The Importer: A Michael Thomas Thriller, page 1
THE IMPORTER
A MICHAEL THOMAS THRILLER
GAVIN REESE
LIQUID MIND PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2022 by Gavin Reese Publications LLC.
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This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
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Although based on some portions of true events, this is a work of creative fiction. The characters and their names, along with the events, plots, and motives are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Gavin Reese donates a portion of all his sales to non-profit organizations that benefit law enforcement professionals and veterans, their families, and the heirs, survivors, and memories of our Fallen Heroes. A portion of The Debt Collectors proceeds helps fund law enforcement organizations that counter narcoterrorism. A portion of The Kizazi Murders proceeds goes to help cold case homicide investigations in the Baltimore, Maryland, area. A portion of proceeds from The Misery Merchant, The Exporter, and The Importer benefit organizations that improve the rescue, rehab, and recovery of sex trafficking victims.
MICHAEL THOMAS SERIES
The Absolver
The Trafficker
The Bombmaker
The Copycat
The Exporter
The Importer
Stay up to date with Gavin Reese’s work! Receive a free digital copy of The Confession by visiting https://links.liquidmindpublishing.com/The-ConfessionWL.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
Epilogue 3
Epilogue 4
Epilogue 5
Epilogue 6
Michael Thomas Series
Author’s Note
Cast of Characters: Absolvers
Cast of Characters: Church Officials
Cast of Characters: The Rest of God’s Children
Gavin Reese
“Murder: see Killing”
--Index, Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd Edition
“It is lawful to kill an evildoer in so far as it is directed to the welfare of the whole community, so that it belongs to him alone who has charge of the community’s welfare. Thus, it belongs to a physician to cut off a decaying limb when he has been entrusted with the care of the health of the whole body. Now the care of common good is entrusted to persons of rank having public authority: wherefore they alone, and not private individuals, can lawfully put evildoers to death.”
-- Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica [II-II, Q-64, Art 3]
PROLOGUE
March 8th, 10:34 a.m.
33 Derybasivska Street, Odessa, Ukraine.
The heels of Mishe’s handmade alligator dress boots clacked hard against the concrete as he stormed through the reinforced hallway beneath his office building. He straightened the cuffs of his imported designer dress shirt beneath his tailor-made suit as he walked. Two bodyguards escorted him on the sudden errand, one about ten steps in front of Mishe, the other six behind. They rounded the last corner, and the Russian oligarch sneered as he approached the reinforced steel door at the end of the hall.
A wiry man dressed in all black stood in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest and watched the trio approach. When his eyes met Mishe’s, his face went pale, and a half-smoked cigarette dropped from his lips.
“Otkroy eto,” Mishe commanded and waved at the door.
The guard hauled a keyring from his pants pocket and fumbled with the lock. The keys slipped and fell to the concrete.
Mishe’s lead bodyguard pushed him aside, grabbed up the keys, and unlocked the door. He glanced back for Mishe’s nod and then shoved the heavy door open and stepped into the brothel. Surprised voices could be heard and a metal tool clattered to the floor. Mishe waited a beat to ensure gunfire didn’t erupt.
“What do you want?” a gruff Russian voice demanded from inside the room.
Mishe grinned and sauntered in.
The brothel was arranged to steal all but the most private moments of its resident workers. Six mattresses were arranged on the floor: three on the long wall to Mishe’s left, one in the middle of the far wall, and two more to his far-right. A toilet and sink stood to his immediate right, and short, three-foot privacy curtains hung from PVC frames to define the ‘bath’ and separate each ‘bedroom’. By design, the guards could keep watch on Mishe’s girls without making eye contact with the customers.
Mishe didn’t recognize the two guards standing between the bathroom and the nearest bed, but he suspected he knew the brunette handcuffed to the chair facing away from him. The intended workers hadn’t yet arrived.
Both men stepped back and brought their hands up as Mishe approached their victim; neither wanted to claim the metal pipe on the floor at the girl’s feet. He glared at the guards and then turned to the young woman.
