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RETRIBUTION
(PART TEN)
BY
WALLACE
This chapter is dedicated to anyone who hates and fears the dentist as much as I do
Danni patted Liz's inner thigh just a little too long and little too high up for her liking and dropped the syringe into the kidney bowl on her trolley. She pulled down Liz's ivory silk night dress and rolled back the bedclothes,
"There! That shouldn't take long now. Try not to move your arm too much and I'll make the tea. I was going to have one anyway." She was just about to leave when she stopped suddenly as if remembering something, she looked at the two silent women, "Neither of you have been outside yet, have you?" she found herself staring at two impassive and slightly annoyed looking faces.
"Mmm," she began a trifle nervously, "well there are two armed policeman out there right now and nobody comes in here without their say-so!" there was an unnerving silence. She bustled over to the trolley and said quickly "Just to let you know, that's all!" Trying her best not to rush, she pushed it out of the room leaving it silent and frosty.
Linda was now looking out of the window onto the Whitechapel road. There were still buses running, even at this time in the morning. Simmering and hurting at the same time, Liz hissed,
"What the fuck is going on with you? If you were that fucking frustrated you COULD have mentioned it, I mean I thought only men did things like that, mind you, I suppose I'm lucky you decided it to do it here and not on a number 37 bus or something…." Her arm was throbbing and her mouth was dry. Danni, despite her nurses training, had clearly been embarrassed and Linda, who had personal armour plating that an armadillo would be proud of, was unusually quiet and withdrawn. She turned away from the window and walked towards the bed.
When she spoke her voice was almost a whisper.
"Liz, be honest, have you ever known me do anything like that before?" Liz looked straight ahead of her. At the moment even the slightest movement was painful.
"No. So, tell me! Give me a reason. Don't just stand there saying nothing." Linda looked down at her maroon and black patent boots.
"Would you believe me?" it was too much. Liz raised herself up on her good arm.
"I don't fucking know until you tell me, do I?" Linda looked back up at her. She knew she was in pain even now but the anger and the adrenaline in her system was somehow overriding it. Reluctantly she made a decision.
"Okay, but you ain't gonna believe me!" stony faced and pale, eyes never leaving hers, Liz said softly.
"You don't know that until you tell me."
So she did.
*
"You alright Guv?" Jimmy looked quizzically at his superior officer, "Only you got one of those looks on yer face!" Inspector Martin glanced at him for a moment, not quite sure what he should say. They were still in the London Hospital where the Assistant Commissioner had told them to stay until Charlie regained consciousness, in the hope that she might give them more information She had also had another phone sent over to the Inspector so that he could contact her directly.
Even now that phone was ringing.
Quite happy that he did not have to answer any more questions from Jimmy, Chief Inspector Martin walked out onto the front steps of the Royal London Hospital and was immediately surprised by the cold, the icy drizzle that was falling steadily and the noise of the traffic, which even at One o'clock in the morning was considerable. He put the phone to his ear.
"Hello."
"Bob, it's Rose MacGregor!" he blinked
"Hello Ma'am. Thought you'd have gone home by now." if he had learned one thing in his career, it was that the higher up the ladder you got, the less likely you were to give a straight answer to anything.
"Phil Hammond. Know him?"
"Yes Ma'am, he's editor of …" Rose Macgregor wasn't known for her patience.
"I know what he's the editor of Bob, he's spent the last ten minutes shouting it down my ear!" the Inspector grinned
"Sounds like Phil, he's old school."
"Is he reliable?" Bob Martin did not even have to think.
"Absolutely! One of those journalists who would never, ever, reveal a source!" Rose sounded sceptical,
"Well, that can work both ways! Bob, one of his columnists has received a phone call from a group calling themselves The Brothers of Islam…" he couldn't help himself
"What? Never heard of 'em!"
"No, neither have we but bearing in mind what we discussed last night, I haven't spoken to either MI5 or MI6 about this yet and I'm not sure that I intend to. The Brothers of Islam claim to be on OUR side Bob. They claim that the current wave of Fundamentalism is harming their Religion in the eyes of the West and that they wish to make recompense for that!" The Inspector thought he could see where this was going.
"And how do they intend to do that?" he asked cautiously
"By informing us that Flight BUA29 to New York has a bomb on board that will explode after landing and that it is a "dirty bomb" made from just a fraction of the tons of weapons grade Plutonium that have gone missing from various nuclear stockpiles over the last few years, including our own!" the Inspector blew out his cheeks and rubbed a hand over his face.
"Bollocks!" he said it as quietly as he could.
"My sentiments exactly!" said Rose MacGregor. The Inspector recovered as quickly as he could.
"Sorry Ma'am, but this is not what we need right now!" the Assistant Commissioner lowered her voice.
"Any ideas?" he realised he had somehow hunched himself over. Charlie would have said that he was trying to make himself safe. Trying to return to the womb. He thought about Charlie for a second and how she was lying in intensive care right now. He straightened up immediately.
"Yes Ma'am, we call their bluff. We must NOT, under any circumstances, shoot that aircraft down, that's exactly what he, what she, what THEY want! It HAS to reach New York, it just HAS to!" There were butterflies in his stomach as he waited for Rose Macgregor to reply.
The line seemed to go silent for a few seconds, almost as if she had gone away or was talking to someone else and then suddenly she was there again.
"Totally agree Bob. And that is what I intend to tell the Prime Minister's Press Secretary as soon as I get off the phone to you. There's a siege mentality in Downing Street right now and they're prepared to listen to me in the same way that I listen to you. You're not on your own on this Bob, I back you all the way but if we are wrong and we nuke the Big Apple then you and I go together, so let's hope and pray that you… that WE have got this right!" Rose Macgregor cleared her throat and then carried on.
" I've already spoken to the Ministry of Defence and told them that the only person who can give the order to fire on that aircraft is the Prime Minister himself and now I'm going to make the Prime Minister aware of that too!" Bob Martin looked at the wet pavement in amazement, she was actually laughing.
"Oh and Bob…"
"Yes Ma'am?"
"Chief Superintendent Ramsey informs me that he came back from leave a little early and would like to take the rest of the week off. I have approved it. Any problems?" the Inspector shook his head
"Er, this is genuine leave Ma'am and not "gardening leave" I take it." The Assistant Commissioner's voice was severe.
"You take it correctly Chief Inspector!" now he nodded
"In that case Ma'am, I don't see a problem."
"Good! And how's Charlie? Can she talk yet?" the Inspector's face became grim
"No Ma'am. They found a second needle or rather a part of one near her heart or rather in it. It's been drawn in by the pumping action of the heart and it could theoretically pierce it at any moment! She's listed as critical and they're going to operate again. It's microsurgery Ma'am and it could be tricky, very tricky!" There was a pause at the other end of the phone. When she did eventually speak the Assistant Commissioner sounded subdued.
"Keep me informed Bob. Keep me informed. I very much doubt that I will be sleeping tonight, so call me at any time! And now I MUST ring Number 10 and then it's up to the Prime Minister to convince the President to allow that plane to land. That's assuming it's still in the air of course!" the Inspector breathed in deeply
"You haven't heard anymore then... I thought…" Rose Macgregor sounded genuinely apologetic,
"Sorry Bob, there just hasn't been time. We lost contact with them about twenty minutes ago and we've heard nothing since. There's heavy cloud in the area so that isn't helping. All I can tell you is that there is no wreckage as of yet." It seemed the longest pause he had ever experienced, "I really must go Bob, ring me in half an hour, I should know more then!"
