Chapter 50: Holes

“The Cambridge is ours,” Anna told the group gathered in the small meeting room, “but, unfortunately, it looks like Utah has gotten to Malta with Tamara...”

Gene swallowed his anger, his body and mind still in shock from his intense experience moments earlier, rutting and mating with his daughter. She was beside him, her arm locked in his, her face showing much of the confusion Gene was then feeling. He tried to flush away his mixed emotions regarding incest and the warmth of Lauren’s touch and managed to growl, “So what the fuck happens now? We have to go to Malta!”

“Yes,” Anna nodded, looking around at those gathered. Holly was there, as were the elder Hendersons, Marisa and Silver had arrived minutes earlier and were seated beside Holly. A couple of men Gene didn’t know completed the set. “You’re going to Malta, Gene, as soon as possible. My father made it clear you are to meet him there. The Cambridge will be within range of the sub’s port in the next two hours. By the time you’re there, the hope is that they will have intercepted Utah and rescued your wife.”

“Some hope you offer,” Gene spat bitterly, “everything has gone so well each fucking time I’ve heard that before...”

Anna ignored his insult and said, “And there’s more news. About Finch and Logan.”

Gene swallowed his fears and waited for her to continue.

Lauren’s heart raced. She couldn’t stop squeezing her father’s arm. She needed reassurance that what they’d shared together was real. It had been wonderful but much too brief. And now, she was hearing that her mother was in a place where some horrid fate was awaiting her. It didn’t feel real, any of it.

“We believe Logan and Finch are being taken to Victor, and we have tracked him just moments ago to the same place where the sub is in port. Logan and Finch, we think, are on their way to Malta, if not there already.”

Lauren swallowed hard, unable to do more than hang on to her dad’s arm. At least it seemed that maybe all three of her captured family members were still alive, but Lauren knew things could change in a heartbeat, and that made her stomach churn and threaten to upend.

Holly said, “Five minutes, Gene. Meet me on the north pad. We’ll get you dressed on the flight.”

“I’m going, too!” Lauren exclaimed.

Holly’s eyes narrowed and Anna shook her head, the latter saying, “Not a chance, you would—”

“I said, I’m going!”

“Lauren,” Holly began, “you can’t just—”

“Dad,” Lauren said as calmly as she could, “I’m not letting go of you, no matter what. Not again. My mom, my brothers, they’re all in Malta, and you’re about to be, too. No way in hell I’m staying here alone. No way.”

Her father looked at her a moment and then nodded. “She goes where I go.”

“Gene—” Anna started to protest.

“We’re down to four minutes, Anna,” he interrupted. “We better get ready.”

The blonde fumed and Lauren could tell she wanted to argue further. Holly put her hand on Anna’s shoulder and it was clear that Anna had backed down when she shrugged and said, “Hurry your asses. You better fucking run.”

“Well, my boy, I wondered when I might see you once more,” Victor Harrelman said with a sickening smile, “and don’t you worry, you’ll be well taken care of, I promise.”

Another man stood beside Victor, a fat white man with a pale pallor in his features. Finch noted that the man was both wide and round, short but threatening, wearing a shabby grey decades-old track suit. He stared silently off somewhere beyond Finch’s right shoulder.

Finch watched Victor quietly, heart pounding, hands once more behind his back and bound, a strongman keeping a firm grasp on his neck, pinching it to the point of making Finch’s throat constrict. They were in a broad, mostly-empty warehouse or hangar, the smell of mold and brine heavy in the seemingly-abandoned facility. Finally, Finch managed to respond, “Just like last time, right?”

“Ah, my boy,” Victor said, squatting down a few inches and leaning in close to Finch’s face, “that was rather an ... unfortunate misunderstanding, you see?”

“Where’s my mom?”

“Soon, my boy. She will be with us soon. Though,” he said with a rumbling, disheartening laugh, right in Finch’s face, “she may not have had the most comfortable of receptions.”

Finch’s reaction was on instinct. Automatic. He never worried about how much it might hurt to jerk forward and smash his forehead into Victor’s nose. The pain hit two seconds after his head was already swimming from the impact.

“Ahhgrnggk!” Victor exclaimed, clutching his face and staggering backwards. He stared at Finch in disbelief. “You rotten little shit! You little shit! You broke my fucking nose!”

