“Well, let’s make sure we don’t get on the same boat as they do,” Anne said.
“Good point. I’ll just check the schedule,” Greg said, opening up Google again. And a moment later: “It seems there is a boat every fifteen minutes.”
“So, that should be good. They won’t get too far ahead of us if we take the following one.”
***
The next time the tracker stopped, they saw that it was indeed at the luxurious Porto Montenegro Village. Within twenty minutes, Labrecque pulled up in front of the five star Regent Hotel, where Hetzel’s borrowed jacket had supposedly landed, with--as Greg and Anne sincerely hoped--the man himself and his entire entourage.
“Okay, this is good,” Nicholas said, turning the motor off and taking in the posh surroundings. “Maybe they’ll have rooms for us. Let’s go see.”
They got out, and Labrecque handed the key to the valet, while eager-to-please hotel staff pulled their bags out of the trunk.
“One of us will have to keep an eye out for Hetzel and Nadia at all times,” Szekely said as they walked through the opulent lobby. “He will want to rejoin the others for sure if they are not here. I don’t mind taking the first shift, over there, in that comfortable looking armchair. And I’ll order myself a nice little drink and a sandwich.”
“I’ll keep you company, George. The creep doesn’t know me either. But let’s check in first,” Labrecque said. “Anne and Greg, I am sorry to say, but you had better not show your faces down here in the lobby for now. We’ll keep you in the picture if anything happens.”
“That sounds just fine,” Anne said, flipping through the hotel’s brochure at the desk. “It seems that we’ll be able to get a room with its own terrace and have a wonderful time relaxing up there. Hope you guys have fun down here, too.”
“Nicholas and George, before we part, I was just thinking that we should check if there is a guest registered as Hetzel here,” Greg said. “Or someone under one of his aliases. Kallay or Kalinsky. I am just worried about Nadia.”
“We could do that,” Labrecque answered. “But--”
“I don’t know, Greg,” Anne joined in, “I doubt that a place like this would give out the names of their guests. And even if we were able to pick Hetzel up here, would he tell us where they have taken the other girls?”
“Hmm. You’re probably right, Anne. And it might just arouse suspicion. Who knows who these buggers have paid off here,” Labrecque said. “We should stay low for now.”
“What we should do Nicholas, is contact our local colleague at Interpol. He would have more leverage here,” Szekely said. “In fact, we could have him or her come with a warrant to get us into Hetzel/Kalinsky/Kallay’s room if there is no movement by then.”
“Good idea, George. We will need his help anyway,” Labrecque retorted. “I’ll do that right away, while you order drinks and a sandwich for us over there.”
“That’s a deal!”
***
The room Greg and Anne got was indeed luxurious, with a terrace overlooking the Marina. They quickly stripped down to the bare essentials, and while Greg ordered room service lunch for two with a bottle of the local wine, Anne unpacked. They did not waste any time making themselves comfortable outside on the reclining chairs.
A smart waiter brought the delicious seafood platter and Greek salad, which they devoured out on the terrace accompanied by a bottle of the local Krstač white. After lunch, they just continued to lounge out there, soaking up the afternoon sun and, given the ordeals of the last several days, it did not take much for both of them to fall asleep.
***
A few hours later, Greg woke with a start to the tune from his cell phone. It was right there under the recliner, so he picked it up immediately.
“Julia! Where are you? How did it go?”
Beside him, Anne sat bolt upright when she heard her Russian friend’s name.
“I am on my way to Balandino Airport. Mission accomplished. I will tell you everything when I get there. But where are you?”
“We’re in Porto Montenegro. At the Regent. When can you get here?”
“I will look into flights and call you back.”
Less than fifteen minutes later, Greg’s phone rang again. It was Julia, saying that she managed to get a connection the next morning to Tivat, where the nearest airport was. She would get in at eleven-ten a.m.
“Fabulous! Just take a cab here, and if we’re not around, we’ll leave a message. We’re in Room Twenty-Four. See you then.”
