Sins of the Master

by Catherine Taylor

  “That’s utter bullshit…”

  “Bevan.” Simmons raised his voice. “Dispense with that kind of language and let’s try to discuss this sensibly.”

  Miller ignored him and glared at Kutcher once again. “Intelligence and National Security have precedence over civil affairs. I need to interview Easton and establish that she is not under coercion and about to release details that could put this country at risk. You need to let me speak to her.”

  “It’s not going to happen, Bevan. Adele has already signed an affidavit, waiving her rights and swearing that her testimony is by her own free will. Simmons here, and a Supreme Court judge, Justice Baldwin have given her permission to address a media gathering, here at the Beehive.”

  “You are the Minister of National Security,” Bevan fired back at him. “One directive from you puts a stop to this, whether the Queen herself signed off on her fucking affidavit.”

  Kutcher jumped to his feet and glared back at him. “You need to calm down, Bevan. I’d like to hear what Adele has to say. As far as coercion, her parents were murdered. I don’t think she could be coerced into anything. I am going to speak to her, but from the advice I have received thus far, the conference goes ahead at 11.30am.”

  “Her state of mind needs to be called into question; where she has been for the last month, who she was with and under what conditions.”

  “She’s actually quite calm,” Collins piped up. “She’s grieving, but there’s no sign of trauma, and she tells us that she was well cared for and has had time to reflect.”

  Miller shot him a poisonous glare, before looking around the room at the others. He straightened up and looked at Kutcher. “This is going to blow up in your face. Remember that, and don’t come running to me when it does.”

  He strode from the room.

  * * * * *

  For a moment he couldn’t breathe as water filled his mouth and nose. Dylan shook his head, the only part of his body that he could move as he gasped for air. As consciousness came rushing back, it brought excruciating agony, eliciting a groan from him, until he cut it off with a quiet expletive.

  Blinking his eyes to get the water out of them, he peered at the woman in front of him holding a bucket.

  “You passed out on me,” Asya laughed. “Am I not being entertaining enough for you, motherfucker?”

  Dylan breathed, watching her silently as he assessed how damaged his body was. Much of the pain was centralised at his lower torso and his right shoulder, which he knew was partly dislocated. His arms were twisted back and up, suspended by the biting cable ties around his wrists, to which the chains were attached. His toes barely touched the concrete floor. Passing out had been unfortunate, causing his whole weight to bear down and strain his arms beyond their endurance.

  His body was a mass of pain. His inner thigh was still twitching and burning where she had repeatedly held the Taser against it. Thankfully, Asya had lacked the savagery to put it directly on his balls, probably uncertain whether it would kill him.

  She was certainly capturing his attention, and revealing much about herself. It was obvious she was not proficient in the art of torture. There was too much emotion on her face, a wondrous, expectant expression after each assault, almost like a child getting into mischief. Her whip handling skills were comical, earning her his derisive chuckle, which probably hadn’t been the wisest reaction. It had cost him a beating to his body with a baseball bat, resulting in three broken lower ribs. The assault had concluded with the Taser.

  It was the worst of being tortured by an amateur. Their actions were dictated by emotion, which made it more dangerous. They were often unaware of how easily one could be killed if hit in the wrong area. At least her three thugs, who had given him his initial beating, had known where to hit. Provided, she didn’t damage any vital organs, he might last another few hours and that’s all he needed.

  Dylan winced slightly as Asya picked up a cattle prod and approached him. She came within a foot of his suspended, naked body and gazed up into his face, smiling.

  “Your pole-dancing slut brought this along. She was going to use it on me.” She ran the probes across his chest and brought it slowly down on his nipple. Her breathing quickened and he was certain she was about to activate it. “Do you like pain, Zaleski? Or do you just like inflicting it?”

  Dylan stared back at her silently, his sweating body beginning to chill and tremble with the onset of shock. An electric jolt, that close to his heart, could possibly kill him in his weakened state, not that he was about to tell her that. He had already resigned himself to not seeing the day out and there were much worse ways to die.

