Abducted

by Tikiri

  At the back of every Chef Pierre’s coffee shop was a magazine rack that carried copies of his foodie magazines. I walked over to it and picked up the latest edition. Just like Oprah, Chef Pierre’s magazine covers featured only him in his signature hat and apron, holding the pastry of the month.

  This month’s cover had him showing off a beautiful soufflé. The side caption said, “Perfect dessert for the perfect royal party.” I picked up a copy and stepped up to the shelves. My mouth watered as I wondered which pastry to try first. The éclair covered with dark melted chocolate or the cheesecake with fresh raspberries on top?

  I’d been so captivated that I hadn’t noticed the tall man in the black suit walk up to Katy next door.

  Chapter Four

  It was only after I paid for my order and sat down at a table near the window that I remembered to peek into the shoe store again. When I did, Katy wasn’t inside anymore.

  I squinted through the gold lettering on the café window. There. I saw her. Katy was near a recess in the corridor, standing with a man—a tall man with dark skin and a curly, scruffy beard. He was wearing a black suit and dangling a cigarette butt from his lips. Who’s he?

  For as long as I’d known Katy, she’d been a big flirt. While all the boys at school wanted to date her, she had eyes only for men. “Real men,” she’d told me. And no man was out of bounds: our teachers, the head of security, even the principal.

  This thing she had for older men got her into hot water more than once, and was one reason we were running away from Toronto. I watched Katy with this man now, their heads close like they were in deep conversation. The man’s hand was on the small of her back. That was strange. He looks creepy. What’s she doing with him? She doesn’t even like beards.

  With a start, I remembered she had the stolen money packet on her. I watched them with a frown on my face, recalling the conversation we’d had minutes before leaving Toronto. We’d been waiting in the plane on the runway when Katy’s phone rang. It should have been turned off and she shouldn’t have picked it up, but she did.

  Dick’s voice came through loud, clear, and furious.

  “You think you can get away with this?”

  Katy’s face went white. My heart sank.

  I reached for the phone, but she pulled away, giving me an I-got-this look.

  “Oh hi, Dick.” Her voice was uncharacteristically calm. “How’re ya doing?” I leaned in to hear.

  “You bitches!”

  I glanced around, my heart beating a tad faster. A passenger in the aisle across from us had noticed Katy pick up the phone and was frowning at her, but no flight attendant rushed over to shut us down.

  “I know you took my money, you little shits!” Dick’s greasy voice flew through the airwaves.

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Katy said, her voice dripping with honey.

  “I’ll call the police, you hear? Your fingerprints are gonna be all over it. They’ll catch you, you goddamned—.”

  I signaled to Katy to hang up. She ignored me.

  “You’ve got bigger problems, Dick. I don’t believe you’ll call.” she then turned on the same voice she used on our most difficult clients at the bakery. “It was really nice to chat. You have a wonderful day now.”

  “You damn bi—,”

  Katy hung up and looked at me, her lips tight and thin. She looked vaguely satisfied. I could just imagine Dick on the other end, red-faced, swearing at the phone with the blood vessels on his neck about to pop. He was not going to have a wonderful day.

  The jet engine roared and the PA system crackled. “Cabin crew, please take your seats for takeoff and prepare for departure.”

  I sighed with relief. Thank goodness we were leaving this city and this part of my life.

  “We should screen his calls,” I whispered. “Or throw that phone out.”

  Katy leaned in and whispered back, “I wanted to know how mad he’d get, knowing there’s nothing he can do about it.”

  “You know this is drug money, right?”

  “I’d better put it somewhere safe,” she said, as if just realizing it. She reached for her bag and pulled the packet out, then she slipped it inside her jacket pocket and zipped it up.

  It had taken me a year to save for my ticket to Goa. I’d need more to pay off Preeti’s nasty husband and the bride broker to let her go free, but when we ran out of the bakery, I had to also think of Katy. Our two tickets, though standby, cost more than two thousand dollars. The money we’d taken from Dick’s safe had already come in handy.

  “This is back pay,” I heard Katy say, more to herself than me. “He owes us.”

  Dick had gotten away with a lot, paying us next to nothing while we slaved away so he could visit strip clubs and sell drugs. Without Katy and me, the bakery could not have existed. As the bookkeeper, Katy had seen this packet go back and forth across the Canadian-American border several times. Though at that time, she’d thought it was used to pay for legitimate supplies. It was only later she’d learned what it was really used for. Contraband. This was how Dick and Jose smuggled their money and drugs. How that packet got through airport security and the X-ray machine was a mystery to me. The only thing I knew was the last place Katy and I wanted to end up in was jail.

  “Voilà, mademoiselle.”

  I looked up, startled to see a waitress next to my table. She placed a dessert plate embossed with Chef Pierre’s gold logo in front of me. On it sat a wafer-thin crêpe topped with cream and strawberries.

  “Merci,” I said and picked up my fork, but my mind was elsewhere.

