Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
F leur Buchanan finished the letter, signed her name, and placed the slip of paper in the box that would ship Deb Forrester’s belongings home to her family. It was the seventh letter she’d written to people she didn’t know to give them some sense of closure. Closure . She closed her tired, dry eyes and prayed that she could cry about Deb’s death someday. After the first two deaths, she’d cried for weeks. Then the third, fourth, and fifth attacks and murders happened. She touched the small bear Deb had kept on her bed. She’d said her father had given it to her to keep her safe. Tucking the bear into the box, she said a small prayer for Deb’s family. Her grief overwhelmed her to the point of numbness. She couldn’t imagine what Deb’s family was going through. Despair. Desolation. Anger. And so many questions. She wished she had answers.
Fleur turned to look out the tent’s window. The plastic made it hard to distinguish anything other than colors, and people who moved past were a blurred blob. The dark robes of the unaccompanied women were immediately distinguishable. The children wore whatever they had on their backs or what Children’s Hope International was able to get to the camp via the convoys. Supplies were next to impossible to get in, and now, the factions who hunted supply convoys were attacking the convoys they used to send her charges out of the country to safety.
She rubbed her arms, cold in the heat of the day. Her position as anti-trafficking coordinator placed immense pressure on her to find a safe way to get the children to safety. She was responsible for coordinating the convoys with other NGOs at the camp, international agencies, and local authorities. She’d had great success for over a year and a half, and then something had … changed.
“Fleur, are you done packing Deb’s things?” Earl Adams asked from the canvas partition that separated Deb’s cot from the other beds in the tent .
Nodding, she turned back to him. “What did we miss? How did this happen again?”
Earl ran his hand through his thinning hair and shook his head. “Nothing. We followed the checklist to the letter, just like the other times.”
Fleur nodded, knowing what he said was the truth. “Earl, we need to go off books for the next convoy. Someone is leaking information, or maybe someone is selling it? God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we have a murderer somewhere in the system.”
Earl had been bending down to pick up the box containing Deb’s possessions when he stopped and looked up at her. “What?”
Her lips tightened as she looked past him. “Are we alone?”
“Yeah.” Earl stood up.
“Somehow, information is getting out about our routes or when we’re moving the people.” She put her hands on her hips. “It isn’t us.” She stared at Earl when he just looked at her and repeated. “It isn’t us.”
“No, it isn’t, but you’re pointing a finger without proof. That will ruffle one hell of a lot of feathers.” Earl looked behind him then whispered, “It could get us in a lot of trouble. You know how strict they are about making every notification. If we don’t and something happens? They’ll blame us. They have enough egg on their face that they’ll deflect it in a heartbeat. Especially the governmental agencies. They’re firing people right and left and sending them home because of this without any proof they did anything wrong. We'd be the sacrificial lamb if they could pin anything on us. Period. End of story.”
Fleur drew a deep breath and nodded. “Which is why I’m doing it alone. You aren’t going to be involved.”
“Fleur, you can’t move an entire convoy without supplies, gas, and guards.” Earl picked up the box. “Don’t throw away your career or even your life. We’re drawing down. More militia is coming in to help us, or at least that’s what they're saying.”
“More militia? Maybe the new ones won’t fall asleep and let those damn people take whomever they want,” Fleur spat out.
Earl sighed. “What else can we do?”
She looked at him, shaking her head. “Nothing. I’m just so sick and tired of trying to make a difference and the ineptitude of the machine snagging, stalling, and even destroying our hopes of getting these kids to any semblance of safety.”
“We all feel it, Fleur. We all feel it.” He looked at the box. “I’ll get this over to the logistics tent. You can’t get a convoy out by yourself, sweetie. It’s impossible.”
She nodded and turned back to the plastic window. They all felt the frustration, but no one was doing a damn thing about it. She couldn’t send out another convoy doing the same planning and coordination as the others and expect different results. That was the definition of insanity, wasn’t it? Snorting, she shook her head. “Maybe we’re all insane for trying to help when their own government doesn’t care about them.”
Her words fell unheard in the empty tent. She closed her eyes. There had to be something she could do. But Earl was right. She couldn’t move an entire convoy by herself. That took a staff. But … She opened her eyes and gasped. No, she couldn’t move an entire convoy … but what about a few people at a time? Maybe … just maybe … She almost ran out of the tent in search of one of the Syrian women helping register the unaccompanied children.
