‘Thank you,’ said Kate. ‘We need to know.’
‘The youngest of our teachers was about thirty, the oldest at least sixty, but to us they were our friends. We loved them dearly.’
‘Go on.’
‘They stripped them naked, and then the savages raped them without inhibition or remorse.’ Victoria spoke quietly and without emotion. ‘We were forced to watch. If we did not, they said we would be raped as well.’
‘Did you all watch?’
‘One of us, a sweet and dear friend by the name of Blessing, refused. She screamed for them to stop.’
‘What happened?’
‘They took her, stripped her and raped her repeatedly.’
‘Then they killed her,’ Aisha added.
‘They told us what they had just done was an example to us,’ said Victoria. ‘It was for us to obey, to comply with anything they asked of us.’
‘You must have all been very frightened,’ said Kate.
‘We were,’ replied Victoria. ‘We still are. We were forced into a number of old trucks and driven north to their camp.’
‘Where are your friends, the other pupils?’
‘They are still in the camp,’ said Aisha. ‘They took them, gave them to the men. We never saw them again, although we could hear them screaming, and the men laughing. We did not sleep that night, or for many nights after.’
‘How did you get here?’ Fatima asked.
‘The trader, he purchased us.’
‘Who is the trader?’
‘That is what they call your husband in the camp,’ Kate said.
‘He is your husband?’ Victoria exclaimed angrily.
‘I did not know,’ replied Fatima, appalled. ‘I am sorry. I always assumed that your presence here was at the instigation of your parents and that he was acting honourably as an agent.’
‘He is neither honourable nor an agent. He is a slave-trader,’ Aisha said.
‘I know that now. It is to my shame that I have been deceived.’
‘Why were you not given to the men at the camp?’ Kate asked.
‘It is because we were the prettiest at the school. We are to be sold to whoever is willing to pay.’
‘For marriage?’ Fatima asked.
‘That is what we were told, but we are not so sure,’ said Victoria. ‘We are aware there are places where men visit and pay money for sex. Could we be sold there?’
‘A brothel, it is possible,’ Kate said.
‘I will kill myself before that indignity.’
‘It is best that you do not think such unpleasant thoughts. You are all alive and well. Where there is life, there is hope. Maintain your spirits.’
‘We will try,’ said Victoria. ‘But why are you here? A beautiful white woman must command a high price.’
‘My story is similar to yours. I am being held for ransom.’
‘Ransom to whom?’
‘My father, he will come for me.’
‘There are wealthy Arabs from the north who sometimes visit,’ said Fatima. ‘I had always seen them as business acquaintances. Now I suspect they were here buying women.’
‘You mean he may sell me to a rich Arab?’ Kate replied with alarm.
‘It is a possibility. I hope I am wrong.’
‘If your father comes, please take us with you,’ Aisha pleaded.
‘I will try, but my situation is no better than yours at the present moment.’
***
Several days later, the only man permitted to enter the women’s quarter visited. He had come to speak with Kate. ‘I hope you have been shown the greatest respect, and that you have received the treatment of an honoured guest.’
‘I have,’ she replied.
‘I am currently negotiating the terms for you return.’
‘You are discussing with my father?’
‘Yes, that is correct.’
‘You have no right to hold me. I am an American citizen. My father has powerful connections; they will come and rescue me.’
‘Your father is a wise man,’ replied the Sheikh. ‘At least, I hope he is. If he contacts his influential connections, or if I see any sign of deception on his part, then your position of safety and respect will be compromised.’
He stared at her for a few moments before continuing as if to emphasise his point.
‘He, or the people that I am in contact with, have been told to maintain secrecy. They have been told not to commit any actions that would be deemed contrary to a peaceful resolution.’
‘Am I to be sold to whoever pays for me?’
‘I give you my word. As long as your father acts honourably and abides by our agreement, then nobody else will buy you, or act in a manner unbecoming. As a devout and pious Muslim, I give my word. I am a businessman and you are a commodity – indeed, a very valuable commodity.’
They had been offered as comforting words, but neither Kate nor Fatima, when Kate recounted the conversation to her, were fooled. They had met Aisha and Victoria; they knew the truth of the situation. Kate was for sale, and her father was not the only buyer.
‘He stated that I would be returned upon payment of a ransom and I will not be harmed.’
‘We know he has not told the truth,’ said Fatima. ‘What are you going to do?’ She was now dramatically disillusioned with the Sheikh, dreading a night visit from him. How would she react? Would he sense her coldness? Would he be suspicious?
‘There is very little I can do. I must place my trust in my father. He will not let them take me. He will come.’
‘When he comes, please take me with you.’
Another week passed, and Kate remained confined. A gilt cage it may have been but, as luxurious as it was, it remained a prison. Fatima had been allowed out once to travel into town, but she was not permitted to leave.
It was during Fatima’s absence that the Sheikh visited Kate. ‘Your father does not agree to my terms. He wishes to negotiate your ransom. This is not the action of a father who professes love for his daughter.’
‘I do not believe you.’
