Twisted Traffick Page 6

  He moved in front of the table, remembering that on the one other occasion they had met in the Sacher’s bar, the terrorist redhead had poured himself a glass of his wine and spewed it in his face. He certainly wouldn’t let that happen again.

  “Okay, Greg, have it your way, you unfriendly bastard,” Crawford said, turning around in a huff and walking out of the room.

  Greg was shaking as he sat down, and the waiter brought the Wienerschnitzel and the Tafelspitzsuppe. But he had lost his appetite and sat there a moment. “Anne, do you have Demeter’s emergency number? You had better call him, before this terrorist gets away from us again.”

  After Anne made the call, she said, “Crawford must have all sorts of aliases and fake passports to be able to get around. It will be difficult to catch him, no doubt.”

  “He won’t be staying at this hotel tonight, that’s for sure.”

  ***

  After dinner, Anne and Greg made their way over to the Revuebar Rasputin. Greg had been a customer there several times before, when he had wanted to meet Julia after Adam’s disappearance, and he thought he recognized the spook at the door. As they were led to the long bar at the back of the room, both of them perused the clientele, fully hoping they might see Billy Crawford in one of the dimly lit cubicles.

  But there was no sign of his tousled red hair, so they made themselves comfortable at the bar, just as two scantily clad girls were in the throes of a heated performance on stage.

  “So this is why you come to these places!” Anne remarked, as the barman sauntered over to take their orders. And looking around at the clientele, she added, “You are all just lecherous old geezers.”

  Greg recognized the barman from his earlier visits, and when the man brought the bottle of Zweigelt and two glasses, he asked him whether Julia Saparova had been there recently.

  “You know, the beautiful Russian blonde. She used to work here a few years ago.”

  At first, the thug declined to answer, but when Greg plunked a one hundred Euro note on the bar as he poured the wine, the man said, “I know she your friend. I remember. You come here before.”

  “Good.”

  “She here a few days ago, Julia. Ask for Kallay. I send her backstage to see big boss.”

  “So Kallay runs the show now?” Ann asked, but the barman left them without saying another word. So indeed the Kallay impostor, whoever it was, had been here to meet Julia.

  Greg and Anne sipped their wine as the two girls on stage finished the feigned sex act, with muted applause coming from the dark nooks of the booths around the walls. In an excited voice, the silver-tuxedoed announcer gave a vividly descriptive rundown of what was to follow the intermission, and turned on some canned music. Greg tried to capture the attention of the barman, who eventually came over, seeing with disdain that their bottle was close to empty.

  “Want another?” he asked.

  “I need to see Kallay,” Greg said, ignoring the question.

  “He not here.”

  “I don’t believe you, my friend.” Even though he knew the real Kallay was dead. And if the impostor had been Billy, as they had first thought, Greg doubted that he would be anywhere in Vienna any more, let alone near the Rasputin.

  “Don’t give me no trouble.” And this time, the barman glanced over at the thug guarding the door beside the stage who gave a knowing look back before abandoning his post to saunter over their way.

  Anne touched Greg on the arm, saying, “Let’s just go, Greg. I am tired. I want to go back to the hotel.”

  “See you later, friend,” Greg said as he emptied his glass and placed another hundred Euro note under the bottle to pay for the wine and the cover charge. And to stay in the good graces of the barman. For the next time.

  ***

  “So you saw the terrorist Brother Peter at the Sacher yesterday evening?” John Demeter asked, as Frau Huth placed the steaming Melange she knew Anne loved in front of her to accompany the marzipan-filled croissant they had stopped to pick up from the nearby Aida Confiserie. “I am so glad some things never change,” Anne had said to Greg when she saw that the bakery was still where she had habitually gone for her morning pastries. “Let’s go get some croissants!”

  “Yes, I am positive it was he. Billy Crawford, aka. Brother Peter,” Greg answered from the other side of the conference table, adding as an afterthought, “And God only knows what else.”