Fleur found Rana at the admin tent and caught the woman’s eye, waving her outside. Rana slipped out of the tent, and Fleur put her arm through Rana’s. “Let’s take a walk.”
Rana glanced at her and laughed. “Why, what is it that you are doing? ”
Fleur lowered her voice. “I want to talk to you about something. Something private. Walk with me?”
Rana’s brow creased in confusion. “All right.” They strolled away from the interior of the camp.
Fleur looked around. “You came from Aleppo, right?” The town wasn’t far from where they were near Idlib.
Rana nodded. “Yes. Why?”
They walked a few feet farther before Fleur stopped and stared through the encampment. “How hard would it be to take five or perhaps ten children through the smuggler’s tunnels without being seen?”
Rana shook her head. “I don’t know the tunnels that well. My husband worked in them to get people out of the country. I didn’t.”
“But you know someone who does know them, right?” Rana was a well-educated woman who’d lost her husband in the fighting.
“Fleur, you don’t understand. Those tunnels are now used to traffic people, not to rescue them.”
“Yes, but if we move the children through the tunnels, it could work, right? We could get them out through our counterparts in Turkey. You’ve told me about how your husband had gotten supplies into Syria without the militia or warring factions knowing about it.” It was a chance. A chance to get some of the internally displaced people out of the country and into the hands of NGOs with the resources to relocate them to safety.
“Women moving children?” Rana shook her head. “No, the men in those tunnels would kill you after they raped you, or if you were unfortunate, they’d rape you and then sell you to others who would use you until you were dead.” The woman spat out the words and crossed her arms; her anger, perhaps her fear, was palpable. “It is impossible. To even think such a thing is ridiculous.”
Fleur closed her eyes and shook her head. “I have to do something, Rana. Seven convoys. All those people, our friends. Someone has to do something to get these kids and women out of here.”
Rana stepped closer to her. “I understand what you feel. I know what it feels like to be hopeless.” She glanced right and then left. “I … could … No, it is probably impossible.”
“What?” Fleur grabbed Rana’s hand. “What were you going to say?” Rana pinched her lips shut and stared at her. “Please,” Fleur pleaded.
“There are some men. Men who work to help those who are still in the country. I don’t know if I could get word to them, but I could try. ”
Fleur’s heart pounded against her chest. “Please try. Please … as long as it doesn’t put you in danger.”
Rana nodded. “I don’t know how long it will take or even if they will respond.”
“Anything you could do. I have money. Not a lot, but if needed, I can pay.” She was grasping at straws. “I would want to go with the children and be brought back.”
“It is a two-day walk through the tunnels and back. You’d be missed.” Rana’s lips were pinched tight again.
“I’ll need to work on that so no one would know.” Fleur paced a couple of steps and then turned back to Rana. “I could wear men’s clothing and tuck my hair away.”
Rana looked at her. “It could work. Dirty your face and wear loose clothing.”
“Yes, exactly,” Fleur agreed immediately. “I wouldn’t talk. I’m taller than any Syrian woman.” That was the truth. At five feet ten inches tall, she was taller than most Syrian men, too.
Rana stared at her. “I will try.”
“Thank you.” Fleur hugged the woman tightly.
Rana grabbed her by the arms and held her away. “I will not accept thanks for sending you into danger. How will you select the people to go with you, and what happens if you don’t make it?”
Fleur’s enthusiasm fell immediately. “I’m not important if I don’t make it. I have no one back in the States. My father died last year.”
“And how would you pick which of us would go with you?” Rana asked again.
Fleur put her hands on her hips and stared at the toes of her dusty boots. “The oldest boys and girls. They’re in the most danger.” When the camp was shuttered, any remaining internally displaced people, specifically children, would be vulnerable. In all probability, the boys would be forced to fight. The factions forced boys as young as eight into war as soldiers or suicide bombers. Of course, some boys were forced into prostitution, too. The girls, as young as eight, were forced to marry members of ISIS and were then beaten, sexually abused, and forced into a life of sexual slavery. And the Syrian Government turned a blind eye to the abuses, failing to condemn the practices or speak out against them in any way.
Rana copied Fleur’s pacing motions as she thought. “It would violate the directives of the camp.”
“When we follow the directives, people die,” Fleur said as she watched her friend pace. “I can’t keep doing the same thing.”
Rana stopped. “ You aren’t doing the same thing. You’re not responsible. There is a process to protect everyone.”
