by Ana Stone
Sydney didn’t know why she had been brought to this place or why she was being treated in such a manner. All she really knew was that there seemed to be no way to escape and she was very afraid and confused.
The fear came from not knowing what was going to happen. The confusion stemmed from the fact that her internal clock was totally out of sync. She’d fallen asleep many times and had been wakened each time. How long she slept was impossible to determine. She tried very hard to concentrate, to determine approximately how long it had been since she left home but she had no beginning point to start with. She didn’t know how long she had been unconscious from the drug so she could have been in the room for a few hours or days.
Or longer, she thought, realizing that the combination of drugs she had been given and sleep depravation could work to make her unable to think clearly.
"Are you cold?" A soft male voice came from above her.
"Who are you?" She tried to shade her eyes from the light so that she could look up and see who was speaking.
"Are you cold? Would you like to be warm?"
"Yes, I'm cold," she replied angrily. "And I'd like to leave."
"I'm afraid that is not possible. Would you like to be warm?"
"Why are you doing this?" she demanded, feeling around her for the owner of the voice. "Why won't you let me go?"
"Would you like to be warm?" the question was repeated.
"Yes!" she shouted. "Yes! Now will you please answer me?"
"Put this on."
Sydney felt something brush against her leg and she felt around with one hand. "What is this?"
"Put it on."
She wished she could locate the man speaking. If she could she would scratch his eyes out. His calm, monotone manner of speaking was grating on her nerves. However, since she could not see, there was little chance of that happening and she knew her best chance of getting though this ordeal was to try and go along with whoever the man was.
"Can you turn down the lights so I can see to dress?"
There was no answer to her question. "Did you hear me? Can you please turn down the lights?"
Still there was no answer. Forgetting about the clothes she stretched her hands out in front of her, feeling around on the floor as far as she could reach. "Are you there?"
"Put on the clothes."
"I will if you'll just turn down the damn lights!"
"I cannot permit disobedience or offensive behavior."
Sydney didn’t know what was going to happen. She huddled up with her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. For a long time she waited in tense silence for something to happen. When it did, it was not what she expected. The temperature of the room became increasingly colder by the minute and a light spray of cold water fell from above.
"Please stop!" she called out to whoever might be listening. No one replied and the temperature continued to fall. Not knowing what else to do she fumbled with the clothing, trying to figure out what the articles were. When she did realize what she held she felt a sick dread take hold of her.
Oh, god! She shivered violently, as much from fear as from cold. What kind of deranged lunatic am I dealing with and how can I get out of here? She did not have any answers but she knew that she did not want to freeze to death in that room and the only way she could possibly avoid that was to do like the man said. With trembling hands she began to put on the rubber outfit.
After Weasel left Blake couldn’t stop thinking about the meeting that was supposed to take place between Zayne and Senator Forrest. He tried to put himself in Zayne's place and it made no sense. If he were on a cruise with a woman he was crazy about, he wouldn’t cut it short just to have a meeting that could be delayed for a day or two without any consequence. The more he thought about it, the more he felt that something wasn’t right.
He chain smoked and paced the floor as he considered it. The phone rang and drew his attention away from Zayne. "Hello?"
"Hi Dad!" His twelve-year-old son's voice came over the line. "What'cha doin'?"
"Hey, Mike. Not much, how about you?"
"Just hanging out." Michael's voice changed.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Come on, Mike, what's going on?" Blake knew that something was wrong.
"It's…Dad, these men came to see Mom. They told her that you were involved in something illegal and asked her all kinds of questions."
"What men?" Blake felt his alarm bells go off. "Why didn't your mother call and tell me?"
"I don't know who they were. There were three of them and they all had on dark suits and white shirts - kinda like FBI guys, you know? Mom told me to go to my room but I stayed on the stairs so I could hear and they were asking her about some dude named Sydney and how involved you were with him and they said this Sydney guy was in deep shit with the feds and if you were part of it you could go down with him. Then they started asking if Mom knew anything about your bank accounts and the Swiss account and how much money you gave her and stuff like that."
Blake knew that whoever the men were, they were not FBI. If he was under investigation he would know about it; in fact he would not still be working for the bureau. The only logical answer was that Zayne was behind this. Why, he had no idea.
Unless he's trying to set me up for something. If the men in Florida were trying to put ideas into his ex-wife's head about Swiss bank accounts then Zayne must be trying to make it look like he was on the take.
"Mike, don't worry about it," he tried to reassure his son. "I'm not in any trouble and I can promise you that I don't have any Swiss accounts. Besides that, I'm not into anything illegal - and Sydney isn't a dude. She's a lady I've been seeing."
"You mean someone you dated?"
"It's a little more than that. I really care about her, son. She's a real special person."
"You mean you like…love her? Are you going to marry her, Dad?"
"That's possible," Blake answered. "One day - if she says yes. And I want you to meet her. I think you'll like her. She's beautiful and smart and fun to be around. She even likes to roller blade and I know you're into that. And hey, get this. She was a pitcher for a Little League team that went to the Little League World Series. She threw three straight shutouts."
