by Keith Short
At the end of their discussion, Leon felt sorry for Mary. She was so confused. Yet, deep down, she was a good woman who’d strayed from the straight and narrow through no fault of her own. As she recounted her tragic story, he’d seen in her eyes a genuine love for the mother she’d lost. But one thing played on his mind as he left the brothel. He’d also seen his own mother in those sad eyes, lying in her sickbed back in Poland, in the prison that was her mind. He justified not returning to Krakow to see her on the basis that it would be dangerous for all of them. Chekhov would be looking for him there as well as here in the capital. But he would have to return to Poland soon. Like Mary, his own mother was already lost to him. And like Mary, he had to see his mother one last time before she died.
CHAPTER 30
Rodin strapped on the safety belt, tapped the destination into the wafer and sat back. The monopod journey from Goldhurst would take around ten minutes. Ten minutes of relaxation; life was good.
The elevator in the pod reception area glided up three floors to the foyer of the pleasure house where the house manager was waiting. They ran a tight operation here and there was no reason why this weekly progress meeting should take longer than its usual twenty minutes. ‘Good morning, Stephan. I presume everything is shipshape. No need to adjourn to your office, is there?’
As anticipated, the meeting was brief, leaving ample time to make the scheduled meeting at the embassy. With no reason to pay attention to the white van parked opposite the gate to the grounds, there was no time to react as two men charged across the road and smashed Rodin to the ground like a bowling pin.
‘What the—’
‘Shut up and get in the van,’ one of them hissed.
‘And don’t struggle, unless you want to get hurt,’ the other said.
They spoke in English but it was obvious they were Eastern European. Blindfolded and bound, the sound of sliding doors slamming shut, frantic instructions from the front of the van – the cold sweat of fear took its grip.
‘If you’re a good boy and do what we say, you’ll come to no harm,’ one of the men said as the van drove off.
Good boy? Did they know who they were insulting? They had no idea what serious trouble they were getting themselves into. Concern turned to anger.
‘Do you realise who I am?’
The sharp slap to the side of the face felt like a sting from a jellyfish.
‘I’ve told you – shut up!’
‘Who are you? Why have you brought me here?’
‘We’ve brought you here to help us with our enquiries. Who we are is of no concern to you.’
‘Ah, so you’re Russian? Then we can converse in our own language.’
‘No, we’ll continue in English.’
‘Do you know who I am?’
‘I do. You are the Russian diplomat Alexei Rodin, and that’s the last of your questions I’m going to answer. I ask the questions from now.’
‘Then you realise you’re holding a member of our state’s Diplomatic Corps against their will? I’ll have you shot for that.’
‘Holding you against your will, am I? I see no manacles. There are no guards. The door is open. You may leave as you wish. But if you leave, you have no idea where you are, you have no wafer to call a cab and no money to pay for public transport. The members of the press assembled outside will have a field day with their photographs of a Russian diplomat wandering these streets aimlessly. So, I suggest we continue with our discussion – in English. And you can go when you’ve agreed to help us.’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘That’s better, I don’t mind questions like that. And my first question to you is a simple one, Mr Rodin. We have photographic evidence of you entering and leaving the headquarters of the nuclear power company, Fusion Limited. What were you doing there?’
‘None of your business,’ Rodin spat out. ‘I represent our state and it’s a part of my job. Fusion is a Russian-owned company, based in the UK. Our embassy has important matters to discuss with their managers.’
‘What you are saying is that you have regular political meetings inside Fusion’s London headquarters and that the content of those meetings is sensitive state information?’
‘Yes! So, if you could just step to the side.’ Rodin got up from the chair.
Pavel patted the air with his hand and Rodin sat back down. ‘That’s interesting, because you don’t appear on their visitor records and I know for a fact that Fusion can’t override their own electronic security system. Where exactly do you hold these important meetings?’
‘If you must know, I hold my one-to-one discussions in the entrance hall’s seating area. Due to the nature of our business, it wouldn’t do for MI5 or the like to find out about such meetings from Fusion’s visitor records. Are you working for MI5?’
‘Our video evidence shows that you’re not telling us the truth, Mr Rodin, and I told you – no more questions.’
‘Then I assume you represent Fusion’s security? Well, you are wrong, Mr security officer. You can’t have been doing your job if you haven’t observed those meetings.’
Pavel looked up towards the hidden camera and offered the faintest of head shakes.
In the remote viewing suite that the Policja had installed in Leon’s apartment, Leon recognised from their body language that Pavel had discovered the first chink in the armour. Rodin was bluffing and Pavel new it. This crafty old cop has done this before.
‘I think that will be all for the moment, Mr Rodin. I’ll have some tea sent up. You see, we’re not holding you against your wishes. You’re our guest and I’ll continue our discussion in ten minutes. I’m sure you won’t object if I bring my lie detection equipment back with me.’ Before Rodin could protest, Pavel left the room and locked the door behind him.
Pavel returned to the interview room thirty minutes later. The tea hadn’t been touched. ‘I do hope you enjoyed your tea, Mr Rodin. A fine Russian blend, don’t you think?’
