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Broadway, NewYork,
December 1928 11:20PM
They took her as she made her way home from the theatre. One man, the short Italian one, stepped out in front of her, asking for directions and some change. Startled and a little scared she moved across the alley close by the side of a large Oldsmobile limousine. A heartbeat later she realized her mistake when the Italian man had flashed her a knowing smile but before she could react a gloved hand had sealed her mouth from behind. An arm circled her body pulling her backwards, lifting her up and into the back of the car. Suddenly other hands had appeared, grabbing her wrists and shoulders, pinning her arms. Startled, Eveline Hunter tried to scream, to fight but by then it was already too late.
They slammed her into the carpeted floor, the gloved hand slipping away as she fought for breath. Eveline opened her mouth to scream but before she could make a sound a ball of fabric slipped into her mouth. She felt the knotted scarf being pulled back, felt the pain as it bit into the sides of her mouth. She shook her head trying to dislodge it.
“Oh no my pretty, we shall have none of that !” The gloved hand returned, grabbing a handful of hair and holding her still as the scarf was tied tightly behind her head. A moment later Eveline felt her wrists being wrenched behind her. One man held her tight while another wrapped her wrists with cord. Then more hands grabbed her flailing ankles and started to tie them. In just three minutes she was helpless, bound and gagged, hogtied on the floor of the car.
Panting for breath, Eveline squirmed onto her side, raising her head to look at her attackers. There were three men in the car, the leering Italian, a red faced balding man with a disjointed nose and a third figure whose face remained just out of sight. Sobbing Evie struggled against the ropes, biting down and moaning into the scarf. It didn’t take her long to realize that the men had done a perfect job of rendering her helpless. Every cord was tight, every knot unreachable, and the gagging scarf kept her screams from being heard outside. Fighting down another wave of panic she fought to control her breathing and bring her racing heart under control.
“She has spirit doesn’t she gentlemen?” The words came from the third man, the one she couldn’t see. There was a mocking quality to them, as if he were taunting her. Eveline frowned, the voice was also familiar. She tried to turn further towards the speaker, but the Italian man would have none of it. Laughing he planted his feet on her body and pinned her down.
“No, No Mario,” the boss’s voice spoke again, “turn her around, I want to see her eyes.”
The Italian reached down, twisting Evie’s bound body until she was facing the other direction. Panting, body covered with sweat from her exertions Evie looked up at the man in the expensive suit, the one that was watching her with the same disturbing intensity that he watched her dance numbers every night. Recognition flickered across her face; it was the man in box nineteen. Struggling against the cords she whimpered and pleaded.
The man reached forwards. Stroking her cheek.
“I sent you roses,” he said bemused, “but you rejected them Eveline. I sent you jewelry but you sent it back. Now you will learn that what I can’t buy I take.”
“Ummmmpppphhh!” she sobbed. She shook her head, her strong young body fighting the cords and failing.
She looked up to see him smiling.
“A nice show my dear,” he said, “perhaps one of the most pleasing I’ve seen.” He paused considering. “Mario, I think the young lady is still a little too loud?”
The hireling smiled and produced another thick scarf which he folded flat and proceeded to tie over her packed mouth. After that she could barely make a sound.
The car had moved then. The blinds were down but she could tell by their direction and by the sound that they were circling around, back towards the New Amsterdam theatre where Eveline Hunter worked as the feature dancer in Mr. Seigfelds follies. She had struggled then. There were still people about, still the sounds of party goers and of rescue, she had screamed into the cloth.... begged.
But the man had just looked down at the struggling dancer and smiled. At his nod the men had gone to work. The hogtie was cut, her legs parted and ankles bound to rings set in the floor by the seat. She had felt her skirt lifted, the bite of the knife as her bloomers shredded. Then the boss had calmly freed his cock guiding her helpless body down onto his hard erection. She had managed one weak, muffled scream before he was inside her, sliding his cock hard into her painfully dry hole. She has pleaded with him to stop, wide eyes over the thick gag, but he seemed determined. As the car picked it’s way though the crowds her captor rammed his cock deep inside her. The pain, the tortured position and lack of air came together and Eveline Hunter fainted.
Bayern Chemistrifabric General Offices Munich, Germany,
January 3rd 1929 8:36PM
“What do you mean no contact?” Conrad Graaf thundered.
Henrick raised an eyebrow, half tempted to tell the red faced Bavarian that it meant no contact. He resisted though, Conrad had a viscous temper and people that crossed him had a tendency to disappear. Instead he continued.
“The Wilheimina stayed two extra days in St. Petersburg,” he said calmly, “Capitan Lange made frequent attempts to contact Herr Heiden during that time but with no success. As you will recall the Wilheimina is not one of OUR ships but belongs to another Corporation board member. She was diverted to Russia at your insistence, that transfer requiring that her current cargo and several crew guards be put ashore at a deserted whaling station. Fearing that his cargo would be lost if he remained in Russia Capt. Lange felt he had no choice but to set sail. As we are not his owner we could do nothing more.”
“Has Max heard anything from Peter?” Graaf asked looking up.
Henrick shrugged. “He shows no signs of stress that would indicate he has received bad news,” Henrick said, “we can only assume that Heiden has signaled success..”
Conrad grunted. “The man’s a fraud and a trickster,” he said, “if I shook his hand I would count my fingers afterwards.”
“As I see it we are left with two possibilities,” Henrick said, “It is possible that Peter somehow discovered the double cross, killed our men and decided using the Wilheimina for transport was too risky. In which case I recommend that we alert our agents in Prague to check his usual transport routes.”
There was a silence.
“You said there were two possibilities,” Graaf snarled.
Henrick licked his dry lips. “Miss Michael’s was always going to be a high visibility target,” he started, “It would seem reasonable that the GRU would have monitored her closely. It is possible that the collection was a failure, the safe house compromised and our crews destroyed.” He paused a moment, moving nervously from foot to foot. “If we are lucky that is all that has happened,” he said, “If by some disaster Valeri was taken alive then the GRU could know your name…”
Graaf snorted. “Peter succeeded,” he said simply, “he always does. That’s what makes him such an annoying bastard, the thing that makes him a feather in Max’s cap and a thorn in my side. Contact Prague, tell them to keep watch on Peter’s usual haunts. Now, get out of my sight!”
Henrick nodded clicking his heels in salute. As he headed towards the door Conrad reached for a cigar and turned towards the large map of Europe that hung on his office wall. Peter was out there somewhere; Conrad could feel it. Somehow he’d seen through Valeri, had taken the Michaels girl and then taken his own route back to Berlin and Max’s welcoming arms. Graaf settled back in his chair, looking over the map and the distance between Moscow and Berlin. It was a long way, especially in winter and there were lots of opportunities for ambush, lots of ways Conrad Graaf’s money could buy deceit and betrayal. As he thought about it some more Conrad started to smile.
