by Elaine Nolan
“Who’s there?” he demanded, but she stayed silent, watching his anger, and fear, grow. “Leigh?” he roared into the darkness beyond him.
He heard movement, metal dragging, grating on stone, with it the unmistakable sound of a woman’s heel walking towards him. She slammed the legs of the chair on the ground before him, remaining in the shadows, but as she sat she leaned forward, coming into his circle of light. The sight of her worried him, even more so when she dropped the multi-stranded whip on the floor in front of him.
“We can do this the easy way, or…” she glanced at the whip, “… the hard way.”
“Let me fucking go.” Now that he could see her, his fight returned.
She jammed the heel of her stiletto into the wound on his arm, and he screamed.
“I guess it’s the hard way then. I hoped that was your answer.”
She stood into the light, and he got full view of her attire, and had a WTF moment. She walked around him once, in the same slow measured step from before, and he strained his neck to see where she was, losing sight of her when she was right behind him. Passing him in front, she picked up the whip, draping the strands on his chest, drawing it across his shoulder as she continued her pacing, and he felt the leather tips tickle his arm. He smirked to himself, thinking she was only doing this to intimidate him. She disabused him of that notion as the cheek of his arse exploded into a burning pain. She delivered two more blows in rapid succession, powerful and painful enough to take his breath away, and he felt her breath on his ear, startling him even more as he hadn’t heard her closing in on him.
“You want to know what it felt like? When you drugged me? Twice? It felt like this, helpless, unable to fight it, yet… strangely intoxicating. You’re also aroused by it, and it scares you,” she breathed into his ear. “You don’t want to admit how much it does, and it’s at the hands of your sister. Don’t worry brother, you’re not my type.” She returned to her pacing again, that measured step, the click of a heel on the stone that began to unnerve him. The next swing of the whip caught him between the legs, and he gasped. It hadn’t hurt, she’d been surprisingly gentle, but it only added to his discomfort, and stimulation.
She circled him again, he couldn’t say how many times, but every time she walked behind him, he tensed, waiting another crack from the whip, and the cheeks of his arse were on fire. She stopped and he reacted again, expected another blow, but the clipping heels restarted, and he released the breath he didn’t realise he’d held. He felt burning pain across his uninjured shoulder instead. As much as it pained, he knew she’d held back on striking him with full force, and was glad she did, afraid of what a full force strike would be like.
She sat in front of him, the whip dangling in front of him.
“You claim I’m like dad?” she said. “The truth is, Bro, in this… scenario, you are exactly where he preferred to be, and I am exactly where I prefer. Now, as long as I’m sitting on this chair, I won’t do anything, but if you stop talking, or refuse to answer, and I have to pace again, well… so far, you’ve only received an introductory taster.” She left the threat unsaid. “What was the old man talking about?”
“How the hell should I know?” He sounded surly until she backhanded a slap across his cheek.
“For once tell me the truth and stop with this bullshit.”
“You bitch.”
“Suck it up and get used to it if you insist on having me around, and believe me, I can keep this up all day. I once tortured a man for a week. He gave in on the second day, the last five days were just for fun. So, let’s start again. What files was the old man referring to? And the Green Badger?” He tried glaring at her again until she appeared ready to inflict more pain on him.
“Dad said it was his code name when he was in the North. When he left me here, he gave me a phone number and told me to use that code if I ever got into trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The kind you just pulled me from.”
“Where did this start?”
“I don’t know. I was only a child.”
“Then start there.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Bullshit. May 20th. I was fifteen. Two Gardaí came around to the patio doors at the back of the house, because anyone who knew us, never knocked on the front door. I was on my own when they told me what happened. I even remember their ranks and Garda serial numbers, so don’t give me that bullshit about not remembering something that traumatic.”
He struggled against his bounds again, still with plenty of fight still in him but the swing of the whip loosened his tongue.
“He sent up a cheque every month, back in the days before online or internet banking, and more than enough to pay for anything, everything I ever needed, school books, school uniforms, soccer kits, even special treats. She never had to worry about how she would get by, unmarried with a kid. She thought he left because they had threatened to shoot him if he didn’t. It was normal back in those days, those threats. But the cheques were large enough, from a bank in the Republic, and it raised questions, by the wrong people.”
“Who were the wrong people?”
“We were Protestants receiving what they considered Fenian money, dirty Republican money, and when they found out, they wanted to know who he was, and they used us to set a trap. It was four days of hell before he arrived. They beat her up to get her to talk, called it an interrogation. They tried interrogating me too, in front of her, but she had no idea who he really was, or how much he’d lied to her.”
“But she knew how to get in contact with him if she needed to.”
