The Worth of Souls

by T. Martin O’Neil

  Once connected using their STU-III and greetings were out of the way, they made their apologies for not coming 12 hours earlier. When explained, CAPT Rees, the CINCPACFLT Intelligence Officer, recognized that he’d forgotten it was the Wild West here in South Vietnam after sundown.

  Getting right down to business, CAPT Rees stated flatly that since the SEALS had been previously successful in bringing out Sarah Mahoney, the daughter of the Navy Undersecretary, they now were needed in another high-profile kidnapping/human smuggling case. Even though NIS and FBI assets were still too thin both agencies wanted a chance at the spotlight. After all, if SEALS did it without much effort, they surely could too. Besides, it looked good on the agencies resume when Congress was giving out money. The President confirmed what the Navy already knew, the SEALS were successful and caused no collateral damage. Also, since neither agency had support in Cambodia, it was a safer call to use the military.

  The girl in question was a Julie Sue DiMarco. She was the daughter of newly elected Texas Congressman Robert L. DiMarco. She had been kidnapped, along with two of her friends, on the way home from school four weeks before. Sightings of the child included places such as Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Bangkok, Thailand, and most recently in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Apparently, the girls were still together. Unfortunately, this far into the situation timeline only meant there was little time to waste before they would be brokered and sold to slave traders in the Far East or even the Middle East; and no doubt split up as well.

  Young girls in their preteen and early teens were highly prized with the largest bounties paid for Western, blond, blue-eyed, female virgins. Of course, proof of virginity was required by sheikhs in Yemen and Saudi Arabia. An additional premium went for red-headed, blue or green eyed virgins. As such, blond, blue-eyed females of this background were worth many times more than the Far Eastern girls most often obtained.

  Most of the teens would be directly placed in the sex trade, but those in the preteen group would usually go as servants until they were older; most often as servants to the harem wives and concubines. Then, they would be allowed to serve as concubines for the sheikhs, or traded and turned out as sex slaves. Those that lived longer than their late 20’s were few and far between. Disease often plagued the girls. AIDS was still not recognized as a contributor, but sexually transmitted diseases were most often the killers if not the “Johns” themselves.

  Photos were part of the package of information. These included the girls school pictures and the locations where they were believed to be. The “giant scale” photos were satellite photos and were considered Top Secret. With all margin markings removed and the photo cropped, they could be down-graded to Secret, but under no circumstances were they to be shown around. Strictly need-to-know.

  These photos were being sent to Saigon via messenger and should arrive today. The orders were already cut and waiting for the team there in Saigon. CDR Barth acknowledged that he had the orders and that the messenger had phoned 10 minutes before LCDR Rogers and LT Marks had arrived. He had just arrived at Tan Son Nhut Air Base and would be at CINCPACFLT, Saigon, in about half an hour.

  Spoke thought that it was obvious so much happened so quickly since a Congressman’s daughter was involved. He’d never seen so much movement in so short a time; National Assets too. National Assets were satellite photos as well as other sensor-type satellites.

  CAPT Rees went on with the briefing.

  “Gentlemen, you are tasked to go into Cambodia and recover at least these three little girls. If you can, bring out more, but your mission centers on these three girls. There were 18 girls that were reported in the group in Kuala Lumpur, but only 12 in Bangkok. The same 12 seem to be in Phnom Penh. Other than that, I can tell you the full weight of the American government will support whatever doors need unlocking. CDR Barth and I will make it happen. We are not sidestepping CAPT Geary, but are informing him as an “info addee” only. You have the green light right now to plan and execute. Is that clear?” CAPT Geary was the SEAL Commanding Officer located with CTF 76, now RADM Stuart Chaphen.

  Responses were quick. “Yes, Sir!”

  “CDR Barth, you are authorized to request and demand if necessary, any and all requirements of SEAL Team assets. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Good, Gentlemen, make this happen. Any questions?” Hearing none, CAPT Rees simply said. “Out.” And the meeting was over.

  Waiting for the messenger to arrive was the next agenda item. Then Bee could call Sandy. In the mean time, all they could do was estimate the size of the group to extract; at least 3 and as many as 12 or even more from captivity.

  Bee felt strongly that there needed to be two groups; a forward group to scout and provide cover and a following group for extraction. He had in mind 6 for the forward group and 8 for the extraction group. It would have been nice to have an interpreter as well as an in-country guide, but they would have to see whether this would work, depending on where the captives were being held. Hopefully, their French would serve them well enough for communications.

  Time seemed to stand still until the messenger arrived. That messenger didn’t know it, but he had the answers to a lot of the questions Bee and Spoke had.

  The phone rang. The door monitor indicated that the package arrived. The messenger only dropped the unopened envelope off. It was triple-wrapped and sealed with heavy-duty, reinforced packing tape. Once delivered and opened, they all gathered around to look. The overhead photos were provided in stereo pairs. Stereo pairs were two photos that were taken at the same time but by different lenses. These photos were like the human eyes in that they offered an off-setting view of the same picture. Using a stereo scope, the photos appeared to have significant depth; depth enough to determine height of buildings or obstacles. The three each looked at the photos and made their evaluations. Taking each evaluation, Spoke would then work directly with Bee and make a plan.