  “Well, right after you called, Anne--by the way, I was just having my dinner--I got on the hooter with the Austrian police to put out an ‘all points’ alert. But you know how slow their response can be. I am certain the crook is in Spain by now, or Greece, or wherever, in one of the hiding holes his buddy Polyakov provides for him. We won’t catch him any time soon.”

  “You may be right, John,” Greg said, taking a sip of the kleiner Brauner Frau Huth had provided for him. “But why would he surface like that just now? And take the risk of being seen at the Sacher? And recognized? After all, he is a wanted terrorist.”

  “That’s just it,” Anne took over. “He must be here to buy some more nuclear stuff. So Polyakov and the gang must be planning another heist. And maybe that explains why they captured Julia.”

  “I don’t get it,” Demeter said. “Julia works at the IAEA, and sure, they could try and get her to falsify records or something like what they tried to do with your friend Adam if I remember correctly, but they’ve done that before. That’s old hat. Surely they would think up some new way of getting their hands on some nuclear stuff.”

  “Well, maybe they think they can coerce her to smuggle some out from Mayak, for example,” Greg said. “On the premise that she would probably be searched less thoroughly at the gates.”

  “Maybe.” This from Anne. “That could be the next step, for sure.”

  “But why come out from hiding? Brother Peter that is?” Greg asked his question again. “And brazenly confront us in the Sacher?”

  “Well, he must feel pretty secure. One thought is, that perhaps he has been hiding in Europe all along--somewhere in the Schengen Zone--where, as a Caucasian, he could easily meld in. In spite of all the renewed checks and surveillance. I am sure Interpol and Europol and all the local police are focusing much more on possible terrorists of Middle Eastern or North African background these days. The inevitable racial profiling--”

  “But still, Anne.” Greg was not satisfied. “He does stand out with his size and red hair and freckles.”

  “Anne is on the right track, I think. Especially if your Billy was hiding in a place like Ireland, where he would blend in,” Demeter added. “In any case, we’re actively on the lookout for him and if he raises his ugly head again, the bastard, we will zap it right off, red hair and all, you can be sure of that.”

  “But why would he confront us like that?” Greg still did not have his answer.

  “I see what you are getting at.” Anne finally understood where Greg’s concern was coming from. “I guess there are two possibilities. One, that Crawford was just as surprised to see us there, in the bar of the Sacher, as we were to see him. And he came up to us because he was sure we had seen him anyway. Or--and this is what worries you I think, Greg--they had him surface to confront us and give us a warning. To let us know that they know of our whereabouts, all our movements. I mean, Polyakov and his gang.”

  “There is still another possibility, Anne.” Greg drained the last drops of coffee from his cup. “An even more worrying one. That they are tempting us to come in search of them, with a view to capturing or killing us when we are on their territory.”

  “God forbid!” Greg saw that Anne shuddered as she said this.

  Chapter 9

  Nadia woke to the clanging of the gate of her cage as Ivan opened it. “Come on, you. Get up. It is late. The boss wants you over in the big building with the other girls.”

  Slowly she rose to her knees--she felt terrible. Her entire body was sore, she wasn’t sure whether from the abuse of the evening before or slee
ping on the hard wooden floor, or both. And glimpsing what was all around on the walls and hanging from the ceiling, she again cringed with terror.

  A desperate, “Oh, no!” escaped her lips, as she buried her face in her hands.

  Ivan had to climb inside the cell to get her, and it was only then that she noticed she was still naked.

  “You’re clothes are over there,” the guard said gruffly, pointing to the table.

  He waited patiently, but Nadia saw that he couldn’t help gawking at her as she put her clothes on. She then turned to rush toward the door to get away from the horrors she saw and imagined in that room.

  Outside, crossing the yard that separated the buildings with its carefully groomed grass, flowers and shrubs, for a moment, Nadia delighted in the late afternoon sun. She must have been really exhausted, she thought, to sleep so late. But then again, she had been through a lot, and she was glad, too, to have been able to escape the reality of her situation with a few hours of blessed sleep.

