Lisette and the Cyber Geeks
by
Brian Sands
Wildside, Brian Sands DiDcap
Chapter Eight Archival Search
"Don’t grumble, Don,
my pride was all that was hurt! A few marks on my wrists are nothing to worry
about."
Once she had rolled her way
from the polished living room floor to her kitchen, it had in fact been
relatively easy for Lisette to push herself to her feet by propping her back
against the refrigerator. Only her wrists were bound. Her arms were not
hampered in any other way, by elbow ties or being trussed against her body, so
after hopping across to the ledge she easily reached the knife rack with a
little stretching. She had chosen the best knife for the purpose, the short
bladed one she used for cutting carrots and other small vegetables. It was a
simple matter to slip the blade carefully between her wrists and the tight
loops of the stocking and saw through the fibres. After pulling the gag out of
her mouth, she cut the stocking that bound her ankles. The result was that she
was free with only red marks on her ankles and wrists and at he corners of her
mouth, and an expensive pair of stockings ruined.
"I’m glad you got free
by your own efforts," said Donald Caisson, "otherwise you could have
spent the night tied up. I wasn’t going to phone you until the morning."
"I was about to phone
you just before I was tricked into opening the door."
"You changed your mind
about me coming over?"
"Yes, but everything
happened so fast."
Lisette related how the fat
man, disguised as a Revenue courier, had bound her hand and foot and gagged
her.
"He left my mobile
phone in the middle of the living room floor. But when I reached it, the damn
thing didn’t work. And, you know what? When I checked it after getting free, I
found that the bastard had taken out the batteries! They were lying on the
kitchen ledge."
"He has a sense of
humour," observed Donald flatly. "And an element of integrity. He
treated you chivalrously."
"Maybe. He mentioned
doing away with me, but then he said that I would be more trouble to the ‘others,’
whoever they are, if I was left alive, and he chuckled."
"I think the ‘others’
are people you’ve already met."
"Kidd and
Vellum?"
"Yers. Also your Miss
Moons the florist service provider."
"I remember now ...
she made a comment about Chérie Chalmers ... Don, Chérie was captured in that
place!"
"So ... Vellum and
Kidd and Moons are linked together."
"Hmm, one is just
south of the city and the other is further south in Kent."
"Branches of the one
tree."
"Don, every name on
the list appears to be the member of a gang, but ..."
"But we have yet to
confirm or deny whether they are all in a single criminal organisation, or
working separately."
"Yes. That Kidd
lookalike was certainly working on his own ... Don, he was looking for a disc
of some sort. He was so agitated when he asked me that at first I thought he
was Madame Vellum’s ‘Boompsie.’ But he’s far too intelligent. He thought I had
taken it from that fellow Doc Legato."
"We did find some
things on the little shit, but nothing like a disc."
"But he might
know?"
"Oh ... yes. I’ve been
tracking him down to question him anyway. Now it makes everything more urgent
... Lisa, what are you going to do?"
"Right now I’m going
to take another hot shower and go to bed. And I’d love to have you over, even
though it’s late, but a girl needs her beauty sleep, especially after being
tied up with her own stockings - a lovely pair ruined that I was going to wear
for you. But I’ll be up early tomorrow morning. There’s one more name on that
list."
"The librarian?"
"Yes. I know the
folklore about lightning never striking the same spot twice is false, but a
librarian? I ask you!"
"Excellent cover. So
be careful Lisette, my love."
"At least you’ll know
where to look for me if I disappear."
*
Following the previous
day’s adventures when she had been twice tied up and gagged, Lisette’s body had
taken over when she fell asleep and, as it was almost midday when she awoke,
she decided to give herself the rest of the day off. She phoned Don, who was
out, and left a message on his answering machine. So it was not until the late
afternoon when she found herself in the rooms of the Municipal Library of the
little village of Lower Bodley.
Miss Dorothea Wimple appeared every inch the
popular stereotype of a librarian. Mousy, she even wore oval horn-rimmed
glasses and held a fixed smile of hopeful cooperation on her angular face.
