Chapter 12 - Kidnap at the North Sea, romance on the Med

It was 5 AM, still dark, and the three idealistic young girls were freezing, the cold biting through their layers of clothing. They stood on the deserted beach, a few miles from Gothenburg harbor, looking out at the calm water. Ingrid and Freja Johansen were joined by their friend, Sara, an Albanian girl with blue hair, nose piercings, a little chubby, but with the same fire as the girls for social justice.

“Don’t worry, girls, we can do this! Let’s not be shown up by the boys!” Ingrid smiled, trying to infuse confidence into the group. The three girls shared an impromptu group hug, seeking warmth and reassurance. Despite their brave faces, Ingrid, Freja, and Sara were secretly nervous about the task ahead, especially Sara. Although the boys’ gentle mocking was mixed with genuine concern, the girls were insistent that they sail on their own, as girls only.

Their mission was ambitious and fraught with risks. As peace campaigners, they had planned a daring stunt to coincide with a NATO speech presentation. Early in the morning, under the cover of darkness, the girls would set sail from one isolated beach while the boys departed from another on the opposite side. Their objective was to converge at a central point in full view of the shore, where a ceremony was taking place. The synchronized unfurling of their brightly colored banners was intended to capture the attention of the spectators and TV cameras present.

Ingrid and Freja had been inspired by the activist Edward Pembroke, who had recounted his own daring stunt from the 1990s during a video call with them. Pembroke had described his experience in great detail, recounting how he and his friends had pulled off a similar action to convey a powerful message of peace. Despite his vivid storytelling, he had warned the girls against attempting such risky endeavours. However, Freja had almost detected a wink from him, suggesting a hint of encouragement.

They had shared the story with their wider circle of politically conscious friends, convincing them that they too could make a powerful statement. They hadn’t told their parents about their plan, knowing it would cause worry and disapproval. Yet, they hoped that by succeeding, they would make their parents proud. As the early hours of the morning approached, the girls readied their boat. The boys were already setting sail from the far side.

“All right, girls, enough of this nonsense!” The girls gasped, as three figures approached. In the darkness, they could make out that the men were in military fatigues and berets. Two of them, one black and one white, stood back with mean looks on their faces. The head figure approached, wearing a stern, paternal expression.

“Now girls, we cannot have this type of thing. It’s dangerous for you and highly illegal. I am afraid we are going to have to detain you for the duration of the ceremony.”

He saw one of the girls reach for her phone. “Put that away! Right, give me your phones, all of you! You could get yourselves in even worse trouble. Now, come on, hand them over.”

The girls were shocked but handed their phones over. “Sorry, sir, we were just going to protest. We are not terrorists.”

“Corporals, take these ladies, cuff them, and put them in the back of the van. You are coming back to the base, and you can call your parents from there.”

Ingrid and Freja felt their hearts sink. Their grand plan to prove themselves and deliver a message of peace was collapsing before their eyes. As the corporals approached with handcuffs, the girls looked at each other with a mix of fear and disappointment.

The head figure, seeing their distress, softened his tone slightly. “Look, I understand your intentions, but this is not the way to go about it. You could have been hurt or caused a major incident. We’ll sort this out back at the base.”

The two corporals brought the two blonde sisters to the van. Freja saw the van and noticed that it did not look like a military vehicle. She spoke in Swedish to her sister. “How do we know these are real soldiers?”

“No talking, ladies,” said the black corporal, Kwame Okor. Freja looked back and saw the taller man in charge, standing with Sara. “Why is she not coming with us?”

“We need to get you girls strapped in first,” Pembroke responded. As the van door opened, the girls looked at each other again. It was a normal van with a large black case and padding on the walls. Was this an arrest, or a kidnapping?

“Get in!” The black corporal shoved Ingrid, and Freja was pushed in by Dmitri. The two men followed the girls inside. Once inside, the men’s faces gleamed with aggression. The girls noticed that the military uniforms were cheap knock-offs. The men had even more ropes and gags in their hands and grabbed the girls roughly, tying them up. The girls started to scream, but it was not long before they were gagged.

The sound of the screams was muffled from within the van, but it could be heard by Sara, who was now shaking with fear. She looked at the hard face of the soldier standing beside her. She had secretly been relieved when these men had shown up, thinking it meant she would not have to go through with this crazy plan with the Johansen sisters. Now, it seemed clear they were being kidnapped.

Sara’s mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. She looked at Pembroke, trying to gauge if there was any chance of reasoning with him. “Please, just let us go. We won’t tell anyone, I promise,” she pleaded, her voice trembling.

