by Terry Toler
The only thing she wished she had that she didn’t was a gun.
Satisfied she had everything, Jamie left her room, went down to the second floor, and looked out the window from one of the meeting rooms, hoping Moe was at home with his family having a nice dinner. No such luck. He was in his usual spot, looking bored. She hadn’t given him much to do over the last couple of days. Scanning the street, she didn’t see the other tail, but wasn’t optimistic she would spot him. He was too good.
His identity was still a mystery. She couldn’t figure it out. If it was related to a trap at the meet, why tail her? They would merely wait for her to show up. If the KGB, she would’ve eventually spotted them. They weren’t as good as this guy. She thought about leading him into a trap, so she could question him but dismissed the thought. Time was of the essence. She needed to lose him right away. She would need all of her skill to do so.
In the lobby, Jamie waited by the front door for the right opportunity to leave without Moe seeing her. At just the right time, a hotel van pulled up in front of the entrance. A perfect opportunity. Jamie walked out the door and made an immediate right out of the hotel. The opposite direction of the meet, but also the opposite direction of where Moe was standing.
She glanced back and saw him desperately looking at the entrance and the van watching to make sure he didn’t miss her leaving. He was looking for a blonde-haired, women, nicely dressed in colorful apparel. The black outfit worked perfectly. Jamie was out of his sight, down the street, and around the corner before he could spot her. She took off the black cap and shook out her hair.
She stayed just around the corner looking to see if the other tail walked past. A simple maneuver—a trap she figured the second tail was too skilled to fall into. Worth the effort, nonetheless. She didn’t see anyone she thought might’ve been him.
After a couple minutes, she started walking in the opposite direction of Liberty Square. She couldn’t lead whoever was following her to the contact. She had to lose him. Jamie quickened her pace and then slowed it to see if anyone was matching her speed. No one obvious to her. She made several evasive turns. Unusual paths. In and out of stores. In a store on one side of the street and then out a back entrance.
She went down an alley with no exit and watched to see who might walk by and look that way. She suddenly realized it was in the same area as the alley where the boys had confronted her. Not the same alley but in the same vicinity. The only thing she saw were a couple kids kicking a ball around.
Jamie walked out of the alley, took a right and then an immediate left by a large statue. She then circled around to a side street that crossed under a train trestle. She remembered this to be a large and long tunnel under the train tracks. If anyone was following her, they would have to enter the tunnel. She’d confront them there. That would be the perfect place to find out this guy’s intentions.
A man entered shortly after her. She couldn’t see his face, but his intentions were clear. He was coming for her. With a quick glance, she noticed he held a pistol with both hands. That was a good sign. He wasn’t as experienced as Jamie initially thought. He was definitely not KGB or CIA. It also made her wonder if this was a different man. The other tail seemed more skilled. For a moment, Jamie wondered if she had imagined it all. Maybe there wasn’t even a second tail.
Her curiosity got the best of her. Who was this guy? She could easily outrun him. He might get off a shot, but the odds of him hitting her outside a distance of eight feet with his gun and his skill level were next to impossible. Plus, she wanted to know who he was. Why was he following her? Was he the one who’d been following her for the last week?
More importantly, she wanted his gun.
She slowed her pace even more and pretended she hadn’t seen him or heard him.
He tripped on a rock, making even more noise. What is it with these guys?
She started to name him Curly, one of the other three stooges, but that would have been disrespectful to her own Curly of whom she had deep admiration. Jamie couldn’t remember the name of the other Stooge right off hand, or she would’ve named him that.
She was two-thirds of the way in the tunnel. Time to make her move. She came to a complete stop facing away from the man on purpose.
Whoever he was came right up behind her and stuck the gun into the small of her back.
20
5:25 p.m.
Somewhere between Pinsk and the Russian border near Homel
The girls had been told the trip from Pinsk to America would take about twenty-seven hours from start to finish, taking into consideration travel time and layovers. The trip to the border would only take about two hours. Eight more hours to Moscow. Their flight would leave Moscow sometime the next morning.
They were starting to settle in for the long journey. The mood was festive as the girls sang and laughed and played car games. The champagne had taken the edge off, and the nervousness subsided slightly. The conversations Olga overheard were lighthearted and hopeful. They were about America and what it will be like.
One girl talked about shopping on Rodeo Drive like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Mostly, everything they knew about America was from the movies. The Empire State Building from Sleepless in Seattle. Philadelphia from Rocky. San Antonio River Walk from Miss Congeniality.
Most had heard of the Real Housewives. That’s how they knew of New Jersey, Orange County, Beverly Hills, Atlanta, Miami, Potomac, and Dallas. Olga had seen the shows a few times, and it seemed like some of the girls felt like they were about to become real housewives. They were blinded by the glitz and glamour of the television shows. She knew enough about America to know it wasn’t going to be like that for all of them. Better than life in Belarus but not the life the TV depicted. She didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to dampen the mood. They’d find out their fates soon enough.
