SAVE THE GIRLS: A JAMIE AUSTEN SPY THRILLER (THE SPY STORIES Book 1)

by Terry Toler

  The girls were happy because they got a free trip out of it and made as much as they would make in three months in the states. Candy didn’t need the money, but it was the scorecard. The more money she made, the more proof she was winning. Omer always seemed happy with the results, so it was a win/win all the way around.

  A year before, Omer had approached her about a new opportunity. He wanted her to go to Belarus and set up a company that matched Belarusian women with American men looking for a wife. She jumped at the opportunity. He set up the office for her in Pinsk and gave her full control of the day-to-day operations. Money was no object. The only expectation he had of her was that she had to recruit three hundred women a month.

  The caller ID on her phone confirmed he was calling her.

  “Omer, darling! It’s so good to hear from you,” Candy answered warmly.

  “Hello beautiful,” he said, the words she always expected to be greeted with when he called.

  Omer was nothing more than a meal ticket to her, even though she genuinely admired the man. Not just a real estate developer, he was one of the hundred richest men in the world. The feelings of affection were mutual. Omer admitted that when he first met Candy, he was mesmerized by her wit, charm, and drop-dead gorgeous looks. He hired her on the spot to become his exclusive girl.

  For two years, she accompanied him to hundreds of functions and was on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. He couldn’t travel to some places because he was on a terrorism watch list, something he said was a misunderstanding, but he took her to many exotic places, nonetheless. The physical part of their relationship had been awkward and meaningless to Candy, but she’d played the part perfectly, turning it into a full-time job.

  “When am I going to see you again?” Candy asked. “It’s been such a long time. You’re such a busy man.”

  “You must come back to Oman some time. I’ll arrange it in the future.”

  Candy knew that wasn’t going to happen. Omer had grown tired of the physical relationship as well and had turned his affections to the next girls. For him, the relationship was strictly business.

  From Candy’s perspective, a business relationship going well for both parties.

  “I remember the first time you came to Oman,” Omer said. “If I remember right, I paid you $20,000.”

  “That’s right,” Candy replied with a chuckle. “You have a good memory.”

  “You’ve made me millions since. You might be the best investment I ever made.”

  “No complaints from me either. I have some ideas on how to make you even more money.”

  “I’m not surprised. Your mind is always thinking about business. When you were in bed with me, is that what you were thinking about—business?”

  “Of course not. I gave you your money’s worth, didn’t I?”

  “You’ve always been good at both. Sex and business.”

  Candy laughed. She got her business abilities from her dad. She wasn’t sure where she got her sexual prowess. Not from her mom. Her dad had once confided that her mom was frigid, and he couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex. Their relationship lasted more out of convenience and business than love. Perhaps that’s why sex had become more of a business relationship for her as well. When it came to Omer, they were one and the same to her, sex and business, although she’d never let him know that. Something he probably already knew.

  “Come on now, Omer. You know you’ve always been my favorite. That’s why I always kept you for myself. I knew how to make you happy,” Candy said, laughing.

  “How are things in Pinsk?” Omer asked, changing the subject back to the purpose of the call.

  “Very good,” she responded, which was true.

  “Is the next shipment of girls ready?” Omer asked.

  “Almost. They will be ready next week. We’ll have three bus loads leaving Pinsk next Friday if you’ll be ready for them.”

  “We’ll be ready.”

  “Perfect. You’re the best.”

  “No, you are,” Omer said. “That’s why I love you.”

  Candy kissed into the phone with two loud smacks and hung up.

  She dialed her assistant. “We’re on for next Friday. Contact the girls. Tell them to pack their bags and be in Pinsk next Friday at three o’clock. One suitcase and one carry-on only. Tell them to bring their passports and say goodbye to their families. Include the new girl, Olga on the list.”

  Candy hung up the phone and said to herself, “I love my job.”

  ***

  Omer hung up the phone.

  “How could someone so beautiful, and so smart, be so clueless?” he thought to himself.

  10

  Palace of the Republic, Minsk

  Denys Onufeychuk, the Minister of Transportation for the Republic of

  Belarus had been in the position for more than ten years and was one of President Igor Bobrinsky’s most trusted advisors. His office was less than a stone’s throw to the President’s, and he met with him almost every day, even though their relationship had grown more strained over the last couple years.

  He had not agreed with Bobrinsky’s strategy to become more closely aligned with Russia. He believed they should align with the western world and even petition to join NATO. Something Bobrinsky strongly disagreed with. His affection for Russia ran deep. He spent years in the Russian army rising through the ranks. Before stepping into politics, he ran a kolkhoz or what was commonly called a “collective farm.” Those were industries of the state run by selected businessmen called oligarchs, who lined their pockets on the backs of the peasants of Belarus. Slave labor really. Bobrinsky’s fortune grew to over an estimated fifty million dollars from his farm.

  Once in politics, he was backed politically and financially by the Russians and secured power ten years before and had held on to it ever since with the help of the Russians and tainted elections, increasing his influence and fortune proportionately each year.