‘I’ve had enough of your stupid games. I insist you respect my rights. I have full diplomatic immunity in this country and you’re going to have to let me go – right now.’
From the camera view, it became clear that Rodin was clenching a fist and slowly rising from his seated position. Leon stood up involuntarily and leaned against the video-wall with both hands. My God, he’s going to go for him and Pavel hasn’t spotted it.
‘Well, if you’re going to be like that, I think the rules will have to change,’ Pavel said. Leon could see that Pavel was tapping at the wafer behind his back.
‘Fuck your diplomatic immunity!’
Before Rodin could make the intended lunge, three of Pavel’s Policja burst into the room.
‘Strap his hands and feet to the chair,’ Pavel shouted, ‘and wire his head and chest to the lie detector.’
Leon flopped back down in his chair; a wave of relief passed through his skull.
‘And who are these goons?’ Rodin shouted across to Pavel. ‘Untie me at once. I’m a senior attaché to—’
One of the purported goons provided a sturdy slap across the temple.
‘I think you should answer our questions, Mr Rodin,’ Pavel said, looking towards the door. Two of his three men left the room. Schumann stayed.
Leon watched in horror as the scene played out on the video-wall in front of him. There wasn’t supposed to be any form of torture. But the blow to the head he’d just observed confirmed his worst fears. They were moving into heavy mode and he was powerless to stop them. After all, it was their operation, not his. Accepting that he was going to have to sit and watch them exert their so-termed justifiable coercion, he turned his attention to the lie detector traces that were reproduced on his monitor.
Pavel continued. ‘In addition to your job at the Russian Embassy, you’re the director of a string of brothels. Am I correct?’
>
Rodin offered no response and received a slap from Schumann above the left ear. It seemed to stun him but left no incriminating tell-tale marks.
‘You can have as many of those as you like,’ Pavel said. ‘We have all day. Now, let me ask you once more. Are you operating a string of brothels across the Highgate area?’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
That was a lie, Leon decided as he interpreted the responses from the transducers. And it should have been crystal clear to Pavel.
‘You’ve been recorded leaving several of these brothels.’
Rodin hesitated – until Schumann raised his hand once again. ‘Wait. I’ll tell you. Yes, you’ll no doubt have evidence of me using a number of brothels, but I’m not ashamed. They’re simply gentlemen’s clubs. I’m doing no harm.’
‘And you don’t think your embassy would be concerned over this?’ Pavel rubbed his chin in an exaggerated manner. ‘I suppose they wouldn’t, would they? In fact, you’ve been operating under their instruction. Is that true?’
‘Yes, that’s true. I’m doing a job. But I can’t say anything more. As a fellow countryman, you have to understand and respect that.’
Can’t tell about that one, Leon said to himself as he studied the traces on his monitor.
Pavel continued. ‘Why did they send you? After all, it must have been difficult for you to carry out this job of yours, being homosexual.’
‘That’s not true. I’m heterosexual.’
That was the truth.
‘Let me see. You must have been trying to get information out of the clients who were using these establishments. But do you expect me to believe that you were just meandering about several different brothels, getting the girls to entice this sensitive information from their clients? How did you know which girls to select as your spies? How could you guarantee that the clients you were interested in would select them? Was it a particular group that formed the subject of your espionage? In short, Mr Rodin, I don’t believe you. Then there’s the question of your movements between the various brothels. You were never seen entering, only ever leaving. How do you explain that?’
‘That must be down to the incompetence of your own people.’
‘Oh, come on! You have to give us more credit than that. And what about the many occasions we’ve recorded you entering Fusion’s headquarters, only to emerge some time later from one of the brothels? There are links between the Goldhurst building and the brothels. Admit it.’
Leon could see from the traces that Rodin was nervous. He’d been rumbled. Go on, finish it.
‘Let me summarise the position. You’re running a series of interlinked brothels stocked with Eastern European girls who’ve been abducted from their countries by sex traffickers. Am I correct?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘But these magic little waveforms tell me otherwise,’ Pavel said, pointing to the lie detector. ‘Hit him, harder this time.’
‘Wait! I’ll tell. Yes, the brothels are connected and yes, Goldhurst is at the centre of the estate. But it’s just a convenient and discreet way for clients to move around. I use this facility myself.’
‘Yes, you would. And as you’re so familiar with it all, you’d know who was operating this sordid little empire. It’s you, yourself, Mr Rodin. Is that not true?’
‘I’m not the manager.’
Schumann must have seen the traces jump. Without any instruction from Pavel, he delivered a blow to the head so hard that Rodin almost passed out. Pavel grabbed Rodin by the hair, picked up the glass of water that was set down next to the lie detector and threw it in Rodin’s face. ‘If you are not the manager, surely you must know who is? I’ll ask you once again.’
Schumann raised his hand high, ready to strike again if the lie detector traces told him it was necessary.
‘Who is running these brothels?’
‘It’s me. I admit it. Don’t hit me again,’ Rodin begged. ‘I’m the operator. But I don’t know anything about sex trafficking. I don’t own these establishments. It’s Vladimir Chekhov you need to deal with.’
