by Terry Toler
“Ah… Are you one of those Christians?” Saad asked.
Another point of concern. I had to be careful how I answered. In the UAE, Christians were allowed to practice their religion freely, but proselytizing or speaking disparaging words about Islam or the prophet Mohammad were criminal offenses. While I wasn’t ashamed of my faith, I wasn’t about to enter into a conversation with a man powerful enough to have me thrown in jail for saying the wrong thing.
“I am,” I said. “But that’s not why I don’t drink. To be clear, though, I accepted your invitation to see your artwork and continue the goodwill we’ve established in our business relationship. If you’re expecting anything more tonight than friendly conversation and discussion on art, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the French woman fight back a smirk.
“Honey,” the Sheikh said, clearly undeterred, “I assure you that you’ll have a good time tonight if you’ll give me the chance to show you one.”
And for the next hour, we did have a good time. The Sheikh showed me his master suite and I could barely keep my mouth from gaping open. I’d spent my “wedding night” in the Belgian Suite at Buckingham Palace, so I wasn’t easily impressed. The Sheikh’s bedroom would hold its own with any room, anywhere. The contrast couldn’t have been more different, though.
The Belgian Suite was filled with historical artifacts dating back centuries. The rooms were gaudy and over-the-top lavish.
The Sheikh’s bedroom was modern with curves and fancy decor and state-of-the art everything.
At Buckingham Palace, I felt like I was stepping back in time. Here, I felt like I was stepping into the future.
The Sheikh did have an impressive array of art, although most of it by lesser-known artists. I enjoyed looking at them anyway.
By the time we got to dinner, I was famished. The Sheikh introduced me to his personal chef who prepared us a delightful meal. He described it for me. The first course was a salad of endives, gorgonzola, and caramelized walnuts with thinly sliced pieces of octopus on top. The main course consisted of tartare of tuna and Oscietra caviar with green lentils. I didn’t remember having a more unique and exquisite meal.
A glass of wine would’ve been nice to have with it, but I’d already played my hand. The wine came straight from an unopened bottle, so there were no concerns of him spiking it with a drug. At any rate, I stuck with water directly from a bottle.
After we were finished eating, I couldn’t wait any longer. Time to execute my plan. I was dying to know why the French girl needed help. She had joined us for dinner but only spoke when spoken to.
“Where are the other girls?” I asked the Sheikh. “I remember four at the art gallery.”
“They have the night off,” the Sheikh answered.
I think I knew what he meant.
“The girls are extremely beautiful. But none of them are Arab. How did you find them?”
“I own a modeling agency. These girls are my models.”
“Where are you from, Bianca?”
She looked at the Sheikh who nodded permission for her to answer.
“I’m from Paris, France.”
“Est-ce qu’il français?” I asked. Does he speak French?
She shook her head no and then put her head down and shoveled some food back and forth on her plate. Fidgeting.
“So, you speak French,” the Sheikh said. “You’re full of surprises, Mrs. Steele. You are an extraordinary woman. Educated. Beautiful. Resourceful. Too bad you’re married. You’d have a lot of fun spending my money.”
“I have plenty of money to spend,” I quipped. “I’m buying a thirty-two-million-dollar painting from you!” By the tone, he could tell I was joking.
“Thirty-three million,” he said with a sly grin.
“I can’t pull anything over on you,” I said, returning the smile.
“Not when it comes to money. I believe the agreed upon price was thirty-two million five hundred thousand American dollars. I already regret selling it so cheaply. What time shall we meet in the morning to finalize our business?”
“Let’s make it later. Say eleven o’clock.”
I didn’t need to sleep in, but a plan was formulating in my mind on how I was going to help the French girl. But I needed more information and time in the morning to figure it out. If my worst fears were true, and Bianca’s life was in danger, I’d make my move tomorrow at the art gallery. In a way the Sheikh would never expect.
Since the Sheikh didn’t know French, I could communicate freely with Bianca and he wouldn’t know what we were saying. I wanted to ask her if she was in danger, but the French words were “êtes-vous en danger?” I couldn’t use words the Sheikh would understand.
“Bianca, êtes-vous retenu contre votre volonté?” Are you being held against your will?
“Oui.”
“Pouvez-vous être à la galerie d’art demain?” Can you be at the art gallery tomorrow?
“Oui.” Bianca smiled sweetly.
“Est-ce qu’il vous fait avoir des relations avec lui?” Does he make you have sex with him?
“Oui.”
I could almost see her blush. That’s all I needed to know. The specifics didn’t matter. Getting her out of the situation now became my priority. Bianca was a sex slave. The fact she was in one of the ten nicest houses in the middle east was irrelevant.
I was already planning on helping her, but before I put my life on the line, I needed to know why. Now I knew.
Tomorrow. At the art gallery.
That’s where I’d execute my plan.
4
When the Sheikh unexpectedly excused himself from the table to take an important phone call, Bianca and I suddenly had the opportunity to talk more freely.
“Assume we’re being listened to,” I said to her in French. “Only speak in French, and don’t use his name. I don’t want him to know we’re talking about him.”
I wouldn’t put it past Saad to have listening devices throughout the house. I didn’t know how long we’d have to talk, so I got right to the point.
“Do you want me to get you out of here?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you just leave?”
“He took my passport when I first arrived and said he’d hold it for me. How far could I get? He’s always watching us.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Five months.”
I stood and picked up my plate and silverware. “Let’s take the dishes into the kitchen.”
Bianca followed my lead. We took the dirty dishes into the kitchen and then walked out onto the back deck. Darkness had set in, and the moon glistened off the Persian Gulf. A massive yacht was anchored off the shoreline. I assumed it belonged to Saad. A large infinity pool was directly below us. We still spoke in French, just in case he had eyes and ears on the outside as well. An added benefit to speaking French with her was that it gave me a chance to practice a skill I hadn’t used in a while.
“How did you get in this mess?” I asked.
A hurt look crossed her face as she grimaced.
“My family is from Paris. I was in a bar one night, and a man approached me. He asked me if I’d like to be a model. I was skeptical at first, but he gave me a card. He seemed legitimate.”
Saad really did own a modeling agency and a fashion magazine. I wondered if they were a front for something else. Or maybe a business just to attract innocent, young girls for something more.
Bianca continued. “Of course, all young girls dream about being a model.”
“You’re very pretty. You could be a model.”
“Thank you. The man said he’d like to take pictures of me. So, we set an appointment for the next day at an expensive hotel. Like I said, it seemed legit. My brother went with me, just in case. You know. To protect his little sister. Everything went well. They took a whole set of pictures with a professional photographer. Even printed some of the
m and let me take them home with me. The pictures were incredible. I began to believe I could be a model. He asked for my number, but I never expected him to call me. When he did, I was thrilled.”
The whole thing sounded like a sophisticated con job to me. I wondered why a man of Saad’s wealth would go to all that trouble. Spend incredible sums of money to track down girls in foreign countries when he could have his pick of girls for free. A long time ago, I learned not to question the motives of a sex trafficker. Their behaviors often didn’t make sense. In some ways, it’s more about power than sex. In this case, Saad was a narcissist. He clearly wanted beautiful girls around him all the time. It made him feel important. More than that, he wanted to feel like he could control their every move. I noticed that when Bianca asked permission at dinner just to answer a simple question.
“Obviously, they did get back in touch with you,” I said.
“A couple weeks later another man called. I met him at my house. He had a contract with him. He met my family. Even gave us an advance of ten thousand euros if I signed the contract. Of course, I did it. That was a lot of money for our family at the time.”
“What are the terms of the agreement?”
“I’m still not sure. I’m not a lawyer. I was just a young girl with stars in my eyes. The man told me where to sign, and I signed it. Then he gave us the money. He said they’d make me a model, and that I’d be in magazines. Maybe even in the movies. I believed him. He told me I had what it took to be famous.”
Tears were welled up in her eyes and her voice cracked. Bianca’s hands were shaking. I wanted to reach out and comfort her but didn’t in case Saad was watching.
Bianca took a deep breath and seemed to regain her composure. “They told me they had a job for me in Abu Dhabi. With a rich Sheikh.” Now she was speaking with more bitterness in her tone.
“Don’t use his name or title.”
Being overly cautious might not have been necessary, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Also, I was riveted to her every word and didn’t want the conversation to end. In my line of work, how women got trapped in these kinds of snares was fascinating to me. In this instance, even educational. The more I got into the mind of a predator, the better prepared I might be in the future to stop them and educate other girls on their tactics.
I faked a laugh, so if Saad were watching, he’d think we were having a pleasant conversation. Bianca seemed confused at first, but eventually joined in and laughed with me. The ruse might’ve been unnecessary. I didn’t even know if he was watching. The Sheikh had no reason to consider me a threat, and I intended to use that to my advantage. While he might not want Bianca to engage in a conversation with me outside his presence, I doubt he was overly concerned, which was why he had left us for as long as he had. Hopefully, he’d be detained even longer.
“What happened when you got here?” I asked.
“At first, everything seemed on the up and up.”
“How long is the contract for?”
“One year.”
“Go ahead. What happened next?”
I didn’t want to keep interrupting but needed to fill in the blanks as we went along.
“I’m supposed to make three hundred thousand euros if I fulfill my end of the agreement.”
If Saad was watching, he would’ve seen my mouth gape open. He was willing to pay these girls a lot of money. Just for sex. And power, I reminded myself.
“What do you have to do for that money?”
“At first, all I did was modeling. You know photoshoots. In swimsuits. Formal wear. At various exotic locations. Accompany him to events. I realized that in some ways, I was a paid escort. But I loved all the glamor. I actually made the cover of his magazine. And never once did he mention having sex with him. All he did was flirt with me. And I played along and flirted back. Probably a big mistake.”
I saw guilt written all over her face. Also, not surprising. I’d yet to meet a victim who didn’t blame herself in some way.
