Chapter 34
1:15 PM
Palermo Soho
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Goran Brujic sat patiently at the wheel of the white commercial van that sat several parking spaces back from the intersection at Nicaragua Street. He had long ago stopped the van’s engine, opening both passenger windows to air out the cabin. The back of the van was beyond hope for proper ventilation, unless the van was moving. Windowless, except for two fixed windows on the back doors, he had done the best he could to keep them in a shaded spot where he could still survey the sidewalk café. Four men sat stuffed in the back of the van, waiting for a chance to grab Zorana off the street.
The men had been selected carefully for their previous experience with off-street kidnapping. This particular group had worked together for years to supply young women for prostitution rings in several different countries. Snatched off the street, nearly all of the women were exported immediately, bound for Africa or Europe.
The group had been warned to be careful with this one. Careful not to kill her… careful with the takedown. None of the men in the back had ever known her from Belgrade, which gave him the peace of mind that they wouldn’t do anything stupid to jeopardize Srecko’s wishes.
Josif had assured them that they would be paid handsomely for the capture, and once Srecko was back in circulation, they would be rewarded with high-ranking positions in the wealthy crime lord’s new enterprise. This street grab was well worth the risk, though he had been specifically told to back off if any complications arose. There was a backup plan.
He started the van, sensing that she was about to leave. She no longer sipped her coffee and had started to check her watch frequently. The woman placed money on the table and reapplied her lipstick as the waiter came by with the bill, scooping the money up at the same time. Some pleasantries were exchanged, and she stood up from her table in the heart of the seating area. He started the van and pulled it out onto the street, attracting no attention from the woman. The men in the back pulled black ski masks down over their faces and prepared to pour out of the back. Goran had to time this perfectly.
He would get two chances. The first one would take place in a few seconds, right in front of the cafe as she crossed the street to walk in the direction of her apartment. The other would happen on Nicaragua Street. If the timing didn’t work out now, he could turn the corner slowly and hope that she moved down Nicaragua Street to a spot that was shielded from the café. He had done this dozens of times in similar situations and knew how to read the scene. If she ducked into the coffee shop, like she was prone to doing, they might have to circle around and wait for their opportunity on Nicaragua.
He gently pressed the accelerator and moved to intersect, pretending not to notice her. Just another rude delivery truck cutting off a pedestrian. Buenos Aires was full of inconsiderate traffic. The woman didn’t stop at the edge of the curb and wait for him to pass, which would have put her in the perfect position to be snatched off the street. Instead, she sped up and slapped her hand on the hood of his truck, causing him to apply the brakes hard enough to gently screech the tires and draw a few stares from the café. It didn’t matter; they’d still grab her in front of everyone. She glared at him with an icy look, and he prayed that the men in the back weren’t visible through the semi-transparent plastic cabin divider. She stepped in front of the stopped van, shaking her head, and Goran decided they would grab her from the other side. As he drove forward, she yelled through the driver’s side window in Spanish.
“Cuidado, maníaco!”
He ignored her taunt as she passed the window.
“Stand by,” he said to his men.
The van pulled forward, and he prepared to give the command. He knew exactly where she would appear in the mirror when her body had cleared the back of the van. Right about now, he told himself and started to press the brakes. Something in his peripheral vision told him that the scene was off. Fuck! He turned his head and saw a blue and white striped fiat turn the corner at the intersection. The presence of a thin rack of blue police lights on the car’s roof caused him to ease off the brakes.
“Abort. Cops. We’ll try it on Nicaragua,” he said.
Their flower delivery van cruised past the Buenos Aires Police Department patrol car and stopped at the intersection. A minivan on Nicaragua had the right of way at the four-way stop. Goran took this moment to watch the woman enter the coffee shop on the corner, which meant he would have to circle for a while. No problem. They would have this wrapped up pretty quickly. He activated the right blinker and turned right. They had some time to kill.
**
The last thing she needed this morning was more coffee, but she felt compelled to duck into the Mama Gracha Café. Jessica scanned the coffee shop for the man she and Daniel had spotted a week ago. He had reappeared two days ago, and Jessica couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him. The man was definitely Balkan, possibly Serbian, but like Daniel had pointed out, this was becoming more and more common in Buenos Aires. Like most Europeans, Serbians enjoyed strong coffee, particularly Turkish coffee, and this shop served one of the best Turkish coffees in Buenos Aires. If strong coffee was your pleasure, you’d end up here eventually.
The driver of the flower truck looked like the same man she had seen in here, but she couldn’t be sure. He wore sunglasses and a ball cap, but she had only caught a glimpse of him beyond the sun’s reflection in the windshield. Her view of him through the passenger window lasted less than a second, and he didn’t turn his head to acknowledge her purposeful insult. She was certain that the man was Caucasian, but beyond that, she had nothing but her instincts to support the theory that he was somehow familiar. She had learned to trust these instincts without question, and this policy had kept her alive for over six years as an undercover operative.
