Tracks (13 page)

Peka opened the cab door for
Natasha and she stepped out into a freezing wind-chilled Bucharest
morning.  They hurried into a gray brick building, through the metal
detector to a high ceilinged lobby, dark and hostile.

A tall, hawkish man,
appropriately suited, with dark, unsmiling features, came down a flight of
stairs to escort them up.  They followed him, without introduction, to the
second floor then along a narrow corridor to a conference room where he left
them alone.  Ten minutes later, the deputy minister appeared, escorted by
the same hawkish man and a well-dressed, blonde woman.

“Deputy Minister Raja,” the
Deputy Minister of Interior introduced himself, taking Natasha’s hand. 
“This is my assistant, Lena Taler,” he nodded at the blonde woman.  The
hawkish man was not
introduced,
he just stood at the
conference doorway grim and aloof.

“Natasha Usher,” Natasha
introduced herself, not bothering to introduce Peka, assuming they knew him.

“We’ve taken some measures,”
the deputy minister began, getting straight to the point, “to control the
advertisements for female services in our newspapers.”

“Do you control the
media?”  Natasha asked.

“No, but they can be
persuaded,” Raja said.

“I doubt that,” Natasha
remarked, “but what about border control?”

“The police handle that,” Raja
said. “I’ve arranged for you to meet with them tomorrow.”

Natasha looked around the
room.  She noticed the walls were totally bare.  Not one picture or
illustration or even the simplest decoration. 

The deputy minister went
on.  “Miss Taler here has received authority directly from the minister,
under my supervision, to work with the West at curbing the problem.  We
expect she will cooperate with the likes of you and achieve results.”

Natasha ignored the
contemptuous remark and turned to Lena Taler. 

“What is your plan then, Ms.
Taler?”

The blonde woman studied her carefully
before answering.  She sat very alert in her seat, her back straight, her
blonde hair flowing down below her shoulders.  She had a handsome,
proportionately carved face, a sharp look, with eyes a deep shade of
green.  She appeared in her thirties and was not only striking, but seemed
calculated and very intelligent. 

“Does the US discuss its
internal affairs with foreign entities?” she shot back in perfect English.

Natasha was caught off
guard.  “I’m here to help you,” she managed to blurt.

“Help or approve?” the
Romanian reproached.

Natasha needed a few seconds
to gather her wits. “You didn’t seem eager to solve the problem until we
intervened.”

“And how would you know that
Ms. Usher?” 
the
woman asserted.

“Your country, Ms. Taler, has quite
a record,” Natasha retorted.

“This may be true, but it does
not mean we are not eager to solve the problem.”

The room fell silent for a few
moments.  Everyone assessed the stalemate.  Natasha caught a glimpse
of the deputy minister’s satisfied grin and Peka’s look of concern.

“We need money to deal with
the problem,” Lena finally said and the saw was out of the bag.  “We
haven’t got the needed resources.  Are you willing to help us?”

“We can’t just hand out money
without knowing where it goes,” Natasha remarked.

“It will be under my personal
supervision,” Lena stated with sincere confidence. 

Now it was Natasha’s turn to
stare and something made her trust the insolent woman.

“We will expect a combined
work force and access to information.”

Lena looked to the deputy
minister for the first time since she received permission to speak.  Raja
nodded.

Lena produced a file from her
briefcase opened it and leafed through it a moment, taking her time. 

She closed it and slid it
across the table to Natasha. 

“This file contains
statistics, names, organizations, suspects, and a general plan to deal with our
problem,” she explained as Natasha quickly leafed through it herself. 
“It’s all top secret and cannot be in your possession outside this room.”

Natasha nodded.  “Can I
have a few minutes to study this?” 
she
asked.

Raja nodded, and he and Lena
stood up. 

“We’ll be back in twenty
minutes,” he said and strode through the door, Lena at his heels. The hawkish
bodyguard remained in his place, guarding the door.

Peka slid over and they both
studied the document.  It estimated some three thousand Romanian females,
aged fifteen to forty-five, to be missing, assumed to be involved in
international flesh trade, the vast majority of recorded cases, within a five year
period, coincidental with the fall of the Eastern Bloc.

Extreme poverty with meager
employment opportunities forced Romanian families into such extremes as
responding to misleading advertisements drawing young females into
international scams designed to use them as sexual objects.  From escort
services, to massage parlors to straight prostitution, Romanian females would
be caught in a web of deceit and pay with their bodies and sometimes their
lives.

