She moved to a desk a few steps away and opened a drawer, finding a .40 caliber semi-automatic pistol. She popped the clip to see if it was loaded, and pulled the slide back until she saw the gleam of brass from a round in the chamber. She stuck the pistol into the waistband of her shorts at the small of her back.
She picked up the water and went back to Simmons. She laid the knife aside and twisted the top from the water, taking a sip before she upended the bottle over his face, letting it gush into his mouth and his ruined nose. He choked and gagged as he recovered consciousness, groaning as he looked up at her, confused. He moved his head carefully to get a better look at her.
"Hi, Derek," she said, grinning. "I gather you like rough sex; hope you enjoy this as much as I'm going to."
"Who are you?" he burbled.
"I'm your new owner, asshole. You live because I permit it; you will do exactly as I say, or you will be made to regret it, I assure you. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"You won't get away with this. I'll — "
She backhanded him viciously across the face. "You don't speak without permission. Nod if you understand."
He looked at her for a moment, swallowed hard, and nodded.
"Good. Were you telling me the truth about the cabin being soundproof?"
"Yes," he said.
"I hope so, because in a minute, you're going to scream at the top of your lungs. If anybody responds, they'll die, and you'll lose an eye. Want to change your answer?"
"It's soundproof," he said.
"Good. I hope so."
She whipped the knife around with blinding speed and drove it into the side of his right thigh, burying it until the tip struck bone, carefully missing the major veins and arteries. His shock delayed his reaction, but a second or so later, he let out a long, warbling scream that sent a chill down Connie's spine. She stood, the pistol in her hand, waiting. Two minutes later, his screaming had subsided to moaning, and they were still undisturbed. She returned the pistol to her waistband and crouched beside him, grasping the knife with both hands. She put her right foot on his thigh beside the knife and yanked it free. He screamed again.
"That was just to let you know I'm not afraid to draw blood," she said, looking him in the eye until he blinked and looked away.
She wiped the knife on his shirt and inserted the blade behind the waistband of his shorts, near his navel. The knife was indeed razor sharp; she cut away the front of his shorts and his underwear with remarkably little effort, exposing his shriveled genitals. He watched her as she stood and untied one of the laces of his canvas deck shoes, pulling it out. She knelt in front of him and looped the lace under his scrotum, pulling it tight and tying it on top of the base of his penis, finishing with a bow.
"You like that?" she asked, doing her best to mimic Helga's malicious grin.
He shrugged nervously, watching her every move.
"I don't give a shit whether you like it or not, really. It's to control the bleeding. I don't want you dying before you answer all my questions." She put the tip of the knife under his member and lifted it gently, teasingly, as she drew the blade's needle-sharp point along its length.
"Ready for the first question?"
"Yes."
"Where's Julia?"
"I, I don't know a Julia, b-but — "
She put a little pressure on the knife, watching as a drop of blood formed where the edge touched him.
"She's fifteen, blond. You bought her from two men on a boat called Sueño, a day or two before we killed them."
"Okay, yes. Her. We had her, but she's not here now."
"I asked where she was, not whether you had her, asshole. I know you had her. You're going to die soon, but it can be easy, or not so easy. Tell me where to find her, and maybe it'll be easy."
"M-Mustique. The owner's got a house on Mustique. He's coming soon, so we moved her there."
"Good boy, Derek. You get to stay whole for a little longer, but I think you going to Mustique with me, just in case you're lying."
"It's the truth. I swear."
"Tell me how to work the door."
"Easy. Just push the button from in here. To open it from outside, it's three shorts, three longs, three shorts."
"Okay, and a short is?"
"Less than a second. Long is more than two seconds."
"Good boy," she said. She pulled the pistol from her waistband and smashed him on the side of his head with it, watching to be sure he was unconscious before she opened the door into the corridor.
She worked her way to the wheelhouse and slipped up behind the man on watch, knocking him unconscious with the pistol butt to the back of his head. With some effort, she dragged him out onto the wing deck and rolled him under the railing. She stood and watched as his inert body drifted back along the hull, estimating that they were making two or three knots through the water.
