Chapter 3

The closing of the heavy door at the top of the steps had a discouragingly final sound. The captives were silent for several minutes, as each suffered the individual effects of his imagination. Not knowing what was in store for them, their fears multiplied all that their imaginations could envision. To add to their mental misery, their physical discomforts were acute.

The chains to which they were shackled permitted just enough freedom to allow them a choice of standing or sitting. And the cuffs at their ankles and wrists were snug enough to prevent escape, yet moved freely in place, guaranteeing them the additional joy offered by increasing rawness, as the friction chafed their skin. Darla's whereabouts had been a mystery to her family, but they had known that she was a captive. But the appearance of her family here was a great shock to her, and her lack of comprehension moved her to speak while the others were still lost in their own miserable thoughts and imaginings.

"What happened? How did they get their hands on all of you, anyhow?" She was even more frightened when only silence greeted her questions. "Talk For God's sake! Someone say something!" She almost started to break down and cry anew, when her father broke the thick, almost-tangible silence of the dark dungeon with his reply.

"Late last night, someone left an envelope at the door to our suite, rang the buzzer, and left. When I opened it, there was a note inside, and... and... those pictures of you... I guess you didn't have any choice... you were tied up in all of them except one... and maybe they had you drugged, too..." She could sense the questioning tone as he referred to the final picture Yvette had taken. She'd barely been aware of the final click of that spying shutter, because she'd been occupied with the two men invading her body.

Oh, God! He's thinking about the picture where my arms and legs are free. What was I doing? Oh, no! My legs were wound around Le Boeuf, and I was working on Gerault's cock with my mouth and both hands! It's better if he thinks l was drugged when that picture was taken.

"The note said that this was the last chance to pay, unless I wanted even more horrible things to happen." Chuck Fleming's tone made his daughter feel as if she had let him down by not answering his unspoken question, but she knew it was better to ignore the issue now. There were enough problems here without breaking his heart. And she sensed that he'd never get over it if he discovered that she had enjoyed any part of that degrading assault.

"I guess you know, Darla, that I just couldn't cooperate with kidnappers, no matter how worried we were about you." The question was back in his voice, and this time she knew that she had to answer, to set his mind at ease. He was miserable enough without having to doubt whether Darla forgave him for not ransoming her.

"I know, Daddy Chuck. I tried to tell them, but I couldn't get them to listen to me. I know how you feel about kidnapping, and I knew from the first they wouldn't collect, so I didn't have any false hopes shattered. I may not agree with your opinions on the subject one-hundred percent, but I'm proud that you stuck to your guns and left them hanging high and dry without the money. But that doesn't explain how they grabbed all of you."

"I'm not so proud of myself, right now. If I'd sacrificed my personal convictions, even if you might not have been freed, at least your mother and brother wouldn't have had to go through whatever it is they've got planned for us. But it's too late to cry over it, now.

"I delivered a package as they requested, but instead of the ransom, I wrapped a note in heavy cardboard. The note told them that I had not and would not change my mind. And that if any harm came to you, I'd spend several million dollars and the rest of my natural life in hunting them down and killing them." He heaved a hoarse sigh which sounded even more rasping than the dry-throated voice he spoke to her with. Darla wondered when he'd last had a drink of water.

"It might have worked with a professional of normal mentality, Daddy, but this Gerault is psycho. And the others will do anything he tells them to do. Lord knows what he's cooking up for us in that evil mind. If only..." She stopped speaking suddenly, as she had an idea. "If only what, honey?" Fleming asked.

"Daddy, do you have any idea whether we're bugged or not?" She felt overly melodramatic as she asked the question, but their future might depend on it.

"I'd thought of that, too. But I don't know if..." Now it was Darla's turn to wonder about an unfinished "if" statement. But she waited to see what he had in mind. Suddenly she knew, as she heard him speak again, and she had all she could do to keep from laughing her delight at his quick wit.

"I want you all to know that I have a plan in mind," Fleming announced, raising the volume of his cracked voice, as though trying to be sure all of the family could hear him. "When they searched me, they overlooked the knife I have strapped to my leg. The first time one of them gives me the least chance, I'll sink it in as deep as I can!"

