Freedom Incorporated, Peter Tylee [literature books to read TXT] 📗

have me all wrong. I don’t intend to kill you.” Esteban released his fistful of hair and rubbed the back of his hand against the side of her breast.

Junior barked a laugh from the front and added, “Yet.”

*

The chemicals acting on Dan’s neurotransmitters distorted his image of the world. The tears streaming onto his cheeks weren’t helping either. And the twitch was getting worse, turning into a spasm. He pulled his tongue back into his mouth and clamped his jaw shut before rolling as far and as fast as he could. Purple. It was everywhere and he screwed his eyes shut to protect them from the potent sting. Purple? He was digging through his clouded memory to recall what that meant. Nerve toxin? He doubted it; he’d be dead already if it was. Besides, they’d fired it too close without protective equipment. Too risky, especially in this wind.

His lungs felt as if they were on fire and he gasped for air only to swallow more irritant. He kept rolling, trying to get clear of the purple screen. He held his breath until he nearly blacked out and when he next opened his eyes, all he could see was red Andamookan sand. A tiny whirlwind, or spinning-devil as Katherine had called them, was whipping the purple gas into a toxic funnel and spinning it in the opposite direction. Finally some good luck. Dan’s vision was hazy and he could barely focus on his Colt’s sights, let alone anything beyond. He fought unconsciousness and unwisely shook his head to clear the dizziness.

Everything spun.

The car? He couldn’t be sure. It looked closer than he remembered. And it’s black, not burgundy. He was aiming at his thermo-cells, the barrel of his Colt wobbling dangerously from side to side as he struggled to keep it still.

A wave of nausea rocked him when he swivelled to isolate the enemy from the swirl of blurry background. He chocked on the impulse to vomit but he’d ingested too much chemical and he emptied the contents of his stomach in an uncontrollable fit of retching. With a momentous effort, he staggered to his knees and waved his Colt in an arc, the bitter taste of vomit fresh on his tongue.

Gone. He couldn’t see properly but nothing resembled a four-wheel drive.

He fell to one side, unstable even on his knees, and landed in the sticky pool of his own vomit, smearing it across his clothes. The acrid smell in his nostrils evoked another gag but there was nothing left to come up.

Someone touched his shoulder and he spun wildly with a half-clenched fist, knocking him away. The chemical had also affected his ears and he couldn’t hear the screech of wind whipping sand against the thermo-cells or the reassuring shout from Cookie as he made another approach. It sounded as though he was underwater - everything distorted and muffled. Dan rasped for breath as though suffering from pulmonary emphysema. If he’d inhaled any more anti-riot chemical he would’ve asphyxiated despite its claim for non-lethality.

“It’s me!” Cookie shouted, loud enough to pierce his daze.

Dan vaguely wondered where he’d left his Colt as he allowed Cookie to drag him to his feet. There are two. Samantha helped on the other side, offering more support that he would have guessed possible from her slight frame. He entwined sickly fingers around their clothes and limped with them in a seemingly random direction. Why am I limping? His left knee was numb and he looked down to see whether it was still there, afraid the detonating canister had blown it off. He sported a nasty gash in is trousers and a trickle of blood had soaked down to his sock, but it wouldn’t leave him permanently disabled. From the roll. He’d sliced himself on one of the sharper rocks.

Dan stumbled down the stairs and obediently lifted his arms when Cookie tried to peal the vomit soaked shirt from his body.

“What happened?” Fear permeated Samantha’s question. “Where’s Jen?”

Jen… Dan shut his eyes and collapsed onto the couch, which Samantha had covered with a towel to protect from vomit. “They got her.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Cookie asked while using the sponge from the sink to remove the worst of the acidic mess coagulating on Dan’s body. It made him queasy, but somebody had to do it and Cookie wasn’t one to shy from vulgar tasks.

Dan did his best to shrug, regretting it when another wave of nausea splashed inside him. “I don’t know.”

“We heard gunfire and came to look.” Cookie swallowed his desire to retch. “We stayed out of the way until we heard a car tearing arse out of here. Then we saw you rolling out from under that purple cloud.”

“Riot gas,” Dan explained. “Designed to incapacitate a swarm of fanatics.”

“Yeah well it messed you up real good.” Cookie swabbed at the remaining chunks clinging to his chest hair. “But what-”

The phone rang.

Dan prised his eyes open and sat up. His cordless videophone used a rotating encryption algorithm to skirt the privacy issues associated with boundless transmission mediums. It was shrill and drove a spike of pain through his muted hearing. Samantha handed him the receiver on the sixth ring.

“Hello?” he answered, barely above a whisper.

Silence. Whoever was on the other end had disabled the video feature. Only a steady crackle of static informed him that someone was listening.

“Who is this?” Dan’s patience was wearing thin and blind rage was the only emotion ready to replace his civility.

A crackling laugh buzzed through the speaker, just loud enough for Samantha and Cookie to hear. “Hello Daniel.”

The voice was hauntingly familiar though Dan couldn’t quite place it. Someone from his past, someone he’d prefer to forget. Damn it. He wished his memory would cooperate.

“Where’s Jen?”

