by Melissa Roen
The earthquake out of California made me realize that the dilemma wasn’t how to escape the inevitable—whether a natural disaster or death at the hands of your fellow man. Since it was coming at us from every side, I guess the choice really came down to who you wanted to fight and die with.
Somehow, sitting here high on this peak, brushing the burrs from Buddy’s coat and watching the storm grow darker and move toward land, I felt detached from all the chaos and worries down below. The strife and jockeying for power that was playing out along the Riviera was just so many ants swarming over the rotting scraps of blood and tissue left on an old bone.
This peace I was enjoying in the sunshine on this hill, watching the storm that smothered the skyline of Monaco and crept like a dark army up the slopes towards me, was an interlude of solace and escape.
Sometime in the next few days, I would have to meet with Anjuli-Lucy; I’d been putting her off since the Sheik’s party. The last thing I wanted was to be on her radar, especially if she was working with Slava. So I kept a low profile and stayed away from anywhere I might run into her. Yet if I didn’t want trouble from that quarter, this meeting was my chance to convince her I wasn’t a threat.
Lucy’s vanity was her weak spot. With her charisma and striking looks, Lucy was born to play the role of the mysterious priestess, Anjuli del Solaire, and to date, her performance had been mesmerizing. It wasn’t power for power’s sake that drove Lucy, though she liked status and wealth. It was the adulation of the crowds that was her drug. Lucy was drawn to powerful men for what they could give her. Someone had to be pulling her strings, and Slava was the most powerful man around. His was another radar upon which I didn’t want to appear as even the most insignificant blip.
The first tendrils of the storm crossed the Moyenne Corniche and were steadily advancing. I watched through my binoculars as the land below was swallowed whole. A circle of blue sky remained overhead, but the wind was picking up; I could see the trees at the training center, lower down, bending from the force of the coming gale. Within the hour, it would overtake us here on the hill. There would be no heading back down today. I shivered as the first gusts swirled across the open deck and rattled the metal roof covering the dome.
I worried that the storm might knock out the generators, though I imagined Arnaud had weathered many storms during his years living at the Astrarama and probably was prepared for all sorts of emergencies. With less than an hour before the storm hit, I headed to the garage for the camping lanterns that I’d noticed on a shelf. There was water and food here, not to mention whiskey, so theoretically we should comfortably ride out this storm.
Outside, though the sun wouldn’t set for another two hours, day had turned to night as the storm lashed the Astrarama. It sounded like a shower of golf balls pelting the metal dome, but rice was cooking for dinner, and so far, the generators hummed along. I made a bed on one of the couches, with blankets and pillows scavenged from the bedroom closets. The Rolling Stones’ Gimme Shelter played through the earphones of my iPod. Buddy lay snoring at my feet while I nursed a tumbler of whiskey and read one of Arnaud’s UFO pamphlets about visitors from strange and distant worlds.
For now, Buddy and I were safe while the storm raged outside. I couldn’t know what damage was being wreaked down below. I’d have to wait to see what tomorrow would bring…
It was the silence that woke me much later. I opened the door and stepped out into the coolness of the night. The sky overhead was clear; the storm had passed. I hadn’t been up here at night in so long, I’d forgotten how brightly the stars shone out of the darkness, so far from the glare of man-made lights.
I smelled the freshness on the air, the world washed clean by the rain; in the stillness, a promise of the new day only hours way. On impulse I decided to wheel the Celestron telescope outside onto the viewing deck. I removed the cover and set to work cleaning and adjusting the lens. When I looked through the eye scope, multitudes of worlds came into focus and spread across the heavens in glorious profusion.
I searched for the summer triangle, located between Draco and Pegasus, the winged horse. I found the bluish-white star Vega in the constellation of Lyra; the super-giant Deneb, sixty-thousand times brighter than our sun, anchoring the tail of Cygnus the Swan; and Altair, shining forth from the breast of Aquila. Time stood still as I located old friend Cassiopeia. Polaris, the North Star in Ursa Minor, crowned the Dragon, coiled high in the heavens; Arctus blazed from the constellation of Bootes, and lower in the west lay the band of stars known as Corona Borealis.
