Chapter 14: The Edge of Control

Tamara had dozed off and on for hours in the dark room. There was nothing else to do. They'd removed her hood at some point, but it made no difference. No light crept in anywhere, and she'd been tied to the cot and could not move around.

After being taken by the unknown forces, she'd been jolted on a jumpy ride in a heavy vehicle for miles before stopping. She'd been forced out, hands holding her tightly and walking her blindfolded for some distance before she was stopped, pushed onto the cot, and tied to it.

They'd said nothing to her, speaking a language that might have been Italian. Tamara had nothing to go on, nothing she could do. Her thoughts stayed on her children. She didn't know what had happened to them, whether they'd been captured. She hoped not, but it sank in quickly that they probably were being held by the same group.

She wished they would talk to her, explain why she'd been taken. Maybe tell her where her children were just then. She needed something, anything, to give her hope. Instead, the dark room felt too small, making it hard to breathe, forcing her frustration and her worry to boil endlessly and threaten to overwhelm her.

Finch sat quietly while the woman moved carefully from window to window, scanning the land outside. She poured a cup of water, offered it to him. He drank slowly and shivered with fright.

The woman eyed him, sat in a chair opposite him in the small living room, her grip on the rifle not relaxed one bit. She finally said, "Vretanoí?"

He shook his head, shrugged, had no idea what she was asking.

The woman said, "British?"

He said, "n-no."

"Amerikanós?"

Finch thought he got the point, nodded.

"Ok. What are you doing on my property, American? Where are your companions?"

"I-I..." He couldn't form words, shook in fear.

Finch was silent a minute before she seemed to soften, sat the rifle aside, said firmly, "talk, American. I'm not going to kill you. But you need to tell me why you're creeping around my house. Something tells me you aren't just looking to steal my jewels or my underwear."

Finch's mouth opened and he told her everything he knew, his voice cracking, his pulse racing. He felt no restraint once he started, the rush of the moment made him describe the past few days, focused mostly on the last day-and-a-half on the run, focused on his mother being taken.

The woman peppered him with questions throughout, most of them he couldn't answer. When he finally finished, they sat in silence for several moments before she picked up the rifle and stood, said directly, "come with me."

Gene finished strapping the belt around his waist and attached it to the crossed straps hanging over his shoulders. One pistol on each side, a heavy knife strapped next to one, a bag full of clips nestled in the small of his back. He put the vest on over his chest, caught himself in the mirror.

What the fuck ... Like I'm some kind of secret soldier? This is insane ... But ... what choice do I have? I have to get back to Tamara and the kids ... I have to...

Anna was moving them soon. Wistin had spotted a boat docked in a nearby inlet, had watched it fuel up before its owners moved up to a restaurant on the hill. The contact from Israel had urged them to move to Pantelleria and make contact with the agent there, a man known as Jesus.

"Jesus?" Gene said with a small smirk as he adjusted the vest. "Seriously?"

"Rumor is he can heal the crippled and turn water into wine," Holly had replied.

"Fuck sake..."

"We've never met him, but he's legit, and he's with us. As far as we know..." Anna was reserved in her usual fashion, the sisters similarly dressed and matched Gene's kit.

The sharp-featured blonde passed him a small automatic and four clips. He pushed the spares into the bag and slung the weapon over his shoulder. "Wistin and Sofija are with us, we have to abandon Malta for now. Paol will provide exfil to the boat but no further."

"Paol?" Gene hadn't heard the name before.

Holly smiled, said, "the man watching the door. The man who listened while we fucked."

Gene groaned, hadn't exactly developed a friendly relationship with the heavily-armed guard, certainly didn't want to be reminded of how he'd fucked the sisters and broke his promise to his wife to wear a condom and not cum inside anyone.

Anna pressed closer, no expression on her face, "mount up. We move as soon as Sofija returns."

"Lauren, Logan, get out here. Move slowly. Follow me." The woman's heavy accent made comprehension slow to form in Logan's frightened mind. He froze for a moment. "Come. It is safe in the house. Night coming soon."

Lauren rose next to him, trembling, looked at him plaintively. He followed her out into the open where Logan saw a woman holding a weapon, Finch a few feet in front of her.

The woman eyed him a moment, looked at his sister, nodded toward the house. "Move. We're exposed out here."

Logan walked automatically, unsure what to do. Finch showed him only tiredness when he'd met his brother's eyes and filed in beside him. Lauren moved between them, took their hands. Logan could feel her shaking and it made him try to be strong, though that was easier conceived than accomplished.

Inside the house, the woman closed the door, told them to sit. The rifle never left her hand as she poured wine in cups and brought them a tray of cheeses and cookies. "Eat. Drink. You all look like you need it."

Logan felt the urge to ask questions as he eyed the wine, never having tasted alcohol before. "Who are you?"

The woman sipped her wine, looked at him with narrowed eyes. "A pissed-off woman with three strays."

"Oh." Logan had no response, ate cheese and wondered if the woman would kill them.

Gene crept slowly through the low shrubs that lined the coast. They'd been walking for an hour before Anna led them away from the Mediterranean and moved them inland a few minutes before they returned again to the cliff. She'd said quietly, "outpost," and left it at that.

They walked in the darkness silently for more minutes. Wistin said softly, "up ahead. I'll take point, Paol rearguard. Wait here until I come for you. Hopefully they're still drinking in the restaurant."

Gene waited with Holly, Anna, Sofija, and Paol, took a moment to urinate next to where Anna had dropped down and was doing the same. She watched him, a silhouette against the gently waving shadowy-foliage. Her piss splattered the ground with force, Gene wasn't sure if it was her urine or his that wafted so strongly into his nose.