"That's great, Daddy Chuck!" said Darla, faking it along with him smoothly. "They don't know they're up against an ex-OSS man."

"Good for you, Dad!" chimed in Tommy, as he sized up the idea his father had begun to put into use. "Chuck, I've asked you a hundred times not to carry any kind of weapon. It only leads to trouble." Even Ann Fleming had seized on her husband's brilliant strategy to smell out any spying microphones.

They all fell silent for a while, as if waiting to see whether the bait would be taken Then Fleming realized the silence itself would betray them.

"I hope it's that damned Gerault who gets near me," he continued. "I'd love to feel a knife slipping into his sadistic gut!"

"And I'd love to see his insides spread out on the floor, too" replied Darla, not having to fake the hatred she felt for the sadist.

"Me, too," Tommy added. "But make sure he's got a key to these cuffs before you do it!"

"You shouldn't talk like that!" said Ann. "It puts you in the same class with..."

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and a dim light was reflected down against the opposite wall of the cellar. As the sound of someone descending the steps fell on their ears, all of them felt that their plan had born fruit, and that indeed the cellar was bugged.

The light at the foot of the stairs flashed on, and their eyes blinked as they adjusted to the sudden illumination. Then they saw Gerault moving across the basement floor toward them. He was carrying a plastic pitcher and some paper cups. He stopped beside Darla.

"We want our guests to be in good enough condition to provide us with satisfactory entertain ment. Here, mademoiselle. Pour vous.

He poured a stream into one of the cups, then handed it to her. As she sipped, cautiously, she discovered that it was anisette and water.

Gerault moved down the line, stopping next to give Fleming one of the cups, then pouring it full of the aperitif. His casual behavior as he stood close to the tycoon convinced everyone that he had not heard the phony boast about the knife.

As Fleming sipped at the drink, letting it flow around his dry mouth and throat, Gerault moved to the wall where Ann and Tommy were licking their lips in anticipation. When he had given each of them a drink, he moved toward the center of the basement as if heading back toward the stairs, then turned to face them. He looked with deliberation at the captives chained to the two walls, from his vantage point almost directly out from the corner.

He's standing on the hypotenuse of our family triangle, Darla thought, realizing her silliness even as she thought it. This drink must be drugged! What are they planning to do?

"In a few minutes, we will bring you something to eat. When the food has had a chance to digest, then we will begin our little circus. Will that not be nice? The Circus Gerault, it may not get to become famous on the continent, but here in... here among our exclusive company, we shall have much amusement.

"Perhaps you may feel a little strange from your drink. It is not the Pernod of your American bar stock. It is genuine absinthe, and has somewhat more strength from the wormwood. Is it not so?"

Gerault laughed to himself, as he turned away and went back up the stairs, leaving the light on, this time. When the door closed, Darla looked at her father, and his gaze met hers with a quiet recognition of their victory in the bugging-test operation.

"Did you notice that he still doesn't want us to know where we are??' asked Fleming. "That can only be due to the fact that he expects us to live to tell about it. He doesn't intend to kill us, then. At least we learned that much." His eyes glinted with the realization that they had won a small beetle.

"Brace yourself, Daddy Chuck," said Darla. "I know where we are. At least, I think I can help you figure it out pretty closely."

"What do you mean, honey? Weren't you blindfolded on the way here, like we were?" He watched the elfin grin creep across his daughter's mouth and cheek.

"Yes, but it was pretty coarse material, and in one spot-a very convenient spot-it was only a single thickness, and I could see through it. We're just a little way from the center of Salon, Daddy. Remember the Hall of States in that photograph?"

"Yes, yes, honey. But, don't tell me that's still there like it was."

"No, Daddy. The signs aren't there, but it's the same building; the very same place. And as we came into town from Marseilles, we turned left there in front of the place, and I recognized it."

"Thank God! What a stroke of luck. Let's see. If only I can remember after all these years. What was it out that direction?" Fleming closed his eyes as he strained to recall the topography out of his past. Darla watched his knuckles turn white as his hands clenched in desperate tension to match his mental pressures.

