by Terry Toler
No Girl Left Behind
A JAMIE AUSTEN Thriller
TERRY TOLER
No Girl Left Behind
Published by: BeHoldings Publishing
Copyright ©2021, BeHoldings, LLC, Terry Toler
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without prior written permission.
Cover and interior designs: BeHoldings Publishing
Editor: Jeanne Leach
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First U.S. Edition: May, 2021
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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PRAISE FOR THE JAMIE AUSTEN AND ALEX HALEE BOOKS
“I enjoy all the Alex and Jamie books because I prefer to read clean stories that include mystery and intrigue.”
“Love his stories! Suspense and romance combined! Kept me guessing until the end!”
“I would definitely recommend these fantastic books.”
“I read it in one sitting even while eating my lunch. Well done Mr. Toler!”
“The perfect read that projects enough suspense action to keep you on the edge-of-your-seat.”
“This is an exciting spy thriller with complex, interesting characters. You can’t help but root for the main characters.”
“The characters are great! Can't wait to read the next book.”
“Wonderful story. It is full of action and suspense. It’s also heartwarming, and I love its message. It kept me awake at night to finish it.”
“Love Toler’s stories! Suspense and romance combined! Kept me guessing until the end!”
“I would recommend this book to anyone who wants to read clean action.”
“Love Jamie, the female Jack Reacher.”
“Love that Jamie Austen is top notch take no prisoners kind of woman. Saving kidnapped young women with her other CIA counterparts.”
“It kept me reading page after page not wanting to stop. Action after action and always a new twist to the story. I can’t wait for the next story.”
“I enjoyed the rapid pace of the story as well as the development of the characters. A thrilling story. Well done.”
“Enthralling is my best description of this ‘nine lives’ epic case assignment for a government female agent. Constantly in action and never boring.”
“This series gives insights to current issues in the world. I found it interesting and easy to understand. I would recommend it to anyone who loves thrills and action. It is clean and a little heartwarming.”
“I’ve read all the books in this series and have more than enjoyed them!”
“The ending made me smile because that’s Jamie in a nutshell.”
“Oh man! This is tugging at my heartstrings.”
“That Jamie isn’t afraid of anything! Always true to herself. Let the intrigue begin! ”
BOOKS BY TERRY TOLER
Fiction
The Longest Day
The Reformation of Mars
The Great Wall of Ven-Us
Saturn: The Eden Experiment
The Late, Great Planet Jupiter
Save The Girls
The Ingenue
The Blue Rose
Saving Sara
Save The Queen
No Girl Left Behind
The Launch
Non-Fiction
How to Make More Than a Million Dollars
The Heart Attacked
Seven Years of Promise
Mission Possible
Marriage Made in Heaven
21 Days to Physical Healing
21 Days to Spiritual Fitness
21 Days to Divine Health
21 Days to a Great Marriage
21 Days to Financial Freedom
21 Days to Sharing Your Faith
21 Days to Mission Possible
7 Days to Emotional Freedom
Uncommon Finances
Uncommon Marriage
Uncommon Health
Suddenly Free
Feeling Free
For more information on these books and other resources visit TerryToler.com.
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FROM THE AUTHOR
PARENTAL GUIDANCE SUGGESTED
The scenes and descriptions depicted in this book may not be suitable for children.
—Terry Toler
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39,000 girls under the age of eighteen are forced into marriages every day around the world.
The UN estimates that more than 5,000 women and girls die in honor killings worldwide each year.
Contents
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1
Abu Dhabi
“I’ll give you thirty million American dollars for it,” I said to the Sheikh.
“I must have thirty-five, Mrs. Steele,” Sheikh Saad Cemal Shakir said to me. My actual name was Jamie Austen, but Jamie Steele was the name I used for my cover.
The object of our negotiation was a renaissance era painting by Halil Dereli called Tranquility. A famous Persian artist who depicted the moment in the Bible when the two sons of Abraham, Isaac, and Ishmael, finally made peace with each other. For me, the painting was a biblical story. For the Sheikh, he’d consider it a depiction of the Quran account, which was probably more accurate, considering the nationality of the artist.
I wouldn’t normally be interested in such a work, but I already had a buyer at forty million. Five million was a nice profit, but ten million was better.
“Thirty-one is my best offer,” I said.
“Thirty-four is my lowest price,” he countered.
“I’ll have to think about it.”
