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    Flesh Traders
    Flesh Traders
    Flesh Traders
    Ebook316 pages5 hours

    Flesh Traders

    By Drew Lindsay

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    About this ebook

    The flesh traders kidnap daughters of the wealthiest people in the world, ship them secretly to Australia, brainwash and terrorise them before selling them as sex slaves in an exclusive underwater resort. Parents are forced to make regular ransom payments, or have their daughters killed. Only ex-detective Ben Hood (desperately attempting to take a relaxing holiday) could accidently stumble into an operation so sinister and dangerous. They know he knows. They have engaged the most bizarre and deadly hit man in Australia to take him out. Only a crazy person would attempt to smash this operation and try to rescue any of these girls. Then again, this is Ben Hood and they say he is a little crazy.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDrew Lindsay
    Release dateApr 1, 2012
    ISBN9781476234168
    Flesh Traders
    Author

    Drew Lindsay

    Drew Lindsay is a dynamic Australian Novelist and Writer. He has travelled extensively throughout Australia and the world. His background includes working as a Policeman and detective, then managing his own private investigation business as well as working in Fraud Investigation Management positions within the insurance industry.Drew is a PADI Divemaster and holds a private pilot's license. He has a great love of entertaining others with his vivid imagination. His novels allow the reader to escape into worlds of romance, excitement, humour and fast paced adventure. Drew lives in northern New South Wales with his wife.

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      Book preview

      Flesh Traders - Drew Lindsay

      Chapter One

      ‘Who’s out there?’

      Silence.

      ‘I’ve got a gun. I’m a very good shot.’

      Silence. Barbara Coulcher’s grandfather clock seemed to tick louder than ever before, because her ears were straining to pick up the slightest sound. Someone was outside. Her house was on the west coast in an extremely isolated part of Western Australia and her nearest neighbour was over 15 kilometres to the south. She had no idea who her neighbour was. She had never met them. They operated some ritzy resort on the coast with lots of vehicles coming and going and helicopters buzzing in and out like flies. Barbara had lived alone here for almost 3 years. Her clock began to strike 8 pm. It was the slow, slightly off tune bonging of a cheap Westminster quarter hour chime, handed down from a Grandmother who had brought up her Mother and 6 others on a shoe string budget with buckets of tears, a vagrant husband, kerosene powered fridge and hurricane lamps.

      Barbara turned off the living room table lamp and switched on the outside verandah lighting. That put her in the dark and the intruder in the light, although she couldn’t see anyone through the windows. So far she had only heard sounds of creaking verandah floor boards. Soft, slow creaking, made by someone taking their time. The clock had reached its 8th chime following the full Westminster theme. The person could have moved further during that time and the sound of the clock may have covered creaking floor boards. Now however, Barbara could hear only the soft, rhythmic ticking of the clock. Ocean waves rolled gently towards shore in the distance, but that was well below the hill on which her grey weatherboard house stood and over time she had grown so accustomed to the sound of the ocean, she hardly noticed any more.

      There was no point ringing the police. The nearest police station was at Broome, almost 50 kilometres to the south. Barbara knew she would have to deal with this situation by herself. She had a gun. That was of some comfort, although she had only fired it once and that was 20 years before. It was an ancient .22 Lithgow rifle which used to be her Father’s. Single shot. That was not so comforting. She knew it had a bullet in the breach because she had loaded it within minutes of hearing the intruder outside. She had slid the bolt closed and pulled back the spring loaded firing pin. The bullet had come from a packet she had acquired under rather odd circumstances in Broome 3 years before. She hoped they were still in good condition. If her life may now depend on the gun, the bullet had to go off when she pulled the trigger. If the firing pin just went ‘click’ she would be in huge trouble.

