Maggie peered into the binoculars and watched a line of sailors, ship workers, and other miscellaneous men waiting for their turn. Even at this hour, Dalca’s crew were selling the girls, using the large intermodal containers in the loading bay as makeshift rooms, the men coming and going as casually as if they were visiting the barber for a haircut.
A deep fire raged within Maggie as she watched, sitting so close and unable to stop it there and then. To barge in and save those poor girls who’d already been through too much. To make the men forcing them into it know what it felt like to be powerless and terrified for their lives.
“I can’t watch this anymore,” Maggie admitted, palming her eyes like she could remove the images from her memory.
Leon’s arm wrapped around her tense shoulders. “We’ll get them out. They’ll be safe soon.”
Maggie leaned into him, careful not to put too much of her weight against his battered and bruised body. The sun was out and warmed her skin as the gentle coastal breeze brushed through her hair.
“How are you holding up?” she asked him, watching the waves sway back and forth. With Samuel around, they’d been unable to speak freely. Even without the pimp about, Leon had been closed off since they’d left Somalia. A wall was there that Maggie wasn’t used to, constructed somewhere between then and the last time she’d seen him, at Bishop’s funeral. With her, Leon was always open and frank with his feelings. Maggie was never the best at reciprocating such honesty, a facet of her personality that made her the perfect candidate for the Unit, but she was getting better at opening up.
Leon shrugged off her question. “I’ve taken a few beatings in my time. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Maggie replied, more than familiar with avoidance tactics. They were her specialty.
His chest deflated as he released a deep, troubled breath. “I don’t know, Maggie. It’s just a lot.”
“We’ll get through it. Like we always do.” Maggie placed a hand over his muscled chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart against her skin. A heart that she hoped would be hers once this was all over. Once they had time to discuss their future. If Leon still wanted a future.
Leon shook his head. “This time feels different.”
Maggie sat up and met his deep, dark eyes. Eyes that had seen her at her best, and her worst. “We’ve taken down people like Ivan Dalca before.”
For most of their lives they had taken down men like him. Defeated the odds. Defied what most thought possible to protect the innocent. This wasn’t new ground for them, and though Dalca had managed to break into the inner workings of the Unit, he was just like the rest of the scum she and Leon had put away over and over again for years.
Leon avoided her gaze and stared out at the ocean beyond, his mind somewhere else. His thoughts washed away in the tide and lost at sea. “It’s not just them. It’s everything.”
“Hey.” Maggie cupped his face, stroking the bristles of his newly trimmed beard along his chiseled jawline. “Talk to me.”
Leon turned his head and broke free from her touch. He got to his feet, dusted sand off his jeans, and turned his back on her. “Come on. We best be getting back.”
Maggie watched him walk away, more concerned for him than ever before. He was shut off from her. Unreachable.
Chapter 23
Night had fallen, and the setting sun had taken the heat with it. A cold chill swooped in from the North Sea and across the village of Zeebrugge in a change of weather Maggie hoped wasn’t an omen for things to come.
They’d gone over their plan, using their burner phones to lay it all out via text messages in the presence of Samuel, who was none the wiser to their true reasons for wanting to meet with Dalca’s syndicate. As far as he was concerned, Maggie’s name was still Celine Delacroix, and he’d spent most of the day in a state of fear and thinly veiled contempt.
Samuel Thomas was a user and wielded power as a weapon against those who had none. It appeared he wasn’t a fan of the switch in roles, displeased with getting a taste of his own medicine. The fact that Celine was a woman would make it a tougher pill to swallow, something Maggie took great delight in. Men like Samuel and Ivan Dalca viewed woman as less than human, and it was about time someone slapped them with a dose of reality.
“I don’t like this,” Samuel said, not for the first time.
“And I don’t like you, yet here we both are,” Maggie said, touching up Celine’s makeup in the back of the car.
Sweat drenched Samuel’s head, and they’d had to obtain a hat before arriving at the port to mop it up and hide the telltale sign of his building anxiety. The last thing they needed was for Dalca’s men to get suspicious with Samuel’s unfortunate perspiration. She’d already ordered him to stop wringing his hands, his nails nibbled down to the quick.
Considering he was in the dark for Celine’s reasons for wanting to meet Dalca, not seeming to buy her story about needing to purchase new girls, he’d soon do a lot more than sweat. Maggie preferred a quick and clean approach to any job, but she had a feeling this one wouldn’t go down that way. Her knuckles cracked in her balled fists. Dalca’s crew deserved more than a little mess.
Leon and Ashton were up front in the car, taking on their roles as Celine’s security. The man in charge of Dalca’s operation in Ivan’s stead was named Grigore Ursu. At the mention of his name at the gates of the port, they were allowed entry and given directions to the freight containers they’d scoped out earlier.
The loading bay was a small city, with towering skyscrapers of piled containers, in different colors like a child’s building blocks. The streets were tarmacked and kept wide enough to allow the cranes and machinery to transport the metal vessels in and out as they were needed, giving Maggie and her crew ample room to drive through the city until they reached their destination.
They made a quick stop and switched as planned, Maggie taking her place at the driver’s seat with Samuel next to her as Ashton and Leon slipped out into the shadows and disappeared.