I saw Betelgeuse appear in Orion low down in the eastern sky and knew dawn wasn’t far off. On the Hunter’s heels would follow Sirius the Dog Star, also know as the Scorcher, the brightest body in the sky after the sun and moon.
When Sirius appeared, ancient Greeks knew the dog days of summer approached, the strange and breathless days of August when the world sweltered under an oppressive heat. It’s an ill-omened time, according to Brady’s Clavis Calendarium, “when the seas boil, wine sours, men burn with fevers and rage in anger, and dogs go mad.” It would soon be August, and the dog days would be upon us, perhaps for the last time.
I felt Buddy’s nose nudging my hand. I needed to get a couple more hours of sleep before heading down the hill. I didn’t know what kind of damage I would find at home. The sky was brightening; dawn was but an hour away as I closed the doors and went inside.
I felt myself drifting away, and I wondered, in that last conscious second before sleep claimed me, where the Purifier lurked, hidden from view in the reaches of space, moving closer every day to the appointed time of judgement on our world.
CHAPTER 17
ROAD TRIP
One tree lay toppled, and desiccated branches wrenched whole from their trunks lay scattered about the training center grounds. A street sign that must have sailed in on the winds was plastered against the wire fence that enclosed one of the dog runs.
I checked the building where Buddy’s food was stored to be sure there hadn’t been any leaks. The sturdy cement block buildings had weathered the gale, and as with the Astrarama, the damage had been minimal. The storm had lessened in intensity by the time it had reached these heights.
I found them huddled together against the wall in the last dog run: a couple of teenagers—he all of seventeen. A brand of the letter “F” shone through the tattered remains of his t-shirt, the barely healed flesh still pink and tender against his sun-darkened shoulder. She was probably a year or so younger and sported a smaller brand against the freckled skin on her right shoulder. His dark hair was shorn, and his eyes were sunken into deep hollows, deadened and devoid of hope, making me think of the old photos I’d seen of prisoners in Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. Her hair was shoulder-length, a mass of strawberry blonde tangles. Their clothes were filthy, and he was covered with bruises and cuts, as though he’d been on the receiving end of a guard’s boot and lash.
They stared at the Glock in my hand as though they expected no mercy.
“Please don’t shoot.” His voice was hoarse, and although he spoke French, I heard the lilting notes of Italy in his accent. “We got caught in the storm last night and took shelter here. Please, Madame, don’t hurt us. We didn’t know anyone was here. We haven’t stolen anything. We mean no harm. Please let us go.”
I could hear the exhaustion and fear, barely held in check underlying his plea.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” I lowered the Glock but still kept the safety off. “What are your names?”
“I’m Luca, and this is my girlfriend, Joanna.” His arm tightened protectively around the slender girl, her light blue eyes dulled by fatigue, lost in her own world.
“I’m Maya. Is Joanna ok? She seems to be in shock.”
“Joanna got soaked in the storm, and I can’t get her warm. She’s exhausted and hungry. Do you have anything to eat? We have no money to pay for it. I’m sorry, but we haven’t eaten in days.”
I had a coupl
e of cheese sandwiches and four protein bars in my backpack. They appeared to be teenage runaways, probably too frightened and beaten down to be any threat, but I didn’t want to put my gun down in the close confines of the kennel, while rummaging in my pack.
“I’ve got some food in my pack. Why don’t we go outside and talk while you eat? The sun’s out and should warm Joanna up. You’re both shivering here in this dank kennel.”
Standing up, I could see Luca was slightly taller than I, about five feet, nine inches. He was thin, but wiry muscles from hard labor moved under his skin as he gently pulled Joanna to her feet and helped her walk outside.
I sat on a tree stump, Buddy at my feet, the Glock still in my hand. Luca and Joanna sprawled in the sunshine on a patch of grass about ten feet away. I watched as they made short work of the sandwiches and protein bars.
