PRIMAL Fury (The PRIMAL Series) (18 page)

CHAPTER 34

SVALYAVA, UKRAINE

“I think I see a trend developing with us,” Kurtz said over his radio. He was sitting in their new car, watching the street.

“What are you talking about?” asked Aleks from the apartment they had rented as a safe house.

“A trend, you know when something happens over and over.”

“Ah, like when the target uses the same route to work every morning.”

“
Ja
, just like that. Except the trend I’m talking about is related to us always getting picked for surveillance jobs. Always watching and waiting.”

“We didn’t just watch when we went after Aurelia. We killed bad guys.”

“Yes, but we weren’t supposed to.”

“What about the castle, then?”

“Again, watching and waiting. The only reason it went hot is because Bishop messed up. It’s as if Vance says, ‘Hey, we’ve got a job that needs two people to sit around watching something for weeks. I know, let’s give it to Aleks and Kurtz.’”

“Comrade, the mission is in Eastern Europe.”

“So?”

“So, we speak five local languages between us.”

“Good point.”

Aleks laughed. Kurtz always complained about the surveillance jobs. “You’re just nervous about seeing the girls again. Pull yourself together. I’ll meet you in the hospital.”

“I’m not nervous,” Kurtz mumbled under his breath as he completed a check of his zones. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he opened the car door and stepped out onto the street.

They were on the outskirts of Svalyava, a reasonable-size Ukrainian town not far from the airbase PRIMAL had used to launch operations into Hungary. Its only hospital was small, run by the local branch of the Red Cross. A charitable facility, it had welcomed the rescued girls, conducting medical checks and providing second-hand clothing. Kalista had required significant medical treatment and had to stay, watched over by her sister Karla. The rest of the girls had been bused to a Red Cross center in Kiev for identification and return to their families.

Kurtz strolled toward the hospital, stopping at a newsstand to purchase an English paper and a selection of women’s magazines. He tucked them under his arm as he crossed the street, narrowly avoiding being crushed by a school bus packed with children. Safely on the other side he entered the foyer of the hospital and took a seat in the waiting area.

A minute later, Aleks entered, walked through the foyer, and turned left into one of the wards. Kurtz got up and followed him.

The floors were spotless linoleum and squeaked under Kurtz’s boots as he walked. He caught up as Aleks stopped next to one of the patient rooms.

“You OK?” Aleks asked.

“Yes, I’m good. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason.” Aleks knocked gently on the door and pushed it open. “Ladies first.”

Kurtz gave him a friendly punch as he stepped into the room.

Karla smiled warmly from where she was sitting next to the hospital bed. She wore a tracksuit, her long blonde hair up in a ponytail. “Please, take a seat.” She stood and directed him to a chair.

Kalista lay in the bed, her face heavily bandaged. Her eyes were closed and she looked to be deep in sleep.

Kurtz moved to sit down, then thought better of it. “I bought you these.” He passed Karla the magazines he had bought. “I thought you might like something to read.”

“Thank you very much.” Karla placed the magazines on a side table. “It’s Kurtz, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right, and Aleks.”

Aleks gave her a nod from the doorway.

“You are police, yes? Kalista told me how you saved her. Thank you so much. She would have died if it wasn’t for you.”

“How is she doing?”

“They just gave her more of the pain medicine. She should be sleeping for a few hours.”

“Do you want us to go?”

“No, she won’t wake up.”

“She going to be OK?”

“Yes.” Karla nodded. “She will have scars but she’ll be OK.”

“That’s good.” He looked down at his boots. “We won’t stay long. We just wanted to let you know we’re in the area.”

“Thank you.” She looked up at him with crystal-blue eyes. “After what Kalista told me about the police taking her to the castle, it is hard to know who we can trust.”

Kurtz gave her a phone. “If anything happens, you can call. My number is programmed into the phone already.”

Karla took the phone.

“You see anything suspicious and you call us right away,
da
?” Aleks added from the doorway.

“Do you think people are still after us?”

“I think we got them all but we don’t want to take any chances.”

Aleks nodded in support. “We just wanted you to know that help is close by if you need it. Now I think we should be going. You look like you need some rest as well.” He smiled and then left the room.

As Kurtz made to leave, Karla spoke up. “Kurtz,” she came after him. “Kalista told me everything. How you rescued her from the manor, how you stayed up all night.” She wrapped her arms around his tall frame. “Thank you so much.” She looked up with tears in her eyes. “I nearly got her killed, and you’re the only reason she’s alive.”

Kurtz stood awkwardly as she hugged him. After a moment he wrapped his arms around her. “It’s OK. It’s my job.” He smiled. “Now we need to get her well and back to your family.”

Aleks stuck his head back around the door and gave a nod. Kurtz broke the hug. “If there is anything you need, just call, OK?”

Karla wiped the tears from her eyes and nodded.

As Kurtz strode out of the room, he wiped a tear from his eye. “Shut up, Aleks, I don’t want to hear it.”

Behind him his partner smiled.

They left separately. Kurtz headed back down the road to the car, while Aleks crossed the street, heading back to the apartment.

