by Keith Short
‘I don’t know anything about sex trafficking. You’re not suggesting Magda is caught up in it, are you? She’s far too clever to be duped by people like that.’
‘It’s just a possibility, Dr Dabrowski. In my opinion, it’s our best line of enquiry so far.’
The words were cutting. If they were shifting their efforts into this type of investigation, there had to be good reason. The thought of Magda in the hands of depraved monsters like that was unbearable. He couldn’t wait for the police – he’d have to look into this himself. But where did he start?
The doorbell chimes jolted Leon from his drunken sleep.
‘Magda?’
He fumbled for his wafer and called up his entrance security camera. The image of a hefty grey-haired man standing in the corridor outside his apartment appeared on the screen. He deflated like a balloon.
‘Who are you?’
The man offered up his identification to the camera. ‘My name is Leonid Pavel. I’m from the Police Department in Warsaw. I need to speak with you urgently.’
‘What’s a Russian doing working for the Polish police?’
‘Russian in name only. My parents. Can I come in?’
‘Depends what it’s about.’
Pavel looked around the corridor, before whispering, ‘Magda Tomala.’
‘Open, door!’ Leon shouted, desperate for any news.
‘Security lock off,’ the Melomet replied.
He studied the big man at the opposite end of his couch. He was well-groomed and clean-shaven, but his dark grey suit was grubby and worn to a shine in places. Archetypal police detective.
‘I realise this is somewhat unusual but once I’ve explained, you’ll appreciate why I’ve had to come to your home in person.’
Can I trust him?
‘I’m the head of a new Policja Department in Warsaw responsible for dealing with sex trafficking cartels. I believe you’re aware, from discussions with my colleagues in Krakow, that this is a serious crime which is growing in this country.’
Leon’s heart came up into his mouth. If they visited you in person it was bad news, wasn’t it? ‘Are you going to tell me you have news of Magda?’
‘Not exactly. We still don’t know what happened to her. However, we’ve recently made something of a breakthrough, which I’d like to discuss with you in confidence. But this is sensitive. You must not disclose the nature of our discussion to anyone. Not even to the Krakow Policja. Do you accept this, Dr Dabrowski?’
‘I’m promising nothing until I know where Magda is.’
Pavel scowled. ‘You’re a professional man. Highly respected, I understand. On that basis, I’ll continue. But please bear in mind, a breach of security in this area could cost lives. You do appreciate that?’
He was referring to Magda’s life. Leon nodded.
‘We recently apprehended two members of a particularly active cartel. They work throughout Poland. We interrogated them with the assistance of truth drugs and they revealed that they often operate in Krakow. But I was surprised to hear how little they knew about the cartel for which they work. Modern police methods are effective, believe me, so we have to accept that their ignorance was genuine. However, we did manage to elicit some valuable information.’
‘I’m listening, but I can’t see how this involves me.’
‘Please bear with me, Dr Dabrowski. I’ll tell you what we know. We know they drug their victims and transport them in a van to the outskirts of Berlin. There, they hand them over to German nationals. But we could extract no names. They did, however, reveal that, from their idle chat during handovers, at least one of the destinations for these unfortunate girls is London. In fact, putting this together with evidence from elsewhere, we believe this is where most of the abducted Polish nationals end up.’
‘Are you saying you think Magda might be in London?’
‘We can’t be sure, but there’s a good chance. We did try to elicit information about the girls they abducted, but they were vague. Their descriptions were all similar, except for hair colour. And they didn’t know the names of any of the bars from which the girls were taken. They pick them up at a predetermined time and location, often abandoned in a collapsed state.’
The thought of Magda lying unconscious in some dirty side street, waiting to be picked up by some perverted criminal. Leon felt sick.
‘We’ve since been in close touch with our counterparts in London. They admit they have a growing problem with prostitution. The number of brothels run by professional criminals is increasing. They also confirm they have a lot of Polish girls working in the sex trade. They—’
Leon stood up. ‘Just a minute. I’ve listened to everything you’ve had to say, but I’m learning nothing new. I’m glad you’ve caught a couple of these pond dwellers. But what has this all got to do with me?’
‘Dr Dabrowski, will you please sit down? I was coming to that. Please be patient.’
Simmering, Leon reluctantly did as he was asked.
‘The secret service in London has agents planted around the patch,’ Pavel continued, ‘and they have a name – Alexei Rodin. They believe that Rodin is some sort of overlord for many of the Russian brothels. But they tell us he’s elusive. No one knows what he looks like or where he’s based.’
‘Surely, it’s just a matter of time before MI5, or whoever is dealing with this, finds this man?’
Pavel gave a cynical laugh. ‘Yes, MI5 are increasing their resource to take this on. But between you and me, it’s a slow process and I don’t think they have any real incentive. For whatever reason, they’re not interested in tracking down Alexei Rodin. An easy life, bribery and corruption, politics – who knows? But rest assured, unless we do something, no one else is going to. And that is where you come in.’
This was becoming more confusing by the minute. ‘What on earth can I do?’
