Summary: Intrigued by his new concierge doctor, Boris schemes on how to more fully integrate Hank into both the Hamptons and Boris' own life. One plan after the next leads to mixed failure and success. Poor Boris!
A/N: Chapter Nine continues the Plan D arc.
Chapter Nine
Plan D:
Lock the Stubborn Doctor Away
Several hours after interrogating Lawson, Boris was still stretched out on the soil with a silently shivering Hank. It was cold and dark, and they were outside a shabby building—to call it a house would have been far too kind—in the middle of nowhere, sprawled across the equally cold and hard soil, waiting for the kidnappers to make a mistake that they could use against them. To Boris, this entire situation sounded suspiciously like some strange and unlikely plot aired on one of the hackneyed American cop shows he refused to watch.
Normally, Boris would simply direct his agents in the field while he remained safely ensconced at Shadow Pond, but the particular variables of this situation required his involvement. It was personal. These men had had the audacity to kidnap his doctor's younger brother. Even worse, these men had upset his doctor. For that—and admittedly to keep Hank from insanely trying to mount his own retrieval expedition, an act Boris knew would undoubtedly lead to Hank's injury or worse—Boris was here in the middle of a cold night, debating his next move.
The situation itself was far from desirable. He had had little time to prepare, for the ransom's deadline was swiftly approaching. They had been fortunate in that most of the materials and weapons they would need were already packed in one of the vehicles that Boris most commonly used for such exigencies. Less fortunate had been the fact that they had not even had the time to change into more appropriate attire. Boris certainly did not own any clothing suitable for deadly assaults on buildings guarded by kidnappers in the dead of night—he kept away from such enterprises as much as possible for obvious reasons—nor did he suspect that the good doctor did.
Even more, Boris' intuition told him that they needed to resolve this sooner rather than later. In fact, it had been fairly screaming at him that they needed to go immediately. Over the years, Boris had learned to trust his intuition, and that intuition unquestionably told him that Evan was unlikely to remain alive if they did not move quickly. He suspected it was because the Matini family was involved; they were less than known for returning hostages in one still-breathing piece.
Thus, while they had been able to assemble their team quickly, the plan had been hazardously tentative. Boris preferred to have a good, exhaustive plan, but he knew they had no choice. If he recalled correctly, Lee Johnson's exact wording had been "let's get there and see what happens." The very nonexistence of any real plan was not reassuring.
They were presently on the outskirts of West Milford, in an area Boris had never ventured. Indeed, before today, he had never considered visiting Milford. Other than the guards in front of them, no one could be seen, and there was little background noise. Even the constant stream of traffic that one would find in most cities was absent, and the area itself seemed to be sleeping. It had taken them several hours to get here after they had received the ransom note—and after the side trip to see Hank's conniving father, of course. Boris suspected the area would have a pristine quality on a better day, one that would invite relaxation, but right now it was anything but endearing.
Unfortunately, his love was with him in this absurd state of affairs. It was not that he disliked having Hank beside him, never that, but that he loathed risking the doctor's wellbeing. Almost as a reminder of his precarious health, Hank coughed softly beside him, swearing under his breath as he tried to stifle the sound. Quietly, Boris handed him a bottle of water that he had pulled from his car right before abandoning the black Porsche half a mile back. He then carefully worked off the jacket to his Armani suit and placed it around Hank's shuddering shoulders.
His doctor gave him a shaky nod, drinking gratefully and pulling his arms through the jacket. While the jacket was obviously too large for Hank's smaller frame, it would not hamper movement and it would, at least, help keep him warm. The shudders continued, but not as noticeably. To the German's surprise, Hank carefully squeezed Boris' hand, rubbing his thumb with his own. Even more, his touch lingered far longer than Boris would have expected. Boris looked at him carefully, intrigued. After a moment, Hank almost shyly looked up at the baron through his dark eyelashes, smiling slightly before quickly turning away.