She stepped back inside and picked up the microphone for the VHF radio. She checked that it was on channel 16 and keyed the microphone. "Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, this is Diamantista, Diamantista, over."
"This is Lightning Bolt," Paul's voice said, from the speaker. "Connie?"
"I love you, Paul. I need a ride home, with one prisoner. Julia's on Mustique, and my prisoner's going with us in case we need his advice. I'm aboard the motor yacht Aurelius." She looked down at the chart-plotter and began to read aloud. "Position is 13 degrees, 16.4 minutes North, 61 degrees, 55.8 minutes West. Course is 270 degrees magnetic. Speed is 3 knots. I'm armed and on the bridge right now, but there are at least four hostiles, one female, still running loose, and an unknown number of innocent women. Over."
"We copy all, copy all. ETA is ten minutes. Over."
"Copy. I'll be locked in the owner's cabin behind the bridge with my prisoner until you secure the vessel. Diamantista out."
"Lightning Bolt, clear with Diamantista and standing by on 16."
26
Connie waited on the balcony outside the owner's cabin, reasoning that she would be able to hear Lightning Bolt's attack, if not her arrival. The first sound she heard was a muffled gunshot, followed closely by the loud crack of a flash/bang grenade. Even as protected as she was, her ears were ringing enough so that she couldn't tell if there were more gunshots, so she counted off sixty seconds before she stepped onto the bridge. She stood with her back to the aft bulkhead, waiting, her pistol at the ready, watching the helm move as the autopilot made minor course corrections.
"Connie?"
She recognized Paul's voice, yelling, from the stairwell to the deck below. "Up here," she yelled back. "Bridge is clear."
Seconds later, she was in his arms.
"You okay?" he asked, squeezing the breath out of her.
"Yes, unless you break my ribs."
He let her go and stepped back, looking her over. "You're covered in blood!"
"Not mine. I damaged the captain a little."
"He's the prisoner?"
"Yes. The crew?"
"Went down fighting. The big blonde made the mistake of going head-to-head with Sharktooth."
"I'm not surprised. I was in a cabin with three women from Martinique ... "
"They're in rough shape, but they're okay. There were six other women locked up below. They're basket cases emotionally, but I don't think they suffered the kind of brutal beatings like the three from Martinique got."
"That figures. These shits wouldn't want to mar the merchandise. I'm pretty sure the ones from Martinique were hookers to start with; I'm not sure what they were doing here, though. The cleanup crew?"
"About ten minutes out. Marie Lacroix is leading the team."
"I'd like to meet her. Besides, we need to stick around here for a bit while we regroup."
"Regroup? I figured we needed to get to Mustique in a hurry," Paul said. "You said Julia was being held there."
"The captain said they put Julia ashore in the owner's house because he's coming tomorrow."
"Okay. We'll ju
st leave this tub adrift with the lights on. Phillip and Sharktooth should be — "
"You call, mon?" Sharktooth's voice boomed from the stairwell.
"Hey, Sharktooth."
"Hello, Connie," Phillip called. "Where's your prisoner?"
She opened the door, stepping into the corridor. "Follow me. He's in his cabin. We need to ask him a few more questions." She paused at the door to the owner's cabin and tapped in the door code. Pushing the door open, she stood back and gestured at Simmons, who was conscious again, having recovered from her last blow.
Sharktooth stepped into the cabin and nudged Simmons with a huge bare foot, rolling him onto his stomach.
"He ready to go, jus' like this."
"Can you get him aboard Lightning Bolt?" Phillip asked.
"Sure, no problem. Jus' like a pig. You tie him jus' right, Connie. You mebbe lived on a farm one time?"
"Not a pig farm," she replied. "Dani and Liz taught me that."
Sharktooth looped a big hand under the knotted belts that held Simmons' wrists and ankles and lifted him clear of the deck. Simmons shrieked in pain.
