Chapter 26

Edward Pembroke, dressed in his finest suit, his wavy dark hair neatly styled, sat in the luxurious lobby of the Phoenicia Hotel in Beirut. Tall and confident, he longed to permanently belong to this world of opulence. The grandeur of the hotel, with its grand chandeliers and marble floors, made him feel both at home and deeply desirous of this lifestyle.

While waiting, he made a quick video call to Sheila Johnson.

“Sheila, my love!” grinned Pembroke.

“Oh hi Edward, goodness, where are you now? That place looks amazing!”

“It’s the Phoenicia Hotel in Beirut! I am here on business, and I thought I would give you a quick call. After this, I am going on a yacht trip and thought I would stop by that little Greek island, haha!”

“Oh Edward, well as luck would have it, I should be there in a few days,” Sheila laughed into the phone. “Of course, my husband and my daughter don’t know anything; they just think we are going on a mother-daughter trip to this little old cottage by the beach, where this old couple lives, for a few days. I will tell my daughter it’s a total coincidence when you show up, haha,” Sheila giggled like a schoolgirl.

“That’s my girl, Sheila,” smiled Pembroke down the phone.

“Edward, it’s been too long. I cannot wait to see you,” Sheila longed for Pembroke.

“I know, my love, don’t worry it won’t be long. Oh, here is my appointment. I will see you soon, OK?” winked Pembroke.

“See you soon, Edward darling,” smiled Sheila, blushing.

Edward ended the call just as two well-built suited men arrived to greet him.

Directed to a private room, Edward was frisked by the bodyguards before meeting Kamal Abdelrahman, a wealthy Egyptian financier in his sixties, known for his success in the shipping industry and his large family. Abdelrahman, plump and clad in traditional garb, welcomed Pembroke cautiously.

As they sat at a table adorned with exquisite sweet dishes and coffee, they began discussing business.

“Mr. Pembroke, for what is supposed to be an Englishman, your Arabic is excellent,” laughed Abdelrahman, clearly no fool.

“Well, Mr. Abdelrahman, thank you. I try to be a citizen of the world,” Edward replied smoothly.

“So our mutual friend, Mr. Al-Masri assures me. He says you are a salesman.”

“Well, Mr. Abdelrahman, I am. I am a humble merchant, but I ask myself, what can I sell to the man who has everything?”

At that moment, a young waitress appeared, asking if the men would like more coffee. She wore a smart black dress, which, while conservative, clung to her figure. Her perfect bare legs reached high as she bent down to pick up the empty dishes.

The men’s eyes followed the contours of the girl’s body, then met each other, and they smiled.

“I have put up with women all my life. I am just glad I made my money before they started appearing in business. Four wives, whores, and now journalists and activists,” Abdelrahman said, making a gesture as if he were being sick. His words dripped with disdain and misogyny, a stark reminder of his harsh and antiquated views.

“A girl for fun, that is a rare thing!” Pembroke smiled. “Yes, if one could cut out all the strings and bullshit, and the word ‘no,’ then girls could be great fun.”

“I would prefer to hear no words at all,” laughed the older man.

“Well, sir, perhaps you might be interested in my product. I am surprised that a man of your experience has not been offered this before. It seems to be a gap in the market.”

“Oh, well, a few years ago, it was easier, but only with peasant girls. I always wondered though, so many millions of these young western girls walking around and one or two cannot be just, ... you know...” smiled the older man.

“I understand your frustration,” Pembroke said coolly. “There is untapped potential out there, with many young women wasting their time in trivial jobs and careers that contribute little. They possess these youthful, attractive bodies that tease and tantalize but serve no real purpose. While some men might enjoy them casually, men of substantial means should have access to a mechanism that ensures their full-time availability. These women could be utilized in a manner that is both systematic and efficient, providing continuous satisfaction without the complications or resistance typically associated with casual encounters.”

“Interesting” laughed the Egyptian. “OK, enough bullshit. Sell me something.”

“I will give you ... a life. A life of a young girl, full of promise, fun, and beauty, and it will be all yours. I can provide you with a name, along with a report detailing her ... disappearance from this world. Perhaps a funeral notice, a heartfelt story about her drowning at sea, or an unsolvable murder. That name, that girl, that human life, will belong to you for as long as you desire.”

“And if the girl doesn’t like it?” Abdelrahman asked.

