Dealer (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 3)

by Nicholas E Watkins

  Haniya was at first puzzled and shocked. “What did he mean?” she asked Mariam.

  There was a look of fear and horror on her friends face. “Circumcision”

  The penny dropped and Haniya felt panic rise. Aleena was confused and frightened at her sister and her friends obvious upset. “I don’t understand?”

  They tried to explain that it was common in some Muslim countries, like Egypt, for the grandmother to cut the clitoris from the young girls and remove the labia and stitch the opening virtually shut leaving a small hole for urination and menstruation. Aleena felt sick and began to tremble.

  “The hole they leave is too small to insert a tampon and even touching down there would be seen as wanton.”

  They got back on the truck severally shaken by the realisation as to how fundamental some of the fighters were in their beliefs. All Haniya could do was tear up a blouse, roll it into a pad and stuff it into her knickers.

  They spent another uncomfortable night sleeping by the truck. They all had terrible diarrhoea from the food and the lack of hygiene by the time they reached camp. Weak and shaky, they were led from the truck to be surrounded by a group of unkempt men, who shouted as they were stood in the centre of the circle that formed around them.

  Frightened and confused only Mariam found her voice, “Where is Fatin?”

  She was greeted with a roar of laughter from the group. A man in his late forties, balding and filthy stepped forward. “I am Fatin.” His statement was greeted by even louder laughter from the assembled.

  Aleena clung to her sister, tears in her eyes. “Why are you saying that?”

  “You cannot be that stupid?” mocked the man. “Fatin is a fantasy on the web, no more and no less.” The realisation that they were nothing to these men finally sank in. They were there to satisfy them and act as propaganda.

  An elderly overweight woman dressed in a black Abaya that stretched from her head to the ground emerged from a tent and made her way over to the new arrivals. She beckoned the girls to come into the tent. They obeyed, glad to be away from the leering group.

  The tent smelt of urine and cooking fat, it took some while for their eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Three further women came into focus as their eyes adjusted. “Take off your undergarments.”

  The girls hesitated and looked at one another. Aleena was siezed by the woman and pulled towards a filthy mattress in one corner. “Now,” said the woman aggressively. Aleena reluctantly removed her jeans and knickers. The woman pushed her back on the mattress and a torch was shined on her vagina. Rough fingers examined her. “Virgin” she declared and allowed her up from the bed.

  Next was Mariam. “Whore,” declared the woman. Mariam was a virgin but with her friend Haniya she loved horse riding. The day her hymen split she had been shocked at the blood in her knickers. Her mother had reassured her some time later. Her friend had split her maidenhood while trying to use too large a tampon.

  “Whore,” shouted the woman on checking Haniya.

  They were pushed from the tent and their status announced, “Two whores and a bride.” The woman pushed Aleena forward.

  The old man stepped forward and took hold of Aleena’s arm pulling her towards him. It was clear that he was the commander of the group of fighters.” I’ll take this pretty one as my bride. Sort the other two between you.”

  The raping began right in the middle of the compound. Mariam’s and Haniya’s clothes were torn from them and they were held down, legs spread as the men queued to rape them. All three had been virgins and there was a scramble to be first when it was realised how inexperienced they were. The pain was unbelievable and the anal sex worse than the vaginal. It went on for hours. Bleeding and in pain the two girls were finally shoved into the tent.

  They sat there clinging to each other, waiting for the next rape to come. They had their dream. They were now brides of the fighters. Aleena fared little better. The commander had taken her to a tent and fucked her arse and then her vagina. She was paralysed with shock as he pressed down on her. She remembered the rank smell of sweat that came from his body and the terrible stench that his breath had as he forced his tongue in her mouth.

  She had been separated from her sister the next day, as the Commander moved to another band of fighters to coordinate the attacks. She soon discovered that they were not the only girls to suffer the humiliation at the hands of the ISIS fighters. They would take the local women and use them as whores. Her position was slightly better in that she was the bride of the Commander. As a wife, she was just basically beaten and raped by the one man. It all changed within two weeks. Her “husband” was killed and she was then available to the rest of the group to rape as they pleased. She was not alone. She watched as they gang raped a girl no older than ten.

  Chapter 9

  It was around ten o’clock that the guests began arriving for the party at Benedict’s apartment in Monaco. The first thing that struck the Driver as odd, was that there were about thirty young men and just two other couples. The females were introduced as Jane and Jill. While the men had drinks served at the bar, the two women disappeared into one of the bedrooms with Benedict’s wife Mimi.

  “Is this Adnan here yet?” asked the Driver.

  Benedict looked round the room. “Not yet, but he will be.”

  Benedict left him holding a glass of champagne and went over to Jill and Jane’s husbands. They rest of the male party goers gathered in small groups and seemed to say very little. It was the strangest party the Driver had ever attended. After about twenty minutes, Benedict and the spouses made their way to the room Mimi and her two friends had entered earlier. All eyes turned to the door.

  The door opened and Benedict stepped into the room naked, “Party time.”

