by Keith Short
He sat down in the only chair and the wafer in his hand came to life. At the touch of its screen, the holographic image of the first girl appeared. She was naked, with her back to him, hands by her sides and legs akimbo. Slim, about five and a half feet tall, pale skin and permed red hair – she looked real. This was sophisticated equipment, no expense spared. He rotated the image until the girl faced him.
‘Good day. My name is Margot and my fee is five hundred pounds per hour.’
Leon turned cold. He imagined some pervert viewing an image of Magda like this, getting himself into an aroused state and deciding she was the one for him. He felt sick to the stomach but forced himself to continue. This was going to be a painful process.
He scanned the catalogue as quickly as he could, moving on as soon as it became obvious that it wasn’t an image of Magda in front of him. All of them were beautiful women – tall, petite, slim, curvaceous, of various ethnic origins – no doubt selected to appeal to a wide range of client tastes. But none held any attraction for him. They were prostitutes, he kept telling himself. And the stock could include Magda. He had to scan to the end.
Image number forty-four struck an immediate chord. He studied the back of the girl’s body and his adrenalin flowed. The curve of her spine, her elegantly-boned shoulders – it could be her. Her hair was dark brown and cut to a medium bob. But that would have been easy to arrange if they wanted to change her style. With bated breath, he rotated the image, longing to see his love’s face again, praying that he’d found her before she’d been abused. His heart sank. This wasn’t Magda.
‘Thank you,’ Leon said, as he handed the wafer back to Stephan, ‘I’ve seen everything. You have no others, I take it?’
‘If you’ve viewed the whole catalogue, you’ve seen them all. None to your liking?’
‘I’d just like to take my time, go away and think about it, Alexei.’
‘Alexei?’
‘Sorry, my mistake.’ He knows him, but that’s not Rodin.
After a month, recruitment was complete. Out of Fusion’s technical lead team, only Kaminsky remained at Greifswald, with Gunther assisting Leon at the London design office, under the watchful eye of Slavic. Hopefully, Slavic wasn’t watching too carefully, otherwise he’d notice the enhanced levels of stress and tiredness in his face in comparison with those of his colleague. He had to admit that Gunther was bearing up well under the pressure and he expected nothing less from his right-hand man. Then, Gunther didn’t have to follow his day’s work with an evening crawl through yet another batch of brothels in a relentless search for Rodin. Sure, he was building up data in parallel with Pavel’s surveillance team, yet there was no sign of Rodin and Pavel was becoming more anxious by the day. It all meant that he was no closer to finding Magda. And that was all he really cared about.
The door to his office flew open. Schroeder wore the scowl of a man who’d just had his Ferrari stolen as he covered the ground between the door and his desk in record time. What was irritating Gunther? And how had he managed to persuade his secretary to open the locked door? He’d have to have a word with her.
‘Yes, Gunther, what can I do for you?’
‘I need your advice. We’re having problems with the hydrodynamic analysis for the heat removal systems.’
‘What do you want me to do about it? You have experienced engineers, don’t you? You’re telling me they aren’t capable of solving this – they have computers, don’t they?’
‘It’s a serious problem, Leon. It’s holding up the licence applications for three UK power plant proposals. I thought you ought to know about it.’
‘Gunther, if there’s something you’re not sure about on the plasma physics side, I’ll help. But don’t come in here with run-of-the mill problems like that. What do you want me to do? Send them all back to university to repeat their hydrodynamics courses? For God’s sake, man. I’m not their wet nurse.’
‘Actually, I didn’t come in for a solution, Leon. I came for a reaction. And you’ve just given me exactly the one I expected. I’m worried about you – you’re not yourself.’
‘Look, Gunther, I’m busy. Is there anything else?’
‘That’s just the point, I reckon you’re not busy at all. You sneak in early morning and lock the door behind you. And as far as I’m aware, you’re never at the office after six. You may as well get rid of that little girl out front. Replace her with a voice recording: “Sorry, he’s busy, can Dr Schroeder be of any help?” But I don’t know what you’re doing, so how the hell can I cover for you?’
‘It’s your job, isn’t it? Finger on the pulse and all that? You know more about the design detail than I do. Just deal with it.’ He realised he was raising his voice; his own heat removal system was boiling over.
‘But it’s you they all want to speak to. We have a problem with the design of the emergency heat exchangers, it’s you the licensing authorities want to hear the story from. You they believe when you tell them not to worry and that everything’s fine. Slavic tries to get hold of you and you’re not answering your calls. He comes to your office and you’re “not in” – the other stock answer we get from your secretary. And when you aren’t here, Leon, where are you? Not back in Germany at the Wendelstein-7X, I’ve checked that. Who are you hiding from?’
Leon put his head in his hands and sighed. ‘You’re right about one thing, Gunther. I’m feeling stressed at the moment. This business with Magda is getting to me.’
‘Ah, that’s what this is all about. But it’s been a long time and it’s in the hands of the police, isn’t it?’
