sThe Quiet Wart (20 page)

Liz had no way to determine how much time had passed since they'd been left in the bathroom. It felt like hours, but she suspected that it was far less. Her senses were playing tricks with her mind; the depravation of light making time pass more slowly.

Her arms were aching from being tied behind her back and her body was bruised from the van ride, but otherwise she was fit and well. The occasional shuffle close by her let her know that Praew was still there.

Just as Liz was adjusting her position again to try to relieve some of the pressure on her arms, she heard a door open in a room close by, then voices. She listened carefully to the words of the people that came into the adjacent room. There appeared to be three of them and, if she wasn't mistaken, they were speaking Russian.

Everybody they'd encountered during the investigation so far had been from an EU country, but Liz knew that there were plenty of neo-Nazis in Russia. Her thoughts turned to Praew; her life had been tormented by Russians. First, the people traffickers that had kept her as a prisoner in a squalid brothel, then the boys at school, now this.

The three men in the next room seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing and joking, but there was something odd about their voices. A champagne cork popping startled her, then another and another. The voices suddenly got louder as the drinking started. Half an hour later, three more corks and the voices went up, louder again.

As she listened to the party in the adjacent room, it suddenly dawned upon her. The voices weren't of men, they were younger, boys even. It was hard to tell through the thick Russian language, but certain syllables were too high-pitched and lacked the gruff voice an adult would use.

What going on? Children? It can't be… can it?

Footsteps suddenly started to move towards the bathroom, then without warning, the sack was lifted from Liz's head. As her eyes came into focus, she saw Nikolai Koryalov lifting the sack from Praew's head. When Praew caught sight of the young Russian, her pupils narrowed with fear.

In some circumstances it would have been a relief to know that your captors were fifteen-year-old boys, but to Liz it made things worse. These three boys knew no boundaries and hadn't yet matured enough to understand right from wrong. The fact that they commanded more resources than most adults could ever dream of meant nothing. They were still adolescents, and they were drunk, making them extremely dangerous.

‘Hello, Thai whore. Did you think you could get me expelled from school and charged by the police and get away with it?' He pushed his hand onto Praew's face and pulled her cheeks together. ‘Now, you'll have to suck my cock, and I'm not even going to pay you for it, you ugly yellow cunt.' Koryalov slurred his words slightly, as he let go of Praew's face.

Belov and Dementyev were at the bathroom door, drunk and laughing at Koryalov, who held a half-empty bottle of Cristal in his hand, like a wannabe rock star.

Liz instinctively lashed out with her leg, but it failed to connect and she fell against the tiled floor heavily.

‘Don't worry mamma slut, your filthy yellow cunt will get some big Russian cock too,' Koryalov said, grabbing at his crotch, much to the amusement of his friends.

Dementyev said some words in Russian to Koryalov. With her limited understanding of Russian, Liz thought he told him to hurry up and that his father would be there soon. If it was true, that Vladimir Koryalov was on the way, Liz knew that she had only a short time to get away.

The sight of the three young boys laughing at their vile threats made Liz think of young boys that were given weapons in Africa and the Middle East, then told to commit atrocities that no adult ever would. It was that lack of a moral brake that made power in the hands of children so dangerous.

Another thing was really worrying her: Sean would be looking for the Nazis, Glas, Wagner, etc. He wouldn't suspect that Koryalov had them followed from England.

Leaning on the wall behind the toilet, Koryalov suddenly unzipped his jeans and pulled out his penis. The jet of urine splashed against the seat and hit his shoes as he swayed from side to side, trying to steady himself. When he'd finished, he wiped the end of his penis on Praew's forehead. The sight made Liz vomit in her own mouth. When she was forced to swallow it again because of the tape covering her mouth, the acid burned at the back of her throat.

‘What's wrong, mamma whore? You want it first, is that it? Or is it that you've never seen such prime Russian meat and you can't wait to get your dirty yellow cunt onto it?' Koryalov's words were getting more slurred and his eyes were narrowing into an evil expression.

Pushing himself away from the toilet, he moved over to Liz and forced his penis into her face, just under her eye. She moved away as best she could and tried to kick him, but he just laughed and moved back, taking another huge swig of champagne, before he threw the bottle against the wall, smashing it, and then turned his attention to Praew.

Reaching down clumsily, he grabbed her t-shirt and ripped it open from the neck down, exposing her small breasts. Praew didn't move, paralysed with fear, her eyes glazing over with tears.

