“It wasn’t smart of them. And you know our lawyers are going to tell the court that the Americans are trying to steal our scientist pure and simple. He was kidnapped while on a retreat to Fiji. When Anna and Sam disappear and we have Jason, the French court will thumb its nose at any Americans who try to continue. Of course this does depend on Gaudet doing his job.”
“He will do his job.”
“We’ll see. We think Samir has taken Michelle’s boy.”
“Yes, I know.” She kissed him deeply and invited a hand up her leg. “Come, I will make you forget all of this.”
She took him into what had been her spare bedroom. Unlike the rest of the house, it had recently been done mostly in gray and deep red. Heavy draperies hung over every window. The door was massive and out of place for interior use. There was a brass bed with a long scarf affixed to each corner.
“I am going to tie you up so that we can play.”
He looked awkward. They had never done exactly that, but she began kissing him and popping buttons on his shirt, making sport of the garment’s destruction.
“What will I wear home?”
“I have a new one in the closet.”
When he was nude, she got him started on her body and moved him to the bed.
Although he looked a little uncertain, he let her tie his hands and she did so firmly. It was going more smoothly than she had hoped as in her mind there had been a real question about whether she would need to wait for the drugs mixed into the port. Now that it was all ending, she suddenly didn’t want him to touch her any more than absolutely necessary. Once he was tied, she pulled the cuffs from their hiding place under the mattress. Before he knew what was happening the first was locked and closed.
“What are you doing? The scarves are fine. Why the cuffs?”
“It’s a game, DuShane. You’ll like it.”
“Benoit? What are you doing?” She closed the second cuff and went to his feet. At the head of the bed the cuffs were on a chain that was bolted into the wall where metal plates could easily withstand a one-thousand- pound pull and any amount of jerking that a man could generate using nothing but his flesh. At the foot of the bed the cuffs were affixed to the floor. Gaudet had insisted that everything had to be foolproof times four.
As soon as he was secure she told him the facts.
“If you scream no one is going to hear you but as a precaution I have this.” She held up a large can with a label: BEAR GUN. “This is pepper spray of a strength great enough to knock down a grizzly-you know, the big guys in North America. It will choke you down. If that doesn’t work I have a tazer that will knock the dinner from your bowels, and if you foul my bed I will make you suffer.”
“What are you doing?”
From a drawer she retrieved a large mask and tried it on.
“The Nannites are coming, DuShane.”
She took it off and set it aside.
A look of troubled recognition crossed his face followed by outright horror as the facts began to marshal themselves and he became like a mouse facing the talons of an owl.
“Help me,” he shrieked.
She pressed the button on the stereo remote, filling the room with sound, a much better alternative than the pepper spray, which might linger in her apartment. She took a syringe loaded with succino coline and came to the side of the bed. “I’m going to hit you with a tazer. If you shut up and lie quiet I will only do it once.” She hit his chest and he jumped. Quickly she put the drug in a vein in the back of his hand.
Next she went to the closet and removed a foam-filled box that was hinged at the top and opened at the bottom. It was quite heavy, weighing a good fifteen pounds. As she carried it to the bed he shook himself lucid and became nearly hysterical.
“Whatever I did I can make it right,” he shouted. “Whatever I did. Listen, we can talk. This is insanity.” She noticed that he had the look of a beast in his eyes. The whites appeared larger and the eyeballs appeared to rotate inside his head, casting side to side, as if by looking enough he might spy his deliverance. As she sat on the bed to encapsulate his head, he began pulling on his restraints and bouncing up and down, screaming incoherently. At least she didn’t notice any words. It was becoming a primal state.
She had a feeling that twice with the tazer might not be good. He had to live a long life. When she tried to put the back half of the head box under his head, he threw it side to side, making it difficult. Finally she could see that the effort was bruising her arms and he was screaming incessantly so that even the music might not be sufficient to disguise the noise.
This part of the ritual had been prescribed by Gaudet, more, she thought, as a form of torture than anything else. The drugs might take another five or ten minutes or they might not be strong enough for a man wild with panic. Primarily, the succino coline would erase his memory of events in this room. Gaudet had given her another more potent hypodermic but for some reason didn’t want her to use it unless she felt compelled.
“DuShane,” she said calmly.
He stopped his struggling and his screaming. It was a powerful feeling.
“You don’t want me to put you to sleep with a syringe. You’ll be unconscious. I would think you would hate that.”
“Let me up.”
She went back to the closet and took out a black box. In front of Chellis she opened it and took out the second hypodermic.
“One stick and you are floating among the stars without even a memory of what has happened to you. Do you want us to steal some history? And if I have to use it, you never know what I might do.”
The illusion that he might yet hang on to a little power amused her and was like a narcotic for him. Apparently DuShane reasoned that if he was awake he still had some control. “One chance, DuShane. Let me put the box on you and I’ll leave the trapdoor open in the front. I’m not going to bruise my arms playing with this contraption.”
“Damn you.” He began screaming again. “Help, somebody help me.”
Her own miscalculation made her angry. Being very careful with her aim, she took the bear spray and shot it at his screaming throat. Then she stepped way back, her eyes stinging, and opened the bedroom door, retreating into the living room while she watched. The reaction of his body was dramatic. He turned white, then red, and looked as if he were trying to swallow the room.
She wondered why she hadn’t thought to use the gas mask. Holding her breath, she ran to the closet and put it on. Now she could watch the spectacle in comfort. He gasped terribly.
Although she knew he was trying to talk, it was a while before she could read his contorted lips enough to make out his words.
“Take me to the hospital.”
It was becoming tedious.
After a few minutes he appeared paralyzed; all he did was breathe, and he didn’t do that very well. This time she easily slipped the box under the back of his head and closed it. There was a trapdoor in front that she opened.
“There now. That’s much better.”
After a half hour of reading Cosmopolitan aloud to him, the English version, he was pretty much back to normal-that is, he was starting another screaming fit.
“Shut up or I’ll close your door.”
He quieted, but he looked so angry she thought he might burst veins in his eyes.
“Just tell me why.”
“It’s simple. I want what you have. If I kill you, then your living trust provides that the trustees for the brat takeover, Marie and I would get a pittance, and we lose the company. Those jackal lawyers of yours would have us escorted off the premises.”
“Marie would get millions.”
“Twenty, dear. Only twenty. What is that compared to the billions you control? On the other hand, if you are incapacitated, then Marie and I are in charge. Surely you remember how and why you set it up that way. You said, I
