Authors: Claire Thompson
Hijaz bowed slightly in the direction of the man. “May I present Sheik Ali Samir Mahmood and his estate agent, Devin Lyons. Gentlemen, this is Yousef Khalil, my lord and master.”
Lord and master?
That was a bit much, Devin thought, even giving allowance for the fake title of prince and the flowery language of traditional Arabic greetings.
The man nodded toward Hijaz in a way that told Devin he took the appellation as his due. Turning toward Amir and Devin, he said, “Welcome to my humble abode, gentlemen.” His accent was pure Oxford. He strode toward them, shaking hands with each, placing his second hand on top as they shook.
Gesturing toward a grouping of chairs, he indicated that the men should sit. Devin had expected Hijaz to join them, but he said, “I will see to your refreshments, gentleman,” and, with another bow, left the room.
Amir and Khalil began the customary and, to Devin’s mind, very lengthy exchange of greetings and discussion of familial health that was necessary in polite Arabic society. They spoke in English for Devin’s sake.
“I understand you are an admirer of horses,” Khalil finally said, and off the two went, discussing their mutual love of all things equine, while Devin silently chafed.
“Excuse me,” he wanted to say. “You two keep chatting. I’ll just go off and have a look for the cells where you keep the kidnapped women, shall I?” Instead, he extracted the thin portfolio from his suit jacket that contained the fake contract for the sale of the property, along with the special pen Interpol had provided. He depressed the small button on the side of the pen that activated the microphone and recording device, and placed it and the portfolio on the coffee table.
He half expected Khalil to grab the pen and fling it across the room in a rage, or worse, pull out a gun and shoot them both on the spot. But he only went on talking to Amir about the superiority of Arabian purebreds, gesturing with his long, elegant hands as he made his point.
The two men’s discourse was interrupted by a short, thin man in a white shirt and black pants who carried a tray containing a brass samovar, three tiny coffee cups and a plate of pastries. Khalil made a big deal about pouring the coffee himself, watching with dark, expectant eyes until they had tasted it. Devin forced himself take a sip, though his stomach was roiling with nerves.
After they drank the strong, sweet coffee and nibbled pastry for a while, Amir finally said, “As I discussed with your man, I am prepared to pay a significant sum for this stunning property. The horse sculptures alone are enough to seal the deal. I know you say you aren’t interested in selling, but I am hopeful we can come to a mutually satisfactory agreement.”
He leaned forward, his tone dropping into something conspiratorial. “You see, I’m familiar with the blueprint of the buildings. I’m especially concerned with proper quarters for my women. I want somewhere they can be sequestered, you understand. Kept safe from the prying eyes of the servants and guests. And of course, I keep my women under strict control. I don’t hold with this modern nonsense about women’s rights. What does that even mean? A woman exists solely to serve a man, don’t you agree?”
Khalil raised his eyebrows, his mouth lifting in a genuine smile. “Indeed I do. Women don’t have the natural intelligence and understanding of a man. They must be taught, especially today’s modern woman, that their place is at the feet of their man. If sometimes that lesson is at the end of a whip…” He shrugged, his eyes glinting as he added, “Firm discipline is essential.” He licked his red lips, his dark eyes flitting from Amir to Devin. Devin wanted nothing more than to smash his face in.
“Quite,” Amir asserted, playing his part perfectly. “Aside from the glorious sculpture garden,” he gushed, “that is the one thing that most struck me about this villa.” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, his expression intent. “I need a common room for my women, and then of course a separate chamber for each. Mr. Lyons, who has reviewed the blueprints meticulously, assures me you have the proper accommodations for easily five women, quite apart from the rest of the house.”
Khalil smiled. “I am glad to see you share my philosophy regarding a woman’s role.” He turned to Devin. “And you, Mr. Lyons. How refreshing to find a Westerner who is not judgmental about ancient cultures, and can appreciate that our ways have worked well for us over thousands of years.”
Devin nodded and tried to smile, not trusting himself to speak. Khalil turned back to Amir. “Alas, my dear friend, I am content here. I have made this my home. I am sure you appreciate that I hadn't considered selling. I extended the courtesy of a visit out of respect to a fellow Arab, but I’m quite happy here, sir. Quite happy, indeed.”
