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“Ah, this is nice.” Victor toasted us from the other side of the couch, his fingers straying through Rachel’s dark hair. “What was I saying? Oh, yes.” Sipping his drink, he smacked his lips. “Do you remember me mentioning the dark web, Henri? Where you can buy all nationalities, ages, and creeds?”
“I remember.” Henri smiled, his outward appearance unruffled all while I sensed his energy as a jagged, jittery mess. “What about it?”
“Well, I had my eyes opened thanks to a friend in Vietnam. I was there checking on my sapphire mine, you see. I happened to mention the next time I visited, I might bring my heir with me. That got us onto the topic of babies.” His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. “Apparently, I’m a bit of a dinosaur with the dark web and covertly trading skin in very exclusive circles. There’s a new breed of trafficker. So bold and uncaring, they openly trade on mainstream platforms.”
Snow dusted my shoulders.
Rachel hunched over her knees.
And Henri kept his tone insolently bored, all while his energy crackled with rapidly rising disgust. “Oh?”
“It’s all about emoji and code language.” Victor leaned back, gloating at his wisdom. “Triangles and spirals and a bunch of others. These codes are well-known, apparently. I need to study their meanings, but what really intrigued me was the use of popular selling sites.”
Henri coughed on a mouthful of liquor. My own untouched glass sagged, forgotten in my hand.
“What do you mean?” Henri spluttered. “They’re uploading people and taking online bids now?”
“Exactly!” Victor snickered and shook his head. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? In plain view, no less. Right there, beneath people’s noses!”
“How?” Henri scowled. “I don’t understand how they don’t get caught the moment they upload a fucking person. Surely, those sites are monitored. Police would be notified immediately if a missing person suddenly appeared with a price tag.”
“It’s because they don’t upload a person.” Victor tapped his nose. “They upload—”
“Sir?” A soft knock as the door to Victor’s bedroom opened. “Your dinner is here. Shall I have the staff bring it in?”
“Yes, thank you, Tim.” Victor nodded. With a twinkle in his eye, eager to spill such horrendous information, he waited patiently for a few servers to march in, each carrying large trays full of plates and dishes.
I recognised a few of them from being in the kitchens so much. One of the men had smiled at me last week as he dashed out with a trolley full of food.
Silence fell over our group as the staff unloaded the trays and lifted off the silver lids. The glass coffee table went from empty to groaning beneath delicious-looking morsels. Steam curled from platters of vegetable kebabs, saffron rice, perfectly filleted steak, pan-seared fish, chunky homemade fries, and so much more.
Once napkins, plates, and cutlery had been positioned, the staff swept out, and a butler stepped forward. He poured more liquor into Victor’s and Henri’s glasses. The huge crystal decanter trapped rainbows thanks to the chandelier dripping above.
Only once we were alone again and Victor had piled his plate with something from every dish did he sit back, cross his legs, and grin. “They upload clothing.”
“Clothing?” Henri’s forehead furrowed as he gathered some food and reclined. He didn’t take much, and I had a feeling what he did take he wouldn’t eat, and even if he did, it wouldn’t stay down.
My stomach rumbled a little, and I caught Rachel gazing at the food wistfully, but no one offered us the opportunity to join the feast.
Sighing heavily, I placed my untouched glass on the table and balled my hands on my lap.
This will be a long night.
“Yes.” Victor nodded, his words garbled with food. “I saw it with my own eyes. They list a pretty dress and use a header like ‘Stunning Gracie Birthday Dress,’ then in the drop-down box, they have ages instead of sizes. Age six, age eight.” He waved his fork. “Etcetera.”
“And your friend thinks those are links to purchase children?”
“Oh, he doesn’t think, he knows. He’s the one who uploads them. Or at least, one of them. That particular link was for a blonde, slim girl. He said the word Gracie depicts slim and small, whereas other names are different nationalities and shapes. Like I said…it’s all in code.”
Swallowing hard, Henri asked, “But how is a simple girl’s dress suddenly code to buying the actual girl who would wear it?”
“Simple.” Victor passed a chunky fry to Rachel.
She took it and ate it, her appetite not diminished by the abhorrent dinner conversation.
Henri copied Victor but went one step further. Gifting me his entire plate, he muttered, “Eat what you want. I’m not hungry.”
Victor sniffed. “Food not to your liking, Mercer?”
