Chapter 13

At eight sharp, Anne rang the bell of the Revuebar again, and was ushered in by the same goon who had greeted her in the afternoon. He took her straight backstage, where she was led into a room with about twenty women of different ages and nationalities, most in various states of undress and occupied with putting clothes and make-up on. Five of the younger girls, though, were just sitting around a table over in one corner, downcast, forlorn. The two teenagers she had seen perform earlier were among them.

“Hello. You must be Jane?” The big black woman greeted her. “I loved your dance earlier.”

“Thank you. Yours was great too.” Anne felt she had to return the compliment.

“You were at the Griffin, Mr. Kallay said.”

So the man--this ‘Kallay’--definitely was someone masquerading as Adam, probably Hetzel.

“Yes. I danced there a few years back. I quite liked it there,” Anne lied again.

“Did you know Jenny? Jenny Svensen? A Swedish blond? Tall, long legs?”

“Yes. But not well.” Just another little lie, to spin the story. “Beautiful, and a great dancer.”

“Jenny was very popular. She danced here a few times, too. Anyway, welcome to the Revuebar Rasputin.”

“Thank you. You are?”

“My name is Ginger.” And then she lowered her voice a notch so only Anne could hear. “Jane, let me give you a little advice. Don’t ask too many questions around here. Just dance. And keep on the right side of Kallay. He can be a real bastard.”

“Thanks, Ginger.”

“Sure thing.”

“By the way, who are those girls over there?”

“Shh. I said don’t ask questions.”

“Hey, ladies, we have a couple of new dancers joining us for the show tonight.” Just then, the Kallay impersonator bustled into the room, holding a list. “I am posting the order of appearance for tonight. We will have the lovely Nadia replace Mirka as Ginger’s partner in the second slot--she did so well earlier--and Jane, who has come to us from the Griffin in London, will do the last solo dance before the intermission. Everything clear?” And then to the thugs who were flanking him, “Ivan, Pyotr. Take these other four girls who arrived yesterday upstairs. They will not be performing on stage tonight. But we will want them up there for sure.”

***

Greg was very nervous as he arrived in front of the Revuebar with Labrecque promptly at nine p.m., when he knew the doors opened to the public.

“Nicholas, where are your men?”

“Over there.” The French Interpol agent pointed out a black BMW SUV across the street with two silhouettes in it. “And several more will join us inside in the next little while, pretending to be customers. No need to worry for your lovely wife, my friend. This is a mission everyone wanted to be in on, you can be sure. Including Demeter himself.”

But Greg did worry as the maître d’ led them to a booth. He looked around, apprehensive that he would catch sight of Polyakov. That would be the end of the gig, and spell disaster for his wife. The arms merchant--and probably financier of Hetzel’s venture--would certainly recognize her. Greg regretted giving in to Anne, and only started to relax a little once he had his first glass of Zweigelt, the lights dimmed, and the music began.

Labrecque and he agreed that the opening performance by a big-breasted and slightly overweight Ukrainian was mediocre, although they both liked the second show. “Yes, that Ginger is fabulous. She was a dancer here already when I used to come to meet up with Julia,” Greg told his friend.

“That young Russian was also exquisite. She really has a future in the business, I am sure,” Labrecque added. “Even though I hate to wish that on her.”

But it was when the silver-tuxedoed presenter announced the last act before the intermission, “...Jane Mortimer, the wild and sexy dancer on loan to us from the famed London club, the Griffin...” and he saw his beautiful wife strut out on stage with a huge smile on her face, waving to the audience, that Greg found himself--against his better judgment--clapping the loudest.

In fact, Labrecque had to say, “Less noise, my friend. We don’t want to attract any attention to ourselves, do we now?”

Anne’s performance was magnificent. She waltzed around the stage to the Blue Danube, swinging on the pole, leaning way back, spreading her legs wide, titillating the audience, and taking her garments off, one by one, until, at the end, she stood there in her naked splendor. Greg sat there in total shock, but also with love and admiration for Anne. Labrecque could not help but remark to him, “You lucky bastard! I can’t believe that is your wife out there. Every man in here will be lusting after her.”

