The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set

by Michele E. Gwynn

  Outside, the seasoned officer standing guard at the door flinched as he heard a loud crack followed by a high-pitched male scream. He resisted the urge to glance through the small window. His orders were clear. Keep the medical staff out, and only enter if the officer inside requests it. He looked down the long hall at Faust drinking coffee and chatting with the on-duty physician. They both looked his way, having heard something, but when he showed no alarm, turned and resumed their chat.

  THE BELL LANDED THREE blocks away from the port in Hamburg. It was met by a Spezialeinsatzkommando (SEK) team sent by no small miracle of coordination courtesy of the LKA. The commander, who was wearing a mask as all those in the unit did to protect their identities, walked forward and introduced himself to Heinz who stepped out of the helicopter first. “Kommissar Heinz? I’m in charge here. You can call me Commander Hammer.” He reached out.

  Heinz clasped his outstretched hand and shook it. “As in ‘drop the...?”

  “Precisely. This is my second in command, Howitzer.” A man built just like his name stepped forward offering his hand to Heinz.

  Lukas and Beimer came up behind them along with Jager and Kelner now fully decked out for combat and carrying H&K MP5 submachine guns.

  “Hammer, these are my men, Officer Hugo Beimer, Lukas Trommler, StabsKapitanLeutnant Kristof Jager, and Korvettankapitan Dieter Kelner.

  The men all nodded, sizing each other up for strengths and weaknesses. Satisfied, Hammer continued. “We have word that the Marines are patrolling beyond the port, and in position to help should we need it.” Kelner nodded. Hammer returned to addressing Heinz. “I have fifty of Hamburg’s finest at your command. I understand we have very little time. Shall we?” He indicated they should follow, and all walked to a makeshift command post where a map was already laid out. A red X marked the exact location of the Vledelets.

  “What do we know right now?” Heinz asked, leaning over to view the map.

  “The ship was cleared to leave port but hasn’t yet. We have the harbor master’s cooperation.” He glanced over at a man sitting on the back of the truck looking like he was about to piss his pants as two masked SEK agents trained their rifles on him.

  Heinz grunted. “Good. So what’s the plan? What’s the best way to get onto this vessel without raising the alarm?”

  Howitzer spoke. “We have ten aquatics on stand-by. They’ll board seaside here and here.” He pointed out the two best areas of entry in the stern. “No one will be watching the stern. Once aboard, they’ll take out and secure the deck, send us the alles Klar, and we’ll board from the gangplank. They still have it out. From there, we put a unit of ten men at each of these stations. One unit gains the bridge, two hold topside, and three take the lower decks. Until we know exactly what we’re dealing with, that’s the best plan.”

  “And what about us?” Heinz asked, noting there was no mention of where they fit in.

  Commander Hammer looked up. “You’re all with me. We’re search and rescue. You up for it, Kommissar?”

  “And then some.” Finally, a plan. Heinz was chafing to get started. The longer they waited, the more anxious he became for Birgitta.

  “Then you’re going to need protection.” He turned and gestured to one of the men who came forward carrying body armor, a helmet, and weapons.

  Heinz dressed in the Kevlar vest, and got a crash course in both the electronics of the helmet that offered drop-down night vision and communication with the rest of the unit through wireless tech, and the MP5, a weapon he’d not fired since his early years of police training. He still preferred his police issue Sig, but in what could well turn into a battle, this was good, too. He checked the sight, getting as comfortable as he could in the few moments he was given. Howitzer made sure Trommler and Beimer were similarly decked out. Heinz noticed both of them looked like boys at Christmas with new toys.

  “We have less than forty-five minutes before Ivchencko gets suspicious. He’s expecting his man, Koslov, to arrive before they cast off. Now might be a good time to inform your aquatic unit,” said Heinz.

  Hammer clicked on his speaker and was instantly connected to all fifty men. “The countdown has begun, gentlemen. It’s T-minus forty-five minutes.”