Finch was jerked backwards and spun over, slammed onto his stomach, and the teen was thankful that his face was the last part of his body to make contact with the concrete floor. Pain consumed him and Finch was unable to do more than hover on the edge of awareness for some time.

“I’ll miss you so much!” Hannah told Lauren with tears in her eyes. The liftoff had been postponed for fifteen minutes when the inbound helicopter was delayed. Hannah held her tight, and Georges was likewise pressing in, a few tears of his own wetting his cheeks.

“I’ll see you soon,” Lauren said, less certain than the sounded, “I promise. All of you.”

Henderson and Juliana were there, as was Panthea. She hugged them all and told them all how much she loved them.

“I wish we could go with you,” Georges said, “it feels wrong to be apart after all this...”

“I know,” Lauren said, eyes red and leaking.

“It is for the best,” Henderson’s booming voice called out, “Bridgewater knows what he’s about, I promise. You’ll see your mom and siblings soon, Lauren. Trust him.”

“No,” Lauren said, shaking her head, “I can’t trust him. Not really. I trust my father.”

Henderson watched her a moment, then nodded, “A reasonable position. Do take care, Lauren.”

Panthea came for a second hug and she whispered in Lauren’s ear, “You have been a special friend, Lauren ... I will miss you...”

“You too!”

It sucked leaving behind so many people who had meant so much to her over the weeks. People who had nearly died for her, protecting her and her brothers. Lauren’s heart belonged to those gathered around her, especially Georges and Hannah, but also Juliana and Panthea and even the giant man Henderson. Each was special, and it felt unusually final to tell them each goodbye.

“Lauren?” Holly’s voice called from behind her. She turned to see the pretty blonde standing just outside the doorway with Lauren’s father. “We’re ready.”

“I’m coming.” Lauren turned back, tried not to openly bawl, and whispered to those around her, “Goodbye...”

The changing tint of the water was difficult to notice at first. Tamara had found a gauge on the sub’s dashboard and for the last hour, the depth had been steadily decreasing. The blackness outside took on just a hint of a green glow before, moments later, it was obvious that some surface light was diffracting down to where she looked out from the cockpit.

The water became bright green and then, more suddenly than expected, the sub broke the surface of the water and Tamara saw, for the first time, their likely destination.

The port, if you could call it that, was a long concrete embankment with a single, long dilapidated dock poking out into the water, warehouses and cranes and old shipping containers providing accents and backdrops. The sub had slowed, Tamara thought, and it caused her stomach to lurch a bit from the different momentum. Or, she realized, it was more likely the realization that her reprieve from torture was soon to be ending.

She considered, for long moments, killing Haul. He deserved it, to be sure. Tamara was going to suffer anyway. She figured it mattered little to the man meeting her whether Haul lived or not. Tamara suspected that anyone who would do such horrible things to her was probably not doing it for the money. Haul being dead would have no affect on her treatment.

She went back to where he was bound on the floor and hovered over him a moment. There’d been a multitool in the utility cabinet, enough of a blade to end Haul’s life with little effort. The knife’s edge against his throat, she watched his terrified eyes, wide and beat red, staring up at her in disbelief.

“Why shouldn’t I kill you, Haul? What, in your miserable life, makes you deserve to take even a single breath more?”

He didn’t respond and he couldn’t given the way she’d wrapped several loops of rope over his gag. Tamara was through letting him talk. It was now a matter of whether she would continue to let him breathe. He’d soiled himself in the last hours, a satisfying humiliation despite the disgusting smell in the small space.

“I’ve learned something, Haul ... About second chances.” She drew the knife across the man’s throat just enough to separate a layer or two of skin in a small flap. He shuddered and was clearly terrified.

“When someone makes a mistake and they ask forgiveness, they get a second chance. People make mistakes, Haul,” she purred, drawing the knife once more, slicing another flap of skin away.

Her mind had settled and a smile spread onto her face. It was no real choice what she would do.

