Laced Impulse

by Combs, Sasha

  "Come... Sven has been talking about you to everyone. You impressed him Amya and that's no small feat. But on that subject, he is not alone. You've impressed me as well."

  Being Amya came easy to Bianca. Crossing the floor with Henrik by her side, her dress ruffled, floating like a feather riding the wind. Every man and woman in the room made notice of her. Hendrik held her hand, escorting her to meet two of his friends, Lexy and Drek. The pair spoke very little English and their French was worse. The greetings were slow and laborious because Hendrik had to translate practically every word. Bianca smiled while feigning interest. She also managed to keep a casual eye on Greta. The seductive temptress had Sven cornered on a love seat monopolizing him completely. After a few more exchanges, Henrik led her over to the bar. He waved off the bartender, not needing his assistance; then he busied himself mixing their drinks. He slid a glass in front of her, then sampled his own concoction.

  "That is good, if I may say so myself." He watched, waiting for her appraisal. Bianca raised the glass, and immediately she recognized a sweet aroma. The scent of orange juice and grenadine. When she tasted it, the sugary tang masked the flavor of the liquor. Bianca rarely drank but she sensed the burn when she swallowed. Henrik wasn't a chemist but his talent behind the bar couldn't be ignored. He'd prepared the perfect blend of ingredients. The sweet mixture of juice and grenadine fooled her tongue. But when she swirled then swallowed, the liquor warmed her throat. Henrik leaned across the bar, unabashedly flirting.

  "Good, uh..." He said. He skirted from behind the bar, placing her drink in one hand, while he twined their fingers with his free hand.

  "I don't want to be accused of being a bad host. Come. I'll take you to Sven."

  Bianca joined him at his side, noticing how he ignored the other people in the room. As her eyes briefly landed on faces; she wondered who theses people were? Jewels dripped from earlobes and diamonds roped around necks like starlights. The men were all stunningly handsome and by the way they were all dressed. It was clear to her, these weren't ordinary people and when she'd been invited here, this wasn't at all what she'd expected to find.

  Before she could form any thoughts that would upright her mind, Bianca was standing near a somewhat, peeved looking Greta.

  "Sven... I've brought her too you, as promised." Henrik said.

  Sven's eyes appeared to look fixed and glassy.

  "How was that drink?" Henrik asked and before Sven could respond, Henrik was waving down the bartender to bring him another.

  "I'll see to our other guest." Greta said. She took two steps then stopped to study Bianca's dress.

  "That is a beautiful gown. Where on earth did you get it?"

  Before leaving the hotel, Bianca had rehearsed a prepared statement. But somewhere in her head, the thought got lost. The crisscrossed wires in her brain spoke without considering the ramifications.

  "I didn't buy it. It was a gift."

  "A gift?" Greta said, aghast. Her brain drumming up pictures of Mot. Or that damn name he insisted calling himself. Gideon Vincent.

  "Beautiful Amya has an admirer." Henrik said, while pretending to pout. "You're making me jealous. Is your admirer anyone I know?"

  Fresh thoughts shone in her head. There was no bridle and her voice didn't quaver when she answered him. Bianca said...

  "There is no need for jealousy Henrik. You know my admirer but he isn't even a friend. He’s someone I just recently became acquainted with."

  She felt his name sitting on her tongues tip, preparing to springboard, had it not been for Greta. Being upstaged by another woman was unfathomable to the feisty red head.

  "They have their drinks Henrik. Leave them. We have other guest and I won’t be blamed for not entertaining them."

  There was something odd behind that statement but Henrik bowed, then scurried off, following Greta. Bianca shifted on the sofa. She wanted to thank Sven for his thoughtful gifts but when she looked at him, his eyes appeared to be in a far off place. The bartender appeared out of nowhere. In French he asked if he could freshen up Bianca's drink. He removed the half empty glass from Sven's hand then replaced it with another, filled to the rim. Without waiting for Bianca's response, he topped hers off from a container, until now, she hadn't seen.

  "Drink... Enjoy..." he said, before returning to the bar. Obediently, she raised her glass, drinking until the bottom shined empty with her reflection.