Her insides burning with pure hatred, Liz struggled against the ties again, but it was no use, she watched on helplessly as Koryalov grabbed at Praew's vagina though her jeans. ‘That's the problem with you yellow cunts: no tits! But I bet this is nice and tight,' he said, grabbing again at her vagina.

Still Praew didn't move, abject terror etched across her face.

The seven men filed one by one into Dorsch's sumptuous apartment, where Carrera marble lined the floors and walls of the oversized entrance.

‘This way,' Dorsch said as he walked through a high oak doorway.

Every sense in Sean's body was on full alert, pumping adrenalin, ready for the attack at any stage. He scanned the large office, looking for something to use in a fight. But deep down he somehow felt that he could trust Dorsch.
Was he just a good actor?

‘Do you know where and when they were taken?' Dorsch said, seating himself behind a desk with four large screens surrounding it. Out of the corner of his eye, Sean saw the two bags the guards had taken from their hotel earlier.

‘Take them if you want them,' Dorsch said, noticing Sean's eye movement, ‘but I think this is more important.' His face was stern: he was clearly a man scared of nothing; a skilled fighter and a deadly adversary; but there was still something about him that was telling Sean to trust him.

‘Look, Mr McManus, I know you don't trust me, and frankly, given my previous experience of you, I'm finding it hard to trust you, but you've just told me that a woman and a thirteen-year-old girl have been kidnapped. Through my business I've been involved in the safe return of hundreds of kidnap victims and the one common factor in them all is that time is of the essence.'

He's also very intuitive,
Sean thought.

‘What about the police?' Sean suggested, as he had to Clive.

‘The easiest way to ensure they end up dead. Now, where and when, please?' Dorsch said with authority.

‘Between four and five; somewhere between the Krefelderhof Hotel and the Schwarbig Hospital,' Sean said.

‘Okay, we'll start at the hotel. Two people per screen and I'll take this one. Watch out for them.' Dorsch played with the keypad of his computer and suddenly each of the four screens lit up with a street image. A clock in the corner read 16:00. Then the images started to move.

‘You have access to the Munich Police CCTV?' Clive asked.

‘Yes, large amounts of money can sometimes be very useful,' Dorsch said, without looking away from the screen.

The image Sean was watching showed a view of the entrance to the Krefelderhof from about twenty metres away. He focussed intently in the screen, trying to rid his mind of any morbid thoughts about what could be happening to Praew and Liz.

‘There. That's them,' Pete said after twelve minutes of watching his screen.

His heart bouncing against his chest wall, Sean looked across quickly at the frozen screen. Liz and Praew were holding hands, huddled together against the cold, bowing their heads into the wind.

Dorsch quickly hit a key and the image started to move again. A tear formed in the corner of Sean's eye as he watched the two figures making their way along the road slowly, clearly battling the cold weather.
It's my fault. They wouldn't be here if it weren't for me and my bloody ambition!

As they passed out of view from one camera, Dorsch hit a few more keys and another camera showed them from the front walking towards it. Suddenly they stopped and Liz waved for a taxi. Sean watched as they climbed into the cream-coloured Mercedes.

‘Go back to the last camera,' Clive asked.

When the screen flicked back, they saw it clearly; the taxi was there. It had been following behind them, waiting to be flagged.

‘Get the details of the taxi. I'll follow the cameras through,' Dorsch said.

Clive quickly wrote down the number plate and vehicle identifier, before Dorsch flicked to the next camera. The image showed the taxi pull to the end of the road that the hotel was on, and then turn right.

‘That's not the direction to the hospital,' Clive said,

Each time the screen changed, Dorsch, managed to skilfully locate the taxi moving slowly through the streets. Then it turned off between two buildings and disappeared.

‘Scheiss!
No cameras down there,' Dorsch said.

‘Then we have to get there. That must be it. That must be where Liz and Praew are,' Sean said, his voice shrill with panic.

‘Wait. Keep watching it for a while,' Clive said.

Less than four minutes later, a black Volkswagen van emerged from the side street. ‘That could be them,' Clive said.

Immediately after the van, the same taxi pulled out of the street… minus its two passengers.

Dorsch quickly flicked to another screen and they watched as the black van passed through the Königsplatz. Then another screen as it passed through Maximilliansplatz.

When they watched it turn right into the street where Dorsch's apartment was, where they were actually standing right now, Sean stiffened.
Is this just a game? Is this how Dorsch gets his kicks, by leading us on like this?

Giving a subtle look towards Pete and Steve, putting them on alert, Clive clearly thought the same.

