Knight of Paradise Island

by J. L. Campbell

  “N-no—”

  “She’s coming with me,” the man with thick brows and a husky voice growled. “My car is over here.”

  “Think again.” Ryan glanced at the woman, whose weight now rested on him. She seemed disoriented, which was evidence of what he thought the men had been trying to achieve.

  A frown darkened the man’s face. “But—”

  “You have a problem?” Dro asked from behind him, raising his voice above the music coming from the club.

  “This man needs to mind his own business. The woman is my friend. We were going—”

  “What is her name?” Ryan challenged.

  He shuffled his feet and huffed, “Uh, her name is Theresa.”

  “What’s your name?” Ryan asked gently, to avoid startling the woman in his arms.

  “Carol,” she whispered. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Wrong answer. He isn’t legit,” Ryan said to Dro, leading Carol to the nearest receptacle. He held back her braids as she released the contents of her stomach into the massive sidewalk flowerpot. Then he offered his handkerchief, which she accepted.

  “Hey!” the man called. “She’s coming with me.”

  “Not today, José.” Dro spun to face Bashir and the other two men emerging from the bar. “Do not come any closer if you know what’s good for you.”

  One man snarled, “You cannot stop us from taking her.”

  “Really?”

  As the two accomplices advanced on Dro, Ryan tensed but was in no position to assist. From what Shaz told him, Dro was an expert at hand-to-hand combat, but he wasn’t sure about Bashir. Ryan beckoned to him.

  Bashir was at his side immediately.

  “Take care of her,” he said, maneuvering so that Carol’s weight now rested on Bashir.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Ryan took two hurried steps, but needn’t have bothered. The two men lay unconscious on the sidewalk, and Dro was in the middle of delivering a roundhouse kick to the third.

  A crowd spilled through the front door of the club. Among them was Jahani Bahar, the bartender. When their eyes met, he glared at Dro and spun away with a phone pressed to his ear.

  Ryan plunged into the crowd after him.

  “Where are you going?” Dro yelled.

  “After that bartender. Don’t let Carol out of your sight.”

  Chapter Nine

  The air thickened as the container creaked open. Hamid stepped inside, escorting Naima by the arm. The tense atmosphere dissipated for the moment. Then despair hung in the air when Abdul appeared and forced a young Black girl ahead of him. She cradled her arm against her side while tears flooded her cheeks.

  Aziza propped herself on one elbow as Naima approached.

  Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. One of her eyes was swollen shut. Her face was wet with perspiration and tears. When she sat on the cot, Hamid secured her wrist and pointed to the empty bed next to Aziza. None of the other women moved, as if afraid they would be abused if they even shifted.

  Hamid threw Naima an apologetic glance before leaving her side. He moved to the new girl, who didn’t appear to be more than sixteen. She wore Bantu knots in her hair and clutched the top of her torn house dress with one hand. Her tears hadn’t stopped, and she curled into a ball on her side. She pleaded with Hamid in words Aziza didn’t understand, but it didn’t help her case.

  With his job of tethering her done, Hamid left.

  Aziza’s gaze shot to where Abdul stood. Fury simmered behind his eyes. As Hamid went past him, Abdul’s face twisted and he shot Naima a killing look, then limped toward the doorway.

  A smirk pulled at Aziza’s lips until her focus turned to her friend, who lay trembling as her tears soaked the dingy sheet. Shaking with anger, Aziza asked, “Did Abdul hurt you?”

  Naima sniffed and shook her head. In her lilting accent, she explained, “He tried to rape me, but I kicked him in the crotch.”

  Leaning toward her, Aziza said, “I could tell you put a hurting on him. That’ll teach him.”

  With a fist tucked under her head, Naima sobbed. When her tears subsided, she spoke in a monotone. “If I had known this would happen to me, I never would have left Senegal.”

