Vengeance, Part4

Vengeance, Part 4

Back at the warehouse, Max reported that the package was on its way to Balfour’s house. Smiling sweetly, Anika made yet another call to Knight in Scotland. She knew that within minutes of receiving her call Knight would be sending the commands to take over Balfour’s computer in his office, and then making a call to Balfour’s Mayfair home to make sure he was awaiting the package. So far, almost everything was going according to plan – young Balfour’s three friends had been taken and were on their way to a private airfield where another helicopter was waiting to transport them to the island. The only hitch so far was Seth Holden – the team responsible for picking him up was having problems. The young man was locked securely in his parent’s home and showed no signs of going out. The thugs were nervous about trying to pick the young man up from his own doorstep in such a populated residential neighborhood. Max angrily got on the phone and within a few minutes, his threats and graphic descriptions of what kind of punishments his anger would bring down convinced the hired thugs to make their move. They widely decided risking a run in with the law was far preferential to risking Max’s wrath.

December, 2000 – Mayfair

Duncan Balfour poured himself another drink, pausing to examine his reflection in the mirror behind the bar in his study. At sixty-two, his dark hair was noticeably thinning and shot with patches of white. He frowned at the beginnings of a double chin and the pouches under his eyes. Standing sideways, he patted his growing waistline – he wasn’t fat yet, but too much good living and too little time doing any real exercise was beginning to show. He’d worry about that later – he was more curious about the phone call he’d just received telling him to expect an important package within the hour. The arrogant voice on the phone had made mention of Balfour’s brothels, stressing the importance that no one other than Balfour himself open the package. As soon as the called broke the connection, Balfour called his head of security and ordered him to the house immediately. He planned to have Simon Dexter trace the call, find the caller, and teach the arrogant caller some lessons in manners. Dexter, an ex-SAS man, had already arrived at the house and was waiting by the front door for the package delivery.

Dexter reached under his suit jacket and checked the Baretta on the left side of his waist. He knew many who preferred to keep their weapon at the small of their back, but he had always preferred the ease of a cross draw – especially since he usually kept his hands crossed in front of him. Dexter was one of the few men who knew the full extent of Balfour’s legal and illegal business dealings. None of it mattered to him – the only thing Dexter cared about was the impressive salary he received and the unlimited power Balfour gave him in dealing with matters of security. He was a violent man by nature and Balfour not only let him use violence when he saw fit, the old man encouraged it. Balfour even rewarded Dexter with free use of an authentically equipped dungeon in one of his brothels. Dexter wasn’t choosy in the gender of those he used for sexual release – as long as he was able to beat his partner to a bloody, cringing pulp, he was satisfied. The ex-SAS man stiffened as his senses came to full alert – he could hear the sound of a motorbike pop-popping down the street and those things definitely weren’t the normal mode of transportation in this neighborhood. Looking out the window, he saw the headlamp of the vehicle wobble slightly as if the driver was looking for an address. The bike slowed and stopped in front of the house and the driver got off, removing his helmet and smoothing down his hair.

Sam felt decidedly out of place as he parked his motorbike in front of Balfour’s Mayfair home – it looked posh enough to be home to one of the Royals. The front door opened while he was still smoothing down his bleached hair. He could see the silhouette of a man standing in the door as if waiting for him. Squaring his slender shoulders, Sam tried to look as serious and businesslike as possible as he retrieved the box and headed to the door.

“Got a delivery for Mr. Duncan Balfour,” Sam announced, stopping in front of a tough-looking man in a suit.

“Hand it over,” Dexter said, extending his hand. The kid’s voice was pure Cockney gutter trash – Dexter knew the kind. All of them thought they had the potential to be as tough as the Krays had been. And, all them were pure trash.

“Are you Mr. Balfour?” Sam wanted to know. He wasn’t going to foul up and get on the wrong side of Max. This geezer in the door looked tough, but not nearly as tough as Sam knew Max was. “I was told to make sure Mr. Balfour got this package.”

“Hand it over,” Dexter repeated, his voice taking an edge. “I’ll see he gets the package as soon as I’m sure it’s safe.”