"Squeal jus' like a sow, but he not so big, like a wort'while pig. Let's go. I hear Marie's chopper comin'. We don' need to be heah no mo'."
"Actually, I think we do need to stay here for a little while," Connie said.
Sharktooth shrugged and dropped Simmons, eliciting a muttered curse from the captive.
"Why's that?" Phillip asked.
"I didn't finish questioning him; I'm not sure what we'll be up against at Mustique. Besides, I want to call the Regans. They must be beside themselves."
"Good point," Paul said. "Want me to call them while you three finish up with this piece of garbage?"
"That would be great," Connie said.
"I'm probably going to have to go back to the bridge and get out on the wing deck to get a satellite signal. How do I work these doors?"
"Just push the button to get out and block them open," Connie said. "Nobody here but us, right?"
Paul nodded and left the cabin.
"He's your prisoner," Phillip said. He and Connie were standing in the corridor outside the owner's cabin, having left Simmons in Sharktooth's care. "How do you want to do this?"
"I only got the bare minimum from him before I called you; I don't know where the trackers ended up. They must have fallen out when my shirt got ripped, so I had no idea how long it would take you to get here."
"Good that you got us here quickly. The trackers were in the bilge of the boat that picked you up from Sharktooth. We thought something was strange when the first one showed you in Chateaubelair shortly after the pickup, so we were standing by right off the harbor entrance. The second one got triggered somehow, and we went in and found them. That's when we decided to go back to the original handoff point. We got Clarence started on a search pattern centered on that location. Marie and the cleanup crew had just started flying a pattern in a chopper when you called. That's why they'll be here so fast. This tub's only moved about 20 miles since they picked you up hours ago."
"Okay. So I'd like to know how they kept Julia, whether she was still drugged, and so forth. We also need to know who this mysterious 'owner' is, and which house on Mustique is his. We need as much as he can tell us about the layout there, the staffing, exactly when and how the owner's coming, and whatever else you can think of. I don't want us to have to go in blind looking for Julia — too much chance she might get hurt, or used as a hostage."
"Sounds like a good start. Let's get to work on him and see where that takes us. Should we let Sharktooth do the honors? Or do you want to?"
"Let Sharktooth. I'm afraid I might enjoy it too much and lose sight of the goal. If we had time, I'd give the bastard to the women he's been abusing and let them work on him."
They went back into the cabin to find that Sharktooth had rolled Simmons onto his right side. The big man squatted in front of Simmons, sharpening his filet knife, a deranged grin on his face. Connie suppressed a laugh when she saw that he was drooling.
"Uh-oh, Derek. They back. Too late now," Sharktooth said and then cackled. The insane laugh sent a chill down Connie's spine, even though she knew it was part of Sharktooth's act.
"Too late for what?" Connie asked.
"Derek was gonna make me rich. All I had to do was cut him loose and let him get the pistol out the desk. He say he got plenty money in he safe."
"It's true," Derek said. "There's enough for all of you to walk away rich."
"Hmm," Connie said, looking Simmons in the eye. "How much did you have in mind, Derek?"
"Um, how about a million?" He looked at the stony faces above him. "A million each, that is. I could do that."
"Tempting, isn't it?" she asked, looking at Phillip and winking.
"You're the boss, Connie, but yeah, I could use a mil."
Sharktooth cut loose with a shrill, high pitched laugh that almost rattled the glass in the portlights.
"Just untie me, and I'll get it," Simmons said.
"Uh-uh. Remember what you said to me before I took you down?" Connie asked. Simmons looked perplexed. "Something about ownership?" she prompted.
"Oh, that. I, um ... "
She let a few seconds pass. "Remember what I said to you after you came to?"
"Yeah."
"Share it with my friends, please."
"You own me," he mumbled.
"I'm not sure they could hear you. Again?"
"You own me," he repeated, clearly this time.
"And I'm not going to turn you loose until you pay me for your freedom. Where's the safe?"
"Behind the painting over the desk."
"Phillip?" Connie said.
