by Zan, Koethi
Jenny whispered, “I don’t know who that is. I know all their tics and rhythms. Must be a new guy.”
“Good, right?” Tracy said optimistically, though her voice betrayed her fear. “He won’t know the routine. We can take him by surprise.”
Jenny stood up halfway and made her way over to the doors. We followed, pushing our way past the knees and feet of the girls next to us, who were trying to sleep while they could.
Then the doors flew open. Instead of leaping forward, ready to push past whatever stood in my way, I froze, rooted to the spot, unable to believe my eyes. A split second later Tracy’s shaking voice came from behind me, “Christine?!?!”
I could not understand in that moment how it was possible, but there she stood. Christine, in all her Park Avenue glory, dressed in uniform New York City black, perfectly coiffed and shod for a day hike during peak leaf season. She held open the van doors, looking on in horror at the sight of the human cargo filling that van. Then she pulled herself into action.
“Everybody out! Let’s go,” she whispered loudly but assuredly, like a suburban mom unloading the junior varsity lacrosse team. All of us clambered out of the van, the girls behind us tearing themselves out of their sleep. Tracy grabbed the stragglers by the arms, throwing them into the breaking daylight. Some were dumbfounded and couldn’t process what was happening. I couldn’t process what was happening. What was Christine doing here?
But there was no time for questions.
Once we were out, Tracy jumped down and looked the girls over as they stood there, dazed. “Girls, don’t be idiots. RUN!!!”
I glanced around quickly. The van was parked behind a barn, half-collapsed into an overgrown rye field, across from an equally decrepit farmhouse, dark except for a single lit window. I wasted no more time following Christine’s lead but sprinted down the hill, away from the house into the woods. Running like hell.
It must have been a beautiful and ethereal sight in some ways. All those girls, barefoot in flowing white robes, running downhill at top speed between the trees of a wild rural paradise. Like nymphs. Like seraphim.
Time was unrolling in slow motion as if in some fluid, hypervivid dream. The girls’ faces reflected their shock, their terror, their total disorientation. I could see flashes of white robes flitting in and out between the branches. Tracy, Christine, and I could easily spot one another as the group fanned out, the only black spots in the pure flow of white streaming down the hill.
All of a sudden I felt elated. I laughed out loud. Loud into the dawning sunlight glinting through the green of the trees. I looked over at Tracy and Christine. They heard me, and somehow my joy, my joy at being free, at having such a close call, of having Christine show up as a savior in the early morning, sent my spirits soaring, and I couldn’t stop laughing. They joined me, and soon we were running and stumbling and tripping over ourselves, laughing hysterically, maniacally, desperately, as we moved through those woods.
Eventually we came to a clearing. Christine slowed down to check her phone, then stopped, texting like mad. Several of the girls had stopped running from sheer exhaustion, many of them holding their sides to ease the cramps. We gathered in the clearing and tried to catch our breath, listening to hear whether anyone was chasing us. The woods were completely silent. No dogs, no men, no gunshots. It was eerily quiet.
Christine was smiling through tears. Just as I was about to ask her what we should do, I heard the sound of helicopters. There must have been four or five of them hovering overhead, the collective sound of their spinning blades combining into a single roar in my ears. Christine ran over to us, her arms wide, gesturing for us to get down. The girls in white stared up in awe as one helicopter lowered itself down into the clearing.
As the first one landed, a tall man in a black bulletproof vest and black flight suit jumped to the ground and started walking toward us as he spoke into the microphone pinned to his shoulder.
“Jim!” I said. I almost started to run toward him but slowed up as I realized Tracy and Christine were falling in line beside me.
Jim looked at us and shook his head. Then he smiled.
“Sarah, remember—all I asked you to do was testify at the hearing? And now look what you’ve gotten yourself into.” He almost reached out to hug me but pulled back at the last minute, remembering himself. Tracy fell into his arms instead, and then Christine. They were delirious, thanking him over and over again for coming.
Jim looked out at me from their arms. I could only smile weakly at him. He smiled back, holding my gaze with his eyes, which were filled with pity and a tenderness that caught me by surprise. He is pretty human, I thought to myself as I looked away, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. Especially for an FBI agent.
Slowly they got us all boarded onto the helicopters, and an hour or so later we touched down in the parking lot of a local police station, which I would soon discover was in a small town just outside Portland. The squat brick building had been built in the fifties, and it didn’t look like anyone had done any maintenance on it since. Inside, the linoleum tiles on the floor had curled up at the corners, and the paint on the walls was chipped and faded, stained with the dull black sheen that inevitably develops from decade after decade of brushes with human flesh.
It seemed every law enforcement officer from the county had gathered in the building, and every journalist and camera crew in the state was camped outside. Three ambulances, sirens turning, awaited our arrival, and paramedics rushed toward us as we entered the building.
Moments later I sat on some officer’s desk, wrapped in a blanket, while he stood off to the side a few feet away, mostly gaping. Someone handed me a cup of coffee, and I took a sip. Christine and Tracy were sitting in wheeled office chairs on either side of me, Christine twisting hers slightly back and forth in a nervous rhythm.
