OnLocation

by Sindra van Yssel

  “I’ll handle my own business,” said Kyle crossly. Just because Roger was a shrink didn’t mean he had to always poke his nose in. But the mention of boats jolted something in his mind. His eyes had fluttered open once, when Teresa was startled by something outside, and he’d seen boat lights in that brief instant. He’d assumed it was Roger. But Roger had just gotten there. “You didn’t come earlier than now, did you? Or circle around the island at night or anything?

  “Huh? No, why would I do that?”

  “Someone was out there.” There could be an innocent explanation. Although Submission Island was well off the path any boat would normally go, sometimes people liked to wander. Usually not this far off the coast at night, but it was possible. But now that he knew one thing, all the other things he’d seen started to niggle at him.

  “I know that look,” said Roger. “What are you thinking?”

  He stopped Roger suddenly, putting a hand on his mouth. They were almost to the house, and through the glass door he could see Gallagher opening the glass door on the other side, the one that led to the swimming pool. He waited until Gallagher closed the door to take his hand off.

  “Spill,” said Roger softly.

  He told Roger quickly about the digging he’d seen evidence of at the cove. The boat lights in the middle of the night. And the thing that bothered him the most—how he’d felt when he’d stumbled toward bed the night before. There was no way one glass of wine had done that to him, even as tired as he was. “I was drugged.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I take it you suspect that guy. I take it he’s the ‘oaf’, because he sure doesn’t look like a ‘pushy bitch’.”

  “Could you quit using that phrase? Her name is Teresa.” The phrase irritated him, but what bugged him more was that he could tell what Roger was thinking, which was that Teresa could have drugged him. “Gallagher touched my glass. Teresa didn’t, except to clink her glass to it. Only one of them had the opportunity. Let’s go to the cove and see what he’s up to.”

  “If he’s heading there.”

  “If not, we can still do some digging. But we’ll give him a head start so he can get there and get involved in something. Then we’re less likely to be heard approaching—you can be pretty noisy.” He grinned at the old joke. Roger was as good at sneaking up on people as almost anyone in the SAS. They both knew though that Kyle was better.

  “Sounds good.” Roger opened the glass door and headed for the stairs. “I’ll get my gun, just in case.”

  Kyle nodded. Would Gallagher be armed? It was possible. Kyle went upstairs to get his old throwing knives. He had no illusion that they were as effective as a pistol, but they were quiet and gave him the benefit of surprise. It was possible Gallagher wasn’t alone, if the boat lights he’d seen indicated new arrivals.

  Before he opened the door he remembered that Teresa was there. He wasn’t used to having a woman sleeping in his room. He opened the door carefully. She was stirring, not quite awake. He padded across the floor quietly, keeping an eye on her while he felt about for the knives. He kept everything in good order, fortunately.

  “Mine,” he mouthed at her as he slipped back out. No one who looks that lovely could have drugged me. It was a silly thought, but at least he knew she didn’t have the opportunity. But if he’d been drugged to keep him out of the way that evening, what she’d done by sleeping with him was the next best thing. Any sane woman would have left after he’d almost strangled her, but she’d stayed. Did she have an ulterior motive? Kyle didn’t want to think so. He’d been touched by the bravery of what she’d done for him.

  He met Roger downstairs. Together they walked toward the cove. The path was only one person-wide in places, and Kyle took point. He slowed down when they were thirty meters away, wanting to be quiet. Roger did likewise.

  Gallagher was alone, and digging with a shovel in the same place Kyle had noticed signs of digging before. Kyle and Roger watched from the jungle as the man sweated with exertion. There was something frantic about him, Kyle thought.

  At last he tossed the shovel aside and knelt down by the hole. He lifted out a plastic box about as big as his chest. The box, thought Kyle, would have fit in one of Gallagher’s big suitcases. Hands shaking, Gallagher opened it. His face lit up and then he snarled in anger. He reached into the bottom of the box and pulled out a small packet of white powder.

  “Half,” he muttered to himself. “Half!” He opened the bag.

