Paulus gave Moretti a withering look. ‘No. You’re mistaken.’
Just then, Moretti’s phone began to ring in his pocket. ‘Forgive me, I have to take this,’ he said, and answered the phone.
‘The boys are here,’ said the officer outside.
‘Send them in; now!’ said Moretti.
‘We can easily resolve this,’ said Moretti, turning to Paulus.
‘Oh? How?’
‘We search the premises; simple.’
‘Now, hold on—’ protested Paulus, but was interrupted by a loud noise coming from outside.
Reduced to splinters, the front door flew off its hinges and four commandoes dressed in black – faces covered by balaclavas and guns at the ready – stormed into the room. ‘Don’t move!’ said the officer in charge.
Moretti held up his hands. The commandoes stopped in their tracks. ‘I will ask once more, Mr Koenig. Is Jan Van Cleef here?’
‘I’ve already answered that,’ said Paulus, a defiant look on his angry face. Moretti began to feel uneasy. This wasn’t the reaction he had expected. What makes him so confident? Is he just gambling, or is there more to all this? What is it I cannot see here? he wondered. Doubts and nagging uncertainty began to claw at his stomach, but he had reached the point of no return.
Moretti reached into his pocket to make sure that Alexandra’s ID card was real and still there. Concrete evidence, he thought, feeling better.
‘So, what you are saying is this: apart from the young lady over there and yourself, there’s no one else on the premises. Is that right?’ he said, repeating his earlier question.
Paulus sat back in his chair and smiled, his smug confidence infuriating. ‘That is exactly what I’m saying.’
‘You don’t mind if we have a look around then?’
‘Go right ahead,’ said Paulus. ‘Do you mind if I call my lawyer?’
Moretti turned to the officer in charge. ‘You heard the man. Go!’ The commandoes fanned out and rushed to the back to search the building.
Paulus appeared to be enjoying himself. He had made careful preparations for a moment just like this. Foresight and planning were about to pay off. He was used to pressure and knew how to handle it. He had been in tighter corners before and knew what was needed to get out of them: balls and nerves of steel, and he had plenty of both. He also knew that the best defence was often attack. I’ll teach this little prick a lesson he won’t forget in a hurry, he thought.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Detective Sergeant,’ said Paulus, smiling. Then he reached for his mobile and called his lawyer.
95
Jana looked at her watch again and frowned. It was 11:30 p.m. and still no word from Alexandra. Alexandra had told her at breakfast that she would be home at her usual time and hadn’t called to say she would be late. But most worrying of all was the fact she wasn’t answering her phone.
Jana realised that Alexandra got easily carried away with her work and lost track of time, but not like this. She called Alexandra’s mobile again. Still no answer. Seriously concerned by now, Jana dialled Moretti’s number.
As soon as Jana heard Moretti’s voice, she knew something was wrong. Dismayed, she listened to what he had to say. ‘You can’t be serious. How could this have happened?’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Moretti quietly, sounding dejected.
‘Jesus, Pasquale, you’ve got to find her!’
‘We are doing everything we can. We’ll get a search warrant first thing in the morning and then take the place apart, brick by brick.’
‘And until then?’
‘We seal off the place and keep watch around the clock. There are no other leads.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘In The Rocks. In front of Universal Security.’
‘That’s just ten minutes from here. I’m on my way.’
‘Wait …’ said Moretti, but Jana had already hung up.
Jana turned into the quiet street and parked her car. Then she crossed the road, walked up to Moretti’s four-wheel drive and got into the back seat. Jana instantly recognised the familiar signs of exhaustion and fatigue: the bleary eyes, stubble, the crumpled shirt, loosened tie, and the seat littered with empty, disposable coffee cups.
Jana saw Alexandra’s ID Moretti had told her about on the dashboard in front him. ‘I don’t understand it,’ he said. ‘Here, have a look.’ Moretti handed the ID to Jana. ‘She was right here. There’s just no other rational explanation for this. She dropped it. Yet we searched every inch of the place – nothing.’
