Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) Read Online Free Page A

errand that took them right by a uniformed policeman on patrol, one of Arsov’s men in disguise. The imposter would stop the girl on a pretext and engage her in conversation, giving her ample opportunity to ask for help. If she did, he would appear sympathetic, then put her in his car and deliver her back to captivity. The fake ‘policeman’ would be given a large cash payment in front of the girl, cementing the idea that the police were in Arsov’s pocket, and the girl would receive even harsher punishment, ostensibly for incurring the cost of the policeman’s bribe.
    ‘Graduates’ of Arsov’s program went from being unsure who to trust to being absolutely sure they could trust no one, even the police. That, along with frequent reminders of what might befall their loved ones back in Russia and of their videotaped porn sessions and interviews in which they waxed enthusiastic about their new life in the sex trade, served to destroy all resistance. The girls were free to come and go as they pleased, because there was no longer hope of rescue.
    But it didn’t stop there. After Arsov had broken the girls to his will, he proceeded to reshape them. Top producers got special privileges, good food, and lavish gifts. Less enthusiastic girls were ignored, and if they failed to earn the minimum set by Arsov, they were punished. Repeated failure to meet quota meant a girl would be ‘sent away,’ which was rumored to mean she’d be sold to a brothel in some Third World shit hole that would make even her current lot seem wonderful by comparison.
    Arsov was the first to admit the process was time consuming, but he prided himself on taking the long view. After a girl was trained by his methods, she had a much longer working life than those controlled with drugs, and made much more money. Additionally, he needed almost no muscle to control the girls, and he could devote that manpower to growing other areas of the business. He could always use more manpower in the drug trafficking, and loan-sharking to the small but growing Russian expat community was an expanding business as well.
    “What about the new girl, Karina?” Nazarov asked, breaking into his thoughts.
    Arsov smiled. Beria had done a good job with that one, considering. She was by far the most challenging project he’d seen to date. Perhaps if things went well, he’d have Beria transferred here to London; he was a much more competent Number Two than this idiot Nazarov.
    “I’m enjoying little Karina, but I think she needs a bit more seasoning. I’ll keep her in my flat another week or so before she starts earning her keep.”
    Belgravia
London, UK
    Gillian Kairouz released the button as she heard the muffled sound of the bell chiming through the closed door. It wasn’t a harsh buzz or rapid ‘ding-dong’ but a slow, stately chime, totally in keeping with the upscale building in which she found herself. She heard footsteps inside, and then the door opened to reveal an attractive woman of somewhat matronly aspect and indeterminate age, her faced wreathed in a broad and welcoming smile.
    “Gillian, love,” the woman said, stepping into the hall to fold Gillian in a tight embrace, “it’s been far too long.”
    The woman released Gillian and stepped back, holding her at arm’s length. “And let me look at you! Father Time has been kind to you, I see. You’re as lovely as ever.”
    Gillian laughed. “And you’re still the charmer, Gloria, and looking well yourself.”
    “A girl does what she can,” the woman said, guiding Gillian through the door. “But come along. Let’s have a spot of tea and catch up.”
    Gillian surveyed the apartment as Gloria closed the door.
    “Belgravia no less. You seem to be doing well for yourself.”
    Gloria laughed again. “Appearances are everything, love. To be successful, one must first LOOK successful.”
    “I’m not even going to ask exactly what you’re successful AT,” Gillian said, moving through the