  She'd lost track of the time and the people moved like flakes aimlessly floating in a snow globe. On occasion, she would hear Sven, saying something in a thick accented voice. Try as she may, nothing made sense. To the best of her knowledge, she'd only had two drinks, but she felt more like she was hung over. She couldn't make her brain work. At one point, she thought that she'd heard Sven laughing, and she hadn't even told him a joke. This went on and on until finally she noticed something. The people in the room looked liked actors. No, she thought. They all looked like clowns in a circus. Heavily made up with gowns and tux’s covering their clown costumes. At intervals, her brain would count. Twenty people in the room, now there are only sixteen. There would be huge gaps in the number sequences. Fourteen, then eight...six, then two. People had been leaving but their exits weren't the only oddity surrounding that night. Bianca had lost big, big chunks of time. She didn't know how long she and Sven had been sitting on the sofa. Her butt cheeks hurt, so that had to count for something...she just didn’t know what. Again, she felt a black blankness. When she came too, Henrik was handing rolled up bills to the bartender. Greta was across the room, tapping her foot on the floor, waiting for the man to leave. Whoop. Again, a time slip occurred. She felt strong arms around her waist guiding her, while instructing her how and where to walk. She felt like a puppet being led by a puppet master. And she was incapable of refusing his directions. Everything around her was muted, except for that one voice. Henrik. Henrik was telling her exactly what he wanted her too do, and she without question obeyed.

  ***************

  Chapter 7

  Slap! The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed in the cabin.

  "Stop it Greta. She's had enough. Just leave her be. She doesn't know anything more."

  "She knows. She knows plenty."

  Greta twined her fingers in hair, twisting then yanking back Bianca's head.

  "Where is he? Tell me...or I'll kill you."

  Fresh tears stained her face, stinging the places where nails had recently scratched her.

  "Kill me... Kill me then..." she cried, if only saying this would end her torment. Bianca had been whisked away, then drugged and overcome by sleep. She was later awaken with a brutal slap, and the hits kept coming. One after the other, increasingly vicious. Greta was her tormentor. She'd heard them repeatedly referring to Sven, and him cooperating, but she didn't know where he was. Sounds of waves and the hum of a motor were the backdrop noises that told her she was in the water. But where in the water? She didn't hear any city sounds hinting that they were still in Paris. The boats rocking was minimal which hinted of two things. Either, they were still docked; in which case they could still be in or near the city. Or the worst of the possibilities was that the boat was so large, the waves could hardly be felt. In this case, she could be anywhere. Then, as if on cue, Henrik said...

  "Greta... We have the person we came for. We have Sven. What you're doing here..." He pointed at Bianca, with a show of disgust.

  "She isn't worth the risk that you're taking. We need to go but this time we can't take her with us. Not in this state. Getting her out of the city nearly exposed us and we can't afford any mistakes."

  "I want him Henrik. I want Gideon...or whatever his name is. Mot... Dammit... That isn’t even his real name but I don’t care... I want him!"

  Not knowing Mot's real name flamed another fire in Greta. This man had played her like a fiddle. He'd toyed with her emotions. Said everything, short of telling her that he loved her. All along, she'd know who he was but the game; she enjoyed the chase. She'd be
en involved with intelligence operatives in her past. The affairs were typically brief and short lived. But the danger... She lived for it. Thrived to have it. Then Mot came along. He'd led her to believe that she would be someone special. Then, without reason, he'd flaunted Amya in her face. Then after Henrik laced her drink at the party, the truth came out. Her name wasn't Amya after all. When they finally got her in a safe place to freely question her. A place where her screams wouldn't be heard. It was then that Greta employed her tactics. Of the pair, people tended to be intimidated by Henrik. He could rip a man’s arms out of its sockets. He could beat a man to a bloody pulp. But the truth of the story, was that Greta was the one who should be feared. Sadistic. Conniving. Manipulative and heartless. Bianca knew first hand about these things because once they'd settled her in the boats cabin. For three hours without stop, Greta had been hammering her with questions. Things she knew nothing about.

  "Greta..." Henrik warned. He was tired and he wanted out of these waters. "We need to go. Leave her. I think you made your point."

  "No.... I'll say when I'm done." Greta spat. When she spoke, anger laced every word.

  "His name... Tell me Gideon's true name."

  "Mot." Bianca robotically answered. She'd given up resisting because she knew they'd given her something that affected her will. A truth serum...maybe.

  "Mot... Say that again, and I will kill you. I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it too my fish. I want to know his real name. Not that agency bullshit! Mot!" She said, perturbed. Greta rolled the name over her tongue like a grape. The seductive manner triggered a response. She recalled the way Mot had used his body to seduce her; to trick her. He lied to her.