***
“I wonder what is happening downstairs,” Greg said, checking the receiver. “But the locator says that Hetzel is still holed up in a room here.”
“Yeah, and Labrecque and Szekely are covering the doors. And they did say they would contact the local Interpol representative. We just have to be patient.”
Greg was starting to have his doubts. “Unless he left his jacket in the room.”
Twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed, just as he was dozing off again.
“Nicholas here. Hetzel and another man have just stepped out from the elevator. Get down here quickly. But be careful.”
Greg and Anne were dressed within five minutes and were downstairs within seven. Labrecque greeted them at the elevators.
“The valet is just getting their car. George has gone to ask for ours.”
Greg saw Hetzel’s back outside the glass doors, standing on the curb with another man. It took a second for him to recognize who this was: Polyakov. Probably the arms merchant twin, and not the Deputy Director of the FSB, he thought. The valet pulled up with their vehicle, a Porsche Boxster, and handed Polyakov the key. The Russian assisted his injured friend and then got in on the driver’s side. Fortunately, another valet drove up with Nicholas’ car, just as the convertible pulled out from the drive.
Szekely was already behind the wheel when Nicholas, Greg and Anne climbed into the SUV, and he accelerated after the Porsche.
Greg, who had picked up the receiver for the locator as they ran from the room, noted that the transmitter was not on Hetzel.
“We better not lose them. Hetzel left the jacket in the room.”
“Don’t worry. We won’t let these gangsters get away,” Szekely said speeding after the Porsche but keeping at a safe distance.
Chapter 27
Dusk was gathering already when they saw the Porsche turn off the main road into a dirt driveway that opened through a broken down wire mesh fence, and pull up beside a van and an SUV outside a half finished apartment complex. Szekely stayed well back, parking the car behind a bulldozer on the street, just so they could still see if anyone came out of the front door of the building and approached the vehicles.
“Nicholas, maybe you should tell Radomir Borozan where we are, don’t you think?” Szekely suggested to his colleague. “And find out where the hell he is. It would be good to get our man in Montenegro to show up here soon with some local reinforcements. And a warrant, if possible.”
“Definitely. Good idea,” the Frenchman responded, pulling out his phone.
***
Their wait was not long. Less than half an hour had ticked by, when Polyakov emerged from the derelict building, leading Nadia--the car bringing her and Hetzel all the way from Hungary must have dropped her off here first, Greg surmised--and five other girls, two armed thugs on either side, with a limping Hetzel bringing up the rear. As they made their way over to the van, he could see that the girls were all sexily dressed in just halter-tops and short shorts, the four guards making sure they clambered quickly in the back. After an exchange with one of the thugs, Polyakov helped Hetzel into the Porsche, climbed in again behind the wheel and pulled out of the parking lot with the van following right behind.
“George, maybe one of us should stay to keep an eye on what happens here,” Labrecque said. “I have a hunch that all the other girls are being kept in this complex.”
“You’re probably right,” the Hungarian answered. “I
will stay.”
“Borozan and the reinforcements should be here soon. I suspect they will bring enough muscle to raid the place. Meanwhile, the three of us will follow the Porsche and the van and see where they take these five women. Let’s keep each other up to date, okay?”
“Sure thing. See you later.” Szekely was already out of the car, and was loitering behind the truck in front, as Labrecque started up the engine.
***
Darkness started to settle in, as they followed the two vehicles through Porto Montenegro right to the Marina. The van and the convertible pulled up along Jetty 1, as close as they could get to where the most expensive yachts were moored. Greg, Anne and Labrecque saw Polyakov jump out of the Boxster, run back to the van where he gave instructions to the lead thug, and then clamber across the little walkway and onto what seemed to be the sleekest and most luxurious boat in the harbor. They observed from the BMW parked on the other side of the plaza at the foot of the jetty as one of the other guards helped Hetzel out of the convertible and over to the yacht. The three remaining thugs stood around the van keeping the six girls under close observation as they climbed out of the van.
