Code Shield (21 page)

Tara spoke under her breath, “Ben, you send these pictures to our lab boys in Singapore. Let's see who these women are, probably the Liam kid and the Chinese national, but let's be sure.”

“Okay, you got it.”

“You look tired Ben. Take a rest after that. I'll cover for you in the embassy and give you a buzz in the late morning.”

“Thanks Tara,” Ben nodded and took the thumb drive from her. “Where's the Beemer parked?”

“Back there, first junction, turn left,” Tara handed him the contactless key.

Five cars ahead of the grey Volvo, Michael had also seen the blue minibus. From his vantage position, he gazed unobserved into the basement car park.

Besides the man, he had seen women. One in particular wore a bright yellow quilted jacket and had a familiar gait and body language – Annette!

His stomach gnawed and his bladder felt full. He reached for the plastic bottle. He was zipping up his fly when the rear door of his Fiat opened, giving him a dreadful shock.

The woman slipped into the back seat. She pressed the muzzle of a gun against Michael's head and ordered,

“Drive.”

Chapter 32

“What? Who're you?” The driver panicked and fumbled with the ignition. The crankshaft rotated with loud scratchy growls but the engine did not ignite.

Tara leaned forward, noticed the man had pressed hard on the accelerator, flooding the cylinders with fuel.

“Take your foot off the gas,” she snapped.

“Huh! Okay, okay,” blurted the man.

When he first yelped, she thought his accent familiar, now she was positive. “You're Singaporean.”

“Yes, yes, sorry-
ah
. I start the car soon,” he bent forward, peered at the ignition as he twisted the key repeatedly. “Don't shoot, please.”

“What's your name?”

“Michael…Michael Liam.” He stammered, the blood already drained from his face. “My daughter kidnapped by drug traffickers.”

“Michael
Liam
?”

“Don't shoot…you Mafiya?”

“Mafiya?” Tara shook her head in slight exasperation, holstered her weapon and snapped, “Remove the key and follow me.” She opened the door and got out.

“What?” Michael asked, remained rooted and gripped the steering wheel for assurance.

Tara leaned towards the driver's side of the Fiat and placed a finger on her lips. “Hush! Follow me to my car and keep your voice down.”

Ten minutes later Tara had entered Moscow's perennially cluttered streets. She reached Aleksandrovskii Sad (Alexander Gardens). It was dark and the Volvo was the only car in the parking lot. From where she parked, she could detect any approaching vehicles for a hundred metres away.

“Now talk,” ordered Tara.

It was almost an hour before Tara decided she had heard enough and drove Michael back to his car. He had been talking non-stop, glad that finally he had found someone not only willing to listen but actually demanded to hear his story.

“That's why I'm here. The police back home are unwilling to help. They don't think it's a kidnap.” Michael dry washed his hands.

“That's not being fair to our boys in blue. Like you said there hasn't been ransom calls meaning –”

“But –” Michael interrupted.

“Let me finish Mike, meaning if everything you claim is true, it's probably a case of human trafficking.”

“Human trafficking – isn't that like drug trafficking, why aren't the police taking more interest in this?”

“Mike it's worse than drug trafficking because the victims don't always have a choice. Some reports place the number of victims at more than 1.5 million worldwide every year, mostly girls, women, boys and even some young men – others say it's more like twenty million. The truth is probably somewhere in between.

“It's a hidden crime, Mike. There's no violence; no body bags and most victims are listed as either missing or runaways. Of course, occasionally they seize a rich kid and her family resorts to private investigators and ransoms. But for the vast majority, the girl is worth more to these thugs than anything her family can pay.”

Michael slumped in his seat, his chin to his chest, shaking his head slightly as he absorbed what she said.

“I'm sorry for being so blunt Mike but the sooner you got the stark facts the better. You don't stand a chance. You've heard it all before I'm sure – money, language, strange place – but on top of that, if these thugs get wind you're after them, that'll be bad news for Annette.”