‘You can walk into any of their brothels as a client, for a start.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, Dr Dabrowski, you can pose as a . . . punter, I believe is the English term. We can hardly do that ourselves. It would cut straight across British police operations, maybe even cause a political furore between our countries. As it stands, the crime is on their patch but the victims are our nationals – stalemate. You, on the other hand, spend legitimate time in London. You’re perfectly placed to enquire into the identity and whereabouts of this Pimpernel. No one in his right mind would imagine a man in your position being involved in such a covert operation.’
‘I’m to have a new career as a spy for my country, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Call it that if you like. We’ll help you as much as we can, of course. For example, we can tell you everything we know about Rodin. We don’t have any physical description of him, but our forensic psychologists tell us he’s going to be a powerful and assertive person. Someone his underlings will fear.’
‘But why me?’
‘Many reasons. Because you’re intelligent and good at solving complex problems. Because our analysts advise us that if we found Rodin’s lair, we could blow his operation wide open without any political ramifications. Because, Dr Dabrowski, our analysts also tell us that if you find Alexei Rodin, you’ll find Magda Tomala.’
CHAPTER 17
Magda’s training, which by now included swimming in an Olympic-size pool, was becoming longer and more intense by the day. After two weeks, she was training so hard that by the time she finished her evening meal, all she could do was drag her weary body into the bedroom and collapse into bed. But they weren’t going to fool her; this schedule was designed to soak up her energy and smother her ardour for questions. They may be draining her body but they weren’t going to stifle her creative mind; for a start, this complex had to be far more extensive than the areas she was restricted to. She soaked up as much information as she could during ea
ch trip with Sergei. She studied her surroundings, looked for anything new and began to construct a model of the place in her head. After all, she was a prisoner and she’d have to start thinking about her options for escape.
Another week passed and Magda’s mood began to fluctuate. Some days she would use every minute of her thinking time to plan her escape. Then there were the bad days when she would mope about and hate herself for making such poor use of her intellect. On those days, her thoughts turned to Leon. The prospect of being reunited with Leon gave her strength and steeled her resolve. She would sit in her chair, imagining he was in the room with her and hold fictitious conversations. The thought of being cooped up in this apartment twenty-four hours a day was unbearable, she would tell him. But compliance meant privileges and she’d have to go along with whatever ruse they presented. I’m not going to give in to these bastards though, Leon – whoever they are.
After a month of frustration, Magda reluctantly accepted her daily routine; yet she would never let them kill her determination to escape.
‘What delights do you have in store for me today, PTI Sergei?’
‘No training today, Ana. I’m going to show you more of the complex.’
Her heart beat faster. At last, she was about to see the world beyond her limited existence of training, eating and sleeping. As she followed Sergei to the elevator, her eyes were drawn to his pert buttocks. What’s happening to me? Sergei turned and smiled as if he knew what she was thinking. That ubiquitous smile, and those eyes . . . she mentally shook her head. How were they doing this to her? He’s my gaoler, for God’s sake.
As usual, Sergei operated the elevator from the wafer he kept in a pocket at the rear of his shorts. And as Magda always did, she mentally counted the seconds as they descended; when the elevator stopped, they were at least three levels below where he normally took her. Another corridor, another room, another opportunity to extend her mental model. Sergei opened the door. ‘We call it the black drum,’ he said.
Every surface was matt black and the circular floor and ceiling were lit by thousands of pin-prick white lights.
‘Go ahead, Ana. Step inside. But take your trainers off first.’
Magda took a single step into the room and stopped. The floor beneath her foot undulated gently and the tiny floor lights rippled as the wave she’d created slowly crossed the room. Reflections from the ceiling. ‘Water below?’
‘A low viscosity gel under a rubber surface. Try moving on it.’
She marched on the spot. ‘The waves? They’ve been damped?’
‘The pressure of the gel automatically adjusts in response to the movements of your feet.’
‘You’re impressing me, Leon.’
‘Leon?’
For a moment, she’d lost her focus. ‘What is this place, Sergei?’
He ignored her question. ‘Feel the wall.’
Her hand left an impression which slowly disappeared. ‘Astronaut foam?’
‘Something like that.’
She walked around the perimeter, sliding her hand along the wall. The warm soft surface beneath her feet felt good and the desire to run became overwhelming. Do it. She bolted like a racehorse from the stalls. Feeling as light as a feather and running within inches of the wall boosted her adrenalin flow and the burden of being a prisoner lifted from her shoulders. There was no angling of her body, yet in her mind she was running a tight cambered bend. Go faster. She accelerated until she was running flat out. The virtual wind from her pace swept her hair back and she squealed with delight. She could hear Sergei shouting from the other side of the room through the megaphone he’d formed with his hands.
‘Run to me!’
She turned through ninety degrees and cut across the floor towards him. Five metres from where he was standing, she impulsively launched herself into a swimming pool dive and landed at his feet. It felt like hitting feather pillows, yet the surface under her panting chest was now firm.
Sergei helped her to her feet. ‘You enjoyed that?’
She gasped for breath. ‘It felt like . . . almost sexual.’
