Laced Impulse

by Combs, Sasha

  When they dragged Bianca like a rag doll, then tossed her down into the lower deck of the boat. Against Henrik's stern objections, Greta injected Bianca with a mixture of mind altering psychotropic drugs. After this, Henrik had felt bound to stay because this decision had not been agreed upon. He didn't want to kill Bianca. There was no reason to end her life. But Greta insisted that she knew things. Hendrik had abandoned his post to safeguard Bianca's life. Now, Greta was paying for her schoolgirl silliness. She'd tortured Bianca mainly because she couldn't stand the idea of allowing another woman to have something she genuinely desired having for herself. Now, she was faced with the task of righting things. She was a trained killer, as long as she had the right weapons to do it. Plus, she had something equally valuable. She could be silent and hide. At the first opportunity, she could use this to overtake.... Who? Who would she be fighting, to overtake? It didn't matter, she reasoned. Henrik was her partner and if he was dead, she had to remain alive.

  Touching the wall, she lowered, feeling for the first step. Her foot landed, but she didn't dare turn her back. She kept her focus forward; ready, if Henrik's attacker was closer than she'd thought. She adjusted her position, putting the knife in her left hand. Her pace was slow to mask her presence. She stopped, standing still, she trained her ears to listen. Hearing nothing, she lowered once more but this time, she heard something, coming from below. Greta turned quickly, shifting her knife back into her dominate hand, but at the same time, a shout roared above her. She turned her head in that direction, seeing the outlining silhouette of a man in shadow.

  "Awwww..." A war cry rushed up from below. The sound stunning Greta immobile. From both fronts, she'd been cornered but she'd not counted on the attack from below. Bianca plowed her, sending her colliding into the stairs. A struggle ensued. The sound of feet rushed down where they fought. Each woman determined to brandish the knife.

  "Bianca!"

  Her name was called, but she didn't hear it. Nothing registered. The only words in her head were threats and hostile intentions. Greta wanted to kill her. Greta wanted to take Mot from her. Greta was jealous and she wanted revenge. Bianca found strength she didn't know she possessed. She directed blows meant to incapacitate her. She yelled while feeling the sharp edges of the blade in her hand...

  "I'll kill you before I let you get to Mot."

  Bianca had won the knife from Greta but at a steep cost. The blade cut a gash along the side angle of her hand. Urged on, she continued to struggle. Now, Greta held firm, squeezing the wrist that grasp the knife. While she tried to twist Bianca’s aim, instead the blade pointed up, placing both women in danger. On the stairs, a male hand lifted Bianca. She was on top of Greta. But for a moment, this shift affected the motion of the blade. Bianca's hold was tight and little would change that. But when Bianca was raised higher, this leverage allowed Greta to wiggle forward. If everything in this equation remained the same, the outcome may have been different. But the equation was altered. Bianca felt someone from behind attempting to pull her free but she didn't register this. All of her efforts were directed on Greta and her mission to stop her from hurting Mot. In those seconds, nothing else mattered. She didn't want to be rescued. She wanted to kill Greta.

  Bianca jerked free, causing the hand that held her to slip. She tumbled down; blade slanted forward, then piercing through Greta's leather jacket. A gasp, then a whistling wisp of air. An ear screeching scream was muffled by hands that weren't her own. The ringing grew in her ears, followed by gentle finger falls.

  Ivory and ebony creating beautiful music. Sven's song. Wonderful, wonderful music. The sounds blanketed her. Then.... Then, there was silence, followed by blackness. After that....sleep brazenly approached. Oh, blessed sleep. Darkness. Wonderful glorious darkness, absent of dreams.

  ***************

  Chapter 8

  Bianca was awake but her mental capacity was still in a prison. Her uncertainty muddled falsehoods and truths; creating chaos in her brain. A haze of euphoria clouded her judgment, causing her to question everything. She felt the rise and fall of her chest. Each breath counted and each heartbeat reassured her that she was alive. There had been threats. Perhaps a struggle, but after that... She couldn’t recall the order of events. Right now, she only knew that somehow she’d survived but didn’t know the whereabouts of Greta or Henrik.