Standing he walked over to the map, fingers feeling down the edge of the frame until they found a small recessed latch. There was a faint click as the map slid sideways on its hidden runners. Behind the frame was a door of heavy steel, a door strong enough to grace any bank vault. Conrad puffed at the cigar and searched his pocket for the right key. A moment later the door opened and he stepped inside.
The girl looked up from the mattress, her eyes wide with fear. As he approached she struggled into a kneeling position, the rag muffled chains that fastened her steel collar and chastity belt to the wall rustled over the hard concrete floor. Graaf took a cane from the rack of punishment instruments by the door and turned to find her kneeling, shivering and naked in the center of the room. Her hands were behind her bowed head, fingers intertwined, her knuckles white from the pressure. As he came closer she looked up with wide tortured eyes. She made no sound, the size of the cell and the proximity to Graaf’s office had made any gag impractical, so instead her voice box had been surgically removed. Graaf often regretted that necessity, not through any feeling of pity, but because it denied him the chance to hear her scream or beg for mercy.
He flexed the cane. “Peter was bad again Anna,” he said simply, “and now you must suffer for his sins.”
Anna looked up and sobbed silently. After eight years of slavery very little of Erik Muller’s childhood sweetheart remained. Her body was broken and brutalized, her spirit shattered. That she lived this long had been a miracle, one that had cost Graaf a considerable amount of money. Still, while she lived she was a trophy, something that Peter had once had, something he had treasured, that Conrad could use and abuse. When Peter crossed him, and that happened more and more these days, Conrad would vent his anger on the trembling girl’s broken body.
Tonight he started with a vengeance, the cane bringing first fat welts and then puckered stripes of blood to her ass and thighs. Then he fastened her wrist and ankle cuffs to the rings in the floor and ceiling, holding her spread and vulnerable to the cat-o-nine tails that he took from the wall. It all happened in an eerie silence, the sound of whip, the slap on the skin, sighs and faint grunts as each blow hit. Finally Conrad cut her down lying her on the blood stained mattress and covering her sobbing body with a blanket.
For a moment he paused and stroked her hair. “Soon Peter will die,” he said soothingly, “when he does, I promise I will give you peace.”
=============================================================
A Cellar in New York
January 3rd 1929 11:20AM
True horror is in the details, Eveline decided as she looked up at the thin ethereal light that came through the frosted bottle-glass grill. Above her were the sounds of the city, motor cars, trams, the clip clop of horse’s hooves on the cobbles. Occasionally a pedestrian would walk over the skylight and cast a ghostly shadow through the thick glass lenses. Then she would hear their footfalls echoing down into the cellar, the pounding of heavy male feet, the click of a woman’s heels. Normal life continued just a few feet above her while she was trapped in hell.
Evie tried again to get comfortable, inching her bound body first one way and then the other as far as the ropes would allow. The men had tied her to a wooden shelf, and the edges of the lated planks dug cruelly into her naked, unprotected flesh. She struggled weakly, but the men had gone to town tying her and bands of rope bound her to the shelf every few inches. She couldn’t move a muscle. Her mouth had been stuffed with cloth, sealed with a thick layer of bookbinders tape and then covered with a thick muffling layer of padding. Combined the gag reduced her frantic screams to mere murmurs, none of which would disturb the people outside.
For the moment all she could do was watch the shadowy real world though the bottle glass window and pray for rescue.
Except she knew that rescue wasn’t going to come. It had been five days since the men had plucked her off the streets. Five days of ropes and gags, torture and rape. At first the fiery redhead had fought back as hard as she could. A professional dancer, Evie’s body was in excellent condition able to take the relentless punishment rained upon her and still come back for more. However HE had proved relentless, grinding her down, working on her resolve, he had suspended her from the cellar ceiling, almost dislocating her arms, stretched her on a home made rack while a whip played across her fair flesh. Over time even her athletic stamina had started to wear down. The last couple of sessions she had almost prayed for death, the constant pain and punishment were just too much.
She had seen the look in his eyes last night, the look that told her that she wasn’t screaming and thrashing as much as he wanted, it had been a cold look, a calculating look.
The look of a killer.
And Evie had a horrible feeling that today might be her last alive. Above her head on the bottle glass skylight came the slow relentless plod of boots. Evie sighed. The cop, regular as always, doing his allotted beat outside the homes of the rich and famous. The first couple of days Evie had tried screaming to him, but the gag was always too good, her screams too muffled to carry outside and she had soon realized it was futile.
“Ummmmpppphhhhhhh!”
It was pityfully weak. She shook her head from side to side trying to dislodge the muffling material knotted tightly over her mouth. She strained her jaws, feeling the viscous tug of the cloth tape against her skin.
The cop stopped. She could see his silhouette against the glass and metal grill above her.
Evies eyes widened, her heart in her chest.
“Ummmmppppphhhh,” she pleaded, help me, save me please!
But then the cop started into his beat again. Evie sobbed as the footfalls of New York’s finest got further and further away.
She heard a key in the lock. Frowning she turned to look in the direction of the heavy wooden door. It was early, too early for her abductor’s usual fun and games. Evie’s heart raced again as the door squealed open. The Italian stood there, dusting cobwebs from the shoulders of his expensive suit. Evie’s eyes glanced down. The man held a bundle of cloth and a small tray containing some leftovers and a small jug of water. Evie felt her stomach rumble, realizing for the first time just how hungry she was.
The man walked in, placing the tray on the rack on which Evie had been stretched the night before. He walked over to the bound girl taking a switchblade from his pocket and opening it with a practiced flick of the wrist.
“I want’s no trouble, understand? I’ve iced dames before and I ain’t afraid to do the same withs you.” His accent seemed Midwestern, perhaps Chicago or Detroit? In any case one look at the way he held the knife was enough to persuade Evie to play ball, her old Boston neighborhood had been a rough one and she knew a hoodlum when she saw one.
The Italian started to whistle a jaunty music hall number as he went to work on the ropes that bound Evie to the shelf. This gave the girl a chance to look him over. He was younger than she had first thought, more her own age, his face was smooth almost baby like, though a red scar across his chin dispelled any notion that this was an angel. Evie let him ease her off the shelf and onto her feet, doing nothing as he gathered some rope and bound her wrists behind her, then bound her arms to her torso. So far the Italian boy had been absent from the beatings, the torture and the rape. The Boss had done everything, but one of his gunsuls was always nearby, ready to tie the girl when ordered or shoot to her if she fought back. Desperate, Evie hoped that scarface’s absence was a sign that he disagreed with his employer, that perhaps he might help her.
“Ok’s, now I’m gonna take the muzzle off, understand? Start screaming and I slits your pretty throat. Kapish?”
Evie nodded energetically, her eyes fixed on the food and water. She couldn’t eat with the gag on and with her voice back there was just a chance she could talk him into helping her.