  A pang of sorrow hit Aziza, and she lay on her back. She didn’t have time to sink any lower because the door opened again. This time, they had a visitor—a short man, shrouded by a kaffiyeh that only left his gleaming eyes visible. They ran greedily over the females, then rested on the youngest. With an imperious gesture, his finger flicked toward four children of African descent. None of them was over twelve years old. He hesitated over the East Indian girl, who shrieked uncontrollably the moment his gaze fell on her.

  Unable to bear the hopelessness in the eyes of the girls and their anguished cries, Aziza closed her eyes, but that didn’t stop bitter tears from escaping. When the container slammed shut and their screams faded, Aziza drew a harsh breath and said a prayer to keep herself from falling deeper into a place from which she wouldn’t be able to rise.

  The other women groaned, and some wept openly. Nothing had prepared any of them for this kind of horror.

  Her father’s voice washed over her, and she pictured him roughhousing with Drake when he was thirteen. Her brother was skinny and reserved, which made him a target for bullies. When he revealed what was happening to him at school, their father taught him how to fight back.

  George Hampton was a physical education teacher and had cemented it into their heads that their greatest strength was not physical, but mental. In life, Aziza had proven his words to be true. All she achieved came through hard work and using the brain and smarts God gave her. However freedom came, it would be hers.

  She opened her eyes and met those of the little Indian girl. Aziza dredged up a weak smile.

  After a moment of staring at her with a solemn expression, the child returned her gesture.

  “What is your name?” Aziza asked, propping herself on one elbow.

  The girl mirrored her position. “Sunita.”

  “Don’t worry. We will be all right.”

  Sunita chewed her lip as if digesting her words, then she nodded and dragged her sleeve across her face to dry her tears.

  Aziza felt awful about what amounted to lying. She had no guarantee any of them would survive this horror. All she had was faith in God. She had to bring her trust in Ryan to that level and hope he’d somehow know she needed him more than she had at any other time.

  Ever since she arrived in Durabia, she’d been careful, but somehow she fell into the same trap as all these other women. From the headache, nausea, and heaviness in her limbs when she first arrived in this makeshift prison, she understood that someone spiked her drink.

  Betrayal wouldn’t fully express how she’d feel if she found out someone she worked with did the deed. If it wasn’t one of them, it had to be the bartender or one of the servers. She didn’t need to ask why. Money was the driving force behind kidnapping. That’s if they didn’t plan to stuff them full of contraband and force them to be drug mules.

  She changed the direction of her thoughts. Negative thinking would not help. Now, it was urgent to get out of this hell-hole before her turn came for them to sell her. Whatever it took, she had to do something before the day ended. Tomorrow wasn’t promised in this location if they had any buyers coming through today.

  Ryan’s face floated before her eyes and she blinked, surprised to find her cheeks wet again. She longed to bask in the glow of his good-natured grin and suggestive comments about what he’d do to her when next they were together. He was the total opposite of the man she’d been with before him. Where Ryan was free with his affection, Eric had been close-mouthed and stingy with compliments. She didn’t need him to bolster her self-esteem, but encouragement from her partner was something she expected.

  Plus, he was a serial cheater. By the time their relationship ended, Aziza wondered what she’d seen in him. When she dumped him, his
parting remark was that she’d never been pretty enough or smart enough for him. His malice didn’t affect her because she understood that somewhere inside, he was broken. Not that he’d ever admit it.

  The continued sobbing from the teenager on her other side interrupted Aziza’s mental flow. The scent of urine hung around her and assaulted her nose. Aziza raised her head. “Do you speak English?”

  With her expressive doe eyes shimmering, she nodded.

  “What’s your name and where are you from?”

  “It is Ahaba Ysrael. I am from Liberia.” She pulled in a deep breath and held out her hand. “My employer did this. When I couldn’t take care of the baby or clean the house, she … ”

  Ahaba dissolved in tears, while Aziza shivered involuntarily and hid her shock at the gaping patch of pink flesh on the girl’s arm. The shape of the wound looked as if someone had held a hot iron to her arm.

  “Oh my God,” Naima gasped. “That’s just wicked. Why would anyone … ”

  Aziza shushed her, then whispered. “Now is not the time. What we need to do is get the keys from Hamid when he comes to give us dinner.”

