Chapter 2: Stockholm Syndrome

Larry was gone buying provisions and as usual, Henry served breakfast to their captives. He checked his mask in the mirror and made sure the scar on his forearm was covered. He had a brief flashback. A crazy Sendero Luminoso guerrilla fighter had attacked him with a macheta back in '99, a split second before the magnum bullets from Henry's Super Blackhawk had thrown him back like a rag doll. It was typical for the mind set of these people, he mused, to bring knives to a shoot-out. Anyway, the scar was covered completely by the sleeve.

"Good morning! Rise and shine!" he said cheerfully as he balanced the tray into the small basement room.

Of course, he had accounted for all three females before entering, not risking a hit on the head from behind the door. He set the tray on the rickety table. He had prepared real hot chocolate for the girls and a hand-filtered coffee for the woman. It was she who answered from the bed. She was sitting on the side, her legs on the floor, still in her pyjama.

"I see the service is improving. Could I perhaps get a phone line in here?"

"No can do," Henry answered with as much cheerfulness as he could muster. "But, I have scrambled eggs, fresh rolls and let's see, honey-cured Virginia ham."

"Thank you," the woman said in a low voice. "You're at least trying to be nice." She stood from her bed and stepped over to the table. "That coffee smells great."

"Slow-roasted Costa Rican beans, freshly ground and brewed with boiling water. This should put some life into you."

Henry smiled until he realised that she could not see his smile behind the rubber mask. Then he saw something that made him take a quick breath. The pyjama they had got for her was a little wide for her slender figure, and when she bent forward, he could clearly see her breasts. She caught him looking and straightened quickly.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Maxwell," he said contritely. Unconsciously, his upbringing came through after all those years. "I shouldn't have stared."

She nodded. "Accepted. I guess you couldn't help yourself. I'll be more careful, Mr ... how should I call you?"

"You may call me Cap, Ma'am."

"Cap for Captain?"

"I guess. It's just a nickname that stuck."

"I'll call you Captain," she said judiciously. "Well, at least you treat your captives to a decent breakfast. I'd better enjoy this coffee while it's still hot."

She tried it and in spite of everything she smiled.

"This is good! You made that yourself?"

"Yes."

"I'll marry you as soon as my divorce is final."

To his own surprise he had to laugh. The woman had spunk.

"You're a tough cookie, Mrs. Maxwell. I'll come and pick up the tray in an hour. Take your time."

"What did you bring for us?" one of the twins piped up.

A good part of her blond hair had escaped her braid during the night and it framed her pretty face as she tried to identify the items on the tray.

"Hot chocolate. Do you like hot chocolate?"

The girl nodded.

"Which one are you? Patricia or Megan?"

The girl first looked at her mother for approval.

"I'm Megan."

"And you, Patricia, do you like chocolate?"

The other girl looked at him for a few unnerving seconds. He had to fight the impulse to check whether his mask still covered him.

"I like chocolate, Captain," she finally said. And then, "What will you do to us when our father won't pay? He hates Mom, you know? I think he hates all of us."

The girl's sober words made Henry look at her. She looked back at him in a quiet challenge.

"Oh, he'll pay. Don't worry."

"Yes, but what if he won't?"

He tried a weak joke. "Then you'll have to work towards your ransom. We'll let you wash dishes and knit socks until we've recovered our losses."

"Pat is right, Captain," the woman said with a touch of sadness. "I am worthless in my husband's eyes. Worse, I'm a threat to his precious business with the divorce pending. He will never pay a single dime for me."

"We'll see about that, Mrs. Maxwell," Henry replied with as much confidence as he could muster.

Over the next days, all Henry had to do was to take care of the captives' needs. An almost friendly relationship developed between the down-on-his-luck mercenary and the woman and her two daughters. Secretly however, the relationship became deeper for Henry. The way this woman cared for her daughters, how she comforted them under their claustrophobic conditions, gave him a glimpse of something he had missed for a long time. His own mother had died before he reached puberty and his father had been too busy working and earning money to care much for his only son. Well, he too was dead now, had been dead for almost ten years. Henry realised that one day he really wanted a wife like this woman Josephine, and if possible, kids as nice and bright as the twins.

