Twisted Traffick Read online

  Andreas Hetzel, a supposed friend of Adam Kallay in Vienna, had contacted Greg shortly after Adam’s disappearance. He had been on the fringes of the previous heist, and Greg had concluded that he was a friend and ally of Polyakov.

  “Hmm. You may be right. Polyakov showed no interest in Julia--” Anne shuddered as she remembered the arms merchant’s words in Poti when she and Julia were in his hands that “Russian soldiers don’t rape Russian women. “--and as you say, Billy did not even know she existed.”

  “Hetzel has been on the run. Interpol must have been looking for him after we fingered him as one of those involved in the heist. And knowing that Adam was dead, it would have been easy for him to assume his friend’s identity, especially since Adam very probably left his passport and other key documents and credit cards in the car that Hetzel then used to make his getaway in Poti. He must have thought he hit the jackpot. The crook simply appropriated them, when he found them there. In fact, maybe that’s when he first got the idea to take on Kallay’s identity. Interpol certainly would not be looking for Adam, since they knew he was dead. And signatures are easy to fake. He could easily dye his hair blond to look more like his pictures in the passport and on his driving license.”

  “Or he could just wear a blond wig, for that matter.”

  “And of course being Adam would come in very handy for him as a way to lure Julia to come to him. Even though she knew he was dead, she had been very much in love with him, it seems. She would certainly have been curious about his reappearance. It was all just too perfect.”

  “Yes, good point. Plus it seems that he finally managed to get his hands on the Rasputin, too. Remember, he was trying to acquire it already then.”

  “Probably with Polyakov’s money. Ugh. What a team.”

  “So that is where he enticed Julia. Impersonating Adam.”

  “That must be it,” Anne agreed. “We’re now on the right track, I’m sure.”

  “Hmm. Come to think of it, Adam did imply when I was with him during the last heist that Hetzel was operating a business trafficking girls from Russia to...I don’t know where, but if he--or they--were trying to acquire the Rasputin, that could be part of it all. Maybe a staging point or something...”

  “He really is a creep, Hetzel.”

  They walked in silence, passing through the covered walkway by the Lippizaner stables, and then right after that, crossed over to the Augustiner Kirche side of the street. For Greg, the recollection of being followed by Polyakov’s thugs along this very street when he was trying to track Adam, flooded back. But he wanted to erase these thoughts, so he forced himself to think of other, more pleasant memories triggered by the Imperial Capital. So, when they were at the level of the Albertina, he turned to his wife, and leaning against the wall of the museum, pulled her close in to him and gave her a passionate kiss.

  “You know, my dear, we have each other now. That is the main thing. I love you, and I am so glad we met. Here, in this wonderful city. Never mind the crazy circumstances--Adam, the heist and all--we should not let work overwhelm our wonderful romantic memories.

  Anne kissed back, murmuring “I love you, Greg.”

  ***

  “You know what, Greg,” Anne broke the silence as she was taking her earrings off back in their room at the Sacher. “Tomorrow, I’m going to the Rasputin. To apply for a job--”

  “What? Have you lost your mind, Anne?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “You’re not going near that place, my dear. That is a den of...of iniquity. I won’t let you.”

  “Yes, I will, Greg. It’s our best chance.”

  “They don’t need waitresses. They’re all whores. And the cleaning women are all Serbs or Russians...”

  “No.” Anne laughed, wrapping her arms around the waist of her husband who had taken his shirt off. “I meant as a stri--as an exotic dancer.” Anne started into a sexy little dance, unbuttoning her blouse.

  “No bloody way, my dear. You are my wife, and you are not going to be a stripper at the Rasputin!”

  “Just think of it, Greg.”

  “No. No. And no!” He could not help though, imagining Anne up on the Rasputin’s stage.

  “Hear me out, Greg. Hetzel--if this Kallay impersonator is indeed he, as we now think--does not know me, so he would have nothing to suspect. If I get a job there, I could meet the other women and staff and perhaps learn something. I could check out what happens backstage. It’s our best chance to get behind the scenes, you must admit. Our only one, in fact.”

  “Look, Anne, you would not stand a chance against all those sicko bandits. Hetzel is an alleged human trafficker. And what if Polyakov happens to be there?” Harsh as it was, he knew mention of the arms merchant would give her pause.

  “Well...”

  “Hetzel and he hang out together, you know that. And he may now be the owner of the Revuebar. Which may be the center of a sex ring. I am not letting you near there.”

  “But, Greg--”

  “Seriously, Anne. I could not bear it if anything would happen to you.”

  “Hear me out, Greg, I just know I have got to do this.”

  “Anne, if what we believe is true, these creeps are all part of a major sex trading operation, as well as being arms merchants. You, my dear, are far too beautiful not to be the focus of their attention--you would fetch a very high prize, indeed, on the...the flesh market.”

  “Come on, Greg, you get me for free,” Anne said with a saucy little laugh between kisses, glad that the subject had moved away from the man who had raped her. “All of me, whenever you want. I am yours, always. You know that.”

  “That’s just it, Anne--I want to keep you for myself. I don’t want to lose you. These men are real criminals. Rapists and killers.”

