No Girl Left Behind: A Jamie Austen Spy Thriller (THE SPY STORIES Book 5)

by Terry Toler

  “We want MJ to come back with us,” Ivory said. “She can attend college. We’ll pay for it, of course. Then we can take our time planning a wedding. I hope you can attend.”

  Ivory smiled at MJ who returned it. Christopher was sitting next to her on the couch and squeezed MJ’s hand.

  “That’s very kind,” Auntie said, “but I don’t know if I’m up for it. That’s a long trip. I’d love to see MJ start a new life in America. She’s had a difficult life here, growing up without her mother,” Aunt Shule said.

  MJ could see her Aunt’s eyes watering.

  “I’d be happy to see MJ get a few good breaks in her life,” Aunt Shule continued once she’d composed herself. “I don’t know if it’s possible, though. Her father can be a cruel man. When he finds out she’s not going to marry Abdul, he’s going to be extremely angry. MJ is a beautiful girl. A prized catch in our tribe. Her father has demanded a hefty dowry for her hand in marriage. He’ll be upset that she has defied him, but also that he’ll lose out on the money.”

  “It’s hard to believe they still have arranged marriages in parts of the world,” Ivory said. “How barbaric!”

  Before anyone else could say anything, the doorbell rang, and Ivory sprang up out of her seat. Less than a minute later, they led a meek-looking man into the room. Short. Thin. Wire rimmed glasses sitting precariously on the front of his nose. They looked like they could fall off at the slightest tilt of the head. The man was dark skinned. Wearing a suit and tie and carrying a briefcase. MJ had never seen a lawyer before, but this was what she pictured one would look like.

  “I’d like to introduce Anup Palan to everyone.” Mr. Tate said. “You already know my wife, Ivory. This is our son Christopher and his girlfriend MJ.”

  When she was introduced as Christopher’s girlfriend, MJ’s heart leapt inside of her, sending a wave of euphoria through her entire body. She tried to imagine how it’d feel to be called his wife.

  “This is MJ’s Aunt Shule,” Mr. Tate added as Auntie nodded to him.

  Anup bowed his head slightly. “It’s very pleasing to meet each of you,” he said. “I hope I can be of service today.”

  “Anup is an expert on the laws of UAE,” Mr. Tate said. “Particularly marriage and family law. He’s from India but he studied Sharia law and has been practicing in the UAE for more than twelve years. He’s also a strong advocate for women’s rights.”

  He bowed his head again and smiled. “The law in the UAE is quite complicated,” Anup said. “There are civil courts and Sharia courts. Then there are the tribal courts. The law is not always applied equally. We must use it to our advantage when we can. While women have gained some rights, we still have a long way to go as a country to treat women fairly in every corner of our country. What is your situation?”

  No one spoke right away. Everyone looked at MJ. She squirmed in her seat and her breathing became shallow.

  Aunt Shule must’ve sensed it because she spoke up first. “My niece, MJ, and Christopher wish to be married, but her father has promised her to a Muslim man.”

  “The law does not require her to follow through with a prearranged marriage,” Anup said. “For many years, girls had no choice. Now they do.”

  MJ didn’t know that. She’d always thought she was obligated. Optimism was overcoming the fear that had gripped her since the meeting started as she suddenly let out a breath and flashed Christopher a smile which he returned.

  “They’re concerned that her father will kill her if she refuses,” Mr. Tate said, causing fear to come racing back inside of her.

  Anup nodded and let out a sigh. “That is a concern. I’ve seen it happen more times than I’d like. One time is too many.”

  “What should they do then?” Mr. Tate asked.

  “Are you eighteen yet?” Anup asked MJ.

  “I’ll be eighteen in three days.”

  “My suggestion is that when you turn eighteen, you leave the country and marry in a country that allows an interfaith marriage.”

  “Her father would never approve of her leaving the country,” Aunt Shule said.