The food and sunshine restored their spirits. Joanna seemed more alert and gave me a small smile in gratitude before shyly ducking her head. I could see the winsome young girl she would be under different circumstances, peering out from under the bruises and grime.
Leaning back with a sigh, Luca asked, “Do you have a cigarette I can bum?”
I smiled inwardly as I tossed him a cigarette and a book of matches, hoping his next request wouldn’t be for a petit expresso to round off their meal.
I lit my own cigarette and asked, “So, Luca, do you want to tell me what’s your and Joanna’s story?” He looked as though he’d been in a fight. I sensed they were running from something ugly. “You’re not from around here? Where are your families?”
He hesitated, wary now, calculating how much to tell me, and Joanna’s hand, the knuckles white, dug into the flesh on his upper arm.
“We’re from the refugee camp by Lingostiere in Nice.”
“Well, you’re kind of a long ways away from there and headed in the wrong direction. You guys take a wrong turn in the storm?”
They whispered together for a few minutes, and Luca answered defensively, “We’re heading for Italy. I have family near La Spezia, and I told you why we slept here. We did get caught in the storm!”
“And your parents? Are they at the refugee camp at Lingostiere? I imagine they’d be worried about you two traveling to Italy alone.”
They conferred again, in whispers, before Luca answered. “Our parents are dead. We don’t have any family or friends at Lingostiere. We’re going to my grandmother’s house in Italy.”
“Look, Luca and Joanna, it’s pretty obvious you guys must be in trouble if you’re heading to Italy on foot with no money, no food. You look like you’ve been beaten. I’d like to help you if I can. But you have to be honest with me or I can’t help. Trust me.”
Luca gave a bitter bark of laughter and only shook his head.
It was Joanna who answered. “The last time we trusted an adult, we got these.” She touched the brand on her shoulder.
“I don’t understand. Are you saying someone…an adult did this to you? Why would anyone do such a barbaric thing?”
“They branded us like cattle, because now we’re their property. They bought us. They own us. They said if we tried to escape they would hunt us down.”
“Escape? From where? You’re just kids. Who did this to you?”
“Those monsters at the Farm did this.” I saw the hatred and fierceness blazing in Joanna’s eyes for an instant before she started to cry. “We can’t go back. If they find us, they’ll do even worse than beat us, now that we’ve run away. I’d rather die than go back. Please, can’t you help us?”
Luca’s dark eyes glared at me over Joanna’s head, his mistrust of me—of any adult—bristled. He cradled Joanna in his arms and crooned in a low voice, “Shhh, Joia… It’s okay. We’re never going back. I promise I’ll take care of you. Just be strong a little longer. We’re almost there. When we get to my family in La Spezia…you’ll see. My Nonna, she makes the best gnocchi with pesto, and her seafood stew…stupenda! She’ll love you, Joia. She has a little house not far from the harbor. You’ll see, Joanna. We’ll be safe and happy there.”
One thing I couldn’t mistake was the love in Luca’s voice as he comforted Joanna, or his hand that lay protectively over the small mound of her belly. Joanna was pregnant.
“Luca, I know it’s hard for you to trust me—to trust anyone after what you’ve been through. I’ll help you and Joanna. I promise. You’ve been betrayed and mistreated. But I don’t understand what’s happened to you. What’s the Farm you’ve run away from? And how did you two end up there? Luca, Joanna, help me to understand. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
They were silent for a minute. Luca was shaking with pent-up emotion, sorrow mixed with rage. He began his tale.
“There are people in the camp at Lingostiere. Procurers. They find the ones like Joanna and me, orphans with no family. The ones no one cares about. The ones who won’t be missed. The procurers get paid a commission for each body they send to the Farm…” His voice broke. I saw his tears of shame.
“Who are they? The ones who operate the Farm?” I asked gently.
“I don’t know where they’re from. They speak French to us. They look European, but they speak some other language between themselves. They’re criminals. Eastern European, I think. Serbs maybe. Or Bulgarian? Russian? I don’t know for sure… I’ve been there for four months….Joanna about three.”
