Mcniven: One Hope

By PETER SHIP

McNiven One Hope
This book is the sequel to McNiven The Kingdom Guardian.
The Queens head of security takes on the fanatical Messiah, who is about to launch a modern-day crusade around the world, and the Ndrangheta, a Mafia-type criminal organization in Italy. McNiven finds himself caught up in a plot by Messiah to kidnap the Queen and force her to hand leadership of the Church of England over to his puppet archbishop so that the two major Christian churches can be reunited. Old enemies reappear to exact revenge and to prevent McNiven from destroying a significant part of the slave trade. Loyalties are tested as betrayals and the murder victims pile up. Non-stop action races from the United Kingdom through parts of Europe and the Middle East countries to Asia. No one is safe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jan 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503501362

PETER SHIP

Peter Ship was born in Queensland, Australia, in 1951. During his varied career in retailing and aged care administration, he has been able to combine his enjoyment of writing with his employment. For the last twelve years, he has been involved in the funeral industry, first as a coffin trimmer and then as a funeral arranger and conductor. In 2008, Peter and his wife moved to Brisbane when he accepted a position to manage one of the city’s finest cemeteries and crematoria. Peter has written several books including a collection of short humorous stories based on his experiences in the funeral industry as well as a book of inspirational short stories for the elderly and several plays for Christmas and Easter. Peter married his wife Fay in 1972. They have two children and two grandchildren.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

T he two men were concealed just a few feet away from the group in the main cavern, hidden in the grotto that had been carved into the living rock of the mountain by torrents of water over the centuries. ‘Fifty-two,’ the slighter of the two men whispered to his companion, barely moving his lips.

The men had entered the cavern just a short time before the buyers began to arrive and secreted themselves in one of the natural grottos carved into the water-worn wall of the massive cave; both men were six feet tall, a fact they were beginning to regret as they tried to ease the cramping muscles in their legs without giving their position away to the assembled buyers.

The majority of the buyers were from Europe with others from the Middle East, Asia, and America. There were several priests from various faiths as well as five men sitting apart from the main group; they sat at a table set up with laptop computers that allowed them to contact their masters who preferred to remain anonymous.

The buyers were seated in luxurious armchairs beside which stood a small refrigerator, stocked with the favourite drinks and snacks of the chair’s occupant. Each chair had several rows of buttons set into one of the arms. By pressing these buttons, the buyer could summon a waiter to top up his mini-bar or request a ‘runner’ to take a message to the auctioneer if he wished to inspect the merchandise from a different perspective.

The largest of the buttons was set beside a numeric keypad that allowed the buyer to place a bid discreetly without the other buyers knowing who the bidder was.

As each item was placed on the auction block, a camera would be zoomed in for a close-up view that was projected onto two giant screens. The screens suddenly came to life as the image of the auctioneer appeared.

Hamid Al Kasan was a greasy little man who constantly dripped nervous perspiration that saturated his crumpled cream linen suit which reeked of garlic-infused body odour. A gluttonous eater, Kasan’s suit coat was stained with spilled food and red wine accumulated over the fifteen years since he purchased the garment.

‘Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to Trou de Diables, the devil’s hole. Today, we have one of the finest collections of gems we have ever assembled. Sadly, we have only eighteen of these flawless gems available. Because of the exceptional quality, seventeen of them will require an opening bid of $250,000.

‘Lot eighteen is almost beyond price and comes with an authenticated providence. The starting price for lot eighteen will be one million dollars.’ A murmur of anticipation rippled through the assembly; given the chance, they would have bid sight unseen on this gem.

‘The auction will commence in a little while. One of our bidders has been delayed but expects to be here in fifteen minutes, so please help yourselves to more refreshments while we await his arrival.’

An Arab sitting in the second row jumped to his feet shouting, ‘I say we start the auction now. Why should we have to wait? Who does this latecomer think he is? Why should he receive special treatment?’

Kasan fixed his good eye on the Arab as he hissed his reply, ‘You fool, don’t you know of whom I speak? Do you want him to learn what you just proposed? He would rip your private parts from your body and make you eat them, and then he would carve you like a roasted goat. Go, flee for your life before he gets here. Run, man. Save yourself if you can!’

