Twisted Traffick Page 20

  “Can you read it for us?” Anne asked.

  “I will try, but it is barely legible.”

  Julia started reading as follows:

  “‘Dearest Mama and Papa!

  “‘I know you have been crying a lot for me since I didn’t come home that day last May. You probably have found out by now what happened. I do not want to talk about it. I am at peace now, although I have often thought of killing myself. But I have found kindness here. Gospodja Polyakova, the wife of the commander at this corrective labor camp took care of me when I was close to death. She has gradually restored the will to live in me. It was her unselfish love for me, a stranger, and the thought of the little baby I know I have inside me--who is growing bigger every day--and the hope that I would one day see you again and be able to show the child to you--it was that that has kept me going. I want you to know my baby. I will see you again, I am sure. And I want you to know that I love you. Very much, and think of you every day.

  “‘Your loving daughter,

  “‘Katerina.

  “‘November 22, 1950’”

  “God! So it seems that Gospodja Polyakova, the wife of the commander of that corrective labor camp, helped Katerina,” Anne commented. “She cared for her and nurtured her.”

  “So at least there was one good Polyakov in the mix,” Greg added. “But the letter was never sent. It stayed in the Gulag. This Aleksandr Polyakov probably thought it too dangerous to let it leave the camp.”

  Anne urged her friend on. “Let’s see what the next piece of paper tells us.”

  Julia reached into the box for the document on top. She looked at it, and Greg could see tears well up in her eyes. “This is a certificate of death. For Katerina Efimovna Pleshkova. Dated February 27, 1951.” She hesitated before continuing, “So she did die in the camp.” And then she added in a whisper, “For cause, it says, ‘Died in childbirth.’”

  Anne sighed. “Terrible! Poor Katerina. Giving birth in a gulag in the middle of winter, even if the commander’s wife is helping to look after you, would have been a real ordeal. Especially after what she had been through. It just proved to be too much for her.”

  “This, coming after that hopeful letter she wrote earlier,” Greg added. “How tragic. Terrible.”

  “Let’s see what else is in here,” Julia said, taking another document out of the box. She unfolded two torn and fading pieces of paper. “Wow! A birth certificate,” she exclaimed, “No, not one but two. Must be replicas. Here, on this one, it gives Katerina Efimovna Pleshkova as the mother. But the space for father is left blank. It was not filled in. And the name of the child is...Sergei. Amazing!” She looked closer at the document, then felt it in the middle with her index finger. “You won’t believe this. The last name is scratched out, and ‘Polyakov’ is written in the space. Dated February 27, 1951.”

  The others were stunned. “The same name as this guy here. The bloody arms merchant,” Greg said. “Sergei Polyakov.”

  Looking at the second certificate, Julia continued, “And this one...exactly the same, in all respects, except the child’s name is given as...Boris. Last name also erased and replaced by ‘Polyakov.’ So it is not just a copy.”

  “Twins! These are the birth certificates of the Polyakov twins,” Anne said, but her voice was hoarse. “God, they are Katerina’s sons. Sergei and Boris Polyakov.” She looked at Julia, who had turned pale. “Difficult to take on board.”

  “That means--that means--” Julia stuttered in her disbelief, “--that the Polyakov brothers are my cousins, my first cousins.” She buried her face in her hands, as the horror of it dawned on her. “And the sons of Katerina and--and Lavrenti Beria--”

  Anne and Greg were speechless, as they both embraced the sobbing Russian girl.

  “There is one more document here,” Greg said, reaching into the box. “It looks like it is a letter, too. In another hand, though, I think.” He picked up Katerina’s letter to compare, before saying, “Yes, definitely not the same handwriting. But here, Anne, you take it, I can’t read the Cyrillic script.”

  “I’m not too good at it either.”

  “Here, let me look at it,” Julia said, recovering and wiping her eyes. “Maybe this letter will fill in some of the blanks for us.”

