by Elaine Nolan
“The sickening truth ladies and gentlemen is that in our so-called sophisticated humanitarian society, we are failing, miserably. Today, not only is slave trading greater than it has ever been in all of history, the value of a slave is also at its cheapest. Life has become cheap. You all know the statistics. You all see it, day-in day-out, and you have all seen the horror of its aftermath. On paper at least, plans and strategies seem feasible, if a little ideological. The truth on the ground, in the trenches, is far from that paper ideal. It is disturbing, and horrifying and at times seemingly hopeless, but we never give in and we never give up. We are all here for one purpose. We are here to put a stop to it, however we can.
“Some of you I’ve worked with before, and look forward to it again. For those of you who haven’t, please don’t believe a single word the others try to tell you.”
That brought a laugh, a few barks from those where the working relationship was far from harmonious, but they were outweighed by the heartier ones. She stole a glance at Jackson to find him chuckling too, his full attention on her, along with that disconcerting smile she had tried being immune to, but failed.
“Okay, this public speaking thing is killing me, so I’ll get right down to it and straight into the brief of this investigation. With Averyanov now removed from the playing field, a number of previously smaller traffickers and drug traders are vying to step into the void. However, one name, and to be honest, our most ambitious target to date, has stepped into the breach quicker than anticipated.”
“Bohdan Nazarenko,” someone volunteered from the audience. She nodded.
“One and the same. Bohdan means ‘God’s gift’ and this man certainly thinks that of himself.” She hit a few keys on the keyboard on the podium and the large screen behind her came to life, the man in question appeared on the display.
“Not my idea of a manly god’s gift, but to each their own,” she commented drily, stealing another glance at Jackson.
“Wasn’t Averyanov one of his?” someone asked from the other side of the room, and Ryan craned his neck to see who
“It was rumoured but never proven. It would explain how he was able to take control of Averyanov’s trade so quickly,” she answered.
“What makes him so special?” The question came from Vinny Ryan, and it sounded like a challenge. The last time they worked together he’d suspected her of being more than just a undercover detective in the Garda Immigration Unit. He had been correct, but for the wrong reasons, and Vinny Ryan hated being wrong. That she had pulled the best acting job, better than her award-winning actor lover, rankled at him, and she knew she owed both him and Cashman an explanation. A more honest one this time, especially as they were assigned to this project and going to be working with her again.
“The extent of his operations,” she answered.
“Meaning?” Ryan continued to push.
“Neither Europol or any Immigration agency have been able to infiltrate his organisation,” she answered calmly.
“Maybe there isn’t one to infiltrate,” he challenged, knowing he was seriously pushing her buttons when he saw her eyes narrow in annoyance. But she did that smirky thing he hated, that sly evil smile, and knew she wasn’t going to hold back on the next punch. Even Cashman was wise enough to put his hand on Ryan’s arm to forestall antagonising her further. She hit another key and the picture behind her changed. A sickening image that even the most hardened of them found difficult to stomach.
“This is just a taster of some of his handiwork. If not by his hand then on his orders and carried out by his underlings,” she answered, continuing to stare Ryan down. She clicked through more pictures, some clearly surveillance photos of Nazarenko, of his family, and the presumed underlings. In one Averyanov made a guest appearance in the background.
“He seems to trade in pregnant young girls, and recruiting young boys as suicide bombers and fighters,” she told them all. “The black market for new-born and young babies is valued in the billions. He keeps the girls pregnant until they either can’t get pregnant anymore, in which case if they haven’t give him too much trouble, they get sold into the sex slave or forced labour industries. If they rebel or put up any sort of a fight or resistance, well… he’s been known to cut babies out of wombs at full term, and leave the girls to die. Still think there is nothing to it… Vincent?” she challenged back. Seeing the latest picture behind her, he shook his head.
“He’s one sick bastard,” he answered.
“At least we agree on that,” she answered. “I think that’s enough for tonight, Chief,” she directed to Dufont who nodded her agreement. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are due to reconvene at 08:00 hours. I will see you all then. Thank you.”
Chapter two
“You’re fucking Europol?” Jackson demanded, catching up with her after all her other interactions with her colleagues dispersed. Well, all bar the impending and likely dispute with her Irish colleagues, and they were hanging back to gain an audience with her too.
“Actually, I was only fucking you,” she answered smartly.
“I’m really pissed off with you, you know.”
“I know.”
He pulled her close, startling her and kissed her, deeply, until she pulled back for breath.
“I thought you were pissed off with me?”
“I am. Seeing as you seem to be in charge here, you have a private office?”
“I do. Why?”
“I’d like to be a bit more pissed off with you.”
She laughed, one of those genuine and shy laughs he had only ever witnessed whenever they were alone, and in each other’s arms.
“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait. I have to meet with Ryan and Cashman, and somehow, I don’t think Ryan’s reaction will be quite the same as yours. You can be way more pissed off with me later, if you want, at my apartment.”
“You’ve an apartment, here?”
