The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

until he pushed it through the crook of her other elbow. He doubled the table back and repeated. He pushed her back down and her head struck the floor. She winced, but was still unconscious. It was a sign she would be regaining consciousness soon.

Giorgi looked down at Caroline, reached out and cupped her left breast. He smoothed his hand over the soft mound, gently squeezed, then worked his way slowly to her right. He smiled, a thin, predatory smile. His eyes were set hard and he watched her face as he fondled and then, lowered his touch.

Caroline opened her eyes, exploded into action, kicking and shuffling to get him off her. She couldn’t work her arms, struggled to comprehend what was happening, reason why she could not fight this beast off her. When she realised she was bound with tape, she panicked further.

Giorgi looked shocked, but he smiled again as he pushed her back down onto the floor and slapped her hard across the cheek. She recoiled, seeing the blow coming towards her, but unable to block or avoid it. She could see the next blow, and this time, his fist was bunched. She clenched her teeth, and dipped her head, but gasped as the punch glanced off the side of her head, stunning her. He followed up with another punch, this time catching her jaw.

“Enough!” Amanda barked at him from the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just having some fun,” he said, his Russian accent thick and guttural.

“You’ll get your fun later,” she said.

Caroline spat out a glob of bloody spit and coughed, blood seeping down and irritating the back of her throat. “You’re letting this pervert assault me?” She shook her head. “Jesus, you’re messed up! Killing is one thing, but as a woman, you condone him touching me?”

Amanda glared at Giorgi. “No, I do not.”

Giorgi stood up. He stood six-two and had plenty of covering over his muscular frame. He looked like he lifted weights and ate burgers in similar quantities. He was pale and sweaty, flushed pink from his recent exertion. Caroline grimaced, thought him a repulsive beast.

Amanda walked over and dropped her medical bag on the table. “You’re a bloody fool, Giorgi. You don’t touch her again. You certainly don’t do anything sexual to her. Do you understand?”

Giorgi nodded.

Caroline looked relieved. She relaxed a little, although she glared daggers up at the Russian.

Amanda made her way to the fridge, opened the icebox and took out the ice-tray. She laid out a tea-towel and upended the ice-tray. She folded the ends in, walked back to Caroline and placed it on the side of her face. The cold soothed her, took the sting from the slap, the dull ache from the punch.

“Thank you,” said Caroline. Her voice calm, her tone grateful. She had done hostage courses in both the army and MI5. She knew the importance of pushing the human element. To show your captors that you are a person, a being of equal importance.

Amanda moved the compress gently, covered her face, then took out an ice cube and rubbed it over Caroline’s lips. She eased it inside her mouth, Caroline grateful for it, taking it and swilling it around her mouth, both easing the swelling and slaking her thirst. Amanda gave her another, then stood back up.

She turned to Giorgi. “You’d better hope this bitch doesn’t bruise easily,” she said. “Or I will have to find a way to graze her cheek, make it look like she did it falling into the river.”

Caroline gasped. “What?” She struggled with her bindings, went to sit up but Giorgi pushed her back down.

“Not too rough!” Amanda shouted. She walked calmly to the table, opened her medical bag and took out a glass bottle and a cloth. “Here, I have some chloroform.” She opened the bottle, carefully poured some onto the cloth and walked back.

Caroline could not take her eyes off the bottle. She tensed as Amanda knelt back down. “Please…”

Amanda said nothing. She folded the cloth over, then pushed it into Caroline’s face. Caroline lurched and kicked out wildly. She groaned, but with every second the cloth remained pushed into her mouth and nose, her movements slowed. After a few seconds, her eyes closed, and she relaxed, dropping back lifelessly to the floor.

49

 

Bukov opened the doors to the service stairway, checked behind him as he stepped through and closed the door. The stairway smelled of concrete and dust. It had not been painted in here. There was no need. The stairway was used infrequently. The maintenance crew used it once a week to access the window cleaning system and carry out routine checks on the air-conditioning. Much of their work was now computerised, checks made on operating systems using a tablet with Wi-Fi. He had been told that chances of being compromised by a member of the maintenance team were slim, and he was to eliminate them in any case. He would. He had no problem with collateral damage.

He opened the door at the top, peered cautiously around the gable and stepped out onto the roof.

Events had transpired, or conspired even, to move the plan along. To take what he had been promised, to exfiltrate in time and to disappear meant that Gipri Bashwani needed to die today. There was simply no time to delay. The press would have their story, the people supporting the manifesto of Anarchy to Recreate Society would have their speculation realised, and would continue to support the cause. There would be none, of course. Not unless, like terrorists of ISIS or Al Qaeda, people took to the cause of their own accord and claimed their actions under the banner of Anarchy to Recreate Society. Bukov could live with that, despite being solely involved so Helena Snell could inherit and claim her deceased husband’s assets,