by Bill Brewer
Entering the room, Fatima was shocked to see two bodies entwined on the bed. She stopped abruptly and gasped at the sight before her. Diegert got up, stepped past Fatima, and closed the door. Elena swung her legs to the floor and struggled to get dressed. Diegert stepped into his boxers while Fatima caught her breath and formed her next statement.
“This is not supposed to happen.”
“Calm down, I don’t have to explain this to you.”
“As a matter of fact, you do.”
“You can mind your own fucking business.”
“When you’re fucking a Headquarters employee, that is my business.”
“We’re adults who don’t need your approval.”
“One of your points can’t be argued, but on the other, you’re clearly wrong.”
Returning next to her on the bed and grabbing her hand, Diegert told Elena, “You’re the kindest, most gentle woman I’ve ever met, and I’m so grateful for the time you spent with me.”
Fatima blurted out, “Shut the fuck up.” Turning to Elena, she said, “Get out of here right now before I call security.”
Elena glanced at Diegert with a quiet smile, stood up, faced Fatima with eyes like daggers, and walked out. Diegert sat on the bed looking at the floor.
Fatima sighed, saying, “This is over. You are not to fraternize with Headquarters employees. I’ll see you at 0700.”
31
To be a member of the choir of Westminster Abbey you not only had to be a boy between the ages of eight and fourteen with the gift of voice, but you also had to be fully committed to the schedule of daily performances and enroll in the abbey’s choir school. The school was specifically designed to allow the boys to complete their educations while fulfilling the performance requirements of the choir. The choir’s schedule included daily participation in services at the abbey as well as state and international performances.
Andrew Cambridge was eleven years old and one of the principal voices in the choir. His parents, Arthur and Elizabeth, were so very proud of his participation, and their generous sponsorship allowed the choir to stay at some of the finest hotels in the world when they traveled to perform. Andrew thought all the songs were kind of old fashioned, but he was so accustomed to being with his friends in the choir that the very uniqueness of his privileged but demanding life didn’t even occur to him. Even at the age of eleven, he enjoyed the fantasy of Christmas. He and his family made the most of the story of Father Christmas and his chimney-sliding habit of bringing gifts on Christmas morning.
The choir of Westminster Abbey performed at the classic midnight mass as well as the morning services, but in between, Andrew Cambridge and the other boys were allowed to go home and have Christmas morning with their families. Andrew was so very excited about the holiday that the butterflies in his stomach flapped all day.
Midnight Mass was a tremendous affair, attended by the royal family and a thousand other parishioners. The cathedral, dressed in lights and decorations for the holiday, had a magical feel for this special season. Andrew’s parents, as well as his older sister, Victoria, were all in attendance at midnight Mass, so Andrew was a little surprised when a dark-suited man approached him after the performance and informed him he would be providing Andrew transport to the Cambridge estate. But Andrew’s excitement wasn’t diminished by the fact that he was riding separately to the family’s home in the country. As a member of the choir, he was always being driven to one place or another. The car certainly looked right, a big black Rolls-Royce. The man opened the rear door, Andrew climbed in, and the man followed. The car immediately drove off the grounds of the abbey and turned in the direction of the estate.
Andrew asked, “Was Victoria with my parents?”
“I’m sure she is,” replied the man in the seat beside him.
“She is becoming such a bother to Mum and Dad. She’s doing the teenage thing really badly, rejecting everything Mum and Dad want her to do. I wouldn’t be surprised if she just pissed on midnight Mass and stayed home.”
The man remained silent but smiled weakly and looked out the window. Andrew looked out the window as well, and it looked like they were getting on the freeway, which was certainly not the route to the estate. When Andrew turned to question their route, he was startled to see the man had a small mask over his nose and mouth. He looked to the driver, and the window between them was closed tight. The man held a small spray bottle. Andrew put his hands up to defend himself, but the vapors found their way into his lungs. Within a minute, he was unconscious, and the man opened the moonroof to aerate the cabin. The driver continued on to the airport, where Andrew was loaded on a private plane and flown to Bucharest, Romania.
When he received notice that the abduction had succeeded, Michka Barovitz sent an e-mail to both Arthur Cambridge and Nigel Flannery.
Gentlemen,
Apparently, you have some lessons to learn about doing business in the Balkans. I will instruct you to make the payments I outlined in my earlier e-mail or your son will suffer the consequences for nonpayment. Hopefully he will learn early to abide by the cultural practices of different regions of the world. When payment in full has been made and a consistent payment history has been established, your son’s tour of the Balkans will conclude, and he will be returned. Until then, his location and well-being will be at my direction. I wish you a Happy Christmas.
Michka Barovitz
When they got the e-mail, it concluded the two hours of worry about the disappearance of Andrew, but it extended an already long night.
Elizabeth Cambridge was hysterical. She cried inconsolably, hyperventilating to the point of fainting. Arthur felt powerless yet was resigned to resolve this with dignity. Nigel Flannery was at the family estate. He explained to Arthur the earlier correspondence with Barovitz and was so very apologetic, though he could never have imagined that this would be the consequence for refusing to be extorted. News of the boy’s kidnapping spread quickly, and the British online tabloids feasted on the story, speculating on all sorts of dreadful possibilities and probable suspects.
