by T. K. Leigh
“Have you spoken to your new liaison about this?”
He nodded. “Aliyah tends to agree with the local police. She says clinics get hit all the time, especially those operated by western organizations. I guess she has a point, but my gut tells me there’s more to it.” He drew in a long breath and met Alexander’s eyes, his expression pleading. “These women have lived in fear for so long. For a second, they could finally breathe, but now…” He bowed his head. “All that’s gone again. They jump at every loud noise. They’re just waiting for the day our protective services aren’t good enough. I thought a shelter was the best way to keep them safe, but it’s not. These women are forced to live suspended between two worlds. It’s not a safe haven. It’s a jail. Yes, they’re alive, but they’re not really living. And it’s only a matter of time until it all crumbles beneath us.”
Alexander continued staring at his friend, waiting for him to drop the bomb. Landon rubbed his hands on his pants, his jaw clenching before he turned to Alexander once more.
“I don’t know who else to go to. You’re the only one I know who can pull something like this off.” He ran his hands through his hair, drawing in a deep breath. “If I could just have help getting them to Ecuador, I can get them here.”
“Here?” Alexander straightened his spine, disbelief covering his face. He didn’t know what he thought Landon was going to say, but it certainly wasn’t this. “What about the rules of engagement?!” Alexander roared.
“Fuck the rules of engagement!” Landon shot up, glaring at him. “When did you start caring more about diplomacy and bureaucracy than just saying fuck it and doing what you want? The Alex I remember from our SEAL days worked outside the box, and we did amazing things together. We can do that again! Here! We can make a difference! We can save lives!”
Alexander buried his head in his hands as he tried to reel in his anger.
“They’ll never be safe there,” Landon bellowed, his face turning red. “I can’t just do nothing, knowing each morning they wake up may be their last. Some of them are just girls with babies of their own! One of them is pregnant from her rapist, and the family wanted her to marry him! Marry him! Can you imagine? I have to do something, but I need your help.”
“Landon, please—”
“I know you have a lot of pull with all your contacts. I just need help getting them on a transport out of Afghanistan. Not even all of them! We’ll just get one out at a time so we don’t raise suspicion. If anything goes wrong, your name will never come up.”
Alexander shook his head. Landon was asking him to break every rule in the book, not to mention violate federal immigration law. “How do you choose who gets to go and who stays behind? Who decided that you get to play God?”
“I’m not playing God. I’m just being a decent human being, helping those most at risk. Come on, Alex. You’ve never played by anybody’s rules before. Why start now?”
“Landon, I may bend the rules,” Alexander stated firmly, standing, “but I don’t break them. We don’t smuggle women out of the country! That’s not our purpose over there. Our purpose is to provide a temporary safe haven for those who need it!”
“But it’s no longer safe! There’s no other option. Not anymore!”
“How do you expect me to explain the missing girls to the ministry? If they walk in and see empty beds, they’re going to want to know what happened.”
“I’ll figure that out when the time comes.”
“And you don’t think the ministry will become suspicious when they notice girls start disappearing from the shelter they send their high-risk cases to?”
“And when that shelter is no longer safe for them, what am I supposed to do? Nothing?”
“Yes, Landon,” Alexander argued, the vein in his neck bulging. “Nothing. You provide medical care. A bed. Food. Clothing. Limited protection. But what you don’t do is smuggle them out of the country!” Alexander strode over to the wet bar and poured a tumbler of scotch, slinging it back. It was barely ten in the morning, but he needed a drink.
“What if it were Melanie?”
Alexander swung his eyes toward Landon. “We don’t have those sorts of customs here, so she’ll never be in that position.”
“True.” Landon shrugged. “But domestic violence is a big problem. What if Melanie’s in an abusive relationship when she’s older? What if you’re not there to keep her safe? What if she seeks safety in a women’s shelter, but it’s not enough? Wouldn’t you want someone to help her?”
Alexander drew in a breath, his eyes catching a framed photo of Melanie on one of the accent tables in the sitting area. His stomach churned at the thought of anyone harming her. He would fight for her, would do anything he could to keep her safe, would make anyone who hurt her suffer. But this was different. This was bigger. Landon was asking him to put his company’s reputation on the line to help a handful of women. Alexander employed over a thousand people around the world. What would happen to their families if the company folded over his momentary lapse in judgment?
“Landon, you know I love you like a brother, and I would normally do anything to help you…” He placed his hand on his shoulder, their eyes locking. “But I just can’t this time. I’ll give you anything else you need. More staff. More money to do everything you can to keep those girls safe. But I have over a thousand people’s livelihoods I need to consider. I can’t put this company’s reputation on the line for the sake of a dozen Afghan women.”
A blank expression crossed Landon’s face. Alexander had hoped to see some sort of emotion. He wanted Landon to berate him for being an insensitive prick, for thinking about the bottom line and the numbers in his bank account rather than acting like a decent human being. Instead, he quietly headed toward the door.