“Then who’s responsible? Someone has to be, and they aren’t protecting the convoys. They’re closing this camp down, and what happens when our time runs out? What happens to everyone? What happens to you?” Fleur’s eyes filled with tears. “Debbie, Sarah, Carl, Tran, Fen, Lou, and Mel are dead. And how many children were taken? What about them? They’re either fighting a war, forced labor, prostitutes, or married off to monsters. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to help.”
Rana walked up to her. “Ask yourself this, Fleur: What will happen to you if you take those people and can’t get back? While I try to contact the men I used to know, think about that. Sometimes, self-preservation is all you have left inside you. So many here in this camp and outside have nothing left except that thought. If they can live longer or better because they turn you over to these people, they will . Whether it is for food, passage out of here, or favors for the future, they will use knowledge of what you are doing to take care of themselves. So, you can tell no one. No one. That means you’re completely alone with desperate people during desperate times. Knowing this, I wouldn’t make the journey. What makes you think you’ll survive or come back?”
Fleur stared at her friend. “I understand the risks. I know nothing is guaranteed. But I have to investigate the possibility. It’ll be worth it if I could get one person to another camp that won’t be shuttering.”
“And how will you tell the people in the other camps where to meet you? The tunnels have outlets everywhere.”
Fleur stopped short. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. All of this was a leap of faith, and she was flying at warp speed without any navigation. “I … I don’t know. But I can work on that. I’ll figure it out.” She had time, didn’t she? Rana’s contacts would take time to reach.
Rana put her hand on Fleur’s shoulder. “Be sure you want this, Fleur. Be sure there is no other way.”
Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Fleur looked back at the vast expanse of tents that housed the displaced people of Syria. What had happened wasn’t acceptable. “I need to pursue it, and I will find a way to make it work.” She’d spend every dollar in her savings to grease as many palms as possible. No matter how often she had to go through those tunnels and risk her life. Saving the kids would be worth it.
Rana frowned and then lifted her chin. “Someone is coming.”
Fleur turned around and watched one of the young boys run toward them. The boy animatedly spoke to Rana and then turned to run back to the camp.
“You have a call from the States. They will call back in fifteen minutes. Nasir said he has been looking for you for a long time and that you should return now.” Rana turned, and they walked back together. At the admin tent, Rana whispered, “Think about this, Fleur.”
“I will.” She had no doubt she would think of little else. The walk to the communications tent didn’t take long.
She walked in, and Adil, one of the local nationals who helped with communications, handed her the satellite phone. “You have one minute until he calls back.”
“Thank you.” She took the phone and walked over to the table in the corner of the tent. It wasn’t long before the phone shrilled, and she answered it. “Fleur Buchanan.”
“Fleur, this is J.J. Hines. Do you know who I am? ”
Fleur’s gut dropped. He was the chief of security for the entire company. She’d only ever heard of him in passing and had never spoken to him. Why was he calling her? “I do.”
“Good. I’ve been working with a private security firm, Guardian Security. They’ve managed to free a team up to assist you with the drawdown of the camp. We don’t want another person lost. Guardian will control the local militia and the camp's security.”
Fleur jerked. Her hopes launched, and she immediately asked, “And the convoys?”
“I’m waiting for more intel on where the groups got their information. Until we know who’s responsible for the leak, we can’t risk our people or the lives of those we care for. Guardian Security will have the final call on any more convoys.”
“But, sir, we have a deadline to get these people to other NGOs or out of the country. If we miss it, they’ll be left here, unattended. We might as well serve them up on a platter.” She ran her fingers through her hair.
“One step at a time, Buchanan. Rushing our response isn’t smart, and it isn’t what we’ll do. I’ve been told the camp coordinator has been informed about Guardian’s pending arrival. You will be Guardian's primary contact since you’re our organization’s anti-trafficking officer and coordinate the convoys at that location. I need you to take them through what you do to organize and equip a convoy, who you contact, and what happens at each step of the way. Having outside eyes on the process could help us determine what’s happening. As I said, their team leader will make the final call on future convoys.”
“And if we do everything they say, will we have more time to move the IDPs?” She clutched to that hope as she asked. The attacks had put their drawdown timeline down the tubes. They needed an extension to get the kids to safety.
“Out of the country? Probably not. To another IDP camp? I hope to be able to convince the chairman of that necessity. There’s a good chance of that if we can protect the convoys. There’ll be no UN security. They’ve already declined to help, so Guardian is our last shot. They’re good, damn good.” The man sighed. “I know what you’re going through over there. I spent my time in the trenches.”