  She took it from Greg, looking at it briefly before turning it over. “It is addressed to Lenkov--the man who took my aunt to the labor camp. But it is not signed, and seems to be unfinished.”

  “Maybe it’s from Polyakov senior,” Greg guessed.

  “Let me read it.”

  “‘My dear Lenkov!

  “‘I hope this letter finds you and your lovely wife in good health and spirits in these difficult times for our nation.

  “‘I am writing to let you know that the young lady you brought last fall to our Camp Zone Number Three, Katerina Efimovna Pleshkova, died in childbirth three days ago. You may remember that when you left her in the camp, she was very weak and traumatized.

  My wife, Irena, who had always wanted children but never could have any, took a liking to her and gave her special care, even convincing me to allow her to bring the girl into our home. It was Irena who discovered, very soon after she arrived, that Katerina was pregnant. While she stayed with us, with Irena’s love and attention, she grew stronger and even seemed to put behind her the terrible ordeals that she must have been through. But three days ago, as I said, she went into labor during the night, and we called the camp doctor, who delivered her of not one but two healthy sons. Twins.

  Unfortunately though, he was not able to save the mother. The poor girl bled to death. We buried her in the common grave here. The boys were destined for an orphanage in Chelyabinsk--which is what we usually do with motherless children in our camp--but Irena begged me to let her keep them, promising to raise them as her own children. Seeing that if I did not grant her request, my wife would forever be unhappy and never forgive me, I agreed to adopt them, against my better judgment. Although now that it is done, and they carry my name, I can see the possible benefits of being a father to the two boys. May they grow up in good health--’”

  Here, Julia stopped. “That’s it. That’s where the writing stopped.”

  “Perhaps he decided not to finish and send it. It could have been dangerous for him,” Greg said. “Beria was still the second most powerful man in the country.”

  “He never does say outright that he knew that the boys were the sons of Beria, but he hints at it.” Anne had been thinking throughout. “He knew that Lenkov was Beria’s Chief of Security, and it certainly seemed to be generally known in those circles that Beria was a raving pervert who did whatever he wanted with young women, so when a man in Lenkov’s position brought a traumatized pregnant girl to be put away indefinitely in the gulags, it is not difficult to come to the conclusion that it may have been Beria who knocked her up and now wanted to get rid of the evidence.”

  “And near the end of the letter, he hints at the possible advantages that saving Beria’s sons and raising them might give him,” Greg said, continuing the train of thought. “On the one hand, if Beria later wanted to acknowledge his progeny, he would be praised, or on the other, he had a tool to blackmail Stalin’s deputy and head of the secret services with. Although, no doubt, that would have been a difficult and dangerous game to play. But in any case, it would seem that our dear Polyakov senior was not altogether selfless in agreeing to adopt the bastard sons of Lavrenti Beria.”

  “That is maybe the reason why he kept all these documents. In the event he needed them, one way or the other,” Anne agreed.

  “But how did this Polyakov--Sergei--his son, get his hands on them?” Greg asked. “They are official documents, that, as you say, Julia, seem to have come from the state archives.”

  “Hmm. Good question.” Julia did not have an answer.

  “Well, maybe it was his brother, Boris, the Deputy Director of the FSB who absconded with them, and gave them to Sergei to hide.” Anne was thinking out loud. “Afte
r all, being the son of Lavrenti Beria these days would not be very good for one’s career.”

  “Why wouldn’t they just destroy the evidence?” Greg asked. “No one else had any idea who their real father was.”

  “The Polyakov brothers have been around too long,” Anne said. “They have seen a lot. They have experienced on their own skin that, in Russia, regimes can change, and what once was a bad pedigree could all of a sudden become a good one. Or vice versa, as the case may be.”

  Greg grinned. “Wow, what a story this makes! It is great material for my next book, I can see.”

  “But first, Julia, you need to take these documents to your mother,” Anne said. “So she will have closure on her sister.”

