Adalina turned and unzipped the tent. She didn’t look back. The sight of the two pitiful girls was too haunting an image to keep returning to. Outside she straightened her slightly bent form to stand next to her armed male companion, grimacing when a long black shape scuttled over her booted foot.
“The rats are running free in here,” her companion moaned. “I have been watching them.”
Adalina sighed feeling the overwhelming hopelessness of the situation. The situation was out of control and the camp overrun. They were drowning and something had to be done. A pungent smell of decaying sweat clung to the warm air amidst the burning of the small camp fires between the lines a thousand dirty white tents covered in wet washing vainly trying to dry in the damp humid atmosphere. A group of men were smoking and drinking lying around one of the fires on the camp beds they had dragged out from inside their tents. Adalina frowned.
“She still won’t leave?” her companion asked gesturing his head towards the tent.
Adalina shook her head. The man sighed and took another puff of his cigarette.
“On her own head be it then,” he said dropping the butt and stubbing it out with his foot.
They started to walk away, back to the safety of the outside world when they stopped dead in their tracks hearing the terror of a woman’s scream echoing loudly through the camp. It was accompanied by the wailing of children and the shouting of men. Horrified they both stared at each other and took off in the direction of the terrified howl of pain. Adalina called for security on her mobile.
After what seemed like an age they finally reached the source of the scream. A group of men and women were shouting for help and clearly distressed.
“They have taken my wife and our older daughter. They are taking the women. Help us, help us,” a man frantically shook Adalina’s arm.
Adalina’s eyes widened. This was what the journalist had requested her permission to investigate. The numerous disappearances of women in the camp who she believed were being trafficked into Europe and to the IS for slavery and brides
At the end of the row of tents she saw the young journalist standing quietly watching with her narrowed green eyes. She must have followed them. Strangely, Adalina felt comforted by her presence. Someone from the outside was finally seeing what was happening in these camps, in her camp. Europe and the rest of the world needed to know the horror they were dealing with and the appalling conditions the refugees were being forced to live in. She let out the angry tense breath she had been holding. The burden wouldn’t just be hers alone to bear anymore. The whole world would be forced to take responsibility for these people along with her and understand the action she had been forced to take to help as many people as she could.
She looked back at the English journalist knowing she would have heard every word. The young woman tilted her head in acknowledgement and stepped back into the shadows to continue her investigation.
Chapter 2
Underground United Global Defence Detention Centre, Docklands, London, UK
Handsome Russian born, Gabriel Malinov, secret agent for United Global Defence, softly closed the door of the detention room behind him and replaced his surgeon’s mask over his mouth. The confined space in the windowless room was filled with the breathless sounds of a handcuffed woman mewling against her leather ball gag as two suited men also wearing surgeon’s masks cut her summer dress away from her body.
Malinov’s tall figure was dressed immaculately in an expensive dark grey designer suit that clung to his lean athletic muscled body demonstrating its perfection. He dominated the small room with his presence as he folded his arms and stood watching the men finish the task he had set them when he had brought the woman in for questioning. He glanced at the long window on the back wall disguised as a mirror knowing his work was being viewed and nodded to those on the other side who could not be seen.
He watched one of the men slip the blade of the knife up underneath the strap of her flimsy white bra and cut it away with force before turning his attention to the straps over her shoulders. It was not the agent’s intention to frighten the woman into giving him the essential information he needed to save lives, it was more to persuade her. He knew she was no stranger to male dominance. Her terrorist boyfriend ensured she lived in a strict domestic discipline relationship and she was more than happy to be the obedient woman he needed both in the privacy of his bedroom and in front of his men. The scene of being stripped naked and punished during her interrogation was careful, safe, and well planned. She would not be hurt or experience anything she had not already been party to with her boyfriend. Instead, the interrogation would walk the boundaries between pleasure, pain and embarrassment and provoke an unexpected arousal and humiliation that would unravel his captive. Therein lay the chance she would betray the information while at the mercy of a more powerful dominant than her murderous boyfriend. Gabriel detested torture and didn’t find it an effective tool especially where female suspects were concerned. There were much better methods of getting what he wanted from them.
The agent pulled the bra away from her body allowing her small pert breasts to bounce and quiver free onto her chest. Paying them no admiring glances, the second agent moved his own knife up under the sides of her bikini panties, snapping the thin straps so that they dropped to the ground around her red and white sandal stilettos. With a loud horrified groan against the gag, she bent her head to stare at the tantalising neatly shaven triangle between her legs, her bright hazel eyes
