I grimaced. It was disgusting to play the role of Sylvia’s besotted boyfriend, but it was also necessary. I needed access to her files to take her down and the only way to do that was to get her to trust me.
Every time I was around her, I walked away feeling dirty. But I bore some sense of responsibility for her ascendance and I had to act. Three years ago, Sylvia had been a relatively small time operator. Her henchmen kidnapped vulnerable children from parts of the world torn apart by war and unrest and sent them to brothels around the world where they lived as indentured sex slaves, held prisoner against their will. As vile as that had been, her reach had been limited. There were plenty of players in the global slave trade and Sylvia had been jockeying to establish her place.
I’d inadvertently caused a power vacuum when I’d arranged the hit on Stanislav Durov without considering who would step into his place when he was killed. Without meaning to, I’d helped Sylvia by getting rid of Durov.
Utterly without conscience or empathy, Sylvia had increased her power dangerously since then. Unfortunately, this was the nature of fighting the slave trade. The vultures circled around the carcass of human misery and if you shot one of them out of the sky, another would appear to take its place.
As soon as I realized what had happened, I’d initiated my own counter-plan. Durov had been relatively easy. A bullet to the head and his empire had crumbled. Sylvia would be harder, because her organization had a successor waiting in the wings. If I killed her, another would rise in her place. No, with Sylvia, I needed to strip her of all of her resources.
Interpol. Tax agencies in many different countries. Every hidden Swiss bank account carefully tracked down. Each Cayman Island tax shelter uncovered. This operation, almost two years in the making, required the highest degree of coordination and secrecy.
“Next week,” I replied to Jean-Luc’s question. “She’s been doing her quarterly brothel tour, spreading fear and misery wherever she goes.”
Jean-Luc’s lips thinned with distaste. “I’ve heard she’s kidnapped a fresh set of unfortunate souls. From Tunisia, from Iran and Syria and from Georgia.”
I nodded. I did know this. Salim and Rachid had been especially livid about her activity in Tunisia. I’d had to soothe them in Bangkok, reassure them that I had a plan. They had still given me a warning. If I didn’t clean up this mess, they would act and the streets would be knee-deep in blood by the time they were done.
I had no mercy to spare for Sylvia. She didn’t deserve any. But I wanted to prevent all-out warfare. There would be too much collateral damage. Sylvia was completely capable of shooting each and every one of the slaves in her brothels to make a point about who was in charge.
“Did you notice that your girl is afraid of her?” Jean-Luc continued. “In the auction, when you were kissing Sylvia, I saw her watching, but she wasn’t looking at you. Her gaze was fixed on Sylvia and she was petrified. ”
“Really?” My voice was thoughtful. “Do you think they’ve come into contact before?”
“Well, Sylvia’s quite memorable, isn’t she?” Jean-Luc’s voice was cold. A very long time ago, Sylvia had been responsible for tearing his world apart. Jean-Luc wouldn’t rest until the Anliker sisters were exterminated.
In our operation, I was the planner. The waiting had chafed at Jean-Luc. I could understand that. It rankled at me too, especially given how much misery Sylvia caused every day she was alive. “Sylvia isn’t going to be a problem for very much longer,” I said. I heard the same coldness in my voice.
I didn’t want to think about Jenny being afraid. Everything in me ached to strip the fear from her eyes. I wanted her to be the way she’d been last night. Laughing and happy, sassing me in the playroom, until her breathing had quickened in arousal and only lust remained.
Jean-Luc nodded. He knew the plan. “Okay, let’s chat about Dylan.”
I exhaled. I detested talking about Dylan McAllister. He should have been dead a long time ago and it was to my everlasting shame that I hadn’t acted. I couldn’t think about him without feeling a hot flush of guilt.
However, I did have some news for Jean-Luc. Yesterday, I’d received a carefully encrypted email from one of his guards. Someone within Dylan’s organization was willing to switch allegiances. After the untimely murder of Ivan Klimov, it had taken two years of the most careful baiting for me to attract another defector, but I had finally succeeded. I showed Jean-Luc the message I’d received from Daniel Schneider.