Angel in the Full Moon (33 page)

Laura paused and watched as a group of school children walked across the road in front of them. She glanced at Jack
and said, “I don't know. Maybe doing someone a favour.”

“These guys deal in human flesh ... children,” said Jack, gesturing to the group crossing the road. “They don't do any favours unless there is something in it for them.”

“Such as?”

“Remember what we heard in Cuba when they were waiting to meet with the Arabs at that restaurant? The comment about an insurance policy?”

“Vaguely.”

“They talked about the incident at the airport and how they had to be careful.”

“Quaile.”

“No doubt. Then Fat Man made a comment saying that is why they carry insurance. He said that with the police, insurance is always good.”

“I don't get it.”

“I think that is the reason they sold off the girls for less money. They want a pervert to have them. I think they know where Linh is, or at least know how to find out.”

“The girls are their insurance policy!”

Jack nodded. “If either of them gets taken down with anything serious, they're going to use the girls as their insurance policy to walk away.”

“That ... that is so sick.”

“I know.”

“We don't have enough evidence to nail them for smuggling. As far as the courts would allow, all we have is mere association with the people we do have evidence on.”

“I know, but ...”

“A UC will take time to gain their trust.”

“Who said anything about gaining their trust? That is definitely not part of the UC I have in mind.”

“So I take it there was a reason why you didn't mention
this plan to Connie?”

“I wouldn't recommend you tell anyone about it.”

Laura sighed. “Okay ... how, where and when?”

“
How
... is we kidnap them.
Where
... is outside their apartment building.
When
... is right now.”

Oh, man ...

Jack and Laura drove over to the Russians' apartment building and parked where they could watch the front entrance.

“Curtains are still pulled,” said Laura, as she scanned the penthouse suite with binoculars. “Still sleeping.”

“We'll wait. I'd better call Bien and tell him we can't make lunch.”

Or dinner either, if we end up in jail, thought Laura.

Jack used his cellphone and called Bien's hotel. The switchboard put the call through and Bien answered the call on the first ring.

“Bien, it's Jack, I take it I didn't wake—”

“Any news?” asked Bien. “Connie ... did she find something?”

Jack grimaced and said, “I'm sorry, she didn't find anything concrete yet.” He heard Bien's forlorn sigh and continued, “But there are plenty of leads to follow. Laura and I are working on something now. That is why I'm calling. We won't have time to
meet you today for lunch ... I don't know about supper.”

“That is okay,” replied Bien sadly. “I wasn't able to sleep last night. All I can do is think about ....” Bien stopped and said, “I have a bad headache. I will try to sleep or maybe go for a walk. If you have news, please call me. Otherwise I will call you when I have rested.”

“Bien ... hang in there. Laura and I are working on this. We are doing everything possible.”

Not everything,
Bien thought, as he hung up the phone.

The hours ticked by slowly for Jack and Laura as they waited in anticipation of what they were about to do.

At one o'clock, Laura sighed and said, “The blinds are still closed.”

Jack glanced upwards and nodded to indicate he heard, but his mind was brooding elsewhere.
Today, two more men may go free for allowing children to be sexually exploited, abused ... and in this case, murdered. Free ... just like you, Douglas Henry.

Jack tried to wipe the image of his father from his mind, but it seemed the harder he tried, the more the image persisted.
Funny, I don't even want to say he's my father ... even in my thoughts I prefer to use his first and middle name ... but he is my father. Even worse, I'm a policeman and still can't arrest him without someone willing to come forward. Victims ... remaining silent ... allowing the continued exploitation of other children. How many would have been saved if only one had the courage to come forward earlier and put a stop to it?

“What about going up there and just hauling them out?” suggested Laura, interrupting his anguished thoughts.

Jack shook his head and said, “They've got video in the lobby. If this goes sideways ...” Jack decided not to end that sentence. It wasn't necessary to dwell on that possibility. The
image of his father returned.
How many died like my sister Bonnie? Or did some prefer the needle over the bottle?

