Arkady Dyukov watched his boss pace back and forth. The open office space seemed too small to contain the man’s fury. Yet when he spoke, Victor Kemp used the measured tones of someone conducting a business meeting. Dyukov wasn’t fooled for a minute.
“The body was traced back to one of our ships. I don’t need to know how that happened. A branded body washed up on shore, someone suspected human trafficking, and suddenly every law enforcement agency is on it, along with a hundred watchdog groups. Which is why I never wanted any of this.” He stopped himself and expelled a lungful of air before resuming. “What I must know is how this child ended up off the ship and into the water. What have you learned?”
Dyukov gave a quick recap. The ship docked at Rio at midnight four days earlier, where the middleman scheduled to take delivery of his human cargo found the body count down by one. Kemp’s associates moved quickly to minimize the damage. They quarantined the crew at an abandoned police station inside one of the city’s worst favelas. Since the group had nothing to useful to say, they’d been eliminated. The captain remained in isolation at a separate location until he could be interrogated. The ship meanwhile had been pulled into a private dock and taken offline immediately.
The loss of a vessel represented a serious decline in income. Of greater concern was any injury to Kemp/Guzman’s reputation. The company had never experienced a problem delivering cargo. As a precaution, it carried special insurance against loss. Within hours of hearing about the missing girl, Kemp arranged advanced payouts to the cargo’s owners. The money mattered far less than appeasing the sellers. Victor Kemp had no illusions about the kind of people he was dealing with.
“I want to talk with the captain. Now.”
The skipper, an experienced seaman from Cyprus, had a lot to say. The man must have been startled to find himself in front of a computer screen speaking with a heavily bandaged man who introduced himself as the ship’s owner, Francesco Guzman. They spoke in English, their common language. The man told Kemp that twenty girls were loaded at Phnom Penh Port into a steel-encased room with a bucket that served as a commode at one end and overlapping mattresses at the other. They received three meals a day.
“We made sure they were reasonably comfortable, Senhor Guzman.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“The crew knew the girls were strictly off limits. The problem was the guest.”
“What guest?” Off screen, Kemp clenched his left hand, but his voice revealed nothing.
“A Chinese man got on with the cargo. He claimed to be a nephew of the cargo’s owner. I was told never to allow passengers under any circumstances, Senhor Guzman. This man insisted. He even gave me your son’s telephone number to call. I did so and confirmed that Daniel Guzman extended permission for this man to board. He said he’d promised the man’s uncle. I assumed you knew. What was I to do?”
The captain now rushed through the rest of the story, eager to unburden himself and appear cooperative. The nephew, who he described as a weasel-faced little man with an appetite for young girls, decided to sample the wares. He let himself into the enclosure in the middle of the night. One crewmember reported he hurt the girls. The captain stayed out of it, unsure how to proceed. One night, though, the Chinese man forgot to close the door. One of the younger girls slipped out.
“They weren’t chained up, sir,” the captain told Kemp. “I’d never do that. They were compliant, but the man, he treated them badly. This one girl scrambled up and over the gunwale like a little monkey and jumped right off the side of the boat. A crew member reported hearing a splash. It was all hands on deck, believe me. We could see coast lights at that point, but we were still miles from the shore. The poor girl didn’t stand a chance. Broke her neck as soon as she hit the water; I’m sure of it. We briefly spotted the body and tried to pull her out, but it was dark and we could not manage.”
“What happened to the Chinese man?”
“We locked him in his room and called ahead to report the problem to your representatives. Your man in Rio has made arrangements to return the nephew to the uncle’s agent.”
Kemp nodded. His people acted correctly. Kemp/Guzman was responsible for the delivery failure. The client would deal separately with his imprudent relative and with the fallout from the sibling or in-law whose son he had caused to disappear.
The captain stared at the screen, his expression beseeching. “I hope I handled everything according to your satisfaction, Senhor.”
“You did what you had to do, as we all must.” Francesco Guzman waved his hand. It was the last thing the captain saw before the guard standing behind him shot him.
Kemp signed off and turned to Dyukov. “Find Daniel,” he ordered. “Now.”
~
Daniel Guzman had been looking forward to a well-deserved afternoon off in the company of two stunning young ladies. Exactly how young, he couldn’t say. He’d been careful not to ask. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say fourteen. Not as young as he liked but young enough.
The text annoyed him. A summons from his father, yet not from his father. Victor Kemp didn’t text. No, Arkady Dyukov had issued the terse command for a meeting to take place within the next two hours. Not dinner. Not even cocktail hour, which meant this was not to be a social occasion.
Daniel didn’t appreciate being ordered about, especially by Dyukov. He put it down to language barriers and cultural differences. The Russians and other Eastern Europeans could be brusque to the point of rudeness, he found. Luckily, he’d inherited not only his mother’s good looks but also her Latin sensibilities.
The text came in at 1:30 p.m. and Daniel showed up at the office at 3:29, just under the implied deadline. He intended to make a point. He might need to remind his father that their new venture had increased profits. Eight months after he came to Kemp with his proposal, five months after they’d outfitted a single ship to accommodate human cargo, business was booming. Daniel thought it was time to add another vessel or two. Perhaps his father concurred. Possibly he planned a midafternoon celebration. Daniel had no problem drinking champagne any time of day or night.
“So,” he said, his smile wide, his air jovial. “What urgent business requires my attention?”
“Sit down, Daniel.” Kemp directed his son to an uncomfortable-looking chair.
Daniel unwrapped his scarf slowly. He took his time unbuttoning his coat. He wanted to get the lay of the land. Kemp didn’t sound happy; as far as his son could read his face, his father didn’t look pleased, either. Daniel couldn’t say what had caused the downbeat mood.
