by P. A. Wilson
“Turn off the phone. We don’t need to be interrupted again.” Ivan returned his attention to her. “Your brother will be safe as long as you do as I tell you, your brother, and your lover.”
Monique waited for him to ask for the evidence. She would tell him it was at Rafe’s. She’d tell him how to find it, and anything else he wanted to know. Whatever kept Didi and Rafe safe.
“You think I will let you walk away from here?”
She licked her lips, wondering if he expected a response.
“I have given many people reason to regret crossing me. It is no longer just about what you took. Now I need to provide a lesson to some people who I believe may be talking to the police about my activities. People I trusted, perhaps foolishly.”
Vincent moved to lean against the wall beside her. When Ivan spoke, Vincent shifted and reached for his leather crop.
Monique twisted her wrists against the plastic zip strip that held them together. All that did was hurt and cut her wrists enough for blood to ooze. The warm sticky liquid dribbling down her hand to her fingers.
“So you don’t want the thing I took?” If she could stall him, maybe something would happen that she could use to escape. If not, the longer she put off the start of his fun, the better.
“Yes, we will get to that soon. I want you to understand what will happen to you. To get you in the mood.” He reached into his pocket making her tense in preparation for pain. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and gold lighter. The scent of burning tobacco started her heart racing. He smiled as though he knew what was happening to her.
She licked her lips again. “Do you hurt people a lot? Is that what business you are in?”
He cocked his head at Vincent. “You can leave us.”
Glancing at her, Vincent looked like he smelled something foul. “I’ll wait outside. When you are ready, just call.”
When they were alone, Ivan stubbed out his cigarette on the floor, and then rose to stand over her. “You know who I really am. That fool Alexi told me he had proof of my previous identity.”
“Yes. I found you on-line. You are Colonel Javor Dragic. You’re wanted by the war crimes tribunal.” Twisting her wrists still wasn’t doing anything to release them. If she could get free, she’d have a fighting chance.
“Did you read my history? Was that available on-line?” He sounded proud of his accomplishments.
She hadn’t been interest in the details, trusting that a war criminal had committed atrocities that she didn’t need to understand. “I don’t know if the details were there.” As much as she didn’t need to hear what he’d done, keeping him talking might mean he wouldn’t start the torture.
“I have killed hundreds of people. Some say thousands. That is what they know I did. I tortured many others. People they will never find.”
Monique tuned out the words, using the time to think about how to get out of the zip ties. She remembered reading something about their design when she had used them to put up her Christmas lights.
Yes, they were designed to open when you did something to the lock. She stopped twisting and started feeling as much as she could with her fingers. She touched the bulk of the locking mechanism, and felt the tongue that caught on the ridges.
She just needed to push that and the tie would unzip.
She let her focus go back to Ivan, or Javor. She needed to make sure she wasn’t ignoring his questions while she unzipped her bound hands.
He wasn’t paying attention to her. He was standing, looking inside a black bag that sat open on the seat of the chair. Then he spoke in that calm voice, “I have cut the fingers off people as they watched, as their children watched. I find that wire cutters are the best for that.” He turned and held up a pair of rusty wire cutters.
Monique swallowed the bile that rose at the image of him snipping her fingers off.
She managed to unzip a few more ridges.
“So many people think that torture doesn’t work. They say the victim will confess to anything to end the pain and fear. What do you think?”
Monique froze. She hadn’t anticipated having to take part in the conversation. “I tend to agree with them.” She watched as Ivan walked toward her with the wire cutters ready to use. The cutting edges opening and closing like a hungry mouth.
“Do you ever wonder why it is so popular if that is true? Why it continues to be used for all these centuries?” He held the cutters up to her face. When she flinched, he laughed. His breath was sour. “No answer? So, you understand how it begins. How the fear starts to build.” He walked back to the bag.
Monique worked the zip ties rapidly while his back was turned, stopping only as he spun to face her.
The ties were almost loose enough.
“There’s a secret to successful torture.” He pulled out a long probe then tossed it back in the bag, but not before Monique saw it was stained with old blood. “It’s about balance. Too much will make your victim say anything, and too little will not elicit any information. I prefer to help people understand what is the right action. The action that will save their loved ones, even if not themselves.”
It was getting harder for Monique to control the zip strip. There was enough slack for the lock to slip out of her fingers. She needed to concentrate enough to slide it, so she could hold it in one hand and use the other to unzip. Every time she moved it, it snapped out of her fingers, and she lost track of where the lock was.
“Who are your loved ones, Ms. Duchesne? Is it just your junkie brother and your black lover?”
Slowly moving the zip strip through her fingers, Monique concentrated on not letting it bounce away from her grip. “I don’t gather friends. I don’t really care about people.” The lock touched her right hand. She shifted it carefully so she could stick her finger into the mechanism. With all this straining, her muscles were going to hurt even more tomorrow – if she was alive to feel anything.
Ivan stopped digging through the bag and glanced at her over his shoulder. Monique realized that from his point of view, the torture had begun and he was enjoying her reaction.