The Romanian Ministry of
Interior, under Deputy Minister Raja, had tracked the traffic from its
inception to its execution. It was run via bogus companies creating deceptive
fronts for international crime organizations who would trap the girls into
situations they could not escape from.  Far and away from any proper
counsel, the girls would be kept just hungry enough and poor enough to have no
means to flee even if they understood their dire situations.  In the few
cases where families were able to locate their missing children, “employers”
would produce a hoard of legal documentation binding the girls to signed
contracts, not allowing them to leave.  With no means to fight such
enterprises, the families would be forced to withdraw empty-handed, leaving the
poor girls at the mercy of white-collar pimps.     

The document produced lists of
names, girls reported missing and their presumed whereabouts, country and
city.  It listed names of suspected organizations, bogus companies,
sources of media advertising, magazines, newspapers, even TV slots.  It
had names of suspected government collaborators, police, military, immigration
and customs authorities.

The last section outlined a
plan of action and the estimated costs involved.  The Romanian government
was asking ten million US dollars to fight the problem over a period of two
years.   

Deputy Minister Raja and Lena
Taler walked back in, exactly twenty minutes after they had left and quietly
took their positions.

Natasha looked up from the
document, closed it and slid it across the table back to the blonde woman.

“This is a steep price you’re
asking,” she remarked.  “The American tax payer won’t be convinced.”

“Then you explain it to them,”
Lena exclaimed.  “There
are
plenty of less worthy
causes supported by US foreign policy.”

“This is a gray area we’re
dealing with,” Natasha reasoned.  “You and I know the magnitude of the
problem but others may interpret it differently.  Spending billions to
abolish terrorism is deemed a worthy cause.  But to fight for a girl, who
may or may not have gone of her own free will to sell her body for favors, is
quite a different story.  Anything to do with flesh and fornication in
America is taboo and very few people are willing to stand up for it.”

“Then who put all this
pressure on us?”  Deputy Minister Raja asked.

“We did.  My organization,”
Natasha stated.  “Our job is to open people’s eyes to this problem and try
and get support to fight it.  We lobby for this on the Hill just like any
other cause lobbied.”

“Then what will it take to get
this money?”  Lena asked.

“We need to start small and
blow such a case wide open.  If we manage to save even one girl and expose
the scheme to the media, it will surely get appropriate attention on Capitol
Hill and funds will follow.  If we approach people now, demanding such
steep budgets, we’ll just get thrown out on our asses and never see a
penny.” 

Raja and Lena exchanged
glances then exchanged a few words in Romanian.  Finally Raja said: “We
understand and respect your logic, but such publicity may do damage to our
country.”

Natasha was prepared for this
argument.  “I can guarantee the media sources will paint Romania in a
favorable light.  We’ll make sure of it.”

Raja was not convinced. 
“You saw the document and some of the people suspected to be involved. 
How will Romania look if they are exposed?”

“You use the opportunity to
clean house,” Natasha retorted.  “An entire country cannot be blamed on
account of a few corrupt people.  Once the issue is exposed, you declare
legal measures against those suspected and show the world you are not afraid to
deal with the problem.”

It was a full ten minutes of
quite deliberation with Lena before Raja spoke again.

“We have decided to consider
your point of view but we’ll need a few more days to decide.  Meanwhile
you are free to go talk to the police provided none of what you saw or heard in
this room is mentioned.”

Natasha nodded.  She did
not need to remind them when she was due to leave Romania.  They knew
perfectly well.

They all stood up, shook hands
by the door, and parted company, Natasha and Peka escorted out of the building
by the hawkish bodyguard.

Police Headquarters was
another grim building, grimmer even, on the outside, than the Ministry of
Interior, but full of activity on the inside.

Bucharest Police Chief Gustav
met them in a smart conference room on the top floor with an assembly of
deputies and assistants such that by the time everyone was introduced, Natasha
had forgotten most names and all titles.  Besides the chief, at least one
name stood out from the list presented to her at the Ministry of Interior, and
she made a point of marking that person’s features.