“Oh, really? How many of your friends died?” It was a sharp and bitter question, but she knew for a fact he didn’t know what she was going through. No one did unless they’d been in this camp and been the one who coordinated the convoys .
There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line. “That’s a fair question. None.”
“And I’ve lost seven. Seven workers for this company and other NGOs who believed in what we were doing died, and all those people from the camp are gone. You know what’s happening to them. Yet everyone here and abroad has twirled their fingers and shrugged when we’ve asked for investigations and more protection.” Fleur stood up and started pacing. “How many more will be trafficked and killed before this damn government will stand up for its people.”
“Buchanan, we can’t change the governments of this world or the way they make us operate in each country. All we can do is our best. Right now, our best is paying for elite security operatives to come and assist you as we draw down.”
She frowned. “Elite security operatives?”
“Guardian Security, to be precise, a subsidiary of Guardian International, performs duties outside regular channels. They’re the absolute best at what they do. They’re a sanctioned entity in the United States, federally recognized but hired by more nations than you can imagine. Technically, I guess you’d classify them as a private security firm when they’re working overseas. I’ve known of several missions where Guardian has freed Americans from desperate situations, protected humanitarian efforts, and provided safe passage for people stuck in a world of hurt.”
“And they’ll help us.” She sighed. “It only took people dying.”
“Buchanan, again, we’re doing what we can.”
Fleur didn’t say anything for a moment then blurted, “If we expose what the host nation is doing, or in this case, not doing, maybe we could force them to protect their people.”
“Do you really think one person or one organization ringing the alarm would stop this country from doing what it’s always done?”
“Which is profiting off the lives of their displaced people. It’s sickening.” Fleur lifted her hand in a helpless gesture as she spoke. As if this man sitting in an office half the world away could see her.
“Do I need to send a replacement to draw down the camp? You’ve been under stress that most people would crumble under.”
Fleur’s heart raced, and she rushed her answer. “No. No, you don’t have to replace me.” If they did, she might be unable to help get the IDPs out of the country or into another camp. “I’m tired, but I’ll work with the new security personnel when they arrive.”
“It isn’t anything to be ashamed of, Buchanan. I do understand your stress.” He rushed on before she called him on that bullshit. “Not that I’ve been through what you’re going through. Rather, I understand what stress can make a person do. I need assurance that you aren’t going to do something stupid.”
Fleur’s eyes widened. He couldn’t know. “Meaning?”
“Depression is a very real concern at the moment.”
She tossed back her head and laughed. “God, no. No, it’s not a concern for me. I’m going to fight for these people. I’m mad; I’m not depressed.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Positive,” she reassured him. “When is your security team going to be here?”
“It’s being arranged now so their arrival could be within the month.”
“All right. Did you have anything else?” She was over this call.
“No, I’ll call the camp coordinator, your lead, Miller Dupre, to ensure he knows you’re the security team's point of contact. I don’t want anyone to override you regarding the safety of our people. He has a say with the IDPs, but we’re the people moving them, and our organization is paying for them. We’ll be the point of contact, not him.”
“I appreciate that. I don’t think he’ll have a problem with it. I’ll keep him informed.” She knew Miller would understand. Miller Dupre was about sixty, an ole southern boy, and damn sharp. He knew she’d done everything correctly, and nothing she’d done to get more eyes on the issue had moved the needle, so having real security instead of relying on the militia would be welcome.
“We’re doing everything we can on this end.”
The comment came across as an apology, which melted any remaining anger as quickly as a blowtorch hitting an ice cube. “I know, sir. I know you are. It’s just so hard. These children and unaccompanied women look to us for protection and assistance. Seven convoys out of the last fifteen have been hit. Someone has to be giving out the information.”
“My thoughts exactly. But finding out who is almost impossible. There are so many entities involved in the logistics of the movements.”
“Maybe there’s another way.” She glanced out the plastic window of the tent .
“Not that we can legally move forward with, unfortunately. Good luck, Buchanan.”
“Thank you, sir.” She ended the call and handed the phone back to Adil. “Thanks.”
“Good news?” Adil asked as he replaced the satellite phone in its charger.
“No, not really. We’re getting a Band-Aid to stop a hemorrhage.” She headed back to the admin tent. Until the camp shuttered, there was still work to do, and she’d be damned if she dropped the ball. These women and children needed someone to be there for them.