  “Once she’s eighteen, she’s free to do what she wishes. He can’t stop her. There is the threat of violence to consider. I’d suggest she go into hiding.”

  “You can stay here,” Ivory said.

  “Thank you,” MJ replied.

  “Not yet,” Anup said. “Not until she turns eighteen. You can get in serious trouble if you harbor her before she turns eighteen. She’s under her father’s dominion until her eighteenth birthday.”

  “Will she be safe until then?” Mr. Tate asked.

  “We just have to make sure her father doesn’t find out,” Aunt Shule said. “She stays with me most of the time now anyway. Once her birthday comes around, he’ll be out looking for her though. You can count on that.”

  “How long will it take for her to get a visa to the United States?” Mr. Tate asked.

  “Two to three years. Maybe longer,” Anup answered.

  MJ felt her shoulders slump. Where could she hide for two years? She didn’t want to be away from Christopher that long.

  “Our work visa expires before then,” Mr. Tate said.

  “I’m not leaving without her,” Christopher said.

  “You might not have a choice,” Mr. Tate said. “I don’t know that we could even get your visa extended.”

  “If they’re married, MJ can get into the United States right away,” Anup said.

  “I’ll get married today,” MJ blurted.

  “Me too,” Christopher said.

  “I think the pastor of our church will marry you,” Mr. Tate said, his voice raised a notch letting his excitement show.

  “You must wait until she turns eighteen,” Anup warned. “If you present the marriage certificate to the court and she’s underage, it must have a guardian’s approval. Her father is her legal guardian.”

  Christopher said. “We’ll get married the first thing in the morning on your birthday. That’ll be your birthday present.”

  “I suggest you make arrangements to leave the country right after,” Aunt Shule said. “MJ’s father will come looking for her. Don’t forget, he’s expecting her to marry Abdul on her birthday.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Anup said.

  “I’ll miss you,” MJ said. She got up and walked over and sat next to her aunt.

  “You can go back to America,” Ivory said. “The two of you can stay at our home until we get back.”

  “Thank you, so much, Anup,” Mr. Tate said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “I just hope this works,” Aunt Shule said.

  “Me too,” Ivory added.

  “It will,” MJ said.

  “I suggest that the two of you not see each other until your birthday,” Mr. Tate said. “You don’t want to take a chance that her father finds out before then.”

  “What can he do?” MJ said. “If he finds out.”

  “We are members of the Al Parsa tribe,” Aunt Shule said. “They are very strict in following the tribal laws. Her father is a tribal elder. They could put MJ in jail.”

  “Let’s make sure they don’t find out,” Anup said. “My suggestion is to get married, file the certificate, and get out of the country before your father has a chance to contest it. Once you’re in America, he has no control over you. Neither do the tribal elders. Until then, the tribe can do anything they want. They can even put you in jail for zina charges. Charges of sexual sin. Your tribe may not recognize the marriage. If they don’t then they could sentence you to lashes or prison. Possibly even death. You can always hope for the best, but my experience is to stay out of the tribal courts if at all possible.”

  “That’s a good suggestion,” Mr. Tate said. “That’s why I think you two kids should stay away from each other until the wedding. We’ll get you married in the morning, and on the first flight out of here.”

  “What do you think, Auntie?” MJ said.

  “It sounds com
plicated,” she answered. “The main thing is that we have to make sure your father doesn’t find out. That’s what I’m worried about.”

  MJ was suddenly worried about it as well, and the fear returned with a vengeance.

  9

  Bianca

  Sheikh Saad Shakir’s house

  Last night had not gone as Saad had hoped. The American woman, Jamie Steele, had rebuffed all of his advances. Much to his disappointment. The woman was feisty. Resourceful. A strong business woman. Rich. Gorgeous. Blonde which was always his preference. In spite of his strict upbringing, he liked a little fire in his paramour. Which was probably why he sought beautiful girls from other countries to satisfy his carnal affections. The Arab women were too passive and too submissive.