She was introduced as an
American do-gooder for the fight against world flesh-trade.  No one seemed
to take the matter very seriously and she did not attempt to hone the issue, not
in front of such a large crowd, some of whom may be personally involved. 
She did however receive some admiring looks as she described her organization’s
activities in general terms.  Later she also received some provocative
offers from the younger males, who stood around her like hounds over
prey.  Peka was kind enough to rescue her from their demand.

The chief took them into his
private office once the parade was dismissed, and apologized for the showcase.

“Lena Taler has briefed me,”
he said, “and I’m at your disposal.  Whatever you need, come directly to
me.  We need to keep this extremely covert or rumors will start to fly.”

“Why, then, did you introduce
me to all these people?” Natasha asked.

“Ah, well, Miss Usher, you are
not the first and certainly not the last to come in here with noble
intentions.  The difference this time is that Deputy Minister Raja is
supporting you and that’s something none of them know.”

“We wanted to put those
suspected at ease and give this the usual insignificant flavor,” he
reasoned.  “From now on I will personally deal with this and hopefully our
activity will not attract unwanted attention.”

His reasoning seemed quite
clever but Natasha could not completely believe his sincerity.  It seemed
almost too clever.  She was certain there had been at least one suspect in
the conference room and she could not fathom why he or anyone else involved
would disregard the potential danger.  

“You
’ll
surely need
some help, Chief,” she reasoned, half-jokingly.

“I have a special group of
confidantes whom I trust with my life,” the chief replied seriously. 
“They will carry on the investigative work and make any necessary
arrests.” 

Natasha bowed her head. 
“I’m happy to see you so well prepared,” she complemented the chief who looked
flattered and took on an air of importance.

“As soon as we get word from
the deputy minister, we can start,” he declared.

“Do you have a particular case
in mind?”  Natasha asked.

“We have several but one or two
look extremely promising.”

“Can you elaborate?” 
Natasha kept at it.

“As soon as I get the word,
Miss Usher,” the chief said, politely but firmly.

Detecting slight movement,
Natasha glanced over at Peka who was signaling it was time to go.  She did
not argue.  They shook hands with the chief and left his office,
unescorted.

Sam returned to New York three
days after leaving for Madrid.  Ortega had remained there for a few more
days, hoping to recover Carlos Rio’s trail.  He landed at JFK at five in
the morning and took a taxi to his apartment.  Stepping out of the cab at
the corner of Broadway and Eighty-First, he was shocked to see a familiar face
huddled at the entrance to his building.

Paying his cab fare, he tried to
place the face but could not.  Only as he approached did he realize who it
was standing up to greet him.  Draped in a heavy coat, a scarf covering
her head leaving only part of the face visible, he recognized his old Greek
love, Elena, looking cold and tired.  Sam embraced her, feeling her shiver
underneath his grip. They stood huddled for a while then he opened the lobby
door and led her up to his apartment.

Michelle’s striking photo
greeted anyone entering Sam’s apartment.  It stood in a white wall niche
situated on a low partition separating the narrow entrance hall from a small
kitchen facing the front door.  A wooden board attached to the partition
also served as bar and meal counter with four bar stools tucked underneath.

Sam switched on the light and
helped Elena take off her heavy garments.  He looked her over and with
sudden urgency hugged her again.  She embraced him back, putting her cold
hands around his neck,
then
pulled back.  Sam had
tears in his eyes.  She cupped his face in her hands and kissed the tears
streaming down his cheeks.  He led her to the living room and they slumped
together on the sofa, so emotional they could not talk.

They had not seen each other
for over twelve years.  The last time had been on the Greek Island of
Zakynthos, in the Ionian Sea, the summer after he and Michelle had gotten
married.  Elena had come with her husband, Stavros Lyrakis and was two
months pregnant. 

She had called him after
Michelle’s death and he had told her the terrible story.  She offered to
help but he had refused.  He could not bear the thought of her seeing him
suffer.  She later left a few phone messages on his machine but he never
returned her calls.  Instead he sent her a long letter explaining the
situation and what he was up to. 

Now she was in his living
room, opposite him, on his sofa, the enchanting dark face trying to grasp the
gravity of the moment.

Their gaze met and both looked
up opposite the sofa where a lone, framed picture, hung crookedly on the wall.
“Rhodes, Summer of 76” was its title, showing Michelle and Sam with Elena and
the two Swedes, semi-nakedly toasting their favorite beach bar, bottles of beer
in everyone’s hands.

