His Prisoner

by Jesse Jordan

  “Of course,” she says, blinking rapidly. “Stephen...”

  “Don't worry, I'm sure the staff hasn't robbed you blind back home yet,” I reply, closing my bag. I don't want her to say what I can see is on her lips, I can't take it. Just the fact that we've had this time in England is an escape from the real world is too much, and I have to go back. “And there's always my two weeks of vacation I've still got built up, and well... who knows.”

  “We could be working together in the future?” Larissa asks, and I shrug. “You'll have to work on learning Italian and Greek.”

  “I'm sure it can't be that hard,” I reply. “Come on, I don't need to take anything else with me, let's just enjoy the rest of the day.”

  We leave Larissa's flat and head into the countryside, away from the tourist trap areas of London and into something more peaceful. “It's a big park.”

  “Lee Valley is one of the reasons I bought the building I did,” Larissa says as we circle around the parking lot, heading towards the place she wants to go. She finds an empty spot and “I always wanted, when I was a little girl, to go on a picnic with someone… meaningful here.”

  “Well you've got a chance now,” I reply, reaching over and putting my hand on her knee. “In fact...”

  Something comes screeching into the parking lot and we look up just in time to see a large black van come swinging around. The side door opens and three gunmen step out, Larissa and I reacting instinctively.

  It saves our lives as the gunmen open up without any warning at all, riddling Larissa's Bentley with bullets. I slide down on my belly behind the trunk, where I find Larissa, her cheek scraped and gasping in pain. “You okay?”

  “No,” she grunts, lifting her arm from her side where I see blood already soaking her blouse. “Flesh wound, but fuck!”

  I reach for my pistol at the small of my back, but it's not there, it must have fallen out when I slid around to the back of the van. I hear the thudding continue, and I look out, the three gun men aren't stopping. A fourth man emerges from the van, and my balls jump into my throat. “Move!”

  I grab Larissa, pulling her with me as we run as hard as we can. We've only got a few seconds before the TOW missile hits Larissa's car, tearing through it like tissue paper before the gas tank explodes, sending shrapnel flying everywhere. Larissa screams in pain again and stumbles. I don't have time to find out what's wrong with her so I scoop her up, looking for a way to get away, but the van is already pulling away, screeching out of the parking lot.

  “Larissa?” I ask, and she slurs, mumbling something incoherent and I take a look at her. She's bleeding, her face torn open by a piece of shrapnel, a jagged looking cut that's going to need treatment.

  “A10... A120... safe house,” she mumbles, and I understand. Slinging her arm over my shoulder I look for something to get us out of here, my salvation delivered via a man in a Mini Cooper.

  “Hey mate, are you two... hey!” he yells as I grab him and throw him to the ground, kicking him once to knock him out. Sorry man, I’ve got no beef with you, I just can't have you getting in the way.

  I pull out of the parking lot, the police sirens already audible in the distance. I keep my calm, doing my best to not stick out as I head towards the major roads. I don't know where A10 and A120 are, but I do know they're highways in England, that's the way they number them around here.

  The safe house is just that, a small cottage in the outlying hamlet of Puckeridge that's nearly a half mile from any of the neighbors. Larissa passes out from the pain as I help her out of the Mini, and I get her arranged as comfortably as possible, bandaging her ribs and face before I risk the drive to ditch the Mini. The last thing I need is the local constable wondering what a stolen car is doing in his neighborhood.

  I ditch the Mini ten kilometers away, parking it at a supermarket in Buntingford where it should remain undisturbed for a while since it shares space with a pub before I start jogging back, glad that I'm wearing at least somewhat athletic clothes.

  As I run, I wonder what the hell happened. How'd they hit us? How'd they even know where we were, and why didn't they try and follow up? I can understand hitting and splitting, but after going to all the trouble to blow up a Bentley with a TOW missile, why not try and hit us again?

