The Gauguin Connection

by Estelle Ryan

  I was standing in front of my front door, ready to get inside and shut the world out. A sound from inside my apartment caused me to tilt my head to the right. Nothing. I was sure that I had heard something inside, but now I thought that I was just spooked by the last five days’ excitement. I aimed the first key at the top keyhole when I heard a noise again. My hand stopped midair and I listened intently.

  The unbelievable audacity of that man. No matter how useful he had proven himself to be, Colin was out. Out of my apartment, out of my life and, if I could arrange it, out of the country. The noise he was now creating inside my apartment meant that I was going to spend the rest of my evening cleaning up instead of mulling over the case allowing my mind to free-associate.

  Something crashed to the ground with shattering loudness and a furious frown formed between my eyes. With speed borne from habit, I had the five locks unlocked and the door open in under five seconds. The comfort of working for Phillip for the last six years had lowered my guard. The true nature of the human race had only been evident on the ten monitors in my viewing room. I had very effectively isolated myself from human interaction.

  In the last few days, I had rediscovered my determination to not lose control, to not give in to the darkness that threatened to cloud over my brain in extremely stressful situations. I had fallen back into the habit of reading people, in particular Colin, and so staying fully in control of myself. The limit of my control was now being tested as I stared in horror at the scene in front of me.

  My usually immaculate apartment looked as if a tornado had blasted through it. I took a few disbelieving steps into the chaos.

  “Well, what do we have here?” An unfamiliar voice spoke behind me and I heard the front door close with an ominous click. Already facing the destruction of my apartment, I had my mind set on analysing the situation and felt in no imminent threat of an episode coming on. Losing my patience was a distinct possibility though.

  I swung around and glared at a very large man looming in front of me. He was in my reading area; books were scattered at his feet. My precious books. A deep anger burned in me. His all black criminal attire, which included a facemask and gloves, infuriated me even more. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

  Only his eyes were visible through the slits in the mask, meaning that I wouldn’t be able to read him. I could, however, still see the slight lift of his eyebrows indicating his surprise. It took me less than two seconds to memorise what I could see of his appearance and shelve it for future analysis.

  “Where are your computers?” was the only answer he gave me. His voice was gravelly, but it was his German accent that made it particularly memorable. Another bit of information I shelved.

  My training, including my self-defence training, dictated that calming a situation down was preferable to having to defend oneself in a physically violent manner. “There is a safe in my bedroom.”

  “We’ve found it. You must open it.” Another voice spoke from behind me. His English was heavily accented with Russian. For the first time I felt more than just a hint of apprehension. One man I might have been able to defend myself against, but two? One being Russian did not particularly help the shiver of panic that went through my nervous system. Immediately Colin’s question of the Russian connection to this case came to my mind. I swallowed and forced my mind away from thoughts that could only lead to panic. I needed to be productive, needed to read and analyse. That was the only way I was going to survive this.

  My focus shifted to the importance of memorising what I could about these intruders. I manoeuvred myself so that my back was towards the windows and I was facing both of them. They were dressed completely in black. Movement from the kitchen drew my eye and to my utter disbelief another masked man clad in black walked towards us. He was followed by a fourth.

  “We haven’t found anything else.” The third man addressed the German in Spanish accented English.

  “Nothing?” There was facial muscle movement behind his mask, but I could not see enough to make an accurate reading. His gravelly voice, however, was displeased.

  “She must be hiding it. It must be in the safe.” The clipped accusation came from the Russian. I forced myself to calm my breathing. I hoped that if I co-operated, they would not turn violent on me. The Russian’s body language indicated that he was spoiling for a physical confrontation and I knew I probably would not live through it.

  The Spaniard and the fourth man joined us. I noticed that the German and the Spaniard were dressed in exactly the same outfits. Their cargo-pants, black boots and long-sleeved shirts looked as if they were part of a uniform. Silver duct tape formed crude crosses on both shoulders and one sleeve. It took me a moment to realise that they were trying to conceal an insignia of some sort. My mind was racing to piece together as much as I could as fast as possible.