He wished Jimmy were outside with him now even though he had been glad to get away from him five minutes ago. He felt like he needed as many of the team that he trusted around him at that moment and for various reasons virtually none of them were.
He thought about Daisy and Barbara Lucas and Charlie, especially Charlie lying pale and at what Jimmy had referred to as "death's door" just over an hour ago and then he thought about Jimmy.
Poor old Jimmy!
The one who took all the flak, all the time, but the one whom he probably trusted the most. He could never bring himself to tell him that of course but if Jimmy didn't know by now, then he was far less astute than the Inspector gave him credit for.
Chief Inspector Martin looked across the road at the people who still were milling around the entrance to Whitechapel Underground station.
The stakes had just been raised and raised high.
There were no Brothers of Islam – they didn't exist. He was sure of that but would the Prime Minister be prepared to gamble on what was little more than an assumption?
And would the President accept it?
New York had been devastated once before, could they even consider allowing an aeroplane that just might have a nuclear device on board, to land? He thought of the person whose death warrant he may have inadvertently signed and he shivered, then he pulled up his collar against the cold night air and walked back inside the hospital.
*
It was warm here in the study but the weather forecasters were expecting it to be the coldest night of the year so far. There was just one green shaded lamp lighting the whole room but it was enough. The security lights had finally gone out in the garden and he stared into the dark as if hoping to find some kind of inspiration.
Considering that they were in the very centre of London there was still a lot of wildlife activity out there and he wanted to encourage it, not put up electric fences and sonic devices to keep away the cats and the squirrels and the foxes and the pair of magpies that he had grown quite fond of during his tenure and that often sat outside the window chattering as if trying to tell him their thoughts on the current world situation.
He stared out of the window quite blankly now, listening carefully to the voice on the other end. Finally he said,
"Thank you, Mister President." And put the phone down
The door behind him opened and a tall man in sweatshirt and jogging bottoms entered holding a McDonalds carrier bag in his hand. A towel was wrapped around his neck. He closed the door behind him and approached the highly polished ornate walnut desk.
" This is all Harriet could get and she had to go to bloody Stepney for it! Everywhere else is closed. If the key to the bloody kitchens wasn't…" the Prime Minister looked at his Press Secretary thoughtfully and interrupted what he knew was going to become a rant.
"Oh, so we've got a Harriet working for us now have we?" he grinned impishly. The press never reported his sense of humour; they were too busy looking for reasons for him to resign.
The Press Secretary pulled a face.
"You know we have Prime Minister, she's been here nearly a year and…" he came to an abrupt halt as if realising that the he was being gently wound up. The Prime Minister smiled to himself. Andrew often referred to him as "Prime Minister" when he was getting annoyed with him.
"… and for exactly how much of that time have you been sleeping with her?" was the question he really wanted to ask but he didn't. Andrew Herriot was known for his energetic approach to both his job and his sex life, although his wife didn't seem to be aware of the latter. He began doling out food onto the desk then he stopped and looked at his employer quizzically. "Well? Did you talk to him?" the Prime Minister nodded.
" Of course I did! He was just back from Camp David." Press Secretaries know how to "push buttons" with the media. Sometimes it is necessary to annoy people to get results. The Prime Minister found that sometimes Press Secretaries needed to have some of their buttons pushed. Andrew looked at him blankly.
"And?" the annoyance was obvious in his voice. The Prime Minister shrugged.
"He was his normal, affable self." Andrews's cheeks were colouring just a little.
"And?" the Prime Minister sighed.
"It's a hard decision Andrew. Especially with the elections coming up in six months..." the Press Secretary kept his counsel. "He DID give me what he referred to as a piece of friendly advice though…" Andrew stared at him. He was only interested in one thing right now and the Prime Minister knew that. He trusted his Press Secretary over and above his Cabinet colleagues but he was just a little too intense at times. After a brief pause he continued,
"Yes Andrew! Yes, he's going to do it. He spoke to Langley while I was on the phone or rather one of his aides did. Bottom line is that the CIA have never heard of the Brothers of Islam!" Andrew snorted.
"Well that's not exactly proof positive after the fuck up in Iraq is it?" his voice softened. "If it's any help I've spoken to You Know Who at the BBC. He owes me a couple and he's never heard of them either," he lowered his voice and a slight grin played around the corners of his mouth, "there aren't many cranks he's not aware of!" the Prime Minister inclined his head gravely.
"Well, the President is on board. He's talking to the Joint Chiefs now BUT," he raised an almost threatening finger and there was an overlong pause, "he wants a complete press black out on this! Nothing in! Nothing out!"
The Press Secretary was already nodding. As a young and ambitious, very ambitious, journalist he'd worked his way from junior reporter to Business Correspondent to Night Editor and finally News Editor in just two years in the disparate group of newspaper offices that was still known collectively as Fleet Street. He KNEW where all the bodies were buried and he also knew WHEN to start digging
" You've got that! I sounded out all the Night Editors that matter earlier on… but what about that prick in Defence? I can't see him going for this. An aircraft with even a one per cent chance of having a bomb on board, not just any old bomb, mind you, but a nuclear bomb, landing in New York… he'll go fucking apeshit!" The Prime Minister shrugged and said calmly
"The Prezz is a man of his word, he's never backed down on us yet." But Andrew was thinking out loud,
"...and then there's all the others…any one of them…" the Prime Minister saw his chance.
"…and that is precisely why WE should have at least SOME of the cabinet on board, let me…" the Press Secretary often seemed at his most dangerous when he was speaking quietly and his voice was little more than a whisper now.
"No, Prime Minister! We've discussed this already- you know we have! And do not even THINK about the Deputy PM because he could screw this whole thing up just by opening that big fucking mouth of his, you know that too!" The Prime Minister was about to open HIS mouth again but his Press Secretary was ahead of him, "And the Cabinet Secretary is a Civil Servant and whilst a civil servant of his calibre might not be buyable, those fuckers often have agendas that we can't even BEGIN to fathom, so Sir William stays in the dark too! Okay?" He was pushing his luck here and he knew it but his boss did not reply. Andrew knew that he had very nearly crossed a line, he offered the Prime Minister, who didn't even want to ask how he had managed to get one at this time in the morning, an Egg McMuffin, "You know what we agreed. We keep this on a need to know basis until we've got a result and we keep everybody but everybody, who doesn't need to know, out of the loop until then!" The Prime Minister winced.
"And when will that be?"
"I don't know Prime Minister, my crystal fucking ball is not working too well these days. If it was I might know a wee bit more than I do now about the bloody Brothers of Islam but I don't!" he leaned forward, "Prime Minister, it is absolutely vital that that plane does not get shot down. Absolutely vital! Then his expression changed, "so what was this piece of advice he gave you?" the Prime Minister smiled wearily.
"He told me to do my very best to see that I did not step on my cock on this one!"
Andrew snorted.
"Huh! The amount of times we've stepped on our metaphorical cock recently it's a wonder it doesn't reach the fucking floor by now!" And then he looked up at the Prime Minister "D'you want fries with that? They seem to have made a mistake with the order."
*
Steve Burton chanced a look around him.
The aircraft was holding up but only just.