  Alarm filled Naima’s eyes. “I don’t want to think about what Abdul will do if we fail.”

  Leaning toward her, Aziza said, “I can’t think about us not succeeding. That isn’t an option.” She pointed to the other women. “We all agreed that we’re going to do this. Don’t back out on me now.”

  A verbal exchange on the other side of the container interrupted their hushed conversation. Both of them cocked their heads, but from Naima’s mystified expression, Aziza knew she didn’t understand what was being said. She identified Abdul and Hamid’s voices, but the other two men with them were strangers. Or so she thought.

  When Ahaba released a small shriek, then clapped a hand to her mouth, Aziza turned concerned eyes on her. “What is it?”

  Ahaba kept a hand over her lips, but pointed in the direction where the chatter continued. Perspiration poured from her forehead, and her tears would not stop. As she drew labored breaths, Aziza’s shoulders sank and anxiety filled her belly. “What are they saying?”

  Ahaba’s jaw wobbled as she said, “They are talking about which one of us they will gut for our organs.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You still with me, Ryan?” Shaz prompted from the screen.

  “It’s a lot to absorb if you haven’t ever seen anything like this before,” Dro said from the corner of Ryan’s room that overlooked the pool.

  “Yeah, it’s enough to turn the strongest stomach.” Ryan pulled in a deep breath to continue, “How the hell can people do this to other human beings?”

  They gained access to the pictures of the two women on his screen through Daron Kincaid, who arrived on schedule, a day after Dro. The dark-haired security expert had come straight to Ryan’s room for a mini-conference.

  “For the money,” Dro said over his shoulder, facing the plate glass.

  “And remember … ” Shaz tipped his head toward the screen. “There are folks out there who think Black people are less than human. It’s easy when you look at these women as dispensable.”

  Ryan nodded. “I get it. If that policeman viewed George Floyd as his equal and therefore worthy of respect, he’d never have put a knee to his neck.”

  “That’s right, and it took a worldwide protest to make that point,” Shaz said. “Let’s get the bastards who thought it was okay to kill these women for their organs and dump them like so much garbage.”

  “Whoever did the job is an expert surgeon, based on these images.” Ryan rubbed his temples and pulled his mind away from the dark path it had taken. This would not be Aziza’s fate.

  Daron sat next to Ryan at an oval meeting table positioned to one side of the cream-and-gold suite. The Sheikh and Sheikha offered them accommodations, but they thought it best to stay where Aziza had spent most of her time. Daron planned to move around the country, following clues as necessary, so he agreed to stay at Khalil’s palace. “So, aside from the game they’re running at Encounters, we have no leads. Is that correct?” he asked.

  Pacing the room, Dro weighed in. “That place is a hub for some nasty activity.”

  “That’s right, and I believe we’re on to something,” Ryan said, including Shaz in his comment. “The authorities do not believe this is even worth their attention. Our visit did not change their attitude. Only the hint of scandal and the threat of reporting to the Sheikh meant anything to them. The attempted kidnapping charge we tried to bring did not stick. That bartender and the other two were released within an hour of being picked up by the police.”

  “Where’s the woman, Carol?” Shaz asked.

  “We took her to Jai’s medical facility. They did some tests and found drugs in her system. Jai arranged for her to go home when she felt better. Hopefully, she’s learned from this experience.”

  “So, d’you have a plan?” Shaz asked.

  “I sure do,” Ryan said, glancing between Daron and Dro. “Between these two, they have expertise in crisis management, security, and gadgetry. I know those punks at Encounters are up to no good.” He put a hand to his chest. “Based on what I saw, I know it in here. We should put a tail on them and see where it leads. Trafficking and organ harvesting are big business. They’re not about to give it up because we intercepted them last night.”

  “So, about that plan … ” Dro laid a hand on Ryan’s shoulder.

  With a chuckle, Ryan said, “I’m getting to it, don’t get in a rush.”

