by Sean Blaise
He seemed intent on filling her completely, and she was so eager to help him. She tried desperately to spread her legs wider. She wanted him inside, completely filling her until she could take no more.
She felt him speeding up, his breathing becoming ragged and his moaning more intense. She was close as well and began begging in her mind for him to hold on just a little bit longer for her. Claire wanted to finish with him. She looked up at him and saw him close his eyes, as he thrust deeply into her one last time. Then she felt him exploding inside of her, his throbbing pushing Claire over the edge, their bodies locked together in waves of pure pleasure. She felt him collapse on her with a smile and he slowly laid down next to her. She smiled when he quickly fell asleep.
John awoke early the next morning. He loved the feeling of Claire's warmth against his skin as she slept. It radiated a heat that seemed to warm him to the very core. Her skin was silky soft, and she smelled, like always, of rich coconuts. She fit the curve of his body like the hull of a boat, placed back in its mold. He turned on his back and looked at the ceiling. He had a lot on his mind.
He didn't know who to trust anymore. Mr. Clark had shot so many little pin pricks of doubt about Alexi into his mind that it hurt. He missed the days when all he worried about was finding shipwrecks, kissing girls, and diving. He felt that Alexi had taken that carefree life away from him.
John felt Claire stir. She turned over slowly with a yawn, her blonde hair carelessly falling over her crystal blue eyes. John was stunned again at the sheer rawness of her beauty. Men started wars for a woman like her, he thought. She smiled shyly at him and he saw a dirty glint in her eye.
"Good you're awake. Saves me the trouble of waking you to get what I want," Claire said as she climbed on top of him.
Chapter 77
Claire and John had breakfast together at the hotel café, which was swankier than John preferred. Anything with cloth napkins pretty much made Otter squirm. John, as usual, had an espresso, while Claire ordered some mocha flavored coffee with copious amounts of whipped cream on top. She picked up her spoon and put three, hefty, spoonsful of sugar into her mug. She caught John staring.
"What?" she asked, with a giggle.
"Would you like a little coffee with your sugar?"
"Why do you think I'm so damn sweet?" Claire asked, with a dazzling smile as she licked the spoon clean.
John couldn't help but laugh. He knew he was practically beaming. John didn't know what he felt about Claire, yet. But he had feelings that were growing quickly. The sex was amazing; though it wasn't just that. Normally, he was able to separate the two. She was so happy, it made him smile again. The hour passed painfully quickly, and John felt a looming apprehension as he paid the bill. He wasn't looking forward to getting back aboard the Ivana. He knew he wore every expression on his sleeve, and he was worried that his concerns over trusting Alexi would be all too obvious to the old man.
As they walked towards the hotel exit, Claire ventured to slip her hand into his. He couldn't remember the last time he'd held hands with a woman. He had forgotten how much he missed it.
Claire, for her part, loved the way her hand was cradled by his. She couldn't believe what she felt for him. He was amazing; and gorgeous in a simple physical way. But his honey-brown eyes killed her. It was as if he didn’t even need a mouth; his eyes wore his every expression. Pleasure, pain, happiness, doubt, it was all there in his eyes. It was that kaleidoscope that mesmerized her. She was scared and happy at the same time. Holding his hand felt like an old habit. She knew she couldn't be already, but she was madly in love with him. She wanted to keep him forever.
The gang of men were waiting outside. The first gangster rushed John from behind, swinging a cricket bat for the back of his skull in a killing stroke. John, seeing the movement out of his peripheral vision, quickly lurched to his right. He ducked his head, trying to avoid the bat, but he was too late to remain unscathed.
The cricket bat cracked heavily against John’s still injured left shoulder, in a sickening blow that sent him reeling. He stumbled forward staggering, barely catching himself before crashing into a dumpster along the opposite wall. John raised himself quickly, knowing that a second attack was sure to follow.
He turned to see two men already holding Claire and rushing her toward a waiting car. The third man, his attacker, rushed toward him looking to finish off what he started with the cricket bat. John lurched forward, exploding from the floor with a massive burst of power from his years of diving and marital arts training, and more than a little rage. His swift movement caught the attacker off guard as he struggled to bring down the bat held over his head quickly enough to hit John before he was too close.
But the attacker was already too late. John's good right shoulder slammed into his attacker’s midsection, driving the wind from his lungs and cracking ribs. The force of John’s blow reeled the attacker backwards, with the bat falling limply behind John. John dug deep with his legs, and remembering his college days as a wrestler, lifted his attacker up and over his right shoulder until he was vertical then he slammed him backwards. The attacker was nearly knocked unconscious by the force of the impact with the ground. His skull was cracked, and blood began to ooze from the wound where his head had connected heavily with pavement.
John turned and rushed toward the car, but it was already taking off down the street. He turned around to question his attacker. But his attacker had already stood up and now brandished a knife.
"Come," said the man with the knife through bleeding lips.
John removed his jacket, to the confusion of his attacker. Holding it out like a cape to a bull, John moved towards the slight, Indian man. Both in size and strength the man was completely outmatched by John's heavy build and training. The element of surprise had been the man's only weapon, and now that was gone.
