The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman.
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Atlanta, Georgia
Night fell on the Klein property, and lights appeared in the main house and the guesthouse. The grounds, however, lay in darkness. Sita sat on her bed staring at the wall while a Seinfeld rerun droned on in the background. It had been nearly four days since her arrival at the house, and she had spent almost every minute since the photo shoot alone in her room. The only exceptions were bathroom breaks. She hadn’t seen Dietrich again. Li was the one who tended to her.
On her second night in the house, she awoke in a cold sweat and found it difficult to breathe. The next morning, when she heard footsteps outside her door, she began to hyperventilate. As the hours and days wore on, she began to experience hallucinations. Her thoughts raced and her heart palpitated at imaginary sounds. She thought again of suicide, but the idea of death only made her more afraid.
By the time Li came for her on Monday evening, she was ready to greet whatever hell Dietrich and the blond-haired woman had planned for her, just to escape the oppression of solitary confinement. Li led her through the wine cellar to the main floor and then up a staircase to a hallway of doors. He opened the first door and ushered her inside.
The room was all dark wood and soft light. A canopy bed stood at the center. There was a couch with a chair off to the side, a bar stocked with liquor, and a floor mirror in front of a curtained window. The blond woman stood in the center of the room, waiting for her. She walked toward Sita and began to speak in a hushed tone.
“Tonight you will meet a man. He will want you to do things for him. You will not question or resist. You will forget about your past. You will become a courtesan. Come. Let me show you something.”
She took Sita by the hand and led her to a set of French doors. Behind the doors was a walk-in closet. The woman switched on a light.
“This is your wardrobe,” she said. “The man may ask you to wear something he likes. You will obey him. You will not resist.”
The woman escorted her to a bathroom with wide mirrors and pewter fixtures. “The man may ask you to bathe with him. You will do what he says. You will not resist.”
They returned to the main room, and the woman delivered her valediction.
“This is your new life. Dietrich paid a great deal of money for you. You will please the men we bring to you, or you will feel pain. The last child who resisted is buried in the garden outside. Do you understand?”
Sita nodded.
“Good. Now Li will see that you are washed and dressed properly.”
The woman left the room, and the Asian returned, holding in his hands one of the most elegant saris Sita had ever seen. He placed the sari and a pair of sparkling gold sandals on a coffee table in front of the couch and then he drew her into the bathroom.
“Soap for hair here,” he said, standing over the bathtub and pointing to a bottle of shampoo. “Soap for skin here. Wash all. I back in ten minute.”
Li was true to his word. Sita had no sooner bathed and wrapped herself in a towel when he returned with an elaborate makeup kit. He styled her hair and painted her face with the skill of a cosmetician. When he finished, he told her to put on the sari and sandals and left the room again. Sita knew the drill from the photo shoot. She wrapped herself in the green and white cloth and thought of the sari Sumeera had given Ahalya to wear on the night she met Shankar. Bombay was half the world away, but so much of this was the same.
The Asian appeared again after a few minutes with a bag of jewelry. He adorned her wrists and ankles with bangles and wrapped a golden choker with an emerald pendant around her neck. Finally he placed a red hibiscus in her hair. Then he stood back and regarded her with satisfaction.
“You ready,” he said. “I back soon.”
He wheeled around and disappeared into the hallway, locking the door behind him.
Sita sat on the edge of the bed. This was the end of the road. She had survived so much, yet she could not escape her karma. On this day she would lose her innocence. In a land ten thousand miles from her birthplace, she would experience sar dhakna, the beshya’s symbolic veiling of the head. Is this what it felt like, Ahalya? she thought. Is this the despair I saw in your eyes? She began to weep, and the tears burned her cheeks.
How I wish I could hear your voice again.
At ten thirty, Agent DeFoe left the government-owned warehouse where the SWAT team had been staged, driving a nondescript Ford rental car. He was dressed in an oxford shirt, wool slacks, and tassel loafers, all of which he had purchased from Brooks Brothers the day before. He missed the familiar feeling of his 9mm Glock in his waistband, but he knew they would frisk him at the door. He was equipped with nothing more than his instinct and a miniature audio recorder and GPS transponder buried in his wristwatch.
He arrived at LeRoy’s Pit Stop at ten forty-five. The truck stop was seconds from the I-85 exit ramp, and the attached restaurant was abuzz with the late-dinner crowd. DeFoe pressed a button on his watch to activate the recording device and transponder and then walked into the restaurant and asked to use the men’s room. A waitress waved him toward a corner in the back.
He scanned the smoke-filled eatery and noticed a thin man with a mustache sitting by himself at a booth along the wall. The man was sipping a beer and watching the door. Their eyes met briefly and then the man looked down at a newspaper in front of him. It was clear to DeFoe that the man was a watcher. He was there to make sure that DeFoe had come alone.
DeFoe used the restroom and washed his hands in the sink. The watcher appeared and used a nearby urinal. DeFoe left the restaurant one minute before ten o’clock. His cell phone rang as soon as he stepped into the parking lot. The caller was a woman. DeFoe walked toward an overflowing dumpster behind the restaurant and listened carefully.
“Mr. Simeon,” the woman began, using his undercover name, “a limousine will pick you up in two minutes. The ride will be short. Our mutual friend is looking forward to seeing you.”
“And I her,” DeFoe replied. “How will final payment be arranged?”
“Once you inspect the merchandise, you can use our computer to wire the funds to the bank account you used for the deposit.”
“Perfect.”
The woman hung up and the limo appeared on schedule. DeFoe got in the back seat and sank into the plush leather. The ride took less than fifteen minutes.