"Well, you are a
sweetie," the librarian drawled. "My employer said that she expected
me to handle your problem as efficiently as for our other customers, even
though the situation is very different, and somewhat delicate."
"Thank you so
much," Lisette replied, hoping that the attempt at gushing in her turn did
not appear too forced. "It’s routine really, a last-minute requirement
from up top. Which explains this inconvenient hour."
I wonder which employer the
woman means? thought Lisette uneasily, the local government administrator I
phoned at lunch time to set up the interview, or a member of the gang, or
cartel, or organisation, whatever it is.
Lisette had decided to
revert to her occupational identity, considering how unsuccessful was her cover
as journalist.
"No no, it’s better
with all the other staff gone home. I can devote my time to your request quite
undistracted ... Come."
The librarian rose and led
Lisette to the other end of the long room past evenly spaced reading desks and
chairs. She stopped at a small coffee table ringed with cushioned chairs which
by their disarranged state showed that they had accommodated people earlier in
the day. The librarian had not yet had time to apply her obviously obsessive
neatness.
"Make yourself
comfortable, dear. I’ll put on some coffee and unlock the computer room. I’m
afraid it’s closed by four-thirty, and the time now is ..."
"Nine o’clock, I know.
I really appreciate your help."
Lisette knew that when a
tax inspector used such words most people quickly became more cooperative than
ever. That principle appeared to be at work now as Miss Wimple opened the
adjoining door, revealing to Lisette’s careful gaze a section of white-tiled
kitchen floor, cupboards, and cooking utensils hanging in the background. The
librarian walked in and the door swung closed behind her. Lisette waited.
About two minutes later,
another door set in the wall about twelve paces from the entrance to the
kitchen was opened and the librarian reappeared with a plastic security key in
her hand.
"This old place is a
warren," the woman remarked. "Our kitchen opens into several
different rooms, reading rooms, the acquisition room, the archives - there’s an
up-to-date compactor that saves a lot of space - and of course the computer
consoles."
Lisette began to rise from
her chair.
"No no." Miss
Wimple raised her hands. "First things first. In fact, a number of things
first. Coffee’s on. And I have to check the server before we can log-on to the
system."
The woman disappeared into
the kitchen once more. Lisette heard the sounds of crockery, of cups being
clinked together, and in a much shorter time the librarian returned. In her
hands she carried a large tray, of the sort found in staff cafeterias the world
over, on which stood two steaming mugs of coffee, a bowl of sugar and a
miniature jug of milk. She lowered the tray carefully onto the coffee table,
covering most of its top.
"I know you’re in a
hurry dear, but please humour me. I normally take coffee at this hour before
going home for the night, and I’m afraid your visit has made me somewhat
apprehensive. You know, even when one has not done anything wrong one always
feels a little guilty in the face of authority."
Such as myself, thought
Lisette as she reached obligingly for the mug that was offered.
She added one sugar and
milk, stirred them in, and sipped experimentally, holding the mug in both
hands. The librarian matched movement with movement with the exception that she
left out the milk in her own mug. The woman took a long sip and sat back in her
chair with a blissful expression on her face. Lisette took a deeper draught.
The coffee did taste good. It was very strong, like Turkish or Greek brew.
"This coffee tastes
... different," she said. "Something special?"
"I’m glad you
noticed," said Miss Wimple with a smile. "It’s my own secret brew,
made from Mediterranean blends with a light admixture of herbs. I find the
herbs help to counter the stimulus of the caffeine. Together the caffeine and
the herbs make a very pleasant-tasting drink, but this coffee won’t keep you
awake. Although ... the herbs tend to make one feel sooo relaxed. It’s a
luxury, especially at the end of a day after tedious accessioning ... Don’t you
feel it my dear?"
Lisette did feel something.
She took another long sip, placed the mug on the tray, and sat back in her
chair. She had an uncontrollable desire to yawn.
"Don’t fall
asleep," the librarian warned in a soft voice. "I have to go home
soon."