“Oh, is that what you call her?” The voice mocked him with a low wolf whistle. “Quite a honey you have there. Or had I should say. What a pity she comes from such an ill-fated family.”

Dan knew the man was toying with him and he was in no shape to play games, especially ones that required him to think. A splitting headache was throbbing in his frontal lobes. “Who is this?”

“Tut, tut, Daniel. It hurts me to think I mean that little to you.” The voice laughed again. “But what should I expect, huh? You went back to your life, totally unaware of what you did to mine. But I think you’re going to remember me this time, Daniel.”

“Cut the crap arsehole,” Dan snapped.

“Why don’t you guess?” The lustre of joy evaporated from his voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me?” he retorted, still unable to lock onto the fleeting memory that would bring a flood of understanding to the situation.

“Picture it - the year is 2059 and Mike Cameron is rallying public support for the opposition. But, oh dear, somebody killed him instead.”

Dan’s eyelids slid shut and he assembled the strength to rise to his feet. “Esteban Garcia Valdez.” I should’ve known. Memories crashed against his inner thoughts, bringing bad tidings.

“There, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Esteban cackled. “All you needed was a bit of encouragement. But you know what, Daniel?”

“What?” Something deep within Dan’s aura of self-defence screamed at him that he didn’t want to know.

“I’ve had a greater impact on your pathetic little life than you think.” Esteban sneered into the receiver.

A pulse of adrenaline added strength to Dan’s pacing. “Is Jen still alive?” He carried the conversation away from Samantha and Cookie.

“Oh yes, she’s fine. Very fine if you don’t mind me saying so.” He paused for long enough to lick his lips and blow a kiss in Jen’s direction. “Do you want to know what we have in mind for her?”

“Probably not.”

“Ah, but I think you do.” Esteban relished this. He’d been waiting for this conversation, waiting for when it would have the maximum impact. It was a speech he’d practiced hundreds of times before falling asleep at night and whispered to his reflection in the mirror while shaving in the morning. He’d fastidiously woven it into the fabric of his existence. And now, finally, he could deliver the message. “Listen and you might learn something.” He reached forward and squeezed Jen’s firm breast, sliding his hand inside her shirt and bra to feel her flesh. She cringed, but the piano wire ensured she couldn’t twist away. He liked watching her cower and loved to smell her fear. “First I’m going to rape her.”

Dan winced as if Esteban had plunged a dagger into his chest and twisted it. He could only imagine the fear captured in Jen’s eyes at that moment, looking at a man that had just admitted his intention to rape her. Perhaps the worst part for Dan was his feeling of overwhelming helplessness. He could do absolutely nothing, and he knew it.

“I’m going to have heaps of fun,” Esteban said relentlessly, “tying her wrists and ankles to each corner of the bed with piano wire and forcing myself upon her.” A wicked gleam twinkled in his eyes. Something evil possessed him and Jen had to look away. “I’ll be nice about it,” he said, his voice drifting through the speaker pressed against Dan’s ear. “I’ll be gentle. It won’t hurt unless she struggles, but there’s nothing I can do if she cuts her hands and feet off with the wire.”

Dan felt sick to the pit of his stomach. The residual taste of vomit on the back of his tongue nearly spawned a fresh bout of gagging. “You bastard.”

“Ah, no, you missed a word. I’m a fucking bastard, Daniel.”

“Fuck you!”

Esteban laughed, enjoying Dan’s torment. “You want to know what I’ll do then?” He paused, though didn’t really expect an answer. “I bet you do.” Another pause. “I’m going to get a tube of superglue and squeeze a thin film into her eyes. Do you know how much the fumes sting if you hold that shit too close? I can only imagine it’d burn like a hornet’s dick if you got it on your cornea.”

Dan froze in shock, dropping to his knees.

“Your wife screamed for ten whole minutes when we did that to her. Man, you should’ve heard. This time I think I’ll tape it so you can enjoy it too.”

Disbelief sweated in beads across Dan’s slack jaw while a seed of murderous wrath boiled in the dark recesses of his mind.

“So then we’ll leave her for, oh, say four hours? That should be just long enough for her to mourn the loss of sight. Your wife was whimpering the whole fucking time, begging for her life and for the life of her unborn child. But you can’t rush these things you know, there’s a certain sophistication required or it turns into a barbaric bloodbath.”

Dan was mute.

“After four hours struggling in the dark I think she’ll welcome Adrian’s touch. Mind you, he’s not as tender as I am. He might hurt her. I sometimes hear his wenches scream because he’s fond of biting their breasts. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy, but he’s an animal in the sack.” Esteban’s monologue trampled the most fragile parts of Dan’s psyche. “After he’s finished drilling whatever parts of her anatomy he feels like, we’ll be fishing for the superglue again. But this time… well you probably know what we’ll glue next, don’t you?”

A quiver of anger seeped from his lips and he forged a promise that he intended to keep: “You’re a dead man.”

“Ah, I beg to differ.” Esteban enjoyed the freedom afforded by his specially modified mobile phone, one that hugged a channel Echelon couldn’t scan. He could say whatever he wanted without repercussion. “I’m very much alive. It’s a beautiful day