She decided it was time to head back to the compound. She was probably being paranoid, and a vicious hangover didn’t help her think clearly, but she and Daniel had discussed the risks inherent with an ever increasing number of Serbian immigrants to Argentina. Between the two of them, they had spent over eight years in Belgrade and had come into contact with hundreds, if not thousands of people. If just one person recognized either of them, they could find themselves in immediate danger. She watched the flower delivery van turn right on Nicaragua and this gave her some relief. She would be headed in the opposite direction and would flag a taxi at the first opportunity. She’d pack up as soon as she reached the apartment and book the next available flight out of town.
**
Goran grew more infuriated by the second. He had circled back around, expecting to find her strolling along Nicaragua Street, but she was nowhere to be found. He had scoured the adjacent streets with no luck. At this point, he had driven down every street between here and that bitch’s high-rise building on Avenida Raul Scalabrini Ortiz. He knew there was a backup plan, but he didn’t like to fuck things up in front of Srecko’s nephew. He wasn’t sure why the kid was here. He probably wanted to impress his uncle, just like the rest of them. At least he had enough sense to stay out of their way. He respected that, and if placating Josif was the key to securing a future with Srecko, he’d cover the kid’s back.
He pounded the steering wheel, glancing desperately around the streets. Losing Zorana on the streets didn’t help his position with Josif. There were plenty of other eager players on the scene. Right now, they were probably singing sweet songs of Goran’s incompetence to Josif. He turned the car onto Avenida Castillo, after completing a sweep of Avenida Armenia. A few seconds later, his cell phone rang. He recognized the number. Josif.
“I’m almost done with the sweep…she fucking vanished,” he said.
“She’s headed up to the apartment. Just arrived on the street. We’re going with the backup plan.”
“Understood. I’m less than three minutes away,” he said and threw the phone on the passenger seat.
He floored the van, cruising through the stop sig
n on Malabia. The next street was Avenida Raul Scalabrini Ortiz.
**
Jessica walked through the door of her apartment and placed her purse on the brown granite-topped, cast iron foyer table. She glanced in the mirror and noted the puffiness under her eyes. She could see it through the makeup. She had taken full advantage of the ability to stay out later than Daniel usually preferred. He had never been a big fan of the club scene, but had played along with her everywhere they had lived. Two in the morning was the absolute latest she could keep him out on the streets and she never pushed it with back-to-back nights. With Daniel, she treated it like an infrequent indulgence. They had other thrilling and pleasurable ways to spend their time together.
She closed the door and decided to book her flight first. Something that left late in the afternoon and gave her enough time for an indulgent, midday nap. She crossed the shiny marble floor and stopped at the end of the foyer hallway, frowning. She detected a rancid smell that she thought hadn’t been in the apartment when she left. She had eaten some leftover Thai food last night, but was pretty sure she had put it away…though she had been fairly intoxicated at the time. She turned the corner and glanced into the kitchen. The counters were spotless, but something else caught her eye and caused her to stiffen. Through the open bedroom door, she could partially see a small digital camcorder set on top of a tall tripod.
Jessica turned for the foyer hallway and sensed movement in the furthest reaches of her peripheral vision. She lashed out at the movement with her right elbow, catching a short, broad-shouldered man wearing a light blue shirt directly in the nose, splattering blood down his face. Halfway out of the foyer closet, he stumbled and tried to bring both hands to his shattered nose. She immediately followed with a solid front kick to his solar plexus. The kick drove him down the foyer and slammed him against the entry door, knocking him off his feet. He grasped for the cast iron table near the door, bringing it down with a hard thud onto the white marble floor.
She reached for the ultra-slim, serrated, four-inch blade concealed along her outer thigh. She managed to hike up her red knee-length skirt high enough to fully grasp the knife, but found herself suddenly paralyzed, struggling to move her hand another inch. She lost all sense of balance and fell to her knees, focused on the incredible surge of pain radiating from the right side of her lower back. She started to topple over against the foyer wall, unable to arrest her continued fall, and watched helplessly as the man with the bloody nose threw the heavy table aside. He walked up to her and spit a mixture of blood and mucus on her face, right before he kicked her in the stomach…harder than she had ever been kicked before. The image of his face grew hazy as he cocked his fist and delivered a crunching blow to her face.
**
Before her vision returned, Jessica’s first instinct was to struggle. She could barely breathe and felt an unbearable pressure under her chin. She reached up with her hands to feel around her neck and was yanked up onto her knees by her head. Her fingers managed to find the source of the excruciating pain. She desperately tried to pull the thin wire surrounding her neck to ease the pressure that prevented her from taking more than a few, shallow gasps of air. She felt fresh blood trickle onto her hands and run down her chest. The pressure tightened, and she took her hands off the garrote, which resulted in a slight reduction in pressure.