“Well, sir, this is what I pride myself on,” Pembroke replied, his tone icy and calculating. “My unique selling point is ensuring my client’s satisfaction through absolute obedience. My girls are not only extensively trained but also conditioned to comply. If necessary, we apply pressure on their loved ones, ensuring their cooperation. Consider it a lifetime warranty on their obedience and your satisfaction.”

“Interesting, and the sale is a one-off payment?” Abdelrahman inquired, leaning forward with curiosity.

“Yes,” Pembroke confirmed with a confident nod. “I aim to expand our market. I’m confident that even as the world descends into chaos, this service will remain high-end and in demand. My goal is to provide nice, middle-class girls from good families, not low-end products. These are quality acquisitions that will cater to discerning tastes.”

“Do you have pre-existing stock then, or would you be able to procure me a girl I have in mind?” Abdelrahman inquired.

“Both are options, sir. We aim to please. I do have some delightful girls available. Some have been pre-ordered, but more are always in stock and we are constantly acquiring new prospects,” Pembroke replied smoothly.

At that moment, the waitress returned. “Any more coffee, gentlemen?”

“Yes, please,” beamed Pembroke. The girl smiled at the charming man and left to fetch their drinks.

“A lovely girl,” Pembroke smiled.

“I agree,” winked Abdelrahman.

“As I was saying, we are always looking for new prospects to add to our stock,” Pembroke continued with a laugh, “and that was a good example.”

“Can you provide me with examples?” Abdelrahman asked.

“Well, sir, I do require some token of seriousness,” Pembroke replied, his tone steady and cold. “You see, this is a serious business. When a girl is sold, her new owner must feel secure. In many cases, the product is believed to be deceased or at least not missing. I wouldn’t want you, for example, to know that your girl was known to have been offered for sale to different gentlemen. Discretion is key so you can enjoy your girl with peace of mind.”

“And how would word get out?” said the Egyptian. “If I don’t want to buy, I’m not going to alert the authorities or feel sorry for the girl.”

“True,” Pembroke conceded. “But ensuring discretion at every level safeguards all parties involved. Our methods guarantee that once a transaction is made, there is no trail, no possibility of exposure. This peace of mind is what our clients pay for as much as the girls themselves. “Indeed, we only sell to serious clients,” Pembroke continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Our motto is that this type of product is for life ... her life.” He winked, adding, “We don’t sell to people with faint hearts who are going to let these girls go.”

Abdelrahman nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “I appreciate your thoroughness. So, how do we proceed?”

“First,” Pembroke replied, “I require a demonstration of your commitment. This ensures we only engage with those who understand the permanence of our service. Once that is established, I can show you examples from our stock or procure a specific girl you have in mind.”

“Can I ask if you have Israeli girls?” asked Abdelrahman.

“Not at the moment, but if this proves to be a popular request, I will make a note to add them to my cellar,” replied Pembroke with a calculated smile.

“Well, this calls for a drink...” Abdelrahman called for a drink, his thoughts wandering to the possibility of ordering the waitress from Pembroke. “And we can discuss your girls and perhaps soon we can discuss prices.”

Pembroke smiled and relaxed, pleased with the turn of events. “A drink sounds perfect,” he said, his eyes glinting with anticipation. “Let’s toast to new ventures and profitable partnerships.”

Pembroke soon left the luxurious surroundings of the Phoenicia Hotel, changing into a dumpy, hipsterish outfit complete with glasses. Now transformed, he entered into a video call with his next contact, a very different proposition from Kamal Abdelrahman.

“Hi Dilan, just thought I would say hi. Sorry I’ve been so busy, but you seem far busier than me,” he said with a friendly tone.

“Oh hi, Karim,” Dilan responded guardedly.

Pembroke, now assuming the identity of Karim, smiled reassuringly. “Yes, it’s been quite hectic, but I always make time for important people. How have you been?”

Dilan relaxed slightly but remained cautious. “Busy, as you said. Lots of projects on my plate. My new podcast is taking off. You are in Beirut I see?”

Karim/Pembroke nodded, keeping the conversation light. “Yeah, I still want to do that project and I’m back working on it. A lot of crazy things happened...”

“I heard...” said Dilan suspiciously.

“Look, Dilan, you may have seen the news...”

“I guess you’re not going back to France anytime soon. A girl dying on set is not a good look,” Dilan said dryly.

Karim sighed deeply, “Oh my God, Dilan, it’s not what you think. Poor Camille ... I know it looks bad, but it wasn’t my fault. Camille LeClerc did not die. Her body was never found because she was kidnapped.”