  ELSA’S ARM WAS TIRING, but she’d never admit it. Faust was right. Twenty lashes in, and Koslov was barely responding to the pain beyond a few howls. Well, he did have an unfortunate erection, but that wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen happen before. His chest was bloodied, and even though she kept her face expressionless, inside she was unsure about going further. The only thing that kept her going was the fact that time was not on their side. In order to rescue Birgitta, they needed information. Heinz, Lukas, and Hugo were already in Hamburg. The situation was fluid, and the tide could turn in their favor, or it could drown them in an instant. She couldn’t let that happen.

  “I see you rather enjoy this. And it’s a freebie, too. Lucky you.”

  Gregor’s eyes followed the whip as it swung loose in her hand. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his cheeks were flushed. Instead of looking fearful, he now seemed in near ecstasy. She knew it wasn’t working. He was actually enjoying himself even if he wouldn’t cop to it. Pain was nothing to him judging by his scars. She would need to switch tactics, but what?

  “Fucking whore.” His words lacked the loathing they were laced with when he called her that earlier.

  “Boring. You’ve said that before.” She feigned a yawn. “Truly, Gregor, I don’t believe that you feel so strongly. I mean, there’s a little indicator right here that says you like me just fine.” She pointed the whip at the bulge in his underwear. He flinched.

  “No!” He tried scooting his hips away.

  Elsa’s eyebrow rose. This was the first fearful reaction she’d seen out of him. She thought about what she’d just done—pointed the whip at his family jewels. So far, she’d whipped his chest since it was the only available exposed skin. His legs were covered by a blanket, which rode low enough to show the top of his underpants. The erection was evident underneath, peeking out a bit at the top.

  “No? Did you just tell me no without saying my name?” She straightened her spine, still using the cabinet as support.

  “Go to hell!”

  “A warm place. Yes, it is awfully cold outside.” She looked at his flushed face. “But you look very hot. In fact, you may need to cool off a little. Let me help you.” She leaned over, supporting herself with one hand on the bed, and used the other to yank his covers down. Then she made eye contact as she slowly reached up toward the band of his underwear.

  “No! Do not touch me, whore!” He began wiggling around. It got him nowhere, so he bucked, but Elsa grasped the material and easily slid the underwear down low enough to reveal his naked member. She stood back up and leaned once again on the cabinet. He panted as he shot her a hate-filled look.

  “I think you’d like me touching you, Gregor.” She flicked the straps lightly over his thighs, caressing. He groaned. She went on, chatting as if they weren’t in the middle of a bizarre situation. “I had a client once, an Herr Schultz. He had a particular fetish. Like you, he enjoyed pain. It made him hard, too.” She maneuvered her wrist to slide the leather straps up and over him. The contact made his eyes roll back.

  “Stop. Touching. Me. There.” He panted out the words. “You’re not her. You’re not good enough.”

  Elsa chuckled. “Oh, I assure you. I am good enough. Anyhow, as I was saying. His fetish wasn’t just to have me whip his chest or back, but also his buttocks, his thighs...and his cock!”

  Gregor’s eyes flew wide. “No! You can’t!” He bucked again, finally reacting as she’d intended.

  Had I known this earlier, I could’ve saved myself time and an aching arm.

  She smiled wickedly, fully into her old role again. “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll cease. Your confession is your safe word.”

  “I won’t! You whore! You fucking bitch!” He spit, and cursed, and bucked. />
  “You will.” Elsa raised her hand and brought the whip down onto his protruding penis—bloodied leather straps, spiked metal balls, and all—with force.

  Koslov screamed, this time with fear and pain rather than sick ecstasy. “Fuck you,” he yelled.

  She recoiled and struck again, harder this time. His face turned red, and he opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound emerged. He was tensed up, and out of breath. Finally, he sucked in air like a drowning man, and began to cry.

  “Stop! Please!”

  “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll cease.” She raised her hand to strike a third time when he caught her eye.

  “No, Mistress Elsa, no! Please, no. I’ll tell you what you want, but please stop!” He blubbered like a baby. She guessed that having spiked metal bits strike his testicles and sensitized penis finally got through to him.

  “What will he do with Birgitta? Where is he going? We know he’s on his ship. How many men are consigned there?”

  “Too many questions.” Tears fell down his cheeks, and snot ran freely from a nose he could not wipe with his wrists cuffed to the bed rails.

  “What will he do with Birgitta?”

