by Keith Short
‘I haven’t forgotten the hidden code. And I’m pleased to see you’ve trimmed your hair. It makes you look more dignified.’
‘Can’t say the same for you, bonehead.’
‘I suggest we go through to the music lounge, Mahler?’ the agent said, using the Classico nickname that Leon adopted as part of his cover.
He shook the hand of his contact. ‘Fine by me, Schumann.’
The string quartet in the centre of the room was playing Schubert’s Trout Symphony. They found a free booth and swiped their wafers to register their presence as members.
‘Who was that?’ asked Schumann.
‘Don’t worry, he’s a work colleague of mine. We can trust him. Anything to report?’
‘Lots. You’re sure we can discuss such matters in this place?’
‘I’ve told you, Schumann, I’ve looked into this in fine detail. Believe me, this latest Classico craze provides us with perfect cover. Its membership is expanding exponentially and they’ve become accepted in all walks of society. Like being a hippy in the sixties. Where they gather, how they dress, their music – it’s just fashion. And money is the only prerequisite for being accepted into this extrovert society. Trust me, no one is going to be looking for us among a bunch of socialite dandies.’
‘How can we be sure MI5 aren’t doing the same thing?’
‘Why should they? Besides, even if they’re in the next booth they can’t overhear what we’re saying, thanks to the phase de-synchroniser we’ve just activated. Every booth enjoys the music in isolation.’
‘OK, I trust your judgement.’ Schumann leaned closer to Leon and whispered, ‘There’s a brothel in Highgate we’ve been observing for twenty-four seven, as you call it. And we’ve collected some interesting data.’
‘It has to be one of Rodin’s if it’s in that area. Close to where I work?’
‘Yes. We’ve focused on the higher end of the market, as you recommended. It is likely to be one of his and, as you suggest, it’s about a mile from where you used to work.’
The implication that they no longer considered him to be employed by Fusion was galling and Leon had to bite his tongue. ‘What have you come up with?’
‘We’ve reviewed the video logs and identified who is using this establishment. They seem to have a regular group of clients, all of them wealthy as far as we can make out. The place is popular with a few Classicos, I might add.’
‘Surprise, surprise.’ Leon smirked.
Schumann remained straight-faced. ‘Nothing surprising in all that,’ he added solemnly. ‘But we’ve detected anomalies. A close analysis of comings and goings indicates that clients leaving the place are not always the same as those who went in. So where have they come from? And what happened to those who never came back out?’
‘Disguised? Preventing the press from discovering their perverted habits?’ Come on, Schumann, have a little worldly nous, will you.
‘Not as simple as that. We have excellent analysis software and I can confirm that these are different people. Some stay overnight and we pick them out the next day. But there are some going missing and some appearing from nowhere. I can also confirm that, over the period of a week, the numbers don’t necessarily add up. It can’t just be about a change of clothing or the shaving of a beard.’
‘What sort of numbers are we talking about?’
‘Not high. Three or four anomalies each week, perhaps. The average footfall of a typical brothel is around fifty clients a day. As you say, it’s big money.’
‘OK, I reckon what you’ve got is statistically significant. There has to be something odd going on and we need to apply the same sort of surveillance to other brothels in the Rodin fleet. I’ve mapped a dozen or so potential establishments across the capital for when I get access to your satellite data. When you get the map, I suggest you select one you haven’t already surveyed and get your men in situ ASAP.’
‘I already have your map. Same place next week?’
‘I’ll be here, Schumann.’
‘Goodbye, Mahler.’
And in the meantime, I’ll just sit back and think about all this. Leon leaned back with his hands behind his head. Listen to the Schubert and think.
CHAPTER 21
‘Take your places, ladies.’
The six girls arranged themselves symmetrically around the circumference of the cylindrical podium. Like the petals of a daisy, heads almost touching at the flower’s centre and bare feet resting on the black rubber floor, they shuffled themselves into position and opened their legs wide apart. The floor’s tiny ripples settled and the room became still.
Satisfied with his preparations, the sexual fantasy designer left the black drum.
‘Well, what we got us here today, cowboy?’ the burley Texan said as he entered the chamber with his colleague. ‘And that floor feels real good on the feet. What do yeh reckon, Joe?’
‘Well, I reckon we got ourselves a nice little set of doggies, Clem. Howdy gals. Meet yeh ringmasters. We’re out for a good time and I hope yeh ain’t gonna disappoint us.’ He turned to his partner. ‘Now, what was them rules of yours again?’
‘Well, yeh see, I’m a gonna start with number one. And at the same time, you’re gonna start with that one opposite, number four. When I say go, we each gotta give ’em six good thrusts. An’ I mean proper ones, no cheatin’. When yeh done six, yeh can move to the next one and yeh do the same again. The idea is we chase each other’s butts clockwise and if yeh get caught up or yeh jack out, then yeh lose. Ten thousand bucks, y’agree?’
‘Well, I say we start right now.’
‘Not before we inspect one of these little doggies.’ He made for the girl nearest to him and pushed his hand up her tiny skirt, grabbing at her naked womanhood. She stifled a squeal and gave him a forced smile.