      Barbara knew she couldn’t just stand there and wait for something to happen. She was sick with fright as it was. The longer she waited, the worse she felt. She had to do something. It was time to confront the intruder and send him packing. The sight of the gun should frighten him off. She took slow, measured steps along the worn carpet to the front door. She had locked it earlier in the evening, together with the screen door. That was also comforting because she knew when she unlocked and opened the heavy timber door, a second barrier remained and one she could see through. It was however, just a cheap fly screen door. A strong man could break it down in seconds. She did however, have the gun.

      Trembling fingers of her left hand unlocked the door. ‘Alright whoever you are. I’m coming out and I’ll shoot you if you come anywhere near me.’

      Silence.

      She slowly opened the timber door inwards. Moths fluttered around the porch lights either side of the doorway but there was no other movement. No-one leapt towards her. Whoever had walked along her front verandah was either gone, or remained totally still. Barbara unclipped the wire screen door and pushed it gently outward. She stepped forward, holding the rifle in her right hand with a finger on the trigger and quickly looked left and right. Nothing. No-one. Just a gentle ocean breeze in her face with the smell of salt and seaweed. She stepped onto the verandah and let the fly screen door swing shut. On the left, the verandah was clear to the corner, other than a weather beaten table and two timber chairs sitting against the railing, 15 metres away. On the right, around 5 metres away, was a large spiky cactus which some misguided soul of previous occupancy had chosen to plant in a brightly coloured Greek amphora. Barbara swung the rifle in that direction and held it firmly in both hands. There was an almost imperceptible movement behind the large bright red amphora. She could see the tip of black hair above the rim. Fingers of someone’s hand on the floor boards at the base of the amphora.

      ‘I’ve had about enough of this,’ said Barbara in her most assertive voice. ‘You get out here now!’

      Silence. No further movement.

      Barbara tightened her finger on the trigger of the rifle and took a step towards the cactus. ‘I swear I’ll shoot you if you don’t show yourself now!’ She was inwardly quite frantically debating if she would actually shoot the person hiding there or just keep pointing the rifle at them and hope for the best. What best? She also quickly realised that she couldn’t shoot this person through the heavy amphora, but would have to walk around and actually confront the person. Why was he hiding behind the amphora and not jumping out or doing what intruders are supposed to do? She had told him over and over that she had a gun. Was this person crazy? He should have come into the open by now. He had been commanded to do so by someone who said they had a gun. What the hell was wrong with this person? Barbara’s mind was buzzing with possibilities.

      Obviously confrontation was the only way forward. The person wasn’t coming into the open. Barbara had no idea why someone would try to hide on her verandah, their presence clearly detected, but still refusing to move. This was totally bizarre. She took another step towards the amphora and moved left to the verandah railing. The hand was more visible and the grey material of a sleeve. At least it was a small hand with long fingers. Dainty actually. Not a man’s hand. That was comforting. Barbara’s courage grew. She took another step forward. The face startled her. It was framed in shoulder length, perfectly straight, jet black hair. Large brown eyes, wide with fear. Olive skin. A nasty cut across the forehead and blood oozing. Full lips. Vogue model material, crouching like a frightened animal behind the amphora. Long eye lashes blinked in the light. The girl looked no more than 20. Stunning South Pacific looks. Quite athletic. Dressed in what appeared to be grey overalls. She wore no shoes and her bare feet were lacerated and bleeding.

      Barbara lowered the barrel of the rifle and took her finger off the trigger. ‘Lord in heaven,’ she said softly. ‘What have we here?’

      The girl said nothing. She kept her eyes fixed on Barbara.

      ‘What are you doing way out here?’ asked Barbara.

      The girl remained silent.

      ‘You got a name?’

      No response.

      ‘Where did you come from?’

      Silence.

      Barbara took a step towards the girl and she instantly pressed herself more firmly against the wall of the house and the edge of the amphora. Barbara backed up. ‘OK, you’re obviously frightened. I can see that. You also scared the shit out of me young lady so I guess we’re both even. You are very lucky I didn’t shoot you.’

      The two women stared at each other. Moths continued to dash themselves against the verandah lights.