‘He broke down much easier than I imagined,’ Pavel said to Leon. ‘I can see our psychological profiling was somewhat in error. He’s strong when he has his own security at his back but he’s as weak as a kitten without them. My God, my granddaughter could have taken more than that. You’ve done well in your analysis. I must remember not to challenge your judgement next time.’
‘But why didn’t you push further on Magda? You had Rodin on the rack and you let him go.’
‘Sorry, Mahler. It was a judgement I had to make on the spot. Anyway, we’re dealing with Chekhov now. He’s the Mr Big in all of this.’
‘I’m not convinced about Chekhov,’ Leon said, shaking his head, ‘and it’s not the lie detector traces. Rodin has just implied that Vladimir Chekhov provides a gateway to a string of brothels from Fusion’s London headquarters. Why would he want to do that? He’s taking an enormous risk with the future of commercial nuclear power. And I’m no closer to finding Magda.’ The tears were welling in his eyes but he had to rid himself of emotion and work out the best way forward. ‘You have to agree, there’s something not right about what Rodin has told us.’
‘I see your point, Mahler, but we’re left with only one option. We can’t go to the Russian Embassy. We’d risk setting off a serious diplomatic row between our countries. And if the British Government were to get involved – well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. We have to arrange a meeting with Chekhov.’
‘Are you just going to let Rodin go free? I think Chekhov has been used as a tactical weapon, if you ask me. Rodin wanted to avoid a thrashing and reckoned you’d balk at the prospect of having to face someone of Chekhov’s power and influence. It was a gamble and it worked. You’ve been spooked.’
‘Rodin will go back and lick his wounds and I think he’ll have more sense than to report this to his ambassador. I feel sure from our interrogation they don’t know what he’s been getting up to. I agree with you, analysis of the traces was inconclusive. It does cast doubt on Chekhov’s role in all this. However, Rodin is clever. And if he is telling the truth about Chekhov, the last thing he’s going to do is go back crying to him. It’s Chekhov or nothing. As for Rodin, I’ll have to let him go.’
Where was this uneasy feeling coming from? The door to Leon’s apartment closed behind Pavel and Leon returned to the monitoring console. Why had some of the lie detector responses surprised him? He needed to look again at the video records of Rodin’s interrogation. He adjusted the phase information from the many cameras in the interview room until he had a near-perfect image – a replay in real time. He walked around the hologram. There was a determined look about Pavel but he was sure it contained no sadism. On the other hand, he could see that Schumann relished this line of work. Schumann’s passion was so real that Leon found himself ducking several times to avoid the three-dimensional images of his savage blows to Rodin’s head. He observed the intelligence in Rodin’s eyes and watched his determination turn to fear as the interrogators carried out their threats. What was it about Rodin that belied their psychological profiling? He walked around the chair and studied Rodin’s handsome carved features, his flaxy hair, his elegant neck . . . He stopped in front of the life-size image of Alexei Rodin and stared into the effeminate face.
I wonder what Pavel will say when he realises what he’s done?
CHAPTER 31
The video conference with Chekhov was set to take place in Schumann’s apartment, three weeks after Rodin’s interrogation. Pavel didn’t seem keen on telling Leon how he’d managed to persuade Chekhov to attend such a meeting, but whatever he said to him in his preliminary video call must have been convincing. Schumann and three of his team were stationed outside the door, ready to resist anything that Chekhov threw at them in the event o
f him discovering their location, and there was a small army of undercover Policja agents in the vicinity.
‘Ready for this?’ Pavel asked Leon. ‘Remember, we have to stay away from the subject of Magda until we know where we stand.’
‘I’ll stay quiet unless I’m asked to contribute.’ They’d been working on this operation for almost seven months and Pavel wasn’t about let it slip away as the result of a wild emotional outburst from him.
‘Call for you, Pavel,’ said the Melomet, ‘from Mr Chekhov.’ Leon pulled his balaclava down over his face.
The imposing figure of Vladimir Chekhov appeared on the video-wall. His face was lit by a white light from below, making him look like a ghost, and in the background grey shadows drifted across a dark blue surface. He’s projecting these moving shapes to divert our focus?
Chekhov leaned forward. ‘What is this nonsense? Who is that in the balaclava?’
‘First of all, thank you for agreeing to this meeting, Mr Chekhov. As you are aware, I represent the Polish police. The department I run deals with sex trafficking crimes. My colleague is Leon Dabrowski, your chief scientist at Fusion, who is assisting me.’
The first signs of confusion swept across Chekhov’s floodlit face. ‘If he is Dabrowski, why the obscuration? How am I expected to know I’m talking to the right person?’
Pavel smiled. ‘This is so you can’t see what he looks like nowadays. I don’t wish to assist your security staff in tracking him down. You no doubt have a voice analyser activated at your end. Once Dr Dabrowski enters the discussion, you’ll be able to confirm for yourself.’
Chekhov grunted. ‘Pavel, I agreed to this meeting for one reason only. I wish to know why my chief scientist has absconded. You mention he is assisting you. Does that mean the Polish police are paying him to carry out some sort of criminal investigation? Are you wasting his prodigious talent on some futile line of detective work? If that is the case, I will have your career terminated.’