Even now he could hear the airframe creaking and he could literally feel the aircraft trying to tear itself apart. Everything that moved seemed to be vibrating or resonating somehow. The rudder, the wing and tail flaps, the tail itself. Even the seats were shuddering
The Airbus still showed no signs of recovering from the steep and apparently irreversible dive it had gone into shortly after being fired on by the black helicopter gunship. To make matters worse a fierce wind was howling around them, so strong and so fierce that it seemed as if that alone would rip the plane apart before it even reached the ocean below.
He shouted across to his co-pilot.
" IS THAT ENGINE GOING TO FIRE OR NOT?" several things ran through Mike Mey's mind at that moment but he knew that his Captain had a right to be concerned. He glanced out at the engine again; sparks were still flying from the housing and he knew that the next ten seconds were critical.
If BUA 29 did not straighten up very soon they would all be dead and the huge aeroplane would be just so much flotsam floating on the surface of the Atlantic. He shouted across the cockpit that was now so noisy that he could only just be heard.
"JUST KEEP YOUR FINGERS CROSSED! HOW YOU DOING?" Steve pulled a face.
"BAD MIKE, REALLY BAD!" from behind them Tom joined in.
"AND I'VE LOST ALL RADIO CONTACT!" under other circumstances losing the radio would be bad news but it didn't really seem to matter much now. Mike could see the ocean glittering below them in the light of the full moon and it was coming perilously closer by the second. Whilst the wind still tore at the wings and the tail and howled frighteningly around them, Mike turned to the override button for the fuel pump, pressed it yet again and held it this time, along with his breath.
"KEEP 'EM CROSSED!" he shouted, "I'M TRYING THE PORT ENGINE AGAIN!"
Whether any of them were praying was debateable but the cockpit fell as silent as the screaming wind would allow. For a while it seemed as if no one was even daring to breath and then there was a pulse.
A slow, steady, throbbing pulse, almost as if a heartbeat had been restored. A heartbeat that instead of pumping life-giving blood was pumping fuel into a previously dead engine. Mike could not even begin to hope that the auxiliary pump was finally starting to kick in.
The pulse seemed to grow steadier and louder and then the engine began to whine and although sparks were still flying from it suddenly the plane was starting to slow down.
Steve Burton didn't have to look across at Mike. He could actually feel that he was beginning to get control of his aircraft once more.
His spirits seemed to soar.
The controls were responding!
They were sluggish but there was life there at last. Not daring to look at him Steve shouted across to his co-pilot.
"GIMME A HAND HERE, MIKE!" but Mike could see by now that the turbine was back in business and that the blades were starting to gather speed. He already had his hands on the controls and by pulling back on them with all their strength the pilots could actually feel the angle of the dive slackening.
The huge Airbus that seemed destined to throw itself suicidally into the turbulent waters of the Atlantic Ocean was finally beginning to level out and with that levelling out came a reduction in speed.
As the plane gradually straightened, so the noise lessened and the G forces diminished until finally they were level and under control once again.
Steve looked around him and began to take stock of their situation.
They had fallen a long, long way .In aviation terms they were now flying at zero feet but in reality they were still high enough above the ocean to leave a small margin for error but not that high that they were safe. They were probably invisible to radar at this height but still vulnerable to attack if the gunship should come back
Steve's shoulders burned and ached.
The tension had ebbed from his stomach but it would not go fully until BUA flight two nine was safely on the ground in New York.
He turned to Mike Mey
"Good Job! Good fucking job! Feather it right back, Mike! I don't want either engine running too hot right now, just in case we need the extra power later. Just in case those bastards in the helicopter come back!" He turned to Tom who was sitting behind Mike. "Any idea what happened to them?"
Tom shook his head.
"No! They just seemed to shoot and run!" Steve bit his bottom lip.
"Let's hope so! What about the radio?" Tom turned in his seat
" The radio's screwed! Nothing I've done so far will get it back up." Steve was a practical Australian, the truth didn't frighten him.
"Right, well that's not a major problem yet. New York'll be tracking us on radar and if we NEED to talk to anyone we've all got mobiles, so it should be okay. Mike, is the radar working?" Mike was already checking the luminous green display. He nodded
"Yeah, it's working fine… What the FUCK is that?" the radar screen was situated between the two pilots. Steve peered at the small screen.
"Two smallish objects moving very fast. Must be fighters. It's the cavalry Mike! It's our escort out of here!" but Mike was sceptical.
"Escort? At that speed?" Suddenly two strike aircraft seemed to materialise in front and high above them, criss crossing the sky at breakneck speed. The noise was deafening.
"THAT'S NO FUCKING ESCORT, STEVE!" Mike Mey had to shout once more to be heard. Steve Burton was staring out of the window in disbelief.
"I think you're right! Tom! The radio! Find out what the…" but Tom was ahead of him.
"No chance! Sorry, it's still just static." Steve continued to stare at the darkened sky outside.
"Brilliant! We're fired on, we fall thousands of feet, we recover and now…" the thunderous roar of afterburners filled the air again. The aircraft were returning. Mike Mey leaned into him.
"You know what makes this worse?" Steve shook his head. "They look like British bloody fighters!" Steve had already made up his mind.
"Mike, grab the controls and follow me! Okay?" Mike nodded.
"Sure. What you up to?" Steve Burton looked grim.
"Depends on what we got left in the tanks. On my mark, okay?" Mike Mey nodded again. The roar of the fighters was coming closer. Steve held his course; position and speed, his knuckles white, clutching the controls as if his life might well depend on them. He was taking a huge gamble.
Off to his left he thought he saw two tiny flashes of light.
He began to count slowly,
"Three, two, one, GO, GO, GO!" Now he was shouting orders, " FULL THROTTLE! NOW HARD LEFT! NOW HARD RIGHT! AND PULL HER UP MIKE! GIVE HER EVERYTHING YOU GOT! EVERYTHING!"
The roar of the Airbus' engines combined with that of the fighters to create a deafening wall of noise. Sluggish at first, the big aeroplane slowly began to respond, much to the relief of the two pilots.
Speed increasing all the time they zigzagged left and right and then, jets already beginning to whine, they started to rise at an almost impossible angle. They rose so steeply and so fast that the pilots were pinned to their seats by the gravitational forces. Praying that the aircraft were not carrying heat-seeking missiles, Mike and Steve pulled at the controls until their shoulders ached. Not even caring that the Airbus was once again groaning and creaking around them, their only concern at that moment was that the jet engines continued to function.
They heard a series of explosions, loud and ominous but not close enough to worry about and they allowed themselves the luxury of exchanging glances.
It had to be the missiles exploding far, far below them.
The aircraft continued to climb
Suddenly they were in cloud.
The thick cloud that had, unbeknownst to them, been hampering the vessels and other aircraft searching for them. Knowing that they could not climb forever Steve decided to level out but he didn't reduce his speed, hoping that they would still have enough fuel to get them to New York.
Once the plane was level he turned to his navigator and was surprised to see him emptying some tablets from a small brown bottle into his right hand
"You okay?" Tom looked round.
"What? Oh yes, yes. Bit of a headache, that's all, must be all the noise!" Steve nodded.
"Speaking of noise there's been some pretty strange rumblings coming from the cargo hold. Can you go down and make sure everything's okay?" Tom stood up.
"Yeah, 'course!" Steve turned to his navigator.
"Tom, we're also gonna need a full damage report. Okay?" Tom nodded.
