THE GIRL NEXT DOOR
CHAPTER NINE: Out of the Frying Pan
"You've done what?" Gault couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could everything have gone so wrong so quickly? He knew that he would be blamed, knew that if he didn't take action quickly then his own life would be forfeit. He wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't too late already. His mind raced frantically as he tried to come up with a solution. The whole horrible mess had arisen from the need to use secrecy, to keep the left hand from knowing what the right hand was doing. Trouble was the two sides had chosen the same space to play in, and since neither knew of the other's existence. . .
But he should have known, he was in charge. He cursed the amateurs that he had hired, there had been too many blunders, it was time for him to take over. "Look I don't care how you have to do it, how many people you bring in or what it costs, but get them all out of there now, alive. Bring them to the Marina, I'll take it from there." He paused to adjust his tone to one that dripped venom, "And if even one of them dies, then so do you." He paused again, just a beat for effect. "Your men, however, are expendable. Is that understood?" He waited for an affirmative reply before slamming down the receiver, his shirtsleeve slipping back to reveal the dragon tattoo beneath.
He should have handled the whole thing personally, not just the initial abduction. He hadn't even told his boss that the girl had been hurt yet, he had been dreading that, but it paled into insignificance compared to telling him about this, the thought made him break out into a cold sweat. Maybe he could salvage it. He had to salvage it.
He picked the receiver up again, he had one more thing to arrange before he left for the Marina. There was an assassin at the hospital who could not be left alive. He could only hope that his replacement would be much more successful.
--
Mark found the process of walking difficult, the simple task of ordering one foot to place itself in front of the other seemed somehow beyond him. He could still feel the heat against his back, the increasing volume from the wail of approaching sirens assaulted his hearing, both serving as reminders that the last few minutes had not been part of a nightmare. Much as he could not bring himself to walk away from it, he could not now bring himself to turn and face the blazing inferno that was all that remained of the warehouse where he had last seen his son. Some part of him could not, would not acknowledge the truth of his loss until he saw the body with his own eyes. For something so massive, so awful, he would need more than just a probability to accept it. He clung desperately to whatever sliver of hope that he could. "Maybe he found a way out," he said shakily.
Ron almost asked Mark to repeat himself, the comment was just within his hearing and it took a moment for him to process it. He didn't think it likely himself, much as he would like to believe that his friend had made it out, the evidence of the destruction and the way that the fire was spreading to the surrounding buildings made it extremely unlikely. There was such a huge area caught up in the blast. He had lost two of his own men that had been too close, and there were two others injured, and they hadn't even been in the building. "Maybe," he agreed, ducking his head to match Mark's slightly dejected stoop as he sought and met Mark's gaze, if the old Doctor wasn't willing to give up hope yet then he wasn't going to rob him of whatever comfort that may give him. "There was quite a gap between when he went inside and the explosion," he stated, "and I'm sure the place must have other exits." He tried to keep his tone even, reassuring.
Mark was grateful for the lie, he drew in a deep breath.
"Come on let's get back to the command post," Ron said. "Let the bomb squad and the rescue services do their work."
--
Steve's world phased in and out in a sickening haze as Jesse's panicked words sent his thought processes into turmoil, fear and helplessness gripped him in equal measure as he fought to overcome the physical discomfort and formulate some sort of rationale through the rapidly encroaching mire. He swayed slightly and closed his eyes against his graying vision. Feeling firm hands grip his arm, he was helped to sit and lean once more against the wall. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth against the pain. Breathing as deeply as he dared, his hearing gradually focused on the soothing tones that were talking him through, helping to calm him. He finally opened his eyes once more and focused on Jesse's concerned expression.
His own fear and panic subjugated to his professional and personal need to help his patient, his friend, Jesse broke off from his soothing monologue. "Hey, don't you dare pass out on me now. If I'm going to die in here, I at least want to have someone to talk to." His teasing tone was incongruous with the morbidity of the comment and it was enough to make Steve smile.
"Jess. . ." Steve said, only getting the one word out before needing to take another breath.
"Hey, I told you earlier not to try to speak," Jesse said, masking his concern at Steve's worsening colour. "I only said I needed someone to talk to, I didn't say I needed any replies. So you just stay quiet and listen."
Steve held up his hand, "Never gonna. . .happen," he said, taking more cautious breaths. He grinned as Jesse shared the connection, grinning back. There was no need to express their mutual fear, the connected gaze passed far more than words ever could.
