by Holly Watt
A jerk at her arm startled her; Ed had seen them too. His gesture was firm: no. But she pulled away, pointing to a walled-off section at the back of the barn.
They might be there.
Maybe.
I have to try.
He shook his head, more forcefully. Come away.
Casey jerked her arm out of his grasp, and stepped forward too fast for him to grab. She heard Ed murmur, too late.
One step. Another. Out of his reach.
And now the men were between her and the door: no escape, no way out. Casey edged across the floor, the demons dancing just out of sight.
She was halfway across the barn when the silence shattered. Casey froze, flat against the wall, unable to breathe or think as a phone shrieked, impossibly, unbearably loud.
One of the men half-sat, reached blearily for his phone. Casey saw the glow as he answered it. Don’t move, don’t breathe, crush the scream in your throat. There was a grunt, a rattle of words, the phone chucked down again.
Silence.
The man settled back into sleep.
Casey stood against the wall, forcing herself to breathe. The seconds ticked by. Forward, or back. Forward or back.
I have to try.
Forward.
She inched on.
Just a few feet to the inner door.
Nearly there. Nearly. There. Closed. Locked? No.
Very carefully, Casey pushed down on the handle. She eased the door open: tiny movements, almost tender.
A breath, and she peered through.
Nothing.
Despair like a slap.
Nothing.
‘Let’s try the other building,’ she murmured, as soon as she reached Ed and Hessa, not letting them speak.
She heard a sigh from Hessa, a deliberate silence from Ed.
Very carefully, they crept towards the grey brick building.
This building was more solidly built, Casey could tell in the gloom. No creaking corrugated iron here, but solid construction, carefully done. No windows, and only one door: unyielding, padlocked closed. Casey tried to listen, but silence filled her ears.
‘I’m going to pick the lock,’ she whispered.
‘There could be guards here too.’ Ed spoke quietly, a hand on her arm. ‘There could be anything in there.’
‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘But the other barn is a workshop. This one . . .’
‘You’ll get us all killed.’
The trees rustled around them, the breeze inquisitive.
‘We have to, Ed.’ It was Hessa’s voice.
Casey felt him drop his hand, step back. ‘Go on then.’
Picking the lock took only took a few seconds, and Casey stepped back and pushed open the door.
The women stared at her.
Maybe fifteen of them, some still half-asleep, peering up from the floor. A few of them looked terrified, flinching away as the door swung open. For a second, there was complete silence.
‘My God,’ Casey whispered. ‘My God.’
In the half-darkness, she could see that most of the women lay on rows of thin mattresses, wrapped in dirty sheets. As Casey gazed around, they began to sit up, some climbing to their feet, others cowering away. They weren’t all women, Casey saw. Several of them were young girls.
And almost all looked pregnant.
‘Please,’ said Casey pointlessly. ‘Please don’t be afraid.’
The girl lying nearest to the door was fourteen, maybe. She had big eyes, and a nose that had been broken once, many years ago. This girl hadn’t moved as Casey walked in. She just stared up, blinking in the light, her expression quite unreadable. She was pregnant too, Casey saw. Six months, maybe. And past fear, it seemed.
‘Hello,’ said Casey. ‘Hello.’
The words dangled in the silence. Hessa stepped past Casey, and kneeled down beside the girl.
‘Hello,’ she spoke in Bengali, ‘my name is Hessa.’
The girl stared back at her, jaw clenched. Hessa tried again. ‘Are you all right?’
Silence.
‘Who brought you here?’
Nothing.
‘What is your name?’
The girl’s eyes flicked away.
Hessa turned back to Casey, with an expression of despair. ‘What can I say to her? What do we do?’
Casey stared round the room, tried again. ‘Romida? Are you here? Romida?’
There was a long silence. Casey pulled a small torch out of her pocket, and flicked it on. Some of the women flinched away from the brightness, others glowered back defiantly, their fear fading as the intruders just stood there. Ed was waiting outside, Casey could sense his tension. She looked around the room, scrutinising face after face. A thud of disappointment: Romida wasn’t there. Casey stared harder, willing the girl to appear.
