David E Balaam - Nothing Is Sacrosanct

NOTHING IS SACROSANCT

by

David E Balaam

Other titles by the same author;

Columbus Day

The Letter

No One is Sacrosanct

Copyright © 2016 David E Balaam

All rights reserved

Published by: davidbalaam-books.co.uk

ISBN: 9783964549815

2nd UK revised edition 2020.

English (UK) dictionary format.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.

Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

www.davidbalaam-books.co.uk

“ To all the innocent victims . . .

may your voices be heard one day”

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

PART TWO

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

PART THREE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SOME HISTORY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

1969

Daniel Mace stirred from his induced sleep. His vision was blurred, his head was throbbing with pain and he could feel a burning sensation on the side of his neck. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he could hear the faint sound of laughter and clapping. His eyes, still blurred, picked out the lined red, green and brown flocked pattern wallpaper on the stairs, although, something within his numb cerebral cortex, combined with his blurred vision, couldn't remember the pattern having a brown stripe. He blinked several times to focus, and it took a few moments for the adrenaline to kick in - and it did, as soon as he realised his predicament. Daniel Mace was tied and gagged, sitting on the first-floor landing of his house looking directly at a brown rope hanging from the open loft door – unmistakably a hangman’s noose.

He looked around in fear, trying to call out to no avail. The first glimpse of his abductor was when the bathroom door opened. “Hello, Daniel. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Said a cold calculated voice.

Daniel Mace murmured uncontrollably, not knowing what-on-earth this intruder was talking about. The stranger, with an unusual accent and polite smile, stood in front of Mace for a few moments looking at the pathetic man; pleased with himself he had achieved this much. He was now sure the final act would go smoothly, and his undertaking would be complete. The stranger sat opposite Mace and leant back against the wooden landing uprights. He crossed his legs, looking relaxed as he re-stretched the Latex gloves on each hand whilst giving Mace a disturbing smile. “Daniel,” he finally said, in a measured tone, “let me tell you why I am here.” The stranger's face tightened and his smile dissolved. “You've been naughty, haven't you, Daniel. Very naughty.”

1979 December

Marcus was lying on his bed, naked, allowing Rosa to give him a massage. “I was thinking of Isabel and Charlie,” he said casually. Rosa stopped massaging his unique hairless chest. She was also naked, straddling his lower abdomen, his penis partially erect due to the massaging. Rosa looked at Marcus suspiciously. “You said it was a one-off, no more. You promised,” she said, with a concerned that touched Marcus. He leant forward and cupped her face with his right hand. “I thought you liked them. You said they were willing and responsive . . . your words, my angel.” Rosa sighed and took hold of Marcus’s semi-erect penis and started to massage it. She worked her hand up and down expertly, as she had been taught, and he remembered how he had found her, and how much fun it had been teaching her many things, just those five short years ago.

His thoughts drifted back to his youth and his family, and those black times during the war. He placed his hand over Rosa's hand. “Not there. Not just now, my love,” he said, sombrely. Rosa nodded and returned to work on his chest, pouring warm scented oil on his stomach, then working her hands rhythmically over his glistening torso. He let Rosa continue her expert manipulation as he closed his eyes, remembering, as he did from time to time, how lucky he had been, escaping from occupied Austria.

The allies’; Russia, France, America and Britain had divided his country into four zones. Marcus’s family had lived in the south-east province of Styria, in the small village of Mariahof, which was in the British sector. Although remote, the allies quickly spread over the newly liberated state and found the young Marcus alone in his parent’s large country Schloss. The commanding officer who came upon the isolated house that day in June 1945 found a woman hanging from the kitchen rafters. Further inspection of the rooms found a young boy aged about ten years old, shivering and hiding in one of the bedrooms' dressing rooms, huddled behind a row of women's dresses. The officer who found him asked him his name. The boy had said nothing, preferring to stare into space, squatting on the floor with arms folded, shivering and afraid.

The boy was taken to an internment camp where he was cleaned and fed and then interrogated by British military officers, in particular, a Major Ferris. However, at all the interviews, even with German-speaking personnel, the boy refused to answer any questions. A few weeks later Marcus was informed his father had been captured by the Russians and executed as an SS officer. Marcus showed no emotion on receiving this news, but inwardly was joyous and relieved that he was now also free of his father, but wondered why there was no word from his brother. Surely, now the war was over, Marius would come and take him home where they would be safe, and play together like they did when he was younger.

They questioned Marcus for days, wanting to know how his mother hanged herself, especially as her hands had been cut off at the wrists. Marcus acted the dumb orphan and just stared at his accusers with his bright steel blue eyes until they realised the interrogation was going nowhere.

As a minor, his captors were undecided what to do with him. Several translators were unable to get anything out of him and stopped short of beating him. Later, Marcus thanked God he had not been in the Russian or American sectors – he was not sure how he would have fared with their interrogation methods.

After four weeks of intensive questioning, an army doctor intervened. He had been supervising Marcus’s condition since his arrival and insisted on being present during the questioning. He also spoke some German so was able to communicate with Marcus on a different level, as a friend, rather than an inquisitor. He would bring chocolate bars and treats to Marcus in his dormitory and talk to him quietly, gaining his trust. Marcus distrusted any close associations after his enslavement by his parents. He assumed all adults were child molesters, no matter how caring they seemed to be.

But Dr Nathan Star was kind and compassionate to Marcus, and slowly gained his trust. He gave him errands to run and tried to keep him busy, until he gradually succumbed to a more normal way of life, if that was even possible, in what was nothing less than a detention camp for displaced people.