One girl said she was going to get a “boob job” as soon as she got to America. Cosmetic surgery wasn’t available in Belarus except for the very wealthy. Most of the girls hadn’t even heard of a boob job and were giggling like schoolgirls as it was explained to them. Olga looked at Anastasia who was looking up at her with a confused look. She couldn’t help but think that the young fourteen-year-old girl was going to have to grow up quickly.
Everyone seemed excited. Including Olga. She couldn’t help but feel like things were finally turning around for her. The other girls all seemed to feel the same way. She heard them say things like:
“I hope my guy is rich.”
“I hope my guy is handsome.”
“I hope my guy likes kids.”
“I hope my guy likes me.”
Hope abounded in the bus.
Olga scanned the bus, checking out the other girls. Most were above average in the looks department. The Belles of Belarus had done a good job picking out this group of girls. Belarus girls were known to make exceptionally good and obedient wives. They grew up learning all the skills of a homemaker. Most could cook, clean, and make their own clothes. And they did so enthusiastically.
They were also enthusiastic in pleasuring their men. Belarus women were not inhibited when it came to sex and were playful and willing to try almost anything. They were loyal and faithful and trustworthy and could generally be counted on to keep their word. That was what made eastern European and Belarusian women so attractive to American men. Olga presumed the return rate on a mail order bride from Belarus was extremely low. Most wouldn’t want out of their contract.
Olga was determined to make her marriage work. No matter what.
As good as the Belarus women were, the men were just the opposite. They were rude and egotistical and drank too much. Women were to be dominated, and kids were not to be seen nor heard. The women were unanimous in agreeing that the American men couldn’t be any worse. Again, she knew that wasn’t necessarily true. She was certain some of the men would be hard to live with. But women had more rights in America and could get out of the marriages if the men w
ere abusive.
Anastasia had experienced abuse firsthand. The first hour of the trip, she opened up and shared her whole life story with Olga. Her dad had left the family shortly after she was born. Her mother couldn’t raise three girls on her meager earnings. She remained single for several years until she married a man out of necessity. While the man provided money, he was mean and cruel to the girls and to their mother. Often beating them, always wanting the kids out of his sight when he was home.
When Anastasia suggested going to America, he was all for it. One less mouth to feed. He made her promise to send money back to them from the United States. She would miss her mother and sisters desperately but was certain she made the right decision. She had to get away from the man and thought the United States was far enough.
Anastasia laid her head on Olga’s lap and she was stroking her hair. Ana wasn’t asleep. Was just being comforted by the girl who had suddenly become a mother figure to her in their few short minutes together. While Ana was only fourteen, Olga thought she was mature for her age, both in looks and in resolve.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the driver came on to the intercom and said, “When we cross the border, you’re all going to have to exit the bus. Take all your belongings with you. You can’t leave anything on the bus. After the border agents do their search, we will be on our way.”
The buses slowed. Olga touched the cell phone in her bra, just as reassurance it was there, even though she could still feel it. Olga was glad her sister had chosen a small phone, or it wouldn’t have fit undetected.
The three buses pulled off the road and into a field and stopped next to train tracks. A train was stopped on the tracks. Freight train, not passenger. No one had mentioned that they were going to ride a train into Moscow, so Olga assumed they weren’t. No place to sit on that train anyway.
A large fire was burning. Probably to keep the soldiers warm while they waited. It seemed weird that they were stopping in the middle of nowhere. About ten armed soldiers carrying AK-47’s, were milling around. A number of other unarmed workers were standing with the soldiers. The men all stood to their feet and leapt into action as soon as the buses stopped.
The driver opened the door to the blue bus, and the girls filed out one by one to the soldiers barking orders. Olga wondered why the men sounded so angry and rude. Belarusians came across the border to Russia all the time. This should just be a routine stop and search. She saw the other buses emptying as well.
The driver gave one of the soldiers the bags of passports and cell phones. The soldier took the bags and went over to the fire and threw them in. Flames burst higher into the air.
Several of the girls shrieked. Olga was stunned for a second. Not sure what was happening.
“Zatknis!”
“Shut the hell up,” Olga heard the soldier shout.
“Everyone. Get in a straight line,” one man commanded. He seemed to be the leader.
The soldiers began to push the girls from the three buses together into one long line.
Why were they touching the girls? Olga’s heart started racing.
The workers opened the luggage compartments and began unloading the bags. One by one they hauled the bags over to the fire and threw them in. The girls screamed. The leader fired several shots in the air. Olga wanted to scream but nothing came out as she was suddenly paralyzed in fear.
What’s going on?
She tried to process it all. Anastasia gripped her hand like a vice. Was this a trap? Inconceivable that the whole thing had been a ruse. What were the men going to do to them? Maybe they were getting new clothes in America. But the girls had personal belongings. Keepsakes from home. All hygiene items for the plane. To freshen up before they met their new husbands.
Nothing made sense.
The fire was raging as it consumed the bags full of clothes, makeup, underwear, and personal effects. Several of the girls started crying. One girl was wailing. A soldier slapped the girl across the face. Olga wanted to cry but bit her lip, not wanting to do anything to draw attention to herself. The wails turned to whimpers as the soldier’s words became more threatening.