"Okay. I think I've got it! Now, did you make any other turns?"

"No. I don't think so. We kept going until we came to the lane that leads up to this house."

"How far are we from the Hall of States. That's very important."

"I think it must be about four or five miles. One thing I'm sure of: Right out front, as you turn into the lane, there is a hedgerow on either side of the lane. And to the left of the lane, there is a cabbage patch. Right down through the center of the cabbage patch, three rows have been harvested. There are heads of cabbage in all the other rows or there were when I saw it."

"Good show, Darla, honey! We mustn't let them know that we have the least idea where we are. It could mean our deaths, all of us."

"I've been thinking about something else," Darla said, wondering how to describe what she had in mind while the whole family was listening, hanging on her every word. Then she shrugged, and jumped right into it.

"Every little thing we can arrange to throw them off stride, even the smallest bit, will work in our favor. Isn't that what you used to tell us about your Intelligence training, Daddy Chuck?"

"That's right, honey. Hard to tell how much good it will do us in this case, but you never know. What do you have in mind?"

"They let me keep my purse, after they took out my nail file and a few other things. I see that Mother has her purse, too. The thought just came to me that there is no identification on the pill containers that Doctor Vaughn uses, except for dosage instructions. I could pretend that the pills in my purse are to prevent some kind of fatal attack, or something, so they'll let me take them. And I could slip one to Mother, each time, too."

"What pills are those, honey?" Fleming's brow wrinkled as he tried to imagine what his daughter was taking that he knew nothing about.

"Jussincases," Darla mumbled. She felt the flush move upward from her neck, and her face grew warm. Ann came to her rescue.

"It's something I thought Darla should use, just in case she got carried away by her female emotions on a heavy date, dear. We girls sometimes refer to them as 'just-in-cases' when we really don't expect to require the immunity they provide."

"Kee-rist! What's our younger generation going to come to? If parents provide them with The Pill, they can live like the latter Greeks." Fleming turned to his daughter. "Have you been taking those things so you could give yourself to some guy whenever you got hot pants?" Darla sensed the protective jealousy emanating from her father. His face was almost livid.

"Of course not! It's just as Mother told you. Taking them is the same as getting all those shots when you leave the States. You don't really plan to expose yourself to typhus and plague, and all that, Father. Now, do you? But if something happens... unexpectedly, beyond your control, you have some protection."

Fleming didn't need the disgust in Darla's tone to tell him he'd goofed with his outburst. She never called him 'Father' unless she was really miffed with him. He turned and looked at his wife, as if she could help him take his foot out of his mouth.

"Don't look to me for moral support," Ann told him. "You ought to know your daughter's character better than that. Make your own explanations and apologies."

Fleming's face was pink as he turned back to Darla. He sputtered a little, but he managed to apologize satisfactorily, as Darla's relaxing features told him. But at her next words, he paled.

"If I have any free guesses, it might just be a good idea for us to take those things. Gerault has a one-track mind when it comes to entertainment "

"You did mention giving your mother the pills, too. Do you think that they... I mean, you don't really believe that they intend to... for the love of God, child, you don't think that... Yes, I can see that you do." Fleming's brow was beginning to exude the moisture he'd acquired from his absinthe. Beads of perspiration were starting to roll down into his eyes. He looked at Ann, then at his daughter, then back at Tommy, who had remained silent during the sex-oriented discussion.

Fleming's eyes looked haunted, and Darla thought that he seemed to age several years in a few seconds. She felt a surge of maternal protectiveness for this father whose selective naivete could render him into a small boy in his unsophisticated moments. She attempted to detour his train of thought.

"I still haven't heard how they captured you." Fleming's eyes responded, and he appeared to straighten slightly as he changed his leaning position against the stone wall.

"After I'd sent them that note, we stayed in the hotel suite for several hours. Then it seemed a good idea to check in at the Consulate, again. So we all went over there, and talked to the same attache I'd given the original report to. He'd been in constant touch with the Surete, and they had just turned in a negative report for the dozenth time, explaining that none of their informers seemed to have any knowledge of the kidnapping.