Sure, she was scared, but not enough to betray anyone, yet. Was she just stupid? Or was it because she didn’t live in a world of terror? His other victims would be living with the fear of knowing what was coming. She could only imagine it. They would have been living with the fear of meeting this fate for far longer than a few days.
“You can avoid all this pain if you tell me where the evidence is. I promise that you will stop feeling pain when I have what I need.”
Monique didn’t believe him. He meant he would stop the torture. She was going to die unless she could get out of here. “Do the others know who you are?”
He smiled. “No, and if they did, it would probably be a very bad thing for me. I am not the man I was in the war. I am now more interested in the money than the ideology. Perhaps they will not forgive me, and then again, perhaps they will.”
The zip tie was almost loose enough to let Monique slip her hands free. All she needed was an opportunity to use the freedom it would give her. She needed some advantage, something that would get her out of the door and to a phone. Monique had no illusions about how long she would be able to stay out of their grasp, or about how an accusation against Ivan would affect Vincent. No matter what Ivan had done, Vincent would never be her ally.
“How long do you think it will be before someone recognizes you? If I can see through the plastic surgery you’ve had done, others will.” She held the ends of the zip tie between her fingers. It had to look like she was still under his control or she’d lose the advantage.
“They look for what they want to see. And they want to forget the war. Believe me, there is no future in keeping the past alive. No matter who was killed, or who won, they are sheep and want to get on with their petty lives.” He pulled a chisel out of the bag. “This does a good job of breaking joints.”
“If you kill me, how will you get the evidence? You don’t know what i
t is.” She felt cold sweat starting in the small of her back. She only had a little time before Ivan would start acting on all these threats.
“It is something that you used to recognize me. It is something that Alexi used to blackmail me. If he was able to find out the truth, this must be a simple piece of evidence. Alexi was good at bringing in credit cards, but he was… how do you say? Oh, yes, not the brightest bulb in the package.”
“Close enough. You’re right. I did hide it. How will you retrieve it without giving yourself away?” The memory of sending the photo to Rafe floated though the fear and pain. She could tell them where the picture was and maybe they wouldn’t realize she had a copy. One that would prove who Ivan really was easier than the original.
“That is a very good question. I cannot trust anyone, this is true. I will have to retrieve it for myself.” He flung the chisel with a twist of his wrist. It landed blade down in the floor two inches from Monique’s left foot.
It happened so quickly, she didn’t have time to react and give herself away. The zip tie was still firmly grasped in her fingers.
“So, you’ll leave me here with Vincent while you get it?” That would give her a chance to put doubt in Vincent’s mind.
“I will ensure you cannot speak to him, do not worry. I have in here more than just crude tools. I have something that will make you unconscious for enough time.”
Monique swallowed the fear that she would lose her only chance to get away. “And then?”
“You are a very curious young lady,” he said, a touch of admiration in his voice. “If you are telling the truth, I will give him instructions to kill you quickly. If you are not, perhaps burning to death in the unfortunate fire that destroys this building would make up for your lies.”
Monique knew she couldn’t let The Colonel leave, because as soon as he was on his way to get the picture, Victor would be ending her life painfully. “If I lie then you kill me. If I tell the truth, you kill me. Painful or not, I’m still dead. I need more incentive.”
He sat on the chair again. “So, a negotiation. Well, I have some time. Tell me what you propose to offer me to save your life.”
“What do I have to negotiate with?” Monique continued the conversation so she could run contingency plans through her mind. The only weapon within reach was the chisel. If she went for that and couldn’t get it out of the floor, she’d be dead, or worse.
“Your brother. Your lover. What would you do to keep them safe?”
She tried not to stare at the chisel while she thought about her answer. “How do I know you’ll keep any deal we make? I’ll be dead after all.”
He checked his nails while he thought about his answer. Monique wasn’t sure that his coolness was fake. He seemed to lack any of the emotions that he was trying to build in her. In fact, despite his efforts to build her fear, he wasn’t reacting to it at all. “I suppose my word will not be enough to reassure you?”
“No, unless you plan to keep me around to check on you.” She slid her leg forward as though she was getting a cramp. The chisel was within reach of her foot. If she wasn’t too stiff, she could drop the zip ties and lunge. Could she grab it and stab him in one move?
“That might be possible.” His words echoed eerily with Monique’s internal dialogue. “We have places we could hold you indefinitely. I have men who would enjoy your company for a price, at least for a while.”
She couldn’t know for sure if the chisel would work. Sitting in one position could have frozen her muscles. She wouldn’t know until she tried to move. “I’m no prostitute. They might not like it.”
“These men would enjoy a fight.” He held up a finger for Monique to wait and pulled his phone out of his pocket, an old model. “Bok?” The conversation continued in a foreign language. It seemed to be comprised of short questions and answers. Ivan kept his eyes on Monique as he spoke, leaving her no opportunity to attack.
She let a look of pain cross her face and jerked her leg. The chisel stopped her foot before popping out of the floor. It landed just beyond her reach. Ivan seemed to have bought the charley horse act because he didn’t react. The chisel was still in play, if she could get to it, and act fast enough.