The painting was located in a high-end art gallery in Abu Dhabi City off Zayed the Second Street. Actually, everything in Abu Dhabi was high-end. At least in the city. Including the Sheikh who was on the high-end of the proverbial food chain when it came to riches and power. A cousi
n to the Crown Prince, he and his family were considered royalty. Along with his title, he had considerable wealth estimated to be upward of fifty billion dollars. Which made me wonder why he was quibbling with me over pocket change.
“Then we must think about it over dinner,” the Sheikh said. “At my home. I have to show you my other artwork.”
I knew that was coming. The Sheikh had a reputation as a womanizer. To this point, he’d been a gentleman. I was hoping to close the deal by only having to endure his mild flirtations.
“I never mix business and pleasure,” I said.
“Mrs. Jamie Steele, nothing is more pleasurable than discussing money.”
“I’m a happily married woman,” I retorted.
“There are many happily married men, but no happily married women. A woman is impossible to keep happy.” With that statement, he roared in laughter. I gave him an obligatory laugh, although that wasn’t the first time he had disparaged women that day.
I was married. To Alex Halee. Had been for a little over a year. Together we owned a company called AJAX which bought and sold art. The company was actually a cover for covert operations for the CIA. Off the books. This trip was strictly related to the art business, and no mission objective was associated with it. The purchase of the painting would be a favor for one of our best customers, not to mention a nice profit for AJAX.
“I agree that business can be pleasurable,” I said, “which is why I’m going to make you happy and give you thirty-two million dollars for the painting.”
“If you really wanted to make me happy, you’d give me thirty-three million and have dinner with me. I promise we won’t do anything that you don’t want to do.”
“Split the difference,” I said, ignoring his comment.
“You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Steele.”
“You paid nine million for it only five years ago!”
“It was an investment. I don’t particularly like the painting. But it has grown on me which is why I’m reluctant to let it go for such a low price. It has… what do you Americans say? Sentimental value.”
The Sheikh was lying. He couldn’t care less about the painting. This was strictly a business deal. That, and he wanted to get me back to his place which was why he was dragging out the negotiations. I’m trained to read people. He would’ve sold me the painting at twenty-nine million. The ruse was to see how far he could get with me. Which was no further than this gallery. I’d walk away from the deal if I had to before I’d go back to his house alone.
“My friend,” I said. “I know all about you. Since we’ve begun this conversation, you’ve made about twenty million dollars from your oil interests.”
He nodded his head but changed the subject. “Do you know what my name means?” he asked.
“Why don’t you tell me?” I said sweetly. While I didn’t want to cross the line of flirting, I was anxious to get the deal closed and get back on my plane headed home. I’d bat my eyelashes a couple of times if it’d get the negotiations over with sooner. The Bombardier Global 7000 luxury jet Alex and I stole from a Turkish oligarch, was sitting on the tarmac at Abu Dhabi International Airport, warming its jets. My pilot, A-Rad, nicknamed such because he was a radical when it came to risk taking, was no doubt seeing to all the preparations. He’d wanted to come with me, but I insisted I could handle it.
The Sheikh explained the meaning of his names. “Saad means happiness. Your term for it is bliss, I believe. My surname, Shakir, means fortunate and lucky. My middle name is Cemal. Are you aware of its origin?”
“I’m not.” I wanted to look at my watch but didn’t want to be rude. I was prepared to meet his price of thirty-three million, just to get this over with.
“Cemal means handsome. Would you agree that all these names fit me perfectly?”
“Of course,” I said, with nothing more than a smile.
He was handsome. Fifty-eight years old. Fit. Everything about him exuded royalty. Soft hands. Confident manner. The only thing weathered was his face which had endured the constant onslaught of hot desert sun, stiff winds, and blowing sand through the years.
I wanted to keep our focus. We were making progress. “Back to the painting,” I said, “Do we have a deal?”
“What was our last price?”
He knew full well what it was.
“You’re a very beautiful lady, Mrs. Steele. I like your outfit.”
I simply nodded a thank you. He continued to stall. I’d purposefully toned my dress down, hoping it would make him less interested. Normally, I’d be wearing a short, tight fitting dress for such a meeting. Not to be noticed. The short length was so my legs would be free in the event I ran into trouble. Over the years of running dangerous missions, my knees, heels, feet, and legs had become like lethal weapons and had gotten me out of more jams than I could remember.