  I looked back at Katy and the man in the shadows of the corridor. It was hard to see, but it looked like her face was buried in his chest. Something wasn’t right. Katy was a flirt, but not that easy. That was when I saw her move her shoulders. Is she trying to wriggle out? My gut said something was wrong. There. She wriggled again. I dropped my fork, scraped back my chair, and barely remembered to pick up my bag before I crashed through the café doors.

  I could see them better now. Katy was trying to push the man away, but he kept pulling her in. In his hands was a white handkerchief which he was using to wipe Katy’s face. Very strange.

  “Katy!”

  The man looked up and scowled. He pulled Katy away from the wall, and with that, her suitcase fell down with a clatter. I broke into a sprint.

  “Hey!”

  In half a second, the man had wrapped his arms around Katy’s shoulders and pulled her away. She hung, limp like a rag doll, and didn’t even look my way.

  “Katy!” I was screeching now. A few people shot me disapproving looks, but no one said or did anything. My heart was pounding. Do I call for help? For someone to call for police? Something stirred in the back of my mind reminding me of the stolen money and my fake visa.

  The man in the suit tore out of the main airport doors, dragging Katy with him. Whoever he was, he was fast and strong. Within seconds, the sliding doors closed and they were gone.

  “Hey, come back!”

  I ran outside, hollering my lungs out. I was about to spring across the road when a blue sports car zoomed by, missing me by two inches. Before I could react, a hand dug into my shoulder and pulled me to the curb. I looked up to the scowling face of an airport security guard.

  “You wanna get killed?” he said.

  “My friend…that taxi,” I spluttered, pointing to the disappearing car.

  “The line’s over there. You’ll have to wait for a taxi like the rest of ’em, miss.”

  “No!” I shook his hand off my shoulder. “It’s my friend. You’ve got to do something!”

  “Just because someone jumped in line and stole a taxi doesn’t mean you get to do that too. I’m tired of people cutting in line.”

  “I’m not cutting in line. That’s my friend, I tell you! He took her!”

  “I don’t have time for games, okay?”

  I felt my throat tighten. “But that man. I saw him. He, he kid
….”

  The guard wasn’t listening anymore. A handful of college girls had just burst through the sliding doors. “Please get in line like everyone else, miss,” he said in a gruff voice before stepping toward the girls. “Taxi, ladies? The line’s over there.”

  I looked helplessly at the road where the cab had disappeared, my legs weak and my breath shallow. What just happened? Who’s that man? Where’s he taking Katy? What do I…

  Just then, a taxi screeched to a stop right in front of me. A man got out, threw money on the front seat and sprinted toward the airport doors, clutching his briefcase. Without a second thought, I jumped into the backseat and slammed the door shut.

  “Oi!” I heard the security guard yell behind me.

  “Go!” I yelled at the driver. “Follow that cab! Go now!”

  Chapter Five

  “What’s the rush, ma’am?”

  The taxi hadn’t budged. The back door had clicked open. I looked up to see an agent in blue, like the one I’d spotted walking along the terminal corridor earlier. He was towering over me now. The first things I noticed were the UK border agency insignia on his uniform and the black gun strapped to his belt.

  My brain kicked in. “A man took my friend!” I yelled, pointing at the road. “You need to follow him. We need to catch him. They went in a cab. Do some—.”

  “Ma’am,” the agent said, looking like he was trying to find patience he didn’t have, “I’d like you to lower your voice.”

  “But…but…” I stammered. “That man took Katy! He took my friend…”

  “Your passport?” It was like he hadn’t even heard me. I stared at him open-mouthed.

  He put out a hand. “Now, please.”

  With trembling hands, I pulled my passport out of my bag and gave it to him.

  “Hmmm,” the agent said, flipping through my passport. I waited silently, but I could hear my pulse pounding. Didn’t he see what happened to Katy? Didn’t he hear me? I noticed the taxi driver up front watching me through the rearview mirror. He winked when he saw me notice him. I looked away.

  “Step out of the car, ma’am.”

  “But….”

  The agent moved a hand toward his gun belt. “This is not a request. It’s an order.”

  I got out, my legs feeling like jelly.

  “Follow me, please,” he said, signaling with his hand. “This way.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the security guard watching with a self-satisfied sneer on his face.

  I turned to the agent as soon as we were inside the terminal, away from the mocking eyes of the guard and the taxi lineup. “Excuse me, Officer. I really need to talk to you.”

  He looked at me, hands on his hips, his face impassive.

  I cleared my throat and spoke in a low voice. “I need your help, Officer. My friend was taken.”

  “Taken?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, a man took her. I saw him push her into a cab. He kidnapped her.”

  “Is that right?” The eyebrow remained raised.

  “Yes. Everyone saw it happening, even the taxi guard outside.”

  “Okay.” He hesitated. “Let’s go into our offices and we’ll see what we can do about that, shall we?”

  Without another word, he turned around and marched into the main thoroughfare. If I ran out now, I wouldn’t get too far. I had no choice. I followed him, trying to keep up with his strides. A handful of people glanced my way curiously. I didn’t have handcuffs on, but I might as well have. I walked with my head down, wishing I could disappear through the floor.