The girls were ordered to strip to their underwear. It was then that Olga realized they were not going to America. Something horrible was happening. Others must have realized it as well. One girl from another bus took off running for a cluster of trees. A soldier easily caught her and tackled her to the ground and drug her by the hair back to the line.
Olga stood at the back end of the line the farthest away from the soldiers. She wanted to use her phone but didn’t dare. She had to avoid being searched. She needed the phone. Suddenly glad the phone was so small. Olga barely filled an “A” cup as it was. The phone couldn’t be readily seen through her bra.
If they were to pat them down, the soldiers would find it. There were so many girls; maybe they wouldn’t all be searched. The phone was her lifeline to her sister. The only way she knew of to get in touch with her. To let her know what was happening. She suddenly realized why the girls were told they couldn’t contact their families for one year.
No one will know that we’re gone! They may never know.
Olga dutifully took her clothes off so as not to draw attention to herself. She was shivering as much from the fear as the cold. Anastasia was watching her and did the same. The look on Ana’s face was one of utter terror. Some of the girls refused to disrobe at first and were beaten by the guards. Others weren’t wearing underwear under their clothes and were using their hands to cover themselves.
Girls were bleeding, some had bruises and red marks forming on their faces. Eventually everyone complied. All the clothes were gathered and thrown into the fire. All personal belongings were taken off the buses and devoured by what had become a raging inferno.
The girls were given white gowns. Similar to a hospital gown that opened in the back and tied at the top. Olga was thankful for it. It was something to cover the humiliation. The night air nearly took her breath away just as she was trying to catch her breath. The girls were shivering, even with the warmth of the fire nearby. As much from fear as from the cold.
The gown would cover her bra and the phone. She slipped it on quickly and then helped tie Anastasia’s in the back. The girl wasn’t crying. She had a look of fear on her face, but she was being brave. Probably in shock. Too young to fully process all the ramifications of what was happening.
They were ordered onto the train.
No search. Thankfully.
Each soldier picked out one girl and made her stay behind. One man looked at Olga and started toward her but grabbed the girl behind her. He picked her up over his shoulder as she screamed and kicked her legs back and forth and hit his back with her fists.
Olga moved to the front of the line so she could get in as soon as possible. Whatever fate awaited them on the train had to be better than what the girls were going to face who were left behind.
The girls filed into the trains, herded on like cattle. There were no seats. They had to stand and hold onto to the side or to each other. The looks on their faces were of shock and disbelief. Fear.
A few minutes before they were laughing and singing, imagining life in America as a rich housewife. Now they were in a fight for their lives. For their souls. No one knew what awaited them. And no one in Belarus knew they were taken.
The doors closed. The train started to move.
Olga could hear the screams of the girls left behind. The soldier’s obvious reward for completing the task at hand.
***
Olga pulled out the phone. She had a signal. She dialed her sister’s number. It went straight to voicemail. She left her a message. “Daria. It’s a trap. I’m on a train to God knows where. There is no American marriage. I think they are going to make us sex slaves or something. We’re headed north. I don’t know if you can help me or not. I hope you get this message.” She hung up the phone.
She thought about dialing the authorities but paused. The Russ
ians were probably in on it. She suddenly remembered her sister’s American friend, Abbey… Allie. More important to remember the number. She had put it in her contacts. Her hands shook as she searched for it. She took a deep breath.
Dial 8 then wait for a dial tone. 10 then wait. 1 and the number.
The call went through but went to voicemail.
“This is Olga. Daria’s sister. I’m in real trouble. Belles of Belarus is a scam. I’m in Russia. I think. On a train. We’re headed north. Please help me if you can.”
The train lurched.
The women screamed.
Olga turned off the phone and stuck it back in her bra. She looked around for Anastasia. She saw her across the box car from the sliver of moonlight that created a slight illumination through a crack on the side.
She went to her as Anastasia’s face lit up in recognition at seeing her.
Anastasia burst into tears. Olga clutched her tightly to her side.
“It’s going to be all right,” Olga said stroking Ana’s hair, having no idea if things were going to be all right. It sure didn’t seem like it.
It was the only thing she knew to say.
***
Minsk, 5:35 p.m.
Jamie quickly analyzed the situation. She already had some information. The gun in the small of Jamie’s back was slightly to the right of her spine, telling her the assailant was right-handed, and the gun was in his right hand. In addition to being right-handed, the man was about two inches taller and thin.
He also wasn’t the man who’d been following her for the last few days. That man was a professional. Highly skilled. This man was a buffoon.
It also clearly wasn’t a random act. It wasn’t like when she just happened upon the kids by accident. He had sought her out. Followed her. And definitely not KGB.
“Padniac ruki uvierch,” he said. “Put your hands up.”
Jamie raised her hands into the air in a submissive pose. That would buy her some time. She was really positioning her arms and hands for her next move. Of course, he had no way of knowing that. He probably thought he was gaining control. “Put your hands up” sounds good in the movies, and it is good if the person being attacked has a gun in his or her pocket.
