Shameless Exposure (12 page)

The vehicle swung from side to side round tight corners and a familiar feeling of nausea began to rise up from her stomach. She wriggled up to the front of the van and kicked the partition between her and the driver’s cab to attract the attention of her captors. The van screeched to a halt on a steep hill and Michael opened the rear doors.

“You better be glad it’s me, ‘cos Baldy’s in a bad, bad mood.”

“I’m going to be sick. I suffer from travel sickness. I don’t want to be sick in your nice van.”

“Yuk, no. You better get out.”

“You’ll have to take the ties off. I can’t move.”

Michael produced a long gleaming knife from the sheath under his trouser leg. He climbed into the van and advanced towards her. He showed her the knife.

“You better not try any funny business,” he said, cutting the cuff from her ankles, but leaving her wrists fixed behind her back. She tried not to look at the red weals around her ankles. Her skin always showed every mark. She moved towards the doors on her bottom and Michael helped her out onto the side of the road. She bent over and tried to be sick but didn’t want to get in her hair.

“Look, if it’s not too much trouble, could you hold my hair back, Michael.”

“You ain’t supposed to use my name.” He did, however, sweep her red locks back from her face and held them in a temporary ponytail. He stood very close behind her and she edged away from what felt like a large stiff prick that pressed against her bikini bottoms. That gave her an idea, and when he moved closer again she grabbed his balls and squeezed as tightly as she could.

He yelled and pulled away in pain. She ran off down the rough road, praying that another vehicle would appear. It didn’t, so she jumped across a ditch and into the thick forest. Michael shouted to Junior, who had been following the scene closely in the wing mirror and had already jumped out of the van. She knew they would run after her so she pushed on into the forest, oblivious to the scratches the undergrowth inflicted on her feet and legs.

She came to a small clearing which allowed a beautiful view over the bay but she didn’t have time to admire the scenery. She dived behind a thick tree trunk and watched as her confused pursuers tried to guess which way she had gone. Baldy pulled out a phone and sought some advice, talking to someone in English. She guessed they would try to search the area so she cut back towards the road, coming out fifty yards below where the white van was stopped.

It was hard walking barefoot along the rocky road with hands behind her back, but she thought there might be something sharp in the cab of the van which she could use to free her hands. Her heart pounded with exertion as she made her way up to the van. She managed to open the driver’s door and wriggled up onto the seats. She turned onto her back to use her fingers on the glove box, but she couldn’t reach the catch. She rolled over and tried to use her teeth, but it wouldn’t open. Then she saw her pursuers in the wing mirror, coming back to the van. She flipped over again and managed to depress the button on the handbrake.

She heard shouts of surprise as the two men leapt out of the way of the vehicle. The van lurched and bumped down the track and into a ditch, making a loud bang as the rear doors crunched against a giant coconut palm, followed by three more booms as coconuts rained down on the roof. Then she heard cursing and feet running towards the van. Junior yanked open the passenger door and found her sprawled over the seats, staring at the dented roof of the cab.

“It’s her. She’s here,” said Junior. Michael opened the driver’s door and she was surrounded. “You’re going to pay for this, bitch.” To illustrate what he had in mind, Junior grabbed her bikini top and tried to rip it off. It held firm: quality. She was relieved she had not bought a cheaper one.

“Not here,” said Michael. “Let’s get her up to the house. I’ll drive, you keep her under control.”

Junior glared at her, told her to sit up, and squeezed in next to her in the cab. He held her arm in a tight grip. Michael started the van and the rear wheels spun in the ditch, firing a spray of stones and dirt into the forest.

“We’re gonna have to push it out,” said Michael.

“We can’t leave the bitch in here,” said Junior.

“Get another zip cuff and I’ll fix her to you.” Junior fished in the glove box and tossed Michael a plastic cuff.

“Which bit shall I fix you to? Arm or leg?”

“Her arms are already tied. It better be a leg.”

“How you gonna walk?”

“If I could interrupt a moment,” said Caroline, “it might be better if you released my arms from behind my back and then put a fresh cuff on both of us.”

Junior frowned some more. “I’m not falling for that. You so slippery you’ll run off in a second.” So Michael leant down to the floor of the cab, and fixed a cuff around Caroline’s slim ankle and Junior’s boot.

“Okay, let’s get the job done,” said Junior, opening the door and falling out of the van, followed immediately by Caroline who landed on top of his bulk, making sure she accidentally kneed him in the nuts.

“Thanks for breaking my fall,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“Get off me, bitch,” said Junior, beginning to associate Caroline with extreme pain.