"A girl?" Disbelief sounded in Michael's voice.
"Yeah," Blake laughed lightly. "She's pretty amazing. You think you'd like to come spend the weekend soon and meet her?"
"Sure, I guess so."
"Great! Tell your Mom I'll be in touch to make arrangements and in the meantime, don't worry about those men. I think someone's just trying to pull a fast one on your mom. I'll take care of it."
"Okay, Dad. Listen, Danny's here now and we're gonna go out and ride the ramp for a while. I'll see ya, okay?"
"Okay, you have a good weekend and I'll talk to you soon. I love you, Mike."
"Me too, Dad. Bye."
Blake hung up the phone and stared at it for a few moments. He wished he had more time to spend with Michael. He knew it was hard for a boy to grow up without a father and he would like to take more of an active role. But the divorce had pretty much prevented that. He had visitation rights but little else and his ex-wife didn’t appreciate his opinions concerning Michael.
Out of the blue he was filled with anger; anger that someone would involve his son and his ex-wife in some plot against him. Zayne had to be behind it. Or it could be one of the drug boys I pissed off, he considered. Either way, he needed to find out who was behind it and put a stop to it. And the best way he knew to start was to talk to the one man he knew could find answers that were hidden from everyone else.
He picked up his phone to place a call. "GW, hey. Where are you?"
"On my way home."
"Can you come back over. Something's come up I need your help on."
"Time to go to town, Tonto," GW replied. "I'm headed your way."
"Thanks." Blake hung up the phone an
d lit a fresh cigarette as he walked to the spare bedroom where the computer was. He turned it on, sat down at the desk and called up the file he had on Zayne. A picture appeared in a small window of the screen and Blake looked at it. "What are you up to?" he asked the still picture of Adrian Zayne.
Every time he thought he had a handle on the man, something new was thrown into the mix. Blake's brow furrowed in concentration as he thought about the case and the new element that had been added. His eyes widened as something occurred to him.
"That's it, isn't it?" he asked the picture. "It's just to lead me another step away from the original investigation, isn't it? By diverting my attention - making me play the defense, you can lead me away from the truth - away from your involvement in the bombing. This is all just diversionary tactics."
His frown returned as another idea occurred to him. "So, what about Syd? Where does she fit in?"
He had no answer to that question.
Sydney felt as if she were about to turn into a block of ice. She had put on the garments as instructed but little had changed. A fine spray of water still fell from the ceiling, making the concrete floor slick; and the temperature had dropped low enough that breathing was painful. She tried to keep moving, but walking on the slippery floor was difficult, especially since she couldn’t see. She had to keep her eyes covered. The light was so bright that it felt like knives in her eyes when she uncovered them.
A sickly sweet smell made her stop. She turned around, listening with increasing dread as the water stopped and a hissing noise interrupted the silence. Then the choking sensation began.
"Stop!" She gasped, trying to cover her mouth and nose as she dropped to the floor and felt her way along to crawl into a corner. "Please."
The gas got thicker and her breath came in strangled gasps as her lungs filled. She felt herself becoming limp and knew that soon she would lose consciousness. Sure that she was dying, she tried to force her mind away from the fear. She pictured Blake's face in her mind, remembering the time they spent in Virginia. She tried to hold onto that memory as darkness claimed her.
What seemed like years or possibly only moments later she woke screaming in pain. It felt like someone had either stabbed her or stuck a live wire to the sole of her right foot. She tried to move away from the pain but found that she could not, she was immobilized.
After several seconds the pain subsided and she opened her eyes, blinking away the tears so that she could focus. She was lying face down on a hard surface that was about four feet off the floor. Her wrists were tied together to a thick metal post that extended up from the head of the platform above her head and her legs were somehow fastened securely as well.
She turned her head from one side to the other, seeing a figure dressed entirely in white standing beside her. There was a cart, similar to a hospital tray beside the figure. A white cloth covered something on the tray.
Sydney tried to see the face of the person beside her but it was covered with a white ski mask. Only the eyes were visible. She could tell it was a man due to the build and the shape of the face.
"Why are you doing this?" She tried not to let her voice break with fear.
"Are you warm now?" The voice was the monotone she remembered.
"Who are you?"
The man pulled the white cloth off the tray to expose the implements. He picked up a sharp scalpel and turned it back and forth in his hands. Sydney's eyes grew round in fear. "What do you want, Sydney Forrest?"
"I want to get out of here!"
"That is not the right answer." He turned and walked out of her range of vision.
Sydney heard what sounded like the muffled sound of a door opening and then a slight creaking noise. Two men rolled a platform like that which she was tied to into the room, placing it in front of her so that she could see the woman who was strapped down on it. Like Sydney, her arms were stretched out over her head and her legs were spread wide and fastened with thick leather straps at the knees and ankles.
The woman's eyes were wide with fear and small whimpering noises came from her mouth. The men left and the woman began to cry softly. "Who are you?" Sydney asked. "And where are we? Why are we here and who are those men?"
