Chapter 36

The Polish police were baffled by the murder of Ivan Kozlov and the disappearance of Afshan Malik. His body was found miles from where his truck was later located. Meanwhile, the Belarusian police tried to wash their hands of the affair and refused to cooperate. The two Afghan women were untraceable, their papers had somehow disappeared from the camp file, and Firas Rahma was a ghost. The charity was unresponsive to any inquiries, and the frustrated Belarusian police eventually shut down the whole camp.

Anonymous sources called the police, claiming responsibility for killing Ivan Kozlov due to his involvement in people trafficking and stating they would not accept more foreigners into the country. Suddenly, the case turned into a race and immigration issue. Others pointed out that Afshan had been pursuing a criminal claim in the UK against the Amari royal family, fueling conspiracy theories.

Amina, Farah, and Afshan reacted to their induction as poorly as the other girls. That is to say, not good.

Amina, now that her poisoning had stopped, was ironically the best off physically. The other two had severe bruising from the beatings, and Pembroke worried about where he could place a captive with a broken bone. Fortunately, they didn’t have any fractures. Amina, though weak and exhausted, could move more freely than the others. Farah and Afshan bore the brunt of Pembroke’s violence, their bodies marked with painful bruises, making every jolt and bump in the road unbearable. Finally, they were let out when they arrived at the complex, but only to be stripped fully naked and ordered to kneel in front of the man they had a few days earlier thought of as a man of compassion.

“I am Edward Pembroke, you will call me Master.” Pembroke repeated each command in Pashto for the petrified mother and daughter. “You were all taken as part of a carefully planned operation. You were chosen specifically for your physical beauty, to serve men. Here you will be trained. My job is to procure you, which I have done, to train you, which I will do, and then sell you to wealthy men who want to own sex slaves. That is now your lot in life. You will not see your families ever again; your old life died when I took you.”

Afshan screamed that he would not get away with this. She could not believe that the Polish or Belarussian police would not be able to trace Faris Rahma, though had not bet on the lack of co-operation and interest on the Belarussian side. The Afghan mother and daughter were just baffled, and knew they had no hope. They had seen the dead body of Ivan, and knew this man was a vicious killer.

The girls were led into the hall, where the other fifteen watched in stunned silence. The three newcomers looked around, their eyes wide with shock. The sight of Jamal, Mrs. Al-Haraxx, Mrs. Parker, and Konra only heightened their fear and confusion. Pembroke himself had lost touch with normality and forgot how a year ago this sight would have made even him faint.

The two Afghan women were pushed into the cell, while Afshan was immediately strapped in for electrolysis and tattooing. The sudden and brutal feeling of the electrolysis searing into her skin, combined with the penetration of the tattooing marking her forever, was too much for her to bear. She looked at the strangely comforting face of Mrs. Parker and kept repeating, “What is going on? I don’t understand. I want to go home.”

Almost all the girls had cried for their mother at some stage, and for Farah, this appeal was granted, albeit her mother was naked and beside her in her misery.

The girls in the cell were still restricted to their ten minutes of speaking time. Therefore, they met the eyes of the Afghan girls with stony silence, for what was there to say anyway? This scene had been repeated many times now; they had all experienced it. There was no good explanation that would satisfy them, no way to calm them down or make them feel better. And of course, none of the girls understood what the poor Afghans were saying anyway.