  Kyle moved forward, quicker than he had been in the jungle. It was easy to be quiet on sand, and Gallagher was totally intent on the bag. Gallagher poured a little of the white powder into the palm of his hand and bent down to sniff it up.

  “Nice day for a walk,” said Kyle, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. Gallagher turned and spilled the powder in his hand. He held on to the bag.

  “What?” asked Gallagher. He looked at Roger. “Who’s he? Hey, don’t shoot me. It’s, um, just a little coke.”

  “Share?” said Kyle. He reached for the bag.

  “Um, sure. Just don’t let your friend shoot me.”

  Kyle nodded and sealed the bag up before putting it in his pocket. “Big box for such a little bag.” The box was empty. Kyle nudged it away with his foot, toward Roger.

  “Yeah, well, it was my last one.”

  Kyle was not an expert in drugs. He’d seen poppy being processed in Afghanistan, but that was most of what he knew. But he was sure that even the most determined coke addict couldn’t come close to going through a box of coke that size in a few days. He didn’t think a hundred of them could.

  Roger had moved forward and was looking at the box carefully. At last Roger put a finger in, wiped it along the edge and brought it to his tongue.

  “That’s not coke,” Roger said. “That’s heroin.” Like Kyle, Roger had been taught to recognize the stuff when they’d been doing drug interdiction in Afghanistan. Opium poppies and their by-products were a major source of revenue for the Taliban, as well as various rogue warlords. Roger moved his gun back to point at Gallagher.

  “What’s in the bag is just coke. I swear it!”

  It all fit together suddenly. “The boat last night came in, picked up the heroin, which you brought in with your photography equipment,” Kyle said. “They dropped off the cocaine as payment. And they shorted you.”

  Gallagher paled. Kyle let him stew for a moment. Roger apparently agreed with that approach because he didn’t say a thing. The silence lengthened.

  “So,” said Gallagher at last. “Are you guys going to tell the police?”

  Kyle glanced at Roger. Roger was better at interrogation. But Roger had moved behind Gallagher. Roger pointed to Kyle and then made a circle with his fingers and put them over his head. Kyle smiled.

  I’m the good cop, the one with the halo. He’s the bad cop.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, and then we’ll figure out how to go from there?” Kyle asked in his most reasonable voice.

  “Do I get my coke back?”

  No. But he had a role to play. “Sure, if you’re good.”

  “I need some now.”

  Kyle knew he’d have to get the police involved eventually. He and his friends might own the island, but that didn’t mean they could do whatever they wanted. He remembered what Teresa had said about Stegner picking the places to shoot the movie and having a preference for Colombia. Wasn’t that supposed to be a drug trafficking center of sorts? For cocaine at least. He had a suspicion this was all way bigger than Gallagher and a boat.

  The police might not like him giving Gallagher a sniff. On the other hand, the police had limits that he and Roger didn’t have. It would be nice to give them as much information as possible.

  “Once you natter, you’ll get your fix,” he said.

  “Coke first,” said Gallagher, and Kyle could see that he meant it.

  Kyle put his arm around the other man’s shoulder. “Let’s go back
to the house and talk about this, shall we? Roger, could you stay behind us?”

  “Sure. I’ll shoot him if he runs for it.”

  There wasn’t anywhere to run. Swim, maybe, if you fancied swimming a hundred and fifty kilometers. Near the island, one mostly had to worry about jellyfish. The sharks probably would wait for an escapee to get to open water. It didn’t matter. Gallagher walked along with him, eager to get away from Roger with his gun.

  “Roger’s a waterboarding expert,” said Kyle. “He’s done it dozens of times. You’re much better off talking to me.” It wasn’t even a lie. After his field duty, Roger had moved on to training others. Part of that training included resisting torture. Kyle doubted very much that Roger would be willing to waterboard Gallagher, but Gallagher had no way of knowing that. From the look on Gallagher’s face, he bought it. Now Kyle had to let it sink in for a while, and he knew the best place to do that.

