by Les Cowan
“Green for Go,” he said calmly into his headset. “All units, all teams. Green for Go. Thirty second countdown.”
The Duff Street team – designated the Alpha team – assembled in what served for a hallway in the van. Kit was given a last onceover check but there was no eye contact and no small talk. McIntosh gave them a countdown. Ten, nine… at three, the lead officer depressed the door handle and at “Go”, they piled out and ran.
When Boris heard “Police, open up” coming from the door entry speaker, at first he thought there must have been some kind of joke. Maybe one of the evening’s guests had arrived late. Well, that was ok. They were all going to be lined up shortly, once Dimitri had finished with Mikhail. They would all have to drop their trousers and boxers and be photographed with a line of naked girls. That would be good insurance for the future, during what Dimitri was calling “the transition”. So he didn’t bother checking with Dimitri or Yuri. Another stooge in the line-up was a good thing. Maybe it would be somebody senior who could make their position even more secure. He opened the door just as the battering ram was being swung, took it right in the guts, and went down like a cardboard cutout. Dimitri in the office heard the commotion and turned round just long enough for Mikhail to grab his gun hand and try to twist it away from him. The gun went off into the ceiling just as two SWAT officers kicked back the office door and held weapons at them both. Four more piled into the lounge, the building layout exactly as Tati had described it in the changing corridor of Sally Winters. Yuri was on his own and immediately dropped his weapon. Stevenson looked up from the prone position and groaned.
In Marchmont, David reached across and turned the receiver off.
“It’s finished,” he said.
Chapter 26
BRUNTSFIELD
The final haul was one DCI, two DIs, four DSs and one lowly DC. Final reports could wait till the following week but there was a Saturday morning briefing, with a representative from each of the SWAT teams dealing with each of the different locations, plus McIntosh’s core team. David was invited but declined; he had a sermon to prepare for the following morning. Gillian wanted to get her notes from the conference into some sort of order. Skiving off before the full event was over was not entirely kosher in academic circles but she had been in touch with Gary and explained. “Well, in the circumstances,” he had said. “Just give me an overview of what you were at and we’ll fudge the rest. It’s just that any foreign trips have to be written up these days or the Faculty gets twitchy.” By late afternoon she had it pretty much under control and thought she’d take a light pasta salad round to David’s as a surprise. She knew he hated preparing to preach so close to the starting gun and would probably appreciate not having to cook. Have to get that bedroom window fixed, she thought, pushing open the heavy stair door.
As she expected, he was bent over his laptop – finally returned by the boffins – with a pile of books and three empty coffee mugs beside him.
“I thought I might give a final reprise on the wheat and the tares tomorrow – again,” he said with an air of innocence. “But I’m fed up with that Scripture – if you’re allowed to say that. So little wheat, so many tares.”
“You should be elated, from what I hear, not depressed,” Gillian said, trying to be bright. “Mission accomplished: twenty-nine girls in safe police care, eight police officers who will not be obstructing justice in future, and around 15,000 pounds in cash recovered, plus a quantity of drugs and other stolen goods.”
“You make it sound like the Twelve Days of Christmas.” He managed to crack a smile. “Eight cops in custody, seven brothels busted,” he crooned.
Gillian laughed.
“And one sermon stalled,” he added. “Can’t seem to get my head around it. The parable has it all straightened out at the end of the age – but why not now? Why do girls like these have to go through stuff like that?”
“If you could answer that you’d get the Mastermind trophy home to keep.”
He dropped his pen on the desk.
“Come on,” he said. “Get your coat back on. Let’s walk over the Links. It’ll clear my head.”
He climbed into his usual grey overcoat, screwed his fedora on, and pulled the door shut behind them. Outside it was bright with winter sun. They walked arm in arm down through the putting greens towards the Meadows, avoiding cyclists, joggers, mums with buggies, skateboarders, scooters, and one Segway rider.
“How long is it since we had that meeting at Mike and Sam’s?” David asked abruptly.
“Four weeks today – exactly,” replied Gillian, much better than David at dates and times, a fact they both acknowledged.
“Incredible,” he replied. “Simply incredible. Three weeks of doubts, questions, one step forward, and two back. Now we’ve got a result I should be pleased. I can’t quite understand why I’m not. Maybe just exhaustion from too much tension.”
“I think it’s understandable,” Gillian remarked. “I’ve had my work to take my mind off things and you’ve had the brunt of the action, specially with that thing in Sally Winters on Thursday. Give yourself a break.”
“I think I’ll see the funny side in a few weeks. A stake-out in a sex shop – bizarre.”
“No, Sally Winters,” Gillian poked him in the ribs. “‘Bizarre’ is a competing brand.”
That made them both smile.
They did a circuit almost as far as Buccleuch Street, then looped around behind the tennis courts and the back of George Square, continuing on along North Meadow Walk towards Tollcross, and ended up at El Quijote for a drink and a few tapas.
“Miguel! ¿Qué tal?” David shouted into the back shop and got some incomprehensible greeting back. In honour of the aborted trip to Ribadeo, David ordered Estrella Galicia beers and they sat for a bit watching passers-by on the pavement outside and listening to Omara Portuondo singing about how happy Cubans are over a not very good PA.