‘Two coming out,’ one of the men hiding in the grotto whispered into a microphone. A red light flashed on the handset; the message had been received.

An uneasy silence descended over the remaining buyers and their assistants. Everyone knew who was coming. They would have all preferred that he stay away. His presence always intimidated the other buyers as no one wanted to get offside with him by driving the price too high in a bidding war. On the other hand, this auction was unique; the quality of each of the gems was abundantly clear, even on the pages of the full-colour pre-auction catalogue they had each received.

The other reason those assembled were apprehensive was the violent behaviour the Black Hand often exhibited; being late would not have improved his state of mind. Black Hand had been created when two warring tribes in Africa fought over the beautiful queen of one of the tribes. The victor had taken the queen to his bed from where he forced her to watch as all her men and the elderly were beheaded, while the women and children were sold into a life of slavery.

The last man to be dragged to the killing block was the twenty-year-old son of the queen. Seeing her son about to die, the queen threw herself at the victor’s feet and begged for her son’s life, promising her captor that she would never betray him or leave him if he let her son live.

The warlord was so impressed with the queen’s dedication that he granted her request; however, there had been a price to pay. The young prince had been dragged away to a vat of warm tar into which his left hand was plunged. Finally, when his hand was wrenched from the sticky tar, a chain mail glove was forced over what remained of the hand and bound into a slightly open fist.

The warlord had unwittingly created the weapon that one day brought his life to a violent end when it crushed his skull. Tumoumba had then turned on his mother relentlessly beating her to death because she had not allowed him to die with the other men; instead, her love had condemned him to a life of humiliation and pity.

Tumoumba had loaded a truck with the warlord’s treasury; he had then ripped apart the palace until he found the book of names hidden in a secret alcove. The book was worth more than the treasury. It contained the contact details of the dead man’s suppliers of drugs, weapons, slaves, and gold.

It took Tumoumba almost two years to eliminate all the contacts and take over their businesses; eventually, he controlled an empire that reached around the world and poured seventeen billion dollars into his treasury annually, but it was not enough. It would never be enough because his name would never appear on any list of the world’s richest people.

The knowledge that to announce his wealth would open the door of scrutiny galled Tumoumba, but the prospect of spending the remainder of his life locked behind bars deterred him from proclaiming himself the richest man in the world.

Tumoumba was now thirty-five; he had never taken a wife, preferring instead a steady stream of unwilling participants in his sadistic sexual perversions involving cannibalism, mutilation, torture, vampirism, and murder. The drugs he was addicted to had increased his paranoia and erratic behaviour which often resulted in outbursts of violent behaviour followed by moments of intense remorse. Tumoumba was a complicated man.

***

CHAPTER 2

T he ride up the mountain to just over 8,000 feet was both terrifying and inspiring; the ancient little steam train was grunting and hissing its way up the 40° inclines. Occasionally, Amanda would see small tufts of grass burning, set slight by sparks from the firebox, and once she saw a dead sheep not far from the tracks; at first, she assumed it had been hit by the train but quickly realised that the train was unlikely to hit anything and kill it at the speed it was travelling. Most likely, it had simply lost its footing on the granite rocks and boulders strewn all around like discarded marbles; it probably hit its head on another of the rocks when it fell.

Amanda and her two best friends, Jane and Kathy, along with each of the girl’s male partners had been working in Slovenia for two months as part of their year-long working holiday around Europe. Their stay on the goat farm, turning the milk they laboured each day to obtain from the feisty goats into soft cheeses, had given them all a desire to explore the mountains and caves, and as there was still a month for the grapevines to be ready for the tedious task of thumb pruning, this was the ideal opportunity to go exploring.

Slovenia was abundantly blessed by nature, and the Triglav National Park was no exception with spectacular waterfalls and snow-capped peaks. The park extends along the Italian border and comes close to the Austrian border in the north. The disappointment of the group was evident when the train was suddenly cut off from the world by a cloud they had entered. However, they were soon in high spirits when the train emerged from the dense cloud to be greeted by a cloudless blue sky. Looking down, they could see the top of the blanket of cloud that filled the valley, while off to the east, they could see numerous peaks thrusting their tips through the cloud.