Mario untied the thick rag that covered Evie’s lips then slid a nail under the edge of the cloth tape and started to peel. Bookbinders tape was one of the few self adhesive tapes on the market but its strong glue was never intended to be removed after use. Evie squirmed and squealed as the tape was rolled back taking a layer of skin with it and leaving a pink rectangle of new flesh around her mouth. She was still panting when Mario pulled the cloth plug from her mouth.
“T…. thank you,” Evie whispered. Mario pressed a glass to her lips and watched as she drained it. She thanked him again.
“No problem,” Mario said, siting the naked girl down on the rack. He picked up the enamel plate and started to feed her with a spoon.
Evie ate the first few spoonfuls in silence not wanting to risk being gagged again too soon. As her strength started to return so did her courage. When two thirds of the plate was empty she started to talk.
“My name is Eveline Hunter,” she said in a calm, low voice so as not to aggravate him, “I’m the feature dancer at the Follies at the New Amsterdam?” He probably knows all this, Evie thought, he kidnapped you from there after all. Still her mother had always told her to introduce herself first and it seemed a little more dignified than just begging for her life.
She paused, wondering what he would do.
“Mario,” he said, loading another spoon, “from Chicago.”
“The windy city,” Evie said nodding, “I hear there are some swell joints up there, lot’s a jazz and liquor.”
Mario shrugged and stuck the spoon in her mouth. “It’s ok,” he said, “I miss it sometimes.”
Evie swallowed. “I’m a Boston gal myself. You ever been to Boston Mr Mario?”
“Never,” he said sliding the spoon over the plate.
Evie shivered. The plate was almost empty and she had a feeling that when it was the terrible gag would be back. She was wasting time with small talk and yet she had no idea what to say.
“Are you going to kill me Mr Mario?” The words had come from somewhere deep inside, they were calm, collected and surprised Evie as much as they did her captor.
Mario looked at her. It seemed to Evie that he was struggling to say something. For a moment she started to hope, and then Mario looked away.
“You finished?” he asked.
She nodded silently, watching as he took a fresh pad of cloth from the pile of items he had brought down.
Evie licked her lips. “No more tape please,” She begged, looking up into his eyes, “it hurts. Can’t you just tie the cloth over my mouth. I promise I’ll be quiet if you do?”
Mario laughed. “That ain’t the way it works lady…..” He paused as if thinking. “Of course if you were nice to me, and I mean really nice, then maybe we could cut a deal?”
“Nice?” Evie repeated, a cold lump suddenly settling in the pit of her stomach, “what kinda nice?”
Mario slipped a finger around her lips. “I think a girl like you knows how to be nice to a guy,” he said, “I seen doxies like you before in Chicago, girls that can show a guy a real good time.”
Evie licked her lips. Despite rumors about the Follies Evie had been a virgin prior to that first terrible rape. Still if Mario wanted a Doxy and if it got her even the slightest advantage Evie would do whatever he wanted. Her mind thought back to countless dressing rooms and to the way some of the more….popular… girls acted. She took a deep breath. Fighting back her fear and disgust Evie smiled.
“Sure sugar,” she drawled, rubbing her naked breasts against his arm. “You tell me what you want and I’ll give you that good time.”
Mario grabbed her hair and pulled her down, yelping Evie found herself in a kneeling position. She watched in silence as he unbuttoned his fly and freed his semi-hard cock.
Evie shivered. She was no stranger to oral sex now, HE had raped her mouth 2 or 3 times every night. Of course then an ivory ring was always fitted behind her teeth holding her jaws open. This was the first time that she had wrapped her mouth around a man’s cock, the first time she had used her mouth hoping to please him.
Mario groaned as Evie’s head pumped forwards and back. Mario already had a gal, a shop girl from Brooklyn that his cousin had fixed him up with. She was pretty swell about most things and she certainly liked the mobsters access to the best Gin joints, but there were some things she didn’t do and oral was one. As Evie licked and sucked Mario felt his balls boiling over.
He came faster than Evie had anticipated, one moment she was sucking away, the next she tasted bitterness and the cock started to twitch between her lips. Startled the girl started to pull back only to find that the mobster still had a tight grip on her hair.
“No, no girlie,” Mario moaned as his cock twitched in her mouth, “swallow, swallow it all.”
Evie gagged, as a large lump of cum went straight down her throat and then she was gasping whimpering and choking as the bitter fluid flooded her mouth.
Mario withdrew and slipped his softening cock back into his pants. As the girl recovered he poured her another glass of water and brought it to her lips.
“Thank you,” she said, looking up at him with gratitude. That look soon changed when the Italian picked up the new pad of cloth and the half used roll of fabric tape.
Her eyes widened. She looked from the tape to his face and back again. “B….. but you said,” she began.
He laughed. “I said it you were a good girl we would cut a deal,” he said, “so here’s the deal. Tape now because the Boss wants it that way, no tape when you go to bed tonight, ok? It’s the best deal you’re going to get so open wide.”
Evie was tempted to argue but in truth she knew she had little choice. IF Mario kept his word then at least she would sleep a little easier tonight.
She opened wide. Mario plugged her mouth with the cloth and then used the tape to seal her mouth closed around it. Then to her surprise he stopped, leaving the over mouth cloth on the rack. Instead he pulled her to her feet and immediately pushed her into a sitting position on the rack. He took a length of rope, which he wound around her leg just above her muscular calf. Then he forced her legs open a few inches and bound the other leg in the same way.
“Boss wants you upstairs,” he said in answer to her quizzical look, “This’ll make sure you don’t run off.”
Evie tested the hobble and found that it would limit her to only the smallest of steps. Puzzled she didn’t fight when he pulled her to her feet
The bungle of fabric Mario had brought down turned out to be a ladies woolen cloak, which the hoodlum quickly wound around her shoulders and tied under her chin. The final item was a porcelain carnival mask painted to resemble a woman’s face. Mario forced Evie’s head down, placing the mask over her face and then tied the string behind her head. That done he pulled the cloak’s hood up to cover her hair.
“It’ll do,” he said looking her over. Taking her arm he led her towards the cellar door. “It ain’t like we’re goin’ far.”
Slowly he dragged her up the stairs and into the entrance hall of a luxurious brownstone. This was a lavish room with a magnificent staircase and a high ceiling. As Mario dragged her towards the stairs Evie noticed the balding man that had kidnapped her sitting in a chair playing with a Thompson Machine gun.
“Happy, Ted?” Mario asked, flashing the older man a grin.
Ted took the stogie from the corner of his mouth and flipped ash on the carpet. “Its sweet kid,” he growled, “not as much stoppin’ power as a BAR but she sure spits out a lotta lead.”
Ted looked Evie over. “You got her wrapped up well,” he said, sliding his hands through the folds at the front of the cloak and stroking her naked breasts. Evie moaned.
“Nice an’ quiet too,” Ted said nodding, “anyway, you best get moving before one of da servants shows up.”