“Start from the beginning, Luca. Tell me, how did you get sold to the Farm?”
“I came to the refugee camp in Nice from Marseille. I’d been living with a cousin in Marseille for about six months, looking for work. But when the fighting broke out, I left to go back to my Nonna in La Spezia. My parents are dead. I’ve lived with my grandmother since I was eight.”
I offered him another cigarette. He drew the smoke into his lungs and collected his thoughts before continuing. “I ended up in the refugee camp in Nice. I’d only been there a few days when I became friends with a family. I didn’t know anyone else. They were Roma….You know, Gitane. They fed me and let me stay at their campsite. I thought they were good people. They told me they knew someone who could take me by truck to La Spezia. Another Roma, a trucker named Nino, was heading that way. I gave Nino all the money I had, 300 Euros. But the bastard took me to the Farm instead.”
“You met Joanna at the Farm?”
“Yes. The same thing happened to her. She’s from Toulon and lost her family also. The first week in the camp, she was raped. It happens to a lot of the woman, even the young girls. The same family fed her and gave her a place to stay. She had nowhere to go. No one to help her. They pretended to be her friends. The worst one is the woman, Solange. She does Tarot readings. She seems so motherly, so kind, as if she really cares and wants to help. That’s how Joanna met her. Solange offered to read her fortune. Joanna thought they only wanted to help her. But they drugged Joanna one night, and she woke up imprisoned on the Farm.”
“Joanna, how far along are you?” I could see my question startled her.
Two patches of crimson flared on her cheeks, but her voice was steady as she answered. “Three and a half months, I think. And Luca isn’t the father.”
“Joia, I told you it doesn’t matter what happened. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll take care of you and the little one. I love him already.”
“That’s why we had to run away. If the people at the Farm knew about my baby, they would take her from me. They wouldn’t let me keep her.” She turned to Luca, and her voice softened. “And I already told you. I can tell its going to be a little girl. I’m going to name her Evelyne Sophie, after my mother.”
“But what do they do on the Farm? Where is it?”
“It’s in an isolated valley in the back country. The nearest town is L’Escarene. They grow food there and pot. We work like slaves in their fields. There’s usually about thirty of us imprisoned there at any one time there. We’re all young and orphans. But the pretty girls…and boys, you know…they use them. For sex—not just the girls,
the boys too…and once they’ve trained us—” Luca’s voice broke once again. Then, he spit out each word as though he was vomiting something vile. “We are going to be sent somewhere else, sold to pedophiles. We’ll still be slaves… for disgusting rich old men. I tried to fight them. They’re too strong.”
“Can’t you go to the police, report the Farm, the pot-growing, and sex ring?”
“Some of the best customers of the Farm work with the police. They’ve been paid off to look the other way.”
I sat there, stunned; Luca and Joanna were just a few years younger than my niece Sloan and her boyfriend Matt, and to imagine the cruelty they’d been subjected to. Betrayed. Held prisoner. Branded like cattle. Sold into sexual slavery. They’d find no help from the authorities. They were just two runaway kids with no family, no money, no connections.
“You’re right. They are monsters! It’s disgusting that they can get away with this. How long since you ran away?”
“We escaped three nights ago. Joanna was starting to show, and she’s been sick in the mornings. We couldn’t wait any longer. I think the guards from the Farm are probably now looking for us in the refugee camp. They have contacts with the authorities, and these brands make it easier to identify us. We can’t risk going to the police. We don’t know who has been paid off. We have to get across the border. In Italy, we’ll be safe. They won’t find us.”
I only had to think about two seconds. I knew what I was going to do.
“Well, let’s hope the storm yesterday slowed them down. Here’s what we should do. Why don’t you two get cleaned up? There’s a shower in the bathroom next to the office. I’m going to get you some food and clothes. There are medical supplies in the veterinary clinic. I’ll show you where they are. You can treat and dress your wounds. I’ll be back in a couple of hours with transportation. I’ll drive you to the border with Italy.”