Alighting from the train at the station that was aptly named ‘Roof Top Station’, the young travellers stared open-mouthed at the sensational view laid out before them. Other travellers from the second carriage were similarly affected; however, a group of men from the third carriage hardly even looked at the view. They were intently watching the six young people and inserting themselves between them and the other gawking tourists.

One of the men spoke to the driver for a few minutes before handing him a thick envelope that the driver stuffed into his coat pocket without opening it. Gradually, the men began to separate the six young people from the main body of tourists until they were out of sight of the locomotive and everyone else. A short time later, the steam whistle sounded to announce departure in a few minutes. The six young people turned to head back but found their way blocked by men holding guns aimed at them.

‘Turn around and start to walk. Your train ride has finished,’ one of the men said menacingly. The group walked for the remainder of the day. As the sun was setting, they came across a cabin. The light spilling from the windows was a warm golden colour that appeared to be welcoming them. Beside the hut were three rough terrain vehicles. The three young men gave each other a knowing wink; these stupid kidnappers had provided them with an escape.

There were two men sitting and eating a stew. The captives were made to sit on the floor and then given a bowl of the stew. A heavy silence descended over the room until a door was pulled open and a greasy-looking man wearing a grubby food-stained linen suit entered the room. His black eyes searched the faces of the captives until he reached Amanda. Checking a photo he held, his eyes swung back to Amanda’s face. As he mentally undressed her, the look on his face combined with the dribble of saliva from the corner of his cruel mouth made Amanda’s flesh crawl.

Pointing a finger at Amanda, the man spoke, ‘Come here, bitch, and go into that room.’ When Amanda did not respond, one of the kidnappers grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. The cane in Kasan’s hand raised an ugly welt across the man’s back, cutting through the thin fabric of his shirt as well as some flesh. ‘Don’t ever bruise the merchandise,’ he screamed at the hapless man as he pushed Amanda into the other room. ‘The rest are yours. Do whatever you want with them,’ Kasan said over his shoulder as he closed and locked the door.

‘You need not be afraid of me, Amanda. I have no intention of hurting you. You’re worth at least a million dollars to me. I will protect you.’

Out in the other room, the three men had made an ill-fated attempt to overpower the kidnappers who shot each of them in the knee. They then set out to see how many bones they could break before the victims died. The two women were thrown on the table and repeatedly raped. Their torment went on for hours, even after they had been strangled by one over-energetic individual. The bodies were dragged outside and left to be eaten by the foxes and wild dogs that roamed in packs throughout the mountains.

Kasan was waiting for the men when they returned from disposing of the corpses; without speaking, he opened fire with an automatic rapid-fire machine pistol. The men dropped to the floor, but Kasan kept firing. This was his last trip; it was time to tidy up loose ends.

***

The hunt for Amanda had begun three months earlier when Susan Bothwell had broken down at a meeting with the Queen. When finally she had regained her composure, Susan told the Queen how her only child had gone off on a holiday to Europe with several friends. While the group were in Ljubljana, Slovenia, Amanda had been abducted. At first, it was thought that she would be ransomed; however, it soon became apparent that her captors knew who Amanda was and that she would bring more at an auction than they could gain from a ransom.

‘Surely you have people you can send to rescue her?’ the Queen asked.

‘We have tried, Majesty, three times, each time ending in disaster with our people dead. Somehow this Kasan creature knows when we are coming, and he is constantly on the move but never with my daughter near him.’

‘Are you telling me there is someone inside MI6 who is in communication with this fellow Kasan? Why would anyone bother?’

The next words that came out of the prime minister’s mouth left the Queen speechless.

‘Over 3.4 million children, men, and women are trafficked every year around the world, and this is underestimated. In Europe alone, it is thought that 800,000 people go missing every year. Some are sold as cheap labourer. Many are sold into the sex industry for prostitution. Some are chosen for the gourmet market for paedophiles and serial killers. The United Nations has debated it for years but still it goes on.