Maggie didn’t like it, but the boys had the hardest job tonight. Celine was needed as the distraction while they worked, and she intended to do all she could to keep their presence a secret until the right moment.
Rounding a corner, they arrived at the location. Their little corner of the city was illuminated with outdoor lighting that hummed from the generator powering them.
Bile rose in Maggie’s throat. The red-light district of the freight container city was busier than it had been earlier. It wasn’t just punters from around the port giving the pop-up brothel their patronage. Word must have spread around town, and every creep in Zeebrugge appeared to have turned up to pay to take advantage of the young girls.
Maggie had left her gun at the hotel in preparation for the inevitable search by Dalca’s men, and it was just as well. She may have gone trigger happy there and then at the sight of so many men eagerly waiting to gain entry to the rows of open containers, concealed with nothing but a dirty piece of fabric to curtain off what was going on inside.
Dalca’s crew were easy to spot among the growing crowd. None of the Johns wore guns.
Unsurprised, yet still uneasy about them all being armed, Maggie turned off the engine and got out of the car. Two men were waiting for them and approached.
“Celine Delacroix?” one asked, both of them towering over her.
A scream came from one of the containers followed by the unmistakable smack of a slap. It took everything in Maggie at that moment to remain calm and stay in character.
Celine offered a tight-lipped smile. “The one and only.”
“We need to search you,” said the second man, his face hard like it was chiseled from stone.
“I charge men a lot of money for that privilege.” Nevertheless, Maggie held out her arms and spread her legs to get it over and done with. Surprisingly, the guard never tried to grope her. A smart choice on his part.
Maggie used the time to take in the layout. From
the size of the containers, not all of the girls were put to work. From what Tamira said, they had virgins they planned to sell untouched. Virgins were big money in the black market, and people were willing to pay huge amounts of cash to get their hands on them.
The others must be kept somewhere else.
“Come this way,” said the gargoyle-looking guy after both Maggie and Samuel had been searched. “Grigore is waiting on you.”
They were led through the camp, the noises coming from inside the containers almost sending Maggie over the edge. No matter what happened tonight, she would make good on her promise to Ivan to not only stop his crew from leaking any more names of agents but to tear down their entire operation and burn it to the ground.
Behind the occupied containers were a row of large trailers, the fleet of vehicles answering Maggie’s question as to how Grigore Ursu transported Ivan’s girls from Romania. If the crew took it in shifts, driving through the night, they would have reached Zeebrugge within two days, less if they only stopped to refill the vehicles and pick up supplies.
Maggie couldn’t help but wonder how many girls had ridden in the back of those trailers. Watching helplessly from the windows as they were taken away to parts unknown, with no idea what awaited them when they stopped.
The first trailer was nicer than the others, a state-of-the-art affair with tinted windows and a glossy paint job in gunmetal grey. It came as no surprise to Maggie when the door opened and out stepped a man Samuel appeared to recognize. The current head of Dalca’s syndicate enjoyed the top-of-the-line trailer for luxury travel while the girls were crammed into the backs of the others like commuters on the tube during London rush hour.
“Samuel,” said Grigore, hopping from the trailer and coming over to welcome them. He offered his hand to Samuel and pulled him into a hug. “How are you, my friend?”
He spoke in English, a given when dealing with other Europeans. Other than Brits, most other European countries made concerted efforts to teach kids a second language early on in school, usually English, and most of the time well enough for them to be considered fluent.
Maggie was fluent in French, among others, but it was only after joining the Unit that she could string more than a few basic sentences together.
“Good,” Samuel replied, not nearly blithe enough for Maggie’s liking. “How is business?”
“Business is great. I expect my uncle will be very pleased when he returns.”
Uncle Ivan. Grigore must be Ivan’s sister’s son, given the different surnames. He seemed so assured of Dalca’s return that it made Maggie’s stomach churn. Either he was incredibly arrogant, or he had more up his sleeve than what they’d currently attacked the Unit with.
“And you must be Celine Delacroix.”
Maggie offered her hand for Grigore to kiss, holding it there when he hesitated and unflinching until he brought his lips to her gloved hand. It was a tiny power play, but even the smallest of victories won the battle in these types of negotiations. Even if Maggie were playing a part to stall for time, Celine would play every encounter with a business contact to her advantage. She was a dominatrix in all aspects of her life, especially when it came to her empire.
“Mr. Ursu. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”
“Of course. Anything for a friend of Samuel’s.”
Maggie made a show of shuddering and crossing her arms together. “Should we step inside? It’s rather chilly out here.”
“Please, by all means,” replied Grigore, opening the door to his trailer and waving them in. “Ladies first.”
For a man who made a living selling girls, he was terribly polite. Then again, from what Samuel had told him on the phone, Celine was interested in buying girls. Regardless of his feelings toward her, or his attitude toward women in general, Grigore was capable of putting on a charade if it meant he could profit from it.
Maggie stepped inside, hoping that this meeting would go much more smoothly than the one she had as Ekaterina in Somalia. Like Yasir Osman, Grigore wasn’t short on security. As well as the guards who’d searched them, there were men stationed at each container, by the doors of the other trailers, and a further two inside Grigore’s trailer. A lot, but if things went to plan, it wouldn’t matter.