"Sure. I'll get on it as soon as I get back." Without another word he slipped out of the cabin door. As soon as he had gone Steve turned to his co-pilot.
"Mike I want you to…" but Mike was already standing up.
"If we were in a Lancaster or something I'd have understood it, but not NOW! Wartime's one thing but this is two thousand and four, radio's just don't die anymore!" he rubbed the back of his neck. "He's been strange, really strange, not himself, very quiet, all night, just let me know when he's coming back, will ya?" and he eased himself into Tom's seat and began to check the radio equipment inch by inch.
*
Ed "Gus" McDonald had started grouching just after they had taken off on an unscheduled and allegedly routine reconnaissance and he was still moaning now.
"Y'know this is SUCH a pisser. I was due to play golf in the morning!" On the other side of the lead F16, Wayne Grissom waggled his wings and spoke into the microphone in his facemask.
"Know your trouble, Gus? You're turning into a fuckin' Brit.! You been over there too long, man. You'll be taking afternoon tea and reading the fucking Times next!"
Gus WAS an Anglophile, he would be the first to admit that and he had been stationed in England for several tours because he was a good flyer and because since 911 the UK's role for the USAF was more strategic now than it had been even during the Second World War.
He waggled back.
"Go screw yourself, Wayne! I'll trade you Blackpool for Disneyland any day!"
The three heavily armed aircraft soared above the silent ocean looking for anything untoward. The Captain of the flight, Lieutenant Commander John Alda had let the guys bitch at each other since take off but now they were nearing their target.
He broke his radio silence for the first time since leaving Lakenheath Air Base in Suffolk.
"Okay guys, listen up! Wayne, I'm sorry about your golf, but there'll be other days, okay? You two are the best wingmen I've got and I wanted you on board. We're looking for a British cargo plane. It's a British United Airlines A320 Airbus, call sign BUA two niner. It reported being fired on by a helicopter gunship in mid Atlantic and it MIGHT have a bomb on board. New York Air Traffic Control confirms the attack; some columnist for a Brit newspaper took the bomb threat. The RAF have scrambled too but if we get there first we escort it into New York and ensure that it lands safely, okay?" the attitude of both his pilots changed completely. The arguing stopped and they both acknowledged his transmission with a curt "Roger!"
Suddenly Flight 19 seemed to take on a new energy as Zebras Two and Three, in a practiced manoeuvre, pulled swiftly and smoothly away from their leader, Zebra One, and took up their allotted stations. Now all three were scouring the night sky and their radar for the endangered Airbus.
Gus MacDonald caught it first.
"Zebra Two, Zebra Leader. I got a hit on the radar. Dead in front but low, low down on the deck!"
"Copy Zebra Two. Could it be a chopper?" John Alda was worried. An aircraft so low could only mean one thing. Gus MacDonald's reply was immediate and unequivocal.
"Negative! Too big and too fast!"
"Copy, Zebra Two." Already the commander was transmitting, "United States Air Force Flight 19, calling British United Airlines Flight two niner, do you copy?" the radio was silent apart from static. He called Gus.
"Zebra Two from Zebra Leader, got a positive ID yet?"
"Roger Zebra Leader, it's an Airbus all right and it looks like it's been hit! Signs of damage port wing!" the next message was not one he was expecting, nor one he wanted to hear
"Zebra Three, Zebra Leader! Two contacts coming in Nor, Norwest and closing fast. They're fighters boss and it looks like they're in attack formation!"
"Copy Zebra Three. Can you ID them?" Again Wayne Grissom bought him news he didn't want to hear.
"British Tornados boss!" John Alda's blood ran cold.
"I need confirmation on that, Zebra Three."
"Zebra Two, Zebra Leader. I got visual. They're Tornados alright, they got RAF markings and it looks like they're gonna take out that plane!" John Alda's voice sounded urgent, even to him. The adrenaline was pumping through his body. His pulse was racing. He was beginning to sweat. His orders were to do something he had never ever wanted or had to do.
"United States Air Force flight leader to unidentified strike craft, the aircraft below you is under our protection! Repeat it is under our protection. If you take any further action we will have no option but to treat you as hostile. Repeat hostile!"
"In other words: back off motherfuckers!" he thought to himself " Or one of us is going to get hurt!" but neither his message nor his thoughts were answered. All he got was more static and the unmistakeable sonic booms of two sleek fighters preparing to destroy their prey.
Before he could even draw breath, the vapour trails of no less than four rockets were visible beneath him and they were snaking inexorably toward the stricken Airbus.
"Fuck!"
He didn't want to do this. He couldn't stop the missiles but he COULD stop the aircraft from attacking again. Even though they were Allies his orders were clear. He watched and waited hoping they would miss.
Hoping that they would not fire again, knowing that neither of those hopes was likely to materialise.
The sound of engines literally screaming bought him back to reality.
"You clever bastard!" he thought to himself as he saw the Airbus shoot forward and upward with a power he had never thought possible. Even now it was climbing away from the ocean and dragging itself up, up into the relative safety of the clouds above, leaving the missiles to explode harmlessly below it. Two collided with each other and the others hit the water and exploded on contact sending walls of spray high into the air.
The Airbus wasn't safe yet.
The Tornados screeched past him and careered off in opposite directions.
He knew the tactic.
They would fly away, turn and come back for a second strike and if missiles didn't work, they would literally shoot the Airbus out of the sky.
Lieutenant commander John Alda took a deep breath and spoke into his radio.
"Sorry guys! Never thought this would happen. We have to protect that plane. Those are our orders. Those aircraft are hostile and have to be dealt with. You know the procedure. Acknowledge!" There was a slight pause and then the radio crackled.
"Zebra Two received and acknowledged!"
"Zebra Three received and acknowledged!" John Alda spoke again.
"Flight Nineteen this is Zebra leader. We have to hit them before they get the chance to fire again. These aircraft are now hostile! Attack formation! Repeat, attack formation!"
And with that Flight 19 regrouped and prepared to blast out of the sky the Allied aircraft that they should, under other circumstances, have been supporting.
*
I opened my eyes and found myself on the floor of the cargo hold. I was still alive but I hurt. Oh boy, did I hurt. My head throbbed and my eye, my left eye, felt swollen and there had to be blood running down my face. My back was already sore from earlier and my knees hurt like hell from falling on them.
Suddenly reality hit me like a kick in the groin.
Carlton Prince!
Where the hell was he?
That he'd kicked me was a given. That it was little more than a glancing blow I took for granted because I was still alive, probably because I had been moving away from him at the time.
I orientated myself as best I could and looked round for Val. I'd heard her scream just as the big horse kicked me. I heard her before I saw her
"Oh my God! Are you all right!" she was crawling over to me, even though she was hurt herself. When she hugged me it felt as if I had somehow been given a second wind. The aircraft was now climbing as sharply as it had dived
She put out her hand and grabbed one of mine
"I'm okay." I said weakly but I didn't feel it.
We were still climbing.
I wanted to stand.
I wanted to get Val back to safety against the bulkhead.
I was frightened.
Yes, I was frightened to look for Carlton Prince in case he was coming for me again. Turning my head with the pressure all around me was difficult enough as it was. I pulled Val closer to me and said into her ear.
"Where is he, Val? What's he doing?" blood was still running down my face. I was expecting to be hit again at any moment. I'd been lucky that I hadn't caught the full on force of the blow but it had hurt, it had hurt me badly and my legs were like jelly.
