Chapter 4

Biderman's chart of coercion. Stage 3 - Monopolisation of Perception. Fixes attention upon immediate predicament; fosters introspection, Eliminates stimuli competing with those controlled by captor and frustrates all actions not consistent with compliance

The next time Ken awoke, he was stunned to find himself in a small pen, like somewhere his Grandfather kept pigs or sheep on his farm. It consisted of four concrete walls that were perhaps 5' high, the front one having a wooden gate affair slotted into the middle of it. There was a small thin mattress on the ground over the rough concrete floor and that was what the blond was laying on now.

Ken's arms had been pulled above his head and his wrists which were still tied together were secured loosely through a large ring bolt attached to the wall above his head. There was no play in the ropes around his wrists, but the loop of rope that attached him to the wall was perhaps 3 feet long and allowed him now to lever himself up into a sitting position.

His head felt as though it was going to explode and he wondered just what drug they'd given him to knock him out. Judging by the slightly blurred vision, the headache and the mouth that felt like the bottom of a parrot's cage, probably Nembutal or similar. Not refined, but terribly effective!

Sitting up was marginally less comfortable then lying down, but then, at least sitting up he felt more alert; more in control of the uncontrollable situation. Ken felt a slight tremble in his limbs and was hot, but not sweating. He knew he had a low grade fever and wondered if it came from the wound on his back. There was no way to see what state it was in, although it hurt like hell and he had a bet with himself that there would be a black and blue bruise over the area of the gunshot wound, as well as the stitched bullet wound itself.

He leaned back cautiously against the rough concrete wall and stared about him. Oddly, he felt a little calmer now, but put that down to the remnants of the drug in his blood stream. Looking up, he saw a large, corrugated tin roof and he could hear scuffling from each side of him. The sweet smell of hay and the comforting warmth from animals assailed his senses and suddenly it all made sense. The over sized operating implements, the ER that looked and smelled not quite right. This was no human hospital. He was in some sort of veterinary practice!

Ken slumped back against the mattress, feeling both elated and defeated. Yes, it all made sense. A group calling themselves PACE - People Against Cruelty and Experimentation had been rallying in Duluth for some time and had targeted Dr Hutchinson because he regularly tried out new operational techniques on lab animals. Ken had never really been involved in that side of his Dad's work. He knew it went on, had challenged Hutchinson senior about it and sympathized with PACE, but was powerless to stop the great man furthering his career. So it was PACE who had him now. It was PACE who'd taken him, dealt with his injury and were holding him to ransom for a million bucks. And they thought Richard Hutchinson would pay? Ken snorted. The blond knew his Dad's stance on blackmail, but surely even the great Mr. High and Mighty Principles would change his mind once his son had been taken hostage. Ken didn't want his Dad to pay up, but surely he'd have people out looking for him the minute it was discovered he was missing?

A cow in some byre further up the row started lowing and Ken realised a door had been opened at the end of the barn. He stiffened, hoping against hope that this was salvation, but instead he was faced moments later by three group members standing inside his pen. He pushed himself against the concrete wall as they descended on him and as the two men started to unfasten him from the eyelet in the wall, he stared at the young woman he'd seen earlier.

She was perhaps 5'5" tall with short, dark brown hair and a face that was tanned a natural brown. Someone who was obviously used to outdoor living and her wiry frame agreed with his initial thoughts.

'I know who you are' Ken said in a voice which was remarkably steady. 'He won't pay. You should let me go now'.

The men pulled him to his feet, and Ken felt the stitches in his back stretching painfully.

'You won't get away with this. My father will….'

One of the men slapped him hard across the face. 'Shuddup'.

It was the first word anyone had said to him since he'd been taken; the first time they'd treated him anything like a human being. The blow stung and left red marks on his fair cheek. He hissed and stared back defiantly at them. Ok, if that's how they wanted to play it! He could be ornery too.

'Get your hands off of me' he yelled as the two men started to drag him out of the pen. He struggled against them, but the drugs, the injuries and his fear made him weak and he was no match for the two big guys. Eventually he reasoned that he was expending more energy in struggling than if he was to follow quietly and so he stopped, allowing himself to be guided out, into a farm yard area, then into a big house. The guards dumped him on a hard backed chair in the middle of a darkened room. They tied his wrists to the base of the chair and his legs to the chair's front legs and then they stood back as the girl came to stand in front of him.

'Well what a sorry sight you are' she said quietly. 'One of the great Hutchinsons huh? Look at you!'

And indeed when he looked down at himself he saw that his pants were filthy, his shirt was missing and he had streaks of dirt mixed with sweat across his stomach and chest. He guessed the rest of him must look the same, but he said nothing. His crystal blue eyes bored into the woman's.

'Poor little rich boy. All on his ownsome now. How's it feel rich boy? How's it feel to be away from Daddy huh?'

'Good'.

The answer seemed to shock the woman and her mouth fell open, then closed again as she took a closer look at her captive. The man behind him slapped him again, but from behind and although the blow wasn't especially painful, Ken hadn't seen it coming and it took him by surprise. He let out a small yelp and the woman grinned.

'Oh we can get through that stoicism, can we? We can hurt ya. Maybe just a little more before you're receptive enough to listen to our ideas?' She nodded and the two goons set about their task.

As one held the chair upright, the other started punching at the young blond, the pattern differing all the time until he couldn't brace himself fast enough for where the next blow was coming from. His world seemed full of fists and blood and bruises as time and again they hit out at him. He remembered first trying to remain quiet. He didn't want them to see how terrified and how hurt he really was. But pretty soon he couldn't hold back the yelps and cries. But they seemed to fuel the man into hitting harder and faster and soon, Ken's world had disappeared into a miasma of pain and fear as he screamed once into the darkness.

