Bad Luck in Berlin: An Exclusive Short Story

CHAPTER 10

She’d stolen herself.

Moldova had a tiny land mass and a population of only a few million people, but it was one of the world leaders in people trafficking. Tens of thousands of its young women had been sold and held against their will to be used as prostitutes or sex slaves in Europe and the Middle East. Some managed to work their way out of captivity. Some were freed by the work of police forces and charities. Some escaped. Some never got away.

Anika must have been the personal property of the Chechen warlord, instead of a commodity, if three years later he still cared about her escape. Maybe she’d even been his wife, or one of many.

She asked, ‘Where are you from? You sound German, but I don’t think you are.’

‘Switzerland mostly,’ Victor answered. ‘But I travel around a lot. I’m kind of nomadic.’

‘So what brings you to Germany?’

‘The coffee.’

She smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying but you don’t seem like a gambler.’

Victor didn’t know how she’d managed to escape, but she had, and he respected that kind of guile and resourcefulness. She was a survivor. Like him. Whatever she had endured in captivity, three years later she was now able to hold down a job, interact with people, handle the advances of male patrons. Maybe after three years, even though she hadn’t yet fully shaken off the fear, she dared to believe she was safe. But Basayev had tracked her down.

‘Why don’t I seem like a gambler?’

She said, ‘You don’t fit the type. The way I see it, people gamble for one of two reasons: because they need the money or because they like the excitement, the risk.’

Victor thought about Basayev, waiting in the corner. He was waiting for Anika’s shift to end. He hadn’t been pretending to have no interest in Deák. He had no interest in anyone but Anika. It was a simple matter of time. He knew her schedule. He was careful and prepared. He would leave five minutes before she did. Either he would wait near her car or somewhere else along her journey home. He didn’t want to kill her inside her house or apartment otherwise he would be waiting there now for her return. Maybe she lived with other people or had a dog, creating unnecessary obstacles when he could simply execute her out on the streets, but if that was his plan he wouldn’t need to wait in the bar where she would notice him.

‘I could be penniless,’ Victor said.

Her gaze briefly passed over him. ‘Your suit suggests otherwise.’

If Basayev was waiting where she would notice him then he wanted her to. He wanted Anika to recognise him from the bar so when they bumped into each other in some dark alleyway she would not be suspicious until it was too late. Basayev needed to get close to her. Because he didn’t want to kill her. He was going to take her back.

Victor said, ‘So by your logic I must be a thrill seeker.’

‘One who gets his thrills drinking water and orange juice?’

‘Maybe I just know to quit while I’m ahead.’

‘An invaluable trait,’ Basayev said as he neared. ‘Most people don’t know their limitations. They get arrogant. They get greedy. They don’t know when to walk away.’

Anika nodded. ‘He’s right, you know. I see it all the time in this place. People push their luck too far.’ She looked back to Basayev. ‘Same again?’

He nodded. She knew his drink. She knew his face. He was familiar. He was predictable. She wouldn’t be concerned when she saw him walking towards her.

‘Any more words of wisdom?’ Victor asked.

Basayev stared at him, his pale green eyes small and unblinking. ‘I’m not sure I can tell you anything that you don’t already think you know.’

‘I guess I’ve got it all figured out.’

‘Do you happen to know what the line is called where confidence ends and arrogance begins?’

‘Isn’t that the point when we start giving out unnecessary advice?’

Basayev smiled. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepened. His teeth were even and yellow. He stepped closer to Victor, who was sitting on a stool, forcing Victor to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. He stared while he smiled, but said nothing.

Anika returned with his Coke. Basayev paid and left.

‘How’s your new friend?’ Anika asked.

Victor watched him go. ‘He likes the sound of his own voice a little too much.’ He looked at Anika. ‘What time do you get off work?’

She thought for a moment, not to remember when her shift ended, but to decide whether or not to tell him. He wondered if she’d even had a date since her captivity.

Eventually she answered with a question: ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Would you like to go to dinner with me?’

She took her time responding. He’d expected that and didn’t say anything further. He didn’t want to make her feel pressured.

‘Won’t it be too late to have dinner?’

‘I can eat at any time,’ Victor answered. ‘And I’m sure if you work until late then you eat late too. And if you don’t want to eat we can get a drink.’ He gestured to his orange juice. ‘I’m about ready to have a real one.’

‘Why do you even want to go to dinner with me?’

‘Because I want to get to know you better.’

She shifted the weight between her feet. ‘Maybe you wouldn’t like what you found out if you did.’

‘Maybe you should let me be the judge of that.’

‘I’m not sure. I’m not supposed to see casino clientele.’

‘By the time I take you to dinner I won’t be any longer.’

She smiled a little. ‘I don’t think that’s how the rule works.’

‘I’ll never come here again, if that’s what it takes.’

‘You’re stubborn, aren’t you?’

‘I prefer to think of it as persistent.’

‘I didn’t realise I was so irresistible.’

‘It’s the way you fix iced water,’ Victor said. ‘I told you, the best I’ve ever had.’

She laughed. ‘Maybe you should ask me again in an hour.’

‘Why in an hour?’

‘Because that’s when my shift ends.’

It was 23.36, which meant her shift ended in fifty-four minutes, 00.30, because when it came to time civilians always rounded up or down. Basayev knew that time. He knew how she got home. He would leave in forty-nine minutes to wait at a point he’d already chosen, having followed her several times to determine where best to set his ambush. Abductions were even harder to pull off than assassinations and someone who had been in captivity before took some precautions, which was why Basayev was waiting in the bar so she wouldn’t fear him until it was too late. He was bigger and stronger and armed with a gun. She would have no choice but to do exactly as he wanted, to get into a vehicle or hold still long enough to be bound or drugged or knocked out.

But none of that would happen if she was in some other bar or restaurant.

Basayev would try again, of course, the following night or the night after or however many it took. That wouldn’t matter. When Victor had her alone he would say it was time to start running again. This time she would be more careful. Victor would tell her how to be. Knowing how close she’d come to being taken back, she might never be the same again, but at least she would be free.

Victor watched Anika while she served other customers. If she didn’t agree to go out with him, if Victor didn’t get her somewhere private to talk alone, she wouldn’t listen when he tried to warn her. She would get scared and think he was crazy or it was a trick to kidnap her himself. Security would throw him out and maybe one would walk her home to make sure she was all right. The next day she would play the incident down to save face and no one would walk her home.

He couldn’t say anything else. Further attempts to convince her would only make her feel pressured. She would say no, and by the time it got light she would be locked in a corrugated cargo container on a ship to Grozny. He just had to wait.

At 23.55 he couldn’t wait any longer.

The Turk with the brawler’s nose checked his phone and left the bar.