‘As a mother yourself, you must appreciate how I feel, knowing that my beautiful girl is being raped every day and injected with heroin and other drugs just so she is compliant for the drunks, corrupt officials, and businessmen. Amanda is nothing more than a body to be straddled day and night by men of any age, any social category: intellectuals, workers, unemployed, police officers, the criminals. There is so much money to be made. They can afford to bribe a few officials.’

Susan Bothwell suddenly stopped speaking. Her shoulders drooped. She was a defeated woman. Now that she had spoken the words out loud, the true horror of her daughter’s plight crushed her spirit. She was a spent force.

The Queen brushed an imaginary stray hair away from her face. From his concealed position, McNiven saw her command and stepped into the room, walking up to the prime minister and gently placing a chair in front of her but just to the side so that she could still see the Queen.

The Queen spoke in a motherly tone, ‘Susan, this is a friend of mine. He will look into your daughter’s disappearance and see what can be done to bring her home. I need you to tell him everything you know and to trust him completely.’

***

Susan began nervously; however, she soon began to relax and speak more freely. For some reason, sitting near this huge quiet man made her feel safe and that the situation would be resolved. ‘There are actually more slaves today than were seized in four centuries of the trans-Atlantic slave trade. The current commerce in humans beggars belief. The current sales of human beings around the world, beggars belief and easily rivals illegal drug trafficking in its global reach.

‘The scale of destruction of lives and families is beyond calculation. Shergold Castle, the headquarters of that despicable Kasan, the former railway official who killed his opponents as a way to rise to the top of the dung heap of slavers in Bosnia, sits shamelessly beside the main road just outside the northwest Bosnian town of Prijedor. Surveillance photos show well-muscled and heavily armed guards strutting around inside the compound and outside of the castle walls.

‘Inside the compound, Kasan has an area for his trio of rare white Siberian Tigers. Several officials have disappeared over the years when they have attempted to remove the tigers from their captivity. We believe but have no proof that Kasan used the officials and other people to keep his tigers blooded. Kasan is the person I believe has taken my daughter,’ Susan Bothwell said in a weary voice.

‘As a corrupt official, Kasan had earned a regular income from the traffickers by allowing them to move their slaves around the country on the trains he controlled. However, like many of his type, it was not enough, and in the end, he began to resent the men he had pandered to for years. He craved their wealth and the beautiful women along with the luxurious living in the Mediterranean.

‘For someone like Kasan with his many contacts, it was not difficult for him to arrange for the capture of the traffickers. Betrayal is just a way of life for him. It is like you buying a pie for your dinner, hardly worth a thought. Once Kasan had extracted their contact details and bank account information, he disposed of his captives in a vat of acid. We believe they were still alive as they were slowly lowered into the acid.’

What Susan had not been aware of and therefore not able to tell McNiven was that Kasan had sat and watched as each man writhed and screamed as they begged to be shot; Kasan had refused. He was too busy stuffing plump red cherries into his mouth, the juices dribbling their scarlet stain down the front of his shirt and coat.

‘The revolting master of Shergold Castle has never been shy about his business in human misery. He once asked a clueless human rights activist who had dared to publish an article condemning him for buying women for his brothels, Is it really so bad a crime to sell women and children? They sell footballers and other sporting people, don’t they?

‘One of the reasons slavery is an unstoppable scourge on society is that it is so ingrained in the world economy, and like it or not, it is a serious part of our everyday lives. It is more than likely that when you buy a pair of shoes, a piece of clothing, toys, electrical goods or the latest phone, some part of that item will have been produced by slave labour.

‘In Pakistan, you can easily find three generations of one family, grandparents, parents, and children, forced to work as enslaved labour making bricks, all the while standing in foul muddy water until their feet rot. Why? Simply because the illiterate son had signed a loan agreement he could not read and no one explained the terms that meant he could never pay the loan off. His entire family now has to work, including small children, and all they receive is a small amount of food. The man became so desperate to try and pay the debt off that he sold one of his kidneys to his owners’ brother, but even that was not enough.