‘No other exits? At the back perhaps?’
‘Nothing. There’s a small backyard, but that wall of rock directly behind the terrace blocks everything. We couldn’t find a thing. Whoever was in the car that drove into the garage earlier, just vanished. No wonder Koenig was so cocky. He knew … And then he added insult to injury …’
‘In what way?’
‘He called his lawyer. An arrogant bastard. He arrived with a barrister in tow, a QC, while we were still searching. He lodged a formal complaint—’
‘To be expected, surely,’ interrupted Jana.
‘You’re right, but what came next wasn’t.’
‘Oh?’
‘Koenig instructed him to settle for an apology and a new door.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘No. He said he didn’t want any fuss, apparently because of his clients.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘Of course not. He just wanted us out of there.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I ate humble pie and apologised. The boys secured the door and left. I expect I’ll get a bill in due course.’
‘Smart move, Pasquale,’ said Jana. ‘It couldn’t have been easy.’
‘What do you think? But we’ll be back in the morning. No one just disappears without a trace. There’s something in that building we’ve missed, or just couldn’t find because it’s cleverly concealed. After all, these guys are in the security business. Pros.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘A hidden cellar, an underground passage, perhaps something in the rock behind the terrace, a tunnel or another exit. There’s so much high-tech stuff in there you could launch a satellite with it. Something like that, or they just got away. Somehow. But I doubt it. This was all carefully planned and professionally executed. Why bring her here if this wasn’t the right place?’
‘Good point,’ said Jana, running her fingers over the ID. ‘And the proof’s right here in our hands. If it weren’t for that … I would say there’s been a huge mistake.’
‘And I wouldn’t have barged in like that in the first place,’ said Moretti. ‘We’re right back to where we started.’
‘Not quite,’ said Jana. ‘Just hold on … Let’s think outside the square for a moment.’
‘Oh? What’s on your mind?’
‘The Markovich case I was working on five years ago. Right here in The Rocks. Drugs; a sophisticated lab producing ice on a large scale. We worked on it for months and came up against a similar problem.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘All the leads and all the information we received pointed to one particular place. Come to think of it, that too was an old terrace not far from here. Just around the corner from The Hero of Waterloo hotel, which is right there.’ Jana pointed down the street. ‘When we went in, there was nothing. No drugs, no lab, no cash. Everything had vanished into thin air, or so we thought. Until we received a tip-off.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘The entire drug operation had gone underground. Did you know there’s a whole network of tunnels right here in The Rocks? Links to its colonial past. Take the tank stream, for instance. It was Sydney’s original water supply, then it became a sewer and finally an underground stormwater drain. It’s still there. Not far from here. They even have tours. And there are disused rail tunnels and “ghost platforms” under the city and its parks.
The rail network was never completed, mainly due to the Great Depression and World War II. The tunnels were converted into bomb shelters during the war and then abandoned and closed. But they are still there.’
‘So, what are you telling me?’
‘Back to the Markovich case. After the tip-off, we went back and had a closer look. That’s when we found it.’
‘Found what?’
‘A well-concealed trapdoor in the backyard leading down into a secret world of tunnels and chambers chiselled out of the rock. The Markovich brothers, Zoran and Zac, operated a sophisticated lab and drug distribution business down there. There was even a tunnel leading all the way down to the harbour, which isn’t far away. The drugs were picked up at night by boat right under the Harbour Bridge. Daring, original, and very effective. It had worked for years but it wasn’t a new idea.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Back in colonial days, it was rumoured that a secret tunnel ran from the cellar of The Hero of Waterloo over there, down to the harbour. Apparently, it was used by rum smugglers and press gangs. Get the would-be sailor drunk in the bar, drop him down a trap door into the cellar and then drag him through the tunnel to the harbour. By the time he woke up, he found himself working on a clipper bound for London. In fact, the Markovich tunnel linked up with it, if I remember correctly.’
‘Is it still there?’ asked Moretti excitedly.
