Limit of Exploitation (6 page)

John puts a reassuring arm round his sister and gives her a squeeze. Not big on the emotional stuff an arm is the best he can do.

“Hey hey take it easy. Come on, let’s get inside, you’ll have the neighbours out.”

After the pleasantries are out the way, both John and Paula drift into silent mode, they know its time to get down to the real reason for his visit. Paula heads to the kitchen and flicks on a cheap plastic kettle, knowing her brother will want yet another brew. John wanders through to the sitting room and dumps his daysack in an armchair. Stood staring at Emma’s toys neatly stacked in one corner of the room didn’t help improve the atmosphere; it only made it more real. From the kitchen the kettle clicked off.

Sitting on her sofa Paula pensively stares into her mug of tea. The last couple of hours had been spent bringing her brother up to date on recent events and it hadn’t improved his mood. Staring out through the greying net curtains John breaks the silence.

“What a fucking mess. What are you doing running drugs for anyway? Where’s your head girl? What were you thinking?”

“Yeah, you’re right; I should have used my business degree to better effect”.

John spins round. “Don’t gob off to me Paula, It’s nobody’s fault but your own, so don’t give me your fucking attitude”.

“How am I supposed to make ends meet eh John? You tell me. Where do you think you are? A land fit for bloody heroes? The council has cut everything, there are no jobs, no opportunities, shops round here are shutting up every day. I did what I had to do to”.

John is unmoved. “Dry your eyes princess; you had the same opportunities as I did, as everybody does. Plenty of people struggle for work; plenty of people try to make ends meet”.

“Well good for them”.

“Not only did you run drugs for this fucking Serb, you then stole those same drugs back from him along with his cash, and you wonder why he didn’t get the joke? Your lucky I’m not here to identify your body.”

Defeated, Paula reaches for her Lambert and Butler.

“What kind of drugs are we talking about anyway?”

“Usually a bit of Brown.”

“Brown? What’s Brown?”

“Jesus soldier boy, you have been away haven’t you,” she pauses. “Its Heroin John.”

John closes his tired eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry John, really I am. Things got out of control. I’m on my own, and ever since Mum –” she trails off. “Once I started it just became so easy, I just couldn’t say no, I just –”

“Got greedy?”

“Yeah I suppose. I got stupid and I got greedy. I know it’s a mess, and I know it’s my fault.”

“I was dealing with your shit when I was barely in my teens remember? And here I am still dragging you out the shit. But this? This is a fucking drama. Christ Paula, I’ve just come from a place where our guys are getting killed trying to STOP Heroin coming here.” That cut, and an awkward silence descends.

“What am I going to do? I’m really fucked eh?”

John paces, putting it all together. “This guy Miroslav is a serious player sis, he’ll be no pushover.”

“Yeah, that Senka said that when she came here”.

“And she’s his girlfriend?”

“I think so yeah, she’s his wife or his bird or something I’m not sure, I’ve seen them together before.”

John studies his lukewarm tea. “You mentioned Miroslav has an office somewhere in the city?”

“Bishopsgate, I’ve never been there though, I just know he has one there.”

“Why would that fucker want an overhead like that?”

“I dunno, but I’ve heard he’s involved with a proper company there, imports and exports stuff used in buildings and roads.”

“Paula, I need to build up a good picture of this guy and his operation. What you’ve told me is all great but I’ll need to go and have close look at his set up. This Senka may prove useful too; she’s shit scared and angling for something, so maybe we can get a result out of all this.”

“What will you do John?”

“Stick my nose in where it’s not wanted,” John stands, rubbing at tired eyes. “Right, I’m off to get my head down, I’ll doss in Emma’s room tonight, that ok?”

“Yeah ’course. Look John, I’m so sorry to involve you in all this, but I’m glad you came, you have no idea.”

“Do me a fresh brew and we’ll call it quits eh?”

As John heads off to Emma’s bedroom Paula felt a strange pang of fear and excitement as she glimpses the black pistol grip of the SIG sticking out the back of his jeans.