“Really, Karim? Strikes me you just had a crazy unsafe idea for a movie and it all went bad,” Dilan replied, unimpressed.

“Her body should have shown up by now,” Karim started to cry on the video. “Poor Camille, I can’t believe the media are reporting it as a drowning.”

Dilan remained skeptical, her suspicion clear. “So what makes you think she was kidnapped?”

Karim’s voice trembled as he continued, “Threats, Dilan. She mentioned them to me ... her father was a top lawyer, and there were Middle Eastern rulers who really didn’t like him. They would have had every reason to target her.”

Dilan’s guarded expression began to soften, the plausibility of Karim’s story starting to sink in. “You really believe she was taken?”

“I do,” Karim pleaded, his eyes wet with tears. “I would never have let something like this happen on set. I care about my team. I need you to believe me, Dilan. Camille’s disappearance isn’t just a tragic accident; it’s part of something much bigger.”

Dilan hesitated, but she was beginning to believe his earnest desperation.

Dilan hesitated, but she was beginning to believe his earnest desperation. “Alright, Karim. So what are your plans in Beirut?”

“Trying to reach out for collaborators, trying to get interested funders,” sighed Karim. “But the problems in France have complicated things. Honestly, I would now rather make a movie about Camille. It’s something people need to watch.”

Dilan softened further, seeing the conviction in his eyes. “That does sound like a meaningful project. Just be careful, Karim. If what you say is true, you might be stepping into dangerous territory.”

Dilan sighed, not knowing what to make of this dodgy guy anymore. And she was a busy woman. “Look, Karim, I’ve got to go, but I’ll chat with you later. Hope we can grab a drink sometime before you leave, OK? Kiss, kiss,” she said, signing off quickly.

Pembroke watched the screen go dark, frustration washing over him. He was in Beirut with Jamal and Kwame elsewhere in the city, with little idea of how to make the last of the Crown Prince’s catches. Dilan was a celebrity now in Lebanon; it would be much harder to reach her than prostitutes and refugees.

He despaired, perhaps he would have to write off a large profit and just admit that he could only sell six of the girls and maybe hope that a replacement for Dilan might be suitable.

Pembroke spent the rest of the evening formulating quotes for Mr. Abdelrahman and perfecting the profiles of the girls pending payment for each viewing. He also went through his catalogue of potential targets throughout Europe, before listening to a podcast with Dilan Talebani. She was such a preachy liberal, he thought. Everything that was wrong with the world. But annoyingly untouchable.

Bored and horny, he ordered an escort. The woman was in her thirties, experienced and friendly, and Pembroke enjoyed the night of pleasure and her soft curves. It was quite the change from the reluctance he was used to. Variety was the spice of life, he told himself.

The following morning, Pembroke awoke, hungover, with the Lebanese prostitute lying beside him. He had a series of missed messages, surprisingly, from Dilan. He kicked the prostitute out of his bedroom, who was upset at his terrible manners, and changed into his persona of the camp, gay Karim again.

“Time to get back to work,” he muttered to himself.

Karim answered the call with Dilan.

“Karim, sorry to wake you, I just really wanted to get hold of you!” Dilan seemed extremely excited. Karim tried not to seem nervous, but had no idea what was coming.

“Morning, Dilan. Don’t worry, I wasn’t up to much.”

“Karim, we need to talk. Can you meet right now for breakfast? I can give you the name of the café.”

Karim was piqued. What on earth could it be? He checked the café location and made a call to Jamal, but doubted they could make a snatch at that central location.

Karim carefully selected his outfit for the meeting, ensuring it fit his camp, gay persona perfectly. He donned a vibrant, floral-print shirt that was slightly unbuttoned at the top, paired with tight, tailored pastel pants. Around his neck, he wore a colorful silk scarf, tied loosely for a touch of flair. His ensemble was completed with a pair of trendy, round glasses with a bold frame. To add to the look, he slipped into a pair of stylish loafers and sprayed on a light, citrusy cologne.

As he got ready, Karim reminded himself to stay calm and be prepared for whatever Dilan had in store. This meeting could be a turning point, and he needed to maintain his composure and keep his wits about him...

When Karim met Dilan at the café, he was impressed by her appearance. She wore a hipster-style blue dress and sunglasses. The cedar tree tattoo on her forearm was a striking feature. Karim couldn’t help but admire her style and the confidence she exuded.

“Good morning, Karim,” Dilan greeted him with a bright smile as she took off her sunglasses.