‘Glad you feel that way. One more thing to show you.’ Sergei tapped his wafer and a double bed-sized cylinder rose silently out of the floor in the centre of the room. At the height of a metre, it came to a stop with a melodic jingling sound.
‘What’s that for?’
‘For whatever you like, Ana,’ he said, grinning suggestively. ‘Go over and sit on it, see what it feels like.’
Magda walked over to the podium and sat on its edge. It felt hard at first, like a table. As she leaned back on her elbows, soft undulations seemed to spring from everywhere; they played at the back of her thighs and sent ripples of pleasure up and down her hamstrings. Adjusting her position generated more waves and she felt moist between her legs; this was more than just the sweat from her running efforts. Her thighs slowly moved apart and she couldn’t stop them. She looked across at Sergei. The subtle changes of lighting created moving shadows across his face, yet his eyes were transfixed. He was leering at her. He started laughing. She could hear the raucous bellow of sadism and perversion and fear curdled in her stomach. This wasn’t the gentle Sergei she knew. He walked towards her. His eyes were glazed over and menacing and he clenched and opened his fists. My God, he’s going to rape me.
‘Don’t worry, Ana, I won’t hurt you.’
‘Stay away from me, you bastard.’
‘It’s meant to make you feel like that.’
‘Let me out of here!’
Sergei leaned over her and pressed his hands down on the surface to either side of her hips. A deep hollow appeared under each hand as he leaned forward and eased down his torso until he almost touched her intimately. He slowly pushed himself away as if doing a press-up then flipped himself back upright. The surface under Magda felt firm once more. He’s switched it off.
‘You can get up now, Ana.’
The kind smile was back. The predatory animal was gone.
‘Sergei, please take me back to my quarters,’ she said calmly, as the weight of oppression returned.
CHAPTER 18
Leon settled down at his London hotel room table and spread the papers that Leonid Pavel had provided. He’d found it surprisingly easy to persuade Roman Slavic that he should join Gunther at London HQ. This would be the best use of his time during the long gap between stellerator runs; he could add momentum to the process of getting the design teams under way. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d pored over paperwork like this. Proofreading of scientific papers was always done on a sonic screen nowadays. But the Warsaw Policja considered it too risky to allow sensitive files to flash around the net outside their control or reside on a single wafer-device. And who was going to mug a scientist for his paperwork? Nevertheless, he’d received strict instructions to destroy the whole file once he’d committed it to memory.
There were over a hundred establishments on the lists they sent him. One hundred addresses for him to memorise, one hundred records – albeit scanty ones. He could do that easily, of course, but it could take him up to six months to pay them all a visit. He’d need to prioritise. Other than defining the locations of the brothels, the records didn’t tell him a lot. The dataset was consistent in one respect, though – most of the brothels were Russian-owned. And from Pavel’s estimates of how many girls worked at each location, he could see that Magda was going to be hidden within a pool of thousands. But that wasn’t the issue for Pavel; his problem was that Alexei Rodin could be based at any of these establishments, maybe even flitting between them to stay ahead of the game. Rodin was the proverbial needle in a haystack. With the information locked in his head, Leon shredded the file and started to formulate the plan for his first visit.
‘Welcome to our club, Leon. I hope you don’t mind me referring to you by your first name. Client confidentiality of course. I’m
Stephan. We spoke over the Melomet video-net.’
‘I have the five hundred pounds you asked for, Stephan. Cash, of course.’
‘Ah, most grateful.’ Stephan bowed his head as he accepted the sheaf of plastic notes and tucked it into his desk drawer. ‘You do realise, of course, once you’ve viewed our catalogue this money is non-returnable?’
‘Yes, I understand. And I pay in advance for any girl I select, plus a monthly membership fee if I decide to come back.’
‘Precisely. Now, I’m going to give you this,’ he said, producing a wafer from his desk drawer. ‘It has no voice control. Security reasons, you understand? You scroll down the list like this.’ He slid his finger up and down the small screen. ‘And when you wish to view one of our ladies, you select the hologram and control it by circling your thumb like this. See?’ He used his thumb to rotate the image. ‘Do you have any experience with life-size holographic image manipulation?’
‘Just a bit,’ Leon replied, tongue in cheek.
‘Then we’re ready. Someone from security will show you the way to your private viewing room.’
‘You have much in the way of personnel security?’
‘You’ve seen them in our reception area.’
‘What, those scantily clad girls who welcomed me at the entrance? I thought they were your—’
‘Our ladies of pleasure? No, they’re part of our security team. Deceptive, isn’t it? But believe me, those girls can handle themselves. Any funny business would be dealt with very quickly. But don’t worry, Leon. Since we opened this establishment, their skills have never once been required. We entertain only exclusive clients. Think of it as an insurance policy, if you like.’
Exclusive, my oath – stinking rich, he means.
The elevator dropped down a single floor level. Leon stepped out into a brightly lit square room with a circular pedestal at its centre. ‘Enjoy your viewing, sir,’ the young woman said before leaving. The elevator door closed behind her and the lights in the room dimmed.
