Victor Kemp carefully chose the contraband he carried. Once he’d established his business, he began to add goods of questionable legality or items that were banned outright. Clients who needed to ship things covertly paid more, starting with a sixty-five percent down payment. He had no moral qualms about what he transported. He didn’t care whether his vessels contained cocaine or purloined medical supplies. He had no interest in whether the consignment went to a brutal tyrant or a bloodthirsty rebel group. He employed a team of lawyers to structure airtight contracts and used another team of enforcers to make certain his terms were met. He expected his clients to be equally exacting should cargo be lost or damaged en route.
Kemp never intended to transport human cargo. In his previous dealings, he had refused to deal with sexual slavers or traffickers. He didn't trust them. Too many variables came into play. Too many things might go wrong. Further, those on the purchasing end of the business catered to a specific type of individual he loathed: wealthy sexual predators.
Victor Kemp didn’t hold human life in particularly high regard. He had killed or had underlings kill scores of people over the course of his professional life. He never allowed obstacles of any kind to interfere with his plans. He simply believed enslaving people to do one’s bidding represented an exercise in vanity, if not sadism. Housemaids, gardeners, nannies, cooks, and caretakers kept by force would never provide the highest level of service. Fear was a tool or a weapon, not a form of payment.
As for sex slaves, Kemp reckoned that men (or women) who had to buy children to satisfy their needs suffered from some deficiency. He understood solitary addictions like gambling or drugs. Addictions that involved domination he rejected as a failure of will.
So, no human cargo. That should have been the end of it. Except he was being pushed to reconsider by Daniel.
His second son surprised him. He lasted six months in the job at the docks. Kemp wouldn’t have guessed Daniel had the fortitude, especially given his nocturnal activities. Society columns mentioned the dashing bachelor rumored to be the son of a Portuguese shipping magnate. Victor admired his son’s bravado and at the same time disliked his indiscretion. He winced when he read (on a social media site Arkady pointed him to) that his son was keeping company with some very young women. This was not the sort of reputation anyone associated with Kemp/Guzman ought to cultivate. Furthermore, consorting with children was illegal.
When Daniel extended an invitation to lunch, his father nevertheless accepted with pleasure. He welcomed the chance to get out. Too often, he felt like a prisoner in his own home. Besides, he looked forward to sitting down with his son. He knew Daniel did not come to him merely for social reasons. Something was on the younger man’s mind.
Daniel had arranged for them to dine in a private room in the back of a trendy eatery. They entered via a well-hidden and thoroughly enclosed garden. The son had dressed in a smart jacket and slacks. He exuded confidence and vitality. His face had lost all traces of softness; his body appeared hard and lean. Despite differences in color and build, Victor recognized a replica of his younger self.
More noticeable, Daniel showed no indications he led the late-night lifestyle described in the media. Perhaps the reporters exaggerated. Such things were common, especially when it came to the British press.
The restaurant opened out onto the Thames. A light wind ruffled the water. Flower boxes dotted the patio railing. London embraced spring, especially those rare days of blue skies and gentle breezes. Kemp wore a wide-brimmed fedora pulled down on the right side. He turned his head to catch the sunshine. He was in mind of a beautiful spring day, not quite a year earlier, when a fishing boat entered the calm waters of a channel off the Irish Sea.
Daniel ordered for them both. Ceviche appetizers, salad, steak, and a fine bottle of red from Portugal’s Douro Valley. Kemp approved. He’d noticed restaurant fare in London had improved greatly over the forty years he’d lived there.
They conversed in Portuguese during the first course. Kemp enjoyed practicing the language. He also recognized how hungry he was for small talk. Arkady didn’t have any interest in banter. Daniel excelled at it. This didn’t surprise his father. The son’s patience did, though. He’d always been a bit demanding, his sense of entitlement compelling him to insist on immediate gratification. Spoiled, Kemp assumed, as younger sons often are. Now Daniel waited, looking for the appropriate moment during the conversation to introduce a new topic.
As the waiter set down the filet mignon, he began.
“I’ve brought you a proposal, Papà.” Daniel switched to English. The global language of business. “I’ve put a lot of consideration into this, so I trust you’ll give it the hearing it deserves.”
Kemp nodded without speaking. He noticed Daniel’s expression tighten before he continued.
“I’ve found a way to improve your profit margin,” the young man began.
“I’m listening.”
“It’s time you brought me into the business. I don’t need to keep working on the docks.”
“I agree. I have another position in mind for you.”
“Actually, I have something to suggest to you.” Daniel smiled, emboldened. He took a sip of wine, then continued. “I’ve met many people in my short time in London, notwithstanding my work schedule. In fact, I have come into contact with potential clients who would benefit from your services, clients with unlimited resources.”
No one has unlimited resources, Victor thought. “What sorts of clients?”
“These are people who need to get goods from one place to another, goods that might not meet certain legal requirements.”
“What makes you think I’m any longer involved with such things?”
