BYLINE FOR PERIL
By Chet
CHAPTER SEVEN
Inside
the darkened utility room, there remained enough ambient light to allow
Samantha Grayson to stare at the clock on the wall. Time did not lie.
12:20.
Her
best friends, Amanda Walker and Lauren Callahan, were now dead for twenty minutes.
Blown to pieces and burnt to a crisp in the flaming wreckage that was left of
Cowle Photography after the dynamite left between their bound, gagged and
blindfolded bodies had detonated. Samantha tried not to dwell on what they had
felt-the terror, the agony, the pain-of those final, desperate minutes of
existance.
It’s all my fault.
The
guilt weighed heavily upon her shattered conscience. Samantha had blithely gone
off to Cowle Photography without considering what might happen in search of the
missing Kristen Lawrence, lying beside her on the bed and like Samantha tied
and gagged. She had been overcome by Marcus Cowle, a white slaver masquerading
as a photographer, becoming his fifth helpless parcel for an Arab sheik.
Samantha
had left the note for Lauren and Amanda on her computer screen, and her friends
had come to the photo studio on Damen Avenue in search of her. They too had
been captured, and their fate-permanent elimination-decided after the sheik had
declined the offer adding more goods to his human booty.
Now
her roommates and best friends had been murdered and Samantha knew, because of
what she had unwittingly done, she did not deserve to live. No longer did she
struggle against the ropes biting viciously into her tender skin, no longer did
she fight against her predicament. Acceptance of her fate, a terrible one at
that, swept over Samantha Grayson.
Samantha
only wanted for this nightmare to be over and done with. She knew death was the
only escape.
Samantha
gazed sadly over at Kristen Lawrence, the fellow coed from Great Northern
mewling behind the tape gag, long brunette hair spilling across the mattress
they lay bound upon. Kristen understood what was going on, her blue eyes
watering knowing what her fate would be. It wasn’t fair for their promising
lives to end this way, slaves to a wealthy sheik who would do as he pleased
with them, and do away with them when he was tired of them.
Cowle
and his burly associate appeared at the door of the store room. “Good news,
ladies, your departure from Chicago has been moved up! No airport delays on my
airline! Sheik Rahim is on his way now.” The announcement was greeted with
squeals of terror from the five captive coeds, all except Samantha resuming
frantic, yet hopeless struggles against their bondage.
“Get
them ready,” Cowle told his associate, who nodded and walked over to the bed
where Samantha and Kristen lay bound and gagged. He began untying the rope
securing her bound wrists to the bedpost. Samantha screamed a muffled, pathetic
shriek. All she could do to protest, the final form of resistance she could
offer.
“Come
on, Lana Lang,” Sterner muttered as he lifted a squirming Samantha up from the
bed and threw her slender body over his shoulder. “Time for you to get an
‘exclusive interview’ with your new owner.” Samantha glanced back at Kristen,
her eyes silver dollar wide, left rolling on the bed. This was it, soon they’d
be taken from Chicago and their past lives forever.
From
the store room Sterner carried Samantha, who out of fear had too begun to fight
against the ropes around her body, out into the hanger. When he reached the
middle of the hanger, across from the Lear jet which would carry them to their
overseas destination, the thug swung Samantha off from his shoulder. He set her
down on her knees, the concrete painfully hard against the tendons, sending
tendrils of hot agony through muscles already tender from the lengthy bondage.
“You
stay right here.” A meaty hand wrapped around Samantha’s throat and she gurgled
through the thick cloth which gagged her. “If you even move one inch,” Samantha
felt an iota of pressure on her trachea and choked, “I’ll snap that pretty
little neck of yours right in two, understand.”
Samantha
nodded, she understood this was but the first step in ultimate servitude to
evil men.
Ten
minutes later the hapless quintet was lined up-Kristen to the left of Samantha,
the other three girls, Annie Wilson, Jessica Wainwright, and Michelle
Franchione kneeling in the center of the hanger, looking straight ahead at the
mode of transportation taking them to a life of slavery and a final, desperate
fate.
“Sheik
Rahim should be here any minute now,” Cowle noted, checking his watch, grinning
at the expected payday for a quintet of captive coeds. Samantha knew once Rahim
arrived at the hanger, their departure and journey to ultimate doom would be
set.