He was just beginning to wonder how much the human body could take before it passed out when he heard the woman's voice again as if from a distance.

'That's enough. Now hold his head up while I focus'.

Ken wondered what that meant, but then heard the soft click of the shutter of a camera. Oh my God! What sort of sick joke was that? To take a photo of him now? And then it dawned on him – they would send it to his Dad with another demand for the money. He almost grinned to himself through the blaze of pain.

That'll show the old fool. That'll show him that they meant what they'd said and then maybe Dr Hutchinson, the proud, oh so clever Dr Hutchinson will remember that this is his own son, his own flesh and blood. Don't make it harder Dad. Just send someone to come an' get me huh?

oOo

Hank Netter held the photograph in his hand and winced. It showed the young man he'd seen only the day before, but he was a much different sight now. The photograph showed his blond head held up by a disembodied hand. Ken Hutchinson's previously unmarked, golden face was now a welter of bruises and cuts, blood flowing freely from the corner of his mouth and down onto a chest which was bare and similarly decorated in purple bruises and red gashes.

'When did you get this, and how?'

'It was delivered by a Fed Ex courier less than half an hour ago. It came in a plain brown envelope and had this with it. Dr Hutchinson pointed to a tape which was inserted into a player. He pushed the button to play and his face was an impassive mask as Netter listened to the cries, the scream and the sounds of fists hitting flesh. Dr Hutchinson pushed a note across the table to Hank. The cop took it and read it.

I hoPe you wiLl TakE Us moRe seriOUsly now. $1,000.000 in unmarked bills rEAdy in 24 hOurS or he dies. We will be in touch.

'What do you want to do?'

'I want you to get them and make them pay. They have no right! This is an outrage. They deserve to be locked up for ever'.

'Are you going to get the money?'

The doctor looked askance. 'Get the money? No! Never! You can't bargain with these people. It sends out completely the wrong message. If was to do that, pretty soon all my colleagues would be subject to similar abuse. No way! This is your job, and if you can't handle it, I'll speak to your Chief about getting someone else assigned'.

Netter's fists clenched beneath the table as he tried to keep a hold of his temper. He'd come across all sorts in his 9 years as a detective. Some who would give their eye teeth to take the place of the one who'd been kidnapped, some who'd re mortgaged everything they owned, just to get that special someone back. But never someone so cold hearted and logical about a member of their family. His blood boiled but he kept a tight grip on his anger.

'Sir, I have dealt with many kidnappings over the years. And some of the time, I've gotten the people back without any money ever changing hands. But I always advise families to have the cash to hand, ready. In case something happens or the blackmailers get suddenly pissed off. I would urge you to reconsider and at least have the ransom money standing by. Your son's life may depend on it'.

'My son knows my stance on such things. I will not bargain and I will not even go so far as to think about getting the money. That's just preposterous. Now, are you going to keep on trying to find Kenneth or shall I telephone your Captain. My son will understand'.

Hank Netter stared at the bloody and beaten figure in the photograph again and wondered. It would take a helluva special kid to understand this.

oOo

There was something soft and damp dabbing at his face, but Ken didn't want to open his eyes and acknowledge it. He was scared that if he did, they'd just start hitting him again. At least here, in his personal darkness he could try to ignore them.

But he couldn't ignore the pains shooting through his body, especially those in his chest when he breathed. They knifed through him, making him hitch a breath each time he tried to inhale and once, when he tried to move he felt a sickening grating in his side. He knew they'd broken a rib and that he shouldn't move. And not moving was fine just for the moment because even thinking seemed to give him some pain.

The thing dabbing on his face went away and was replaced by a cool set of fingers. They were gently rubbing at a stinging wound over his right eye and it made his wince. The fingers stopped and he heard a young girl's voice.

'Are you awake?'

Ken opened one eye, the other having swollen shut and regarded the earnest face above him. 'Kinda'.

'It's ok, they've gone. It's just me and you. I asked if I could take care of you' she said. 'Lie still, you've got some cuts on your face and I was wiping them with some antiseptic'.

'Hurts' he managed to gasp.

'I know. I'm sorry. Here, let me get you a drink' she shuffled away and returned a moment later with a small cup. She put her hand behind the blond's head and pulled him up. He groaned, but managed to get a sip of the cool water. It felt like liquid velvet on his throat and he sank back down onto the mattress, looking around him.

He was back in the barn but he wasn't tied this time. Maybe, he thought grimly, because he was in no shape to stand up, let alone try to escape. He concentrated on the girl.

'What's your name?'

'They call me Freedom'.

He arched his brows, then winced as the small movement caused the cut on his head to reopen.

She smiled at him. 'We all give up our other world names when we join the group'.

'And the group is called?'

'We'll tell you when you're ready to join us, if you live that long' a third voice said as one of the older men walked into the bar. 'That's enough Freedom. He'll survive. You can go'.

'But he's hurting' the girl began.

'I said, you can go. We'll come back for him in a while. Once we know whether they're paying or not'.

Ken's ear pricked. 'You sent a ransom note?'

The man looked at him and nodded.

'And?'

'Your old man's one stubborn asshole'.

Ken lay back down on the thin mattress and sighed shallowly for fear of hurting his chest more. Yeah, stubborn and not the sort who'll go to pieces easy. For pities sake Dad. Put your principles to one side an' just get me outa here, please?