“I know you and I know what you’re up to. I also know you like the money, the power, and especially the thrill that comes with outsmarting others. Your move into shipping was brilliant, and so was giving yourself enough time to establish a perfectly aboveboard trade. I’m sure you’ve been in touch with former competitors to offer them your services. I’m simply proposing you add new clients.”
“You’re presuming quite a bit, Daniel. Perhaps you’ve misunderstood something you overheard. Or some confidence your mother shared with you.”
“Neither one, Papà. I pay attention. I understand prudence better than you might think. No one knows about Victor Kemp’s survival, let alone what became of his second son. Or even that he had one.”
Kemp ignored the note of bitterness. He put down his fork and regarded his son. “Let’s get back to the business at hand. You suggest an expansion. I’m curious as to the specifics of your proposal. For instance, what would be your role in all this?”
“I can be the broker. Some of the clients I bring in will have specialized cargo.”
“Specialized illegal cargo.”
Daniel pretended he hadn’t heard.
“I’ve already suggested to them we can facilitate any transport. I’m related to the owner of a shipping company, one that has built a sterling reputation in far less than a year. Top-quality vessels, no problems with piracy, no issues with mutiny, clean, safe transport. That sort of thing. I hope you don’t mind if I play off our connection. We do share a last name, after all.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to push me into a corner, Daniel?”
“No, not at all. If I were doing that, I wouldn’t have remained for nearly six months in that crappy hellhole you chose for me, working my ass off side by side with the scum of the earth.”
Daniel stopped, drew a breath, and continued. “I’m offering my services. I’ve been on the outside long enough. It’s time for me to be let inside. Paulo is gone. I’m here. You need me. And I can help you.”
Kemp said nothing.
“I know your ships carry contraband. There’s no need to pretend otherwise. That being the case, we can do even more. I’m not talking about transporting drugs or stolen artifacts. Those are low-level items. No doubt nuclear or bioweapons fetch a higher price, although such cargo can be dangerous. But what about people?”
Victor heard the note of eagerness in his son’s voice.
“The best commodity to carry is the one that is hardest to send and most in-demand. Weapons can be transported in the lining of a coat. For God’s sake, there are now experiments underway that will let people print guns! Illegal substances can be replicated in a lab, of course. Moving bodies is harder, yes. But the demand is skyrocketing. It’s a multibillion-dollar business with no signs of slacking off. Governments are divided in their policies for dealing with the export and import of humans. Response is weak. Many countries don’t consider missing people to be nearly as critical as, say, missing antiques.” He paused to catch his breath.
“People are a liability, Daniel. They take up space. They eat, they drink, they shit, they get sick, and they die. They make the worst cargo and the worst investment possible.”
“They are by far the easiest consignment to offload.”
The two men could have been talking about livestock or handbags.
“Victor, look.” Daniel leaned forward, intent on making his point. “This is the wave of the future, at least the immediate future. Free labor keeps costs down. Whole families are used. Men, women, even children.” His eyes flashed.
Kemp caught the change in his son as the discussion proceeded. The thought of human trafficking excited Daniel. This wasn’t simply about commerce. Some unmet need drew the younger man to the venture. The father wondered, not for the first time, what motivated his son. Was he trying to impress Kemp? Did he hope to stand up to the memory of his dead brother? Or was there something darker at work? Did he have a predilection for young girls or small children? Kemp didn’t care to speculate. Whatever it was, it rendered his son fallible.
He sat back in his chair and spoke carefully. “I am in the shipping business. I don’t buy anything except vehicles and employees. And access. I don’t sell anything except the services of my fleet for purposes of transport. Is that absolutely clear?”
“Of course, Papà.”
“The new clients must be thoroughly vetted. Contracts will need to be drawn up. My lawyers can take care of that. We require a new payment structure. We must charge more, as we will be taking on far more risk.”
“Naturally.”
“We must allow a few months in order to set certain procedures in place and to determine what we can reasonably manage. We will not use one of my current ships but rather one we procure by other means.”
Victor paused. “Finally, I am not in the business of serving the personal penchants of my employees. No one touches anything I transport. Is that understood?”
Father and son exchanged a look. Beneath Daniel’s studied nonchalance, Kemp sensed both calculation and hunger. Below that, he picked up an undercurrent of resentment. Daniel was an immature child in a man’s body. That didn’t make him less treacherous. The older man might have said no. He suspected Daniel would have found another way to entangle himself with the trafficking business. His son might be a fool or a great businessman—or both. Kemp couldn’t yet know. He would have to keep a sharp eye on this undertaking.
He knew what his son saw. An old man coming to terms with a new reality. The prodigal son returned, empowered. A tougher version of his old self. Someone who’d spent time with hardened men, many with nothing to lose.
As for Kemp, he saw a no longer young man who’d been stockpiling disappointments and harboring grudges for years. An opportunist who knew what he wanted, or rather, what he believed he deserved. Someone who didn’t know enough to fear Victor Kemp, aka Francesco Guzman.
Someone who should have.