The Sons Of Cleito (The Abductions of Langley Garret Book 1) (8 page)

Perhaps I was becoming blasé, but when I felt my feet hit the deck of the submarine and a couple of seriously dedicated submariners made sure I was ok, as they unclipped me, and helped me down a hatch and onto a ladder that would lead to yet another room that would be a prison, I could only think about Chara and how she really didn't deserve to be killed. Really, the bastard who did it could have waited a few minutes longer and let me fully enjoy her interrogation.

'This way,' a serious looking man in a uniform said as I arrived at the bottom of the ladder. He looked, smelt and probably wanked military. At least he didn't sniff. I didn't answer, just followed him and waited for a message from my guts. Nothing arrived so I assumed they were either asleep or getting thoroughly bored with sending me warnings of impending doom over and over again. I had to turn sideways occasionally to fit through the narrow gangways as I was led down into the bowels of this ugly black beast before finally arriving at my designated gaol for the night, or days to follow.

'Make yourself comfortable sir,' was a missive platitude I had heard far too many times in a too shorter period of time. I grunted in reply and looked around at my cramped quarters, as I heard the hatch lock behind me. There was however a similarity to my last prison cell, there were no windows. I flopped down on the metal bunk that as hard as it tried, failed to convince me that it had any association with a bed and then looked across at a metal washbasin, and a rudimentary toilet device that would surely need Olympic standard gymnastics to be able to crap into. There were however some motoring magazines stuffed into a rack beside my head.

The way out of date motoring magazines did help a little, in offsetting the feeling of loss I suddenly had at knowing my Samsonite suitcase, which had been so carefully packed by the large man in the scary ill-fitting black suit, had not made it along with me on this stage of my multiple captures. I supposed I was by myself from here on in with no watch and no suitcase. Someone was surely going to ask me some more questions about something I didn't have a clue about and maybe add to the cocktail of drugs that had been pumped into my system in the last few days; usually courtesy of a very kindly offered beverage. No mystery there. The only mystery I started to think about was who and how someone else would try to capture me from the bowels of a submarine that was now more than likely, heading down to the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea. Well, that was for them to figure out for as of right now, I felt like having a sleep and forgetting about whatever it was that they wanted me to remember – that I didn't know.

A man in a uniform woke me after entering my small cabin and depositing a tray of breakfast on the end of my bunk near my feet. He didn't speak, smile or flinch as he turned and walked out, closing the hatch loudly behind him. I gathered it was time to wake up. I sat up, rubbed my eyes and then realised that submarines hum. It was an annoying sort of throbbing hum that vibrated, and was upsetting my liver, testicles and especially my full bladder. I got up and pissed, then looked at my breakfast. Edible perhaps, but hardly as appetising as my last lodgings. When I'd swallowed a few mouthfuls of dehydrated and rehydrated powdered scrambled eggs and leathery cold toast, I looked around for a toothbrush. Clearly I was not being treated to five star service, so I made do with washing my face and rinsing my mouth with water that tasted of chlorine.

All I had to do now was wait for my next interrogation. Some things were becoming way too predictable. With little appetite for the grey muesli that sat brooding on the tray at the end of my bunk, I passed the time by reading a critical review of a new model Ford that had been released at least five years ago. Apparently the writer wasn't impressed with its performance and value for money when compared to four other similar cars in its class. I skipped a few pages and settled on an article about white utility vehicles for the discerning plumber.

In some respects I was quite looking forward to being interrogated, as I was closing in rapidly on the necessity to read the classified ads at the back of the magazine. Then when I heard my hatch clunk open, my guts didn't react at all. It was as if they'd decided to forestall any further activity until something extraordinarily nasty threatened. My mind immediately calculated that it would necessitate something being seriously awful after my range of experiences during the past few days.

'Would you please come with me Mr Garret?' the uniformed man asked politely. I moved from my prone position and didn't show one skerrick of surprise when he sniffed while he waited for me to get to my feet. I looked up at his young acne riddled face and ultra-short crew cut as I managed to rise slowly and sat on the side of my bunk.

'Someone wants to have a chat with me I presume.'

'This way sir.'

'Yes. I know. As always,' I said, but young Submariner Crater Face didn't latch onto my cynicism, only waited for me to follow him obediently. 'And what if I don't feel like coming this way with you? You know, you're not the first person who's asked me to come this way with them in the last few days. Usually though, as I've discovered by experience, it always leads to very bad news for me.'

'I'm sorry sir, you will have to come with me.'

'You know, I've had a couple of really fucking shitty days. Even had a woman I was fucking get killed, while I was right in the middle of fucking her in fact. So do you get what I mean about being really fucking pissed off with cunts like you telling me to come this fucking way with me sir?'

'I'm very sorry sir, but you must come with me or I will need to call for assistance.'

You make it sound like you'll have to call roadside service. Got a flat battery, have you?'

'This really won't help sir.'

'Maybe not, but it makes me feel a whole lot better. So who wants to see me?'

'I can't say sir.'

'Liar. You have no fucking idea, do you?

'I really must insist sir. Please come with me or I will need to remove you by force.'

'Yeah, yeah, I know. Jab me with drugs, lock me in a straight jacket and manacle me,' I said, as I slowly stood and looked him in the eyes. 'I've had it all done to me before, so unless you're about to put a bullet in my head, it's just another new day with all the same shit. Now, am I meeting another fucking woman?'

'I can't say sir.'

'I know. You can't say much at all can you? So best you lead me away to someone who can.'

'This way sir,' he said, and kept a careful eye on me as I followed him out through my hatch into the gangway. He looked hesitantly across his shoulder at me as we started walking, with me a step behind him.