Val was crying again.
"You've got to do it Bill. You've got to do it NOW! I know you're hurt but please…please do it." She was so pale. Her face was gaunt, her eyes bloodshot, I turned my head as best I could to look where she was looking and my stomach turned over.
Now I could see why Carlton Prince had not come back.
Now I hated myself for secretly wanting him dead but for not having the guts to do it.
We were still at an angle. We were still climbing. It felt comforting somehow. It felt like the situation was in some way under control.
But it didn't feel as if it were over.
I was trying to blot out what I was seeing.
Carlton Prince was almost back in his stall. The sudden change in altitude must have made him lose his balance and he must have slid or just fell as he was rearing up. Fell into the shattered remains of the steel pen in which he should have travelled safely to New York.
Carlton Prince was never going to travel anywhere again.
He had crashed against the remains of the steel gate that had kept him inside and impaled himself on one of the six-foot spars. It had entered his body just between his front forelegs and was sticking out of his neck. The floor was awash with blood. It was running from the wound and from his mouth. He was making very little noise but his eyes, his eyes were rolling pitifully and he was shaking his head and snorting as if trying to blow away the pain.
I wanted to cry.
I really, really wanted to cry right then and it wasn't for Carlton Prince it was for me. It was sheer bloody self-pity for the mess that I was in and I hated myself for it.
I stood up as best I could and steadied myself against the incline, which seemed to have eased just a little. Val was still lying on the floor. I'd let go of her hand and I couldn't bring myself to look at her. The bolt, the humane killer, was still in my other hand. Swaying against the roll of the plane I edged towards the stricken animal.
It was horrible.
At least if he had been free I would have felt that he had some sort of chance and now I was just walking up, in the same way as if I might feed him a sugar lump, to casually end his life.
In some ways it wasn't as bad as it could have been and in others it was much, much, worse. I patted him. I tried to reassure him but I don't even know if he knew I was there. Slowly I raised the gun. Slowly I put it to his head. To his forehead. To the area between his eyes and said quietly,
"I'm sorry. I am so, so, sorry!"
And then I shot him.
There is no such thing as a quick kill.
Carlton Prince's eyes rolled and he snorted and his front legs twitched and his head reared up and his hind legs moved involuntarily and then his whole body seemed to spasm and in fear I almost moved away as his eyes made contact with mine and he snorted again blowing more blood over my face and shirt.
And then he died.
His head fell and his body stopped twitching and he just somehow subsided. What was once a sleek lean animal was now just so much horsemeat.
I tried to pull my hand away but the gun would not come with it. The bolt was stuck in Carlton Prince's skull. I wanted to leave it there and run but that seemed wrong somehow. Very wrong. I twisted it as gently as I could and it seemed to coincide with the righting of the plane.
Suddenly we were flying straight again.
Suddenly all the danger SEEMED to be past even if it really wasn't.
I twisted again and this time the bolt came out of his head, bent and bloody.
I couldn't just drop it. I walked slowly back to Val doing my best to hold the gun away from me. When I reached her I sank to my knees feeling old and tired. Her eyes were closed. I touched her on the shoulder and she opened them. I was about to speak but she just shook her head and cried again and I gathered her into my arms and held her as best I could.
I didn't see the figure walking down the spiral staircase at first but I soon noticed both him and the horrified expression on his face when he realised that he'd just walked into some kind of blood spattered charnel house. He saw the dead horse first and then he saw Juliet's body. It was obvious from his body language that he was overwhelmed by the enormity of what must have happened.
He was in uniform so he had to be a member of the crew.
He walked a little unsteadily towards us and hunkered down. He looked at me and then he looked at Val, pale and barely conscious on the floor then he looked at me again and at the blood still running down my face and I was so glad he didn't ask me what happened.
"I'm Tom Roberts," he said quickly, "I'm the navigator," He looked around him, "My God! What a mess! How is she?" he indicated Val whose eyes were closed and was lying fairly limp in my arms
"Hi Tom," I said hoarsely, " She's been kicked in the stomach." He looked at Val and began to touch her. He'd obviously had first aid training, or at least I hoped he had. He felt her hands. He palpated her stomach. He asked if she could hear him, he had to ask three times before he got a reply and then he gently touched her face and put his fingers to her lower eyelids and pulled them down a little.
He looked at me with concern and whispered.
"She's very pale, she's barely conscious and I think she's losing blood. She MIGHT have a ruptured spleen but we won't know that until we reach New York." I looked at him and I didn't even have to ask. He rubbed a hand over his face. He seemed to be sweating, "And before you ask," he did his best to smile, "it SHOULD take about three hours to get there if we don't…" my curiosity and my fear got the better of me.
"If we don't what, Tom?"
A lot of things seemed to happen just then.
There were more explosions. Close ones. And then there were new sounds. Loud noises. The roaring of jets. Close up. Like there were other aircraft near us and over flying us. There was what had to be gunfire close by, followed by more explosions. The plane was rocking and now it was zigzagging again, like it was taking evasive action.
We were being attacked, we had to be and whatever it was it was very, very, close to us. So close that the sky around us lit up as if it were bonfire night or something. Then there were two huge explosions. One on either side of us. Explosions so huge I could already see one blossoming like a huge oily orange chrysanthemum on the left hand side of the plane
Explosions so big that and so seemingly devastating that the plane dropped again, dropped so quickly that my stomach felt like I were in a lift. Dropped so far that for a moment I thought we had been hit and as we dropped Tom Roberts pitched forward and collapsed onto the floor just behind me.
*
Andrew Herriot was watching the Prime Minister anxiously. He had been talking for over ten minutes. When he finally did put the phone down his face was grim. Andrew looked at him expectantly. It was some time before he spoke,
"Andrew are you sure you can keep this out of the papers?" His stomach seemed to spasm slightly but Andrew was optimistic on that point at least.
"Absolutely. Trust me on this one it will NOT come out. Not even abroad!" the Prime Minister nodded gravely and ran a hand across his forehead.
"It's not good Andrew. We've lost two Tornados. Apparently they were given the order to fire. That order has now been rescinded but the American flight that was also sent to escort the plane had no option but to shoot them down!" He looked at the desk. "Apparently there were no communications at the time. A complete radio blackout that the overflying Nimrod says had its epicentre around the Airbus itself!"
When he did speak Andrew's voice was very subdued.
"And have they regained contact with the Airbus now?" the Prime Minister nodded.
"Yes they have and I would NOT like to be on that flight at this moment in time. One of the horses they were transporting ran amok in the cargo hold." He paused to take a breath, " One of the passengers has facial injuries, another is much more seriously injured and another is dead, so is the horse and so, apparently, is one of the flight crew in an incident that was apparently unrelated." Andrew looked at him for a moment.
"Do we know which of the passengers is dead?" the Prime Minister let out a sigh.
"The man, your man, is still alive, he has a scalp wound but is otherwise okay." Andrew looked relieved
"So, four dead so far?"
The Prime Minister nodded again.
" Including the two airmen? Yes. And that's before they even reach New York… and it has to be New York because they are leaking fuel and they simply won't reach anywhere else. The State Department have contingency plans for this however and for what it's worth the Nimrod has some pretty advanced kit on board. It cannot detect any kind of serious radiation threat from that aircraft itself and once it lands, if it lands, it will be evacuated, checked and flown on to a special facility in the Nevada Desert where it will be contained, searched thoroughly from top to bottom and dealt with if necessary." Now Andrew ran a hand over his forehead.