‘In some areas, young women are befriended by local girls of a similar age. After a few days, the tourists are invited to a party where they are given drugged drinks. The next time they wake up, they discover they are chained to a bed, stripped of their clothes and being raped thirty times a day by any man that can afford the price of a white girl in Yemen or some other country halfway around the world. When the girls become pregnant, as they all eventually do, they are forced to continue to have sex up to the time of the birth. If they survive, they are sent to one of the baby farms to nurture the child until it is sold to a paedophile. The mother is then either returned to her owner or sold on to another owner lower down the food chain.

‘Because of the complications in the Yemen tribal structure and an overlapping of influences between the state institutions and tribal leaders, Yemen’s government can often only advice Sheikhs, encouraging them to follow their directives rather than impose the rule of law. It is this conflict of power and political authority which is preventing issues such as slavery, child labour, and under-age marriages to be properly addressed and rooted out from society.’

Susan paused to regain her composure; clearly, she was deeply distressed by what she had learnt about the modern-day slave trade.

Looking at McNiven, she saw a rock-hard exterior expression of disgust, but the eyes revealed a light, perhaps a softness … no, it was empathy and compassion. ‘I will look into your problem and bring your daughter home, Prime Minister.’

The words were spoken quietly, without arrogance or bravado, just absolute certainty. Susan Bothwell experienced a moment of fear when the mountainous man sitting opposite her spoke; fear, not for herself or her daughter but for those who stood in this man’s way.

‘Thank you. I am sorry, I don’t remember your name.’

‘You don’t need to know my name, Prime Minister. In fact, you are better off forgetting we ever met.’ McNiven’s smile defused an awkward moment as he excused himself from the meeting.

***

McNiven called a campaign meeting with his trusted associates, Commander Mercer and Sandy Bellows; together they set about working out how to find Kasan. Sandy would concentrate his efforts on finding Amanda, while the other two men would use their vast intelligence networks that spanned the globe to track down the slime known as Kasan. Over the next three weeks, they received multiple reported sittings of Kasan and Amanda; however, none were viable and the search went on.

McNiven was called away the last week of January to attend a most important occasion he had promised to attend several months ago. Failure to attend would have had dire consequences for his future; after all, a girl only celebrates her first birthday once. McNiven left Commander Mercer in charge of the investigation which permitted Sandy bellows to concentrate on finding Amanda.

Grace Lilias had arrived safe and sound, instantly transforming the Cloud Kingdom of Neul Kinnrick into a giant day care centre with dozens of once normally average adults now vying for the opportunity to hold the infant and gaze upon her azure blue eyes. It was said around the fires and in the cloud castle that to look into the eyes of Grace would melt a heart of stone; she had certainly melted and remoulded her father and Great-Grand Fa.

A week later, McNiven said goodbye to his wife, Helina, and their daughter Grace, returning to London and the revolting trade in human flesh, content in the knowledge that his family would always be safe from the grubbiness of the world in the Cloud Kingdom.

It never occurred to him that things can change and what once was a safe haven could change to a charnel house of wailing and despair; all it needed was someone with enough motivation and a soul of pure evil and paradise would be lost.

‘We have a confirmed sight of Kasan. He is in India, the capital of the slave trade, and he is buying very specific items and paying higher than usual for the merchandise,’ Mercer announced.

‘It sounds like he might be buying to suit a particular order,’ McNiven mused to himself. ‘Do we have eyes on this bastard?’

Mercer responded in the affirmative going on to say, ‘We are on him twenty-four hours around the clock using ten operatives over random time slots, and each man has three disguises. However, we also have him tagged with the new bug spray your chemist developed.’

‘How the hell did you manage that?’ McNiven asked incredulously.

‘Actually, it was not as hard as you might think. The men watching him reported that once every two or three days, he goes into a perfume shop, wanders around, and then walks out without buying. It made no sense until our men realised that the store had rigged up a spray of perfume that automatically fired a mist of fragrance as each person walked in and out of the shop.

‘It was a simple matter for us to fit our spray and wait for him to enter. We gave him a real good serving of M30 all over that prized jacket he wears everywhere. We will be able to track him for up to six months, provided he does not have the coat cleaned or buy a new one.’