      Barbara looked out into the darkness. Nothing else moved on her tiny patch of dry front lawn or in the poor excuse for a front garden, starved into almost extinction by lack of available water. She looked back at the girl and held out her left hand. ‘Let’s go inside. We need to get you patched up a bit I think.’

      The girl remained motionless for several long moments; then held out her right hand. Barbara moved forward and grasped the slender, dirty fingers. The girl moved so lithely to her feet that Barbara was momentarily startled. They stood face to face but the girl was trembling. She was much taller than Barbara had expected. She led her into the house and switched on the hallway light. She closed and locked the door. ‘Now come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up,’ said Barbara, propping the rifle against the wall in a corner. She led the girl down the hall to the tiled bathroom, flicking on the light as they entered. The girl looked briefly around and then walked to the basin, ran the cold tap and put her mouth to the stream of water. She drank deeply.

      Barbara opened a large louvered door and took two heavy blue towels from the recessed cupboard. ‘You get showered young lady. You can use my robe behind the door here. I’ll rustle up some clothes for you. They’ll be a bit small on you but those overalls need to go in the wash.’ The girl remained silent. Barbara held the towels out. ‘I’m not sure what’s going on here, but you are safe with me. Do you understand?’ The girl said nothing but she moved two steps forward and took the towels from her hands. Barbara noticed tears welling in the girl’s large brown eyes. ‘We’ll talk later. I’ll get you something to eat.’

      Barbara turned and left the room, closing the door. She walked slowly along the hallway to the lounge room at the front of the house, her mind in turmoil.

      Blood. There were smudges of blood on the carpet from the girl’s feet. Barbara walked the length of the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house, flicked on the light and held a large cloth under a running tap at the sink. She dabbed and removed each blood stain from the bathroom to the front door. The shower wasn’t running.

      The silence was broken by the sound of a large engine and heavy tires approaching on the gravel driveway at the back of the house. Bright headlights flashed through the rear door window. The vehicle roared around to the left hand corner of the house, skidding to a stop in a cloud of red dust. The motor was turned off. Two doors slammed and crunching footsteps approached the front door. Barbara tucked the wet cloth into a back pocket of her jeans. She retrieved the rifle, unlocked the front door and pulled it open. Two very large men climbed the three stairs onto the verandah, squinting through the bright outside lights. Barbara checked that the fly screen door was locked. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice calm and even.

      One of the men advanced and stood within a metre of the doorway. He peered in. ‘I see you’ve got a gun there.’

      ‘Yes I have,’ said Barbara, raising the barrel slightly. ‘Loaded and ready to go.’

      ‘No need for that Ma’am. I’m your neighbour from down the road a piece. Peter Harper’s my name and this is my associate, Simon.’

      Barbara noted that Simon was a very tall Aboriginal. ‘How can I help you?’

      ‘We’re looking for my ward. Seems she might have gotten lost or run off or something. We had a bit of an argument. You know how young girls are.’

      ‘Your ward?’

      ‘That’s right Ma’am. Pretty little thing. Just over in Australia for a visit at my resort. My Father and she are close friends.’

      ‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen anyone around here today,’ said Barbara.

      ‘I don’t know your name,’ said Peter Harper. ‘Don’t think we’ve ever met and I’ve been here for years.’

      ‘I do believe you’re right Mr. Harper, and I’d prefer to leave it that way.’

      Harper raised both hands in the air, palms outwards. ‘Just trying to be friendly.’ He took a pace backwards and looked both ways along the verandah. He looked at the floor boards for a moment. ‘Looks like there’s some blood here lady. You shoot something at your front door?’

      ‘No. I cut my foot on a rock this evening, that’s all.’

      ‘Yep, there are some sharp rocks around out there. Not a good idea to go wandering about in your bare feet I would suggest. Perhaps you should see a Doctor?’

      ‘I am a Doctor,’ snapped Barbara.

      ‘That so…!’

      ‘Yes, and I’ve taken care of my small cut. Thank you for your concern. I’m sorry I can’t help you with your missing ward.’

