Twisted Traffick

by Geza Tatrallyay

  “I think so.”

  Anne started to scuttle in the direction of the voice. “Where are you?” she asked, groping in the darkness. “Say something.”

  “Over here, with Sasha, my friend from school. I saw her already in here when we were shoved up.”

  “I think all these girls must have been given some drugs. Hopefully, nothing else happened.”

  Then Anne heard Nadia’s sobbing right beside her. “Nadia? Oh, there you are.” And, finally, touching the Russian teenager, she moved closer and put her arm around her. With her other hand, she felt a face in the Russian girl’s lap. “Your friend, Sasha?”

  “Yes. She is still out. But she has a pulse, and she’s breathing.”

  “Nadia, you must tell me how you girls got to the Rasputin. That club, where we just were.”

  Several minutes passed during which Nadia tried to stop her sobbing. “In Ozersk, where my family lives, where my father works, they advertised that they would find good jobs in the West for us--those just finishing school.”

  “Who? Who advertised?”

  “I don’t know. Some company. The European Placement Agency, I think they called themselves.”

  “And your parents agreed?”

  “Yes. There is a lot of contamination in the area, you know, from all the nuclear waste. They say it is not healthy to live there.”

  “Of course.”

  “My father paid this man--Kalinsky--the boss in the club a lot of money.”

  So that was the alias he used in Russia. Clearly, a takeoff on Kallay. Adam followed her everywhere, even though, for sure, he was dead.

  Anne was getting indignant at the monstrosity of it all. In fact, she now remembered that right after the Kallay affair--that was the nuclear heist--Greg had related that Adam had told him that Hetzel and...what was her name?...Irena Kolchakova, the then Director at Mayak, had a nice little side business going, taking the children of employees at the Mayak nuclear facility to the West for work. Greg’s suspicion--that they would then be trafficked as sex slaves--had proved to be right.

  They had wrongly thought that with Kolchakova dead--Anne shuddered as she remembered the grisly scene in Poti when the nuclear transaction was being carried out, with the Director’s head totally blown away, and brains, bone and blood everywhere--and Adam too, gone, and Hetzel barely getting away alive, that the “nice little business” had come to an end. But no. For sure, Kallay or Kalinsky--this impostor--could be none other than Hetzel.

  As she was pondering this in the darkness, Anne suddenly had a revelation. Maybe it was Polyakov who was behind all this evil. Orchestrating it from behind the scenes, out of the limelight. Like he had done with the uranium heist in the Kallay affair. Sergei, the former Russian General, twin brother of Boris, the FSB Deputy Director. For sure, he was well connected in the present day Russian nomenklatura.

  Polyakov, too, had gotten away in Poti, and, no doubt, had gone back to his empire trading all kinds of illicit things--nuclear material, arms, drugs and women, maybe body parts, for all Anne knew. And for the traffic in women, it looks like he let Hetzel be the front man. Convinced she was right, in the darkness of the rolling truck, Anne was overwhelmed with fear.

  “He was supposed to--to--find us good jobs.” Anne heard Nadia stutter before she dissolved into sobs again.

  “What happened then?”

  “They took us to an airplane which flew us west somewhere...Hungary, I think.”

  “And then?”

  “We were driven in a vehicle like this to some kind of compound--and--” Nadia could not go on. “And--” She broke out in tears again. She shifted her leg, and in her lap, Sasha stirred.

  “It’s all right, dear.” Anne put her arms around the teenager. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “Then that weird guy, Kalinsky separated me from the others and took me to--to an apartment. There was a blonde--a beautiful blonde woman tied up in a bed there.” The sobs came now with a vengeance. “And--and he forced me to--to make love to her.” Nadia dissolved completely.

  “It’s all right, dear,” Anne, completely shocked, tried to console the girl, but was glad for the pitch darkness.

  Could the blonde be Julia? She was on the right track then. But poor, poor Julia, at the mercy of these vile flesh merchants.