There was silence for a few moments before Steve spoke again. "Jess," this time there was no interruption. He needed to try again to get his friend to leave without him, waiting for help to come was no longer an option. "You should get out of here, no sense in us both dying." He paused, longer than he needed to take the necessary breath. "Tell Dad. . ."
"No," Jesse shook his head vehemently. "Even if there was a way out, I couldn't leave you behind. So if we are going to try then we try together, or we both sit here and wait."
Steve gazed into the fiercely determined blue eyes and knew that Jesse's resolve matched his own. "In that case. . .I guess I've got no choice," he said shifting his weight. "Let's try."
--
Ellie pushed herself to a sitting position and tried not to cry at the burning shards of pain emanating from her elbow. She hugged the injured limb close to her chest and rocked backwards and forwards slightly as she gazed around trying to make sense of what had happened. It had felt like a giant hand had picked her up, pushed her forward and dropped her to the floor, and she barely had time to turn so that she would not land on her injured elbow. Even so the shock of the impact with the floor had jarred the injury and set new levels of pain.
She spotted Nicolayev, he was lying a few feet from her. She started to move towards him, stopping, startled, as he rolled over and coughed. Groaning, he too pushed himself to a seated position. He looked over at her and obviously saw the slightly dazed, questioning expression. "Explosion," he stated simply. "There," he pointed back towards the large doors to the warehouse. They had opened them slightly, but the force of the explosion had blasted them the rest of the way, and one hung at a strangely skewed angle, where the top hinge had shattered. Beyond that the dull orange glow of rising flames could just be seen through darkening clouds of smoke.
Ellie's mind finally cleared and she realised the full implications of what she was seeing. "Oh God," she whispered quietly, pushing herself to her feet. "Jesse. . .Steve, we have to help them." She took a step towards the building. "We have to get them out of there."
Nicolayev's instinct was to just turn and run, self- preservation had always been his strongest motivator. Instead he stepped between her and the warehouse. "No, we will go for help," he said firmly. "It is still their best chance."
Ellie looked up into the Russian's cold gray eyes, trying to read his expression as she weighed up the logic of his statement. She nodded.
"Good, this way," he said turning, only to come face to face with two black clad, masked figures. Despite the semi automatic weapons that they carried his instinct was still to flee, but there were two similarly armed figures behind. He felt Ellie tense beside him, her hand taking a grip of his arm, and, as the men he faced gestured for them to move, he heard the unmistakable sound of distant gunfire.
--
Mark and Ron had made it back to the command post to witness Cheryl attempting to calm Ellie's Mother, still clearly distressed by the FBI's inability to find her daughter. Mark found himself envying her. At that moment he would rather not have known the whereabouts of his son, would rather have had a stronger hope to cling to than he had. He allowed Ron to lead him to a seat, sinking into it only when a firm pressure was applied to his shoulder. "I'll let you know the moment we find anything." Ron said, not waiting for an answer before moving off to coordinate the search.
It was at that moment that all hell broke loose.
There was a dull thump followed by a whizzing sound and then the FBI helicopter that had been circling overhead, disappeared in a blazing fireball. Everyone at the command post stopped and stared upwards not quite able to comprehend what was happening. There was a moment of eerie silence as everyone watched the first glowing debris fall and then the radios went crazy. Shots rang out from what sounded like a violent gun battle and those who had been momentarily stunned sprang back to life.
Mark stood and moved into the command truck, unable to temper his curiosity, he moved to the best position to find out what was happening, just in time to hear the radio operator report to Ron.
"The helicopter was taken out by a hand held rocket launcher," the man said as he relayed reports. "And the team by warehouse 21 just came under heavy weapons fire."
Mark looked at the map on the wall, the warehouse in question was the furthest on the dock from the one that had exploded. "It's a diversion," he stated loudly. He pointed to the layout, "They're trying to get you away from here." For the first time he noticed the connecting passage from warehouse 17 to the one behind it. He looked over at Ron, gut instinct telling him that somehow Steve had made it into there, that that was where they were being diverted from. "They're trying to get us away from here."
Ron looked at Mark, if it had been anyone else he would not have given any credence to what could only be a guess, but this wasn't anyone, it was Mark Sloan, and Ron had learnt by experience never to dismiss what he said out of hand. He looked to where Mark had indicated, it did make a certain amount of sense in a situation where nothing else did, but his men were under fire. He turned to the man on the radio. "Send a couple of our men to here." He pointed to warehouse 18. "To check out what is happening. Divert the rest of the men to here," again he pointed, "To back up our team."
--
Steve made it to his feet with the help of Jesse and the rough metal wall of the container. He paused to once again steady his breathing, before gritting his teeth against the pain and taking a step forward.
That was as far as he got before a soft thud sounded in the distance, he instinctively reached for the wall as the whole container rocked slightly. Jesse tightened his grip on his arm as they waited for the rocking to pass but instead it was replaced by a second more violent shock. First there was a roar, followed by a whumping sound and the screech of tearing metal, and then the shock wave from the blast hit them, pushing both men into the wall as the hinges to the large door at the opposite end of the container were ripped off, and the metal fell outwards.
Steve's whole world exploded into a white sheet, he would have slipped to the floor again but the wall held him upright as Jesse scrambled back into position hooking his arm under his friend's shoulder on the uninjured side. He did his best to assess Steve's condition. His eyes were closed and his jaw was clamped against the pain but he was at least still conscious. Jesse considered helping him to the floor again so that he could do a proper examination, but knew that if he did, the chances were that Steve would not have the strength to stand again. He was so intent on monitoring his friend that he did not even notice the armed men until a gun was jabbed into his ribs.
"You're coming with us," a harsh voice said, and before Jesse could protest he was pulled away from Steve, two black clad figures moved in to take his place. They pulled Steve's arms over their shoulders heedless of the gasp of pain that the act invoked from the injured man. They then joined hands behind Steve's back and knees and scooped him up, carrying him out of the warehouse, through the smoke and into the fading afternoon sunshine beyond.
Jesse was forced forward, a gun in his back, powerless to do anything else at the moment other than follow.
--
Mark stared out at the aftermath of an afternoon than had seen a quiet California dock turn into something resembling a war zone. 'Be careful what you wish for. . ." he repeated the quotation to himself. Only an hour earlier he had envied Mrs. Fortesque's, ignorance of what had happened to her daughter, in preference to the near certain knowledge that his son was dead, and now he had his wish. The two FBI agents Ron had sent had watched Steve being carried from the warehouse, injured but alive. They had watched as he, Jesse, Nicolayev and Ellie were forced down into a waiting speedboat, but had been powerless to act against the heavily armed group of men that took them. By the time that backup arrived the boat had disappeared from sight, the coastguard had thus far found no trace of it.
So Mark knew that Steve was alive but he was missing, with seemingly no clues as to who had taken him and the others or why. The other attack had broken off as soon as the speedboat was clear and the attacking group had disappeared, leaving behind two dead. The FBI had fortunately suffered no more casualties, the helicopter had been enough.
Frustrated Mark watched the plumes of smoke spiraling into the air, then dropped his gaze to the still smoldering debris from the helicopter. He needed to focus, needed to start putting things together or he might never see Steve and Jesse again. He pushed his hand into his pockets and his fingers brushed over a crumpled piece of paper. Curious he pulled it out and unfolded it to reveal the sketch of the tattoo that he had drawn from Hugo's description in the hospital.
He heard a gasp behind him and turned to see Lucinda. Fortesque. "Do you recognise this?" He asked, holding up the piece of paper.
--
"Hey," Jesse said angrily, "I told you to be more careful." Reluctantly he released his arm from the protective grip he had around Ellie and moved towards the men who were manhandling Steve "He has a collapsed lung, you could kill him."
Jesse did not expect his words to have any effect, for the entire journey to this point their captors had ignored them, except for when they were pushing them around, from the dock to the boat, the transfer to the less conspicuous pleasure cruiser, the boarding of the huge multimillion dollar yacht and now the entry into one of the yacht's huge staterooms. All comments and protests had been ignored, but now the men paused in their action, exchanging glances before lowering Steve onto the bed with considerably more care.
Encouraged by their positive response Jesse decided to try for more. "I need to help him." He turned and pointed at Ellie. "Her too, I need a first aid kit, some antiseptic, painkillers. . . bandages."
No words were exchanged but the men looked behind Jesse to a third man who still held a gun on them all. He nodded and both men hurried off. The man with the gun backed towards the door keeping his gaze fixed on Jesse. "It takes courage to stand up to men who are pointing guns at you. You will get your supplies. Meanwhile make yourselves comfortable; you're going to be here for a while."
