Chapter 1

My name is Alex Smith, and I used to be a sales rep for a company specialising in military security equipment. One day, much against my usual habits, I picked up a teenaged prostitute. I’ve told the story elsewhere, but the short version is I fell in love and we married. (See ‘Zoe’). This story, as well as continuing Zoe’s and my story, gives a different perspective on another tale; ‘Pippa’.

A year after our wedding, I was sitting at our kitchen table, reading an article about a new retinal scanner that would be much cheaper and more compact than current standards. Half-eaten toast lay on my plate and a cereal bowl was pushed away; black coffee half-filled a mug next to me.

The door opened and I looked up; a young woman in a terry robe much too big for her (mine – she does have her own, though she rarely uses it) entered. Zoe, my teen-aged wife. Her dark-blonde hair framed a pretty face that wore a serious expression. The robe concealed her slim, shapely figure except for her legs, but I could very easily visualise what lay beneath.

“Make a lap,” she told me, standing next to me as I pushed my chair away from the table, then snuggled into my embrace. We sat like that for several minutes, breathing in the essence of each other.

“So...” I said, “ask away...”

“Alex! Why would you think I was going to ask anything?”

I snorted. “Years of experience?”

“Well ... firstly, I know what I want to do...”

“Okay ... that’s good, isn’t it?”

“I want to help ... you know, people like me ... I want to do what Trudy does.”

Zoe had, as a fourteen-year-old, been abducted and forced into prostitution. I had encountered her by accident and returned her to her family, had taken steps to ensure her abductor would never do the same to another young person. We had, despite a substantial age difference, fallen in love and Zoe’s parents had approved our marriage. Zoe was still catching up with her education, taking ‘A’ level courses at nearby Chelmsford College. Professor Trudy Waters was a semi-retired psychologist who specialised in counselling victims of abuse.

“I don’t see a problem with that,” I said evenly. “Is that all?”

“Um ... no. I want you to teach me to fight. I mean ... proper ... unarmed combat.”

“Let me think on that.”

“And, Alex ... could we, maybe, be more ... pro-active? Could your ... connections ... do something about the rings?”

I sat silent, holding my wife. Then, “Darling, you know there are things I can’t talk about?” She nodded, “And ... I don’t like to think of you at risk again...”

“I’d be less at risk if I could defend myself.” When I didn’t respond immediately, she wriggled into position so she could kiss me. “I love you, you know.”

“I know. I love you too. We’ll see. In the mean-time, do what you’ve been doing; concentrate on getting good results so you have your choice of University. You know psychology is a tough field to qualify in? Too many students competing for placements?”

“I know. But Trudy will help. I think.”

I got her enrolled in a dojo not too far away, I knew the sensei fairly well, and Zoe could get to and from sessions without too much trouble, two or three times a week. He mainly taught Aikido, which I thought would be a good start. It would give her a good grounding in the fundamentals; centring, balance, focus. In addition, I insisted she join me in working out each morning; running, sometimes swimming if we have time, and some free weights. In decent weather, we can do kata in the garden...

Before I was a rep, I was an Army Intelligence specialist, working in the field. Budget cuts retired me as a captain, but I’m still on the active list in the Territorial Army Reserve, the ‘Terriers’. This is important, as you’ll see, hence Zoe’s reference to my ‘contacts’.

About the time Zoe and I were having the foregoing conversation, a barely fourteen year old, blonde, Russian orphan in the suburbs of Moscow, was making a decision she would later regret greatly. Not that she had a lot of choice, but she agreed to accompany a smooth-talking, sharply dressed businessman to Britain. She was one of several girls in a similar situation, though not all were orphans; some just wanted to escape a restrictive family environment, or their families thought a move to the relative financial security of Britain was a good idea.