  Denys knew he was fighting an uphill battle and his advice as it pertained to the evils of communism fell on deaf ears, so he mostly kept his mouth shut.

  While traveling to Vienna a few years before, he was approached by a CIA operative who recruited him to become an agent for the United States government. A Swiss bank account was set up, and millions of dollars had been deposited into his account as he provided information regarding Belarus, and more importantly, Russian activities. A path that kept his life in constant danger under fear of being discovered.

  Seventy-two years old, Denys felt like the benefits outweighed the risks. He hadn’t spent a dime of the money and probably never would. He did it because he loved the motherland and hated what was becoming of it. His wife had died year’s earlier from a disease, and his kids were grown. He couldn’t leave them the money. There would be too much scrutiny. He could never amass that much money on his salary which was well above average for a Belarusian but not one of which fortunes were made.

  As Minister of Transportation, border control was one of his responsibilities. Russia and Belarus maintained an open border, so his main concern was commercial transportation between the countries. Denys had recently alerted his CIA handler that a man with terrorist ties from Turkey had been buying up real estate and setting up businesses in Belarus. He had purchased the Casino California, the Splash nightclub, and a number of other office buildings in and around Minsk.

  Denys also learned that the businessman would be transporting women as mail order brides monthly through the Russian border and that Denys, and his people were to let them pass without any scrutiny. That directive came from the President himself. Denys was suspicious that the mail order bride business might be used as a front for sex trafficking or to fund terrorism out of the Middle East.

  He was given instructions to meet a CIA operative, a woman, at Liberty Square. He was to provide her with a satellite phone, and the name of the Turkish businessman who was funding the operation. If she didn’t show up at the scheduled t
ime, he was instructed to wait fifteen minutes and then leave.

  She never showed up.

  He was still distraught about missing the meeting because he desperately needed to get her the information. That morning he did some checking and found the woman did come through customs and was checked in at the Monastyrski Hotel in Minsk and hadn’t checked out.

  He sat in his office contemplating his next move.

  Why didn’t the woman show up? Had something bad happened to her? Was she arrested for some reason? Kidnapped or worse, killed? Maybe she had been followed and aborted the meeting to protect his identity. That made the most sense of all the scenarios he was creating in his mind.

  At that moment, his secretary walked in carrying a file.

  “The Militsia sent a request over for any information we have on an

  American girl named Allie Walker. What would you like for me to do?”

  A jolt of panic went through Denys’s body as he struggled to not grimace and give anything away. Allie Walker was the name of the CIA contact he was supposed to meet at the square last night. The one who didn’t show up.

  “Just leave it on my desk. I’ll review it,” he said indifferently.

  When she left, he immediately picked up the file and scanned it with a sense of urgency. It didn’t say why the Minsk police were asking about her, but he knew it couldn’t be a good thing. So far, she hadn’t been arrested, but they were apparently watching her. They had ordered her to be stopped and searched and for her room to be inspected. They had accessed her information from customs and were wondering if his office had any additional information that would be helpful to them.

  He called his secretary back in the room.

  “Tell them that we don’t have any information other than what is in the file. Tell them she came through customs and everything checked out. The woman is clean.”

  He handed the file back to his secretary, and she left him alone in his office with his thoughts.

  I need to warn her.

  She obviously had the proper paperwork since she got through customs without any problem. If the Militsia brought her in for questioning, he could do something about it. He could have her transferred to his jurisdiction. He’d have to come up with a good excuse, so it didn’t draw attention to himself. If the KGB got her, then there was nothing he could do for her. They’d take her someplace secluded, and who knew what they might do to her.

  Denys shuddered at the thought. He was getting ahead of himself. So far, she’d only raised the suspicions of the local police. It may be nothing. He really didn’t know how these operatives worked. Did she have help?

  Did she have a weapon?

  I hope she doesn’t have a gun.

  His thoughts raced like a bullet toward a target. How could he contact her without raising suspicion? Especially if she was being watched. Another meet with an operative was scheduled for later that day. A man this time. Denys had learned that the same Turkish businessman was trying to acquire a briefcase nuke from Bobrinsky. That meet was even more important than the meeting with the girl.

  He hoped this operative showed up. He was taking great risks scheduling meetings with two operatives within twenty-four hours of each other. It was worth the risk. This was the most important information he’d ever discovered.

  He had to get both of the operatives the man’s name. They both needed to know that Omer Asaf was an extremely dangerous man.

  ***

  Minsk Regional Medical Hospital No. 9

  Lieutenant Petrov lit a cigarette and walked through the large double doors of the hospital and stopped at the information desk in the lobby. He pointed at his badge to the short, stubby, bald man sitting behind the desk eating a strawberry jam Vatrushka and drinking a bottle of carbonated water. The only reason he knew the pastry was strawberry was because of the smear of jelly on the side of the man’s mouth. These type of men disgusted Petrov. They were weak and undisciplined. Barely deserving of any job, much less one important as dispensing information. “I need Yegor Zoran’s room,” Petrov said roughly.

