CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Now it appeared as things were going as planned as far as Alex was concerned. He had just discovered that there were those like himself in Dublin, and all he had to do was to find out who they were. That little girl near the crucifix, the one with that wavy dark hair reminded him of someone, the shape of her face — and the sardonic smile on her face. He had seen it once before, on a tall man, one of his own kind – Jarod's child? Ah, yes, the Centre would have bred more like himself and with the death of the Parkers, all the property would have fled.

— And there had been one dancing, a little fair-haired girl.

However, there was probably a Centre satellite, somewhere in Ireland, and behind those children, their owners. The prophecy said that the Centre would rise again. The present Centre was just helping people, not like the old Centre, the old and powerful Centre. Perhaps now, they were rebuilding their forces here in Ireland, but why would they let two of their charges free unless the plans of the new Centre were underneath the basement and sub basement of this vast Trinity College. All he needed to do was to find out where.

"Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding du ding – ding ding ding ding ding ding ding du ding ding du ding du da ding da da ding da da ding da da ding da da ding ding ding ding ding."

Alex flipped open his cell phone when the introduction to "Midnight in Moscow" ended.. "Hello."

"Return to headquarters," said the voice in Russian.

"Not now," Alex replied, "I am very busy."

"Stop what you are doing. It is imperative that you return here or else."

Alex closed his cell phone, walked casually out the College, smiled at the girl, got in his motorcar, and left.

There was a crowd singing when Alex entered the pub, going through the various young people who danced to the music. He pushed through the mob — going to the door at the back, through the kitchen staff, out to the back door, and into the restaurant across the cobblestone road.

He knocked on the door, six times, said, "Девочки в Москве преданы."

The door opened. "Welcome Alex."

Here the dancers showed more of their flesh than the innocents dancing in the pub and some of them were completely naked, but no matter whether they wore just a G-string, a thong, or nothing at all, they all had a vacant defeated expression on their faces. Alex just ignored them. They were nothing, bodies for the use of the men.

The man sitting at the table was quite heavy set, Slavic features, wearing a Russian army colonel's uniform. He leaned with the confidence of those whom all obeyed. Once a heavy in the KGB, Vladimir Petrochov now ran a pseudo immigration bureau, sending young girls and women from the former Eastern European satellites of the Soviet Union, supposedly as maids to wealthy western houses.

Only it wasn't an employment agency. It was white slavery, girls forced into prostitution.

"What's going on? I'm not in that business."

"Ah the business of finding young girls jobs as 'nurses and housekeepers', not your business, but you are in the habit of enforcing, of punishing those who disobey." He handed Alex a photograph. "Do you know her?"

Alex shook his head. The girl looked about twenty, was probably seventeen, the type of girl from the country, her face pale almost white from living in a climate that went to forty below in the winter, her lips chapped. She wore a pale peach blouse and a brown skirt and she had dark red hair, and green eyes. She looked like the type of girl who went to work in the offices of most Russian cities, going home each night, bringing her paycheck to help her parents. This girl didn't work in an office.

"Marissa Saretov. She's been complaining to the police about her working conditions. . Naturally we want to make her an example." He snapped his hands apart as if he were breaking a trig.

"After some time, I suppose."

Petrochov smiled. "You are very charming, Alex. Court her, try to persuade her or make her believe you are courting her, but the end is what I want. I will read the papers."

"Where is she?" asked Alex. "I can get the job done and return here."

"Ah but Alex, she is in Constantinople."

Alex's eyes matched his stare. He didn't want to go to Constantinople when he had everything he wanted here. He knew that the Centre had had connections over there and besides there were other Russian mobs there. There he had to compete against other gang lords in the Russian Mafia, as the West called them.

The former KGB agent took something under the table and handed it to Alex. "Your passport, the location of your apartment is in the left side of the briefcase, plus enough money to keep you in style. The plane tickets are in the right hand pocket, first class of course. By the way, Alex, the implements you need to persuade the young lady are in the apartment as well as most of the cash."

Taking the briefcase, Alex left, but it wasn't that easy. Vladimir and two of Vladimir's men got in, one in the passenger seat, and one behind, and both carried weapons.

"So you don't trust me," he said.

"It is important that you eliminate the problem, Alex. It means a higher position, my second in command." Vladimir smiled. "Perhaps you and I become friends."

"Da," Alex replied.

As they rode towards the airport, Vladimir explained his plans of taking over as head of the Russian Mafia, uniting all the cells and groups into his, not realizing that Alex was thinking of himself as the head of the Russian Mafia, uniting all the cells —

"Have a pleasant trip," said Vladimir after they saw Alex in his seat and got off just before the sign went on for the passengers to fasten their seatbelts. He couldn't leave. Vladimir had made sure that Alex had a window seat and that the person on the aisle seat was an extremely obese woman.

So Alex stared out the window, seeing several police cars drive towards the runway, seeing the security guard go for his phone, but then the plane lifted off the runway, and took off to Constantinople.