Hordes of commuters drift like a sea of zombies around the main entrance to Liverpool Street Station. Dressed in a dark suit and carrying a large manila envelope, John drifts with them, just another city boy in the crowd.

After consulting Google Earth and his sister, he easily finds the office block on Bishopsgate where Miroslav has a suit. It’s very corporate and looks shiny and expensive in the sunshine.

He enters a glass revolving door at the buildings entrance and steps into a vast foyer area of glass and steel. John takes in the rubber plants, black leather reception sofas and the odd suit yakking into a smart phone as sunlight streams through glass walls. The whole place stunk of brand new, stunk of money.

A pretty brunette receptionist wearing a big pretend smile and a fake tan greets him from behind a wide mahogany counter about a kilometre long.

“Good morning sir, can I help?”

“I hope so. I’m not sure if I’m in the right place, I’m looking for an importer of aggregates”. He pretends to read the manila envelope. “I think they may be Russian according to this.”

The receptionist’s ID badge identifies her as Karen. Karen leans forward and flicks around her keyboard looking for an entry. She gives John a grandstand view of her cleavage. Not much of that going on in Sangin.

“No, nothing here I’m afraid. We only have one Company with us listed as importers, and that’s Eastern Logistics, they’re Serbian though, not Russian.”

“Serbian?”

“Yes, they’re up on the fifth floor, but maybe not who your after? I can call through if you like?”

“No no, that’s fine, maybe my boss has got crossed wires, I’d better check with him first, you know how some people are”.

Karen brings her career smile back out. “Sure, no problem”

“You wouldn’t happen to have their Business Card would you? Just in case?”

“Sure” John takes the blue and white card, as Karen bats her eyes.

“Nice tan by the way. Been somewhere nice?”

“Thanks. No afraid not, just overseas with work”.

On his way out John checks the building directory on a large glass panel fixed to the wall.

Neatly etched under the fifth floor listings he sees an entry for Eastern Logistics and a circular corporate logo with the letters EL in it. He heads back out through the revolving doors onto Bishopsgate and through the traffic spots a Costa Coffee across the street. Binning the manila envelope, he heads over.

The Coffee Shop is mobbed, noisy and bustling. City suits and office types waffle away into Blackberry’s waiting to be served. John perches on a stool at a small counter running the length of the long window, giving him a clear line of sight across Bishopsgate to Miroslav’s office building. He can see pedestrians and vehicles come and go from the perfect trigger location.

Three coffees later and John is still focused on the office entrance. He can see no other entrances or exits, and no car parks associated with the office, just a small pull-in at the front of the building.

Time was getting on but if Miroslav puts in an appearance, here at his office was the best possible chance of a sighting and picking him up. John bet he wasn’t the type of guy to walk anywhere unless he had to. Besides, so far this was the only known location he had for him.

As he pondered another coffee and a visit to the gents, an event of interest catches his eye. There’s movement outside the office and it doesn’t look right.

A smart silver Mercedes S Class glides into the pull-in at the entrance, behind it is a metallic blue X5 BMW 4x4. The X5 is three up. John notices that the vehicles are associated, and although there are three people in the X5, only one gets out. The single figure wears a loose suit, is athletic looking and is moody with a crew cut. He stays by the vehicles. John takes note of his body language, its obvious he’s guarding the vehicles. The crew cut is aware, he’s eye’s about.

More movement; this time at the office entrance. A tall older man with jet black hair appears from the revolving doors, with him is a blonde woman; the blonde doesn’t look too happy and she lags behind, hair hanging over her face.

Half a pace behind them is another crew cut in a suit. The second crew cut watches the area around the older man, protecting him. The scene is unusual, it doesn’t fit. The second crew cut is definitely a BG. John carefully watches the bodyguard’s movements.

Passers by don’t notice anything out of the ordinary, but John does, he knows close protection drills when he see’s them. The older man with the black hair is obviously the principle, the blonde seems important too; the crew cuts and vehicles are there for them.

John zooms in across the street with his iPhone and video’s the sighting. The vehicles, the principles and also the crew cuts.