Phillip tugged at the painting and it swung to the side, hinged to the bulkhead. A safe with an electronic keypad was set into the paneling.
"What's the combination, Derek?"
"Uh-uh. After you cut me free and I have the pistol."
"If I were that big a fool, Derek, you'd have me all strapped up in some of that kinky stuff in the cabinet you showed me a while ago. We need to trust one another if we're going to deal, and that starts with you giving us the combination and trusting that we'll set you free, okay? You really don't have much choice, you know. Sharktooth could make you give us the combination. In fact, I think I'd like to watch that. Sharktooth?"
Sharktooth grinned and licked his lips, slobbering down his chin as he tested the point of his filet knife with a big finger.
"No!" Derek yelled. "Okay, I'll trust you. 35 dash 202 dash 33."
Phillip keyed in the numbers and the door opened, revealing banded stacks of large denomination U.S. bills.
"Okay," Simmons said. "Now cut me loose."
"I changed my mind," Connie said, smiling. "Woman's prerogative, you know. I need some answers first."
"You bitch!" he screamed.
Connie laughed. "You don't know the half of it. Sharktooth?"
Sharktooth put the tip of his filet knife on Simmons's left cheek, the tip just below his eye socket.
"Okay! Okay, what do you want to know?"
"Sharktooth's a houngan," Connie said. "You know what that is?"
"A Voodoo priest?" Simmons asked.
"Right. And he can tell if you're lying; it's part of the Voodoo thing, so think carefully before you speak. There won't be any warnings; you lie, he cuts. Of course, you've got another eye, and your genitals, and fingers, and ... well, you get the picture, right?"
"Yes."
"Tell me how you kept Julia? Did anybody touch her or harm her? Was she drugged? Don't make me drag it out of you. Just talk, but tell the truth."
"Helga — you know Helga Wertz?"
Connie nodded. "The big blonde," she said, for the benefit of the others.
"She was a nurse in Bosnia; she had medical training, and she was in the Army there. It's where she met Yuri to begin with."
"Yuri?" Connie interrupted.
"Yuri Jovanovich, the owner."
"Okay. You're doing well so far. Go on."
"Anyway, Helga's job was to see to the women. She put the girl in a private cabin and kept her sedated, I think with Ativan. Nobody else even saw her after she got here. Ativan makes you really dopey; she didn't know where she was. It's an anti-anxiety drug, too, Helga said, so she wasn't scared or anything. Last night, Helga took her to the house on Mustique. We argued about it, because I wanted her to go pick you up instead. But she said to postpone the pickup, because she needed to get the girl to the house so she could start to sober up before Yuri comes. He's due sometime tomorrow, and Helga said it would take that long for her to come out from under the drug. She wanted someone to monitor her; make sure she was okay — apparently, coming off Ativan, you can get seizures and such."
"Okay, and was there somebody at the house to monitor her?"
"Yeah. There are two couples who look after it. One couple is like the butler and the cook, and the other's the maid and the gardener. The woman who's the cook was another Army medic, like Helga."
"Tell us about the house."
"What about it?"
"Start with where it is; there are lots of houses on Mustique. We need to know about the location, the security, what kind of staff is there, everything."
"Okay. I've never been there; Helga's the only one who has. You could ask her."
"I'm afraid not. She's dead. Do the best you can."
Simmons swallowed hard before he spoke. "She said it's in a cove on the south end of the island, on the water."
"The caretakers — you said one was an Army nurse. Are the others locals?"
"No. They were all in the Army in Bosnia with Yuri and Helga. That's all I can think of, honest. Cut me loose now?"
Connie laughed. "Remember your little mantra, Derek."
"What?"
"You now belong to me, until I decide to dispose of you in a way that suits me. You live because I permit it; you will do exactly as I say, or you will be made to regret it, I assure you. Remember telling me that?"
"Yes," he said, softly.
"You now belong to me; don't forget. I'll permit you to live for a few more minutes, because it suits me. Phillip? Sharktooth? Let's go find Paul and see if Marie's here yet."
Sailor's Delight Page 18