‘Sure. It was blocked off with steel bars and stuff; some of it was even bricked up, but it’s all still there. In fact, you could get into it from The Hero of Waterloo cellar. All the tunnels are somehow connected.’
Moretti’s gut was telling him something. No longer feeling sorry for himself, and tired of licking his wounds, he reached for his mobile and made a call.
‘What was that all that about?’ asked Jana.
‘I asked for backup. I told them to bring bolt cutters, crowbars and a portable oxyacetylene torch. We are going in.’
‘In where?’
‘The cellar of The Hero of Waterloo, of course. Let’s go.’
96
‘Well done, gentlemen, thank you,’ said Paulus and pressed the remote control button to open the garage door. He had to let his lawyers out through the garage because the front door had been boarded up by Moretti’s men. ‘I think the eager boys in blue have had their wings clipped and fingers burnt a little tonight, don’t you think?’
‘They may be back,’ warned Cyril Archibald QC, his barrister. ‘Be careful. No one likes to lose face.’
‘I have nothing to hide,’ said Paulus.
‘If they do come back, you know what to do,’ said the solicitor. ‘Call me.’
‘They are still here,’ said Archibald as they walked into the quiet street outside. ‘I bet those two cars over there are police.’
‘I’m sure they are,’ said Paulus. ‘I can sleep easy then. No burglars tonight.’
The lawyers hurried across the road and jumped into the solicitor’s car.
‘Confident chap, isn’t he?’ said Archibald. ‘A little reckless perhaps?’
The solicitor shrugged. ‘Good client. Never questions a bill and always pays on time,’ he said, and drove off.
Paulus watched the car disappear down the street. Then he turned around slowly, walked back inside and closed the garage door.
The large control panel in the garage not only operated the sophisticated alarm system inside the building, it activated the many CCTV cameras that kept a watchful eye on just about every corner of the property.
Paulus looked at one of the monitors showing a section of the street outside and smiled. The cavalry has returned to barracks, but a few foot soldiers have been left behind to keep watch, he thought. Cops are so predictable.
Paulus was pleased with himself. The sophisticated setup inside the Universal Security building had come through an unexpected police raid with flying colours. Careful planning and foresight had once again paid off. It was time to have a little fun.
Paulus activated a number of alarm zones in the building and then punched a code into one of the panels. A section of the concrete wall at the back of the garage began to recede silently into the rock. Then he walked through the narrow opening and punched another code into a panel on the other side. The concrete wall moved again and silently slotted back into position.
As he walked along the damp, dimly lit tunnel lined with concrete, Paulus remembered the enormous effort – no expense spared – that had gone into creating this hidden, sophisticated underground complex. While having an office and showroom in The Rocks – a predominantly tourist area – may have been a radical move, it made perfect sense for a business as diversified as Universal Security. Paulus stopped in front of another panel set into a steel door and pressed a few buttons on the pad. The door opened and he stepped into the ‘dungeon’, as it was known at Universal Security.
Hewn out of the virgin rock, the dungeon was a small chamber divided into two. At one end was a stage illuminated by coloured spotlights. On the other, a jumble of cameras, cables and video equipment.
A rock wall almost covered in human skulls provided the backdrop. Each skull had a candle burning inside, which sent eerie shadows dancing across the stone floor. Rusty chains and an assortment of medieval torture instruments dangled from hooks set into the ceiling, conjuring up images of pain, torn flesh, screams and death. Amy Winehouse’s haunting Back to Black was playing in the background. The dungeon was a cleverly designed film set used for shooting extreme bondage movies for the lucrative Asian and Middle Eastern markets.
Centre stage stood an ingenious wooden contraption bristling with lots of sharp spikes, hooks and nails. Invented by the Inquisition, it had been used effectively by zealous monks to extract confessions – mainly from hapless women accused of witchcraft – by inflicting excruciating pain, mainly in, and around the genitals.
