by Terry Toler
“Excellent. The remainder of the money will be in your account in a matter of seconds.”
“A pleasure doing business with you as always.”
***
Sheikh Saad Shakir’s house
The Sheikh stared at his computer screen, wondering how he felt about the message.
Saad. My kidnappers set me free once we got to Turkey. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I flew home. I hope you understand that I can’t come back. Bianca.
Was he supposed to care? The kidnapping had been avenged. A member of the White Wolves was dead. From a bomb. The White Wolves now knew that he was a man not to be messed with. An eye for an eye. A life for a kidnapping and a painting. Actually, upon more introspection, he’d paid Zamani to avenge the stealing of the painting, not kidnapping the girl. Girls could be replaced. The painting couldn’t. The fact that she wasn’t coming back made him angry, but really, he had to force himself to feel any emotion. He hadn’t missed her since the kidnapping and wouldn’t miss her now.
Truthfully, he was glad she was gone. The last time they had sex had been boring at best. This way, he didn’t have to pay her anything. The contract Bianca signed clearly stated that she had to stay the full year in order to get paid. That thought brought a smile to his face. He had saved three hundred thousand euros. Nearly four hundred thousand American dollars.
He picked up the phone and dialed a number he’d called hundreds of times.
“As-Salam-u-Alaikum wa-rahmatullahi wa-barakatuh,” the cleric said. Peace be unto you and so may the mercy of Allah and his blessings.
“Wa Alaikum Assalam wa Rahmatullah,” Saad responded.
“For what do I owe this honor, my friend?”
“I need a certificate of divorce. The girl, Bianca. I don’t remember her last name. She is no longer of use to me.”
Saad could hear the rustling of papers. Bianca didn’t actually know they were married. When Saad initially approached the cleric about his scheme to bring girls from abroad to be his concubines, Sheikh Mohammad bin Lukman Ismael, a senior member of the Al Hafir order of Abu Dhabi, didn’t approve.
“It is zina,” he said in his usual loud and boisterous voice. “You will be damned to an eternity in hell!”
Saad was not a man to take no for an answer. He was used to finding ways around various laws in business and was determined to do so in his personal life as well.
“What do you suggest?” Saad asked.
“Have you considered a temporary marriage?” Sheikh Ismael said.
“Aren’t those illegal?” Saad replied.
“Man’s laws are not God’s laws. God does not forbid it, so, neither do I. Besides, they will never know unless you or I tell them.”
“How would it work?” Saad asked.
“You can only have four wives at a time. You can keep them for as long as you want. One hour or one year. That’s up to you. When you’re ready to divorce them, contact me. and I’ll write a certificate of divorce. One final thing. The women must consent to the marriage.”
That would be a problem. Saad tricked these women into coming to Abu Dhabi under the guise of being his models. With promises of magazine covers, fashion shoots, and stardom along with three hundred thousand euros. None of these women would’ve come had marriage been a requirement.
To get around that, Saad simply wrote a clause in the girl’s contracts saying that they agreed to the union for one year. To his surprise, no one ever questioned it. As far as he was concerned, the union was an agreement to marriage. His word against theirs. No court in the UAE would take the word of a woman over a powerful Sheikh. What Ismael didn’t know, didn’t hurt him either. If he asked, Saad would show him the written contract. He never did ask. The cleric didn’t require Saad to come into the mosque for the wedding ceremony. He simply asked him over the phone if he desired to be married and the legal name of the woman. According to Ismael, that made it all official, which was all Saad cared about.
“I have the marriage certificate in front of me,” Ismael said. “When do you want the divorce to be effective?”
“Immediately,” Saad said.
“Do you need another girl?” Ismael asked. “I have several to choose from. One just turned twelve. A virgin. Very beautiful. An orphan girl that I’ve taken in under my care. Only Seven thousand dirham.” The equivalent of two thousand dollars. Young girls and virgins brought the most money. Saad paid a lot more than that for his professional girls, but they better suited his tastes.
“I’ll get back with you on that,” Saad said.
“Assalaam-O-Alaikum Khuda Hafiz,” he said. Peace and blessings be unto you.
Saad responded in kind and hung up.
He dialed Professor Jeric Hashami’s number. He wanted to know what was on that security tape. The conversation between Bianca and Jamie Steele. When Mrs. Steele was at his house alone with her for nearly an hour. He’d emailed it to Jeric several days ago so he could translate it.
I have to find out what was said.
15
Amina and MJ
When I got to the hospital, I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect. Was Amina still there? Had she been arrested? Was she still alive? While the quality of healthcare in the big cities of Dubai and Abu Dhabi were excellent, I didn’t know if poorer girls like Amina got the same level of care. Her injuries didn’t appear to be life threatening, but you never knew for sure when dealing with head injuries.
I was really confused when I opened the door and saw her mother, Samitah, sitting in a chair along the back wall with another woman sitting next to her. Their hands were clenched together and both of them were sobbing.
Was Amina dead?