Douglas Henry ... you are able to spend your final days in perverted pleasure, knowing you are still able to inflict pain and anger on your own son—I wish there was life after death and a hell waiting for you ...

Jack felt relieved when Laura once again interrupted his thoughts. “What if it does go as planned,” she asked. “Then what happens to us?”

“Saving Linh is more important.”

“I wasn't meaning that we shouldn't. It's just that with you ....” she glared at Jack and added, “never mind.”

“With me what?” asked Jack, as he took his turn with the binoculars.

“The ideas you come up with.”

“You don't like this idea?” he asked, while refocusing the binoculars. “You'd rather yank out their fingernails?”
Even for you, Douglas Henry, I would not do that. You are like a rabid dog. You should be destroyed—without feeling. Feeling anger would only make you happy.

“No, torture is not an option I would use,” said Laura. “Although I have to admit, the idea has occurred to me, only I'd remove another part of their bodies.”

“Sometimes I fantasize, too ... about a lot of people.”

“You're a man, I bet you do. Telling Connie she has buns of steel. Do you undress all women with your eyes?”

Jack smiled, despite how he felt. “I prefer to use my fingers—”

“Jerk.”

“And there is just one woman I save that for.”

“Oh.”

“Trust me, Connie has never entered my fantasies. Besides, that is not what I meant when I asked you what you
meant about my idea.”

“It's good. That's why I asked. What if this
does
work? Do you have a story to explain it all to everyone else? One that would keep us employed? Not that it matters, if we find Linh alive, it will be worth it.”

“Hadn't really thought that far ahead yet. But—the blinds have just opened!” said Jack, passing the binoculars back to Laura.

Bien stepped through the doorway into the Sacred Phoenix and looked around the restaurant. He was immediately hailed by Dúc.

“I'm glad you made it,” said Dúc, while gesturing for his two brothers to make room while Cuóng hurried to obtain another chair.

Bien nodded and said, “So is it true? Is the food better here than ... our last hotel?”

Dúc laughed and said, “That hotel was truly a nuisance. The room service was totally inadequate. As you can see, we were all released—I should say, vacated, from that hotel this morning. I have been told by my lawyer that it is unlikely that I will ever have to return to that hotel, although the bill for it will be expensive. And you, my friend? How does it go? You still look upset. Will you have to return to that hotel?”

“I was not charged with any crime—but I am very tired,” said Bien truthfully. “I did not sleep last night.”

“Perhaps with a better meal in your stomach and some wine, it will help you to relax. Today, it will be my treat.”

It was three o'clock before Moustache Pete and the Fat Man walked out the front entrance of their apartment building and
sauntered down the sidewalk. They each carried telescopic umbrellas, but kept them closed. The darkening clouds were only threatening at the moment and the Fat Man held his umbrella by the cord on the handle and swirled it in an arc as he walked.

Moustache Pete was the first to notice the dark car pull up to the curb a short distance ahead of them—and the attractive woman who stepped out from the passenger seat as they approached.

The man driving the car also got out and walked toward the rear of the car just as Moustache Pete and the Fat Man were about to walk past.

“Police!” the woman yelled, while pointing a pistol at Moustache Pete's face. “Don't move!”

Moustache Pete and the Fat Man's mouths gaped open and they saw the flash of a badge in her other hand.

“Both of you, put your hands up!” yelled the man behind them.

Moustache Pete and the Fat Man both turned to see a second gun being pointed at them. They put their hands up and Moustache Pete asked, “What is this about? What have we done?”

“You fit the description perfectly,” said the woman, “of two men who clubbed and robbed a man in an alley just two blocks from here.”

“It wasn't us,” said Moustache Pete, glancing at the Fat Man, who let out a big sigh and began to smile.

“Gee, I've never heard that before,” replied the woman, sarcastically. “Put your hands on the roof of the car and back your feet away. You're going in for a lineup.”