They saw Nadia look around hesitantly and then obey the orders of the lead guard to follow Hetzel. Polyakov lit a cigarette as he watched the women cross the bridge to the approving stares of the men on the boat. Anne thought she recognized Sasha, but was not sure whether the other four were also Nadia’s friends. Not all, she told herself. There was at least one more in this group than the original group of Russian teenagers. They sat there observing the goings on, until the girls were ushered inside through the glass doors at the stern of the yacht, and Polyakov cast one glance back toward the shore to see his convertible driven away by the lead thug and the other three guards climb back into the van and drive away.
Greg broke the silence as all three reflected on what to do next. “We’ve got to get on there somehow.”
“Sure, but first I will call George,” Labrecque said, pulling his mobile out from his pocket. “To see how he is getting on and whether the reinforcements have come. And more importantly, if they have arrived, how soon some of them can get here to help us.”
Greg pursed his lips. “While you do that, I’ll just take a walk to see how we might be able to sneak on the boat.”
He got out and sauntered along the jetty on the side farthest from the yacht, then, when he was well past it, crossed over to the side the boat was on, and approached it again. It was a gorgeous, sleek-looking vessel, with the name Quantum of Love painted in discrete letters along the stern. Greg was impressed: was this one of those superfast Millennium 140 luxury yachts he had read about? The takeoff on the James Bond theme certainly argued for that. He continued along slowly, hands in his pockets, carefully studying the layout of the yacht. The windows, though, were all tinted so he could not see anything inside. He figured there might be a crew of maybe five needed to run it, and at the most, the same number of probably all male guests on board whom the girls were being taken to entertain.
Greg noted that one of the guards was hanging around near where the little walkway came across, and another one was busying himself for the moment in the front, away from the jetty. There was really only one way onto the boat: via the bridge to the stern over which the recent arrivals had all crossed, although the boat was near enough to shore that he thought an athletic person might be able to jump across. But it would be close, and if a guard were watching the rear, he would certainly see this. In any case, they would be greatly outnumbered. Better to wait till reinforcements arrived, he told himself. Although they shouldn’t wait too long, because there was the safety of the girls to consider, and of course, at any moment Polyakov could decide to take his guests out to sea.
Greg climbed back in the front passenger seat. “Any news from George?”
“Well, our Montenegrin friend from Interpol has arrived, but they are still waiting for the local forces to show up to help them raid the derelict building,” Labrecque answered. “With a warrant.”
“So they probably won’t get to us for at least a couple of hours,” Anne observed.
Greg shook his head. “We can’t wait that long. I am afraid for the girls. Or for that matter, that they might cast off at any moment.”
“Well, what do you propose, Greg?” his wife asked. “After your little stroll to reconnoiter. One thing’s for sure: we are grossly outnumbered.”
“Our only chance is surprise. There seems to be just the one person out there on the deck now.”
“The darkness could help,” Labrecque added. “Plus, there are very few people around on shore.”
“Okay, here is what I think might work,” Anne said, taking charge, since neither of the men had gotten to the point. “I will approach the boat looking...umm...provocative, with a cigarette in my hand, and ask the guard who is loitering there for a light. In Russian.”
“Very good,” Labrecque interjected. “He will be surprised. Pleasantly, of course, that a beautiful woman would address him in his own language. You need to try and get him to come across the walkway to you, then one or both of us can take him out.”
“Better still, I will take him out, since I will be right next to him, and he won’t be expecting it.”
“How?” a surprised Greg asked.
“A quick knee to his crotch and a chop to the neck. Don’t worry. I’ve done it before.”
Greg thought he knew his wife, but this had certainly never come up. He was dubious.
“Then you two rush over and push him in the water,” Anne continued.
“Okay, let’s go, before they move,” Labrecque said. “We all need to be armed.”
“We have our Glocks in the back. I’ll get them when we get out,” Greg said.
