Tom was coming here. Her entire objective in staying on the boat had been to learn who he was, where he was, and what was at the end of this entire pipeline. This information she’d have to get to her sister someway, but now that she knew the American Director was coming to her, she wondered how the hell she was supposed to contact her once she had what she needed.
She fought more tears and told herself to be strong. Her resolve had gotten her this far through this mess, and all she could do now was do her best.
* * *
• • •
I pull off the road less than ten kilometers south of Rovinj. My stolen Ford Focus rolls slowly along the rough shoulder as I peer into the darkness, but soon I see what I’m looking for. Talyssa comes out of the brush, waves at me, and then climbs into the passenger seat. She’d taken the boat along the shore, following La Primarosa with me on board, until her engine began to sputter, and then she’d beached the little craft and begun walking to the north.
She looks as exhausted as I feel, but her alert, hopeful, and expectant eyes belie all she’s been through.
“Are you okay?” she asks as we pull back on the road.
“Yeah.” I start to say more, but then I hesitate. I don’t know how to tell her what I need to tell her.
“You got on board, obviously.”
“I did.”
“Well . . . what did you see?”
Looking forward through the windshield as I drive through the morning, I say, “Your sister is alive.”
Glancing her way, I see her bring both hands to her mouth, and I can see her face redden, even here in the darkened car.
Finally, she asks, “You saw her?”
“I spoke with her.”
“Oh my God.”
“She is okay.” For now, I think, all but certain that things are only going to get worse for Roxana.
“But . . . where is she? I need to see her.”
“She’s . . . actually, she’s still on the yacht.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see her lower her hands to her lap. Her tone changes, becoming angry and challenging. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you rescue her?”
“I tried. She wouldn’t go. They’ve told her she’s being taken to the Director of the Consortium, and she sees this as the best chance to blow the doors wide open on this entire trafficking ring.” I add, “She’s doing it for you.”
This is hard for the Romanian woman to accept; she argues with me for a minute, insinuates that I should have popped her sister on the head and hauled her off the yacht. I don’t mention that I did, in fact, pop her on the head, and then I left her right there in the clutches of the murderous sex trafficking ring.
Not my finest hour, I’ll admit.
She’s furious at first, but as I drive north I calm her down, and it’s clear Talyssa knows what I know, that Roxana’s desire to live up to her sister’s expectations was what put her on that boat, not me, and it’s also what’s keeping her on that boat now.
She asks, “What was she like? Her condition . . . mentally.”
“She doesn’t blame you for anything. She is as strong as I’ve seen from someone in this situation.”
Talyssa turns to me. “You have seen people in this situation?”
“Similar situations, yes. The trauma bonds can be built quickly, and they can be very powerful. She’s a trouper for fighting back the way she is.”
“How do you know about trauma bonds?”
With only a little hesitation I say, “I have some training.”
“In kidnapping people for slavery?”
“No. In being held hostage. There is a school for it. You learn survival, evasion, resistance, and escape.”
“Where is this school?”
“Can’t say.”
“Of course you can’t.”
“The point is, you can be taught how to resist your captors, and you can build up a lot of defenses to their techniques. But these young people, snatched off the street, out of nightclubs, picked up through modeling agencies, thrown into this world . . . I can’t imagine what they are going through psychologically. Whatever it is, they don’t stand a chance.
“But Roxana’s tough. She’s really tough.”
“So . . . what is our plan now, Harry? We just leave Roxana with them and wait to hear from her?”
“No. We’re going to Venice. They will be there tonight, unless me showing up on La Primarosa changed their entire agenda.” I can’t rule out that possibility, but so far the pipeline seems to have continued on despite my harassment, with only a few diversions.
Talyssa asks, “And when we get to Venice? What will we do there?”
“The other girls will be sold off, and they’ll all go to different groups, different countries. If I can’t stop it tonight, I’ll never get another chance to save those victims I saw in Bosnia.”
But I sure as hell can’t save those women by myself. I’ve been trying and failing at this since that night in Mostar when my actions made their awful predicament even more awful.
I know now that I need a hand, and I also know where to go for it.
Maybe.
“This has gotten too big,” I say. “We’re going to have to try to bring in some help.”
“But . . . the police are corrupt.”
“I’m not talking about the police.”
“Who, then?”
I sigh and then drive in silence for a moment. Only when she asks me a second time do I reply. “Some acquaintances. But you need to understand one thing. They will either make the situation better, or they will make the situation worse. It’s only out of desperation that I’m reaching out to them.”
“But who are they?”
“I can’t tell you,” I say, and then I turn back to her. “Trust me.”
She nods and looks out the window. Soon she starts to sniff back tears, no doubt thinking about Roxana, somewhere out to sea.
* * *
• • •
An hour later we’re in the Italian town of Villa Opicina as the sun rises onto a clear morning. Talyssa is sitting on a stone bench in front of a church, and I’m walking around the grounds with my earpiece in. No one is in sight this early save for a couple of nuns who passed me by a minute ago, and they didn’t exactly trigger my threat radar, so I feel secure enough for now.