  Ivan led Nadia upstairs into the big room in the main building, eyes still red from crying all night, now cold with fright again, and starving since she hadn’t been given anything to eat since the meager snack on the airplane. All the other girls who had come with her from Chelyabinsk were there, most of them sitting on the floor in the center, with several separated off in small groups. About twenty or so thugs, wearing black pants and shirts, black boots and baseball caps, batons in hand or in a holder at the waist, pistol on the other side--just like Ivan--stood around the periphery.

  She cringed as she saw that Kalinsky was there too. He was sitting at a table, interrogating one of the girls who stood in front of him, head bowed and sobbing. Behind him, leaning against the wall, Nadia thought she recognized the man he had been talking to the night before as she got off the truck. He was balding, square set and quite muscular. When Kalinsky saw Nadia brought in, he quickly finished jotting something on a piece of paper and yelled at a guard to take the girl standing there away and bring Nadia over next.

  As she was shoved in front of the creep, she was relieved to see Sasha in one of the smaller groups. It was evident from her eyes that she too, had been crying. So had all the other girls, Nadia ascertained, as she looked around to see if the blonde from the night before was in the big room. But no, she was nowhere to be seen.

  Standing there, shuddering as memories of the horrible experience with the man who had abused her and the beautiful blonde overwhelmed her, she heard Kalinsky say to the man behind him, “This is one of the ones who could be useful.”

  “Good,” the square-set man said.

  “So, my dear.” The pervert leered at her. “Didn’t we have fun yesterday evening?” When she did not answer, he added gruffly, “Well, you better get used to it.”

  “So, your father works as a security guard at Mayak?” The balding man asked. “Where?”

  “Yes--Yes.” She was not sure why this was relevant.

  “Where is he a guard?” Kalinsky repeated the man’s question. “Answer the question.”

  “I don’t know. All over, I think.”

  Kalinsky and the man exchanged glances and then, after a pause, during which he pretended to read the papers in front of him, the creep leered at her. “Have you ever been fucked by a man before?”

  Nadia, so shocked by the question that she jumped involuntarily, could barely hold back the tears.

  “Come on, honey, you need to tell me whether you are a virgin or not. To be even more specific--is your hymen still intact or not? Tell me. Otherwise, I may just have to do some probing down there myself.” Kalinsky let out a raucous laugh at his own disgusting attempt at humor, while the man behind him looked uninterested in his colleague’s perverse banter.

  “No--I mean yes.”

  “What is it my dear--virgin or not virgin? And don’t even think of lying.”

  Nadia could barely get the word out: “Virgin.”

  “Hmm. Very good,” Kalinsky replied, visibly pleased. “You go sit over there with those three girls.” And as Nadia’s eyes followed where he pointed, she saw a small group sitting on the floor in a corner, guarded by two men. She experienced a tiny and mixed feeling of relief when she saw that Sasha was among them. “You will come with us to Vienna,” the pervert continued. “I may have some big things in store for you, my dear.”

  Nadia barely heard the words as her eyes glazed over with tears and a thug came to grab her by the arm and lead her over to her designated group.

  ***

  Outside, three guards took the five girls to a large mini-van, and told them to pile in. Nadia managed to squeeze beside Sasha all the way in the back. She looked behind her seat, where any luggage might have been placed, but did not see their suitcases--they had long since disappeared--just two identical black duffel bags, which she presumed must have belonged to the men who climbed in the front. The van quickly took off and exited the compound. Nadia wondered what Vienna would hold for her and her companions.

  “Where did they take you last night? I thought you were right behind me.”

  Nadia was brought back to reality by Sasha’s whispered question. The unwanted memories of her ordeal and the beautiful blonde on the bed came flooding back again.

  “I--I don’t want to talk about it, Sasha. Please. But what about you?”

