by S. T. Boston
“So – you're the infamous Samuel Becker,” came a mocking voice from one of his captors in the front. “I don't see what all the fuss was about, you weren't that hard to capture.” There was a sarcastic tone to the unusual accent that made Sam's blood boil.
“It's not over 'til the fat lady sings!” croaked Sam, his throat feeling impossibly dry. Uselessly he jiggled his wrists behind his back, trying to stop the metal from biting further into his skin.
“An Earth phrase that means nothing to me,” came the emotionless voice. Sam had heard that particular accent before, the voice was frighteningly close to that of Buer, the man-mountain who'd gunned him down deep below the Pyramid, had he not known beyond a doubt that the man who'd masterminded The Reaper was long dead he could have mistaken this voice for the evil bastard.
“It means, as soon as I get chance I'm going to kick your fucking arse,” Sam chuckled, and rolled slightly onto his side, finding a position that, for a few seconds, was a little more comfortable.
“I doubt that very much,” Sam could see the back of the passenger's head, he shook it slightly as he spoke. “Don't worry, Mr. Becker, we are not here to kill you, although in a day or two, once you have seen what we are doing here, you are going to wish we had.”
Three hundred yards… Sam realised he had lost his train of thought, the conversation had taken him off guard. Not that it mattered a jot, he had a feeling that there was no escaping this one, yet. They didn't plan to kill him, he was being taken somewhere, to someone. What was it that Laurett had said? He is here, he has plans for you – E-N-O-L-A, Sam cursed himself for the cold chill that ran though his body on remembering the wretched Earth-Breed's words. The important thing was every hour, minute, second, which he was alive for, there was a chance. One had come to him back in the police station and he'd taken it, and he would sure as shit do the same if the opportunity presented itself again. “I look forward to well and truly fucking up whatever it is you have planned this time,” he half laughed and half croaked. The passenger thrust his fist back, finding Sam's gut and, not for the first time that evening, winding him to gasping point. “Bit – of – a sore point?” he chuckled, whilst gasping for air and trying not to choke on the words, despite how much the punch hurt he felt a warm glow at having touched a raw nerve.
“For a man facing a rather dreadful fate you are far too full of yourself,” the driver spat, glancing an eye in the rear view mirror.
“Maybe,” Sam replied, searching for a little comfort, his former position had already started to make his arms ache again. “I'd say it's more of a strong dislike for your kind, hopefully later I'll have the pleasure of killing you, just like I did Finch and the other Earth-Breeds.”
“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Becker, I can assure you of that.” Came the driver's mocking voice. “Just don't get your hopes up too much about the second part of your last statement. “Finch was a fucking idiot,”
“There is something we agree on,” Sam chuckled under his breath.
“Buer should never have been entrusted to see things through on his own with a bunch of lab-bred half-wits, we won't be making such mistakes again.” The guy concluded, as if he'd not even noticed that Sam's comment.
“So – as we are going to be spending some time in each other's company, how about you tell me your names?”
“My name is Asag, and this is my brother, Namtar,” he replied proudly, as if the names should mean something to him.
Definitely Elders, thought Sam, with a chill of foreboding. “Don't you have something a little easier to remember,” he coaxed, trying to keep his show of confidence up. “Like Brian and Bob?” The two brothers chose to ignore his statement, not even casting him a glance in the rear view mirror.
“Just what do you have in mind for me then?” Sam could hear the anger brewing in his voice, behind that confident and slightly cocky façade he was scared, scared for himself, Adam and his wife. He'd learned to trust his gut and he knew deep down, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that he was being silly, that tonight's events were likely effecting Adam as well, possibly even Lucie. The thought of her being drawn into this enraged him. “I take it that it's not just me he wants.”
“Very intuitive, Mr. Becker,” Asag twisted round in his seat and set his stone cold eyes on Sam, ancient eyes, momentarily Sam wondered what sights they'd seen over the years. “I wouldn't worry too much about Adam and your pretty little wife, Lucie, you will be seeing them all very soon.”