“That’s just what I am afraid of, Nicholas. I would not have agreed to it, had she not convinced me that this was the only way to find Julia.” He certainly felt Anne had overplayed the role.

Anne took her third encore, still naked and smiling, then disappeared from the stage.

The floodlights were switched off, the main lights turned up a notch, and canned music replaced the lilting strains of the Blue Danube.

It was intermission.

***

Anne strutted off, still smiling, pleased with herself, and grabbed the long, shimmering see-through dress she had shed on stage, handed to her by a fawning helper.

As she slipped it over her head, Ginger approached. “That was very good, Jane. Excellent, in fact. Hats off to you. You really are a pro.”

Behind Ginger, Anne saw the black woman’s Russian teenage partner sitting uncomfortably by herself in the corner. She went over to the girl. “You were very good, too. What’s your name?” Anne wasn’t sure if she would understand.

But she did. “Nadia.”

“Where are you from, may I ask?”

Nadia hesitated, looking at Anne with her sad eyes, before she answered. “Ozersk. Chelyabinsk Oblast. In Russia.”

Just then the Kallay look-alike rumbled in. “Fantastic, girls. You were all just terrific. Jane and Nadia, you two were first class.” And inserting himself between the two, he grabbed each of them by the elbow. “Now I would like you both to come with me. Upstairs. To meet some special guests.”

***

Anne dislodged herself from the boss’s grip, saying, “I need to visit the ladies room,” to gain herself some time, as the creep continued on his way with the Russian girl. She did not want to go upstairs with Hetzel--she was sure now that it was he--to meet some “special guests,” especially fearing that Polyakov might be among them. She desperately wondered whether there was any way to get word to Greg. He was out there, with Labrecque was the plan, and she had heard his loud cheers and applause, even though she had not been able to see them while performing with all the floodlights shining in her face.

Maybe Ginger would help? No. Impossible. It was just too dangerous even to contemplate. In any case, she was glad for the locator, although dancing with it had been a bit uncomfortable down there.

When Anne came out of the restroom, though, there was no way to escape. The black-attired thug who had handed her the discarded dress after the striptease was there, standing and waiting. He ushered her toward the staircase, saying, “The Boss told you to go with him. Get going. They want you upstairs.”

Anne reluctantly took the steps up and, when she got to the top, through the open French doors, was greeted by the sounds and sight of a lavish party in full swing. Waiters were busying themselves carrying platters of champagne, caviar, lobster, cheeses, only the best of everything, while on the dance floor, Arab sheikhs, Russian oligarchs, Chinese politicians and Argentinean rancheros danced with scantily dressed nubile women. Including, as Anne noticed, the four glum looking girls who had previously been sitting with Nadia downstairs.

When he saw Anne at the entrance, Hetzel clapped his hands and the music stopped. “Gentlemen. And ladies, of course. Ahem...” He was going to make an announcement. “Let me introduce our two new stars. First, Nadia. Fresh from Russia, beautiful, as you see, a great dancer, and--I am saving the best for last--you will be delighted to hear, still a virgin! Come on, honey, step out there on the floor and show yourself. She is a real treasure, this one.” Hetzel gave the Russian girl a little nudge then paused to allow the male audience to view the teenager. Anne looked over to see her blush, on the verge of tears.

“The other new lady in our midst is the exquisite Jane, from England, a fabulous stripper with lots of experience and ahem...I’m sure she’s not a virgin. Are you, Jane?” Anne cringed as the creep said this and laughed--what did that have to do with anything? “I’m going to ask the two ladies to give you the same performance they gave downstairs, and then we will see where we go from there.”

He grabbed Nadia and pushed her out into the middle of the dance floor, as on cue, the music started up. Her performance--perhaps because she had to do it alone, or because she was nervous after that uncalled for announcement and very afraid as to what it all might mean going forward--was terrible. She clearly was just going through the motions, the poor girl. When it ended, Hetzel nevertheless thanked her, whacking her on the bottom as she came off the dance floor. He then strutted over to the buffet table and picked up an empty silver ice bucket, saying in a loud voice, “All right, my friends, you can now tell us how much you are willing to pay. Remember, she is young, and a virgin, and she will be all yours to take home if you bid the highest amount.” The Kallay impersonator went around to the men sitting or standing around, while each one wrote something on a little piece of paper that he then dropped in the bucket. These oligarchs were obviously used to this bazaar, Anne concluded.