  “I will, and that reminds me, if we are done here, I need to phone her,” Julia said, looking at her watch. “This is a good time, before her afternoon rest.”

  Anne and Greg left her in the study to make the call and went to find the Interpol agents. They were in the living room, drinking what was left in the Magnum, having finished the search of the apartment.

  “Did you find anything else?” Anne asked.

  “Yes, indeed,” Labrecque answered. “Those documents in the safe were mainly secret contracts of arms sales.”

  “And we found a lot more money hidden all over the place. Unbelievable!” Szekely crowed. “This guy was filthy rich.”

  “What did you find in the box?” Radomir asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Anne said. “How about it if we tell you over lunch? I bet you guys are hungry, and we do deserve some nourishment.”

  Chapter 33

  They had a delicious lunch of fresh local seafood out in the beautiful Italian Garden Restaurant attached to the hotel, during which Julia related to them in detail how she managed to convince Nadia’s father to help her and security at Mayak to foil the most recent attempt to steal some nuclear material. And that, unfortunately, Mikhail Glinov was injured in the action and was now recovering in hospital.

  “We’ll have to tell Nadia, but gently,” Anne commented over coffee.

  “You’re right,” Julia agreed.

  “We’ll also need to see how many of these poor girls need counseling. Not just now, but longer term,” Anne cautioned. “They have been through so much. And no doubt they’ll want to get back to their parents as soon as possible.” Then, looking at Labrecque, she added: “Of course, once you’ve had a chance to question them.”

  “I was thinking that maybe we could use some of the money we found in Polyakov’s apartment to pay for any treatment or counseling they may need.” Greg had been giving the matter some thought. “And of course, to get them home.”

  “Excellent idea! I am sure we can justify that as long as we account properly for it all,” Radomir agreed.

  “Beyond that, maybe once we have it all tallied, we should also think of giving the families some of it,” Szekely added. “Restitution payments from the criminals to the victims.”

  “Perhaps we can create a foundation of sorts, to help these girls and other victims of human trafficking,” Greg mused. “Of course, depending on how much money there is.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Anne agreed. “Like we did with the money Adam was paid by the terrorists when we defeated their attempt to steal HEU from Mayak earlier.” And for the others’ benefit, she added, “We created a foundation to help the victims of nuclear contamination from the Soviet program.”

  “We could also sell the diamonds and add in the proceeds,” Greg said, taking it one step further. “That would certainly make for a tidy sum, I’m sure.”

  “Before you get too far along with your foundation idea, we may need a little to get Hetzel back to Vienna,” Labrecque said. “We will definitely want to extradite him and try him there.”

  “On that point, I was thinking,” Greg interjected, “what about sending him--and Polyakov and Brother Peter if we ever catch them--to stand for trial at the International Court of Justice? After all, if I remember correctly, rape and torture are clearly considered to be crimes against humanity, and it could be argued that it would be within their mandate.”

  “Hmm. You’re full of ideas, Greg. And that certainly is an interesting one. We need to look into it. Indeed, I’ve seen that there have also been some moves recently to try arms merchants in the ICJ,” Szekely pointed out.

  “By the way, do we have a read on how Hetzel is doing?” Anne asked. “He was in a pretty bad way when the ambulance took him.”

  “Yes, just before lunch, I talked to the officer in charge of the detail that went to guard him at the General Hospital in Melijne where the ambulance took him,” Radomir answered. “The patient was resting after a major operation, he said. Ahem...they were working on reconstituting as much of whatever was left of what he had down there, poor bugger. But he is still heavily sedated, and will be for a while.”

  “He had it coming, the bastard,” Anne said. “So don’t feel sorry for him.”

  “He won’t be going anywhere soon,” Szekely commented. “That’s for sure.”

  “But back to the girls,” Anne announced, bringing them back to her main concern. “We will need to interview each of them individually with a psychologist present to assess the damage.”

  “We’re already on that,” Radomir said. “I have sent one of my colleagues along with a psychologist to start questioning the girls we housed in the nunnery.”