Later, she knew, Tamara might not like the woman she was in that moment, but in that moment, she savored what little she could control before her world was destroyed by the Mantis. “But when someone fucks with me or my family, with those I love,” she said, turning the knife up on end, letting the sharp point press down right in the middle of Haul’s throat, “you get no fucking second chance. You killed Marcus, you sick fuck. You killed him and you took him from me ... from his wife ... his daughter. He was a good man, Haul. A good man. You’re not. You’re not and you best make amends with whatever god willing to have you.” Her fingers twitched and the knife poked just a bit. The man’s body was writhing below her, but he was so weak and her grip so intense that he couldn’t do more than shake.

“This is for Marcus,” Tamara growled, “Fuck you, Haul.”

Tamara used her free hand like a blacksmith’s hammer, driving the knife deep into Haul’s throat.

Blood exploded in a blossoming fountain, coating her fingers. She rather calmly stood and watched as Haul gasped through the new hole in his throat, gurgling and sputtering the only sounds. He would die in pain, she knew, and he deserved it. Tamara wiped the knife on her shirt, then slid it into a pocket, wiping her fingers on the bedclothes as best she could, then washed them in the tiny sink in the shower stall.

Later, she knew, this moment might bring her pain and horror. But the smile on her face felt like the first moment of happiness she’d had since she’d lost Marcus. It wouldn’t bring him back, killing Haul, wouldn’t make everything right again, but at least she’d avenged his death. She thought he would have appreciated that.

Steeled as best she could be, Tamara slid herself back into a seat in the cockpit, and waited for the inevitable. She’d make an attempt to get away, to fight back, as best she could, but she calmed her thoughts and accepted her death, or, at least, torture which would make her long for death. No idea what the Mantis would do to her, she knew enough to understand it would be cruel and painful. Whatever it brought, Tamara would protect her secrets to protect Gene, to protect her children. Her life might soon be over, but that didn’t mean that it would be given in vain.

The port was so close now that the sub was closer to the concrete embankment than the part of the dock farthest from land. The vehicle slowed and came to rest beside a part of the dock with recessed steps and three men waiting with assault rifles.

Tamara stuck her hands in her pockets, fingering the multitool and ensuring the blade was already out and ready. The small square box in her other pocket confused her a moment. Then she recalled the small game with tiny miniatures inside. Tamara started to pull it out to toss it aside, no longer in need of such a distraction, but her thought was lost when the pressure in the submersible changed suddenly and the growling voices of the men outside echoed inside the tiny world she’d sought to escape for so long. Tamara stood slowly, turning towards the opening hatch, and put on her most determined smile.

Logan watched from a rusted-out hole in a metal shipping container along one side of the tarmac, almost half a mile from where the jet had finally stopped at the airport nearby. The small submersible had come in just a bit earlier as Logan made his way towards where he thought his brother had been taken, and he wondered just who might be arriving in such an impressive vehicle as a private submarine.

He’d managed to escape the plane by crawling through the small spaces under then cabin and down one of the lowered wheels. His luck had been fairly good, coming down outside in just the right position to not be seen by the men circling the jet. A nearby wheelless transport truck had provided the perfect hiding place for the first moments, and then he’d slowly worked his way to a better spot inside a small trashed building which might have once served as a guard shack. Logan had seen his brother being taken off the jet before several men started searching around, surely looking to find out where Logan had gone.

The boy knew he needed to get far away from the jet, but he was unwilling to leave his brother to their captors. So he carefully stayed ahead of his searchers and kept an eye on Finch as he was walked quickly to a large warehouse some distance away near the open water of the surrounding seas. Finch was roughly pushed into the building, and Logan had crept as close as he could when he ran out of ideas.

Getting into the building unnoticed was impossible. There were three guards near where Logan had gone in, and there were a dozen more milling about or searching lazily. He saw the red-haired woman several times, the anger on her face clear, her shouts, in some other language, needing little translation.

Logan saw no other way into the building, at least not from the rusting container which served, for the moment, as his hiding place. So, for the moment, he rubbed out the shards of pain in his neck and arms and legs and watched three men rush into the submersible’s opening hatch.

Two of them emerged seconds later dragging a limp form between them. They dumped the limp body onto the dock, then appeared to be arguing passionately. Logan could hear the men yelling at each other, though the foreign language was lost on him. They seemed to decide on a resolution, and one of the men, the larger and broader of the two, hefted the body over a shoulder and they quickly shuffled down the dock.

