Page 82 of One Minute Out

“I want to be called by my real name. My name is—”

“No. We don’t use real names. It’s for your own security, and I’m sure you’ve already been told this at all the other stops on the pipeline.”

Roxana said nothing, and the American placed a hand on top of hers and squeezed. “I understand this is all... new, and more than a little stressful. I’m going to help you with that part of this. Believe me, I’m only here for your benefit.”

“Why are you being nice to me? Do you think I’m just going to go along with this because you hand me expensive clothes and give me a glass of champagne and squeeze my hand?” Roxana pulled her hand out from under the doctor’s.

“Maja, we all have bitter pills we need to swallow in life, to get us to where we want to be. A lot will be asked of you in the next few weeks and months, but so much more will be offered to you. You will be treated well, like a princess, in fact, if only you do your part.”

“And my part is, is what? To submit to rape?”

Claudia’s smile seemed forced now, but it persevered. “It’s not rape if you want it, and you will want it. We decided you would be a perfect fit for the Director. He agreed, of course, and he wanted no expense spared in bringing you to him.”

“If I am so fucking special, why was I kept in dungeons, why was I chained, why was I forced to go to the toilet in buckets?”

“The pipeline is mandatory for all of our girls. As in life, you must experience true hardships to appreciate true comforts. This is part of the process. But your difficult time is over, dear. Now it is time to see what is possible for you if you only play your part. I was brought in years ago to refine this process, to make the experience more pleasurable for both the women and the men. My focus is on helping you see the opportunities before you, and not focus on the negative aspects of your new life.

“We like to think of the pipeline as something they have in the American military called boot camp. Just like in the military, new recruits go through a difficult but crucial indoctrination period.

“But unlike those in the military, you and the other girls will be making a lot of money, living in surroundings you could only have imagined in your wildest dreams.”

“People choose to join the military. We did not—”

“Conscripts don’t choose. Look. You were drafted into this; I won’t pretend you were not. But I promise you it’s the best thing that ever happened to you.

“Look at this beautiful superyacht, for example. Have you ever been on anything so magnificent in your life?”

“The girls down the hall are staying eight to a room.”

Claudia shrugged. “Boot camp never looked so good to any young soldier, I promise you that.”

Roxana shook her head in utter disgust. “But... you are a doctor? How can you live with yourself?”

She saw the American’s placid demeanor falter and the tone of her voice darken slightly. “I live very well, dear, thank you for asking.” Claudia stood, headed for the door, and opened it. Right outside an armed guard leaned against the wall, a young man with a dark crew cut and a thick monobrow low over his dark eyes.

The doctor said, “Enjoy as much champagne as you want, dear. This door will remain open as long as the glassware is in the room. We want to make sure you don’t accidentally break the flute or the bottle and injure yourself.” She added, “From experience we’ve learned that the first night on board is the most challenging for the girls.”

Roxana’s stomach twisted, because she took this to mean that someone sitting where she now sat had used shattered glass to end her life.

Dr. Claudia flashed her teeth again and lightened her tone. “I’ll pay you another visit this afternoon. Get some sleep, you’ll feel better then.” She turned and headed up the passageway towards the other rooms.

Maja drank down the Bollinger with a trembling hand.

•••

I dream of the women in the red room again. Of imploring eyes, dread, and heartbreak. I try to open the door to the room to free them, but it won’t move, no matter how hard I pull.

And I can’t get out, either.

I’m helpless. As helpless as they are.

And it’s all my fault.

My head falls, then lurches back up. I’m holding on to a steering wheel on a highway, driving at one hundred kilometers per hour, and veering off the road. In front of me to the left is a concrete retaining wall, and I’m feet away.

I correct, steering to the right, jolting upright fully after being startled so completely from a dead sleep. The sky is filled with daylight, so I’m lucky the highway around me is all but empty.

Suddenly I remember where I am. The drive up the coast of Croatia, the hunt for the yacht somewhere out to sea.

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