A Walk Across the Sun (30 page)

On her fourth day at the flat, Sita's morning routine changed without explanation. After parking the Mercedes, Dmitri led her back across the courtyard toward the street. He stopped beneath the covered archway and punched in a code on a keypad beside a glass door Sita hadn't noticed before. She heard a lock disengage. She followed him into a musty vestibule at the base of a spiral stairwell.

Dmitri delivered her a stern look. “You do not speak of what you see,” he said in surprisingly fluent English. “You do what I ask and you keep the rest to yourself. If not, there will be consequences. Understand?”

Sita's breath caught in her throat. She recalled the blond girl on the couch that first day and wondered whether she was about to discover the source of the girl's fear.

She nodded and followed Dmitri up a flight of steps to a wooden landing. Two doors bracketed the landing. Dmitri opened the door to the right, and Sita trailed him into a corridor lit by a single bare bulb. Taking a set of keys out of his jacket, Dmitri walked down the hall and unlocked six doors. He barked a few words in his strange language and retrieved a basket from a closet at the end of the corridor.

One by one, six young women emerged from the rooms. They were dressed in T-shirts and gym shorts. The last was the girl Sita had seen on the couch. Sita thought of the sex rooms in Suchir's brothel. She had no idea what Dmitri did with the girls, but the locks made it clear that they were not free to leave.

Dmitri handed her the basket and spoke in English. “Take the sheets and pillowcases off the beds and gather the dirty clothes.”

Sita entered the first bedroom. The room was small and dimly lit, with space only for a single bed and a chest of drawers. The window on the far wall was covered with a shade, its edges fastened to the trim with staples. Sita stripped the bed of its linens and scooped up a pile of lacy underwear in the corner. She repeated the same motions in the remaining rooms. All had the same dreary austerity, the same sealed windows, the same invisible menace.

The girls used the bathroom and returned to the hallway while Sita busied herself with her task. When she had finished stripping the last bed, she took the basket back to Dmitri. She couldn't bring herself to look at the girls. The loneliness of their captivity reminded her of Ahalya. Dmitri spoke a few more unintelligible words and the girls returned to their rooms. In fifteen minutes, none of them had made a sound.

Dmitri locked the doors and escorted Sita to Vasily's flat. Tatiana met her in the foyer and led her to the basement laundry room. She showed her how to operate the washing machine and left her alone. Sorting the sheets and clothing into piles, Sita tried not to think about what she had seen. She didn't want to hate these people, but she couldn't abide the thought that six girls were barricaded in a makeshift prison not more than fifty feet away. Could Dmitri be a pimp like Suchir?

A few minutes before three o'clock, Sita heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the basement stairs. The door to the laundry room wasn't quite closed, and she could see a sliver of hallway through the door frame. Sita glanced toward the crack just as Dmitri came into view. A second later she saw a flash of blond hair and the profile of a young woman's face. She was almost certain it was the girl she had seen on the couch.

Dmitri dragged the girl down the hall and opened the door at the end, slamming it shut behind him. After a brief pause, Sita heard the sound of a woman speaking. The words were garbled and distorted by a peculiar echo. At first she thought the sound was coming through the wall, but then she realized its source was an air vent near the ceiling.

Sita heard a slap of flesh and a shriek of pain. She listened to the sounds of a scuffle and the gruff voice of a man making demands. A few seconds later, the young woman cried out and the man began to moan. Sita clutched the pillowcase she was folding and held her breath. She knew what she was hearing, and the thought of it enraged and terrified her.

Dmitri finished his business and returned upstairs. Sita heard the girl whimpering through the air vent, and her heart went out to her. She wrestled with her conscience. She was at Dmitri's mercy, and he was clearly ruthless. Yet her father had taught her that failing to act in the face of suffering is inhuman. She thought of Ahalya after the incident with Shankar, and the memory galvanized her.

She opened the door to the laundry room. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she saw that she had less than twenty minutes before Tatiana would return for her. She moved down the hall to the door at the end. She turned the knob soundlessly and entered the room.

The young woman was curled up on a bed, her body wrapped in sheets. At the foot of the bed was a pile of clothing and underwear like the garments Sita had washed. She saw three video cameras on tripods and an array of lights. She stood in confusion, wondering at the bizarre scene. Then she understood.

The cameras almost certainly had recorded the girl's rape.

She walked to the bedside and knelt down, her stomach churning. She touched the girl's shoulder, and the girl moaned and rolled over. She walked around the bed and knelt again. Reaching out, she cupped the girl's fingers in her hand. The girl grew still and her eyes focused on Sita's face. She lifted herself into a sitting position.

“Do you speak English?” Sita asked, fearing that she didn't understand.

“A little,” the girl replied in a thick accent. “Who are you?”

“I'm Sita,” she said, speaking slowly. “I do house chores.”

The girl began to cry silently. “I am Natalia. Where you from?”

“India.”

“I am from Ukraine.”

“What are you doing here?” Sita asked.

“I come for work. I apply at agency. Men take passport and bring here.”

Sita thought of how different their paths had been, yet how frighteningly similar. She heard a creak on the floor above and grew scared.

“I must go,” she whispered urgently. “I will pray for you.”

Natalia gave Sita a half smile. “
Spasibo bolshoi
,” she said and then repeated herself in English. “Thank you.”

Chapter 17

Hope may vanish, but can die not.
—P
ERCY
B
YSSHE
S
HELLEY

Mumbai, India

Weeks passed and the police found no trace of Sita or Navin. Porter responded to Thomas's e-mail and promised to submit Sita's photograph to Interpol. He explained, however, that ICAID was useful only if a missing girl showed up on the Internet or happened to come into the custody of law enforcement in an Interpol member state. If she stayed below the radar, it was unlikely they would find her.

At the end of his message, Porter offered a piece of good news:

By the way, the Fayetteville cops have made some progress on Abby Davis's case. We know she's still in the city, and we're doing our best to pin down her location. Unfortunately, it looks like your father may have been right about the trafficking connection. I'll keep you posted.

Sitting on Dinesh's balcony, beer in hand, Thomas thought of Abby's mother and wondered how she was handling the excruciating wait. Her travail continued to stir him. Looking back, he wondered how much of his present situation had been influenced by their chance encounter. If not for Abby, would he have been interested in CASE? Would he have talked to Porter and learned about the opening in Bombay? Would he have come to India and sought reconciliation with Priya?

The weeks were eventful at the office. CASE conducted two more raids and rescued a total of fourteen minor girls. The second raid, which targeted a beer bar in a northeastern suburb, was nearly blown by a tip-off that almost certainly came from the police. A field agent on the street saw the girls being moved an hour before the operation, and Greer obtained a lastminute modification of the search warrant that included the new location.

Thomas was impressed with the novelty of the sting. The CASE field agents had contacted the pimps to arrange a private sex party for three men. Enticed by the offer of a premium if the girls were underage, the pimps turned out their stable. The police arrested the perpetrators in a chawl beside the bar and placed ten minor girls in protective custody. The rescue was the most dramatic in the history of CASE's Bombay office and made waves at headquarters in D.C.

Thomas spent his days working on closing arguments in cases set for decision in the spring. On the side, he continued to polish the Jogeshwari brief. The judge had continued the case at the request of the defense, which both outraged and gratified him. It meant the judge was sympathetic to the pimp, but it also gave him more time to weave his logical noose. When he finally turned in the brief, Samantha was effusive with praise.

“It's the best I've seen in five years here,” she said. “You made it sing.”

“I know it's bad form to get invested in a case,” he said, “but I'd really like to wipe the floor with this bastard.”

Samantha's eyes sparkled. “You never know. You just might get your wish.”

Thomas didn't return to the Sisters of Mercy home. His excuse was that he was too busy, but in truth he didn't know what to say to Ahalya. Anita told him that the girl always made a point to ask about him when she came to visit.

“She's taken a liking to you,” Anita told him one afternoon.

“She doesn't know me,” he replied.

“She knows enough. Besides, there aren't too many other people around who have friends at the Justice Department.”

He sighed. “I take it you told her I passed along Sita's photograph?”

Anita nodded. “I did.”

“What more does she expect?”

“I don't know. You were the one who promised to try.”

He spent two evenings a week with Priya. Often she would meet him for dinner with the CASE staff at Sheesha, a rooftop Irani place on Linking Road, or at Out of the Blue, an upscale restaurant in Pali Hill. Thomas wasn't surprised when she took a liking to the expats. Their good-natured restiveness and fascination with the world were a refreshing contrast to the cynicism and ennui that plagued so many of his friends back home.

As February wore on, the weather grew warmer by the day. Despite himself, Thomas thought often of Ahalya and the rakhi bracelet. He got permission from Greer to contact the CBI office, but the news he received was always disheartening. At one point, the officer assigned to the case put Thomas through to the superintendent, who assured him that there was nothing more they could do.

Thomas hung up and looked at the band on his wrist. There were many moments when he wished he could return it. It was a burden he wasn't qualified to bear. Yet he had made Ahalya a promise. And he had made Priya a deal.

He had to try.