Part 3 (1/2)

”Where did you get into the truck? Calais?”

”There was a queue of traffic. You stopped. I followed a man who climbed up.”

”You took a big risk.”

”I've tried the other ways. They said the trains might work, but others said they were too difficult now. They have guards and dogs. A truck is the best chance of getting over the border. And I nearly did.”

”Why are you so desperate?”

He looked away.

”Your sister?” Milton pressed.

Samir stared out of the barred window that looked out onto the sea below, and, for a moment, Milton thought that he was ignoring him. But then he turned back to face him, and Milton saw that his eyes were damp.

”Her name is Nadia,” he said. ”We... we...” His voice became choked and, as Milton watched, he bowed his head and started to cry. Milton sat there awkwardly. He had never been a particularly empathetic person, and his previous career had cauterised any vestiges of sensitivity that he might once have possessed. He sat quietly, waiting until Samir had composed himself again.

When Samir looked up again, his cheeks were wet. ”She is my little sister,” he said. ”Do you have a sister, John?”

”No,” he said.

”Then you will not understand.”

”Just tell me.”

”We are from Eritrea. It is a dangerous place. My father opposed the regime. That was enough for the government to kill him and my mother. They would have killed us, too, but we were able to get away. We travelled north, through the desert to Libya. We left on a boat. It was dangerous. Many people fell into the water and the boat did not stop to collect them. We watched them try to swim after us until we couldn't see them anymore.”

”Where did you land?”

”Italy,” he said. ”There is an island-Lampedusa. We have a cousin in Turin. He said that we could stay with him until we found work.”

Samir paused again, and Milton saw that his hands, resting on the table, were now clenched into tight fists.

”What happened?” he said.

”There were men there,” Samir said. ”They worked for the smugglers. They said the money we had given them was not enough for the trip. But it was enough. They said ten thousand dollars. But we do not have ten thousand. They said that Nadia would have to work for them until the money was all paid. I told them that this was bulls.h.i.+t, that they could not say these things, but they did not listen to me. They took Nadia from me. I tried to stop them, but there were four of them and one of them had a gun. They hit me on the head; they knocked me out. When I woke up, Nadia was gone. I spoke to the others afterwards. They said they put Nadia in a van with three other girls and drove them away.”

”Drove them where?”

”I do not know,” he replied. ”I asked. No one knew anything. No one could help me. I did not know what to do, so I went to Turin to meet my cousin like we had planned. There was nowhere else for me to go.”

Samir reached out for his cup, his fingers circling it, but he didn't try to take a drink; he was distracted by the memories that the conversation had recalled.

”What happened next?”

”I waited. Two months, John. I had no idea where Nadia was for two months. She could have been dead. I thought about her every day. I waited and waited for her to contact me, to tell me where she was so that I could go and find her and get her. But nothing came. A week, one month, two months. Nothing. But then I had an email. Two weeks ago. She told me that she was in this country. They took her to Calais and then they sold her and the other girls. She said they were bought by Albanians. They smuggled her over the border with a false pa.s.sport, and now they make her work in a brothel.” He spat the word out. ”They said that she would have to work there every day until the money was paid back. They keep her there. She cannot leave. She did not even know where she was for the first month. They say she must stay there; she cannot speak to anyone outside the house.”

”So how did she email you?”

”My sister is clever,” he said. ”She stole the telephone from a man who had been to see her. She used the phone to send me an email, plus a map of where she is. I have saved the map.”

”Where is she?”

”A place called Wanstead. Do you know it?”

”It's in London,” Milton said.

”That was where I was going to go. I go to the brothel, I find my sister, I get her out.”

”Just like that?”

”Why not?”

”I know a little about the Albanians. They are very influential in the underworld here. They're very dangerous. They don't make idle threats, and they won't be pleased to see someone interfering with their business.”

”They have her in a house,” he said. ”Not a prison. I can get her out.”

”And then?”

He looked at Milton with an expression of certainty. ”And then maybe we make a life for ourselves here. I claimed asylum. If they refuse me, we go back to Turin. The Albanians will never find us.”

Milton regarded him critically. He was nave and he was underestimating the task ahead of him. More important even than that was the impracticality of his plan: he was locked up in the detention centre and there was no guarantee that he would be allowed to leave.

”You asked why I took a risk last night,” he said. ”Nadia is why. I got this far. She is my sister, John. I love her. I am going to find her. I am going to take her away from them.”

Milton had already decided what he was going to do. He had seen the desperation in Samir's face as he was dragged away from the truck yesterday morning. It wasn't just the desperation to get into the country, although that was part of it. He had seen panic there, the gut-wrenching fear that he wouldn't be able to do something that was obviously of great importance to him. That was why Milton had come to visit Samir, and hearing the story that the young man related had reinforced his determination that it was the right thing to do.

He would help him.

”I'm going to be brutally honest with you,” Milton said. ”Is that all right?”

Samir shrugged.

”I don't know much about asylum. Maybe you get it, maybe you don't. But the climate isn't friendly towards asylum seekers at the moment, and I'd say that the odds are against you. If that happens, there's no way you'll be able to try to get your sister.”

”Then I come back.”

Milton shook his head. ”And, a.s.suming that you did get out of here, or you come back again, my guess is that it'll be more difficult than you think to get Nadia away from the Albanians. And if we make another a.s.sumption and say that you can do all of that, that you can get out of here and then find her and get her out, what's to say that they don't come after you? Are you confident you can hide from them? Two Eritrean refugees won't be that hard to find in London or Turin.”

”How is this helpful to me?” he said sourly.

”I'm just laying it out for you. I think you need to be realistic.”