Boris found himself staring at this, wondering if he had truly seen . . . was Hank flirting with him? Was the good doctor actually beginning to return his affections? That shy look almost made him think so. In the cover of darkness, Boris allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. His smile strengthened at the fact that his love was wearing Boris' clothing, even willingly. It was a mark of possession that Boris hoped he would be able to replicate under fairer circumstances.
At least one front seemed to be advancing, but Boris knew that there were problems elsewhere.
Momentarily, the baron allowed himself to sigh, glancing quickly at his doctor. The man was irritatingly stubborn. Boris had attempted to talk Hank into staying at the estate, like any reasonable doctor would do in his current condition, but he was quickly realizing that Hank was the very antithesis of reasonable when he had his mind set on something. He had refused to stay in the car while they took care of the kidnappers. Furthermore, the stubborn man had even refused to stay outside in their current position, simply watching what happened as Boris' agents took the building. Boris swore that Johnson looked like he would throttle the doctor for his obstinacy. Hank made a mule look positively rational.
Hank coughed once more, trying to suppress the sound in the crook of his arms. For a moment, Boris was tempted to drag the stubborn man to his car by his ears. He knew it would be impossible to keep Hank from coming to West Milford, given Hank's rather obstinate disposition, but he had hoped that the man would show some sense and stay in the car. Even the stubborn Hank had to acknowledge that being outside on a cold night, resting on even colder ground had to equate to blatant stupidity.
Boris was all but set to lecture his love as he had never lectured him before, but he knew Hank. The doctor would be completely adamant about this since it was his brother's life at stake. He would probably start yelling at full capacity, drawing unwanted attention to them and likely getting himself killed in the bargain. Instead of delivering a heated argument that he felt was more than warranted, thus, Boris bit down on his annoyance and glared at the good doctor.
Hank had the gall to sullenly glare back at him.
Boris shook his head, remembering that insane moment when he had rather reasonably and logically asked Hank to stay behind at the mansion.
The suggestion had met nothing even loosely approaching agreement.
His feisty doctor had dragged him right from the security room, eyes fiery and passionate, full of life. Only moments ago, his eyes had been hollow, even blank. His father's treachery had hurt Hank more than the doctor wanted to admit. Boris had been pleased by this change, at least momentarily, preferring the fire to the almost deadened look the doctor had earlier possessed.
However, that pleasure had rapidly changed to outright annoyance. Although Boris was nearly a foot taller and much more sturdily built, Hank had grimly hauled him straight from the room, like a recalcitrant child. No one had dragged Boris anywhere in years, not since he had reached his teens. To say that his security officers had been shocked was sheer understatement. The most commonly imperturbable Lee Johnson, his head security officer and a man with years of experience in espionage, had watched him, his mouth literally hanging wide open. Thankfully, Johnson had wisely refrained from commenting, for Boris was fairly sure that Hank would have decked the man.
Once out of the room, Hank's ire had, unfortunately, not quenched.
"How could you even suggest this, Boris?" Hank had snapped, pacing once more. They were standing somewhat awkwardly in the hall, and Hank's tension was obvious in the set of his shoulders and the muscle pulsing in his jaw. "He's my brother. There is no way in hell I'm staying here why you go and play hero with my brother's life!"
Boris had blinked at this, somewhat nonplussed. After a moment, he calmly caught the doctor, trying to keep the man from overstressing his body so much. "Doctor, while I know he is your brother," he started, his voice neutral, "you have been ill. Surely you must understand that—"
There was no understanding. Once more, Hank walked right into his personal space, warmth radiating from his slender figure and making Boris swallow hard. Certain parts of the baron's anatomy were all too interested in the doctor's proximity, and Boris forced himself to breathe steadily. Given their predicament, he could not even imagine what Hank would do if he noticed Boris had an erection—actually, that was not quite true. He could imagine such a scene, and it was not the pleasant scene of requited affection and passion he would have liked. No, it was something more like what had happened earlier to Lawson, with Hank punching him squarely in the jaw.
Thankfully, Hank had been too riled up to notice much of anything but his own anger.