  “If I hear you clearly,” Dro said, “This is where we get involved. We lay some bait and see if they bite.”

  “Exactly.” Ryan nodded. “I like your style.”

  “We’ll need manpower to have them followed,” Daron said. “Nicco and Angela came over with me, so we have that angle covered.”

  He took a moment to explain to Ryan that Nicco had formed part of his mentor’s protective detail after an assassination attempt and had been instrumental in rescuing the Sheikha from her kidnappers. Nicco had also been assigned to protect Calvin Atwood, a brilliant scientist in high demand for his inventions. By the sound of it, Daron had brought in two formidable security experts.

  “Can you plant a bug on that bartender?” As Dro paced, he shoved one hand through his dark hair. “What’s his name again?”

  “Jahani Bahar,” Ryan supplied, remembering how the guy gave him the slip when he followed him back inside the club.

  “Yes, we can organize that,” Daron said. “Sheikh Kamran’s all for putting in manpower and whatever else we need to rid Durabia of the corruption that ran rampant under his father’s rule.”

  Ryan cocked one brow and shifted so he was face to face with Daron. “And how will that bug be planted?”

  Dro grinned. “We shouldn’t worry about that because we can count on Daron for a workable plan.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Shaz said, reaching for a gizzada and crunching the sugary coconut-and-flour concoction between his teeth.

  “We need to get to the heart of this operation, to smash it in one blow.” Daron stopped spinning his hat and hung it on one knee. “Spying on the bartender will give us a leg up the ladder, so we can find out who is the brain behind this operation.”

  “Hang on a minute.” Shaz dusted crumbs from his hands, frowning. “Let’s go back to that bug. How are we going to get it planted?”

  “That’s what I want to know, too.” Ryan’s gaze shifted to Daron. “And where will it go, plus how will it happen, ‘cause I don’t see it.”

  Dro’s smile was lopsided. “That’s because you don’t quite know how ingenious our tech man can be.”

  Chuckling, Daron said, “Any second now I’ll be wondering what you’re after and why you’re laying it on so thick.”

  “Can’t a King brag about his brother’s skills without you getting suspicious?” Dro said with a comedic lift of his eyebrows.

  They all laughed, then Daron set his hat on the low table behin
d him. He waggled one finger between Dro and Ryan. “You two can’t be back in the club any time soon after yesterday’s shenanigans. I’ll get hold of the bar man’s work schedule for today.”

  “I know better than to ask how you’re gonna get that information, so go on.” Shaz raised one hand for Daron to continue.

  “I’ll use Angela as a distraction and get the listening device stuck to his badge or vest. That will give us a bead on who he’s talking to and possibly the identity of the other players in this business.”

  “You’re that sure of her powers of seduction?” Ryan asked.

  “Trust me. She’s all that. Angela is relatively new to my team, but has a wide array of skills which you all don’t need to know about right now.”

  “Sound like she’s dangerous to tangle with, too,” Dro added.

  The door handle sank, and all three men looked toward the doorway.

  “You expecting anyone?” Dro asked, moving one hand to the back of his waist.

  Ryan shook his head and slid the desk drawer open. His Beretta rested inside.

  The light in the lock flashed green, then the door opened. A stocky man, a local, looked both ways down the corridor before he walked into the room. His eyes widened as he slid the keycard into his pocket. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  He forced a smile, then motioned to the supply cart behind him. “Sorry to interrupt. I am here to take care of the room.”

  “Thank you, but we’re busy.” Ryan said.

  The houseman’s gaze swept across the laptop screen, then he bowed touching a hand to his white tunic with the hotel’s logo on the chest. “I will return when it’s convenient.”

  “There’s no need,” Ryan said, sliding the drawer shut.

  “Are you sure, sir?” The houseman’s eyes strayed back to the screen, where Shaz watched him. “It’s hotel policy—”

  “He said it’s fine,” Dro got to his feet.

  The man backed away. “I just wanted to be sure—”

  Ryan spoke under his breath, “Just go already.”