“I’d say trafficking in young girls twenty miles offshore might qualify as pollution,” said Garrett. “Moral pollution.”
Lonnie grunted. The side of the conversation he could hear did not seem to be going well.
“Again,” said Nichols, “It’s a matter of proof. The exclusive economic zone cannot prohibit passage or loitering above, on, or under the surface of the sea that is in compliance with the laws and regulations adopted by the coastal state in accordance with provisions of the UN Convention. Last time I looked, escort services were a legal enterprise in Canada, sleazy though they may be.”
“We’re not talking about an escort service. This is kidnapping, sexual slavery, and trafficking,” said Garrett. “I’ve dealt with this stuff for twenty years, and there is nothing legal about it. I don’t care how hard it is to get a conviction. We’ve had five young girls killed here in the past two weeks.”
He could hear Nichols breathing, then the man covered the phone and Garrett heard muffled voices. When he came back on the line, he said, “I appreciate your efforts, Officer Barkhouse. I can’t tell you not to continue your own investigation. If you find the proof I’ve spoken of, I’ll be ready to offer you the direct assistance of the Canadian Navy. Until then, I wish you and the woman you seek luck.”
The line went dead. Garrett stared out the window. Lonnie’s silence next to him finally forced him to look at his cousin.
“We on our own?” he asked.
“Until we get some sort of ironclad, foolproof evidence that Kitty is where we think she is.”
“Bloody intels aren’t worth the money we give them.”
“
You
don’t give them money,” Garrett said. “You don’t pay taxes.”
“Most moral thing I do,” Lonnie said. “What’s the plan?”
Garrett sighed. “The plan is to rescue Kitty Wells. I just haven’t worked out the details yet.”
40
K
ITTY STARED AT DEMAIO’S SLEEPING
form. They’d had sex half a dozen times over the weekend, always in the same manner. He seemed to have endless sexual energy but very little imagination.
Rather than growing more docile and accepting with each instance, her anger had grown. She felt like a puppet, at his beck and call. If he said bend over, she had to comply. It was the most degrading experience of her life. She no longer exhibited the red flush, for she had ceased to find what was happening to her the least bit erotic. She wondered if this was how prostitutes felt after conditioning. Numb.
The disappearance of the flush annoyed DeMaio, as though it were some reflection on his prowess. The whole thing was ridiculous, and Kitty was ready to try anything to escape. His sleeping form presented the opportunity she’d been waiting for.
The door to her room locked automatically when he left. No key was necessary. But he always used a key on a ring that he kept in his pants to open the door when he arrived. This was to be their last time … at least for now. He’d made a big deal about how he had to leave this evening by chopper for a meeting in Halifax. Kitty wondered if he was tiring of her already.
She slipped silently into the small bathroom, which was where they usually disrobed. He liked to start with a joint shower. Gradually, she had formed her plan. She intended to take his key. She’d been thinking about it since the first time, but of course he would miss it the next time he came for her. So it would only work the last time. With luck, he wouldn’t notice that it was gone until long after he’d left the oil platform.
She found the key and detached it from the rest, slipping it under the edge of the carpet. Her heart almost stopped as she heard him rouse and call for her. She went into the other room instantly. She was still naked and he motioned her over. He sat on the sofa and buried his head in her stomach, his hands gently stroking her thighs.
“All good things come to an end, Kitty,” he said. “I won’t be back, but I won’t forget our time together.”
“What happens to me now?”
He sighed, got up and went into the bathroom, then returned with his clothes and began to dress. He dropped the pants and as he picked them up, the key ring fell onto the floor.
Kitty’s heart was in her mouth as he reached for them. She tried to distract him from examining them too closely.
“I enjoyed it too,” she purred and went over and pretended to smooth out his trousers. “I’ll miss you.”
The bastard was such an egomaniac he actually believed her. How could he not satisfy a woman … any woman?
“I don’t see any point in lying to you, Kitty,” he said. “I’ve got to move on, which means so do you.”