"We spent almost two hours there, hoping that the Consulate General would get back from Paris, and be able to trigger more action. Finally, we started walking back to the hotel. I was too nervous to ride in one of those taxis.

"Several blocks from the hotel, a car pulled up, and Gerault got out and walked up to me. He said that he had been asked to take us to pick you up. We all crowded around the cab, and he grabbed your mother and pulled her inside, where he held a gun on her to force Tommy and me to cooperate. He kept the gun on Ann until we pulled up in an alley, where he and Le Boeuf blindfolded us. All the time, he kept insisting that he was bringing us to meet you, but couldn't let us know where the meeting place was.

"We thought it was perhaps some more pressure; that they would let us see you in some sort of miserable condition, thinking that I would give in and pay them. But their note obviously meant what it said-they'd already given me the last chance to pay." Fleming's voice almost broke as he implied his failure to handle the situation properly. "Like you said, Daddy-they seem to intend for us to leave here alive. Whatever else happens, we'll just have to bear up under it."

Fleming had no chance to reply to this. The door at the top of the stairs opened, and all three of their captors descended, carrying trays of food. Yvette was her same, seemingly unemotional self, and Le Boeuf appeared only to be concerned with his duties as waiter. But Gerault was smiling evilly, and Darla knew he was anticipating the "entertainment" he'd mentioned. She shuddered as she tried to eat the first bites of the dish before her.

Trays balanced on their knees as they squatted, all four of the captives started their meal slowly, but hunger hastened their moves. The pieces of lamb and vegetables were actually quite palatable, although at this point, none of them really enjoyed it.

When the trays were gathered up, Gerault withdrew with his companions, but as he reached the middle of the stairway, he turned his head and addressed the miserable family over his shoulder.

"The fun starts in two hours. I'll leave you to think about it as your meal settles. A bientot!"

It seemed much less than two hours between Gerault's mocking departure and his return. But Fleming knew that the Frenchman's timing was precise; because their captors had permitted the family to keep their timepieces, Fleming had been able to check the big pocket watch he always carried-partly as an affectation, and partly because it was an heirloom.

During that compressed two-hour interlude, considerable conversation had accomplished only one thing for the prisoners. Discussing their predicament had lessened its effects. The feeling of togetherness, the sharing of the burden, made it easier. Darla felt this more strongly, since she had suffered the only solitary confinement. Now, there was hope that, combining their capabilities, they might be able to figure ways to escape.

But before any specific ideas came to light, they were interrupted by Gerault's appearance. Le Boeuf was with him. The pair descended the stairs and approached the wall occupied by Fleming and Darla

"We shall establish some basic facts before we go any further," Gerault told them. He was gazing into Fleming's eyes, but both he and his audience of four knew it concerned them all.

"Any and all attempts to escape will result in punishment. You have my guarantee that no matter what you imagine, your punishment will more than compensate me for any trouble you cause. You will be wise to believe this and guide your behavior accordingly.

"Non-cooperation also will be punished. Certain things will be asked-no, demanded of each of you. You will comply with every request; obey every command; accomplish everything you are told to do. Each and every failure will result in punishment. Hesitation, if it is enough to provoke me, will merit the same punishment as a refusal Now, are there any doubts that I mean what I say?" He looked at each of the captives in turn, and as their eyes met the sadistic evil which glinted in his dark orbs, they accepted his statements without quest;ion. "Take Mr. Fleming upstairs, Le Boeuf." Gerault's words were barely uttered when the Moroccan inserted a key in Fleming's ankle cuffs. When these shackles were released, he unlocked the cuffs on the prisoner's wrists. Then he walked to the stairs and began to ascend. Le Boeuf followed him at a safe distance. When he reached the top of the steps, he found himself in a large old kitchen. Yvette was standing by the opposite wall, and the efficient-looking pistol she held was aimed at his stomach. It was equipped with a silencer, he noted. That, in itself, told him two things: