by Ken Fry
CHAPTER 45
It was 11.30 p.m. The 4x4’s lights were switched off as they stopped near the Condesa’s home. The vehicle was turned around for a fast exit and the engine off. At first, there was no sound, then the doors opened, and two figures alighted. It was Bruno and Alexis, dressed in black with balaclavas, and armed. Their flashlights were off as a thin moon and a cloudless night gave enough light for them to see sufficiently.
“Got everything?”
“Yep. All okay. Let’s go.”
Crouching low, they advanced towards the home. The ground beneath was sandy and interspersed with flinty stones and prickly shrubs. Bruno set a fast pace. This was a reconnoiter mission, and on his back, he had hung a drawing pad with a pencil attached. Sketches and diagrams would be essential if their future mission was to succeed. At least, there were no dogs to pick up their scent or security lights to bother them. It seemed everybody was inside or in bed.
They drew close to the walls and gates, and Bruno got his pad and began to sketch and write quick notes. What they both noticed was the appearance of the razor wire that topped all the walls and possible entry points.
They had been busy.
The main gate in the entrance was also heavily protected and all that wire would have to be rammed to gain entry. To go in that way would make them easy targets, as if in a turkey shoot, if they had weapons. Of that, there was no way of telling. It wouldn’t be an option.
“This place is going to be more difficult than we thought, Alexis. It would be better in daylight.”
“Then everybody would know who we are.”
”We have false plates.”
“Yes, and we don’t know what security cameras she has in there. It looks like we’d have to go through the front gate. Every other surface is covered in wire.”
They moved to the rear wall and there they saw something which raised their spirits. Behind the wall was a vast amount of earth that formed a natural slope, almost to the top of the wall.
“Get to the top of that and we’re in.”
“Yes, but we still have to get over that wire.”
“They wouldn’t have put that up if they didn’t think we were coming.”
“Seems that way. Let’s complete the circuit.”
“It’s either the front gate or the back wall.”
“Remember, we have grenades.”
They continued around the property, still bent double and talking in whispers, their flashlights guiding them. All appeared quiet and not a sound could be heard.
Thirty minutes later, they made their way back to the 4x4.
§
Every move they had made had been monitored. Bower was on first watch and he had spotted them almost at once. The moonlight wasn’t only on their side. It shone for him as it did for them. At first, he was tempted to raise the alarm, but that would only let them know they were prepared for their arrival. Instead, he watched them. At times they disappeared from view but always reemerged further up. It was obvious they were giving the place a thorough once over.
He had no idea who they were, but that didn’t matter. They were up to no good and he didn’t doubt they were Shepard’s hired meat. He’d have a lot to report in the morning. He listened hard and could just make out the sound of a vehicle starting up and moving off.
He checked his watch. Twelve-thirty. He had another hour to go. He moved up to the seat he had constructed against the wall with a viewing slit that allowed him to look out without being seen. There was also a wooly hat and a blanket to help keep out the cold.
There he sat.
The episode of the vanishing painting continued to fill his head. He hadn’t admitted it to anybody, but it had freaked him out. It had scared him in a thrilling sort of way. The mysteries and unsolved riddles of theosophical, philosophical and religious lore had held him enthralled throughout his life. He, John D. Bower, was now in the middle of one. That was unbelievable. It was almost too far-fetched … but it wasn’t. It was real. He had seen it with his own eyes. Luciana was there to be seen and not a trace of a bullet wound. The Condesa moving round like somebody thirty years younger was inexplicable. The dreams and visions that stalk this place were like microscopes looking at the hidden occurrences in our souls. This quote from Erich Fromm was an excellent analogy, well-suited to the ambience of the surroundings. Did he regret it? At first, he did. He resented it deeply. But as it continued, he had bent and accepted it.
He managed to stay awake and felt no cold. In fact, he felt an odd buoyancy. He had become part of something really important, and far removed from his Las Vegas life. His blood flowed fresh and alive and his thoughts had never been clearer. Bower had found happiness and he was unable to define it. It refused definition. It didn’t need it. It was just as it was, crystal clear for all to see if they cared to look hard enough.
There was a cough behind him. Garcia stood there ready to take over the watch. He had a pissed off expression and looked and dressed as if he was about to embark on an artic expedition. Bower burst into unprecedented and spontaneous laughter. Anyone who knew him would have said they’d never heard him do that before. It was totally out of character. The unexpectedness of it caused his psoriasis to flare, which led him to vigorous bouts of scratching.
Bower told Garcia what he had seen and what had happened and that they had gone, and probably would not be back. But they must take no chances.
“We’ll speak later, Ned.” Bower clapped him on the shoulder and apart from his scratching, still had a grin on his face when he went off to bed.
§
That morning was once again blisteringly hot. The occupants of the Condesa’s home at Guadamur were exhausted, their faces stretched with tension. Bower had related what he had seen on his watch, and the news had been greeted like a bomb had just landed.
“So, we are in for a scrap,” a bleary-eyed Garcia spoke. “I saw nothing on my watch to worry about. The only way they can get here is through that track out there?”
“Yes, it’s the only way in. But if they park their vehicle up behind those rocks, we won’t see them.” Maria pointed.