  “He’ll hurt her, then sell her.”

  Elsa took a deep breath. Hearing him say it out loud made it all the more real. “Where is he going?”

  “St. Petersburg.”

  “How many men on the ship? I need an exact number.”

  “I don’t have an exact number.”

  She raised the whip, and he cringed, whining again. “Around sixty-five men.”

  She thought a moment. “Sailors?”

  “Sailors, criminals, mercenaries.” He tried turning his head into the pillow, the pain still racking him. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Go ahead,” she said, watching him dry heave. Nothing came up. “What happened to the other girls, Gregor?”

  “They’re in hold.” He coughed.

  “Hold? What does that mean? Where?”

  His breathing evened out. “Containment. They’re onboard.”

  “He’s transporting girls now? You’re sure? Don’t lie to me!” She shook the whip at him, getting angry at the very thought of more girls like Liliya imprisoned in a container, ripped away from their families, abused and terrified. “How many?”

  He saw the swift change from calm torturer to menacing bitch with a whip, a whip she could once again wield to strike his tender genitals. “I don’t know exactly. I procured two, but only one made it. There are others around Germany who were to bring in specific types. I don’t know how many.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You filthy motherfucker!” She raised the whip again and brought it down. He was mid-scream when Faust came back in.

  The door shut, and the Direktor leaned on it, effectively covering the window he was sure someone might be trying to look through. He sipped his coffee. His second since he left earlier. “Well? Any progress or are you just having fun?”

  Elsa lowered the whip, the look on her face broadcasting her outrage. “Ivchencko is transporting an unknown number of girls on his ship right now. There are approximately sixty-five men on board including Ivchencko, and if we don’t stop him from leaving, all those young women, and Birgitta, too, will be sold into sex slavery in St. Petersburg.”

  Faust gave an opera clap. “Excellent. Now, can you get him to tell us who he’s selling to? Who is his connection?”

  Elsa turned back to Gregor. “Well? You heard him. Who’s the connection?”

  Through a haze of tears and mucous, Gregor sniffled, and replied, “I can’t. They’ll kill me.”

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t. And that man over there won’t lift a finger to help you.” She pointed at Faust.

  Faust stepped closer. “But I will help you, Elsa. Here.” He offered her his Sig, which she took after throwing the Direktor an odd look.

  “I think a bullet is too kind, but if they’re going to kill you anyway, I may as well have the pleasure.” She released the safety and aimed the gun at Koslov’s head. “Who is the contact?”

  “You’re crazy! A crazy bitch!”

  She lunged forward and shoved the weapon between his penis and testicles. He shrank back as far as the mattress allowed, sniveling, panicked. “Contact?” she demanded, digging the tip further into the sensitive skin of his perineum.

  Faust caught Koslov’s eye and smiled, giving a thumbs up. “Solid move. A bullet to the taint. She’s very good, isn’t she?”

  Gregor knew after an hour with Elsa that she probably would shoot him in the dick. He also knew he was now dead either way, he just needed to choose how he would die. He took two deep breaths. “Bratva. Vladimir Brezhnev.”

  Faust dropped his coffee. “Fuck!” The hot liquid splattered at his feet.

  Chapter Fifteen

  IT’D BEEN ALMOST TWO hours now, and finally, Birgitta felt the rope give way as she managed to cut through it. It was agonizingly slow work. She could only use her fingers to guide the blade, no real strength applied. A time or two she’d nicked her own skin at the wrist as she worked the knife beneath the rope. Sweat poured down her face from sheer concentration, but she was rewarded when her left hand popped free. Now she made much shorter work of her right hand, and then her ankles, sawing like a lunatic, sure that Ivchencko or one of his henchmen would walk through the door at any moment.

  She stood and shook her limbs as she moved around the room seeking anything she could use besides the switchblade. She opened and closed drawers in a desk bolted down to the floor. Inside, she found personal files and a ledger. Flipping through, she saw detailed numbers and dates of deliveries. 25 Blonde, 13 Brunette, 7 Redhead. On the right, these numbers were further broken down by gender. At the top, dates. She set the ledger down and opened the first folder. Inside, a Polaroid was paperclipped to the top showing a dark-haired girl who looked no older than thirteen. She was crying, her eyes terrified. A hand-written page was underneath. Hessen, speaks German and English. Virgin. Value – High.