"Hang in there, Gene. I need you focused, and not just on me pissing." There was an edge of humor in her tight voice.

Gene grunted, tucked his penis back in his pants, and readied a pistol in his hand.

Lauren was growing anxious. The woman had been tight-lipped and said little, constantly rising to look out windows and study the shadows outside. The sixteen-year old felt sticky, raw, asked quietly, "can I use the shower?"

"Yes. Be quick." The woman eyed her a moment, said, "I'll bring you clean clothes."

Lauren slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. She sat a moment on the toilet lid, letting her nerves attempt to settle, found herself shaking the skinny commode to the point where it creaked and clanked. She yanked down her pants, took them off, lifted the seat, and urinated strongly.

The teen let out a long sigh, despair and worry clouding her mind. She tried to let herself relax, found nothing but jangled nerves to greet her. Her automatic responses kicked in, her hand slithered down between her legs, and before she could think about what she was doing, Lauren gave in and masturbated.

"Let's move, looks clear." Wistin disappeared into the darkness ahead after whispering to the huddled group. Gene followed Anna and Sofija, Holly and Paol bringing up the rear. Gene had the safety off, pistol gripped tightly. He'd managed to calm his nerves a bit, focused on the situation at hand.

They crossed the knob of a small hill and descended through a high-grass field to the edge of the inlet. They hunkered down a moment, hidden in the trees that bordered a small sandy beach. Gene watched the boat itself, his job to keep an eye on it while they approached. It was good-sized by any standard, easily seventy feet long, a broad slanted hull rising up a dozen feet above the waterline.

No one moved that he saw, and Wistin motioned them to proceed forward. They crept slowly around the inlet, Paol's weapon pointed up the rise in the direction of the small restaurant a mile or so in the distance.

They stopped again a hundred yards from the boat, Gene leaned against a tree and waited. Anna moved close to him, whispered, "when we move, move fast and quiet. Once we commit, we have to get out of here with the boat intact. There maybe people on board. If they resist, if they delay us, kill them."

"Who are they?"

"No idea. Probably some rich asshole who spends his time drinking Ouzo and fucking bimbos. No clue. If they hold us up, kill them."

Gene swallowed, suddenly dry, the thought of killing innocent people not helping him regain his composure.

Holly moved close, said quietly, "pull your goggles back down, Gene. Need that night vision now. We're about to move."

He slid the goggles in place, the eerie green and black playing like a haunted landscape across his eyes.

Her raw pussy didn't stop her from sliding two fingers into her vagina. Lauren let out a soft moan as her wetness ran down her hand. She pulled it to her lips, tasted her strong, pungent juices, her sweat, her fear. Her fingers moved back to her clit, swirled them, brought herself closer.

She dipped back into her vagina, her palm pressing down on her clit, banging it, sending jolts of burning pleasure up her stomach. Lauren moaned quietly, rocked, couldn't stop the creaking toilet from making noise. She hit a rhythm, bucked, clenched her channel, and came hard.

"Brought you..." The door had opened, the woman stood with a stack of clothes in her hand.

Lauren's orgasm crashed into her for several seconds, her eyes locked on the woman, unable to stop her pulsing climax. The woman stared, no expression on her face. Lauren caught herself, yanked her arms over her breasts and thighs, tried to make herself small.

The woman said flatly. "Fine. Get that out of you now. Hurry up and shower, your brothers are smelling almost as gamey as you."

The light flashed on and blinded her for a moment before shapes began to coalesce around her. The door closed and a tall, round-faced man with tattoos on his exposed arms sat in a chair across from Tamara. She eyed him a moment, her mind foggy, perhaps she'd dozed again, she wasn't sure.

He said softly, "we'll get you to the bathroom shortly. Right now, I need you to talk."

Tamara's voice cracked, dry, "talk about what? Where are my children?"

The man ignored her second question, replied, "where is your husband, Mrs. Polanski?"

She shook her head, defeated, exasperated, "I don't know! I don't know ... I ... They took him ... I don't know..."

"Who took him, Mrs. Polanski? Where?"

She yelled in frustration, "I don't know!"

He paused a moment, rose and untied the restraints holding her to the bed, sat on the edge next to her. "Ok. You don't know." He sat aside a small pouch and looked at her. "And I don't know where your children are right now. I'm sorry."

Tamara fought the urge to cry. She prayed they'd managed to escape, hoped they could survive without her. She managed to ask weakly, "who are you? What do you want with me?"

"My name's Hannigan. We ... we are an organization that believes Victor Harrelman is the enemy."

"Why Victor?"

"Since you left the compound in Lausanne, it has been revealed that Harrelman has repurposed his loyalties and is playing his own game now. We believe he's taken your husband for his own reasons and he's done his best to destroy M1 assets in the process."

"Assets ... Why would Victor take my husband? He already had us at the compound!"

"Whatever Victor is after, he seemed to think it important to separate your husband from M1, and he wanted it to look like the mercs got to him the night of the assault. We aren't really sure who got to Shay at this point. We hoped you might know."

Tamara shook her head, said in a small voice, "Shay ... please ... his name's Gene."

"Fine. We need to find your husband, Mrs. Polanski. Whatever Victor wanted from him was worth making his defection from M1 a memorable occasion." Hannigan eyed her a moment, said more gently, "look, I don't have many answers for you, and I believe you when you say you have none for me. Come, the showers are hot and there's food upstairs. Promise me not to run, ok? There's nowhere to go if you did, and I really don't want to shoot you."

Lauren slid out of the bathroom and sat quietly next to Logan. Finch eyed her, saw the tiredness in her face. The woman had said nothing after returning from taking his sister clothes, largely ignoring the boys as they munched on cheese.