'Would you prefer me to lead?'

'Yes sir,' he said, as he let me pass him and he pointed ahead. I don't know why, but today I really couldn't give a fuck.

'Turn left here sir.' I obeyed, but shrugged my shoulders and was very pleased with myself for the pissed off look on Submariner Crater Face's face.

'Here sir,' he said, as he opened a hatch and waited for me to enter. I did and he closed it behind me as my eyes met hers.

'Good morning Mr Garret.'

'I was honestly hoping for a man this time,' I said, but at the same time was seriously thinking that fear can make one do and say the most stupid things. My guts were living a nightmare and had tied themselves into a double constrictor knot, while my brain had decided that the best form of defence I had was to run my mouth.

'I'm sorry to disappoint you. Would you sit down please,' she said, but with her downward intonation on please, it sounded more like an order rather than an invitation. I sat down obediently, trying to put a label on her. She had very short grey hair, with colour matched eyes and skin and was probably about fifty. Dressed in grey overalls, which hid everything else about her, I could only label her as short, grey, and very scary. I waited for her to speak, as I had no idea what I should say. As I waited, and she consulted a file, it felt as if the walls of the small metal cabin we where in were closing in on me. Finally she looked up at me with her dagger like grey eyes.

'I don't have much time Mr Garret, so please don't fuck with me.'

I was tempted to nod in agreement, but decided to cancel that idea and just stare back at her. Anyway, there was no correct answer to that.

'Where is your wife?'

'I don't know.'

'Do you know who she is?'

'Yes, my wife.'

'Mr Garret, listen. I told you not to fuck with me, so cut the bullshit.'

'It's not. I have no idea what's going on here. All I know is that my wife was away when I got dragged out of my own home, and then later I got shown a video of her in bed with some ugly creep and discovered that she smokes.'

'Who showed you the video?'

'Leda.'

'Who's Leda?'

'The woman who was doing your job at the last place I was locked up,' I said, and the woman made a note in her file.

'Tell me about the man.'

'He was fucking my wife, what more can I tell you?'

'Describe him.'

'I don't know. About fifty, bald, well almost. Eh, he had a moustache I think.'

'Anything else? His face?'

'Round. Maybe a bit fat. What's all this about?'

'Just tell me about the man.'

'And if I don't feel like it you're going to tie me up and drug me. You know, it's all getting a bit fucking repetitive and….'

'Don't fuck with me!' she shouted, as she launched to her feet and leant across the small table and pushed her face right in front of mine. 'Keep up this attitude arsehole and we'll have to see how well your balls handle jumper leads,' she hissed, an inch from my nose.

'He had one eye that was a little lazy I think, and looked maybe Arabic or Slavic or something,' I said sheepishly, as I had a bad feeling she didn't make idle threats.

'That's better. We seem to understand each other now,' she said as she sat back down and added more notes.

'And my wife was smoking. I never knew she smoked.'

'Yes, well you never know everything now, do you? Ok, so now tell me about being taken from your home in Switzerland and what's happened since. In detail.'

'It was on Sunday morning,' I started telling her, and then went on as best I could, outlining everything I could remember since then. She made a lot of notes and had me go back over events again and again, and pushing me to describe all the people I had seen in minute detail. For someone who had told me she didn't have much time at the start of my questioning, she must have been using a totally different time system to me, as she was still asking me questions three hours later when she said it was time for a break. She sent me back to my cabin, with Submariner Crater Face making sure I behaved myself. After locking me in my cabin, I saw the lunch tray on my bunk. Perhaps it was the sight of tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches, but something inside me broke, and I started crying, before moving on to uncontrollable sobbing.

I'm not sure if that was the moment I broke, or if it had wanted to happen earlier and I'd put it off for a while using male pride and bluster for cover. The sense of helplessness dripped from every pore of my skin as my sobbing finally ebbed and was beginning to be replaced by childish sniffling. For some reason, up until this morning, I had been captured, drugged, transported to god knows where, tied up, questioned and seduced. But all these things just happened to me and I had no control over them. But the grey woman was different. She gave me reason to worry about what could happen to me, and she didn't make it sound inviting.

I dragged my shirtsleeve across my nose and eyes and wiped away the tears and snot and tried to calm myself. Then I used my other shirtsleeve to get what the first one had missed. My shoulders sagged as my guts, mind and brain sent me their collective appraisal of my situation. Hopeless. Unless I wanted to risk having my balls crushed and electrocuted, or be shot out from a submarine at the bottom of the Mediterranean, the only choice I had was to do exactly what the Grey Lady wanted, and be much nicer to Submariner Crater Face.

After I washed my face I tried to eat a bit of my lunch, but my stomach wasn't all that welcoming of what was on offer. At least when Crater Face returned a little later, he did notice I hadn't eaten that much of my lunch and ask if there was anything wrong with it. I told him it was fine but that I wasn't all that hungry and was ready to come with him. A few minutes later I was sitting back opposite the Grey Lady and she started with a very different topic.

'Tell me about the letter from your mother.'

'I don't know where it is.'

'When was the last time you recall seeing it?'

'Years ago. I'm not sure when exactly but maybe twenty years or so.'

'Think about it a bit more. Exactly when did you last see the letter?'

'It was before we moved to Neuchâtel.'

'And where were you living before that?'

'Briefly in Zurich after Vienna but we also spent around three months in Beirut. It was a temporary posting while we were living in Vienna. We moved around a bit for Helen's work. '

'Your wife?'

'Yes.'

'So do you recall seeing the letter in Zurich or Vienna? Or was it before that?'