Way of Escape (34 page)

Suddenly a wheezy voice behind her commanded, “Step back.”

She sidled backwards into the darkest icy shadow of the alley. “Are you…?”

“Shhh. Take these,” and a pudgy fellow an inch shorter than she, opened a wide metal case and from the upper section pulled out a sealed plastic baggie containing papers. He shut the case and from the baggie handed her a pocket protector, pens, a clip-on identification card with a blurry photo of her as a man minus the moustache, several files which she put in her thin briefcase, and a clipboard with a short stack of official, filled-in forms attached.

She read the ID card: Sami Aql-Hadi. “I've had so many names this month, what's one more!”

“Shhhh.” Mr. Granfa was sweating, in this terribly cold air, the man was sweating. “You must memorize how this will work,” he insisted, “you must follow every direction I give you without question.” As the man explained, Tahireh felt herself grow numb. Her brain would not register his words. All she could think of was how much she wanted Shamsi Granfa to see Dr. Legesse. Surely the man was diabetic and didn't know it. Surely… “Can you do all I have said?” he concluded.

Tongue-tied, Tahireh, alias Sami Aql-Hadi nodded.

“I believe you can. I have heard of your bravery.” Shamsi smiled, satisfied.

“How long have you been doing…this?” Tahireh managed to squeak.

“The business? About three years. It is very profitable.” He smiled.

She grimaced. “I imagine it is.”

“We should go in.” He stepped ahead of her. Over his shoulder he said, “The rescues I only began six months ago, by accident. A fortuitous accident.”

They were starting up the steps.

“Oh?”

“Shhhh.”

Sami Aql-Hadi shed any hint of Tahireh Ibrahim and took up the assigned role. She had become assistant to a man whose profession gave him access to anywhere he chose to be, anywhere the to-be or freshly dead could be found. He had complete, total omnipotence over anyone whose life hung on the fate of these poor souls.

Into the courthouse they went and were immediately saluted by one of the guards that phalanxed the lobby. “The third interview room,” said the man sotto voce and Shamsi nodded, motioning to Tahireh to follow as he hustled down a long flight of steps. It became more and more drear. That such morbid dampness could exist in the middle of a desert could only be due to the sheer volume of human excreta permeating everything. Centuries of human sweat and urine and shit and vomit and blood and the undeniable stench of fear. Tahireh choked and Shamsi grabbed her arm. “Not here, don't throw up here. Keep it down. It becomes much worse.”

“Your new assistant having problems?” sneered the prison official that stepped out from behind the first security gate. The guard left them, hurriedly.

“Mr. Aql-Hadi will answer to me if he loses his lunch while you and I are doing business,” growled Shamsi Granfa and Tahireh was stunned at the transformation of her new boss. Vampirish was the best description. A shiver cascaded along Tahireh's vertebrae.

“You have interview room three,” the official said and Granfa smiled, canines showing, “You are keeping close watch on me today.”

The official shrugged. “We play expensive games.”

Granfa spun on his heel and shoved his face into the official's. Nose to nose. The official's breath was clouding Granfa's glasses. Granfa snarled, “You? You try to bite me more?”

“There is another player at the table.”

“Which bottom sucking toad is this?”

“A very important sucker,” the official did his best to snarl back, but a slight tremble in his hand gave him away.

Granfa stepped closer forcing the larger man to turn into soft putty. Granfa threw back his head and laughed, “So you will demand two payments from now on!”

“Just this time, just for the Pandharpurkar girl!”

“Why her?” Granfa snickered.

“They want her to die. We're to offer you another in her place,” the official said quickly and stepped into the interview room, motioning them to follow. There was a metal table with attached straps, a metal chair with the same, and a more comfortable chair in the corner. The so-called interview room was obviously set up for torture. The official closed the door behind them. “Another Thai girl, one these people feel you cannot resist taking.”

“For what reason?” Granfa shrugged, “I've already tested Milind and she matches a man, an extremely wealthy man I might add, in Australia. I have not tested this new girl and you certainly don't have the capability of doing these tests.”

The official was madly shaking his head. “No, no, of course we can't. It is a…a political arrangement. Someone of high status wants you, and anyone else involved in your business, to be handed over.”

