The Velvet Collar

by C. P. Mandara

  Kyle yanked the zip ties nice and tight as if I was some kind of Houdini who made a habit of escaping from moving vehicles. I wish.

  "You afraid I might get loose?" I asked dryly after he nearly cut off the circulation in my wrists. Testing the bonds, as soon as he'd let me go, I found I could barely separate one wrist from the other.

  "I don't think you're going anywhere in a hurry, Matthews." He gave me a smug grin as he slammed the door of the van shut, much harder than he needed to.

  I didn't either. The bastard had me right where he wanted me.

  Chapter Twenty-One - Somewhere in Iran

  I'd seen enough bad guys in my line of business to know that the bloke in front of me was one mean motherfucker. I don't mean the kind of guy who'd mug your grandmother in her own home and then punch her lights out, either. This guy was a special kind of asshole, and by special, I mean he was quite content to blow up ninety percent of the world's inhabitants so he could rule the remaining ten. He was also a nuclear arms dealer, but the two kind of went hand in hand.

  Having been deep undercover in the depths of hell, otherwise known as Mashhad, for what seemed like forever, I was starting to get sick and tired of this shit. It was all very nice making sure that a few select assholes didn't get out of line and try and blow everyone up, but these last few years I'd gotten a bit tired with the whole saving-the-world thing. It was time someone else stepped up. My ability to speak eleven different languages rather fluently had kept me deep undercover in some hole or another for the last twenty-five years, and it really was past time I threw in the towel. Having an IQ of over two hundred points is not to be recommended. They work you like slave drivers in these parts, and the perks aren't all that great.

  So, where was I? Oh yes, Iran. Well, the negatives are that the heat in summer often tops forty degrees centigrade, you can't cross the road because drivers are nuts, the public toilets haven't been upgraded since the sixteenth century, and alcohol is virtually non-existent. They're some pretty serious negatives, I'm sure you'll agree, but Iran is not without its charms. Everyone who isn't a terrorist is normally very friendly, they have some of the best open-air markets in the world, the women are absolutely, jaw-droppingly stunning, if you need a good carpet someone always knows a man, and the history and culture aspects are pretty astounding.

  Anyway, back to the subject in hand; the guy in front of me. He was currently holding four world-renowned scientists hostage, with the hopes that they'd be able to help him assemble his payload. They had adequate encouragement to do so; he'd already executed one that didn't want to play ball. To cut a long story short, he'd been sold a half-completed nuke, and he needed to know how to put the rest of it together to make a decent profit from his endeavour. Being a terrorist, he decided his best course of action was to kidnap a few people and hope for the best. His plan was all going swimmingly well until we found out that his buyer was in North Korea. We get a bit touchy in these parts when the North Koreans want nukes, and then I have to step in and clean up the mess. It was quite a spectacular one, too.

  We had a guy on the inside working for him, and we rated his survival chances at a seventy/thirty combo. Navid Hassani wasn't known for his patience or his benevolent temperament. You remained in his employ while he considered you useful, and you took a bullet between your eyes as soon as you weren't. Now I've seen a lot of people die in my line of work, so I'm a bit desensitised to it all, but I was quite good friends with the guy on the inside this time, and I was going to be very put out if he came back in several pieces. Which was looking increasingly likely as I hadn't heard from him in twenty-four hours. There was a chance his cover could have been blown, and if that was the case, he was probably having a bit of unnecessary dentistry done at the moment. Still, I might be overreacting. It was possible the asshole had just shut operations down for the time being, or our guy might have copped a black eye or worse from one of the delightful gentlemen down there. They weren't known for playing nice.

  Our last transmission had details of the trade that was due to take place today, and I hoped the intel was still good. We were about to bust in there and send most of the nasties up to meet their maker. If our cover had been blown we should have seen some movement as they tried to get the hell out of there. Either way, it was going to be a super fun day.

  Currently briefing a team of SAS soldiers, who were decidedly upbeat considering the delightful day they had in store, we went through several different scenarios, all of which ended in us winning the day. There couldn't really be any other conclusion. Too much was at stake. Batting a wave of flies away with my hand, I wiped a trail of sweat from my forehead. This was going to be a long day.