Once he had left Jesse turned his attention back to Steve. He had been mercifully unconscious since being carried from the warehouse. Jesse did not want to consider the amount of pain he would have had to endure otherwise, as the powerboat had pounded over the waves. Up to this point Jesse had not been able to get close enough to examine him properly. Now that he did his concern grew. Steve's skin was gray and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his breathing shallow and laboured. Jesse first checked his makeshift chest tube which was miraculously still intact. The skin around the incision wound, however, was already becoming red and angry and Jesse could feel the rise in skin temperature which heralded a developing low grade fever that would only worsen with time. The site of the bullet impact held no better signs, every indication was that Steve had begun to bleed internally. Jesse let out a breath as the door was opened and a first aid box pushed into the room.
--
"It looks exactly like one that Marcus has," Lucinda Fortesque said, a slight quiver to her voice. She looked up from the sketch of the tattoo on the paper and met Mark's gaze. "Marcus Gault," she elaborated. "He's my husband's personal aide."
Mark placed a hand on her shoulder and gently began to turn her as he spoke. "I think you'd better tell me all about your husband, and your daughter's failed wedding," he said, guiding her back towards the tables that had been set up by the command truck.
"Well, My husband's in London at the moment, he had some. . ." Her voice trailed off as she realised the possible implications of Mark's questioning. "My God," she exclaimed stopping in her tracks. "You can't possibly think that Michael has something to do with this." Her anger was rising. "Our daughter has been kidnapped, almost killed and all you can do is. . ."
Mark held up his hand against the onslaught. "Please Mrs. Fortesque," something in his tone made her stop instantly. "Lucinda," he continued more gently as he gestured for them to continue to the seats, "I just need your help so that we can find your daughter and my son." He paused. "I just need you to answer some questions for me."
Once again Mark's mastery of putting people at ease worked its magic, the gentle reminder that he too was worried about his child, enough to drain the last of the fight out of Ellie's mother. She nodded and sat opposite Mark, waiting for his first question.
--
Ellie did her best to help as Jesse cleaned around where he had made the incision on Steve's chest and retaped his makeshift chest drain, but she could do little more than pass him things. Nicolayev was pressed into service to help Jesse prop Steve in a sitting position to ease the pressure on his chest. He did so sullenly, without speaking, before returning to sit on the couch, staring at the door.
He had been silent since the docks, finding himself in a situation that he could see no way to lie or scheme himself out of, was a new and uncomfortable experience for him, and at the moment he blamed his three companions for his predicament. What had he been thinking, trying to help the girl? If he'd just ran when he had the chance he wouldn't be caught up in this now.
Having done all he could to help Steve, Jesse turned his attention to Ellie. Now that he focussed on her, he was shocked by her deathly pale appearance and pensive expression. "OK let's take a look at that elbow," he said softly.
Ellie made no move to allow him to see her arm. "Jess," she began, tears welling in her eyes. Whilst she had been helping Jesse with Steve she had been able to keep a check on her fear and confusion, now they both broke through to the surface. There was something she needed desperately to tell Jesse, only she couldn't quite find the words. "I don't understand. . ."
"I know Ellie, I don't know why any of this is happening either. . ." Jesse tried his best to be comforting despite the trauma of the last two days and his own fear for the future, at least they were all still alive, and that had looked by no means a certain outcome several times already.
"No," Ellie interrupted, that hadn't been what she wanted to say. She took a deep breath. "I know who owns this yacht." She paused as she tried to get her mouth round the next few words. "It belongs to my father."
--
"Ellie's father doesn't know that she and Hugo didn't get married?" Mark asked incredulously.
Lucinda looked a little embarrassed at having to admit to the family's secrets, but something about Mark made her want to trust him. She shook her head. "Well he never liked Hugo said he was a good for nothing and that he would let Ellie down, and, it would seem, he was right." She sighed. "He tried to persuade Ellie to change her mind but she was adamant that she loved him, so he agreed to the wedding, even paid for everything but he didn't want to be there. He arranged to be away on business in the Far East for a month. When everything went wrong Ellie didn't want him to know so she moved out of the house as though the marriage had gone ahead and convinced Hugo's father not to say anything. My husband has something of a. . ." she paused choosing her words carefully, not entirely sure she wanted to share this particular secret ". . .violent temper," she finally continued, "so I didn't tell him. It was up to Ellie."