He nodded. “And she did. They threatened to kill me if she didn’t, but she must’ve warned him. He took two of them out as he burst through the door. I remember thinking ‘fuck, he was tall’.” She smirked and nodded. “The remaining two didn’t go down as easily. The one who never spoke to us, but who gave the orders, tried negotiating with him, and when that didn’t work, he threatened to kill us. My mother was too badly injured to put up any more of a fight; I still had a little left. I have no idea what happened between them, but he and my mother seemed to exchange some weird expression before he fired on them all, including her. He took a hit, but he seemed to ignore it and grabbed me. Next thing I know, I’m on an aeroplane, terrified out of my mind. We land here and he hands me off to strangers, tells me he’ll see me again, but he never did. And that’s it.”
She slapped him across the face again, harder this time.
“What the fuck was that one for?”
“I don’t even have the words to describe you, you… privileged, male… brat.” She saw his anger explode. “He saved your miserable little fucking life, you ungrateful shit. He set you up financially for the rest of your life, and you have the audacity to feel hard-done-by? You have no right to that chip on your shoulder. If he hadn’t taken you away when he did, you’d have died along with your mother, and not by his hand. He probably did the most humane thing for her, taking her life like that, and you damn well know it. They would’ve continued torturing her, in front of you, then shot her before doing the same to you. You have no right to hate him. Do you even know how he died?”
“It was a car crash.”
She shook her head and pulled her phone from her pocket, accessing one of her remote hard drives, then showed him the crime scene pictures. He recoiled.
“He was shot, in the head, trying to stop another illegal arms dealer operating in their own agency. This was my introduction to his real world. You think my life was more pampered than how yours turned out? Get a fucking grip.” The last part came out as a shout as her temper got the better of her.
“What do you want to know?” He sounded exhausted, no longer able to put up a fight.
“Who’s the old man?”
“There’s so many different rumours, I don’t even know where to start.”
She leaned in closer, looming over him.
“Pick one.”
She gave a swing of the whip, catching him on the chest and inner upper arm, an encouraging sting, not a painful strike.
“You said…”
“I know what I said, but you need to give me something I don’t already know.”
“His name’s Kellen McGregor.” He tensed, expecting another blow. To his relief, never came. She waited him out. “He’s a private financier to most of the construction companies and stock market agencies.”
“And your makey-uppy business; social engineering with a conscience,” she sounded sarcastic.
“It’s not makey-uppy. It’s a real thing. Or at least it was.”
“Meaning?” She gave the whip a gentle swing as encouragement.
“It started as a well-intentioned ideal. Mark, Garret and me, we wanted to change the world, wanted to break away from our pasts, from the divisions that would’ve separated us and our families if we’d stayed in Northern Ireland. We were wide-eyed, innocent, anti-establishment activists at university. But when dad brought me here, I don’t think he realised who he left me with.”
“Who was it?”
“A decent family, but connected to the Red Hand.”
“Dad was a lot of things; ruthless at times, but he was never sloppy.”
“I wouldn’t know.” It came out bitterly, but she gave him an ah, poor you expression, only rising his anger and his fight again until she swung the whip, daring him to rebel again. He slumped.
“I was in too deep by the time I found out the helpful geezer wasn’t such a benevolent mentor.”
She shook her head. “Weren’t you taught not to take sweets from strangers?”
He glared at her, and from it she read how much his honesty and integrity, had been abused by McGregor. In that moment he reminded her of Lee, a belief in the greater good, of striving for a higher ideal, and she softened her stance towards Nathan.
“He used our companies to launder money, getting us to invest in areas we’d never touch. I found out one of those companies dealt in guns, in people, had plans to start another Troubles in Northern Ireland, among other places.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Greed? The need for power? A love of chaos?”
“And Karl Gouderhoff?” she asked, taking him in a different direction.
“Who?”
“And these files the old man claims you stole?” She returned to the original line of questioning. Nathan clearly didn’t know the other man.
“He’s right, I stole them. It was what I was going to show you.”
“Wow. You’ve bigger balls than I’ve given you credit for. Metaphorical, not physical, obviously.” Exhausted, he was too tired to glare at her for the insult. “I’ve heard enough,” she said.
“Are you letting me out of this?”
“I won’t be.”
He struggled again and to his horror she stepped behind him, wrapped her arm around his throat.
“Don’t worry, it’s only a little sleep,” she whispered into his ear as she tightened her hold until he passed out.
“We can’t use that interrogation,” Donal accused, as she returned to the observation room.
“What interrogation?” Leigh asked. “All I had was an intimate conversation with my half-brother.”
“And… that?” he indicated her wardrobe. With her heels she stood a breath taller than him, which he found intimidating, but knew it was why she’d used it, he reasoned, and made a mental note to add this skill-set to her record.
“It’s all about context. This is psychological; it’s a whole different world from an interrogation. The army fatigues wouldn’t work, but this,” she indicated her clothing, “this can control a man’s mind better than any form of coercion. I learned that a long time ago.”
“Where the hell did you learn this?”
“While I was at college.”
“What course did you take?”
“Computer programming and systems development.”
“And they taught that? What was it? Like a real-life Dungeons and Dragons thing?”
