Seal Team Six Hunt the Wolf(7)

Malie felt a tap on her shoulder and turned abruptly into Cyrus’s big smile.

“Hey!”

Warm kisses on both cheeks.

He said quickly: “I was waiting inside. I have a table.”

“I didn’t know.”

She followed him. A checked pink shirt, unbuttoned over a brilliant white tee. Shredded black jeans. Tan boots, worn at the heel. A brown leather blazer with a stain on the sleeve. Dark hair slicked back. A funny hitch in his stride. A hint of lime cologne. She thought he looked older than she remembered. Like he’d been around.

He smiled a lot. Dark eyes. A dark complexion.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“My father is French. My mother, Lebanese.”

“How do you know Tulio?”

“I spent some time in Rome. We raced together.”

“Bicycles?”

“No, no. Motorbikes. Cross-country.”

“Oh.”

He looked down at his watch, then pulled a cell phone from his pocket and punched in a text.

“Is there a problem?”

“That was Michael. He’s ready. As soon as you finish your drink, we’ll go.”

“You found an Internet café already?”

“Yes. No hurry. It’s not far away. We can drive.”

She took a last sip of her White Russian and said, “Okay.”

He stood and pushed back his hair. “You look very beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She wanted to like him. He seemed confident, worldly, energetic, a little nervous, the way he kept touching his face, his hair, something in his front pocket.

“My car’s in back.”

“You have a car?”

“It’s a delivery van, actually. That I borrowed from a friend.”

Clumsy feet, always getting in the way. She carefully lifted them across the carpeted back room, down the stairs. Her back straight, her chin up, imagining she was already a hostess at a glamorous restaurant. A famous model.

The alley was dark. She had to step around a puddle.

“If you want to wait here, I’ll get the car.”

“That’s okay. I can walk.” She wanted to stay positive and friendly, so she could make the best impression on Michael.

The click-click-click of her heels again. He offered his arm and smiled. “I think you’ll like him.” His teeth were big and white. She caught him glancing down at her breasts, then quickly away.

The van was parked close to the side of a store. Gray with a white roof. Japanese make, Danish plates.

“I’ve been helping a friend move his business,” Cyrus remarked as he unlocked the passenger door. “Electronics. Flat-screens. Stereos. I can set you up with a good price.”

There was something dark on the passenger seat. A coat, maybe. A blanket. He bent in ahead of her to move it.

That’s when she felt rough hands grab her from behind.

“Hey!”

A hand with a cloth over her mouth. A strange smell that reminded her of a hospital. Strong arms lifted her off her feet. Then Cyrus spun and threw the dark blanket he had been holding in his hands.

“No!”

Two men, maybe three, pushed her violently into the back of the van. Malie tried to get her high-heeled feet under her and fell. The back of her head hit the floor hard.

She came to several minutes later. The taste of blood in her mouth. A dull throb at the back of her head. Her mouth had been taped shut, her hands and arms bound together, too. She lay on a thin mattress and tried to kick herself free, until her jeans chafed her thighs.

They were parked somewhere. Vigeland? Slottsparken? Ekeberg? The wind was blowing. Branches scraped the top of the van.

She heard a car door shut and men’s voices speaking a strange language. The smell of cigarette smoke.

Feeling like she was five years old and lost in a forest, she started to pray for help.

The van door slid open. A sharp light hit her eyes. Behind it, dark dull faces. Strangers. One with a beard. Another wearing a green ski mask. A third, shorter man holding a knife.

“No, please…” she tried to say through the tape.

When they leaned over her, she shut her eyes and prayed silently to her grandmother in heaven, her mother and father, who all seemed so far away.

Something cold touched her stomach. She shivered, then realized they were cutting away her sweater. They pulled it off her roughly. Then ripped her bra.

She heard one man sigh with appreciation. Another seemed to scold him with a guttural sound like he was clearing his throat.

Someone squeezed a nipple. She winced and tried to lift herself up. Strong hands held her down and slapped her. Another squeeze, then someone spit. “Putain!” Saliva landed on her face.

Oh, God!

Something in Malie shut down, as though she knew what was coming. A feeling of panic gripped her stomach and threatened to turn it inside out.