by Jonas Saul
“Sarah is psychic.”
Sarah looked away, her parents on her mind. All she could do was hope that the men at her parents’ door were actually from the CIA. But what would the CIA want with them?
This had to be connected to Casper. He knew about Aaron, the Mexicans. He said he was with a group similar to the CIA. Or did he say he was actually with them?
Amber tapped her shoulder.
“Sarah, we’ve called your name twice.”
“What? Sorry. Daydreaming.” She felt better. Vivian had whispered parents. Sarah had called. It was all timing. It must’ve been so Sarah would know her parents were safe. Why else would Vivian do that? To torture her?
She just needed to get to Casper. Learn what he knows. Find out what’s happening to everyone back in North America. Then life would settle down.
“Sarah?” Amber whispered.
She looked up again. Madam was gone. The door was closed.
“What’s going on?”
“Shhh.” Amber jammed a finger against her lips. “Melissa’s cop just showed up. She’s taking him down to the dungeon right now. Madam has gone to empty the place of customers. They’ve already hit the closed sign on the front door and pulled the curtains. You’re up.”
Sarah pulled the gun from the back of her jeans, got to her feet and headed to the door.
“Here comes second base, Dekker,” she said.
Amber clapped her hands quietly behind her as Sarah exited the office.
Chapter 32
Aaron baked like a basted turkey in the prison cell most of the day. Hector’s smell as he slowly decayed in the heat was fast becoming unbearable, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was no breeze to speak of, no way for him to sit upwind and the men didn’t seem interested in removing the body.
Throughout the day he faded in and out of consciousness as his thirst intensified. He found it interesting that he wasn’t starving as much as he was thirsty.
Maybe his captors would come back today. What torture had they designed for the next session? He wondered how much he could handle?
He hadn’t been this weak since he was a preteen and his parents had abandoned him and his sister Joanne like unwanted pets. Through years of determination and strength, he had forged a new Aaron, made something of himself. Where had all that gone? Weakened by lack of food and water? There had to be some inner resolve, some fight left in him. But to fight here, while he was surrounded by an army of men, didn’t offer great odds. He had to wait until the time was right. Wait until their guard was down—if it ever was.
The door opened. The sun blasted him as it set in the west. He hadn’t heard the chain, the lock. Maybe he’d been dozing again. He tried to sit up, blinking rapidly, but fell back down.
Conserve your strength.
He kept one eye half-lidded as he watched the men enter and wrap Hector in a large plastic roll. They were so efficient he could tell they’d done this several times in the past. What kind of life was this for the soldiers? All in the name of making money?
The men walked out, Hector’s plastic-wrapped body under their arms like they were carrying a roll of carpet. Only a dark red splotch of blood reminded him that Hector had been here, had died here. Right in front of him. And he had done nothing to stop it.
But if he had tried to stop them he would most likely be dead right now.
The men reentered the room, strode across to him, grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet so fast, his head spun.
“Wait,” Aaron mumbled. “Where are you taking me?”
The men walked him out of the prison room without a response. He was guided along in front of the horse stables, along the dirt road and into the barn from yesterday. The barn where they offered him too much water.
“I don’t need another drink,” he said, even though his lips were turning a salty white. “I’m fine.”
The man on his right laughed as if Aaron had made a joke.
The inside of the barn was dark. As they guided Aaron toward the back, he counted six men standing around a wooden table. The leader was there.
“Enjoying our weather?” the leader asked.
“Could really go for a swim in the ocean,” Aaron said. “Maybe you could arrange a drive down there tomorrow? After all, I am a guest and a decent measure of hospitality would dictate—”
A fist slammed into his stomach from his right side. He was still too far from the leader and the rest of the men at the table to expect the punch, nor did he see it coming from the guy holding him. All his breath expelled from his lungs and he couldn’t breathe for a few moments. His body urged him to curl up on the floor.
“Look at him,” the leader shouted. “He looks like a grounded fish.” The leader opened his mouth in an O shape and pantomimed breathing difficulties.
They dropped Aaron at the leader’s feet and stepped away from him. A minute amount of air seeped through to his lungs. His stomach felt like it had clenched to the size of a raisin. Then more air forced its way in. Panting, gasping, he tried to collect himself.
“Get him up,” the leader ordered.
Hands forced him to his feet.
“Only one chance today. Where is Sarah Roberts?” The leader stepped closer, the knife from yesterday in his right hand. Aaron marveled at how clean it was. “This is your only chance to save yourself. Once I start cutting, you will never recover from the damage I will cause.”
Aaron understood that he would probably die here in this dirty barn among these heathens just because he was underfed, malnourished, and outnumbered.