Sam pulled hard on his cuffs, almost oblivious to the pain that sang like an out of tune choir, “If you harm either of them –“
“Like I said, no one is harming anyone - for now!” he cut in, letting the last words hang for impact. “We are merely on a fetch and retrieve mission here, just like my colleagues across the channel.” He gestured to his left, in the general direction of the English coast which lay out there, somewhere in the cold night. “But don't be so modest to think that this is all about you!” Asag seemed to emphasise the all letting it roll off his tongue. “We thought it only fitting that before you die you witness our victory, and you die knowing that despite all you went through with that bitch girl, Oriyanna, you failed.” He paused and readjusted his seating position, it were as if it just speaking her name had given him a nasty taste in his mouth. Asag re-fixed his captivating gaze on Sam's aching body, Sam could almost feel his presence bearing down on him, putting pressure onto his brain. He continued to watch Sam for a few more moments, Sam could see the enjoyment in his eyes at the sight of him, laying there, bound, cuffed and well and truly stuffed. “Humanity has been a cancer on this planet for too long,” Asag finally continued. “A cancer created by my ancestors and wrongly nurtured by the Arkkadians after the war. A cancer that will soon be finished, unfortunately, so will the planet. Well, for a good few thousand years anyway. It's a shame, if we'd have succeeded the first time the planet would have merely been washed clean of humanity, sadly, now we don't have such an option.” Asag smiled, showing his unnaturally white teeth. It seemed that out of the two, he was the one who enjoyed the sound of his own voice the most. “Oh, don't worry, Mr. Becker,” he added, seeing the confusion on Sam's face, “It will all be clear very soon.”
* * *
Inspector Ackhart gunned his Renault Megane down Rue Clement Marical, at the Carrefour Market roundabout he threw the car right on the Rue Irene Joliot Cure, nearly losing the rear end as the tyres screamed in protest against the roughly cobbled street, desperately searching for grip.
Post curfew Le Havre was a ghost town, desolate and dark, quiet and ghostly. A person out at this time of night could have easily been mistaken for thinking The Reaper had killed everyone. With its residents all hauled up safely in their homes the streets seemed to have a life of their own, Ackhart rarely ventured out at such times, even though his position within the police permitted him to wander the streets during duty time. He hated the deserted feeling that flowed through the city he loved. Flying through the empty streets made him feel as if he were in a nightmare, fleeing some invisible foe that would reach out and strike him down at any moment. Engine screaming his headlights sliced through the night, reflecting back against the off-white walls of the aligning buildings, causing Ackhart to squint and curse at his failing eyesight. The matter was not helped in the least by the throbbing and swollen eye that Becker had dealt him back at the station.
In his head he ran through how it would go down when he got to Le Havre airport, in truth he didn't know. How many of them would there be? And who the hell were they? He didn't believe for a second that Becker had told him the truth, did he? Protocol stated he should have a tactical armed unit back him up, hell any form of backup would be good, but this job didn't fall into protocol, this was his cockup and his alone, it needed to be put right. Also something about the whole situation wasn't right, he needed and intended to get to the bottom of it, and hopefully take Becker back into his custody, saving his career and his reputation at the s
ame time.
Weaving down the street, and aiming the car along the narrow but straight road he fumbled in his jacket, checking for the tenth time that his gun was there. The heavy yet reassuring metallic lump that was his SP 2022 met his hand. In the brief seconds he had his hand away from the wheel the Renault hit a pothole causing it to pitch dangerously to the left, the front tyre found the kerb shaking the car violently and forcing Ackhart to grab the steering wheel with both hands. Cursing under his breath he got the car under control, and briefly his mind longed for the bottle of brandy that sat waiting in his desk draw. He quashed the craving, there would be time for that later if things didn't work out, or if in fact he had the luxury of having a later. The men who'd taken Becker had been huge and there was just one of him. He reached for, and felt his SP again, no matter how big the men were who'd taken his prisoner the gun would deal with them indiscriminately of their size. If it came to it he might be able to use Becker, he felt sure he'd jump at the chance of being taken back to the station, he'd seen the fear and desperation in his eyes when the two massive, supposed FBI agents had hauled him out of the custody block, the look had sent a chill through his body. But why? He didn't believe Becker's account, not one detail of it, did he?
Reaching the end of Rue Irene Joliot Cure, Ackhart wrestled the car around another roundabout, the front end understeering dangerously, tyres singing in chorus yet again. Throwing it into another right turn and onto the D6382, Le Havre airport lay ahead, the runway lights gleaming against the dark and post power cut night sky.
The more suburban white walled shops and buildings had now faded into the background, replaced by darken, concrete industrial units, all empty and slowly being reclaimed by nature. Their tatty skeletal concrete hulks planted in empty grounds, weeds poking their heads through the ever-growing gaps in the tarmac car parks, as if in defiance to man.