Bianca continued. Speaking faster now. Barely breathing between sentences. “Then came the advances. I told him no. But you know how he is. He won’t take no for an answer.”
“I do know how he is.” The smell of his aftershave was still in my nostrils from where he tried to kiss me. Against my will. I could imagine the pressure he could apply to a naïve young girl living in his house.
“One night he called me into his bedroom. He kissed me. I didn’t stop him at first. I was so shocked. I didn’t know what to do. I sorta liked it. Then he forced himself on me. I don’t know. I tried to resist. Not really. For some reason I just froze. I didn’t know what to do.”
“I understand,” I said sincerely. “It’s not your fault.”
Her lips trembled. Her whole body shook. I didn’t want her to relive it, and I didn’t need this much detail, so I changed the subject.
“Why don’t you go to the police?” I asked and immediately regretted it.
I already knew the answer as soon as the question came out of my mouth.
Bianca answered the question anyway. “Saad is a member of the royal family. He’s above the authorities. He told me that I was the one who would be arrested if I told anyone. He said fulfilling his needs was part of my contract. He paid me good money, and I was the one who should be grateful that he wanted me.”
Powerful men put young women in vulnerable positions all the time. He said she said. I was under no illusions that the authorities would believe Bianca over the word of a powerful Sheikh. Bianca was probably smart not to notify them. She had to be desperate to leave me the message on the bathroom mirror.
I wanted to get my hands on the contract to look at it myself.
“He said I’d get a hundred lashes and I’d lose the three hundred thousand euros if I broke the contract.”
Typical predatory tactic. Use fear to control their subjects. In this case, the Sheikh could probably make it happen. Anger rose up inside me at the thought of beautiful Bianca being beaten with a cane because she refused to have sex him. To the point I was almost unable to control myself. That only confirmed what I was already thinking. She was trapped in every sense of the word. Not like the girls in Thailand or Vietnam or Cambodia who were sold into slavery, but a slave, nonetheless.
This situation was tricky. Some might not sympathize with her plight and would blame her. Argue that she fell for the money and the promise of fame. Three hundred thousand euros was a lot of money for what she was giving in return. Maybe she wasn’t even a victim at all. I could hear the counter arguments in my head.
I didn’t buy it. My job was to rescue girls from sex trafficking and exploitation. Bianca was being exploited for her body just as much as a ten-dollar hooker in the seediest brothel in Thailand. My heart broke for her just as much.
Bianca was practically crying again. I wanted to reach out and take her in my arms and comfort her. I couldn’t. I didn’t want Saad to see her crying or me showing her any affection at all. That would only make things worse for her.
“What if you refused? What would happen?” I asked.
“One girl did,” she said excitedly. “The next day, they took her out to the yacht. We never saw her again.”
“Whisper her name to me,” I said.
“Odille Coste. She’s from Canada.”
I made a mental note to look her up. I was curious to see if she was missing.
“What about the other girls? Do they want to leave too?”
“Not all of them. Some of them like it here. Saad can be very generous. He gives us gifts. Expensive jewelry and clothes. He can be a very kind man. Most of the time.”
“Has he ever hit you?”
“No.”
Complicated.
“Where are the other girls? Do they live here?”
“Yes. How come they didn’t have dinner with us?”
“He gives us a schedule. He tells us when it’s our night. If you know what I mean. Tonight wasn’t supposed to be my nigh
t. Anya was scheduled to be with him. I switched with her because I knew you were coming. I had to talk to you. She told him it was her time of the month, so he let us switch. Anya wants to leave too.”
“Okay. I can help you. But you need to be at the art gallery tomorrow morning.”
“I’m sure we’ll all be there. He takes us almost everywhere he goes.”
“Listen to me carefully. Tomorrow, you be there. Whatever happens, just go with it. I’m going to get you out of here.”
“How will you do that?”
I wasn’t sure, but I still had a little over twelve hours to figure it out.
Saad suddenly appeared out of nowhere, startling me.
“What are you girls talking about?” he asked.
“About how your name means handsome,” I said. “Bianca was commenting about how true it was.”
Saad put his arm around Bianca’s waist and pulled her into him. She made no effort to resist. Clearly, Saad had moved on from me, but now had turned his attention to the sure thing. A mixture of guilt, sadness, and anger flooded my emotions. It was all I could do to not let them show on my face. Thirty-plus million or not, I didn’t care. I hated the man.
What I did care about was my cover. I couldn’t act tonight, or my cover would be blown. We’d gone to incredible lengths to establish AJAX as a credible art acquisition company. I couldn’t blow it all on saving Bianca whatever she had to face tonight.
It took all my strength, though. To see the look on her face as I walked out the door and left her there, almost broke my heart.
The only satisfaction was in my knowing one unmistakable fact—tonight, would be the last time.
I’d make sure of it.
5
Amina
Leaving Bianca alone at that house with that disgusting swine of a man was hard, even if only for one night. I was so mad, I wanted to hit something. To the point that I almost couldn’t see straight. Which was why I suddenly found myself lost.