There was no active or passive surveillance in the two main bedroom suites at the villa. There were cameras trained on the exterior windows, but the blinds were drawn. The lights were out when Gino returned to start his first shift at ten. The log stated JS in his bedroom at 9:55PM. Further down the page it stated the teenager got up at 11:20 to exercised indoors until 12:45. Lunch on the terrace, stayed outdoors until 8PM went inside for dinner. The previous four days were similar to within minutes. No excursions, no late nights, but sleeping late. The security guard could hear the music from a neighbouring villa. No partying for the Sprintz heir. The man then checked the refrigerator to see supper and two snacks from the housekeeper. There was a top of the range microwave, coffee maker and a water cooler here for the man watching the CCTV and performing perimeter checks at 45 minute intervals. Gino went to check the doors and garage, taking the master keys with him. His plan was going without a hitch. In the garage were two cars, a BMW sports car and a Mercedes limo. By the rear wall were two bikes. Basic tool kit and maintenance kits on a shelving unit. The car keys nowhere to be seen. The spares in the security office, maybe the kid had a set too.
The two lovers lay next to each other. The dark haired eighteen year old pondered his lover's honed survival instinct about the new security guard. Their laptop had hacked into the security feed as they watched the stranger walk through the garage and let himself into the kitchen, breaking protocol. In softly whispered German "looks like you're right, beautiful. If he comes upstairs the door is locked and there is a panic room in dad's office."
There was no self righteous smile at being right crossing the younger teen's face, he murmured back, "not accessible from here. Last line of defence planned for the security alerting us if danger, not for an inside job." He rolled over and kissed his lover softly. "That man has only seen me. He only expects one occupant. If he comes into this room, you need to keep out of sight. He is armed and I am trained to disarm. Hell, Jamie darling, the presidential guard taught me how to kill with my bare hands. My uncle taught me to mimic, to lie, to survive. This bastard will think only of the stereotype a pampered kid not the world weary ex black ops hardened master spy. I got this. If he finds two of us, he'll kill the spare, which in his mind is you. Please, you must hide if he comes up the stairs. Knowing the trap is there is the best way to avoid it. He's just some trumped up hood wanting to appear big league or get rich quick." He moved to reassure the real target, knowing the anguish this inevitability was causing Jamie. Not the time to confess that he would die to keep his beloved safe, yet he would. Looking into his lover's eyes he knew Jamie was thinking the same. If the situation wasn't so dire, he knew that this was the real thing. They kissed again, slow and passionately, both aware this could possibly be their last moments together, alive. One eye on the video showed the garage door was open, not just one opponent, the odds of survival were shortening. Then the screen went black, no CCTV, checking the computer there was no internet, the landline phone was dead and there was no mobile signal. "Game on, my love. Use the connecting door to hide in your dad's bedroom.
...
Karl Brock was woken at 2AM by the alarm from the villa, signalling the panic room had been locked. He rolled over, assuming the young lovers were christening the basic accommodations as some sort of role play. No other alarms had been triggered and the night duty guard nor the local police had not phoned, so everything was OK.
...
Maria arrived early, thankful the young guest had alerted her that there was his mess to tidy up in the kitchen and dining room, as James insisted he have the night off. On walking up the driveway, something was very wrong. The gates were open, so was the garage but the two cars were still parked. The day shift operative was not in his office by the gates. He came running from the house, "please sit in my car. There is a problem and Herr Brock is on his way over. I had to run to the intersection for my mobile to work. The phone lines are out. Once the boss is here, I'll get you a coffee."
The grim faced German punched in the override codes for the panic room. Inside James Sprintz had dried tears and snot smears on his face. "The new guy and two others took Sasha. They were after me. If one hair on Sasha's head is harmed, you'll need to so Ed your life running from his brother Dimitry. Then again, so will I."
It was the worst day of his life, he started to weep and shake, as anger and hate fed his despair. He needed to talk to his father before the security team covered up their mistakes.
...
Dieter had just finished speaking to his distraught son when his computer stated his son was wanting to video chat again. This was likely to be the kidnappers. The man had already decided to pay the ransom, for the sake of Jamie. Once again, the strange boy had saved his son. Accepting the call, The image on his computer showed a dark warehouse interior and two masked men. The ruse was the handcuffed, blindfolded and gagged security guard who had masterminded this evil and the large masked criminal gripping the blond hair of the teenager they had abducted to give a clear image of the slack, unresponsive face; the proof he was bruised, drugged and unconscious. No audio, just a note onscreen with the message €10 million for your son's safe return. Then the message went blank. No sign of Sasha being alive, no proof of life. He texted his son's phone, not to use his Skype account again. He then phoned down for his car. The business jet was waiting to take him to Italy.
...
Alex woke laid in the recovery position on a hard, narrow camp bed. His mouth dry and his head pounding. He did not open his eyes or make any outward appearance he was conscious, but he carefully listened to see if he was alone. His face ached and his arms were bruised, evidence of his brief struggle after landing a hit on the masked invader who had unlocked Jamie's bedroom door. He had played the part of untrained patsy, now the gloves were off, no quarter given. After three years consolidation, he was a strong talented, trained and honed survivor. The teenager could make out a soft, slightly muffled conversation in Russian.
The nasally whine of a man with head cold droned on"You're an idiot, the kid should have been awake for the ransom demand not dead to the world. The chloroform was enough, just because he socked you one, you had to feed him that mix of sleeping tablets. If you kill him, we'll get nothing. The German will demand proof of life, his son pleading for his life."
The reply was deeper, guttural and obviously annoyed at being reprimanded, "we just hack off a finger or an ear and send it to the rich bastard."
"So you have a death wish. It's a quick get rich scheme, not an excuse for you to make the same mistakes as you did in Baku. Dead hostages make us wanted criminals, the pigs don't care if it's an accidental overdose. Our deal is €15,000 for four days babysitting. We can get the reward for grassing on that creep Gino. Just play it cool, Babushka. The kid has to be healthy and undamaged, OK. His father may spend ten million to get his son back. Damaged, well he might spent the same to put us all in shallow graves."
The trigger happy accomplice sighed, "it was easier when we were green conscripts. No one cared when civilians were caught in the crossfire in Afghanistan. God, to think the Yanks are now knee deep in that shithole. Serves them right after funding the extremists in the first place."
The conversation moved back into talk of past adventures for two hired in muscle with no loyalty to the mastermind behind this farce. Alex now has time to reflect that his family would be upset, afraid and worried, if Dieter let them know. There was no if, Jamie's dad would have been told Boris as soon as the ransom demand had been made. The teenager had better live through this or the last four years had been were for nothing.