She stared at him. “You’re sending me someplace?”
“No. But it’s time for you to expand your duties. A number of foreign businessmen are coming to spend the next couple of nights. Your job will be to see that they are happy and content. Think of it as a business assignment. These men represent a consortium that’s going to buy three of our oil rigs. They’ll be paying a fortune for them and so we’re offering them a little bonus. You.”
So. It was starting. She could hardly grasp what it would be like to be handed off from one man to the next. DeMaio had been cold and demanding, but he had been only one man, and he was generally only good for a single rape at a time. Soon, she would understand precisely what it meant to be
conditioned.
Soon she would know what it was like to be a full-time sex slave.
She felt her stomach turn. Her face must have looked bleak, for he put a hand up and stroked her cheek. “Don’t fight it, Kitty,” he said. “It will only make it harder. Do what they ask. You’ll get used to it.”
Then he was gone, out the door. She heard him try the knob to make sure it had locked. She went over, turned back the carpet, and took out the key. She sat on the sofa and waited until she heard the helicopter take off. She had no idea how long it would be before the group of new men arrived, and she had no intention of waiting to find out.
What she would do once she got out of the room, she had no idea. That it was just the first step, she was all too aware. She’d still be alone on an oil rig twenty miles from shore. It seemed hopeless, but anything was better than waiting to be handed around from one man to the next.
As the sound of the chopper disappeared in the distance, she got dressed. Her clothes were not terribly warm and she knew it would be cold and windy outside. But there was nothing she could do about that. Maybe she could find a coat somewhere. She was about to unlock the door after listening at it for several minutes to try to determine if anyone was outside, when the lock clicked.
She froze. Someone was coming in. Had DeMaio realized what she’d done and come back? No. He’d gone on the chopper. It had to be someone else.
She stared as the door opened and one of DeMaio’s men entered. It was the short assistant who had introduced his boss at the press briefing. He was alone and smiled at her as he took off his coat.
“No reason for just the top SOBs to have all the fun,” he said, looking at her. “Besides, what difference does one more make to you?”
He pressed himself against her and she felt his hands all over her. Something snapped inside of her. She wasn’t going to let this little prick use her for his amusement. She stepped backward and he sensed she was backing up to lie down on the sofa. She put her arms around him and pulled him with her.
He was breathing heavily, completely focused on her. Kitty backed up more and whispered in his ear.
“Let me take your clothes off,” she said. He stood back from her so she could undo his pants. He was already fully aroused. She pulled his pants down and unbuttoned his shirt.
“Turn around,” she said. He complied, completely under her power, as she slipped the shirt off and ran her hands down his sides. He shuddered as they reached his bare hips. Then Kitty reached back and picked up the small lamp on the side table, whirled it around, and smashed the base as hard as she could into his scrotum.
He screamed and fell to the floor. She had to shut him up or the noise would bring others. She lifted the heavy lamp base again and brought it down on his head with every ounce of her ninety-eight pounds.
The screaming stopped as if a TV had been turned off. She stared at him. There was no question. He was dead. A portion of his skull was depressed and blood pooled out onto the floor.
She didn’t wait around to take his pulse. She felt not a smidgen of regret. His warm coat was an unexpected bonus. With the collar turned up, she might not be immediately identified by anyone seeing her from a distance.
She closed the door to the room and stood in the carpeted hallway, listening. She could hear the wind outside but no sound of voices. It was after dinnertime and starting to get dark out. She took DeMaio’s key, inserted it into the lock, then broke it off flush. That would slow them down a little. They’d have to break the door down and it was a solid, heavy door.
She moved down the hall, looking into rooms. Most were empty bedrooms. Then she opened a heavy metal door and found herself outside. She was on a catwalk. All around were pipes and strange-looking masses of machinery. The place was an absolute maze and she had no idea which way to go.
