Copyright© 2005 by Carlos Malenkov

It was late in the afternoon and his feet hurt. How nice it would be to get back to the hotel room and sink into the padded recliner! An attractive blonde stood just ahead of him in the checkout line. As he happened to glance over, he caught a quick glimpse of a shiny metal object in her open purse. Damned if it didn't look just like a handgun.

Josh wasn't all that familiar with local customs, but he knew damn well that people didn't go around toting guns in handbags. Especially not in a department store in the heart of West Germany. This woman had to be either a cop or a robber, and either way he should probably do something about it.

"Entschuldigen Sie, bitte... You are the store manager?"

"Yes, and how might I be of help, mein Herr?"

"That lady over there -- die Blondinne -- she has a weapon in her purse. I got a look at it standing in line behind her, and... "

"Not to worry. We shall handle it. Please wait here while I page store security."

"Bezeugnis? But I'm an American! Surely you don't expect me to appear in court."

"My good sir, in a criminal case persons of any nationality can be summoned to testify. It is the law in this country. You can easily verify this by taking it up with the appropriate people at your consulate."

"Scheisse!"

"Sorry, Sam, I won't be able to fly back tomorrow night. I know you were counting on me for that contract signing in Boston, but I seem to be marooned on this side of the pond for a while. I just happened to be present at the arrest of a wanted terrorist and...

"Yeah, that's what I said, a terrorist. A member of a notorious group of desperadoes, I'm told. They'll be taking a deposition from me, and I may even have to testify at the damn trial. And no, I'm not making the story up. It's the gospel truth."

"Bodyguard?"

"Yes, Mr. Joshua Berman. I have been assigned to you. The associates of the people we have in custody are sehr gefährlich. Highly dangerous. They might well attempt to prevent your testimony, even by violent means."

Violent means?

It seemed so unreal to him, riding in the armored Mercedes sedan on the way to the courthouse. Testifying in a German court wasn't quite what he'd had on his agenda when he flew over to finalize the export deal. If he'd had to choose an adventurous diversion from business, it would have been a wild tryst with an exotic stranger (Lonely, he was so lonely.). Well, at least there was that nice-looking female Kriminalpolizei investigator and...

The blast showered him with shards of broken glass and threw him to the floor of the car. Dense smoke... choking, couldn't breathe...

"Raus! Raus!"

Strong hands ripped him out of the burning car and threw him facedown onto the cobblestones... and someone had a knee in the small of his back and was roughly binding together his arms behind him.

Road noises and jolts. He was in some kind of vehicle -- doubled over, cramped, being bounced around. Probably in the trunk, but he couldn't be certain because of the tight blindfold. They were taking him somewhere. They? Who were they? Was he being driven to a convenient place to be executed, or had he only been kidnapped?

Asleep. Must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew was the darkness and the distant sound of water dripping. And confinement. He seemed to be lying on his back on some sort of hard bench, unable to move his arms or legs very much. Chained up! It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, since he could rest chin and chest and flex his legs enough to keep the circulation going. But, he was in bondage. A captive. In a dark cellar. A dungeon!

A creak of an opening door. The light blinded him. "Hör' zu," the voice said. "Liss-ten. Vee holding you prison. Hostage, maybe. Let you free if police let free Gudrun." It was a low-pitched woman's voice. Ominous, threatening, but promising... what?

Four walls. Crumbling plaster revealing dirty brickwork. Cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. And the woman -- in her early thirties maybe, dark-haired, voluptuous, darkly menacing.

A surge of fear spiced with lust washed over him. If only he could have had a girlfriend that good-looking and...

"Look here, you," she said. "Eimer -- container. Relieve self. When full, someone takes away."

He could make out a rusty metal bucket over in the far corner of the room. And, it looked like the chain holding him was just long enough to reach to there.

"Hello, Ami boy." She sat down just out of his reach and smiled. It was a crooked smile. "Get good look, you. No touch." She had unbuttoned her blouse. He gaped at a bare breast.

"Oh, yes. Sex. We give you plenty sex. But, maybe not with woman."

"No, certainly not." A tall, bearded man had walked in. He had placed his arm around the woman's shoulders. "My girlfriend, she makes jokes. And, she likes watch while I take pleasure with hostage."

The man pulled roughly on the chain attached to Josh's manacles. "Stand up, you," he said. "Whatever I say you now do. Exactly what I say. If you wish to live, you will do what I say."

The woman was pointing a pistol at Josh. "You live, you die... all the same maybe. Give pleasure to Johann, and perhaps we let you live."

Pleasure to Johann?

"There. Over bench. Lie down. On stomach."

What?

"Down!"

Josh lay facedown, staring at the dirt-streaked wood grain of the bench. They had tied his hands and feet with rope, securing him to the hard, splintery surface. He stiffened as he felt his pants brutally dragged down. Then a heavy hand smeared something cold and wet and slimy on his bottom, between the cheeks. The woman's laughter sounded like glass shattering.