Like the police station, the airport would have its own generator, the things cost a small fortune to run but local government seemed to find the money to buy the fuel from somewhere. The brightly lit complex cast an artificial white glow into the night sky, giving off an almost halo-like effect.
Ackhart reached yet another roundabout, a smaller one, this time he didn't bother to steer, instead he slammed the Megane over the slightly raised mound of reflective white paint, driving across it as if it were a junction. Powering through the short-stay car park he knew exactly where he was heading. At the end of the car park was a small gate, usually manned it led airside, easy access for the emergency services. Not far from that gate he hoped he'd find a plane, a plane that contained his prisoner.
* * *
Sam felt the X5 lurch around a roundabout, the inertia caused him to slide across the back seat and hit his head on the rear passenger door, making him swear under his breath.
“Le Havre airport,” announced Asag in a thunderous voice which broke the last two or three minutes' awkward silence, almost making Sam jump. “Not long and we will be heading to Portugal, from there we will pick up a slightly larger craft and hop across to South America.” He sounded almost chipper, like he was taking Sam on the trip of a lifetime and he was the tour guide.
“I'm not sure my travel jabs are up to date,” chuckled Sam, his body now cramped uncomfortably against the back door of the 4x4. The post curfew darkness gave way to bright lights, the sudden illumination caused Sam to squint his eyes. He felt the vehicle mount a couple of speed humps, faster than necessary. Even with the 4x4's big tyres it caused his body to jolt painfully in the back seat. Momentarily the vehicle slowed, Sam braced himself into the seat, and rammed his feet against the opposite door, to stop himself from rolling into the foot well. He heard the passenger jump from the cab, then the sound of a gate sliding open. A few moments later he was back and they were moving again, slower this time, through the gate and to what Sam assumed was airside. The vehicle was stopped for a second time and once again the Asag got out. Sam heard the well-worn wheel that supported the gate squeak its way back across the tarmac; it was a sound that he hated, like nails down a blackboard.
Finding a position that offered a little more comfort, Sam felt the BMW creep forward, they made a number of left and right hand manoeuvres before they finally came to a stop. The driver, Namtar, switched off the engine and applied the parking brake, this meant they were here. Being moved was a key time, a time when Sam might just get that small window of opportunity. He took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs. Letting it out slowly he tried to bring his racing heart rate back down to a reasonable pace, if a chance did present itself he would need to be calm and his heart as rested as possible, not slamming in his chest as if he'd just run a hundred meter dash.
Both of his captors alighted the vehicle, leaving him on his own for the first time since he'd made a break for it down the custody block. First on the agenda was getting his hands to the front of his body, with his hands cuffed behind his back he had no chance, to the front was bad enough but at least he could strike out and defend himself if he could get them to the other side of his legs. Rolling from his side and onto his back, Sam lifted both legs in the air, ignoring the pain he stretched his arms down and just about managed to slide his cuffed wrists over his backside. It was the first time that the limb restraint on his legs had come in handy, it kept them bound tightly together, actually aiding his attempt. Gradually he began to ease his legs through the hoop made by his arms. The pain was almost intolerable, but his strong human survival instinct had kicked in, mixed with years of hostage situation training, it helped to increase his pain threshold to its maximum level. Just when he thought he could take it no more, with eyes shut and teeth clenched firmly together, he felt his hands clear his legs. The pain relief was almost instant, every muscle in his shoulders and arms sang with joy. Not stopping to enjoy the moment, Sam bent forward and removed the Velcro limb restraint which bound his legs together. Hands to his front and legs free, Sam half sat and half crouched in the back seat, not wanting to stick his head too far into view. Gingerly he peered out of the passenger side back window, one of his captors was stood by the door, his back to Sam, partially blocking the view. Looking round his church door-like body he could just see the second male, the quieter one, Namtar, who'd been driving, or so he thought, it was hard to tell, the two Elder brothers were practically identical. The matter was not helped by the fact they we wearing matching long black coats, like a pair of twins dressed by a mother who was keen to highlight her identical offspring. One thing Sam was sure of now was that these two were not Earth-Breed, these two were definitely like Buer, and undoubtedly they shared his magical healing abilities, in a fair fight such a thing could really draw things out. Namtar was stood by a twin engine propeller plane, Sam wasn't too sure on the exact model. It looked like some kind of Beechcraft, possibly a King Air, more than capable of zipping them down through Europe and into Portugal. Namtar was talking to someone, likely the pilot. He wondered if the pilot was in on it, or did he also think they were working for the government, transporting a dangerous prisoner? Knowing the long reach they had and the eclectic mixture of trades used by the Earth-Breeds, he suspected the pilot would know the score. The cab of the X5 was well soundproofed but he could hear the plane's twin engines idling and ready for action. Sam was thankful for the droning sound for it would help to hide the noise caused by the next part of his plan.