"Area 51! The place they tell us doesn't exist." The ghost of a grin crossed the Prime Minister's face.
"I couldn't possibly comment on that Andrew, I can only tell you what the President told me and let me also tell you that if we cannot deal with this matter in house then the USAF are prepared to take the blame and call it a training accident. A friendly fire tragedy!" the Prime Minister locked eyes with his Press Secretary.
" Only I should have given the order to fire on that plane and that needs to be investigated Andrew and investigated zealously!" he paused and let out a breath and his whole body seemed to subside. Andrew wondered if now was the right time to ask if he had taken his medication but the Prime Minister was speaking again, "I just hope this contact of yours at Scotland Yard knows what she is doing Andrew because we cannot afford too many of these." Andrew did not look away but he knew that he was right and hoped to God that Rose Macgregor and her team were too.
*
John Alda flew low over the water whilst his two wingmen escorted the Airbus to what he sincerely hoped was safety. Communications had now been restored and there was a certain amount of relieved banter going on between the pilots.
He soon found what he was looking for floating on the dark and troubled surface of the ocean.
Wreckage.
Wreckage that despite the cold and the wet was still burning.
Wreckage from the two Allied planes that they had shot down less than five minutes previously.
It had been like shooting fish in a barrel.
They had hit the Tornados hard and fast with everything they had and both had exploded instantaneously with no signs of the pilot's ejecting. There was nothing to even suggest that either had managed to escape.
A wing fragment bearing the RAF roundel was floating on the surface below him and he said a silent prayer for his two brother flyers.
What he wanted to know right now was just who had given the order to fire.
*
She would have pinched herself if she could.
One moment she was quite happily being fed and played with in the nursery, the next she was in a rubber fetishists dream - or nightmare.
They had fed her, as they had done every couple of hours, she thought, although she had soon lost track of time and they had caught her unawares. This time, they had fed her, they had teased her nipples whilst her mouth was filled by the inflatable dummy that also allowed her to take in fluid and then one of them, the girl with the Dita Von Teese mask, had slipped her fingers inside her nappy and rubbed her erect little clitty softly. Her arms were still spread at shoulder height and fastened to the metal frame behind her so she had been able to do nothing about the sudden prick in her arm except look down to see the young Madonna look alike withdrawing a disposable needle.
Thirty seconds later she was unconscious.
The first thing she smelt as she became aware again was rubber.
The strong, overpowering and allegedly aphrodisiac scent of rubber.
It seemed to be everywhere.
The sight that she saw when she opened her eyes reminded her strongly of some drawings she had seen a long time ago of strange rubber practices.
Of black clad females and strange rituals.
Of rubber witches and their weird familiars.
Of gas masked rubber nurses and medical procedures that couldn't possibly exist in reality
She had to blink.
Where the last room was white this one was black. The walls were shiny black and reflective. The floor was dull and black and seemed to be heavily cushioned. The ceiling, as much of it as she could see, was also matt black and there were several dim strip lights installed flush with it but covered to reduce glare and provide the minimum amount of light necessary to see.
Where the last room had been air-conditioned this one was hot and stuffy and stank of rubber. She tried to move but she couldn't. She tried to move her head but she couldn't do that either.
She was in some kind of chair.
A chair with arms.
A chair that reclined.
A chair that she was strapped into, not just with one or two leather straps but with an intricate mesh of rubber that started at her toes and criss crossed its way up her body.
The chair itself, or rather its covering, seemed to be made of a material that shaped itself to her body. She was comfortable but she couldn't move an inch. Even her face was covered with the same lattice of thin rubber that held her tight and unmoving to the chair.
It criss crossed her legs and her stomach.
It criss crossed her thighs and her chest.
It criss crossed her tits and her cunt.
It even criss crossed her toes.
It seemed to be carefully arranged so that each strap was on a pressure point. There were even straps in the sensitive area behind her knees and there were certainly straps against her clitoris and her nipples which she could feel even now.
She tried to speak but she couldn't.
She tried to move her jaw and make a sound but she couldn't do that either.
Her mouth felt strange.
She couldn't move her tongue and there was pressure on and around her gums, her nose however, felt remarkable free and clear, especially as she had no option now but to breathe through it.
It occurred to her, for the first time, that she was naked.
Just by her head and just in her slightly restricted vision because she could not move her neck stood two female figures recognisable as such only because they had breasts. They were dressed in all in one, shiny, floor length black rubber capes that seemed to be pleated from the waist down. The sleeves were wide and loose and their hands were gloved with what appeared to be black, ultra thin, latex gloves. Their heads were covered by shiny black gas masks.
These gas masks had one odd feature.
The glass or Perspex area that allowed the wearer to see out was opaque so there was not even a suggestion that a real person was beneath the cape and the mask. She looked down at the two at her feet who even now were walking toward the end of the very small room and opening a door.
If she had been capable of any speech or sound she would have gasped because the two shiny black creatures that now entered also wore black masks and capes and she could also see that they wore shiny black high-heeled boots. They were pushing things into the room. One, she realised with just a slight shiver, was a light. A flat square light on a chrome pole, base and castors that looked very similar to the one used by dentists.
With another, deeper, shiver she realised that the chair she was in was, in fact, a dentists reclining chair.
The other object made her close her eyes and open them again because it was something she had never seen before.
Like the light it was on castors but unlike the light it was human. Or at least it appeared to be. She strained her eyes, as the object got closer.
It was a woman.
A Woman of about her own age with a shaven head like hers.
A woman who was encased up to her stomach in what appeared to be a shiny steel tube that was mounted on castors and was being pushed by a black, rubber clad figure with breasts and an anonymous shiny gas mask for a face,
. Sarah stared at her.
She was naked from the waist up. She had arms and they were visible but her hands were not. They seemed to be fixed inside the tube. She wore a gold headband and a high gold collar; there were gold cones on her nipples.
Her face was not masked.
She was quite a large woman and she was dramatically made up. Lots of dark eye shadow. Shiny BLACK lip-gloss and high, pencilled in, eyebrows. It was fairly obvious that she could not move from the steel tube into which she appeared to be moulded. The black clad girl pushed her as close as she could to Sarah and then stood back again. The other had positioned the light, plugged it in and now switched it on casting an eerie glow over the proceedings. The newcomer stared at her for a few seconds and then she began to speak impassively.
"Sarah Beaumont, I am Number Four." Sarah tried to move and speak but neither was possible, " Don't waste your time dear!" said the newcomer sarcastically, "We don't want you to speak because you've said too much in the past and you certainly can't move right now. Girls!" almost reluctantly at first the figures took closer order around Sarah's naked and restrained form. The woman spoke again.
"Thirteen! My mask please. Twenty-One! The drill! "
They came out of nowhere.
Or rather they emerged from doors made invisible by the black wall covering. Two more figures each dressed in black, one pushing a steel medical trolley, the other pushing what Sarah recognised with repulsion as a dentist's drill on a silver stand with castors attached
The figure known as Twenty-One pushed the shiny, stainless steel drill until it was next to Sarah's right shoulder and then she moved a pace away from it and stood impassive. Meanwhile, Thirteen was already attaching a shiny black medical mask around Number Four's mouth.