I’d prefer what I was wearing now, which was a skirt that came below my knees. My shoulders were covered, and the blouse was up to my neckline. A scarf was around my neck in case I needed to cover my head. The skirt was a couple sizes too big, held up by a belt, but not too tight, so it wouldn’t be considered form fitting. Modest, but not conducive for combat in close quarters. Not that I was concerned about any type of confrontation. This was an almost zero-risk adventure.
For the most part, Abu Dhabi City was safer than most big cities. As long as you didn’t do anything to attract the attention of the authorities. Immodest dress was one way to get in trouble. Tourists could get arrested for any number of things, including public displays of affection. It’s a good thing Alex wasn’t there. Alex had a hard time keeping his hands off me. In Abu Dhabi, that was frowned upon. The most we could do in public was hold hands. Even that was scoffed at. Anything else could result in expulsion. Fortunately, he wasn’t here or I’m sure he’d test the limits of their laws.
Of course, those rules didn’t apply to the Sheikh. He had his own little harem with him at the art gallery. Four girls. All stunningly beautiful. Standing off to the side. Their dresses were considerably shorter than my skirt. I doubted any of them were his wife, and I was sure all were meant for more than eye candy. I knew the look on their faces. They were at his beck and call to provide whatever services he desired.
Clearly his ladies-in-waiting, which made me wonder why he wanted me so much. Probably because he couldn’t have me. Powerful men like the Sheikh were often more interested in the pursuit than in the actual conquest.
The Sheikh had more girls than bodyguards. Two bulky men stood off in the corner looking bored. Armed, but not at all concerned by me. If I wanted, I could kill the Sheikh in seconds. They didn’t even search me. If they had, they might’ve found a knife hidden in the hem of my dress.
“What about the price?” I said, growing impatient after nothing was said for nearly a minute. “You were at thirty-three million, I’m at thirty-two. Shall we split the difference and call it a day?”
“What about dinner?”
“Not going to happen.”
“He let out a huge sigh. Okay. We have a deal.”
“Excellent. I’ve already taken the liberty to draw up the paperwork. If you’ll give me wiring instructions, I’ll see that the money is in your account later today.”
I pulled out a bill of sale, wrote down the purchase price, and the Sheikh signed it. “I’ll give you a copy at closing.”
“I only take cashier checks.” He probably never gave out his bank account information as a precaution. I didn’t either.
“I can arrange that, but it’ll take more time. Shall we meet in the morning?”
“For breakfast? At my house?”
“How about right here? Do you have a restroom I can use?”
“Down the hall and to the right.”
“I’ll be right back.”
While I hated the fact that I’d have to spend the night in Abu Dhabi, closing the deal was worth it. I could sleep on my plane.
The restroom was as luxurious as the rest of the
art gallery. Gold and white decorative marble everywhere with gold plated fixtures. I went into one of the stalls and allowed myself a moment to relax. I’d barely sat down when a door opened.
For some reason, it startled me.
Someone entered.
Quiet footsteps. Stiletto heels.
I was suddenly holding my breath, though I didn’t know why.
I heard shuffling around.
The woman didn’t go into one of the stalls. Didn’t turn on any water. I didn’t hear the sound of ruffling paper towels or drying of hands.
Probably one of the Sheikh’s girls. Maybe she was checking her makeup.
I heard a squeaking sound.
Completely out of place.
What’s that?
I stood and reassembled my skirt. Then paused. While I was dying to know who was out there and what she was doing, I preferred to stay out of sight.
When I heard the door open and close, I still waited a good ten to twenty seconds to make sure the person was gone.
I cracked open the bathroom stall and peeked around it.
My heart skipped a beat.
On the bathroom mirror was writing.
In red lipstick.
Help Me.
I glanced at the door again. Then back at the words. Was it one of the Sheik’s girls? Who else could it be? Was she in danger? Was she being held against her will?
My mind ran through the images of the girls in the art gallery. Only one was wearing red lipstick. A French woman. I noticed her because she seemed nervous. Strikingly beautiful. Model pretty. Too thin. Black hair cropped short. A bob just above her shoulders in a stylish cut.
What do I do?
I rested my hands on the bathroom counter and leaned into them, staring at the words on the mirror. My role with the CIA was to infiltrate sex trafficking rings and rescue girls. While I wasn’t on a mission, I was always on the lookout for girls who needed rescuing. The thought never occurred to me that I’d find that in Abu Dhabi. Not that I was naïve enough to believe it didn’t exist there. These girls were clearly prostituting. But I generally focused my energies on sex slaves and girls who had no choice in the matter.