Within seconds, Moustache Pete and the Fat Man found themselves handcuffed with their hands behind their back and placed in the back seat.

“You will see that it is not us,” said Moustache Pete as the man buckled their seat belts across their laps. “How long will this lineup take?”

“Shut the fuck up, Petya Globenko,” the man hissed. “I don't want to hear a word from you ... ever.”

Moustache Pete's eyes opened wide and his mouth hung open.

“You know who we are?” asked the Fat Man in astonishment.

“Same goes for you, Styopa Ghukov,” the man snarled. “You're finished. We know all about you.” He handed the woman the keys and said, “You drive. I'll watch these bastards.”

Moustache Pete and the Fat Man exchanged nervous glances. There was no denying the rage in the man's eyes.

This is somehow personal to him,
Moustache Pete realized.
I am sure we have never met ...
He looked at the woman's face in the rearview mirror and fell back in his seat as she peeled away from the curb. He glanced back at the man beside her. The man sat sideways in the seat watching them.

When they stopped at the next set of traffic lights, the woman leaned across and kissed the man on the cheek and the nape of his neck. “You did it,” she said softly. “I love you.”

“Told you I would, babe,” he replied. “A little pre-wedding gift for you,” he added with a grim smile. “What did you think when I said,
put your hands up!
Did I sound like a real cop? I always wanted to say that.”

The woman chortled and said, “You did sound like one. Doesn't CSIS teach you how to arrest people?”

Moustache Pete and the Fat Man quickly exchanged a few words in Russian and Moustache Pete looked at the man and said, “You are with the Canadian Security Intelligence Service!”

“Ah,” the man said, looking at the woman and adding, “Our
two Ivans in the back seat are cluing in.” He glanced at them and said, “Just for your info, my fiancée
is
a police officer.”

“But you are not,” said Moustache Pete. “What is this about? Where are you taking us?” he demanded.

“Relax, Ivan. You would have been arrested by my office tomorrow morning anyway. I'm just doing it a day early.”

“Arrested for what? We have done nothing wrong.”

“No, not yet. But we know that you were about to.”

“My brother!” yelled the woman, her eyes burning with anger as she looked in the rearview mirror. “You sons of bitches! He was in the World Trade Center when it collapsed. He was the only family member I had left!”

“I don't understand!” yelped The Fat Man.

“The Trade Center?” asked Moustache Pete. “We had nothing to do with that. You have made a mistake. We are retired schoolteachers. You have arrested the wrong men.”

“Maybe you had nothing to do with the Trade Center,” she said, “but your friends did.”

“Our friends?” asked Moustache Pete.

“Only this time you've got something far more murderous up your sleeves,” said the woman.

“If I were you,” said the man, raising his hand and wagging his index finger to emphasis the point, “I would just sit quietly. If you want to talk, I suggest you do it later tonight when you arrive in Guantanamo Bay.”

“Guantanamo!” exclaimed both men from the back seat.

“Yeah, I don't really believe in the extradition process. My buddies in the CIA feel the same way.”

“You cannot do this!” said Moustache Pete. “I wish to call the Russian embassy. It is my right.”

The man shook his head and said, “My friends down south have assured me that you will speak to nobody again ... not even each other, for as long as you live.” He gave a sinister
grin and added, “Except for their interrogators, of course. I think they will make you say plenty.”

“You will stop the car immediately,” said the Fat Man. “We have the right to call the Russian embassy,” he demanded.

“You ignorant, dumb bastards,” said the man. “Who do you think it was, Styopa, who told us about your degree in microbiology? Or your degree in history, Petya? How you did not teach at all—except at military institutions.”

Moustache Pete and the Fat Man glanced at each other in surprise.

“Believe me,” the man continued. “Russia's only interest in you now is to ensure that you do end up in the hands of the Americans. The war on terrorism has united many countries. Russia, Cuba—countries who used to be enemies ... have now united.”