“You don’t think I’d be prat enough to motor around the city with a bomb strapped to my bike, do you?” Sam snorted in contempt, handing the box over. He turned to leave, but the man stopped him.

“Stay right there,” Dexter ordered, pulling a switchblade from his pocket and springing the blade. “If this is a bomb, we both go up together.” Dexter examined the box – it seemed too light to hold an explosive, but you could never be sure. He set the box on the ground and bent over it, carefully slicing into the top. Peeling the flap he had made back, Dexter peeked into the box. A couple of envelopes and a video were nestled on top of some kind of packing. Standing, he nodded a dismissal at the boy.

“Here, don’t I get no tip?” Sam asked, sarcastically.

“Fuck off,” Dexter growled, turning his back on the youth and entering the house. He didn’t need to turn around to know that delivery boy had shot him a two fingered salute. What he didn’t see was Sam pulling a cell phone from his pocket and making a call. Kicking the door shut, Dexter went straight to Balfour’s study, announcing the package was safe.

Balfour used a small pocket knife to cut the tape from the package and remove the lid. At first, he couldn’t understand the contents of the box – two envelopes and a videotape sitting on top of what looked like a pile of hair. Opening the first envelope, he found a DVD disc which he laid to the side. He dropped the video next to the disc and opened the first envelope – it was filled with photographs. What he saw made him gasp and stagger. Dexter thought the old man was having a heart attack from his reaction, but Balfour quickly recovered and ordered him to phone Fletcher.

Dexter glanced over Balfour’s shoulder as he tapped in the number to the East End flat. Seeing the pictures, he knew the kid wasn’t going to answer – the snaps told the whole story. He couldn’t tell from the pictures whether Fletcher was still alive or already dead – that kind of slackness in the muscles could be caused by drugs or death. Getting no answer, Dexter hung up and dialed another number which answered immediately. He ordered a Balfour Enterprises security team to the flat, adding to make sure they were all armed – he’d handle any problems that might crop up. Hanging up the phone, Dexter took the video and put it in the VCR, expecting to see a ransom demand from some masked asshole.

“Oh my God!” Balfour moaned, seeing the contents of the tape – it clearly showed Fletcher strapped to a chair, his lips painted a garish red as unseen hands shaved off his hair. Dexter moved to stop the tape, but Balfour insisted on watching it to the end. Both men could see the rise and fall of Fletcher’s chest, so he was still alive when this tape was made. “I want whoever’s responsible to suffer,” Balfour said in a voice strangled by anger. “I want them to suffer for a long time before they die.” Balfour unconsciously reached into the box and dug his fingers deep into his son’s shorn locks, he couldn’t believe anyone would have the gall to even attempt such a thing. As he was imagining what tortures he would visit upon whoever was responsible, the phone rang.

“Balfour residence,” Dexter said, grabbing the phone.

“Put Balfour on the line,” an arrogant voice ordered.

“You talk to me,” Dexter countered.

“I talk to Balfour, or the boy dies now,” the voice said. “Get this through your fat head, Mr. SAS man, you are not in control of this situation – so put Balfour on the fucking line.” Dexter reluctantly handed the handset over to Balfour.

“You are a walking dead man unless I get my son back now,” Balfour screamed into the phone, spittle flecking his lips.

“Shut up!” The voice snarled back. “Like I told your trained ape – you are not in charge of this situation. I am. You do what I want, when I want, and your boy lives.”

“What do you want?” Balfour asked, forcing himself to remain calm.

“What I want right now is for you to turn on the evening news,” the voice said calmly. “It’s just starting now.

Balfour motioned for Dexter to turn the news on – and waited impatiently for the opening credits to finish running. Then, a photograph of Collins flashed up behind the news reader – as she read the news, the picture was replaced by videotape of ambulance attendants wheeling a stretcher from Collins’ house – his hands and face heavily bandaged. According to the news reader, every bone in the doctor’s hands had been methodically broken.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” the voice on the other end of the phone said in an exaggerated British accent. “It does rawther appear that the good doctor has suffered a terrible accident. It certainly does appear he won’t be able to accompany you on your little trips anymore and perform those unspeakable operations. Oh, bad show, old boy.” The voice laughed evilly before continuing. “Of course, you’d both have a hard time going on your little voyages, anyway. I understand there is a terrible fire down on the docks – it seems some foolish boat captain was smoking a cigarette while refueling your yacht.”

