by Lynda Filler
“Hmmm.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I heard Ivanov’s men talking about the Silk Road. I’m not sure of the significance, but it’s too much of a coincidence to ignore. Let me search around and see what I come up with.”
Luke banged a few things in the galley of the plane and several minutes later placed a tray with a warm chocolate croissant, some fresh mango, and an espresso on the table where Samaar was working. She looked up and smiled.
Luke ran his fingers through her hair, leaned in for a kiss and sat down across from her.
The interaction was not lost on David as the plane soared into the rising sun.
After twenty minutes, Samaar spoke up.
“You know I studied history in London. I was an excellent student. Some of it stuck, but most of this is new to me. I do remember Marco Polo, the famous Italian explorer. It says here that the trader journeyed from the port of Hormuz in Persia overland via the Silk Road to the summer palace of Kublai Khan — in what was then known as Xanadu (or Shangdu) — sometime in the late 13th century. Polo carried sacred lamp oil from Jerusalem and letters from the Pope to the Great Khan and founder of the Yuan Dynasty. That route from the Persian Gulf to Inner Mongolia was just one of many making up the ancient network of the Silk Road — or, more accurately, Silk Roads — that for centuries connected the cities of Asia and Europe. They connected China, Mongolia, Persia, India, and more, then stretched all the way across the mountains, deserts, and steppes of Central Asia to the Eastern Mediterranean, allowing for the transport of gems and spices and silks. Researchers think that the routes on the Silk Road over the mountains were once traveled by nomadic societies looking for the best places for their herds to graze. The pathways through the mountains had been traveled maybe centuries before by the herders.” Samaar stopped. She bit off her croissant, sipped her espresso and then added the espresso to the hot chocolate. Luke never forgot anything about her.
“It’s kind of fascinating Luke. Something is nagging me about the whole thing, but I’ve not yet been able to capture the thought.” Samaar returned to her computer. “Why don’t you enter smuggling, modern day, trafficking routes, Silk Road and take it from there.” Luke returned to his own research and Samaar continued. Twenty minutes later she turned back to Luke.
“Listen to what I’ve uncovered. I don’t like it at all.” Luke glanced towards Samaar.
“Wikipedia: child sex tourism has been linked to poverty, armed conflicts, rapid industrialization, and exploding population growth. Vulnerable children are easy targets for exploitation traffickers. Thailand, Cambodia, India, Brazil, and Mexico have been identified as leading hotspots of child sexual exploitation. Child victim ages have been found in Cambodia, Myanmar, the Philippines, and Thailand to be as young as six.” Luke watched the passive expression on Samaar’s face. Not a good sign. He could feel her anger building across the table.
“The demand is usually recognized as coming from the industrialized countries, including the richer countries of Europe, North America, the Russian Federation, Japan, Australia, and New Zealand. It also seems the US citizens lead in percentages of the perpetrators of cases investigated in Cambodia.”
Luke listened then added something that threw Samaar off completely.
“I’ve been in touch with Himanish. You remember him of course. He’s also very interested in the Silk Road. We need to communicate further with him and see what he knows.”
Samaar was stunned. Of course, she remembered the agent from RAW, Firestorm. Luci had to disappear from both the Mossad and MI6. But eliminating all trace of two people, herself and Alice, took significant funds, using deep connections and resources. She was desperate and scared, not because agent Luci feared for her life, but she had Alice now. And Alice was her life.
For some reason, Himanish had gone underground, entirely off-grid to the intelligence world. He made a curious reference to her once about Shakespeare’s cafe in Paris. She suspected a lover drew him to Paris. So, she’d sent a coded email to a unique address he’d once sent to her for UBA at Shakespeare’s cafe. He’d always told her he’d look after her and her daughter. And true to his word, he’d stolen two-hundred-and-fifty million dollars from the cartel bank accounts in Switzerland, so she and Alice could start a new life. Samaar had never discussed any of this with Luke, but his face said it all. He was entirely in the loop about the transaction.
Luke’s cell phone vibrated. He checked the caller and recognized the number.
“Hey, Zach, how’s it going?”
“Luke, I’ve got a situation here in Washington with a brother from my SEAL team. He needs my help. I’m going to be here for the next week or so, but I will keep you informed.”
“Anything we can offer to do for you?”
“Thanks, Luke, this is outside our normal area of operation for the Group. But if I run into any brick walls, fire-walls we can’t break through, I’ll contact RB. Where are you anyway? Sounds like you’re on a joyride with the new toy. Is that Samaar I hear laughing?”
Samaar blushed.
“We’re flying back from the Maldives. Samaar sends her regards. I’ll let you get back to work. Stay in touch and good luck.”
Samaar looked down at her computer. She focused intently, keys clicking and her mind racing.
“Luke. What did you want to tell me about Himanish? I haven’t heard from him since he helped Alice and me disappear from the Mossad.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he contacted me through our usual encrypted channels and suggested something was going on that might require our attention. You remember I met Himanish when Lily was still alive. They’d become friends when she was in Africa working on a child warrior photo exposé. Himanish was filming wildlife; but now that I know him better, I’m sure that was a cover for something else. She invited him to our wedding, and he became like family to us. I did approach him to create a liaison with the Raven Group. He wasn’t prepared to expose himself but said he would always be in touch. He’s extremely secretive in all his dealings.”
