Be Brave (21 page)

Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If anything looks like it"s going pear-shaped, you"ll get yourself out of there,

make contact with your handler, and try to get home. What I do is none of your

business. Take care of yourself.”

“I wish you were straight,” she said quietly.

Kael stopped walking, grabbed her by the arm, and looked down at the young

woman. He was not flattered by the remark. He was angry. “Even if I was, I would

never fuck a subordinate colleague. And remarks like that negate my sexuality,

which is an integral part of my identity. I have never wished to be straight or

wished anyone else was queer like me. My sexuality is not flexible, nor is it up for

discussion.”

“Oh God,” she moaned. “I am so sorry, sir. It"s just that you"ve made a few

jokes about being gay, so I thought—”

“I can take a joke like anyone else, and I can make a few about myself if I want

to. But you weren"t joking, were you?”

“No, sir. I"m sorry.”

“Let"s go.”

In the car she continued, “Sir, that was a really stupid thing to say, and if I

could take it back, I would.”

“Well, you can"t. Now shut up.”

Mattie put the car into drive, and they left the village. “Sir. I was so stupid,

I—”

“Shut up and drive,” Kael said firmly.

* * *

the dark, winding country road. The sweeping driveway was lined with expensive

cars. Anyone driving past the beautiful mansion would assume a sophisticated

party was in progress, entertaining the French elite. Who would know that sex

slaves trafficked and threatened with violence and death were servicing men who

should be home with their families?

Kael instructed Mattie to drive along the access lane to the first gate in the

wall. “Twenty minutes,” he said and exited the car. Carefully he pushed open the

gate. It seemed no one had seen the broken lock and attempted to repair it. Settling

into the comfortable guise of a partygoer who belonged there, he strolled toward the

house.

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95

The party spilled out onto the wide veranda at the rear, where he had decided

to enter. Two men speaking French were shouting at a couple of young women who

didn"t understand them.

“What do the shits want?” one woman asked the other in Russian.

The men raised their voices as if volume could overcome a language barrier.

Kael walked right up onto the veranda as though he had been for a stroll around

the garden. The men wore tuxedos, but still he was not out of place in his smart, all-

black clothes. He had no choice but to walk about openly in the crowd if he was to

locate Clement and get him out of there.

Quietly in Russian, he said to the women, “They want you to strip.”

“Fucking snail munchers,” one of them said and began to remove her clothes.

The other one looked frightened and very reluctantly began to copy her friend.

Kael walked past them into the house. Everywhere he looked there were men,

mostly in evening dress, but some more casually attired like himself. Champagne

bottles stood on every table for the men to help themselves. The air reeked of

cigarettes and marijuana. Sitting on a beautiful brocade couch, two men were

snorting lines of cocaine and forcing a young woman to do the same. “Come on. It"ll

loosen you up, frigid bitch.”

Anger rose up, surprising Kael. Drugs were risky at the best of times, and he

would never insult his physical integrity by using them. Drugs in a sexual situation

caused people to behave in ways that were extremely dangerous, and what these

women were suffering already was bad enough. The men and the girls were too

distracted to notice him, but he still used the same self-effacing techniques he"d

used on the street.

Clement was not in the room.

Kael walked slowly, as though amused and comfortable, out into the big

entrance hall. People wandered up and down the wide, curving staircase. He cruised

through a billiards room and a dining room. Everywhere people were having sex in

the open. More women must have been brought in after the group he saw arriving.

At the end of the hall, two male voices issued from a partly open door,

conversing in Polish. Kael walked slowly past and looked in. Behind a desk, a small,

thin man sat talking. He poured vodka freely into a tumbler and drank it neat.

“Make sure everyone is happy. Bring up more champagne,” he told the other man.

Kael made his way back to the stairs and walked up. He"d been in the house

eight minutes already, and he had told Mattie he would be only twenty. The

bedroom doors all stood ajar, revealing men having sex with unwilling girls while

their friends watched. The laughter and catcalls were sickening. He looked carefully

from one face to the next.

But there was still no sign of Clement.

At the end of the long hallway, one door was closed, and Kael made his way

toward it. If he walked in on something that was of no interest, he would apologize

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and leave. But he knew Clement was somewhere in the house. Quietly he opened

the door.

On the bed, lying on top of someone was a man he knew at once to be Clement,

though he saw him only from the back. They were still unaware of his presence as

he closed the door and went silently to the bed. The wide blue eyes of the girl

beneath Clement met his. Kael pressed his forefinger to his lips and pulled the

syringe from his pocket. He removed the protective sheath and pushed the needle

into Clement"s neck. With his other hand, he pulled him off the girl, letting him

slide, senseless, to the floor.

For a moment, Kael, a man who had seen everything, felt himself stupidly

naive. Conran had told him Clement went there to be supplied with young girls, but

he had not been expecting this. The child lying on the bed was no more than eight

or nine years old, a thin, fragile creature with long blonde hair and a blank look in

her eyes.

Taking several deep breaths, he allowed the stillness that kept him safe to

settle over him. If he got angry, he would lose focus and frighten the child, and if

she started screaming, he would have to leave without the target.

Clement"s clothes lay on the floor, and as hurriedly as he could, Kael pulled the

man"s trousers and shirt back on. “What"s your name?” he asked the child in

French. She made no response, so he tried Polish and finally Russian.