“I’ll rip your balls off and personally shove them down your throat,” Balfour snarled into the phone. A dry chuckle drifted through the receiver – and for a long time Balfour couldn’t hear anything but silence. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” the voice said in amusement. “Just giving old Simon there a chance to try to see if he can get a trace on the call, I hope he’s having fun.” Another chuckle.

“Look, all I want is my son back,” Balfour said, trying to pretend to be reasonable. “What do I have to do to get him back? I can have whatever amount you want by the morning.”

“That’s better,” the voice said. “You don’t have to insult me, Duncan – you don’t mind if I call you Duncan, do you? I haven’t once mentioned money, have I?”

“Well what do you want?” Balfour asked, trying not to boil over again.

“I want you to do exactly as I say,” the voice said in amusement. “That’s all – do exactly as I say and I’ll return more than just his hair. By the way, it looked like such a nice head of hair – so thick and long, and soft from what I understand.” The voice went silent for a moment. “I am impressed, Duncan – you do have good self control. You didn’t respond to that little bit of teasing just now.” Balfour remained silent, trying not to antagonize the nut case on the other end of the phone. “Right – down to business then. The first thing I want you to do is go down to your office.”

“And then?” Balfour wanted to know.

“And then, we’ll talk again,” the voice said.

“When? How long do I have to wait?” Balfour asked, panic edging his voice.

“You’ll wait as long as I want you to wait,” the voice said. “But, I’ll only make contact with you again at your office.” The line went dead.

Balfour looked over to Dexter hopefully. Dexter slammed the other line down in frustration – whoever made the phone call knew his business. The call had been bounced all over the world, foiling all attempts at a trace. Balfour didn’t say a word, he just spun on his heel and stormed out of the room towards the garage.

Scotland, December 2000

Knight broke the connection with Balfour, laughing softly – he couldn’t help himself. He’d waited two decades for his chance to take the bastard down and make him suffer – now, he had Balfour willing to jump through hoops to appease him. Things were moving steadily along now – the helicopter with young Balfour’s three friends would be arriving within the hour. Anika’s helicopter would be later – there had been some delay in picking up Seth Holden. Holden’s presence wasn’t vital to Knight’s plans, but it would add to the humiliation both Balfours would feel. He’d delay Anika’s departure for another hour – after that, he’d just have to do without Holden. Knight went through one more check of his equipment and software – there was no need other than the fact that he needed to be doing something more than waiting while others were taking action in London.

London, December 2000

Anika smiled when the Austin taxicab rolled through the warehouse doors. Max had insisted the thugs he hired use the black car because they were such a common sight on London’s streets. No one would generally look twice at the familiar boxy vehicles. A quacking Seth Holden was pulled from the backseat and shoved towards the leggy blonde.

Seth didn’t know where to look first – three things grabbed his attention as soon as he was out of the car. The first was the gorgeous woman with long blonde hair and a fur coat. The second was a massive, very mean looking man in a black leather overcoat lumbering towards the taxi; and last, was the naked guy with a skin-tight buzz strapped to a chair. Since opening the front door and being grabbed by two large goons, Seth had been constantly frightened and the things he saw in the warehouse didn’t lessen that fright. The blonde came over to him, circling behind and wrapping her arms around him.

“Don’t worry about anything,” Anika said, as she pulled the frightened young man tightly to her, gently rubbing his chest. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you – in fact, you are to be a guest of honor.” Anika guided Seth closer to the chair. “I think you know the central attraction here, a bad natured young man who has made your life miserable,” Anika cupped Fletcher’s chin in one hand and lifted his head back so Seth could get a clear look at his face.

“Fletcher Balfour!” Seth said in surprise. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing serious, I promise,” Anika assured him. “Just some drugs that make him more cooperative – he was so cooperative that he didn’t complain once while he got his hair cut. And, he doesn’t seem to mind wearing lipstick.” Despite his fright, which was subsiding as Anika rubbed herself against him, Seth couldn’t help chuckling at the sight of Fletcher Balfour with his head buzzed down to stubble and that brilliant red lipstick on his mouth.