He found his voice. “Your best chance to save yourself,” he said in the most authoritative voice he could muster, “is to release me now. Put me on a plane and send me home and forget the name Sarah Roberts. A steak dinner with all the trimmings and some red wine as an apology would suffice. This, and only this, will be your saving grace. Do this, and maybe, just maybe all of you will live to fuck your girlfriends or wives or each other’s girlfriends or whatever the fuck you inbreds do to each other.” He turned back to the leader. The Mexican’s face had reddened, his eyes narrow. “Think about that. Think on it. Your days are numbered. Not mine so much.”
The leader landed a solid punch on Aaron’s cheek. His reflexes moved to block it without thought, but his sluggish arms were far too late. The floor got close, but he didn’t meet it as the man on his right arrested his fall.
“Get his arm on the table,” the leader shouted.
Aaron was dragged across the floor. Men gathered around, staying close. Someone yanked on his right hand, stressing the rotator cuff in his shoulder. His arm was forced flat on the table as panic entered Aaron’s system. His face had numbed where the fist had made contact.
“Hold him,” the leader ordered. “I need something,” the leader said, “for Sarah to see you’re still alive and that I have you. This will only hurt a little.”
Aaron twisted into a position that he could watch what the leader was about to do.
The large knife glinted in the single bulb that dangled over the table.
Then the knife’s blade came against his skin at the big knuckle of the index finger and Aaron knew what the leader was about to do. His life would never be the same. His fighting career, his dojo.
Hopelessness engulfed him. Anger, hatred, fear and pain filled him as the leader began slicing his finger off.
Aaron screamed and wailed. He cried out. He called to God for mercy until he passed out.
If losing consciousness could be called merciful, then God answered his call.
Chapter 33
“Ladies,” Madam said as Sarah approached the lunch room. “Everyone, take your positions. I want you two upstairs watching from the windows above. Shout down if you see something we need to know about. Amber, follow Sarah to the dungeon in case Sarah needs help.”
The girls scattered to all parts of the building. Amber stayed close to Sarah. It wasn’t the first time Sarah wondered why they
were helping her kidnap a cop. Nor why Amber seemed so happy with the notion. Something didn’t add up for Sarah, but she wasn’t about to grill them on why they were helping now.
Madam nodded subtly toward Sarah, glided out of the lunch room and started up the hall toward her office where she would stay behind the locked door for the remainder of the ordeal.
The oldest profession in history was alive and well in many cities around the world. Nothing would ever stop it. But Sarah could put a dent into what was reported as a $150 billion industry of human trafficking. Locate Wong, recover the black book, deal with Dekker and meet up with Casper all in the next day, and she could hurt the industry. Even though the odds were against her, she had no choice but to move forward.
Sarah checked the clock on the wall. Melissa had had enough time. The cop would be handcuffed by now or at least disrobed.
She headed for the dungeon door, Amber’s gun clammy in her grip.
Vivian hadn’t advised whether this was good or bad. Obviously it was bad, but if it produced the results she wanted, then it would be a good thing.
She hesitated outside the door to listen. Voices, mumbled, whispered, indiscernible. Amber stayed close behind her. Slowly, Sarah wrapped her free hand around the door knob, turned it and looked back at Amber. She mouthed the word okay and received a nod from Amber.
Without making a noise, she pushed the door open a crack, then wider. Melissa’s back was to the door. She wore a G-string, her bra already off. The man only wore underwear. His right wrist was secured to the wall with a handcuff.
Sarah moved inside the room. The cop’s eyes were locked on Melissa’s breasts as she slipped a thumb inside the rim of his underwear and began lowering them.
When his head shot up, he saw Sarah with the gun.
“Hey, what’s this?” he shouted.
Melissa jumped back and released his underwear as she stepped away from him, covering her ample breasts.
“Get your clothes,” Sarah said to Melissa. “Then get out. Leave the building.”
Melissa had been briefed that this would look like a random act of violence perpetrated by Sarah so the brothel would be protected when it was all over. Ordering Melissa out of the building and having her act surprised was all part of it and Melissa was turning out to be a fine actress.
She quickly grabbed her meager clothes scattered about the floor, gave Sarah a wide berth as if she had a disease and ran for the door, almost barreling into Amber on her way out.
The performance was encore worthy.
“What about me?” the cop asked.
“You stay,” Sarah shouted.
“What is this?” he asked, looking over Sarah’s shoulder at Amber. “Some kinky fuck game?”
“You only have the kinky part wrong,” Sarah replied as she lowered the weapon. He was cuffed and still in his underwear, his clothes in a heap beside him.
Sarah glanced back at Amber. She shut the door but remained inside. She was supposed to leave the room and stay on the other side of the door. Now she looked like an accomplice.
