A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I'm just playing. Enjoy!
Chapter 18.
Kenneth Irons hung up his phone, a smile of satisfaction curving his sensuous lips. Everything was falling into place. As he had surmised and Ian had concurred, Sara Pezzini was bound and determined to go down to the docks later tonight, if only to observe the drug bust operation that she believed would end her so-called nephew's troubles.
Ian had still sounded ill, although not quite as hoarse as before. Kenneth knew that he was inadequately dressed for his surveillance duties tonight, and this, combined with his flu-like symptoms, would compound his misery. This pleased Irons, who had been peeved earlier that morning when, despite his obvious nausea, Ian had somehow managed to keep his unwanted breakfast down. But Irons had sensed how close to losing that battle the younger man had come.
It had been immediately apparent to Irons that Ian was unwell as soon as he had come to the breakfast table. His complexion had been ghastly and his bloodshot eyes and runny nose had been impossible to ignore. It had amused him to see that young Nottingham had taken pains with his appearance in a vain effort to distract his employer from his ill health. Kenneth had actually briefly toyed with the idea of forbidding Ian to perform his customary surveillance duties of his beloved Wielder just because it had been so obvious he was eager to see her again. But he had refrained from doing so because it did not suit his purpose, which was test his ailing bodyguard's fortitude and survival skills and to teach him an invaluable lesson.
As it was, young Nottingham had figured out that he'd been poisoned faster than Irons had thought he would, probably owing to the fact that he himself had tipped the young man off yesterday, when he'd unwisely asked how Ian was feeling during one of his gratifyingly frequent progress reports. His servant's surprise at this uncharacteristically solicitous query had been apparent, even over the phone line.
But, to his credit, Ian had replied almost instantly "Penitent," provoking a rarity: a genuine expression of mirth from Kenneth. Obviously, Nottingham had thought his master was referring to the lingering effects of the rather severe beating he had dealt him the night before and/or the unnecessary and demoralizing physical he'd forced him to undergo the following morning.
Kenneth's towering fury at young Nottingham's contrite admission that he'd disobeyed his master's orders not once but twice -- in deference to the Wielder's wishes, no less -- had made his hand heavier than usual. In fact, he'd whipped the younger man so strenuously and at such length, he'd been forced to ice his sore shoulder muscles afterward. That Ian had not once so much as flinched during the entire beating had further enraged Irons. He had glimpsed an almost peaceful expression on the bleeding man's face ten minutes into the flogging, which had given him the energy to keep going for another quarter of an hour despite his protesting muscles. When Kenneth had seen the mess he'd made of his wayward servant's back after the whipping, he'd worried for a few minutes that perhaps he'd gone overboard, compromising Ian's ability to function. But although he'd been in obvious agony, Nottingham's remarkable capacity to withstand punishment had enabled him to walk away from the beating, albeit a bit unsteadily.
It had all worked out splendidly in the end, however. Dr. Immo's "discovery" of the wounds on Ian's back during the course of the physical had given him the perfect excuse to administer the toxin without rousing young Nottingham's suspicions.
Now, Ian was aware that his life hung in the balance unless he could prove himself worthy of service in Kenneth's employ beyond the shadow of a doubt. Keeping the Wielder from coming to harm during the next couple of days would go a long way toward restoring Irons' faith in his servant's resolve. Never for one moment did he doubt that Ian would return to him for his salvation -- the antidote -- even if he had to crawl. In fact, preferably if he had to crawl. Nottingham's inbred drive to protect the Witchblade's Wielder would see to that. And he would have learned a harsh lesson: that it was to Kenneth Irons alone that he owed his steadfast loyalty and obedience, not to mention his very existence.