‘Well done, Mercer. Let’s keep him on a loose leash so that he does not become suspicious. Men like Kasan have rat-like senses, and they can smell danger miles away.

‘Now, Sandy, what have you discovered about Amanda?’

‘We have finally had a breakthrough. Amanda was seen being escorted onto a private jet in Rome accompanied by five children and two babies. We think the babies might be twins by the way they were clothed. The jet flew to Poland, returning empty two days later. Now here is the kicker, I traced the ownership of the jet to The Vatican, specifically to the department of human protocol.’

‘Who are they? What is their function?’ McNiven demanded.

‘You won’t find them listed on any internal Vatican contact list. They don’t appear to exist. It is doubtful that even the Pope knows about them, yet they have been active for over 300 years. The department is controlled by the αμάλαγος monks, a secret group with their own charter and independent funding. They are not based at the Vatican but form cells in every country that has catholic priests.

‘They are the laundry workers for the Vatican. Their only purpose is to keep the church smelling sweet by moving sex-offending and paedophile priests away from their victims whenever exposure of their unsanctioned activities is likely to occur.

‘Make no mistake, just because their name αμάλαγος means the purest in Greek, these men are far from it. They help priests escape justice and retribution not because it is their duty but because they believe that the priests have the right to behave any way they want, as they are God’s chosen and so can do no wrong. These αμάλαγος monks indulge in the same activities and worse. They are like a multi-headed viper protecting her children. They will not hesitate to kill anyone who gets in their way and that they can’t buy off.’

‘Did any of these monks fly to Poland?’

‘No.’

‘Do we know where the jet landed or where Amanda is now?’

‘No.’

McNiven’s exasperation at the lack of progress flared up. ‘Well, get on to it, Bellows. It appears to me that Kasan might be bringing all his slaves together for a sale. Once that happens, we will never find Amanda, so get results, people’?

It took another week of frustration until a pattern of movement could be confirmed. The jet sat in its hangar unused until one night, a single passenger was led on board. The steady beep of the tracking device Mercer had attached to the interior of the aircraft remained the companion of the radio operator, based at McNiven’s villa outside Rome, as the jet disappeared from view.

The tracking device traced the flight path north from Rome until the jet banked to starboard heading for the Adriatic Sea; as it crossed the Croatian coastline, the pilot made a slight course adjustment that allowed him to bypass Bosnia and over-fly Hungary and Slovakia before landing at Krakow in Poland.

‘We have a destination!’ Sandy Bellows shouted excitedly as he limped into McNiven’s office. The limp was a memento from a near-death event at the palace several years ago when Sandy had been stabbed by a spear.

‘The jet landed at Krakow two hours ago. The only passenger was handed over to a couple of local toughs with shaven heads who then drove off in a southerly direction. Our man lost them twenty kilometres outside Krakow in a blinding blizzard and was forced to turn back.’

‘Who was the passenger?’ Commander Mercer asked as he leant against the wall next to the fireplace that was crackling its warm greeting.

‘Our man was not able to tell if it was a man or a woman. They were wearing a heavy-duty hooded cloak,’ Sandy responded somewhat defensively.

McNiven turned to Mercer. ‘Could it have been Kasan and the bug spray cannot be read through the thick cloak?’

‘No, we tested for just that occurrence. Besides we have been tracking him since he left India. So far he has visited Uzbekistan, Iraq, Azerbaijan, and the UAE. Then he flew to Cairo, Casablanca, France, here to the UK and across to Germany. This week he has so far been to Estonia, and currently, he is in the Ukraine. Kasan appears to be on a whirlwind tour visiting his buyers and collecting merchandise.’

Sandy Bellows cut into the conversation, ‘I have just plotted his journey on a map, and it appears he is heading towards Poland.’

‘Then it is time we went to Krakow and prepared for his arrival. We can’t risk waiting to see if he arrives. Everything appears to be pointing in that direction. Meanwhile, keep tracking him,’ McNiven ordered.

‘Commander Mercer, assemble a team of twenty of your men. We will brief them in the air, and I want to be airborne in three hours. Sandy, you will stay here and be our eyes and ears. Now, move, people. We don’t know how much time we have.’