  When my phone vibrated in my pocket I immediately suspected the worst and bent to pick it up. If I found out Hawk had been murdered I was going to be in a very bad mood for the rest of the day.

  "Hello." The call was unrecognised, which immediately sent warning bells hammering in my overheated brain. Christ, I needed to go somewhere that had air-conditioning. My internal circuits were being fried.

  "Darling. Long time no see. How goes the international world of crime and espionage?" The voice was female and strangely familiar. It still took a few seconds for me to place it, and when I did I nearly dropped my phone.

  It is usually quite hard to shock me, but getting a call from your ex-wife who you haven't heard from in twenty odd years can do that to a person. Fortunately, I recovered quickly.

  "Laurel, darling. It's been ages. What's the matter? Is crime not paying these days? I can't see that it pays any less than working for the government, but I'll ship you some cash if I can find some."

  "You're very funny, Rupert." Laurel's tone was rather curt, but that was nothing new so I didn't take offence.

  "What's the problem then, darling?"

  "Redcliff has kidnapped your daughter."

  "Nah. The old boy hasn't got it in him. That's why we picked him. He dotted all the Is and crossed all the Ts. When I got his file I went over it with a fine tooth comb. Actually, there wasn't very much of a file, if I remember rightly. Investment banker, dull, boring, a bit of golf, not a whiff of scandal. That sort of thing."

  "Did you have anyone follow him for a bit?" Laurel's tone was dry, and I didn't appreciate it.

  "Why would I have an investment banker followed? I know you think I sit about on my ass all day long and play silly games, but actually, some of this stuff is quite important..."

  "Rupert. This is serious. She's been taken hostage. I think he's hoping to get some money out of the deal, which should give him plenty of cash to get rid of both of us. At least, that's how I see this playing out unless you have a better theory."

  I didn't. The guy was a fucking moron, though. You don't tangle with the mafia and Her Majesty's Secret Service unless you've got a death wish or a screw loose. I wondered which it was. "Is he still in love with you?" It could explain a few things if he was. A woman scorned was one thing, but a man scorned who had access to a lot of cash was another.

  "Of course he is. So are you for that matter."

  "Says who?" I grinned. You had to love Laurel's sass. Besides, she was probably right; I just hadn't had enough time lately to give the matter any real thought. Slapping an annoying mosquito on my arm, I was most pleased with myself when I got it the first time.

  "Okay, Laurel, what do you want me to do?" I sure as hell hoped that whatever it was, she didn't want me to do it immediately. Things would be a little sticky here for at least the next eight hours or so.

  "Finish up whatever international emergency you're in the middle of and get your ass back to the UK, so we can extract your daughter and her husband."

  I blinked. "She's married? When did that happen?" Rolling my eyes skywards, I wondered how long I'd been off the grid and what else had happened since I'd been away.

  Laurel sighed as if the weight of the world was upon her shoulders. "She's been married a year. If you were contactable I'd have sent you
the photos, but no, you always have to be squirreled away somewhere secret where no one can get a hold of you."

  "It comes with the territory, Laurel," I said, with my tongue firmly in my cheek. "It would be a little pointless being in the secret service if I announced my presence to everyone. Can you imagine how that would go? Hi nuclear arms dealer, I'm a spy, and I'm about to blow you and your operation to bits. Fancy telling me everything you know?" Laurel was clucking impatiently on the other end of the line, but I'd just hit my stride. "I also take umbrage to 'squirreling'. I don't squirrel anywhere." I nodded to myself. That told her. "Oh, and it can't be that secret because you got a hold of me, so stop complaining."

  "I had to threaten the head of MI6 to get your number."

  Bursting out laughing, I said, "God, I wish I'd been there." Daniel Winchester was a real pain in the ass at the best of times, and I have often wished for his swift demise. Unfortunately, the man is very robust and rules our little office with an iron fist. "Care to tell me what you threatened him with?" This I needed to know.