The scene brought me back to a similar one ten years before. Except now all around me were girls in floor-length robes, some being interviewed by police officers, some drinking their coffee and staring straight ahead, all trying to make sense of this new development. I knew how confused they must feel. To me, though, it was a sort of homecoming.
“Someday, someone is going to need to explain to me what just happened. But right now I’m perfectly content to be sitting on this desk in this funny little precinct, drinking this tar-paper coffee,” I said, almost feeling genuinely happy at that moment. Instead of retraumatized, I felt invigorated. This situation felt more like the normal condition of the world. This I could cope with. This was easier than waiting for what might happen.
“Well, it’s very simple, really,” said Christine. “When Tracy called yesterday morning to tell me about the list—”
“The list?” I said, my mind wiped clean from shock.
“Yes, you know, Jim’s list of girls who went missing during Jack Derber’s academic conferences.” I nodded, and she continued. “When she told me that, something in me snapped, and I knew, somehow, I had to help keep him from getting out. After all, as you pointed out, I do have daughters.
“But it was more than that. Ever since I saw you, I’ve been thinking about your search. All these years I’ve tried to forget our past. I was afraid if I went anywhere near that edge, I’d fall off the cliff. But if those other girls are out there … I had to.”
She took a deep breath.
“So I told my husband that my cousin was sick, and I had to fly that day. He took the girls up to his parents’ in Connecticut, because, you know, he has a ‘crazy’ week next week.” We all smiled at that. “Anyway, I booked the next flight and called Jim from the airport. He told me where you were staying.”
Tracy nodded. “That was the flight you needed to catch.”
“How did Jim …?” I started, but she shrugged before I could finish the question. He had clearly been watching out for us more than he was letting on.
“I pulled into the hotel parking lot late last night,” Christine continued, “and then sat in my rental car for
what felt like an hour, debating whether I could really do this.
“When I finally persuaded myself to open the car door, I saw you two pass behind me, gunning it out of the lot. I followed you, trying to catch up with you enough to get your attention. You were both pretty oblivious, and now I understand why, given where you were going.
“I lost you for a bit and backtracked until I found your car parked beside the road. Tracy had told me about the warehouse, so at that point, I put two and two together. I pulled into the driveway closest to your car—no way was I getting out to walk it—and as I reached the top of the hill, I saw taillights up ahead.
“I was scared, so I turned off my lights and the engine, wondering what to do next. A minute later I watched as those men threw you into the back of their van. I panicked and immediately called Jim. He told me to go back to the hotel, that he’d handle it. But how could he find one van on these back roads in the middle of nowhere? And I had this horrible notion that they were taking you somewhere to kill you.
“Jim grumbled but stayed on the line with me as I followed from a distance. He said he could track me by my cell phone, but it would take a little time to set it up through the phone company. But there was no time.
“Then I remembered the tracking app on my iPhone—the one I use with my sitter.”
She noticed my puzzled expression.
“With this particular app,” she explained, “you can share your GPS location with others in real time. Jim used it to track me as I followed the van.”
I nodded my head appreciatively. Naturally, Christine had the latest, most advanced technology.
“So why were you the one who got us out of that van, then?” asked Tracy.
“Once we got to the farm, the men went into the house. They’d hidden the van behind the barn, so I figured I could get to it without being seen. Jim was still minutes away, and the last thing I wanted was for those guys to come back and shoot you just before he got there. So I went for it.
“When the cargo doors didn’t open, I got into the cab. At first I couldn’t figure out how to work the locks. It’s not exactly a Lexus,” she said.
Tracy rolled her eyes, but Christine just smiled back at her.
“But I found the lever,” she went on, “and heard the doors click.”
“Jesus, Christine,” I said in awe, “I can’t believe you did that. I don’t know what to say.”
She beamed. I would never have expected it, remembering her from our cellar days. Maybe it was true—what she’d told Jim—that she had fully recovered. What if, in fact, our horrific past had only made her stronger? I envied her.
Jim’s eyes met mine across the room, and I waved him over. He approached Christine first.
“You understand how dangerous that was, don’t you? Do you know what could have happened to you?” He sounded genuinely upset.
She answered him calmly, with her crisp Upper East Side enunciation, “Yes, in fact, I do know exactly how bad it could have been, Jim. That’s why I know better than to wait around for the worst to happen.”
Jim nodded slowly, taking her point, then turned to me. He handed me my phone, which they must have recovered from the warehouse.
“You seem to have left this behind.” He smiled gently. “How are you holding up, Sarah?”
“I’ll live. Again.” I smiled back. “Did you get him?”
For a fleeting moment Jim seemed embarrassed, then rallied, putting on his best professional demeanor. “No, we didn’t, but we’re staking out his compound in Keeler as we speak.”
He moved closer, looking at me earnestly. “Sarah, I’m sorry I didn’t seem to be taking what you’d found seriously enough. But the truth is I have been doing my homework. After we spoke, I did some digging. We checked out The Vault. Their ownership records are pretty complex—lots of shell corporations owning other shell corporations. But our accounting forensics guys figured out that the club owners were partnered with one of Noah Philben’s entities. We think they were using it as a distribution hub and running most of their financial operations out of there.”
