Chapter 22

Katrina attached herself to Franz while she sat close to him in the Mercedes on the hard, bumpy, sand-covered road. It was difficult for her to hold up the big, 220-pound man. She heavily bandaged and taped his left shoulder to stop the bleeding, and she had his arm in a temporary sling. The searing pain came back, it spread from his ribs to his shoulder, and it burned like fire every time the Mercedes drove over an irregularity on the road. She took exceptional care of him. Peter had the remaining three white slave girls in the back seat of the car. He looked back one more time, and a minute later, the tent was out of sight, flattened and folded on the sand. However, the fine-grained dust still lingered above the surface of the desert.

“Where are we going?” asked Katrina, looking at Peter with her striking French accent.

“To my boat. I docked it in Sousse.”

“Really. I had no idea. Then what, or should I say, ‘Là où êtes vous nous prenant ?’”