Leaning forward slightly, Sean wrapped his fingers around the stem of one of the monitors, ready to smash it into Dorsch's face when the pretence ended.

When the next camera picked up the van driving past Dorsch's apartment, he relaxed his grip and focussed on the screen. Another camera then showed it pulling into the parking garage of an apartment block, just fifty metres further along the same road that Dorsch lived on; on the same side.

‘They're just here?' Sean said.

‘It looks that way,' Dorsch replied.

‘Is that too much of a coincidence?' Clive said suspiciously.

‘This is the most expensive street in Germany. Whoever it is that has them has money. And if you have money in Munich, this is where you live,' Dorsch replied, shrugging.

‘Wagner?' Sean said.

Dorsch quickly hit a few buttons on his computer, producing a list of names with numbers next to them. ‘There's no Wagner listed as an owner of an apartment there, but that's not to say he doesn't rent one.'

‘How the hell … ?' Clive started to speak.

‘I own a security company and I like to know who my neighbours are,' Dorsch interrupted.

Leaning over his shoulder, Sean scanned the list of names quickly. He gasped as his eyes were drawn to one name. Reaching down, he lifted a letter opener and pushed it to Dorsch's temple.

Waving his security guards away, Dorsch kept his head still. ‘What now, Mr McManus?'

‘Vladimir Koryalov, you know him,' Sean said, pressing the point of the knife against Dorsch's skin.

‘Yes, he's a client of mine. But how would you know that?' Dorsch replied.

‘I saw a photo of you having dinner with him on his son's Facebook page.'

‘As I said, he's a client. He has extensive operations in Africa and we supply armed security to his plants and executives. But, how do you know him?' Dorsch asked.

Sean kept the knife in place. ‘His son attends the same school as my daughter and they had some problems,' Sean answered.

‘What kind of problems?'

‘My daughter got his son charged by the police and if he's found guilty, he'll be banned from the UK permanently.'

‘Nikolai. Damn,' Dorsch said.

‘What is it?' Clive asked.

‘Koryalov's fortune is entirely dependent on his UK residence. If he has to leave because of his son, he'll also lose all his money, as it actually belongs to the Russian President.'

‘So that's true?' Sean said.

‘Very, but it took me a lot of work to find it out. I like to know who my clients really are. Tell me is your daughter the only witness to the offence that Nikolai committed?'

‘No, it's all over the internet. There's a video.'

‘Hmm,' Dorsch said, thinking. ‘He must think that he has a way around the video evidence and is looking to get rid of the eye witness.'

Sean let the blade drop away from Dorsch's temple. ‘What do you mean. Is he going to kill them?'

‘As I said, I like to know who my clients really are and Vladimir Koryalov is a cold blooded killer, but something doesn't fit. If he wanted them dead, he'd have killed them on the street. He certainly wouldn't take them to his own apartment, leaving a trail any half-witted policeman could follow.'

‘So what do you think it is?' Sean asked.

‘A trap maybe… but for who?'

‘Could he be linked to 4R18?' Clive asked.

‘It's not beyond the realms of possibility. He may well know Wagner from the old Soviet Union days.'

‘Too coincidental,' Sean said. ‘What if he doesn't know who the other eyewitness is? He'd need to get Praew to tell him before he killed her.'

‘If there's another eyewitness that would make sense,' Dorsch said. ‘But it means we'd better be quick, god knows what he'll do to your daughter to make her give him the name.'

‘Can you get us into his apartment?' Clive asked.

Dorsch laughed suddenly. ‘Without even breaking in. My company set up the security for him, so I have all the access codes. Just one minute.' Dorsch clicked a few more keys and then scrolled through some screens of data. ‘Well, somebody's there. The alarm was deactivated yesterday and hasn't been re-activated since.'

Every sense in Sean's body was on maximum alert, his instinct was still telling him to trust Dorsch, but the coincidences were stacking up. Anyway, he had no choice for now, he'd go along with it, but one of his eyes would never leave the German. He slid the paperknife into his belt and stepped back from Dorsch's chair.

After saying a few words in German, one of the guards walked out of the office. Two minutes later he returned with four browning pistols.

‘Could you give them their ammunition back now, please,' Dorsch said to Steve and Pete, as the guards handed out the loaded weapons.

Sean had only ever held a gun once before and that time he'd wanted to shoot, but it was taken away from him by Terry before he pulled the trigger. The dead weight of it reminded him again of that moment.

‘Only use it if you have to,' Dorsch said, obviously reading Sean's surprise at being handed a gun. ‘And try not to shoot me,' he added.