“You're saying the transplant business is to be stopped?” For one second, Granfa let that hang in the air and then he roared with vicious laughter. “Never.”

Suddenly it was all clear to Tahireh. All the puzzling she had done about Shamsi's business became clear. Shamsi Granfa sold the body parts of executed prisoners. With stupendous force of will, Tahireh again managed to keep lunch from spilling up and out and onto the floor.

The guard was quaking. “Never, of course, never. As I said, a high political someone has asked that we make sure Milind dies and you take the one named Dim Mahesh. As you take Mahesh out, we have been asked to hand you over to a person named Ali Muhit. An old man of military bearing. He is waiting upstairs.”

“This Muhit is from where?” asked Granfa.

“I don't know,” said the official, “honestly I don't. He is not Kuwaiti. His accent suggests Farsi? Iranian? An Iranian Security Force hummer brought him to the execution area gate barely an hour ago.”

Granfa nodded again and put his metal briefcase onto the table. “How will we do this? You cannot hand me over without stopping the services I perform and at this very instant there are three Kuwaiti personages that require my services as soon as possible.”

“We have a male prisoner being condemned today. We will outfit him to look like you. We will say you were shot as you tried to run.” The official shrugged helplessly again, “It won't solve the problem, but it will forestall their actions. It will give the diplomats time to set up a cost. You understand.”

Shamsi nodded. “As long as the cost doesn't come down on my head because I will only shift it to those who need my services.”

“That is understood, I am sure.” The official held out a hand, “You must give us some identification to put on the body, and your clothes.” The man sidled to the door, “I…I have a guard uniform for you. Your assistant, he will have to slip out the back way with the girls and you will have to go through the door for military guards.” The official began to beg, “It is the best we could do, the best I could come up with on such short notice.”

Shamsi placed several instruments on the table. “Go get me the guard's uniform.” Granted reprieve, the official marched quickly from the room. “Close the door,” Shamsi said to Tahireh who immediately did so. “So now you understand, Mr. Aql-Hadi?”

“Yes. Regretfully.”

“You remain strong. The girl or girls must be made to appear dead. I put them in body bags but sometimes an official or a guard examines them. Luckily, only cursorily. If I am to go through this charade, it will be up to you to make sure the bags are put into my vehicle.” He sighed and dug keys out of his pocket and put them in Tahireh's hand.

“Thank whatever god you pray to that you could be on the job today otherwise we would never have been able to rescue these girls.” He snapped on latex gloves.

“That is the part I don't understand,” said Tahireh, “you say bodies, yet you say rescue.” Tahireh jammed the keys into her own pocket.

“You'll see.” Shamsi took out a disposable hypodermic and picked through his collection of vials.

The official ducked back into the room. He was desperately uncomfortable. He held out a uniform and Shamsi handed the hypodermic to Tahireh.

“You guarantee me these clothes do not have lice?” muttered Shamsi. The official grimaced. Shamsi shook his head, sighed, and took the uniform. For a chubby man, he moved adroitly, changing in a few swift movements. He reached into the metal case and pulled out a spare pair of glasses and put them with the clothes. “There.”

The official, relieved, turned to go.

“What about the Pandharpurkar girl? I take it they do not want her body?”

“That is correct,” said the official. “I assume you will take care of that as you usually do and I will register the death certificates and mortuary receipts.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Then I will bring her to you as soon as the executioners are finished.” He was half out the door. “You do want to check over the Mahesh girl, right?”

“What use is she to me?” Granfa had turned his back to the official and Tahireh could see from his expression that he was playing on the official's fear.

It was working because the official almost begged. “She is pregnant. By some sheikh's son, a dignitary from Yemen or Bahrain I think. Please, you must take her.”

Shamsi Granfa's expression perked up. He looked around and grinned. “Oh?” He pushed his glasses higher onto his nose. “A baby? Then I am interested. Bring her immediately.”

The door closed with a thud leaving Tahireh to hand the hypodermic back to Shamsi who had finished buttoning the uniform jacket. “Why such an interest in pregnant girls?” asked Tahireh.

