A Walk Across the Sun (51 page)

DeFoe was taken aback. She bore little resemblance to the child depicted on the Kandyland website. If not for the fine bones of her face, he might not have recognized her.

He met Sita's eyes and saw blood rush to her face. She looked at the floor. Acting the part, DeFoe approached and touched her cheek and clavicle. Then he leaned close and smelled her hair.

“She is exquisite,” he said to the woman. “A rare jewel.”

“I'm delighted that you are satisfied. Now to the matter of payment.”

Li brought a laptop into the room and placed it on a coffee table. DeFoe sat down on the couch and used the computer to access a bank account he had opened the day before using federal funds. He keyed in the amount and routing information and finalized the transfer.

“Excellent,” the woman said. “Li will escort you to your suite. He will return when your stay is over. You must leave at five a.m.”

“I understand,” DeFoe replied, eyeing Sita for effect.

Watching the strange man enter data into the computer, Sita felt as if she had become a different person. The Indian girl she had been, that friend of bright sea and warm sun, had retreated into the shadows and a new girl had taken her place, one with neither a past nor a future. This girl was afraid, but she was also capable of accepting the rule of karma. Ignoring her pounding heartbeat, she tried to imagine what sort of person the man was.
Is he married?
she thought.
Does he have children? How far has he traveled tonight? Why did he choose me?

When the man had finished with the computer, Li led them up the steps to the hallway of doors. He let them into the first suite and then slipped out, closing the door behind him. Sita moved into the center of the room and turned to face the man, remembering the blond woman's instructions. Her bottom lip began to quiver, but she tried hard not to show her fear. Whatever the man wanted to do to her, he would do. There was no way out now. The only real choice before her was between acceptance and death.

The man took her by the wrist and led her to the bed. He told her to sit and began to unbutton his shirt. She leaned back against the cushions and studied him, feeling numb. She watched him undo each button before continuing down the placket toward his belt. She began to tremble, despite herself.

After removing his shirt, the man sat on the bed in front of her. He brushed her hair and her lips with the tips of his fingers.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

The question shook the foundations of her new personality. She looked down at the comforter.
It doesn't matter
, she thought.
All of it is gone.

When she didn't respond, the man leaned forward and pretended to kiss her neck. He spoke very quietly. “My name is DeFoe and I'm here to rescue you. A police raid is about to happen. Continue to play your role. The danger is great, but it will soon be over.”

Sita didn't process his words at first, and when she did, she had no idea what to think. Suddenly, she heard the distant noise of a helicopter. For a long moment she wavered, feeling the familiar grip of despair. The world had delivered her nothing but grief since the arrival of the waves. She had resigned herself to the beshya's life. How could her fate suddenly change?

The sound of the helicopter grew louder.

She looked at the stranger—DeFoe—and at once the fiction of the courtesan demanded by the blond woman fell off her like a false skin. She saw the reflection of truth in his eyes. He wasn't there to rape her. He was there to save her.

In an instant, she decided to believe.

Moments later, DeFoe heard a shout in the hallway. The door to the room burst open and Li strode in brandishing a pistol.

“What the hell is going on?” DeFoe asked crossly, shifting his body to shield Sita.

“Come now,” the Asian commanded.

“What about the girl?” DeFoe demanded. “I paid a fortune for her.”

“No time for talk!” the Asian exclaimed, waving the weapon around.

DeFoe stood up and growled, “I better get a damn refund.”

“No refund!” Li cried, pointing the pistol at him. “Police!”

DeFoe cursed loudly and lurched toward the door, pretending to react in fear. As soon as he was within striking distance, he knocked Li's gun to the floor and delivered a brutal kick to his groin. Li sank to his knees. DeFoe collected the pistol and slammed the butt against the Asian's head. Li fell to the floor unconscious. DeFoe righted his grip on the weapon and moved toward the door.

Out of nowhere a hand appeared in front of him. The hand held a gun. He heard the gun fire once and felt the impact of the bullet. He stopped in his tracks, pain spreading through his chest. The gun fired a second time, and he staggered and fell to the floor.

Into the room strode Dietrich Klein. His forehead shone with sweat, but he was a picture of control. DeFoe's vision began to blur. He looked at Sita and tried to remember where his pistol went. He watched Klein shut the door and turn the deadbolt, watched him point the gun at Sita. He wanted to say something, but his mouth didn't work.

“Stay where you are,” he heard Klein say, “and don't make a sound.”