Keeping as low as possible, she skirted along one catwalk after another. She crossed the empty helipad and dashed down a set of circular stairs to another level, back into what appeared to be living quarters, then outside again. So far she hadn’t seen a soul, but she knew her luck on that front couldn’t last.
The sea was relatively calm, but here, a hundred feet above the water’s surface, she could feel a strong wind. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, a huge, magenta ball she’d have thought beautiful at any other time. Now, it only meant she would soon be stumbling around in the dark. There were lights on the rig, of course, but not knowing anything about how the place was organized, she might wander right off into oblivion. She had no illusions as to how long she’d last in that cold water.
She tried to think. Where would they be least likely to search for her? If she could just hide, Garrett might eventually come looking for her. But no. No one knew where she was. Hiding would do no good. As soon as they realized what had happened and that she’d killed one of their men, they’d search the place thoroughly. They knew the rig much better than she did. They’d look in all the likely places.
It was hopeless. Then she heard voices coming toward her.
She turned and ran down a long grated steel platform and up a flight of metal steps, then stopped. Above her was what looked like a small room about ten feet square. As she stared at it, a door opened and two men came out of the room. She shrank back into a depression on the catwalk that appeared to be some sort of dead end facing an electrical grid.
In a moment, the men passed right in front of her on the catwalk. She heard one say to the other, “Better not leave the radio unattended for long. The chopper with the clients will be coming in soon.”
“It’ll be an hour at least,” said the other man. “Plenty of time to get something to eat and bring it back.”
They disappeared down a set of steps. Kitty was out of her hiding place in an instant and up the stairs into the little room. The place was filled with radio equipment and electronics, most of which she had no idea how to work. But her years in a TV production studio had given her a basic working knowledge of communications.
She sat in a chair and worked the dials of some sort of radio. She spoke into a microphone repeatedly, pressing various buttons and digital numbers.
“To anyone listening, this is an emergency … an SOS! My name is Kitty Wells. I’ve been kidnapped and am being held prisoner on Lighthouse Point oil rig several miles off the Eastern shore.”
She could hardly imagine anyone who picked up her words would think it anything other than a hoax. Christ, she didn’t believe it herself. She had no certainty if she was even broadcasting and wondered if someone elsewhere on the rig might be listening.
She kept at it for several minutes, then switched off and peered through the door. No one was visible, so she slipped back out onto the catwalk, where she stood in indecision. Maybe she should go back to one of the private staterooms. They were empty, and at least she’d be comfortable and out of the weather. But she knew it would only be a matter of time. The new arrivals would be given special rooms and once they asked for her and discovered her locked room, the search would be on.
Where to go? She looked up at the superstructure far above her. She’d never been good with heights and the thought of fighting her way across narrow catwalks hundreds of feet in the air in gale-like winds made her nauseated.
Instead, she went the other way. Down. Everyone who came to the rig seemed to fly in. But there had to be some sort of dock for boats to pull up to. It figured to be the last place anyone might look, if they assumed she was hiding.
She clambered down one flight of steel steps after another. It was incredible that she hadn’t run into anyone. Maybe this rig wasn’t fully staffed with roughnecks and was simply kept as high-end entertainment for the bigwigs. If that was true, then the odds might be a little less steeply against her.
She went down a long way, eventually coming to a steel-grated platform just a dozen feet above the ocean. The end of the line. There were catwalks connecting with each of the four heavy concrete anchors that disappeared beneath the surface. She spent some time exploring them, finding several spots where she could get out of sight if need be. She picked one and settled down in a corner. At least the wind wasn’t so strong this close to the surface.
She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. She was cold. She was hungry. She was sore from having had sex with DeMaio. She had killed a man. But she no longer felt helpless. She was taking action. She was free … as free as one could be in the middle of the North Atlantic.
The ocean rose and fell beneath her, spray occasionally finding her face. Thank God it was August. The temperature was almost bearable with the heavy coat. She stared at the water. It was mesmerizing. She’d been in some pretty tight spots during her years as a journalist, but this had to take the prize. She wondered how long she could hold out.