Pembroke stared at the girl. Fat, with a stupid short haircut, she was not the kind of girl that Pembroke wanted in his slave ring. And she was a witness. He looked at the boat, and then back at Sara.

The two corporals came back out of the van and approached the terrified girl. “It was stupid of a fat ugly girl like you to get mixed up in this. I am afraid you won’t be joining your friends.” Pembroke clicked his fingers and Dmitri put his hand to the girl’s mouth to stifle any screams while Kwame held her arms down.

“Don’t be too rough, don’t leave any marks. Just hold her under water until it’s done. I am going to get changed.”

Pembroke ignored the muffled pleas and whining as the men carried Sara toward the water. As he walked to the van, he casually checked that Ingrid and Freja were still inside the case, tied up and gagged, before changing into his special wetsuit.

As Pembroke changed, Dmitri and Kwame dragged Sara into the cold, dark water. Her struggles were weak against their combined strength, and as the water rose around her, her eyes widened in terror. She tried to scream, but Dmitri’s hand kept her silent.

Back in the van, Ingrid and Freja could hear the muffled sounds of struggle and splashing. Panic surged through them as they realized something terrible was happening to Sara. They tried desperately to free themselves, but the ropes were too tight, and the gags stifled their cries for help.

Pembroke emerged from the van in his wetsuit, looking every bit the part of a professional diver. He approached the water’s edge, where Dmitri and Kwame were finishing their grim task. The water was still, save for a few ripples.

“Is it done?” Pembroke asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

Dmitri nodded, and Kwame released his grip on Sara’s lifeless body. She fell on to the rocks, her eyes open in terror, her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She was dead.

“Good. Now, let’s get moving. We have a schedule to keep,” Pembroke said, motioning for the men to return to the van.

“Good luck boss!” Dmitri smiled.

Pembroke gathered his things, and carried Sara’s body into the boat. He called to the men as they got into the van. “Don’t stop until you are in Denmark! I will call you when I get back to my hotel. Keep the girls hidden OK!”

Both men gave a thumbs up before getting in. The van drove off.

Pembroke got in the boat, and sailed off, with the dead body of Sara beside him. He had done this in the army a few times and had practised a few days ago with the same kind of boat. Now, he was able to get about a mile out quite quickly, and the sun was still behind the horizon. He approached a rocky outcrop, heaved Sara over the side, and swam into the cold waters, thanking whoever had designed this wetsuit. He looked behind and was satisfied the boat was being blown further and further out to sea. It took him half an hour to swim to the rocks, but he was able to get up and run along them to the shoreline. By now the sun was up, and he hoped no one had seen him. He found his bike hidden behind bushes, with small backpack, took off his wetsuit and changed into a sports cyclist outfit and pedalled as hard as he could towards his hotel with his clothes in the backpack.

Pembroke called his two accomplices from the hotel. They were now in Denmark, travelling down to Germany. Pembroke cheered, congratulated the men, and told them he would meet them in Marseille.

He dumped his clothes and bought a new suit, and made his way to the airport. By now, there had been a major incident at the NATO event. The boys had successfully appeared in the background with horns and flags, but the girls were nowhere to be seen. Soon a full scale search was launched, and the coastguard found their empty boat out to sea.

Pembroke was suited, freshened, and suave in the special airport departure lounge, waiting for the flight to Marseille and enjoying the complimentary food and wine. The dark-haired man in the suit looked every bit the businessman on the go. Little did anyone know about the evil depravity he was involved in.

Pembroke took a call from Dmitri and spoke in Russian. “Hey, you guys keep those girls secure, just let them drink water and get the toilet stuff sorted. They have to remain virgins, remember!” He laughed as Dmitri spoke with angst about how hot the girls were, and how frightened.

Then he got a call from a number he recognised. It was Ahmed Al-Masri. “Ahmed, my friend, this is Edward Pembroke speaking.”

“Eddie, you dog. Two Swedish girls, Ingrid and Freja Johansen, suspected drowned in the North Sea. Anna Gao, suspected drowned in an Alpine lake. Camille LeClerc, suspected drowned in the Mediterranean. Where is the variety haha!”

Pembroke sat back and laughed into the phone, enjoying the sick repartee. “Ah Ahemd, what can I say, we have only had one real disappearance so far, Charlotte in Paris, I am being discreet!”

Ahmed looked at his daughters through the window of his palatial house in Azmaria, smiling at them. There was no way he would let any harm come to them. But he had no sympathy for the other girls who had to suffer for his employer, and for his own perversions.