Code Shield by Eric Alagan Page A

be?”
    Donovich held a rectal bulb syringe between his thumb and finger. “You know how to use this or you prefer for me to do it for you?”
    The Chinese snatched the enema, entered the bathroom and slammed the door violently.
    Turning to the two Filipinas who remained huddled on the floor, Donovich growled, “You’ve seen the Chinese whore. It’s the same routine for you too. Within the next one hour, I want to see the hundred fifty sausages from you, each of you.”
    The braver Filipina glared but said nothing and the other woman sobbed.
    Donovich bent down and grabbed the glaring woman’s face in his large hand, his fingers and thumb digging into her cheeks,
    â€œI’ll say this only once. You can either shit it out or,” he gestured in the direction of Kashin, “lover boy here will cut it out.”
    He kept the grip on the woman’s cheeks until she nodded slightly. He pushed her back onto the floor and turned his attention to Annette.
    â€œI’m not carrying anything,” whimpered the Singaporean.
    â€œI know my little darling,” he leaned down until his nose almost touched hers. “That doesn’t mean you can’t work for a living. You like polishing Ruslan’s knob. That’s good because there’re many knobs requiring polishing – starting with mine today.”
    Annette cringed, turned her face away from the foul breath of her captor. Her eyes pleaded with Kashin. Her boyfriend returned a vacant smile. He tested the edge of a sharp kitchen knife with his thumb and his attention turned to the two Filipinas.

Chapter 9
    The next morning, Tara read the report from her contacts in Russian Police. She had relayed the digital photo of the Kalashnikov toting thug to the police who identified him as one Dmitri Karpov. The man, a heavy who worked for the local godfather, Ulrich Sobyanin, had graduated recently to international drug and human smuggling.
    There was a knock on the door and a clerical officer stuck her head into Tara’s office,
    â€œMs Banks, the ambassador wants to see you, right now please. Mr Logan is already there.”
    Lowe was in the ambassador’s office. He leaned back lazily on his armchair with his hands clasped behind his head.
    Tara took the seat beside Benjamin. She held the ambassador’s eyes as he studied her over the rim of his reading glasses. She knew that he had no direct authority over her but that did not stop him from trying to exert himself as he hid behind his overriding responsibilities .
    He reiterated that Assistant Director Lowe was in charge of the operations and the office of the ambassador expects Ms Banks to accord Assistant Director Lowe her full cooperation. The ambassador then dismissed Tara into Assistant Director Lowe’s charge.
    The assistant director wore a smirk on his face and led the way, with Tara and Benjamin in his wake. He had installed himself in the room next to the ambassador’s office. Lowe placed a carton box on the polished table in his new office and proceeded without preamble.
    â€œDuring baggage inspections in Changi we slipped locating beacons in the checked-in luggage of all six people,” patting the carton box, he continued, “the receivers just arrived via diplomatic pouch.”
    Using a paper cutter, he slit the box open and retrieved a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver, which was in a leather holster. Lowe flicked the cylinder open, peered into the empty chamber and spun the cylinder with his thumb. Before the cylinder clattered to a halt, he snapped it back with a flick of his wrist.
    Tara and Benjamin exchanged wry looks.
    The CNB man removed the cover of a small cardboard box, turned the box over and caught the twelve .38 calibre rounds in his other hand. He puckered his lips, shoved the revolver in his belt and slipped the ammunition into his pocket. Next, he removed two bubble-wrapped packages from the box.
    â€œThere are two