Saving Brigit (4 page)

Thia felt a twinge of guilt since she had said virtually the same thing.

“When they tried the number Brigit gave them, the people who answered said they knew nothing of Brigit or her boyfriend.”

“Oh no.” Thia fought to keep the previous twinge from becoming panic.

“Marvin contacted the school and then the Las Vegas police, but no one seems to know anything about the guy. His name is Omar Mamoud, and he’s from Pakistan. That’s about it. He was only taking one class. The police advised Marvin to call the State Department, which hasn’t been helpful at all, and…” July stopped for a breath. “We don’t know what else to do.”

“It’s still possible she’s just off exploring and things got confused. Or, there could be a simple mix-up over the phone number—transposed digits or something.”

“That’s what the police told them.” July frowned. “And that nineteen-year-olds are notoriously unreliable. The State Department said that Pakistan is on their travel advisory list. They have no record of Brigit filing paperwork through them, and she never contacted the embassy in Islamabad, so they kind of bowed out.“

Thia held up her hand. “I get the picture.”

“Oh, I could just kick Marvin and Lacy from Nob Hill to San Jose. They let her go to
Pakistan
, for Pete’s sake, with all the unrest in that part of the world.”

Thia wondered about that. Marvin and his wife had seemed like protective parents, maybe too protective. However, of course, that was why they’d sought her advice, which, as it turned out, had been totally wrong.

“Now Marvin says they didn’t want her to go, but what was he supposed to do, lie down in front of the plane?”

Thia shrugged. “She is nineteen, with a mind of her own. Surely she thought about what she was doing.”

“Maybe.” July looked away, staring out the window. “That girl always was willful. Because of that, I had a special place for her in my heart. But she’s not careless or stupid.” Thia agreed. July directed her gaze to her employer. “I’m sorry, Thia, but Lacy is really upset. She says she asked your opinion because you and Brigit were so close, and now…”

Thia blanched. She had reassured July and thereby, Marvin and Lacy, that Brigit was sensible and would be fine. What if something terrible had happened to the girl? She’d never forgive herself.

July sighed. “I know you’re not responsible. Lacy’s just being very emotional right now. Steven told Marvin you’re dating a private investigator, and I told him I’d ask if you think Derek Hawkins can do anything.”

Resolved, Thia rose. “Derek’s out of town on a case. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get some help.” She picked up the phone and quickly punched in numbers. “Michael Jackson, please,” she said when the line was answered. “Thia Williams calling.”

Seconds later, Jackson, one of Derek’s top operatives, came on the line. He had helped Thia find a saboteur in her company months ago, and she’d been impressed with his methods and the manner in which he conducted himself. “Hello, Mrs. Williams. How may I help you?”

Thia explained the situation as succinctly as she could. “So you can see why Mr. Thatcher is concerned.”

“I certainly can. Let me see if I can reach Mr. Hawkins. I’m sure if he’s at all able, he’d like to handle such a complex personal problem himself. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” He hung up, and Thia did the same.

She turned back to July. “If anyone can help, Derek can. He has contacts all over the world, so try not to worry.”

July’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “I can’t help it. I want to be doing something.”

“I’ve always thought of Brigit as the niece I never had. Believe me, July, we’ll get her back.”

An idea came to Thia, half-formed. “Listen. I don’t see why I can’t pop over to Pakistan and see what I can find out. Surely having someone at the embassy will do more good than making phone calls.”

July’s expression was pure horror. “My Lord, Thia. You can’t go over there. Then we’ll have two of you to worry about. No. You stay right here and wait for Derek to figure something out.”

The inference in July’s tone that she was as silly as Brigit or helpless without Derek’s help made Thia bristle. Okay, so she was trained as an accountant, not a secret agent. Still, she had worked with Derek undercover on an important DEA case and had acquitted herself quite well in the most dangerous situations. In fact, when the chips were down, she had risen to the occasion and even saved the day. After their adventure, coming back to the accounting firm, where the most exciting thing she found was a credit posted as a debit, had been a real letdown. The thought of traveling to an exotic land, even if only for a day or two of commuting from the hotel in Islamabad to the embassy and back, set her heart racing. She decided at that moment. She would go to Pakistan, with Derek or without him.

“Don’t be a worrywart. It’s simply a matter of asking a few pertinent questions. I’m logical. I’m organized. I’m persistent. Those qualities have to be good for something more than accounting.”

July opened her mouth to speak but the phone rang.

Thia picked up. “Thia Williams.”

“Mrs. Williams, Michael Jackson here. I’m sorry, but Mr. Hawkins is out of communication. I tried every way I know to reach him, but his contact says he’s deep undercover.”

“That’s okay, Michael. I’ve decided to go to Pakistan myself.”

He met her announcement with silence, then a
hmmm
laced with shock and then disapproval. Did no one trust she could handle a Q&A session with an American embassy?

Jackson finally spoke. “I’m sure Mr. Hawkins would not approve, Mrs. Williams.”

Enough of this.
“Mr. Hawkins doesn’t have to approve. I’ve made up my mind. Brigit is my friend. If she’s in trouble and I don’t do everything I can to help, the knowledge will haunt me the rest of my life. By the time Derek returns to the office, I’ll be back, hopefully with an embarrassed college student in tow.” She nodded her head at July with a “take that” attitude. July threw her hands in the air and stood up to pace.

“Mrs. Williams, will you give me another few minutes? If you’re set on doing this, please allow me to help however I can. Believe me, Mr. Hawkins will have my head otherwise. Do you have a current passport?” Thia assured him she did. “Then I promise to call back in a few minutes.”

Satisfied someone finally took her seriously, Thia knew a moment’s satisfaction.

The phone rang less than twenty minutes later. “I’ve begun the process for your visa and the rest of your traveling papers. Your flight leaves tomorrow night. I’ll courier everything you’ll need to your home by two, tomorrow afternoon. I’ve also arranged for a guide in Islamabad. A man named Rashid Salid. He knows all the ins and outs, not only of our embassy workings, but…well, of everything you may need.”

Thia knew that meant the man served in a capacity other than simple guide. She also knew better than to ask anything else.

“You can trust him. When I have the paperwork in hand, I’ll let him know your flight information.”

“Thank you, Michael. If you’ve made the arrangements, I know everything is well in hand. I appreciate your help.”

“Mrs. Williams, this is a dangerous area. Won’t you please wait for Mr. Hawkins?”

“I can handle things. And whatever I can’t handle, your Mr. Salid will be there for me.”

The man heaved a sigh that didn’t sound at all confident in her decision.

Too bad.
“Goodbye,” she said and hung up before he could mount another argument as to why she should have her head examined.

“July, call Marvin back and get every bit of information he has on Brigit’s boyfriend, and then do the same of her roommate at UNLV.” Trying to control the inner thrill of adventure, she smiled instead of laughing, like she felt. “And don’t worry. You’ll see. She’s simply over there in a new culture having fun. Like most girls with their boyfriends, she’s put everyone but him from her mind. It’ll all work out.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear,” July said ominously and walked out to make her phone calls.

Brigit twisted into a sitting position. The cot on which she lay was no different from the one she’d left in her previous cell, though the room in which she now found herself was slightly improved. Like her other “home,” this room had a makeshift toilet and sink, but here a cloth screen partially hid them. There was a table bolted to the floor, a small cabinet secured in the same way, and two beds. In the wall above the table, someone had embedded a shiny piece of metal that served as a mirror.

The room smelled fresh, without a hint of mustiness, though from all the rock and stone Brigit saw in the corridors, she thought they might be underground or in a cave. Now she found the source of the freshness. High on the wall over their beds, a vent circulated air through the slatted metal. Next to it was a circle of glass—a window. After her days in dark isolation, Brigit couldn’t get enough of the light.

None of these amenities changed the fact that the door lacked a handle, making the room a prison cell.

At last, Brigit’s gaze lighted on the biggest improvement in the new room, her companion, Fatima. She wore layers of translucent materials that hid little. Her long legs, narrow waist, and full breasts were in view even behind the material. Her high cheekbones, large, dark eyes, and full lips lent her the look of exotic beauty enhanced by the caramel color of her skin. Raven black hair fell in rivers of waves over her shoulders. In America, she could have made a fortune as a model. Her face had an aura of mystery merchants will kill for.