The woman yawned widely.
"N-No, I have to see
your files ... Then I-I’ll n-not trouble you further."
"No. I am sure you
will not be any trouble. Come then."
Lisette saw Miss Wimple
stand, the plastic security key swinging on its ribbon in her fingers, and she
tried to follow suit. But her legs did not want to move. She tried to prop
herself up with her arms, but they were rubbery, seemed to have no strength in
them either. The room was growing darker and she could hear the librarian’s voice
crooning, but she could not understand the words, and the sounds appeared to be
coming from a long way off. Then Lisette knew no more.
*
It felt as though she was
awakening from a deep sleep. Everything was dark. The light switch? Somehow she
could not find it. She drifted back into sleep. The second time Lisette woke,
she was a little more conscious of her surroundings. She was not lying on a
bed. The surface felt hard against her shoulder and cold to the touch of her
bare arms and nylon-clad legs. She was lying on her side. It was totally dark.
She lifted her head, and immediately drifted back into unconsciousness. The
third time, as she returned to wakefulness, Lisette gathered her wits about
her.
Something’s wrong, she
thought muzzily. It’s so dark! And cold! She lifted her head and became aware
that something was wrapped about her face, a fold of bed sheet, or a scarf? She
shook her head but the stuff, whatever it was, did not fall away. It’s ...
tight, she thought dazedly. She made to raise her hand to her face, but her
arms refused to move. What is it? What’s wrong with me? Lisette tried once
again to move her hands but with the same lack of result as before.
She closed her eyes against
the dark and breathed slowly to calm her rising panic. Breathing itself was
difficult. She had a strange choking sensation. There’s something blocking my
mouth, she thought. My nose ...? She tried, and found that she could breathe
through her nose more easily.
But what was wrong with
her? Had she been injured? Was she lying in a hospital somewhere, on some kind
of life-support? She remembered seeing hospital scenes in daytime soap operas
where the actor’s mouth held a tube. Carefully, in case she was in a hospital
ward, Lisette explored with her tongue. With some relief she found that there
was no plastic tube in her mouth and throat. However, at the same time she
discovered that she could not open her mouth. Her lips were sealed tightly
together.
And then it all flooded
back to her. The library. Miss Wimple, the fastidious librarian. The coffee.
Drugged. Trapped by an old trick. Never accept a drink from a mousy librarian
after hours when one is on a case, especially a case that might involve
taxation fraud.
I’m gagged, thought
Lisette. My lips are stuck together. And that must mean ... yes, I’m bound. She
stretched and flexed her fingers. Her wrists ground against what felt like
rough cord. Her arms were pulled back well behind her, tied at the elbows, more
scratchy rope against the unprotected skin. She could have kicked herself for
choosing such a light revealing dress. But she could not even do that. Her legs
were also tied together. She could feel the pressure of the ropes around her
ankles and around her thighs. She was lying on her side with her knees bent, with
her feet - bare, her shoes removed - pressing against a wall that felt cold to
the touch like the rest of her surroundings.
Where am I? she wondered.
Have I been stowed away in a tin trunk? First the boot of a car, then a narrow
storeroom, and now a tin trunk? There must be a better way of earning a living.
Do I need all this excitement?
Lisette had never awakened
in a drugged state to find herself bound, and she was still disoriented. She
tried to push at the metal against her feet, then to kick at it. And then she
found that her ankles were tied back so that she could not kick her legs out. A
little exploring with her fingers told Lisette that a piece of rope connected
her ankles to the cord between her elbows. That was one reason why her arms
hurt so much. I’m hog-tied. It was a half hog-tie but very effective all the
same.
All right, said Lisette to
herself, I’m not only bound hand and foot like some amateur would do. I’ve been
trussed-up, and pretty efficiently too, the way it feels. And the gag, whatever
it is, has my mouth shut really tight. Her lips were pursed and squashed hard
together. No amount of straining in her jaw succeeded in separating them. In
fact, she could scarcely move her jaw at all. Her cheeks felt as though they
were bulging over the sticky cloth. Lisette raised her head and shook it
experimentally from side to side. It’s adhesive tape of some sort, was her
conclusion. It’s very tight. And it’s been wound round and round my face and
neck, impossible to get off!