Her vision settled on a bloodied figure in front of her. The man looked familiar through the blood pouring out of his nose and down over his mouth and chin. The bloodstains gave him a ghoulish look, like he had just dug into raw meat. She stared at him for a few more seconds, struggling to gain some leverage against the steel wire garrote that was yanked every time she moved. If she fought too much, additional pressure from the wire could cut into her carotid artery. She would bleed out within minutes if this happened…and kept this in mind as an option. She had no idea what they had in store for her, but she was pretty sure that a fast bleed out would be the best alternative.
“Did you really think you’d get away with it, you stupid cunt?” the bloodied man uttered.
“Get away with what?” she rasped.
“Stealing all of Srecko’s money. I remember you from Belgrade. Whore. Zorana Zekulic. Queen of whores…until she started fucking Resja. Then she was demoted back to simple whore.”
She started to answer, but a quick flick of his head caused the man behind her to pull on the garrote, cutting off her response.
“Your filthy mouth opens when I ask you a question. Nod if you understand.”
Jessica nodded and looked around the room. Details of her apartment blurred, as she directed all of her mental energy to the men surrounding her. The man standing next to the brute with the bloodied nose stood with his arms crossed. A poor choice in any situation, but he obviously felt pretty confident. Jessica wasn’t going anywhere, as far as he could tell. Another man stood outside of her peripheral vision. She had heard him grunt. Four men, none visibly armed, which gave her some hope. She had to make her move now, before they tied her up. She had no delusions about their intentions.
“We’re going to ask some questions about the money and about Marko Resja. If you answer them quickly and truthfully, I’ll kill you mercifully. If not, this will be the longest day of your life. Srecko’s nephew, Josif, flew into town to personally document your end. He told me Srecko is running out of movies to watch in his cell. He requested a twenty-four-hour documentary on raping and torturing whores. I guess it’s a new passion of his. Josif is setting up the film studio as we speak. Are you ready for her yet?”
Josif Hadzic appeared in the doorway, and Jessica strained to turn her head so she could fully see him. He stood there dressed in white coveralls and finished pulling on a pair of matching white rubber gloves. He was young, in his mid-twenties, with long, thick, black hair. He looked clinically psychotic in the stark white outfit.
“Almost ready. I just need to bolt one more end of the harness sling to the floor,” he said, turning his attention to Jessica.
“This should be a whore’s dream come true,” he said, then turned his attention back to Miljan.
“When will the rest of the men be here?”
“They should be pulling up any second,” Miljan said.
“Good. Ten men and no real hurry. Should be a fun time for this whore. Once everyone’s sick of fucking her, we’ll start the real work,” he said and disappeared into the bedroom.
From the bedroom, she heard an industrial screwdriver attached to a small air compressor. She’d heard the same sounds when they were using nail guns and heavy duty hand portable equipment at the compound.
“I don’t think I could ever get tired of sticking it to this one. Lots of holes to fill,” the man with crossed arms said.
“I’d avoid the hole with teeth. This is a feisty little bitch,” the man grasping the wire around her neck said.
“We’ll just have to knock all of her teeth out,” the man retorted.
Miljan leaned in close to her face and spoke softly. “If I were you, I’d start the beginning of your documentary with a little disclosure. We want to know where the money is located and how to access it. Then we want to know where to find Resja. Tell me this and I’ll cut your throat right now. Josif might not like it, but his uncle is a rational man. He wants his money back, and I can always make him another snuff film. I need your answer before you walk through that door. Understood?”
She nodded again and decided it was now or never. She knew there would be no merciful deal on the other side of that door. Srecko didn’t deal in mercy, and neither did any of his henchmen. Miljan Jendzejec had been a ruthless enforcer for the Panthers’ organized crime syndicate, and she had steered clear of him from the start. Even the endless supply of Russian prostitutes in Belgrade eventually learned to give him a wide berth in the city’s clubs. Too many women disappeared in his company.
She gently slipped her right hand to her thigh, while pulling on the wire with her left. The struggle would hopef
ully provide enough of a distraction for her to remove the knife and cut the man’s right forearm muscle to the bone. She could follow up with a quick jab to his groin, which should cause him to release the garrote. Once free from the piano wire noose, she would have a fighting chance. Not much of a chance, but she’d rather go down fighting than be chained to some kind of sick contraption. Her hand reached the scabbard, and she was yanked skyward.
“Looking for this?” Miljan said.
Jessica strained through blurry vision to focus as her knees settled back to the floor. Both of her hands were desperately clawing at the wire tightened dangerously around her neck. She felt a warm trickle cascade down her chest, filtering through her sticky fingers.
“I guess I have your answer,” he said and lowered the hand holding her knife.
All of the men in the room laughed, and she made her decision. She closed her eyes and thought of Daniel. This was all her fault. She knew this would devastate him and wished she could change everything. Change all of this. At least she could count on him killing every last man in this room. It was a terrible consolation, but it gave her the strength to force a smile, as she prepared to fight ferociously against the wire that dug less than a few millimeters away from her carotid artery.
Black Flagged Redux Page 24