‘Yeh like that, do yeh? Well, yeh gonna really love this little rodeo of ours.’ He spanked hard at her bare thigh, leaving a red weal in the shape of his hand. Despite the tears of pain, she smiled again, as if she’d enjoyed his vicious slap. ‘Are yeh gonna have a little test of one of them doggies yourself, partner, before we get this show on the road?’
‘I reckon ah might just do that, Clem.’
Joe stepped forward towards the girl of his choice. The tiny girl blew out a breath and started hyperventilating. Fear in her eyes, she catapulted from the bed and ran towards the door.
‘No, not me. I’m not doing this.’
Joe ran after her. ‘Now, yeh come right back, yeh little whore. Yeh ain’t gonna spoil the fun like that, are yeh?’
The rest of the girls remained motionless – the flower still formed, but with one petal missing.
‘Get her, Joe. I’ll go this way and we’ll round the doggie up.’ Half crouching, they lumbered their fat frames towards the trapped creature, each of them instinctively holding an arm to one side as if they were carrying lassoes.
The girl dashed around the room’s perimeter, screaming. She dipped as Clem tried to grab her and bolted across the room like a whippet. The two men, perspiring and snorting like horses, reformed their pincer movement. Again, she managed to escape their clutches. She ducked and weaved like a rabbit, avoiding their flailing attempts to catch her, screaming all the time. Joe managed to get within a few feet and dived at the terrified girl. He missed her by inches and hit the floor. He got up, laughed and wiped his mouth as if he’d filled it with dirt.
The door opened. Two security guards rushed in and bundled the men over. One of the guards grabbed the girl and slung her over his shoulder. The two cowboys sluggishly got up and, out of rodeo habit, dusted themselves down.
‘Yaw Russian bastards. We was just havin’ ourselves some fun, weren’t we, Clem?’
‘Sorry about that, sir. You’d better come with us, gentlemen. Girls, out. Now!’
‘This is a serious aberration.’
‘It’s under control. We’ve managed to placate the Texans. After that shambolic fantasy, they wanted their money back and even threatened to spread slanderous information about us among their influential colleagues. In the end, we managed to persuade them to try another fantasy.’
‘And?’
‘It went well – they were delighted. We kept the rodeo theme but used some of our heftier girls as wild cattle. And they still managed their private bet. This time it was who could stay on a bucking and thrashing fat whore the longest. They came out shattered but happy. I think they may even come back.’
Malkin nodded his approval. ‘You’ve done well to retrieve the situation. Splendid insight of yours to employ big beautiful women.’
‘I must admit, I was beginning to wonder whether we’d ever use them. We processed six through n-flash and retaining them on our books could have been a financial liability. Anyway, they’ve earned their keep.’
‘Good. But this whole episode leaves me with a much greater concern. The girl who panicked.’
‘Gina.’
‘What went wrong?’
‘Two of our psychiatrists interviewed her and agreed that her mind is shot. She’s of no further use to us.’
‘The other girls – they were in the same situation. What about them?’
‘All OK. They’re still under our control. One of them was assaulted by one of the clients. She hadn’t expected anything like that and it upset her at the time, but she sees it as part of the job now.’
‘I think we need to consider providing better protection for our girls. We shouldn’t be doing sadism or anything like that. It could lead to all sorts of trouble and we don’t want any damage to our valuable stock. Set up a workshop with the sexual fantasy designers.’ Malkin was dreading the next part of the discussion. ‘That leaves us with Gina. What do you propose for her?’
‘We need to dispose of her.’
‘I won’t have her killed.’
‘That would have been my preferred solution. But you’re the boss and I’ve given further thought to this. Gina is a nervous wreck. She hasn’t a clue where she is and, even if she comprehended what was going on, she’s incapable of explaining herself. Believe me, the best interrogation in the world would just come up with gibberish from that one.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I’m suggesting we dump her. Fill her full of dope and leave her in the park on a dark night. She’s bound to be picked up by a smack-head or some sleazy whore-master. Her survival would be down to herself, not our responsibility.’
‘OK, arrange it, Rodin.’
Mary could see that the girl was trembling. How could a prostitute be so timid? ‘Come in, sweetheart. I’m not going to harm you.’
She sat on the bed next to Mary and bowed her head. Her lank hair fell in front of her face and Mary could see it hadn’t been washed for days. The girl twisted her fingers together, as if solving an invisible Chinese puzzle.
‘Has someone hurt you, my darling?’
She shook her head.
‘Don’t worry, you’re safe now. I’m going to look after you. I look after all the girls. You’ll have your own room and there’ll be no need to work the streets anymore.’ She brushed the girl’s hair back with her hand and lifted her chin with her finger. ‘Hey, come on, don’t cry. You’re still a beautiful lady. A shower and change will make the world of difference, you’ll feel so much better. And we’ll get you a hot meal. Would you like that?’
The girl nodded and showed a hint of a smile.
Mary embraced her. ‘So,’ she said, sitting up and patting her own thighs with both hands, ‘one of my security staff finds you wandering alone in the park, no handbag, no coat, looking like a lost cat. Did someone assault you?’
