A Walk Across the Sun (41 page)

The night passed with excruciating sluggishness. When dawn came, Thomas gave up on the idea of sleep. He visited a café on the street corner and drank a double shot of espresso while scanning a copy of
Le Monde
. Julia called him at seven. She sounded out of breath.

“The raid went down as planned,” she said. “The BRP rescued six Ukrainian women from the flat. But the Petroviches were gone.”

“How can they be gone?” Thomas asked. “We just saw one of them …” His voice trailed off as a thought came to him. “We tipped them off, didn't we? I tipped them off when I went running after the car.”

“I have no idea.”

“And Sita?”

“They found no sign of her. I'm sorry.”

“What about the girls? If Sita worked at the flat, one of them must have seen her.”

“You're right,” she said, sounding hesitant.

“What?”

“It's just that I've used up all my favors to get you this far. The girls are off limits. The protocols are incredibly strict, especially since the Petroviches are still at large. They're probably already in a safe house. I don't know where they are, and the BRP isn't going to tell me without a very good reason.” She paused. “The word of an Indian waitress isn't going to cut it.”

“I understand,” Thomas said.

The silence between them lingered until it became awkward.

“Damn it,” she said. “I knew it was going to come to this. Look, I'd like to help more, but this is too much. Going off the reservation on this could compromise me with everyone—the French, the Bureau, the ambassador.”

“I'm sorry.”

She thought for a long moment and then gave an audible sigh. “Give me a little time.” She paused. “Don't call me. I'll call you.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Be patient, all right?”

“Patience is my middle name.”

She gave a wry laugh. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Julia was right. Waiting had always been a curse to Thomas. Priya had called it a defect in his genetic makeup. As a consequence, the next three days felt like a form of slow torture. He wandered around Paris like a ghost, taking random trains, exploring the exterior beyond the Boulevard Périphérique, watching the boats on the Seine from Pont Neuf, and lurking around Place Pigalle after midnight, observing the parade of men searching for a woman to turn their fantasies into flesh.

On the evening of the third day, he was sitting in an overstuffed chair by the window in his hotel room sipping a glass of cognac and watching the lights of Paris awaken to the night when the call came through. He stared at the phone in momentary shock, the thrill of the sound vibrating in his head. He reached out and yanked it off the bed, pressing the device to his ear.

“Julia?”

“Meet me at Gare Montparnasse at six thirty tomorrow morning,” she said.

“Who did you talk to?”

“Six thirty tomorrow. Don't be late.”

She hung up without another word.

Chapter 24

You have taken my companions and loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend.
—T
HE
S
ONS OF
K
ORAH

Elizabeth, New Jersey

Sometime after the incident with Igor—Sita had no idea what time it was—Alexi brought her a bowl of tasteless soup and a box of crackers. The Slav didn't speak, just placed the food at the head of the bed. He took out a small digital camera from his pants pocket and motioned for her to stand. She did so hesitantly. He took two photographs of her and left. Sita concentrated on eating and tried not to think about the reason for the pictures.

The rest of the day passed in silence. At some point, she turned on the television. The TV crackled and came to life but displayed only static.

She opened the door to the cabinet below the television and found a battered VCR and a stack of pornographic videos. She backed away from the cabinet and sat down in the far corner of the room. The TV fuzzed noisily and emitted an eerie glow, but she couldn't bring herself to turn it off. Sex seemed to ooze from the walls of the club and hover around her like a filthy cloud. By the time night arrived, she found herself looking forward to the sound of voices.

The girls came as they had the evening before, speaking their unintelligible language. Sita held her breath and waited for Igor to drag one of them into the room, but the door stayed shut. The music started without warning and droned on for an eternity. Sita closed her eyes and tried to rest, but again sleep would not come.

When at last the music stopped, Sita crawled off the bed into the corner. She heard footsteps in the hallway. The door opened. Igor and another man she hadn't seen before pulled a girl into the room. The girl resisted and twisted her body in an attempt to escape, but they pushed her onto the bed and lifted her skirt. Sita covered her head with her hands and prayed until the girl's screams turned into sobs. The men left and the girl sank to her knees, leaning against the bed.

Sita looked at the girl, and compassion overwhelmed her. She knew Igor would return at some point, but she felt a perverse sense of confidence in Alexi's protection. She scooted across the floor until their knees were nearly touching.

The girl looked at her in shame. “What do you want?” she whispered.

Sita didn't respond, just reached out and took one of the girl's hands. The girl stiffened but didn't push her away. Sita sat in silence for a long moment, conveying comfort by her touch. She thought of her mother then. How many times Ambini had sat at her bedside holding her hand when she was a little girl. It was a kindness she could pass along, even in the midst of such darkness.

After a while, she withdrew her hand and wiped a tear from the girl's cheek.

“I am Sita,” she said.

The girl met her eyes. “I am Olga,” she whispered. Olga looked down at her hands. “You saw what they did?”

Sita shook her head. “I didn't watch.”

A dam broke in Olga's heart and she began to cry. “I have family in Novgorod,” she said. “I go to university in St. Petersburg, but I leave when my papa get sick. He need money for medicine. Then I meet a man. He says he has this friend in New York. He says I could be good nanny. He says I could make money for papa, for everyone. He was a liar.”

“Tell me about your family,” Sita said, taking Olga's hand again.

Olga spoke without hesitation and the memories seemed to stabilize her. When Igor returned for her minutes later, her shame had transmuted to resolve. She went with him submissively but glanced over her shoulder and nodded to Sita just before Igor pulled the door shut.

