by DV Berkom
“Be good,” she said in a low voice, and then turned back to the assistant. “I’m ready whenever the director is.”
Kadeem Hakim got up and walked to a door with a plaque on it that read Camp Director and opened it a fraction. “The reporter from Slam is here to see you,” he said into the room. He stepped back and opened the door, motioning for Leine to enter. “She’ll see you now.”
JINN PAGED THROUGH the binder, pretending to look for her mother’s name on the computer-generated list. After several minutes, she grew bored and glanced at Kadeem, who was busy typing something on his computer.
“I don’t see my mother’s name in the book,” she said.
The assistant director looked up, concern creasing his forehead. “Would she have used a different name, perhaps?”
Jinn shook her head. “I don’t think so. Like what do you mean?”
“Oh, like her maiden name? Before she was married—” His cheeks colored as he caught himself. “Or maybe a different family name?”
“No, I don’t think so. It was only my mother and me.” She gave him the sad expression that always seemed to elicit sympathy from people. “Would it be all right if I go outside? I promise I won’t go far.”
“I suppose it would be fine.” He glanced through the clear plastic cutout that acted as a window. “It’s getting dark, so don’t stray too far. Your friend shouldn’t be much longer.”
“I won’t.” Jinn walked out and closed the door behind her. She threw back her head to look at the deepening indigo of the night sky, marveling at the number of bright stars already visible. The sun had set, cooling the furnace-like heat to a more comfortable temperature.
“What’s your name?”
Jinn startled at the voice nearby and turned to see who had spoken. It was boy, a bit younger and half a head shorter than she was. His dark hair curled around his ears and spilled onto his forehead, framing the face of an angel. She smiled, taken in by his friendly curiosity.
“My name is Jinn.”
His eyes lit up and he grinned. “You’re a jinn? Will you grant me a wish?”
“I will if I can. But first you have to tell me your name.”
“Ahmed.”
“All right, Ahmed. What is this wish of yours?”
He grew serious and leaned in closer so she could hear him. “I wish to go back home.”
Jinn’s smile faded, and she cocked her head. “And where is your home?”
“My family lives in Qaram. My aunt and uncle are waiting there.”
She stopped short of telling him Qaram had been flattened. Why make him sad? “Who brought you here?”
“My older sister, Habiba, and my brother, Yusuf. Our house was blown up and we have to stay here until it is rebuilt. Then we can go home.”
Jinn considered what she could say to him without dashing his hopes. “There are many people working hard to rebuild your village. I will add your wish to the list of wishes from the people of Qaram, but you will have to wait your turn.”
Ahmed nodded, his expression solemn. Then a grin split his face. “Would you like to meet my sister? She’s mostly nice.”
“I don’t think—”
At that moment, a man coming through the front gate caught Jinn’s eye. There was something familiar about the way he walked, and it took a moment before a jolt of recognition seized her. It was the same man who had been searching for her in the medina. Heart in her throat, she turned her back to him and faced Ahmed.
“What is it?” the boy asked, his eyes wide.
“The man who just came through the gate. He’s a dangerous man and I don’t want him to find me.” She gave a small nod behind her. He craned his neck to see him. “Don’t look!” she hissed.
Ahmed snapped back into place.
“I need to hide.” Jinn looked around her, wondering where she could go that he wouldn’t be able to find her. Why was he here? Had he followed them? She thought of the phone in her pocket. She needed to get rid of it in case she was caught.
“Come this way.” Ahmed took off running down a dimly lit walkway. Not daring to look in the gunman’s direction, she raced after him.
Despite Ahmed’s small size he was fast, and she struggled to keep up. They wove through the camp, heading farther away from the entrance and the administration tent. By the time Ahmed stopped, Jinn was breathing hard and had lost all sense of direction. They stood next to a section of chain link fence separating the camp from the desert beyond. A padlocked door leading outside was to their left. The long shadows caused by the setting sun obscured their position. The nearest light was several yards away, from a tall pole.
“Where are we?” Jinn asked between breaths.
“It’s secret.” He held his finger to his lips. “This way.”
He pushed on the fence and it separated, leaving a gap wide enough for a person. Ahmed gestured for her to go first. With a nervous glance behind her, Jinn slipped through the opening.
9
LEINE WALKED INTO the director’s office and scanned the room. To her right were several metal file cabinets, all neatly labeled. To her left, a bookshelf groaned under the weight of dozens of books, manuals, and three-ring binders. A brass lamp illuminated a woman sitting behind a putty colored metal desk that looked as though it could withstand a rocket-propelled grenade.
“Ms. Yardley, I presume?” Director La Pointe rose and extended her hand.
“Please, call me Ava.” Leine shook her hand. The director was in her mid-thirties with chestnut brown hair. She stood several inches shorter than Leine’s five foot ten but exuded a presence that belied her smaller stature.