  “Look, Greg. We came back here to try to help find Julia. Who, we now think, may have been kidnapped by Hetzel. Alias Kallay. And our only lead is that he and Julia may have been together at the Rasputin, backstage, a few days ago. We need to go there, question a few people without giving anything away. The only way for one of us to get in there and find out more without blowing everything, is my plan.”

  “We could have Haffner raid the Revuebar.”

  “That’s just it. Then we will never find Julia. Nor get near the fake Kallay.”

  Greg’s resistance was starting to break down. He too, was becoming convinced that Anne’s plan was probably the best step forward. “Well...okay, Anne. I will agree to it, but just if we get Demeter to provide lots of agents as back-up in the Revuebar itself and the surrounds when you are in there. Also, I want you to wear a locator at all times,” he said as he climbed on the bed, stretching out, now completely naked.

  “Where?” Anne gave her sensual little laugh again, glad that Greg had come around. “Where do you have in mind, my dear, if I am going to be a stripper? Where do you think a tracking device would go unnoticed? Any suggestions?”

  “I will let you figure that out for yourself.” And then, with a smile, as he propped himself up on a pillow, he added, “What’s more, my love, if you want to have any hope of convincing Hetzel and gang that you have a clue about how to strip, you had better get some practice. Now. With me as the audience.” And he put another pillow under his shoulders to be more comfortable. “Okay, I am all set for the show.”

  “You are one lecherous old man, you,” Anne said kicking her high heels off. “I always knew it.” And she leaned over to give him a passionate kiss. “But I still love you.”

  Chapter 11

  Nadia woke, after a very restless night in the cellar of the Rasputin, to the kick of one of the guards. “Come on, you slut. It’s time to get to work. Get your act together, all of you, and go wash up.”

  She looked around for Sasha as she pulled herself up from the bare mattress on the floor. But her friend was nowhere to be seen. The thug in the van who had told them to shut up had come for her last night just as she was getting ready for bed. He had grabbed her
by the arm, and forced her to go with him. Nadia was very worried.

  When she and the three other girls were washed and dressed, the guards led them up some rickety stairs, then along a corridor to another windowless room. Here, two older Russian-looking women were standing by a table with lots of loose articles of clothing on it, while three more thugs leaned against the walls, and, over in a corner, near a stand with exotic looking dresses and outfits hanging on it, cowered a pale and forlorn looking Sasha.

  “Okay, girls, we’re going to find some nice things for you to wear,” the brute who had taken Sasha away the night before shouted. “So you better take it all off. Whatever you are wearing. Your panties you can keep on--for now.” The jerk laughed before adding, “Or else we’ll do it for you.” He then reached his hand forward suddenly and started to pull Nadia’s T-shirt up her torso. “Like this. Once these ladies have settled on something that looks good on you, we’ll make sure it fits.”

  It was degrading. They had to undress in front of the leering guards, throw the sweaty, soiled clothes they had worn for the last three days in a pile, while the two babushkas eyed them professionally and started to select different articles of clothing for them to try on.

  When Sasha did not join in, her keeper went over to her and grabbed her by the chin. “All right, honey, you had better get with it. Just because I showed you some special attention last night doesn’t mean you don’t obey orders. Take your fucking clothes off now and get over there!”

  He shoved the girl toward the center and whacked her on the bottom hard with the baton he was holding in his other hand.

  After several tries, all five girls were outfitted with sexy, low-cut, tight-fitting apparel that highlighted their best features. The two attending women then tarted them up with copious make-up. In spite of the terrible peril she suspected she was in, Nadia actually found her image in the mirror remarkably pleasing. She had not thought that she could look so good all made up, although she did remark to herself that she looked several years older and that probably her mother would not have approved.

  ***

  The girls were led down some stairs to a room at the other side of which was an open door leading to what in the dim shadows Nadia thought might have been a stage jutting out into the middle of a large room with booths and tables and chairs all around. Way over against the back wall, she thought she saw what looked like a bar.

  “Don’t you all look gorgeous, my lovelies!” Kalinsky bustled through the open door, followed by a black woman in slinky attire. “Nadia, you, in particular, my dear, are sensational.” The creep looked her up and down lustfully and touched her naked arm with his sweaty hand, brushing her breasts as he did so. Then, looking from one girl to the next, he said, “Okay, ladies, this is my friend, Ginger,” as he pushed the black woman forward to meet the new arrivals. “She is going to teach you how we dance here. In a minute, we will have some music, and Ginger will take you out on the stage one by one. You just need to try to follow her movements. And look sexy, provocative. You had better all try hard, or you will get some more personal training from Ivan or Vlad, my friends here, if I don’t like what I see out there.” He smiled at the two thugs as he disappeared through the door that led onto the stage.

  ***

  When the music stopped after the first three girls had done their dance, the big black woman came backstage one more time with her garments gathered in her hand and beckoned to Nadia. “Okay, honey, it is your turn now. Let’s really give it a good effort,” she whispered as she temporarily put her clothes back on. “Just do what I do to the music. Ignore everything else. And don’t worry. You’ll get used to this.”