“What about the brand, the headless man? These girls are all branded. And Noah Philben knew who I was. My real name. There has to be a connection with Jack Derber. If we can prove that Jack Derber is in on this trafficking ring, he’ll stay in jail forever, right?”
Jim hesitated. “To tell you the truth, Sarah, I have a theory that Jack might actually be in control of the whole operation. And that he’s using Sylvia as a messenger. I don’t have solid proof yet, but I’m getting closer.”
I stared at him. Could Jack Derber still be controlling so many lives, even under virtual lockdown? The idea made me sick. But before I could respond, one of Jim’s colleagues pulled him away, directing him to a computer screen a few desks over.
I turned, only to see Jenny slowly making her way around the desks and chairs in the room, over to where we stood.
“I just wanted to—to thank you. I’m outta here now, so … you know, thanks.”
“You’re leaving? Don’t they need to take your statement? To make sure they have all the evidence they can get?”
Jenny looked around the room at the other girls, some sitting at desks, others standing in corners, all of them looking dazed.
“They’ve got plenty of stories to go on. I just need to get out of here. This place makes me feel like I’m the one who did something wrong. Who knows, at any minute, they could turn the tables and slap a solicitation charge on us. That’s how it goes. Either way, I know I’ll never be held prisoner again.”
“Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t know. Women’s shelter for the night? Something. It doesn’t matter. I’m free now, and I plan to stay that way.” And with that she slipped out the door, without looking back at us.
By now Jim had been called over by another officer, and the two of them were talking to one of the robed girls from the van. Her long matted hair hid her face, but I could tell from her quivering shoulders that she was crying pretty hard while she told her story.
Both men went pale at her words. When she finished, she sat down and put her head on the desk, oblivious to the papers, binders, and three-hole punch lying there. Jim didn’t waste a second—he turned to the other officer, rattling off orders, even as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. The younger officer took notes, writing fast, glancing back up at Jim every few seconds, nodding.
Jim made his way over to us in two strides, barking directions into his phone, clicking it off just as he reached us.
“Listen, we’re hearing some pretty disturbing tales from these women. I haven’t seen anything like this in my twenty-three years with the Bureau. This wasn’t an ordinary prostitution ring.” He paused, perhaps thinking we weren’t prepared to hear the worst of it. “They sold girls for torture. As slaves. I’m going to Noah’s compound now. We’re going in.”
I felt sick. This sounded like Jack’s forte.
Jim turned his back to us to take a call, putting two fingers over his other ear to shut out the noise. Then he stepped back over to us, just as officers rushed past and sirens blared outside.
“I’m arranging for you to go to a different hotel—we’ll send someone to pick up your things. And I’ve assigned you a security detail for protection. We’re getting you a new rental car—we’ve impounded the other one as evidence—and Officer Grunnell here will give you a police escort. Stay in your rooms until I give the word.”
We nodded obediently, disoriented by the frenetic activity around us, and watched Jim go out the door.
But despite everything, a tiny part of me didn’t feel finished here. I turned to Tracy and Christine.
“So what do you say? Do we go wait it out in the hotel like dutiful little victims?”
Tracy sniffed. “I don’t think so. I think we’ve wasted enough years in that role.” She turned to me. “Where do we go from here?”
I thought a minute, happy she felt the same way. “I
t’s time for us to head back to Keeler, too. I think you need to meet Noah’s ex.”
CHAPTER 31
Fortunately, Officer Grunnell was swamped and didn’t put up much of a fight when we told him we could make our way to the hotel on our own. He wrote out the address on the back of his card and said he’d see us there in an hour or so. We nodded solemnly and waved to him as we climbed into our new rental car. I hoped he wouldn’t get in too much trouble when Jim found out he’d let us walk out, just like that.
It was starting to show that we hadn’t slept all night and were running solely on adrenaline. We all looked more than a bit ragged around the edges. Still, I was determined to speak to Helen Watson, Noah’s ex, before she heard the news about him from someone else. I hoped the shock of it might cause her to reveal something more to us, something she might not be willing to tell anyone else.
Maybe it was the edge of exhaustion pushing her on, but Tracy drove faster than usual, certainly faster than I thought strictly necessary. Around every turn I pressed my foot into the floorboard, hitting the imaginary brake on the passenger side of the car. She grinned at me and told me to relax even as she sped up more.
I tried to take my mind off the car accident statistics I wanted to recite by updating Christine about everything we’d learned so far. I could see her turning the facts over in her mind, and they were beginning to have the same impact on her they’d had on us. She was with us now. She called her husband to say her cousin was sicker than she’d thought, and she’d need to stay on a few more days to help out.
As she hung up, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was local. Adele. And she sounded more agitated than I’d heard her before. Shaken almost.
“Have you seen the news?” she asked, her voice quavering.
“No,” I replied, “but I can guess.”
“Guess? Were you involved? Was this part of your search for Sylvia?”