Anika led the young man into the warehouse office and studied him as she poured him a mug of coffee. He wasn’t such a bad looking young man, she decided. With a little bit of guidance and some fashion advice, he could be fairly cute she decided. He had a mane of untidy light brown hair that looked like he had been trying for a Hugh Grant style – she cocked her head and considered – he might be able to pull off that look if his hair was shaped up and styled a little better. Of course, he needed to either dye it a darker shade of brown or lighten it to a natural looking blonde. And those clothes – Anika suspected that most of Seth’s clothes were still bought by his mother, and those he bought for himself were given no consideration for how they would look on him. And, of course, Anika was fairly certain this young man was still a virgin -–she couldn't help muse over the enjoyment she could have taking Seth under his wing and overseeing his transformation. She let those ideas roll around in the back of her head as she began working to set his mind at ease, assuring him he would be returned home safe and sound in just a couple of days.

It took several mugs of coffee and a lot of hands on stroking to get Seth as relaxed as Anika could expect him to be under the circumstances. Before long, she was listening as the pent up dam inside the young man broke and he began describing in detail the years of humiliation and harassment he had endured at the hands of Fletcher Balfour. Anika realized Seth had never really told anyone exactly how terrible the harassment had been – for one thing, few would have believed it. The litany of abuses ranged from some things that were common among young boys, to sexual and intense mental abuse. Anika found herself wondering how Seth had managed to keep even a tenuous grip on his sanity. She wondered if the things Seth was about to witness would help even the score for him.

New Scotland Yard – 31 December 2000, 12:30 a.m.

Chief Inspector Archie Bell watched the DVD found in Dr. Collins’ home again, feeling even more revulsion for the acts committed by the doctor than he did when he first saw the mangled condition of the doctor’s hands and jaw. It was obvious someone had decided to take revenge on Collins – the question was, did the perpetrator personally suffer at the hands of the doctor, or was his torture retribution for a family member? One way or another, Bell would find out when he caught whoever was responsible – and he would catch them. Collins may very well have deserved everything he suffered, and more – but the law still didn’t permit individuals to take matters into their own hands. Bell would find the culprit – and, he would personally see to it that Collins was prosecuted to the fullest extent possible.

Bell turned his attention back to the video. He’d watched the DVD at least a half dozen times already, and could tell that the videos had been made over the course of years. The hairstyles of both Collins and his victims indicated that – from a guess, he thought the tapes went back at least to the mid-eighties, maybe even earlier. Bell had turned the sound down a long time ago – there were only so many times he could hear those pitiful cries from the helpless young men as they begged not to be castrated and later sodomized. The rape of those young men was an additional charge that could be laid against the doctor, Bell decided. Bell knew the events on the DVD by heart by now – he was less interested in watching the crimes themselves now. His interest was directed at the setting – he wanted to know where these obscene operations took place. There was something familiar about the operating room – for one thing, it wasn’t a proper operating room – Bell knew that much. For one thing, no legitimate hospital would allow that sort of thing. For another, the room was too small – there were cabinets behind Collins that wouldn’t have been in a regular operating room. Suddenly, Bell hit the freeze frame button as the camera panned up to the young man’s face – there was something in the background. Bell moved closer to the screen, examining the blurry image. His nose was mere inches from the screen when Bell realized what it was in the background – it was a porthole. That’s why the room was so small – he wasn’t in a proper operating room – he was in a ship’s surgery. Collins was conducting these unspeakable surgeries aboard a ship of some kind. The room wasn’t big enough to be on a cruise liner – the facilities aboard those ships were much larger. That left a private vessel of some sort – a ship large enough to carry medical facilities. That meant a private yacht. Bell buzzed for his Detective Sergeant, ordering him to find out where he needed to check to find out which private yachts carried medical facilities.

London, Balfour Enterprises Building, New Year’s Eve 2000

Duncan Balfour barged through the silent office building, slamming open doors, his anger burning. He'd do whatever he needed to do to get his son back – he’d follow orders, grovel, debase himself – anything to get Fletcher back safe. But, one he had his boy – all promises he’d be forced to make were off. Whoever was behind this was going to suffer – suffer more than Collins must have suffered as his fingers were crushed one by one. Nearing his private suite of offices, Balfour heard the phone ringing, making him break into a run to get to the phone. He nearly leapt over his desk to grab the phone.

