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

sheet of drugs that kept her under. She tried shaking her arms. It had worked in the past when she’d had difficulty rousing from sleep, but they were numb and refused to move. Where are they? First, she thought her arms had fallen off, and then she thought she was paralysed, but she could think of no good reason why either would be true. A tinge of pain radiated from her wrists and she identified it as proof that she wasn’t paralytic. Then why won’t they move?

She chased her most recent memories, despite instinctively knowing they were unpleasant. With great effort, she prised an eyelid open and saw an unfamiliar ceiling, which added to her disorientation.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said a hauntingly familiar voice. The arrogant tone was what finally plucked her memories from the spinning vortex of confusion in her mind.

And once the gates had cracked, her memories flooded back. She groaned, wondering why she’d chosen to hurry their passage.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Esteban sneered.

She was lying on a bed, her hands untied. Her vision was still blurry and she squinted to check her wrists for signs of permanent damage. They were badly swollen and lacerated, and her skin had turned dark purple, but her fingers moved. She tried again to move her arms and was gratified to see them lift from the bed. But the effort cost more energy than she could spare and soon they flopped back to the mattress. Extreme fatigue stopped her from sitting up. She could barely move her mouth to talk, and when she did, it was a whisper. “Where am I?”

Esteban puffed on his cigar before saying, “Your new home. Don’t you like it?”

Jen’s eyes roamed the walls. “No.”

“Well get used to it,” Esteban laughed. “You’re gonna be here for a while.”

“Where?”

“America,” Esteban snapped. “Which is all you need know.”

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Jen asked, the fire draining from her tired eyes.

“No,” Esteban said quietly. “Not yet. We’re waiting for our audience.”

Morbid curiosity made her ask, “Audience?”

“Yes, your boyfriend.” Esteban laughed again, manically. “I’m sure Dan wants to watch us bang you. Seeing it on a videotape just isn’t the same as watching it live.” Esteban knew Dan would come - he had Jen for bait. If anything, he felt overconfident. But he was a talented assassin. He was ready for anything Dan could pit against him.

“You’re sick,” Jen hissed in disgust. “You’re totally fucking insane.”

The mirth evaporated from Esteban’s eyes and they promptly hardened to steel. It frightened Jen to see malice stamped so clearly in his gaze, especially when he was looking squarely at her. Then they softened to their earlier glee, his personal trademark. It was unnerving to watch a volatile man back-flip twice in the same breath.

“Yeah, maybe.” He smiled sweetly at her. “But the rich and powerful are allowed to be.” He held up her chip selector. She looked hungrily at it, panicked that he’d snatched her ticket to the portals. Without it, she was stranded, and that terrified her as much as the threat of death.

“It was kind of you to save us the trouble of digging a chip from your back.” Esteban balanced the device on his index finger. “Actually, I’m impressed you avoided the squads for as long as you did.”

Jen seethed with hatred; he was violating everything she considered sacred.

“You’re free to walk around,” he offered with mock politeness. “You can’t get far without this.” Esteban slipped the chip selector into his pocket and opened the door. “Just don’t cause any trouble, you hear?”

And with that, he was gone.

Jen let her eyelids slide shut, trying to summon the energy to sit up. She fought her drug-induced fatigue and swung one leg after the other over the side of the bed before twisting sideways and propping herself onto an elbow. The next phase was the hardest but by pushing with all her might she finally achieved her goal.

She felt light-headed and fought to stay conscious while the room spun around her. And she rested on the bed long after the whirling subsided, waiting impatiently for strength to return to her body.

Come on Jen, she coaxed. When she tried to stand her knees quivered and threatened to buckle. But they didn’t, they gathered strength until balance returned. Her room was pleasantly furnished. Prissy, Jen thought, already hating her prison. Tasteful pictures hung on two walls and a plush carpet greeted her bare feet. Bare feet? She wondered who had bothered taking her boots off. They stood neatly at the foot of the bed, her socks folded and tucked inside. She was glad nobody had removed her other clothes, though she felt underdressed, wearing only what was appropriate for the Australian desert.

Esteban’s cigar smoke was dissipating and Jen smelled how musty the room was. Nobody’s been here for a long time. A thick layer of dust had settled on the polished wooden table. The room wasn’t large, but neither was it small. It comfortably housed a queen-size bed, the sort that had a metal frame. Perfect for tying arms and legs down. Jen shuddered and examined the frame more closely. She was looking for signs that piano wire had scoured or scuffed the black paint. Nothing. It was unmarred and didn’t look as if anyone had retouched it. So they probably didn’t kill Dan’s wife here. She derived only a little comfort from the knowledge.

Next, her attention shifted to the door. She took several unsteady paces and braced herself against the frame. Taking a tentative peek into the brightly lit corridor, she found no guards. She doubted guards were necessary: Esteban had her chip selector. But one thing at a time. First, she wanted to look around, familiarise herself with her new surroundings. The hall was long and she could only see activity at one end, though her vision was still too blurry to recognise anyone. She rubbed her puffy eyes and looked again, with no improvement. All her life she’d enjoyed twenty-twenty vision so the blur was difficult to endure. Her eyes strained to focus, giving birth to a dull headache. The other end of the hall was dark and, for no other reason, appeared more sinister.