“And you can call me Blanche. Please, have a seat. I’m afraid we don’t stand on formality here.”
“Your accent—Southern France?” Leine took the chair across from her.
Blanche La Pointe smiled. “Very good. You have spent time there?”
“A bit, yes. The French accent I encountered while visiting was different than what is spoken in Paris.”
“Quite true. My uncle and aunt lived in Provence and I would often visit them on school holidays.” She typed something into her laptop and then slid it out of the way. “Shall we begin? I don’t mean to be rude, but I have many tasks that require my attention before I will be able to call it a night.”
“Of course.” Leine reached into her satchel and brought out her phone. She pulled up a recording app and turned the screen to face her. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
Blanche La Pointe shook her head. “No. I prefer that you do. It seems that whenever a reporter fails to do this, my words are taken out of context with terrible results.”
Leine placed her phone on the desk between them and opened her notebook. “When did you first become aware children were missing from the camp?”
“Only last week.”
“When would you say the first of them disappeared?”
“We’re not sure.”
“You’re not sure?” Leine let the sentence hang in the air between them.
A look of annoyance crossed the director’s features. “These are children who were orphaned in the war and have no families to report their disappearance.”
“But surely they’re accounted for?”
Her jaw flexed and a slight tic appeared above her eye. “Of course. But this is a large facility. Sometimes what we’d like to happen and what actually does isn’t the same. Keeping track of every child is a monumental task for the amount of personnel we have. Especially the orphaned ones. They arrive with no paperwork at all. Those with families are much easier to keep tabs on.”
Leine made a note in her book and continued. “What happened to make you aware of the problem?”
The director sighed and rubbed her eyes. “One of the girls who attends the school here asked her mother where her friend was, as she hadn’t seen her in over a week. Her mother came to my assistant director to find out if she’d been transferred or had otherwise left the
community. That was the first time either of us became aware there was a potential problem.”
“What steps did you take once you realized more than one child was missing?”
“We tightened security, as you can see by the entrance—”
“Is that the only entrance or exit to the camp?”
“Yes. Except for the maintenance gate, which is always locked. Only three people have the key. Myself, the assistant director, and head of maintenance.”
“And is the entrance manned twenty-four-seven?”
“For the most part.”
“Do you mean to say that there are times when the front gate is not monitored?”
La Pointe stilled, bristling at the implication. “I’m not sure I appreciate your line of questioning, Ms. Yardley. What are you suggesting?”
Leine put down her pen. “I’m trying to get to the facts. Forgive me if this is somewhat interrogatory. I promise you, the article is not intended as a hatchet piece. Subscribers will want to know the answers to these questions. You are aware of my magazine’s reputation?”
“I am. I believe the tagline is ‘Hard-hitting stories by hard-hitting journalists.’”
“Exactly.”
She tented her fingers and studied Leine for a moment. “To answer your question, once we were aware of the disappearances, we scoured the camp, interviewing other children and the families who may have had contact with the missing. We’ve searched outside the camp, and we’ve tightened security. No one enters the compound or leaves without signing in with the guard. What I mean when I say ‘for the most part,’ is that occasionally the guard at the front gate will take a quick bathroom break and leave their post without someone to take their place. At that time, the gate is closed and no one is allowed to enter or leave.”
“Are there security cameras?”
“Yes, although not as many as I’d like. Our organization is dependent on donations. We do not receive funding from Libya or Tunisia, although both governments allow us to operate with little interference.”
“I assume you reviewed the footage for suspicious activity?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
“There was nothing that could be construed as suspicious.”
“If possible, I’d like to see where the security cameras are positioned.”
“I’m not sure why it would be pertinent to our discussion.”
“I worked for a company that specialized in security in another life. I may be able to suggest improvements.”
Blanche La Pointe cocked her head to one side and gave her a look. “May I ask which company?”
Leine smiled. “You can ask,” she replied, and left it at that.
When Leine didn’t say anything further, the director continued. “I’d be interested in your assessment. I’ll have the assistant director show you where they are.”
“What’s the age range of the missing children? I’ve heard conflicting reports.”
“All were under the age of ten. I’m sure you can appreciate the enormity of the problem. With no families to demand action, there is little we can do. I did forget to mention that we have instituted a check-in procedure for the children who are considered at high risk of being abducted.”
“Wouldn’t you consider all of the children in the camp high risk?”
“We rely on the families of younger children to police themselves. Trust me, they are much more effective at guarding their own children than camp personnel could ever be.”
“Have you considered alerting anti-trafficking organizations? I’m familiar with at least half a dozen that operate on Libyan soil.”
