Chapter Fourteen
The small air-conditioning unit mounted in the window rattled and wheezed as it pumped moderately cool air into a cramped hotel room in Saint Petersburg, Russia. It wasn’t that the June weather was particularly unpleasant. Well north in latitude and perched on the eastern edge of the Baltic Sea, Saint Petersburg, one of the most beautiful cities in the world, was known to be humid but rarely oppressively hot. At that moment, had James and Quinn been the sole occupants of the room, the unit would have been more than adequate. But with the four additional members of Operation Bear Trap crowded into the tiny room, it couldn’t overcome the stuffiness.
Two weeks had passed since James and Quinn had watched—and not watched—Alexander Nevsky. They’d learned exactly where in Russia’s former imperial capital Quinn’s phone had settled a few days later. Since then, the pieces of Operation Bear Trap had been put into place. Now, the team had assembled. It was time to execute.
Quinn stood in one corner of the room and watched Dave tap his fingertip on the screen of an iPad. The faces of two men in side-by-side photos appeared on a monitor. She recognized them immediately.
“These men are Anatoly Volodin and Viktor Rykov. They work for this man.” Dave tapped the screen again and called up a surveillance photo. “Grigori Yefimov. He uses trafficked teens and younger kids to run drugs—cocaine for sure and likely heroin as well—here in Saint Petersburg. His legitimate business front is a strip club called the Bronze Monkey. It’s located off Nevsky Prospekt, the city’s main drag. The kids are in a different building a short distance away.”
“And you didn’t want to watch Alexander Nevsky,” James whispered in her ear.
She poked him in the ribs with her elbow and bit her lip to suppress the smile.
“Yefimov operates the strip club and sells drugs on behalf of shadowy crime boss Konstantin Borovsky.” Dave looked over to James and wordlessly asked him to pick up the narration.
James pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against and straightened to his full height. “Very little is known about Borovsky other than he loves beautiful women and lives a life of luxury. He stays in the background and runs his empire through surrogates like Yefimov. It’s safer for him that way. We don’t know where he lives or where his base of operation is located. There aren’t any decent photos of him, either. So it looks like the biggest fish of all is going to be outside this op’s net.”
That hadn’t stopped Meyers from tasking James and Quinn to keep their eyes and ears open for any and all intel about Borovsky’s person and location, though.
“What we do know,” James said, “is that in addition to his human and drug trafficking, he has enterprises scattered throughout Russia featuring the mob’s greatest hits: gambling, extortion, weapons smuggling, kidnapping, blackmail, money laundering, counterfeiting, fraud, murder. You get the picture.”
All heads in the room nodded.
James continued. “Selling cocaine here in Russia is extremely lucrative. Since it’s produced in South America, the distance to Russia makes it a scarcer, and therefore pricier, commodity. Gibson Honeycutt and Rhys Townsend in the Caribbean is a critical link in Borovsky’s chain of distribution. Saint Petersburg’s location on the Baltic allows for access to Scandinavia, as well as northern and eastern Europe.”
The basso profundo voice of Larry Taylor, also known as LT, rumbled from the other side of the room. “How do the drugs fit in to our plan?” The former Navy Seal had the build of a linebacker and was handsome, with more than a passing resemblance to Idris Elba. He came off as the tough, no-nonsense sort. But when Quinn had asked him if he had kids when they’d first met, his face had lit up like a Christmas tree. By the time the conversation ended, Quinn had learned Kayla, age eight, was an orange belt in karate and Trey had won second prize at his middle school’s science fair.
“The Russian government has done little to combat human trafficking and forced labor, so we’ll try to get convictions on the drug angle,” Reem Tabsh, the team’s lawyer, responded. “They have a huge heroin/HIV problem here, and they take the infiltration of drugs a lot more seriously. The problem is, a number of local magistrates and police are paid off by Borovsky via Yefimov.”
Dave nodded. “Reem will do everything she can to have Yefimov and crew arrested, tried, and convicted. But with the rampant corruption, it’s not a slam dunk. Either way, our primary objective is getting the kids out of there. We can’t just roll in blind with guns blazing. We have to get some intel and do this right.