There was more. After a day or two, he realised that the woman was coming on to him. Subtly, to be sure, as had to be expected in the presence of her daughters, but Henry picked up the signals. In the mornings, she would bend over to reach for her coffee to give him a generous view of her breasts. She would flash him grateful smiles for everything he did for her or the girls. He noticed that her hair was freshly combed in the morning even though she pretended to have just woken up, whilst her pyjama was top riding high on her torso and exposing her flat tummy.

For over five years, Henry had worked in the hostage retrieval business. This had been mostly in countries such as Colombia, Venezuela and Peru where kidnapping was almost an industry. He was familiar with the dynamics of the kidnapper-hostage relationship. He knew that the woman, Josie as she had him call her, was trying to soften him up. She did it well he had to concede. She also looked good, giving her additional leverage. It was the one thing she could do and she tried. Strangely, the knowledge that she tried to deceive him endeared her even more to him. She was afraid, afraid for herself, but even more for her daughters. She was offering herself for her daughters, obviously swallowing her pride.

One evening, five days into their enforced cohabitation, Henry cleared the leftovers of the supper when she tentatively touched his arm. He went rigid, alert and watchful at once. He had a healthy respect for what a mother was capable of who was fighting for her children.

"The girls are asleep," she whispered and swallowed heavily. "Would you like ... to ... stay?"

"Josie, you don't have to do that. Once your husband pays you'll be free." His voice had a catch though, and he felt his penis swelling inside his pants.

"He won't pay. I told you that. Please, I can make you feel good. Don't you find me attractive?"

"Hrhm, Josie, you are very attractive. But I don't do things like that, I mean, coercing women into sleeping with me. I may be a criminal, but I'm better than that."

"You're not coercing me. I want you. Please, I've been without a man for almost a year."

She saw his doubt and changed her tactics.

"All I ask is get my daughters to safety. That's all. I'll be yours. I'll stay voluntarily, really. Just get my daughters out."

"Calm down, calm down!" Henry sat beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Everything will be all right. Just be patient. Your husband will pay. I should not tell you, but we are already negotiating the how, not the if. All he seems to want are assurances of your well-being."

That was a lie as far as Henry knew. The "ransom" payment was delayed day after day. The men watched the local news on their TV, and as expected, there was no mention yet of the kidnapping. Everything seemed to go according to plan. However, Henry did not know the full plan and that bothered him.

"How many times need I to tell you? He'll never pay!" she hissed. "Don't you get it? If I testify in his trial, he will go to jail for a long time. If I succeed with the divorce, he will lose his business."

"What trial?" Henry asked, a little surprised.

"Rape," Josie answered in a flat voice. "For ten years, he raped me and beat me. He made my life a living hell."

She must have seen the sympathy in his eyes behind the mask, for she continued. He did not like what she told him, for the picture that she painted of her husband did not fit with what Larry had told him.

Josephine Butler had met Max Maxwell, a successful self-made man and entrepreneur, at a party at college. He was there by chance, being the godfather of one frat boy or another, she did not remember. He followed eighteen year-old Josie all evening, and when the party split, he offered to drive her and her friends back to their dorm. He was friendly enough and well behaved, so Josie did not think of it when he asked her out the next afternoon for a trip into the countryside. He had a big car, a Cadillac convertible, and young Josie was properly awed. Once outside the city limits however, he drove to a farm just off the interstate, and when she asked what this was all about, he just yanked her from the car and pulled the struggling girl into the deserted farmhouse. There, in the former living room, he threw her over a table, pushed up her dress, and in spite of her struggles, penetrated her roughly.

When he was done, she lay whimpering on the rough wood of the table and the man calmly shot a roll of photos of her, with her shirt pushed up and semen and blood dripping from her vagina. He gave her tissues to clean herself and told her he would mail the photos to her parents if she told on him. Then he drove her back to the dorm and pretty much kicked her out of the car. The frightened and traumatised girl did not dare to tell anyone about the rape until two months later when she could not deny to herself that she was pregnant.

