Twisted Traffick

by Geza Tatrallyay

  ***

  The other girls were easier to hand back to their parents, since she had not grown as emotionally attached to them, and only Sasha’s father had suffered an injury like Mikhail. But with these parents too, Julia put forward the offer of help from the foundation that Greg and Anne were setting up with the money confiscated from Polyakov and his gang. After finishing with those families, she popped into her office for a brief chat with Levinson, promising to return at the end of the week, and was back on the road by three p.m., heading toward Chelyabinsk and the airport. She had decided that she would spend the night in the city, but first, on the way, there was something she had to do.

  Julia wanted to see if she could find any traces of the corrective labor camp at Gulag Chelyablag, where her Aunt Katerina had spent her last days. She had read in her research that the main gulag had comprised a large land area adjacent to Chelyabinsk, called Pershino, and that it was linked to the then railroad depot at Shagol. It had originally been established to support the war effort in the early forties as the Bakal iron and steel works, which then became known as Chelyabmetallurgstroy, shortened to Chelyablag. After its founding, this first became the primary corrective prison where Volga Germans were sent to work for the Soviet cause. There were three separate ‘camp zones’ on the main site, and as well, the complex included several satellite lagers and branches, including some as far away as Miass and the coalmines near the cities of Kopeysk and Korkino. Where exactly Camp Zone Number Three, where Katerina had been briefly incarcerated was located, was impossible to tell with the passage of time, but what she thought, based on her research, was that it probably comprised a separate area within the larger main Chelyablag facility.

  The huge iron and steel complex--Chelyabinskiy Metallurgicheskiy--that to this day spreads between Shagol and Balandino Airports, she concluded must be the successor to Chelyabmetallurgstroy, the one built by, and for the Gulag inmates. It was in these industrial facilities in and around Chelyabinsk that during the war much of Russia’s heavy armor came from--to such an extent that the city became known as ‘Tankograd’ for its production of the T-34 tank that was the mainstay of Russian heavy armor during World War II. Was her Aunt Katerina made to work on some aspect of this tank, or other armaments, she wondered? Although Julia knew that she would not be able to get into this still important, high security industrial complex, she was convinced that she was on the right track.

  Julia had two other clues to follow. One, if she could ever find it, was a memorial to the dead inmates, which was erected in the early 1990s, supposedly on the site of the former cemetery grounds of the camp. Even though the report had said that this monument had been neglected and even vandalized since then, there was a chance that twenty-five or so years later she might still be able to find some traces of it.

  Intriguingly, her map showed that just south of the military airport at Shagol and slightly to the east, closer to what was now the M36, was a cemetery called Uspenskoe.

  Could this be where the common burial ground for inmates of the gulag where her aunt had been interred, had been located? At least here she could get in, so she could search for that vandalized and neglected memorial. Perhaps some traces of it were still there.

  And, according to some of the research she had managed to get her hands on, a street had been named in honor of the Gulag’s first and most illustrious Commander, Aleksandr Komarovski, in the part of Chelyabinsk where the original work camp had been located. It was to one of the successors of this man that Aleksandr Polyakov must have reported as head of the corrective labor unit, Camp Zone Number Three.

  Julia decided she would make for Komarovski Street, which was in the modern business center of Chelyabinsk. The city must have expanded right over where the Gulag had been, she concluded. As she drove slowly along, taking as much in as she could, she was pleasantly surprised to see a hotel at 9A, the Utes Hotel, and, on the spur of the moment, decided she would stay the night there since her flight was in the morning. At least she would spend this one night very near to where her Aunt Katerina had finished her life.

  Fortunately, they had a room. But the girl at the front desk gave her a blank stare when she asked about the Gulag. She knew nothing of a memorial to dead camp prisoners, but when Julia mentioned that she thought that it may have been at Uspenskoe Cemetery, the girl gave her directions how to get there.

  Julia told herself that even if this was not where her Aunt Katerina had her resting place, it would give her the peace she was seeking. Just to be here, near where she died, in a place where her aunt may have finally found eternal rest after her short and turbulent life. It would do, given that evil empire’s penchant to destroy--to liquidate--not only many of its innocent citizens, but also any vestiges, any memory, of their existence. She was content now that she had done what she could to resuscitate Katerina’s kindred spirit. After all, not only were they related, but also, they had suffered similar brutal experiences at the hands of the monsters who directly ran, or were allies of the men who ran, this rogue state, then and now.

  Julia walked over to the cemetery and spent an hour strolling through it, finally finding the peace and equilibrium that had been denied her since she was kidnapped by the man Hetzel, alias Kallay. And Kalinsky in Russia.

  Chapter 38

  Anne’s cell phone rang just after they got into the cab. She saw on the screen that it was Julia--the time ten-thirty-seven a.m.

  “Julia! Where are you?”

  “I just landed in Vienna. I want to meet up with you as soon as possible.”

  “Great. We are on our way to the Rudolfinerhaus clinic. Labrecque had Hetzel medevaced here to get him better care. We want him to survive so he can face trial at the ICJ. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll meet you there. It shouldn’t be much longer than that.”

