I don't really have anything to say. Here— she meets Zane. And The Tyrant, obviously.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything except the things I own. The things I own are the things not owned by Colfer. Colfer owns everything except the things I own. The things Colfer owns are the things I do not own. :) Try that one, all you people who think you're the next Artemis Fowl.
Valerie stepped off the plane, apparently deep in conversation with the person on the other end of the phone. "I don't like this, though! The Mafia aren't people to be trifled with, sir! All Zane did was say the word: diamond, and poof— he was gone."
She allowed herself to be pushed along with the crowd, murmuring an 'excuse me' to the man she bumped into, and pretending to listen to someone. "I know, but looking innocent isn't going to—" Customs. "Sorry. I'll call you later." She snapped shut the phone, which hadn't even been turned on to start with, and held out her passport.
Well… her false passport.
It was quickly stamped, and she moved on, hurrying out the doors to an available taxi.
At the hotel where Rivers had so nicely made a reservation for her, she went straight to her room, and had another pretend phone conversation, just in case anyone was listening, in which she made it quite clear she knew where the diamond was.
Then, she pretended to fall asleep, so that she could leave her clothes on.
An hour later, her window was opened. Someone climbed in quietly, and moved across the room to the bed. In a few deft movements she was gagged and tied with rather overdone knots.
By this time, she'd allowed herself to wake up, and was staring up at her captor in feigned shock and fear. Well— she did feel a little nervous, but it was only expected. He laughed, picked up her bag, and tossed it out to someone outside before picking her up, and handing her after it.
Valerie squirmed angrily, and only succeeded in getting herself dropped, which made her head hurt. Ah well though. She was going to The Fortress.
Into a car they went. And they drove. And they drove. And they drove. And they drove. She would have fallen asleep, but the car most certainly did not have shocks, and every time she began to drift, a particularly hard jolt would wake her up again.
The night faded into morning finally, and she saw they were far from any city, deep into the country-side. They kept driving. And driving. And driving. And driving.
Night came again. Just as she had decided there would be another night in the car, they slowed, and the driver snapped a few words and numbers out in Russian. Valerie had no idea what he was saying. It didn't matter. They'd reached the border.
The car started again. A few minutes passed. They stopped again. Another password was given. Again they drove on. They stopped. Another password. They eased into a large garage, that held numerous other cars, and she was shoved out to be taken somewhere.
They went through the connecting hallway into the main office area, and she was escorted on through the living quarters and cafeteria to the stairs. They passed dozens of men, all who looked her up and down in a way she did not like in the least bit.
She hadn't really understood what she'd been told about passwords. Now she did. Every few feet, someone called out something which she took to mean: "The password?", and the man steering her would snap out something different every time. Even were she able to pass herself of as a man— and a Russian, she'd never be able to memorize everything she'd need to get through the building safely. There was too much.
Downstairs, she was led into an extremely brightly lit room, and made to stand in an uncomfortable light. Somehow, it reminded her of a police interrogation room. What irony.
"Good evening."
Valerie said nothing. She stared straight ahead like a soldier at attention, adopting a military posture. The man in front of her— The Tyrant— was hard to see because of the light.
"Do be polite please. I said good evening."
Still Valerie said nothing. A man standing beside her casually raised his hand to hit her. Her foot snaked out, and he found himself sitting down rather hard a moment later.
Her interrogator laughed. "You're an amusing child. Very well. Be stubborn. I wonder what we have on you."
From the other side of the room came typing. "She's not in our files. I don't think anyone that young is. I'm amazed he'd send her. Are you sure she's not a decoy?"
"Is she? After all, you're the one who confirmed there was no one else he'd contacted coming in this week."
"There wasn't."
He turned back to her, raising a hand to dim a light that shone in her eyes. "What is your name?"
Valerie said nothing.
"Come now! Surely that is not too much to ask! It will make things easier for you. I simply wish to know a bit more about you. That's all. It will not be betraying your employer."
"You would find nothing on me," retorted Valerie in a clipped voice.
