Black Flagged Redux (30 page)

He wanted them to work her over using every form of torture and sexual assault imaginable, but he needed her alive to lure Resja out of hiding. He couldn't wait to watch her suffer. Maybe Josif could smuggle a thumb drive into the prison. He had managed to smuggle more than that over the past few years. If not, he was willing to risk having it sent over the computer. The thought of watching Zorana on film stirred something in his pants that he'd suspected had gone dormant over the past two years. Maybe he would add the little blue pill to his pharmacy request. He could imagine watching much of Zorana's movie debut with his pants down. He pressed "send."

Chapter 33

3:25 AM

Angels Night Club

Palermo, Buenos Aires

Jessica held both hands high in the air and closed her eyes, letting the deep rhythmic beat pulse through her body. She could still see the lights flashing in sync with the music through her eyelids. The sensation left her excited and slightly dizzy, so she opened them to the same scene. A cloud of synthetic smoke enveloped the dance floor, temporarily adding another layer of anonymity to the darkened, frenetic environment.

She had been dancing in the club for nearly three hours and could keep going all night. She loved the energy, the people, and the free abandon of writhing shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of strangers. She was in her element among the hip, chic crowd at Angels, by far her favorite club off Serrano Square. The music switched between house and techno, never stopping, and she only took the occasional break for a quick drink. As the music shifted speeds, she took this as her cue to take another break and made her way to the sleek bar.

Set toward the back of the club, a layer of low tables and plush chairs shielded the packed cocktail area from the thronging mass of revelers jammed onto the dance floor. She broke out of the chaos and walked confidently through the maze of tables, completely aware of the attention she attracted leaving the relative safety of the pack. Her hypnotic dancing and apparent self-absorbed demeanor on the dance floor kept all but the most persistent or drunk men from bothering her. The bar area was a different story. Most of the club sharks operated in these waters, and despite the fact that she didn't mingle or flirt while refueling with a quick drink, few of them could resist her presence.

She wore a black sleeveless cocktail dress snugged tightly against her athletic body, accentuating her sculpted arms and legs, which gave her an advantage over the endless ocean of gorgeous women in the club. Jessica's daily regimen of running, calisthenics and classroom physical training gave her an unmatched physique among the typical nightclub crowd that dieted and rode machines at a gym in order to squeeze into their slinky outfits. Her organic level of fitness turned heads everywhere, male and female.

She could sense that the shark population had grown around the bar, so she didn't plan to linger for very long. She ordered a shot of high end tequila, which was delivered promptly, compliments of someone watching her at the bar. She downed the shot, skipping the salt and lime ritual, and winced slightly as the tequila burned going down. She felt the warmth radiate outward, pleasantly drifting and buzzing her head. A glass of water accompanied the shot, and she squeezed the lime into the water, gulping half of it down before heading back onto the dance floor. She never glanced around to see which one of her many admirers was vying for a moment of eye contact in return for the shot of tequila.

As she melted back into the crowd of dancers, she picked up the electronic dance beat and started to move, keeping an eye on the bar area. She wouldn't be surprised if a few of the sharks tried to follow her out into the fray, but she was pretty sure that she would be safe for now. 3:30 was still early for Buenos Aires, and the heavy drinking hadn't really started. With Daniel, they never stayed out much later than two in the morning, so she had limited experience in the pre-dawn party hours. She had stayed out past dawn the night before and had found the experience distasteful. She loved to party, but hated fighting off the desperate men during the dreaded final hour around last call. Tonight, she would dance for another half hour and suddenly disappear.

Fifty minutes later, she stole a glance at her watch and decided to walk out. It was later than she had expected, but still too early for Daniel to call. She didn’t expect to hear from him until the operation had ended, but remained hopeful that he might sneak in a call to her. Pushing her way through the dense crowd, she broke through near the entrance. VIP booths lined the windowless wall to the left of the club's vestibule, packed with an exclusive-looking crowd. She ignored the blatant stares and a purposeful nod from a man surrounded by champagne bottles and supermodel-beautiful women.