  Bianca leaned forward because there had been no need tethering her. One word from Henrik, telling her to sit still; Bianca would obey without any hesitation.

  Her head swam in confusion, but she knew one thing. Her memories; there were thoughts she clearly recalled. Mot... She remembered seeing him at The Agency. Her gazes were rarely brief and she always noticed everything about him. His suave manner and the sexy way he walked. All man; that’s the way she characterized him. It didn't matter that his stares weren't directed her way because in her head, she'd created a special haven for her sentiments. Without ever voicing it; in her mind, she'd made a moving conclusion. Mot wasn't just an agent who came and went. He mattered to her and his patterns were etched in her memory. His arrivals sent her heart soaring, and the affect wasn't simply a mental enjoyment. Seeing him would cause the hairs on her arms to stand on end. Her foot would nervously tap, searching for a beat; then settling for the rapid race of her heart. The pounding in her chest would cause beads of sweat to drape her forehead. She'd known the truth for a while but had never been brave enough to admit it. Yet now, she had courage on her side. Perhaps it wasn’t right to blame her fearlessness on courage. There was that unknown chemical polluting her brain. Braveness shifted her shoulders forward. She gritted her teeth; recalling the lurid way Greta had mocked his name. Bianca said....

  "Don't say his name. You don't say it."

  Greta's eyebrow rose. A sadistic smile crossed her lips, followed by a heavy handed blow.

  Slap!

  Bianca rocked back, thrown by the force of Greta's hand. She provoked her saying...

  "I'm going to kill you, then I'm going after him. But... I think, I won't kill him. You'll be gone and he'll be left to wonder... Who killed Bianca...? Who killed her?" she said in a sing song voice. "Then when you're gone...I'll have Mot all to myself. That is...until I'm bored with him and then I'll let Henrik kill him."

  "No, no, no... Leave him alone. Kill me... Leave him alone." She begged. Bianca slumped in her chair sobbing; unable to fight the affects of the drugs. Her ears rang with bells and she couldn't escape the sound of music playing. Sven's song. The piano piece he'd played when they'd first met. But she didn't see a piano and that could only mean one thing. She was losing her mind. But she couldn't lose her mind. She had to follow Mot's advise. Contact your handler at the appointed time. Don't take any unnecessary risk. Staying alive is your number one job. In her mind, she could see his lips mouthing these words. Oh, God. Oh God. Mot was in trouble. She repeatedly said..."kill me... Not Mot... Kill me. I love him."

  Her garbled words had been spoken but Henrik had pulled Greta away.

  "She's sick Greta. You gave her too much. At this rate, you'll never get anything worthwhile from her."

  Too them, Bianca was a broken woman, confused and disoriented. In her current state, she wasn't worth the loss of the precious hours they would need to distance themselves from her. Plus they still had the first operative to dispose of. He was confined in an abandoned farmhouse, hours outside of Paris. It had been Greta’s idea not to take Bianca there.

  Outside of the cabin, a loud crashing sound startled them both.

  "You did restrain him...didn't you?" Greta barked, looking at him expectedly.

  "Why would I? Sven agreed to cooperate. He wouldn't do anything that might endanger his life." Greta cursed, then she nudged Henrik aside. She palmed a sharp blade that lay idle on a circular table.

  "Greta..." He wined. "There's no need for further violence. When you're angry you tend to over react." His implication elicited a response that affirmed his protestation.

  "Out of my way." She spat, elbowing him aside. "And you don't over react? Tell that to the widow of that Czech! When you killed her husband, there wasn’t much remaining and there’d been no need for a casket."

  Sven glared at her, recalling the dead man’s blood. Killing Gregor Mendel hadn’t been his call, and he’d been forced to do so, due to the messy way she’d left the man. Drugged up and out of control. Crazed. Half mad and out of his mind. Sven had tried to subdue him, but the blow to his head only urged him on. He recalled the knife, wondering if Greta had purposely left it lying in plain sight. He didn’t doubt that she set the stage, giving him no way out, except to kill the man. She’d done it before but since then he’d learned the signs. He wondered if this was another one of her setups. He wondered what could be gained if he were forced to kill Sven in the same manner he’d been coerced to kill Gregor.