Anne quickly looked in the mirror, fluffed up her hair, pulled off the cotton sweater she had on so that she exposed maximum skin in her little camisole top. “Anybody got a cigarette? Or something else to smoke?” she asked coyly.
“You’re in luck,” Labrecque answered, reaching into the glove compartment. “Marie Christine made me quit, but I carry this pack of Gitanes around for the occasional secret drag. They are foul, though, so watch out.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t inhale.”
Anne took one out and squeezed the pack into her pocket, then getting out of the car after Greg, she surreptitiously stuck the Glock he handed her from her suitcase in the back of her jeans, and pulled out her top to hang over it. Greg said, “Good luck! I love you,” as he gave his wife a kiss. Closing the trunk of the BMW, he continued to gaze admiringly after Anne.
Labrecque clambered out too, and the two watched as she made her way toward the yacht down the mooring side of the jetty. The walk was provocative, sexy, meant to attract male gawkers, and the one or two who were around did indeed notice her. When she approached the bridge, Greg started down the route he had taken earlier, while Labrecque followed directly in Anne’s footsteps.
“Hello, sailor,” Anne shouted in Russian at the crewmember pretending to make himself busy on the boat, but obviously charged with keeping guard. “Got a light for a girl wanting a drag?” She grabbed the rope railing and provocatively put one foot up on the walkway, resting her elbow on her knee.
As Labrecque had predicted, the thug was taken aback that this beautiful, sexy woman spoke to him in his native language, here in a foreign country. He sauntered over to the top of the walkway, and pulled out a lighter. “Da. But what you have for me, honey?”
“I see you busy, now,” Anne said, pointing the unlit cigarette at him. “But later, maybe. If you think you are up to it. But first, give a me a light.”
The crewman came toward Anne. She stood upright, put the cigarette between her lips, and took a step back, inviting him to come off the ramp. As she had promised, she met his approach with a knee in the crotch and a vicious chop to the neck. The man collapsed to the ground, and, in that instant, Labrecque and Greg appeared out of nowhere. Greg was
shocked as he saw the Frenchman pull out his pistol with a silencer already attached to it, place the gun barrel on the Russian sailor’s forehead, and finish the unconscious man off in cold blood.
“One less thug to worry about later. It’s called self-defense.”
The two then rolled the body into the water, Greg hoping desperately that no one had heard or seen anything.
Chapter 28
Nadia could not believe the opulence of this yacht, as the girls were herded through the glass doors and into the Main Salon, which opened from the aft deck through a narrow passage with two faux Baroque statues of naked women on either side. Marble and gold everywhere, expensive looking paintings, custom-made furniture--it seemed to have everything that a girl who grew up in post-Communist Russia could not even dream of.
The balding Russian friend of Kalinsky entered behind them, shouting impatiently, “Okay, all of you, follow me upstairs. Come,” as he grabbed Nadia by the elbow to show the way. Shoved ahead, Nadia slowly climbed the circular stairs, paranoid of what would come next, as the other girls followed behind the man, with the limping boss of the Revuebar gritting his teeth as he brought up the rear.
The stairs opened into the equally luxurious Skylounge, where three bored-looking men were sitting at a long curved bar sipping drinks. The biggest, sporting a shock of disheveled red hair and lots of freckles, greeted them with a distinct southern drawl. “Well, well, it’s about time, Maestro. We have been waiting for some hours now for your arrival.”
“Sorry. But there was some problem,” the square Russian answered testily. “I see, though, that Oleg has looked after you well in the meantime.” He nodded to the crewman behind the bar. And then he addressed the girls, who were standing around hesitantly, clinging to each other for solace, and pointed at a sofa and chairs in one of the corners: “You, you lot, go sit over there.” But even as he did so, he grabbed Nadia’s wrist, twisting it and pulling her toward him. “This one’s father didn’t do what he was supposed to. What should we do with her now, the little bitch?” He spat the words in her face. “Should we give him a second chance to perform, do you think?”
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