HOKEY POKEY BUCURESTICadet Stela Dragomir leaned over the desktop and moved her finger to the next line of the flier inviting good looking women to apply for jobs outside of Romania. Her voice rose inquiringly as she read aloud the boldface print, her wide-eyed aquamarine gaze trained on the hiring agent seated on the far side of the desk, a Gypsy-handsome thirty-year-old who called himself Vlad.
FBI Special Agent Dawna Shepherd didn’t understand Romanian but she knew her undercover partner was asking Vlad about each of the openings advertised for “Girls—single and very pretty, young and slender, apply in person with valid passport.”
Vlad shook his head mournfully and muttered, “Nu, nu, nu.” Right now he had no positions for models or dancers or choreographers or gymnasts as the flier pr