  Anne kept her arms around the Russian girl. Eventually, her sobs subsided, and with Sasha’s head still resting in her lap, Nadia fell into a light sleep. Anne’s mind turned to trying to understand her own situation and to figuring out how she might get out of it. And help these girls.

  Her only hope now was that the locator was working. There, down inside her. Ugh. Instinctively, in the darkness she reached down and felt that it was still in place. Just to get some reassurance. That was her only link now to Greg and Labrecque and the entire Interpol team. She hoped that they realized that she was no longer in the Revuebar and were following the truck, wherever it was taking her and these trafficked teenagers.

  ***

  They had drunk the entire bottle of Zweigelt, so before Intermission was over, Greg ordered another one. The announcer came out to herald the next act--a pair of twins from Thailand, who, he promised, would perform in a way only Asian women could.

  As the exotic music began, Labrecque leaned over. “Do you think we will see Anne out there on the stage again?”

  “I’m not sure, but I hope she is all right.” Greg decided that maybe he should check the receiver. It showed that the target was still in the building. Reassured, he put it back in his jacket pocket, trusting that at the end of the show, it would confirm that Anne was on her way back to the Sacher, where they had agreed to meet after this was all over.

  It was midway through the fourth act after the Intermission that the tracking device started to vibrate and beep in Greg’s pocket. He quickly grabbed it and looked at the screen. “She is moving away,” he said to his companion. “Fast, so no doubt they already have her in a vehicle.”

  “They must have gone out some back exit,” Labrecque answered. “But we had it covered. I am sure our guys are right behind them.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  ***

  It seemed like an eternity to Anne, but eventually the truck turned onto a rougher road, and then with a jolt, came to a stop.

  It started briefly again, then stopped, and after another interminable pause, she heard the clanging of the bar locking the back being pulled to one side, then the squeaking as the huge doors slowly opened.

  Fresh air rushed in, and in the distance, floodlights illuminated a big building. A bright flashlight blinded her. “Okay, girls, everyone out now. Come on, we haven’t got all day.”

  Now that there was a bit of light, Anne looked around in the back of the truck. Some of the girls were stirring and a couple of the guards jumped up into the compartment to hurry them into action, as she helped, first Sasha, and then Nadia, stand up and then clamber down onto terra firma.

  “You, you, come with me,” one of the thugs grabbed Anne by the arm, separating her from Nadia.

  “Anne!” she heard the Russian girl say, “Oh, no! No, no--”

  She heard a scream and, looking back, saw another guard tear Nadia away from Sasha, yelling, “You, come too. This way.”

  Then she saw Sasha’s face drop into her hands, as her legs buckled and she went down on her knees, before being roughly pulled back up and jostled along behind the disappearing girls. Nadia was being pushed in the same direction the one guard was roughly shoving Anne, away from her teenager friend and the others. Anne again looked back and saw that all the others were being herded toward the well-lit building, which was in the opposite direction from where she and Nadia were being taken.

  Where is this brute taking me? What will they do to me?

  And where are you now Greg--and Interpol, who got me into this mess--when I really need you?

  Chapter 15

  Greg and Labrecque rushed out the front do
or of the Revuebar Rasputin and saw that the black BMW SUV was still idling just across the street. The French agent waved to his colleagues in the front, as he opened the back door and the two men jumped in.

  “Go! Go, go, go,” Labrecque yelled at the driver.

  “They’re heading south,” Greg said. “Down Favoritenstrasse. And moving fast.”

  “South? Hmm--”

  “Just turned on to the Gurtel.”

  Some moments of anxious silence, as the traffic in front slowed. Then the driver speeded up as they passed the Maitzlensdorf Cemetery, and Greg gave directions to turn onto Triester Strasse.

  “We’ll soon be on the highway, too,” the French agent observed, trying to console Greg. “Don’t worry, Greg. We’ll catch them.”

  “God, I certainly hope she’s okay.” Greg was regretting that he had agreed to Anne’s harebrained scheme. “I will never forgive myself if something should happen to her.”