Amir had told Devin that sources indicted Khalil had in fact been putting out initial feelers for a new location. He never stayed anywhere for more than a few years at a time, no doubt to keep one step ahead of the law with his slave trafficking operations. But Amir only said, “Quite. I do understand. You are a man of refinement—someone who appreciates beauty in all its forms.”
Khalil nodded in a smug, self-congratulatory way that made Devin’s knuckles actually itch as he fantasized landing a solid right on that handsome, square jaw. “Nevertheless,” Amir went on smoothly, playing his part to the hilt. “I sense you are also a man of business. A man who doesn’t hesitate to seize an opportunity when it is presented.”
He paused and spread his hands, palms upward, in Khalil’s direction. “I am prepared to offer twice the market value. My agent, Mr. Lyons has drawn up a contract. We’ll leave it for your review, along with the money in that briefcase as a gesture of my good faith.” He nodded toward the case, which sat at Devin’s feet.
Khalil said nothing. He lifted his tiny coffee cup and took a sip. Amir, too, lifted his cup. He glanced at Devin, giving him a nearly imperceptible nod.
Devin took his cue, as they’d planned the night before, and stood. “If you would be so kind, may I use the facilities?”
“Of course. Just through that door.” Khalil gestured toward a small door on the side of the room. Devin stepped through it into a bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.
He could hear the two men murmuring on the other side of the door, and knew they were speaking in Arabic. Amir was now moving in for the kill, trying to get the guy to spill the beans. His plan was to insinuate that he himself was in the market for a slave girl or two, and, as a fellow Arab, would appreciate any light Khalil might be able to shed on the process.
Devin stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, surprised that he appeared calm, though his heart was jumping and his intestines were twisted into knots. Leah might be close by, chained in some dungeon, or locked in some harem with a dozen other women. He refused to entertain the possibility that she wasn’t here. His desire—his
need
—to find her, to rescue her, outweighed any possibility of failure.
He lingered as long as he dared in the bathroom to give Amir enough time, before finally opening the door and returning to the room.
Amir turned to him, saying the words that let Devin know he’d fooled the man into believing he was in the market for human flesh. “Mr. Lyons, if you will forgive us, my dear friend and I have something private to discuss. I’m sure you understand.” He gave an imperious wave of his hand. “You may wait in the car until I have further need of your services.”
“I’ll have an escort show you to the door,” Khalil added.
You wouldn’t want me stumbling on the slave quarters, now would you?
Having no choice, Devin allowed one of the men who had frisked him to lead him back through the house and to the front door. Outside, the policeman posing as their chauffeur was leaning against the car drinking a bottle of orange soda. As Devin approached, he straightened up smartly and opened the back door for Devin. Devin slipped into the backseat.
The man slid into his seat in the front, pulling the door closed behind him. Without turning around, he said, “He’s in?”
“Yes,” Devin replied.
They sat in silence, waiting. Devin closed his eyes and counted slowly to one hundred. Then he did it again. When he was on eighty-six, he heard a beeping sound from the front seat. Amir’s mobile phone had a GPS tracking device on it. He was to give a signal when he was in the quarters where the abducted women were being held.
The driver pulled a mobile phone from his breast pocket and punched in a series of numbers. “Ten minutes,” he said.
They were the longest ten minutes Devin ever experienced. Amir and that motherfucking bastard Khalil might at that very moment be in a room with his beloved Leah, and he was sitting here like a jerk in the back of this car.
Finally he heard the droning sound of approaching helicopters. Within seconds they had landed on the perfectly manicured lawns on either side of the circular drive, the whirring blades slashing the air. The doors opened and a half a dozen men dressed in black uniforms, guns in hand, came swarming from each ‘copter.
Though Devin had been told to stay put, he found himself opening the door and tumbling from the car. There was no way he could sit idly by while the rescue was going down. The men moved quickly. About half of them battered their way into the main house, while the rest took off to other parts of the compound, weapons at the ready.