  Then I came to a crashing realisation. There was no doubt in my mind that they all had to be military. The stealth with which they moved, the rigid confidence coming from the core of their torsos and even the way they spoke were specific to a select group of people. Even though only two of the intruders wore exactly the same outfits, it was clear that the four of them worked as a team. Of that I was sure. Their awareness of each other and confidence in each other’s movements testified to that. I had observed the same phenomenon numerous times while analysing group dynamics in my sheltered viewing room.

  I watched as they formed a semi-circle in front of me without a word to each other. Their postures were not of a placating nature, but rather indicated that they were ready for action. These four men were warriors.

  “Open the safe,” the Russian growled at me.

  I tucked my elbows in to my sides, at the same time exposing the insides of my arms in a non-threatening gesture. “Of course. You can take anything you want. Just please don’t break anything else.”

  The fourth masked man was a bit shorter than the rest, but he made me think of a panther. There was something feline about his movements. He looked me straight in the eye when my gaze turned to his face. The tiny muscles under his eyes contracted a millisecond before he picked up a clay bowl I had purchased while travelling in Kenya and dropped it to the floor. The sound of it shattering on my wooden floor sent a shudder through my body. The men laughed. I closed my eyes and suppressed a groan. The sacrifice of one of my favourite pieces had confirmed my suspicions. These men were bullies and such personality types revelled in doing exactly what was begged of them not to.

  “Go, bitch. Open that safe. Else I break every fucking thing in this place.” The fourth man’s voice was deep and would be well suited for radio if it were not for the cold malice in it. It was the accent, however, that I filed away with all the others. His Russian accent confirmed that two of the four men in my apartment were from Russia. Another shudder went down my spine.

  If they were indeed military, which I believed they were, it brought a few questions to the fore. Why would an international military team be ransacking my apartment? There was absolutely nothing of value to them here. The only reason they possibly had, was the case that Manny had brought to us.

  I had no more time to analyse the four men or their agenda. The German took a step closer to me and with the flat of his hand against my back shoved me none too gently towards my bedroom. I stumbled forward and pushed down the panic that surfaced with that physical contact. So far I had kept the darkness at bay with anger, rational observation and analysis. Even though I could feel panic gathering strength to overwhelm me, I resolutely refused to give in to it. The bullies would never have the pleasure of seeing me at my most vulnerable.

  My mind was equal parts reeling at the chaos and hungry for more information to enable me to understand what was going on. The latter would prove to be more useful in the future, so I gathered my wits and my balance and walked to my bedroom.

  “What do you want with my computer? There is nothing special on it. I only use it to surf the interne
t.” Maybe I could find out why they were here or what they were looking for.

  “Shut up!” The short Russian’s voice cracked through my apartment and I flinched involuntarily. He was walking next to me and a quick glance at him was enough for me to see that every muscle in his body was coiled for attack. I was the only one he would aim his attack at. With that amount of aggression, I would not be able to defend myself. Quietly I led them to my bedroom, my sanctuary. How was I ever going to feel safe here again?

  A protesting fury burned inside my stomach. I had taken every precaution possible to keep myself and my space safe from intruders. The extra locks on my front door, the strong doors to my bedroom and bathroom, and the extra locks on them. Even the top-of-the-line safe was there to keep my personal documents and laptop safe. I had had it installed in a hidey hole behind a wooden panel that looked like it was a part of my antique wardrobe. No one was supposed to have found the safe. These men had taken away my sense of safety and that was something that was going to take time to recover from.

  I stood in front of the carved oak wardrobe and bit down hard on my teeth. They had broken the wooden panel to reveal the safe behind it. All they needed was the hidden button under the first drawer inside the wardrobe. Pushing that button would have unlocked the panel that now was in pieces. Instead they had used excessive force, which left the panel shattered and most of the wood lying at my feet.

  The four men had followed me into my bedroom. The airy, spacious room that had been my haven now felt crowded. Refusing to allow that feeling to overwhelm me, I opened my senses to observe the large military men looming over me. The way they positioned their bodies indicated that the German was the team leader. They were waiting on him to direct their actions.