  “And then I think it would be good if we accompanied them to Russia and helped them ease back into life there,” Anne continued. “It may be difficult for some of them to face their families and friends with what they have been through.”

  “Yes, you are right,” Julia agreed. “I will be there to help. But it would be good if Anne, you and Greg would come too.”

  “The problem is the visa again,” Greg said. “And the laissez-passer to get to Ozersk.”

  “I disagree. I am not so sure it’s such a good idea for you two to go,” Labrecque said, concern etched on his face. “Even if you had a visa. Polyakov will definitely be on the warpath against you, since this is the second time you helped foil his plans. And with his brother the Deputy Director of the FSB, I would not want to see you set foot in Russia for now. Too dangerous.”

  “But surely, Julia is in the same boat!” Greg protested. “And she has been through so much already.”

  “Yes, you are right. But she is Russian, and she was--unfortunate as it is--a victim of their actions, is the way they would see it. Plus, she works for the IAEA. Even the Polyakov brothers would be less inclined to go after someone who works for an international agency like that. So, Julia, if you think you can handle it, it would be best if you go alone. And we will mobilize our colleagues in Russia to stand by, as before.”

  “Of course, Nicholas,” Julia answered. But Greg was not all together sure that he did not detect the slightest hint of fear in her voice. “Certainly, for Nadia and her friends, it makes sense that I go,” Julia continued. “For the others, since I don’t know them at all, it may be better to send a psychologist, don’t you think?”

  ***

  After lunch, while Radomir went off to join his colleague who was questioning the girls freed at the compound on the outskirts of Porto Montenegro, and Labrecque and Szekely went to interrogate the thugs they had arrested on the boat and in the derelict building, Julia, Anne and Greg decided they should visit Nadia and her friends who were still holed up in their hotel rooms.

  “How much do you think I should tell Nadia about her father?” Julia asked Anne as they made their way back into the hotel lobby. “Should I tell her about the video? That these crooks filmed the horrible things that they were putting her through to send to her father so that they could blackmail him into helping them pull off a heist? And as you told me, that they were making a second video since the first heist attempt failed?”

  “Hmm. Maybe that’s not such a good idea,” Anne answered. “That might cause her a lot of stress. It could really do s
ome psychological damage for Nadia to know that her father saw a film of the horrible ordeal she went through. I certainly don’t think that would help.”

  “Yes, I think you’re right, Anne,” Greg acquiesced. “I guess I would just tell Nadia that her father was a hero trying to help you stop a heist, and that, unfortunately, he was wounded in the process, but is now recovering.”

  “God! It is unimaginable to me how close these criminals came to abusing these poor girls again in the boat to make more videos to use with their fathers,” Anne commented. “And even more scary, for stealing some more uranium.”

  “Yes, I was just thinking that Nadia’s friend, Sasha, may have been next in line to be used for blackmail,” Julia said. “Her father was also a guard at Mayak. Mikhail Glinkov’s partner.”

  “Or, they could have just tried with Glinkov again,” Greg pointed out. “If we had not rescued Nadia as you had promised him, he would never have trusted you--us again.”

  “Yes, thanks to you, now they can’t do that,” Julia said, appreciation for her friends shinning in her eyes. “At least for now.”

  ***

  Greg knocked on the door of Room Twenty-Two. It was Sasha who opened the door, but just a crack.

  “How are you girls doing?” Anne asked them, as the Russian teenager ushered them inside, leading the way to the terrace, and apologizing for what she was wearing. She had been reclining outside on a lounge chair in just her panties, and had grabbed a T-shirt to pull on top on the way.

  “Thanks. This is just so great here,” Greg heard Sasha answer, followed by something in Russian, which he vaguely deciphered as “Cover Up,” since, as they approached, Nadia and Magda, who were also outside sunning themselves, were just grabbing the hotel dressing gowns lying on the ground beside their recliners.