D2-670A
Part Three
Approximately two hours after Rene freed Shana and the two escaped via the
family sedan they found in the driveway, a second blue sphere appeared in the
cellar of the kidnapper's home and quickly expanded to portal shape. The first
person to step out of the rift between dimensions was a hulking brute of a man
well over six feet tall. A shaven head, squinty eyes, and stubbled cheeks framed
a mass of rippling muscles badly concealed beneath an ill-fitting suit. In his
right hand, the man held a small button-like device with a tiny eye-hole at the
end. He aimed the device around the room like a weapon, and then satisfied that
was all clear, stepped to one side of the portal.
Marcus was the second figure to appear - long hair tied back in a dark ponytail,
startling blue eyes sweeping from side to side, tanned features contracted in a
sneer of disdain. He wore a calf length leather jacket over a black turtleneck
sweater and black pants, and carried another of the button-like weapons in his
hand. Marcus spoke as he moved over to stand beside the large man.
"Confirm dimension, Rufus."
"Rufus" nodded once and reached into his jacket pocket to withdraw a keypad
headed by a display window. He punched in a series of commands and waited
patiently for an answer.
As he did so, the third and fourth members of the unofficial retrieval group
filed into the cellar. The first of these was a petite, red-haired female,
garbed in a heavy wool overcoat, white shirt, knee-length skirt and sensible
heels. She would have been completely unnoticeable (which was exactly the effect
Marcus was searching for when he selected her clothing) were it not for the fact
that a high collared leash was bucked about her neck, and the lower half of her
face was hidden from view by a leather cover-all gag. Less noticeable was the
way the coat hung off the red-head's shoulders, hiding her crossed and bound
hands from a casual observer's view.
The fourth person through the portal - a squat, blonde haired man with a rounded
face and bright brown eyes - held the other end of the woman's leash tightly in
his hand. His thin lips creased into a savage grin as he jerked on the leash,
causing the petite woman to stumble back into him with a muffled grunt of alarm.
"Tarrant!" admonished Marcus, "leave Kitara alone. She volunteered for this
retrieval mission, and you will treat her as nothing less than an Alpha Level
female."
Kitara looked thankful behind her gag as the keypad in Rufus' hands emitted a
shrill beep, cutting off Tarrant's scowling reply. "We're in D2-670A."
"Good, no interference during the transfer, then." Marcus reached down to thumb
one of the D-keys on the ring hanging from his belt. The portal behind Tarrant
and Kitara immediately began to shrink. "Rene has a three hour start on us, so
we don't have any time to waste."
"She could be anywhere," scoffed Tarrant. "How the hell do we find her?" Behind
him, the rapidly diminishing portal disappeared.
Marcus eyes his "friend" squarely for a moment. Tarrant was the last man he
would have chosen for this retrieval in a perfect dimension, but unfortunately
there were very few men willing to part with one of their hard earned Dimension
keys, and even fewer who were willing to openly defy The Council by going on an
illegal retrieval. Hence, Marcus had found his options limited to the sadistic
little runt. Rufus, on the other hand, was his longest serving and
unquestionably loyal bodyguard - and would remain so as long as Marcus made sure
to provide him with suitable rewards for his service. And Kitara . . . well, she
was the bait that he hoped would eventually give him back Rene.
"Rufus, enlighten our doubting companion here."
The large man waved the keypad at Tarrant. "This processor block has a tracking
program enabled. Rene has a bug in her, implanted when she was first sold to
Marcus. Simple really."
Tarrant sneered. "It must be if a thug like you can understand it."
"Tarant," warned Marcus, "I'd be very careful what you say in this dimension. My
authority over Rufus may not be as profound as it is back home."
Rufus smiled, exposing an array of broken teeth, while Tarrant's sneer was
replaced with a scowl. "Well, what are we waiting for?"
Marcus held out his hand for the processor block, which Rufus promptly handed
over. "You two sweep the house, make sure she's not hiding anywhere in here.
I'll watch Kitara and allow the block to orientate itself."
"And if we find any other occupants?" asked Tarrant.
Marcus smiled. "This is a low profile retrieval. The fewer people who know about
our presence here the better."
Rufus and Tarrant smiled and nodded in synch, then together headed for the
stairs.
*****
At 35,000 feet, Dr. Heather Landcom was fast coming to the conclusion that being
bound, gagged and wheeled out of a busy hotel in a pile of dirty sheets and
towels was infinitely preferable to being rebound, regagged and locked in a
wooden crate stored in the cargo-hold of an airplane.