“Ekaterina,” she answered.

“How old are you?”

“Nine,” she said quietly.

“How did you get here, to this house?”

“A man brought me.”

“From where? Where did you live?”

“I don"t remember. I was born in Russia.”

Kael slapped Clement"s face several times to bring him back to partial

consciousness. When he seemed to be coming round, he pulled Clement to his feet

and drew the man"s arm around his neck as if he was supporting a drunken friend.

Watching him work, the child put on a frilly blue dress. She looked lovely, like an

ordinary little girl going to a birthday party. “Are you taking me with you?”

A series of possibilities ran through Kael"s head. Computing the outcome of

each one instantly, he concluded within seconds that he would never be able to get

Clement and the child out of there without alerting someone. “No, I can"t.”

“Please take me with you.” Kael was confused. Why would she want to go with

him? The poor kid should be terrified of men. “I"ll be good. I won"t be any trouble.

Please don"t leave me here.”

“I"ll come back for you.” He had no idea why he said that, knowing he couldn"t

possibly come back. “You can"t tell anyone I was here. If anyone asks where this

man went, you tell them he went outside.” It was impossible to return for her; he

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97

had to focus on his target. “I want you to hide in the wardrobe and remain

absolutely quiet until the party"s over. Can you do that?”

She nodded and ran to the wardrobe, where she pulled open the door. “When

will you come?”

“In a few days. Be brave,” he said, pulling Clement to his feet.

“Shall I stay in the wardrobe till you come back?” Only a child would say

something like that. Kael nodded and watched her close the door, but she popped

her head out again. “What"s your name?”

“
Dyadya
.” Uncle.

Outside in the hallway, Kael hurried, holding Clement upright, until he got to

the top of the staircase. He walked down with a smile, breaking into a grin each

time someone passed them. “He needs some fresh air,” he said in French, laughing a

little.

The men on the veranda were busy with the two women, lying on top of them

on reclining chairs, and didn"t even notice him. One of the women made eye contact

with him as the man on top of her worked, oblivious to her. The gate was obscured

from view by tall shrubs, and as Kael made his way toward it, Clement began to

revive in the crisp night air. The moment he passed through the gate, Kael said,

“Open the boot.” Mattie popped the boot.

Uncaring if he was hurting the man, Kael picked Clement up and threw him

into the boot.

“What the hell"s going on?” Clement began to protest.

“Shut the fuck up!” Kael slammed the boot closed on him. Clement began to

bang, screaming to be let out. Kael was in the passenger seat a second later.

“Drive.”

They were back on the dark country road heading for the motorway that would

take them to the Channel Tunnel when Mattie said, “You were exactly twenty

minutes in the house. Right down to the second, sir, just like you said.” Kael didn"t

answer. “The whole thing went smoothly, I take it?”

“Stop the car,” Kael said.

There was nowhere to pull over on the narrow country lane without getting hit

by another vehicle, and Mattie continued on to the next lay-by and pulled in.

“Open the boot,” he told her as he got out.

Mattie pushed the button, and the boot opened. Clement was already

struggling to sit up the moment the boot popped. Still silent and utterly intent, Kael

grabbed the man by his shirtfront and pulled him out onto the pavement.

“I knew somebody would be sent for me sooner or later,” Clement said as

though he had not just been pulled off a nine-year-old child. “Look, I"ll come back

willingly because I need the damn money, but I"ll sit in the backseat. Shoving me in

the boot is overkill.”

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Kael closed his fingers into his palm and with a swift, sure movement knocked

Clement across the bridge of his nose.

Blood began to run from the man"s nostrils, and he ducked his head, putting

his hands to his face. “What the fuck?” he protested.

Ignoring the words, Kael began to punch him repeatedly in the face and torso

until Clement fell to the ground.

Mattie jumped out of the car and came running around behind. “What are you

doing? You"ll kill him. You can"t kill him.”

“Shut up and get into the car.”

“Sir, stop!”

“Get in the fucking car!”

Mattie obeyed, and Kael landed two hard kicks to Clement"s midsection,

enjoying the feel of the man"s ribs cracking beneath his toe. Blood ran from

Clement"s face where his eyebrows had swelled and split. His nose gushed. Kael

dragged him to his feet and threw him back into the boot again, closed it, and got

into the car.

“Drive.”

Without a word, Mattie set off.

* * *

were we supposed to get the target back unharmed?”

The drive through the quiet darkness had served to calm Kael"s initial anger.

He knew perfectly well he shouldn"t have beaten Clement, but he didn"t regret it.

“Do you know what was going on in that house?”

“No, sir. I was given no information.”

“It belongs to a man who trafficks young women for sex slaves. When I say

women, I mean girls, usually from ages fourteen to about twenty-four at the oldest.”

“It"s sickening, sir. Drugs and other commodities can only be sold once. A

human being can be sold over and over again for sex. But Interpol and the

European police agencies are working on it all the time. Beating up one bloke may

make you feel better, but it won"t matter in the scheme of things. Anyway you told

me not to let my personal prejudices get in the way of the job.”

That was precisely what he had told her, and a year ago he would have thrown

Clement into the boot and driven home without giving him another thought. But a

year ago he had not met Angel, who had softened his heart in a way that frightened