Mario dragged Evie forward and then up the stairs. They were at the top of the first flight and just about to start on the second when….
“What did I tell you about SMOKING in here?” It was the voice of a woman, shrill and nagging. The two on the stairs paused looking down at the couple bellow. From somewhere a maid had appeared complete with black uniform and white mop hat. Now she stood in front of Ted, waving her finger and pointing at the ash. Ted growled out an answer that was too indistinct for Evie to hear. She took a deep breath.
“I wouldn’t do that it I was you honey,” Mario murmured. He slipped his hand inside the cloak as Ted had, this time selecting the left nipple and rolling it. “Make a sound and I’ll have to hurt you, if she hears it then we’ll have to hurt her. So you see everybody looses.”
Evie looked at him, eyes wide behind the porcelain mask. “I means it,” Mario assured her, “look how close she’s standing to him? How hard do you think it is for him to just reach up an snap her neck like a twig?”
Evie looked down helplessly at the maid as she continued to berate Ted. Then, suddenly the girl looked up, Evie got a glimpse of a plain face and a pair of thick framed round glasses. The maid’s face turned red.
“Oh I’m sorry sir, ma’am, I didn’t see you there!” The maid looked up squinting through her glasses. “Can I help you at all?”
Mario gave Evie’s arm a warning squeeze. “No, dats ok,” he said, “we’re just going to see Mr. Michaels, we’re expected.”
The girl flustered a moment. “I’d better come and announce you then,” she decided. “It would never do to have visitors unannounced.”
“Dat’s ok,” Mario said again, “trust me this is no trouble.”
With that he started to guide Evie up the stairs.
“Ya better hope for her sake that she stays down dem stairs,” he murmured as they neared the second landing. Evie glanced back and found herself relieved that the girl had returned to chastising Ted. She was obviously short sighted and hadn’t noticed the mask as she looked up. Oddly Evie found relief that her ordeal had gone undiscovered.
That feeling didn’t last.
Half way down a corridor Mario stopped, knocked briefly on a door and then pushed it open. Inside the room was bright, the walls ceiling and floor covered in highly glazed white tiles. In the center of the room was an examination table that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the most modern hospital. Beside it steel trolleys and tables glistened with medical instruments.
Arnold Micheals stood in a corner sharpening a scalpel with a stone. Happy that he had the edge just so he turned to face the doorway and Evie could see the thick rubber apron the millionaire was wearing over his clothes.
Arnold beamed. Over the last few days he had raped, whipped and tortured the girl in a hundred twisted ways. However, that had only been an appetizer for tonight. He looked at the light as it played over the scalpel’s wicked edge.
“Hello my dear,” he said, “shall we play Doctor?”
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Conrad Graafs Office, Bayern Chemistrifabric, Munich, Germany,
January 3rd 1929 9:20PM
Conrad settled back and puffed contentedly on a new cigar. Leaning back he looked at the map of Europe and felt his satisfaction grow. Soon Peter Heiden would be dead, soon Alison Michaels, the richest prize of all, would be in Conrad Graaf’s hands, soon…..
Conrad smiled, his eyes fixed on England and the seat of the Corporation’s board of Directors. Soon, he thought, there would be a new order in the Corporation. With the money and power the Michaels woman would provide Conrad would have the resources to buy votes, plot assassinations, and recruit spies. Soon the head of the Corporation itself would fall and he, Conrad Graaf would, reluctantly and humbly take his office.
Conrad laughed.
“Is something funny honey?”
Conrad stiffened. That was a woman’s voice but how….?
He rotated his chair and was so astonished that the cigar almost fell from his open mouth.
Alison Michaels rich red lips twisted into a smile. “Why Fifi, I do believe that we have startled Herr Graaf,” she giggled. “Fifi” turned out to be a small pink toy poodle with a pink ribbon tied around its head. “Want to go down baby?” Alison pouted, she reached down and placed the animal on the floor. “There you go, now be good and stay with mommy.” The dog sniffed around Alison’s ankles for a moment then set off to explore the rest of the room.
Conrad blinked and struggled to his feet. “Miss Michaels…. Err Alison,” I wasn’t expecting to see you….. to see you back so soon. Is Leona with you?”
“Actually there is a funny story all about that which I’ll come to later,” Alison said smiling sweetly, “for now may I sit?” She indicated one of the heavy leather chairs Graaf provided for guests.
“Oh of course, please do.” Conrad shook his head bemused, “you must excuse me Miss Michaels the last I heard you and my daughter and your friends where in Moscow at the Embassy Ball. I have a friend on the Ambassador’s staff, he remarked in a cable that he had seen you.” He looked at the desk calendar and frowned. “You really do seem to have made miraculous time?”
Alison gave a cryptic smile. “Yes quite miraculous,” she said. She took her silver cigarette holder from her purse. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
Conrad shrugged. “No not at all. Do you need a match?”
Alison shook her head lighting the cigarette with a small silver lighter. She puffed then settled back in the chair.
“I sense you are surprised to see me Herr Graaf,” she said, a sudden coldness coming into her voice.
“No not at all,” he said smiling, “Like I said you made excellent time, especially at this time of year.”
“Really?” Alison said, “So your surprise had nothing to do with plots to kidnap me during my visit?”
Conrad looked up genuinely shocked. “Kidnapped? I don’t understand..”
Alison’s red smile became broader. “Let’s me save you a little time here Herr Graaf.” She said, “the man we were travelling with, Peter Heiden, was an agent of a secret criminal organization, one that procures women to be sold as sexual slaves.” She drew deeply on the cigarette. “An organization of which you are also a senior member. This organization was hired by my dear uncle to kidnap and enslave me, is that not true?”
Conrad laughed. “Lies my dear, I have many enemies in business, ones that would claim I committed any crime, in fact every crime I….”
“Enough!” Alison said in a voice that would accept no argument. “Dear Peter feared for his life and took steps to ensure that he would not be betrayed. He collected documents, ledgers, payment stubs, transport inventories, lists of political contributions. A very complete, very factual and compelling collection of evidence.” She paused. “Peter unfortunately met with an accident and so now that information is mine.”
“What do you want?” Conrad asked, pressing the concealed buzzer under his desk.
The Michael’s House, Park Avenue, New York
January 3rd 1929 12:20AM
"Is that coffee good?" Mario Peschelli asked pointing to the glass coffee jug that stood on an electric hotplate in the corner of the room.
Benni looked up from his paper. "Sure," he said, "freshly made. Help yourself."
Benni watched as the younger man trudged wearily across the room. It was easy to see that something was troubling Mario and it didn't take a genius to figure out what it was. Benni wondered if he should say something to the new guy to reassure him that he wasn't the only one who was uneasy with the situation. Benni watched as Mario filled a cup with some of the coffee and pondered what to do. In the end he said. "Did you get her? The girl I mean?"
