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by Niv Kaplan


  The last section outlined a plan of action and the estimated costs involved. The Romanian government was asking ten million US dollars to fight the problem over a period of two years.

  Deputy Minister Raja and Lena Taler walked back in, exactly twenty minutes after they had left and quietly took their positions.

  Natasha looked up from the document, closed it and slid it across the table back to the blonde woman.

  “This is a steep price you’re asking,” she remarked. “The American tax payer won’t be convinced.”

  “Then you explain it to them,” Lena exclaimed. “There are plenty of less worthy causes supported by US foreign policy.”

  “This is a gray area we’re dealing with,” Natasha reasoned. “You and I know the magnitude of the problem but others may interpret it differently. Spending billions to abolish terrorism is deemed a worthy cause. But to fight for a girl, who may or may not have gone of her own free will to sell her body for favors, is quite a different story. Anything to do with flesh and fornication in America is taboo and very few people are willing to stand up for it.”

  “Then who put all this pressure on us?” Deputy Minister Raja asked.

  “We did. My organization,” Natasha stated. “Our job is to open people’s eyes to this problem and try and get support to fight it. We lobby for this on the Hill just like any other cause lobbied.”

  “Then what will it take to get this money?” Lena asked.

  “We need to start small and blow such a case wide open. If we manage to save even one girl and expose the scheme to the media, it will surely get appropriate attention on Capitol Hill and funds will follow. If we approach people now, demanding such steep budgets, we’ll just get thrown out on our asses and never see a penny.”

  Raja and Lena exchanged glances then exchanged a few words in Romanian. Finally Raja said: “We understand and respect your logic, but such publicity may do damage to our country.”

  Natasha was prepared for this argument. “I can guarantee the media sources will paint Romania in a favorable light. We’ll make sure of it.”

  Raja was not convinced. “You saw the document and some of the people suspected to be involved. How will Romania look if they are exposed?”

  “You use the opportunity to clean house,” Natasha retorted. “An entire country cannot be blamed on account of a few corrupt people. Once the issue is exposed, you declare legal measures against those suspected and show the world you are not afraid to deal with the problem.”

  It was a full ten minutes of quite deliberation with Lena before Raja spoke again.

  “We have decided to consider your point of view but we’ll need a few more days to decide. Meanwhile you are free to go talk to the police provided none of what you saw or heard in this room is mentioned.”

  Natasha nodded. She did not need to remind them when she was due to leave Romania. They knew perfectly well.

  They all stood up, shook hands by the door, and parted company, Natasha and Peka escorted out of the building by the hawkish bodyguard.

  Police Headquarters was another grim building, grimmer even, on the outside, than the Ministry of Interior, but full of activity on the inside.

  Bucharest Police Chief Gustav met them in a smart conference room on the top floor with an assembly of deputies and assistants such that by the time everyone was introduced, Natasha had forgotten most names and all titles. Besides the chief, at least one name stood out from the list presented to her at the Ministry of Interior, and she made a point of marking that person’s features.

  She was introduced as an American do-gooder for the fight against world flesh-trade. No one seemed to take the matter very seriously and she did not attempt to hone the issue, not in front of such a large crowd, some of whom may be personally involved. She did however receive some admiring looks as she described her organization’s activities in general terms. Later she also received some provocative offers from the younger males, who stood around her like hounds over prey. Peka was kind enough to rescue her from their demand.

  The chief took them into his private office once the parade was dismissed, and apologized for the showcase.

  “Lena Taler has briefed me,” he said, “and I’m at your disposal. Whatever you need, come directly to me. We need to keep this extremely covert or rumors will start to fly.”

  “Why, then, did you introduce me to all these people?” Natasha asked.

  “Ah, well, Miss Usher, you are not the first and certainly not the last to come in here with noble intentions. The difference this time is that Deputy Minister Raja is supporting you and that’s something none of them know.”

  “We wanted to put those suspected at ease and give this the usual insignificant flavor,” he reasoned. “From now on I will personally deal with this and hopefully our activity will not attract unwanted attention.”

  His reasoning seemed quite clever but Natasha could not completely believe his sincerity. It seemed almost too clever. She was certain there had been at least one suspect in the conference room and she could not fathom why he or anyone else involved would disregard the potential danger.

  “You’ll surely need some help, Chief,” she reasoned, half-jokingly.

  “I have a special group of confidantes whom I trust with my life,” the chief replied seriously. “They will carry on the investigative work and make any necessary arrests.”

  Natasha bowed her head. “I’m happy to see you so well prepared,” she complemented the chief who looked flattered and took on an air of importance.

  “As soon as we get word from the deputy minister, we can start,” he declared.

  “Do you have a particular case in mind?” Natasha asked.

  “We have several but one or two look extremely promising.”

  “Can you elaborate?” Natasha kept at it.

  “As soon as I get the word, Miss Usher,” the chief said, politely but firmly.

