pointed ahead into an alley, I felt movement behind me. Instantly, I knew. I turned in time to see the second woman corner me. Her hand shot out like a viper from the folds of her pleated dress, snatching my wrist in a viselike grip. The first woman threw her shawl over my head, muffling my screams as they dragged me into the alley.”
Aksel’s body stiffens beside me.
“It took only seconds to thrust me into a sleek van—only seconds for my life to change forever.
“I don’t recall much about what happened immediately afterward … the men in the van blindfolded me … shoved me to the floor. They were rough … aggressive … I remember the way their hands smelled. Like garlic and vinegar.
“Eventually, they stopped beating me. I woke in a dark room. Although I was blindfolded, the cloth was loose enough that if I tilted my head backward, I could see out the tiny slit beneath the fabric. The room had mold on the walls, a tin basin in the corner, a broken tile floor, and one grimy window. Through it I could see the red rooftop of a taller building … I could hear traffic, bartering from the souk, the adhan five times a day … I was still in Istanbul …”
Aksel’s fists are wound tightly in his lap. He whispers hoarsely, “Sophia … you don’t have to …”
I do.
“I tried to scrape the coagulated blood off my skin. I was tied to a copper pipe jutting out from between the floorboards; I slept on the chipped tile floor, shivering despite the heat, terrified of when someone would open the door …
“The next day, a man entered my room. He walked with a limp, like his leg had been broken and never fixed properly. He had asthma and wheezed; I heard him breathing from down the hall. He yelled at me in French. He was irate. He said the French government didn’t recognize me as a French national and la Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure—France’s intelligence arm—refused to pay a ransom for my return.
“Farhad was his name. He wanted to know why the Lycée listed me as a French citizen. It took him days to realize that my American parents used foreign passports for cover. Once Farhad learned I wasn’t French, that he was unlikely to get a ransom, everything changed. He decided he’d get the next highest amount of money if he trafficked me.
“I was scared. I knew I would be sold to a terror group, or a wealthy buyer. My parents would never find me. But then … another man arrived. His hair was tied back in a ponytail. He wore a gaudy opal ring on his forefinger. He smelled like Yves Saint Laurent cologne and spoke French with a Parisian accent, but he rolled his rs in the top of his throat, so I knew it wasn’t his first language.
“Bekami untied me from the pipe in the floorboard and took off my blindfold. He asked about me and my family. Where had I lived? Where was I born? When I didn’t answer, he touched my cheek and rubbed his hand against my neck … That was worse than when he hit me. And he did … often … he made me bleed. He came every day, threatening me. He’d slink his slimy hand along the back of my neck and swivel my face toward him, speaking with his hot, smoky breath a millimeter from my mouth …”
Aksel makes a sudden twitching movement. His green eyes stare into the fireplace—reflections of flames erupt in his irises. I can’t look at him or I’ll stop. I focus on the pattern of the oriental carpet beneath our feet.
“When Bekami left, he’d order the others not to touch me, not to sell me, no matter what price was offered. Bekami would say reverently, Cash does not compare to what she can offer us …
“It sounded like they were holding me hostage as revenge … or blackmail. Farhad and the others tormented me. They’d sit around me eating, feeding me nothing. They’d touch my face. They’d joke in broken French about hurting me. In Chechen, they graphically described what they would do to me once Bekami let them …
“In the late afternoon heat, they’d smoke and discuss their plans: blowing up the Köln Cathedral, bombing the Chunnel, burning down the Rijksmuseum. They were envious of the notoriety of other terrorist groups, but mostly, they were obsessed with a