Mario's shoulders seemed to sink a little more, as if all the cares of the world had been dumped on him. At length he nodded, thought for a moment and said. “He didn't want her in the wine cellar this time, he had me bring her up here, to the room near the end of the corridor, the one with the white tiles."
Benni suppressed a shiver. "Yeah," he said, "that's the infirmary. He uses it when he's going to make a mess."
"Infirmary?" Mario asked, adjusting his shirt collar as if he needed extra air.
"Yeah," Benni said, "you know, a medical room." He looked nervously towards the closed door and lowered his voice. "Officially," he continued, "the late Mrs. Michaels had a nasty terminal illness, cancer or somethin’, so the caring Mr. Michaels had his own medical room built so he could care for her at home."
Mario, gave him a curious look and them padded over, siting in the facing chair and leaning towards Benni. "And unofficially?" he asked in a low voice.
Benni gave the closed door another nervous look. "You've been here a month kid, what do you think happened to her?"
Mario's eyes widened. “You mean he whacked his old lady?”
Benni beckoned him closer still glancing at the closed door. “Was before my time,” he murmured, “but the way I heard it he made it look like a long illness. He kept her down in the wine cellar most of the time doing that freaky stuff. Then he doped her up and brung her upstairs a few days a week so that friends could visit. Finally he killed her, paid off the doctor to falsify the death certificate.”
Mario looked at the door. He’d been a runner for one of the south side gangs in Chicago and had thought he’d worked with ruthless people. He shook his head. With his boyish looks and Harold Lloyd glasses Arnold Michaels had seemed so harmless that most people tended to underestimate him. Even Mario, who prided himself in having good people instincts, had been puzzled when the millionaire had approached him with a job offer. Why would a Park Avenue socialite like Michaels need a hired gun like Mario? Still, the killer was on the lam from the Chicago mob and needed a way to support his lifestyle. Arnold's money had been as good as anyone's and so Mario had accepted. Now he was finding out why Michaels was prepared to pay so well.
Benni continued. “First job I did for him,” he said, toping up both coffees with the contents of a hip flash, “was this woman, neighbor from up the street aways. We grabbed her outside this ritzy store, bundles her into a stolen car. Ties her up, makes sure she’s nice and quiet and delivers her back here in a steamer trunk. Anyway, he takes his jollies for a week or more down in the wine cellar before he gets bored. You’ve seen what happens when he gets bored with a girl?”
Mario nodded and sipped his coffee, enjoying the extra nip of gin.
“Thing that sticks in my mind is this,” Benni continued, “before we dispose of her, he gives her ass to the boys, tells us we can all have a turn with her. Well I was upstairs at that time and I realize that the neighbor, I mean this woman’s husband, is in the sitting room sobbing like a kid. So I listen and there’s old Arnold telling him it will be ok and that he was sure that the kidnappers would send a ransom note and that she’ll be back soon. I mean he’s actin all concerned like a good friend and all the time he knows that the woman is being gang raped down in the cellar. Now I’ve been around some people but let me tell ya, that’s damned cold.”
Mario drained the mug.
“I’m leaving,” he said, “got a date with my girl tonight and I’m feeling kinda dirty.”
Benni looked up. “Ted covering the ground floor?”
Mario nodded.
“If I was you I’d pop into one of them bedrooms and freshen up a bit?”
Mario frowned. “You think I should? I mean if he catches me in there I could be in big trouble.”
Benni laughed. “Trust me kid we wont hear nothing from Mr. Arnold Michaels for another coupla hours.” Benni took the paper and folded it over his face. “Me I’m gonna get my sleep while I can, figure one of us will be disposin’ of a body tonight.”
Mario shivered and headed for the door.
Conrad Graaf’s Office, Bayern Chemistrifabric, Munich, Germany,
Alison smiled. “I represent…… let’s say a rival organization, one that has need of some of the same infrastructure already owned by the Corporation. My organization is offering a deal, if the Corporation accepts our guidance and control we will lead you all to even greater levels of wealth and power. If you resist you will be crushed. Those that choose to serve the new order will be elevated, given power and influence beyond human imaginings. That is the offer I extend to you. Let me be clear we would rather control the Corporation than destroy it. OUR man will be its leader. Do you wish to be that man?”
Graaf’s eyes narrowed. “So it’s true you do know?”
Alison nodded. “I know everything,” she said, “I also know your ambition. Join us and you will get all that you desire and more.”
Conrad took the Mauser from his desk draw and leveled it at the girl. To his surprise she didn’t flinch. Instead she watched him calmly.
“Are you playing some kind of game little girl?” he asked, “oh I have no doubt that fool Peter told you more than he should, is this HIS idea? If so you have both miscalculated. There is no other organization Miss Michaels, if there where I would know about it. You are here playing one of your childish rich girl games but now it has backfired. Now with you in my hands I will take my rightful place as the leader of the Corporation.”
He reached into a secret draw and pulled out a small black rubber sphere with a leather strap though the center. Smiling he tossed the gag onto Alison’s lap. “I grow tired of your chatter!” he said, “place the ball in your mouth and fasten the straps behind your head.”
Alison looked at it with disgust. “What is it?”
Conrad laughed, “A gag my dear, a silencer of women’s mouths. Invented by my people here in Germany to aid with the safe and quiet transport of slaves. Just one of the innovations I will champion when I am made Chairman of the Corporation!”
Alison’s smile just broadened. “Before you silence me, you evil villain you, don’t you want to know what happened to your daughter, just where Leona is?”
==============================
The Michaels House, Park Avenue , New York.
Mario shook his head to dispel the thoughts. Reaching down he took his watch from his vest pocket and checked the time. Arnold had started early on the girl and that probably meant that he wanted to make this a whole day session. Mario nodded relieved. He had the afternoon off so for once someone else would have to dump the body. Mario had started to tire of his trips to the East River. Giving some punk a concrete overcoat was one thing, dumping dead girls was something different. It was about time that someone else took a turn.
He thought again about his plans for the night wondering if it was too late to get tickets for the Radio City Music Hall. His girl had wanted to see the Follies tonight but Mario had a feeling that tonight's show wouldn’t be up to much, not when Mr Zeigfelts feature dancer was currently tied to Arnold Michael's examination table.
Looking around the room Mario spotted a full-length mirror. Ever the dandy the young gangster walked over and checked his reflection. He dusted some fluff from his shoulder, adjusted his collar and combed his slicked hair. He was about to go back to the door when he noticed an unexpected blemish on the mirror - a small black spot that seemed to waver on the surface. Mario looked around trying to see if the effect was an optical illusion, a freak reflection of something in the room. Finding nothing he turned around and looked again. The spot was still there, in fact if anything it was slightly bigger than before. Puzzled he pressed a finger against it. Much to his surprise he felt a slight tingle, much like a low level electrical shock. Frowning he moved his face closer to get a better look.