Both of them missed the nondescript sedan parked across the road from the hospital. The single occupant waited until the two PRIMAL operatives were out of view, then made a phone call.

CHAPTER 35

LYON, FRANCE

Rémi was breathing hard as he leaned into the Fourvière hill. His morning run was a ritual he performed every day. It cleared his head and helped hold back the inevitable belly that came with middle age.

By the time he reached the top of the steep rise his legs were burning almost as much as his lungs. He stood in front of the ancient cathedral fighting for breath as he looked out over the city. Lyon’s landscape was a sea of terra-cotta roofs and quaint white-faced buildings. Despite the encroachment of modern development, it still felt like part of the Roman Empire. This was one of Rémi’s favorite spots in the city, a bit of serenity in his otherwise hectic life.

The phone in his pocket buzzed. He pulled it out and checked the text message on the screen. It was good news. Rémi dialed a number and lifted the phone to his ear.

“It’s me. They’ve located the blonde girl. The others have already been returned to their homes.”

Masateru paused for a moment on the other end of the line. “Good, as long as I get the blonde the
oyabun
will be happy. The sooner I get back to Japan the better.”

“She’s at a clinic in the Ukraine, small town called Svalyava across the border.”

“Well done.”

“Have your extra men arrived?”

“Yes, they’re ready. Your people delivered the weapons last night.”

“You should know, there are two men with the girls. A tall blond and a big brute with a beard.”

“Let me guess, they’re claiming to be Interpol officers?”

“That’s what they told the clinic.”

“And naturally your people still have no idea who they really are…”

“Not yet, but we’re working on it. All the more reason for you to get back to Japan as soon as possible. Once you get the blonde you should leave this to me. I’ll find out who they are. It may take a week or so.”

“You forget yourself, Rémi. If I wanted your advice I would ask for it.”

“My apologies, Masateru. It’s just—”

“Enough. Your role is to find me a replacement source of women. Every day that passes is lost revenue. Demand still exists; you will find the supply.”

“I’m looking at a number of organizations—”

“I don’t want excuses, I want results. Stop providing results and you will be replaced.” The Yakuza lieutenant hung up.

Rémi jammed the phone back in his pocket. All the stress his run had melted away came flooding back. Masateru was becoming too demanding. Rémi’s biggest challenge now was finding a way to extricate himself from their business relationship. Unlike regular criminals, the Yakuza could not be intimidated. Nor did Rémi’s reach extend to Japan. Wearily, he turned and started jogging down the hill, wishing he had never agreed to work for Masateru.

Four thousand miles away another man was gasping for breath, this time in a poorly ventilated basement.

Shedir was secured to a chair, his head tipped back, a wet towel covering his face. Mirza stood above him with a bucket of water. Kruger and Miklos were holding the chair back on an angle. Pavel was ready with the next bucket.

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation, my friend.” The man speaking was an immaculately dressed Arab, Tariq Ahmed. With his neatly trimmed beard and fitted Savile Row suit, PRIMAL’s financial benefactor would have looked at home in one of the finest fashion houses of Europe; however, he remained, at times, a field operative. In particular, he liked to keep a close hand on affairs in his home country. “You’ve gotten yourself into a particularly undesirable situation. You see, I happen to be a firm advocate of women’s rights and I tend to look poorly on men who treat them like merchandise.”

“Listen, my brother, I have done nothing—”

A nod from Tariq and the wet towel was whipped over the man’s face. Mirza sent a stream of water pouring over it, silencing him. A second or so and the flow stopped. The captive spluttered and coughed as the drowning reflex kicked in. Waterboarding was only one of a number of interrogation methods available to Tariq, but it was still favored due to its lack of physical trauma. The only wounds it left were psychological.

“I am not your brother, Shedir Sajwani. No brother of mine would peddle in the flesh of innocent children. You are a dog. In fact, more worthless than any dog. You are like the dirt that occasionally sticks to my shoe. Do you agree?”

“Yes—yes…” he sobbed.

“Tell me everything you know and perhaps I will let you live.”

Shedir coughed again. “I don’t know anything more, I promise. The Hungarian, András, he would arrange the auctions. I would go, bid on the girls, and if I won they would be delivered to my clients. That is all, I promise. I know nothing of the Japanese. I had never seen them before, I swear by the prophet.”

“I think you’re lying,” said Tariq.

Mirza dropped the wet towel over his face again.

“No, no, I swear I’m telling the truth. I swear.” The Arab sex trafficker’s hysterical voice was muffled under the towel. The room filled with the acrid smell of urine.

Tariq signaled for Mirza to remove the towel. When it was off he leaned in close. “I want you to give me the names of all of your clients, every single one. If I find out you have left any out, you are going to experience discomfort far beyond a wet face. Do you understand?”

The terrified Arab nodded vigorously and Tariq signaled for the CAT operatives to right his chair. They sat him upright and released his hands.

Tariq brought another chair over and sat down, crossing his legs elegantly. He looked relaxed and comfortable as he opened a leather-bound notebook. “Before we start, is there anything you would like? Perhaps a glass of water?” He gave the man a wry smile.

Shedir shook his head.

“Very well, let us begin.”