Mark was about to protest that even so it was ridiculous for a father not to know the marital status of his own child when he caught himself. He had not known that his own daughter had remarried until long after the event. He pushed back the sharp pain that that particular memory invoked and concentrated on his next question. "Whereabouts in the Far East?" he asked.
Lucinda paused for a moment as she searched her memory. "North Korea I think."
--
Everyone tensed as the door to the stateroom reopened. This time there were no masks, the man that entered wore an exquisitely tailored dark suit. He was in his mid-fifties, just graying around the temples. Two bodyguards carrying semi automatic weapons flanked him.
"Dad!" the word escaped from Ellie as an exclamation, although Jesse would have guessed who it was just from the resemblance he bore to his daughter.
Before anyone else could speak, Nicolayev was on his feet. "Mr. Fortesque," he began, affording the man the proper respect despite his own anger. "What's going on? Why did you try to have me killed? Why have I been brought here? I have done everything that you asked. . ."
"Silence," Michael Fortesque, dismissed Nicolayev with a single word, backed up by the weapons in the hands of the guards. He turned his attention to Ellie. "I have come to talk to my daughter. Come let's get you out of here."
Ellie stepped closer to Jesse and gripped his arm. "No," she stated flatly, "Whatever you have to say to me you can say right here."
Michael Fortesque was a man who was used to having his instructions obeyed and he considered for a moment forcing the issue, but the defiant set of his daughter's features told him that he would have to use force, so he acquiesced. There was still a part of him that wanted to save her, although his paternal instincts had long since been buried under a mountain of greed and self interest. He was arrogant enough not to have noticed. "Very well, I wanted to apologise, to get you to come with me."
"Apologise for what?" Ellie asked her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"For you getting hurt," he said, "It was never meant to happen. You were supposed to be taken somewhere safe, out of the way, given food, water, supplies, I even told them to take someone with you for company."
Ellie couldn't believe what she was hearing. "It was you? . .but they locked us in a metal container. . it was. ."
Michael took a step forward. "I know, it was a misunderstanding. Trust me the people responsible have been taken care of."
Ellie felt sick, unable to believe what she was hearing. "So what were you keeping me safe from?"
"That low life husband of yours, with his deal gone wrong, I didn't want you to be caught in the crossfire."
"Hugo?" Ellie asked, "You knew about Hugo's deal?"
"Oh I think he more than knew about it," Jesse said, his mind racing as he fitted the pieces together. Ellie turned to face him. "I think your father set Hugo up right from the beginning," he continued, "From getting Nicolayev to extend him credit beyond his limits and encourage his gambling, to putting him in touch with the counterfeiters so that he could double cross them." He turned to face Michael. "It was all part of an elaborate plan so that you could take the money."
Michael smiled. "Brilliant isn't it. I get all of the money and Hugo is the perfect scapegoat. With him dead, no one knows that he didn't just hide the money and, most importantly of all, no one even suspects me."
"Hugo. ." Ellie caught the sob. "Hugo's dead?"
Michael's smile faded as he saw his daughter's anguish, there was the briefest stab of guilt before he reminded himself that this was best for her. "You can do far better for yourself," he stated, "and from now on, money is no object, you can have anything in the world that you want." He extended his hand. "So come on, let me get you out of here, get you to a doctor to treat that arm."
Ellie stared at her father and drew on all of her strength to reply, the hatred blazing in her eyes. "I will never go anywhere with you. You're not my father, you're some unspeakable monster. I don't want your money, I don't want anything your money could buy." She moved even closer to Jesse, who tightened his grip. "I'm staying here." Her choice to share the fate of her friends was implicit in her actions.
Ellie's speech was enough to bury her father's last link with her. She had made her choice and he was in too deep to change anything now. He nodded, "Very well," was all he said before turning and exiting the room.
Ellie looked up into Jesse's eyes as she tried to deal with the enormity of her father's confession. She opened her mouth to say something but no words would come, instead the tears began to fall. Jesse pulled her into an embrace as she buried her head into his shoulder and began to sob.
He softly stroked her hair. "It's all going to be all right," he whispered the platitude softly, only too aware of the enormity of the lie. Without access to a hospital Steve had a few hours at best, not that that really mattered, Jesse was sure that Michael Fortesque had no intention of keeping them alive.