I could see that she wasn’t. The head of her hospital bed was elevated, and Amina was sitting up. Her eyes were closed, but she was clearly breathing, and the machine she was connected to, showed her vital signs were all normal. One eye was still swollen shut but looked better. She opened her other eye, looked at me and smiled faintly. I smiled back and touched her foot through the blankets.
My focus turned to the two ladies and why they were in so much pain.
Then I noticed another bed in the room in the far corner. A young girl. Maybe eighteen. Amina’s age. She had heavy white bandages from the side of her neck all the way down the right side of her body. What struck me the most was the smell in the room. A lingering odor of kerosene and charred flesh overwhelmed the antiseptic smell of the hospital. I’d smell it before. After a suicide bombing and in a sex trafficking warehouse where bodies were being disposed of by burning them.
It didn’t take long to figure out that this poor girl had suffered burns. If kerosene was involved, it was likely intentional. Somebody set her on fire.
When Samitah saw me, her tears stopped flowing momentarily, and she burst out of her chair. Her arms were around my neck before I could move toward her.
“I was hoping you’d come back,” she said.
“I said I would.”
The other woman stood. Still off to the side. Samitah grabbed her hand and pulled her toward us.
“This is Shule. That’s her niece, MJ.”
She pointed to the other bed.
“Shule, this is Jamie. The lady I told you about.”
The woman put her arms around my neck and squeezed. I put my arms around her and returned the hug even though it felt awkward. Considering we didn’t know each other, somehow, we already had a bond. Or at least the woman thought we did. She was clearly desperate for help. Something bad had obviously happened to her and to MJ. The woman’s face was frozen in agony. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes, red from crying, and her jaw clenched.
“Let’s sit down,” I said, motioning for them to take their seats. “Tell me what’s going on. How’s Amina?”
“She’s better,” Samitah said.
“Has the tribal elder been back?” I asked.
“No. But I expect he will be soon.”
I sat on the edge of Amina
’s bed. “Tell me what happened to MJ,” I said as I reached out and touched Shule on the hand.
“It’s horrible. Her father did this to her.”
“What did her father do?” I asked, though I thought I already knew. I could guess why but wanted to hear their story.
Shule proceeded to tell me the entire story. MJ was her niece. Her mom was Shule’s sister. MJ grew up without her mother. Her mother was married to a horrid man. MJ became a Christian. During that part of the story was the only time I saw Shule smile. She also lowered her voice to a whisper at that point. Even though the door was closed, she was clearly terrified that someone might hear her talking about MJ converting to Christianity.
MJ’s conversion brought tears to my eyes. I feared that might be why her father had attacked her. I’d heard of “honor killings.” A term used to describe it when Muslim family members killed their kin for converting to Christianity. I hated the name. There was no honor in killing someone for exercising their God-given right to accept or reject Christ. My anger for what happened to Amina was already high. This story was setting my resolve on fire.
Shule got to the part where MJ met Christopher. They fell in love. She relayed the whole story of the attorney and his advice to marry in a church then leave the country. It sounded like a wise thing to do. The kids were married earlier today. In a Christian church. By a pastor. A beautiful wedding.
Then the story turned to the passport fiasco. The bureau lost the birth certificate. MJ couldn’t leave the country without the passport, and they wouldn’t give it to her without the proof of age. They had to go back to Shule’s house to retrieve the certificate. The whole time, Shule was worried that MJ’s father might be there.
“We were only going to be a minute.”
“What about Christopher?” I asked. “He must be worried sick. MJ never showed up. Do you know how to get in touch with him?”
Shule had little information. While Shule had a phone at her house, she didn’t have a cell phone. Even if she did, she didn’t know Christopher’s number or his parent’s phone numbers. The only thing she knew was their address in Abu Dhabi City. The Tate’s knew Shule’s address as well because Christopher had been there. My guess was that Christopher and his parents had already been by her house. When they didn’t find MJ or her aunt, they must’ve been beside themselves in worry.
Shule continued with her story. When she got to the actual attack, the tears returned like a flood.
“We were at my house. We went there to get MJ’s birth certificate. Her father showed up… He was early… He wasn’t supposed to get there until noon… MJ forgot to take off her wedding ring. And the cross necklace. I’d given it to her as a gift. I told her to take it off after the wedding. Foolish girl.”
I could see how she could forget with everything she had on her mind.
“Her father saw the ring and the necklace and started yelling at her. MJ screamed back at him. ‘I will not marry Abdul. I’m already married. And I’m wearing the cross because I’m a Christian!”
Shule took a deep breath.
“Her father hit her. Slapped her hard across the face. MJ fell to the floor. He was so filled with hate. Like a madman. Totally out of control. I thought he was going to kill her right then and there.”
Between each sentence were sobs. I got her some tissues and tried to comfort her.
“Take your time,” I said.
“I ran into the other room and called the police. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t fend him off. I knew she was in danger, but I didn’t know he’d set her on fire. How could anyone be that cruel?”
Shule buried her head in her hands.
“I heard the door close. I thought he’d left. I hung up the phone and hurried to MJ. She was stunned, but still awake. We tried to get out of there before he came back. I saw him coming toward the front door, so I locked it. But he busted it down. He’s a big man. He had something in his hands. I tried to get between them, but he pushed me aside and knocked me to the floor.”