Ironically Mario was too close to see what happened next directly, instead he saw a reflection of events in the mirror itself. Before the young gunsel could react the mirror’s surface rippled as if it was made from liquid mercury. Just as suddenly a hand appeared, a female hand clothed in a tight black leather glove, the elegant fingers curved around the handle of a crude switchblade knife. Fast and dexterous the hand swiped, tracing a line of fire across Mario's exposed neck. The young man gasped, gargling on the blood from his own slit throat. He staggered back, hands clutched around the red gash in his neck, feeling the lifeblood ooze between his fingers. He fell backwards, his scream of terror reduced to a death rattle as he started to drown in his own blood. As he watched, startled, a young blonde girl stepped though the mirror. The shiny surface wobbled for a moment and then a second girl followed, this one was slighter than the first, her dark bangs framing a intense, angular face with large dark brown eyes.
From his sprawled position on the floor the dying man looked up amazed. With the exception of their method of arrival both girls seemed perfectly normal, both were dressed in fashionable short "flapper" dressed, together with stockings and stylishly flat shoes, both seemed young and disturbingly intense.
The dark haired girl looked down at the dying gangster.
"You see," Uni said in French, "I told you it would be easy."
Leona gave the switchblade she was holding a distasteful look and handed it to her sister.
"Finish him off," she said in French, "I will search for the others."
Uni accepted the knife with a Gallic shrug. She had found that she had no trouble killing rapist assholes. After a life of rape and abuse she still had a lot of anger to work off. He new sister however seemed to still be a little squeamish. Still Uni found that she liked Leona a lot. In fact both of her new "sisters" had proved to be swell. Both had even agreed to speak only French for the past few days giving Uni the opportunity to use her native language for the first time in eight long, painful years.
Taking the knife Uni knelt and sank the blade deep into Mario's heart. A second thrust took the last of the life from the young man. Pausing to clean the blade on his vest she took the opportunity to rapidly search the body, soon finding both the .45 revolver in his shoulder holster and a small .22 holdout he kept in his pocket. She looked up at Leona. The blonde German girl stood in the center of the room, eyes closed, arms outstretched.
"Well?" Uni asked excited.
"Shush," Leona said. Around her the perceived physicality of the building slipped away, replaced by atoms, energy fields and patterns of force. Soon the entire building had gone, solid walls transformed into colored transparent shadow. Leona found she could see everything in the minutest detail. In moments she knew every secret of the house, every room, all its contents, every occupant.
"There is one more guard on this floor," Leona said in English, her head arched back, "he's sitting in a room at the end of the hallway. I think he's napping. There is another downstairs, siting in a chair in the hall guarding the door. The servants are all in the kitchen."
Uni nodded and smiled. "Is he here?" she asked, business like as ever. Leona nodded, she had turned her perception towards the far room where Arnold was entertaining his "guest." She could sense the girl's aura, despite the horrible things being done to her it still burned bright and strong. As Leona watched it flared with fear and pain. By contrast her tormentor's aura was as black as night.
"Oui, he's here," Leona said, "three doors down on the right."
" Très bon!" Uni beamed, "let us dispose of the upstairs guard first."
Leona nodded, focussing her attention on the guard. The Master had said that the Gauntlet could be used as a weapon, the types of destruction it could deliver limited only to the twisted imagination of the user. The young German girl was rapidly discovering that her imagination was very, very twisted.
"I think I will turn his blood to lead," Leona said as she started working out the quantum transfers necessary to bend reality to her will.
Uni smiled. "No problem mon ami ."
Opening the door she slipped quietly down the corridor and into the far room. The guard blinked up, rousing himself from his sleep. Uni closed on him, sweeping a cushion from an empty chair as she passed. Before the man could react she smothered his cry of alarm with the cushion. Pressing the small .22 pistol to his head she fired twice through the muffling cushion. Pausing to check that he was dead she swiveled on her heels and slinked out of the room.
She met a frowning Leona in the hall.
"I would feel a little better about this if you didn't find if quite so easy to kill," Leona murmured.
"Natural talent," Uni said. She handed Leona the .22. "Cover the stairs," she whispered, "I'll deal with our pigeon."
Leona looked at the gun with distaste. "I don't need this thing," the blonde girl said raising her little nose, "I have the destructive power of the universe at my disposal, reality itself bends to my will."
Uni closed her sister’s hand around the gun. "Humor me," she said.
Turning Uni kicked the Infirmary door open.
Conrad Graafs Office, Bayern Chemistrifabric, Munich, Germany,
“Where is she?” Conrad asked. Something was wrong, Alison seemed far too confident and self assured given her situation. In addition he had pressed the panic button twice and had no response. Mindful of assassins and Corporate rivals Graaf kept a team of hand picked men close to him at all times.
Alison laughed. “Well,” she said, “that is the funny story.” She settled back. You see while we were in London Leona and I went to this party. It was a complete gas, absolutely EVERYONE was there, we danced until dawn. Anyway there was this nervous, round little man there who was something to do with the British movie industry and he starts to tell us of this great idea he has for a mystery.”
Alison looked up to find the worried Graaf pressing on the panic button again. “Anyway, Albert, Alfred…. Whatever says that two men meet on this train ok? Now both want to kill someone but they know that if their victims die they would be the first suspect and so… now get this…. they swap murders! Isn’t that a gas? Each kills the others victim giving the other one a perfect alibi.”
“What is happening?” Graaf demanded.
“Oh he never told us the ending,” Alison said, with a grin, “he said that would ruin the suspense.”
The Hallway of the Michaels House, Park Avenue, NY
Ted yawned and looked at his pocket watch. Another hour and he would be out of here, off for another night of booze, women and gambling. Reaching into his pocket he took out a stick of gum and unwrapped it. The maid had confiscated Ted’s cigar and then run off with it. Deprived and depressed the bald man was counting the minutes until he was relieved.
Ted checked his watch again, just fifty-five more minutes until freedom. Rolling the gum into a small, sugar dusted ball he slipped it into his mouth, gave a swift chew and glanced thoughtfully at the stairs. It must have been an hour since Mario had taken the girl upstairs, even Ted shuddered a little when he imagined what Michaels was doing up there. The strange thing was that though Arnold had hired the hoods for protection they were more scared of him than of the gangs outside. Ted was starting to think that maybe he should look up his old mob again. Anything was better than this.
For the fifth time in an hour he checked the Tommy Gun. Michaels might be a flake but he had access to some nice hardware. Ted figured if he did go back to the rackets then this little baby was going with him.
Just then there was a clattering sound in the hallway. Ted blinked and looked up, temporarily confused. There on the polished marble floor was a small .22 automatic that hadn’t been there just a moment ago. Startled Ted flattened himself against the side wall, machine gun at the ready. And then he heard it, I sound he hadn’t heard since his time in the trenches.
Somewhere on the landing upstairs, someone was swearing fluently in German
.