  “Lovely. We’ll wait in the lobby.”

  ***

  In the elevator on the way up to the Intensive Care Unit, Julia told her friends how joyous the reunion between Nadia and her parents had been. But that it was dampened by the news that Mikhail Glinkov would never walk again because of the injury he suffered to his spinal cord when he helped foil the last heist. She related how Gospodja Glinkova had told her that their family would have a tough time making ends meet, and Nadia would have to go to work.

  “Well, that’s exactly the kind of thing the money from these crooks will help with,” Greg said. “What a tragedy, though, for Glinkov.”

  “That’s what I told them,” Julia agreed. “That we would help. But poor man, he was just overjoyed to get his daughter back.”

  “Good, now let’s see how this depraved abuser of women is faring,” Anne said as the elevator doors opened.

  The head nurse at the desk on the floor informed them that they would only be allowed to see the patient for ten minutes, and that, only because the head of Interpol had specifically instructed the hospital to let them visit with him. And that they should try not to cause the patient any stress.

  “Stress?” Greg responded somewhat irately, as the nurse led them to the room. “Do you know what this guy is, Fraulein? A filthy human trafficker. A creep, who abused both these two women, as well as countless others. Young girls. Teenagers.”

  “Jawohl, mein Herr. Keine Sorge,” came the rather bland answer. “Yes, sir. No worries.”

  Hetzel slowly opened his eyes when they entered the room. His pale and drawn face metamorphosed into a wicked scowl, before he closed his eyelids again, momentarily it seemed, then reopened them, as if wanting to make sure that the three people who appeared before him were for real.

  “Hetzel.” Greg had thought long and hard about what he would say if he ever saw the man--who was no longer a man--the monster, he corrected himself, alive again. “You did this horrific thing to yourself, by your actions. By abusing my wife, Julia, Nadia, and many others. By corrupting my friend, Adam. By helping Polyakov with these atomic heists.” Greg stopped for a mom
ent, discomfited by Hetzel’s blank stare at the wall behind him. He wondered whether any of this was penetrating the man’s consciousness. Then he composed himself and continued: “You can rest assured that your penance is not over. It will never be, for so long as you live. When you get better, you will be hauled off to court--if we have our way, it will be the International Court of Justice where you will be tried for crimes against humanity. In front of the whole world. Along with some of your evil buddies. Until then, I hope you suffer here both physically and psychologically, in your living hell, you bastard. And may that continue in prison for the rest of your pitiful life.”

  The two men glowered at each other for a while longer. Greg poured all his hatred for the man into his look. Hetzel’s eyes remained blank, showing no remorse, no contrition. After a few moments, he closed them, and Greg, Anne, and Julia left the room.

  ***

  “Gospodja Pleshkova,” Greg said. “We will be returning home to Vermont tomorrow. Julia is safe, now, and she will look after you.”

  Julia nodded. “Yes, Matushka, I will not leave you alone again. We will get a nurse to come whenever I have to go away.”

  “Thank you again, Greg and Anne, for bringing my daughter back to me. And for finding the box of documents that has given me closure on my sister, Katerina’s disappearance.” The old lady stopped a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing. “But, Greg, there is one other thing I would like you to do. When you visited earlier, we talked about you writing the story of Katerina. You have to promise me that you will do this. So that the world will know what kind of monsters ruled my country, and people will never let such horrible things happen again.”

  They still rule your country, and it is happening even as we speak, Greg thought before saying, “Of course, Gospodja Pleshkova, I will write the book. But on one condition. Only if you help me. I will have a lot of questions for you as I delve into the life of your sister and of those around her. Also, the whole era of the fifties in the Soviet Union.”

  “Of course, I will help until I die. In whatever way I can.”

  “You will stay alive, Mama, well after Greg finishes his book. But this will be your project, with Greg.”

  “I will be emailing you most days, Gospodja Pleshkova, so you had better stay alive.”

  It was only in the elevator as they were leaving Julia’s apartment, that Anne remarked to Greg, “Well, I hope we will not regret your promise to Julia’s mother. Writing that book may end up costing you your life, my dear, if Boris Polyakov’s reach extends to Vermont.”

  “Never mind, Anne. It is something I have to do, in spite of the Polyakovs and the FSB and all the arms traders and flesh merchants of the world.”

  “Greg, I love you very much,” Anne said, pulling her husband to her and kissing him deeply.

  ***

  Their last evening in Vienna, as a final thank you, Demeter took Greg, Anne, and Julia to dinner at Vestibul, the restaurant in the Burgtheater, right on the Ring. They were joined by Labrecque.

  After the waiter poured the delicious Frizzante Quin Quin Schloss Eszterházy Demeter had ordered as an aperitif, the Interpol boss raised his glass. “Here’s to you Anne and Greg, first, for helping us find Julia, and then, at great peril to yourselves, for helping us break open this vile human trafficking trade. And to you, too, Julia, for your special role in that and also for stopping yet another heist.”

