“I don’t think so,” John replied.
Finger nails gouged into his nipples.
John bit back any further comment.
“That’s better,” she breathed. “I like my men the helpless silent type. Hung and helpless. Now lets see what you’ve got for me.” Her fingers tugged at his boxer shorts. “Adorable,” she said. Moments later the shorts were at his ankles.
John futilely struggled with his bonds. He knew he was about to be raped. As sharp tipped fingers slowly massaged his genitals, John concentrated on anything but what was happening. One hand kneaded his scrotum as the other fingered his rectum. Then she started doing something with her mouth.
“Stop... please...”
John gasped as she totally engulfed him. He was powerless, overcome and forced into submissiveness.
She had him.
She won.
*****
The icy sting of cold water shocked John Riel awake. He tried to open his eyes, but the left one was swollen shut. A throbbing reminder of the events of the last hour.
Squinting, John was greeted with a glinting diamond within a demonic 94
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smile. He tried to move only to discover he was still naked and bound at the wrists and ankles to a chair. He was somewhere else.
“I see you’re back with us, Mr. Riel.” His voice perspired menace.
“You…” John choked through a dry throat.
“My name is Smyles, Raymond Smyles,” he said and lit a cigar. Smyles then motioned to someone standing behind John. “That’s Sam DeTully. We are with the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“Where’s Catherine?” John demanded with all the will he could muster. Smyles grinned and blew smoke in his face.
“Where is she?” John repeated.
DeTully smacked John in the head with a closed fist. Lights sparked across his vision.
“I’ll ask the questions here,” Smyles said calmly, “How do you know her?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“My, you are a persistent bugger,” Smyles commented. He slid another chair over, straddled it backwards, and faced his prisoner. “Give it up,” he suggested calmly, “I simply want some answers.”
“Piss off,” John said.
“Tell me if this hurts,” Smyles said and pressed the lit end of his cigar to John’s Adam’s Apple.
John screamed.
“A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed,” Smyles said, sucking back a drag on the cigar, “Now, once again. How do you know Wildman?”
John limply shook his head.
Smyles removed the cigar from his mouth and placed it over John’s right eye. John tried to twist away but DeTully held him firm. The foul smoke from the cigar made his eyes water.
“Tell me,” Smyles prompted.
“I-I... Don’t! We met when she stumbled into my van,” John sputtered, ashamed in betraying her.
“What else?”
“Nothing. Nothing.”
The cigar drifted closer, “Are you sure?” Smyles taunted, dancing the fiery tip before his face.
“Yes! Yes! I’m sure. I don’t know anything,” John tried to close his eyes but DeTully’s fingers prevented him, “She didn’t tell me anything!”
Smyles slowly moved the glowing tip closer and then dropped it and 95
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singed the skin just below his eye.
John’s scream cut through the room like a blade. Blue sickly-sweet smoke curled up though the air and stung his eyes.
Smyles flicked the cigar to the floor and butted it with his heel. He nodded to DeTully and stood up.
With all his strength draining away, John slumped in the chair.
“Now what?” DeTully asked.
“I’ll have to be more persuasive.” Smyles turned toward John. “Mr. Riel?”
Through his tearing eyes John glanced up and felt his nose flatten against his face as Smyles lashed out and drop-kicked him square in the face. DeTully leapt out of the way as John and the chair flipped over and struck the cement floor with a dull smack.
A nova of stars flashed throughout John’s brain. Then all went black. Smyles stepped over him, placed a foot on his chest and grabbed John by the hair. He yanked him closer and bellowed, “Don’t fuck with me! I’ve had a really bad day!” Smyles then noticed that John had lost consciousness.
“What the fuck is this?” he let him go. John’s head thumped against the floor. “He’s out cold.”
“Maybe you hit him too hard,” DeTully offered.
“No shit Sherlock.”
“Now what? Mr. Stein wanted him awake for his entrance,” DeTully said and heaved John and the chair upright.
