Code Shield (3 page)

The younger man straightened his shirt, twisted his neck from side to side and looked away. After a few moments, he turned to his older companion as though nothing had happened,

“So, what do you suggest?”

“When is Dmitri arriving from Manila?”

“He's catching the morning flight tomorrow, touch down at about four in the afternoon.”

Donovich whipped out his cell phone and walked out the main door into the glare of the street as he rasped in Russian. He returned about ten minutes later, leaned forward and whispered to Kashin,

“I just spoke to Dmitri. It's all arranged. By tomorrow evening if the whore still doesn't cooperate, we dump her.”

“May I –” Kashin's eyes pleaded. “Please Alexis.”

Donovich stared at his young accomplice. He felt a chill run down his back but steeled his voice,

“Okay but only if we have to dump the whore and you better clean up the mess. I don't want a repeat of Belgrade. The police here can't be bought.”

Kashin smiled, licked his lips, “Thank you comrade.”

The woman facing away still had her vanity mirror open. Her male companion seated opposite her seemed tense. Other couples went up and down the elevators but this particular couple remained rooted to their seats.

Chapter 3

Alexis Donovich waited outside Belt 22 in Terminal 2, mirroring the dozens of people who waited anxiously for their loved ones. However, unlike the other people, when he saw the man he was waiting for, he made eye contact and headed for Car Park B.

He kept Dmitri Karpov in view through the reflection on the glass wall and crossed the short path from the terminal building to the multi storey car park. Slipping into the white panel van, he drove up to Karpov who had stopped at the luggage-loading bay, allowing him to hop into the front seat.

Instead of exiting the car park, the big Russian wheeled his van up the ramp to the highest floor, which was empty except for two cars. Parking at a spot, which gave him a vantage view of all vehicles coming up or going down that level, he asked of Karpov,

“Do you have the packages?”

The middle-aged passenger, burly like his companion but with a full head of deep brown hair, handed the driver a large brown envelope. He also dropped a cloth pouch, the type used by airlines to dispense overnight socks and eyeshades, into the open palm of the driver.

Donovich unwound the loop of string that held down the flap of the envelope, tapped out the photographs taken in the villages in the Philippines. He studied the prints of the families and especially those of the children. Slipping the photos back into the envelope, he turned his attention to the cloth pouch.

“Any problems, Dmitri?” asked Donovich.

“Nope,” replied Karpov. “There are many children available in the garbage dumps of Manila. You know, their mayor actually
authorises
new garbage dumps, supposedly to help the poor to fend for themselves.”

“And they accuse
us
of ill-treating these people. At least we offer them a livelihood,” remarked Donovich as he undid the drawstrings and peered inside the pouch. His face betrayed no emotion as he tugged the drawstrings tight, placed the pouch and envelope in the glove compartment and asked his visitor,

“What time do you take off?” Donovich engaged gear and guided the van down the ramp.

“Another five hours.”

Within a minute, Donovich let Karpov off on the ground floor of the multi storey car park and headed back into the city.

Back in Hotel 69, Donovich and Kashin watched as Ying relieved herself. As soon as she was done, Kashin twisted her hands and duct taped them behind her back.

When Ying struggled, Kashin shovelled her heavily on the bed. He pulled his hand back, ready to slap her with the back of his hand when Donovich sprung up and grabbed his arm.

“No bruises on her face,” snarled the big man.

The young Russian glared back, tried to wrestle away his hand, but Donovich was too massive, too strong. Kashin, pushed against the wall by his bigger companion, winced in pain, his head having hit the wall with a crunch.

Kashin's face wreathed in anger and seeing Donovich turn his attention to the woman, he lunged at the bigger man.

Both men came crashing on the bed in a flurry of flailing arms and legs.

Donovich cursed and threw a short punch, digging a huge fist into Kashin's stomach. The young man groaned, curled around the fist and fell to the ground like an embryo.

“Stay still,” growled Donovich.

“I'll kill you! I'll kill you, you bastard,” shouted Kashin, coughing and panting.

Donovich turned to the Chinese woman, “Ying, listen to me carefully as I'll say this only once.” Donovich spoke slowly, his eyes fixed on hers,

“We paid Wei Chi a visit today.”

Ying's eyes widened.

Got you, you whore
. Donovich knew that she had left her ten-year old son in the care of a local family, while she rented a room above a shophouse in Joo Chiat, the room in which she had first entertained him four days earlier.

“I've a present for you from your son,” said Donovich. He produced the cloth pouch and tossed it on the bed beside her.

Ying stared at the blue pouch. For the first time since Donovich met her, she betrayed fear on her face.

Donovich turned to Kashin, who had pulled himself up onto the bed. “Encourage her,” said the big man.

Relishing the prospect of what was to come, Kashin quickly recovered from the pain and anger. He sniggered as he unzipped his trousers and sat behind the woman. Lifting her up, he felt the woman's body go taut.

Kashin gently lowered her on his stiff member, relishing the tightness as he tore into her lacerated anus. Wrapping his legs around her naked waist, he rested his chin on her shoulder and felt the heft of her breasts.

“Oh, this is good,” whispered Kashin into her ears, his breathing laboured.

“Do you want to see what your little boy had given you?” A wicked smile crawling over his face, Donovich picked at the drawstrings, turned the pouch upside down and shook out its contents.

A ball of cloth, dried stiff in blood, fell out.

Ying jerked back with a squeak, her mouth taped tight, tears welling and dripping over her eyelashes.

“Oh, this is really good,” whispered Kashin hoarsely, as he slipped a finger into her soft wetness, his voice melting into tiny gasps.

Donovich slowly parted the cloth, keeping his eyes fixated on Ying's, a hard look etched on his face. He took out what looked like a roasted pork sausage on a loop of string and deftly garlanded her with it.

Her eyes widened in terror and she screamed. But no sound escaped her taped mouth. She struggled and twisted her torso violently.

But the severed finger remained wedged between her breasts.

Ying kicked and pushed back but Kashin held her tight, raping her with his finger and his shaft. She tried to scream but the tape clamped her lips tight. Muffled squeaks escaped her throat and mucus spurted from her nostrils.

“Hmm, this is really good,” moaned Kashin and held her to him, letting his tongue lick her ears and neck. Then he went into small spasms, relaxed and breathed heavily.

Pushing her away abruptly, he leapt out of the bed in one spring and ducked into the toilet, shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

Ying retreated quickly and braced against the headrest. She pulled her knees to her chest and glared.

Donovich slapped her head several times and grabbed a fistful of her hair. He pulled her head back. Her neck stretched tight and the veins pulsed with anguish.

“Listen to me whore, this could have been worse. Because it is I, it's only a finger.” He jerked his head in the direction of the toilet. “If it had been that porn star, it would have been your boy's penis.”

Ying melted into whimpers and Donovich whispered hoarsely into her ears,

“I'm going to remove the tape so we can talk. I'll say this only once. Pull another screaming stunt or fight and I'll have handsome Ruslan return with nine more fingers and one penis, one at a time, do you understand?” He tightened his grip on her hair, “Do you understand?”

Ying nodded.

Donovich waited until she opened her eyes and made eye contact with him, and only then did he slowly relax his grip. He pulled out the duct tapes with violent tugs, ripping out the fine hair on Ying's arms. “When lover boy comes out, you go and clean yourself. Get rid of these filthy bed sheets. Then we talk.”

Thirty minutes later Ying stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel up to her armpits. Kashin had gone downstairs for a smoke.

“Good girl, now listen to papa, and I'll say this only once,” Donovich knelt on the floor and pulled out a duffel bag from under the bed.

“I have some sausages for you – some you swallow, some you insert up your pussy. You'll like that huh…huh?”

Chapter 4

Reginald Lee from PMO, Uncle Smiley and the two young deputies settled in their leather seats. Zain positioned himself at the front of the room and squared his notes as he waited for the beamer to warm up.

Lowe again made his rounds among the assembled people. He bantered with the deputies and laughed at his own jokes. He conferred with Lee and spoke copiously about his uncle. Satisfied that he had marked his scent, Lowe flopped heavily in the seat nearest the wall screen. He leaned back, crossed his legs and wore a smirk. He made a show of turning to Uncle Smiley and pushed out his chin at the impassive man. When the undistinguished looking man ignored the rude acknowledgement and looked past him, Lowe shook his head slightly.