Jen crept toward the light, hugging the wall and trying not to stumble. She unobtrusively peered into the bulbous room at the end. It was a study in diplomatic style, its décor tasteful and its hangings expensive. The subtle tones of wood and leather blended too perfectly for it to have been an accident. Somebody had spent a lot of time and effort assembling the perfect interior. A professional, it has to be. But that begged the question why somebody like Esteban would bother making such an impression. She heard voices and inched closer, trying to see who it was.

“Ah, look, here she is now. You see, I told you.” It was Esteban. He snapped his fingers at her. “Come here and meet the others properly.”

Jen unwillingly obeyed, not knowing what else to do. As she drew closer, she stubbed a toe on a coffee table because she hadn’t yet reacquired fine motor co-ordination.

Esteban was flapping an arm at the man who had driven the land cruiser, the one with the thick jaw and strawberry hair curling around his ears. “This is Frank Albert Hansen.”

“Hi.” He tipped is beer bottle in mock salute.

“Junior?” Jen asked, remembering his name through the thick haze clouding her mind.

Esteban laughed, highly amused.

“I hate it when people call me that,” he grumbled in protest.

“Don’t worry about offending him,” Esteban interjected. “Most of the time he deserves it.”

Jen jotted another mental note.

“The quiet one next to him is Adrian Miller.”

“How do you do ma’am?” Adrian asked politely. It was the first time she’d seen his face, even though it was through blurry eyes. He was thinner than Junior and his neatly cropped hair was almost jet-black. It contrasted with his pallor and made him look seedy. And nobody ever mentioned his sail-ears anymore - classmates in primary school had teased him relentlessly until he’d punched one kid’s front teeth out. He’d fostered a ruthless reputation ever since and people whispered warnings about him behind his back.

He’s surprisingly polite for a killer. “I’m fine thanks.” Jen had no idea why she was being so genteel in return.

“If you need anything, just let me know and I’ll see what I can do, okay?” Adrian looked genuinely concerned.

Why? She couldn’t even begin to fathom. He must be the one who took off my shoes. “Okay, I will.” Jen replied in stunned civility. She earmarked him as someone that might assist her escape. He was certainly more courteous than the others.

They were all impeccably dressed, though Adrian was the only one who hadn’t loosened his tie. Their suits looked expensive, probably personally tailored.

“What do you intend to do with me?” She wanted to hear the answer while Adrian was there to see whether he’d demur.

Esteban answered as offhandedly as he could. “Why, my dear Jennifer, you’re the bait.”

“For Dan?”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“And then what?” Jen asked with dread expanding in her throat. She understood Esteban’s vindictiveness, but she couldn’t fathom the others’ motives.

“Well that’s when the fun really begins.” Esteban grinned like the maniac he was. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time? “This doesn’t really have anything to do with me, does it? This is all about Dan.”

Esteban nodded. “Yeah, that’s a fair assessment. The fact that you’re a Cameron is just a bonus.”

“And what if Dan doesn’t come?” He doesn’t owe me anything, does he?

“Then you’ll be here for a long, long time,” Esteban replied. “I wouldn’t worry though, he’s knows we killed his wife.” He had the temerity to say it without looking uncomfortable. “So he’ll come.”

Then you don’t need me for bait. Jen began to understand the broader picture. Oh, shit… I’m not bait. That was merely how they intended to keep her placid. I’m the entertainment once he arrives. Of course! What’s the best way to torture him? Tell him they’ll rape and kill me, and then make him watch it.

“Why must you insist on playing these games?” It was Adrian, as Jen had hoped, championing her cause. “Just kill Sutherland and get it over with. You should’ve finished this back at his farm.”

Esteban shook his head. “And spoil my fun? No, not yet.” He hasn’t suffered enough. If he had his way, he’d grant Dan Sutherland eternal life. Then he could think forever about what had happened to his wife and what was soon to happen to Jen.

Jen had heard enough. Time to find a way out of here. She didn’t intend lie back and await her fate. She turned and walked away, ignoring the calls of “Good night!” from the three brutes toasting their success in the lounge room.

There were several corridors, nodes and perhaps a hundred rooms in her prison. Because, despite its opulence, it was still a prison. It reminded her of a maze, and many of the halls looked hauntingly similar. She was beginning to wonder whether she’d ever find her room again when a feminine voice lured her into a darkened room. “Excuse me.”

“Me?” Jen asked, hiking a thumb at her chest.

“Yes, come here… quickly.” Her voice was hushed and scared.

Jen obeyed, willing to trust anyone from her own gender in such dire circumstances.

“Are you new here.” It wasn’t a question. “I’m Claire Robinson.” She had a thick, pretty accent that Jen couldn’t place. She wondered how her slurred Australian accent would sound to foreign ears.

“I’m Jennifer Cameron.” There was a