“So here’s the plan. James, you’ll meet with Yefimov and tell him you want to buy some coke, but you insist you have to check out his product first and see his operation. Wave enough cash around until he has no choice but to agree. Once you’re inside, you recon the building, scope out how many guards there are, entrances and exits and so forth. Then we’ll come back here and develop a specific plan. One thing we already know is once we get the kids out, we’ll take them to a safe house Yonatan has already secured.” Dave tapped the tablet, and a map of the area popped up on the monitor.
Yonatan Litman, the team’s tech and logistics wizard, pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and peered at the map. He was a former member of the Israeli Defense Forces and likely former or current Mossad. Quinn wasn’t about to ask. “The house is in Olgino, about eighteen kilometers from here. I checked it out yesterday. It’s a big place with a lot of bedrooms. It will accommodate as many kids as we can spring. James, once you know how many work inside that building, I’ll get the right number of vans lined up to drive them out there.”
“Roger that,” James said.
“We’ll hammer out all the specifics when it gets closer,” Dave said. “Reem’s working on sniffing out non-corrupt local police to help with the raid.”
LT rubbed his thumb over the goatee covering his chin. “Rehabilitation?”
“I’ve been in touch with a trafficking victims’ assistance center here in Saint Petersburg. They’ll have a counselor waiting at the house,” Dave said. “They have a network of shelters throughout the region. We’ll hand the kids off to them.”
Quinn’s nostrils flared. “Except for Mila and her siblings. They’re American citizens.”
A look passed between Dave and Reem. “We’ll see what we can do,” Reem said.
Quinn wasn’t happy with the idea of the Semenov kids having to stay in Russia for any longer than necessary. She was already trying to figure out which strings she needed to pull to get them safely back to the United States at the end of the op. Her grandfather came to mind. If anyone could make it happen, he could.
“Any questions?” Dave’s gaze moved from face to face. “No? Okay then. Let’s take a half-hour break before we go over the strategy for James’s meet-up with Yefimov.”
Reem made a beeline for Quinn. “Would you like to get some coffee with me? There’s a cool, funky little place down the street from here.”
“Sure,” Quinn said with a cautious smile. She turned to James. “We’ll be back in a little while. You want anything?”
“No, I’m good.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Have fun.”
During the walk to the coffee shop, the conversation remained superficial as they discussed the weather and their flights to Saint Petersburg.
The moment she stepped into the shop, Quinn was surrounded with the divine aroma of coffee. While she was a lover of all things coffee flavored, she had been, and always would be, a tea drinker.
Quinn gave the place a once-over, first scanning the faces of chatting customers and then locating exits. Once she and Reem had their drinks and had settled in at a small table near a window, she took a moment to check out the décor. The furniture and knickknacks were an eclectic mélange that looked like they’d been picked up at various yard sales and antique shops. The effect was utterly charming. “You’re right. This place is funky. I like it.”
“Right?” Reem stirred her coffee and set the spoon on the saucer with a clank. “I found it a couple of days ago. I can’t function without caffeine.”
“That pretty much sums it up for all of us.” Reem had been the one to instigate this little confab, so Quinn would let her take the lead. She sipped her tea, which had a heavenly smoky flavor, and waited.
An American of Middle Eastern descent, Reem’s skin was flawless and her eyes were big and brown. She had a similarly slight frame to Quinn’s and was only a few years older. “I know you want Mila and her siblings back in the United States as soon as possible. Everyone wants that. The thing is, these kids need time to deal with everything they’ve been through. Regardless of the kind of labor they’ve been forced to endure, it takes most young trafficking victims a lot of intensive therapy in a safe place before they’re ready to be reunited with their families. Moving them too fast and too soon could be detrimental to their recovery. I’ve been involved in a number of rescues like the one we’re planning. And I’ve followed up with a lot of the victims months after. The system we’ve set up works. Let it.”