"My research is extensive. I believe I would."
"I believe you would not." Valerie twisted her body to avoid a fist from the obviously humiliated guard she had floored a few minutes ago. "I am sure you would not."
He turned to the guard. "Please. Exercise control. Be a gentleman. Very well then. I propose a small bet. You tell me your business name, and if I find nothing on you, then you will be allowed to retire without further questioning, and I will admit defeat."
"And if I choose not to?"
"Then I will continue to question you until you have satisfied me."
Valerie straightened slightly. "Very well then. Agreed. My business name is Madam."
"Just Madam?"
"Just Madam."
He motioned to the one at the computer. "I have not heard of you. I'm surprised. I've heard about most everyone now. No doubt the computer has, however."
"It hasn't," answered the techie. "Are you sure it's her real name?"
"Should I be?"
"Sorry, sir."
Valerie shut her eyes against the light a moment, and then studied him closer. He reminded her of her employer. "I'm not widely known. I've been working only fourteen months. I am employed through an agent, though I suspect to be my own, sooner or later."
The Tyrant sighed. "My dear child, I'm afraid that's quite impossible. You see, you will never leave this place until you are in a body bag. Anyhow, you won the bet, and you will be escorted to your— room."
Valerie was taken down more stairs, a door was unlocked, and she was unceremoniously shoved into a small, dark room that smelled like metal of some kind. She stumbled over something— or rather, someone— and fell heavily on top of them.
A man swore in her ear. Something wet, and sticky touched her face. "Zane?"
He stiffened underneath her. Slowly, Valerie rolled off. "I'm sorry I fell on you."
"Who are you?" A hand brushed her arm, and he found her face, feeling it curiously. "I don't know you. How do you know my name? Why are you here? Who sent you?"
"The same reason you're here, if that means anything." Valerie pulled a lighter out of her pocket, which for some reason they hadn't taken away from her, and got a spark of light. The small instant she saw him was enough to make her fight not to retch.
He was covered with a sickening amount of blood, with deep gashes on his face. His shirt was gone, and there were burn marks on his chest, like someone had held a large candle's flame against his skin here and there, leaving oozing blisters behind.
"They haven't started you yet," he remarked.
"No. I won the bet. I wasn't in the database. I don't think I'm in anybody's yet." Valerie stood, flicking impatiently at her lighter again. The room was sparse. A small door about ten feet away spoke of the bathroom, and there was a small spout of water running into a hole in the floor in the corner. The concrete was smeared with blood.
She looked back at Zane. He seemed startled as he got a better look at her face. "You're only—"
"Only eighteen. I know. Everyone says that to me. Please don't go on about it to me." She reseated herself on the floor beside him. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Probably not." He sighed, and shut his eyes. "Why on earth would someone send you though? No disrespect, but you don't look very capable, or anything. I just can't picture anyone hiring you."
"Are we being recorded?"
Zane waved a hand impatiently. "Probably. Which is probably why they put us together. Be careful what you say, alright?"
"I'm not stupid."
"I didn't say you were." He blinked at her, eyeing the lighter. "Why do you have that?"
"They didn't take it. Probably so I could look at you and be afraid." Valerie scooted across the floor, cupping one hand, and bringing it back to pour on his chest.
He jerked, startled by the coldness of it, and then settled, as it cooled his burns. "Thank you. If you could— would you mind bringing me a little to drink? They pushed me in, and I just collapsed. I don't think I can move. I couldn't if I wanted to."
Valerie gave him the lighter, and moved to the water as soon as she could see again. "What are they going to do to me? Or can't you guess?"
"No idea. As you can see, I'm in pretty bad shape from just a few days. And it hurts like hell. When you're in there, and they're asking questions, you don't think it's ever going to end." He struggled to lift his head enough to drink the water in her hands, ignoring it as it splashed out across his face. "Thank you. That's better."
"I talked to your brother."
"My brother?" he asked in wary disbelief.
"Two days ago. He doesn't really look like you." Valerie took the lighter, letting the flame go out, and rolling over onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows.
