Traffick Stop, an American Assassin's Story (Paladine Political Thriller Series Book 3)

by Kenneth Eade

  “We’re going to bring you to a Sharia court, Karina. You can tell the judge what you just told me. Do you know who is responsible for this place?”

  “I’ve heard people call him Boulem. He comes here and rapes us, but he always uses a condom. He charges men to have sex with us until he can send us to auction, where the ones who are lucky are sold.”

  “Sold?”

  “Yes, it is their law. I am a Shiite Muslim, but they call me kufar. Kufar are no better than beasts to them.”

  Ayisha felt a pit in her stomach. No beast, let alone a woman, deserved to be treated this way. She turned to the men.

  “Do you know this Boulem?”

  A couple of the men nodded.

  “Where is he?”

  “He is in the field,” said the man with the dirty underwear.

  Ayisha spoke to all the women in turn. She showed each of them a picture of her sister. Karina did not recognize it, but when she showed it to a white girl with blonde hair and light brown eyes, she started to cry.

  “That’s Zia!”

  Ayisha’s heart jumped up into her throat. She almost lost the ability to speak. “Okay, now calm down. Can you tell me where Zia is?”

  The girl began to sob even more. “She’s dead.”

  Ayisha suddenly felt paralyzed. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She was screaming inside but couldn’t let the scream escape her body. She had the urge to pick up her gun and kill every one of the men in the place. She told herself to remain focused. She had to stifle her grief and find out what had happened to Zia. She struggled to speak, but the words came out slowly and in stutters.

  “How…how did she…die?”

  “She was one of our sisters. She was originally given to a man as his wife, but he died in battle, so they sent her here. She refused to have sex with the men. They give us drugs to make us comply. She overdosed.”

  Ayisha was dying inside. All she could feel was grief. It was all so hopeless. So sad. Then her grief turned to anger.

  “This is a small brothel. I’ve been in one with hundreds of women.”

  I mustn’t lose control. Focus!

  She ordered everyone arrested, the women for their protection and the men for suspicion of keeping undocumented aliens. She would be back for the one responsible. And she would not be alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  After the raid was finished, it was all Ayisha could do to compose herself and get home to her little apartment. Once she closed herself inside, she lay on the floor on her belly and buried her face in her pillow so nobody could hear her cry through the paper-thin walls. Memories of her beautiful Zia filled her head, all of which were spoiled by thoughts of her being in that horrible place and being raped by dozens or even hundreds of men. Her fantasy of a romantic life with that asshole from San Francisco had died a thousand deaths before her own.

  Ayisha sobbed and cried herself out so much that she had run out of tears, and her sobbing became gasps for air. Her nose was stopped up and she couldn’t breathe through it.

  None of this is doing any good. I have to do something.

  She tried to wash herself in the sink, and reached instinctively to turn on the water. Not even a trickle came out. She grabbed her water bottle and splashed her face with it, then went out into the still night air.

  Her meeting with Robert was simple and brief, and this time she filled him in on every detail. Still, his second sense told him something was wrong.

  “So it appears we need to move on this now. It looks like if we take out just one guy, we’ll be taking out a whole system of sex slavery, at least in this region.”

  “Yes, but I don’t know the locations of these brothels.”

  “Then you’ll have to break into your sergeant’s office and find the list.”

  “I don’t even know he has it.”

  “What other lead do you have?”

  “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “You knew that none of this would be easy. Just do it and then we will run some recon on the locations and come up with a plan.”

  Robert left her with a plastic card to open the door to her sergeant’s office. Except for that, she was on her own.

  ***

  The complaints from the military command trickled down to Ayisha and Zurfah who were summoned before their sergeant to explain themselves. Ayisha felt like a schoolgirl being scolded by the principal. She and Zurfah were made to stand at attention in front of him while he lashed out at them.

  “I’ve been receiving complaints about you two from the military.”

  “But we’ve been doing a good job, Shawish.”

  He tried to hide a smile, but Ayisha caught his lip quivering ever so slightly.

  “Too good, it seems. They say you have been affecting morale.”

  “We’re enforcing the law, Shawish, and we’ve also increased the tax revenues substantially.”

  “You’ve arrested men!”

  “Are men exempt from the morality laws, Shawish?”

  “No, but this last raid has stepped on the toes of a very important person.”

  “May I ask who, Shawish?”

  “His name is Boulem Halabi. He has documentation and has paid taxes on all his girls.”

  “His girls?’

  “They are kufar, and under the law he is allowed to buy, sell or trade them. His facilities are exempt from our raids.”

  “But, Shawish…”

  “No buts! Fortunately, this campaign has been good for tax revenue and that’s what has saved it from becoming a situation out of control. The military has asked that we tone down our raids, and I’ve agreed to give them a two-week grace period to get all their soldiers’ papers in order.”

  Ayisha feared she couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  “Two weeks, Shawish?”