  Chapter 12

  Captivity, A Time of Reflection and Fear

  Phnom Penh, Cambodia

  All all that remained of the 18 were twelve girls from the larger group. These young women all spoke English, however that is where the similarities ended. Five sensed a more basic feeling of closeness than the others. This small group of five sat in a small knot facing each other. No one wanted to speak due to the constant fear of corporeal punishment that hung like Damocles’ sword above their heads. While no beatings had yet occurred, the fear of a severe flogging caused the girls to respect the threat. Still, there was an almost primal need to find out who they were and where each was from. After all, they were fellow shipmates sharing the privation and captivity of the ship of the damned. And besides, they were girls, and girls had to know.

  They had arrived earlier in the afternoon and been placed in this small room. Now all that remained was to find out what their fates were.

  Leaning her head in toward the center of the huddle, Julie Sue DiMarco whispered, “My name is Julie, and I’m from just outside of Ft. Worth, Texas. We need to know who we all are and where we’re from. That way, if one of us can get away, we can tell the police about the others.”

  “I’m Becky,” Rebecca Austin stated flatly. “I’m from Toledo; Toledo, Ohio.”

  “My name is Barbara Logan. My friends call me Barbie. I’m also from just outside Ft. Worth, Texas.”

  “My name is Ellen,” whispered Ellen Rothschild. “I’m from a small town outside of Seattle, Washington.”

  “I’m Rhonda Barrett and I’m also from just outside of Ft Worth, Texas.” The quiet, scared Texas accent in her voice confirmed her home; unspoken fear was woven throughout her comment.

  “I’m really scared,” Becky confided. “What do you think will happen to us?”

  “I don’t know, but before we left the United States, I heard some of the guards say we will be sold,” whined Ellen. Ellen was a bit older than the rest. She was 14 and as far as she could tell, she should have been the natural leader due to her s
ize, more developed body features and age. The problem with Ellen was that she seemed to be the complaining type which exuded from her thin, whiny voice and comments.

  Barbie asked no one in particular, “How’d we get here and where are we?”

  The other girls stared blankly at each other and around the room. Several shook their heads and averted their eyes trying not to cry.

  “I don’t know, but I’m really scared,” lamented Ellen. It seemed all she could to was whine.

  If she was scared, what about the rest of them, thought Julie Sue.

  Ellen kept thinking. She was the biggest and the oldest. Her blossoming maturing body features also spelled concern. She’d once heard of people who steal girls and do horrible things to them. Her mother had warned her about being alone anywhere with strangers. Now here she was. All she wanted was to be more grown-up when she went with those cute boys in their convertible. They’d only picked her up to give her a ride home. Anyway, she was a very mature 14. Now all she wanted was to be home in Mt. Vernon, Washington, in her own room surrounded by her stuffed animals and magazines. Not here, scared to death wondering what was going to happen to her.

  The five girls tried to force their minds to remember when and how they came to be together. Perhaps this would help them to recognize where they were now. Each one strained their thoughts and did their best to remember what happened and how long since they’d been kidnapped.

  Ellen probably had the best theory since she was the last to join the group. By her recollection, it had probably been about 4 days from the time she was abducted until small groups and lone girls were put in the big shipping container together. She thought it was somewhere east of Seattle.

  Movement to another location was swift in coming. When they arrived in Tacoma, Washington, eighteen girls had all been put in a small CONEX-type container and been put to sleep with enough sleeping pills crushed in their juice that it was almost a day later before any of them could function.

  In Tacoma, they had been checked over by a person claiming to be a doctor, but each of the girls felt the man must have been a veterinarian, and not a very good one at that. Fortunately they were groggy and relaxed and he did his “examination” quickly.

  Right after the “physical,” the container was lifted up and put on a transport flatbed truck. They were then moved to another place about three hours away. Here their container was lifted again and put on a ship that put to sea less than an hour after they arrived.

  The container was tight and they spent what seemed like years in the dark. There were air holes in the door at the top. This was the only way they could figure day from night or have enough light to see around their tight prison. Food and water were placed in a slot at the bottom of the door. Their honey bucket was removed only five times in almost two weeks. The whole container smelled of urine, vomit and feces. It was nauseating.

  Just after setting sail, the girls that were conscious enough heard a lot of commotion from members of the crew. It seems that the police raided the Seattle/Tacoma port facility on a tip that there were slaves being transported out of the country. At that same time, departing from Bellingham, some 150 miles north, the ship was able to get just beyond the 12-mile limit and would not be stopped.

  Time meant nothing. Between being drastically ill and disorientated, the girls could not remember much about the time passing. The ship rolled, rose and fell. Sometimes it sounded like the groans of the ship’s steel plates were going to spell all of their dooms. The tie-down chains seemed to stretch until they would break. At least they were not on a weather deck, so it was drier than other containers that were exposed to the apparent terrors of the weather.