      Harper scratched at the stubble on his chin. ‘She’ll turn up. Not too many places to go out here in the middle of no-where. She’ll come to the lights just like those moths there.’ He glanced at the porch lights.

      ‘She may be back at your place by now,’ Barbara ventured. ‘I can see your lights over there on a clear night. I’m up fairly high on this hill.’

      ‘So you are.’ Harper turned and looked south into the darkness. ‘I can’t see lights.’

      ‘Not a clear night tonight,’ said Barbara. ‘Bit of sea mist rolling in.’

      ‘If my girl should happen this way, I’d appreciate you letting me know. Her Father would be frantic if he knew I’d misplaced her.’

      ‘Of course. You’re in the phone book Mr. Harper?’

      ‘You can get me or my staff under Aquatic Dream Corporation. We’re in the local phone book. I assume you have one?’

      ‘Aquatic Dream?’

      ‘That’s us.’

      ‘What does she look like?’

      Harper looked momentarily bewildered. He glanced at his companion. The man Harper had previously introduced as ‘Simon’ was dressed in what appeared to be rather expensive leisure slacks, leather shoes and a Polo brand cream shirt. He took a pace forward and peered through the flyscreen at Barbara. ‘She’s Pacific Islander Ma’am.’ His accent was cultured, educated Australian. ‘She’s very pretty and about 21. Her name is Yvette. That’s French but she’s not French.’

      ‘Is her Father French?’ asked Barbara, looking directly at Harper.

      ‘No.’ Harper appeared uncomfortable. ‘I would appreciate any information you may have as to her whereabouts’.

      ‘Certainly. Good evening gentlemen.’ Barbara stepped back, closed and locked the front door. Heavy boots tramped across the verandah and down the short three timber steps to the lawn. The large motor growled into life and the vehicle reversed. Headlights blazed, sending shadows of the verandah posts and railings through the lounge room windows and onto the wall. Gears crunched and large tires threw gravel and dust as the black Hummer moved alongside the house to the red dirt track leading away from the coast. Probing headlights and red tail lights eventually disappeared into the blackness.

      Barbara leaned the rifle against the wall. Her hands were trembling. Her mouth was dry. She knew these were just symptoms of fear. She was very used to this. She had been living with the very real fear of death for over 4 years. Malignant colon cancer, diagnosed in Sydney around 5 years ago was spreading throughout her body. Unsuccessful, sickening chemotherapy followed, although she stopped that within weeks. She refused surgery as the prognosis was dismal. A precious, longstanding relationship, failed to sustain her. She suffered total emotional breakdown, then ran away to hide from everyone forever until she died. She lived with fear. Intolerable fear.

      Over time, in the Australian wilderness adjoining the Timor Sea, Barbara had learned to cope with her fear. Some days she even forgot it was lurking there. Now it was back with a vengeance, but this time, different. This time, in current circumstances, she had experienced fear for totally other reasons and the adrenalin surge was both frightening but also exhilarating.

      ‘I’m too old for this shit,’ she whispered. There was silence from the bathroom. She turned off the outside lights and walked to the bathroom door. ‘It’s OK. They’re gone. I’m assuming they were looking for you dear.’

      Silence

      ‘We’re going to have to talk about this when you’re cleaned up. I haven’t got a damn clue what’s going on here but this is my home and you owe me some explanation.’

      Again, silence.

      ‘I’ll put the kettle on and make some sandwiches. You’ll find me in the lounge room when you’re ready. I’ll leave one of my track suits just outside the door. Nothing fancy mind you.’

      Barbara went to her bedroom and pulled out dark blue track suit pants and a black tee shirt. She wasn’t loaning her underwear to anyone, not that the underwear, particularly her small sized bra, would be of much assistance to this well proportioned girl. She placed the clothing outside the bathroom door and went to the kitchen. The water in the shower began to run. That was a positive sign. The girl looked to be in a state of absolute shock, but at least she knew how to turn on a shower. The Westminster clock chimed 15 minutes past 8. Barbara felt it had been the longest 15 minutes of her life.