Where are you, shy smiling girl? A red dress, covered in beautiful roses. Not here, not there, no.
‘Does anyone speak English?’ Casey managed.
A pair of eyes glinted towards her. ‘Do you speak any English?’ Casey focused on the girl who had looked up. ‘Any at all?’
There was a pause, and then a slow, resentful nod.
Casey stepped towards her. ‘Do you mind if I talk to you? I am sorry to break in like this.’
The girl considered Casey for a second. She was short, this girl, with dark curly hair and a gap between her front teeth. Maybe fifteen, Casey thought, and pregnant too, a small bump just visible.
‘What is your name?’ asked Casey. ‘My name is Casey.’
The girl looked away, and then met Casey’s eyes squarely. ‘I,’ she said quietly, ‘am Khadija.’
‘What are you doing here?’ A shrug.
‘How did you come here?’ A slow blink.
‘Where did you come from?’ Khadija stared at Casey, eyes narrowed. She bit her nails soberly, and finally she spoke slowly, carefully: ‘We came from Rakhine. We were in the camps.’
Casey felt something close to relief. She gestured: Shall I sit down? and Khadija gave a brief, wary nod. The other women watched them closely.
Casey sat cross-legged on the floor next to the girl. Rushing, because there was no time, she explained their presence to the girl. ‘We are journalists. From London. We are looking for women taken from the camps. We want to help.’
Khadija nodded again, carefully. Then – suddenly decisive – she turned to the other women, speaking rapidly. The other women nodded. They had all seen journalists around the refugee camps, many, many times. Smile for the camera, keep the aid flowing. Click, click, click click, click.
‘Who brought you to this place?’ asked Casey, when the room had fallen into silence.
Khadija spoke slowly, searching for the words. ‘Two men went to my parents in the camp. One of them said they had a friend who wanted to marry me. My parents . . . We didn’t have anything . . . My parents thought it would be best.’
Khadija’s voice trailed away, and her head bowed.
‘I am sorry,’ Casey murmured. ‘We understand that the gang who took you are forcing the women to be surrogates,’ she went on carefully. ‘Using IVF.’
Khadija didn’t recognise the word, staring blankly at Casey. The confusion didn’t surprise Casey.
‘You don’t understand how cut off they’ve been, some of the Rohingya,’ Savannah had explained months earlier, walking around Balukhali camp. ‘We had one of the most famous football stars in the world here. He was an ambassador for a charity, here for one of those photo ops a few weeks ago. But the refugees didn’t know who he was. They had never heard of him; they had never heard of his club. Not once. Even in the most remote parts of Africa the kids always know the clubs: Chelsea. Arsenal. Manchester United. But here, nothing.’
Now, Casey tried to explain to Khadija: ‘There is a procedure that makes the women have babies, and then the babies are taken away.’
Khadija understood now, a burn on her cheeks.
‘Yes.’ She gave a slow nod, sta
ring at the floor. ‘Yes.’
‘Is that what has happened to you?’
Another careful nod.
There was a beat of silence. Then Casey went on. ‘Was a baby girl born here, maybe yesterday?’
Tears filled Khadija’s eyes. Yes, she nodded again.
‘And where is the mother now?’
There was a long silence.
‘Where is the mother now?’ Casey spoke more urgently.
‘What is the mother’s name?’ Hessa tried.
Khadija tipped her chin in the air, staring at the corrugated-iron roof as she thought. ‘Zohra,’ Khadija said. ‘Her name is Zohra.’
Khadija was twisting her sheet back and forth between her hands now, almost tearing at it.
‘And where is she now?’
Khadija looked at Casey, eyes carefully blank.
‘Mirta,’ she said, and Casey didn’t need Hessa to translate.
‘She’s dead,’ said Hessa. ‘Zohra died giving birth.’