* * * * *
Tyler
McManaway parked his gray Blazer on the side of the access road next to O’Hare
directly opposite of Hanger 18. They had a perfect view of where Samantha and the
other were being held hostage.
Tyler
checked his watch, looked over at Albert “Fiji” Fatuamala. “We’ve got
seventy-five minutes until this Rahim shows up. The police will be here long
before that.” As much as it pained Tyler, they’d leave the actual rescuing of
his girlfriend to Chicago’s finest.
“Uh-oh,”
Fiji muttered, pointing at the black stretch limousine pulling up along side
the hanger. Two swarthy types in business suits stepped out of the front,
another three stepped out from the back. Following them was a small, yet
imperious man with a regal, yet evil, bearing wearing a fine Armani pinstripe
suit of navy blue. That had to be Sheik Rahim.
Sheik
Rahim was early, and that spelled trouble for Samantha Grayson.
Tyler
felt his heart drop into the depths of his stomach as Rahim and four of his
bodyguards entered the hanger, the fifth remaining outside to stand watch in
the cold autumn air.
“I
don’t think we can wait for the boys in blue,” Fiji observed. “I think we’re
going to have to do this on our own.”
Tyler
glanced at his friend. Their best-laid plan, hunkering down and waiting for the
police to arrive, had been dashed. The police were absolutely nowhere to be
seen. “We get to be the cavalry. It’s two against six, maybe even more.” Now he
had an inkling how Custer felt at Little Big Horn, they were the underdogs in
the face of those daunting odds.
Fiji
snorted. “Wisconsin tried to triple-team me. You know that didn’t work.” Fiji
had sacked the Badger quarterback four times and decimated the vaunted
Wisconsin running attack in the 49-17 romp. Fiji knew he could take them all on
if need be.
“Do
we have a plan?” Tyler asked.
“Sure,
we’ve got a plan,” Fiji smiled, and told Tyler what is was.
“I
thought I was supposed to be the one calling the plays?” Tyler wondered as they
stepped out of the Blazer and climbed over the fence and onto the grounds of
O’Hare International Airport.
“Not
this time,” Fiji replied as they jumped down to the ground.
“I
hope this works,” Tyler said. For Samantha’s sake it had to work. If it didn’t
they’d all be in deep trouble.
* * * * *
Kneeling
on the hard concrete surface of the hanger made Samantha’s knees ache with
burning pain after several minutes, she could only imagine the agony after a
half-hour or so. The forced position of submission, the first step in their
humiliation, as Sheik Rahim entered the hanger surrounded by his entourage of
brutish bodyguards.
“My
friend, Cowle,” Rahim stepped forward, offering his hand in camaraderie.
Samantha was surprised by how young he was-maybe only five years older than
she-and his tanned skin and Alladin-like roguish good looks, the dark eyes and
thin mustache. Yet she could sense the dark, murderous evil that seeped from
his pores and exuded from his manner.
Cowle accepted his greeting and took his hand, shaking it vigorously. “I
am pleased by the promptness of filling my particular request.”
“By
all means, Sheik Rahim,” Cowle acquiesced in deference, “I am humbled by your
gratitude and generosity.”
“And
the two interlopers who intruded into your studio,” Rahim asked. “They have
been dealt with?” Samantha growled through her gag as he spoke coldly of Amanda
and Lauren.
“As
we speak, you have nothing to worry from them.”
“Excellent,”
Rahim smiled coolly, “forgive me for my brusque demeanor at that time, I meant
you no disrespect. I certainly would have enjoyed adding two more ‘gifts’ to
the five you have already acquired for me. But there is only so much room on my
private jet and I could not take them.”
“No
need for an apology,” Cowle replied. “Though it was a waste to eliminate them
in the manner I used.” Rahim raised an eyebrow. “Explosives, destroyed my
studio with them inside.”
“Indeed,
a waste,” Rahim agreed. “But one that could not be helped.” At his callous
disregard for her now-dead friends whose demise she was responsible for,
Samantha felt her body shake in rage despite the bondage digging into her skin.