  Bianca tried to silence her body. Every sense was heightened and her emotions sprung forth, unchecked. She felt weighted down to a firm surface. She tested her surroundings by gliding her fingers across fabric that felt like smooth wrinkle free sheets. Her brain rightly formed a mental picture. She told herself that she was laying on a bed. But whose bed, she pondered? Her current angle wasn’t helping her answer this question because the ceiling beheld her view.

  Bianca managed to lift slightly, raising her head off the pillow. She felt a shift on the bed, then her vision met innocent eyes. His face, a picture of guilelessness. Her heart beat in rhythm with the song. Notes that thrummed in her head. A grand piano solo softly played and the tune wasn’t foreign. She’d heard this melody in the past, and the song reminded her of air. The thought had come to her because as she listened, she imagined smelling the notes. Each keys vibrations created sound, color and scents. It was like looking, listening and smelling music. Could you do that? Was that even possible? She didn’t know but this tune was light and breezy. It smelled fresh and the colors burst forth far brighter than a rainbow. She wanted to hum, matching it, in perfect pitch. But instead, she described what she saw and heard.

  "Beautiful. Blues, and yellows as bright as buttercups." She said. Her lips crooked a smile, then she asked... " Can you see it? Can you hear the music. I've never heard anything more beautiful."

  She swayed, then her head became to heavy to maintain this position. She lowered back on the bed, easing into the softness of the pillow. Then her lips sealed, humming the song. Humming music that burst brightly, in vivid colors.

  “How long is she going to be like this?” Mot asked. It was late in the evening and Bianca still hadn’t recovered from her ordeal of torment. The mysterious drugs refused to leave her body.

  “Hard to say.” Sven answered. He looked out of place still wearing the formal tux from nights ago but he’d faired far better than Bianca.

  Mot pitched his weight forward; partway sitting, yet hovering over her head. With his thumb and forefinger, he gently parted her lids. When the rooms meager light flooded her eyes, he watched hoping for the correct response. Her pupils were sluggish at best and he’d made note of the large black dot that had been there earlier. He almost didn’t see the iris. Her pupil had been a black hole; dilated as wide as the eye would allow. This wasn’t a good sign. Even though, after a few seconds, the pupil contracted; it was the sluggishness that concerned him.

  While Bianca had been on her mission, distracting Greta and Henrik; he’d been free to persuade a potential tip. His informants had told him about two safe houses Greta and Henrik had been known to use. Places they used to lay low whenever their illegal activities placed them in danger. The first house had been empty, and it didn’t look to have been recently used. The second house looked much like the first; however he did find something that led him to believe that the pair had been here.

  Before entering fieldwork, each agent is trained in survival skills. They are taught ways in which a message can be left behind, much like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs. Richard had done this. The man Mot had come to Paris to find. At the second safe house, Mot had noticed scratches on a wooden beam, that appeared to be fresh. He studied the area and noticed the floor was devoid of dust. Someone had been tied to the beam, and made to sit on the floor. Mot recalled all he knew about Richard while trying to decode his clue. He’d deciphered a highway and a partial address. To anyone else, the clue would be meaningless. But not to Mot. Greta and Henrik had been under surveillance for months prior to Richard’s first contact. During one of his checkins, Richard had revealed information
about an abandoned farmhouse. The place was owned by a third party that the agent had been attempting to root out. Mot had been right to go there. He found Richard handcuffed to a bed. The man had been badly beaten with sores that needed tending. His friend had not eaten for days and he was literally dying of thirst. Mot had to make swift decisions. He needed to get Richard to a safe place, where he could stabilize his condition. And if that didn’t work, he would need the help of a retraction team. Their assistance would aid them in leaving the country without being noticed by police or government officials. Fortunately, Richard’s recovery was rapid. Within twelve hours, he was moving without the aid of assistance. With Richard safe now, Mot returned to the hotel, finding that Bianca wasn’t there. He contacted her handler, hoping that she’d checked in, as required. Learning that she was overdo, Mot returned to the house where he’d taken Richard. In less than one hour, Mot was searching the city. Richard told him about a yacht moored in a harbor but he doubted the pair would take her there. Using the yacht would force them to travel by air and he questioned this. Richard didn’t personally know Bianca, but as an agent he didn’t think she would leave without first notifying her handler. Mot didn’t agree. Sometimes willingness wasn’t a factor. If Bianca was in a situation outside of her control; perhaps agreeing to travel with them was the only way to ensure their whereabouts. As he considered this, his mind wandered. His dealings with Greta told him that she struck him as a desperate wildcard. She would do the one thing no one would expect.