“My husband divorced me,” she suddenly
said, speaking softly.  “He could not accept not having children.”

“But I thought…” Sam started
to say.

“Had a miscarriage,” Elena cut
him off, smiling weakly.  “Two months after Zakynthos. 
Couldn’t get pregnant again.”

Sam fell silent, leaning his
head back against the sofa.

“Miserable fate,” Elena
remarked, to no one in particular.

Sam's face turned up towards
the ceiling.  Weak street sounds could be heard down below. 

“Think you’ll ever find your
son?”  Elena asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,”
Sam said.

“Where would you be?” 
Elena asked.

“With him and his mom,” Sam
replied.
“Under six feet of earth.”

“She would want you to live,”
Elena said.

Sam did not reply but fresh
tears were dripping down his face.  Elena moved to him.  She kissed
his mouth then slid her hand down his shirt, stroking his chest.  His
bloodshot eyes looked at her.  He drew her to him.  They remained
clutching one another for a long while, and then both fell asleep.

The phone startled them back
into consciousness.  It was two pm.  They had been sleeping for
almost eight hours.  Sam picked it up, listened attentively, spoke
quietly, and hung up.

Elena looked up expectantly.
 Sam ignored her questioning looks and walked to the kitchen.

“Anything
to eat?
Coffee?” he called from behind the fridge door.

“All of the above,” she said
walking to him.  She stood behind him as he stooped down to fetch coffee
and sugar.  When he turned, she took the items from him and placed them on
the counter.

“I left Greece for good,” she said
looking into his eyes.  “My husband disgraced me.  I have nothing.”

Sam measured three scoops of
coffee, poured water in the percolator, and left it to brew.  He pulled
out the bar stools, offering Elena a seat, threw slices of bread in the
toaster, took out butter, cream-cheese, and vegetables, and sat next to
her.  He began preparing a salad consisting of lettuce, cucumbers and
tomatoes, leaving Elena to deal with the toast.

Hunger controlled, mugs of
steaming coffee placed in between them on the counter, they chatted, telling
each other of the abysses in their lives.

Elena could not bear
children.  Not with her husband anyway.  After her miscarriage, they
had tried everything including artificial insemination.  Nothing
worked.  Physically, the doctors could not find anything wrong with her
but no fetus caught.

The marriage began to diminish
when it became clear they would not have children of their own.  She
proposed adoption, but Stavros would not hear of it. He began to stay away from
the house, spending more and more time in Athens, coming home late and often
drunk.  Soon she began to detect perfume and female scent emanating from
him.     

Their lucrative business began
to crumple.  The farm was deteriorating.  Their dairy products, the
goat’s milk and the Feta cheese, began to lose market share to other, more
aggressive vendors.  Product deliveries were being delayed and supply
contracts they had with food chains were being terminated and transferred to
the competition. Trusted workers were leaving, checks were being withheld, and
it was becoming difficult to just run the day to day and keep the operation
from being shut down.

Elena took the blame for all
this, at least in the eyes of her husband’s family.  One day he just
showed up with another woman and ordered her to leave his farm.  He had
with him divorce papers, a document proclaiming she would never sue him for
anything,
and a check for half a million US dollars. 

She signed the divorce papers,
the declaration, took the check, packed and left, all in a matter of hours, not
having a clue as to where she was going until she thought of Sam and caught a
plane to New York.

“How’d you find me?” he asked.

“I went to the address of the
only letter you ever sent me,” she said. “Remember, about eight years
ago?  I hoped you hadn’t moved.”

“No reason to,” Sam remarked
and fell silent again.

“Can I stay here with you for
a while?” Elena asked after a few awkward moments.

Sam looked surprised.
“You serious?”

Elena nodded.  “I’ve been
alone for so long, I need your company.”

“I’m a different person.”

“So am I,” Elena said. 
“We’ve both had difficult times.  Maybe if we stick together our luck will
change.”

It was a naïve statement,
an extreme oversimplification of how fate behaved, but surprisingly, it seemed
irresistible to Sam.  Suddenly, after years of being alone with his
idiosyncrasies and memories of Michelle, he was not repulsed by the idea of
being with another person, another woman.  