  Detecting slight movement, Natasha glanced over at Peka who was signaling it was time to go. She did not argue. They shook hands with the chief and left his office, unescorted.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sam returned to New York three days after leaving for Madrid. Ortega had remained there for a few more days, hoping to recover Carlos Rio’s trail. He landed at JFK at five in the morning and took a taxi to his apartment. Stepping out of the cab at the corner of Broadway and Eighty-First, he was shocked to see a familiar face huddled at the entrance to his building.

  Paying his cab fare, he tried to place the face but could not. Only as he approached did he realize who it was standing up to greet him. Draped in a heavy coat, a scarf covering her head leaving only part of the face visible, he recognized his old Greek love, Elena, looking cold and tired. Sam embraced her, feeling her shiver underneath his grip. They stood huddled for a while then he opened the lobby door and led her up to his apartment.

  Michelle’s striking photo greeted anyone entering Sam’s apartment. It stood in a white wall niche situated on a low partition separating the narrow entrance hall from a small kitchen facing the front door. A wooden board attached to the partition also served as bar and meal counter with four bar stools tucked underneath.

  Sam switched on the light and helped Elena take off her heavy garments. He looked her over and with sudden urgency hugged her again. She embraced him back, putting her cold hands around his neck, then pulled back. Sam had tears in his eyes. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed the tears streaming down his cheeks. He led her to the living room and they slumped together on the sofa, so emotional they could not talk.

  They had not seen each other for over twelve years. The last time had been on the Greek Island of Zakynthos, in the Ionian Sea, the summer after he and Michelle had gotten married. Elena had come with her husband, Stavros Lyrakis and was two months pregnant.

  She had called him after Michelle’s death and he had told her the terrible story. She offered to help but he had refused. He could not bear the thought of her seeing
him suffer. She later left a few phone messages on his machine but he never returned her calls. Instead he sent her a long letter explaining the situation and what he was up to.

  Now she was in his living room, opposite him, on his sofa, the enchanting dark face trying to grasp the gravity of the moment.

  Their gaze met and both looked up opposite the sofa where a lone, framed picture, hung crookedly on the wall. “Rhodes, Summer of 76” was its title, showing Michelle and Sam with Elena and the two Swedes, semi-nakedly toasting their favorite beach bar, bottles of beer in everyone’s hands.

  “My husband divorced me,” she suddenly said, speaking softly. “He could not accept not having children.”

  “But I thought…” Sam started to say.

  “Had a miscarriage,” Elena cut him off, smiling weakly. “Two months after Zakynthos. Couldn’t get pregnant again.”

  Sam fell silent, leaning his head back against the sofa.

  “Miserable fate,” Elena remarked, to no one in particular.

  Sam's face turned up towards the ceiling. Weak street sounds could be heard down below.

  “Think you’ll ever find your son?” Elena asked.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” Sam said.

  “Where would you be?” Elena asked.

  “With him and his mom,” Sam replied. “Under six feet of earth.”

  “She would want you to live,” Elena said.

  Sam did not reply but fresh tears were dripping down his face. Elena moved to him. She kissed his mouth then slid her hand down his shirt, stroking his chest. His bloodshot eyes looked at her. He drew her to him. They remained clutching one another for a long while, and then both fell asleep.

  The phone startled them back into consciousness. It was two pm. They had been sleeping for almost eight hours. Sam picked it up, listened attentively, spoke quietly, and hung up.

  Elena looked up expectantly. Sam ignored her questioning looks and walked to the kitchen.

  “Anything to eat? Coffee?” he called from behind the fridge door.

  “All of the above,” she said walking to him. She stood behind him as he stooped down to fetch coffee and sugar. When he turned, she took the items from him and placed them on the counter.

  “I left Greece for good,” she said looking into his eyes. “My husband disgraced me. I have nothing.”

  Sam measured three scoops of coffee, poured water in the percolator, and left it to brew. He pulled out the bar stools, offering Elena a seat, threw slices of bread in the toaster, took out butter, cream-cheese, and vegetables, and sat next to her. He began preparing a salad consisting of lettuce, cucumbers and tomatoes, leaving Elena to deal with the toast.

  Hunger controlled, mugs of steaming coffee placed in between them on the counter, they chatted, telling each other of the abysses in their lives.

  Elena could not bear children. Not with her husband anyway. After her miscarriage, they had tried everything including artificial insemination. Nothing worked. Physically, the doctors could not find anything wrong with her but no fetus caught.

  The marriage began to diminish when it became clear they would not have children of their own. She proposed adoption, but Stavros would not hear of it. He began to stay away from the house, spending more and more time in Athens, coming home late and often drunk. Soon she began to detect perfume and female scent emanating from him.

  Their lucrative business began to crumple. The farm was deteriorating. Their dairy products, the goat’s milk and the Feta cheese, began to lose market share to other, more aggressive vendors. Product deliveries were being delayed and supply contracts they had with food chains were being terminated and transferred to the competition. Trusted workers were leaving, checks were being withheld, and it was becoming difficult to just run the day to day and keep the operation from being shut down.