“You can't guess? And they don't have to be young girls; it can be any of the women they bring in here, as long as the baby is healthy.” Shamsi chose one vial. “I offer the woman a chance to save her baby or in rape cases, a way to take it off their hands. I find good adoptive homes for the little ones.” His eyes became very sad. “It was not what I started out to do, trust me, but the first time they brought me a woman who was to be executed, she was about five months pregnant. At that time, there was no way I could save her. I hadn't developed the necessary anesthetic compounds yet or the other techniques I use. All I could think at that moment was to save the baby. So, I convinced the guards to keep her alive until she came to term and I convinced her to let me adopt out the infant.” He smiled, “It was the best I could do. Then. Now it is different.”

A scuffle of feet preceded the slamming open of the door and a guard dragged in a shivering, emaciated Asian girl. Behind them came the official who said, “This is Dim Mahesh.” The guard threw the girl to the ground at Shamsi's feet and the official dropped a black plastic roll onto the metal chair.

“Go away,” Shamsi ordered the guard and the official and they quickly backed out of the room. The pudgy man motioned to Tahireh to help the girl into the more comfortable chair. “Do you want to live and do you want your baby to live?” he spoke directly into her face.

Her tiny mouth opened, shut, tears ran down her cheeks. Her head, shaven of hair, bobbed up and down.

“Okay.” Shamsi leaned closer. “Do exactly as I tell you. Do not vary your actions one millimeter. Exactly as I say!”

The tiny girl frantically bobbed her head again.

“Tell me, how far along are you? Six weeks?”

“More, sir. I don't know exactly as I have lost track of time in this dungeon. I was raped the twenty-eighth of November.”

“Oh! You have been starved, yes?” asked Shamsi.

“Yes.”

“We will fix that.” He turned to Tahireh, “Any anesthetic we give her will compromise the baby. Watch and learn.” He picked another vial from the case and filled the hypodermic, deftly cleansed the girl's arm and inserted the needle. “This is a sleep potion, my child. You will feel very sleepy in a moment. Let yourself drift off to sleep. Okay?”

Shamsi tossed the hypodermic into the case. He leaned over the girl who was quickly becoming woozy. He grabbed her chin, waved his gloved fingers in front of her face several times, and in a calm, soft voice seemed to sing her to sleep. When she was completely out, he poked her arm with a scalpel. There was no reaction, not even any bleeding. Shamsi grinned and looked at Tahireh. “She's out.”

“You hypnotized her?”

“Yes. As deep as I can get her to go. The muscle relaxant is to make her body seem newly dead. There is no perceptible heartbeat and very little breath.” He tossed Tahireh a pair of gloves, “Put these on. I hear the guards returning. You must be ready. This is always ugly. The executioners cannot resist hurting these girls.”

Tahireh managed to pull the gloves on as the door slammed open and two men in black uniforms burst into the room carrying a lumpy body bag. The official was behind them. They tossed the bag onto the hard steel table. The official caught Shamsi's eyes and gave one firm nod. The men slammed the door shut behind them and their footfalls faded down the corridor.

“You hold Dim up, don't let her fall over,” Shamsi Granfa ordered Tahireh, “I must see to this one quickly.” He turned loose of Dim, Tahireh caught her. Shamsi unzipped the bag on the table. Tahireh gagged. Only a massive surge of will kept lunch down. The girl in the bag had a protruding tongue, her face was blue, and a horrible gash had ripped a swathe of skin apart around her throat. “I knew it,” grunted Shamsi. “Those sadists cannot resist.” He glanced at Tahireh, “She was raped before being taken to the execution area. Not to worry, I'll deal with that when we get to my building.”

He pulled out a stethoscope and listened and took a relieved breath in. “She's got a good heartbeat. I hope they didn't shut down blood flow to her brain for too long.” He grabbed a small oxygen mask and emergency tank from the case and after opening an airway past the tongue, put the mask over her nose and mouth and almost instantly, the color of the girl's face changed. “I daren't do too much,” Shamsi instructed Tahireh. “She cannot have any movement. Thus,” he demonstrated and took out another hypodermic and another vial. “A paralytic agent. Just enough to keep her still but not enough to stop her breathing.” That done, he tossed everything back into the case, zipped up the body bag, grabbed the black plastic roll on the other chair and shook it open. It was another body bag. “I didn't want to scare little Dim,” he explained.