  He should have known that the plodding Interpol would be no match for these ruthless, professional criminals. No doubt many of them were ex-FSB or Russian military, if they were working for Polyakov.

  ***

  Twisting her arm brutally behind her back, the thug led Anne over to a smaller side building. As they approached, the door was opened from the inside by another guard.

  “Lev, is Kalinsky here already?” the man pushing Anne along asked.

  “Yes. He arrived more than twenty minutes ago. But he went over to the office to talk to Polyakov. He said you should just take her upstairs and put her in there with the other one. He’ll be along as soon as he can, I am sure.”

  Oh God, no! Please, no. Just don’t let Polyakov near me. Anne was very, very frightened of what could happen next.

  Still in the thug’s iron grip, Anne was tugged up some stairs and along a long corridor, at the end of which the guard opened a door and shoved her inside before locking it from the outside. She heard scuffling behind her along the hallway, and wondered where they were taking Nadia. When she regained her composure, in the pitch darkness, Anne groped along the wall until she found a light switch.

  The single lamp on a small table over on the opposite wall illuminated the room, and Anne saw immediately that there was someone in the king-size bed next to it. A girl’s blonde hair spread across the pillow, slender body under rumpled top sheet. It was only when she moved closer, that she recognized her Russian nuclear physicist friend.

  “Julia! It’s me, Anne. Wake up.” As her trained eyes scanned the room for a possible escape route, Anne tried to rouse her friend from what she quickly judged must have been drug-induced sleep. “I need you to wake up.”

  Then she remembered the conversation downstairs that the man Kalinsky would soon come, and that Polyakov was around too, so she knew she did not have much time. “Come on, Julia, please. Quickly. Wake up.”

  And then she heard footsteps approaching the door. So, in fact, there was no time at all. In desperation, she cradled her friend’s head and whispered in her ear, “Julia, you must not let on that you know me. Remember, you do not know who I am.”

  Just in time, because the door opened and in strutted the Kallay impostor--or Kalinsky, as he seemed to be known here, who she now was convinced was none other than Hetzel--dressed in a loose fitting sweat suit and flip flops--dangerously waving a pistol. “Well, well, well. What do we have here! Two gorgeous women, being nice and friendly to each other. I like that, really like that.”

  The brute came over toward Anne, pointing the gun at her. “Now honey, I want you to get undressed. Take it all off for me, just like you did back at the club.” And when she did not move, he chuckled to himself. “Well, if that’s what you want, I can get my two friends outside to come and rip your clothes off, no problem. Or better still, have them tie you up and do it myself. Like with your little blonde friend here.”

  And with that he ripped the top sheet off the bed, revealing Julia’s beautiful, naked and bruised body, just as the Russian girl was coming to. It was only then that Anne noticed that her friend’s one wrist was handcuffed to the bed. Deciding that it was better not to have Hetzel call his men, she slowly started to take her top off. Yes, it was much better odds this way, but she needed to take action soon, find the right moment, before Hetzel did something crazy with that gun.

  As Anne took her clothes off, the creep gawked at her with lust in his eyes. Once she was naked, he grabbed her by the hair, and with the gun still at her back, pushed her head down between Julia’s legs and told her to make love to her friend. The creep picked up Anne’s discarded panties and sniffed them with crazed delight. Then when Julia’s moans satisfied him that Anne was carrying out his order, with a little laugh, he put down the pistol on the night table, and started to get undressed. Anne was alert, though, and when his hands were occupied, immediately lashed out with a vicious, well-aimed Karate kick to his crotch. Hetzel collapsed in pain. Anne lunged for the pistol and stuck it in the creep’s face.

  “Don’t try anything, or I will kill you. Or better still, blow your rotten genitalia away,” she yelled at Hetzel. “I want to know where you keep the keys for the handcuffs--” When Anne aimed the gun point blank at his scrotum, and yelled, “Now, you asshole!” Hetzel, still buckled over in pain, pointed to the drawer of the night table.