  So when the rhythmic tune started up again, Nadia followed Ginger out on stage, and concentrated on trying to copy her antics. She took the kindly stripper’s advice and dared not think what the alternative “more personal training with Ivan or Vlad” could comprise. She told herself, no doubt, this was infinitely better to be dancing here with Ginger. Even though much of what she found she was doing was totally new to her, and well beyond her comfort zone.

  Up and down the stage they strutted, and Nadia even attacked the floor to ceiling pole with the same feigned lasciviousness she saw Ginger exhibit. She, like her “teacher,” shed articles of clothing one after the other, until, as the music came to an end, they both stood there naked, except for Nadia’s panties to cover her nether parts, and Ginger’s G-string. Nadia did, though, try to hide her breasts--which, compared to the professional stripper’s, were not that large--with her bare hands.

  As her tears started to flow, Nadia barely heard the clapping and “Brava!” that came her way from one of the booths in the front, although with the bright lights shining in her face, she could at first not make out who her fans were. But, as she followed the black woman to the room behind the stage, she recognized Kalinsky’s voice shouting, “Ginger, make sure they shave her and give her a G-string to wear for tonight.”

  The fear and the terrifying questions came back: was this to be her life from now on? A stripper in Vienna? And what all would that bring?

  Oh God, I so want to be back home! I want my mother, my father.

  Chapter 12

  Anne, dressed to kill in mini skirt, low cut halter-top and stiletto heels, with lots of make-up, appeared from the bathroom.

  “Wow! You look no more than twenty, my dear,” Greg said, looking up from his laptop and hungrily taking her in with his eyes. “Beautiful! Though a bit slutty, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “Well, I am going to try to pawn myself off as a stripper.” Anne came close and gave him a peck. “You approved of my act last night, so now I have to look the part.”

  “I am more concerned that all those perverts will try to paw you.” Greg kissed her back. “Good luck, my love. And be careful. I wish I were coming with you.” And then, as she disentangled herself, he added, “By the way, did Demeter agree to provide back-up? And have you got the GPS locator on?”

  “Yes, and yes. You worry wart. The beeper for it is on the night table. Bye, now.” Anne had gone into the Interpol office first thing in the morning to arrange the details of support for this mini-sting operation. “And you don’t want to know where the transmitter is,” she added in a low voice so Greg would not hear as she closed the door.

  And, walking through the lobby of the Sacher, although she did find all the eyes staring at her--lusting men wondering who her lucky last customer might have been--reassuring that she indeed looked the part of an exotic dancer if not a high-class escort, she did feel a pang of fear as to what this next daring adventure would bring.

  ***

  Anne rang the bell several times at the closed double doors of the Revuebar before a man dressed in black stuck his baseball cap covered head through a crack. Fortunately, it wasn’t the same thug as the bouncer at the door the night before.

  “What do you want? We are not open yet,” he snapped in heavily accented German.

  “I came for a job,” Anne said, in as sexy a voice as she could muster. “I used to work at the Griffin. In London.” On the way over, Anne had remembered her brother talking about the perennial favorite, hoping that the thug might have heard of it. “I know how to dance.”

  “You a stripper? You want to dance, here, at the club?” The guard looked her over, liked what he saw. “You wait a minute here. I go ask boss.”

  He was back almost immediately. “Boss say, okay. You in luck. He doing auditions right now. You can show how you dance in a little while. Come. Come with me.” He led Anne over to an empty booth, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The music was loud and raunchy. On stage a big black dancer was leading a good-looking but rather thin girl--she must have been still in her teens--through a very suggestive set of moves. “You stay here until someone come get you.”

  As she watched the unfolding dance, Anne wondered whether she might not have gotten in over her head by coming here pretending to look for a job. She did not like what
she saw up on stage. The moves that especially the black woman was doing were certainly at the edge of her comfort zone, and she saw that the teenager was trying very hard, but not at all enjoying the act she was seemingly being forced to perform. Was she there against her will? Was this indeed a sex ring that they were stumbling onto? Oh God, and what if Polyakov was here? Anne hoped that she had disguised herself enough with the make-up so that the Russian arms merchant would not recognize her under the lights.

  She would have to be very, very careful indeed. Greg, I wish you were here, she thought, allowing panic to take over for a second. Anne looked around to see if any of Demeter’s men were in the room, but of course, impossible, because the Revuebar was still closed. At best, they would be outside. So she was on her own in here.

  ***

  The next dancer that joined the black stripper on stage was even less fit for the job--also a teenager, Anne remarked to herself. This one gave up halfway through, and ran off the stage, crying. The music ground to a halt, and after a few minutes, a man with obviously dyed-blond hair appeared in front of Anne’s table.

  This must be the boss. Yes, the Kallay impersonator.

  “So, Ivan tells me that you are looking for a job.”

  “Yes, sir. I am a dancer.”

  “He told me you used to perform at the Griffin.”

  “Yes, sir. In London.” Good. He had heard of the place her brother used to frequent.

  “Did you know Aleksandr Petrovsky there?”