It was no coincidence that the drug bust was set to take place in the same vicinity that a rogue force of combat-trained Former Soviet Union mercenaries was due to arrive within the next few hours. A couple of phone calls were all it had taken to lead the Drug Enforcement Agency and the narcotics squad from Sara Pezzini's precinct to believe that a large drug shipment was being smuggled into the country on a freighter named the Dominican Star, and that the drug lord Angel Medina would show up to claim the drugs. Imagine their surprise when a search of that ship revealed only human contraband in the form of several dozen illegal aliens.
It did not trouble Kenneth Irons in the slightest that this misinformation placed Joseph Siri, Jr.'s life in grave danger from Angel Medina's minions. In fact, it had been he who had placed a call with Bruno Dante, suggesting that Sara Pezzini's captain bring the youth up on gun possession charges, thereby practically ensuring that the Wielder would show up on the docks tonight. It certainly did pay to have a corrupt police captain in your pocket, Kenneth thought, even one as stupid as Bruno Dante.
Meanwhile, with a little luck, the attack force would engage Ian Nottingham, who, of course, would also be down at the docks shadowing the Wielder. Of course, there was always the chance that the DEA and narcotics squad personnel would come to the assassin's aid once the fighting broke out, somewhat leveling the playing field in Ian's favor. Kenneth would only be slightly disappointed if this occurred. If the police and DEA joined forces with Nottingham, the Russians would in all likelihood be decimated, which simply meant that Irons would no longer have to concern himself with the possibility of them turning their attention to him if they had somehow managed to defeat Nottingham. Not that he had even been remotely concerned about this prospect. The estate's security rivaled that of Fort Knox, and even an attack force twice the size of the Russians' would be hard-pressed to breach the walls. However, if for some reason the ambush did not take place tonight on the docks, it would definitely happen sometime tomorrow. The information on Sara Pezzini that Kenneth had provided to Russian President Vladimir Putin's contact among the mercenaries would see to that.
Yes, Kenneth thought with satisfaction, if he survived the coming conflict, young Nottingham would return to him a changed man. And if he didn't survive, well, there was always a new, improved version of him waiting in the wings.
More to come. Thanks for the feedback, everybody. Keep it coming!
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I'm just playing. Enjoy!
Chapter 18.
Kenneth Irons hung up his phone, a smile of satisfaction curving his sensuous lips. Everything was falling into place. As he had surmised and Ian had concurred, Sara Pezzini was bound and determined to go down to the docks later tonight, if only to observe the drug bust operation that she believed would end her so-called nephew's troubles.
Ian had still sounded ill, although not quite as hoarse as before. Kenneth knew that he was inadequately dressed for his surveillance duties tonight, and this, combined with his flu-like symptoms, would compound his misery. This pleased Irons, who had been peeved earlier that morning when, despite his obvious nausea, Ian had somehow managed to keep his unwanted breakfast down. But Irons had sensed how close to losing that battle the younger man had come.
It had been immediately apparent to Irons that Ian was unwell as soon as he had come to the breakfast table. His complexion had been ghastly and his bloodshot eyes and runny nose had been impossible to ignore. It had amused him to see that young Nottingham had taken pains with his appearance in a vain effort to distract his employer from his ill health. Kenneth had actually briefly toyed with the idea of forbidding Ian to perform his customary surveillance duties of his beloved Wielder just because it had been so obvious he was eager to see her again. But he had refrained from doing so because it did not suit his purpose, which was test his ailing bodyguard's fortitude and survival skills and to teach him an invaluable lesson.
As it was, young Nottingham had figured out that he'd been poisoned faster than Irons had thought he would, probably owing to the fact that he himself had tipped the young man off yesterday, when he'd unwisely asked how Ian was feeling during one of his gratifyingly frequent progress reports. His servant's surprise at this uncharacteristically solicitous query had been apparent, even over the phone line.
But, to his credit, Ian had replied almost instantly "Penitent," provoking a rarity: a genuine expression of mirth from Kenneth. Obviously, Nottingham had thought his master was referring to the lingering effects of the rather severe beating he had dealt him the night before and/or the unnecessary and demoralizing physical he'd forced him to undergo the following morning.