He looked around with distaste. The surroundings wouldn’t help anyone’s disposition. Too antiseptic, too barren. The place cried out for a decorator’s touch, not to mention decent furniture. He ought to have a desk for himself and one for the secretary he intended to hire. And partitions, as the current arrangement did not permit adequate privacy.
He sauntered over and sat down opposite his father, crossing his long legs and adjusting the crease of his perfectly tailored pants. Arkady Dyukov stood to one side of his boss like a sentry. Dyukov: ever-present, ever loyal and, to Daniel’s way of thinking, ever annoying. That might also need to change. He considered speaking in Portuguese to keep Dyukov in the dark. He chose English. Might as well keep things polite. Besides, he had nothing to hide.
“How may I help you, Father?”
“We’ve had some disturbing news about one of our shipments, specifically the cargo bound for Rio from Phnom Penh.”
Human cargo, Daniel thought. Victor Kemp still refused to name it as such. Ah, well. Technically not Daniel’s responsibility once he signed the client, but he guessed his father would try to pin any problems on him. He kept his expression agreeable.
“I’m sorry to hear that. We’ve had no difficulties with the four previous deliveries.”
“How do you know Zhang Li Tao?”
The abrupt question caught Daniel off guard.
“Tao? He’s, ah, the brother of an acquaintance of mine. I met him at a party here in London last year.”
“Where the two of you no doubt indulged your taste for underage girls.”
“I’m an adult. My personal life is no concern of yours.”
“It is if it has clouded your judgment. What made you believe you had any right to invite him aboard one of our vessels?”
Daniel felt as if the ground had shifted. He half expected to look down and find himself dangling over a yawning abyss. Stay calm, he ordered himself.
“I didn’t see a problem. Tao was doing some business in Phnom Penh for his uncle. We were shipping his cargo, you may remember. The uncle thought it might be valuable if his nephew were allowed to see another side of the business.”
“That is a lie!” Kemp slammed his fingerless fist on the desk. “His uncle knew nothing of his nephew’s unscheduled trip. He is, however, aware of Tao’s predilection for very young girls, which is why he would never have sanctioned this arrangement. He is not a fool. Unlike his nephew and my son.
“Just a minute—”
“A young girl died on that ship, Daniel. Or rather, she escaped during one of your friend’s visits to the room where the cargo was kept. She jumped overboard rather than suffer his indignities. Her body washed up along the coast of Brazil, not far from one of your former surfing spots. Her disappearance has caused our client great inconvenience and cost us dearly, as you can well imagine. I suspect it also cost your friend his life. His uncle is not a forgiving sort.”
“What?” Daniel leapt out of his chair.
“Sit down and listen carefully. We have taken steps to clean up after your mess. It’s bad enough that this incident has angered an important client. As you can imagine, or perhaps you cannot, the girl’s death has attracted the interest of Interpol and others. They are asking questions, Daniel. Do you understand what I am saying? We are now vulnerable. Suspected. Exposed.”
Daniel didn’t speak. He couldn’t; he could scarcely swallow.
Kemp walked around the desk and bent over his son. His face came so close to Daniel’s it nearly touched. The younger man wasn’t sure which disturbed him more, the puckered skin or the cold eyes. He stifled the urge to turn away.
“I am not inclined to let this go, Daniel. If you were anyone but my son, you would be dispatched by now. Be that as it may, I’m a civilized man, not an animal like some of the people you have mixed us up with. There’s also your mother to think of. She’s had enough grief to deal with. Therefore, you will survive. Know this, though; we will no longer transport human cargo.”
“That makes sense.” Daniel tried to speak in a normal tone, one that did not reveal his fear.
Kemp straightened and clamped his left hand down hard on his son’s shoulder. His strength surprised Daniel. The younger man couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to.
“I’m not finished. From now on, you will have nothing to do with my business. Nothing. I can’t make you change your name, but you will cease to identify yourself as my relative or as the relative of Francesco Guzman. As for how you earn a living going forward, I don’t care. If you want to return to the docks, I might be able to arrange that. You might also consider marrying a wealthy woman. Perhaps someone older, someone who will turn a blind eye to your faults.
Kemp pushed even harder, his fingers digging into Daniel’s shoulder. “You have one month to figure it out,” he said. “One month, Daniel. And don’t think of going to your mother. On this, she will not defy me.” He removed his hand.
“You may go.”
Daniel managed to propel himself into the winter dark. It was not yet four o’clock. It could have been midnight. A harsh wind blew off the Thames. He shook, not with cold but with fear. He had misjudged everything about the operation: the hazards, the complications, his friend’s fecklessness, and the uncle’s brutality.
Most of all he’d underestimated his father. Kemp had risked everything to come back from the dead. Daniel had approached his father’s business as a lark. Now he’d jeopardized the entire undertaking. Worse, he’d earned the older man’s enmity. He began to see how unsafe that might be for him.
He sank onto a bench and looked across the choppy waters. He must find a way to get back into his father’s good graces. To do that, he needed to address the root cause of Victor Kemp’s problems. Daniel wasn’t at fault, not really. All of the troubles that led to this debacle could be traced back to what happened in Wales. Perhaps farther back than that. Everything Victor Kemp had experienced over the past year and a half, all the pain and loss, could be tied to that woman, the one Paulo called a thorn in their father’s side. She had worked for him; according to Paulo, she had also murdered for him, which made her dangerous.
Now she was retired. A former assassin but still a threat. No matter. Daniel knew she lived in London. He even knew her name: Suzanne Foster. She was the problem. He had no doubt her removal would be the solution.