The call ended and Ivan placed the phone on the table before turning his attention back to her. “So, are you willing to tell me where this evidence is? I have another… meeting to attend.”
“It’s a picture of you before. When you were a war criminal. Or, I guess, when you were being one. You still are a war criminal.”
That seemed to surprise him. “There are no pictures of me.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was careful. I did not wish there to be any repercussions from my… service in the name of my country.”
“You knew you’d need to hide your identity all along.”
“Yes, I am not a stupid man. So, one photograph survived.”
Monique flexed her muscles, trying to test her chance of getting off the floor fast. “Two pictures. There’s the one I have, and the mug shot on the war criminal site.”
“That one I don’t worry about. It was taken after I had been beaten by the men who caught me. I think they applied makeup to cover the damage. I should have thanked them before killing them. They made it possible for me to hide. That is the only official picture of me.”
“True, I found it hard to see the comparison at first.”
“The surgeon assured me that no one would be able to recognize me.”
“You need to go back to him and get a refund.” Monique tensed and released her muscles to bring life back to them.
“That is not possible. He is retired – permanently.”
Monique cocked her head. “Too bad, you could have used him again. It didn’t take a lot for me to see the similarity. If someone suspects who you are, they’ll see the proof.” She shifted on her hip to make sure she would be able to lever herself up. Pins and needles ripped through her body then ebbed. “Why don’t we invite Vincent in to see if he sees what I do?”
“You are amusing. Perhaps I will keep you alive to continue that. Like a monkey who will dance on a leash.”
She leaned back and placed the zip tie on the ground, bracing her hands on the floor. “I’m not a good pet.” She tried to put all her hatred into the words. Not just the hatred of Ivan, and what he had done, but hatred of her father and his actions, of the people who sold Didi drugs, of anyone who tried to change her.
“You will learn.” He took the bag and dug around in it again, pulling out a leather rope. “This will look good wrapped around your neck.”
She stared at it. Two lengths of black and brown leather straps braided into a four-foot long rope. “Not my color.”
“I sense you think you can win here, Ms. Duchesne. You must know what I am capable of. Why do you hesitate to tell me exactly what I need to know?” On the table beside the leather strap went a syringe and a small bottle, then a straight razor.
“Do you think that violence is inherited?” she asked the question casually. “What were your parents like?”
He raised an eyebrow. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to get anything other than an answer to his question. “They were farmers. They liked being farmers. They didn’t understand wanting more. I don’t see what this has to do with the picture you have.”
“Do you wonder how you came by your… talents? Were you adopted?”
“No. I have never questioned anything. I am the product of my ambitions. Now you have intrigued me. Why do you ask this question? Are you adopted?” He sat on the chair to wait for her answer.
“I have hoped I was. That is, I hoped it since I was eighteen. I believe in genetics having an effect on behavior.”
He nodded for her to continue.
Monique wasn’t sure how to do that. She hadn’t realized how true that statement was, and it shocked her to know she wanted to throw away the love and support she’d received for eighteen years because of one incident that didn’t
make any sense.
An incident she still secretly thought wasn’t her father’s action. Her father couldn’t have done what the police said he’d done. It was so far away from the man she knew that it didn’t make any sense to her.
Ivan was relaxed and Monique’s pins and needles had subsided. This was the time to move, if she was going to do it. The realization shortened her breath and the room seemed to dim, her focus only on Ivan, the chair he was sitting in, and the chisel.
She would need to rotate on her hip, sweep her hand to the chisel and stand in one motion. She would need to have her hand at Ivan’s throat before he could react and either attack her or call for Vincent.
CHAPTER 20
Monique realized she hadn’t been rehearsing when she felt Ivan’s shoulder under her right hand while her left hand held the chisel to his throat.
She had no memory of moving.
The chisel sat against Ivan’s Adam’s apple. If he tried to call for Vincent, she could shove it through his neck before the sound came out.
He wasn’t worried. A smile curled his lips and the muscles under her hand were relaxed. If she didn’t want to kill him, she would have to convince him that she could. Thankfully, she didn’t have to convince herself. If it came down to it, she’d kill him as easily as she’d slap a mosquito. Whatever the consequences, she’d deal with them later.
“You cry out and I’ll jam this into your throat.” The words ground out through clenched teeth, but they had no effect on Ivan.
Monique glanced into the bag and saw duct tape. Restraining him was now a real option. But she needed to make sure he wouldn’t try anything while she reached for the tape.
She believed that her reluctance to speak about her father all these years had kept her sane. The counselor had tried to get her to open up, saying it would help her heal, but she’d never believed it. Whether it helped her or not, it would work to show Ivan she might be capable of killing him.
“You haven’t had a chance to research me like I have you. If you had, you would know what my family is capable of.” It wasn’t easy to say what she needed to say, but she kept talking, “My brother hid in drugs. I hid in denial, but I know what my father did is something I could do. I don’t know why he did it, but I’ll do it to protect people I love. Do you want to know what he did? Oh, yeah, you can’t talk. Just blink once.”