The woman looked at her with tears falling rapidly from her eyes. "My name's Maggie Robinson. I'm from Richmond. Those men - they drugged me and brought me here and they…"
"They what?" Sydney's voice sounded shrill and frightened even to her own ears. "Tell me!"
"They do things," the woman finally replied. "They put these red hot iron things on you and these electric things - they put them on you - in places that hurt so much you want to die."
"What do you mean?" Sydney asked in terror.
"It's like little clamps," the woman tried to explain between her tears. "They fasten them on your nipples and your . . . genitals and then they turn on the current. Sometimes they put these things inside you. And if you don't answer right, then they make it hurt so bad that you just scream until you pass out. But they don't kill you - they don't want to do that. They want to keep hurting you."
"Why?"
"I don't know!" the woman cried harder. "That one man keeps asking me what I want and I don't know the answer. And when I give the wrong answer he hurts me. I don't think I can take this! I just want to die so I won't have to hurt anymore."
Sydney didn’t know what to say. She was too afraid to trust her voice anyway. She could not imagine suffering through what the woman had described.
"Hello Maggie," the monotone voice sounded behind Sydney.
Maggie screamed as the white-suited man walked to the head of her platform and started to push it. Sydney followed with her eyes until the man and the platform bearing Maggie disappeared somewhere behind her.
"Are you ready to begin, Maggie?" Sydney heard the man's voice, followed by a whimpering sound from Maggie.
"What do you want, Maggie?" the man asked.
"Please don't hurt me," Maggie begged. "I don't want to hurt anymore."
"That is not the correct response, Maggie."
Sydney yelped in fright as the man appeared beside her, holding a metal rod about one inch in diameter and about six inches long. The rod was mounted on a plastic base that looked like a handlebar grip on a bicycle with a switch along the side. From the bottom of the base an electric cord emerged.
"This is a most effective tool," the man showed it to her. "As you can see, it can be adjusted according to need, from a very mild charge to one quite intense and excruciating."
"What are you going to do?" Sydney whispered weakly.
"There are many uses for this particular instrument," the man replied in the same monotone as always. "It can be used eternally to deliver a very effective electric current - for example to the base of the spine or the bottom of the feet. Additionally it can be inserted into the vagina or rectum. Both orifices are excellent receptacles. Maggie is particularly susceptible to internal stimulation, as are many females. Please take note, Sydney Forrest.
The man moved away and a few seconds later she heard Maggie. "No, please don't. Please, please . . . . Nooooooo!" Her last word merged into an agonized scream that seemed to go on forever. Sydney wished she could cover her ears; blot out the sound. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would explode from fear.
At last the screams began to diminish and after what seemed a very long time, they transformed into whimpers. Sydney was covered with sweat and trembling with fear but jerked violently as she felt a touch on her back.
"What do you want, Sydney Forrest?" the soft monotone voice asked.
She had no idea what the right answer was and was terrified of giving the wrong one. "I want you to tell me who you are and why you're doing this."
"That is not the correct response, Sydney Forrest."
"Then tell me what you want me to say!" she screamed as the man moved out of sight. "Just tell me . . . " she felt cool hands on her thigh and tensed even more. " . . . stop it
!" she screamed as she felt something slippery and cold being smeared on her. " Please, don't touch me. I mean, it! Get away from−"
Her words changed into screams as the pain began.
Weasel sat back and whistled softly. "Someone's really done a number on you this time, man. This one even has me stumped."
Blake felt like he had just eaten something that disagreed with him. His stomach was churning like it wanted to expel its contents. "Are you sure you can't trace it back to its point of origin? The money had to have come from somewhere"
"I can try." Weasel attacked the keyboard again, his eyes squinted as he stared at the screen.
Blake watched him work for a few minutes in silence then got up and paced around the room. This could be very bad if word of it got out. Somehow, someone had opened several accounts in his name in the Caymen Islands and in Switzerland. In each of the accounts was over three million dollars; for a grand total of six million, two hundred, seventy-five thousand. What was worse were the dates of the deposits.
The Swiss account was opened, according to what they had been able to find, a little over a year ago. The initial deposit was one and a half million dollars. Over the last year, four additional deposits of a little over a million had been made. The Caymen account had been opened two days after the date of the bombing of the federal building in Ohio. Three million dollars had been deposited in one lump sum.
Blake couldn’t imagine the drug cartel being responsible. It wasn’t their style to devise so elaborate a scheme, not to mention waste their own money, just to make a federal agent look bad. He believed that Adrian Zayne was behind it.
"Sweet Jesus!" Weasel exclaimed, capturing Blake's attention. "This is bad, man. This is real bad."
"What?" Blake took a seat beside him and looked at the screen.
"Whoever did this was clever," Weasel said with a hint of admiration in his voice then looked at Blake and winked. "See, here's the trail. You can see how the money was channeled though a series of banks throughout the world. That's the clever part. Whoever did this made it look like you were the one transferring the money to cover your tracks. They made it look like you were trying to cover the origin of the money."