“I understand, Alex. You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s not our place to interfere.”
Alexander shook his head as Landon walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Present Day
December 20
9:15 AM
ALEXANDER CONTINUED SCANNING THE photos of the women, ghosts of his past, recalling that October day. That was the last time he had seen his friend. Two months later, an explosion destroyed the shelter, and Landon’s brutal death was broadcast for all to see. Except for Martin, he never spoke of their conversation to anyone. He had put it all behind him. Even when the Ministry of Women’s Affairs conducted its investigation into the missing girls, Alexander never brought it up. He’d had Martin reach out to his contacts in the intelligence field, wondering if Landon had been able to smuggle the girls out, but he found nothing.
The pieces were all falling into place. After countless attacks on the clinic, Alexander had simply assumed the explosion was a way to return the girls to their families, using Landon’s murder to send a message about trying to interfere with age-old traditions. Perhaps there was more to it. Perhaps someone had figured out what Landon had been able to do, using the explosion to cover his abduction. Over a week passed between his abduction and murder. Alexander imagined he spent that time being tortured, not because of his position in the shelter, but to disclose the girls’ location. Alexander doubted whether he even knew where they had ended up. Landon was smart and probably didn’t want to know for that very reason.
Now, a year later, someone still wanted to find the missing girls. They went after Mischa, thinking she may know something. Rayne was most likely a victim in the whole thing, too. She was distraught and vulnerable, an easy target. They took Melanie as leverage to force him to return the girls his company was charged with keeping safe.
Unfortunately, he was clueless about where they could be. For all he knew, they could be anywhere between here and Afghanistan.
Studying the photos, Alexander knew he couldn’t keep Landon’s secret any longer. Regardless of the potential backlash, he needed to alert the authorities to the situation, starting with his liaison at the
Ministry of Women’s Affairs in Afghanistan. He supposed now was as good a time as any to inform her what Landon had apparently done.
“Excuse me,” Alexander said to Moretti, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He wanted to comb through every inch of that house to see if there was a clue as to where Melanie could be, but he had another lead now. If this had to do with a dozen missing girls from Afghanistan, he could narrow the pool of suspects down substantially. With the help from his contacts overseas, he may even find precisely who was behind all of it.
He inhaled a breath of fresh air as he emerged from the house into the cool temperatures. He ignored the media circus and all the nosy onlookers snapping photos as police tried to control the crowd surrounding the house. The sky was gray, the air damp, a few light flurries falling to the ground before disappearing. Everything about the weather said it would only be a few hours until the clouds opened up and covered the city with snow.
Searching through his contacts, he found the one he was looking for, not even checking to see what time it was in Kabul. As it began ringing, he held his breath.
“Mr. Burnham,” an accented voice answered almost immediately, her tone soft and full of compassion. “With everything going on, I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I got your email. Thank you for thinking of me and my family during this time.”
“Of course. Of course. I was just beside myself when I heard the news. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
Alexander paused, collecting his thoughts. He was walking a fine line. Not only did he need to tell this woman that one of his employees smuggled a dozen women out of her country, women she was charged with keeping safe, but he also needed her help in finding out if any of their family members were angry and resourceful enough to pull something like this off. He prayed she would be able to look past the wrongdoing and help him.
“Actually, Ms. Faraj—”
“How many times have I told you? Call me Aliyah. We’re not as formal as you Americans, it seems.”
“I apologize, Aliyah.”
“That’s better. Now, I’m guessing you called for a reason. Why don’t you tell me what that is.”
A chill bit through him as he glanced up, wondering where he went wrong, how something like this could have happened. He launched into the events of the past few days, from Mischa’s death to Melanie’s abduction and everything in between. He even went as far as to tell Aliyah about his last conversation with Landon. She remained silent, listening attentively, not asking any questions. The skilled social worker she was, she knew enough to just let him talk. When he reached a point where he didn’t know what else to say, he grew quiet. Seconds ticked by as he straightened his spine in anticipation of her reaction. He hoped this wouldn’t tarnish his company’s reputation, but none of that seemed to matter at this point. He needed to tell her everything. She could be the key to getting Melanie back.
“Well, I wish I would have known about your conversation with Mr. Tate several months ago,” she finally said.
“I understand it was selfish of me to keep that to myself. I honestly believed he wouldn’t actually follow through with his plan. He was upset I refused to use my connections to help him, but I figured, after he had time to cool off, he’d come to his senses. I never would have thought he’d find another way to get those girls out. I didn’t think he could without my help.”
“Do you have any idea where these women are now? Obviously, since it involves several Afghan women, the ministry is going to want to be involved with the investigation.”
“I wish I could tell you,” Alexander answered. “At this point, all I know is someone thinks I’m behind all of it.”
“And the death of Mr. Tate’s sister?”