  “Yes, no more raids for two weeks. I’m confident the revenues will pour in from certificates while they all rush to become current. Then, after the two weeks, we can continue the raids, more as a prophylactic effort than corrective. Just to make sure they are complying, but Halabi’s places are off limits.”

  “But, Shawish…”

  “We won’t speak of this any further.”

  “I would just like to know how will we know if we’re raiding one of his places?”

  “After the two weeks, I’ll give you each the addresses so we will be sure to leave them alone.”

  “Shawish…”

  “That will be all, Ayisha. You and Zurfah will go back to your regular duties.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Ayisha went back to her regular job, if you could call it that, patrolling the streets with Zurfah, looking for violations of the strict ISIS dress code. They gave out tickets to women for infractions of the dress code. They cited shopkeepers of women’s clothing stores if their wares could be seen from the streets. Only a woman’s husband could see her in such things – especially lingerie. They warned women if their eyes could be seen through their double veils, and they cited the ones who revealed any type of skin, even if it was from a hole in their socks. Armed men roamed the streets, but even they dared not question their authority. As Hisbah, they were more feared than the soldiers.

  As they patrolled Faysal Street, the street exploded with fire. Ayisha slammed Zurfah to the ground. The bombing continued with ferocity, blowing up several buildings that were being used by ISIS forces. Dust and particles rained down on them as they crawled for cover. Ayisha put her hands on her ears and prayed that it would be over. Time seemed to stand still in the brief period that destruction fell from the air.

  Robert was biding his time in the desert. He seemed to have found a spot not patrolled by ISIS. Unfortunately, that revelation was what made him let his guard down. He could hear the screaming of supersonic craft and, as the bombs rained down on Raqqa, he sequestered himself in a cluster of trees. He scanned the horizon, something he did constantly during the day. Off in the distance, he could see a clo
ud of dust.

  Looks like a convoy.

  As they rolled closer, Robert was able to see through his field glasses it was a group of vehicles coming from the northwest, and they seemed to be heading in his general direction,

  Hmm, they’re about 5,000 meters away. That’s too close for comfort.

  Since Robert could see them, he knew if he hesitated any longer, they would be able to see him too. Counting on the fact that his motorcycle was small and would not kick up as much dust as a jeep or truck, he loaded up his gear and took off toward the southeast. As he sped, he noticed another cloud of dust from the south.

  There’s two groups. Maybe they spotted me.

  There was nowhere in sight to stash the bike and hide. He would have to make a run for it. The group from the south was closer, so he headed due east. He pulled back all the way on the throttle, pushing the Chinese piece of junk to its maximum speed. Looking behind him, he could see the group from the southeast had changed direction and was gaining on him, so he corrected his course. He looked for a berm or ravine for cover to hold out and fight, but the terrain was flat as far as he could see.

  Robert still lived by the code he had lived by in the army: “Never surrender if there is a means to resist.” They were closing in on him and fast. He could hear the rumble of their engines in the distance. He spotted a small hill and ditched the motorcycle behind it, and then loaded his RPG-7. Peeking out from behind the berm, he drew small fire from them, and scooted back to safety. There were about six vehicles, and the two in the lead were the fastest. He crawled to the edge of the hill and tried to get a bearing on them, but they had split up.

  They’re coming around me! Boxing me in!

  Robert was overrun and outnumbered. He could only hope this was the Syrian Army and not ISIS. He slowly stood, raising his hands in surrender as the two LMVs closed in from behind. They weren’t flying ISIS flags, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. They shouted at him in Arabic.

  “Put your hands on your head!”

  Robert put his hands on top of his head.

  “Get on your knees!”

  He dropped to his knees and was rushed by a group bearing AMD assault rifles. Then a familiar voice broke through all the commotion.

  “Hey, I know zis guy!”

  The big man lumbering toward him looked like the famous Russian wrestler, Fedor Emelianenko, charging like a bull headed for the kill. But he was smiling, which was a good sign because Robert recognized him as well, and, during their last encounter, he was not so happy.

  “Boab! Get up, you asshole!”

  Robert slowly rose as the big man took him by the hand.

  “Lyosha. Are we good?”

  He was a big, blond Russian. The last time Robert saw him, he was running at him with a gun and threatening to shoot him.

  “Boab, you must be cat. You’re supposed to be dead.”

  He was still smiling, so Robert felt a little more at ease.

  “Is everything okay between us?”

  “You mean because I tried to kill you, you think somesing is wrong?”

  “Well, yeah, that did cross my mind.”

  He slapped Robert on the shoulder. “Get in truck. We will have little talk.”

  The soldiers loaded his motorcycle and equipment in one of the trucks and Lyosha led Robert to the AMD. Once in, Lyosha slammed the door and they sped off into the desert.

  “You made me look bad, Boab. I should kill you for that.” He looked in his eyes seriously and nodded. “But I can’t kill you because you are already dead!”

  He laughed heartily, so much that Robert was compelled to laugh as well.

  “It’s pretty funny, you know?”

  “What’s pretty funny?”

  “Dead man who talks!”