  Each girl tried to reason how long they bobbed and rolled on the ocean. No one could figure it out.

  Little did they know, but they’d been on the high seas for almost three weeks. On the 20th day of rocking and rolling in the cargo container, they reached a place that was extremely hot and smelled very bad. They were taken out and forced to spend one night in a walled-in courtyard that had broken glass on top of the wall. Since no one knew where they were or even how to reference where they were, they remained huddled together, now whimpering and crying softly.

  The girls didn’t know, but ports of call the ship was scheduled to make had been notified by law enforcement to watch for them. It didn’t really matter since the ship did not intend to travel to any of those ports. The trail that looked so promising to the FBI and NIS was now a cold one.

  That first port was Manado, Indonesia. Here, while they were not allowed to leave their prison, at least the motion of the ship stopped. Fresh fruit augmented their meager diet and a day later they were back in the container and headed out to sea. The container had been washed and disinfected. The resulting smells were almost as bad as it was before they were forced into the outdoor courtyard.

  At sea, this time they each tried to figure how many days the ship traveled. It seemed like four days, but might have been five. The ride was less difficult and the sea seemed to be kinder to the ship.

  The girls were tired, scared and felt awful. Hygiene was non-existent. No bathing meant they smelled miserable, too. Most of their clothes were tattered and torn. The dresses, blouses and pants smelled of vomit and of their confinement. Underclothing was torn. Each girl had sores that covered their skin. Whether or not they knew it, this was not the way to impress a buyer, so consequently they would have to remain together to get medical assistance, heal up and get better clothing before they could command the highest possible price. What they also didn’t know was their sores were their advantage.

  Next, they arrived at the port of Kelang, Malaysia. They were moved from their wretched confinement at night and placed in a loud, diesel cargo truck for a ride into Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. They were then ushered into what looked like a warehouse. Here, their guards were women.

  After a fitful night filled with strange, scary sounds and the horridly putrid smells of old rotting fish as well as chemicals, they were taken shopping. Several women guards took each of them individually to a nearby bazaar where they were outfitted with underclothing and two native looking dresses.

  Returning to the warehouse, they were shown a make-shift shower and commanded to get clean. Each of the girls mentioned to the others that it felt like heaven even if it was only barely luke-warm. The water no doubt came from a tank that was on the roof and was heated by the sun and ambient air. If the verbal threats weren’t so scary, they could have stayed in the water all day. Unfortunately the women guards hurried them along with scolding curses and threatening gestures. No one was actually struck, but the girls were scared none-the-less. They were unsure why they weren’t hit, but it became clear later that having bruised and sickly looking appearances dropped their purchase price significantly.

  They were dried off by the women and their sores were dressed and bandaged. Already, the hate they had for their captors was ebbing; a condition later known as the Stockholm Syndrome began to affect their minds. Less and less they felt like trying to escape. Anyway, they wondered where would they go? This place was so frightfully different that they could not even imagine leaving the other girls. They’d become like family. Besides they could not speak the language, even if they knew what language it was.

  Little snippets of conversation, when they occurred, helped each of the girls to know their fellow captives and their names and home towns. Once, they even laughed at a comment made by the girl named Julie Sue. It was a dumb comment, but it struck all of them the same. They all laughed quietly. Each one feared that they would be separated if they made any noise, so they remained quiet almost all the time.

  Two days after being taken to Kuala Lumpur, they were driven at night to what sounded like an airport. Here they were put on a cargo plane with no windows and headed for Bangkok, Thailand. This time only 12 girls were taken. The other six who had been so sick, were removed and never seen or heard from again. No one could remember their names or w
here they were from.

  Three hours later they arrived in Bangkok and were placed again in a dirty-smelling, tarped truck. They headed under cover of darkness to another warehouse away from the airport. The 12 girls were led into a dark room. At least the accommodations were the best they’d seen since they started their ordeal.

  A dim light bulb provided a view of the room. There were cot-type bunk beds with real mattresses as well as pillows and not just piles of damp moldy-smelling straw. There was even real toilet paper. They had no sheets or linens, but at least they wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor with the bugs and rats. There were three dressers that had 4 drawers each; one drawer for each girl. Their first names were crudely written on the drawers using tape and marker. In each of the drawers there were extra underclothes and a new dress, just their size. They also had sandals. That meant no more cuts and sores on their feet. Now they had three new dresses in their wardrobe and underclothes that helped cover the sores on their skin.

  Each one was directed to find their own bed and to go to sleep. Instructions were provided in poorly spoken, broken English. The younger girls found it difficult to understand many of the instructions. They were allowed a few minutes to get oriented and then the light was turned off. The darkness once again draped around them with an almost smothering effect. After being out of the confines of the shipping container, this seemed like a huge room. Their minds did not register that it was only about 15 feet by 15 feet.

  The darkness eventually was dispelled by the dim light bulb. It seemed they had only slept a few seconds. In actuality it had been 5 hours. The dim, dirty bulb made the inky blackness flee and gave the appearance of a huge spot light. They were then taken to a small washroom and ordered to wash their faces and hands.