“I get it,” Quinn said. “The last thing I want is to inflict more trauma. And I’m not advocating the Semenov kids fly back to the States with James and me only days after they’re released.”
A dubious eyebrow rose.
One corner of Quinn’s mouth lifted. “Okay, maybe I do want that.” She wasn’t willing to give up completely, though. “Have you ever rescued American citizens trapped in a foreign country like this?”
Reem hesitated. “No.”
“Like I said before, I don’t want to do anything that will make things worse for them. And I’ll defer to the professionals with regard to their treatment. I’m just thinking maybe their recovery would be aided by getting them out of Russia altogether.”
“Perhaps.” Reem didn’t sound convinced.
Undeterred, Quinn continued. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you trafficking—all kinds—isn’t only a problem here. It happens in the United States, too. I read the other day the FBI rescued twenty underage girls and arrested their captors in Denver.”
Reem stared into her cup and nodded tightly.
“Thankfully, that’s not what we’re dealing with here. But I’m sure there are treatment facilities in the US the kids could be placed in. I agree whisking them away the moment they’re freed is probably a bad idea.” Quinn tipped her head to one side and shrugged. “I am suggesting we keep it open as an option, though.”
“We can move them there when they’re ready.”
Quinn held Reem’s gaze. “When they’re ready.”
Now that the tension that had built between them had dissipated, Quinn exhaled a relieved breath. “If you don’t mind telling me, how did you become a part of Dave’s team?”
“Dave’s wife and I are good friends and sorority sisters.” Reem sipped her coffee and set the cup on the saucer again. “Two years ago, Dave was about to launch his first rescue operation in Cambodia and wanted legal advice on the kinds of evidence he’d need to secure convictions in child sex trafficking.”
“Is that what you practice? Criminal law?”
She pulled a face. “No. I do corporate for a big firm in L.A. But not helping never even crossed my mind. So I found out what it took. I’ve helped him on about a half dozen rescues now. We’ve put away some real dregs of human society.”
“That must be a fantastic feeling.”
“It is.” Reem’s eyes flashed. “After the hell on earth those bastards put innocent children through, I sleep like a baby at night knowing they’re in their own special hell now. There will never be a great enough punishment for exploiting those who should always be protected, but it’s a start.”
“I couldn’t agree more. How does this work with your regular job?”
“There’s always some downtime between rescue missions. My firm releases me to assist Dave pro bono. Not only does it give the firm a gold star for social activism, one of the senior partners is as committed to rescuing these kids as you and I are.”
“Good for them, and you.”
“Thanks. What about you and James? How did the Riordans get mixed up in this?”
James and Quinn were on a sanctioned CIA op and were therefore treating it like any other. But since the rest of the Operation Bear Trap team wasn’t cleared to know their status as undercover CIA operatives, that fact had to be protected. To that end, James and Quinn were using the same cover name they’d used on other missions. While the other members of the team might suspect she and James had a connection to the CIA, it wouldn’t be confirmed. “James and I were on our honeymoon and stumbled into it.”
Reem’s eyes grew huge. “Your honeymoon? How long have you two been married?”
“Six weeks. We happened to randomly meet the guys Dave was watching. He approached us and asked us to help him gather more information. That’s when I met Mila and Pyotr.”
“That was a pretty big imposition.”
“When he explained it to us, we knew we had to help. You know the feeling.”
“I do.” Reem tilted her head. “And now you’re both here. I take it James has experience in undercover work?”
“He does.” Quinn wasn’t going to elaborate, and Reem seemed to sense it wasn’t something she should pursue.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a librarian.”
Reem’s head jerked back in shock. “And you came along? This is a dangerous business.”
Quinn brushed off Reem’s response with a laugh. “What can I say? We’re newlyweds.” A moment later, her mirth dropped away. She stared at the bits of tea leaves floating at the bottom of her cup. “I promised Mila we’d come for them.” Quinn raised her gaze and looked Reem directly in the eyes. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Dave. I keep my promises.”
Quinn watched Reem’s face set with determination. “Then it’s a good thing you’re here.”