***

CHAPTER 3

K asan was exhausted; non-stop flitting from one country to another for almost two weeks was beginning to dull his senses. The constant change of time zones had left him confused. The only thing that had kept him going was the thought that after this next auction, he would be retired. Kasan was looking forward to his retirement in someplace where snow rarely fell. He was tired of always being cold, and snow clouds always made him feel despon dent.

Kasan had set up his final auction only as an invitation and had personally hand-delivered the invitations along with a full-colour glossy catalogue of the merchandise to each of his favoured buyers. Kasan was a cunning little bastard; he had ensured that he had included at least one gem that would appeal to each man, even the baron who desired an unspoilt child of three months.

To achieve this goal, Kasan had kidnapped a beautiful white woman who was five months into her pregnancy; she would be sold with her unborn child so that the buyer could control the purity of his purchase. The mother was of no importance and would be disposed of when her infant’s needs could be met by a wet nurse.

Kasan felt no remorse that he was condemning mother and baby to the most horrendous of futures; he just wanted the money. The woman and unborn baby had been delivered to the auction holding rooms along with all but one of the remaining gems, as Kasan preferred to call his victims. The last one, the one worth millions because of who she was, would be taken to the auction by Kasan on the day of the auction.

***

McNiven’s plane touched down at Krakow amid a flurry of snow blown around by the engines. Of the twenty-two members of the team, thirteen were travelling with female companions, while the remainder were in pairs and singles. The women were all working girls who had been hired by Mercer to act as companions to his men. They all came from the House of Gizelder in London and had been used several times as cover for his men.

Madam Gizelder was paid 10,000 pounds to rent her girls, and the women were provided five-star accommodation and 1,000 pounds each plus all expenses paid for five days of their time; the bus from the airport dropped the women off at their hotel before taking the men to their accommodation in another part of the city; the women had no further contact with the members of McNiven’s team while in Krakow.

In the rented chalet, twenty-one grim-faced men concentrated their full attention on the man standing at the whiteboard making notes. Standing six feet three inches tall, McNiven was by any description an imposing figure; long golden hair was held in a ponytail, and unlike many tall people, his back was ramrod straight and not slouched.

His body was firm naturally formed muscle created by hours of exercise and not drugs. For a solid man, he had surprisingly long slim fingers that, when bunched into a fist, could shatter a one-inch thick plank of wood with ease. Alternatively, the same fingers could play the violin with grace and the gentle touch of a butterfly.

The men had all seen McNiven in action and were in awe of his prowess and ability to do things with his body that appeared to defy gravity or physics.

‘I want round-the-clock surveillance on the airport. We don’t want to rely just on the bug spray,’ McNiven stated.

‘What about the trains, buses, and cars? He could use one of those forms of transport,’ one of the men ventured his opinion.

‘That’s possible, but I feel he will fly in using the same plane he has had for the last three weeks. Kasan is on a tight schedule that does not keep him in one place any longer than twenty hours. He has flown more air miles than the American Secretary of State, and he will be tired of all the travel, he will just want to get to his destination as quickly as possible. Thank you for raising the prospect. We will keep an eye on the situation,’ McNiven advised the young man.

‘Commander Mercer, do we have an update from Sandy Bellows regarding the location of our man?’ McNiven fired the question at his trusted companion.

‘Yes, sir, we do.’ In front of the men, Mercer always showed loyalty and respect to McNiven by addressing him as sir. ‘Kasan left Kiev and flew to Chisinau in Moldova. He was there for an hour before flying into Romania. An hour ago, he landed at Košice in Slovakia. Kasan’s clockwise journey around Europe has brought him within less than a forty-minute flight to Krakow.’

‘I think we should send a couple of our guys to Košice to make sure it is Kasan wearing the coat we sprayed and to report when he takes off. Sandy checked and there is a helicopter charter service that does regular runs between the ski fields here at Krakow and the ones at Košice.’

McNiven thought for a moment before agreeing with Mercer’s suggestion. Then he went on.