Moving his body away from the window, Sam slid himself to the opposite door. Praying that it wasn't locked he grabbed the handle slowly, so as not to make too much noise, and pulled back. To his relief the door clicked open allowing the refreshingly cool early morning air to rush in, Sam took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh breeze. Casting a final cautionary glance back toward Asag, who still very foolishly was not watching the back of the X5, Sam pushed the door open fully.
* * *
Asag watched with a frustrated impatience as his brother continued to pass idle chit-chat with the Earth-Breed pilot who'd flown them all the way here fro
m Peru. Having received the 'Go Order' from Asmodeous to take Becker they had used one of Integra Investments' jets to hop across the Southern Atlantic. Once in Portugal they chartered a smaller plane to make the shorter trip to France. It had been his idea to leave the Integra registered jet in Portugal, using a chartered plane would afford them more anonymity should they become tangled up with the authorities, which they had. In the end it hadn't mattered, but Asag liked to be cautious, it was a small catalogue of errors that had caused Buer to fail and he wasn't about to make the same mistakes, he was eager to prove to Asmodeous that both he and his brother were worthy, eager to prove that he was right to have been chosen by his leader to flee Sheol when the attack came, and now with Samuel Becker in their custody they had proven their worth. Even if things went wrong during the taking of Adam Fisher and his sister, they had both done their part. As soon as they got airborne he would call Asmodeous and tell him of their great victory.
Things had almost turned sour, and the capture of Becker had ridden the razors edge of failure for a few hours that night. In order to get full un-curfew restricted access to France, they had both entered the country on diplomatic papers. Papers that saw them as U.S. Senators on a visit to Laurett. Despite the fact that such paperwork usually got the low paid security minions scurrying around in panic and saw you processed very quickly, the ones at Le Havre had been a little more cautious. In the end, and fearing that they would be discovered to be the fakes they were, Namtar had used his skills to get them through. The two border officials had still been sat, eyes glazed over, as they'd strode through customs to their waiting hire car. He'd even persuaded one of them to give him the keys to the emergency access gate, so they could get airside directly on return, making it even easier for them to get Becker to the waiting plane without any questions or killing. The delay had, however, caused them to be painfully late, too late to save Laurett and almost too late to get Becker. Thankfully Earth-Humans were easily influenced, stuffing his hands into the jacket's deep pockets, Asag removed the papers that had delivered Sam Becker into his custody. They were, of course, completely blank, but then the officers at Le Havre Police Station had been expecting two agents to collect Sam Becker, they had been expecting the two agents to be in possession of the correct papers and identification, making them see what they'd wanted and expected to see had been simple. He'd not even had the time to get the FBI identification, instead a blank wallet had done the job. Making those at the station see a badge and ID card had been no harder than making them see the paperwork they'd expected. Asag smiled to himself and shivered his ancient body deeper into the long, thick coat. It was cold, so cold that he felt it biting right through to his bones. Thousands of years had passed since he'd felt temperatures such as this, it made him feel alive and made part of him long to live back on his home world and not the subterranean, sun-baked pit that was Sheol. It was almost a blessing that returning there was no longer a viable option. The air quality was even more blissful than the refreshing cold, he savoured every single lungful of the natural and unprocessed atmosphere. Despite that he was looking forward to relaxing in the snug, plush cabin of the primitive aircraft that had amazingly delivered them into France without crashing. Bored of watching his brother run through things with the pilot he turned, expecting to see Becker uncomfortably writhing around on the back seat, instead he saw the overly confident Earth-Human making an escape out of the other side of the X5. He'd managed to get his cuffs to the front and remove the leg restraints. Asag realised immediately that he'd been wrong to underestimate his prisoner, and very wrong to leave him in the car on his own. Furiously and with a deep roar of rage he tore open the rear passenger side door, almost taking it off its hinges. With his massive shovel-like hand he grabbed Becker's foot and pulled, Becker's body felt like a toy against his strength, he came easily, his body threaded through the rear of the X5 like a ribbon. Asag kept pulling until he flew from the cab and hit the tarmac like a doll being thrown about by an angry child.