Luke stopped. Talking about Lily was not something he did comfortably.
“We lost touch when you were in South America. I think he resigned from RAW, but he compartmentalizes all aspects of his life. It’s difficult for a man of his talents to be owned by any agency. I can relate to that.”
Samaar waited. She was sure there was more that Luke had probably agreed not to reveal.
“I believe he’s washed his past and has ostensibly a rather normal position at UNHRC in Geneva. It’s a cover. With his passion for human beings, he would be able to access anything he wanted through the United Nations freedom of information with member countries. And what he can’t find, he hacks.”
Samaar smiled at the memory of her joy when she saw that incredible number in her private account in Switzerland.
“In fact, I just received something referring to the Silk Road. He wanted me to be aware that there would be little he could do physically from his present position but Himanish would let us in on everything he uncovers.”
“The timing is uncanny Luke, especially with the disappearance of the children.”
“He says there’s a network operating internationally. He’s collecting a file to send to me.”
Samaar looked up, curious at what Luke knew and wasn’t saying.
“Where is Himanish now?”
“He doesn’t want his connection to his former employers inside the Indian intelligence division to become public. Apparently, he’s operating in a clandestine group he created inside the United Nations Human Rights division. As in all things, he operates off-site, in his own way. He has a place in Geneva.”
Samaar was intrigued. She’d never been able to thank Himanish, code-name Firestorm, for what he’d done for her. He consistently ignored responding to her emails. But she knew he read her messages. After all, without him, she wouldn’t have been saved by the Raven Group in Mexico when she was running fr
om the cartels.
“I wonder if it’s possible. I may have found a link, Luke! Let me explain, and we can get RB working on it right away.”
Luci talked rapidly while the jet soared up above commercial traffic at maximum speed.
19
Washington, DC
M iguel was just a regular Hispanic kid. He was almost thirteen and already had acne he tried to cover with his mom’s makeup. Sure, Miguel had a chip on his shoulder due to growing up without a father, without anyone except his mom. He knew he had a grandfather because he heard his mom explaining it to a social worker. But Miguel didn’t know why he’d never met him. And when the trouble started, Miguel didn’t know how to recognize it. It all began at the mall down the street from his school.
He used to see this white guy hanging out with some friends from the neighborhood. They were laughing and having fun, and Miguel was thinking about what it must be like to have a Dad. He could barely remember his father. Miguel was young when his dad died, and his mom never seemed to connect with anyone else. Anyway, his mom was always working.
He skipped school one morning. He couldn’t find any clean clothes, and he didn’t want to be teased by the kids. Grade seven can be awful for a Hispanic kid or a black kid in a white neighborhood.
He went to the mall. He recognized the guy sitting at MacDonald’s drinking coffee. The guy waved at him and motioned him over.
“Hey kid, what’s your name?”
Yeh, his mom always said don’t speak to strangers, but this guy wasn’t a stranger. Not really.
“Miguel.”
“Why aren’t you in school? Your parents are going to be mad.”
Miguel shrugged and mumbled something under his breath.
“What? I didn’t hear you.”
“My dad’s dead.” The stranger looked around judging his audience for their level of interest in the conversation.
“Sorry about that kid. Look, I hate to eat alone. You go get us some breakfast burritos, and some Coke. Would you do that for me?” He placed a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Keep the change.”
Miguel looked up as if expecting someone to be watching them. Then he picked up the bill and went to order food. In a way, Miguel figured the guy was shady, but at least he had someone to hang out with. School was no longer of interest to him, and his mom didn’t seem to notice if he went or not. In this part of Washington, the teachers were trying to get by, so. they rarely reported when a kid missed a day.
At the time the kid thought things were finally looking up in his life. That was a month ago. Before he was taken. He knew it was stupid even thinking about his life with his mom. These guys were mean. Miguel couldn’t see how he’d ever get away from this life.
He looked around the bare room where he now lived. He had a cot in the corner with a sheet and a blanket. A bathroom with no window. And a TV with a play station attached. The first week, he’d tried to escape, but they warned him and brought him back. It wouldn’t be so bad except, he missed his mother. She would be worried about him. If only he could get a message to her, so she’d know he was okay. But he wasn’t allowed the use of a phone and the door to his room was always locked.
And then there was the sex thing. Miguel was kind of young for sex even though other guys at school bragged they were doing it with older girls. Miguel didn’t believe them. But this kind of sex was way different.
He was interrupted by a pounding on his door.
“It's time.”
Miguel picked his army knapsack up off the floor. If only he still had a father, this would never have happened. He headed out the open door.
An older black guy motioned for Miguel to follow him. The guy was kind of fat and never had much to say. Miguel could see the guy had a gun tucked in the back of his pants. Miguel could tell from the man’s cold bloodshot eyes that he’d use the weapon if provoked. He hustled Miguel into the passenger seat of an old grey car.