  The stubby man scrambled to look up the name on his computer, almost spilling his water. He wiped off his mouth with his hand but then looked for something to wipe his hand on rather than get the jam on his computer keyboard. Not finding a napkin, he just wiped the jam on his pant leg and began typing. The man was probably fifty-years old but was clearly intimidated by the police lieutenant.

  “Ён у пакоі 427,” the stubby man said.

  Petrov turned without saying a word and walked to the already-opened elevator, stepped in, and pushed the button for the fourth floor. Upon exiting the elevator, he looked for an ash tray to put out his cigarette. Seeing none, he threw it on the floor, put it out with his foot, and smashed it into the floor. The nurse at the nurse’s station glared at him, then looked down to his badge and turned away, busying herself. Probably thought better of saying anything.

  “Which way to room 427?” Petrov asked the nurse.

  “Down that hall,” she said, pointing. “Then take a left, and it’s on your left.”

  Petrov followed the directions to room 427 and opened the door. Yegor was sleeping and being tended to by a nurse. The nurse explained that he’d had surgery on his knee and was now starting to awaken from his anesthesia. She suggested politely that the detective come back later when Yegor was more awake.

  Petrov walked over to the Yegor and shook him violently. The young man opened his eyes but was still groggy. The inspector pulled a picture of the woman out of his shirt pocket and showed it to Yegor. “Is this the woman who assaulted you?”

  Yegor closed his eyes.

  Petrov shook him harder.

  The nurse moved toward them but stopped herself.

  “Kid,” he said in a loud voice that echoed through the room. “Look at this picture and tell me if you recognize this woman.”

  Yegor mumbled something and shook his head, but Petrov couldn’t tell what he said. It looked like he shook his head yes, but he couldn’t be sure. He looked at the nurse, but she just shrugged her shoulders. He walked out of the room and went to the main nurse’s station by the elevators.

  “There was another boy who came in with the kid in 427. What room is he in?”

  “He already checked out,” she said.

  Petrov stood there for a moment, considering what he should do. “How bad are the injuries to the kid’s leg?”

  “The doctor’s think he’ll probably lose his left leg, but they’re trying to save it.”

  “Has he said anything to you about what happened to him?”

  “He said that a girl kicked him.”

  “Do you think a girl kicking him could cause that much damage?”

  “No way. I think it must have been caused by a baseball bat or a lead pipe.”

  Petrov grunted which was his way of saying thank you. He went to the elevator, pushed the button, and left without saying another word.

  Once outside, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Detective Fabi who was supposed to be staking out the American woman’s hotel.

  “Have you stopped the woman, yet?” Petrov asked.

  “She hasn’t come out of the hotel,” Fabi responded nervously as if somehow it was his fault. “I’m here waiting for her. I have two officers with me, just like you said.”

  “Stick with the plan. When she comes out, I want you to stop her and search her. I don’t think she’s involved, but let’s find out. If you don’t find anything, we can eliminate her as a suspect.”

  “Do you still want me to search her room?”

  “Of course. When she goes out, search her first then her room. I want you to follow her around today. See what she does.”

  “You can count on me. Should I ask her about the boys?”

  “You can ask. See her reaction when you mention an attack on two boys. The nurse said a woman couldn’t cause those injuries. She thought they were caused by a lead pipe or a baseball bat.”
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br />   “I doubt the girl is carrying a pipe around with her, and there wasn’t one at the scene. I was with her all day yesterday. She definitely didn’t have a baseball bat on her.”

  “She could’ve taken it with her and thrown it away. Maybe—”

  “Where would she have gotten a pipe or a bat?” Fabi asked, immediately regretting having interrupted his boss.

  “How would I know? It might’ve been laying on the ground. The boys may have had it, and she took it from them. Like I said, I don’t think she’s involved.”

  “What did the boy say?” Fabi asked. “Did he say it was her?”

  “The boy isn’t awake enough to give me a positive ID. The other kid has already checked out of the hospital. I’ll go by his house and see if he can ID her. I think it’s a dead end.”

  “I’ll search her and her room and then get back with you. We’ll look for a weapon. If we find one, we’ll bring her in.”

  The Lieutenant hung up the phone and looked at his notes for the address of the other boy. He didn’t have it with him. He got into his car and drove back to the office. He’d find the address and then go to the boy’s house.

  Petrov was frustrated because too many man hours were being wasted pursuing the women. Eliminating her as a suspect was as easy as showing the boys a picture. If it wasn’t her, they could move on to other suspects. Another frustration. They didn’t have any other suspects.

  The only lead he had was the American woman. He hoped to know if she was involved one way or the other before lunch.

  11

  Lieutenant Petrov went back to his office, poured himself a cup of coffee and a shot of vodka, and downed both within seconds. He opened the police report and searched the file for the name and address of the second boy involved in the alleged attack. Still “alleged” in his mind because he had no idea what had happened. The boys may have well been the instigators or the victims.

  He’d hoped the boy in the hospital would’ve been awake enough to identify the woman in the picture, either implicating or excluding her as a suspect. He seemed to recognize her, but there was no way to be sure. Clearly, he was too groggy to make a positive ID one way or the other.