in his ear, “She’s a virgin.”
His eyes got as big as saucers. Did his ears deceive him? Leaning back in his chair, he sought clarification. “A what?”
“You heard me,” she reprimanded. “Love is not a game to her; now stay the fuck away. That IS your last warning!”
Bogus stared out across the room, well past the genetically gifted, and imagined a life with Elle and a cadre of little blonde Zielinskys. He also knew T was serious, having dodged her bullets once. He was fully aware that had never been done twice.
“Emile Rosa is dead?” asked an astonished Captain Bastos.
“Yes Captain, I just received this message from Martinez of the consortium. They found him in a field outside Tuxpan. He had been tortured,” replied his XO Sanjay.
“Does the rest of the crew know?”
“No.”
“Good. Keep it that way.
Captain Bastos choked back a laugh and barely suppressed a smile. Emile was gone but not the other two cartel leaders. They took personally all matters of respect and he was certain they had moles on his ship. Even so, he felt comfortable with the idea of prying into Kristy’s trip. He didn’t buy what Aida was selling. Something wasn’t right; he could feel it.
The captain met Kristy and Aida in the mess hall where Kristy immediately ran over to the captain and gave him a hug. “Good morning Kristy,” he said with a big smile.
“How long before I get home?” she wanted to know.
“We are just about two days out. Soon, anjinho, you will be home. How about some, what you call, breakfast? I think Louis has finally learned how to make those, um, flip cakes you like, eh?”
“Kristy giggled. “They are called pancakes.”
“Ah, yes, pancakes. You go help Louis, he is waiting.”
She scampered into the kitchen before the captain turned his attention toward Aida with a look sent chills up and down her spine; Captain Bastos could be a very intimidating man. He growled at her in Spanish, “I want the truth about this little girl, and I want it now.”
Aida shrugg
ed her shoulders and replied, “I told you what Rosa needs you to know. That is that.”
“Rosa is dead, so now you tell me the truth.”
“I don’t believe you,” said a shocked Aida.
“Believe it! Now about the girl, I want the truth.”
“No matter, Reyes is now in charge and I’m sure he will continue where Rosa left off. If you value your life Captain, I would not threaten those in the employ of the cartel,” she warned, becoming braver and more obstinate by the second.
Maybe if I dangle her over the side by her feet she would talk, he thought. But then again, she had a point. He didn’t know if the entire cartel had been wiped out or just Rosa. For his own safety and the safety of his family, he had to let it go, for now.
A small beep preceded the big screen in the center of the communications room, lighting up with the appearance of Adele’s pleasant face.
“Danny, I have some things I need you to pass to T.”
“Go,” he replied.
“Thing One has cracked the finances of all the distribution suspects. Intel is putting together reports and she should have them in a few hours.”
“Got it,” Danny affirmed.
“Also let her know that info about the Chinese embassy is hard to get. We’ll need the President to call the German Chancellor to grease the wheels a little. We think there is something there, we just don’t know what. Have you heard anything from the team?”
“Yes ma’am, they are currently planning a snatch and grab on Novikov. Should be executed in a few hours, I let you know the results when they come in.”
“Edie, you keeping him in line?”
Edie looked at Danny, smirked a little and said, “Yes ma’am.”
“Good, I’m out.” Then the screen went blank.
CHAPTER 33
November 24th 4:00 P.M.
“Wow!” Brandon exclaimed as he watched Elle cross the large front room.
Cody chimed in with “Crikey, look at that!”
T nodded in appreciation and teased, “Down, boys!”
As Elle got closer, a German man leapt from his chair and walked quickly over to her, announcing to Babette in German, “I want her, I want her.”
Before he could get too close, Cody inserted himself between Elle and the gentleman, putting out his arm and shaking his head “No.” Bogus sternly chided him in German, “She is not for sale.”
Elle stood by T’s side and whispered, “What did he say?”
“He said you are not for sale.”
Turning her gaze to Bogus, Elle stated firmly, “You got that right. Don’t you forget it.”
Babette approached slowly and with an appreciative nod said, “Yes, that will work. Russian men see American movie stars as the ideal. What you see here is a combination of Marilyn Monroe with the body of Raquel Welch.”
“You, young lady,” she added, now staring directly at Elle, “need to put on the, ah... what do you Americans call it Bogus? Southern belle charm?”
He nodded. Babette then continued instructing Elle, “Just get close enough for him to see you; he will come to you. Oh, and it might help a little if you didn’t march like a German conscript.”
Elle shot a look at T as if to say, “Did she really just insult me?” T waved it off and thanked Babette for her efforts. As they moved toward the door Babette advised Elle, “You know, I could make you a millionaire in six months.”
With a slightly exaggerated feminine stroll a softened-up Elle paused, turned around and declared in a thick southern accent, “Well now, that would require me to be what we call, a whore, wouldn’t it? As I’m sure you know, once a whore, always a whore, ain’t that right?” With that, she turned on her heel and walked out.
T rolled her eyes and shook her head while Cody and Brandon laughed out loud. Babette’s demeanor quickly changed. She started to say something when Bogus approached her, gently laced his fingers through the hair on the side of her face and soothed, “You are a lady of the world and I am grateful for your help.” Then he leaned in, gently kissed her on the lips and said, “Thank you.”