“Well, it’s not mine, it’s the agency’s, but I use it whenever I’m here.” Surprising him further, she handed him the keys and gave him the address. “Grab me something to eat on the way. I’ll get there when I can.” He looked at the keys, perplexed at this level of openness from her. She shrugged. ”I owe you an explanation, and you will get it, but later.”
“Why can I never figure you out?” he asked.
“Maybe you’re not meant to,” she put to him, and gave him another quick but promising kiss.
Ryan was less easy to placate and only unleashed his fury in her office.
“You lying bitch,” he growled, ignoring Cashman’s attempts to reign him in.
“You always talk to your project leader like that?”
“You’re only a detective Garda, a junior one at that. I outrank you.”
“Not here you don’t.”
“I was right about Europol though,” Cashman interjected, referring to the last time they’d worked together. Ryan had suspected her of being a dirty cop, while to Cashman, her actions and movements had a more military feel. He’d tried to push her for an answer at the time, but she’d refused to give a straight answer. Now she nodded, slowly.
“You were, but I couldn’t tell you, not at the time.”
“Why not?” he challenged.
“Because another op was still in play.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning she played us,” Ryan answered instead rounding on her, but if he thought his overbearing and aggressive tactic was going to work on her, he was sadly mistaken, and Cashman called him off.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry, but I had a secondary cover, and I had to lie to you,” she answered.
“So the whole filming lark, that was all for show, that was a set up?” Cashman asked. She shook her head.
“That was … unexpected, and genuine, but it got me back in the game, so to speak.”
“Back in… What?” Ryan demanded.
“Was anything in your file real?” Cashman added. She sat down at her desk and indicated the o
ther chairs to the men. Cashman sat, but Ryan hesitated, his old Garda tactics of looming over a suspect battling with what seemed like sitting and surrendering his high moral ground. He eventually gave in and sat too.
“Everything in that file about me, about what happened on Operation Okra, is real. All of it. I’ve never hidden anything, except my connection to Europol.”
“Why?” Cashman asked again, surprised as she chuckled.
“For the very reason Ryan was gunning for me.”
“Dirty cops,” Ryan answered, and she nodded.
“You were just after the Irish ones; I was after the whole network.”
Cashman sighed, crossed his arms and pulled at his lips, as he always did when deep in thought.
“So you knew about Barnes?” Ryan asked but she shook her head.
“I meant what I said at the time, I thought it was Cunningham, especially when you came along. Then I wondered if it was you.” He scowled at her, but she just smirked and shrugged him off.
“So the beatings by Radic were genuine, and his missing you with that shot was just pure blind luck?” Cashman asked and she nodded.
“I shouldn’t even be alive.”
“You think maybe he missed on purpose?”
“No. He had nothing to gain from missing, he couldn’t turn me, he’d already done his best trying to beat me into submission, but then again, at the time he thought I was a weak pathetic little girl. He obviously didn’t think he needed to check whether I was alive or dead.”
“A foolish move for him in the end,” Ryan said, softening.
“And fortunate for you,” Cashman said to her. She nodded.
“I am aware of how it looked at the time,” she conceded.
“So explain to me about this getting back in play,” Cashman said.
“That fucking book should never have made it to print, much less into a film.” Both men heard the annoyance in her voice.
“Then how?” Cashman asked, in that tone she recognised as part of his subtle interrogation technique. She raised a bemused eyebrow at him.
“Why is this starting to feel like you should be reading me my rights, Sarge?”
It was his turn to chuckle.
“Unintentional, Team Leader,” he shot back, but Ryan was less than humoured by her role over them.
“Europol received credible intel that players were going to use the filming to cover their trafficking operations, both human and drugs. The filming was the real thing, but how or why it was my book, I have no idea. It did however give Europol the opening to get an operative in, undercover.”
“An opening? They gave you the grand fucking entrance,” Ryan shot back.
“Did it ever occur to you that it could have been a trap, for you, that someone knew about your double, or even triple, life?” Cashman put to her.
“The probability was bounced around at our team meetings.”
“And?”
“It was deemed a high probability.”
“And they still sent you in, you still willingly went in?”
She nodded and Cashman sat back.
“Honestly Ravenwood, I don’t know if you’re really brave, or really fucking stupid.”
Cashman’s use of expletives surprised both her and Ryan.
“Thanks, Sarge,” was all she could say.
Chapter three
She returned to the apartment to discover Jackson had prepared for a night of passion. No takeout food for her tonight, he’d stopped at a supermarket and bought all the ingredients for a home cooked meal, some sparkling wine to get her in the mood, and the Belgian chocolate he knew she had a weakness for. He didn’t dare push his luck with the addition of flowers. A passion killer for her, if the pollen didn’t get to her first. He only made that mistake once, and quickly learned his lesson. He also stopped off at his hotel and grabbed a change of clothes, stuffing them and a few other bits into an overnight bag, and showered at her place, giving himself an excuse to be half naked when she did eventually arrive.