“It’s about time you arrived,” the voice said, before Balfour could speak. “What’d you do – stop for a bite to eat, or did you stop at one of your flesh dens for a quick piece of ass?”

“Listen, you,” Balfour snarled.

“Shut up,” the voice said, sharply. “I call the shots and you act with respect – those are the rules of the game. I want you to understand one thing clearly – if you do exactly as I say, your son comes out of this alive. But, it really doesn’t matter to me if he lives or not – I really don’t care one way or the other, so swallow that arrogant pride you’re so famous for and get used to eating crow. You saw what happened to our friend Collins – imagine how painful a death I could devise for Fletcher.”

“Okay, okay – you’re in charge,” Balfour conceded. “What next?”

“First, turn on your computer,” the voice ordered. “Then, sit back and enjoy the show.” Confused, Balfour turned on the computer – as soon as it booted up, the screen was filled with a video image. “I thought you’d enjoy watching videos of your son growing up – for now. Pretty soon you can see him live. Keep this line free – I’ll call you back soon.”

Scotland, New Year’s Eve 2000

The helicopter carrying Anika, Max, Seth, and Fletcher landed without problems on the tennis courts build over the bunker. Anika was surprised that Knight wasn’t waiting for them – normally, he was standing by the edge of the landing pad when Anika arrived. She instructed Max to take Fletcher down to the bunker as she guided Seth to a room where he could wait. She headed straight to the communications center where Knight could usually be found, but the room was empty. On impulse, she went down to Dr. Mehet’s office where she found Knight shirtless as the Egyptian doctor took his blood pressure. Anika felt her stomach churn – she’d known for some time Knight was feeling unwell.

“Nothing to worry about,” Knight smiled in her direction. “I’ve got a headache is all – but you know how picky Mehet is – no drugs without a blood pressure screening.” Knight unwrapped the blood pressure cuff, and pulled his black turtleneck on, smoothing out his hair as he did. “Did you manage to calm down Seth?”

“Eventually,” Anika admitted. “He is still very nervous – I suppose you were aware Fletcher repeatedly raped Seth when they were younger?”

“Of course,” Knight said, kissing Anika’s forehead. “Why do you think I had him brought here?” Knight led the way down to his study in the bunker highlighting the details he knew of the relationship between Seth and Fletcher. Anika was amazed he knew so much, and a little troubled he had kept it a secret from her.

“How did you know?”

“You surprise me,” Knight said, fixing himself a drink before settling down and adjusting the lights to the level he liked. “You know how thorough I’ve been – at least a dozen private detectives have been working on the background. They brought me a little information here, and a little there.” He took a long sip of his drink. “And, young Fletcher kept a diary on his computer – he seemed to think that keeping a diary demonstrated some kind of self-discipline. He went into graphic detail of the things he did – I think he used to jack off reading what he had done and reliving the experiences.”

“What purpose does brining Seth here serve?” Anika wondered.

“Maybe none,” Knight admitted. “Maybe it will help him put his own demons to rest knowing punishment has caught up with Fletcher. Why the special interest in the kid?” Knight studied Anika intently and then broke out laughing. “Oh my – don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on him?”

“Not a crush, don’t be silly,” Anika said. “I feel sorry for him – if he had some self confidence he could be a handsome young man, is all. The transformation is what intrigues me.”

“I thought you preferred transforming men with a whip,” Knight teased. Then he shrugged. “Knock yourself out – we’ve got a few hours before Fletcher wakes up, right?”

“About that, yes,” the blonde admitted. She noticed Knight was rubbing the scar on his forehead, near his temple. “Is your head still hurting?”

“A little – nothing some aspirin won’t take care of,” Knight said, dismissing her concern. “Too little sleep these past few days, is all.” He knocked back the rest of his drink. “When you’re done making Seth Holden all pretty, bring him here to me. I want to talk to him before we start,” he ran his fingers across the scarred left side of his face, “and give him a chance to get used to these.” He spun his chair away from her, dismissing her.

To be continued in Part 5