  Not taking her eyes off the man, Anne opened, and reached into the drawer with her free hand. Finding the keys, she moved toward the bed to unlock Julia’s handcuffs. In that instance, Hetzel made a move toward her. But Anne’s trained reflexes were much better than his, and, as he did so, she fired the pistol at his crotch, grazing the inside of his thigh and just missing the genitals. The pervert fell backward with an unearthly scream, bleeding profusely.

  As he lay there shrieking, Anne quickly put on her clothes, except for her panties--which were soaked in Hetzel’s blood--and her top, which she helped Julia into, along with Hetzel’s sweat pants. Just in time, because there was an agitated knock on the door.

  “Boss? Are you all right?” Anne heard the guard on the other side, as she went over and put her hand on the latch. She threw open the door, and the thug--not seeing her behind it--entered, as Anne, keeping the gun pointed at him, slammed the door shut.

  “Okay, my friend, if you want to stay alive, no funny stuff. Throw me your pistol and baton and any other weapon you have. And get out your cell phone.”

  The guard’s trained eyes surveyed the surreal, horrific scene. Anne had no patience though, and she yelled at the man, who was too shocked to act. “Come on, a-hole, action! Do as I say or you will be spread-eagled there too, with your penis and balls splattered all over the walls, just like this fucking pervert.” She hardly ever swore, but she felt it was justified in the situation.

  The guard, seeing his naked boss lying there on the floor, moaning in pain, with a bleeding mess between his legs, quickly surmised that this woman did not fool around. He undid the holster at his side and threw down the pistol and truncheon then reached into his pocket, pulling out an iPhone.

  “Now, my friend, you are first going to call one-one-two and tell them in English to send an ambulance because there is a man bleeding profusely. If they ask how it happened, you just tell them he shot himself by accident. You will give them our exact location,” Anne said calmly, keeping the gun pointed at the thug. “And ask them how long it will take to get here.”

  The guard did as he was told.

  “How long?” She finally had managed to put her shoes back on.

  “They said fifteen minutes.”

  “Cover your boss’s repulsive body with your coat. And put the phone on the bed. Then go over in that corner with your hands above your head and face against the wall,” Anne said, waving with the pistol toward the farthest corner of the room. “Any funny stuff and I shoot to kill.”

  The thug obeyed the orders, while Anne finished helping Julia get dressed. She picked up the iPhone from the bed and dialed Greg’s number.

  “Where are you?
Are you all right?” were his immediate questions.

  After she told him everything, and that she was now absolutely sure that Kallay--or Kalinsky, as he seemed to be known by his Russian colleagues--must be Hetzel, they agreed that Julia and she should try to go with the impostor in the ambulance to the hospital.

  Having found the walled compound, Greg and Labrecque were waiting at a discrete distance until help arrived. “We will follow the ambulance if the locator says you are in it. Otherwise, we will raid the facilities as soon as the police reinforcements get here.”

  Anne waited till she heard the wail of the ambulance’s siren before she gave the phone back to the guard and, surprising the man, said in Russian, “You’re going to call the front gate now and tell them that the boss has had a heart attack and that you have called an ambulance for him. They are to let it through. And no funny stuff. Otherwise this sicko here and you will both die.” She waved the gun first at Hetzel then at the guard. “You see, I speak your language!”

  The siren got louder and louder, until it was finally turned off, and replaced by commotion downstairs. Just as Anne was retrieving the phone from the bed where she had told the thug to put it, two medics rushed into the room pushing a gurney. Two new guards came in behind them.

  “This man had a heart attack as he was loading the gun, and accidentally shot himself,” Anne said in English to the Hungarian medics who surveyed the scene.

  They looked at her. “We will take care of him,” one answered as already the other one of them was bandaging Hetzel’s thigh. Anne bent down and whispered in the medic’s ear, “We need to come with you in the ambulance. These men were holding us prisoner here when this accident happened. They are human traffickers. Please help us.”

  The medic finished his work, looked around at the devastation in the room again as if to confirm what Anne had said, and nodded to her. “Okay, you ladies are to come with us. You will need to tell us what happened.”