She confessed to her parents then, and her father put a manly look on his face. He took his .38 Smith and Wesson and drove to Atlanta. She never learned what went on between the two men, but her father came home and told her she would have to marry Max Maxwell. She was horrified, she pleaded with her parents, but the wedding was set two weeks later. In her confusion, and under the relentless pressure of her parents, she gave in.

She had twelve years to rue that. She soon found out that she was married to a sadist. Under the veneer of the successful businessman lurked a monster. She became a prisoner in his house, watched on every step she made. She was rarely allowed outside, and as her pregnancy progressed, she was subjected to well-calculated humiliations by her husband. For instance, he had one of the photos of her with her bunched up dress and her bare, bloodied privates blown up to 36" by 24" and mounted on their bedroom wall.

He also told her with a sneer that her bride price had been a condo on Miami Beach for her parents. In fact, her parents relocated to Florida after the wedding. They showed briefly after the birth of the twin girls to attend the baptism, but on their return trip their car was met head on by a two-ton truck. They were both dead, but the driver of the truck was never found. Miraculously, something proved to be wrong with the deed for the condo and it reverted back into Max Maxwell's possession.

As soon as Josie came home from the hospital, her real ordeal began. For eleven long years, she was beaten, burnt, raped and humiliated. Sometimes, she was left alone for weeks and even months while Max "enjoyed" another young woman, but then he came back to her with a vengeance. He was cunning, too, never bruising her face or causing harm that would force her to go to an emergency room. His favourite was to invite guests for an evening and, just before they arrived, to violate his wife over the desk in his study, in her cocktail dress, forcing her to receive the guests and to go through the evening with his seed trickling down her thighs. Sometimes, he would exacerbate this regimen by sodomising her. This latter practise caused his downfall.

Two years ago, he had invited important guests, mostly city officials, but also a few lawyers and even two people from the DA's office. It was about a deal to supply the City administration with office electronics. He was tense before the party because a lot was riding on this deal, and he took out his tension on his wife, raping her anally with particular viciousness. Josie could barely walk afterwards with the pain she felt and she barely made it through the reception of the guests.

By chance, the wife of the senior Assistant DA was a volunteer rape counsellor. She had met Max before and disliked him on sight. When she saw Josie's posture, her wincing with every step she made, she immediately caught on. Within twenty minutes three detectives from the Special Victims Unit crashed the party. Max was taken into custody and Josie was rushed to the Emergency Room. All the evidence was there, and Josie was placed in a shelter with her two daughters.

Now, two years later, the criminal case against Max was bogged down hopelessly in procedural quarrels. The trial judge seemed to have all the time in the world. Then the DA's wife had a car accident, colliding head-on with a truck driven by an unknown driver. She was in a coma. Her husband was fired from the DA's office. Max owned a large electronics retail chain and was rumoured to be worth over ninety million dollars. A small part of that money had obviously sufficed to buy him all the political support he needed.

Now Josie was waiting for the divorce to become final, and she could expect a ton of money. Max had never considered that his wife might manage to leave him and most of the growth of the retail chain had happened in the twelve years of their marriage. The law was clear on this account and Josie was to get almost forty percent of Max' possessions. Thus, she explained, he was not likely to pay for her release.

All this she told Henry in a conversational tone, never once vying for his sympathy. She did not have to anyway. Rapists were the scum of the earth to Henry and the thought of this sweet woman being violated for over ten years made his blood boil.

Henry was in thought after that. He began to question the cover story for this kidnapping. He assumed that Larry had been hoodwinked into this scheme by the client, and he wanted to talk with him. Unfortunately, Rico was always around and Henry did not want to broach the subject in his presence.

He had a few run-ins with Rico. Rico was a problem, a loose cannon. They had taken photos of their captives pretending to send them to the husband. Henry had caught Rico masturbating over the pictures of the girls and he had called Rico a sick shit. That did not sit well with the burly man and they had squared off for a serious fight when Larry broke them off. He once again gave strict orders for Rico to stay away from the woman and the girls and kept him husy with shopping and other errands. But he was also pissed at Henry and a rift opened between the men.

The next day finally broke the routine. After lunch, Larry received a phone call. After that, he informed his associates.

"Okay, this is it. We will get our money today, and then the client gets to free his wife and children. Cap, this is your job. You will meet the man at 1500 hours in the parking lot of the Olympic Mall, behind Sears. He will bring the money. Check the money. Here's a bug detector. Make sure that he opens the briefcase in case there's a paint bomb inside. The guy is as tricky as a priest, so be prepared."

Henry's suspicion was up. Paranoia is a trait common to people in his trade. Why him?

"Why not send Rico? He's been the gofer around here."

"Because I want the client to arrive here alive. I don't want Rico to screw up the whole thing."

Henry cast a glance at Rico expecting him to blow up. But Rico was sporting a grin as fake as a three-dollar bill. Something was up, and it was against him.

"Fine, which car do I take?"

"The Caprice. It's still clean. I hacked into the Atlanta PD computer this morning, and it's not on their wanted list."

Henry nodded, but his mind raced. There would be hair and fibre evidence in that car from the girls and their mother. If caught with that car, he would spend a long time behind bars.

"No way, Larry. I'm not driving around in this piece of shit. I'll take the Taurus."

"That's our escape car, Cap. Nobody knows about it. You can't use it to pick up the client."

"Then send Rico out to get another car. It's time he carried his own weight. I'm not taking the Caprice."

"What's with you all of a sudden?"

"Very simple. If I get caught, the Caprice will point at the woman and the girls, and I'm in deep shit."

"Okay, okay. I see your point. Take the damn Taurus and Rico will organise a new escape car. Right, Rico?"

"Whatever you say, Boss," Rico chimed in.

Henry checked his wristwatch. "That mall is on the other side of the town. I better get going."

"Yup. Be careful, Cap."

Henry went into his bedroom, a ten by eight former storage room. Quickly, he stripped off his cardigan and put on his Kevlar vest. Better to be safe than sorry. From a secret compartment of his trolley suitcase, he retrieved a slim .22 handgun, a silencer and two clips with ammo. He had used the gun before on assignments, but barrel and firing pin were new making it impossible to match it to any bullets or shells on file. That gun went into his ankle holster. Then he put his 9 mm Glock into the shoulder holster and strapped it on. The cardigan covered all and he went back. Larry gave him some more small pointers and the keys to the Taurus while Rico opened the big sliding door. The Taurus started without a hitch, and Henry drove out of the building and onto the road leading south.

Once out of sight from the building, he turned right, and then right again at the next intersection, doubling back to their hideout. He parked the Taurus out of sight and approached the building from the rear. He had done some recon on the first day, and he had found a hole in the mail-link fence through which he could slide easily. As expected, the window to the bathroom in the back of the building was open. He listened carefully for a few seconds, making sure it was not occupied. Then he pulled himself up and through the window.

Again, he listened carefully, satisfying himself that nobody was on the first floor. Carefully, he opened the door of the bathroom and let himself in. He pulled the Glock and froze for a second. He had not checked the load. Quickly, he slipped into an empty office and closed the door. Then he pulled the clip and inspected it.

Damn! Someone had replaced the rounds in the clip. He always marked his ammo with a tiny scratch of his knife. The ammo in the clip was not his. Probably duds. Only Larry or Rico could have done this. But it was too late now to find ammunition. He put away the Glock and retrieved the .22. He left the shoulder holster with the Glock and the cardigan in the office, and took off his shoes. In his socks, he slipped out of the office holding the small gun ready. Without making a sound, he tiptoed downstairs. The upper basement was empty. They could only be with the prisoners. Suddenly, his blood ran cold. Muffled by the door downstairs, he had heard the scream of a girl.