A wave of panic swept
through her and threatened to carry her with it to a destination she did not
wish to contemplate. She fought back the choking feeling that came with a
desire to breathe through her mouth, and sweat broke out on her brow although
she was lying entombed within cold metal walls. She wanted so much to be out of
there, wherever it was, and to have the horrible tape off her mouth. But she
knew this was an impossible hope. She was trapped as securely as a butterfly in
amber.
In a situation like this,
she knew that all she could do was to wait until someone came to remove her
from the tin coffin. But that would probably be her captor, Miss Mouse. If
someone was going to come at all! For a fearful moment she thought that she was
buried alive inside the thing. Oh-my-god! But her air would have run out by now
and, although it was growing stuffy as she struggled, there must be air holes,
otherwise she would be dead already and not wriggling about in roped
discomfort. Lisette managed to bang one foot against the metal casing and the
dull hollow sound told her that there must be space on the other side. She sank
back to the floor and lay still, trying to conserve her energy, fighting
against the combined restriction of her bonds and the claustrophobic dark. She
only partly succeeded, and her shivering was not due to the cold alone, or to
the thin silk dress she was wearing.
Gradually, Lisette calmed
down. Let’s reason this out, she thought. I’m very securely bound - more
tightly than any of those other times - and tucked away somewhere, so that
means I’m being held for a purpose. They’ll want to learn how much I know about
their criminal activities, so I can expect to be taken out of here and
interrogated. Maybe I’m still somewhere in the library, maybe put away in a trunk
while that librarian figures out how best to get me out of the building without
people noticing. But it’s already nighttime, or at least it was when I was
drugged. There probably would not be a better time. That could mean that this
is a temporary hiding place for me and that I’ll be taken out soon and whisked
away somewhere else, which means that I might reasonably expect someone to come
for me soon, at least before morning and the office crowds.
It also meant that she and
Don must really be on to something big. Her inquiries could have been deflected
easily, without the dead giveaway of drugging her and tying her up. Lisette
shivered. She might have been sent away empty handed and none the wiser.
Instead, they had showed their hand by depriving her of liberty, putting her in
restraints.
They’ll want to find out
how much I know, she decided. Otherwise, why hold me like this? Perhaps, when
she was taken out of this dark unknown place, there would be an opportunity to
escape. It was a thin hope. She would no doubt be held bound and gagged just as
she was, and there was no way she was going to get herself out of these ropes
unaided. On the other hand, they’ll have to take the gag off if they want me to
tell them things. And if she was left alone with a convenient knife handy, or
something else with a sharp edge ... Or if her knight in Versace armour arrived
on the scene ... Dream on, girl. There’s no likelihood that Don can find me
here, even if he comes to the library.
Thinking about the case
took Lisette’s mind off her own misery for awhile, but eventually the pain in
her arms and shoulders from having them tied behind her so tightly brought her
back to reality. In desperation she tried to call for help but, like all the
other times, all that came out was a faint hum that was cut off almost as soon
as it began. Instead, she had to fight to breathe through her nose every time
she attempted it, the effort to call for help making her dangerously
breathless. She kicked again at the metal sides of her metal tomb, producing
the same dull hollow sound and nothing more.
Lisette fought back tears.
There’s no point in crying, girl, she told herself sternly, and it’s definitely
not wise to give way to hysterics with my mouth sealed up. She blinked and felt
a single tear run down the side of her face, eventually to be absorbed, she
supposed, by the tape across her cheek. Nothing to do but wait and tough it
out. I hope I can. She had never been as helpless as this in her life, or as
frightened. The tightness of the gag, the restriction of the ropes, and the
complete darkness in which she lay had her teetering on the brink of hysteria.