Kenneth's towering fury at young Nottingham's contrite admission that he'd disobeyed his master's orders not once but twice -- in deference to the Wielder's wishes, no less -- had made his hand heavier than usual. In fact, he'd whipped the younger man so strenuously and at such length, he'd been forced to ice his sore shoulder muscles afterward. That Ian had not once so much as flinched during the entire beating had further enraged Irons. He had glimpsed an almost peaceful expression on the bleeding man's face ten minutes into the flogging, which had given him the energy to keep going for another quarter of an hour despite his protesting muscles. When Kenneth had seen the mess he'd made of his wayward servant's back after the whipping, he'd worried for a few minutes that perhaps he'd gone overboard, compromising Ian's ability to function. But although he'd been in obvious agony, Nottingham's remarkable capacity to withstand punishment had enabled him to walk away from the beating, albeit a bit unsteadily.
It had all worked out splendidly in the end, however. Dr. Immo's "discovery" of the wounds on Ian's back during the course of the physical had given him the perfect excuse to administer the toxin without rousing young Nottingham's suspicions.
Now, Ian was aware that his life hung in the balance unless he could prove himself worthy of service in Kenneth's employ beyond the shadow of a doubt. Keeping the Wielder from coming to harm during the next couple of days would go a long way toward restoring Irons' faith in his servant's resolve. Never for one moment did he doubt that Ian would return to him for his salvation -- the antidote -- even if he had to crawl. In fact, preferably if he had to crawl. Nottingham's inbred drive to protect the Witchblade's Wielder would see to that. And he would have learned a harsh lesson: that it was to Kenneth Irons alone that he owed his steadfast loyalty and obedience, not to mention his very existence.
It was no coincidence that the drug bust was set to take place in the same vicinity that a rogue force of combat-trained Former Soviet Union mercenaries was due to arrive within the next few hours. A couple of phone calls were all it had taken to lead the Drug Enforcement Agency and the narcotics squad from Sara Pezzini's precinct to believe that a large drug shipment was being smuggled into the country on a freighter named the Dominican Star, and that the drug lord Angel Medina would show up to claim the drugs. Imagine their surprise when a search of that ship revealed only human contraband in the form of several dozen illegal aliens.
It did not trouble Kenneth Irons in the slightest that this misinformation placed Joseph Siri, Jr.'s life in grave danger from Angel Medina's minions. In fact, it had been he who had placed a call with Bruno Dante, suggesting that Sara Pezzini's captain bring the youth up on gun possession charges, thereby practically ensuring that the Wielder would show up on the docks tonight. It certainly did pay to have a corrupt police captain in your pocket, Kenneth thought, even one as stupid as Bruno Dante.
Meanwhile, with a little luck, the attack force would engage Ian Nottingham, who, of course, would also be down at the docks shadowing the Wielder. Of course, there was always the chance that the DEA and narcotics squad personnel would come to the assassin's aid once the fighting broke out, somewhat leveling the playing field in Ian's favor. Kenneth would only be slightly disappointed if this occurred. If the police and DEA joined forces with Nottingham, the Russians would in all likelihood be decimated, which simply meant that Irons would no longer have to concern himself with the possibility of them turning their attention to him if they had somehow managed to defeat Nottingham. Not that he had even been remotely concerned about this prospect. The estate's security rivaled that of Fort Knox, and even an attack force twice the size of the Russians' would be hard-pressed to breach the walls. However, if for some reason the ambush did not take place tonight on the docks, it would definitely happen sometime tomorrow. The information on Sara Pezzini that Kenneth had provided to Russian President Vladimir Putin's contact among the mercenaries would see to that.
Yes, Kenneth thought with satisfaction, if he survived the coming conflict, young Nottingham would return to him a changed man. And if he didn't survive, well, there was always a new, improved version of him waiting in the wings.
More to come. Thanks for the feedback, everybody. Keep it coming!