8
Connor kept his mind focused on their surroundings, Shields giving them regular updates about what she saw in the drone feed. Shanti sat in the middle of the back seat, talking with Pauline. From the sound of things, Pauline wasn’t responding the way she had hoped.
“So, you’re telling me that no one looks for people who just disappear? I understand that the camp is large and that the job must be overwhelming, but Naing’s men shouldn’t be able to walk in and abduct people.”
Connor didn’t know how to tell Shanti this, but he’d bet cold, hard cash that Mr. Ahammed was already dead. Once Naing’s men realized he no longer had the phone, he would have been worthless to them, a liability that needed to be eliminated.
“Also, one of the witnesses I spoke with today told me that human traffickers walk through the camp asking pregnant women to give them their babies. Apparently, she was raped by a soldier and became pregnant and freely gave her newborn to these criminals because her family had shunned her.”
Shanti sounded surprised, proof that, despite her job and her family’s history, she didn’t understand how deeply fucked up this world was. Wherever there was chaos, slavers and traffickers showed up, looking for human property.
“But there has to besomethingthe UN can do to shut the traffickers down and help end the stigma these women face. No, Pauline, but I … Yes. Okay. Thanks.”
Connor glanced over his shoulder to see anger and frustration on Shanti’s face. “I take it that didn’t go well.”
“She knows about the traffickers. She says there’s really nothing the UN can do about it. Can you believe that? They’re the freaking UN.”
Connorcouldbelieve it, but he didn’t say so. “There are almost five hundred thousand people in Kutupalong. The UN’s resources are stretched pretty thin.”
“She says they don’t have the personnel to protect Rafique or Noor or the witnesses and that only relatives can file a missing person’s report with the Bangladesh Police for Mr. Ahammed. She said people go missing all the time.”
Her concern for the others touched Connor, given that she was more likely to be a target now than any of them. “You might want to think about your own safety.”
But his words didn’t seem to register.
A moment later, she was speaking with her boss, bringing him up to speed. “I don’t know what’s on the phone yet. The battery is dead. I’ll look when I get back to the hotel. We need to do something to protect the witnesses and my interpreter. Is there any way to bring them to The Hague and place them under protection?”
She spent the rest of the drive sounding very much like an attorney, discussing organizational bylaws, international agreements, legal precedents, and obstacles to bringing Noor and the others to the Netherlands.
Connor had to give Shanti credit. She didn’t give up.
They reached the hotel without incident, he, Cruz, Jones, Segal, and Isaksen surrounding Shanti as they walked her to the elevators.
She let out a relieved breath when the doors closed and the elevator began to move, her gaze meeting Connor’s. “Do you think they’ll be safe?”
“I don’t know, but you’ve done everything you can for them.”
He could see in her eyes that she didn’t think it was enough.
Shanti watchedwhile Elizabeth plugged the smartphone into a charger, relieved when the start-up screen came on. Mr. Ahammed had most likely died to pass on this phone and the information on it. No one had told her this, but she wasn’t naïve. She had to make sure his suffering hadn’t been for nothing.
“We’ve got a heartbeat,” Elizabeth said.
“Will you be able to crack the password?”
“This is a cheap Android knockoff, so that shouldn’t be too hard. The Sayeret Maktal can crack even the latest iOS, so I’ll get Segal in here.”
Shanti watched while Lev and the guys everyone called “the geek team” worked together to hack into the phone. It didn’t take long, Elizabeth, Lev, and the others trading high-fives and fist bumps.
“Now, let’s see what secrets we can find. You say your witness took this from a Tatmadaw soldier?”
“Yes. He showed it to the British journalists, who asked Pauline for help cracking the password. Now, he’s missing, abducted like the journalists.”
Elizabeth connected a data cable to the phone and plugged it into Shanti’s computer, causing her photo application to open. “We’ve got lots of content.”
There were hundreds of images, some showing a pretty Burmese woman and a little girl at home, in a park, in front of a spectacular golden pagoda. An elephant. A lounging Buddha. The same little girl smiling as she fed monkeys at the Yangon Zoo. The smiling faces of soldiers. Dozens of pics of noodles in bowls.
“I’ve never understood why people take pictures of their food,” Elizabeth said. “Who sits around scrolling through photo albums of past meals?”