Distracted by Olga's story, Sita didn't notice at first that the lock hadn't engaged. The realization came to her slowly and left her puzzled. She stared at the doorknob, listening carefully until the sounds in the building grew faint. She took Hanuman out of her coat pocket and placed him back in the folds of her sari. Then she walked to the door and tried the knob.

It turned without resistance.

Her heartbeat increased, but she made no move to open the door. She touched the scab on her scalp, remembering Dmitri's warning. If she tried to escape again, she could not afford to fail. She wavered until she thought of Igor kneeling before her, asking her to open her mouth.

Gripping the handle, she pulled the door open. The hallway was empty and enveloped in shadow. The only light came from a red exit sign hanging over a door at the end of the corridor. She looked down the hallway in the other direction and saw a doorway obscured by what appeared to be a curtain. She didn't know what time it was, but she guessed it was sometime in the early morning. The club was silent.

She tried the exit at the end of the hall, but the door didn't budge. She turned around and walked toward the curtain at the other end. The curtain resolved into a cascade of beads. Beyond was a room of vanity mirrors, stools, couches, and racks of slinky clothing. Wan light emanated from an exit sign overhead.

She entered the room and took her bearings. The room had two additional exits—an opening shielded by beads and an unmarked door. She walked hesitantly through the opening and saw a stage and a gallery of tables, dimly illuminated by exit signs and a light over the bar. The stage was shaped like a runway studded with platforms, each of which had a dancing pole. The shortest path to the exits was across the stage, but the idea of it frightened her.

Turning away, she reentered the dressing room and approached the unmarked door. The handle turned easily. She walked through a lounge of couches before emerging on the floor of the club. She tried the first exit without success. She approached the second door, but it, too, was locked. She looked around in desperation, searching for another way out, but saw none.

She stood still for a long moment, not knowing what to do. Then her stomach growled and she realized how hungry she was. In thirty hours, she had eaten only a bowl of soup and half a box of crackers. She walked to the bar and scoured the cupboards. She found a collection of snack tins that contained nuts and candy. She ate a handful of each and then replaced the tins, taking care to leave them exactly as she found them.

Nearby was a small refrigerator. She opened the door and blinked at the bright light. Inside were bottles of imported beer and a plastic jug of water. She took out the jug and drained half its contents, feeling mildly refreshed. A digital clock on the wall caught her attention. It was nine in the morning. Since her arrival at the club, her days and nights had been inverted.

She walked back toward the lounge, thinking to return to her room, when an idea came to her. She looked carefully at the elevated stage. Beneath it was a metallic facade that reached to the floor. She walked around the perimeter of the stage looking carefully at the facade. On the far side, she found what she was looking for—the handle to an access door. The door opened easily, revealing a well of darkness beyond.

Sita took a deep breath and pondered what she was about to do. The thought of it terrified her, but she was out of other options. Alexi had acquired her for a reason, and judging by the company he kept, that reason was most assuredly unspeakable.

She made her way back to her room to gather her coat and then returned to the club. She knelt in front of the access door and crawled into the darkness. She bumped her head against something hard and cried out in pain. She paused to massage the bruise and then pulled the door closed behind her. Thankfully, it had no lock or latch. A rubbery seal kept it closed.

Ducking low and keeping a hand out in front of her, she made her way along the inside of the facade until she reached the first circular platform. She hid herself at the apex of the bulge. When Igor or Alexi found her room empty, they would search the club. Where she was situated, she would not be exposed by a flashlight sweep at the access door.

Folding her coat into a pillow, she placed it on the floor and rested her head. For the first time since she stepped foot on American soil, she fell fast asleep. Sita was awakened by the sound of a loud argument. She recognized Alexi's voice and the slurred, mostly incoherent speech of Igor. Soon Alexi began to shout. Sita heard the sudden slap of flesh and the sound of a table overturning. At one point, a body crashed into the stage not far from her hiding place. The fight lasted a couple of minutes and then Alexi got a call on his cell phone.

They moved out of earshot and a long time passed before they returned. She heard footsteps in the distance and then an indecipherable series of bumps, scrapes, and scratches.

They were searching for her.

Her heartbeat increased until it felt like a war drum in her chest. The search went on for what seemed like hours. She heard the clink of glasses and the sound of a refrigerator being opened. Igor exclaimed as if he had found something. Her heart lurched. The water jug was half empty. She fought to steady her breathing. What did the jug prove?

Footsteps approached. Igor spoke. Sita jumped. His voice was so close he might have been standing next to her. She placed her hands together, palms flat, in the attitude of prayer, and mouthed a stream of supplications to Lakshmi.

Suddenly, the access door creaked. She held her breath. After a moment, a beam pierced the darkness. She waited, counting the seconds. The light swept back and forth beneath the stage but never penetrated the platform wells. She waited to see if they would follow her into the crawlspace. At once the light went out and the door closed. She let out her breath.

Sometime later, the music came on. The stage creaked and footsteps passed overhead. She counted four dancers. One took up residence on Sita's platform. She moved slowly, rhythmically, in a performance Sita could scarcely imagine.

Soon, the club became a hive of noise. Music pulsated, the stage rocked and echoed, and men shouted and jeered. Sita moved slowly through the crawlspace. When she reached the access door, she sat back and tried to picture the layout of the club. The nearest exit was about twenty feet away. To the side along the stage was an aisle that would allow her access to the door. The real question was whether the door would be guarded. If it were, her plans were doomed. One thought gave her hope: the door was an emergency exit.