  They barreled on through the desert, Robert not knowing if he was prisoner or a passenger, friend or foe.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Finally, the bombing subsided, but the empty streets were still smoking with the carcasses of burned-out cars and pummeled buildings. Only the sounds of ambulances could be heard, rushing the still living to the hospital and the dead to the morgue. This was the reality of living in Raqqa.

  For Ayisha and Zurfah, the bombing raid was over, meaning they had to go back to work and enforce the ridiculous morality laws of the Islamic State. Today, there would be less for them to do, as the people would be too terrified to leave their homes.

  At nightfall, instead of going back to her apartment, Ayisha went to the compound. There was no problem getting in, but once she was there, they were curious as to what she was doing. Shawish was not in, but his clerk, Abdul, was still there, in the anteroom of his office, in the process of tying up loose ends before going home.

  “Ayisha, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to do some follow-up work on my investigations.”

  “I thought Shawish suspended your investigations.”

  “He did, but I still have cases in court on which I’m going to be called to testify.”

  Abdul nodded. Thankfully, it made sense to him and, since all the case files were in his office, it also made sense she would be there. He finished tidying up and closed his desk drawer. The office was a throwback from an earlier time – no computer, no phone, just paper files in old metal cabinets, and an ancient grey manual typewriter. He slipped a torn vinyl cover over the machine, stood up and pushed his chair against the desk.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you.”

  Abdul walked out, and Ayisha, for appearance sake, took several of her active case files from the old file cabinets. She lit a candle in case of a loss of electricity, which was frequent. She spread the files out on the small wooden table and sat in one of the splayed woven cushion chairs to make it look like she was working, sitting in the one closest to the door to Shawish’s office.

  There was no good time to break into the office. It was like wading into an ocean of freezing cold water. At some point, you have to dive in, so she did, keeping her eye on the door for the armed guards who could barge in at any minute, and either question her or shoot her. She slid the plastic card between the door and the frame as far as it would go, bent it and wriggled it against the door lock.

  It’s not working.

  She tried going in the opposite direction, drawing the card upwards. Still nothing. Again, she stuck it in and pushed it down until it hit the bolt and bent it so hard the other way she thought it would break as she wriggled it, and the door popped open.

  “Is everything alright in here?”

  She heard the voice and saw the gun right before the lights went out. She slipped the card into her pocket, twisted open the door handle lock on the other side and pulled the door closed, bending over the table as if she was studying the papers in the candlelight just as the guard’s flashlight flashed in her face. He stayed in the doorway.

  “Yes, yes, just fine. I’m just working on a court case.”

  “You won’t be able to do that in the dark.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got this candle. I really need to go over these files for my testimony.”

  The guard humphed, then disappeared. She didn’t know whether he was going to call someone or just go back to his regular rounds, but she had a job to do and decided to get to it. She left the candle burning as she entered Shawish’s office and switched on her flashlight.

  She pulled on his desk drawers. They were all locked. She scanned the surface of the desk with her flashlight – pictures of Shawish’s kids in a frame, papers, a pencil jar; a letter opener; and a jar of paper clips. She riffled through the papers to see if they contained any of the addresses she was looking for.

  Taking the letter opener, she stuck it into the desk drawer lock and wiggled it, trying to unlock the bar in the back that held all the desk drawers in place. She hit the back of it with her hand, wiggled it again and it opened.

  The first drawer was a hodge-podge of things that were not useful to h
er – a revolver, packs of cigarettes and matches, a bottle of contraband liquor, packs of condoms and other knick-knacks.

  Obviously, Shawish is a devout Muslim.

  The second drawer contained files, some tabbed and some not. She flashed the light on the tabs, reading them and eliminating the ones that did not seem relevant. Then she opened and flipped through the folders that were not labeled. It was taking too much time, and the more time it took, the more the chances she would get caught. But the hunt had hooked her in, worse than cigarettes to a smoking addict. There was no way she could quit. The third drawer was the same case – messy files, some labeled, some not. She went through the same process, and then lay her head on the top of the desk in despair.

  It’s not here!

  There was one more drawer left, but the lock was very small. Suddenly, she heard footsteps. She flipped off the light and slipped back into the anteroom just as the guard entered, and she quickly bent her head over the papers.

  “You’re still here?”

  “Almost done.”

  “Well, hurry up. I have to secure this building soon.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  There were three other Russians in the truck whom Robert did not recognize. He sat in the back with Lyosha, who had every right to kill him for what he had done, and wondered what his next move would be. He looked around for a means to escape. With four heavily armed Russians and a convoy of Syrian Army personnel, even if he could get out of the LMV, he would be shot immediately.

  “You know, Boab, you really fucked me up.”

  “I know.”

  “But you also saved my life.”

  Robert nodded. “You saved my life, too.”

  Lyosha smiled. “Then we are even, so I guess I should kill you.”

  “I’m sure there’s another way of looking at it. I had my assignment, you had your assignment, and in the end it came down to survival, like it always does.”