Devin ran behind the uniformed men through the door of the main house. The man in front of him turned, barking something sharply in Thai as he pointed his weapon at Devin. Devin froze.
The commander, a man who had been at the meetings at headquarters when Devin was being briefed for his part in the sting, turned back and said something in Thai to the man, who lowered his weapon. To Devin, he said, “I told him you’re cleared. But make sure you stay behind the men. Don’t do anything stupid. There are lives at stake.”
Devin nodded. The commander was holding a tracking device that presumably would lead them to Amir and the women. “This way!” he shouted, sprinting toward the stairs. The men thundered up the stairs and ran along a labyrinth of hallways to another set of stairs. Devin was right behind them, spurred on by adrenaline.
They burst into a room, halting just inside the door. The commander called out in Thai, Arabic and finally English, “Po-lice! Freeze!” as he aimed his weapon at Khalil and Amir. Khalil stared open-mouth at the men and then stood, slowly lifting his hands above his head. His eyes slid toward Amir, shock, realization and then fury moving over his face in quick succession.
He had been sitting in a large, throne-like chair, Amir standing beside him. In front of them a young woman was kneeling with her head on the floor, her back toward the door, arms stretched along the floor in front of her head.
“Leah!” Devin cried, before he could stop himself. The girl rose with a cry, and Devin saw it was not Leah at all, but a smaller, slighter woman with long, dark hair. She was clearly naked beneath gauzy veils that were artfully draped over her body. There were thick gold bracelets around her wrists and ankles, and a thin gold collar around her neck.
While the police entered the room and swarmed over Khalil, cuffing his hands behind his back, the girl locked eyes with Devin and whispered, “Leah.” She pointed toward a small door at the back of the room.
Aware he was going to get into all kinds of trouble with Amir and Interpol, Devin pushed his way past the hubbub and reached the door. He slid back the bolt and turned the knob. Opening the door, he slipped inside, his heart beating high in his throat.
~*~
Leah tossed in the bed, unable to get comfortable. She felt weak and spent, literally beaten down by the horrific events of the past few days. How much longer could she go on like this? Would she come to accept and even embrace her lot, as Naeemah seemed to? Or, more likely, would she just lose her mind and become a zombie, going through the motions, doing whatever it took to avoid pain and seek what pleasure was offered.
This horrible specter, as much as the pain, kept her from sleeping. By her calculations, this was her fourth day. Hadn't she heard somewhere that the first twenty-four hours were the most crucial? She knew as each day passed, the odds of her being found and rescued dwindled. Would she end up just another statistic, another unaccounted for missing person?
No. Don’t think that way. Don’t give up. Devin knows you’re missing. Devin will find you.
Leah sighed, not sure if she believed this anymore or not, but what else did she have to cling to?
If only her body didn’t ache so. She was bruised and battered, and it wasn’t only the brand that was hurting. The steward had awakened her not long after Naeemah’s visit, furious that she hadn’t properly reciprocated the young woman’s attentions. Apparently, the creepy bastard and his fucking boss had been watching the girl-on-girl action the camera had recorded, and they were pissed Leah hadn't gone down on the girl.
The steward had yanked her from the bed and thrown her to the floor, using a riding crop to smack every inch of her naked body, while also kicking her with the sharp point of his boot. He’d been careful to avoid the brand—no doubt not daring to mar Khalil’s mark of ownership. He’d left her huddled in a corner, sobbing and shaking.
Alex came to her some time later, taking her for a soothing bath. Gently and carefully he cleaned and dressed the brand, and though he said nothing to her, she thought she saw the disapproval on his face. At least she hadn’t been forced to see Khalil directly afterward, but was instead allowed to return to the small bedroom.
She was given a plate of sliced apples and a glass of water, but nothing more. She stared at the unblinking eye of the video camera as she ate, noting that the red light had been turned off. They only recorded when there was a show to see, apparently, the voyeuristic dickwads.
Leah must have dozed because she came awake suddenly to the sound of rumbling and clomping that got louder and louder, until she realized it was coming from right next door, through the door Naeemah had slipped through. There was shouting and commotion. She thought she heard the words, “Police! Freeze!” in English.