Just then a door creaked open and a sliver of light cut through the dark room. Jefferson Stein slowly entered and walked casually yet directly toward John, “Mr. Riel,” he said, “I am Jefferson…” Stein noticed John slumped in the chair and the blood on his face and floor. “What the hell happened?”
“DeTully hit him too hard,” Smyles said.
“I did not hit him! You hit him!” DeTully protested.
“You were supposed to catch him!” Smyles shot back.
“Shut up the both of you!” Stein growled. “Christ Smyles, you stupid shit-stick. Wake him up!” Stein turned and stormed out of the room. DeTully crossed to the sink and filled a glass full of cold water. He returned and threw the water in John’s face.
Coughing twice, John glanced up as a ray of light sliced through the smoky room. Jefferson Stein entered.
The tall well dressed man closed the distance between them slowly and stood before John. His eyes steely, yet bored. When the door closed, the only light remaining was a naked bulb that hung from a cord behind Stein, giving 96
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him a ghostly halo.
“Who...?” John managed weakly.
Stein did not reply. He stood before John and gestured toward DeTully. The handsome man grabbed John in an iron grip and stabbed him in the arm with a syringe filled with a greenish liquid.
“What… what did you….”
Stein walked away and found a chair in the corner of the room. He dragged it back toward John, letting its legs scraped across the floor, forcing everybody to wince. Stein casually sat down and faced John. “I’m Jefferson Stein,” he announced politely. “Who are you?”
“John-you should know.” Careful. Keep alert. Oh man I’m tired...
“Yes I do,” Stein said, “Your name is John E. Riel. You are one of those tiring new breed of video reporters. You were formerly with CKKC, the Vancouver super-station. You are now, or pardon me, soon will be a freelancer with the Canada-World News Network. You worked for them in the past but left under interesting circumstances. You were camped out near Sudbury when a not unattractive young woman stumbled into your life and royally fucked it up.” Stein smiled. “That was Cathy Wildman of the RCMP
Special Operations Unit. I believe that brings us up to date.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to know what the ‘E’ stands for.”
“Eat shit.”
Stein smiled again. “Being a smart ass does not improve your situation.”
John did not reply. “Yes, I see you agree. Now lets get down to brass tacks.”
Stein turned his attention to the hangnail on his left index finger. “Where is the data disk?” he asked.
John shook his head wistfully. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“If you plan to stick to that story, fine. But I warn you I believe I can persuade you to change your mind,” Stein leaned toward John. His breath smelled freshly gargled. “Pain is a wonderful weapon and you are at your most vulnerable. Naked, tied down, three mean men with guns and an unknown substance floating through your system.” Stein leaned back in his chair and watched John sweat. “Think about it.”
John felt himself start to shake. His chest tightened and he knew hi
s bowels were about to cut loose. Fight it! Think! If they didn’t need me, I’d be dead by now. They need me alive because... because... Catherine didn’t talk... she didn’t talk so they need me alive... hold on.... John saw a slight downward tug in Stein’s lips when he smiled at the 97
DAVID A. LLOYD
handsome man. “Fuck you Asshole.”
Stein quickly regained what ever composure he thought he lost and leaned toward John again. “Did you know that there is three different categories of pain?” He gripped John’s little finger. “The first and least effective is the pain of fear. At this moment you fear I am going to break your finger. Something that will cause you pain.” Stein broke John’s little finger. “See?”
“Bastard!” John cried out.
Stein stood up and casually fixed his tie. “Now that was the second category of pain. Bones breaking. Ligaments tearing. Blood vessels rupturing. All-in-all pretty messy stuff. What I like about the second category is that it’s made up of several levels. What you just endured was a very low level. Now I’m sure that hurt, but that is nothing compared to what Mr. Smyles and Mr. DeTully excel in. They forgotten more levels in the second category that I could have ever dreamed of.” Stein, in a brotherly fashion, put his hand on Smyles’ shoulder. “Mr. Smyles has a thing about his cigars. I seen you’ve discovered that. He can be rather phallic at times.” He gestured toward DeTully. “Now Mr. DeTully’s favorite was... what?” Stein snapped his fingers,
“Oh yes, the charged wires to the testicles.” He chuckled. “You should watch someone squirm with that one, but don’t worry, I’m sure things won’t come to that.”