  Which was why he was feeling unsatisfied this morning. The French girl, Bianca, had been a huge disappointment last night as well. Despite his many attempts to seduce her with his charms, she was unenthusiastic in their lovemaking. Barely attentive to his needs at all. At one point, he was so frustrated with her, he wanted to strike her. He held back and just roughly kicked her out of the bed after he finished.

  Not only was it frustrating, but it made him angry. He paid these girls a lot of money. His fashion company put their faces on international magazines. The opportunities he gave them in modeling were once-in-a lifetime, career changing, chances for fame and fortune. He bought them expensive gifts. At the end of one year, he paid the girls three hundred thousand euros. Ten-years’ wages for most of them. What they gave him in return paled in comparison to what he did for them. Some were appreciative, but not all. Perhaps he was too easy on them.

  Maybe the American woman was to blame for distracting Bianca the night before. They had spent the entire evening deep in conversation. Unfortunately, he’d gotten distracted by a phone call that went on for almost an hour. Some problem in an oil field that didn’t get resolved anyway. He’d cursed his employee for interrupting his evening.

  Another call this morning had been even more unsettling. Perhaps, the main reason for his angst. A Turkish man called, upset because he had heard Saad was selling the painting to the American. The man identified himself as a member of the White Wolves, an offshoot of the Turkish mafia. They felt like the painting belonged in the Arab world.

  “Why would you sell it to the infidels?” the man had asked.

  “Money. They are the highest bidder. Make me an offer I can’t refuse, and I’ll sell it to you.”

  While he had signed an agreement to sell the painting to AJAX corporation, he could easily get out of it. The American woman wouldn’t be happy, but what was her recourse? She couldn’t sue him. No court in Abu Dhabi would rule against him.

  What he really wondered was how the Turks knew about the woman and the sale of the painting. He quickly dismissed the thought without much introspection. Nothing surprised him anymore in this day of information technology available through so many mediums.

  “We’re prepared to pay you twenty-five million for the painting,” the man had said.

  “I’ll sell it for thirty-five million.” If he could make an extra two and a half million dollars, he’d do it.

  Saad was, after all, a businessman first and foremost. The White Wolves could certainly afford his asking price. If they wanted it, they could come up with the money.

  The man on the phone turned him down. The call ended badly, with both sides making all kinds of threats. Saad dished out as many as they gave to him.

  “I’ll sell the painting to whomever I damn well please,” he had shouted and then hung up on the man.

  Which was exactly what he planned to do. This morning. To the American. Which reminded him that he’d better get moving if he were going to make their meeting on time. Before Mrs. Steele had left the night before, they agreed to meet at eleven. If he left now, he’d barely make it.

  Before being interrupted by the call, he’d been listening to the audio from his security system which had picked up the entire conversation between Bianca and Mrs. Steele the night before. Both the inside and outside conversations were recorded, but the two ladies were speaking in French the entire time. Which made him suspicious. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. The banter seemed friendly, casual, and harmless enough, but he didn’t like not knowing what they were talking about it.

  He picked his cell phone up from off his desk and dialed a number he knew by heart. The man answered on the first ring.

  “Salam,” Jeric Hashmi said. Jeric was a professor at the University and a friend who went all the way back to childhood.

  “Good day,” Saad replied. The two were men of the world and didn’t bother with the longer traditional Muslim greetings.

  “My good friend, Sheikh Saad, how are you today?” Jeric said enthusiastically.

  “Very well,” Saad said. “Shukran.” Thank you very much for asking, he added.

  “Why am I deserving of such an honor this morning?” the professor asked.

  Saad loved listening to the professor talk. A linguist, the man was fluent in many languages. Even as a child, Jeric’s speech was refined and proper. Like an adult. Certainly, in a way well beyond his years. Saad wasn’t surprised that Jeric had made such a successful career as a professor which he seemed destined to excel at.

  “As I remember, you speak French. Is that correct?” Saad asked.

  “Fluently.”