  The assembled men made their way to the room. Some began stripping naked while others just undid their flies and began rubbing their penises. The Driver made his way to the room and was at the back of the throng of naked and semi naked men. There were four swings suspended from the ceiling. They were not the type of swing that you see in the park but sex swings. The swing consisted of a chain connected to four leather straps that supported the four corners of a back support and straps in which the feet could be placed. Mimi, Jill and Jane were naked in three of the swings. Their feet were raised and strapped and their legs were widely spread showing their vaginas. “Who wants to fuck my slut wife?” shouted Benedict.

  The men clustered around the three women and began fondling their breasts and pussies. “Come on somebody fuck me,” shouted Mimi in encouragement. Somebody did fuck her followed by another somebody and then another. The three women seemed insatiable and seemed to have no bounds to their appetites. No orifice was off limits they sucked, they fucked and they buggered.

  The Driver watched as the gangbang progressed, it was infectious. His penis was hard in his trousers and he reached down to rub it through the material. Benedict was watching his wife fucking as were the husbands of Jill and Jane. They were all naked and masturbating as they watched. After each successive participant had reached orgasm and deposited his sperm in Mimi’s vagina, Benedict would kneel between her knees and lick the offering up.

  The Driver, fully aroused, undressed and joined the queue to fuck Mimi. The form seemed to be fondle, fellatio then fuck, in an anti clockwise direction. The Driver was ready to come by the time it was his turn to fuck. He waited while Benedict cleaned up, then he entered her very wet and slippery vagina. To his surprise he was so excited by the whole experience that he came after just five or sex strokes. Mimi was continuously coming, clearly in a state of complete sexual ecstasy. He withdrew his penis and watched as his semen dripped from her shaved vagina. Benedict spoke before resuming his pussy cleaning duties.

  “The man you need to speak to is fucking Jill now.”

  The Driver looked across to the next swing where a young Arab, in his late twenties, was pumping vigorously. It was distracting but he made a point of studying his face,
so that he would recognise him with his clothes on.

  It was an evening that the Driver would never forget. In a later conversation with Benedict, he had asked him if he minded his wife having sex with complete strangers.

  “I knew Mimi had been in the sex trade when we met. She was quite open about being a prostitute. I, to my surprise found the whole idea stimulating. I think it is a combination of the voyeurism and the fact that she is so desirable to other men. It is hard to explain, but I enjoy watching her fuck and when the others have finished, knowing that she is mine.”

  “I am not sure I should like my wife to be doing it. That is of course, if I had a wife.”

  “We started talking about it first and Mimi suggested we went to the Naturist resort at cap D’Agde. It is a complete village where nudity is obligatory. At night the clubs are full of swingers from around the World. The clubs cater for every taste and there are no limits. We went and joined in at the clubs. I found I enjoyed it and Mimi really liked it. It just grew. “

  The Driver was shocked but he could see no harm, his former employer was enjoying himself and he could not deny he had enjoyed fucking his wife.

  Now dressed, he approached Adnan who was just buttoning his shirt. “I am the Driver,” he said by way of introduction.

  They left the apartment and the swinger’s party and were in a hotel bar. Both were drinking coffee. Adnan spoke, “Mr Benedict says that you may be able to help us. We have shortages across the board. “

  “It depends on what you want and where you want it.”

  “Manpads are an urgent requirement with the US, its allies and the Russians deploying air strikes across the region” Manpads, the Driver knew were manned, portable, air defence systems, or surface to air missiles, capable of being fired by a couple of fighters on the ground..

  “Not cheap, fifty thousand a go, how many?”

  “Three months for nine separate divisions, say a couple of thousand? “

  “Double,” said the Driver.

  “What we ideally need to defend against air strikes is a self propelled surface to air system, something like the Russian Buk sustem.”

  “You are talking thirty million each.”

  “We have the money, do you have access to them?”

  The truth was the Driver did not and had no idea where to get one. “Maybe, “he lied.

  “Say three or four?”

  The Driver was stunned. This was building to three hundred million dollars. “I am not sure that is possible.”

  Adnan rose from the seat. “I am disappointed. They said you were the man to go to.”

  The Driver just could not let the deal pass. “I will do it.”

  “Contact me when you have the order and we will help finalise payment and shipment. Benedict will be able to put you in touch. Don’t let us down,” he walked off into the night where a light drizzle had started to fall again.

  Chapter 10

  The Driver arrived at Moscow airport late in the evening. The rain seemed to be following him around the Globe, torrential in Argentina, continuous in London and Monaco and more of the same in Moscow. It was already dark when the taxi dropped him at the hotel. It was an old soviet built affair, not far from Red Square and looked like a grey sixties tower block, which is exactly what it was. Attempts had been made to spruce up the interior but it still had more the feel of a youth hostel than an hotel.

  He had flown in from London and was on the trail of the armaments to fill Adnan’s order for ISIS in Syria. Following their discussion in Monaco, Adnan had supplied his shopping list. It was clear that ISIS were expecting an all-out air attack down the road, anticipating that the Russians, having bombed Assad’s governments immediate opposition, would team up with the Americans and their allies to go after them. Facing the prospect of the overwhelming air power, they needed a defence system.