  I don't have my phone any more, it was in the car when it was destroyed along with my computer and everything else in my bag, but I need to get in contact with the CIA somehow. First though I head back to Puckeridge, making sure to keep my head down. England has too many closed circuit cameras, and I don't know who hit me or if they can track us still.

  There's groans as I get back to the small house, and I hurry in, hating myself for leaving Larissa for even as long as I have. “Larissa?”

  “My arm!” she whines, and I see immediately what's wrong. The swelling's already started, she must have broken something. “Ah god Stephen, please...”

  “Do you have a medical kit?” I ask, and Larissa points with her good hand towards the bathroom. Inside, under the sink, I find a huge kit, Larissa's been preparing for something for a while. I pull it out and open it, seeing the layout inside. “Jesus, you've got a mobile OR in here.”

  “Ten cc's morphine,” Larissa groans. I help her to the floor, it's the best place I can see for treating her, then look back in the case. “In the same shoulder. Intramuscular.”

  I find the morphine and hold it up to her, glad that the CIA taught me some decent field medicine. It takes her a while but she's able to handle the pain better, her eyes glazing some as the edge is taken off. “Okay, I'm going to check the bone and set it, then see about those cuts, okay?”

  “Yes sir....” Larissa whispers, her word for me making me smile.

  “Just think, this is nothing compared to what I could do with you,” I tease to try and distract her, checking her arm before pulling. The bone's cracked, not shattered, and while it hurts like hell enough for Larissa to moan in pain again, she grits her teeth as I feel the bone slide back into place. “There, that wasn't that bad. I bet you even got a thrill out of it.”

  “The thrill would come later,” Larissa whispers. Still, she smiles at my attempt at distraction, keeping her tight smile as I splint and then wrap her arm and setting it carefully on the ground before going around her body to the other side. “You’re always great at the thrill part.”

  “You keep it together, and I'll give you all the thrills you want,” I reply. “But for now, I gotta check the cut on your cheek. Hold still.”

  Larissa holds still while I carefully remove the bandage, looking at the deep slice. It's nearly three inches long, and at one point goes all the way through and I can see her teeth on the other side. “We need to get this stitched up.”

  “Then do it,” Larissa says, my hands freezing in surprise. She sees the expression on my face, and she reaches up, taking my hand. “No doctor I trust. I trust you.”

  “Larissa, I'm-” I start, but she has to know already. Instead of continuing, I squeeze her fingers. “I'll do my best.”

  “That's my man,” she whispers, laying her head back. “You always have done your best. Even when I tease you.”

  “Yeah well... hold still, and just remember that the pain will be rewarded later,” I reply, turning to the medical kit and looking for a suture kit. “This shouldn't take long at all.”

  “No contact?” Larissa asks. A week in the safe house, and our supplies are exhausted, we ate the last of the canned food this morning for breakfast. “Even by e-mail?”

  I nod, wiping the sweat from my forehead, this having to run everywhere due to lack of having a car is starting to suck. “Nothing. Not even in my anonymous drop box. I couldn't even log in, which tells me who tried to hit us.”

  “The CIA?” Larissa asks, and I nod. “Why?”

  “They think I've gone rogue,” I reply, too tired any more to be pissed off. “When they didn't let me call in that was one thing, I was calling from an unsecured pay phone. But the e-mail, the ph
one, all of it... someone made the call, put me on a rogue protocol. Explains why they hit us the way they did too. They tracked my CIA phone.”

  Larissa sighs. “At least The Network is still open to me. My backup phone let me do that at least. By the way, Lihua says hi.”

  I can't help it, I smile despite my frustration and anger. “So what now?”

  “Now?” Larissa asks. “Now, we finish getting my now disfigured ass healed up, and we end this. We know you didn't do anything to cause them to legit call a rogue protocol. So it was a hit, which worries me more than anything. And I think I know what W-W stands for.”

  “What?” I ask, and Larissa looks at me, her eyes grave.

  “Washington-Westminster. Whoever is running the Circle, whoever this Dover is, they've corrupted both of our nations. Even more than The Network has,” Larissa says. “But in the meantime... we need food.”