“Feeling better?” Gillian asked after the second beer.
“I think so,” David admitted. “I don’t always do my sermon prep over a couple of beers but it seems to be working. I have something in mind.”
“Ok, now take me back to your flat, Romeo.”
Walking up Bruntsfield Place, to where the common entrance to David’s flat was clearly visible, he noticed two familiar figures going in. They got to the front door only a few seconds behind them.
“David H: Pastor,” Elvira squealed, almost levitating with excitement.
“David,” he replied. “Just David. How are you? And Tati. You look well. Both of you.” He kissed both girls on both cheeks in the Spanish manner, not exactly sure what the norms were in Belarus, and it seemed to work. Gillian smiled encouragingly beside him.
“Good to see you both.”
He unlocked the door and pushed it open.
“Coffee?” Gillian mouthed as he took the girls into the living room.
He nodded.
“How did you find out where I live?”
“We are detectives!” Elvira almost shouted excitedly. “Crime-fighting detectives!”
“James brought us,” Tati said more quietly. “I was at his house with Elvira last night. The police, they have arranged rooms in a sort of hotel but we wanted to be together. He said they had a little extra bed he could put out. Mr McIntosh, he phoned and they said we could come. It was 2 a.m. before we got there but they stayed up for us.”
“James, he cook us a real Scottish breakfast this morning,” Elvira enthused. “It have everything. It was lunchtime before we finish it.”
“David,” Tati said shyly, “I want to say something to you. You have saved our lives. You have…”
“There’s really no need,” David interrupted. “I’m just glad…”
“No,” Tati insisted. “I want to say. Many days I was in the house, I thought my life was over. Max. He had everything. We had nothing. No way to say anything to anyone. When Elvira and I were in the office and I saw your name on the list,
it was the first time I thought there was anyone on our side. You play cards?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, it was like Max had all the cards and we had none. And there was no other player. Then, when I saw David H: Pastor on the list I thought, maybe there is another player after all. Someone else has a few cards. I didn’t know if it would be enough to win the game but anyone with other cards was something. That was the first time. Then when Elvira almost died on her birthday I was so sad but it made me think about sending a birthday card to a friend. I wanted to send something to you but I couldn’t. I didn’t know who you were or how to contact you and I had to send something people would believe. Something not dangerous.”
She looked down and smiled.
“I wanted to send you a secret message, like ‘Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.’”
That made them laugh. Gillian had just come back in with a tray and looked at them quizzically.
“First he’s David H: Pastor, now he’s Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said. “What does that make me?”
“No, you help us so much too,” Tati protested. “I’m sorry. David was the only name I knew. You work together. James told us the story today. I am so sorry for your friend. Killing is normal for Max.”
“By the way, I haven’t had the full report from DI McIntosh,” David suddenly said. “I’ve just heard bits and pieces. And nobody’s mentioned Max. The last I heard they thought he was at one of the other houses. Have you heard?”
Elvira looked down.
“They did not find him,” Tati said quietly. “They thought he was in a house but when the team went in he is not there. Or he got away. I don’t know. Mikhail they have but no Max.”
That put a dampener on proceedings and paused the conversation. Max was still on the loose, probably halfway back to Belarus or wherever his bolthole was by now. Obviously his operation was in tatters: all of the houses identified and taken; PGC church revealed for the sham it was; all his “merchandise” liberated. Spade had said something in a message about the bank accounts being frozen so maybe he didn’t even have access to his profits any more. But he knew that was putting a brave face on it. Getting hands on Maxim Blatov had been a major objective of the operation, both to hold him to account for the damage done and take him out of circulation for a long time in terms of future operations. He had without a doubt been the brains behind it all. And, ultimately, what a brilliant idea. There was a certain degree of respectability in a church where small amounts of money could easily be laundered through the weekly offerings. Then it had become the front for grander schemes. In his desire for greater “respectability”, to make his position even more secure, he signed up to the Council of Churches, but this had led to a few pebbles rolling down the hill, which had eventually turned into the avalanche that brought it all crashing down. Still, it wasn’t a crazy idea. The more established he could become, the safer he would be from outside suspicion – and the harder it would be for church members to resist pressure from the pastor. As pastor or “prophet” of PGC, he could exert enormous mind control over his followers, and controlling other people seemed to be what made him tick, whether through the church, in the houses, or running networks all the way back to Belarus to entice the girls to get on that bus and travel all that way, willingly, eagerly, desperate to start their new life. Well, start a new life they undoubtedly did – just not the one they were expecting. So he could play his mind games not just in the criminal but also in the respectable world. And how much more control could you have than speaking on behalf of God? So the girls obeyed because they had no choices left, the strong-arm guys because they were paid to and got a share of the pickings, and Sandy and Sonia because they actually thought they were doing God’s will. Max had it covered from every angle.