In no case was it a good idea. All the girls would find out within hours of arriving in Britain that their lives as they knew them had ended. Their virginities were sold to the highest bidder and they were systematically raped and beaten until their wills were broken. Several succumbed either to the physical abuse, or managed to escape through suicide, but they were easily replaced. The blonde, Nadiya Ivanovna Babichev, was compliant, but not completely broken...

About a year after our conversation, another young woman, Philippa Henderson, was making a decision that would have far-reaching consequences for many more than herself. Her father, Conrad Henderson, was a prosperous businessman. He loved his daughter, but if pressed, he would have admitted he was worried about her lack of a social life. When she asked for a sailing holiday as her seventeenth birthday present, he didn’t mind looking into the possibilities. An acquaintance, Dennis Thornton, put him in touch with Heritage Sailing Holidays, based in Maldon, Essex. The result was that he chartered a yacht, a ketch called ‘Serendipity’. Heritage Sailing arranged a female skipper; as it happened, Dennis Thornton’s daughter Cherry, and a young law student, Charles Collins, as crew.

It was, if you believe in coincidence, just accidental that when Nadiya Ivanovna decided to make a break for freedom, Serendipity was where she took refuge. Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps it was fate that Pippa Henderson woke early and found Nadiya asleep in Serendipity’s saloon. Cherry Thornton, initially reluctant to be involved, was soon won over, partly by Pippa’s determination and partly by Nadiya’s appeal. She contacted an old friend who put her in touch with Trudy Waters, who passed them on to Alex Smith ... and that is how Zoe got her wish to become involved in helping young women who were trapped in sexual servitude and abuse.

As it happened, I took the call from Trudy Waters, and called Cherry Thornton. I arranged to meet in Walton Backwaters – I would be picked up at Walton-on-the-Naze, and taken to the yacht by tender – and there seemed no good reason to leave Zoe at home.

The tender was tiny, perhaps eight feet long. That may sound big, but I assure you it’s none too big for three adults on tidal water when the water’s a bit rough. It had a small outboard that could propel it at maybe six knots. I was used to boats, but usually rather larger ones. Zoe was not and looked more than a little insecure during the half-hour trip to Serendipity.

I boarded first, then Zoe and I grasped wrists as I helped her board. The movement of a small craft is disconcerting if you’re not used to it.

Nadiya was very pretty, and appeared younger than her almost sixteen years. Her fear was almost tangible, but she held herself together with an admirable determination.

I introduced us in Russian. “Good morning, Nadiya. My name is Alex, and this,” I turned to Zoe, “is my wife, Zoe. Zoe has been where you are and knows what it is like.”

“I greet you, sir, and your lady.”

“I need ... we need ... to talk to you to find out as much as possible about the people who abused you. Will you? You need to tell us everything, even if you don’t think it is important. Oh, and I will be filming the interview, so I can review it and so there is no question that I have compelled you in the future.”

“Okay, I will do that. Will you kill them?”

“I will try to make sure they never, ever hurt anyone again.”

“I hope it will be very painful.”

“I think you can count on that.”

“Good.”

I turned to the others then. “Where can we talk to Nadiya alone?”

“Use my cabin, if you like,” Cherry said.

I don’t want to repeat all she told us. She spoke in a detached sort of way, using a mixture of English and Russian, I imagine as the only way she could get through recalling her ordeal. It turned my stomach, and Zoe was stony faced as she listened (I translated as necessary), her arm round the younger girl as she offered the only support she could. Nadiya gave us some names and descriptions. It was frightening to realise we would be dealing with some people – users of the girls – who were influential, powerful, or just very, very wealthy. It was obvious that any action would have to be ‘off the books’.

A light lunch with the crew of Serendipity broke the interview in two, then young CC took us back to Walton before the ebbing tide left us trapped on board.

We were both quiet on the drive home. Quiet, that is until Zoe spoke. “You can’t keep me out of this.”

I pondered the truth of what she was saying. My response was that of a man who loved, and wanted to protect, his wife. “I can’t?”