  Shopping takes us most of the afternoon, and I'm glad that Larissa had some extra sunglasses and hats, but more importantly a lot of cash in a safe in the house. What doesn't feel good is carrying the forty pound backpack of supplies to the house, Larissa not shirking her load at all despite having a broken arm and carrying twenty pounds herself.

  “Just think,” she says, grunting in pain from the flesh wound on her ribs. “We're going to be in great shape for kicking someone's ass when we get out of this.”

  “We already were in great shape,” I grunt back, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Give me the backpack.”

  “I'm not soft,” Larissa complains, but obeys when I don't relent. “It's just a flesh wound.”

  “And you're still wounded,” I reply, slinging the bag awkwardly over my left shoulder. “Most people would still be sitting on their asses and eating ice cream.”

  “Don't have any ice cream,” Larissa mutters, stalking off.

  I understand her frustration, and the day I remove her stitches she's in a black mood. Despite my best efforts she's got a scar, a noticeable one at that. She refuses to talk for the rest of the day, staying in her bedroom and crying sometimes. Thinking, I go out to the back of the house and gather enough wood for my plan, chopping up a few of the old logs into kindling before busying myself with preparing dinner.

  It's just after sundown when Larissa comes out of her room, her face freshly scrubbed and her hair pulled back. “I apologize for being bitchy earlier. I know you tried your best on the stitch job.”

  “Thanks,” I accept, trying to think of what to say. Finally, I speak what's on my mind. “If it helps Larissa, it doesn't make you any less beautiful in my eyes.”

  She smiles, and it's something that I'm noticing more and more about her. Holed up in this house, away from it all while still being surrounded by the danger of the world we're in, we've become closer. It's not just sexual any longer, either. “It helps a lot. Thank you. But I was thinking... I want to go to Dover.”

  “You think Dover is the city this is all from?” I ask, and Larissa nods. “Where?”

  “The castle,” Larissa says. “It's the biggest in England, but more importantly, underneath are tunnels. They were dug as far back as when the castle was first built, but there's miles underneath there, most of it dug during World War II as a secure secret headquarters. Some of it's open to the public, but a lot isn't. And when I was going through MI6 training... well, there's things in those tunnels that the public isn't supposed to see.”

  “It's worth a try,” I agree. “But not for another month. I want your arm fully healed, and for that, you need dinner and what I prepared.”

  “What's that?” Larissa asks, and I smile. “What?”

  “Go back to your room, and put on something comfortable. I'll call you when dinner is ready.”

  It takes me a half hour to finish my preparations, and I knock on Larissa's door. “Larissa?”

  She opens the door, and I'm stunned again at how beautiful she can be. Even with her arm still wrapped in the splint, she's pretty in her cami top and pajama pants, and her eyes go wide when she sees what I did. “The stove?”

  “I figured it was worth it, it's starting to get chilly in the evening,” I reply, leading her over to the couch. The warm red fire crackles and sends off heat and light, the stove is as much a fireplace as it is a heater, and I have Larissa sit down, bringing over dinner, my best efforts with what we could carry in the backpacks. “Bon appetit.”

  We eat, and afterwards I lean back, watching as Larissa studies her face on the back of her spoon. “I'm hideous, Stephen. For sure my days as a seductress are over.”

  “Hardly,” I reply, putting my hands on her shoulders. I pull her backwards gently, stretching out on the couch and holding her in my arms, the two of us watching the fire. “The only thing that can stop you is you.”

  “But I don't want to be a seductress any more,” Larissa whispers. “I've learned about myself the past few months as well. And I'm tired of that side of my life.”

  “Don't tell me you want to give up your life in Kalamata?” I ask, surprised, and Larissa shakes her head. “I didn't think so.”

  We lay there silently, and while I'm fully aware of Larissa's body, I'm also aware of what she's going through, and that her arm's still broken. “Larissa?”

  “Hmmm?” she asks, snuggling against me. “You've spoiled me, by the way, I like spoons.”

