Blood Trust - Eric van Lustbader [114]
Jack nodded. It was difficult to argue against his friend’s assessment.
Paull indicated the girl with the porcelain skin. “I think you’d best take a listen to what Edon has to say.”
Instantly, Jack pricked up his ears. “What did you say her name was?”
“Edon.” Paull looked perplexed. “Edon Kraja.”
* * *
THE BEST way to lead a man unwittingly to his death is with a beautiful girl. This was a motto Gunn had lived by during the time he’d toiled in the spook shadows. It was a method old as time, but that was what made it virtually infallible. Occasionally, he’d had to substitute a beautiful boy for a beautiful girl, but the mechanism remained the same.
Vera Bard was still a day away from returning to Fearington from her weeklong medical leave, and he called her. Of course she said yes, this venture was right up Vera’s twisted little alley. He gave her her instructions.
“How long will it take you?” he said.
“I’m not far away,” Vera said. “Forty minutes max.”
Forty minutes later, he took the stairs down from the official Fortress offices to the auxiliary office used by Blunt between assignments. Try as he might, he could never get used to Blunt’s new legend name, Willowicz.
Blunt was making coffee, or what passed for it in this stinking hole.
“I’ve got a job for you and O’Banion.”
“It had better pay well,” Blunt said, “I’ve got gambling debts up the wazoo.”
“As a matter of fact, it does,” Gunn said. “It’s a rush job—gotta be done today.”
“I don’t like rush jobs—they have a nasty habit of turning out messy.”
Gunn was anticipating his answer. “How’s triple your fee grab you?”
“Right in the nuts. Who, where, and when?”
Gunn gave him the particulars and left. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough, but he didn’t go back to his office. He had another destination. He had pondered his plan in agonizing detail ever since his thoroughly unpleasant meeting with Pawnhill. He was dealing with ghosts—very dangerous ghosts who between them had been responsible for twenty kills, possibly more. He wondered fleetingly whether Pawnhill had any idea of what a difficult assignment he’d given him. Knowing the bastard, he didn’t give a shit. Pawnhill wanted what he wanted; Pawnhill knew he was in no position to defy him.
Someday, he thought, he was going to get out from under Pawnhill’s thumb. But, sadly, that day was not today.
* * *
“THE SCHOOL was nothing more than a front,” Edon said. “There are six orphans here—enough to keep the illusion going. The rest of us are like me—girls sold into slavery by their parents, or snatched off the streets. Either way, no one is looking for us.”
They had taken the children down from the burning, ruined school, out of Tetovo, and into the deepest part of the first-growth woods to the northwest, where, safely far enough from civilization, they made temporary camp in a small clearing. Thatë sent his remaining men out to gather wood for a fire. Restless, he put himself on guard duty, walking the perimeter.
Edon’s eyes searched Jack’s. “This is how it is, no danger to Xhafa or his people.”
“How about when he moves the girls around?”
Edon gave a bitter laugh. “He uses bribes and payoffs to local officials. You have to admire the machine Xhafa has put together. And he’s got something on everyone. The officials are taped taking their bribes—money, or sex from the little girls. I’ve seen some of the tapes because Xhafa would play them for his men while they drank and laughed. They were awful, disgusting—impossible to describe. Animals behave better. Afterward, Xhafa’s men would rape us, over and over.
“For the girls, this was nothing new. The idea is to break their spirit. They’re treated like trash, used and beaten. They’re starved if they resist, and God help them if they rebel. They’re tied up in a lightless room,