Khadija was crying now, tears running down her face. Pausing for a minute, Casey looked around. Then she stood up, peering closer. In one corner of the room, there was a neat bed, with a carefully tucked-in sheet. Someone had painted a few yards of wall pale blue, and stuck up a poster. A smiling child, a beaming nurse, advice on vaccinations. A Doppler machine sat on a white steel filing cabinet. And a bed, half-hidden by a colourful curtain.
It was the backdrop of Emily’s photograph, Casey realised. That reassuring scene was all they had needed. A cheap clinic nearby would be able to do the ultrasounds, and the same clinic could probably perform the embryo transfer. It hadn’t taken much to gloss the image, and who would ever check?
Just a few feet away from the white filing cabinet, a woman was sitting on the floor, staring blankly at Casey, her knees huddled protectively. Casey tried to smile at her.
She turned back towards Khadija.
‘We can get you out of here.’ Casey tried to make her voice sound confident. ‘If you come with us, we can help you escape.’
Khadija looked up, a flicker of interest in her eyes. ‘But where would we go?’
‘We have a safe house.’ Casey didn’t know if Khadija would know the words. ‘We have a house where you will be protected.’
‘But what about . . .’ Khadija gestured around the room.
‘It’s for all of you,’ said Casey. ‘But we have to be quick. We have to hurry.’
For a moment, suspicion flared in Khadija’s eyes, the eyes of a child betrayed before. ‘How can we trust you?’
‘You don’t have to,’ said Casey. ‘You can stay here, all of you. But if you come with me, I will try and make you safe. Please tell the others right now. We don’t have much time.’
Khadija hesitated. ‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
Khadija squared her shoulders and turned to the others, speaking quickly. There was a sudden burble of noise.
‘You have to keep quiet,’ Casey gestured. ‘It’s very important.’
One woman, the oldest there, was talking now, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing angrily.
‘Can you understand what she is saying?’ Casey asked Hessa.
Hessa listened, her face beginning to relax.
‘That woman is saying they should go,’ Hessa murmured. ‘That they don’t know what will happen to them here, but it is worth trying to escape. That they might even be able to get back to their families.’ Another woman across the room interjected something sardonically, and Khadija’s face broke into a cynical smile. ‘That woman says some of them are only here because of their families,’ Hessa explained.
Casey looked around, imagining all the lies told to these women. The sweethearts they trusted, the uncles they believed. All betrayed, all ruined, all abandoned.
‘Let’s go.’ She gestured towards the door.
They made their way through the woods. At first, the women were buoyed up with rebellion, but Casey could feel their bravery ebbing as they forced their way through the bushes. In this darkness, every shadow was a threat, every rustle a jailer.
‘Not far,’ Casey whispered. It seemed much further in the night-time. They crept forward, Casey trying to smile encouragingly.
‘Watch out!’ As Casey whipped around at Hessa’s whisper, she saw the jolting flicker of a torch off to the right.
Get down, Casey gestured frantically. Hide.
The women flinched low to the ground, the noise unbearably loud to Casey’s ears. Sprawled in the dirt, Casey could hear a murmur of conversation, smell a waft of cigarette smoke. Very carefully, she peered up. Two men, walking along the fence line. Guards. Their torch beams bounced around, almost casual. They came closer. Casey forced herself into the ground, making herself as small as possible.
A bark of laughter from one man, and his gesture sent torchlight glaring towards the group. A gasp from one of the women, and Casey closed her eyes tight, waiting to be caught.
She lay there, hopeless, motionless. Treasure hunt, hide and seek, a murder in the dark. She imagined opening her eyes to find two figures standing over her. Got you.
But the voices wandered on. These men were chatting, not searching. Casey lay still, the minutes passing, until at last she had to move. She stood up, dusted herself down.
‘Come on.’ She tried to sound calm. ‘Nearly there.’
Hesitantly, the women stood up. The moonlight glowed.
Let’s go, gestured Khadija.
At last, the tall wire fence loomed up in front of them. The women stalled, staring up at the barrier. Khadija’s head jerked towards Casey.
‘Here.’ Hessa and Casey pulled out wire cutters, clipping quickly. It took only a few minutes, and then Casey crawled through the gap. A few steps through some mango trees, and she was on the dirt track that ran along the perimeter of the shipyard.