"No. Not really." He rolled over with a gasp of pain. "Do you think— could you try to wipe off my back?"
Valerie flicked on the lighter again, and this time she did throw up. She couldn't help it. She was used to watching people die. And that didn't bother her. There wasn't that much blood and all. It was fast. But this— there was almost no skin left on his back. It was just a mass of bloody pulp with the bones sticking out here and there. How could someone do that to another person? It was sickening to think about!
He turned to look at her as she wiped her mouth off. "Is it really that bad?"
"Worse," she whispered hoarsely. "But never mind. I'll try not to hurt you if I can." Slowly, she reached over and began to wipe away the dirt that had crusted here and there from the long hours he'd spent lying on the floor. His whole body quivered each time she touched him, but she forced herself to continue until most of it was gone.
"Thank you," he said with a wince, when she finally pulled away, letting their light go out. "If it gets infected— which I suppose it will anyway— it will hurt more."
Valerie hesitated, and then pulled her jacket off, and spread it out on the floor. "Roll over. My jacket should keep your back clean for now. You ought to give your burns some air as well." She helped him roll over, feeling bad that she was easing his pain only to kill him once he fell asleep. It was so hypocritical of her. She usually wasn't this way.
He settled with a grunt of suppressed pain, and lay still. Valerie stretched out on her stomach beside him, trying to go to sleep, but she couldn't. The air was hot, and stale— sticky feeling, and full of the metallic taste of blood. The darkness of thick. Too thick. Suffocating her. She didn't like it.
She shifted, trying to forget the fact that tomorrow she would feel pain. That in a few hours, she would have to throttle Zane. She'd never actually killed a person with her hands. Never that, actually. That was getting to close, and personal. You had to accept that you were murdering another human being. Bullets were easier. Faster. It wouldn't bother her to kill someone with her hands if they were actually enemies, and it was necessary— but he… was just… Zane.
Zane's fingers brushed her face, startling her into attentiveness. She'd thought him asleep by now. He must be exhausted after a day of tortures and questions. Carefully, he guided her head to his, surprising her with the strength still left in his arms and hands. He lifted his head, moving over her so that cameras would have no way to catch the movements of his mouth as he whispered in her ear, and the best enhanced sound they would get would be a garbled blur of which they could make no sense.
"What?" Obviously he wanted to say something no one should hear but herself. What he would tell her was what she was curious about.
It tickled as he pushed his face into her hair, but she lay still, waiting. She wondered what their observers were thinking. "They sent you here to kill me, didn't they?"
His voice was so soft, and so much of a sigh, that she hardly realized what he'd said for a moment. Her own thoughts were much louder, and much more demanding. Finally she did realize what he had said though, and went rigid, knowing she was hardly in any kind of position to fight him off, trapped underneath him like this.
This time he really did sigh. "I thought so. Do you actually know anything about… it?"
Cautiously, she shook her head. "Not— where it is. I know what it is. Nothing more, really." She tried to speak as softly as he had, but didn't quite reach the perfection. Luckily, he'd foreseen the problem, and his hand blurred the sound to those listening.
"Hush," admonished Zane. "Alright then. That's good. Really quite clever of them to send you then. If you'd looked a hit woman, they'd have separated us two. You'd better kill me tonight. I don't want to have to take another round. I can't take many more."
Valerie frowned, and turned her face to whisper into his ear. "What about me?"
"Once they realize you killed me, and you never really knew anything, they'll shoot you and move on. It's not a big deal, really. You probably won't even be tortured. If you are, you can't reveal anything. They'll figure it out fast enough, and give up."
She was silent for a minute, thinking. "Fine. I'll wait until you're asleep, and then…"
"Kill me," finished Zane, as though it did not bother him.
"Yes." Valerie squirmed uncomfortably, and pulled away from him. She did not like the idea of killing him with her hands, nor how calm and professional he sounded.
Zane rolled back onto the jacket, and was asleep in a few minutes.
Heh. I'll bet you like me now, don't you?
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