‘The way I see it, gentlemen, is there are a number of options available to Kasan. There is no doubt in my mind that he is planning something spectacular. If Amanda is anything to go by, he has been planning this for some time. He has personally selected the merchandise and has had some of it for a long time by his standards. Now he has gone to considerable expense to fly around to his clients to deliver a catalogue. Some of the merchandise is possibly already in this area. However, we have no idea where, at the moment, so we need to be ready to move quickly when the time comes.

‘Kasan might take a day or so to rest while all his merchandise is brought together before crossing the border, or he will come early to ensure everything is in order. The one thing I believe will happen is that Amanda will accompany him and that the sale will take place as quickly as possible so that he can be rid of her. We also need to stay alert for the buyers. There will be an assorted bunch of priests, Arabs, well-to-do businessmen, even doctors and lawyers. I doubt that this auction will have working-class men.

‘How are we going with cloning Kasan’s computer?’ McNiven asked the Tecspert.

‘That has been done for a while, sir. We managed to get close enough when we hit him with the bug spray to clone his mobile. Then we waited until he was near his computer and cloned it via the phone. We have his bank details and passwords and have downloaded his list of contacts.’

‘Well done, I must remember to never stand too close to you and use my mobile,’ McNiven joked. A nervous laugh rippled around the room; tension was beginning to build. ‘Now, go out to the coffee shops, cafe, and bars. Keep your eyes and ears open and see if you can locate any of the buyers.’

***

Two young men sat inside the coffee shop across the road from the hotel Kasan was using in Košice; this was their second day on stake-out duty, and all they had to show for their efforts were raging headaches from the powerful coffee they were served which seemed to have an oily scum floating on top and tasted like diesel fuel. They had seen Kasan several times, but each time, he was alone and appeared to be waiting for something or someone to arrive. After a few minutes, he would retreat into the warmth of the hotel alone.

At 11.30 a.m., a grey minivan was parked illegally outside the hotel. Kasan immediately exited the hotel, walked as quickly as possible on the icy cobblestones to the van, and climbed in.

The hunters’ instinct kicked in the moment the grey van parked. One of the young men snatched up a bundle of papers and headed out the door and across the road towards the van. As he neared the back of the van, he slipped on the icy surface, sprawling full length on the road with loose pages flying up in the air from his hands as he tried to cushion his fall. As he hit the ground, the man’s right hand shot up under the van and attached the tiny magnetic sending device to the undercarriage.

By the time the driver had leapt from the van to render assistance, the young man was on his hands and knees scooping up pages. The driver helped him to stand and collect the remaining pages; the slightly embarrassed young man waved his thanks and carefully walked away, never looking back.

Using the signal being sent by the bug, the two men followed the van at a safe distance all the way to the heliport. They apprised Sandy Bellows of the development who in turn advised McNiven and Mercer that the bug spray was working and that Kasan was flying towards Krakow unaccompanied.

‘So, he is coming to check his venue out. We need an exact location where that helicopter lands. If it lands in Krakow, I want four vehicles to track Kasan by leapfrog surveillance. That bastard must not elude us,’ McNiven snarled.

***

The Tatra mountain range forms a natural border between Slovakia and Poland. They are the highest mountain range in the Carpathian Mountains. The highest peak called Gerlach, at 8,710 feet, is located north of Poprad. The highest point in Poland, Rysy, at 8,200 feet, is located south of Zakopane. The overall nature of the Tatras, together with their easy accessibility, makes them a favourite with tourists and researchers.

Kasan had chosen the location because it was not uncommon to see vehicles on the roads all year round which made his movements in the area un-noteworthy. The mountains had numerous caves, and one in particular suited his purpose with a small amount of illegal modification to create a second entrance and chamber. The slaves were brought in through this smaller entrance and held in the chamber that had been hacked out of the mountain, while they awaited their turn on the auction block.

To keep prying eyes out, steel doors made to fit the rough shape and covered in slices of stone had been fitted to the main and personal entrances; signs warning of rock slides and unstable surfaces, the same as used in other parts of the Tatra Mountains, had been placed throughout the area. Electric ATVs were used to ferry the buyers and merchandise the two kilometres from the nearest road in silence.

Kasan spent five hours at the auction room checking on the power generators and ensuring the