Tracks (18 page)

Introductions complete, both
Harley and the two intelligence men watched the screens
intently,
Harley quietly explaining to her what was evolving.

“We set up a camp similar to
what we believe exists in Kashmir.  What you’re seeing on these two
screens on the left is a team sent out to play the bad guys guarding the
camp.  They’ll be ready in less than an hour at which time we send in the
rescue force.”

Harley fell silent for the
next ten minutes.  Mai-Li watched the two thermal imaging cameras attached
to the helmets of the point man and rear guard of the traversing team. 
The night view was incredibly clear as the camp finally came into view.

“Take a look at the right
screen and tell me what you think,” Harley said.  The screen displayed a
daytime recorded video of the site from above.

“We tried to build the site
according to your impressions,” Harley added.

Mai-Li looked carefully,
trying to recall what she had seen quite a long time ago.  Harley handed
her a sketch she had given him as part of the information file back when they
met in Edinburgh.  It all came rushing back. 
The
fence; the two gates; the towers.
  The model Harley had built
looked quite similar.

“We sent a man there as well,”
Harley continued.  “He’s the man leading that team.  Name’s
Devlin.  I’d like you to meet him.”

Mai-Li could not ignore the
admiration she felt for the thoroughness of these rough individuals.  She
heard the short wave radio come to life.

“Red Tape in place,” a quiet,
confident voice informed.

“Yes, I see you Red Tape,”
Harley replied to a hidden microphone. 
“Right on time.”

“Send in Scorpion, we’re
ready,” the voice said.

“Right.
 
Keep alert.” Harley said and signaled Long-John to switch frequency.

“Scorpion, you ready?” 
Harley inquired.

“Just say the word, old boy,”
a new voice emerged instantly through the static.

“Off you go then,” Harley
said. “I’ll be watching.”

The two right screens switched
to live video of the rescue team as they began to move.  The pictures on
the left screens remained with Devlin’s team and were now quite static,
displaying the shadowy Scottish forest around the guarded campsite.

What evolved next was not
entirely clear to Mai-Li, who carefully tried to follow the
action.
 
“Scorpion” was reporting progress when reaching agreed coordinate locations
allowing Harley and the intelligence crew to closely follow on the maps. 
They moved like shadows and were in place to attack after an hour and fifteen
minutes, at which time the team split up.  With only four thermal cameras
recording, two on each side, it was hard to discern everyone’s movements. 
Harley and his men seemed to anticipate everything.

The exercise achieved only
partial success to Harley’s dismay.  “Scorpion” managed to enter through
one gate and reach the prisoner’s quarters but the retreat was sealed off and
the team was trapped inside the compound.  It was back to the drawing
board.

“Our intention was to
eliminate the two rear guards and towers, enter through the back gate, and then
retreat through the front gate when reinforcements showed up at the back
gate.  The two front guards were supposed to be handled as soon as we had
the prisoners.  The men assigned the task were detected and we lost the
edge.”  Harley summarized regretfully.  “We may need more people next
time around.”

Partial success meant failure,
in Harley’s book.

Mai-Li spent the next two
hours being briefed by Copeland and Long-John while Harley went to de-brief his
returning force.

In the months since she
started meeting with Harley, his group had made incredible progress, gathering
information and understanding the psyche behind the Lambda-B organization which
was no different than that of numerous illegitimate groups and individuals who
exploited children for labor and sex.  They were simply bigger, with more
resources, and better protected.  The core people were not yet
identified.  They were assumed to be wealthy individuals who had a stake
in the mines and other investments the children were used in.  However,
they kept themselves well hidden under false identities, behind false
companies, using offshore, untraceable bank accounts to transfer monies used to
run the operations.  Their agents, or go-betweens, one level down,
employed a net of locals in every country to find, kidnap, and transfer the
children to the auctions where they were sold, or actually bought back by the
mine owners and sent to work.  The auction monies were used to keep the
locals happy but the real benefits were reaped by the mine owners who worked
the children to their death.

Kashmir was their center of
activity.  This no-man’s land between India and Pakistan provided an ideal
place to stage such evil. The village where Mai-Li had gone to get a glimpse of
the predicament was just one of many used to hold such auctions and hide the
children.  The locals used enforcers to keep everyone else quite. 
These bullies would gang up on anyone, including any authorities, who dared
launch a complaint.  These were the people responsible for guarding the
sites which housed these children before they were sent to the labor
camps.  The camp sighted by Mai-Li and later by Harley’s man, Devlin, was
one holding children ready for auctions.

It was presumed the scheme of
using the auctions was one designed to protect the real money people and
finance the locals but it was not entirely understood why the children were not
simply sent directly to the labor camps.

A small portion of children,
the females mostly, were also being used as sex slaves to the chain of
individuals exploiting them from the work masters at the mines, to the guards,
to the locals and all the way up the chain.

“How would this one raid cease
this entire operation?”  Mai-Li wondered out loud once her brief was
complete. 