“Yes, it was the super-nerds level,” she answered, and left to change.
CHAPTER 47
A dejected Nathan Rainey sat across the desk from Donal Brennan and Tom Lawlor, a man at odds with his normal gregarious personality. His sister knew how to deflate him, and shock the entire Embassy. While she already earned herself a reputation for being unorthodox, her latest stunt terrified and intrigued them in equal measures. That she shot her own kin spoke volumes; that she’d do whatever it took to survive. It worried them to think she’d do that to a colleague.
Adam argued in her defence on that. He’d seen her in action, had fought alongside her, and amid the squad she never once gave any hint she was only there for herself. This duplicitous nature worried an already concerned Donal, but he said nothing in the face of her two ardent supporters, nor did he voice his concerns in front of Rainey, not wanting to show any division among the senior ranks within the Embassy.
They found clothing for Rainey, but it was oversized and he looked like a lost boy in them. Tom sent one of his men out to find a store open to get him something more suitable, but told Rainey the Embassy’s budget didn’t stretch to designer suits. That he received no returning smart answer was a measure of just how broken he was; Tom’s experience from surveillance on the man was, like his younger sister, he was never short of a smartarse answer or two.
Rainey wasn’t under any detainment or arrest but Tom issued a caution anyway. Given Leigh’s interview with him, Tom had no intention of leaving himself open to any allegation of similar carry on. Rainey waived his right to have counsel with him, but he just shrugged his shoulders, again reminiscent of his sister, and bemoaned the sad fact he had no one. Tom narrowed his eyes at the whine, continuing his mental comparison between Leigh and her brother. Adversary was where she excelled, the bigger the challenge, the more and the harder she went at it. But this man before him seemed just a shell. Had adversary broken him? Or was this the result of his sister’s action? If Tom had experienced Leigh in full dominatrix mode, he had no idea how long he’d have lasted before he broke. The sense of power and authority she’d exerted as she emerged from the basement was palpable, and one Tom found exciting and arousing. Her attire, while covering everything, still left very little to the imagination, and showed off an hourglass figure that he found desirable and which she otherwise hid in suits or those goddamned army fatigues.
Catching himself drifting into a fantasyland, he returned his attention to the mundane and her far less attractive brother embarking on a soul bearing, conscience cleansing exercise, and telling them everything without the need to be cajoled or threatened.
“And again, you have the evidence to back all this up?” Donal asked.
“Yeah. It’s in two parts,” he answered.
“Come again?” Tom interrupted.
“It’s on an encrypted external hard drive, but it needs a specific USB key to unlock it,” Rainey answered.
“I’m sure your sister would have no problems,” Tom said.
“I doubt she’s that good,” Rainey said, but his tone belied his belief. “The key is on a separate thumb drive that requires another code to access the decryption programme.”
“Clever,” Donal muttered, adding to his voluminous notes. “And you’re just going to hand these over?”
“So long as it keeps me out of prison,” he answered.
“So, to summarise, you ultimately work for, or are under the direct influence of an alleged war lord,” Tom summed up his own notes, but made it sound as though he found the story farfetched. “I’d like to go back to this plan you mentioned involving Northern Ireland.”
“Hardly your jurisdiction,” Rainey answered, his fight beginning to return.
“It is if it involves the word Ireland,” Tom shot back. “You said this involved creating a resurgence of violence.
Why? How?”
“It’s simple,” Rainey began. “With the influx of Americans, it stretches resources in the EU. With the recent political upheavals, Europe as a political ideal is fractured and on the brink of shattering. All it would take is a tiny little push, a little trouble, on one tiny little island, one that spans two countries.”
“All great fires begin with a single spark,” Donal commented, and Rainey nodded.
“That leaves it wide open for someone with an entrepreneurial spirit,” he said.
“Someone with a plan that included a social conscience?” Tom added, with as sarcastic a tone as he could manage. Rainey clenched his jaw in annoyance, but nodded. Again, the physical idioms and similarities between the siblings were not lost on both of them. “And McGregor is the linchpin behind it all?” Rainey shook his head.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I think he’s a significant part of it, but I don’t think he’s alone. Garrett would know better than me, the old man never trusted Mark or me with this inner sanctum shit.”
“Inner sanctum?” Donal asked.
“That’s what Garrett called it, but he wouldn’t say any more.”
“Maybe they knew you were about to double-cross them,” Tom taunted.
“Maybe because I genuinely have a conscience,” Rainey shot back. Donal hid a smirk, but Tom just glared back. A knock interrupted them, and Donal called out in answer. Adam entered.
“We have a situation, at the front door,” he told them.
“What about?” Tom asked, but Adam inclined his head towards Rainey.
“It’s your area of expertise, I believe. US Marshalls talking about extradition.”
“For which one of them?” Donal asked.
“Just him.”
“Warrant?” Tom asked.
“None that I saw.”
“Oh hell no,” Tom growled, pushing past Adam.