Dressed in oversized sweat clothes, she stared at the metal pipe. Her breathing was fast, clipped, and shallow, and she smelled of suffering and unshowered confinement. As Mishe strolled around in front of her, the hostage only lifted her eyes to the back wall, tracking him in her periphery. Bruises both old and new told of her misery during the last six weeks.
Rage burned in Mishe’s chest as he realized her fear.
“Chto ty s ney sdelal?” he demanded in a harsh whisper. What did you do to her?
“Nothing. We didn’t even touch her,” the taller of the two protested in Russian. “We threatened her, but—”
“She must have handcuffed herself to the chair, then,” Mishe continued in their native tongue. He turned to the guards, and they both retreated another step. “When I told your bosses she was special and needed to be brought here and watched, how did you come to understand this was what I meant?”
The shorter guard opened his mouth to explain, but Mishe cut him off. “Get out,” he growled and pointed to the door.
Both guards hurried to the exit, but Mishe’s commander and lieutenant appeared in the doorway, and they stopped.
“Nekras,” Mishe called out to the lieutenant. “You and Aleksandr take these two for a swim. See how badly they want to make amends.”
The taller guard retreated toward the wall with his hands up in surrender. “No, please, Mr. Matsukovitch, I—”
Mishe yanked a concealed pistol from the front of his waistband, cocked the hammer back, and aimed for the sniveling man’s right eye. “Then you can die right here.”
After exchanging a few short breaths, the taller guard nodded and followed his mate toward the hallway. Andrei Nekras and Mishe’s rear guard, Alexsandr, trailed close behind. Lyonya Malenkov, his second-in-command, closed the door and leaned against it.
Mishe reholstered the pistol, pulled a small keyring from his pocket, and unlocked the girl’s handcuffs. “You are Lacey, yes?” he asked in English.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she met his gaze when Mishe kneeled in front of her. The young woman’s eyes looked like roadmaps, and he expected she had sobbed on and off since her capture in New Orleans three months ago. “Yes... how did you...”
Even after all the neglect and abuse, her beauty captivated him. What Lyonya said was true, he realized. She is a young Catherine the Great. Muscular, beautiful. Sufficiently strong-willed that two grown men felt compelled to put her in irons. She might prove herself worth keeping alive, after all.
“I am Mishe, and you are here because of me. Well, in all fairness, your stepfather bears greater responsibility for your being here, but I cannot deny my part in it. I hope you understand I never wanted you to be treated like this.”
The woman’s ragged breathing dominated the room’s crypt-like silence.
“Where’s here?” she finally asked.
“Ah, yes. I am sorry for the secrecy, but it was necessary for your own safety. I did not wish for you to risk your life attempting escape. You are now in Ukraine, but we won’t be here much longer. My business soon demands us elsewhere.”
“I, I just want to go home. Please. I’ll find my own way home from wherever Ukraine is, and I promise not to tell anyone about what’s happened, and—”
“Shhhh,” Matsukovitch interjected. “There is no more ‘home’ for you, at least not how you knew it. Your stepfather, it seems, is dead. No one can find him, and he was last seen on a container ship that sank in the Gulf of Mexico many miles from your Louisiana. Even if he did make it off the ship, he won’t live once my men find him again.” He shrugged. “I understand that he abused you in terrible ways, and no man should ever take advantage of their family like that, even those they inherit.”
Mishe watched her for a moment, reached out, and slid a strand of unwashed hair back behind her ear.
Lacey flinched as his hand drew close, but she didn’t try to stop him.
“I know what it is like to be a second-class citizen in your own home. I grew up as little better than my father’s servants. We have far more in common than you might suspect.”
“Then why can’t I leave?” she whimpered.
He sighed and cocked his head. “I hope to give you another chance at a very different life than Lucius Lemalin and New Orleans had in store for you, Lacey. A much grander life filled with all the finer things that men bleed themselves and each other for. I need someone to share this life, both the one I have now and the one I will soon manifest. Someone equally strong. Someone grateful. Someone worth all that I will shower upon them.” Mishe straightened up and gave her a lopsided smile. “I hoped you might consider such an offer, in light of all that has been taken from you. You deserve it almost as much as I do, and there is nothing left in New Orleans or the United States for you. Why not start over with the chance of enjoying real grandeur?”