Stein smiled as he watched John struggle to hide his fear.
“The third category,” Stein’s eyes flashed as he continued, “The third is my favorite. It’s what I call ‘real pain, for real people.’” He sat down again before John. “To inflict it I don’t even need to touch you and believe you me, it is a pain that will never go away.”
“What… are you talking about?” John asked carefully. The throbbing in his finger was starting to ebb but sweat flowed freely down his back. Stein, visibility pleased that he had John’s undivided attention, turned to DeTully and nodded. The other man left. Stein faced John again. “It is one thing to be a victim of pain Mr. Riel, but it is quite another to sit back and watch it. Oh, some people, like Mr. Smyles here, get off on it.” Stein absently glanced at his finger nails again. “I find that personally distasteful,” his eyes locked on John’s. “I enjoy inflicting it.”
DeTully returned with a television monitor. He placed it on a small table and wheeled it over to John.
“What the hell do you want from me?” John screamed, wrestling with his bonds.
“I only want your attention,” Stein answered.
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DeTully flipped a switch on the monitor and the screen flickered to life. John found himself looking through a birds-eye lens into a colorless room. Sitting with her legs crossed in the middle of the room was a naked woman.
“Catherine…” John whispered.
“Good eye,” Stein said. He removed his jacket and tie, carefully folded the tie and slipped it into the jacket pocket then passed them off to DeTully.
“You see, Mr. Riel, I have been toying with little Miss Wildman’s mind for quite some time now. Over the last year I’ve slowly isolated her from her friends, then have had them suddenly disappear or die.” Stein removed his shirt and folded it neatly. “It’s been a pet project of mine.” He looked at John. “You see this quaint little Operation Arctic Snow was formed to bring down my pipeline.” A hint of anger crept into his voice. “My pipeline!”
Smyles cleared his throat and Stein shot him an acrimonious look before handing his folded shirt to DeTully. John noticed the exchange. “A pipeline I’ve spent years setting up.” Stein continued, “Well, we couldn’t have that now could we?” DeTully handed Stein a blood-soiled shirt then proceed to tear at the sleeves and lining of the jacket. “That’s why I started messing with the mind of one of the three people heading up the operation,” Stein said as he pulled on the shirt. DeTully then handed him back his jacket. John was puzzled, “Three? There were four people heading up OAS.”
Stein chuckled softly, “Yes, of course there were.” He mussed his short blond hair. “First there were the Russians. Vladimir Zadneprovsky. He is dead. Then there was the female, Nikita Triska.” He glanced at Smyles and DeTully. “She is also dead.” Stein faced John again, “Thirdly, Cathy Wildman.” He smiled, “She is still alive, for the time being anyway. Lastly, Gene Hatton. Also dead, mutilated and blown up I believe.” With that Stein turned and walked away, DeTully at his heals.
John cried out as Stein’s meaning became clear, “You bastard!”
****
A hidden panel slid open.
Catherine opened her eyes as somebody smacked the concrete floor before her. Then the panel slide shut with a clang.
Catherine reached out and tuned her guest over, “Gene!” she exclaimed as a flood of conflicting emotions threatened to sweep her under. “Oh my God!”
“Cathy?” Stein said.
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Catherine uncoiled her legs and pulled him close, “Oh God, Gene! I thought…” she kissed him longingly.
“Cathy? But how…” Stein wrapped his arms around her naked frame and held her close, “I thought you were dead. What’s happing here?”
“I don’t know…” she replied, “I’ve been shot. Smyles shot me, I think, in the back. I don’t know… long ago. I—I can’t remember.”