The attacker suddenly lurched forward in a wild stabbing motion, aimed at John's stomach. It was a fatal mistake. John covered the stabbing hand with the coat, while twisting violently with the man's ensnared hand. The elbow popped free with startling ease, and the man let out a retching scream. John then took his right hand and smashed an iron fist into the bridge of the man's nose. It broke evenly, and a river of blood poured down the front of his face. John broke the knife free and stood the man up against the wall. John knew the cops would be arriving shortly.
"Who are you? Where has she been taken?"
The man just smiled. "I will never say a word."
John felt a hopeless wave of desperation grip him, and anger. Pure rage, and the man's relentless leering smile only stoked the volcano of violence inside John's pounding heart further.
He smashed another heavy fist into the man's mouth, and John winced in pain as his knuckles crunched into cartilage. The slight Indian fell without a sound. John dragged the man around the corner of the building, into the alley while he worked his mobile phone with his left hand. John didn't call the police. He called Alexi instead.
John related the story of what had happened to Alexi in short staccato bursts. Alexi seemed almost bored. "Hold the man. Dmitry will be there in less than five minutes."
"How the harbor is over forty miles away?" John began but the phone was already dead.
Alexi was wrong. Dmitry was there in less than a minute. In the back of John's mind this registered as important. Dmitry had been close, very close to John. But why? Was it a coincidence? John doubted it.
Dmitry slipped out of the black Mercedes like a snake, and without a word grabbed the unconscious man with more than expert experience. Dmitry slipped black, plastic, flexi-cuffs around the man's wrists and drew them tight in front of the man's body. He swiftly checked his pockets and found nothing. Dmitry picked him up like a rag doll and dragged him toward the car. He threw the unconscious man in the back seat of the car and slipped into it after him. John stood by the door still shocked at the attack, Dmitry being so close, and everything that was happening. He turned and noticed someone from th
e hotel walking towards him when he heard Dmitry speak. "Drive, John."
John slipped out of his coma and closed the passenger door quickly. He walked around the back of the car when he heard the shout from a doorman at the hotel. He ignored it and slipped into the driver’s seat and pushed the slick Mercedes into drive.
Chapter 78
John drove fast, the black Mercedes a blur weaving in and out of the morning Mumbai traffic. He had no idea where he was going. John glanced in the rearview mirror at Dmitry, who was intently going through a small, black bag. Dmitry's phone rang and he spoke some hurried words in Russian, no doubt to Alexi.
The conversation was filled with short bursts of Russian. Da, da, da, was mainly what Dmitry said. John knew enough Russian to know it meant “yes”. Dmitry hung up the phone and went back to the bag, their prisoner still hadn't stirred from his slumber.
John was startled when his own phone rang. He reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved his phone without taking his eyes off the crowded road ahead. Alexi was calm as usual.
"John, you have done very well."
"Alexi, what the hell is going on? We need to call the police! They took Claire!" John shouted far too loud for the confines of the black Mercedes.
"John, I need you to stay calm. The police will only interfere with us getting Claire back. Dmitry knows what to do, please do not stop him."
"Stop him from what?" John said looking back at Dmitry who had finally grabbed what he needed in the bag.
"He is going to extract the information we need to save Claire. Dmitry is very good at this. If you would like to leave when he does it, I understand."
"What do you mean, torture?” John asked incredulously.
"John, please this is no time to let moral misgivings interrupt us. We have limited time to get this information, or Claire is dead."
The phone went dead. John looked back just in time to see Dmitry pull out a heavy knife from the bag. John wanted to stop it, but he thought maybe Dmitry would use it only as intimidation. He was wrong.
With startling swiftness, Dmitry lifted the man's hands, and grabbed the man's thumb. He placed the knife between the soft flesh of the thumb and index finger. With barely any pressure he sawed the knife in a vicious slice and removed the man's thumb. The man woke with a horrible scream of pure agony and began thrashing about. Blood was shooting all over the leather seats of the Mercedes, and John was spellbound by what he saw. Dmitry, calmly and without malice or emotion, held the man's severed thumb in front of his victim's face.
"I have done this to show you what I am willing to do, for nothing at all. Now lie to me, and fail to answer my questions, and simply imagine what I am capable of," Dmitry said.
John swallowed hard and felt a cold chill making its way down his spine. He could see the Indian man's agony. But, overshadowing that, in his eyes was something unmistakable. Terror.
Chapter 79
Claire was dragged from the car by two strong men. She could tell as much from the pain caused by their massive hands on her small arms. Her face was hooded, and she felt herself being lifted onto one of the men's backs and carried up a series of steps. She panicked. She could still smell the acrid burn of her own urine. Her bladder had released when they had first hooded her and punched her in the mouth to keep her quiet.
Claire didn't know what had happened. She had stopped sobbing, mostly out of fear of getting hit again, but she was barely holding the tears back. She was worried about John, she'd seen him go down, that man with the bat hitting him. And last night, she had noticed him wince when she touched his shoulder scar, he was not quite healed yet. Last night. God it seemed so far away now. The warmth of him, the security she felt in his strong arms, all of that now was just a fleeting illusion.