‘No,’ the girl whispered.
‘Were you working in those parts?’
‘No, not there. In the Fantasyworld.’
‘In the what?’
‘I had a good job. Lived in a real palace, I did. Along with the other girls.’
Must be one of Rodin’s. ‘How long were you there?’
‘Don’t really know.’
‘And what happened, sweetheart?’
‘Don’t properly remember. I think they’ve finished with me. All I remember is going to bed one night and next thing, someone brings me here.’
‘The other girls, what were they like? Did you get to know them?’
‘I knew all their names. We didn’t get too many chances to talk, though. But I know most of them were foreign. I could tell by their accents.’
Eastern European, no doubt. ‘Were you mistreated?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Most of the men were kind. But it’s all a bit of a blur. I used to feel . . . sort of funny. Every day.’
‘Well, we’ll have to put that right, won’t we. What’s your name?’
‘I’ve forgotten. But they called me Gina in the Fantasyworld.’
CHAPTER 22
Sergei was normally easy-going and friendly – harmless, affable even. But he could change his mood like a chameleon changes colour. The more Magda tried to find out where and why she was incarcerated, the more jovial and evasive he became. Then occasionally, she’d do something to trigger his dark side – and that would seriously unnerve her. Was he capable of physical abuse, she wondered? She’d have to watch him and be ready for anything. Like, where was he taking her today?
As they stepped into the elevator, Sergei turned his back on Magda. He doesn’t want me to see where we’re going. The elevator went up. Accelerate, decelerate, constant speed for less than a second. Easy calculation. They were two levels above her quarters. Her heart skipped a beat; would she get sight of the outside world? The elevator door opened to reveal a long corridor with no daylight. Disappointment.
Sergei took her hand, walked her to a door at the end of the corridor and they entered the room without knocking. It was a refectory with a group of five women dining at the only table. As soon as the diners saw Sergei and Magda, they stopped eating and turned their chairs to face them. I’ve never seen synchronised table etiquette before.
‘Come on, Ana. Meet your team.’
The women were all young – and outstandingly beautiful. As she approached them, she could see they were studying her, each of them with the same vacant expression – they were expecting her. At least there were others living in this place.
‘Let me introduce you,’ Sergei said. ‘This is Abi.’
The nearest girl rose from her chair, curtseyed and offered her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Ana. I look forward to working with you.’
The next girl jumped up at the sound of her name, like a squaddie responding to her sergeant. ‘Pleased to meet you, Ana. I look forward to working with you.’
Sergei introduced each girl in turn and each time she was greeted with the same response – same words, same choreographed courtesy, but never a smile.
With the introductions complete, all Magda could say was a weak and condescending ‘Hello.’ She turned away from the girls. ‘Can we go, Sergei?’
‘Yes. We’re finished.’
‘Goodbye, Ana,’ the girls said in unison. Magda glanced back to see them returning to their meals as if there’d been no intrusion. She gave Sergei her daggers look but said nothing.
Back in her quarters, clenched fists on hips and shaking inside, she squared up to him. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘I’ve just introduced you to your team. When you finish your induction, you’ll be looking after them.’
She was a geyser about to erupt. ‘My team? What sort of team – a football team? How many other teams have you got down here?’
‘Calm down, Ana. They’re the same as you. But you have to complete your training first.’
‘Same as me?’ she shouted.
‘You mean you class me alongside those bimbos? They were a bunch of zombies. They—’
A dark shadow appeared across Sergei’s face. Her anger turned to fear.
‘Ana, I suggest you accept the position of authority you’re being offered. Otherwise, you will be one of them. A team leader’s role means privileges. You wouldn’t have to do the things they’re going to do.’
Oh God! I think I know what he means.
‘And you still have to pass the selection process.’
‘The what?’
‘You’ll need to compete with other girls for the team leader role.’
Magda laughed out loud. ‘You mean someone’s going to interview me. Well, you’ve made my day, Sergei. I look forward to that. Bring on the panel.’
‘Not an interview, Ana. It’s a race. It’s what you’ve been training for.’
The elevator outside Magda’s quarters started its descent. After two days of fierce training to exhaustion, followed by two days of relaxation, Magda felt as fit as she’d ever been in her life.
‘Are you ready for this, Ana?’
‘I’m nervous. Do I have to do it?’
Sergei patted her on the back. ‘You’re in good shape. I expect you to do well.’
When the elevator stopped, she instinctively knew they were on the level at which the black drum was located.
‘I thought we were heading for an athletics track.’
She sauntered head down towards the elevator door; this was just another of Sergei’s ruses. Sergei stopped her with a hand against her chest; she looked up to see he was smiling and pointing to her rear. She turned and found herself looking out through an opening on the opposite side of the elevator.
‘What’s this?’
‘It’s a monopod,’ Sergei said. ‘Go on, strap yourself in.’ He indicated the row of four empty bucket seats. Two of the facing seats were already occupied. The man smiled at her; the woman, a tiny Filipino about her own age, showed no interest. Nervous before the race?