While he attempted to calm his physical reaction to Hank, the good doctor pointed one accusing finger at him. "I don't care if I'm on my deathbed, Boris, I'm not staying here. There is no damned way you're going to make me stay here while you try to 'save'—" he said the word savagely, eyes all but flashing "—my brother and end up getting him killed with your tactics!"
At this, Boris was hard pressed not to roll his eyes. He forced himself to calmly count to ten before replying, "I know you disagree with how I handled this, Hank, but—"
"You're damn right I disagree," Hank interrupted, again pacing up and down the hall. "You could have gotten him killed just by contacting your agents!"
As Boris was about to defend his actions, Hank shook his head. "I'm grateful that your people found out about the Matini family and that you went with me to see my . . . father," Hank practically spit the word father, "I really am, Boris . . . but that doesn't change how you endangered Evan by ignoring the kidnappers' instructions. He could already be dead because you had to act like you knew better!"
Boris, of course, did not mention the very real fact that he did know better. Almost anyone living in the Hamptons knew better. Hank was not ready or willing to hear of Boris' experience with similar situations. Though he had hinted at his experience in situations like this previously, Hank would probably throttle him for doing so again.
Hank had then sharply inhaled, seeming to suddenly realize just how close he was standing to the German noble. He backed away somewhat nervously, coughing and clearing his throat, right before looking at Boris with dark, determined eyes. "If this were your brother, Boris," he started, "you wouldn't stay behind no matter what. Evan deserves this from me—we've had our difficulties, but he's my brother. Nothing is keeping me from going with you."
For a good five seconds, Boris had contemplated using a sedative to keep his love safe, but he finally relented. Hank was exactly right. He could just imagine the depths to which he would go if someone had taken Hank instead of Evan. There was nothing he would have shied from doing if it meant Hank's safe return.
Now, hours later, Boris almost wished he had used the sedative. Hank needed to be here, and he agreed with this, but it would be so much easier to retrieve Evan if Hank were not present. Boris knew that Hank likely would have punched him if tried, but the punch would have been after the fact: after Evan was rescued, after Boris had done what needed to be done. He simply could not do everything he would normally do in such a situation with Hank beside him. Quite simply, he did not want Hank to realize just how ruthless his actions could be when he had the right incentive. Someday, Hank would know—and he believed that Hank already suspected some of his darker tendencies—but right now, so early in their relationship, was not the time for such revelations. Suspecting and knowing were two entirely different things.
Once more pinching the arch of his nose in a gesture that was rapidly becoming common for him when in his love's presence, Boris glanced at Hank and noted his white skin almost flashing in the moonlight. It was a wonder neither of them had been spotted given their less than appropriate attire. With any luck, it would not get them killed.
Hours passed: painfully, intolerably slow hours. In that time, the guard had changed once. There were still three men in front of the building, which left at least three others inside. He would imagine there were more, for while the building was really little more than a shack, it seemed to have enough space for two or three rooms. He imagined the guards were taking turns and sleeping between rotations.
Boris carefully glanced at his watch, frowning. It was well after three in the morning. Within hours, the soft light of early morning would begin to filter across West Milford. If they wanted to maintain an edge of surprise—and if they wanted to assure themselves of Evan's continued good health, no matter how lamentable the idea—they would need to move soon.
That was perfectly acceptable, for Hank was getting progressively chilled. There was no way the moist earth was helping the doctor in his already ailing condition. While Hank tried to hide the coughs, they were increasing in frequency and duration; Boris had no doubt that continued exposure would put the doctor right back in the condition he had been several days ago. Thus, the sooner they grabbed Evan and dragged him out of that shack, kicking and screaming if need be (for he had no doubt that the forever annoying Evan would be equally aggravating even in a situation such as this), the better.
Johnson carefully crawled to his side, followed a second later by Lever. They looked at Boris, eyebrows raised, weapons ready. After a few moments, Johnson tilted his head towards the building.
It was time.
Without even a word, Boris nudged Hank, pulling him up slightly by his left elbow and moving towards the target. Hank's eyes flew wide, but to his credit, he quickly joined Boris without hesitation. They slowly crawled down the hill, keeping to the darkest stretches of shadow as much as they could. Johnson went first, followed quickly by Lever, Boris, Hank, and their third agent, Miller.