“The only explanation I can come up with is perhaps they believed he may have confided in her. They were rather close, so it was entirely possible. I’ve combed through her background over the past few days and have found nothing to suggest she was involved.”
“This man you believe is responsible for taking your daughter… What is his name?”
“When he made the ransom call, he asked to be called Maleek.” The line was silent. “Does that ring a bell?”
“It’s a rather common name here, Mr. Burnham, like your Mark or Michael. I have several family members with that name myself. But, if memory serves me correctly, I believe one of the women who went missing from your shelter had a brother named Maleek whom she was in fear of.”
His breath hitched. Aliyah must have sensed his hope building over the phone. This was more than they had an hour ago.
“It could all just be a coincidence,” she added.
“I understand that, but over the past forty-eight hours, I’ve stopped believing that anything is just a coincidence. It could be nothing, but it could also be everything.”
“You say he was killed?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Gunshot to the back of the head. One theory is he wasn’t working alone and someone wasn’t happy his face was blasted all over the media, deciding to cover their tracks. Do you think you could send me information about the Maleek you’re thinking of?”
“I’d be happy to, as well as anything else I come up with that could be relevant. And I will await a call from your law enforcement over there to keep me apprised of the ongoing investigation.”
“Of course. Thank you, Aliyah.”
“No, Mr. Burnham. Thank you.” There was a click on the phone and the line went dead.
Alexander turned back toward the house and took a deep breath. This case was about to blow up with government involvement. Once he relayed his suspicion that this was about smuggled girls, Homeland Security was going to want to get to the bottom of how something like this could have happened. Yes, finding these missing women was important, but it wasn’t Alexander’s priority. There was only one missing girl he cared about. One missing girl whose chances of coming out of this alive dwindled with each minute that ticked by.
Entering the small dwelling, it was even more chaotic than when he had walked out, FBI agents snapping photos and bagging anything and everything that could be relevant.
“We found a bunch of IDs under the sink,” a voice said. Alexander turned to see Moretti and another FBI agent sorting through a tub of dishwasher pods at the dining room table. “Hid them in the bottom of this.”
Alexander strode toward him as Moretti placed over a dozen IDs on the table…all from different states, but bearing the exact same photo. He picked one up. Mark Drakos from California. Tilting it, he saw the hologram and whistled.
“It’s good work. It looks real.”
“Sure does. But here’s what we believe to be the real ID.” Moretti threw a bag marked EVIDENCE across the table toward him. He peered at the photo page of an Afghan passport, all the information provided in both Arabic and English. “That’s our guy. Maleek Abdar. Afghan national. I put a call in to Customs and Border Protection, but they didn’t have any record of that passport being used to enter the United States. So he either snuck in or used a different passport to enter.”
“Have you been able to find out how he was connected to Rayne?”
“Techs found a bunch of journals in his desk dating back months,” he answered. “They’re still going through them, but it looks like Maleek had been watching her for some time. Several months ago, Ms. Kilpatrick began going to a group therapy session at a church in the North End. He followed her there, gave her some sob story about how he lost someone he was close to, and was able to manipulate her.” He shook his head. “This guy is one conniving bastard, preying on someone already vulnerable like that.”
Alexander bit his lip and nodded, fighting off the guilt he felt about Rayne’s downward spiral.
“We found some other things that may be of interest to you.”
“Like what?” Alexander raised his brow, intrigued.
“This.” He shoved another evid
ence bag at him.
“What’s this? His wallet?”
Moretti shook his head. “Not his. I flipped through it. I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when I found an employee ID for your security firm. Does the name Gregory Fisher ring a bell?”
Alexander pinched his lips together, wracking his brain. “I wish it did. I can call my secretary and find out—”
“No need, Mr. Burnham,” Moretti interrupted. “I already took the liberty of reaching out to your office. Mr. Fisher worked in IT. Apparently, he took a leave of absence about a month ago, claiming a family emergency regarding his sister.”
Alexander nodded, rubbing his chin. “I think I remember something like that.”
“His sister was Jennifer Fisher. Her body was found about two weeks ago stuffed in a barrel, fingernails ripped off, throat slashed.”
“Let me guess,” Alexander interjected. “Another victim of the Castle Island Killer?”
“One and the same. It looks like our guy was the Castle Island Killer. We found a gun matching the type used in all those murders, as well as a six-inch blade. My guess is it will match the knife used to slash all those women’s throats.”
“So Maleek made Mr. Fisher manipulate our online servers so he could abduct Melanie, threatening to harm his sister if he didn’t.”
“It appears so. My guess is we’ll find Mr. Fisher’s body stuffed in a barrel within a few days.”
Alexander ran his hand over his face, fearing the worst. That his daughter would be found the same way. “But what about all his other victims?”
Moretti shrugged. “According to his journals, he witnessed them acting in a way he found disagreeable, so he took matters into his own hands. One man had placed illegal bets. Another had cheated on his wife. One woman drank too much.”