  “Open it, bitch.” The short Russian spat. He didn’t wait for any orders, nor did he give me time to react. Before I could lift my hand to punch in the twenty-four digit code, he grabbed me by the hair and slammed my face against the wardrobe.

  I was stunned. Never in my life had I faced any physical threat or abuse. The sharp pain that shot through my cheekbone brought on a thankful thought that my face connected with wood rather than the unyielding hardness of my bedroom walls. I didn’t feel or hear bone breaking, which might have been the case had it been the wall the Russian had chosen for his show of force.

  It was interesting that I could feel so detached to the pain in my face and my scalp where he still had his hand in my hair. While I was thinking that it surprised me that my hair was actually long enough to be grabbed so tightly, I heard the two Russians quietly arguing. Intent on listening to the tone they were using, I also managed to understand them.

  The short Russian who still had me by the hair, pulled me roughly away from the wardrobe. I was slammed a second time against the wardrobe when I heard the German’s gravelly order. “Enough. Let her open it.”

  I was suddenly free. Having had my head slammed against the wardrobe made me light-headed and I put a hand against the wood to steady myself. It only took a second to regain my equilibrium and I straightened my spine. They would not win. The darkness would not win.

  My head was throbbing and my hands went up to inspect the damage. One hand massaged my scalp while the other went to my face. My cheek was painfully tender to the touch. I gently touched my eyebrow and my fingertips came away wet and sticky.

  “If you don’t open that safe, I will hand you over to these gentleman and leave you to them.” The German’s threat served to keep the shock of my blood on my fingers at bay.

  “I’ll open it.” It would have taken a deaf person to not hear the fear in my voice. I blinked a few times and took a deep breath. I could do this. My fingers were still wet from my blood and I wiped my hand on my pants. I looked at the keypad of my safe and my mind went blank. The twenty-four digits that had automatically come to me in the past now eluded me.

  “Is there a problem?” the Spaniard asked.

  “Um, no. I just need a moment.”

  “You don’t have a moment. Do it now!” It was the first time the German raised his voice and I felt the power of it. I nodded my head emphatically and immediately regretted the movement. The darkness responded to the sharp pain in my head. I closed my mind to the whispered conversation behind me and called up my favourite Mozart serenade, No. 7 in D major. Three bars into the serenade, the darkness had receded and the twenty-four digits were once again accessible.

  While the men were furiously communicating behind me, I entered the digits. I hadn’t wiped all the blood off my fingertips and I noticed dispassionately that there were red smudges on the keypad. The safe opened with a soft click, which silenced the conversation behind me. “It’s open. Take what you want.”

  The German pushed me roughly away from the wardrobe and reached into the safe. He pulled out my computer and handed it to the Spaniard who slipped it into a black backpack. Impatiently he paged through my personal documents before he tossed it to the floor. “Where is it?”

  “Where is what?” I hated the quiver in my voice. I didn’t want to lose control. I didn’t want to be scared. I didn’t want these men in my apartment, but I was scared and they were here. But I wasn’t going to lose it.

  “The computer, bitch.” The short Russian grabbed me by my arm this time.

  Later I would try to recall what exactly had happened and my almost perfect memory would fail me. All I would remember would be the frantic struggle that ensued. I would recall being blind with fury for all that had happened and my self-defence training kicking in. I would remember how I managed to connect my fist and elbows to a few body parts. And how I felt the jarring pain shooting to my head with each hit.

  I hit, kicked, screamed and scratched until one of the men had me in a grip so tight I couldn’t move. It turned out to be the taller Russian holding me. He was behind me, one arm tight around my throat and the other hooked around the front of my left arm, bending it painfully backwards and gripping my right arm in a bruising fist. My arms were trapped between our bodies. He had one leg around the front of both my legs so that I had zero balance and was being held up by his arm around my neck. Not even in love making had I ever been so taken over by another body. Every inch of me was touching his body.

