Марк Грини - One Minute Out

“But if we just threw the merchandise in a couple of low-profile, high-performance speedboats and ran them without lights, then they would be spotted and considered suspicious. The Italians or the Croatian navy would board them, and we’d lose our precious cargo.”

Verdoorn made no reply, but the Greek continued his explanation.

“Ever since the migration crisis in the area began, the coastal patrol and navies all over the European Mediterranean have stepped up their interdiction efforts. Boats are getting seized and captains are getting arrested for smuggling every day. But this method of ours is working, and it’s working well. We’ve been boarded a couple of times, but the compartments have never been thoroughly searched.”

The South African kept his gaze over the water. “I don’t like it. Toss the merchandise in a fuckin’ freighter and ship them off to their final destinations.”

“We do toss the items into freighters. All the time. But those items are destined to work as simple street whores in London or Germany or Holland. Lisbon, Stockholm, and Dublin. Class B or Class C material. But the products we transfer on La Primarosa , the Director has estimated, will generate roughly five million euros each through their life cycle. Twenty-three items on board now, another six boarding tomorrow night. That means we are transferring one hundred fifty million euros of product for ourselves and our clients. But this revenue will only be realized if they make it safely to market in good condition. The two days on the water now will improve the selling price of every single one of those items below. What we will do for them here on board, both physically and psychologically, cannot possibly be done in the hull of an ocean freighter.”

Verdoorn let it go. Instead he said, “Two of the items are not for sale. You’ve been told this, correct?”

“I’ve been told. One is on board now. The one called Maja, who we’ve stored in cabin four. We pick up the other nonrevenue item tomorrow up the coast. They are calling her Sofia, and she can share Maja’s cabin.”

The South African looked back out to the morning gloom, the Gray Man at the forefront of his thoughts. He’d have to call Cage soon, give him the bad news. The head of the Consortium was due to come in person to the market in Venice, and this worried Verdoorn even more.

He made the determination to call Sean Hall, Cage’s bodyguard, and recommend they not make the trip. The boss wouldn’t like it, but Verdoorn deemed it the right move considering the threat.

While he looked out to sea thinking of the difficult phone calls to come, the Greek said, “Interesting. Very interesting. The unflappable Jaco Verdoorn is nervous. Can’t say I’ve seen this out of you before. You really view this American as that much of a concern?”

Verdoorn clutched the railing tightly with both hands and looked to Kostopoulos now. “To me and my boys? No . . . I don’t. But to all the other chattel marchin’ around with a gun workin’ for the pipeline? Yeah . . . yeah . . . he could take them all.”

The Greek sniffed out a laugh, but Verdoorn only turned away and headed back up the deck towards his makeshift quarters.

TWENTY-FOUR

Roxana had showered and changed and now she sat on the comfortable bed, her eyes on the door in front of her. The American woman had said she would return, and though the Romanian could see the first hint of morning outside the portal, she had no doubt that her night was not yet over.

And she was correct. The door opened and Claudia entered, followed by one of the ship’s smartly uniformed interior crew, who carried a bottle of Bollinger champagne in a bucket, along with two crystal flutes.

What the hell is this? Roxana thought.

While the male crew member set the items down and began removing the foil from the cork, Claudia said, “It must feel glorious to take a nice hot shower after all you’ve been through.”

Roxana made no reply, so the American continued. “The other girls are taking their showers now. Don’t worry about them. They will be fed and clothed and attended to, same as you. Well . . . not the same as you, but more than adequately.” Claudia smiled. “Certainly more than what they are used to back home. You, too, right?”

“I had no complaint about my home.”

“Of course not, dear. Everyone says that at first. Then they see what they’ve been missing, what is available to them in this world, and they come around.” She put her hand on Roxana’s knee. “I promise you, you’ll come around, and you’ll never look back.” There was a comfort and an assuredness in the woman’s voice; it seemed to Roxana to be practiced, like one of her professors in college who’d been teaching the same class year after year.

She wondered how many girls had sat here on this bed looking at the American woman with bewilderment, just like she was doing now.

Roxana asked, “Who are you?”

“My name is Dr. Claudia. We don’t do last names here.”

“A doctor of what?”

“I am a psychologist.” The cork popped, jolting Roxana, but Claudia just laughed. The champagne was poured by the crew member as the ladies looked on.

The man soon left the cabin, closing the door behind him. As soon as it shut, the Romanian asked, “Why is there a psychologist on board?”

“I provide services as needed,” the American said as she handed the younger woman a flute of champagne. “Every one of the ladies on board is unique and important, and they are all getting special treatment. But you and one other young lady who will be joining us tomorrow are the absolute cream of the crop.”

“What is so special about us?”

The doctor’s teeth were white and straight; she bared them easily with her smile. “So much is special about you. So much, indeed. But you’re getting the star treatment, darling, because of where you are going.”

Roxana felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach. “Where . . . where am I going?”

“You have been personally selected by my employer.” Claudia kept up her smile. “The director of our entire global organization, in fact.”

“Selected?” she said, but the woman did not address what she meant.

But Roxana knew, and she was pretty sure Claudia knew that she knew.

Claudia said, “You seem like a smart girl, so you know who he is. The two of you have already met.”

Roxana looked down at the Bollinger in her hand, as yet untouched. “Yes. I know what this is all about. The American. Tom. I met him in Bucharest.”

The doctor replied, “I don’t know what name he gave you, but we call him the Director. He is our leader, but the man who runs day-to-day operations is here on board, and he is who I report to. He rarely comes on these voyages, so it’s a very special night for us.”

“You are talking about the South African. What is his name?”

The older woman cocked her head in surprise. “You are very inquisitive, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t most girls? How many have sat right here like I have?”

After a pause, the answer came. “Quite a few. You’ll meet some of them where you are going, I’m sure.”

“You do this all the time, don’t you?”

“We make these journeys regularly, yes.” Claudia straightened up and took a slow sip of champagne. “Let’s talk about what you want in life, Maja.”

“I want to be called by my real name. My name is—”

“No. We don’t use real names. It’s for your own security, and I’m sure you’ve already been told this at all the other stops on the pipeline.”

Roxana said nothing, and the American placed a hand on top of hers and squeezed. “I understand this is all . . . new, and more than a little stressful. I’m going to help you with that part of this. Believe me, I’m only here for your benefit.”