He was down the second flight of stairs in three seconds flat, and looked around. Still, no trace of Larry and Rico. He could hear them when he approached the door to the holding room where they kept their prisoners. Rico was cursing. Then Henry could hear the slap of a hand on skin and a scream from one of the girls.

"Shut her the fuck up!" Larry cursed. "This is not what I need here."

"Please, leave her alone!" That was Josie. "She's only thirteen! Please, leave ... aaah!"

"Shut the fuck up, bitch! It's over. We'll kill you today, that's for certain. But if those girls of yours survive will depend on whether you're able to satisfy us. Rico has quite some stamina and what he doesn't expend on you, he'll take out on those precious daughters of yours."

"Please, I'll do it, but tell him to leave the girls, please!"

"Rico, come here! How about a prime piece of ass for starters? Max said she's used to being buggered."

The puzzle pieces fell into place. He did not know how, but they had planned for him to fall into some kind of trap, probably a police ambush. They wanted him gone so they could have their way with the woman and the kids. Henry was under no illusion that the girls would be spared. Not with a guy like Rico. He quickly tried to locate them behind the door by their voices, then he readied the little gun and burst through the door.

Larry was fast, already moving away from Henry as he raised the gun. Yet, Henry was younger and his reflexes were even better. Two small .22 bullets in Larry's skull with no exit wounds made a big mess in his grey matter. He dropped, already dead before he hit the floor.

Rico was almost on top of Henry before he could bring his gun round to bear on the big man. Rico grabbed the small gun and Henry let go. The look of stupid surprise in Rico's face as he held the gun by its barrel made way for an empty stare from the remaining right eye, whilst the grip of the carbon fibre knife protruded from the other eye socket. Rico was also dead before his massive body hit the cement floor.

Quickly, Henry secured all weapons in the room before he inspected the damage. Josie sat slumped on the floor, her pyjama torn at the front with scratches over her breast. One of the girls was holding her face where Rico had hit her and the other twin had her arms around her sister.

"Josie, go sit on the bed with your daughters," Henry commanded.

Josie got up slowly. Her legs were trembling badly and she had wet herself.

"Cancel that, don't sit on the bed. Help me get this shit out!"

With Josie's help, he pulled the two corpses from the room and into an empty basement room. Then, after locking the cell with the girls, he steered Josie into a bathroom on the upper basement level. There was a shower stall and towels.

"Strip and take a shower," he commanded.

Josie looked at him still in shock.

"You are not staying, are you?" she asked timidly.

"Of course I'm staying! Get on with it. You've let me see most of what you have to offer, so skip the modesty."

Hesitantly, she pulled down the soaked pants and then dropped the top. Covering herself with her hands, she went into the shower stall and switched on the water. It was only lukewarm, but it was enough to wash off the urine and the sweat. She was finished in two minutes and peeked out of the stall.

"Would you have a towel?"

Henry looked around. Rico's towel was not used. He had not been all that much into personal hygiene. Henry tossed it over to Josie. When she was finished, he let her rinse the PJ in warm water and hand soap. After wringing the water from the cloth, they draped the PJ over a pipe for drying.

Josie flinched when he grabbed her upper arm to lead her back down to the holding cell. Just then, his eyes fell on her naked back and he came to a full stop.

"Who did this to you?"

"What?"

"The cigar burns on your back. Who did that?"

Josie hung her head. "My husband did," she whispered.

Henry stood for a few seconds, processing this bit of information.

"You're still married to that piece of shit?" he asked.

She nodded. "The divorce is not final."

"Does he have living relatives aside from you and your daughters?"

"No. Why?"

"Then you'll be a very rich widow before this week is over."

She looked at him. "Are you serious?"

He nodded grimly. "I was contemplating a house call with Max, you know, for conspiring against me. Those two scumbags sent me off to meet him, and I'm certain I wouldn't have come back. And after seeing your back, I'm getting the impression that the world will be a better place without him in it. It'll be on the house, so don't worry about a payment."