Sarah was drawn to Number Thirteen somehow. There was something about her stance; something about the way she walked that suggested that she might be her little friend from previously although it was quite clear that she was in reality just as tall as the majority of the other girls.
Fully masked now, Number Four spoke again.
"Closer, Thirteen. I want to be able to see her eyes!" was Thirteen a little reluctant? Maybe it was just her imagination but the figure of Number Four coming slowly towards her was real enough or was it, given the circumstances, more surreal than real?
It was somehow as if the figurehead from a ship had come to life and was talking to her.
"Your friends, Sarah Beaumont, your so called friends, wanted you dead but we saved you. We saved you but something has to be done about that mouth of yours!" Her bald head shining in the dim light, Number Four leaned in closer. When she spoke again her voice was low and threatening. "You spoke to people you should not have spoken to, Sarah Beaumont. You said things you should not have said!" if possible her voice grew even lower. "For that you should be punished! You MUST be punished, Sarah Beaumont and you WILL be!" Sarah was completely at her mercy; she could not move a muscle.
She'd worked in hospitals for over twenty years and she'd come across some strange people, some very strange people, not all of them patients but she could not remember meeting anyone as strange as the woman called Number Four. For the first time in her life she began to think that she was in the presence of someone who was truly insane. The bald woman continued.
"They asked me. They asked me what I would do to someone who talks when they shouldn't, who says the wrong things," her eyes were glittering now, "and I told them. I told them what they should do to you, Sarah Beaumont. I told them." suddenly her voice rose in pitch and pace and she leaned so far forward that Sarah could feel her breath on her face.
"I TOLD THEM THAT THEY SHOULD CUT OUT YOUR TONGUE!"
Sarah was grateful that her mouth would not open because otherwise she would have found it very difficult not to scream in fear. She did not know what to do for the best. If she showed that she was scared the woman would feed on it and if she didn't the chances were that this mad woman would show make sure that she was.
Still leaning in close but under control of a kind the woman whispered to her.
"But they said NO! They said that was too severe - even for you!" she broke off once more and looked around her, then she cried out," Thirteen! Come here girl, come here!"
She WAS reluctant this time, it was obvious but she moved forward all the same and stood next to Number Four. Her voice no more than a sibilant whisper, the encased woman looked into the opaque eye slit of number Thirteen.
"Number Twenty-One is trained in dentistry but you've had a very busy day, haven't you Thirteen?" the black clad girl nodded slowly. It seemed that she knew better than not to anger Number Four, "One policeman dead and a woman seriously injured. A woman who was seen near you not long before. Did you see what happened Thirteen?" Thirteen shook her head, Number Four continued. "That's good Thirteen. That's very good. I don't like the sight of blood much myself." She stared off into the middle distance for a few moments and then her gaze came slowly back to the girl who stood between her and Sarah. Number Four cleared her throat as if starting on a new topic.
"I think this might be therapeutic for you, Thirteen," she said quietly, " It's always good to work with your hands!" she turned her head, "TWENTY ONE! Start the drill and give it to her. Just put it into her hands and let her feel how powerful it is." She watched the girls carefully as the spine tingling wheeze of the dental drill filled the small room, " that's it! Feel that Thirteen! Feel the strength of it. You could drill through a skull with that and in seconds you'd be through to the grey matter." Sarah shivered. Four looked around her. "Twenty Seven! Push me closer! Alright Thirteen you may switch it off now." The black clad figure approached her with obvious trepidation but did as she was told and pushed her forward until she was actually touching Sarah's chair. When she spoke again it was so quietly that Sarah had to strain to hear her.
"Sarah Beaumont, while you were unconscious a wire cage was placed around your teeth and gums and screwed in place!" she paused for a moment to let it sink in and then she smiled a faint glimmer of a smile, "I watched every second, it was fascinating!" Then she looked away. "Fat people have their jaws wired up to stop them from eating." Then she looked directly into Sarah's blue eyes. " You can't eat NOW Sarah Beaumont! Neither can you speak...and you could certainly do with losing a pound or two..." That her thought processes were working was obvious from the dreamy look that came over her face.
"I could leave you here, restrained and mute as you are, couldn't I? " Sarah could not reply. Number Four leaned forward so far that their faces were almost touching. "COULDN'T I?" she shouted unexpectedly. Sarah was scared now, really scared. She blinked her eyes involuntarily and this somehow seemed to satisfy number Four, who carried on, seemingly appeased for the moment.
" I could lock the door and literally throw away the key!" She raised her voice again. "And you would die Sarah Beaumont! You would DIE! Eventually… it would be slow and very, very painful!" for a moment Sarah thought that she was going to spit on the floor and then she looked down and seemed to be almost talking to herself.
"Of course the best thing to do would be to have you carried downstairs to the cellars." She suddenly raised her head and looked at Sarah. Her eyes were two frightening black pools. "Yes, we have cellars here. As far down as we are, we still have cellars. And I'd like to take you to them just as you are now, Sarah Beaumont." Her face was suddenly no more than in inch or so from Sarah's again and, voice still low, she hissed, "And have you bricked up and watch you as you gradually disappear behind the bricks, unable to speak, unable to move but still able to...DIE!"
Sarah wanted to scream.
She wanted to cry.
She wanted above all to be away from here but she also knew that it wasn't going to happen and that it was all part of the nightmarish rollercoaster of events that had begun on Sunday night, however long ago that was now.
Number Four's mood seemed to have changed again.
"But they won't let me do that, Sarah Beaumont. They tell me you have to be kept alive because you're needed but they didn't say that you had to be able to talk!" she turned to the black rubberised figure of Thirteen. "Come closer now my dear. That's it, come closer don't be afraid. It's a simple procedure. Twenty-one! Twenty-seven! Some suction please! Sarah could do little but watch the girls walk away to what soon revealed itself as a fairly large equipment store when they opened the black rubber covered door to it. There was a big grin on Number Four's face now.
"Your tongue has been placed in a rubber sleeve. A rubber sleeve that is attached to your jaw harness. You can't speak Sarah Beaumont and you can't make a sound but apparently you need to eat." The girls were returning with a large black object on wheels that they eased into position by the side of her. They were already removing long rubber tubes with clear plastic housings on the ends.
Four spoke again.
"That's good girls! That's good! Now apply the suction!" Sarah was helpless, she couldn't move or speak, she was naked and vulnerable and she was embarrassed to find that, despite her fear, what followed made her, even in these circumstances, quite surprisingly excited.
She watched helpless as the rubber girls moved closer to her and began to tease at both her nipples and her clitoris simultaneously. Without warning they stopped and picked up the rubber hoses. In a swift movement the clear plastic housings were slipped on to both her nipples and her aroused and slightly engorged clitoris. Number Four watched as if hungry for more action.
"Come on girls! Switch them on! We cannot keep Sarah Beaumont waiting any longer." Sarah's muscles twitched involuntarily as first her nipples and then her clitoris were sucked into the tubes. She would have gasped if she could.
Number Four leaned in close again.
"We have to perform a small procedure on you now. It is a procedure that is necessary if you are to stay alive and it is a procedure that would normally require an anaesthetic!" If it was at all possible, her pupils seemed to dilate even more, "But you don't need anaesthetic my dear, you will be too busy concentrating on something else! Thirteen, turn on the drill!" she looked down toward Sarah's bare feet. "Are you ready Twenty-One?" the rubberised being known as Twenty-One nodded her head. It concerned Sarah that she had previously been applying what looked like thick grease to her rubber-gloved hands. A look of satisfaction came over Four's face. She nodded, "Then you may proceed!" she turned back to Sarah.