Monstrous! So the fake Kallay and his gang were selling these girls to these rich perverts from all over the world. And she would be next--Oh God, what did I get myself into!

***

Anne danced, but did not give it her all as before. Her mind was elsewhere. How can I get out of this mess? Nevertheless, when she finished, the applause was loud, and she heard murmurs of approval as she slinked off the dance floor.

“Thank you, Jane. Wow! That was excellent, don’t you think? Give her a big hand, everyone.” Hetzel spoke into the microphone, as he took a glass of champagne from a tray and handed it to her. “You deserve this, my dear. Drink up!”

The creep then went over to the table again to get the silver bucket, pouring its contents out on the table. He took it over to an Arab sheikh and said in a loud voice so everyone could hear, “Offers, gents. Give me your best bid. It had better be good, because otherwise I will keep this one for myself. She would certainly be an asset here at the club. And to me, personally, of course. And my friends, if I want to share.”

So she was being auctioned off! Just like Nadia and probably the others.

Or even worse, kept by the creep, for himself and--and his friends.

Including Polyakov?

Where was Greg now? Labrecque, Demeter and Interpol? Would they be able to help? Anne put her glass of champagne down and pulled her dress over her head, shaking herself to get comfortable. Anything, to cover herself from these penetrating eyes, leering at her from all around the room.

Hetzel carried the bucket over to the table and poured its contents out beside the other pile of little folded papers, which he tackled first. After unfolding and looking through them all, he announced, “Okay, gents, Sheikh Al Baradin has the best offer for the lovely little Nadia--fifty thousand dollars. Does anyone care to offer more? Surely, such a rare and beautiful virgin is worth a lot more than that, especially if she can perform the way you saw her dance just now? She will be all yours to take home to your wife.” And the fake Kallay laughed his perverted laugh.

Despicable, degrading, unbelievable! And she was next.

A hand shot up in the back. “Sixty.” The bidding finally stopped at ninety-five thousand, the diminutive Sheikh not willing to lose his prize. Hetzel seemed pleased, as he dug into the next pile, unfolding and reading the little pieces of paper that would determine Anne’s fate.

A few moments later, with an “Ahem!” to clear his throat and get attention, he strutted out onto the dance floor again to announce: “We have been offered eighty thousand for the beautiful Jane in the first round, by Jaime Ramos.” One of the Argentinean rancheros, no doubt. “Come on gents, you can surely do better than that! This one brings lots of experience and can make any man happy. At that price, I will keep her for myself.”

Heaven forbid, Anne caught herself thinking. Better to go with the Argentinian.

And then from Sheikh al Baradin, who had won the bidding for Nadia, “I’ll pay one hundred thousand.”

“Much better,” Hetzel said with a smug smile. “Our friend Sheikh al Baradin is going for broke. For the harem? Or just a threesome? How delightful, I can just imagine. Are you up to it Sheikh?”

But as the laughter at the sick humor subsided, the bidding opened up: “One hundred ten,” from a Chinese official, “one hundred twenty-five” from a Russian looking oligarch, “one hundred and thirty” from an African and so on. It finally stopped at one hundred and sixty-five thousand, which the Chinese politician was willing to pay for Anne.

“Congratulations, Mr. Jiang.” Hetzel went over to shake the man’s hand. “You will not regret this. I am sure you will get much pleasure out of Ms. Mortimer.”

“Thank you very much. Thank you.” The winner of the bidding for Anne smiled at her and bowed to Hetzel to show his gratitude.

“We will deliver in three days’ time, as usual. Chengdu?”

“Yes. Thank you very much. Thank you.”

So she was not this man’s first purchase. Her mind wandered: so what happened to the others?

So that was it. If Greg and Interpol did not come through, she would be handed over to this diminutive Chinaman who would own her. To be his chattel. To do with whatever he pleases. To be his sex slave.

So much for trying to help Julia.