Chapter 45

Pembroke arrived at Geneva Airport in Switzerland, blending in seamlessly with the tourists returning from Cyprus. Upon arrival, he headed to a high-end boutique within the airport, where he purchased a new suit. The transformation was striking—gone was the casual tourist; in his place stood a sophisticated banker, exuding an air of professionalism and authority.

With his new attire, Pembroke made his way to a nearby café in the heart of Geneva. He found a quiet corner, ordered a coffee, and settled in with a newspaper and his reports. The café buzzed with a mix of languages and conversations, but Pembroke remained focused, absorbing the latest news and analyzing the detailed reports in front of him.

Gal Avraham’s disappearance had ignited a massive manhunt in the hills outside Malaga as police hunted for Muhammed Ziad. The stolen car he had used to bring Gal to the harbor was still, presumably, sitting there unnoticed. The situation sparked a significant political controversy, with demonstrations and counter-demonstrations leading to diplomatic fallout.

Meanwhile, the deaths of three migrants barely made any news outside of Morocco, appearing only as a minor accompaniment to the coverage of the tragic disappearance of a U.S. admiral. The admiral, who had apparently gone mad following the deaths of his wife and daughter, had turned into a do-gooding people trafficker. Despite being a skilled sailor, his risky ventures had ultimately cost him and his unfortunate passengers their lives. Many people attributed the tragedy to his mental state, the illegal nature of the journey, and the dangers of transporting illegal immigrants. There seemed to be little sympathy for him and none for the poor young women.

No one seemed to guess that at that moment, the four young women were undergoing the painful process of electrolysis to remove their body hair and having their new status as sex slaves tattooed on their wrists with Pembroke’s brand.

As Pembroke sipped his coffee, luxuriating in its superiority to the coffee he endured at the complex, he smiled at the confirmation of payment for Fatima. The message accompanying the payment was particularly satisfying: “Terrific nature of the product, should give long-lasting relief haha!”

After exchanging further messages with potential customers, checking the summaries of his captives’ conversations, and reviewing updates on their behavior and the security at the complex, Pembroke moved on to the main item of business.

He made his way into the most exclusive restaurant in Geneva, La Réserve, and was ushered to a private table where none other than Mr. Brad Watkins was sitting. Pembroke took his seat, the luxurious ambiance and discreet service underscoring the importance of their meeting.

“Hey Edward, you know so many famous people and politicians beg to get to know me, and you, you ignore all my attempts to sit down with you. You really are a hard man to get hold of,” said Watkins, grinning.

Pembroke leaned back in his chair, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Well, Brad, I suppose that’s part of the charm. But here we are now, so let’s make the most of it.”

The waiter approached, discreetly pouring wine into their glasses before retreating, leaving the two men to their private conversation.

“What do you know about Charlotte Spencer, Camille LeClerc, Sophie Candelema, or Kasia Kowalska?” whispered Watkins with a hungry edge in his voice.

“Oh, everyone has heard of Ms. Spencer. I do hope the police find her soon; I have been very disappointed in their efforts,” said Pembroke nonchalantly. “The other girls, who are they?”

“I know you work with the Belhadj family,” said Watkins, trying desperately to detect any flicker in Pembroke’s face.

“Who are they?” asked Pembroke, maintaining his calm demeanor.

“Haha, OK, I’m just teasing, Edward. I’ve been using my own software to find out who you are, and even to find out what happened to the girls I mentioned, and it seems it needs more work!” he laughed.

Pembroke tried to remain calm. Staying anonymous and mysterious was difficult.

“What is the nature of our business here, Brad? I am sure you are a very busy man.”

“I had a little too much to drink at that event in Azmaria, Edward. I dismissed all our talk as fantasy. But then when I tried to look into you ... I found ... nothing.”

“Well, I suppose that should be reassuring,” said Pembroke.

“If you are a nobody, then why the hell were you invited to that event and talking to so many important and, dare I say, ruthless people?” smiled Watkins.

Pembroke leaned forward slightly, his smile unwavering. “Perhaps because in this world, the most important and ruthless people value discretion and results over visibility and fame. Now, shall we get to the heart of why you wanted this meeting?”

“Wise words,” said Watkins, raising his glass and looking into Pembroke’s eyes. “I want a girl, a very particular girl.”

“We have an excellent cellar, very well stocked. I’m sure you can find something in there,” Pembroke replied smoothly.