When Dean Kellerman heard the news, he was taken by the plight of his friend and business associate. Being a parishioner of the abbey and a member of the same exclusive golf club as Arthur, he felt compelled to offer his assistance. Unlike so many people, who offered to do whatever they could even when there was nothing they could actually do, Dean Kellerman’s wealth and position were substantially greater than the rest of London’s elite. As a member of the Board of Crepusculous, he played on the world stage and belonged to the small group of the world’s most influential people. In spite of his lofty position, he could feel the pain and sorrow his friend’s family was going through. It certainly wasn’t pity he was offering, and he was aware of Cambridge Holdings’s new properties in Romania. With that knowledge, he speculated the problem emanated from the Balkans, although no such information had left the mouths of either Arthur or Nigel.
When Kellerman’s name appeared on Arthur’s phone, he wisely took the call. “Hello, Dean.”
“Arthur, my dear chap, this is a dreadful situation. Let me save us some time and share a speculation with you.”
“Thank you for calling. I appreciate your concern.”
“Right, my good man. I’m curious to know if this has anything to do with your recent acquisition of properties in Romania?”
Arthur’s shocked response was audible through the phone. “Why…yes.”
“I was afraid so. Dreadful buggers, those Balkan businessmen. Extortion is such a part of the culture that they don’t even perceive it as wrong. Did they say which country he’s being held in?”
“I believe Romania, but the message said he will be on a tour of the Balkans.”
“OK, here it is. I have assets in the Balkans that are trained to deal with situations like this. They are Special Forces types who work for me as mercenaries when I need them. I’ll deploy them to find and retrieve your son, but I will ask that you do not tell th
e police, the press, or your family of this arrangement. I do hope you can appreciate the sensitivity of training and maintaining such resources?”
“Yes, of course, I will tell no one.”
At that instant, Arthur turned and looked at Nigel, who was hearing only half the conversation.
Kellerman broke back in. “Arthur, you certainly can inform your good man Nigel, but no one else. I’ll call you on this number with news as things develop in the theater. Keep up your spirits and Happy Christmas.”
“Yes…thank you, sir.”
Kellerman hung up the phone and called Blevinsky. He informed him of the situation and tasked him with locating the boy and assembling a team to retrieve him. Fortunately, Barovitz operated with such brazen impunity in Bucharest and kidnapped whomever he wanted, that his locations were known in the underground community. Blevinsky put together a reconnaissance plan tasking three operators to infiltrate and investigate Barovitz’s most likely locations. He informed Fatima of the situation and told her he wanted Diegert to be one of those operators.
32
It’s Christmas time, and this fucking place doesn’t even have a Christmas tree, thought Diegert as he ate his breakfast. Fatima appeared, and as usual didn’t eat any cafeteria food. “Why don’t you eat anything?” asked Diegert.
“Because I choose not to poison my body with the junk they serve.”
“What have you got? A hot plate, bean sprouts, and a teapot in your room?”
“Never mind, I’m here to task you with a mission.”
“You got rid of her, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Elena, the girl in the service line, you got her fired, didn’t you?”
“That’s right, she doesn’t work here anymore, and her husband’s not too happy about it. It’s going to make it a lot harder for them to feed their two children. But I suppose you never thought about that?”
Diegert drew a long breath as he looked down at his plate. Turning his gaze to Fatima, he said, “You didn’t have to get her fired.”
“Employees are not to fraternize with trainees and vice versa. It was her or you. So you’re lucky you’re still here.”
“Yeah, lucky me.”
Fatima sprang up, grabbing Diegert’s right hand in a wristlock and twisting it behind his back. She picked up his fork and placed it against his neck. “I have told you this is serious shit, and I’m not going to fuck around with you. If I kill you right now, no one will care and I’ll suffer no consequences, you understand?”
She pressed the fork until blood ran down from the four tines. She kept going deeper until Diegert spat out an answer. “Yes, I understand.”
She took her hand off the fork, leaving it embedded in his flesh, released the armlock, and stepped back. The cafeteria grew talkative again after the passing of the dramatic moment. Diegert reached up and extracted the fork.
Fatima instructed him, “Meet me in Room 240 after you’re done poisoning yourself.”
The bleeding wouldn’t stop. Diegert had to go to medical, where an antibiotic ointment was applied, and the wound was covered by a large bandage. The medic said it was a good thing he came, because impalements usually got infected, especially when egg and saliva penetrated the skin.
Room 240 was behind a windowless door. When Diegert stepped inside, he noticed all the walls were padded and there were no windows at all. The floor was also padded. Fatima stood across the room dressed in her black combat uniform and tactical boots. Her dark hair fell below her shoulders in lustrous waves. She looked at him and giggled. “You look like you’re trying to hide a hickey.”
Diegert didn’t reply, but his furrowed brow told her he did not find her amusing. With a playful, seductive smile, she bounced over to him and asked, “Do you know why I brought you here?”