Samitah had her arm around Shule’s shoulder and pulled her toward her. Shule let her as she slumped in her arms.
“I’ve never seen a man so angry.”
She left out none of the gruesome details. He set MJ on fire just as Shule walked back in the room and went outside. Shule was able to get the fire out with a blanket. The police arrived at that time and called the ambulance and brought her here.
“It could’ve been a lot worse,” the doctor had said. “A lot worse.”
Apparently, he was only able to spray the kerosene on the right side of her body as she turned away from him. MJ had burns on forty percent of her body, but only the burns to her arm were severe. The main issue for the first forty-eight hours was the risk of infection.
“Did the police arrest her father?” I asked.
“Yes. They took him away, but he’s probably out of jail by now.”
“Any chance he’ll come here?” I asked.
Shule shrugged her shoulders.
What I really wanted to do was take both girls out of the hospital, put them on my plane, and fly them to America. That’s exactly what I would’ve done if they were in good enough condition to leave the hospital. But both of the girls would need several more days of healing.
I also had to deal with the Sheikh.
Rescue Anya.
Search for Odille.
After doing so, I’d come back for these girls.
“I’ll find Christopher and tell him where to find MJ,” I said. “Give me his address.”
“Oh no,” Shule said. “He can’t come here. Please tell him to stay away. The tribal police will arrest him. And MJ. We can’t tell anyone what happened.”
“Why would they arrest MJ? What did she do wrong?”
“Nothing. But I don’t want to take that chance.”
The door burst open.
As if on cue.
In walked the man. The same one who’d been there the night I’d brought Amina in. He recognized me immediately.
“So… it’s you again,” he said to me.
“Good afternoon, Officer,” I said, trying to be amiable.
I glanced over at MJ who opened her one eye but then closed it right away. Feigned sleeping. Probably the best thing.
The officer got right up in my face. I could smell the lunch on his breath mixed with the smell of nicotine.
“I never got the video from your phone,” he said in an accusing and rough tone.
I lied. “I sent it.”
“Give me your phone.”
“I don’t have it with me.”
Another lie. If he searched me, he’d find it.
He also might lose a finger.
“I’ll resend it when I get back home tonight,” I said.
The man was still in my face. Less than twelve inches away. I refused to be the first one to move.
“The man on the video said you assaulted him.”
If they thought that was assault, they hadn’t seen anything yet. I now had several men in my crosshairs. The Sheikh. Amina’s father. The four men who assaulted her. MJ’s father. And this police officer, who’d back off if he knew what was good for him.
I let out a sigh of disgust. “How did I assault him? I was in the car the whole time.”
“He said he reached into your car and tried to stop you from videotaping him.”
“Sounds like he assaulted me. Is it permissible for a man in the United Arab Emirates to steal a woman’s cell phone?”
“No. It is not permissible. It’s also not permissible for you to assault him.”
“Sounds like a case of self-defense to me.”
“So, are you admitting that you did assault him?”
“No. But if his story is that he tried to steal my cell phone, then it sounds to me like he has already confessed to it and is the one with the legal jeopardy.”
That caused him to pause.
“Have you arrested the four men who did t
his to Amina?” I asked, changing the subject off of me.
“That is none of your concern.”
I wanted to continue the argument but thought better of it. In my mind, I was worried about a lot more than my welfare. The man was not there to talk about me. Was he there to arrest Amina? Did he intend to take her to prison? I considered a number of possibilities. None of them good.
Brad’s words echoed through my mind. Was it worth the risk for one girl? Over the next few years, I could rescue tens of thousands of girls under the AJAX cover. If I resisted the officer and prevented him from taking Amina out of the hospital, my cover would be blown. If I did successfully get her out of the country, I’d never be allowed back in to help Anya or Odille or MJ for that matter. The better strategy was for me to stand down. As painful as it was to do so. Curly said that sometimes it was better to live to fight another day.
Turned out he wasn’t there for Amina.
“Is this Majahammaddan Tabithe?” the officer said, walking over to MJ’s bed.
I didn’t say anything. I assumed he meant MJ.
“Yes sir,” Shule finally said, as she stood from her chair and walked over to her niece’s bedside.
“And who are you?” he asked.
“I’m her aunt. I’m the one who called the police on her father.”
“It’s a pity what happened to her,” the officer said. My disdain for the man dropped a tenth of one degree out of hundreds.
“She’s very fortunate to still be alive,” Shule said soberly.
“Her father has filed a criminal complaint against her with the tribe,” the man said, startling us.
I took a step toward them, so I was standing next to Shule whose mouth had gaped open.
“You’re arresting the girl!” I said, more as a statement of disgust than a question.
I couldn’t help myself.
“I’m investigating the complaint,” the officer retorted. “Her father says she married a Christian man. Is that true?”
The three of us didn’t answer.
He reached over and took MJ’s hand and looked at the ring still on her finger. MJ let out a moan when he roughly dropped her arm back to the bed.
“I can see that it is,” he said.