Birdcage

Chapter 2 Dane...

I sit silently, barely daring to breathe because I can't help but think they will somehow be able to hear me. They can't though - I know that, it's just a cautious paranoia that can sometimes come with the job. I'm sat in the room next to them - which is close I know - but the walls of this expensive London hotel are too thick for them to hear anything I'm doing. I listen to their boring conversation in Russian, hoping they will divulge some important information that will be useful to the operation. One of them is telling the other about a girl he fucked last night. My skin crawls at the thought of what that poor girl had to go through and if she was willing or not. This operation is one I feel very passionately about, which may not work in my favour. I don't like to think of myself as a 'spy', but I know that is what civilians like to call us. I'm actually an Operational Field Agent, and I need to focus on getting the job done, not how I feel about it. In this line of work, I have to push my feelings aside, or try not to have them at all if that's possible. I work for an agency that specialises in espionage, but also deals in a few other things that aren't openly talked about. We don't work for the government but they do hire us out when they know the operation is linked to people in high places, and they know their own agents can't stay covert; they also hire us for their dirty work, which happens more than you would care to know.

This latest operation - which between us and MI5 has been called 'Birdcage' - gives us the task of trying to destroy the huge trafficking problem we are facing in the UK and Europe. Which goes back to my disgust at listening to this animal talk about sex with a girl; I don't know if she has been trafficked or actually wanted to be with him. I can't imagine it's the latter, I've seen this pig and I don't know why any woman would want to be in the same room as him, let a lone touch him. I shake the thought from my head and remind myself to focus.

I've bugged their room and I'm listening in on them through a recording device to try find out where a hard drive is being kept. A hard drive that has information on all the filthy rich bastards funding and taking part in this trafficking; I believe there are a lot. They range from businessmen to politicians, and even includes people in charge of our policing -that's why we have been drafted in. Only a few people in MI5 know about us and that's who we have been liaising with, because their attempts have been blocked by someone anonymous but high up. It makes me sick to think that the people who are supposed to be protecting us are the ones committing such horrendous acts. I was last able to track the hard drive to these two idiots; Adrik Smirnov and Iev Vasiliev, two brick-shit houses that work for a Russian crime syndicate operating here in London. I've been tracking them specifically for the past week now, and I know that they were given it to look after until it's time for it to be passed on again. I believe they move it around the gang, to ensure it can't be tracked by the people they want to keep it away from. It is usually in the protection of their biggest henchmen rather than locked in a safe, like a sitting duck, waiting to be taken. The hard drive was created to log all clients that like to attend 'auctions', which is what they call the selling on of young women that have been trafficked. Not just women either, but kids too. Bile rises in my throat at the thought, but I push it down. They originally created this log to keep in touch with them all and let them know when other auctions will be taking place and where. But a few bad deals had gone down and the Russians started making enemies. The hard drive became their leverage, and has proven to be an effective one at that; they like to cash in on it from time to time too, picking someone at random to blackmail occasionally. As far as I am aware there is only one copy, and that will give us names, locations and even transaction details - enough to put them away for a very long time and destroy their status in society.

I take the headset off while they are still firmly talking about women, needing a break from the gory details. I stand up, stretching my arms and neck, before cracking my knuckles. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, before moving along to the huge window overlooking London. The hotel is in Mayfair, and I look down from the window at the thousands of people walking the pavements of one of London's wealthiest areas. They have no clue - no idea of the awfulness that takes place on their doorsteps. Or maybe they do, but they don't care. I spot a Starbucks coffee shop across the street and realise how incredibly hungry I am. I could murder a cup of coffee too, but I daren't go and get one in case I miss something next door. I could be missing something now which means I should probably go back to the head set. Before I do though, my eyes are drawn to a woman entering Starbucks. I'm mesmerised by her long, slender legs, and golden blonde hair blowing in the breeze. She steps to the side and opens the door for an old couple leaving the coffee shop. She's sweet too, I think to myself. This kind gesture means I've been able to catch a glimpse of her face as well, and it's just as beautiful as her body. I can't see the colour of her eyes but they look big, and she has full lips that make me want to leap from this window if I thought there was a chance, she might let me kiss them. Stop, what are you doing? I scold myself. It's been a little while since I've been with a woman, that's all. Now, back to the job.