  "Concentrate, Rupert. There's a very real chance Redcliff is going to kill Jennifer's husband, whose name is Mark Matthews."

  "Would I like him?" I was curious. As soon as Laurel put down the phone I was going to do some research. Getting some dirt on your son-in-law is always good fun.

  "I don't." Laurel sounded a little petulant. Something had happened between them, that much was obvious, and it would be fun to find out exactly what had tugged her chain.

  "That probably means I will." Smiling to myself I added, "So what do you want, Laurel? I have thirty minutes until I get to go wild with an underground terrorist cell, and I haven't even loaded my assault rifle yet. Get to the point, woman." Having always loved tormenting her, today I was enjoying myself even more than normal. Retirement was becoming a more appealing prospect by the second.

  "Fine. Find out where Redcliff is hiding, get over there, and rescue Jennifer. If you can get Mark out then do so, but only if it's not too much trouble. That succinct enough for you?"

  "Reading you loud and clear, boss lady. Be there as soon as I can. Right, gotta go. I've things to do, people to kill." She grunted and hung up on me. That was the Laurel I knew and loved. She was such a feisty thing. Would our daughter take after her? Did she have balls of steel just like her mother? If she did, I pitied her poor husband. He was going to have his work cut out for him.

  Heading back to base to finish my talk with the boys, I thought wistfully back to our brief spell together. Having had no time lately for anything bar the odd one night stand - mainly because most of them didn't get to live longer than that - I thought it would be quite fun to take up where we left off. Laurel might not see it the same way, of course, but I can be very persuasive when I want to be. Mind you, so can she, and it doesn't pay to annoy her. She's a very accomplished killer, probably nearly as good as me, and I wouldn't want to go up against her. Actually, scrap that. Crossing swords with Laurel would probably be more fun than I'd had in a very long time, and I was due some. For the first time in ages, I was excited at the prospect of returning home.

  Turning to the soldiers who were waiting patiently for my return, I decided I'd probably briefed them enough. "Right, come on you lot. We haven't got all day. Get your asses in the truck." We could chat about our latest assignment and all the other glorious details on the journey down. I'd just have to hope that my daughter and new son-in-law could make it twenty-four hours without my help. A spot of torture here and there was good for the soul, anyway. Built character, so it did. So trusting that Laurel wouldn't let anyone die until I got there, I concentrated on the job in hand. It wouldn't do to get killed just before I got to meet the happy couple, now would it?

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Mark

  The journey seemed endless, and without my watch there was no way I could keep track of time. I hadn't bothered putting it on because Kyle wouldn't have let me keep it, and he'd probably have delighted in smashing the thing to pieces in front of me. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

  Unfortunately, that meant I was left in the dark. We could be driving out of town, or we could be going around in circles to disorientate me, there was no way of knowing. I just hoped he didn't take too long about it. Desperately needing to set eyes on Jen, to convince myself she was okay, I hoped the ride wouldn't take too long. My brain was going into overdrive, thinking about all the horrendous scenarios that might be waiting for me when we arrived, and there was no point dwelling on that just yet.

  Needing something to do, I searched around the van for anything that might help weaken the hold of my makeshift handcuffs. After ten minutes of scrambling about trying to find something sharp, banging around in the back like a ping pong ball, I realised my search was hopeless. It was a new van, there was nothing in the back except me, and all I was doing was wasting energy. There was a good chance I'd need plenty of that in a bit, so I might as well lie back and brace myself for whatever ugliness was to come.

  When the van finally came to a lurching halt my body shot forward, and I cracked my head on the bulkhead. Swearing, I listened intently for any signs of life outside. Were we there yet? Was someone coming to get me? Was this where Jen was being held? All these questions and more knocked about in my brain, and I was literally jumping with adrenaline, desperate to get out of this tin can. When I finally heard footsteps thump down onto the tarmac I waited for them to come and get me, but after a couple of seconds I realised they were travelling in the other direction. Shit. Were they going to leave me here? Please tell me this wasn't how I was going to die. If they were going to leave me abandoned somewhere while they had my wife, I would go insane. Resisting the urge to bang on the back of the van and yell as loud as I could, I sat there for several minutes, with beads of sweat dripping down my neck. When I finally heard some footsteps coming back, I wanted to sob in relief.