The humid, slightly polluted warm air was a welcome break from the stale, sweaty air inside, but the respite was short lived. The Buenos Aires air was immediately ruined by dozens of smokers, either standing in the endless line snaking down the sidewalk, or huddled in a small designated smoking area on the other side of the entrance. Buenos Aires had gone smoke free in public buildings the year before, which created a gauntlet of smokers outside of most buildings, day or night.

She stepped out onto the street and was treated to the immediate presence of a taxi cab, which was a welcome change from the night before. She had closed a different club, along with nearly three hundred other drunken partiers, at about six in the morning, and taxi cabs must have been in demand across most of the city for the same purpose. Luckily, Serrano Square was within walking distance of their apartment, if you didn't mind a forty-minute walk. Tonight, she wasn't in the mood to walk, and the taxi was her salvation from a long night.

She started with a lavish dinner at ten, followed by a walk around the lively Serrano Square…until the line started to grow at Angels. Seven hours of nightlife, two evenings in a row had taken its toll, and she looked forward to a long sleep. She opened the taxi door and gave the driver her address, drifting away in her thoughts for several minutes as the driver made his way down familiar streets to their high-rise apartment building on Avenida Raul Scalabrini Ortiz.

**

Dimitrije Gravojac watched the whore walk to the front door of the high-rise building, happy he could play a role in bringing this traitorous bitch closer to her end. He had been driving cabs in Buenos Aires for nearly a decade and didn't know the woman from Belgrade, but his compatriots had filled him in on enough of the details that he wished he could be there when they caught her. He was surprised that they didn't want him to bring her in tonight, or jump her when he dropped her off. He could have easily opened her door in an act of chivalry and bashed her over the head with a blackjack, but they had expressly forbidden it. It didn't matter either way. He had been paid nearly five hundred dollars for this easy job. He had tried the night before, but he couldn't get his taxi to her on the side of the road. There were too many pushy drunks on the street and they eventually forced their way into the cab. This night had been easier, since she left before the masses.

Now they had her address and could follow her more easily. He continued to watch as she used some kind of card to open the front door. Inside, a security guard rose to greet her.
High end apartment
, he thought. He'd pass this information on to his contact along with the address. Headlights appeared on the street behind him, and he decided to get moving. He didn't want to make her suspicious, though if she had turned around, she would have caught him staring at her for way too long. She was probably used to it. Dressed like a whore and all made up…what did she expect? As he applied pressure to the accelerator, he thought about asking his friends if he could be part of whatever happened to this woman. He had a good idea what they had in store for her. As he pulled away, he glanced at his rearview mirror and saw a minivan turn into the ramp leading down to the Bianca Hotel's parking garage.

Chapter 34

1:15 PM

Palermo Soho

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Goran Brujic sat patiently at the wheel of the white commercial van that sat several parking spaces back from the intersection at Nicaragua Street. He had long ago stopped the van's engine, opening both passenger windows to air out the cabin. The back of the van was beyond hope for proper ventilation, unless the van was moving. Windowless, except for two fixed windows on the back doors, he had done the best he could to keep them in a shaded spot where he could still survey the sidewalk café. Four men sat stuffed in the back of the van, waiting for a chance to grab Zorana off the street.

The men had been selected carefully for their previous experience with off-street kidnapping. This particular group had worked together for years to supply young women for prostitution rings in several different countries. Snatched off the street, nearly all of the women were exported immediately, bound for Africa or Europe.

The group had been warned to be careful with this one. Careful not to kill her… careful with the takedown. None of the men in the back had ever known her from Belgrade, which gave him the peace of mind that they wouldn't do anything stupid to jeopardize Srecko's wishes.