  We walked into a part of the airport I hadn’t seen before. The insignia on the agent’s uniform was plastered everywhere here, including on a poster about smuggling, which featured a photo of a woman in a solitary cell, her head buried in handcuffed hands.

  The agent opened a door. “Step inside, please.”

  I stepped cautiously into a stark room with industrial fluorescent lighting and just enough space for a desk and two uncomfortable-looking chairs. It looked like one of those interrogation rooms in the movies, where they browbeat you before they send you to the back to get strapped down and tortured.

  I sat down with my bag on my lap. The agent closed the door halfway and pulled out a chair for himself. My throat felt dry and a nervous tick had started on my right eyelid.

  He flipped through my passport. “Hmmm,” he said as he found my Canadian immigration papers inside. He removed the staple, unfolded the document, and held it up to the light.

  My heart sank. Mrs. Rao in Toronto had given me these papers, papers I’d later learned were fake. What do they do to people with fake immigration documents? Is it worse than smuggling thousands of stolen dollars?

  “You don’t have the proper visa to enter the United Kingdom, you do realize that?”

  I gulped. “I guess so.” I wiped my palms on my skirt.

  “Yet, you were ready to depart the airport and head into town.” He gave me a piercing look.

  “I was trying to follow my friend. I told you, she was taken. We need to find her!” I felt my face go warm.

  Ignoring me, he pulled out a yellow legal pad and pen from a drawer and started scribbling.

  “What’s your final destination?”

  “Goa.”

  “So this is a layover?” he asked, scanning my ticket and boarding pass.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you traveling alone?”

  “No, with Katy.”

  “And Katy is?”

  “My best friend,” I almost snapped.

  “Does she have a family name?”

  “McGregor.”

  “She’s going all the way to Goa as well?”

  “Yes!”

  The agent didn’t look twenty-five. He must be new. Otherwise, why is he wasting all this time, instead of hurrying up and trying to find Katy?

  “Where’s she now?”

  I felt a hot flash in my chest. “I’ve been trying to tell you she got kidnapped just now!” I snapped fully this time.

  He gave me a long stare, enough to make me wither in my seat.

  I had to explain. I swallowed, and said in the calmest voice I could muster, “It was a man in a black suit. He took her from the shoe store inside the airport, next to Chef Pierre’s café. That’s why I got in that cab. I’ve no idea where she is. I’ve no idea who that man was, but she’s in trouble, and you need to do something about it. Please.”

  The agent sat back and stared at me for five full seconds. I looked down nervously at my hands.

  “I’ve got some important questions to ask you,” he said, “I need you to answer truthfully, okay?”

  I swallowed.

  “Okay?” he asked, with force in his voice this time.

  I nodded quickly.

  “What’s your profession?”

  “Er, I don’t have one.”

  “What do you do for a living? Are you a student?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m a baker.”

  “Baker?” Raised eyebrow again. “And where’s your bakery?”

  I hesitated. He waited, pen raised over the notepad. “Toronto.” My mind raced. Did Dick call the police? Will they find out about the money?

  “Where’s your family? In Toronto?”

  I looked down at my hands again. I hated that question.

  “Are they back in India?”

  “No.” I paused. “I don’t have…my parents died when I was twelve.”

  “Do you have any other family?” His voice had softened.

  How do I tell him Aunty Shilpa died of her sickness, Grandma died from heartbreak, and Preeti’s now stuck in a deranged marriage, all because of me?

  “I have a cousin. Her name is Preeti. She’s in Goa.”

  “Is anyone paying you to go on this trip?”

  I looked at him in surprise. “No.”

  “Is anyone forcing you to make this trip?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head vigorously
.

  “Is anyone waiting for you at the airport in Delhi?”

  “No.” Where’s he going with all this?

  “Why is your friend, this Katy McGregor, going to India?”

  “She’s coming with me because, because…” I hesitated. Why is Katy coming with me? It was because she had nowhere else to go. I was the only family she had now. Though we were worlds apart by bloodline, it felt like we were not just BFFs, but sisters. “She’s my friend and she wants to come with me,” I said, in a lame voice.

  “Do you have any pictures of this friend of yours?”

  I scrambled to open my bag, took out my phone and turned it on. I felt a slight sense of relief, like we were going somewhere serious now. I shook the phone, silently urging the screen to wake up quickly.

  The agent scraped back his chair to get up. “Find those pictures and wait for me here, okay?” He scooped the papers off the table and marched out.

  It took me a few seconds to realize he’d dropped something. My airline ticket, my boarding pass, and the immigration document were all gone. My smaller and heavier passport booklet had dropped back onto the table. I stared at it motionless for half a minute. With shaking hands, I reached out and pulled it toward me. After a quick glance at the door, I slipped it inside my jacket pocket.

  I sat back in my chair, my heart pounding. The door was fully open. Outside, a photocopy machine was whirring. I pushed my chair back quietly, tiptoed to the door and strained to listen. I could hear mumbling from nearby. I peeked out. About twenty five feet away was a door to a large office. In the doorway was the agent, talking to someone. From where I was I could hear snatches of their conversation.