Conrad Graafs Office, Bayern Chemistrifabric, Munich, Germany,
“What has happened to my guards?” Graaf demanded. There was a hint of panic starting to creep into his voice now.
Alison frowned. “You mean the three men in the little room down the corridor?” she asked pointing at the door. “I’m afraid I had to kill them on my way up here. You see they wouldn’t let me see you and I had a message to deliver.” Alison pouted.
“So anyway,” She said, finishing her story, “Leona didn’t think that you’d accept our offer. She said you were too proud to work for anyone else and so that meant we had to kill you.” Alison looked up apologetically, “Sorry darling, nothing personal you’re simply in the way of the progress and damn it, the future kills.” She shook her head. “Anyway you are Leona’s father and we know that patricide is likely to be a really awful sin. At the same time I can hardly go back to New York with my uncle there. So you see, we swapped murders, just like Alfred’s story? Isn’t that fun? That way we don’t have to do anything unpleasant like kill someone we know.”
She paused and gave him her sweetest smile. “So I came here to kill you and Leona went to New York to kill nasty Uncle Arnold.”
Alison’s smile broadened. “And just to be sure, Leona took a Sister with her.”
--------------------------------------------------------;
The Infirmary, The Michaels House, Park Avenue, New York
Eveline Hunter prayed again. "Holy Mary mother of grace," she muttered into the thick gag that stuffed her mouth. There was a flash of pain and the prayer became another muted scream. Arnold Michaels looked up the girl's tortured body. "Praying slut?" he leered, "haven't you guessed by now? Nobody is listening, your God has deserted you. Your soul is bound for hell --when I am finished with your body."
Eveline sobbed. He was right, for the first few days the little Irish dancer had prayed for rescue, now she prayed for death, both prayers had gone unanswered. Since the men had jumped her on the way back from the theatre she hadn't been free for a moment, tortured until late every day, she had long given up on resistance but it hadn't made any difference. The tortures had gone on anyway and now she knew she was about to die. Biting down on her gag she wept, her God had deserted her.
And then the door flew open.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------;
“Who’s there?” Ted yelled up the stairs. He wasn’t expecting an answer, and so when one came he was a little surprised.
“Ted? It is Ted isn’t it?” The voice was young and female with the hint of a German accent.
“Who’s there?” Ted called back. Michaels had confined the servants to the kitchen levels today and the only woman that should be upstairs was Arnold’s current plaything the little Irish dancer.
“Who I am is not important,” the girl called back, “what is is that you leave here now.”
“Why?” Ted asked.
“Because if you don’t I’m going to have to kill you.” She said.
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“Stand and empty your purse now,” Conrad ordered, leveling the gun at Alison.
The American girl shrugged and complied. Inside the bag was makeup, cigarettes, money and a lighter.
“You have no gun?” Conrad said.
Alison drew on the cigarette. “I never learnt to shoot,” she said, “so I didn’t bring one with me.”
The older man blinked. “But you said you killed my guards?” he said.
“Oh I didn’t do that myself,” Alison said. She seemed shocked that he should think she was doing physical labor, “I supervised.”
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"Who the fuck are you?" Arnold demanded.
Uni's mouth quirked in a smile as she leveled Mario's .45 revolver at the startled sadist.
"Me Monsieur?" she asked cutely in English, "I am the angry little girl with the BIG gun, but you can call me your highness."
"Fuck that," Arnold said, diving for a knife. Arnold Michaels used women, he wasn't about to bow down to some psychotic bitch.
Uni shot him.
"Arrrgghhh," Arnold screamed looking stunned at his ruined arm.
"Y...you bitch," he stammered, "y..you shot me!"
Uni turned her head and gave him a wide, cute smile. "Oui," she said. "Tell me Monsieur, what part of angry little girl with big gun do you not understand?"
Panicked, Arnold looked again at the tray of surgical instruments that were so tantalizingly close. He took a small step backwards moving a little closer to the blades. His mind calculating how many more steps he would have to take before he could risk going for a weapon.
Uni looked at him, at the tray and made the same calculation. Sighing she shot out his right kneecap. "I think that will slow you down a little nes pas?" she said.
Arnold screamed and fell backwards onto his ass. His undamaged hand clasped his shattered knee, whimpering. He looked up at his attacker, fear in his eyes.
"W... who are you?" he spluttered.
Uni, smiled and swung around, her foot connecting with his jaw throwing him physically backwards and sending him sprawling across the room.
"I am Nemesis," Uni said, "I am bloody retribution." And to illustrate her point she kicked his injured knee. The man screamed again.
"How do you like that Monsieur," she asked, "'ow do you like things when it is *you* who suffers the pain?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------;
The sound of a shot echoed down the hallway. Ted plucked up his courage and sprinted for the nearest staircase. Something was going on upstairs and as far as he could tell his only opponent here was a foreign girl who had dropped her gun down the stairs.
Reaching the intermediate landing he turned the corner to see a female figure silhouetted at the top of the stairs. With no time to think he pointed the Tommy Gun in her direction and let rip.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------;
The sound of the machine gun echoed though the Infirmary.
“Do you hear that bitch?” Arnold spat, "those are my men, my killers, you won't get out of this alive I promise you."
Uni ignored him. Instead she was looking in the stainless steel trays that held the medical instruments. She selected the largest scalpel she could find and checked the edge for sharpness. Half turning she gave Arnold a worrying smile. The injured sadist continued to clutch his knee and glare at her but Uni could see that some of his self confidence was gone. Despite the gunfire none of his men had appeared to rescue him.
Uni let the light play over the blade in her hand. "My turn now... non?"
For the first time a look of real fear crept into Arnold's eyes. In his anger he had imagined having the girl at his mercy, hurting her until she begged to die, now he understood that he would be the one dying and that his men would not arrive in time to save him.
Uni flashed him a wicked smile, then bent over the helpless dancer cutting the cruel cords that bound her wrists to the bed. Uni pressed the knife into Eveline's hand.
"Free yourself," she ordered, "be ready to go in five minutes or I leave you here to die."
Startled and still gagged it was all Eveline could do to nod her head in agreement
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“Supervise?” Conrad said, “you mean there is someone else here?”
“Of course,” Alison said, “what kind of a fool would come here alone? Leona took a Sister to New York to deal with dear Uncle Arnold, and I brought one here with me to deal with you. She was the one who made such a mess of your nice young guards.”
Conrad leveled the gun at the girl. Raising his voice he shouted. “Can you hear me? Come out immediately with your hands up or I will shoot Fraulein Michaels.”
He turned to Alison. “You will put the gag on now fraulein, I am tired of playing games with you.”
Alison shrugged. “Oh you still want to play with that old thing?” she asked bored, “you really should have told me that before you had me stand and empty my purse. You see it fell off my lap and rolled under your desk. Would you like me to get it?”