  Birgitta was disgusted. She wanted to vomit. She looked around for something to hold these items, wanting to secure the evidence of Ivchencko’s evil. She located a seaman’s bag in a lower drawer of the built-in dresser on the wall and shoved the book and folders inside, tightening the drawstring. The bag had a mail-carriers strap that she placed over her head and let rest against her body. Another desk drawer revealed a Russian P-96 9 mm pistol. A box of clips sat next to it. She checked to make sure it was loaded, stuffed clips in her jacket pocket, and took the safety off. She realized she no longer had her cell phone while loading herself down. They’d found it. It would be a miracle if Heinz and Faust had managed to track her this far out of Berlin. She was on her own at this moment, and prayed she’d be able to get off the ship before it left port. She just needed to make it to the port authority office. From there, she could call in help.

  A key slid into the lock, and she tensed. Running up behind the door silently, she waited, gun drawn.

  Dutch walked in and immediately noted the empty chair. “What the fuck?” He turned, but it was too late. The butt of the gun came down on the back of his head. He stumbled and dropped to his knees but didn’t go completely down as intended. He roared and charged her. Mahler aimed, exhaled, and fired.

  Blood spattered, and bits of bone and brain sprayed in an arc as the bullet blew out the back of the butler’s head. His large body dropped, the last expression on his face, shock.

  She stood there a moment, stunned. In all her years as a detective, she’d only fired her gun in the line of duty twice, and those shots were in warning. No injury resulted. This was her first kill. Shake it off, Birgitta. Get it together. She swallowed down the urge to heave.

  She stepped over the dead Dutch and out into the corridor closing the door behind her. She made her way back in the direction from which she came in slinking close to the wall, gun at the ready knowing she might need to blast her way off the ship. Fear gripped h
er, but she pushed it down. She thought about her son who was probably frantic with worry for her by now. Jan was mostly grown, but he still needed her. She wanted to live long enough to see him fall in love, get married, have children, see his children have children. And she thought about Joseph. Five years partnered together, and the fool still didn’t realize what a good man he was, how much she cared. Heinz, you’re awfully blind for a detective! She sniffed as tears stung her eyes. She hastily wiped them away. No time for sentiment. Taking a deep breath, Birgitta peeked around the next corner. Finding the way clear, she moved on.

  THE MEN WERE ALL IN place. Heinz, Commander Hammer, Lukas, Beimer, and the rest now waited for the aquatic unit to complete gaining the stern and securing the deck. His mobile vibrated in his pocket. Everyone looked at him as he fumbled to pull it out. “Heinz,” he answered. His harsh whisper indicated his stress level.

  “Joseph, it’s me.” Faust’s voice greeted him.

  “I’m a little busy right now, Herman. What is it?”

  “Information. And you’re not going to like it. Where are you now?”

  “We’re about to board ship.”

  “Hold off!” Faust’s reply surprised him.

  “What? We can’t. It’s already begun. A unit is in the process of taking the stern as we speak.”

  “Scheisse! Well, then you’d better inform everyone quickly. You’re facing at least sixty-five of the hardest, most brutal men you’ve come up against.”

  Heinz paused. “Who are they, Herman?” By the anxiety in Faust’s voice, he knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.

  “Bratva. And not just any branch of them.”

  “Who do they work for?” Dread flooded his system.

  “The Butcher.”

  Heinz gasped. Flashes of every media headline plastered across newspapers, televisions, and internet sites hit him. Vladimir Brezhnev had never been nailed down on a single charge, yet he’d slain his enemies and those who crossed him with impunity. His nickname stuck after a 1989 massacre of Yakuza who tried to invade his territory. Even after the initial attack in which he and his men slaughtered the rival Japanese mafia up-and-comer, Yohido Iyushi, and his gang, the Yakuza sent more men after Brezhnev. They didn’t appreciate the insult. Honor codes among criminals are written in blood. Still, Brezhnev and his men defeated them, too. Brutally. From that day on, he’d been tagged by media as The Butcher. The name stuck.