He watches through the phones camera as the first crew cut opens the pavement side rear door on the Mercedes for the approaching principle, he then re-joins the X5, which acts as the Merc’s backing vehicle. As the blonde gets in, a gust of wind blows her hair away from her face exposing purple bruising around her eye, no wonder she looks pissed off.

The vehicles prepare to leave; the backing vehicle pulls out first blocking the passing traffic allowing the Merc a clear path out, classic CP drills. John half smiles to himself. Bingo. He close down his phone and heads out the coffee shop back towards Liverpool Street Station and the tube.

Back at the flat, Paula carefully studies the imagery he’s downloaded. “Yeah, that’s them, fucking immigrants.”

Using a pen John points out figures on a laptop screen. “This guy here, is that Miroslav? He’s obviously the important one in the group, look how the others move around him.”

“Yeah that’s the bastard, and that’s Senka with him.”

“And she’s the one that came to see you?”

“Yeah, I wonder what her story is.”

Well, from the amount of makeup over that black eye she’s got, it doesn’t look a happy one.”

Paula crosses the front room searching for her Lambert and Butler’s as John closes the laptop down. She opens a window and sparks up with a plastic lighter. “But no sign of Emma?”

“Sis, she’s a kidnap victim, its not like they’re going to take her to the office to do some photocopying now is it.”

“So where could she be? Apart from that Senka bird coming to see me I’ve heard nothing, nothing at all and it’s been bloody days now.”

John squints hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes feel like they’ve been dipped in sand, he needs sleep but he also knows the clock is ticking.

“Yeah I know, I’ve been giving that some thought. There’s a lot of ground to cover here Paula, I think it’s time for plan B.”

Paula blows smoke through the open window. “Plan B? I didn’t know there was a Plan A.”

Picking up his iPhone John scrolls through his contacts and starts to text. Paula stands watching as his thumbs bounce around the screen.

“Who are you texting?”

Without looking up John hits send and then starts composing another message. “Calling in a few favours.”

“Favours from who?”

He looks up and catches his sister’s worried look. “Don’t worry Paula, all being well, the cavalry will be here soon.”

A ribbon of worn tarmac runs across the Iraqi desert, scattered buildings and tatty settlements cluster at the crumbling edges of the sun-bleached asphalt.

Speeding down the highway are three dusty Armoured Toyota Land Cruisers travelling at a uniform distance from each other. Spare wheels are lashed down on roof racks and large whip antennas sway on heavy-duty front bumpers that were built for ramming.

The vehicles make up an armed protection team from one of the many International security company's working in Iraq.

Inside the land cruisers sit surly security operators in black ops vests, wrap-around black sunglasses and Protec helmets. They swelter in the furnace like heat as the vehicles air con system roars on maximum. The operators are heavily armed; wear curly wurly earpieces and two days growth on their faces.

In the front passenger seat of the lead vehicle is ex-paratrooper Phil Bridge. Phil's boxer's face and bonehead haircut matches his uncompromising attitude. During his Army service he had proved himself a professional soldier and loyal friend that could be relied on in a tight spot. However, his problems with officers and authority in general had put the brakes on a promising career, he just couldn't keep his mouth shut. If it needed to be said then Phil was just the type of guy to say it, and bollocks to what anyone else thought. He wasn't bothered though; he couldn't care less, he was quite happy in the turmoil of Iraq with no one his back.

Phil was in the sandpit working as the team leader of the APT, but as with most things in his world, he was cynical about providing close protection for the oil companies that were conducting seismic surveys in central and southern Iraq. But oil was now Iraq's future, and with the country officially confirmed with reserves ranked third largest in the world at approximately 143 billion barrels, those oil companies were lining to invest.

Ex Soldiers regularly find themselves in high demand for security work in places like Africa and the Middle East, protecting companies and individuals working in high-risk environments. Its not only big business for the security providers, it's also very lucrative for the operators involved. Get out there, see a bit of excitement, pump some iron and then its back home to blow your pop star wages on the latest sports car or pay off a lump of the mortgage.

Sat in the lead vehicle Phil's eyes alternated between the military specification GPS mounted on the dashboard and the distant traffic moving warily around him in the shimmering heat haze burning off the tarmac.