It wasn’t lost on Maggie that none of Ivan’s syndicate members were women. He didn’t respect them enough to have them work for him in any position other than on their backs. Perhaps if he’d hired some women into the fold, they wouldn’t have been so easy to track and trick into a meeting.
Grigore opened a well-stocked minibar at the kitchen area. “Something to drink?”
“Do you have champagne?” Celine asked.
Grigore laughed. “I’m afraid not. We have vodka, though.”
Celine sniffed and took a seat at the dining table, shoving Samuel in before her to make sure it forced Grigore to sit directly across from her. “No, thanks.”
Grigore helped himself and poured Samuel one too without asking him. Maggie hoped it would at least calm the man down. He was already shaking his leg like a father afraid to enter the delivery room.
Maggie give him a swift kick under the table, and he stopped.
“So, Samuel tells me you were asking for me,” Grigore said, taking a seat.
“For your uncle, yes,” Maggie corrected. “Where is he?”
Grigore didn’t miss a beat. “He couldn’t make it, but he sends his sincerest apologies. I know he would have loved to meet you.”
“A pity,” Celine mused with a little pout. If only Grigore knew she’d had the distinct displeasure of meeting his uncle Ivan. His nephew wasn’t as openly chauvinistic, but he shared the same calculating eyes that couldn’t hide the hunger behind his stare, the predatorial glint that hinted he would go to great lengths to get what he wanted.
Too bad for him.
“I’m sure I can accommodate you in his stead. I understand you are interested in our supply.”
“Perhaps,” Maggie said, keeping it French. Part of Celine’s allure and shrewd business tactics was her perceived disinterest in most things. Living the life she did, most situations were mundane and unexciting.
“Well, we have plenty for you to choose from. Other than those we have set aside for Samuel, the rest have yet to be placed with a buyer.”
Maggie itched to throttle Samuel there and then. If he thought he was going to walk away with a new set of girls of his own, he was sorely mistaken. He’d be lucky to return to Amsterdam with his balls intact.
“And the less you need to take across the Channel, the better, yes?” Maggie said, instead of castrating Samuel where he sat.
Grigore shrugged, playing his own side of the game as negotiations started. “It’s all the same to us. If you don’t take them off our hands, one of our regular buyers will once we reach London.”
So they were headed to London. Was it simply business as usual? Or did it run deeper? While Maggie didn’t doubt they had a thriving business in England’s capital—Grace Helmsley had said as much when telling Maggie about Ivan’s operation—it did strike Maggie as a coincidence that they were headed to London during their blackmailing of the Unit. Like they expected to simply turn up at the prison and collect Ivan at the gates to take him back home to Romania.
What were they planning that made them so certain the British government would release their leader?
Even if Maggie broke her character and asked Grigore outright, she wouldn’t have gotten an answer to her burning question. Shouting came from outside, and the door to Grigore’s trailer flew open.
“Sir, we have a breach.”
Grigore’s eyes narrowed and pinned on Maggie.
Chapter 24
Maggie didn’t need to speak Romanian to know what Grigore’s orders were to his men as he left the trailer. Keep them inside and don’t let them leave.
Even without fully understanding what was going on outside, Grigore knew to be suspicious. It was a little more than coi
ncidence something bad happened while Celine Delacroix, a woman he had never met nor done business with before, decided to pay them a visit.
Maggie let him leave to lower the odds between her and the guards. Samuel was a big guy, but given how chalk-white and sickly his face had turned, she doubted he’d be of any help in a scuffle.
The door slammed closed, and yelling sounded from beyond. One of the men crossed the trailer and stood sentry by the door, blocking the only exit and leaving her cornered from both ends.
Maggie stood up, still playing Celine. “What is going on?” she asked, clutching her neck and playing up the scared woman routine men had a habit of falling for. “It is the police?”
“Sit,” one of the men replied, emphasizing his command with the point of his gun.
“What is the meaning of this?” Celine demanded, tossing aside her act. No one ordered her about, never mind dared to point a weapon at her. How outrageous.
Knowing Grigore would want Celine alive even if they realized she was behind the commotion, Maggie risked approaching the man by the door.
He stayed where he stood, not in the slightest bit intimidated, and looked down his nose at her with a sneer. “I said sit.”
Maggie dug in her heels and spat out a tirade of French at the man, waiting for the inevitable. It didn’t take long.
Quickly tiring of the angry woman before him, the guard grabbed Maggie’s shoulder to lead her back to her seat by force. Or so he thought.
The man’s fingers buried into Maggie’s shoulder much harder than necessary. Maggie shot him a wicked grin, and in that split second, he knew he’d made a fatal error.
She attacked, resorting to an old faithful by first punching the mountain of a man in the throat, then pressing down on the area between his thumb and finger as hard as she could to free herself from his hold.
By the time she freed herself, the second guard was in attack mode. Maggie apprehended the gun from the man struggling to breathe beside her and ducked behind his bulk as a shield.
Hit List (Maggie Black Book 2) Page 16