In fact, he wondered why he
had not thought of it himself.  The fog over his existence was suddenly
lifting.   Elena was a person he had once loved very much and could
love again.  He had loved them both, back on Rhodes, but Michelle had been
the obvious choice when it became clear Elena was not looking to move
anywhere.  Cultural differences then seemed too overwhelming. 
Neither of them was willing to adapt to the other’s world.  Besides, they
never thought much past the next beach party or sexual encounter. 

But a choice had to be made
eventually.  Elena was a free spirit and did not put much weight on
partner loyalty in those days.  She loved Sam and told him so but did not
limit herself to enjoying him alone.  Michelle had no such tendencies and
looked to be loyal.  She could not consent to sharing him with anyone
else.

After Michelle left Rhodes,
they had an unforgettable week together, which he never told Michelle
about.  But in the end, he had to go back to his reality.  At twenty,
Elena never pushed him to make any decision and never wanted to commit
herself.  She was content on meeting him once a year on one of her
islands, as she often described them.

As it turned out, the next
time they met, six years later, they were both married, Elena with child.

“Why did you marry this
Stavros?”  Sam asked.

“Well, you never showed up
again and he was a charming persistent bastard with a lot of cash.  He
took me on a cruise one summer and bathed me in treasures.  I was blinded
by his money and in one weak moment agreed to marry him.”

“A classic tale,” Sam
remarked.  “But you knew it wasn’t right.  You looked miserable on
Zakynthos.  Why didn’t you leave him?”

“It’s not so simple in our
country, Sam.  There are other considerations. 
Family
reputations.
Personal status.
 
Marital obligations.
  A woman can’t just get up and
leave.  Plus I wanted to make it work.  I wanted children. 
Stavros was not a bad man and he treated me respectfully.  His family put
quite a lot of pressure on him on the issue of children and maintaining the
family name.  They broke him in the end and he reacted
accordingly.”   

“Still, you were miserable
when we saw you.  Why would you give up your happiness for
obligations?  And when you knew you couldn’t have his children, why didn’t
you leave then?”

The phone rang again,
startling Sam.  He picked it up and walked to his bedroom, speaking
quietly but urgently.  He came back out after a few minutes looking
haggard.  Elena allowed him time to collect himself and settle back on the
bar stool next to her.

He looked at her seriously.

“What do you plan to do with
the money he gave you?”

“Restart my life I
guess.  That’s what it’s for, you know.  Stavros was man enough to
demand it from his family.  They were ready to throw me to the street.”

“Seems to me they were
securing themselves against a lawsuit that could net you half the farm,” Sam
stated.

Elena touched his
shoulder.  “Life has certainly drained your faith in people, my love.”

“Indeed it has.  In more
ways than you know,” Sam acknowledged.

“Then let’s restore it
together,” she said scratching his broad back.

“My life isn’t simple anymore,
Elena,” he said.  “I’ve devoted it to a cause which engulfs me
fully.  I’ve hardly any private life left.  I spend most of my time
on the road pursuing this cause which leaves me little or no time to myself and
I’d hate to drag you into this private vendetta of mine.”

Elena stared at him
questioningly.

“There’s not a whole lot I can
say other than I’ve created an organization that assists people in finding
their missing children.”

“All in hopes of finding your
son?” she questioned.

“It certainly started out that
way but it’s beyond it now.  I’ve got a group of people working with me
and we are committed to a whole lot of parents.”

“Can I help?” she asked.

“We can always use an infusion
of cash, if that’s what you mean, but I wouldn’t dare ask it of you. 
You’ve just been through a lot yourself and you have no idea what you want to
do with your life.  You’ll need this money.”

She got up and began clearing
the counter.  Sam was watching her. 

“You are still beautiful,” he
said. 

She stopped to look at him,
her dark face questioning, her black eyes piercing.

“Yes, you can stay here for as
long as you like,” he added. “I’d love to know you are here, even if I’ll be
away.  Plus you can look after the place, rent free.”

She smiled with obvious
relief.  “Thank you Sam, I wouldn’t have known where to turn.”

“You have lost a great deal of
confidence over the years,” he observed.  “But I’m sure you have the
ability to bounce back just fine without me.”

He stepped off the bar stool
and they hugged one another in his small kitchen.

“Where will I sleep?” she
asked as they made their way back to the living room.

“Wherever you like,” he said, opening
up the bathroom door.  “But first you should take a shower.  It’ll do
you wonders after the long flight.”