The men heaved the van out of the ditch only slightly impeded by their captive. Ten minutes later the van pulled up outside a villa on the hillside looking out over the bay.

“This is rather nice,” said Caroline, admiring the view like they were scouting for a holiday home abroad. She had expected to be taken to one of the overcrowded crime-ridden favelas that surround Rio.

Michael clamped his hand to his forehead. “Damn, we forgot to blindfold the bitch.”

“Let’s do it now,” said Junior, rifling in the glove box and pulling out an oil-soaked rag.

“You can’t use that,” said Michael. “She’ll get a dirty face.”

“She’ll be dirty all over when I’ve finished,” said Junior, without a trace of charm.

“I apologise for my companion,” said Michael. “He’s one bad-tempered dude. He don’t know how to treat a lady.”

Michael led the way into the villa, Junior and Caroline following like reluctant parents in a school three-legged race. They went down open wooden stairs to a windowless basement bedroom, built into the hillside to provide a cool refuge in the hottest months. A ceiling fan stirred the thick air. Michael cut the plastic tags with his knife and Junior pushed Caroline face down onto the colonial four-poster bed. He grabbed her bikini bottoms and yanked them, the loose ties coming undone. She screamed, and he shouted for her to shut up, bringing his palm down on her buttocks with a loud smack. Michael grabbed Junior, pulling him back from behind.

“He said we mustn’t mark her. We won’t get paid. We’ll need every dollar to fix the van.”

Junior disagreed with Michael’s priorities. He didn’t do deferred gratification. He believed a bird in the hand was worth more than a fixed van. He struggled free from Michael, swung round and punched him, sending him sprawling. Seizing the opportunity to impose his seniority in the partnership, Junior jumped on top of Michael, aiming blows at his head. But Michael, younger and more agile, pushed Junior back and smashed him on the chin with a right hook. It was unclear who would come out on top, but Caroline was rooting for Michael. She hated bad tempered men like Junior.

Caroline shrunk to the top of the bed with her knees up. She shouted encouragement to Michael and he looked towards her, smiled, and said, “Thanks, Ma’am. I do believe it will be Michael in the third,” before putting up his forearms to divert a fresh blow from Junior. These guys knew their boxing and were used to pain.

She looked for a weapon, finding only a Bible in the bedside cabinet. She opened it at random:
Fear not, trust in the word, and ye shall be saved.
She took aim and hurled the tome with all her strength in the direction of the brawling men. The spine of the heavy book hit Junior flush on the nose and blood began to gush. He put his hand up to stem the flow, but blood spurted out onto the sacred pages of the book and over the tiled floor. An invisible referee stopped the fight for a blood injury. Junior, with no one in his corner, ran off up the stairs to find a sink and a towel.

Michael watched him go, took a few deep breaths and said, “Well, that’s us finished for now. Don’t go away.” He picked up the bloodstained Bible and followed Junior up to the kitchen. She heard the door being locked then bolted.

 
Eleven

Left alone, Caroline felt frightened. Exposed to danger by the kidnap, she had felt no fear, just a buzz of adrenaline. Now she had time to think about the fact that she had been close to being raped and probably murdered. And if things did not turn out well, that would likely be her ultimate fate. She experimented with turning off the light. It would be harder for an assailant to see where she was. But the other switch was at the top of the stairs, and it was scarier in the dark.

She shivered and pulled a quilted counterpane off the bed, wrapping it round her shoulders. She had lost sense of time. She guessed it was late but did not feel sleepy, her ears catching every minute sound that filtered down to the basement room. Sometimes she thought she heard feet walking across the floor above. She definitely heard the sound of a car driving up to the villa, then driving away again.

She did feel hungry, though, and thought of hammering on the door and demanding food. But thinking of who would be likely to deliver any meals, she made do with a drink of water from the en-suite bathroom. She instructed herself to think positively. Somehow they knew she was a businesswoman from a big company and this must be an operation to extract easy money. They would already have contacted Monsaint who would eventually pay a ransom. She would be released unharmed and the criminals would disappear into the favelas. At least they’d had the decency to lock her up in a posh villa and not in a dirty garage in the slums.

She wondered how much she was worth. A million dollars? Would Andreas have to agree the amount? Would he decide to be macho, dig his heels in and refuse to negotiate? And what about the other directors? Ivan would stick up for her but she could imagine Julia Sinbad arguing against paying a ransom to criminals. And would Andreas agree with her, like he always seemed to, worrying about the effect on the bottom line and his bonus?

“Let them keep the cow. She’s after my job anyway.”