“I have not. We’re still in the evidence-collecting phase. Once I’m convinced of the human trafficking angle, I’ll alert the proper authorities. I hesitate to yell fire in a crowded theater unless and until we have concrete evidence supporting that theory.”
“Izz Al-Din is rumored to operate a training camp not far from here. Doesn’t that give you pause?”
“Why should it? They’re not interested in children so young.”
“I have reason to believe they are.”
Director La Pointe narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t seen or heard anything that points to the terrorist organization. From what I understand, their fighters have scattered to the winds and are licking their wounds somewhere near the Niger border.”
“Not exactly.”
“May I ask where you obtained this information?”
“My employer has impeccable sources.”
“I see.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a pack of Gauloises and a disposable lighter. “Would you like one?”
“No.”
La Pointe slid one of the cigarettes free and lit the end, exhaling a plume of blue smoke. She removed a sliver of tobacco from her tongue and flicked it away. “If what you say is true, then we have a much larger problem. If these children have been taken by terrorists, then how are we to save them?”
“That’s a good question. First, you would need to establish what did actually happen to them, if you can. Then, if Izz Al-Din is responsible, I can call my contacts at the anti-trafficking organization and set a plan in motion.”
“But they are terrorists. By definition, you will not be able to negotiate with them.” She took another drag from her cigarette. “This is very troubling.”
“I agree. But I believe that negotiation is not the anti-trafficking organization’s specialty.” Leine closed her notebook and slipped it into her satchel, along with the pen. “Shall we start with the video feeds?”
10
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR HAKIM stood as the two women emerged from the director’s office.
“Kadeem, would you please take Ms. Yardley on a tour of the camp to show her the locations of the security cameras?”
“Of course.”
“Give her unrestricted access to our residents, and please answer any questions she may have.” La Pointe extended her hand to Leine. “It was good to meet you, Ava. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you think of additional questions to ask. I trust you will send me a copy of the article when you’re finished?”
“Good to meet you, too, Blanche,” Leine replied as she shook her hand. “I’ll be sure to send it along as soon as it’s published.”
“Thank you.” Director La Pointe walked back into her office, closing the door behind her.
Leine glanced at the empty chair across the room. “Where’s Jinn?”
The assistant director set aside a sheaf of papers and nodded at the door. “She didn’t find any reference of her mother in the binder, so she asked if it was all right to go outside. I didn’t think it would be a problem since we’ve instituted tighter security. And, she promised to stay close by.”
“That would be a first.” Leine sighed. “Do you have time to show me around? I’ll keep an eye out for her.”
“I need to lock up here and then we’re free to go.” Kadeem locked his desk drawers and shut down his computer, and then walked outside with Leine. As she suspected, Jinn was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Kadeem said as they headed deeper into the camp. “Ever since we hired an outside security firm it has been quite safe here.”
“Which firm are you using?”
“Their name is Global Secure. They come very highly recommended.”
“They do good work, from what I’ve heard. Do you happen to have photographs of the missing children? Their likenesses would go a long way toward fostering empathy from our readers.”
Kadeem nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll email them to you when I get back to my computer.”
They walked a short distance before they came to the first CCTV camera, mounted on a fifteen-foot light pole. The camera pointed toward the front gate. Kadeem showed her the lines leading to a solar-powered battery bank fitted to the pole. Another line ran perpendicular to the pole and disappeared into the ground. “The camera feeds directly into my laptop.”
Kadeem started to say something, but apparently thought better of it and remained silent.
“You looked like you were about to say something. What was it?” Leine asked.
He opened his mouth again, then clamped his lips closed and looked away.
“Is it something to do with the feeds?”
The expression on Kadeem’s face revealed a battle being waged in the man’s conscience. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it go, and squared his shoulders.
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” he began.
Leine didn’t say anything, allowing him to gather his thoughts.
“I think someone erased the feeds.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at the ground, as though the dirt was responsible for this betrayal.
“How do you know this?”
He brought his gaze up to hers. “Because I went through all of the videos before I gave them to the director and mentioned that she should look at specific frames, showing two men I didn’t recognize. But after she watched them, she called me into her office and asked me what I was talking about. When I checked, the sections I had told her about were gone.”
“Could it have been the director?”
His eyes grew wide at the suggestion. “No, never.”
“Then how did the videos get erased?”
Kadeem shook his head. “I’m not sure, but at the time I wasn’t in the habit of locking the office or my computer when I left for short periods of time, so someone could have found the files on my laptop and erased those parts.”
“Who else knew about the security footage?”
“The director, myself, and one of the security guards, who helps me maintain the cameras.”
“Is it possible the guard had something to do with it?”
“Maybe. The pay here is passable, but for some it’s never enough. All personnel have been thoroughly vetted, though. Especially the guards.”
“Anyone else you can think of who may have accessed your office?”