He could do without this. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Look, my friend.’ Gunther looked dismayed. ‘And that’s what we are – friends, not just work colleagues. If I could help, I would. But I can do nothing to bring her back. And you can do no more yourself, so leave it with the police. Take a look in the mirror – you may convince yourself you need a break. Go away and sort yourself out. Come clean and I’ll take over while you have a sabbatical. But never forget, Leon, we’re going to need you back some day – focused and ready. It’s mankind’s biggest step forward since flight and you’re the driving force.’
‘Perhaps you’re right. I’m tired. I’ll go back to the hotel and sleep on it. Talk to you again in the morning.’ But Leon had no intention of doing anything of the sort. Although he was weary at the thought of it, he had other plans for the evening.
‘Have you been here before, sir?’ the madame enquired.
‘No. I’m a bit nervous about it. I wonder if you could just run through the procedure with me before I make up my mind?’
‘Aw, that’s cute that is, love. Guess that will be OK, though. Have you ever used a lady in this way?’
‘Never.’
She beckoned over the security guard. ‘Me and this young man are going to have a little chat in private. Can you ask one of the senior girls to take over the desk for a while? We’ll use room four, so can you post someone on the outside?’ She turned to Leon. ‘No offence, young man, but we can’t take chances, you understand. What’s your name by the way?’
‘Leon.’
‘Hi, Leon. I’m Mary.’
Room four was what Leon always imagined an old-fashioned brothel to look like, a high-ceilinged room with no windows and a tacky candelabra. The room was painted in garish shades of red; there was a huge bed with lots of silk bedding and far too many pillows.
Mary sat on the edge of the bed and tapped the bedcovers to her side. ‘Come on, Leon. Don’t be shy, sit next to me.’
Her black gorgon-like hair bobbled as she tilted her head back and he could smell her Yves Saint Laurent perfume. It was the perfume his mother always used. In fact, apart from her hair and the extra weight she carried, the madame reminded him a bit of his mother.
‘Now tell me, what is it you’re looking for? And don’t
be shy. I am a woman of the world, you know. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.’ She laughed at her little joke.
‘Well, first of all, can I ask you about your set-up here? Are you the owner?’
Mary laughed again. ‘Good God! No! That would be Dimitri Byelov, that would. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, I just like to understand the set-up of any business I deal with. Do you know a man called Alexei Rodin?’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Can’t say I do, love. Sounds Russian to me and we have so many Russians associated with this establishment. I can’t claim to know a quarter of their names. So, tell me, what is it you like? Want to see a catalogue of our ladies? We have several nationalities.’
She was avoiding his question. Sorry, Pavel, I did ask. My turn now. Without answering her, he took the wafer from his jacket pocket, tapped at the screen and handed the pocket-sized computer to Mary. ‘Have you ever seen this woman?’ he said, pointing at Magda in the middle of the photograph.
Mary took the wafer in both hands and studied the photograph. Her hands began to tremble and the wafer fluttered between her fingers like a playing card.
‘Mary, what’s the matter?’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘She looks like my mother.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, she’s younger than you.’
‘No, this one,’ she pointed at the photograph, ‘standing to the right of the blonde girl. She reminds me of my mother and we just let her . . .’ She crumbled into a fit of sobbing.
Her reaction startled him. The security guard burst into the room. Leon threw both of his arms up in surrender. ‘Hold on, friend, I’ve done nothing.’
‘Get out, bastard!’ the Russian guard yelled. He turned towards Mary. ‘Has he harmed you?’
Still crying, she shook her head. ‘No, he hasn’t. Just let him go.’ She turned towards Leon. ‘Just think yourself lucky. Byelov’s not here.’ She pointed towards the door, her bowed head still shaking.
Leon was in a panic. What must this look like? Get out of here, fast. He snatched the wafer from the madame’s hand and bolted for the door like a man possessed.
‘Let him go,’ he heard Mary say again to the security guard, as he fled down the corridor. ‘He won’t be back.’
At eight thirty in the morning, the entrance hall of the Fusion Ltd central design office was like a busy railway station. Visitors queued at the check-in desk to pick up electronic identity tags, their tickets for the day’s journey. Their hosts poured into the area in their droves, like passengers alighting from an incoming train. But no one was allowed on the ‘platform’ unaccompanied, and there were security officers everywhere.
As Leon dragged his exhausted body into work, he told himself never again to come in late like this. The hustle and bustle were not for him; he preferred the peaceful welcome of the night shift receptionist at six in the morning and the courteous bows from Fusion’s skeleton security team. He was still suffering from the shock and trauma of the previous evening’s encounter. Almost getting his head kicked in by the brothel’s security, the madame a neurotic lunatic – what was all that about?
He cut through the throng funnelling towards the elevator, hoping there was no one from Greifswald who’d spot him and try and butter up to him. At least his pasty complexion and sunken black eyes would make him difficult to recognise. He veered away from the lead team’s private elevator entrance at the last moment; he needed a strong coffee before he faced Gunther. The vending recess was the last post in the entrance hall; the corridor beyond was never used. ‘Black coffee, strong, no sugar,’ he commanded. Thirty seconds later, a small hatch door slid open and a steaming mug of coffee appeared. He took a sip and it made him feel at ease. At that moment, a robed figure floated past – a young Arab in his late teens, followed by three broad-shouldered men in black western-style suits. The group paid no attention to him, other than a casual glance from the man at the tail end of the boy’s cohort. Bodyguards. Wonder where they’re going.