“Sergeant Pang said he'll send through all their reports and photos to the embassy here,” informed Michael. “None of you people helped!”

Tara turned to stare hard at her passenger, and then returned her attention to the road. “Though I'm the cultural attaché, I'm also the Home Team rep. Nothing came through,” replied Tara.

She stopped the Volvo a street away from Polyanka and turned to him. She pointed to the junction ahead. “We're on a parallel street. You go down that way, turn right and right again and you'll find your car.”

As Michael placed his hand on the door latch, Tara asked,

“One more thing, about your hire car…you provided false particulars?”

“Yes,” Michael nodded.

“Very shrewd, almost a natural,” observed Tara and Michael rewarded her with an awkward smile.

“Actually, after I told the young man at the counter my problem, he suggested it. Apparently, down here it's common to provide false particulars. I filled two sets of forms, one for his boss and the other for nosey people. It cost me a little extra,” Michael let out another smile, obviously pleased with his ruse. Then, a little embarrassed, he confessed, “Back home, I don't cheat even ten minutes with the parking coupons but –”

“I understand. Return to your hotel and get some sleep. Those people in the apartment will not stir until late afternoon. Keep your cell phone switched on. I'll call you later in the morning and we'll do lunch.”

She watched Michael hurry away, his hands deep in his pockets and his chin to his chest.

Nosey people
. Tara smiled, made a swift three-point turn and headed home.

Tara spent most of the small hours, before sunrise, on the computer with Singapore. She reviewed the final report from Uncle Smiley, written in his uniquely irritating and cryptic fashion.

Madam See's medical records had been tempered with, or at least the part about her allergies. The computer that she shared with her daughter, Jessica See, wiped clean. Whoever did the job could have destroyed the computer but reckoned that would have aroused suspicions. Though cleaned professionally, forensics, at Uncle Smiley's behest, had recovered emails and Facebook entries from the hard disk.

A composite picture emerged about Madam See's life over the last two years. She had befriended someone on a lonely-hearts website. The man had visited her in Singapore on several occasions until her death from penicillin induced complications. Nothing pointed to what prompted her to consult a doctor for syphilis. The medical records said the disease was at an early stage. The man's visits had stopped abruptly but he had made one last visit – two days before her daughter, Jessica See's suicide.

There were no pictures of the man except for a name in one of the emails, a Russian version of a John Smith –
Ivan
– and he was from Moscow.

Ordinarily, Michael would never set foot inside the Savoy Gorky. The 5-star hotel was a fabulously appointed structure along Furkasovskiy Pereulok. Frequented by business people, it was expensive and awe inspiring.

However, Tara seemed very comfortable with the surroundings and had dressed casual smart – a black pants suit, white business shirt and dark jacket.

Michael sat opposite her, a loose PVC windbreaker over his stripped shirt. Embarrassed and ill at ease, he looked at the busy people having their power lunches and felt even more out of place. The gold edged menu, which a round rosy-cheeked waitress in black and white, presented, only accentuated his discomfort. He wished Tara had brought him to some small café where he would be more comfortable. But he learnt later that she wanted him to visit the hotel so that he would be encouraged to use it.

He caught Tara studying him. Thankfully, she proceeded to make suggestions,

“I'm having fish with white wine. If you prefer something else, I suggest venison. They stir fry it, quite similar to what we get back home.”

“Venison?”

“Deer meat.”

“Oh, okay I'll have the deer meat and Tiger beer,” squeaked Michael, almost apologetically.

“I don't think they have Tiger beer here,” smiled Tara. “But if it's beer you want, may I suggest a couple of popular local brews, either
Balktika
or
Stary Melnik
.”

Okay,” Michael closed the menu with a sigh of relief. “I'll have the Baltic.”

“
Baltika
?”

“Yes, yes, that's the one.”

She raised a hand and the waitress with rosy cheeks appeared beside their table. Tara placed their orders in Russian and asked Michael,

“Is crab meat and lobster bisque soup okay?”

Michael nodded and tried to convey a degree of nonchalance with, “Do they have bread?”

