Human Trafficking, The Retribution

100

About the Author

Jim Koris is a Canadian citizen who has been living, for most part of his life, in Toronto, Ontario. He is Greek by birth and was born in 1940. He lived the atrocities of WWII and later the Communist era. His early life was full of struggles for survival.

He worked hard as a young child in the streets of his birthplace, Thessaloniki, while attending high school at night. Later, he joined the Greek Army, as it was, and still is, a compulsory duty for every male citizen. All his life, he read tons of different books and magazines, and watched hundreds of movies. He likes to write stories of action and adventure. He studied screenwriting and wrote more than a dozen scripts.

Jim is married to Lelis and has two grandchildren.

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to

my daughter, Alexandra.

Copyright Information ©

Jim Koris (2020)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Koris, Jim

Human Trafficking, The Retribution

ISBN 9781643781976 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781643781983 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645367161 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019915849

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

USA

mail-usa@austinmacauley.com

+1 (646) 5125767

1

Jungle Path, Colombia, South America. Day.

Two Jeeps and a GMC truck, loaded with Colombian guerrillas on board, dash on a trail surrounded by heavy bushes and try to reach a concealed airstrip.

The roaring sound of a plane flying low above them is heard, with a banner hanging beneath it with an inscription in Spanish: Hello, freedom fighter brothers.

The pilot is Nikolai Pavlovich, in his 30s, an average-sized man with sharp penetrating eyes, and next to him is Sergey, his co-pilot and a childhood friend of the same size and age, with an ironic look on his face.

Nikolai’s voice is husky, and he drags his words in a lazy manner.

He also has a stuttering problem when he gets emotional. On the contrary, Sergey’s voice is smooth like a choirboy’s.

Sergey: Why you look so nervous, what’s the matter?

Nikolai (in a hoarse voice): Because every time I get an assignment to drop weapons here, I’ve got a cold feeling.

Sergey: Why man?

Nikolai (nervous): It’s dangerous, that’s why. We might be detected by the country’s radars and go down in no time. It happened before to a plane of our organization.

Sergey (worrying): Why didn’t you mention that before, instead, you dragged me along with you?

Nikolai: Because I needed someone I could trust, that’s all.

2

Airstrip. Later.

Nikolai lands and leaves the engine on while the two of them jump out, open the cargo door, and unload the weapons’ cases.

Moments later, the rebels reach the spot with their vehicles.

Carlos, a big man with long black hair and a curly beard, wearing a belt of cartridges around him and looking like the group leader, jumps out of the first Jeep and screams commands to his men in Spanish.

Carlos: Boys, hurry up and bring the money. Then to some others: "You, move your asses and bring the coca to the plane, then carry the weapons back here, now."

Then he and a couple of his men open the cases and check the weapons. Their faces look satisfied.

Nikolai and Sergey count the money with greedy eyes.

Next, they use up-to-date instruments and test the quality and weight of the cocaine. Carlos picks a ground-to-air missile from an open case, lifts it up, and aims in the air, laughing with sarcasm.

Carlos (in English to Nikolai): "Señor Nikolai, your shipment seems okay as we requested. Thanks to the Old Mother Russia’s technology, we have better weapons now than our army, ha-ha-ha."

Nikolai: "I am happy to hear that, amigo, and your gringo dollars feel good in my hands. I also hope your coca makes up the difference for the rest of the value."

Carlos: "Our coca, Señor, is the best quality money can buy. I can connect you with some good clients in Miami."

Nikolai: Thanks, we have our own in Europe.

Then Carlos goes to his Jeep and returns with a package.

Carlos: "I almost forgot, amigo. I have a present for you in appreciation of our good friendly relationship."

Then he hands him a case of cigars.

Carlos: Same brand brother Fidel smokes.

Nikolai: "You’re generous, amigo, thank you."

Carlos looks at the ground, thinking.

Carlos: "You know, amigo, I got something very special for you to remember me by every time you use it. Wait a minute." (He goes to his Jeep and, a moment later, returns with a package.)

Carlos (handing Nikolai a small wooden case): I’ve got this for you, my friend.

Nikolai opens it and looks inside. It’s a Rambo-style knife with one side like a saw. Nikolai shows admiration as he examines it. The handle is of ivory, and the knife is of silver.

Nikolai (starting to stutter): No, Carlos, no, I…can’t accept it, man. It’s a…very—very special gift, and I don’t deserve it. I—I don’t have anything suitable to offer you.

Carlos looks at him curiously, then at Sergey.

Sergey (smiling and with irony in his words): Don’t worry, Carlos, he becomes like that when he gets emotional. It’s your gift.

Carlos: "Amigo, Nikolai, don’t worry, take it. You’re a good and honest man, and you deserve it. Besides, it didn’t cost me anything. I stole it from a rich plantation owner." (Then he laughs.)

In the meantime, Nikolai’s eyes are wet from emotion.

He searches his pockets to offer Carlos something.

Then he takes, out of his neck, a choker that bears the symbol of the KGB Academy.

Nikolai: I hope you accept this personal item as a decent gift trade, Carlos.

Carlos: "I do, amigo, I do. It’s an honor."

Then they both hug and kiss each other goodbye while Sergey watches them, smiling.

3

Hidden Airfield Somewhere in the Balkans. Night.

Nikolai and Sergey land the plane here and bring it to a halt near a seemingly abandoned warehouse.

Its doors open and a team of five men come out. Three stand guard with machine guns, and the other two unload the drugs.

Nikolai and Sergey walk down a metal stairway. A makeshift elevator brings them to a floor below, near a door. Sergey dials some numbers on a security pad on it, then the door opens and they enter. The two friends enter a large recreation room where a number of people of both sexes are playing pool and cards, reading newspapers, chatting, and drinking.

When the two friends enter, some turn around and look at them with curiosity, then they continue their routine.

The two guys walk to the end of the