"Twenty-One has been lubricating her hands because in a moment she is going to slip one of them inside what is colloquially know as your pussy, or your CUNT if you prefer and she will continue to do so throughout your procedure. I believe it is known as fisting in certain circles and I believe it can be very pleasurable." She looked quizzically at the naked and bound woman, "and who am I to deny YOU pleasure, Sarah Beaumont?" Sarah stared at her in disbelief. This was a nightmare that would not go away. This was a nightmare that was actually happening.
Four now turned her attention to Thirteen.
"Come on girl. You didn't turn the drill on when I asked you to! You do realise that you should be punished for that don't you?" Thirteen nodded slowly and Four seemed to brighten up a little, "But I think that I can let you off this time, given the circumstances." She turned back to Sarah just as Sarah felt Twenty-One easing a tentative finger inside her. "Now, Sarah Beaumont, we are ready. So I should tell you what we are going to do to you, shouldn't I?" She smiled almost graciously. "It has been decided that you must be fed and the only way we can do that in your current situation is by tube. So what I intend to do, now that your jaws are wired up, is to drill a hole in your front teeth to allow that tube to be inserted. I hope you understand." She looked away from Sarah and up to number Thirteen who was standing motionless drill in hand.
"Well, it's all the same if she doesn't! A little bit of pain will soon make her understand. Won't it, Thirteen?" It seemed to take an age but Thirteen finally nodded.
Sarah closed her eyes as two more well greased fingers entered her vagina and began to spread more lubricant inside her. Number Four watched her face for a few seconds and then watched Twenty-One prepare to slide her whole hand inside the helpless woman. She muttered quietly,
"Mmm, if you are lucky, Sarah Beaumont, you may just climax as Thirteen finishes drilling out your teeth! SWITCH IT ON THIRTEEN!"
Sarah closed her eyes as Twenty-One entered her fully with her fist and Thirteen switched on the dentists drill with its unmistakeable whine and prepared, without anaesthetic and without any dental knowledge, to drill out her front teeth.
*
The painkiller had finally kicked in. Liz felt much more comfortable now, physically, if not mentally, she pursed her lips.
"Okay, I need to get this straight in my head. The similarity between you and Heather is obvious. Sheila called you "the same two peas out of different pods" once. That didn't make any sense at the time and you don't always expect sense from Sheila anyway but now you're telling me that you were both born on the same day, at the same time but eight thousand miles apart, is that right?" Linda nodded. Liz took a deep breath.
"So, you come from totally different backgrounds and totally different countries but to all intents and purposes Heather is the identical twin that you never had!" Liz looked at Linda sceptically. "Is THAT right?" Linda nodded again and Liz let out the breath noisily. "Christ I could do with another cup o' tea!" Linda looked almost relieved, she stood up.
"There's a machine downstairs. What d'you…" but Liz was not letting her off that lightly.
"Stay where you are Hutton! I've got to think my way through this." Linda muttered something under her breath that Liz assumed was derogatory but she ignored it. She looked down at the blanket on her bed for a few moments and then she looked back at Linda. She said quietly,
" So Heather is your Doppelganger! The double we're all supposed to have. Have you ever had these "psychic links" before?" Linda spread her arms.
"I told ya! Sometimes. When I was a kid. Well, about puberty time, I used to dream I was horse riding. I'd never been NEAR a horse in me life, let alone ride one. And then one night I woke up and I was in SO much pain. I'd fallen out of bed and it felt like my nose was broken. I used to keep my door locked by then. Y'know 'cos of my uncle…" Liz nodded. She knew about the abuse, not through Linda, who seldom talked about it but purely by chance when speaking to Sheila after their abduction. "…what with 'im and my bastard brothers, I'd often wake up sore or bleeding or with one of 'em trying to get into me bed…" Liz swallowed; she had originated from a background similar to Linda's but had grown up in a loving family environment. All this was foreign to her, "…but no one could get in. I was on me own. When I went back to sleep I dreamed about this hospital. This big concrete and glass place that I couldn't possibly have been in before. And the nurses dressed differently and so did the doctors. I never forgot the date it happened and when I first came across Heather in the States at some fetish do, I mean we couldn't help talking to each other could we? I asked her about it and she confirmed that April 23 rd 1983 was the day she broke her nose falling off a horse when she was 14."
Liz sighed.
It had been a long day and she was still under the influence of the anaesthetic. This tale of Linda's was too far fetched to be a lie, so far fetched it had the ring of truth about it. Under normal circumstances she would have spoken to Heather but of course Heather was nowhere to be found.
It suddenly occurred to her that, right now, Linda, however weirdly, could be the key to finding not just her but Allison and Angela and even Sarah Beaumont as well. Although she did not relish that particular prospect.
She took another long, deep breath.
"Know what I think, Linda?" Linda just looked at her, "I think you need to see a psychiatrist!" the colour drained from Linda's cheeks.
"Are you telling me you think I'm a fucking fruit bat or something?" Liz shook her head.
"I'm telling you nothing of the kind," as Liz was speaking Danni was entering the room with two cups in her hand, "That woman you were all over this afternoon on the roof, Charlie something or other…" Linda was prickly.
" Charlie Wright – Patterson and I weren't all over her, I just thought I knew her somehow that's all!"
Liz didn't have time for this right now, she wanted to sleep she wanted to sleep for a long time and she wanted it to be all over when she woke up.
"What was she Linda?" Linda still didn't get it.
"Eh?" Liz was nothing if not persistent.
"What was she? What did she do?" Linda shrugged.
"She was a profiler… a forensic psychiatrist is what she called herself!" Liz nodded. Danni was putting the cups carefully on the bedside cabinet where Liz's things were.
"Yes. And psychiatrists can conduct what they call cognitive interviews. They can take you back to an incident under a kind of hypnosis and get more or less total recall, if they're lucky." She looked at Linda long and hard. "Don't you see? She could take you back to the dream. Get you to remember everything you can. It might tell us where Heather and the others are. You've got her card somewhere, I know you have, I saw her give it to you."
Danni was standing by the bed with the look of someone who desperately wants to get into a conversation. Both women suddenly turned and looked at her, Liz spoke first,
"Hi Danni! Something wrong?" Danni looked worried.
"She worked for the police this woman?" they both nodded. "Charlotte Wright – Patterson. About thirty-five? Brown hair?" they both nodded again. Liz spoke first.
"Yes Danni. Why, what's wrong?" Suddenly not sure what to do with them, Danni put her hands in the pockets of her uniform.
"There was a major incident on the East India Dock Road this evening. A policeman was killed!" she paused and looked first at Liz then Linda, and then she looked at the floor. "I was just talking to one of my friends in A and E. Someone called Charlotte Wright -Patterson, it's a name you don't forget, was bought in around Seven, she was unusual because she'd been shot with some kind of needle…" Liz said "shit!" quietly under her breath. Linda was growing impatient.
"Yeah, so Danni? Spit it out!" Danni looked hard at her, her face a mask of concern.
"She died about two hours ago!"
THE STORY CONTINUES IN BOOK THREE: "REMORSE!"
© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.
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