The girl—for she looked younger than Brigit’s nineteen years—stared with unabashed frankness.

“I am sorry you are here,” Fatima said.

“Where the hell
is
here?”

“Nowhere you want to be.”

No shit.
“You speak English.”

“I went to school in New York City.”

“I’m from San Francisco.”

“Nice place.” The girl looked wistful.

“Yeah, it is, but hell would be nice compared to here.” Her words brought a smile to the girl’s face. “We’re prisoners.”

The smile on Fatima’s face disappeared as quickly as it had formed. “Oh, yes. There is no escape from the Claw. It is he who holds us. It is here we will die.”

The words froze Brigit’s blood. The Claw? Just the name conjured images of a slasher jumping from the shadows on a Halloween night, just like in horror films. One thing was for sure, Claw or not, she had no intention of dying in some dungeon, a prisoner of men with values culled from the Middle Ages.

“How did you end up here?” she asked Fatima.

“In New York I had a boyfriend. We loved each other and planned to marry, so I slept with him. When I returned home for a visit and my parents found out, my mother wanted to kill me.”

Brigit tried to be polite, but her mouth dropped open. “No way.”

“I was impure,” the girl explained.

“This impure thing has got to go.”

“My father stopped her, saying if they sold me, they would at least make a little money off my sin.”

Her impassionate expression shocked Brigit as much as the words. Then she detected a deep sadness in Fatima’s eyes. “Your parents sold you to the people here? I can’t believe it.”

“It is not uncommon.” The girl shrugged. “The worst thing is, I never had a chance to say goodbye to my lover. He must think I deserted him. I suppose, in a way, I have.”

“How did your parents find out about the two of you? I can’t imagine you told them, knowing what their reaction would be.”

“My mother found a letter from Tommy.” Staring into space, the girl fell silent.

Brigit left her to her memories. She had enough to think about with her own situation. How in hell would she ever get out of this? She knew her family would try to find her, but everything they knew was a lie.
Crap, I need to keep my wits about me.

“Listen, Fatima, have you tried to escape? I mean, has anyone?”

Fatima shook her head. “If you found your way out of the building, where would you go? A large staff of men is employed within the compound. Outside, too. If you get past them, you face the mountains, rough and high. Even in summer, the temperatures drop at night. We have no clothing but this.” The girl indicated what she wore, including flimsy sock-type slippers. They would give as much protection against rocks as the light material would against cold. Which was to say, none at all. And, of course, the trip up had shown her how isolated they were.

“So, what is life like here? What do we do?”

“We are whores. We service whomever we are told. If we are obedient and maintain our beauty, we remain in the elite house, where men pay much money to use our bodies. We do not receive money, of course.” She smiled rather apologetically. “But if we cause trouble or when we age, we are sent below to service the employees. I have heard tales. Women do not live long once they go below.” She shuddered in the telling.

“What if we don’t do what they tell us?”

“We are punished.”

“I can stand a beating or two,” Brigit said boldly.

“Perhaps. But when girls first arrive, they are given a mentor. I am yours. If you refuse to obey, they will punish you. And, they will punish me, for not teaching you properly.”

“What?” The thought that anyone would punish this delicate beauty turned Brigit’s blood to ice. “What do I need to do to keep that from happening?”

“Whenever we leave the room, I will tie your hands and fasten the leash around your neck. As you saw when we came here, pulling on the leash causes it to tighten.”

Brigit rubbed her neck and remembered when she didn’t walk fast enough to keep up with the guard who led them through the maze of hallways.

Fatima continued. “Because you are new and I had no time with you, the guards were lenient this morning. But if you lag behind and have to be pulled to your duties, we will both be punished. If you follow my lead and do as you are told, we will be fed better and treated better in the hall. So please, Brigit…?”

“I’ll do my best.”

She fell back on the bed in despair.

“How did
you
come to be here?” Fatima asked.