Snatched Page 13

  “I hope you can hear me, Charming. I, Azeez of the Syrian army could kill you now, but I choose to let you live. Rule your people with love and compassion my friend. Tell them Azeez…….”

  The door smashed open and Azeez swung his rifle towards it. A figure rolled in through the open door and to the left, another figure appeared in the doorway and before Azzez could take aim and fire he was dead. Each trooper fired one into his head and two into his chest. McGinley and O’Mara dropped in from the tin roof as Azeez was hitting the floor. The house was clear. The shooting from outside stopped as quickly as it had begun. The five Syrians and thirty insurgency rebels were all dead. The SAS had taken no casualties. The attack and rescue had taken under two minutes. Dan Ison was the field medic and as good as any doctor. He examined the prince as one of the men removed the chain that was keeping him chained to the bed.

  “Is it malaria?” asked Captain Potts.

  Ison rolled him over.

  “See this rash on his back. It’s like measles but it isn’t. It’s not malaria either. He has got dengue fever. You still get it from mosquitoes, but it’s not as bad as malaria.”

  “Is he going to be okay? He’s looking pretty bad.”

  “Yes. He’ll be okay. We just have to re-hydrate him and give him a blood transfusion. I have his blood type and there are four of us in the troop with the same blood type. I’ll give him a field emergency transfusion. They will have to give two pints each. Half an hour each on the tube direct from the donors to the prince ought to do it.”

  “Okay. Get it rigged up. We’ll start it in here. I’ll call for the chopper and we’ll secure our perimeters.”

  HMS Ocean was some 200 kilometres out in the Andaman Sea. They despatched a Westland Sea King helicopter. The aircraft carrier had already been making towards the straits of Malacca in readiness for the air lift. It would be just over an hour before the Sea King arrived to collect the prince and the SAS men.

  The troop took photographs of the camp and of all the dead rebels in situ and they took photographs of the dead Syrians. They also took all their personal belongings.

  The prince had been injected with adrenaline and was on a saline drip. He was also rigged up to a makeshift pump and tube for the emergency field blood transfusion with the four troopers taking their turn to donate two pints of blood each. The prince was going to be okay and had already started to come around. He was happy and relieved to see his old friend McGinley. The prince was further treated on board HMS Ocean before being flown back to England on a Royal Navy jet.

  ~7~

  The Prime Minister was delighted when he had the phone call confirming the success of the rescue mission. It was 2:15pm GMT. He called Her Majesty the Queen, who was also somewhat relieved and delighted with the successful mission and asked that her personal thanks be passed on to everyone involved in finding and rescuing her grandson.

  An hour later he was in the House of Commons informing the House of the successful outcome of the secret operation and laying out the evidence to prove that the Syrian President had orchestrated the kidnap of Prince William. The speech was covered live by the BBC and the story flashed around the world. The Prime Minister politically wiped the floor with the leader of the opposition, Ed Militin, who, as the Prime Minister pointed out, was ready to get into bed with the Syrian President, the very man who had planned the royal kidnap.

  In response, the leader of the opposition stated that his decisions were made without the inside knowledge that was held by the government and that this highlighted the need for all party leaders to be fully briefed in future state emergencies. After the jeers and sneers died down from the tory and liberal back benches, the Prime Minister replied;

  “My honourable friend was not informed of the operation because it was a matter of state security. It was a matter of life and death and, in the opinion of this government, my honourable friend is a buffoon; an imbecile, who’s judgement cannot be trusted. A man who’s decision making and leadership cannot be trusted. A man who simply cannot be trusted. It was vital that the Syrian President did not know of the rescue mission and you……” the Prime Minister pointed his finger at the leader of the opposition. “…..cannot be trusted.”

  The House rose in applause and cheers. The Speaker of the house kept shouting ‘Order! Order!’ but he was drowned out by the ovation which went on for several minutes. Effectively, it was going to mark the end of Ed Militin’s political career. The press and TV media went to town on him. The story would run and run, as would the story of the brilliant rescue mission. Everybody wanted to know how the prince was found and how he was rescued. The Sun newspaper ran the headline ‘Freed Willy’ and claimed as much credit as they could for their online petition, which they claimed may have forced the government’s hand to act as quickly as they did. They also changed political sides once again and hailed the Prime Minister as the Prime Minister for the future and urged all their readers to vote for him in the soon to be held general election. The country was celebrating. There was a feel good factor hanging over Britain and it felt like a good time to be British. Andy Murray won the Wimbledon singles final and England beat Australia for the Ashes. With just two weeks until the forced general election the Prime Minister re-shuffled his cabinet and the Home Secretary didn’t make the cut. Some said that she should do the honourable thing and resign from politics, but she said ‘Why should I resign? I don’t need to do the honourable thing, because the British public stopped expecting their politicians to be honourable a long time ago and the perks and especially the expenses are just too good to walk away from.’ Her quote was leaked to the press, but she was an expert in denial. She would be happy to remain a back bencher

  ~8~

  Danny and Meiwa lay on the king sized bed wrapped in the white Holiday Inn towels. Danny had cut the string off the Borg file and started to shuffle through the papers.