‘What you choose to believe or not believe is not of concern. I have no option but to offer you to others who will see your value.’
‘You gave me your word. You said you were a devout Muslim, and that I would go back to my father.’
‘I gave you my word in the belief that your father was an honourable man.’
‘Who do you intend to sell me to?’ Kate asked, trembling and in great fear.
‘I will sell you to the highest bidder.’
‘And what will he do with me?’
‘That is not of my concern.’
‘I am an American citizen! You cannot do this to me.’
‘Here, you are a commodity. This is not America. Your fate is in my hands, not your father, and certainly not your country. I will inform your father that his unwillingness to agree to my price has caused me to conduct an auction for you. It is his decision as to whether you are returned safely to him.’
‘He will not let anyone take me,’ she replied, her voice trembling with emotion. She was trying to hold back the tears.
‘He is not here. He will not find this location.’
With those few parting words, he left. He was elated; she was devastated. The auction, unbeknown to Kate, had commenced sometime previous.
The Sheikh on leaving made a phone call to the one man he knew that had the money and the need of a woman such as Kate. ‘I await your representatives in the next few days. The commodity is unique, of the finest quality. You will be well-pleased.’
‘I will be disappointed and angry if she is proven not to be a virgin,’ the mysterious buyer said.
‘Her virginity is guaranteed.’ The Sheikh hoped his statement was correct.
Chapter 19
Abdul bin al-Ibrahim had a family history stretching back generations. He was a Prince in his society. His education had been the finest his country and the West could offer. Graduating from Oxford
University with a bachelor’s degree in economics, he represented the ideal blend of Saudi society and Western values.
He was urbane, polite, good-looking and always immaculately dressed, whether it was the traditional dress of his country or the elegant look of an affluent Englishman. His suits were of the finest cloth from Savile Row in London; his shoes handmade by John Lobb.
It was oil that had given his family wealth beyond that of Midas. The substantial investments in real estate in the business districts of New York, London, Geneva and numerous other cities would ensure their wealth and lifestyle would not be hampered by a downturn in oil revenue.
Unique and classic cars, mansions, luxury yachts, and skiing holidays in the Swiss Alps were all important to the Prince. He was portrayed in the media as the agreeable face of Saudi Islam. However, he had a flaw, a weakness. Never reported, it was carefully concealed behind a veil, protected by highly paid and highly professional consultants.
The weakness, not in its purest essence a great evil and to many regarded as admirable. The playboy Prince, they called him. The man who had everything, the man to whom money and the beautiful people gravitated.
The weakness was women. His desire for them, in all shapes and forms, although preferably blonde and young, was insatiable.
‘It is time to take a wife,’ his father had said. In his mid-twenties and living the life of an up and coming financial consultant in New York at one of the family’s banks, he was not prepared, or concerned, for the rigours of Saudi society.
‘I am not ready for marriage,’ he had protested.
‘It is your duty to your family, to your country, to your society.’
The young Prince was obliged to respect the family and, in due course, a marriage was held, a forging of two business dynasties, the marriage of two cousins.
His father had made the arrangement while his mother had ensured the bride was of suitable breeding stock. The young Prince had first seen her face on the day before the wedding and he had to admit that, while not beautiful, she did look pleasant and agreeable. It was on the wedding night that he first saw her body and it was as he had imagined. Her breasts were too small, her hips too large and her skin too blotchy.
‘She is good breeding stock,’ his father said whenever the Prince complained.
‘She may be, but she doesn’t excite me.’
‘She is your first wife. It is important that the family chooses the ideal match. Your marriage to her has secured significant financial benefits and status for us.’
‘I accept the marriage. I will fulfil my duty.’
‘Give her plenty of healthy boys to occupy her time,’ his father told him. ‘As far as your future wives are concerned, you may choose to your liking, only ensure they come from respectable Saudi families.’
In time, Prince Abdul bin al-Ibrahim learnt to become fond of his first cousin wife, although she never excited him sexually. She had been pleasurable in the marital bed, and three children had ensued. One had died young, but the other two were fine and sturdy. They were boys and he would always be eternally thankful to his wife, Sanaa, for bestowing them on him.
As the years passed, she ballooned in weight and he found no desire, no pleasure in her. Three children and a lifetime of leisure, overindulging in exotic and richly flavoured food had extinguished any passionate interest that he may have once had.
‘She is of no interest to me,’ he confided in his father.
‘She is the mother of two healthy sons.’
‘She will give me no more. I will not sleep with her again.’
‘Then take another wife. A man is judged by the numbers of sons.’
To Sanaa, it was a great loss. Not that she enjoyed the act of lovemaking with any enthusiasm, but because she felt procreation was the reason for her being.
The Prince followed his father’s directive and acquired another wife four years after marrying the first.
The second wife was to his immediate liking. No longer bound by duty in the choice of bride, he had chosen the daughter of a business acquaintance. She was slender, young (being only sixteen), and of a pleasing disposition. Her body was unknown as she was always covered in the finest robes while her face was hidden by the veil; her eyes, however, were alive and bright. To him, she was all the more mysterious, for his imagination could see what the robes did not allow.