“We’ve got the Indian
authorities lined up to join us,”
  Harley
said,
entering the room, Sergeant O’Leary and another man at his heels.

“They’ve agreed to send a few
men with us so they can witness and video the scheme first hand.  Once
we’ve managed to expose the issue and show real evidence, the media will do the
rest.  Then none of the surrounding counties will be able to ignore the
problem and Lambda-B will be exposed.  One successful strike may very well
put an end to this.” 

Mai-Li retreated to the corner
as the three men filled up the small room.

“This is Captain Mike Devlin,”
Harley introduced the man who had followed in her tracks to Kashmir.

The handsome, blonde Devlin,
his face streaked with black charcoal, his military fatigues stained and muddy
from the night’s exercise, flashed an enticing smile and approached her.

“Quite devilish,” Harley
added, before Devlin shook her hand.  Mai-Li looked up at him.

“Pleasure, finally meeting
you,” Devlin said, holding her gaze.  “It’s not every day someone gets
this old crew overly excited.”

Mai-Li smiled shyly, thankful
for the dim lighting structure to hide her blushing.

“Just doing my job,” she said
weakly.

“And a superb job at that,”
Devlin remarked.  “The information you provided turned out extremely
accurate under the circumstances.  My trip there added some depth but we
could have moved entirely on your data. 
Great job.”

“Thanks,” Mai-Li said. 
“You guys are miracle workers.”

“We’ve still got lots to do before
we’re ready,” Harley interjected.  “I suggest Mike, you and Mai-Li find
yourselves a quiet corner to compare notes, then help the rest of us figure out
what went wrong tonight.  Tomorrow you lead Scorpion.”

Devlin took Mai-Li’s hand and
pulled her out the door.  Harley and the rest sat down to review the
tapes.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

Detective Orlov showed up for
breakfast as he did every morning since being assigned lead agent in the “Flesh
Trade” investigation, as the Romanians now labeled it after Natasha and Peka
were stopped at the Bucharest airport.  It had been an entire week since
the Romanians promised action but none came.  Natasha was losing her
patience.

The Romanian ate his usual hard-boiled
egg, cottage cheese, cucumber salad and half a loaf of bread smeared with
butter and jam.  Then he lit up a cigarette and sat contently back
drinking his stale coffee.

“Won’t be long now,” he
declared, as he did every morning.  “The girls were assembled last
night.  We believe they are ready for shipment.”

“Where were they assembled?”
Natasha asked.

“An
apartment downtown.
  My men are watching them as we
speak.”

“How
many?”
Peka pitched in.

“Five.”

“Where are they headed?”
Natasha asked.

“Don’t know yet.  We’ll
have to wait for the airport.”

“That might be too late to
inform my people,” Natasha pointed out.

“It is the best we can do,”
Orlov said unperturbed.

Natasha and Peka exchanged
glances.  They had been discussing their situation and were now almost
convinced the entire accord was a hoax.

“I’ll give you tonight,
Detective, but if nothing moves, I’ll be seeking Ms. Taler in the
morning.  Then we’re out of here,” Natasha threatened.

Orlov was not impressed. 
He drew one long last drag from his cigarette and got up to leave.

“Be ready tonight,” he
said.  “Pack up your bags.”  Then he left.

Natasha looked questioningly
at Peka as she had every day for the last week, blaming him for his people’s
incompetence.  Peka smiled, raising his hands in despair but still
unwilling to take blame.

“He should go arrest some
people instead of sitting here eating breakfast every morning,” she said,
exasperated.

“Breakfast is more important,”
Peka said.

Natasha had had enough arguments
with him over the period they had spent together and did not wish to enter
another.

“You get me Lena if he does
not come through tonight.”

“I said I will and I will but
let’s give him tonight.  He may come through!”

“Yeah and elephants will grow
wings and fly,” Natasha mocked.

Peka remained silent.  He
had had enough of her skepticism as well.

Orlov showed up as darkness
fell over the city.  He summoned the two to the lobby.

“Get your bags ready. 
The girls are leaving tonight with Tarom to Athens.  I’ve arranged for you
to be on this flight.  You need to alert your people.”

It was not part of their job
description.  Staking suspects across borders should have been done by
professionals but Natasha was eager to get out.  The uncertainty, the
waiting, the idleness, had pushed her to a point she was willing to go
anywhere, do anything.  Peka had gotten to a similar state and neither
argued.

Natasha, bags already packed,
put a call through to an MI6 contact she had received from Sam informing him of
their destination and flight number.  She was instructed to follow the
girls through customs, then disengage and take a taxi to the Athens Hilton
where reservations would be made.

Peka was not to be allowed to
board the flight.

They sat with Orlov in the
back of his black sedan, staking the apartment building.  His men, all in
similar black cars, were spread around in the streets.

At two in the morning a small
white van showed up. Five, cold and frightened girls, in flimsy dress, were
herded into it by three bulky ruffians. 

The van took off, racing
toward the airport, Orlov and his units in pursuit.