  Such systems had been purchased from the Russians in Venezuela and Iraq, but the Driver had no luck in finding a seller through his usual sources. He was looking for the Buk-M2E missile system. The Russians were the manufacturers and were unlikely to sell him the system to be used against their own strike force in Syria. So the usual channels were out. The one piece of information that had helped him in tracking down the system, was that he knew that it had been used in the Ukraine when a Boeing 777 Malaysian Airline flight had been downed. He had heard that an arms dealer, called Dovzhenko, had somehow gathered up four or five of the Buk-M2E series from the conflict, along with a stack of the generation 9 Grizzly missile racks, as part of the cover up and they were somewhere in the Crimea, or at least in the pro-Russian sector of the country.

  He had set his sights on getting his hands on them, if they existed. The grizzly missiles were about seventy million each and the transporters and allied systems were a further twenty to thirty million. It was the deal of a lifetime, if he could source and supply them.

  His search for Dovzhenko had led him to Moscow. He had met with him in London. He confirmed that he had the rocket launchers he sought but he had sold them. After money exchanged hands, Dovzhenko had given him an introduction to Lesta.

  Now it was a matter of waiting.

  The Driver woke early, went downstairs, ate and exited the hotel. He had checked his mobile phone was registered to a network and that itfunctioned. He sat in the lobby, constantly looking at his phone, waiting for the call but he realised that he had no way of knowing when Lesta would make contact. The waiting was interminable and he decided to get out for a bit of exercise. The walk to the shopping mall was shorter than he thought. He soon found himself in designer fashion paradise.

  He was not exactly sure what the shopping arcade had been previously, but it had been transformed into shops that catered for the Russian rich and elite. It was clear that, while the sanctions imposed after the annexation of the Crimea were hitting the Country’s economy badly, not all Russians were suffering equally.

  Shop after shop, full of global brands, were displaying their goods. There was no shortage of customers and money was being spent. He lingered in a few shops to take up some time, but his mind was not on fashion and wandered to an exit after about an hour. He went through the doors and found himself in Red square.

  The first thing that struck him was how unimpressive it was. Watching the May Day parades with the tanks, missiles and massed ranks of the Red army on television, he had expected it to be so much bigger. He walked to the centre and looked at the Podium over Lenin’s Tomb. It was small, he wondered how the leaders of the country, their Polite Bureaux colleagues and all those generals, with their oversized caps, had managed to squeeze on it as the parade went by.

  He made his way to the Tomb and joined the queue. The information told how the technicians had a whole laboratory devoted to preserving Lenin’s body and they worked on the cutting edge of technology. He finally joined the slow walk past to view the glass encased, mortal remains of the former leader. He had to admit, it was a remarkable feat of preservation. The head did, however, look suspiciously like a Madam Tussaud’s waxwork dummy. Suspending his scepticism, he left and went back onto Red Square.

  The Square was populated with a group of street vendors and hawkers. They carried trays of goods, ranging from the ever present matryoshka dolls and fur hats, to ex-army watches and badges. The Driver was soon approached by the offer of an army watch, guaranteed to be waterproof to an incredible depth. Having avoided the temptation of buying the watch, he just observed the scene for a few moments.

  The hawkers were, on closer inspection, a well organised group. Cars were parked off the square to supply the sellers. The car boots contained a vast array of fake and stolen goods aimed to be sold at inflated prices to the tourists. The street vendors were targeting the shoppers as they exited the luxury shopping centre.

  Suddenly, a black van pulled up and discharged a group of leather coated police. The vendors ran, but those caught were beaten and dragged to a waiting van. It was brutal and swift. The owners of the outlet
s in the shopping centre obviously had little time for the competition and had paid the police to come and bang a few heads as a warning. He learnt later the raids were a regular affair and helped supplement the policemen’s salaries.

  Having exhausted the delights of Moscow’s historic square, he returned to wait at the cheap hotel. He was tempted to move to the more international quarter, with its luxury accommodation and clubs. He decided keeping a low profile was the best strategy. Drawing attention to himself with a display of wealth was hardly advisable, given his mission was to source arms to be potentially used against the Russians in Syria. The iron curtain may have been drawn back. but the whole atmosphere of the country still had the feel of restrictions, surveillance and control. The suspicions surrounding foreigners was deeply ingrained in the psyche of the population.

  He sat in the lobby looking at the television mounted in the lounge. There was a preponderance of programming showing positive images of Russian rural life and pictures and stories about the President. Even if he could have understood it, he guessed that daytime television here was a dull as dish water.

  Eventually the phone rang. The voice was polite and enquired as to his journey and his health before proposing a meeting. His location ascertained, he was told to wait and he would be collected. Approximately twenty minutes later, the Mercedes pulled up outside and a Driver opened the rear door for him.

  The drive through Moscow was interesting. There were vast swathes of grey tower blocks and pretty orthodox churches with their brightly painted exteriors and golden domes. The traffic was chaotic and it was clear that driving standards were appalling. Many Russians had never had a driving lesson in their lives and had merely bribed an official to issue them with a license, a cheaper option than paying for lessons. Once clear of the centre, they gained speed and soon arrived at a residence that was built to impress. The electronic gates opened and they passed the guards in the grounds.