  “They took us downstairs in that main building. There is some kind of dorm room there. No, it’s more like a prison. Lots of bare mattresses on a concrete floor. The men ordered us to take our clothes off and forced us into a communal shower. They never let us out of their sight, just insisted on watching, and made lewd remarks. It was terrible. These people are all so weird.”

  “Did they do anything to you? Did they hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Phew.” Nadia could barely hold back the tears again. “But this is terrible. So...so degrading. What do you think will happen to us? And the others? I am very frightened.”

  “I heard that guy Kalinsky tell some of the girls that they will take them to Berlin, some others to Paris, or Amsterdam. London too. Some other cities.”

  “Why, do you think? What are they doing?”

  “I have no idea...”

  “Do you think they could be part of some sex ring?” Nadia was hoarse as she gave voice to her suspicion.

  “I hope not. Oh, God!”

  “Did that Kalinsky ask you whether you are a virgin or not?”

  “Yes. The pervert. But I had to tell him--”

  “What?”

  “That I slept with Pyotr. Just a couple of times.”

  “So that’s not it then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought maybe they were taking only virgins--”

  “Shut up back there. Or I’ll make sure you are no longer one by the time you get to Vienna!”

  The thug in the passenger seat must have been listening to the conversation all along, Nadia realized.

  ***

  They quickly sped through the outskirts of the big city and into the center--was this Vienna? --and in the dusk of evening, Nadia was dazzled by what she saw looking out the window: well-dressed shoppers, expensive cars, boutique windows full of the latest fashions, cafes and restaurants, one after the other. Everything was more exquisite, more beautiful, than she had ever imagined. If only, she thought.

  The van pulled up in front of a fancy, early nineteenth century building, in what must have been the heart of the former Imperial capital. A man standing outside a big red door and attired in the same black gear as their two guards came over to greet the driver. After conversing briefly, one of the men opened the sliding door in the back and told the girls to climb out and follow the other thug. Nadia vaguely thought of trying to escape, to get away from these horrible people and this terrifying situation, but she knew she would not stand a chance. In fact, just as these thoughts were running through her mind, the third gangster grabbed her by the arm and propelled her toward the red doors. As she passed
through them, she knew that her life would never be the same again.

  Chapter 10

  It was a balmy spring evening, and Greg and Anne were feeling happy and ready to allow the magic of the city where they had first met completely enthrall them again, and to rediscover their former haunts. So, after dinner at Appiano’s with the Labrecques--who, as it turned out, they both found to be a delightful couple--they decided to walk the short distance along Herrengasse back to the Sacher.

  They had managed to avoid discussion of Julia’s disappearance all night in deference to Marie Christine, but now they could not help but return to the subject that was foremost in their minds.

  “You know, Anne, I have been thinking. I doubt that the Kallay impersonator was Billy Crawford. He didn’t know Julia at all, and it would have been a real stretch for him to think he could kidnap her and force her to get him some nuclear material.”

  “Yeah, I see your point. But then why was he in Vienna?”

  “Well, maybe, as we were saying, Polyakov is getting set to do another heist, and Billy was just surfacing to pick up the material somewhere. Or to scare the living daylight out of us.”

  “Hmm. Possible. But then we must be closer to another heist then anybody has thought. In any case it is good that there is a renewed effort to find him.”

  “Sure. But put that aside for the moment. I also don’t think Polyakov would have impersonated Kallay. It just doesn’t compute--Polyakov is the head of this huge arms trading operation, and it is not likely that he would stoop to something so...operational.”

  “So then who?”

  “Well, how about Hetzel?” Greg finally voiced the suspicion that had been brewing in his brain since their visit to the Rasputin the night before. “After all, that self-proclaimed friend of Adam had been lusting after Julia all the while, we know that. He must have finally seen his opportunity to get at her, and figured out that the best way was to impersonate Adam and lure her to the Revuebar.”