She looked tired, he thought, reining in his mix of emotions, but his desire overrode his anger at her disappearance. And relief, that she was still alive. Other than tiredness she was almost as inscrutable as ever. To cover the awkward opening moment he restored to deflection, and changed the subject.
“What is with all the unmarked or cryptically marked little bottles you’ve got? And lip balms? Since when did you do lips balms?” It was a valid question, she was never one for cosmetics, and even when she did, it was minimal.
“Been snooping have we?”
He tried to shrug innocently, but failed.
“Like you never snooped in my stuff.”
“Actually, no, I never did. It’s not an uncontrollable urge they train us for. Anything I needed to know, you told me.
“The minty lip balm was nice.”
“You used my lip balm?” she seemed annoyed and he started to flounder, that this diversion was getting way off track, but she came to his rescue, again. “I’ve a friend in Abbeyleix who makes all natural and herbal stuff. Some of her serums help with the bruises and scars.”
“Ohhh… sounds like voodoo.” He wiggled his fingers in front of her for dramatic effect.
“No, witchcraft. Get it right,” she shot back.
“I never guessed you were into the esoteric. Just think of all the existential conversations we could’ve had.”
“Ever think that was the reason for not telling you? So, can we finish with the lip balm and this verbal foreplay?”
He nodded and smiled, relieved.
“That’s not takeout I’m smelling either, is it?”
“Nope, I cooked.”
“I think I like you being mad at me.” She caught hold of his open shirt and playfully tried to pull him closer, but he resisted a little.
“Don’t get used to it.” He pulled away, not abruptly, but enough for her to know his was teasing and going to play hard to get, at least until he got what he wanted. And right now, it was an explanation. As a man who never really held grudges, he poured her a glass of wine, abstaining himself. Their fingers brushing as she accepted it. Distracting himself and delaying further, he fussed with the contents of the pots. Why was he delaying, he wondered, but he caught her sly knowing smirk, and he had to admit to himself, as eager as he was to hear what happened, he was also terrified of it. He knew she would spare him the gory details, but was he ready to find out just how close to death she had gotten herself again? He was even more annoyed with himself that she had already worked him out.
“How much do you want to know?” she asked, her tone having changed, a softer one he recognised, one where he knew she would let him in to the deepest darkest realms within her. He shrugged.
“Everything,” he said, not sure he meant it.
“I stayed away to protect you.”
“Blah blah blah, I’ve heard this speech from you before, you know.”
She rubbed her forehead, a sign of mild frustration he noted, feeling smug to find he was starting to play her game. He waited her out.
“I was already in play for this guy Averyanov. He knew I was a Garda, but thought he had me as a climber, willing to do anything to get up the ranks,” she started, sipping the wine while she gathered the rest of her thoughts.
“So he found you just as hard to read as I do,” he quipped. “Nice to know I’m in such good company.” She chuckled.
“He’s a dangerous man to let in on your darkest secrets.”
“You trying to say I’m dangerous to let in? I’m not quite sure how I feel about that?”
“I’ll put it this way, you’re not the kind of man to put a physical knife through my heart. You… are more likely to metaphysically break it instead. Anyway…” she was getting off topic again, and down an emotional path she wasn’t sure she was ready to skip along down. “The filming gave us the chance to infiltrate his operation. I hadn’t known Radic was going to be involved there, so the almost panic I felt wa
s real, I didn’t have to act or feign any reaction. But we turned it to our advantage.”
“We?”
“I’m part of a Europol team, unknown to all but the most senior Garda rank.”
“Because of Barnes, or at least others like him who were dirty.”
She nodded and smiled at him, loving how he was taking this and no hint of a fragile macho ego about to denigrate her work or belittle her.
“I didn’t make it easy for Averyanov. I let him think I was a hard ass…”
“Not much effort required on your part then.”
“You want me to tell this story or not?”
“Sorry,” but he sounded anything but, rethinking his abstention, and poured himself a glass, topping up hers as well.
“I made a deal with Averyanov that I’d do what I could to bring down Radic, eliminate him as Averyanov’s rival, but in return… he was supposed to keep you safe.”
“Me?”
She nodded. “He’d already made some snide comments about us, so he obviously had his own people on site, either in the hotel or in the filming crew. He knew I was involved with you, and thought he was going to use you as leverage.”
“So the first time I heard the ‘it’s for your own good’ speech from you?”
She smirked. “You paid such good attention to it the first time I had to resort to actually leaving you, especially after Radic got to you.”
“I heard you beat the shit out of him.”
She nodded.
“My girl’s got moves,” he quipped, echoing her words about him the first time she had to rescue him.
“You getting shot, unfortunately, played into my game.”
“So happy I could help.” Again, his tone belied his words. She wilfully ignored his sardonic attitude.
“It was a great help, thank you. It gave me a very large bargaining hold over Averyanov, and he hates anyone, especially a woman, having that kind of a hold on him. Besides, you were touring with your film promo, doing your red carpet thing, looking all suave. It wasn’t like I could just slip away for a while and see you. How would it have looked with a battered woman on your arm?”
