Luka Rusakov stared out the window and yawned for what had to be the hundredth time since he’d boarded the plane in Moscow. Back in the states, he sighed. He freaking hated it here and already felt homesick. The last time he had been to this capitalistic shithole was over a half year ago; delivering what he had thought would eventually make him rich beyond his wildest dreams.
What a fucking laugh that turned out to be!
After he had acquired the last of the girls for the rich American artiste and delivered them to the man’s incredible palace, he figured he was set for life. For not only had he just received six thousand American dollars on the spot for his efforts, but had been promised the option of getting the girls back again once the rich American pig was finished with them so that he could sell them outright for even more money than he had already earned.
It was what the westerners so fondly called double-dipping.
But that promise had been broken. No sooner had he delivered the goods and boarded a plane heading back to Moscow, Popov called acting as though the original deal had never existed. He argued that he had already given him a huge break by letting him handle the transaction but never told him he would get the girls back in order to sell.
He had been royally screwed, as they say.
Luka had half a notion to defy Popov—go pick up the girls and hide out somewhere until things cooled off. Then sell them to one of those rich pimps in Los Angeles or Vegas that he’d heard so much about. Make a killing then take the money and run.
But he knew that doing so would be absolute folly. The risks involved were much too great. Popov would find him eventually and kill him—after torturing him by the most painful means possible, of course. He had heard stories about a Brit named Mick who was Yuri’s one-man personal death squad. Not a guy he ever wanted to meet.
So he would follow his orders and make Yuri happy. The only good thing about this whole deal was that he wouldn’t have to stay in this country any more than a couple of days or so. Popov had arranged for the girls to be put up at some place in New Jersey until they were eventually sold. All he had to do was pick up the van, load up the girls and drive them to Teaneck or whatever the hell the name was. Then he could fly back to his beloved Russia, a few thousand dollars richer.
He also had to admit that this was much better than the original plan had been. Popov had at first told him that he was to give the man who called himself Gordon Parks a call and tell him that he was interested in selling him the girls after all. Yuri was hell-bent on finding out if Gordon Parks was the same man who had taken Nadiya and been snooping around Viktor’s place. Luka was to land first in New York to meet a man named Hank and then call Parks again to arrange the meeting in a location that was far enough away from where Fowler lived to avoid suspicion. During this meeting, Hank would be hanging around out of sight in order to see if Gordon Parks was the same man he had seen leaving Popov’s home. If Parks was the same guy, Hank was to suddenly appear and force Parks at gunpoint to go with him. He would no doubt take the unfortunate man to meet Yuri who would in turn have the guy eliminated, courtesy of Mick the Brit.
On the other hand if Parks was legit, Luka was to set up a time that they could meet again in order to view the girls. If Parks was satisfied with the merchandise and willing to accept the price Popov was asking, then the deal would be negotiated over the next few days.
But not long after he landed at Kennedy International to meet Hank, Popov called Luka on his cell phone and told him about the change in plans. Luka wasn’t sure why he made the change and he didn’t really give a shit. All he knew was that he wasn’t meeting either Hank or Gordon Parks after all but instead was to acquire the van, go pick up the girls and transport them to New Jersey.
He glanced down at the road map spread out on his lap and calculated that he would reach his first destination in a few more hours.
The Collector Page 66