  Elena took the blame for all this, at least in the eyes of her husband’s family. One day he just showed up with another woman and ordered her to leave his farm. He had with him divorce papers, a document proclaiming she would never sue him for anything, and a check for half a million US dollars.

  She signed the divorce papers, the declaration, took the check, packed and left, all in a matter of hours, not having a clue as to where she was going until she thought of Sam and caught a plane to New York.

  “How’d you find me?” he asked.

  “I went to the address of the only letter you ever sent me,” she said. “Remember, about eight years ago? I hoped you hadn’t moved.”

  “No reason to,” Sam remarked and fell silent again.

  “Can I stay here with you for a while?” Elena asked after a few awkward moments.

  Sam looked surprised. “You serious?”

  Elena nodded. “I’ve been alone for so long, I need your company.”

  “I’m a different person.”

  “So am I,” Elena said. “We’ve both had difficult times. Maybe if we stick together our luck will change.”

  It was a naïve statement, an extreme oversimplification of how fate behaved, but surprisingly, it seemed irresistible to Sam. Suddenly, after years of being alone with his idiosyncrasies and memories of Michelle, he was not repulsed by the idea of being with another person, another woman.

  In fact, he wondered why he had not thought of it himself. The fog over his existence was suddenly lifting. Elena was a person he had once loved very much and could love again. He had loved them both, back on Rhodes, but Michelle had been the obvious choice when it became clear Elena was not looking to move anywhere. Cultural differences then seemed too overwhelming. Neither of them was willing to adapt to the other’s world. Besides, they never thought much past the next beach party or sexual encounter.

  But a choice had to be made eventually. Elena was a free spirit and did not put much weight on partner loyalty in those days. She loved Sam and told him so but did not limit herself to enjoying him alone. Michelle had no such tendencies and looked to be loyal. She could not consent to sharing him with anyone else.

  After Michelle left Rhodes, they had an unforgettable week together, which he never told Michelle about. But in the end, he had to go back to his reality. At twenty, Elena never pushed him to make any decision and never wanted to commit herself. She was content on meeting him once a year on one of her islands, as she often described them.

  As it turned out, the next time they met, six years later, they were both married, Elena with child.

  “Why did you marry this Stavros?” Sam asked.

  “Well, you never showed up again and he was a charming persistent bastard with a lot of cash. He took me on a cruise one summer and bathed me in treasures. I was blinded by his money and in one weak moment agreed to marry him.”

  “A classic tale,” Sam remarked. “But you knew it wasn’t right. You looked miserable on Zakynthos. Why didn’t you leave him?”

  “It’s not so simple in our country, Sam. There are other considerations. Family reputations. Personal status. Marital obligations. A woman can’t just get up and leave. Plus I wanted to make it work. I wanted children. Stavros was not a bad man and he treated me respectfully. His family put quite a lot of pressure on him on the issue of children and maintaining the family name. They broke him in the end and he reacted accordingly.”

  “Still, you were miserable when we saw you. Why would you give up your happiness for obligations? And when you knew you couldn’t have his children, why didn’t you leave then?”

  The phone rang again, startling Sam. He picked it up and walked to his bedroom, speaking quietly but urgently. He came back out after a few minutes looking haggard. Elena allowed him time to collect himself and settle back on the bar stool next to her.

  He looked at her seriously.

  “What do you plan to do with the money he gave you?”

  “Restart my life I guess. That’s what it’s for, you know. Stavros was man enough to demand it from his family. They were ready to throw me to the street.”

  “Seems
to me they were securing themselves against a lawsuit that could net you half the farm,” Sam stated.

  Elena touched his shoulder. “Life has certainly drained your faith in people, my love.”

  “Indeed it has. In more ways than you know,” Sam acknowledged.

  “Then let’s restore it together,” she said scratching his broad back.

  “My life isn’t simple anymore, Elena,” he said. “I’ve devoted it to a cause which engulfs me fully. I’ve hardly any private life left. I spend most of my time on the road pursuing this cause which leaves me little or no time to myself and I’d hate to drag you into this private vendetta of mine.”

  Elena stared at him questioningly.

  “There’s not a whole lot I can say other than I’ve created an organization that assists people in finding their missing children.”

  “All in hopes of finding your son?” she questioned.

  “It certainly started out that way but it’s beyond it now. I’ve got a group of people working with me and we are committed to a whole lot of parents.”

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  “We can always use an infusion of cash, if that’s what you mean, but I wouldn’t dare ask it of you. You’ve just been through a lot yourself and you have no idea what you want to do with your life. You’ll need this money.”

  She got up and began clearing the counter. Sam was watching her.

  “You are still beautiful,” he said.

  She stopped to look at him, her dark face questioning, her black eyes piercing.

  “Yes, you can stay here for as long as you like,” he added. “I’d love to know you are here, even if I’ll be away. Plus you can look after the place, rent free.”

  She smiled with obvious relief. “Thank you Sam, I wouldn’t have known where to turn.”

 

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