“That’s correct,” Bower added. “I didn’t see a car, but when they left, I heard it start up.”
Brodie looked thoughtful. “Maybe we should station a welcome for them at that point. They wouldn’t be expecting that.”
“Too risky. If you got shot or caught, we would be at their mercy, and I don’t believe they have too much of that.”
“All options have their hazards. For sure, we are outgunned. We’ll have to be more cunning, more devious and give them a false sense of security.”
The Abbot sipped at his coffee, stood and glanced at his watch. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what was happening in his life. He was now a million miles away from his cozy, cloistered, orderly, regulated life and routines. In comparison to what he was now in the middle of, it had all the potential of a painting by Hieronymus Bosch.
“I shall be taking over from Martha shortly. I’ll go and see how she’s getting on.”
§
Martha watched the sun over the next hour in its endless climb into the morning sky. She had been on watch since six o’clock. It hadn’t been as bad as she thought it would be. She found it restful, even peaceful. It gave her a chance to reconcile the recent events and analyse what might happen when Shepard and his men appeared.
After what she had learnt about them all, especially Brodie and Bower, Martha wondered, with an almost childlike horror, whether the epithet, evil, wicked or dishonest could be applied to them. They had done wrong ... this was true. There had been killings, and even her father was no stranger to that. Bower owned casinos and she was certain that he had pulled dodgy stunts in the past. In strict biblical terms, they both were doomed to fiery pits for all eternity. What a load of crap. Life’s just not like that, with a simplistic black and white label for every moral and immoral stance we take. Where do I fit in?
She fo
und it hard to understand how Brodie, her dad, once a devout monk, had so easily laid aside his monastic robes and vows and turned into this person who can devise potentially lethal traps. This was the worst she could think of them, but it didn’t matter a jot. They were attempting to save lives, and this was the only way it could be done.
She shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun as she peered across the rocks and track that led back to the main highway.
She could make out a small cloud of dust that grew larger as it approached. Her first thought was to sound the alarm, but realised she could be overreacting. Using the binoculars provided, she focused on the vehicle and made out the lettering on the side. Fernandez s.r.l. Beneath that, Meubles Para El Hogary La Oficina.
It was a furniture delivery lorry. Maria must have ordered something. It pulled up ten metres short of the gate and a tall man wearing denim overalls, a large hat and holding a clipboard, jumped out. He saw Martha and gave her a cheery wave before sliding open the side door. After a short rummage, he pulled out a small crate, which was securely sealed.
The gate was locked and there was no way in for him, but he shouted out to Martha.
“Hola, I have a delivery for a Condesa Maria de Toledo and I need a signature.”
For a moment, Martha hesitated, but it wouldn’t do any harm to open the gate and sign the delivery note. It would save Maria from being disturbed. Using two hands, she struggled to draw the bolt back, but eventually it gave. She repeated it on the other bolt. It was easier, and now the gate could be opened. She gave a slight pull and it swung silently open towards her.
The man was smiling as he held out the crate. She took it in both hands, placed it on the ground and went to sign the docket. Instead of the expected pen to sign with, she found herself staring at the barrel of a snub nosed pistol.
The colour drained from her face and her hand shot to her mouth. “Oh, my God!”
“Yup.” The man sneered. “Oh, my God, it is. Now put down the crate and get in the back of the truck. If you think this is a toy, you are dreaming, and I’ll have no hesitation in using it, pretty girl or not. Now, get in. Make it snappy … Move it!” He stabbed the barrel into her back, pointing where she should go.
Martha, enveloped in fear and terror, froze. In robotic fashion, she started putting one foot in front of the other. On reaching the door, a large, rough hand propelled her into the opening, and the door was slammed shut.
Seconds later, the truck swung around in a swirling dust cloud and barreled out towards the direction it had come from.
§
Adjusting his steel-rimmed spectacles, his monastic bones creaked as he made his way out towards the gates where he knew Martha was ensconced. All the excitement and activity had worn him out. He wiped his brow as he made the sign of the cross.
The air had a coolness he enjoyed. Swinging around the corner of the room, he was startled to see the gate was open.
“What?” He called out loud, “Martha, where are you?” A stab of alarm rushed through him. He ran to the gate and looked all around. There was no sign of her in any direction. What’s happened to her! Dear God, no! He looked one way and then another … nothing … not a sign of her. He turned and hurried back to the house. “It’s Martha, I can’t find her anywhere and the gates are wide open!”
Everybody rushed outside, led by Brodie.
The Abbot was right. There was no sign of her. The sudden silence was broken only by the sound of the gate creaking as it moved backward and forward in the slight breeze.
“She’s been taken. They’ve got her.” Brodie’s jaw was set hard and his eyes glittered with menace. “I will kill them. I swear to God, I’ll kill them.”
“Easy, Brother, easy,” The Abbot’s voice rose above the sobs from Luciana and the Condesa. He put his arm around Brodie’s shoulder.
“Get off me, will you?” Brodie growled with a savage grimace. “I need to think.”
The Abbot stepped back, but at that moment, he felt inadequate and more than embarrassed.