  “Danny, do you want to fuck me?” asked Meiwa in little more than a whisper. Danny looked at her. She was beautiful, her smile was cute and her brown tanned body looked delicious wrapped in a white towel. He could have thought about his beautiful wife and lovely children. He could have thought about Nok but he didn’t. He thought about making love to Meiwa and, at that moment, nothing else mattered as much as it should.

  “Yes, I do” he said.

  Meiwa rolled towards him and started kissing him. Her hand rested on his chest just for a moment before she allowed it to explore down his body, over his stomach. She pulled at his towel until it became undone. Then she held his swollen penis in her hand before she kissed his chest and his stomach and then took him in her mouth. They made love several times over the next two hours, but it wasn’t love, it was just sex and it was what they both needed.

  Then it was back to work; well at least for Danny. Meiwa slept naked on top of the bed as Danny looked through the Borg file. He made notes on the hotel paper that was stocked in the desk in one corner of the room.

  The file made interesting reading. Borg had previously been in a business partnership with a Thai/Chinese man called Wok Chin. On the face of it they had a property business with a large portfolio, mostly in and around Bangkok. This seemed to be subsidized by some kind of employment agency for foreign workers from Europe (mostly Norway) wanting to find jobs in Thailand. There were some interesting hand written notes that had been made by Nok. It seemed that all the job seekers were female and that Borg was supplying them to Wok Chin, who in turn was putting them to work in a locked brothel called The Pink Lady in Bangkok before moving them on to other locked brothels. There had been some kind of fall out between the two men after one of the girls was found shot dead and floating in the Chao Phraya River. Borg was more than a little concerned that the murder could be traced back to him at least insomuch as he had arranged her transportation to the Big Mango. The partnership between the two men had broken down and th
ere was a dispute over who owed how much to whom. Nok had negotiated a deal that seemed to satisfy both men. Nok’s hand written notes described how she had at first suspected that the men were in the business of people trafficking, but later seemed to change her mind, after being convinced by and falling in love with Borg.

  “Love is fecking blind” muttered Danny to himself and poured himself another brandy. He continued reading the file out on the balcony as he smoked and drank. Occasionally he looked over the balcony to watch the holiday makers splashing around in the huge swimming pool and playing under the elephant fountains that sprayed water from their trunks.

  Danny waited until Meiwa awoke. They had more sex in the shower and, as they dried off with more clean white towels he asked;

  “What the feck is a locked brothel?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Because Nok suspected that Borg was in business with a man called Wok Chin and he was supplying girls for him to work in a locked brothel called The Pink Lady in Bangkok. She suspected that their other business interests were just a front. Borg had a scam going whereby he was recruiting girls on the pretext of getting them work and accommodation in Thailand, but it seems that the work was in prostitution!”

  “Oh my Buddha! If they were being put to work in a locked brothel then they had no choice. Locked brothels are terrible places. Once a girl goes in she will never come out….well, not alive anyway. She will be worked like an animal until she is dead or sold on. A locked brothel is like a prison. The girls have no freedom, no choices. They are kept locked up. There are no windows, no escape. They are beaten into submission, kept prisoner and each day they are fed and then fucked by as many men who want to fuck them, and it is usually a lot!”

  “Why is it a lot?”

  “Because the girls in a locked brothel are cheap because they have no say and no rights. The cost of keeping them is minimal. Men can fuck a girl in a locked brothel for a fraction of the price of a properly run brothel or a massage parlour or buying a bar girl for the night. The locked brothels are usually used by Asian men and by some farangs who have been here long enough to get to know the places.”

  “Do these men know that these girls are being held against their will?”

  “Of course they do. It’s part of the attraction. The girls are locked in rooms, sometimes in cages or chained to a bed. They are usually beaten and battered. It’s a power thing and the men who come to fuck them treat them no better. A customer can beat a girl until he is bored of it and then fuck her. Sometimes customers can go too far and girls are beaten to death!”

  “Jesus Christ Mother of God! And what would happen then?”

  “The customer would have to pay some compensation to the management of course, but that would be that. The management would just get rid of the body and she would be replaced by another unsuspecting girl. These are terrible places and life expectancy inside a locked brothel isn’t very long. The girls are treated like animals, they are treated like the lowest of the low, but the real animals are the men who visit these places to beat and abuse them. For a few hundred baht they have ultimate power over another human being.” Meiwa suddenly turned white as it dawned on her.

  “Oh my Buddha! Nok’s message. Pink Lady Chin. Do you think that Borg has taken her to Wok Chin to be worked to death in the Pink Lady?”

  “Of course he has! Jesus! Come on, get dressed. We are going up to Bangkok.”

  Just over an hour later they were standing at the NokAir counter in Phuket International Airport, purchasing two tickets to Don Muang airport in Bangkok. They checked into one of the five star hotels along the river because the British government was still paying Danny’s expenses. It was already after 9:00pm and Danny decided against going to have a look at the Pink Lady at this time of night. He opened up his lap top and got up Google maps. They located the Pink Lady. It was half way along a cul-de-sac off a quiet soi, which was a few sois back from the Sukhumvit, in down town Bangkok.

