Chapter 41

“Fucking refugees, there all young men, no women and children I tell you!” Ms Grimshaw was on her third pint, making another racist tirade with her fellow teachers in the pub after another hard week.

“It is frustrating to see, I think the women and children are left behind, there should really be a way we can help them directly come to the country, I can understand why they think its dangerous” replied Edward Pembroke, carefully sipping his second pint. He was indeed very interested in helping vulnerable young females enter the country illegally.

Not being of foreign extraction he had resigned himself to not being able to indulge in what he saw as a potential goldrush of young flesh which must be there for the taking along the migrant routes of Europe.

He had given up on taking a young girl from the UK, it was just far too dangerous with the growing awareness of online dangers, greater virus protection and developments in computer forensics. English girls were among the most protected species on the planet now!

Pembroke set up a fake website, making it look like an official organization called “UK Refugee Headquarters.” He created fake profiles of attractive young men and women and added text in Arabic, English, and French to make it seem legitimate. The site featured fake testimonials from Muslim women and phony lawyers.

Pembroke’s target audience was desperate families seeking a better life, who wouldn’t question the site’s authenticity. He knew they lacked the education and resources to verify its credibility. He made sure the website’s IP address was untraceable, adding to the illusion of legitimacy.

Unfortunately for Pembroke, the vast majority of refugees were young males. But every so often he would come across examples of young women and daughters who seemed completely desperate but very weary and did everything through wily negotiators.

Communication was done via email and text messenger. Pembroke avoided anyone who seemed to have any serious education or talked about actual lawyers or professionals, or who mentioned they had family ready to help the process.

As a potential people trafficker, Pembroke had one ace up his sleeve, the bona fide UK passport of Linda Hillal, Sophie’s cousin, who he had stalked previously. This legitimate document became his trump card, a ticket to deceive immigration authorities and traffic individuals into the UK.

In addition to Linda’s passport, Pembroke procured a batch of counterfeit passports. While these fakes appeared passable to the untrained eye, they lacked the authenticity of Linda’s document. Only those naive to the workings of passports would be fooled by these cheap imitations.

With Linda’s passport in hand, Pembroke could facilitate the illegal entry of individuals into the UK. However, there was a cruel twist to his scheme: only someone who resembled Linda—a young Middle Eastern teenage girl—could successfully use the passport. Any attempts by family members to use the inferior counterfeit passports would inevitably lead to failure, leaving the intended victim stranded and alone upon arrival in the UK.

Pembroke spent hours on his laptop every evening after work sifting through potential applicants, most of whom were either timewasters, or became suspicious very quickly, or who were families who had no teenage girl with them.

Pembroke found the whole thing quite tedious, though having Sophie suck him off as he waded through the desperate but decidedly unappealing applicants did make it more pleasurable. While most of his hunts were unsuccessful, there was at least some fun to be had with stalking girls in shopping malls, online chatrooms, and at schools or hacking into their systems. This was just boring, and he very rarely even saw pictures of the potential victims so was unsure how he would know if a target would even be worth it.

Yasmin Talebani, a 40-year-old mother, held her 14-year-old daughter Darya tightly, both of them overcome with tears. How could they continue? It was a bitter, freezing February morning in 2016 when they received the devastating news: their beloved Leyla, the radiant light of their lives, had tragically drowned in the Aegean Sea.

They were stuck in a refugee camp near the Turkish-Greek border, unable to cross into Europe for months. Leyla had managed to escape to Germany years ago, a beacon of hope for their family. Yasmin had been immensely proud of her; Leyla had mastered German and tirelessly aided refugees, volunteering with a charity to ensure their safe passage across the Aegean. Her absence now left a chasm of despair.

The Talebani family had endured unspeakable losses in the Syrian civil war, losing brothers and Yasmin’s husband. As Syrian Kurds, they saw no future of peace in their homeland. Yasmin was overwhelmed with grief and faced a devastating choice: to surrender to despair, to languish in the wretched cold of the camp, or to return to Syria, to the clutches of her despised in-laws and extended family.

But amidst the agony and loss, Yasmin couldn’t bring herself to give up. Leyla’s memory, her sacrifice, fueled a flicker of hope within Yasmin’s heart. How could she betray Leyla’s legacy by surrendering to despair?

The two single women dressed conservatively in hijab, hoping to avoid unwanted attention in the camp. They were wary of the traffickers who promised them safe passage, especially after the tragedy that befell Leyla and the stories they had heard about other girls. Yasmin did not trust the Pakistanis and Arabs who seemed to be organizing, their leering gazes unsettling her and her daughter as they cautiously approached.

Yasmin had not been educated and used her daughters basic English to help her as they tried to navigate websites online on her smartphone.

Yasmin idly came across “Refugee Headquarters UK” and Yasmin looked at their site. They looked legitimate, the CEO, a Saira Khan, looked like a kind woman, and decent muslim. Without much expectation, she and her daughter composed an email on the site, explaining their situation and asking for help.

Pembroke lounged in the basement, perched upon his latest creation—a peculiar contraption resembling a toilet seat integrated into his workstation. Stark naked, having just indulged in carnal pleasures with Sophie, he now turned his attention to reviewing website inquiries.

Beneath him, concealed within the modified toilet seat, lay Sophie’s head. A hidden compartment allowed her to rest her head and extend her body diagonally beneath the seat, her face positioned to protrude from underneath. It was a grotesque seat, designed to facilitate Pembroke’s perverse desires. It allowed Pembroke to comfortably sit on her face as she lay casually underneath. She was not restrained in any way, she simply knew that if she did not comply, she would be beaten and thus constantly ran her tongue along the ass crack occupying her entire vision within the confines of the toilet seat compartment.

Pembroke read the sorry tale of the Talebani family, now down to just two female members. Pembroke sent back a formal email outlining their services, two thousand dollars per passport which included flights and half would be payable up front. It was actually incredibly generous, but, Pembroke thought, not cheap enough to arouse suspicion. He wanted to catch the truly penniless in his honeypot and did not want to price them out.

Idly he also asked them about poor Leyla, as his organization were always keen to support fallen volunteers who had made the ultimate sacrifice.

A response was received a few minutes later with a link to Leyla’s social media and a commemoration of her life with charities. Pembroke let out a gasp, and Sophie felt his anus dilate on her tongue and guessed he must like whatever he was reading or looking at.

Pembroke read the profile and the links related to the deceased Leyla Talebani, each one gushing about her wonderful personality, or lamenting her tragic fate, from dozens of friends. Pembroke, however, grew a repulsive fascination that eclipsed any semblance of empathy or respect for the departed. To Pembroke, Laila’s humanitarian efforts, her noble sacrifice, and her untimely demise were mere footnotes compared to the objectification of her body.

What truly captivated Pembroke were the images of Laila in swimsuits and revealing attire, showcasing her youthful beauty. Despite the circumstances, he shamelessly ogled her, dissecting every curve and contour with a perverse gaze. The sight of her slender frame, ample bosom, and shapely legs fueled his depraved desires, a macabre dance of lust over the tragic death of a once vibrant young woman.

In Pembroke’s twisted mind, Leyla’s death was not a tragedy but an opportunity squandered, a waste of what he saw as nothing more than a beautiful object to be possessed and consumed. His callous disregard for her humanity, was matched only his eager desire to know more about her fourteen year old sister and how he might be able to help her.

Pembroke sent back a heartfelt message feigning compassion to the Taelbanis and said that as allies in the refugee struggle, they were now determined to help the family of such a wonderful spirit as their sister Leyla. He asked for their headshots and descriptions to match any passports that they may be able to get for them.