Josif had assured them that they would be paid handsomely for the capture, and once Srecko was back in circulation, they would be rewarded with high-ranking positions in the wealthy crime lord's new enterprise. This street grab was well worth the risk, though he had been specifically told to back off if any complications arose. There was a backup plan.

He started the van, sensing that she was about to leave. She no longer sipped her coffee and had started to check her watch frequently. The woman placed money on the table and reapplied her lipstick as the waiter came by with the bill, scooping the money up at the same time. Some pleasantries were exchanged, and she stood up from her table in the heart of the seating area. He started the van and pulled it out onto the street, attracting no attention from the woman. The men in the back pulled black ski masks down over their faces and prepared to pour out of the back. Goran had to time this perfectly.

He would get two chances. The first one would take place in a few seconds, right in front of the cafe as she crossed the street to walk in the direction of her apartment. The other would happen on Nicaragua Street. If the timing didn't work out now, he could turn the corner slowly and hope that she moved down Nicaragua Street to a spot that was shielded from the café. He had done this dozens of times in similar situations and knew how to read the scene. If she ducked into the coffee shop, like she was prone to doing, they might have to circle around and wait for their opportunity on Nicaragua.

He gently pressed the accelerator and moved to intersect, pretending not to notice her. Just another rude delivery truck cutting off a pedestrian. Buenos Aires was full of inconsiderate traffic. The woman didn't stop at the edge of the curb and wait for him to pass, which would have put her in the perfect position to be snatched off the street. Instead, she sped up and slapped her hand on the hood of his truck, causing him to apply the brakes hard enough to gently screech the tires and draw a few stares from the café. It didn't matter; they'd still grab her in front of everyone. She glared at him with an icy look, and he prayed that the men in the back weren't visible through the semi-transparent plastic cabin divider. She stepped in front of the stopped van, shaking her head, and Goran decided they would grab her from the other side. As he drove forward, she yelled through the driver's side window in Spanish.

"Cuidado, maníaco!"

He ignored her taunt as she passed the window.

"Stand by," he said to his men.

The van pulled forward, and he prepared to give the command. He knew exactly where she would appear in the mirror when her body had cleared the back of the van.
Right about now
, he told himself and started to press the brakes. Something in his peripheral vision told him that the scene was off.
Fuck!
He turned his head and saw a blue and white striped fiat turn the corner at the intersection. The presence of a thin rack of blue police lights on the car's roof caused him to ease off the brakes.

"Abort. Cops. We'll try it on Nicaragua," he said.

Their flower delivery van cruised past the Buenos Aires Police Department patrol car and stopped at the intersection. A minivan on Nicaragua had the right of way at the four-way stop. Goran took this moment to watch the woman enter the coffee shop on the corner, which meant he would have to circle for a while. No problem. They would have this wrapped up pretty quickly. He activated the right blinker and turned right. They had some time to kill.

**

The last thing she needed this morning was more coffee, but she felt compelled to duck into the Mama Gracha Café. Jessica scanned the coffee shop for the man she and Daniel had spotted a week ago. He had reappeared two days ago, and Jessica couldn't shake the feeling that she knew him. The man was definitely Balkan, possibly Serbian, but like Daniel had pointed out, this was becoming more and more common in Buenos Aires. Like most Europeans, Serbians enjoyed strong coffee, particularly Turkish coffee, and this shop served one of the best Turkish coffees in Buenos Aires. If strong coffee was your pleasure, you'd end up here eventually.

The driver of the flower truck looked like the same man she had seen in here, but she couldn't be sure. He wore sunglasses and a ball cap, but she had only caught a glimpse of him beyond the sun's reflection in the windshield. Her view of him through the passenger window lasted less than a second, and he didn't turn his head to acknowledge her purposeful insult. She was certain that the man was Caucasian, but beyond that, she had nothing but her instincts to support the theory that he was somehow familiar. She had learned to trust these instincts without question, and this policy had kept her alive for over six years as an undercover operative.