Graaf looked at the closed door, then at Alison. If she squatted down she would be out of range of the gun and Conrad would loose control of his hostage.. Conrad took a step back and glanced under the desk soon spotting the buckle end of the gag strap poking out from beneath the draws.
“You will stand very still Miss Michaels,” he warned as he started to squat. Keeping his eyes on the girl and the door, he fumbled for the gag. I moment later his hand pressed against something warm and furry.
“Schwein hund,” he cursed, it must be the stupid woman’s dog.
And then Ariadne bit him.
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The smoke from the gunpowder cleared and Ted realized belatedly that he was in very, very serious trouble.
Leona stood at the top of the stairs, Gauntlet covered hand raised up flat in front of her, much like a policeman halting traffic. However it wasn’t cars she was stopping. Eight feet ahead of her thirty seven Colt .45 slugs where suspended in the air in a hap hazard formation.
“Holy Fuck……” Ted said.
Leona looked at him. “Now you see why you should have run away,” she told him.
Ted pointed down the stairs. “I…I could go now,” he offered.
She shook her head. “A bit late for that Ted,” she said in a regretful voice, “I have some equations to balance that I really do need your help with.”
She flexed her fingers.
Ted had only a split second to realize what was happening. Somehow instead of being at the bottom of the stairs looking up, he was standing at the top of the stairs looking down. Bellow him on the middle landing stood the girl. Ted had no time to react before seventeen of the thirty seven slugs he had fired tore through his body.
Leona sighed and started up the stairs, plucking the machine gun from the dead man’s hand as she went. As she headed back towards the infirmary she wondered in passing if Ted’s death counted as suicide.
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"Michaels?" Uni mused, "is that an Irish name? Are you a Catholic Mr. Michaels?"
"G...go to hell bitch," Arnold managed to stammer. He wasn't ready to beg for his life yet, part of him still believed that his hired guns would come through and rescue him. However with each passing moment that hope was fading.
"Do you read the bible Mr Michaels?" Uni asked conversationally.
Getting no answer she glanced at Eveline who was cutting the cords from her raw and blooded ankles. "I think you do.... oui Mlle?"
Eveline was still gagged, wide eyed she nodded.
Uni seemed satisfied. "Bon," she said, "then you at least will appreciate what I have to say before I send Monsieur back to ‘ell. I 'av a passage from the Mass memorized. During the years of my captivity I would say it to myself every night and one day that prayer was answered." She took careful aim at Arnold's head.
“Judica me, Deus, et discerne causam meam de gente non sancta: ab homine iniquo et doloso erue me.” Uni said, looking Arnold in the eye.
“What is this bullshit,” Arnold asked, but Uni was ignoring him.
“Emitte lucem tuam et veritatem tuam: ipsa me deduxerunt et adduxerunt in montem sanctum tuum, et in tabernacula tua,” she said pulling the hammer back on the .45 revolver.
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Alison looked down at Graaf’s paralyzed body. “I see you met my little sister,” she said with a smile. “You see dear Conrad her species has come up with the most terrific camouflage you can imagine. They manipulate the minds of the creatures they hunt or the ones hunting them. Either they edit themselves out of the prey’s perception or disguise their true nature in an illusion.”
She reached down to pet Ariadne’s head. ‘Isn’t that right Fifi?”
Alison looked at Conrad’s frozen body. “As for you, the poison has permanently paralyzed you. You will live another few hours, perhaps even a day. Medical opinion will be that you suffered a terrible stroke. By the time Leona and I arrive back in Munich and hear the awful news I do believe she will be an orphan heiress.” She smiled. “Just like me.”
Reaching down she gathered her things and put them back in her purse. On impulse she added the ball gag too, after all she still had two little maids to tame. “Well have fun Herr Graaf,” Alison said reaching down to pick up “Fifi,” “say hello to Peter and all our other little friends in Hell. Tell them to expect company.”
-----------------------------------------------;
Now Arnold was really scared. “Look I’ll pay you,” he said, “I’ll pay her, one million dollars… each…. do you hear?”
“Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto,” Uni continued.
“You can have it in cash, now, right now!”
“Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper: et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.”
Uni pressed the gun into Evie’s trembling hands. “You do it,” she said. Evie looked up, five terrible nights playing back through her mind….. She raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
Leona met them outside. In her hand was a fur coat, a pair of shoes, and a pillowcase full of contraband.
“We’d better go,” she said, “there are police downstairs, they will be here in 37.9 seconds.
“Did you empty the safe?” Uni asked.
Leona smiled and hefted the pillowcase, “Of course,” she said, “wouldn’t be much of a robbery if nothing was taken.” She handed the pillowcase to Uni then stepped forward, gently wrapping the coat around Evie’s trembling shoulders and pushing her in the direction of the nearest bedroom. Inside they came to a full-length mirror.
Leona took Evie’s hand. “Hold on to my hand, close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you,” she said kindly.
Evie looked up confused. “Why?” she asked.
“Because we are about to take a short cut through a terrible place,” Leona said, “one where hideous things live and if you look at them they will drive you mad.” She pointed at Uni who was gripping Evie’s other hand tightly. “Even Uni has to close her eyes.”
Evie blinked. “But you don’t have to close your eyes?” she asked.
“Oh no,” Leona said brightly, “you see they’re afraid of me.”
With that she extended her hand through the liquid like surface of the mirror and led her companions through.
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Munich Station January 10th 1929
The workers committee had sent Willy to greet the train. He was one of the youngest at the firm and had known Fraulien Graaf since they were children. He knew there would be others there, lawyers and board members to give the young girl the bad news but the workers committee had decided on the personal touch.
He hadn’t made it through of course, he had tried but the lawyers had pushed him aside. It broke Willy’s heart to see Leona weeping like that, helpless he watched while Leona’s American friend tried to comfort her. As the lawyers bundled the girls towards their fleet of taxis Willy had decided to make himself useful and help with the luggage.
The more senior maid seemed to speak no German but Willy was pleased to find that the little Russian girl spoke many languages. With her help he soon had the porters organized and the baggage underway. One thing he did notice was the way the two women looked at the man, the strange, gaunt, dark haired man who seemed to be travelling with them. Willy, a good communist, couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable with the slavish devotion these girls were showing. In fact if anything they seemed almost to worship him.
Finally, the last Taxi was loaded and Willy found himself standing next to the stranger for the first time. The man was looking at the many political posters glued to the station wall. One in particular seemed to have caught his eye.
“What is this?” he asked pointing to the poster.
“National Socialist,” Willy said with disgust, “they claim to be for the people, but in truth they are funded by the bosses. They are here to keep the workers confused, subservient.”
“Really?” Aleksei asked, “what else do they stand for?”
Willy frowned. “Well, they claim to be the party of order, of destiny and a strong military. ‘Course they’re not up to much, but that Hitler is a real fire brand, he speaks at the Buergerbräukeller every Thursday. Sometimes….. well he almost makes sense.”
Aleksei looked at the poster and smiled.
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