They drove for thirty minutes. Miguel didn’t know this neighborhood at all. Even if he could get away, unless grabbed a phone and contacted his mom, he wasn’t sure what he would do. He stopped thinking about escape when they slowed down and turned the corner in a run-down part of town. The black guy drove past a no-name hotel on the North side, then parked the Toyota on the left side of L Street.
“You see that doorway there, around that corner?”
“Yes.”
“You go through that door. Someone will be waiting to direct you to a room.”
Miguel looked straight ahead.
“As soon as you’re finished, I’ll be waiting for you here.”
Miguel said nothing.
“Remember. I know where your mother lives, and I have a gun. You will do what I say, or I can’t be responsible for what will happen to your mom. Got it, kid?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And don’t think about keeping any tip money. Now pull up your hood so the cameras can’t see your face. I don’t want to have to pick you up in jail!”
Twelve-year-old Miguel pulled his hood up over his head, his knapsack over his shoulder and exited the vehicle. He crossed against the traffic, dazed and scared. The first time he returned to the car with a cut lip. The guy had beat him while he forced Miguel to do things he’d never imagined. The boy couldn’t move for three days.
But turning back now from what he was forced to do was not an option.
20
Geneva, Switzerland
I t was five in the morning in Switzerland. Himanish fed his cat, allowed a few moments of ankle snuggles from To’ak and waited precisely three minutes for the French Press to deliver his Italian Roast coffee imported directly from Lavazza. He poured it into a cup he’d brought back from Shakespeare’s coffee shop in Paris, added a small chunk of rich dark chocolate and waited for To’ak to demand her piece. She stared at him and waited.
“We are both spoiled, you know that To’ak.” She merely looked at him with her amazing coppery eyes as if his words were beneath her dignity and required no response. She swished between his legs once more before disappearing to do whatever cats do when they are not looking for attention.
The computer pinged.
He brought his mug to the table and tried not to look at the photo on the shelf where he kept his favorite selection of books. The couple in the picture was a memory of a time in his life when he allowed his passions to overrule his intellect. An Indian man with ties to the top-secret agencies in the world had no right falling in love with an Irish girl he met in a coffee shop in Paris. Even if she was an author, which immediately took her to goddess status in his mind. She had stolen his heart, but he loved her too much to put her at risk by associating with his dangerous world. Still, she was embedded in his heart. Lately, he found himself wondering about what might have been.
The computer announced another message coming through from Zach.
“Damn. This isn’t good.”
First, he sent off a message to Washington, DC. He had an agent undercover that could definitely help Zach and Mike. She would know what to do and how to get the job done. Himanish sipped his coffee. Maybe he’d been in the shadows long enough. He missed the Group, even though he’d never been an official part of Luke’s team. He was always there for Luci. He had an extra special soft heart for women and children. It was his heart and his head that made him so dangerous. Once he set his mind to making something happen, nothing, except death, could stop him.
He carried his laptop and coffee down the hall and walked through his bedroom to his dressing room. The offerings in his walk-in closet rivaled that of the rich and famous of which he chose not to be a part. What was unknown to peers, associates, and contacts was the vast amount of wealth Himanish had obtained in the last several years. He’d not only helped Luci with her relocation expenses but had routinely absconded with funds from the now-eliminated Al Qaeda organization, a Russian arms cartel, and white supremacists around the world. His war chest rivaled Luke Raven’s, but they were
aligned by their determination to leave the world a better place than when they found it. Firestorm was one of the protectors of the universe. He routinely thwarted catastrophic events and often worked alongside Raven unbeknownst to the rest of Luke’s operation. Except for Zach.
With a cryptic code altered from his computer daily, the back wall of the dressing room slid open. Himanish passed through to the other side.
The long narrow room ran the entire depth of the apartment. It had been outfitted at one end by world-class state-of-the-art military weaponry. A console stretched for eight feet. On it, Himanish placed his coffee. He turned on his laptop and his desktop. Either one could perform operations that if breached would self-destruct. However, everything he needed was stored in the cloud. And no one could get past his walls unless Firestorm was dead.
The minute his computer started, the screens above lit up. He had access to a private satellite used by Luke Raven, and at the moment it was focused on a mountain range in Asia. He zoomed in on a construction site and watched a beehive of activity, but nothing relevant emerged. Another screen focused on a street in London, England. Himanish observed a plainclothes detective leave a massage parlor with a what looked like a fistful of pound sterling notes that he hastily shoved into his biker jacket. He would deal with that later.
It was the third screen that intrigued him. A series of reports were coming in from his contact in Washington. There would be information here that Zach could use.
“Time to get to work To’ak. Now behave yourself and take a nap. If you’re a good girl, we’ll have caviar and eggs for breakfast. Hmm?”
His Bombay beauty stretched out on his oversize desk and closed her eyes.
The first call he made was to Raven. The Silk Road that once carried exotic spices and rare treasures was once again operational. And he was going to make sure their cargo was precisely what was on the manifests.
