'I'm not in any trouble that I know of.'
'Then why are these blokes interested in you?'
'I don't know.' Ajza changed the subject. 'What about my parents?'
'They're fine. I broke into the security cameras there. Your pop has already opened the store. He's still a workaholic, I see.'
Some of the tension in Ajza's stomach eased. 'Keep an eye on them for me, please,' she said.
'Of course. You know, if you need a hole to drop out of sight in, I've got a couple.'
Not all of Trevor's business interests were exactly legitimate. He sometimes ran computer scams.
'Thank you. That's very generous. I'll keep it in mind. But at the moment I prefer to work this out alone.'
'As you wish, love. But do look before you leap. I haven't got many friends, and I should hate to lose another.'
'You won't lose me.'
'Didn't think we'd lose Ilyas, love, but he was gone before we knew it.'
Ajza didn't say anything.
'Sorry, love,' Trevor whispered. 'I didn't want to have to point that out.'
'It's all right. But I think I'm better off out here alone right now.'
From the moment they'd learned of Ilyas's death, Trevor had scoured the Internet for information regarding his murder. Trevor had invaded government databases and almost brought disaster upon himself. In the end, he'd had to admit defeat. That was something he didn't easily do.
Ajza checked the time. 'I've got to go.'
'All right, love. But if there's anything else you need, call me.'
'I will.' She thanked him and hung up the phone, then walked to the boarding area. Her mind raced. She had to trust that her message had been received. At least, for the moment, her parents were being left out of whatever mess she was in.
* * *
Ajza stepped off the train at St Pancras station and glanced around warily. Although she felt somewhat secure in the crowd of people rushing to work, Ajza's paranoia ticked steadily inside her. She discovered it was easier to be on her guard while undercover than at home with her parents.
In Istanbul, everyone she'd met had been a potential enemy. None of the terrain had looked overly familiar. That had been true of several assignments she'd drawn while working for MI-6.
But here in Greater London, everything looked too commonplace. She regularly rode the train from Leicester and frequently walked along the platforms she was on now. She felt even more out of place because she carried no baggage, while nearly everyone around her had a briefcase or valise.
She hailed a cab on Euston Road after making certain no one followed her.
'Where to, miss?' the driver asked.
'Broadway Market, please.'
The driver flipped on his meter, pulled away from the curb and battled for a place in traffic. 'Do you have any place special in mind, miss?'
'I'm just going to wander.' Ajza pushed herself back in the seat and tried to relax.
After paying the driver, noting that her cash was dwindling quickly, she stepped into the flow of people patronizing the local shops and restaurants. The overcast sky promised dreary weather and the possibility of rain.
Broadway Market was a center of activity on Saturdays, when farmers brought their produce to sell. The neighborhood consisted of narrow buildings squeezed among several alleys and narrow streets. It was, Ajza had concluded, a particularly good spot for being elusive if the need arose.
Keeping her head low, Ajza used the shop windows to check the area. She scanned the reflections. No one followed her.
Unless they got here ahead of you — perhaps you're not as clever as you think you are, she cautioned herself.
She forced those thoughts from her head. She was clever. Not only that, she had no choice in what she was going to do.
The sights and smells of all the food around her made her stomach grumble. She knew she had to eat to keep her strength up. During the train ride, she'd managed to sleep most of the hour-and-twenty-minute journey, but that was nowhere near what her body craved. She still hadn't decompressed from the Istanbul assignment.
She purchased a blueberry scone from a small pastry shop, picked up a newspaper to check the headlines and walked into the Java Highway cyber cafe, squeezed between a wedding-apparel shop and a shoe store. The smell of fresh coffee gave her a lift.
A short counter with two staff took up one corner of the room. Computers and tables filled the rest. Dim lighting enhanced the blue-gray screens of the computers.
Ajza paid for an hour and took a computer near the back wall. The doorway to the alley was only a short distance away. She settled in, opened the account Trevor had created for her, then logged on to the Annie's Dungeon website.
She negotiated the handful of screens noting that the user was entering a zone for adult material, followed immediately by images of men and women in garish clothing, chains and holding whips. None of it made an impression on Ajza. This was all pretend. What she had seen in the field — what she had done — was much worse.
She logged into the chat room and looked at the names. No one with
The time was nine-fifty-three.
As calmly as she could, she sipped her coffee. She knew she should eat the scone, but she didn't trust her stomach.
Mum and Dad are fine, she told herself. But she kept thinking how quickly Ilyas had slipped away. He'd been gone before they knew it.
The chat room was active. Ajza watched each new name that entered. She ignored the suggestive and outright inflammatory remarks the other users posted. During her training, she'd been taught how to entice and lure over the Internet. The cyber battlefield took shape the same way as physical terrain. In the end, though, everything was filtered through human lust and greed.
And, perhaps, sometimes self-preservation.
CardinalSin logged on at nine-fifty-seven.
Ajza cracked her knuckles out of habit, then leaned into the keyboard and monitor.
22
'Bring them out.' Taburova stood in front of the shack where the women were held. He'd spent the night talking and drinking for far too long. Now he was getting a late start and it angered him.
Two of his men entered the shack and herded the women back outside. In the daylight, they looked like scarecrows wrapped in light coats. Most wore headscarves, but none of them had veils to cover their faces. None were beautiful, but a few of the younger ones were pretty enough.
One of the older women fell to her knees in front of Taburova. She cried out for mercy and touched her forehead to the ground.
'Don't cry out to God,' Taburova told them. 'He will not hear you. Today, only I am listening.'
Quickly the other women knelt and pressed their faces to the ground. A handful of them cried, their thin faces jerking with their repressed sobs.
'Your tears will only hit the dry ground, and even it will remain parched rather than accept them,' Taburova told the women. 'No one cares about you. You are nothing. The Russians made you that way.'