“OK, I will buy one of your girls, but I want a discount,” Watkins said, leaning in. “And I’ll pay a lot more over the odds if you can get me the second girl.”

Pembroke took a measured sip of his wine, considering the proposition. “A discount for the first girl, and a substantial premium for securing the second. Interesting terms. Who exactly is this second girl you’re so keen on?”

“Well,” said Watkins sadly, “you know I hated high school. I got bullied really badly.”

Pembroke wondered where this was going.

“There was this one girl who was nice to me. Her name was Annie Barzini. Really pretty, brunette, cheerleader, Italian,” Watkins seemed lost in memory. “I had a real stupid crush on her. She was so nice to me, not like the others. But then...”

Watkins took his glasses off to clear his eyes, and Pembroke wondered if he was going to cry.

“She started going out with this jerk, the guy who bullied me, Tony Seratova. The high school quarterback and all-around asshole. He used to give me wedgies, put my head down the toilets, all that stuff. To see her end up with him ... well, it killed me.”

“I’m sorry, Brad, but surely you’ve come out on top now!”

“You’re right! That humiliation drove me on, made me start my own company. But I’ve never forgotten her, or how much it hurt to see her with him.”

“So you still want ... revenge?”

“Yeah! Against both of them! They married, and that idiot Tony somehow became a bank manager. Nothing high level, but even so.”

“They have children?” Pembroke asked, warming to the direction of the conversation.

“Yes, they do,” Watkins replied, a dark look crossing his face. “Three kids. I want to hit them both where it hurts the most. But I’m merciful, so I only want their youngest daughter, Lucy.”

Pembroke nodded, understanding the depths of Watkins’s vendetta. “I see. This is more than just pleasure. It’s personal.”

“Very personal,” Watkins confirmed. “Can you do it?”

Pembroke leaned back, considering the task ahead. “Where do the Seratovas live? We don’t operate in the United States, unfortunately, we only export there.”

Watkins handed Pembroke a USB. “She’s a college athlete, doing the pole vault. Ridiculous sport, if you ask me, it’s just so those athletes can show off their booty! She’s going to be at some junior athletics meet in Italy in a month or so.”

Pembroke accepted the USB. “It will require delicate handling and substantial resources, but it might be possible. I’ll need every detail you have on them—addresses, routines, any vulnerabilities.”

Watkins smiled. “It’s all in that USB! I’ve done a lot of the groundwork for you. I just need someone of your ... expertise.”

“Well, Brad, we will do our best, and you are placing your trust in the best in the business. But there is no guarantee,” Pembroke cautioned. “I will have to check the logistics first.”

Watkins nodded. “I hope so. I really want this girl.”

Pembroke leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting to a more persuasive one. “In the meantime, what about one of my other products? You could have it sealed and delivered to you to enjoy before we even get to Ms. Seratova.”

Watkins smiled. “Yes, I was coming to that. I am really warming to the idea of a harem. What do you have?”

“I have a few exceptional options in our current stock. I assure you, they are of the highest quality and could provide the ... distraction you need while we secure your primary target,” Pembroke suggested smoothly.

“Can I see pictures?” asked Watkins.

Pembroke took a sip of his wine, contemplating whom to propose. “Well, rather than go through the vulgar process of parading girls as if they were pieces of meat on display at a butcher’s, perhaps we should take a moment to think on the sad fates of missing women everywhere. For example, that poor girl Sophie Candelema you mentioned earlier. I just remembered seeing her on the news—a very sad case. I would invite you to lament her disappearance. Perhaps if we put our heads together, she might make a ... reappearance.”

With that, Pembroke brought out his encrypted phone and showed Watkins some social media photos of Sophie. The images depicted her in a bikini, in short skirts, and in gym outfits, all freely available and taken before her disappearance.

Watkins’s eyes lit up as he scrolled through the photos. “She’s stunning. But ... what kind of sick bastard would be interested in a fifteen-year-old girl?”

Pembroke held his gaze as he smirked slightly.

“Haha, Edward, with you I can be open about what a sick puppy I really am! If you can make her reappear, we have a deal.”

“Her family would be very interested ... if they ever came to hear of it!” laughed Pembroke. “Now, I do wonder how much of a price they would put on their daughter.” He raised an eyebrow at Watkins.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” said Watkins, swigging back his wine. Pembroke was a little put out. “Brad, that figure barely covers the operational costs. Considering the risk and the expertise required, I’d expect a more ... generous offer for a unique case like Sophie.”