  Deciding on a course of action, Mot called one of his contacts, requesting the use of his private plane. He wasted no time putting his plan in action. While he traveled, he got in touch with a source, procuring the use of a naval prototype. A watercraft designed with stealth capabilities; moving through the ocean virtually silent. After a few hours in the air, he was landing in Le Havre. Thirty minutes later he was in the water. He used a piece of equipment that zeroed in on sonar frequencies. Sorting through a patchwork of waves, transmitting signals specific only to them. When he rightly detected the craft on his radar, he approached the yacht; Mot boarded the ship unchallenged. First he found Sven, still drunk from the aftereffects of the drug; yet coherent enough to know that help had come to rescue him. Sven was unsteady, but he wanted to help. He told Mot where to find Henrik and Greta; he also explained what they’d done to Bianca. Mot didn’t know what state he would find her in, but he was prepared to kill both Greta and Henrik if he found Bianca dead.

  As they crossed the deck, Sven slipped, knocking over a glass water pitcher. The vase fell, then rolled down the stairs, cracking up on each step. Their cover was blown, but Mot couldn’t have asked for better if he’d planned it. The noise had startled the people below, prompting them to scale the narrow walkway, leading to the upper decks. He stood to the side, waiting for Henrik to be the first he’d see. He was sure Greta would insist on this and he would be prepared to strike first but before his blow made contact, the ship went black. To undo his goof, Sven had raced to the helm, shutting off the power, without being asked. Mot’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He listened, before making his first strike. He anticipated Henrik’s choices because they were few. Lowering to knee height, he hit there first; causing Henrik’s legs to buckle, then tip him forward. Before his head hit the deck; Mot’s fist collided with his head, taking him down. He pulled the man by the shoulders. A few more blows, and Henrik was incapacitated. Mot crouched, this time he waited; listening for Greta’s approach. But when he didn’t hear even a pin drop and suspected that he would be forced to root her out. He was readying himself to react when he heard a splash in the water. He jerked back, panned his gaze, looking where Henrik lie but the hairs on his neck rose, directing his focus back to the stairs. He had two fronts to protect. His rear and what lie in front of him. He had to choose one to defend, leaving the other for later. Perhaps a standoff, requiring him to fight his way out. He chose Greta to deal with.

  Mot positioned the gun he still held in his hand. The deck boards screamed his approach; no two behaving alike, beneath the weight of his footfalls. He readied himself, then he heard a war cry. He rose, running to the top stair, leading down into the lower cabins. He could she two figures struggling frantically on the stairs. A fight for dominance was underway and he knew the two people had to be Greta and Bianca. He turned his head, but his eyes stared in confusion. He asked if seconds earlier; had he seen Henrik, or had he not been there? Should he go back to check? That splash. What had that been? He waged in his head, what was best to do. Stay and look for Henrik, or go help Bianca restrain Greta. As his mind balanced his options, for a brief second, a cloud moved, lighting the sky with a yellow glow from the full moon. He saw a glimmer. Something reflecting off a metal surface. His heart lurched in his chest. In that instant he knew what was at stack. Someone had a knife. He knew who the players were but he didn’t know which of them had the upper hand. In this case, he had to intervene. If Greta had the knife, he had to restrain her, giving Bianca the chance that she needed to get free of the woman. Mot took to the stairs, and the closer he got, he was able to make out both figures. Bianca was on the top, with one hand holding Greta down; while in her other hand, she held the knife unsafely palmed with the tip pointed up in the air. Greta had a vise hold on her wrist, trying to apply pressure at the joints. The woman was inflicting a hold that would soon dislocate her wrist, if the women were left to resolve this on their own. He couldn’t allow this to happen, so he reached down; attempting to lift Bianca off and away from Greta. He called out her name, but the way she fought, he was certain that Bianca didn’t hear him. Each woman was grunting, spewing out profanities at each other. He even heard Bianca saying his name. She was warning Greta that she’d kill her if the woman harmed one hair on his head. A curious mountain formed by questions rose in his head. What had these women been discussing? Why was his name tangled in this struggle? He wondered but the answer would have to wait. As Bianca evaded him, his determination swelled. He tried again, and this time, he had a little leverage. Bianca rose, her body lifting off of Greta, but he noticed the other woman lunging upward; trying to take hold of the knife. Mot’s first reaction was to release Bianca, giving her maneuvering room to defend herself. But when he did this, he’d not expected the outcome that unfolded. The sudden weight from Bianca’s body came as a surprise to Greta. Her hand loosened, giving Bianca control of the weapon. Her wrist had been forced up, sending the blade in the wrong direction. Now with her hand free, she turned the blade, pointing it at Greta. It all happened so fast. Bianca’s fisted hand shot forward; spearing the knife in Greta’s abdomen. There was a sound of shock, then a wail of agony. Mot parted the women, pulling Bianca free from the tangle. Greta fisted the knife, squealing in pain. She muttered something in her native tongue. A prayer he guessed, then she begged to him in English. Mot couldn’t deal with her until he knew what lie above on deck.

  Bianca was obviously drugged because she wasn’t forming coherent sentences. She repeatedly said his name. Even when he tried shushing her, still she wouldn’t be silent. When he eased through the walkway, crouching on the deck, he noticed a shadow, then the person came clearly in to view. It was Sven. He explained that the splash was Henrik jumping in the water. He’d used a floatation devise to aid in his swimming. The waters were dark and when they leaned over the railing, scanning the waters around; neither Sven nor Mot discerned his whereabouts. When Sven looked at Bianca, it was then that he began explaining what Greta and Henrik had done to them both.

  Mot’s brows rose in anger. After being in the safe house for one day, Sven had completely recovered. But instead of getting better, Bianca was getting worse. Every time she came too, she talked about music or Mot.

  Sven scratched his head, further mussing the hairs out of place. Neither man had showered and exhaustion clearly showed on their faces. Since arriving, they’d each been taking turns monitoring her condition.

  “Any word from Richard?” Sven asked while studying Mo
t. By the way Mot fretted over Bianca, he was certain his concern wasn’t strictly professional.

  “Nothing...” Mot replied.

  Early that morning, while Mot and Richard discussed leaving the country, taking Bianca to the hospital at The Agency, it was then that Sven suggested they first find Henrik. He explained that the toxin used to incapacitate Bianca was more than likely a chemical that wouldn’t be easy to decipher. Greta and Henrik worked for a consortium comprised of several loosely tied organizations within the Russian Mafia. They recruited chemist to produce designer drugs that were sold at nights clubs. Most were offshoots of drugs already in production. Hallucinogenics or drugs categorized as date rape concoctions. Recently, the demand for something new had caused a frenzy. People like Greta and Henrik were attending pharmaceutical conferences and conventions looking to snag an independent. For months they’d been attempting to coax Sven to work for them. They’d lured him to their party, promising a sample of their product. The only thing was that he hadn’t expected their method of testing. He’d been drugged, much in the same way as Bianca, but he was certain that Greta had given her a special batch. Something the sadistic woman had mix specifically for Bianca. Sven had explained the ins and outs of this illegal industry. The construction of a designer drug was as individual as fingerprints. Each formula holds unique properties unlike any other. When tying in biochemical components, the chemist can create a bond so unique, only they know where and what holds the molecular sequences together. In other words... If they ever hoped to cure Bianca, then they needed to know more about the formula and its maker. In this case, Greta wouldn’t be any help to them. After they removed her from the yacht; not long after that, her life had slipped away, due to her rapid loss of blood. Mot disposed of her body, in the manner most kills were dealt with. Her corpse was placed in an unmarked grave, where vagrants are typically buried. Mot’s European contacts had overseen the particulars. But Henrik.... He’d jumped overboard and he was still unaccounted for. Mot had wanted to be the one responsible for finding him but Richard explained that he knew more about the man than Mot. The two men argued over Richard’s fitness due to his recent ordeal. But when Bianca woke, calling out Mot’s name and demanding to see him. It didn’t take long for either to decide which of them would go. That had been hours ago, and still Richard had not found Henrik.