The man studied Angie for a moment, then said to Nadia, “Let me know if you need help.”
When he left, Nadia went to work the far end of the bar. Angie finished her drink and motioned to Nadia for another. Nadia looked upset. She came over, wiping her hands on her apron. “What now?”
“Can I get a sparkling water?” Angie said.
Nadia returned with the water. As Angie took the glass from her, she said, “How about Semyon Zagorsky, then? Did you know him?”
A frown furrowed into Nadia’s brow. She flicked a look behind her back. When she returned her gaze to Angie, she looked scared. “Semy used to come into the club with Milo,” she whispered. “Then he got married, had a kid. He didn’t come after that.”
“Who were Semy’s friends? Anyone close who used to come here with him?”
“I don’t want trouble.”
“Please,” Angie said.
“Both Milo and Semy were tight with Ivanski and Sasha.”
“They have last names?” Angie said quickly, keeping an eye out for Nadia’s polo-shirted boss.
“Ivanski Polzim and Sasha Makeev.”
Adrenaline pumped into Angie’s blood, her mouth going dry with excitement at the lead.
“Where would I find Sasha and Ivanski?”
“Maybe they come into the club sometimes.”
“So they do still hang out here?”
The male manager returned. “All good, Nadia?” he said.
“Yeah, all fine.”
The man studied Angie for another long moment before leaving. As he disappeared from view, Angie quickly asked Nadia for her check. She was worried Mr. Polo Shirt was going to send in the bouncers, and she wanted to give Nadia a way to contact her before that happened.
Nadia handed her the check. Angie wrote the number for her disposable phone on it and pushed it back across the counter secreted between bills of cash. “Please,” she said, “phone me if you want to talk. Or if you remember anything else.”
Nadia took the cash, surreptitiously pocketing the note in her apron pocket as she went to attend to customers down the bar. Angie turned on her stool and surveyed the establishment as she finished her water. Couples and groups at the tables were enjoying late meals or desserts, or just drinks and snacks. A man seated in a dark booth at the back caught her eye. He was studying her with an unnerving intensity. He appeared to be dining alone, a newspaper in his hands.
He caught her gaze, then returned his eyes to his newspaper.
Angie finished her drink. She wasn’t going to get anything more out of Nadia here. But she had a fresh lead—two names. Ivanski Polzim and Sasha Makeev.
There was a chance they were the accomplices who’d escaped capture during the drug bust that had netted Belkin and Zagorsky. If so, one of them had left DNA at the drug bust scene that matched the semen DNA found on the purple sweater left in the cradle.
One could also be the VPD cop killer.
From the surveillance building across the street, Maddocks watched the monitors over the shoulders of two cops and a technician. The screens all showed live footage of Club Orange B from various angles. They’d been at it for hours—it was hitting midnight now. Something was definitely on the verge of going down, but what and when still remained the question. One monitor showed the outside parking lot next to the club. Another displayed a feed from the back alley. A few more streamed from inside the club.
As he watched, a van pulled into the parking lot and sat idle, exhaust fumes puffing into the wet night. The lot was full with newer model SUVs and cargo vans. He turned to study the monitors showing the interior of the club again. Patrons dining. Dancers at their poles. Lounge singer. Folks sitting at the bar.
His work phone rang. It was Takumi. They were using cells, not radios, which might be listened in to. Takumi said they were on—cargo containers had been unloaded from a vessel out of China. Two of the containers carried human cargo. From them a total of thirty-two females had been moved into two trucks owned by Atlantis Imports. The trucks had left the docks in convoy, following a black SUV with plates registered to Atlantis Imports. Another SUV brought up the rear, plates registered to the same company. Cops were tailing the convoy now. A helo hovered way up high, monitoring progress. Intel from Rollins’s UC at the port was that the human cargo was headed toward Club Orange B. ETA around twenty minutes, if a direct route was followed. Emergency response teams were stationed outside and around the club, waiting for Maddocks to give the command on his end. The goal was to storm the joint only once all the women had been taken inside.
“It’s going down,” Maddocks said to the surveillance team as he killed Takumi’s call. “Twenty minutes.”
In tense silence they watched the screens. The footage showed several more men entering the club. The males went through the restaurant, past the bar, disappearing through a door at the back. The surveillance team knew from their UC that the door led upstairs, but their surveillance did not extend into that area. Maddocks turned his focus to the footage showing the inside entrance of the restaurant. A woman had just come in. Alone. His body tightened, every nerve in his body suddenly on raw alert as he watched the female. Long hair fell in a sheen as she bent forward to talk to the hostess. The hostess pointed to the bar. The female turned. Shock slammed through Maddocks—Angie?
What in the hell?
Tension crackled through his veins. She seated herself on a barstool, ordered a drink, and began conversing with the female bartender. Slap-bang in the middle of their takedown operation. He had to get her out, stat. Shit. He rubbed his mouth hard. This was his fault. He’d given her too much information. She’d gone to see Milo Belkin, and Belkin was now dead. Had she gone to see Semyon Zagorsky as well?
Had Belkin and Zagorsky told her something that had brought her here?
Her presence inside that club could send the entire Aegis op sideways.
He should have turned her in to Takumi for everyone’s safety, including her own. This was why cops in relationships could never be partnered on the job—decisions were made out of emotion, not cold, dispassionate logic.
Maddocks’s heart raced as he considered his options. He reached into his pocket for his burner phone and dialed the number he had for her. No response. Number inactive. She had to have switched out phones when she checked out of her Coal Harbour hotel. He couldn’t go into the club, either, and haul her out—he’d blow the entire op himself. The girls could be killed. The UC’s life could be put on the line. Other officers, including Angie, would be placed in lethal danger.
He watched Angie write something on a piece of paper, secrete it between dollar bills, and push it toward the bartender. The bar woman pocketed the note and went to the far end of her counter. Angie then angled on her stool to watch the dancers as she finished her drink.