Tears of anger and sadness welled up in her brown eyes, but she willed them to
cease. She did not want to show Rahim how frightened she was of him.
Rahim
handed over a briefcase to Cowle, then walked over to the five hostages
kneeling in the center of the hanger. First was Annie Wilson, the petite
redhead with the brown eyes, a junior at Saint Ignatius University. She closed
her eyes tight, whimpering as Rahim reached over, stroking the soft strands of
her russet hair. “You have done well, Cowle. How I enjoy doing business with
The Network.”
“I
aim to please,” Cowle noted smugly, carrying the briefcase with two and a half
million dollars inside.
Rahim
stepped over to Jessica Wainwright, the senior from College of Illinois at
Chicago. He smiled at the sight of her blonde hair and buxom attributes. Her
brown eyes widened as Rahim’s fingers dropped down to fondle the satin cup of
her shimmering turquoise bra. The sheik grinned at her, and Jessica knew right
then what Rahim wished to do with her once he had her overseas. “You have
earned your money well, I am very pleased and quite impressed.”
“The
next shipment will be even better,” Cowle told him.
“Where
will you be going?” Rahim wondered as he stepped over to Melissa Franchione,
the sophomore from Chicago University remained still, though her body shivered
against the ropes around her, as Rahim caressed her ash-brown hair. Tears
trickled in torrents from her amethyst eyes.
“Los
Angeles,” Cowle replied. “The product there is most…enticing.”
“Yes,
I do go through my property quite rapidly. But I’m in a position to take such
liberties,” Rahim noted with a sinister undertone. “A shame I couldn’t have you
acquire some celebrity actresses for my pleasure. There are several I would
give any to possess.” Particular of the young, beautiful ingenues who fulfilled
his certain tastes.
“That…could
be arranged.” Cowle was confident he could pull off any ruse: Marcus Cowle,
Hollywood producer, white slaver of the stars.
Rahim
stepped up to Kristen, kneeling next to Samantha, placed his hand on her
breast. Kristen whimpered in absolute fear, tried to hop away on her knees from
his lecherous touch. She shook her head, long brunette hair flying about,
murmuring no, no, no through the
cloth stuffed inside her mouth and held in place by the duct-tape gag.
Rahim
was not pleased with the reaction, raising his hand up above his head to strike
Kristen now cowering in fear, when Samantha screamed defiantly through the
thick cloth parting her lips. Don’t you
touch her! She tried to say through the muffling material.
The
Arab sheik turned, staring in disbelief at Samantha, taken aback by her lissome
features-the long auburn hair, the brown eyes, yet amazed by her very
impudence. “You are quite beautiful, and quite disrespectful and stubborn,”
Rahim told her, approaching with menace in his intent.
“This
is Samantha Grayson,” Cowle said, “the college reporter I told you about.”
“We
have no use for the press where I come from,” Rahim hissed at Samantha,
cringing at his verbal onslaught. “What I say is the truth!” Samantha glared
back at him: You murdered my friends!
“Never
has one resisted me, no one defies my wishes,” Rahim grunted in anger. He
stroked Samantha’s cheek, then his hand dropped down towards her breasts.
Samantha shuddered in shame at the contact. “I will break you, and when I am
through with you…”
Rahim
leaned down and whispered into her ear. “I will insure that your death will be
very slow and extremely painful.”
Samantha
didn’t care. Her friends were dead and, where she was going, was good as dead
too.
Rahim
motioned to two of his henchmen with a flick of his finger and they rushed
over, grabbing Samantha and Kristen, the coeds squealing in surprised
indignation, heaving them up into their strong arms and carrying them over
towards the Lear jet parked in the middle of the hanger. The other three left
behind, cowering where the knelt, to await their turn.
Samantha
shuddered as she was physically hauled into the cabin of the business jet,
dumped unceremoniously into one of the seats, Kristen thrown down beside her.
The two exchanged horrified expressions, tugged and struggled in futility
against their bonds, moaning and crying through their gags as the henchmen
exited the jet to fetch the other captives and load them aboard as a helpless
cargo.
Samantha
felt her breathing quicken for this trip had a one-way ticket with no return.
Pain, suffering, degradation and death awaited her and the other four coeds at
their final destination.
To
Be Continued…