The last thing DeFoe saw before he closed his eyes was Klein reaching into his pocket and pulling out a mobile phone.

Chapter 31

One shot, fly fast and far, oh arrow sharpened with prayer.
—R
IG
V
EDA

Atlanta, Georgia

Inside the mobile command post, Thomas sat beside Porter and Pritchett, listening to the radio traffic as the SWAT team moved in. Words were few; commands were terse. The team knew its moves and executed them flawlessly.

Three minutes after the raid began, the ground leader of the exfiltration team, Special Agent John Trudeau, came on the line.

“Any sign of the girls?” Pritchett asked.

“Not yet, sir.” Trudeau's voice was slightly distorted by static, but his puzzlement was evident. “We're still looking.”

Pritchett cursed. “What about the Kleins?”

“No idea, sir,” Trudeau said. “The house is so quiet it's eerie.”

“And DeFoe?”

“Hold on.” Trudeau came back on the line a few seconds later. “Striker says the door was locked when he and Evans knocked. DeFoe didn't respond.”

Pritchett pushed his mouthpiece aside and looked toward the front of the vehicle. “Get moving!” he shouted to the driver. “Get me out there as fast as you can.”

The huge vehicle roared to life. Thomas held on as the driver gunned the engine and accelerated toward the parking lot exit.

Pritchett spoke into his mouthpiece again. “Tell Striker and Evans to break down the door if you have to. DeFoe is in there with the girl. The GPS confirms it.”

“What if the Kleins are with them?” Trudeau asked.

Pritchett's eyes darkened. “Sit tight for a second.”

Suddenly, Pritchett's mobile phone rang. He put the phone to his ear irritably. His face changed in an instant. At once he looked nervous.

“Yes, sir,” he said into the phone. He listened for a moment, and his mouth came open. “Mother of God. Okay, put him through.”

Pritchett hit a button and put the phone on speaker. When the connection was established, a man spoke. His voice carried the faintest trace of a European accent.

“This is Dietrich Klein,” he said. “Are you the agent in charge?”

Pritchett took a sharp breath. “That's right. Agent Pritchett.”

“Very good. Now, Pritchett, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Your undercover agent is lying on the floor with two bullets in his chest. I have a hostage—a girl—and my wife has others. They will die if you do not do exactly as I ask. Are you ready?”

Pritchett's eyes flashed and he squeezed the phone until his knuckles turned white.

“I'm ready,” he said.

“There is a small airport in Cartersville. I want a fully fueled Gulfstream on the tarmac in forty-five minutes. The pilot will be a civilian. If he is armed, the girls will die. There is a vehicle in the garage that we will use to drive to the airport. Your team will clear the area. If I see anyone, the girls will die. I have no interest in talking to you or anyone else until the plane is on the ground. The deal is simple. I will give the pilot directions after takeoff. When we land, I will leave the girls in the plane. Are we clear?”

“We're clear,” Pritchett barked. “Anything else you want?”

But the line had already gone dead.

Sita watched as Dietrich Klein turned off the phone. She couldn't control her shivering. She glanced at the shirtless man lying on the floor, the man who had promised to save her. He hadn't moved since he fell. She was certain that he was dead.

Klein put the phone back in his pocket. He took a seat on a chair across the room, pointing the gun at her.

“You are my guest,” he said. “And I am known for treating my guests well. If you do as I say, you will not get hurt.”

Sita stared at him, trying to stop her muscles from trembling.

Klein smiled. “Yes, yes, I know you are afraid. But you must understand. I am just a businessman. I do not like guns.” He held up his weapon and put it on the table beside him. “You think I am a monster, no? That I have no soul?”

Sita didn't reply and Klein didn't seem to care.

He asked her another question. “Do you know why you are here?”

She met his eyes. She wanted to answer him, to let out the scream that had been building in her ever since Kanan turned his truck down the dusty road to Chako's flat and sold her into slavery. But she didn't scream. She had no voice.

Klein answered his own question. “You are not here because I enjoy the sale of sex. You are here because men enjoy the purchase of it. I am simply the broker. Some businessmen sell objects. Others sell knowledge. I sell fantasies. It is all the same.”

He checked his watch. “They have thirty minutes left.” He inclined his ear and listened for any sound of human presence. The house was silent.

“Have you ever been to Venezuela?” he asked, looking at her again. “It is a wretched place, but it has its uses. You will see it soon.”