  He had intended to bring Teresa to the dungeon below the mansion and he’d gotten it all ready for her, even surprising her one time by appearing suddenly from downstairs, but that night he’d ended up having her in her room instead because he hadn’t wanted to scare her off. But scare is precisely what he wanted to do to Gallagher. Unless Gallagher was very familiar with BDSM, the place would look like a torture room.

  To Kyle’s relief, Teresa still wasn’t up yet.

  He unlocked the “closet” door, opened it and gestured down the stairs. “After you.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll keep Roger off you if you tell me what I need to know. We’re not going to have you doing your coke in the living room, now are we? Go ahead.”

  Mention of the cocaine worked as well as Kyle had hoped. Gallagher walked down the stairs into the dark. Kyle followed, ignoring the light switch on the side. Gallagher could ambush him, but he was confident of the outcome of that. The dark would make Gallagher nervous, so the longer it lasted the better.

  Roger closed the door behind them.

  “Where’s the light?” Gallagher sounded panicked. Good.

  Kyle flipped on the switch at the bottom of the stairs, opening his eyes slowly to let the light in gradually and not kill his vision. Gallagher, not surprisingly, was startled. I may be the good cop, but the point here is to make him uneasy so he talks.

  Kyle waited while Gallagher looked around. The walls here were stone, unlike the dark wood and glass that created a rustic ambience in the rest of the house. There were chains and shackles on one of the walls. A St. Andrew’s Cross, designed for a sub to be spread-eagled on, stood in the center of the room. On one wall hung crops, floggers, tawse, canes, paddles, quirts and even a bullwhip. A padded table was off to one corner, with cuffs attached to the rings on the corners. Candles sat on a table next to that. Gallagher probably didn’t know what the spanking bench in the other corner was for and that was fine. The unknown was more terrifying than the familiar.

  “What is this place?” asked Gallagher, clearly off balance.

  “Quiet and secure.” Kyle didn’t see how it would help to explain.

  Roger crossed behind him to the wall with the toys on it. He put the gun in the holster on his belt. He picked up the bullwhip, then put it back. He picked up the cane, tapped it against his hand, then smiled. Gallagher paled.

  Kyle took the packet of cocaine out and looked at Gallagher. “So what’s going on? Roger says there was heroin in that box. Where is it now?”

  “It’s gone.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to cooperate without a little encouragement, Kyle. Let’s strap him to the frame and I’ll make him bleed.” Roger walked forward with the cane.

  Ordinarily Kyle might have been tempted to take Roger’s lead. Roger, after all, was the shrink. If anyone could get into Gallagher’s head, it was Roger. But he knew his friend didn’t want to cane Gallagher—in fact, he doubted Roger was even willing to go through with it. Consensual discipline was one thing, although the cane was more Kyle’s style than Roger’s anyway, but Gallagher was hardly consenting. So Kyle paused and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long. “A boat came and took it,” Gallagher said.

  “To the mainland?” asked Kyle.

  “I’d guess, yeah.”

  “All done, and you get a little packet of cocaine for your trouble. You do any heroin, Gallagher?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “No, they wouldn’t trust you with it if you did, would they?” Given the way Gallagher kept looking with lust at the hand that held the bag, Kyle could only imagine what he’d be like if he were a heroin addict. “All right. Well, the heroin is gone now, so I don’t know that we can do much but turn you over to the police at this point.”

  “Oh, we can rough him up first,” said Roger, taking another step forward. “We can always say he was into bondage and it happened earlier. I think there’s more to this story.”

  “Okay, okay!” said Gallagher quickly. “I don’t deal well with pain. Never have. It’s how I got hooked in the first place. Started taking prescription meds and ran out, then ended up hanging with some people who dealt. Pretty soon I was going to coke parties, and that’s where I met Stegner. This is all his idea.”

  Kyle’s blood ran cold. He was about to ask a question but Roger shook his head and tapped the cane against his hand again.

  “I’m just a pawn,” Gallagher whined. “Let me go. I haven’t done anything wrong. And what is it to you guys, anyway?”

  “We put our lives on the line for our country—you think we’re going to let you smuggle heroin into it?” Roger moved forward suddenly, putting his hand on Gallagher’s throat. “What’s Stegner’s plan?”