That broke the tension. “You are so very welcome Bogus. When will I see you again?”
“Soon my dear, very soon,” he promised with the smoldering eyes and gentle voice no woman could resist—well, almost no woman.
As they walked down the front steps Bogus chastised Elle, “Didn’t anyone tell you, if you cannot say anything nice, say nothing at all?”
“You tellin’ me to shut up?” She shot him a hard look.
“Yes, young lady I am. There are times when you should,” he paused for a second, “shut up.”
Elle turned quickly and growled, “Why don’t you make me?”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” T shouted.
“YOU!” she exclaimed to Bogus, “Get in the car with Cody.” Then directing her attention to Elle, “And YOU need to understand that in a few hours you will be dealing with a very dangerous man. Think about that.” With that Tatiana strode over to the car, shaking her head and grumbling something about goddamn children. After Elle slid into the front seat next to Brandon, T climbed into the back, reached over, and dropped some papers in Elle’s lap. “Here, read about that piece of shit and get yourself ready.”
Elle perused the pages and learned about Novikov. He bought young women through the white slavery market from the former Soviet Bloc nations and his brutality toward them—some as young as twelve—was beyond sickening. The things he forced them to do on camera involuntarily triggered Elle’s gag reflex. Then there were the grizzly tortures and murders, dozens of them. Amy probably would have been a little frightened of this monster; Elle, however, was pissed and couldn’t wait to take him down.
Three hours later, Bogus got a call that Novikov had arrived at K Pac, one of Prague’s most exclusive nightspots. They dropped Elle off four blocks away, where she waved down a taxi and took it to the club. Upon entering the club she was approached by the hostess who politely mentioned something about a cover charge. Elle, playing the ditzy blonde role, fanned out some American cash. The hostess smiled and selected a 20-dollar bill. Pretending to be looking for friends, Elle walked slowly as she scanned her surroundings.
Off in the corner, not too far from the end of the bar sat Novikov surrounded by two rather attractive women. To his left stood a square-jawed, six-foot tall man built like an NFL linebacker. The bodyguard was not smiling.
Elle took a seat on a stool close to the opposite end of the bar, where the line of sight between her and Novikov was unobstructed. The bartender smiled at her and in broken English said “Hello, Beautiful! Drink?”
Her dress was a near copy of the one Marilyn Monroe wore in the famous subway scene from The Seven Year Itch. The padded bra with gel implants gave her the chest she needed to fill out the bodice. Bright red nails and lipstick complete with a penciled-in beauty mark, along with her long, thick curled hair flowing over her shoulders and spilling down her back like a waterfall, completed the look. Her makeup was sparse but perfect.
The long legged blonde played coy and asked for a bourbon and water. T had instructed her to take a big sip and swish it around in her mouth. She could then pretend to take another sip and spit it back into the glass because her breath needed to smell like alcohol. When Novikov spotted her, he nearly spilled his drink. She gave him a sideways glance then raised her chin and looked away. He couldn’t stop staring.
The DJ invited Novikov to the stage to sing. He did a really good Sinatra. If Elle hadn’t known what this man truly was, she would have been impressed. Novikov was not unattractive—mid-30s, five foot ten, trim and clean-shaven angular face with a nice thick head of black hair. Elle clapped and smiled as he made his way back to his seat. Then it was her turn.
Amy would have been nervous; Elle on the other hand was confident she could sing. So she chose one of h
er favorite songs from Les Mis, I Dreamed a Dream. Was she Ruthie Henshall or Lea Solonga? No, but she had sung it hundreds of times in her car and in the shower. Her ability to sing would be just as important as her ability to shoot a gun. She waved the bartender over and asked, “Do you reckon I could sing a song?”
The bartender smiled and waved at the DJ, then pointed at Elle. The DJ beckoned her forward. She absentmindedly took a swig of the bourbon and water; it burned her throat a bit before the alcohol loosened her up. The warmth spread through her chest as she walked onto the stage.
It was becoming easier for Elle to transform herself at a moment’s notice into whatever or whoever she needed to be. From the opening bars of I dreamed a dream, she transformed herself into a singing sexual siren—a million miles from her true persona. Novikov was floored. When she finished, he stood and clapped, motioning for everyone around him to do the same. Elle gave a polite nod to the crowd and did a slow sensual walk back to her seat. People began to approach her, and she politely tried to fend them off. When she glanced back to Novikov’s seat, he was gone. Elle fought back panic, her eyes darting around the room. Then he reappeared from the back of the building, alone. He had sent his escorts away.
Suddenly the bodyguard stood in front of her and in broken English with a deep monotone voice said, “Mr. Novikov would like the pleasure of your company.”
Elle arched her brow, pursed her lips and replied, “Really?” Then she looked past the bodyguard to Novikov and added, “You tell him if he wants my company, he can ask me himself.”
The bodyguard was unaccustomed to hearing the word ‘no’. With a hard angry look and little more force he announced, “Mr. Novikov requests your company.”
Elle looked him up and down. “Are you deaf? Here, let me help you.” She held up her hand using sign language made an ‘N’ and an ‘O’. “I’m an American, big boy. I don’t take orders from men.” Then with a shoo of her hand, “Now, you take your impolite self back over there and tell him what I said.”