He was gone, and she was on her own. She felt the tears well up again, when she was flung down onto a bed. She felt a rough hand grab her breast, then a sharp word was spoken in some unknown language. She knew it wouldn't be long, though, before they tried to assault her. She let the tears come when she heard the door close and began to sob into her gag.
Raul, the leader of the gang, closed the door, and sent the text message as instructed: "One crew captured."
He received an almost instant reply from Chung-Ho: "Perfect. Proceed as planned."
Raul didn't know where his employer was, or even who he was, exactly. All he knew was that he was being paid. He had no idea, that across the street, in a similar apartment, sat Chung-Ho watching him. The bosses in Pyongyang had become concerned when the Ivana was attacked. When Captain Bae had transmitted the information that the attacker Abdul was paid to find the case, they had decided to make a move early for it. North Korea needed the case now more than ever to maintain power.
The Koreans had before adopted a "wait and see" strategy. But the attack, and the fear of losing the case to another group, became too big a risk. Their plan was simple, capture a crew member, and force a trade. Chung-Ho didn't love the plan. But an assault on the Ivana herself was out of the question. Armed guards and police surrounded the marina the vessel was in, and from the results of the earlier attack on the vessel, it was no easy mark to take.
Raul sat and grabbed a bottle of liquor. He was already paid half of the ten thousand dollars he was owed. He had lost just one of his men. The man was just a street urchin, and easy to replace. And he knew nothing of value, if he wasn't already dead. He only knew Raul's name. It gave him a little cause for concern, but not much. Mumbai was a city of millions. Finding Raul would be next to impossible.
He sat and waited. His orders were to wait 12 hours to call the Russian. And follow orders he would.
Chapter 80
John pulled the Mercedes off to the side of an abandoned warehouse. It seemed the best spot to drown out the screams of agony coming from the back of the car. John turned around and saw Dmitry holding the knife and another removed finger. His stomach turned.
When the man was attacking him, John felt a mad rage, a thirst for that man's blood. It was a willingness, he knew, to take the man's life. But torture? Torture struck a fundamental wrong note in John’s conscience. At the same time, he knew the man was their only lead on Claire _ an innocent girl that he desperately wanted to save. He wanted that information just as badly as Dmitry; and he knew that, without Dmitry, he wouldn't have the resolve to do what needed to be done to get it.
Dmitry placed the knife on the man’s middle finger, "name?"
"No, please!" Screamed the man. "They will kill me!"
Dmitry smiled. It was ghastly. "What do you think I will do? Later, there is always a chance you can escape them. But, me, I will kill you here and now. Your choice."
Dmitry sliced off the man’s index finger before the man could even reply. The man screamed again, and his eyes were filled with pure pain. John couldn't help but reach out and grab Dmitry's arm. Dmitry looked up sharply at John, the blade slick with blood and a rage in his eyes. John quickly remove his hand.
"Raul! Please don't cut off any more. Raul, he is from the Mumbai Hentai district, part of the Chumbay gang. It's all I know! Please, please don't," the man sobbed.
"Good, now we are getting somewhere. Who hired you?" Dmitry said as he placed the knife again at the man's middle finger.
John couldn't stomach it anymore, he got out of the car and walked away. He stopped suddenly and threw up, his knees buckling as he let the stress of the past hour wash through his weary body. He realized with surprise that he was crying; but he knew he needed to stand up and stay strong. He wiped his eyes quickly. He remembered something, and with a fresh burst of hope he fished in his pocket for the card. Mr. Clark.
He dialed the number on his cell and waited what seemed like forever as the phone made sounds that resembled old dial-up modems in the 90s. "Code?" Clark's voice asked breaking the computer tones suddenly.
"Mr. Clark, I don't have one. This is John Otter."
"Oh, I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. How's it going
John?" Mr. Clark said with what sounded like a slight smile on his lips.
"I need your help to find a man. Raul, Chumbay gang, Hentai district. He's taken our crew member. We're currently in...."
“Mumbai," Clark said.
"How did you…." John began.
"Never mind that, John. I'll see what I can find out for you. But I will expect something in return." The phone went dead. John knew that Mr. Clark owned him now.
Chapter 81
Pierre was frustrated. Not only was the svelte Englishwoman he had picked up in the bar a severe disappointment in bed, he was no closer to coming up with a strategy. He knew Frances was drooling, waiting in the wings to ruin him with Mr. Dubois case. Frances would make it look like he was incompetent, and finally get what he always wanted. Pierre gone.
He sat up and grabbed his pipe. He shoved a little tobacco in it and lit it. Pierre rested his head against the headboard and tried to think. There were connections floating in the ether and he needed to make them. He was given Abdul's photograph by Alexi. He wasn’t sure, yet, that there was any connection to his murder case with the French corporate facilitator. It could be mere coincidence that Alexi, who was the last known employer of the corporate facilitator, was attacked a week later. Or it could be the key.