David thought he could just imagine the cynical cops clearing up afterwards, shrugging their shoulders and saying, Well isn’t that what church is anyway? Manipulation of the simple minded? He wanted to come right back at them. No, it’s not. You’ve got it wrong. It’s so much more than that. It’s teaching people to think for themselves in a complicated world where there are no easy answers but there is some guidance we can follow. We can let an ancient wisdom inform our minds, our judgment, and our relationships. Even if Jesus never existed and never said, “He who is without sin, let him cast the first stone”, somebody did. And it has remained an incredibly powerful saying for the last two millennia. So let’s start with that. There is something there that’s still valid and authentic. As Gillian had said to him once, “Max is not ‘us’. We are not him.” But he doubted whether anyone who heard or read about the scandal would see it that way. The church was an easy target – yet another of Max’s manipulations. And that’s how the papers would play it.
Gillian hooked him back to reality by asking if anyone wanted another coffee. When she had made it he tried to recover a more positive frame of mind.
“I never heard how you managed to get your message out to Andrei,” he said to Tati.
“A man called Pat,” Tati said. “He is not a bad man, not like many of the others. Just lonely. I think I reminded him of his wife from forty years ago. Often he just wanted to talk. First of all I got him to make copies of Dimitri’s keys so we could get into the office. Then, when I thought of sending a birthday card I asked him if he could post it for me, though I didn’t have any money for the stamp.” She smiled. “He was quite sweet.”
David could see Gillian frowning and he knew what she was thinking. That sweet old man was exploiting people-trafficked sex slaves in Edinburgh. Not so sweet after all. He completely agreed with where she was coming from but he thought he could see the other side of it too. The wheat and the tares weren’t just different people – one a stalk of wheat, one a weed. The good and the bad were totally mixed up in all our motives. Among Jesus’ hearers then and in an old man looking for company in a brothel now. The church members who sat listening to his sermons. The police who had risked their lives last night rushing in not knowing what to expect. Even the regular punters who made use of the girls. They weren’t monsters 24/7. They must have some good impulses too, even if they tried to gag the voice of conscience. Even himself. It was nice to be hailed as someone’s saviour. He just hoped that underneath it all he wasn’t in it for the praise, respect, and admiration. He had a harder time seeing the good side of Max though. Was there a stalk of wheat in there somewhere or just solid tares wall-to-wall? Or maybe there had been once and it had been crowded out and choked by the weeds, to mix up his parables a bit.
Anyway, this was getting a bit over-philosophical. Tati sat in front of David, happy and perfect, almost as if the last year had never happened. Free to come and visit, drink a cup of tea, and eat a Kit Kat without threats of violence, and that was something. Elvira’s neck might carry that livid red band for weeks, months, or maybe even years but she was free to go into Accessorize and buy a beautiful Indian silk scarf to hide it if she wanted.
“So Pat posted the card and Andrei got the message after all.” David tried to get back onto the subject.
“Yes. I haven’t seen him since I gave him it so I thought he must have thrown it away and didn’t want to admit it to me. But Andrei got it and he got in touch with you.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I read his message,” David admitted.
“We were in Spain,” Gillian explained. “Edinburgh to Belarus to Spain and back to Edinburgh again.”
“Pretty good postman, eh?” Elvira chipped in, lightening the tone.
“We have to go now,” Tati said reluctantly. “James said to meet him downstairs soon. Thank you again. For me you are always David H: Pastor.”
David shut the door behind them, turned, and gave Gillian a hug.
“Now I’m even more exhausted,” he said.
“Well, come and lie down,” she said. “I think just lying on your spare bed’s allowed.”
Probably only two or three of the Southside congregation
knew anything about what had been going on over the past three weeks. They knew that David had taken some time off to accompany Gillian to a conference in Spain. Maybe it had been some kind of post-engagement trip. Well, nothing wrong with that. They went so well together. A man that age needed a woman to look after him, after everything he had been through. And she hadn’t had an easy time either, by all accounts. David Hidalgo was not Brad Pitt but he was a kind man who would love her and care for her. She, on the other hand, was a bit of a prize for a man over fifty. Maybe they might heal each other’s wounds as the years went by. The only other thing widely known was that a good friend of David’s had committed suicide. What on earth would drive a man to do such a thing? Only Mrs MacInnes and Juan knew more.
“Nice to have to have you back, Señor David,” Irene MacInnes greeted him as he came in early. “Has all been safely gathered in?”
“Almost all. The biggest fish managed to get through the net but I understand they have all the small fry – and the girls, which is the most important thing.”
She nodded. “That’s good. It’s the fate of these poor things that makes my blood boil. In Scotland too. I’m glad they’ll be able to start again.” Then a thought struck her.
“They will let them stay, won’t they? I mean, in Scotland?”
“I sincerely hope so. But I suppose it’ll all be tied up in red tape. I imagine they’ll have to apply for visas then residency. After what they’ve been through, going back to Belarus seems like punishing them for being victims. A man called James Dalrymple is on the case though. Apparently he has a load of connections and thinks it might be possible to work something out. I imagine some of the girls might want to go home at least to see their families, whether they choose to come back or not. Tati and Elvira – the only ones I’ve met – I know they want to stay. They want to set up a business together to help girls from Belarus find proper work here and try to stop the need for traffickers.”