“God, what have they done to you?” Stein slipped out of his jacket and placed it over her broad shoulders.
“It’s damp,” she said, then realized the odor. “That’s blood.”
“It’s not mine,” he said. “It’s from some guy they tortured and killed. They slit his throat right in front of me.”
Catherine pulled away slightly, “Oh God, that’s horrible,” she sobbed.
“Who? Do you know who it was?” No please don’t let it be...
“Some reporter. Poor bastard was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Catherine’s hands shot up to her face, “Non... God no. It’s all my fault.”
“You knew him?”
“Oui...” her hands fell from her face and into the pockets of the jacket, “Il a sauvé ma vie.” Catherine turned away from Stein. “Oh Johnny... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She lowered her head and whispered a silent payer.
“Cathy....”
Stein reached out to touch her shoulder but Catherine spoke before he could. “He didn’t know anything about this. It’s my fault he’s dead.” She turned and faced him. There was something in her eyes he could not place. Something he did not like, “Who killed him,” she demanded. Her voice cut through him like glass.
“Smyles,” Stein said before he could think. Shit! I wanted to say that Lydia did it.
“Smyles,” Catherine repeated. Smyles, “I am going to kill him,” she vowed. Her voice was scarcely above a whisper but there was a fire in her eyes. A green-eyed burn.
Stein was taken aback. He did not expect this. She seemed to have found a long lost tap of strength.
“Smyles said something about a data disk,” Stein said carefully.
“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Catherine said flatly. Stein pressed on, “You told me that you were meeting Vladimir before you disappeared. Does that have anything to do with that?”
“Non. Vlad never showed up,” Catherine said. “What happened to you 100
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that night?”
Caught flat-footed by the change of her train of thought, Stein stammered,
“Uh, Smyles jumped me after you… went into Crudup’s place.” He carefully held his rage in check. This was not going the way he planned, “I’ve been here ever since.”
Catherine suddenly embrace
d him warmly, “Oh Gene, I’m frightened.”
Stein held her and caressed the back of her neck. Damnit! “Cathy?”
“Oui?”
“I overheard Smyles talking earlier.”
She did not reply.
“He said something about leaving and setting up shop elsewhere.” He felt Catherine stiffen in his arms. Good.
“What about us?”
“I don’t know.”
Just then the hidden panel slid open and DeTully stepped in. He grabbed Stein by the collar, “Move your ass Hatton. We still have a use for you,”
DeTully barked and dragged him from the cell. “Hasta Miss Wildman. Enjoy your stay.”
Catherine dug into the pocket of Stein’s jacket.
The hidden panel slid shut with a thud.
“Non!” Catherine screamed out, then waited a moment before getting to work.
*****
The door flung open with a crash and Stein stormed in.
“You shit!” John cried out. His eyes burned as rage swelled up within him.
Stein ignored him and faced Smyles, “I’ve sent DeTully to get the car. We’re pulling up stakes and hauling ass.”
“What? Why?” Smyles asked and rubbed the top of his head. “This set up took us months. We can’t leave all the equipment here. Most of it is marked.”
“Shut it!” Stein snapped. “She knows something was up. I don’t know what she suspects, but she knows something.”
“Faked you out,” John volunteered.
Stein backhanded him across the face. His nerves were taut. Stein never suspected she could have rattled him so. “You!” Stein place his hands on John’s wrists and shifted his weight there, “You Mr. Riel, are in no position 101
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to shoot off your fucking mouth!”
“What are we going to do with him?” Smyles asked.
Stein straightened up and fixed his hair, “Kill him,” he said.
“I think not.”
All eyes shifted to the door.
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All eyes shifted to the door.
Catherine Wildman, silhouetted by a halogen light, stood poised and naked. Her feet straddled the motionless DeTully while his Smith & Wesson was held firm in both her hands.
A rush of pity pumped through John. What have they done to you, Catherine?
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