Alexandra sat astride – legs pulled wide apart – on what looked like a medieval rack. Her wrists were tied to iron rings set into the rock wall behind her and her feet to wooden stakes bolted to either side of the strange contraption. Hooked through the throat, a ghastly human head made of wax sat on top of each stake. Eyes bulging and covered in mock blood, the heads were reminiscent of a macabre display in Madame Tussaud’s. Apart from a red ball-gag stuffed into her mouth, Alexandra was completely naked. Her face was streaked with runny make-up and tears, and her sweaty red hair pulled back and dishevelled, but her humiliated body radiated defiance.
‘I can see the fun has already begun,’ said Paulus. He waved to Van Cleef and the man operating the camera at the far end of the chamber. ‘Where’s Igor?’
A huge man built like a weightlifter stepped out of the shadows. ‘Over here,’ he said. Still wearing a tight-fitting black latex mask that covered his face, and leather belts with chains that criss-crossed his hairy chest, Igor looked like a medieval torture-master straight out of some silent horror movie. ‘Just getting dressed,’ he said, laughing. ‘I’ve done my bit. It’s Jan’s turn, if he wants to have a go.’
Paulus walked over to Alexandra and looked at her. ‘Brains and a good body,’ he said, nodding appreciatively. ‘The Japanese love big tits. And a genuine redhead to boot; in every department. The Arabs will go wild.’ Unable to speak or make any kind of sound because of the nauseating gag in her mouth, Alexandra stared at Paulus, the look in her eyes hurling daggers of contempt at her tormentor that would have made an attacking cobra recoil in fear. ‘You’ve already met Igor then. I hope he’s been gentle. But then, he’s such a big boy, isn’t he? And so hairy.’
‘Come, have a look,’ said Van Cleef, adjusting the video camera. Paulus walked over to him and watched the replay.
‘Good God, Igor, what have you done to the lady?’ asked Paulus, laughing. ‘My goodness, she’ll never be the same again.’
‘Jan’s idea. He thought she’d like something a little different …’
‘Great ass,’ said Paulus. ‘Not bad for a scientist sit
ting in a lab all day, don’t you reckon, guys? What a waste!’
Everybody laughed.
‘I think we have enough,’ said Van Cleef, turning serious. ‘We better get her back home.’
‘You’re right,’ said Paulus and switched off the camera. ‘This makes Deep Throat look like a movie fit for nuns.’
Van Cleef walked over to Alexandra and placed his right index finger on her throat. ‘So that there’s no misunderstanding,’ he said quietly, beginning to push ever so gently, ‘here are the rules: You step out of line, or in any way fail to do exactly what we ask, the video will be released on the Internet. YouTube, social media, the lot. We might even place it on the official Gordon Institute website.’ Van Cleef paused, licked his finger and then ran it slowly further down. First, he circled Alexandra’s left nipple, then her right, and then moved down to her naval. ‘An intelligent woman like you,’ he continued, barely touching her skin, ‘will appreciate the serious consequences should that happen. This is not a game. I’m sure you know this by now and you also know what we can do with you … and to you.’ Van Cleef paused again and ran his hand along the inside of Alexandra’s thigh – making her skin crawl – and down her right leg until he reached the rope cutting into her ankle. ‘This is your last chance, Dr Delacroix. Please don’t disappoint us,’ he said, and began to untie the rope.
97
Patrick O’Mara, the publican, was still doing the till in the bar when Moretti knocked on the front door of The Hero of Waterloo. Another bloody drunk, thought the burly Irishman, annoyed, and ignored the unwelcome interruption. He poured himself another Irish whiskey and continued to count the money. Moretti knocked again. This time the knocking was louder and more urgent.
‘We’re closed. Fook off!’ shouted O’Mara in his guttural Irish accent and walked over to the glass door to have a look.
Moretti held up his ID. ‘Police. Open up,’ he said.
O’Mara unlocked the door. Stunned by the number of police officers armed with all kinds of implements streaming into the bar, he stood aside and watched.
The Hidden Genes of Professor K: A Medical Mystery Thriller (Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 3) Page 46