The closer they got, the more Logan thought the body looked familiar. It was female, for sure, and as they passed within a few yards of his hiding spot, Logan knew for sure who was being carried.

It was his mother!

The dull hum of the rotating blades offered little comfort for its occupants. They’d lifted off just a minute earlier, still gaining some altitude, and Gene had his arm around his daughter’s shoulders as they shuddered lightly from the vibration inside the broad, sleek helicopter.

“Here,” Holly shouted in his ear. She handed him an outfit which looked familiar, Gene having worn such a thing several times over the weeks. Without a thought about Lauren seeing him do so, he shed his shirt and pants and slid into the black suit quickly. Holly strapped a belt around his middle, pistol in the holster, spare clips held beside it, then pushed an assault rifle and two clips into his hands. The latter he slid smoothly into his right pocket, the former placed gently on the floor of their cabin with the safety on.

“We have to stop to refuel in about two hours,” Holly said loudly near his face, “we’ll be there as fast as possible, Gene. I’ll let you know if I hear anything new.”

Marisa and Silver were also aboard, along with a couple of soldiers who had been in the last briefing. Gene looked at his daughter, then said, “She needs to be armed, Holly.”

The blonde looked at Lauren a second or two, then nodded, “Okay.”

She slipped past him and returned a moment later, putting a rifle like Gene’s in Lauren’s hands. “Think you can handle this?” she shouted to Gene’s daughter.

There was no more fear on her face than had been there previously. In fact, Gene thought, she looked more resolved than ever. Lauren shouted, “I can,” the slung the strap over her shoulder and cradled the rifle against her body.

Holly nodded, then turned back to Gene, “The Cambridge will be on site very soon. We’ll know much more then.” She leaned very close and in a loud whisper right against his ear, “We may have a small miracle in the making. A ... chance I took some time ago might have paid off ... I don’t know yet, not yet...”

“What are you talking about?” Gene hissed back.

Holly started to respond, then shook her head, “Nothing. It might be nothing. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Gene started to press her but she stepped away and shed her clothes, the blonde stretching in her underwear a moment before putting on a dark suit like Gene’s and then heading to the front to sit with the pilots.

Gene settled back in his seat, easing the tip of the rifle in Lauren’s hand away from him. He gave her a few quick pointers about the gun, but he knew about as little as she did. He hoped Lauren didn’t need to use the weapon, but he’d be damned if they showed up in Malta with anything less than a full armament.

“Dad,” Lauren said near his ear, “whatever happens ... thank you for earlier...”

“Oh, Lauren,” Gene whispered as he wrapped his arm tight around her body, “God, Lauren ... it was so wonderful...”

Despite her fears, Gene saw her smile and let out a long breath. Whatever happened, it wasn’t going to be easy, but at least he had his daughter with him this time, and after their incestuous, urgent mating earlier that day, Gene found a resolved strength growing inside him. “Let’s go get your mother and brothers.”

Logan had shifted his legs and rubbed his arms until he couldn’t much feel anything in his limbs. He’d watched the men drag his mother into the same warehouse where he thought Finch had been taken, but there were still far too many of the armed men around to dare moving closer. His plan, if one could call it that, was to wait until his mother or brother were brought out and then Logan would try to follow them, or, if things were perfect, free one or the other. It wasn’t much, really, but it was all Logan had to go on.

After what felt like hours, but was probably only twenty minutes, he saw a man come out clutching his face. Despite his covering and the bloody rags pressed against his nose, Logan recognized Victor quite easily. A short, broad man was a step behind, and two more followed with automatic rifles at the ready. They stopped halfway between the warehouse and Logan’s hiding spot, and Logan could see a long car driving in from the opposite side of the compound.

“Goddamnit, man,” Victor sputtered, clearly in some measure of pain, “I want that little shit hurt.”

The short, broad man calmly replied, “He will be, I assure you.”

“No kid gloves, Mantis,” Victor spat blood as he spoke, “no fucking kid gloves.”

“Have I ever done less?” the stocky man asked.

“Just see it done,” Victor replied, spitting again, “and when you’re finished, make sure you bring what’s left to Lausanne.”

The Mantis cocked his head, “You intend to return to your compound? Isn’t it compromised?”