  He was older now, and pain was not so easily endured. It was only pride wanting him to hold on and keeping his face wearily passive, but somewhere in his warped nature, he could always find something amusing. Sniffing back, he filled his mouth with blood filled mucous and spittle and spat it straight into her eyes.

  Asya backed away, screaming, dropping the prod as her hands flew to her face. Dylan grinned as she struggled to draw her body-hugging t-shirt up, only to strip it from herself to wipe her face, leaving her in a sports bra. Her thugs advanced hesitantly, uncertain of how they should proceed.

  “You fucking cunt.” Asya continued to scream, wiping savagely at her eyes, as if he had spat acid into them. “I’m going to fucking cut your dick off. I’m going to fucking kill you slowly.”

  The t-shirt was thrown aside, leaving her snarling viciously, spittle flying as she cursed, until she managed to calm herself enough to glare back at him murderously.

  “You motherfucker,” she heaved, between gritted teeth. “Don’t think you’re getting off so easily. I’m not going to be satisfied until you are screaming, begging to die. Do you hear me, you filthy Ukrainian pig?”

  Dylan nodded, smiling. “I can’t wait.”

  “Oh, can’t you?” She paced about on the spot. “Well, let’s see what we have.”

  They were in another shed, set well back from the house and surrounded by a tall cyclone fence, with razor wire at the top. It was as large as a warehouse, stretching up at least six metres at its apex, with a few hundred square metres of its concrete floor. There was a sliding galvanised door at one end and another conventional door at its side. It was somewhat like a fortress with thick concrete inner walls and floor, and a few skylights at the gabled junction, covered in wire mesh.

  Dylan knew, from Greta’s description, that this is where they ‘trained’ the girls. It lacked the class of his theatre, but it had all manner of evil apparatus to ascertain that terror was instilled in them. One corner was a wet area, tiled on two walls with a large hose coiled up nearby.

  When Asya picked up a battery drill, a huffed laugh escaped him, a combination of weariness, pain, fear and sorrow, sweeping over him and making his skin prickle. His chest tightened as if his heart had expanded. Dylan felt himself becoming subdued by his misery. When the body weakened, the mind always became more active and emotional, a condition he had experienced before and hated.

  It was almost like a spiritual panic of needing absolution, a satisfaction that everything had been done and put right with the universe, but there would never be that satisfaction for him. Too many people had died. As the faces took shape in his thoughts, Dylan knew he had many regrets that would never be resolved.

  He watched her approach, and listened to the revving of the drill for effect, as she circled him. “You’re extremely fit and endowed for a man your age, but you’re still only human.”

  She remained behind him, and Dylan tensed as he felt the point of the long drill bit run up between his buttocks and press painfully into his anus. His breathing laboured.

  “Are you afraid?” Asya laughed. “Is the mighty Master afraid? Are you going to cry like a little girl? How many women have you arse fucked in your time? It seems only fair that your deeds be reciprocated.”

  “What the fuck would you know about it?”

  Asya withdrew t
he drill and came around to face him. Her mouth was open, but she stood well back. “So you decided to speak. Don’t you like things sticking up your arse?”

  He smiled. “You could put your tongue up there if you like. I’d like that.”

  Her face darkened. “You’re disgusting.”

  “You’re the one who wants to drill my arse out, though I advise you to cover up. That type of thing tends to get a little messy.”

  His impudence enflamed her. “You think you’re so fucking brave? Well I will show you how brave you are.”

  Snatching up the cattle prod, her gaze dropped to his groin as she advanced on him.

  Her name was suddenly screamed across the expanse. Asya turned to see Yuri running towards her.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  She smiled and shrugged. “The boys and I decided to have a little fun. Keep your shirt on, Yuri.”

