Jonathan Everest - The tortured tourists

"You have been treated with more gentleness than we ordinarily use, because you have spoken to us in the language of our country. Now, it seems, you have reverted to the Ugly American, which makes it easier for us to proceed with out next move."

"You see, your greedy father would not part with money, even after he saw the pictures of your little adventure. Now, we shall at least have some entertainment for our troubles. Le Boeuf! Chain her!" She felt the huge hands as they grasped her wrists, and she was taken to the wall and shackled next to her father. Then their captors went up the steps, turning out the light, and left them alone to their misery.

The closing of the heavy door at the top of the steps had a discouragingly final sound. The captives were silent for several minutes, as each suffered the individual effects of his imagination. Not knowing what was in store for them, their fears multiplied all that their imaginations could envision. To add to their mental misery, their physical discomforts were acute.

The chains to which they were shackled permitted just enough freedom to allow them a choice of standing or sitting. And the cuffs at their ankles and wrists were snug enough to prevent escape, yet moved freely in place, guaranteeing them the additional joy offered by increasing rawness, as the friction chafed their skin.

Darla's whereabouts had been a mystery to her family, but they had known that she was a captive. But the appearance of her family here was a great shock to her, and her lack of comprehension moved her to speak while the others were still lost in their own miserable thoughts and imaginings.

"What happened? How did they get their hands on all of you, anyhow?" She was even more frightened when only silence greeted her questions. "Talk for God's sake! Someone say something!" She almost started to break down and cry anew, when her father broke the thick, almost-tangible silence of the dark dungeon with his reply.

"Late last night, someone left an envelope at the door to our suite, rang the buzzer, and left. When I opened it, there was a note inside, and… and… those pictures of you… I guess you didn't have any choice… you were tied up in all of them except one… and maybe they had you drugged, too…" She could sense the questioning tone as he referred to the final picture Yvette had taken. She'd barely been aware of the final click of that spying shutter, because she'd been occupied with the two men invading her body.

Oh, God! He's thinking about the picture where my arms and legs are free. What was I doing? Oh, no! My legs were wound around Le Boeuf, and I was working on Gerault's cock with my mouth and both hands! It's better if he thinks I was drugged when that picture was taken.

"The note said that this was the last chance to pay, unless I wanted even more horrible things to happen." Chuck Fleming's tone made his daughter feel as if she had let him down by not answering his unspoken question, but she knew it was better to ignore the issue now. There were enough problems here without breaking his heart. And she sensed that he'd never get over it if he discovered that she had enjoyed any part of that degrading assault.

"I guess you know, Darla, that I just couldn't cooperate with kidnappers, no matter how worried we were about you." The question was back in his voice, and this time she knew that she had to answer, to set his mind at ease. He was miserable enough without having to doubt whether Darla forgave him for not ransoming her.

"I know, Daddy Chuck. I tried to tell them, but I couldn't get them to listen to me. I know how you feel about kidnapping, and I knew from the first they wouldn't collect, so I didn't have any false hopes shattered. I may not agree with your opinions on the subject one-hundred percent, but I'm proud that you stuck to your guns and left them hanging high and dry without the money. But that doesn't explain how they grabbed all of you."

"I'm not so proud of myself, right now. If I'd sacrificed my personal convictions, even if you might not have been freed, at least your mother and brother wouldn't have had to go through whatever it is they've got planned for us. But it's too late to cry over it, now."

"I delivered a package as they requested, but instead of the ransom, I wrapped a note in heavy cardboard. The note told them that I had not and would not change my mind. And that if any harm came to you, I'd spend several million dollars and the rest of my natural life in hunting them down and killing them." He heaved a hoarse sigh which sounded even more rasping than the dry-throated voice he spoke to her with. Darla wondered when he'd last had a drink of water.

"It might have worked with a professional of normal mentality, Daddy, but this Gerault is psycho. And the others will do anything he tells them to do. Lord knows what he's cooking up for us in that evil mind. If only…" She stopped speaking suddenly, as she had an idea. "If only what, honey?" Fleming asked.

"Daddy, do you have any idea whether we're bugged or not?" She felt overly melodramatic as she asked the question, but their future might depend on it.

"I'd thought of that, too. But I don't know if…" Now it was Darla's turn to wonder about an unfinished "if" statement. But she waited to see what he had in mind. Suddenly she knew, as she heard him speak again, and she had all she could do to keep from laughing her delight at his quick wit.

"I want you all to know that I have a plan in mind," Fleming announced, raising the volume of his cracked voice, as though trying to be sure all of the family could hear him. "When they searched me, they overlooked the knife I have strapped to my leg. The first time one of them gives me the least chance, I'll sink it in as deep as I can!"

"That's great, Daddy Chuck!" said Darla, faking it along with him smoothly. "They don't know they're up against an ex-OSS man."

"Good for you, Dad!" chimed in Tommy, as he sized up the idea his father had begun to put into use. "Chuck, I've asked you a hundred times not to carry any kind of weapon. It only leads to trouble." Even Ann Fleming had seized on her husband's brilliant strategy to smell out any spying microphones.

They all fell silent for a while, as if waiting to see whether the bait would be taken. Then Fleming realized the silence itself would betray them.

"I hope it's that damned Gerault who gets near me," he continued. "I'd love to feel a knife slipping into his sadistic gut!"

"And I'd love to see his insides spread out on the floor, too," replied Darla, not having to fake the hatred she felt for the sadist.

"Me, too," Tommy added. "But make sure he's got a key to these cuffs before you do it!"

"You shouldn't talk like that!" said Ann. "It puts you in the same class with…"

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and a dim light was reflected down against the opposite wall of the cellar. As the sound of someone descending the steps fell on their ears, all of them felt that their plan had born fruit, and that indeed the cellar was bugged.

The light at the foot of the stairs flashed on, and their eyes blinked as they adjusted to the sudden illumination. Then they saw Gerault moving across the basement floor toward them. He was carrying a plastic pitcher and some paper cups. He stopped beside Darla.

"We want our guests to be in good enough condition to provide us with satisfactory entertain ment. Here, Mademoiselle. Pour vous."

He poured a stream into one of the cups, then handed it to her. As she sipped, cautiously, she discovered that it was anisette and water.

Gerault moved down the line, stopping next to give Fleming one of the cups, then pouring it full of the aperitif. His casual behavior as he stood close to the tycoon convinced everyone that he had not heard the phony boast about the knife.