  Sven moved aside, clearing way for her to leave but she’d stopped short. Her eyes assessing before stepping out into the open. On the stairs, leading to the upper deck; shards of glass littered the area. The pathway was dark, and she noticed that the wall light wasn't on.

  Greta whispered....

  "Henrik... Where is your gun?"

  She turned, seeing the weapon held in his hand. He gestured, using a series of hand movements. In this instance, there was a bizarre understanding that shaped their choices. An unspoken rule that said he would take the first bullet. No matter her faults, in his own way, he wanted to protect her. His train of thought was unbroken.

  Sven eased between Greta and the wall. He would take the lead and she was to follow, coming up the rear. Knives were her preferred weapon, and she held it, positioned to attack and defend, if need be.

  They took to the stairs, and as soon as Henrik's boots hit the main decks floor, every light on the boat was doused. The sky was littered with stars but the moon lay hidden behind a mass of clouds. There was no way to determine if the failure was a glitch or man made for cover.

  Greta lay her hand on Henrik's back; she followed his lead as he placed each foot, depending on his memory not to fail him. They were moving from the port side; heading starboard. Earlier, Henrik had instructed Sven to remain in his cabin on that side of the boat. The drug was wearing off and Sven had begged them both for sleep. Greta had left the men because she'd wanted to be alone with Bianca. But when she went to the lower deck, somehow she'd lost track of time. How ironic, she thought because she'd not been influenced my mind altering chemicals in the same way Bianca had. Unlike Sven and Bianca; Greta's freewill had not been stolen. Yet, she'd allowed her jealousy to override sane reasoning.

  As they neared Sven’s cabin, Greta sensed a trap and she wanted to tu
rn back. She tugged on Sven’s belt, trying to get his attention, but a moaning sound in front of them urged Henrik forward. Maybe Sven stumbled and fell. Maybe the lingering toxic effects of the drug still hadn't worn off yet. She was ready to accept this explanation but slipping then falling wouldn't explain the sudden darkness that veiled the boat. Foolishly, Henrik called out to Sven.

  "Sven...is that you? Are you hurt Sven?"

  Rules of engagement have generic meaning which transcends practically every culture. One of the most important rules being; never divulge your position. And that's exactly what Hendrik had done. Calling out too Sven was tantamount to sending up sparkling red flares, lighting up the midnight sky; a halo of spotlight. She never imagined how frightening a cry of pain could sound. But Henrik couldn’t perceive how it would feel; had he not been the target...but he had been. Without warning, pain reached out, parting through a curtain of blackness.

  Whop.

  The sound of a heavy blow, followed by cries of agony. Henrik's belt was ripped from Greta’s hand, sending her unsteadily pacing backward. There was a struggle ahead but she couldn't see to know who was fighting. Was it Henrik and Sven? Or was it someone else, grappling while spewing profanities. Punching sounds were followed by grunts, swears and mingled curses. Then in an instant, she heard nothing. There was a moment of silence but stillness didn’t last for long. Greta heard what sounded to her like creaking boards on deck. Feet carefully walking, not knowing which floorboards would reveal their approach. She tried to ascertain their distance. She plotted a pattern in her head, when suddenly the sound of something huge splashed in the water.

  Greta felt for the edge that framed the hall, leading down below. She needed to get her gun but she couldn't remember where Henrik had put it. Every fiber in her body wanted to curse. How could this have happened? It had been her idea to question them both offshore. Any approaching vehicle would be heard; giving them plenty of time to flee the area. But things hadn’t gone as she'd planned. Instead of remaining on deck, keeping a watchful eye on Sven; Henrik had joined her below. He’d insisted because he feared for that woman. That Amya, Bianca person. She'd spent far to much time, obsessed over her. The woman she'd learned was actually an agent, named Bianca Milton. Then to learn that Bianca possessed true feelings for Mot. Somewhere in the depths of her mind; a fissure was crossed. Greta had snapped, becoming sloppy. She paid no attention to sounds, lights or Henrik. Every female instinct urged her on. Mot and Bianca. Bianca and Mot. She had to know about them. There was something between them and she was hellbent to find out the truth. She didn’t care how she got results but in the past, cunning schemes always seemed to work best. Using drugs had been Greta’s idea. But when she saw the effects; the way it made Sven cooperate, and the way it ripped to shreds Bianca’s will. In her mind a plan hatched. Greta reconsidered the dosages.