  His eyes were wide as they swept over Dylan’s bruised and bleeding body. “You’ve fucking near killed him.”

  “Bullshit. He’ll take a lot more than this before I’m finished with him.” She glared up at Dylan. “And when he can’t, I will pour petrol over his body and happily light the match.”

  “Right now, you need to go to the house. Semyon will be here in an hour. Everything has changed, Asya. There are problems.”

  “No there’s not,” she told him calmly. “I have the man who killed our father strung up on a chain, tenderising his body for death. I don’t have any problem.”

  “We need Zaleski alive. If you kill him now, Semyon will not help us. As it is we need to pack and leave no traces behind. We’re being taken to the Embassy, until Semyon has the paperwork to get us out.”

  “What the fuck for?”

  “Adele Easton. She is being held in protective custody, after confessing to a number of crimes. Semyon’s man in the government, he confirms that a warrant is being sought for our arrest.”

  “Our arrest? How the fuck could they know anything about me?”

  “Your girlfriend had a photo of your Russian licence. You’re now an illegal alien.”

  “That fucking bitch.” Asya paced away from him, shaking her head until she turned to look back at Dylan. “Then there’s no reason to keep him alive, is there?”

  “I just finished telling you, Semyon wants to see him. You’ll do nothing until he gets here.”

  “Fine. And where is our uncle? Why isn’t he out here administering some justice on his brothers’ killer?”

  “He’s gone,” Yuri scowled. “He got one of the men to take him back to the city.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t get it either. His behaviour is strange. It’s as if he doesn’t want to be part of this. I think there may be a woman…”

  “A woman?” Asya was furious. “First he runs like a coward when his brothers die and then he turns his back on his family for a fucking woman?”

  Yuri looked at the men. “Get him down and secure him. Remember if he escapes, your life won’t be worth living.”

  One of the men peered at him. “What happens to us? The cops could be crawling over this place anytime. I don’t fancy being caught with a bunch of abducted girls, and that other bitch, she’s seen our faces.”

  “You do your fucking job,” Yuri snarled at him. “And we’ll all be out of here in two hours. The cops are not even aware of this place.”

  He grabbed Asya’s arm and propelled her along with him. She snatched herself from his grip. “Let me get my t-shirt.”

  Returning to the other men, she smiled and spoke to them quietly. “Don’t worry about it, boys. I’ll get us out of here. You just get me some petrol and matches, and find a way to secure the doors.” She looked up at Dylan. “I would fuck you, before I’d allow anyone to let you leave, not until I have heard your screams, and watched your charred flesh and muscle peel off your bones.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  The helicopter had set down in an empty field, and Mairead frowned curiously at the pilot when he came around to open her door. She had seen him once before at Dylan’s house, but he had said little during the flight, not that she had been up for talking. She vaguely remembered that his name was Carl.

  He pointed out at a dirt road in the distance. “Just head to the road. Someone will be along to pick you up soon. Good luck.”

  “So that’s it?” Mairead asked. “Is anybody going back after Dylan?”

  “That’s not the orders,” he replied quietly. “I had to get you out safely and alert the pick-up.”

  “And what happens to Dylan? You just give up and let him die? Do any of you ever do anything of your own accord, despite his orders?”

  Carl frowned. “He wanted you to live. He wouldn’t have accepted anything else.”

  “Yeah.” Mairead nodded wearily and climbed out. “And how am I supposed to live knowing what it cost?”

  Carl didn’t answer and Mairead smiled weakly and held out her hand. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault at all. Goodbye, Carl.”

  “Mairead,” Carl took her hand and held on to it. “Last night, I got to spend a few hours with him, for the first time in months. I was opposed to what he wanted to do, even argued with him, but he told me that if he couldn’t save your life, then it was all for nothing. He felt that he had failed too many times, that too many people had paid a price for him. He needed you to have a future.”