There. In the distance, Casey could see a minibus parked on the side of the track. Casey flicked her torch, and without switching on its headlights the vehicle began to move towards her.
‘How’s it going?’ Miranda brought the minibus to a halt. She grinned down, elbow on the window frame. Layla was beside Miranda, also smiling with relief.
‘Get in,’ Casey gestured to the women.
They scrambled into the minibus without a glance backwards. They had made their decision, Casey saw, everything committed. For a second, the air around her sparkled with happiness.
As she glanced at him, Ed gave her a rueful grin. ‘Well done.’ He shook his head at her. ‘I never thought we would do it.’
‘Did you find Romida?’ Miranda interrupted her thoughts.
‘No.’ A flood of exhaustion overwhelmed Casey. ‘I don’t know what has happened to her.’
Layla twisted around sharply, speaking across the minibus. Casey heard the word Romida several times and one of the woman, who didn’t look pregnant at all, jerked her head up, the words spilling out of her.
Layla asked more questions, her voice rising slightly.
‘What is it?’ Casey asked urgently. ‘Where is Romida?’
Layla spoke a few more sentences, and sat back, eyebrows raised. ‘This woman says that she saw Romida.’
‘Where?’ Casey said. ‘When did she see her?’
‘This woman thinks that the main building in the shipyard had got too crowded,’ said Layla. ‘So when the women are first brought here, they are held separately, away from the others. They are given good food there, kept healthy. This girl was only moved into the main building a few days ago, after a medical procedure. I assume that means she is pregnant, but not showing yet. They may be being kept apart so that the new arrivals don’t know what is coming next.’
‘But where is Romida now?’
Layla scrunched up her face. ‘This is the thing. There are only a few of them being held out there. They’re locked up.’
‘Where? Tell me, Layla.’
‘You can’t go there.’
‘I can try.’
> ‘She says it would be very dangerous.’
‘That doesn’t matter.’
Layla pursed her lips, and for a moment, Casey thought Layla might not tell her. Then Layla shrugged.
‘They’re out there,’ Layla pointed. ‘They’re being held on one of the old ships.’
46
‘We have to go out to the ships,’ Casey said, and the others nodded wordlessly.
She was almost surprised by Ed’s agreement, but he shrugged. ‘We can’t leave them behind.’
‘We’ll drive these women to the safe house,’ said Miranda. ‘Layla can stay with them there, and I’ll come back as fast as possible.’
‘We have to get them safely out of the way,’ agreed Casey.
‘Going to the ships is dangerous,’ said Miranda flatly.
‘We’ve still got a bit of time,’ said Ed. ‘We closed the door to the barn, so if you were just looking across from the workshops, it wouldn’t show. But you have to get these women out of here, right now.’
‘Yes,’ said Miranda.
‘Hessa.’ Casey looked around. ‘You can go with Miranda. This is too . . .’
‘No.’ Even in the dark, Hessa looked outraged. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Now they had reached the top of the beach, the sea a shimmering black nothing. They scrambled back down the makeshift stepping stones towards the ships.
‘Which one?’ panted Hessa.
‘The Tephi,’ Casey decided fast. ‘The Beauvallet looks far too dilapidated.’
‘Right.’ Ed peered up at the Tephi, as she soared above them. ‘How the hell do we get on to that?’
The hull of the ship rose up, impossible to climb. For a second, Casey thought about the Somali pirates, racing across the blue of the Indian Ocean. Armed with grappling hooks, and praying for a chance.
She tapped the hull quietly, but no sound came back.
A Panamax can be 190 feet tall, Casey knew from Ed’s research, twenty storeys high. She peered up at the vast hulk. The Tephi looked easily that big, the proportions out of all human scale.
‘There must be a way in,’ she whispered. ‘There has to be.’
Casey splashed towards the bow of the ship, wedged high up the beach. As she hauled herself through the sludge, the smell was nauseating. A filigree of oil gleamed on the mud. At last she reached the bow.