  Gallagher’s eyes bulged. “He’s in debt from a movie he made several years ago. So for the last several movies we’ve done shoots in places like this. Little islands, not far from the coast of some country that either supplies or has rich users. We set up a base with the movie-making as cover. Then the drugs get ferried in little boats. This time, he’s got a trireme full of all sorts of stuff.”

  Kyle remembered Teresa telling him it was a penteconter, but decided not to correct Gallagher. “And you’re the advance party, scouting for the best places to hide the drugs.” And not for the best place to shoot a movie.

  “Yeah.”

  “Keep him here,” he said to Roger. He didn’t know that he had any right to give Roger orders, but that didn’t matter. “This is out of our league and we have enough to call the cops. We’ll see how they want to take it from here.”

  “Don’t you want to know the rest?” asked Gallagher.

  Kyle turned. He didn’t like the glint in Gallagher’s eye, but he nodded. “Sure.”

  “Terry’s in on the whole thing. She’s Stegner’s right-hand woman. Her job was to distract you while I did the work.” Gallagher grinned. “She’s pretty good at it, isn’t she?”

  Fucking hell.

  “Do whatever you want with him,” Kyle told Roger and headed up the stairs. He’d tried to tell himself that he hadn’t fallen for Teresa, but if that were true, why did his heart feel ripped out?

  To his surprise, Roger chased after him, catching him.

  “Let me talk to the cops,” said Roger. “I’ve got some contacts.”

  Roger always had contacts. But it made sense. Kyle stood aside. He knew he wasn’t seeing straight, anyway.

  “Just because he said it, doesn’t mean it’s true,” Roger said.

  Kyle barely heard.

  Chapter Ten

  Terry put yesterday’s clothes on and went across the hall to change into something new. Her tummy was rumbling but she ignored it. Breakfast could wait. She was only on the island for one more evening, then she would go and the movie crews would follow. That was unacceptable. Either Kyle was coming with her or she was going to stay. Now she had to convince Kyle of that.

  She showered quickly, not wanting to waste time but wanting to smell good for Kyle. She added a hint of perfume and a bit of f
oundation. Normally on location she couldn’t be bothered, but this was an exception. She spritzed perfume between her breasts and buttoned four buttons on the shirt she put on over it. She wished she’d brought a skirt, but at least she had one pair of tight jeans.

  And if he wants them off, they’ll come off. I’m going for it. I may not succeed, but I’m not going to go home feeling I made anything but my best effort.

  She walked downstairs. There was a tall, handsome strange man in the kitchen, making a phone call. Presumably that was Roger. She was surprised to see a semiautomatic pistol in a holster at his hip. Now why the hell would he need that here? She looked about for Kyle and didn’t see him. She looked outside, but he wasn’t at the pool either. Strange. There wasn’t even any sign of Gallagher.

  “You must be Terry,” said a voice with an Australian accent behind her. She’d talked to Roger on the phone and the voice sounded close enough to the same that it was surely him.

  She turned. “Roger?” She stuck out her hand and he shook it. She gave him credit—his gaze dipped down to her cleavage for only a moment, and she knew she was showing a lot.

  “I see why Kyle’s enamored. Pleased to meet you in person.” Roger stared at her hard and long.

  He’s looking after his friend. Enamored, huh? Terry smiled in spite of the intense glare. “The pleasure is mine. Do you know where Kyle is?”

  “He’ll be along shortly,” said Roger.

  “What did he make for breakfast?” she asked. “It was his turn, I think.”

  “He got busy. Why don’t you make something and I’ll go look for him.”

  “I’ll go look.”

  “No.”

  Terry frowned. Just because she liked Kyle telling her what to do didn’t mean she was inclined to take it from anyone else. But I can put up with it for a day. I can put up with anything to make today and tonight work. She went to the kitchen. She had seen bacon and eggs in the fridge the day before, so making breakfast wasn’t hard. The bacon wasn’t what she was used to—there was more meat on it compared to the fat, and it was shaped more like a leaf than a stick, but it cooked up more or less the same.