At the airport, the girls were
made to approach the Tarom check-in counter one at a time at intervals of ten minutes. 
Natasha joined the line behind the last one, making sure all five had checked
in to the same flight.

At the gate she had a chance
to study them a little closer though they obediently sat separate from one
another.  They must have been no older than fifteen though their attire
made them seemed older.  Three were blonde and two were dark.  All
wore heavy make-up and a blank stare.

On the plane she sat across
the aisle from one of the blondes but was afraid to make contact not knowing
their state of mind and who else was watching over them. 

She looked at her
closely.  From afar she looked a grown up woman but closer inspection
revealed her youth: the smooth skin, fresh face, her unripe breasts and
adolescent conduct, the make-up a touch too exaggerated.   She should
have been tucked up in bed somewhere resting for school, Natasha thought. 
Instead, the poor thing was on a plane to Athens, in the wee hours, parading as
an adult, unaware or partially aware of what lay in store for her. 
A bleak future at best.

Natasha inspected the dim
cabin. Most were asleep, few were reading, the low hum of the engines piercing
the night.  No one looked interested though she was certain the girls were
carefully watched.

She thought of Peka and the
last minute directive that left him behind.  She had informed him in
Orlov’s car.  He meant to resist but instantly realized it would be
fruitless.  Those were the instructions and he could not afford to put the
operation at risk.  

He had behaved a model
gentleman throughout, though she felt his urges toward her.  In his quiet
way he had masterfully handled the authorities and all the logistics
surrounding their visit and mostly kept his opinions to himself during a
confrontation.  In private they had their share of arguments and
disagreements but he stood firmly by her side when it counted.   He
did not talk much about his sister but Natasha had managed to pick up the bits
and pieces.

Peka’s parents had divorced when
he was five, his father returning to Croatia, continuing on to America as a
diplomat ten years later with a new wife.  They settled in Queens, New
York, and Peka went on to study Political Science at
Queen’s
College and got a job at the Romanian Consulate on account of his mother and
fluent Romanian. 

It was twenty years before he
met his mother again and found out he had a sister.  He had made inquiries
and arranged to meet her during an official visit to Bucharest, his first time
back to his home country.  They met for an hour on a dreary day in a small
coffee shop and he was shocked to see a pitiful old woman, way beyond her
years, chain smoking and coughing her life away.  She had been mostly
unemployed since Ceausescu and the communist regime had fallen, barely able to
keep her small apartment doing odd cleaning jobs for ex-government officials.

Her daughter, his sister
Yulia, was born eight months after Peka and his father had left.  His
mother, Svetlana, only found out she was pregnant well into her fourth
month.  She had the baby by herself and never bothered to inform her
husband and son who she claimed had disappeared without a trace.  Svetlana
had managed well in those years enjoying preferred status as a secretary in the
Ministry of Interior.  She never remarried and lived happily with her
daughter on her own.  When
Ceausescu  fell
and the Communist government was replaced, she was instantly fired. 
Anyone with ties to the old regime was, and she was never able to find another
job save for cleaning chores for her old bosses who had stashed enough money to
live well without a job and took pity on her.

Yulia had turned fourteen when
the Berlin Wall fell and had begun unchecked use of her body soon after her
mother lost her job in an effort to maintain a trace of the lifestyle they had
led before.  Svetlana, too devastated and desperate to notice, allowed her
daughter to disintegrate to hooker status and when she eventually recognized
the danger and tried to do something about it, her daughter disappeared.

Yulia had not been seen since
January 17, 1991.  The meeting with his mother took place on February 2,
1992 and still there was no trace of his sister.  His pitiful mother did
not even shed a tear as she told Peka the horrible story and seemed to have
accepted her fate and was waiting only to die.  Peka tried to extract
additional information but to no avail.  His mother had given up hope both
for herself and her daughter, his only sibling.

Soon after his trip to
Romania, he accepted a position at the Romanian UN delegation the job he now
held.  He kept hoping to trace his sister and when he heard of the
Center’s initiative, a business no one at the delegation wanted to deal with,
he volunteered to help.  Now he was forced to stay back and allow Natasha
and a lot of spooks to try and unravel his sister’s fate, Natasha reflected,
thinking how frustrated and anxious he must be feeling.  

She emerged from the customs
area following the last of the girls as the sun was just rising over the
Aegean, an hour after they had landed.  She glimpsed them being met by a
small van, too far from the taxi zone to learn any particulars.  The taxi
dropped her at the Hilton where she found a comfortable room on the twelfth
floor overlooking Lykavittos church above, the Acropolis across in the
distance, and the awakening ancient city with its congested streets and
assortment of balconies, underneath.

She took a refreshing shower,
drying herself in front of the mirror thinking her body was thinner and paler
than ever before.  Then she stood naked by the window, wondering where the
poor Romanian girls might be stashed in this huge metropolis.

Then the phone rang.  It
was Elena in New York.  Three hours later, Natasha was back at the
airport.