  I immediately brought the Serenade back into the forefront of my mind. Colin’s arm through mine was one thing. This kind of physical contact was infinitely more than I could bear. When the Russian spoke again it was filtered by Mozart. And very close to my ear. “Where is the other computer?”

  “This is the only one I have.”

  “Liar!” His arm around my throat tightened with intent, but the German’s voice stopped him.

  “Quiet!”

  The sudden silence in my bedroom was broken only by hard breathing. Mine was from the furious fight for survival, but I suspected theirs from anger. The three men I could see exhibited body language associated with annoyance and anger. I focused on that and my breathing calmed.

  “Do you hear something?” the short Russian asked.

  “I said, quiet!” The German was looking towards the front door. Then I also heard it. A man was calling my name in a manner familiar and loving. I had never heard that voice before. I also heard a light scratching noise.

  “He’s picking the locks.” The German looked at the Russian holding me. “Did you lock all of them?”

  “Yes.” I could feel his answer rumbling against my back. I mentally wrote a few more bars of Mozart.

  “We have three minutes at most. Are we sure there is nothing else to be found here?”

  They all consented that they had searched every inch of my apartment and had found nothing else hidden. I listened to them through the calming sounds of Mozart. Hearing what they were saying was enough. I committed every word to memory, every nuance, every inflection. I didn’t have the strength, physically or otherwise, to understand or analyse it. That would have to wait for later.

  “What are we going to do with her? We can’t ta
ke her now. We’ll have to leave through the windows.” The tall Russian was still holding me in a death grip. I was going to be badly bruised.

  “Inject her.” The German looked at the Spaniard. “Do you have it ready?”

  “Yes, it’s here. Just hold her still.”

  “What? What are you going to do?” What were they going to inject into my system? I didn’t want to die. I didn’t deserve to die. Not by the hands of thugs breaking into my apartment.

  “Now listen very carefully to me, Doctor Lenard.” The German moved to stand so close that I had to lift my head to see his eyes. “We know who you are; we obviously know where you live. You are to stop putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Where is that?” My question brought angry muscle contractions to his eyes.

  “If you need me to spell it out for you, then you are not half as clever as I’ve been told.” His tight whisper frightened me even more than his previous threat. “Stay away from this. You are to forget about your investigation. You are to forget about our little visit. Am I clear?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but screamed when a sharp needle entered the triceps of my left arm. I struggled against the Russian’s hold, but he held me firm until I felt the needle pull out.

  “How long?” the German was looking at the Spaniard who was putting the syringe in his backpack. He took out a tablet-looking device and stepped closer to me.

  “She should be out in thirty seconds.”

  “Good. And she’ll be out until morning?”

  “Yes.”

  The short Russian released his hold on me and I found myself standing on very unsteady legs. I lowered myself to the floor and wondered if I looked as disoriented as I felt. Feeling in my lower limbs was slowly disappearing and my hands were tingling. I lifted one hand and stared at it. It was fascinating to be able to move my fingers and not feel it at all. My hand was roughly taken by the Spaniard. My fingers touched something smooth and cool before my hand was thrown down. I couldn’t lift it again.

  I wanted to laugh at the realisation that I was drugged. Genevieve Lenard, renowned expert in non-verbal communication was high. I frowned with concentration to memorise what I was experiencing for future analysis. This might be the only time ever that I would have the opportunity to observe myself drugged. Definitely worth remembering.

  My cerebral acuity was not yet as strongly affected and I put all my energy into mentally recording everything. My drugged experience as well as the muted conversation of the intruders as they were set to leave my apartment were carefully filed away. It might have been two minutes or it might have been longer, but I was very pleased with what I had observed. As a deep lethargy took over my body, I didn’t even know that I had collapsed on my bedroom floor. My only concern was that I would remember everything once I woke up.

  The last thing I saw, and filed away, was a giant storming into my bedroom and kneeling next to me. He was calling my name, but I couldn’t respond. Awareness slipped away from me just as he placed a gentle hand on my tender cheek and I heard him swear.

 

  Chapter TEN