Diegert was disarmed. He had never seen Fatima show her sexy side, and it was very sexy indeed. She approached him looking into his eyes with hers wide and her smile broad and appealing. “I brought you here because I can’t stand it any longer. You really turn me on.”
“I do?”
“Yes, of course. You may have misinterpreted the way I’ve been treating you, but it’s because I want you so bad,” Fatima said as she reached out and stroked his dark hair.
“Bullshit! This is total bullshit.”
“You don’t believe me? Why wouldn’t you believe that I’m hot for you? You don’t find me attractive?”
“You just stabbed me with a fork, and now this?”
“You didn’t answer my question. Do you find me attractive?”
“No… No. I mean, yes, you’re very attractive. But what about all the other shit you’ve been doing to me?”
Stepping close to him and placing her hand on his chest, she said, “I have to keep up appearances around here, you know.” She turned from him and walked a few paces, moping sadly. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, “I was really jealous of that other girl. The one you had in your room.”
“And you certainly fixed it so you won’t have to worry about her anymore.”
“I thought, doesn’t he see how much I want him, how sexy I think he is, and how much I want to be with him? So I brought you here, to the most private room in the whole place, so we could…share some passion.” Standing with her feet in a wide stance and her hips turned and tilted, Fatima pulled her T-shirt over her head, revealing her black sports bra.
Diegert was amazed, and this woman was hot, even though it was so unexpected. If she wanted to have sex, he was more than willing to take pleasure from her body.
“Why don’t you come over here and I’ll give you a real hickey to hide.”
“I don’t believe this. You’re fucking around with me so you can get me in more trouble.”
“You’re being a silly boy,” she said as she dipped her head and strode over to him. “I’m not fucking you, not yet, but I want to.” She trailed her hand around his neck, across his chest, and over his shoulder while circling him.
Diegert’s face revealed his conflict and confusion, but he stood fast as she finished her circle and drew herself close to him.
“Honestly, what has a girl gotta do to show a guy she’s hot for him?” She held his gaze, exuding sexual desire. Stepping back one pace, she undid the belt of her combat pants and lowered her zipper, revealing white panties with a red waistband and a little yellow flower on the front. She reached out and pulled his hips to hers. She smiled up at him with warmth and assurance. She squeezed his butt with her left hand, and with her right, she hit him in the chin with a palm heel strike.
Diegert’s head snapped. She grasped his right arm, kicking him in the hip sending him sprawling on his back to the floor. She stepped on the biceps of his right arm, causing his hand to lie flat on the floor, palm up. She slid her foot out to his hand and placed her heel on his palm.
Diegert was shocked but quickly realized what a fool he had been. The pain in his palm was more intense than he’d ever imagined. Fatima dropped her right knee into the meat of his thigh; he rotated the leg, and her weight exerted extreme pressure on his femur. This, too, was far more painful than Diegert had expected. From her position, Fatima easily punched Diegert in the ribs. The excruciating pain of the injured bones took his breath away.
“Do I have your attention now? Do you recognize who your superior is? Will you realize that I’m better at what we do than you are? I have tools you will never have, and I know how to use them to disarm those who should be able to recognize a ruse.”
Diegert was in so much pain from so many places he was having trouble listening to her. She reached down and slapped his face. “Hey, are you paying attention? Do you realize how vulnerable you are?”
She slapped him again. “Answer me.”
Diegert had both his left arm and leg free. His eyes darted to her right side, planning a countermovement. “I see…you want to try to get free.”
Fatima pressed her weight into his right palm and drove her le
ft knee into his groin. The searing pain from the sudden strike on his testicles sent Diegert to a place of pain he had never experienced before. He was about to lose consciousness when she struck his ribs again. He thought she was speaking, but he could no longer hear her, and his world was closing in, his mind going gray. His face was slapped again and again, but he could no longer feel it, and soon he was in a black world of nothingness.
Fatima realized he was unconscious when every muscle in his body went limp.
“What a pussy,” she said as she stood up and stepped off him. She looked at her watch: 07:42. She squatted back down next to him to confirm his heartbeat and breathing; he was still alive. She stood again and stepped away from him. She realized she had gone a little too far as she did up her pants and put her T-shirt back on. She reminded herself she was authorized to expose trainees to harsh treatment simulating that which they may encounter in the field. She reasoned he would now know his limits and operate accordingly.
When he came to, she would treat him nicer and brief him on the upcoming mission. 07:45. She had to admit that she had never applied this much abuse before. She was certain that waterboarding and stress positions were worse, but the sustained application of pain, with escalation on areas that had already been traumatized, could be considered excessive in a training program. Yeah…this was bad. 07:50. She gently tapped his face and rubbed his forearm, softly saying, “Diegert… David.”
When he remained unresponsive, she stepped away and crossed to the far side of the room. She nervously brought her hand to her chin as she thought that she would have to keep a lid on his reactions so that the full story never left the room. Perhaps he’d have amnesia. 07:54.
Diegert coughed. He brought his hands to his face and rolled onto his side. He tucked into a fetal position.