He waited a few seconds before stepping into the hall, just in time to see the last of the bodyguards disappear around the corner at the end of the deserted corridor. Curiosity aroused, he set down his drink and trotted along the corridor after them. This was uncharted territory. He’d always presumed this part of the building to be an artefact of the past, leading to nowhere of interest. Fusion was the only company with a nameplate at the entrance nowadays; they’d taken over the whole building to accommodate their army of scientists, engineers and support staff and this remote end of the ground floor would contain nothing but storage cupboards.
He turned the corner and stopped. Nothing? Another corridor leading to a dead end – no doors, no windows – even the glass roof of the atrium didn’t extend this far. Where have they disappeared to? He shook his head as he accepted the painful truth – he was seeing things. He’d been functioning under huge stress for these past few weeks, but never for one moment imagined it would come to this.
‘You look terrible, Leon.’
‘Bad night.’
‘You’ve thought over my suggestion?’
‘Sure, Gunther, I’ve thought about it.’ But Leon’s thoughts were on the Middle Eastern group marching through the concourse. There may be franchises in the pipeline for a number of foreign states, but Bahrain and Kuwait weren’t among them. Were the Arab boy and his entourage real or was his mind playing tricks? Either way, Gunther was offering sound advice. ‘You’re right, I do need a break.’
‘Thank the stars for that.’ Schroeder breathed an audible sigh of relief. ‘I can explain to everyone that you’re ill. A stress-related illness, perhaps.’
‘You mean tell them I’ve had a breakdown?’
‘Well, I didn’t mean—’
‘I’ll go for that.’ I need to take him into my confidence. ‘Sit down, Gunther. There’s something I have to tell you.’ He explained how he’d been trawling London’s Russian-owned brothels, looking for Magda. It was occupying his every evening and draining him. The scale of his task, his experiences to date – he poured it out, chapter and verse. But he said nothing about his work with the Polish authorities or their quest to track down Alexei Rodin – the man he held responsible for separating him from the love of his life.
Schroeder raised his eyebrows and whistled. ‘How can you be sure she’s here? Where’s your information coming from?’
‘Let’s just say it’s a scientist’s hunch. You know what I mean – don’t just accept what others tell you, think outside the box. Oh, she’s here all right. And at the moment, I feel I want to tear the whole of their seedy underworld apart to find her. But we scientists don’t work like that, do we? We collect data, we analyse, we model and we test our theories. And that’s what I’m going to do, Gunther. I’m going to find out everything about their organisation, analyse their strengths and look for their weaknesses. I’m going to bring them down, Gunther. If it takes me the rest of my life, I’ll find her.’
‘But think about this, Leon. Slavic isn’t just going to hand you a sicknote and tell you to come back when you feel better. Then there’s the little matter of sensitive commercial data. Other than Kaminsky, only you and I have full access to the data from the stellerator programme, now that Chekhov has classified it as top secret. Slavic can review it, of course, but without us he hasn’t a clue what it means in terms of progress towards full commercial viability.’
‘And if I’m running loose, I’m a security threat. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘You’re going to have to go deep underground, Leon. How are you going to do that?’ They sat in silence for a while, contemplating the enormous significance of the plan. ‘I’m not sure when we’ll see each other again. I’ll miss you, Leon.’
He thought his friend was going to cry. ‘The first thing I have to do is find a hideaway and change my wafer-set. And you, my friend, if you’re going to be Fusion
’s chief scientist, you’re going to have to get a haircut and start coming into work in something more appropriate than bomber jacket and jeans.’
They both laughed. Leon couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. Probably the last time I was with Magda.
CHAPTER 19
Alexei Rodin looked troubled, not as cocksure as normal, and Malkin wanted to know why.
‘What is it you want to discuss? And why the face to face?’
‘This is highly confidential. We can’t afford a security breach.’
Malkin shrugged his shoulders and gave a so what look. The pakhan’s central office, in which they sat, was the securest location within Goldhurst, wasn’t it?
Rodin leaned forward and spoke in a low and serious voice. ‘Someone is going around every brothel in London trying to find a particular girl. He never actually reveals who she is, he just shows the manager her photograph.’
Another so what look. ‘This sort of thing can be irritating, I agree. But I wouldn’t read too much into it. Can I see the photo?’
‘He never leaves one. And that’s not all. He’s making enquiries about our operation.’
‘Do you think it’s the police? After all, we’re not exactly one hundred per cent legitimate.’
‘No, it’s not the law. In fact, I’ve found out who he is. You’ll probably know him.’ This was becoming interesting. ‘His name is Leon Dabrowski. I believe he’s the chief scientist for Fusion.’
Malkin sat back in his chair and gave a silent whistle. Why would one of the world’s leading nuclear scientists want to get himself involved in the sex industry? ‘Yes, I do know him. He’s a brilliant young man. But there’s something about him that prickles me and I can’t quite fathom out what it is.’ He smiled again at his colleague. ‘You’ve done the right thing coming to see me. I’m grateful.’