As soon as the limo stopped, the passenger door opened and DeFoe was greeted by a nattily dressed Asian man, standing before the porch of an elegant country home. DeFoe knew from surveillance photographs that this was the Kleins’ guesthouse.
“I am Li,” said the Asian. He patted DeFoe down and then motioned toward the door. “This way.”
Li led DeFoe into the foyer and told him to wait. Seconds later, a middle-aged blond woman appeared. She was dressed in a silk pantsuit and pearls, and her hair was pulled back smartly in a ponytail. She exuded competence and control.
“Mr. Simeon, a pleasure to meet you.” She held out her hand and DeFoe took it, surprised by the graciousness in her voice.
“Likewise,” he replied.
“I trust your ride was enjoyable. We spare no expense for our guests.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Please,” she said, ushering him into the living room, “make yourself comfortable.”
DeFoe stood by an antique rocking chair while the woman went upstairs. She returned after a minute with a smile on her face. She took her place beside DeFoe and looked toward the top of the steps.
A moment later a young woman appeared and descended gracefully to the living room. She was dressed like an Indian princess in a lotusprint sari and jewel-encrusted sandals. She wore just enough makeup to accentuate her eyes and enhance her lips and eyelashes. Her necklace and bangles glittered in the light, and the fabric of her sari shimmered when she moved.
DeFoe was taken aback. She bore little resemblance to the child depicted on the Kandyland website. If not for the fine bones of her face, he might not have recognized her.
He met Sita’s eyes and saw blood rush to her face. She looked at the floor. Acting the part, DeFoe approached and touched her cheek and clavicle. Then he leaned close and smelled her hair.
“She is exquisite,” he said to the woman. “A rare jewel.”
“I’m delighted that you are satisfied. Now to the matter of payment.”
Li brought a laptop into the room and placed it on a coffee table. DeFoe sat down on the couch and used the computer to access a bank account he had opened the day before using federal funds. He keyed in the amount and routing information and finalized the transfer.
“Excellent,” the woman said. “Li will escort you to your suite. He will return when your stay is over. You must leave at five a.m.”
“I understand,” DeFoe replied, eyeing Sita for effect.
Watching the strange man enter data into the computer, Sita felt as if she had become a different person. The Indian girl she had been, that friend of bright sea and warm sun, had retreated into the shadows and a new girl had taken her place, one with neither a past nor a future. This girl was afraid, but she was also capable of accepting the rule of karma. Ignoring her pounding heartbeat, she tried to imagine what sort of person the man was. Is he married? she thought. Does he have children? How far has he traveled tonight? Why did he choose me?
When the man had finished with the computer, Li led them up the steps to the hallway of doors. He let them into the first suite and then slipped out, closing the door behind him. Sita moved into the center of the room and turned to face the man, remembering the blond woman’s instructions. Her bottom lip began to quiver, but she tried hard not to show her fear. Whatever the man wanted to do to her, he would do. There was no way out now. The only real choice before her was between acceptance and death.
The man took her by the wrist and led her to the bed. He told her to sit and began to unbutton his shirt. She leaned back against the cushions and studied him, feeling numb. She watched him undo each button before continuing down the placket toward his belt. She began to tremble, despite herself.
After removing his shirt, the man sat on the bed in front of her. He brushed her hair and her lips with the tips of his fingers.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
The question shook the foundations of her new personality. She looked down at the comforter. It doesn’t matter, she thought. All of it is gone.
When she didn’t respond, the man leaned forward and pretended to kiss her neck. He spoke very quietly. “My name is DeFoe and I’m here to rescue you. A police raid is about to happen. Continue to play your role. The danger is great, but it will soon be over.”
Sita didn’t process his words at first, and when she did, she had no idea what to think. Suddenly, she heard the distant noise of a helicopter. For a long moment she wavered, feeling the familiar grip of despair. The world had delivered her nothing but grief since the arrival of the waves. She had resigned herself to the beshya’s life. How could her fate suddenly change?
The sound of the helicopter grew louder.
She looked at the stranger—DeFoe—and at once the fiction of the courtesan demanded by the blond woman fell off her like a false skin. She saw the reflection of truth in his eyes. He wasn’t there to rape her. He was there to save her.
In an instant, she decided to believe.
Moments later, DeFoe heard a shout in the hallway. The door to the room burst open and Li strode in brandishing a pistol.
“What the hell is going on?” DeFoe asked crossly, shifting his body to shield Sita.
“Come now,” the Asian commanded.
“What about the girl?” DeFoe demanded. “I paid a fortune for her.”
“No time for talk!” the Asian exclaimed, waving the weapon around.
DeFoe stood up and growled, “I better get a damn refund.”
“No refund!” Li cried, pointing the pistol at him. “Police!”
DeFoe cursed loudly and lurched toward the door, pretending to react in fear. As soon as he was within striking distance, he knocked Li’s gun to the floor and delivered a brutal kick to his groin. Li sank to his knees. DeFoe collected the pistol and slammed the butt against the Asian’s head. Li fell to the floor unconscious. DeFoe righted his grip on the weapon and moved toward the door.
Out of nowhere a hand appeared in front of him. The hand held a gun. He heard the gun fire once and felt the impact of the bullet. He stopped in his tracks, pain spreading through his chest. The gun fired a second time, and he staggered and fell to the floor.
Into the room strode Dietrich Klein. His forehead shone with sweat, but he was a picture of control. DeFoe’s vision began to blur. He looked at Sita and tried to remember where his pistol went. He watched Klein shut the door and turn the deadbolt, watched him point the gun at Sita. He wanted to say something, but his mouth didn’t work.
“Stay where you are,” he heard Klein say, “and don’t make a sound.”
The last thing DeFoe saw before he closed his eyes was Klein reaching into his pocket and pulling out a mobile phone.