That was an interesting thought. Was she after his job? The thing was, the more she saw how he operated, the more she knew she could do it better. Of course, she wasn’t ready yet, it would take a few more years to get that experience, the gravitas, but yes, she did want his job. But she couldn’t get it if she was dead. She heard someone fiddling with the lock at the top of the stairs and pulled her makeshift robe tighter around her.

No, she must survive and return to England. She couldn’t die without meeting her natural mother. Now that the prospect had been raised, she was desperate to know more about the woman who had given birth to her, and why she had not been able to bring her up herself. Maybe her mother would be able to tell her something about her father. What a difference it would make to know about the foundations the house of her life had been built upon. Perhaps the desperate need to prove herself might be moderated a little if she knew where she came from.

She heard voices from upstairs. An argument? Something being knocked over? Were Michael and Junior at it again? She hoped Junior didn’t win this time because she didn’t fancy her chances of fighting him off in a confined space. It wouldn’t be a fair contest, a heavyweight versus a bantamweight. Well, lightweight. She shrugged off the counterpane and checked in the mirror. She made a muscle with her bicep. She could maybe step up to middleweight and hang in a round or two, get lucky with a foul shot.

The argument subsided in favour of a one-sided phone conversation, the mumbles rising and falling, but indecipherable. Were they negotiating? Had they received an offer? She told herself not to be impatient. This was bound to take time. It could take days. She must stay calm, think positive.

It certainly put her love life into perspective. What had she thought she was doing with Erik? Not to mention those boys at the party. Had she gone mad? Robert had been so decent and understanding about her troubles in Germany. Is this how she was repaying him? Suddenly, she was worried for him. That woman Melody, Regina, whatever she was called, couldn’t be trusted. People don’t suddenly change from being a dangerous egomaniac into a spiritual leader. It was the perfect career move for a disgraced chief executive. Of course, she hadn’t changed; she had just turned her megalomania in another direction. She tried to beam him a message:
Robert, watch out; don’t let her manipulate you.

She said the words again out loud, but she was thousands of miles away, she couldn’t help him, and she had seriously considered being properly unfaithful on a romantic whim.

Oh, Robert
, she thought,
I’m sorry. At least if I die you will never know. Perhaps it would be better if I did. As long as Erik doesn’t come to the funeral and let the cat out of the bag with his phoney tears. No, I must survive. There can be no funeral yet.

She heard the engine of the damaged van turn over. She hoped both of them were leaving. If it was just one of them, she was in danger of the fate worse than death; and then death.

She strained her ears for every sound, and the silence filled her with fear. She sat motionless for as long as she could, not wanting to miss any clue that could give her an advantage. She surveyed the room again to see what might make a weapon, the bloody Bible having been removed by Michael. There were no bedside lamps for smashing over a head. There was no soap dish. She checked under the bed: nothing but dust. Could she strangle someone with a sheet? Confuse them with a pillowcase over the head? That gave her an idea.

She took one of the pillows out of its white cotton case and attacked the seam with all her strength. The stitching held firm. She tried using her teeth, but decided she would probably lose a tooth before the material gave way. Looking around the room for something sharp, it was clear that someone had done the same thing before she was confined there, removing anything useful. She briefly considered smashing the light bulb only to realise that she needed light to do what she was planning.

She heard another car approaching, driving fast and screeching to a halt on the gravel outside. She might not have much time. With all her strength she lifted up one corner of the heavy four-poster, and kicked the pillowslip under the leg. She dropped the bed back down, and manoeuvred the cotton case until the seam was pinned under the foot. She tugged, and the material split, opening the pillow case out. She ran to the small landing at the top of the stairs and tied each end of the strip to the balustrades on either side of the stairs, six inches above the second step down.

There was loud shout, a gunshot, another shout, another gunshot. She ran down the stairs and stood by the light switch next to the bed. Her knees shook. It went quiet again. She breathed heavily. Booted footsteps clumped overhead.

She was hoping for a shout of “Polycias!” but none came. The bolt rattled on the door to the basement. She hit the switch and was cloaked in darkness.

The door swung inwards and the light from the kitchen framed a man dressed all in black, his face covered with a balaclava. He didn’t look like a policeman. She screamed. She hadn’t planned to, but it had the effect of drawing the man’s eyes to where she stood. He took one step towards her and crashed down the dozen steps. He groaned once, and then lay still.

She switched on the light and edged towards the prone figure, pushing it slightly with her big toe. It did not respond. She decided to leave it where it was, and dashed up the stairs and into the kitchen and towards the entrance to the villa. Whoever had come in had been careful to lock the door and remove the key. It must be on the body at the bottom of the steps.