Heather tried, in vain, to maneuver herself into a position to strike against
the side of the crate. Her hope was that if she made enough of a noise, someone
would come to investigate and perhaps even free her from her tiny prison. Her
bondage, however, made a mockery of such a thought.
She was tied into an excruciatingly tight ball. Her knees were drawn up and
pressed against her forehead by rope wound around her neck and behind her knees.
Her arms were welded together behind her back by rope tied at her wrists and
elbows, and attached to her bent legs by a hog-tying cord. Her legs were also
bound together at ankles, knees and upper thighs; while a thin cord wrapped
around her waist and pulled tight between her legs tormented her most sensitive
areas.
She was also blindfolded and gagged, of course. Her binders (and there had been
at least three of them) had taken special care to ensure she was unable to see
anything or utter a sound loud enough to penetrate the crate, even with its
pre-drilled air-holes. Her blindfold consisted of a cotton pad over each eye
that was taped in place and covered with a bandage that was wrapped around her
upper face half a dozen times. In a similar manner, Heather's mouth was packed
with a copious amount of cloth that every so often tickled the back of her
throat, setting off her gag reflex. She had little choice other than to control
the reflex, however, as a thick cloth of some description was tied between her
teeth, preventing her from expelling the intrusive wadding with her tongue. Her
lips were crushed together around the cleaving cloth by the next layer of her
heavy gag - three pieces of white medical tape - that covered her face from nose
to chin. Finally, another bandage was wrapped tightly over the tape, further
ensuring Heather's silence and leaving only her nose free from obstruction.
With a muffled grunt of anger, Heather gave up her attempt to thrust a part of
herself against the box and lay breathing heavily through her nose. It seemed
she had no choice but to wait for someone to remove her from her prison, and by
her calculations that was still over three hours away. She'd heard one of her
binders comment that she should be able to bear being tied in this way for six
hours, and she suspected she'd yet to reach the half-way mark of her flight.
Refusing to think of why anyone would want to kidnap her like this, Dr. Heather
Landcom did the only thing left for her to do - she allowed the rumble of the
airplane's engines to lure her into an uncomfortable doze.
*****
Fortunately for Harold Cromb, the blow Rene delivered to his head with the
baseball bat did not kill him. In fact, he awoke on the floor of his bedroom
with little more than a bad concussion. Groaning, Harold pushed himself to his
feet and was not surprised to see the little slut he had kidnapped was gone.
Someone had obviously jumped him from behind and then helped the tart to escape.
He groaned again and added a grimace for good measure. She was probably already
on her way to the cops, so he had to get his stuff together and leave town as
fast as he . . .
Harold's scheming abruptly ended as he turned around to see a squat blond man
standing in the bedroom doorway. For just a moment he thought he'd come
face-to-face with the slut's rescuer, but the first word's out of the stranger's
mouth ended that notion.
"Well look at this," the man said as he waved a hand at the discarded rope, tape
and cloth wadding on the bed. "Seems like the old man here is into a bit of
slavering himself."
A second, much larger man, moved to stand behind the original speaker. "Maybe he
had Rene in here?"
"Maybe he did at that. Why don't you ask him?"
Harold's eyes widened in confusion as the smaller man made way for his associate
to step into the room. "Wh-what?" he stammered. "I d-don't know any Rene."
"Really?" said the smaller man. "So you haven't seen a tall, butt-naked blonde
running around in the last few hours? Didn't maybe decide that she should be . .
. oh, I don't know . . . punished for breaking into your home? Hmmm, am I
ringing any bells?"
The large man continued his slow advance on Harold who was now too petrified to
move. "No, I swear I haven't seen anyone like that. The girl I had here was
dark-haired. She . . . she was a slut who was asking for everything she got. You
have to believe me."
The large man paused to glance over his shoulder. "What do you think?"
"I think the old man is so terrified, he's ready to piss himself. So maybe he's
not lying." The squat man stepped back into Harold's view. "What happened to the
girl you did have?"
Harold motioned unsteadily to his head. "Someone hit me from behind with a bat."
The large man smiled knowingly, while his partner nodded. "That sounds like our
Rene." He paused for a second. "Rufus, if you'd be so kind."
On cue, Rufus darted forward and grabbed Harold by the arm. The large man
twisted viciously, and Harold howled with pain as his arm snapped like a twig in
his attacker's strong grip. His legs gave way beneath him, but Rufus' grasp held
firm, refusing to let him buckle.
The smaller man moved forward until he was nose to nose with Harold. "It's not
that I don't believe you old man, it's just that . . . well, we have to be sure.
And besides," he added with a wry grin as he pulled a small knife from his
jacket pocket, "we're not supposed to leave any potential witnesses."
*****