  “I’m guessing that there is no point ringing the police” sighed Danny.

  “No. Locked brothels pay big protection money to the police. You are going to have to do it by yourself. It’s dangerous, Danny. They will kill you like that!” Meiwa tried to click her fingers to emphasize the point, but after three attempts she shrugged her shoulders and gave up. “You might be able to get inside, but you will not be able to get out again. Well, not with Nok anyway!”

  Danny was deep in thought and didn’t answer.

  “Do you have a plan Danny?”

  “No. Not yet. I’m going to sleep on it.”

  “You want I give you massage?”

  Meiwa started to unbutton Danny’s shirt and he didn’t resist. When he was naked he rolled over onto his stomach and Meiwa stripped off. She went into the bathroom and came back with a miniature bottle of aroma massage oil. Danny lifted his head off the pillow and turned to watch Meiwa smearing her body with oil. It glistened in the subtle lighting in the room. When she was completely covered and the bottle was empty she laid herself on top of Danny. He felt her warm body sliding over his, coating him in the delicious smelling oil. With her hands and her breasts, her thighs, feet and bottom she worked the oil into his muscles. It was erotic, sensual and relaxing at the same time. He turned over and she continued until they were both as horny as hell and she used her hand to guide Danny’s huge erection inside her. She rode him as if she was riding a horse. Then she got off him and stood up, standing over him with one foot each side of his body. She squatted down putting him inside her again and then put her hands on his chest as she thrust up and down on her haunches. It was great sex and was the first of many sessions through the night with just enough intermissions to allow Danny to smoke a packet of cigarettes and empty the mini bar in the fridge along with the bottle of Sangsom that he had bought from the Seven Eleven shop at the end of the soi.

  When he eventually fell into a drunken sleep he dreamt about Nok. She was swimming in the sea near a beautiful beach, but there was something dangerous in the water. Danny was shouting to her, trying to warn her, but she couldn’t hear him and carried on swimming until she vanished under the water.

  When Danny awoke Meiwa was already showered and wrapped in a towel sitting on the floor eating rice noodle soup. The sun was already blazing hot, but there were some black clouds away to the west which looked as if they were heading towards the city. Danny showered and they both dressed. They took a tuk-tuk down town. There was only one place where they could sit and get a view of the Pink Lady. It was a little café that had a sign up advertising coffee and beer. It was on the opposite side of the soi to the cul-de-sac on which the Pink Lady was situated. They ordered two coffees and Danny ordered a full English breakfast which turned out to be nothing of the sort. It was more of a cross between an American and continental breakfast with some salad thrown on for good measure. The plump Thai lady who served them had greeted Danny with a very cheerful ‘Good morning, sir’, but after that she spoke only in Thai to Meiwa. Danny trusted Meiwa enough not to say anything that she shouldn’t and he was right to. It was just gossip and banter. The plump lady wanted to know if the farang was big money or a cheap Charlie and did he have a big dick. Meiwa said he was big money and a big dick. Maybe it was better that Danny didn’t understand.

  The Pink Lady was actually called the Pink Lady Club. It had been converted from an old three story house. The windows had all been bricked up and there was only one way in and out and that was through the heavy wooden double doors at the front. At one time the doors would have looked very grand. They were ornate and carved with scenes of elephants fighting in some historic battle with the Burmese, but now they looked neglected and faded to grey by the Bangkok sun. Two heavy set Thai men sat on chairs each side of the doors and a third man kept coming out to smoke and chat to them. The building itself had once been painted pink, but the weath
er had beaten it into submission and the last remnants of pink paint clung peeling and flaking to the cement walls. There was only one way to drive into the cul-de-sac, but at least another two alleyways led into the soi. One was opposite the Pink Lady and that is how most of the men got to the Pink Lady. They parked up in the next soi and walked along the alley. The rest of the cul-de-sac was taken up with warehouses and small businesses that didn’t look as if they were doing much business. The Pink lady was busy and it wasn’t even mid-morning yet. Men, mostly Thai, Chinese and Japanese, walked along the alleyway and crossed the soi to the Pink Lady. One of the men guarding the front door would get up from the chair and nod and open the door. An hour later the customer would come back out and get another nod from the guards before he crossed the soi and went back along the alley. Some of the men were dressed in suits, some in casual clothes. A few of the visitors were farang, but they were in the minority and were all dressed in copy Billabong shorts and Lacoste tee-shirts. They were long term ex-pats who knew where to get more ‘bang’ for their baht.

  One such punter appeared from the alleyway opposite the Pink Lady and crossed the soi. He was greeted with the usual nod by the guards, one of who stood and opened the door for him. The farang had long hair, dyed jet black and tied in a ponytail at the back. He was almost completely bald on top and the dyed black hair was almost an orange colour at the roots. He was wearing long green army camouflage shorts and a baggy white cheese cloth shirt. He had several Buddha amulets hanging from a thick chain that looked too heavy for his skinny neck. His arms were both covered in cheap blue tattoos that he had collected over a lifetime, which Danny guessed was about 60 years. An hour later the farang came back out, nodded to the guards and crossed to soi back towards the alley.