Page 3 of Sinful Beauty

The world rewards those with purpose, and little cares for truth. Take a few threads of truth, stitch in the necessary fictions and weave it all together to form the lie you require for your purpose. Such is the world in modern times. Has it always been so?

“Sir, Nigel can see you now.” The petite assistant with cropped stark white hair, dramatic black oversized frames and a close-lipped smile breaks me out of my reverie and opens the impenetrable walnut door to the director’s office with the practiced ease of someone who has filled the assistant role for decades, as I’m certain Ms. Penny Lanshire has.

“Thank you. Did I mention how lovely you look today?”

The phone on her desk, a vintage contraption with multiple clear buttons along the bottom, rings, one of the clear buttons glows, and she charges forward, the only sign that she heard my belated cordiality a slight uptick on the right side of her maroon-stained lips.

“Get in and close the door,” Nigel calls with his usual authoritative gruffness.

With a good twenty years on me, I imagine Nigel, my boss and a direct report to the Deputy Secretary General of Interpol, has a plenitude of reasons to be surly. Our job is to facilitate international police cooperation and to control crime that crosses borders. It’s the cooperation piece that is a thorny bugger.

“Hun Tap Tareth died.”

The door closes with a firm push and a click and I attempt to place the Cambodian name. “He was the senator who had been willing to speak with us?” He blinks acquiescence.

“The official account states he committed suicide by shooting himself three times.”

“Ah. One of those.” I sit across from the expansive walnut desk and glimpse myself in Nigel’s spectacles. To avoid the temptation of fixing my unruly hair, I shift back in the armchair, out of the range of my reflection, and consider the situation. No one commits suicide by shooting themselves three times. To state it in an official account is a warning.

“Who do you think orchestrated it?” A silvery eyebrow rises above Nigel’s circular wire frames. “The suicide,” I clarify. “Do you think it has to do with our inquiry into Manet’s compounds?”

“Possible. No evidence that’s the case, of course. What did you learn from the girl?”

And this is where it’s my turn to weave fiction and truth. Because I have a purpose.

“Anna Sloane Watson, an esteemed scientist.” I pause for emphasis, acknowledging her maturity and status. “She shared what we have long suspected. Research companies are using the compounds for preliminary testing to speed products to market. Although her direct experience pertains to the compound near Phnom Penh, one can infer that similar practices are likely employed across all compounds. For years, we have been aware of the use of these compounds for organ sourcing, so the notion of testing comes as no great surprise. All compounds are under scrutiny; be it China, Vietnam, Malaysia, or Cambodia.”

The criminal enterprises in Southeast Asia have turned human exploitation into a lucrative trade, enticing vulnerable migrants into deceptive work agreements. These egregious violations of human rights span from A to Z, constituting crimes that transcend borders and squarely demand Interpol’s attention. Regrettably, powerful players profit from the arrangement, making the case for engagement problematic. Moreover, when it comes to international diplomacy, the appetite to anger China is nil. It’s why I wouldn’t promise Saint, a liaison, resolution in Cambodia.

“Why’d they go after her?” Nigel steeples his hands, elbows planted on the ergonomic office chair armrests. He’s sent me thrice to meet with the Americans working on the Watson girl’s abduction case, all because we need more evidence before we can act. He might not have agreed to send me, except his acquaintance with Jack Sullivan, one of the founding partners of the black ops firm Arrow Tactical, goes back decades to Jack’s CIA intelligence days. One night over scotch, Nigel shared he owed Jack his life. He didn’t divulge details, but he imparted enough for me to understand I needed to handle the missing American’s case in earnest. Over time it became apparent Jack Sullivan wasn’t the only individual who cared deeply about the case.

“She unwittingly assimilated data that proves organs are being sourced from individuals either exposed to cancer-causing substances or, as we suspect, they are being used as human guinea pigs. In essence, she uncovered the evidence we’ve been needing to open an investigation.”

“She’s a whistleblower?”

“Not exactly. She didn’t comprehend what she uncovered. Obviously, someone else did. Someone who had much to lose from an investigation.”

“Why abduct her?”

“The instructions from the power players were to kill her. An ex-lover intervened.”

“How romantic.” His tone conveys the sarcasm his muted expression conceals.

“She nearly killed him.” Another single silvery eyebrow raise requests I explain, so I comply. “The ex-lover. It’s my understanding his wife is distraught.”

“Lovely.”

“Quite. The full report is in your inbox.” The report leaves out any mention of Saint, and we won’t mention his name in these offices, either. There can be no mention of an undercover officer having penetrated the Kontinuum Syndicate. “An investigation into the compounds won’t stop anything. You know this as well as I do. They’ll give us the same spiel as always. The workers are there legally and come and go as they please. They’ll tell us we are overstepping and that it is of no concern to Interpol. International concern for immigrants and the world’s poor isn’t terribly high. If an investigation is opened, it will be swiftly closed.”

“I concur. But we have enough information to open a formal investigation into Lumina International. Once we brief the Swiss authorities, they’ll take over. They’ve enough damage from banking scandals. The last thing they need is a pharmaceutical scandal that will further undermine their position on the world landscape. They’ll handle it seriously.”

He’s speaking the truth.

“Why are you hesitant?” Nigel’s intuitive skills are legendary.

“If the Swiss authorities get wind of an investigation, the media will have a field day.”

His eyes narrow over his steepled hands. “I thought your parents sold Lumina years ago? Don’t tell me they’re still involved.”

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