Lacey hesitantly scanned the room.
“This is not the life I have in mind for you. You should never have had to see this place. Once you’ve had time to consider everything, you can even choose to leave. I will not force you to stay past that.” He nodded to his remaining bodyguard. “My man, Sasha, will take you to my home. My medical doctor will see you, and Sasha will pass your wishes along to my staff. Most of them speak some English, but few are fluent. Whatever you wish to eat, whatever services you want, they will provide. Spa treatments, pampering, a haircut, perhaps. Sasha can have new clothes brought in for you to try on. Keep anything you like. Money is no problem, so anything you want is yours.”
“I just can’t leave.”
“Not yet. I hope you’ll consider my offer once you realize all it entails. May I?” Mishe held out his hand.
Lacey looked at his soft, manicured palm, and then up at him. She cautiously put her hand in his and let him help her up. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for giving me a chance.” He released her and looked at his bodyguard. “Keep a close watch on her. Make sure she wants for nothing.”
“Of course.” His subordinate spoke with a moderate accent and bowed slightly to the young woman. “My friends call me ‘Sash’.”
She inhaled and nodded. “Okay, Sash. Do I follow you?”
“Yes, this way, please.” The bodyguard led her to the door, which Malenkov opened for them.
Mishe’s second-in-command smiled politely and shut the door again once they were alone. Only then did his mood shift. “Have you gone mad, Mishe?” he asked in their native Russian. “Why are you taking such a risk?”
He smirked. “The heart wants what it wants, Lyonya. When you told me of her, I know you didn’t intend to suggest anything more than a tryst, but I find her, fascinating.” Mishe looked around the depressing brothel. “The other women we bring in can exist and work here, but not Lacey. She will earn her keep in far better environs. ‘Katerina Kruzhevnoy’.” Catherine the Lacey.
Malenkov approached his superior. “What will your father say? What of your brother? If they find out—”
Mishe stepped close and stopped just before their noses touched. Malenkov averted his eyes. “They are not your concern, Lyonya. I am the only one in the Beria family you need to keep happy. Neither of those men is long for this world.”
Malenkov startled and a smile came to his face. “Is that so?”
Mishe nodded and stepped back from his subordinate. “The old man’s on his deathbed, which isn’t news, but the time has come to prepare for our return to Moscow. I have more money than I could ever hope to spend, so it’s time to pursue the power that has evaded me. My elder brother, he will inherit the family business as his presumed birthright, and I wish to deprive him of that. They’ve shit on me for my whole life merely because my mother was the old man Beria’s favorite mistress. I want to return their cruelties ten-fold before watching life leave their eyes, so be ready, Lyonya. My time has come, and I will not squander this opportunity, no matter the risk. I prefer to die than live in my brother’s shadow any longer.”
“What do you intend?”
Mishe grinned and stared off in the distance. “Every man who ever freed himself did so by destroying his masters, his tormentors. I intend to do the same, along with anyone still loyal to them.”
He returned his gaze to Malenkov. “A civil war is coming to Russia, Lyonya, and the military and police forces will all be wise enough to step aside until I’m finished.”
CHAPTER ONE
May 9th, 05:32 a.m.
Atalaya Mountain Trail, Santa Fe.
Michael’s legs and lungs burned as he cut through the cool predawn air. He leaned forward toward the steep hillside and sprinted up the rocky Atalaya Mountain Trail that cut through the area’s piñon and juniper evergreen forest. Lactic acid built up in his muscles, and his pain receptors begged him to stop. “Not yet,” he chided himself. “Stop at the top!” Despite the increased step rate, each conquered less ground, and his pace slowed. Michael growled and swung his arms up with each step. If you’re not cheatin’, you’re not tryin’! He focused on the approaching plateau and refused to give in as fatigue added weight and misery to every step.