Johnson moved into position, almost in sight of the guards but just edged enough back that no one could see them. He then smiled slyly, placing a finger over his lips and waving the group to maintain their silence.
Carefully, Boris watched as the guards laughed at something he could not see or hear. One was smoking while the other two were leaning against the building, one closing his eyes as his companion all but drooled over a copy of Penthouse. Boris smirked at this; typical criminal underlings, only somewhat paying attention to their duty. This could prove helpful to them. Quickly, the baron studied the guards' weaponry. Assault rifles were tossed over their shoulders. From what little Boris could see in the fragmented light shimmering through cracks in the small building, there were other weapons as well, mainly handguns and knives.
This was no surprise, of course, but he would have felt more confident if the men were less well armed. And, of course, he would have been quite pleased if there were fewer of them.
Johnson slowly pulled out a strange contraption from the small black bag he had draped over his back. It took Boris a moment to realize that the contraption was actually a very small dart gun. Lever and Miller pulled out similar instruments from their own utility bags, and within seconds the three men were shooting darts at the guards. Boris quickly slid beside Hank, placing his hands on the doctor's shoulders as the actual business of taking the building began.
There was a soft thunk, and, simultaneously, three darts filled with what Boris knew was some sort of paralytic agent were embedded in the guards' necks. The men shuddered, gasping slightly. One managed to almost reach his rifle, but Johnson quickly slammed the man to the ground and shoved his arm against his throat. The man slowly stopped resisting, his eyes finally fluttering shut.
It was all done silently, so silently that the hoot of an owl rung through the night air, but nothing more. By Boris' watch, it had taken less than twenty seconds.
Softly, Hank gasped beside him, his eyes wide as he watched Boris' agents move the stricken guards away from the door. They dumped their paralyzed bodies in the deepest shadows beside the shack, returning just as silently. Hank gulped, eyebrows almost as high as his hairline, but he smiled shakily at Boris' concerned gaze. The doctor took a quick moment to check for pulses, and the shaky smile was much more convincing when he found the men quite alive. Boris would have rolled his eyes, but he could just imagine Hank's reaction to that.
Johnson held one hand up, four fingers up, thumb down. He started to count down.
When the hand was finally a fist, all fingers clenched together, Johnson and Lever slammed into the building's door while Miller stayed beside Boris and Hank. Chips of wood splintered everywhere, and Boris quickly pushed Hank's head down so that the sharp splinters would not hit him. A wooden chair toppled to the ground, having been overturned as the door smashed into it. He thought he heard a table scratching across the floor, dislodged by their entry.
Cautiously, the baron peeked into the room when no answering fire was heard. The splinters finally settled to the ground, and dust lingered in the air. Silence met his ears, unsettling and surreal. Boris warily surveyed the area.
The ticking of a clock echoed in the empty room, slow and steady, almost like the ticking of a bomb. A bare bulb poured harsh light across the small entry room, and Boris could see two tiny rooms branching behind the entry, both less than the size of one of his bathrooms. Their doors, wood graying with disuse and lack of maintenance, were shut. His eyes then flicked over the entry room, noting a deck of cards and four unattended drinks sitting on a diminutive card table.
Tick tick tick went the clock.
Miller carefully slid along the left wall while Lever took the right. Johnson moved in front of Boris and Hank. His brow furrowed and his eyes wide, Hank stared at the four drinks. Quietly, he examined the two doors. He settled a quick palm against the still upright chairs, nodding slightly.
'They're warm,' he mouthed at Boris, who nodded. There was no doubt that these men had been here only moments before.
Tick tick tick.
Next Chapter: Plan D Continued. Will Hank be less stubborn? Will Boris save the day? Will Evans ever get rescued? Are there really only three bad guys? Stay tuned to find out . . . more boom, more bullets, some desperate running, all types of chaos are to follow!
Thanks, reviewers! You spoil me! :-) Things will be heating up between Boris and Hank in the next Plan arc, so hang in there.