  She bowed her head and nodded, as Carl drew her into an embrace, before hurrying away to his seat. Watching the helicopter take off, Mairead felt terribly alone. Wearily she headed toward the road. Overhead, the clouds were ominously dark, threatening to unleash another downpour. When she got to the road, she realised she hadn’t asked which way to go.

  Instead, she sat down in the grass, tired and not wanting to go anywhere. She couldn’t remember a time when her heart had felt so heavy. She couldn’t even be sure of what she was going back to. What Dylan had done for her, was too great a sacrifice and not necessarily the end of her troubles. It just meant that she got to live to face them. One of her troubles brought a tired smile to her face as she rubbed her tummy.

  The wind carried a sound to her hearing, the approach of a vehicle. Slowly, she got to her feet, but once upright, her heart began to beat rapidly in panic. She should have asked who was picking her up. For all she knew, Asya and her men were coming for her.

  Looking about wildly, her gaze fell on the trees some thirty metres back from the other side of the road. Trees had always been a haven. She ran, and didn’t stop until she was among them. Selecting one of the highest and thickest, she quickly pulled her boots and socks off and strung her laces together, slinging the boots around her neck.

  She climbed the tree rapidly, positioning herself on the branches where she could see the road and stay hidden. Too soon, a car was on the scene driving slowly until it was well past her, but as she watched it did a three point turn and came back, cruising until it stopped. With one eye still swollen shut, it was hard to see who had come.

  A door opened and she watched a tall, broad shouldered man step out from the passenger side and look about, before walking further into the field. The driver’s door opened and a woman got out, too tall for Asya. The man began to call her name.

  Mairead trembled. She could hear the desperation in his voice as he called again, and she knew only one person who yelled her name so distinctively, with that deep timbre and British refinement that could melt her or strike up the anxiety of being in trouble.

  Her palms scraped against the bark as she scrambled down the trunk and dropped her boots to the ground. Her bare feet were punctured by twigs and foliage, but she felt none of it as she made her way towards him, trying to speak his name as it choked up in her throat.

  Cooper saw her first and called back to James. When he turned, Mairead could see the emotion in his face. He began to stride towards her, his pace picking up until he was running. If any strength had been left in her, she would have done the same, but she
could barely hold out her arms for him.

  Suddenly, he was lifting her, holding her up in his arms, crushing her against him, burying his face into her neck and hair. Mairead was sobbing as she sought out his face and his mouth, needing his lips against hers and feeling his tears on her cheeks. For a long time, they kissed with all the desperation they were feeling.

  Her vision clouded over and she sought a breath, wanting to see his face and be certain that she wasn’t dreaming. His dark eyes were shiny with tears, and his perfect mouth was smiling back at her. He was handsome as ever and his strong arms were around her. For just a moment, everything was as it should be, and she could safely pass out.

  * * * * *

  After hosing him down, they had tied Dylan to a chair and attached a spreader bar to his ankles, as per Asya’s instructions. His nakedness didn’t bother him, but like any man, Dylan was uncomfortably aware of the vulnerability of his genitals.

  It was becoming harder to keep track of time and remain calm. As much as he had come to terms with death, his survival instincts were tautly primed. He couldn’t deny his fear for Asya’s request for petrol and matches. Death was one thing, but it could be drawn out in ways too horrific to contemplate.

  He was almost happy when Asya returned in the company of her brother and cousin. She looked furious, but she smirked as she lay eyes on him again. The men had stopped in their tracks and were staring at him with a combination of disgust, curiosity and horrified respect. Semyon frowned at Asya.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? I, for one, don’t want to be staring at his cock.”

  Asya smirked. “Are you jealous, Semyon?”

  “I hate fucking theatrics and this is not conducive to our mission.”

  “No, Semyon.” She glared up at him. “My mission was clear, to find the man who killed our fathers and make certain he suffered the full retribution owed him. I thought that was your mission as well, but I am beginning to see that the men in this family have no sense of honour or courage.”