  The van door wrenched open and the two thugs I'd met earlier placed a thick black hood over my head. Between them, they then dragged me out of the van and onto a concrete path. At least, I assumed it was because my feet made odd scraping sounds over it. The guys then lumped me up into some kind of doorway, and I was hoisted up some stairs. As I didn't have the use of my feet or hands I was entirely reliant on the two goons, and they were none too gentle. Smacking my head on a doorframe as they tried to manoeuvre me inside a room, I swore viciously. By the time they'd finished with me I was going to be black and blue.

  "Where do you want 'im, Boss?"

  "Just shove him over there. I've got a couple of things to get ready before we need him downstairs. Just make sure those wrist and ankle ties are tight, and that he's pinned to the floor. I don't want him wandering off until we're ready for him."

  "Gotcha." I was flung in a corner, and some rope was wound around my wrists and ankles, over the cuffs, and attached to some eyebolts in the floor. It was a little overkill in my opinion, but nobody was worried what I thought.

  "I want to see Jennifer," I demanded. The hood was still over my head, but I was positive she wasn't in the same room as me. The only bodies I could hear scuffling around belonged to Kyle and the goons.

  Kyle walked up to me and ploughed a right hook into my face. My head went crashing sideways as pain splintered through my cheek. "No one cares what you want, so shut the fuck up or we'll gag you. You'll get your chance to see your wife in a bit. Be a good boy and stay quiet in the meantime." The fist in the face should have been warning enough, but I couldn't let the matter rest.

  "Just let me see her. I need to see she's okay. It won't take—"

  "Boys, knock him out for fuck's sake. His whining is driving me mad." Kyle sounded disgusted with me, and the boys in front of me sniggered. I didn't care. If I thought it would have made any difference, I'd get down on my hands and knees and beg to see Jen, but I knew my pleas would fall on deaf ears.

  One smash with the butt of a gun into my face and I was out like a light. Three, two... gone.

 
When I woke up I did not have a hood over my head. This much I could figure out with my left eye. My right was swollen shut. The two thugs had done some damage between them, and I felt pain radiating down my cheekbone. Blinking dazedly, it took me a moment to discover that my feet were in water. Freezing cold water. Jesus. Jerking my feet upward it didn't take long to learn they were also chained to the floor. Looking down, I found out I was sitting on a long wooden plank that had been suspended in the middle of a swimming pool. Rocking from side to side, I realised that my hands were still tied behind me, and fastened to a wooden bar. Grabbing it tightly, I used it to steady myself. I was sitting on some kind of platform in the water, but it seemed stable enough, provided I didn't move about too much.

  "Mark, you're okay. Thank God." The voice made me snap my head up, and there, on the opposite side of the plank was Jennifer, in much the same predicament as me. She looked fine, bar a particularly ugly bruise on her face, in a similar place to mine. Kyle had been busy.

  "Are you all right? Has he hurt you?" My words tumbled all over each other in a rush. I can't begin to describe the relief I felt at seeing she was alive, but it was certainly enough to make me forget about the sub-arctic temperature of the water.

  "I'm fine. What about you? What did he do to your face?" Her eyes glistened with tears, and I could see she was trying her best to hold them back. "Mark, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. When Cynthia asked me to go out for coffee, I didn't think—"

  "This is not your fault, Jen. He would have got to us sooner or later. He was playing a waiting game. We couldn't hide forever." That much was true.

  Stifling a sob, she nodded, though her lip wobbled dangerously. "Does anyone know we're here?"

  I shook my head. Technically they didn't, but hopefully they'd know we were missing soon enough. Khalil would be able to trace my whereabouts to central London, and hopefully he could catch some kind of trail from that. It was a long shot, but he'd come through for me before. We had Jen's mother, too. That had to count for something.