  “I have a conversation I’d like for you to translate for me.”

  “I’d be happy to. Do you want to play it for me?”

  Saad looked at his watch. The conversation between the two ladies had lasted almost an hour. He was to meet the American at eleven. There wasn’t time.

  “I’ll send it to you. Listen to it at your convenience and get back with me. Mostly, I just want to know what was said. Of course, I’ll pay you for your time.”

  “Not necessary. I’ll let you buy the next time we have dinner.”

  “I always buy!”

  “Then we should dine together more often.”

  The two men laughed heartily.

  “We should have dinner soon. After you’ve finished with the translation, let’s get together.”

  “I’d be happy to translate that for you as soon as I get it. Send it to my email address.”

  Saad wrote it down even though it was probably in his contacts. Then he hung up from the conversation and pulled up the file of the conversation and saved it to his computer which was linked to his security system. It took a while for the large audio file to download. When it did, he sent it to the professor’s email address and closed his computer.

  Then he went to see if the girls were ready to leave.

  They’d better be.

  He hated it when they kept him waiting.

  ***

  Art Gallery

  Abu Dhabi City

  Saad and his entourage of four girls and two security guards, along with his driver, arrived at the art gallery fifteen minutes late. Mrs. Steele was already there. Her rental Lamborghini was parked in front. The guards exited his vehicle first. Then Saad and his four girls filed out of his stretch limousine and entered the gallery. Per Saad’s instructions, the painting was already packaged and ready for Mrs. Steele to take with her, although he wondered how she would fit it in her sports car. Not his problem. Once the transaction was finalized, she could make whatever arrangements she wanted.

  Mrs. Steele’s face lit up as soon as she saw him. He couldn’t tell if she was genuinely interested or just trying to close the sale.

  Seeing her caused the desire in him to reignite. She was wearing a black form-fitting dress and high stiletto heels. A scarf she’d use to cover her head if necessary, which wasn’t around him, lay around her neck. Another thing he preferred about foreign girls. Mrs. Steele was much too lovely to hide her face and flowing blonde hair under a hijab, burqa, or scarf.

  Seeing her reminded him of why he wanted her so much. He didn’t remember the last time he met a woman as mesmeri
zing as Mrs. Steele. Such a shame she was married. He’d marry her himself if she weren’t and if his religion allowed it.

  He went right up to her and kissed her on both cheeks, leaving the other four girls behind. Jamie’s fragrant hair and soft cheeks sent waves of desire through him. Perhaps he’d ask one more time if she wanted to stay the night in Abu Dhabi. He’d take her to a fine restaurant. Someplace where they could be alone. He’d leave his girls at home. Mrs. Steele didn’t seem like the type that would consider a threesome.

  A long shot, but it never hurt to ask. Before he could ask, a commotion at the front of the art gallery startled him.

  Behind him.

  He had just walked in, so he was still facing away from the entrance.

  He heard shouting.

  Mrs. Steele shrieked and then cowered down like something had frightened her.

  Saad turned and looked to see what the commotion was all about.

  What he saw turned his lustful desires into feelings of utter panic. A man in a ski mask was brandishing a gun. He’d already disarmed his two security guards.

  The worthless fools.

  They obviously hadn’t been paying attention. When they followed him in, they should’ve watched his back. They were too complacent.

  The gunmen ordered the security guards to the floor. To Saad’s dismay, they obeyed him. He wanted them to attack the man. The cowards.

  Was this an assassination attempt? Was he the target?

  Then the man mentioned the painting. Speaking Turkish.

  Ah! The White Wolves.

  They had obviously sent this man. Saad could hardly believe it.

  Did the White Wolves intend to kill him? Or just steal the painting?

  Had he underestimated them? Perhaps he should’ve taken their offer of twenty-five million. His life was worth more than a measly seven and a half million dollars that he gained by selling it to Mrs. Steele. If they stole the painting, he’d get nothing.

  Without warning, the gunmen had his arm around Bianca.