“Hey, what’s this?” Garcia pointed to the small crate on the ground. “We’ve been left a calling card.”
Brodie snatched it off him and began to prise open the lid.
“Careful,” Garcia said. “You don’t know what’s in there.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” A few more tugs and pulls and the crate opened.
They all stopped and began to peer inside. A fetid smell arose.
“What is it?”
Brodie waved his hand under his nose but said nothing. He couldn’t make out what he was looking at. He dipped his hand inside to pull the smelly object out and held it up. It dangled by its tail.
“Shit!” George shouted. “It’s a rat.”
It was a rat, a very large and decomposing rat. Pinned to its flank by a long, plastic spike or needle was a folded sheet of paper.
“Jesus,” Brodie hissed as he pulled the pin out, threw it to the ground and unfolded the paper. As he read it, he turned pale and dropped to his knees. “No, God, why have you forsaken us?”
Bower grabbed the note from him. He read it out loud.
She could even end up dead,
Or at best lose her maidenhead.
The painting … I’m still waiting.
With sense, no need to mutilate,
Or gently slice away on her mamillate.
We’ll be in touch.
“They can’t mean that! Cut her nipples off?”
Brodie slumped to the ground and a stunned silence gripped them all.
CHAPTER 46
With difficulty, she opened her eyes. Her head was pounding and there was a strange sweet taste in her mouth. She had no idea where she was. When she moved, she realised she was tied by her wrists to the headboard rails of a bed.
The last thing she could remember was being pushed into the back of the lorry by a man with a gun, and then another man who was hidden inside had pulled her in and rammed some sort of cloth over her nose and mouth. Its smell reminded her of hospitals except she wasn’t in one. She had been in a lorry full of cardboard boxes.
The realisation that she has been kidnapped struck her like a thunderbolt and her next thought was of Brodie and the effect that would have on him. She performed a mental check on herself. Starting from the top of her head, she worked her way down her body, attempting to sense any harm or violations. She found none. Apart from the headache, she was unscathed.
Lifting her head, she looked around the room. It was plain with a small table and chairs, tailored wardrobes and fittings. She could be anywhere ... and there wasn’t a sound to be heard. Her heart raced ... she felt marooned and extremely lonely. She berated herself for letting this happen to her. Shepard will now use her to get the painting. The problem was ... there was no a painting. It had vanished into another place in time and space. But who would believe that?
Wriggling, she attempted to free her arms, but they were bound fast. She stopped struggling when the door opened, and Silas Shepard walked in, with two men she recognised as the men who had captured her. The same men from the bar when she had been out with Bower.
“Miss Martha.” His voice washed over her, slithery with innuendo, like a snake about to strike. “Are we feeling comfortable enough?” He moved beside her and beckoned to Bruno who produced a pair of scissors. “This won’t hurt one bit if you’ll just keep still.”
“What are you going to do?” Her voice quavered with fright.
“Proceed, Bruno.”
Bruno said nothing. Leaning forward, he unbuttoned her blouse and with one swift movement of the scissors, removed a button. Next, he moved down to her slacks and again with another swift movement, cut away the front belt loop, which he held up like a trophy won at a contest.
“Last one next, Bruno.”
Bruno smiled and ran his hand through her thick hair, making a soft murmuring sound as he did so. Grabbing a decent handful, he pulled it and snipped off a thick bunch, then t
urned and handed it to Shepard who was grinning like a drunken monkey.
“These little items could do the trick.” Shepard drilled his gaze into her. ”Where are you keeping the painting?”
She tried to reply but her voice croaked and her throat felt sore. “I can hardly speak. I need water.” She gave several raspy coughs.
He nodded at Alexis who went to the bathroom and came back with a glass of water. Bruno untied one of her hands.
She managed to sit up and gulp at the water before the glass was taken from her.
“Now answer my question.”
“How would I know?” She realised that to tell him it had vanished would not be the wisest of answers.
“How wouldn’t you know? You’re very much an active member of those creeps. You are obviously lying and playing dumb. Let me just tell you this, in case you haven’t grasped it in full. Your father has received a message from us giving him a clue of what we are going to do to you if he doesn’t collaborate. Not very nice, I’m afraid, and a little messy. We’ll send him these first.” He held up the button, belt loop and clump of hair. “It’s a wonder how such little things can focus the mind. Bruno, tie back her hand. We’re leaving now, but I look forward to chatting with you later.”
As Bruno tied back her wrists, she remembered reading about one of the methods the Great Houdini used to affect his escapes. When tied down with ropes or straitjackets, he gained wiggle room by enlarging his shoulders and chest and moving his arms slightly away from his body. She tensed her hand and wrist, making them slightly larger, and once the rope had been tied she relaxed them. Immediately, the bonds felt looser. She wasn’t free, but there was now a good chance she could be if she was patient and persistent. She began her attempt.
§
Brodie was inconsolable, and the only person he could blame for the whole affair was himself, for not being firm enough with her and sending her home. Because of his failure, she was now in danger of rape and mutilation, and possibly death. He could save her life and give them the painting ... if they had it. It couldn’t be done. Shepard would never believe it had disappeared.