  “Are you sure you want to go to Dover?” I ask, trying with the last of my reserves to try and be professional.

  She nods, sitting up slightly. I sit up as well, still holding her as she leans against me. “I do. It's the only chance I can think of for our safety. But more importantly, whoever these assholes are, they're responsible for corrupting our countries, but more importantly, for getting my childhood taken away. Mum and Da might have tried to help me when I got to England, but... my childhood ended when I was seven. I need a measure of revenge for that.”

  “Then we do this together,” I reply, rubbing her shoulders. “Okay?”

  Larissa turns her head and looks into my eyes. “Stephen, you've seen a little bit of what I've lived for years. What we find... you may not like what you discover. And there's a lot of risk. And the cost of knowing could be very, very high.”

  I cup her face, my thumb covering her scar, looking into her beautiful face in the soft firelight. “Sometimes,” I whisper, leaning in closer. “Sometimes finding out is worth the risk.”

  I kiss her gently, both of us moaning as I let my emotions flow. Death? Being declared a rogue agent? Doesn't matter. This woman in my arms, pressed against my body right now matters. I slip a hand down, cupping her breast through her silky cami. “Mmmm, what are you doing?”

  “Reminding you that, even with scars and a broken arm, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever met,” I whisper, massaging. “And I know exactly how I want to show you. Lay back, no harshness or anything required from you. Right now, let me serve you... Lady L.”

  Larissa smiles and leans back, pressing her body against mine. “Are you sure?”

  I nod, and lean in to kiss her again. “You're worth the risk.”

  Larissa

  The feeling of having my splint off is still fresh in my mind as Stephen and I drive towards Dover. It’s been a long time since I visited the city, and as we come around the curve on the motorway to see the famous white cliffs, I’m not sure if I feel excited or nervous.

  This past month has been something I never expected as Stephen nursed me back to health. More than making sure my wounds healed or that my arm got stronger again, Stephen’s cared for my mind, reassuring me that despite the scar on my cheek or under my breast, that he still thinks I’m beautiful. Not too many people have said that with the same sort of meaning or intensity, and it’s been better than the antibiotics he’s made sure I’ve taken or the constant little things he’s done that’s helped.

  “You okay?” Stephen asks behind the wheel of our rented car. “You look like you’re deep in thought.”

  “Yeah,” I reply quickly, tu
rning away from looking at the cliffs to point out the castle. “Just thinking about that. If we use the carpark downtown, it’s only a short walk. The site is mostly open to the public.”

  “Great place to put a secret cabal,” Stephen jokes as he follows directions, pulling into a parking space and looking around. “Nice town.”

  “You wouldn’t say that when a storm’s coming off the Channel,” I say with a grunt, thinking back to my MI6 training days. “Something about British storms off the Channel, they are truly more terrible than anything I ever experienced anywhere else.”

  We make our way to the castle, where instead of going through the main entrance to explore the castle itself, we turn left, heading down a path that says it’s the long way around to the rear entrance. “A total ruse,” I whisper. “Up ahead is our first target.”

  The concrete pillbox barely sticks a meter out of the ground, and the steps downward are slightly crumbly, all by design as I lead Stephen inside. “It was from places like this that the British planned to hold off the Nazis if they’d crossed the Channel,” I explain as Stephen looks out over the nearby water.

  “This doesn’t look like it was put in seventy years ago,” Stephen notes as we turn around, facing the steel door. “Looks like it was put in last week, even with the intentionally weathered paint job. Nice artificial rust spots.”

  “We know weathered around here,” I comment, going to the hidden keypad and entering the code I was given years ago by MI6. I hope it still works, and I’m nervous for a second until the lock clicks and the door opens a fraction of an inch. “And we know how to never change our lock codes. Come on.”

  As we make our way down the dimly lit corridor, Stephen draws his pistol, and I do the same. We don’t know what’s ahead, except that this area is the start of the parts of the tunnels that are off limits to the public. When we come to the first junction, Stephen looks around. “Just how many tunnels are there?”