“Actually they do; it's standard fare here.” Turning to the waitress, Tara gave their orders.

When the woman flounced away, Tara turned to Michael, “I also asked for some olive oil and black vinegar, goes well with the bread. The Italian oils are the best I reckon.”

After the waitress cleared their table, Tara leaned forward. “So you see Mike, now that we know where the thugs are hiding out, we'll be getting the Russian police to raid the place and arrest the men, rescue the women, including your Annette.”

“When?” shot Michael.

“We need to arrange matters with the police and to do that we need to contact trustworthy people in the police. Might take us a few days –”

“A few days?” Michael shook his head.

“Mike, primarily this is a drug bust. We need to monitor them, learn of all their contacts. This takes time, but we'll not lose sight of them, I assure you.”

“Meanwhile, what happens to Annette?” Michael shook his head, pursing his lips.

“Listen to me Mike,” Tara kept her eyes on him, but constantly scanned her surrounding. “I found you, even had a gun to your head, which means it's just a question of time before the mobsters find you. At best, you might interfere with our operations. At worst, Annette and you can get hurt.”

“That's what everyone keeps telling me,” Michael looked away, his eyes turning red. “No one has helped me and I've come so far.” He folded his arms.

“Yes, you've done remarkably well and had been very lucky so far.” Tara's face muscles relaxed, “Okay Mike, from what you've told me, the police, your lawyer and no one has been able to change your mind. I wouldn't push but make me a promise.”

Michael studied her face, “It depends on the promise.”

“Okay, continue to stake out the place and observe but stay in the shadows, don't get caught,” advised Tara. “If you learn anything new, call my office and inform me. On the night of the raid, I'll inform you. You promise to stay away and let the police handle it.”

“Will you be with the police during the raid?”

“Yes, but only as an observer Mike as I don't have jurisdiction here. But I promise to look out for Annette.” She held out an open palm, “Agreed?”

Michael took a moment, and then shook her hand with a small smile, his eyes turning red with relief.

Tara looked away, “I've got to see someone for a few minutes, why don't you use the washroom. The toilet facilities here are excellent, nice smelling soap and hand towels. This hotel is only a few minutes from Polyanka.”

Michael took her suggestion and disappeared into the washroom, and appeared about twenty minutes later.

Tara was at the customer service desk, chatting with a tall blonde woman. Seeing Michael, she said her goodbyes to the woman and waved him over.

Michael caught the blonde woman behind the counter eyeing him and felt sure it was his incongruent clothing in the opulent surrounding. Tara said something and walked past him, prompting him to catch up abruptly with her.

“If you really need to Mike, use the facilities here,” Tara took long strides to the car park elevator. “Much better than a plastic bottle. Now you know why I brought you here.”

Back in his hotel Michael called Singapore and updated Yvonne. He sounded relieved and hopeful of Tara's help. At the very least, he had someone he could approach.

But he deflated as he heard what Yvonne had to report. The court had thrown out Diana's application to have Michael incarcerated. Nevertheless, Diana and her driven lawyer have made a new application – what his lawyer, Venkat, said was a
garnishee order
– to have his bank accounts frozen. This would effectively cut him off his funds and force him to settle all outstanding monies payable for alimony and child support. The judge had set a date to hear the application in chambers in five days' time.

Michael felt crushed. If Diana succeeds, his funds cut off, he would have to abort his rescue attempt and return to Singapore. Time closed on him from all sides.

Chapter 33

It was almost three when Tara drove into the embassy and Benjamin came out to meet her in the car pool. He opened his arms in exasperation. “Why don't you keep your cell phone switched on? I've been trying to reach you all morning. The ambassador wants to see you right away,”

Benjamin's complaint was valid. She did not keep her cell phone switched on but she had also given up reminding him to text her. Their codes were simple pre-arranged digits that transliterated into equally simple and innocent messages. For a man who by nature and profession was meticulous, Benjamin displayed a remarkable tendency to be forgetful in this regards.