“Over the last one week this man,” Zain brought up a digital picture of a tall Chinese in dark glasses, “Name, Wang Yu, business development manager of the Tuas plant, has met with two Caucasians, Ruslan Kashin and Alexis Donovich, here in Singapore.”

“Russians?” asked Lee.

“Yes, Lee,” nodded Zain.

Digital pictures of a handsome young man, a day old bristle on his upper lip and chin, and another of a burly middle-aged man with thinning hair, appeared on screen. They were in an outdoor market in Chinatown, the signboard, Pagoda Street, clearly captured in the background.

“All three men took great pains to double back and make circuitous routes, before finally meeting – once at the casino in Resort Worlds Singapore and a second time at the Zoological Gardens.”

“Why, did they make your people?” asked Lee.

“No, I think they were just being cautious,” replied the CNB Director. “We tailed all three men. Wang Yu didn't lead us to any new contacts. The two Russians put up in Hotel 69 along Geylang.” Zain continued,

“This guy, Ruslan Kashin, has acquired several local girlfriends.” Zain brought up three file pictures. “These two Filipina domestic helpers, Louisa Guzman 24, and Sarah Alpino 26, and this is Annette Liam, 18 year old Singaporean student at Sang Nila Utama Polytechnic.”

“Recruiting drug mules?” asked Lee from PMO.

“Yes, we believe so, Lee,” Zain continued without missing a beat. “Donovich has visited this woman, Guo Ying, 36 years old, a Chinese national with a ten-year-old boy in school here. She works as a hairdresser but prostitutes herself in the evenings. Donovich has used her services on three consecutive nights.”

They studied the picture of the woman. She was slim and in a harsh sort of way, good looking. She had hair tinted brown, tied up in a bun and wore a pair of hot pants and a tank top.

“Donovich joined Wang Yu in the Silver Screen cinema. We believe there has been a drop. They sat next to each other. The Russian slipped out to the washroom, did not return. Following the suspected drop, we managed to access their hotel room and found minute traces of heroin dust on the floor. We also lifted some good finger prints.”

“We believe they're planning to move the heroin and soon, via these drug mules,” interrupted Lowe. “Heroin double wrapped in condoms, swallowed or pushed up,
ah
, body cavities.”

“Isn't that highly dangerous, what if the condoms burst and how much can they transport?” asked the woman deputy, not hiding her incredulity.

“For a million dollars a month, the women are expendables,” replied Zain.

Lowe interjected, “Not too long ago the Swiss arrested a Nigerian with 123 condoms of cocaine in his stomach, about 1.7 kilograms. A woman can easily carry about 1.5 to 2 kilos in her stomach and other parts. The four women can easily move 6 to 8 kilos.”

The female deputy blushed and fell silent.

“You said they're getting ready to move,” Lee brought the discussion back.

“That's right, Lee. The Russians confirmed their flights to Moscow. The four women are also booked on the same flight, all the tickets paid for in cash.”

“We have the new scanners in place. Wouldn't these pick them out?” asked the male deputy.

“Yes,” replied Zain and turned to Lee. “Do we pick them up or our original plan stands?”

“Minister Teo's decision to follow the bread crumbs stands,” Lee surveyed the small group. “If there're any changes, I'll alert you.” Then, turning to Zain, he asked,

“Moscow, who do we have in Moscow?”

Zain brought up two file photos, one of a forty something Eurasian man with haunting good looks and the other of a woman with fine elfin features, piercing grey eyes fringed by thick eyelashes. It was difficult to say whether she was Chinese or Indian, blessed as she was with the golden skin of the Oriental but the deep double eyelids of a Caucasoid.

“Benjamin Logan, embassy security detail. Ex-army, First Battalion, Commandos. He suffered a parachute accident, downgraded and transferred to Civil Defence. He asked for a transfer to Foreign Service and has been in Moscow for several years now.”

Then pointing his laser beam at the next picture, Zain continued,

“Tara Banks, cultural attaché but handles special assignments for the Home Team.”