The cop was young. Easy early twenties. His right eye twitched. He showed fear. Sarah was sure he would do what he was told.
“So, we still gonna fuck?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, someone’s going to get fucked, but not you or me.”
“Then who?”
“Where’s your radio?”
He stared at her for a heartbeat. “You know me?”
“Where’s your radio?” Sarah asked again.
“Fuck you, American,” he said. “I’m a member of the Dutch police. You’re in a lot of trouble, Miss.”
Sarah strode over to him, jammed the gun into his belly button and brought her nose to his, tip to tip.
The twitch in his eye increased. He was scared. She just became unpredictable. How long had he been a cop? How often had he had a gun pointed at him, much less jammed into his stomach? For a moment, she wondered if he would piss himself.
“I wouldn’t worry about me right now,” Sarah whispered. “I think you’re the one who is in trouble.” She pulled away enough so that he couldn’t head butt her or raise his knee into her crotch without her seeing it. “A cop, caught with his pants down in the dungeon of a brothel in the red light district. You’re the one fucked now.”
“This is legal,” he pleaded.
Sarah ignored him and turned to Amber. “I need a disposable phone. Can you get one down here? Any of the girls left one before I ordered them out of the building?”
“I’ll go check.” Amber disappeared out the door.
Sarah roamed the room examining the adult toys and paraphernalia. There were chains attached to the walls at various places. A large sex swing hung from the ceiling in one corner. Sarah sat in it, adjusted the piece that supported the back and eased down into it. It looked like she reclined in a floating La-Z-Boy without armrests. She avoided the ankle straps for obvious reasons.
“What’s this all about—” the cop cut himself off as his eyes widened. “Hey, wait a second. You’re that girl from the poster.”
“What are you hunting me for?” Sarah asked.
“You murdered a cop’s informant in a warehouse,” he answered.
I knew it.
He still looked surprised, but his fear was showing through. He had to be contemplating that if she was a murderer, and now she had him, a cop as a hostage, what was next for him?
“That’s right. You found me.” She pushed with her feet to start swinging. “You’re a cop. What’s to stop me from killing you?”
His lower lip began to quiver.
“How long have you been a cop?” Sarah asked.
“Second week,” he managed to mutter.
“Oh shit, sorry. You may quit after this.” She swung harder. “I mean, if you live through it. What’s your name?”
He didn’t say anything at first.
“Don’t make me come over there and beat it out of you. Just tell me your name before you piss me off.”
“Police Patrol Officer Prins.”
Amber bounded through the door and handed Sarah two phones.
“Take your pick,” Amber said.
Sarah grabbed the Vodafone and dialed the Dutch Alarm number, 112. When the dispatcher came on, she was ready.
“My name is Sarah Roberts. I’m the American girl you’re looking for. Contact Inspector Lars Dekker and inform him that I’m willing to talk. Do it now. I’ll call back in thirty minutes. When I do, have Dekker there or I’ll disappear.”
Sarah turned off the phone and addressed Prins. “You better hope Dekker’s there.”
Sarah turned away from Prins, met Amber’s eye and winked at her.
The plan was working but she couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron. What had happened to him? Where was he? And what could Casper know about Aaron? Should she still be running after James Wong or going home to see what had happened to her man, Parkman and her parents?
So many unanswered questions. The biggest one of all was where could Vivian be in all this? What were her thoughts? And when was she going to start sharing them?
Why so much silence, Sis?
Sarah kicked her feet and swung higher in the sex swing as the cop in the corner glistened with sweat.
Chapter 34
Thirty minutes passed quickly in the dungeon. Madam had tea sent down. Along with the tea was information. The girls upstairs watching the streets had reported officers out front of the Wine Cat Brothel fifteen minutes ago. They had reported that the officers were still doing routine walkabouts looking for the girl in the poster that had been posted all over town. So far, no one had found it odd that Madam’s business was closed mid-afternoon. Sarah figured she would be finished with the dungeon in the next few hours and then Madam’s business could go back to normal.
“Time’s up, Prins,” Sarah said. “Let’s hope Dekker is at the other end of this phone.”
Amber had stayed with her and now stood by the door. Sarah ha
d had a chair brought down when the sex swing became uncomfortable. She rose from the chair, the gun in the back of her jeans snug and tight, and turned the cell phone on.
Once she dialed out, it rang at the other end.
“Is this Sarah Roberts?” the female dispatcher asked, probably recognizing the number.
“Where’s Dekker?”
“I have Inspector Dekker available by cell phone. Dekker’s on the road. He is waiting for your call.” The dispatcher offered the number and Sarah hung up immediately after.