‘I admire your choice. She is a cherry ripe for the picking,’ his father said.
‘She has the body of an angel,’ said his mother. ‘She will bear you many sons. I have checked her thoroughly.’
On the bridal bed, he had found she was not of the conservative, almost frigid manner of his first wife. This one was fiery, inflamed with passion; she had worn him out the first night. In time, however, as in all romances, the passion subsided, the initial lust diminished and the nights apart grew longer. She was not to give him any sons, only daughters, and her unchallenged beauty held no further attraction for him.
He had, though, discovered one important fact about himself as a result of her. He found a never-ending longing for numerous women whenever and however he could procure them.
The third and fourth wives proved to be satisfactory as lovers and bearers of children. There had been four more children, two boys and two girls.
Within a few years of his fourth, and last marriage, and at the age of thirty-seven, he realised none of his four wives held any interest for him. Occasional visits to the fiery second wife continued on an infrequent basis, but there burnt within him a need for more. He was seriously dependent on sexual encounters, the more varied, the better.
‘I am bored of them all,’ he confided to his father.
‘What is the problem?’
‘I cannot take any more wives, yet none of them excites me.’
‘Why is this a problem?’ asked his father. ‘You have honoured your family responsibilities. They have provided you with good and healthy sons. You are free to pursue other women with discretion.’
His university days in England had been mostly chaste; it would have dishonoured his father if he had indulged too energetically in the promiscuous behaviour of a university campus. At times, he had relented to temptation and partook of the delights. There had been a wild girl from London, who showed no inhibitions, a timid but very attractive red-head from Manchester, and a Jewish girl from California when he worked in New York. His father would have been dismayed at the thought of a Jewish girl but, apart from her religion, he liked her best of all. Had he not been of Saudi royalty, he could have imagined a life with her.
It was on a trip to Dubai that he discovered the delights of the Ukrainian and Russian women who frequented the hotel bars. They were all blonde, fair-skinned and, for a price, devoid of any morals. Their skills, exceptional, their ability to prolong his performance, remarkable, and he lusted after them with a vengeance.
Their beauty was unique, but he would remember his second wife and what she had brought to the marital bed that first night. Not only passion, but also her virginity. It was clear there was one woman that would represent the pinnacle of his romantic and sexual endeavours: a blonde, fair-skinned woman of tender years and exceptional beauty, her virginity intact, her hymen unbroken.
He had set up a house on the outskirts of Riyadh, the capital of the oil-rich kingdom, for his personal pleasure. The walls were high, the privacy ensured. It was here he would bring girls from around the world, invariably at least five to ten in number – Russians, Americans, Chinese, and any shade in between. They were paid handsomely for as long as they stayed, or for as long as they were wanted.
‘I want to go home. To complete my studies, to marry, to have children,’ Natasha, a blonde beauty from Ukraine told him. ‘You have given me the opportunity to achieve that aim,’ she added.
‘I am pleased to hear you say that,’ the Prince said smugly.
He found that the women he brought in from Dubai were normally from good, if desperately poor homes, who had adj
usted to the economic realities of their home country. They had one asset to sell, and that was what they were doing. After having spent some time with him, they all appeared to want to go home, to remove their life in Dubai and the Prince from their minds.
‘You are free to go at any time,’ he would say. ‘You will be returned to Dubai, with sufficient money to live the life you choose. I am pleased to have been of service.’
The women would be brought into the country in a private jet and then transported to the compound in one of his many Rolls Royces. Most stayed for two or three weeks though Natasha had stayed for five. He had developed a fondness for her. It was not only sex, at which she was exceptional. She also had a lively mind, an appreciation of art, and he spent many hours in her company just talking. He would miss her, but he would not delay her departure.
***
The Prince, following the call from the Chadian trader was interested, but he needed more information. He did not trust Sheikh Idriss Deubet and an independent assessment of the goods was required. He called in the two men he could trust for such a task. ‘Please, gentleman, update me with reference to the blonde woman in Chad.’
He was not a man to move around, cash in hand; he was not expected to sully himself with such issues. If he wanted something, he would get someone to do it for him. He would be hand-on with any women that he intended to pleasure, but in no other matter.
His two agents, Abdullah Al Balushi, an Omani national, and Saleh Al Hasani, a citizen of Muscat, were fully occupied carrying out his business. If the Prince wanted to buy a house in London, an antique car in the USA, a woman in Dubai, or a yacht in the South of France, they would procure. He trusted them without reservation; they knew the consequences of not acting in his best interests, death or maiming was almost certain. Besides, there was no reason to act contrary to his wants, for no one else would pay them as much money as he did.
‘Sheikh Idriss, our supplier of black girls we bring here occasionally for your pleasure, has obtained a blonde virgin of exceptional beauty,’ Abdullah said. ‘She is believed to be American and educated. She is also very expensive. She can be brought here, no questions asked, in secret and compliant.’
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