      ****

      Chapter Two

      Yana moved carefully. She held the bamboo pole tightly in both hands and her eyes never left Ben’s. She circled him cautiously because she knew he could be dangerous. She lunged at him with the pole and he blocked the attack effortlessly. She lunged again and he blocked with lightning speed, jarring her hands with the power of his sweeping arm.

      Yana Gibson was a solicitor. She was the youngest partner in the Sydney based firm Stewart and Thorne. 25 years old with stunning looks and athletic body. Her brown eyes flashed with anger as she took a step back and considered another strategy for hurting her opponent. She desperately wanted to hurt Ben Hood. Her normally shoulder length brown hair was tied back in a pony tail. Her karate rating was third dan.

      Ben Hood was a retired police detective, just over 50 years of age but extremely fit from years of training in the large room where he now faced Yana. Ben stood 6’ 1" tall, of solid build with muscular arms and calloused hands. His greying hair was short. His deep blue eyes never left Yana’s face although he also knew exactly what she was doing with her hands, body and feet. This was a body he knew quite well, both in the training room as well as the occasional bedroom session. The bedroom sessions had stopped since his return from a body guard assignment in Cooktown eight weeks prior, following his dramatic tangle with a deranged serial killer at Black Mountain. During this time he had also become quite close to a stunning part Aboriginal woman named Merinda Jerome. Yana wasn’t impressed. She lunged at him again. This time Ben caught the pole in both hands, pulled her forward and off balance. He quickly jerked the pole to the left and kicked it hard with a sweeping motion of his right foot, knocking the pole from her grasp. Ben flung it across the room where it clattered against the wall. Yana pivoted on her left foot and aimed a high kick at Ben’s head. He blocked it effortlessly. Her breathing was now coming in short gasps in contrast to Ben’s slow, controlled breaths. She lunged at him again, aiming a straight punch to the centre of his chest. Ben blocked her arm with a rapid sweeping motion of his left arm and then pushed her hard in the chest with his right hand, knocking her off balance. She began to slowly circle Ben again, desperately seeking a weakness but realising with frustration there was none.

      ‘Would someone mind telling me what the bloody hell is going on here?’ Akira Misaki pushed himself out of his padded chair and walked slowly towards Ben and Yana. He locked his fingers and cracked large, thick knuckles. These were not large because of arthritis but rather from many years of extensive Karate training and fighting. Akira was Korean born, 64 years old and rated 8th Dan Hachidan (Japanese and Pal Dan (Korean) He was highly respected as Karate Master in Australia, and in fact the world. He had spent considerable time training Ben and Yana and was proud of their achievements in karate skills and personal stamina.

      Ben stepped back and lowered his arms from their defensive position. ‘I think the lady is pissed off with me.’

      Akira stopped in front of Yana. He turned his back on Ben. Akira was only fractionally taller than Yana at 5’8", however he was three times her size in body mass and most of that was pure muscle. He was bald. On this occasion he wore a military style baseball cap, jet black kimono and brown leather sandals. ‘Is that right?’

      Yana was clearly angry. She looked past Akira towards Ben. ‘He cheated on me.’

      ‘I see.’ Akira folded his muscular arms. ‘Lovers spat eh?’

      Yana slowly lowered her arms and looked at Akira. ‘We’re not lovers any more. I don’t want anything to do with him. I don’t want to train with him again.’

      ‘And you won’t young lady. You’re letting personal issues over ride the strict discipline of karate and I won’t allow that. You also run the risk of having Ben instinctively resort to his extremely effective skills of Shin Obi Ninjutsu and that would put him in as much trouble as you seem to have placed yourself.’

      ‘He wouldn’t dare.’

      ‘Everyone has their breaking point Yana.’

      ‘It was a stupid idea putting us together in the first place. He hates lawyers and I hate police and ex police in particular.’

      ‘It didn’t seem that way to me a few months ago.’

      ‘A momentary lapse of judgement on my part. It

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