  “Yes, thank you to all of you. And it was great working with you again. We make a great team,” Labrecque joined in. “But this will not really be behind us until we capture Polyakov. And that Brother Peter.”

  “I suspect you’re right,” Anne concurred. “Especially if what we think is right, that they have at least the tacit support of Russian officials behind them.”

  “Well, we may need you to come back one more time,” Demeter said with a little chuckle. “To help put those buggers behind bars once and for all.”

  “Or incapacitate them like you did with that pervert Hetzel, Anne,” Labrecque added. “That was impressive, and he, at least, will never be the same again.”

  “So, Nicholas, how much money do you reckon we managed to find on the premises of these criminals?” Greg asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “We found just over eight million dollars in notes--both greenbacks and euros,” Labrecque answered. “Eight point three, to be exact. In the safe and stashed in various hiding places around the penthouse suite and on the yacht.”

  “Wow! That’s a lot of cash to have hanging around.”

  “And then there are the diamonds,” the French agent continued. “They should be worth another fifteen or so, once we monetize them. Plus the yacht itself--even used--should be worth a cool twenty-five million minimum if we sell it. Then there’s the penthouse suite--but let’s not get greedy. We’re looking at say a minimum of fifty million dollars in all. Most, but not all, for your foundation. Contributed involuntarily by these criminals.”

  “That’s fabulous!” Julia exclaimed. “That should go a long way to help Nadia and the others.”

  “Yes,” Greg said, “although some of these girls and their families will need a lot of support for quite a while.”

  “Well, one thought would be to hold a certain amount back for legal costs,” Anne suggested. “As we discussed, to take Polyakov, Billy, and Hetzel before the ICJ once we have all of them in our hands. And demand some real reparations from them--track down all their ill-gotten gains--which could fund both this foundation and the other one we established for the child victims of the Soviet and post-Soviet nuclear program. It would give them a great cushion well into the future.”

  “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” Greg said, not wanting to raise hopes too far.

  Epilogue

  Greg and Anne settled back into their life in Vermont, but besides his duties as a professor in the English Department at Middlebury, Greg worked on the book with Gospodja Pleshkova over the next four months, keeping her busy with his questions, but letting her rest just enough to recover after each of her sessions of chemotherapy at the Rudolfinerhaus. Her cancer receded, and they were doubly happy when the manuscript, Katerina, Beria’s Slave, was picked up by a major New York publisher. The executives of the company had such high hopes for the book, that they even flew Julia and her mother over for the book launch.

  Anne and Greg completed the arrangements for the foundation, which they named the Katerina Foundation, in honor of Julia’s aunt, seeding it with an initial total of twenty-three million dollars, with the prospect that additional funds would be forthcoming from the sale of the yacht and the penthouse suite, as well as further reparations from the Polyakov empire. The foundation’s first disbursement was for Nadia’s studies at the Institute of Physics and Technology in Moscow, and for her to be able to live in the capital and travel home often to see her parents.

  The search continued internationally for Billy and Polyakov, but both the ginger-haired terrorist and the arms merchant continued to elude justice.

  In spite of Boris Polyakov’s threat, Anne and Greg suffered no Litvinenko-type repercussions in Vermont.

  Was this a sign, they wondered, that, as they resumed their activities, the rogue former FSB band around the Polyakov brothers and their evil buddies who ran much of Russia no longer felt threatened by them?

  There was no way to tell from where and when the next threat would come, though.

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  IN THE SERIES

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  Summer, 2065

  Preface

  Andrew put the book down and pulled one dangling leg up underneath him. Staring at Julia for a moment, the gangly fifteen-year-old asked, “Grandma, is it true? Were you really a stripper?”

  The two were sitting on the porch of the family house in Vermont overlooking Lake Champlain in one
direction and the beautiful Green Mountains in the other: he with one leg still hanging over the side into the flower garden teeming with Bee Bomb and Brown-Eyed Susan, she sitting in a white wicker rocking chair. The late afternoon sun reflected off the pond, bathing the two in its warm, golden glow.

  Just then, Anne came through the door. “Mother, can I get you something? Greg is making your favorite drink. The Vermont Vertigo.”

  “You know what your son asked me just now?” Julia asked, chuckling, instead of answering. “He asked if I really was a stripper in my youth, Anne! Imagine that. Me, his grandmother.”

  “Andrew!” Anne exclaimed, wanting to scold her son, but not finishing, since she knew that the question was legitimate and she was not sure where she should go with it. Fortunately, she was rescued by the ringing of the phone inside.

  “But that’s what Grandpa wrote in his book! That you danced and took your clothes off in that...that bar in...Vienna.”

  “Mom, the phone.” Lily, Andrew’s sister, appeared in the doorway. “It’s for you. The Farmers’ Market.”

  ***

  “Well, Andrew--” Left alone with her grandson, after a long silence Julia launched into an answer to his question. “--when I first came to the West from Russia, that was the only way I could support myself. I was an illegal immigrant in Austria. So yes, I did some exotic dancing, as it was called.”