She retraced her steps, being careful to avoid her own trap which had worked so well. The body in black had not moved so she risked sliding a hand into the trouser pocket she could see. Her hand felt nothing, so she pushed further in to make sure she had got right to the bottom. The body stirred. She froze, then when it didn’t move again, she very carefully slid her hand out of the pocket.

The black jeans had two back pockets. One had a wallet in it. The other one had something which could be a key. The jeans were tight on the body, but she had to risk it. Very gingerly, she edged her fingers into the rear pocket, wriggling them in search of the key to her escape. Nothing but the stub of a boarding card.

That left one pocket on the underside of the slumped body. She peered at floor level to see if she could gain access without moving the man. If she lay down alongside him, slid one arm under his waist, she could probably inch down into the right hand pocket. It meant getting much closer to the intruder than she wanted, but needs must, as Antonia always said.

She took her time. It was clear the body was not dead yet. It was breathing quite normally, like it was asleep. Very slowly, she pushed her arm under his waist and found the seam at the entrance to the pocket with her fingers. She pushed her arm a bit further under him, which meant pressing herself against his back. The body shifted slightly, contentedly, like a lover in bed.

Her fingers crept down into the pocket. She felt something cool and smooth. She pulled out a folded monogrammed handkerchief, like a magician extracting a surprise. It was indeed a surprise. The monogram was
ARC
. The body stirred again. She lay still to collect her thoughts and process this new information. They must have Andreas as well. Somehow she had thought he would be out there looking for her, making decisions, getting her ransom paid. But if they had him too, who was looking out for them? Did anyone even know that they were missing? She must get that key and escape.

She reached in further in search of the bottom of the pocket. Her fingers felt a hard lump. Did he have a gun in his pocket? She explored the lump a little, then realised, horrified, what it was. The body had an erection. Honestly, she knew men thought about nothing but sex, but this was ridiculous. She made a final thrust for the bottom of the pocket and her fingers tickled the cold metal of key. She worked the key up into a position where she could grip it, and carefully withdrew her hand.

She waited a moment, pleased with how the operation had gone so far. Now it was just a matter of getting her arm out from underneath the man in black. She moved the arm an inch. She moved the arm another inch. The body shifted, its weight pinning her arm to the tiled floor and forcing a cry of pain from her mouth. She thought her arm was going to break.

“Ouch, fuck.” Her profanity woke the body.

“Where am I?”

“Andreas?”

“I said where am I, not who am I.” He peeled back the balaclava to reveal the suave, closely shaven chief executive visage he carried to meetings.

“Thank God it’s you. I thought…” She hugged him spontaneously, fear turning to relief in an instant.

“Sorry for the scary get-up. I had to frighten those guys away and I thought they might have someone down here with you. But then I nearly blew it by falling down the stairs.”

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“There’s time for all that later. Let’s get you out of here before they return with re-enforcements. The gun frightened them off.”

“Gun? You mean that was a gun I felt?”

“What did you feel?”

“I don’t know. I thought it was, well, it was something hard.”

“Well whatever it was it wasn’t a gun. That’s locked in the glove box of the Range Rover. I didn’t risk bringing it into the house and having a fire-fight in here. You could have gotten injured.”

“Oh dear, you’ve got a huge lump above your eye. You’d better lie down on the bed and let me look at it.”

“I’ll be all right. We’d better get out of here.” He stood up too suddenly and crumpled back down. She helped him over to the bed and he crashed down on the covers. She lay down on the bed next to him and stroked the temple that wasn’t swollen.

“That feels good,” he said.

“My hero,” she said, kissing him on the lips. The adrenaline was still coursing, she was happy to be alive. She climbed astride him and could feel the gun between his legs.

“You’ve saved my life, and more. One of the men grabbed me and tried to pull my bikini off. He was a huge brute.” She shuddered at the thought.

“Don’t. It’s over now.” He stroked her hair, kindly at first, then seriously, then passionately. She pressed herself against the barrel of his gun, still tightly restrained in its holster.

“It’s too dangerous here,” he said.

“You did say they had gone,” she said, “frightened by the gun. Well I’m not frightened by the gun, not if it’s you.” She rubbed herself along the length of his erection and reached down to undo the belt on his jeans.

He needed no further invitation. He reached behind to unclip her bikini top but found no clip. She sat up and helped him, releasing the clasp, and letting her breasts fall free. He buried his face in her largesse. She unbuttoned his jeans and released the gun from its holster. No briefs, no boxers; he had come commando. She pushed his jeans down his legs. He pulled the strings on her bikini bottoms and watched the material fall away. She sank easily down on his prick, wet with the excitement of danger.