*
Donald Caisson looked up at
the dimly lit window of the Palais Hotel from the narrow alley where he had
been standing for the past hour. The light had only just come on. His
informant, Willie the Slush, had positively identified the one-star hotel as
the present hangout of Doc Legato.
Willie was a professional
informer who had lived so long because his cover as an alcoholic derelict had never
been blown. This was partly due to the double life he led, because when he was
not sitting in the gutters outside sleazy bars he was resting in comfort in a
small white cottage covered with ivy and roses on the sea coast two hours away
by train. And he only did special jobs, like the service he had just performed
for Donald that would keep him in champagne and caviar for the next month.
Donald hefted the big
automatic that had once been Doc’s pride and joy. Its clip was empty, as was
the chamber, but Doc would not know that. The pistol’s twin lay hidden in
Donald’s alternative apartment. He had offered it to Lisette but the young
woman had politely but firmly declined. He wondered whether she was safe at the
library of Lower Bodley. That was the other issue he had to deal with, after he
paid a brief visit to the little spiv in the room above.
The hotel desk clerk was
preoccupied with the racing form and television in the room behind the desk
when Donald slipped quietly through the empty lobby and up the stairs. He kept
to the side to avoid any creaking step that might disturb the hopeful gambler
below, crossed the narrow and somewhat dank hallway, and made his way along it
until he was opposite Doc’s room. He knocked.
"Yeah?"
"More grog?"
asked Don in a fair imitation of a passing drunk.
"Piss off."
"But itsh goo’ grog.
Li- ler- liqueur."
"Yeah?"
Doc was partial to a drop
of fortified spirits and cocktails. The door opened, which was all that Don
needed. Doc Legato found himself staring down the barrel of his own gun.
"Hullo, Doc. I was in
the neighbourhood and thought I’d make a house call."
*
There were tears. She could
not help it. Unable to move, able to make scarcely a sound through lips tightly
stuck together beneath the layers of tape, hardly able to breathe, trapped in
impenetrable darkness, arms, legs and wrists on fire because of the ropes
cutting into them. Lisette could not remember a time in her life in which she
had felt so miserable. Oh Don, I need you. Please come and rescue me! But how could
he find her when she did not know where she was herself? She tried to kick at
the tin wall but now her legs would not move. They were numb with the cold and
the restricted circulation. Lisette cried bitterly in silence.
There must have been a
period, of indefinable length, during which Lisette lost hold on consciousness
and felt herself floating. Then she returned abruptly to full awareness of the
pain, the tape pulling on her lips as she fought again uselessly against the
sticky unyielding substance that bound her jaws.
A sound had startled her
into wakefulness. It was an unpleasant, rasping sound, and it seemed to
penetrate her body. The grinding noise continued. And then she felt movement.
Her narrow cell appeared to be vibrating and sliding at the same time. A narrow
wedge of bright light lanced into the alcove where she lay. Lisette had to
close her eyes against it as it widened. Her eyelids fluttered. She tried to
see where she was while at the same time she attempted to filter out the bright
light through her long eyelashes. She found herself lying on a platform of some
sort, a shelf.
That was all she had time
to register before an arm reached in, a hand grasped her by her ankles, and she
was pulled roughly off the shelf and onto a hard, cold concrete floor. She was
in a large room, dazzled under the ceiling lighting. Through her tears, the
image of Miss Wimple the librarian wavered into view and then drifted out of
sight almost immediately.
"I hope you’re
learning the lesson about being a nosy little busybody investigator," came
Wimple’s voice. "My orders are to make absolutely sure that you are
secure. You see, Miss Lisette Ruisseau - oh we know your real name - your
reputation as a lady escapologist has preceded you. But I will not make the same
mistakes as my colleagues."
"Mmmmmm!"
"There, you see, no
real sound to speak off, ha haa. And it’s going to remain that way. You and I
are taking a little ride into the country. But I’m afraid that you shan’t be
seeing much of the scenery."
A heavy black silk hood was
pulled down over Lisette’s head and face and fastened by drawstrings around her
throat. She was once more in suffocating darkness.
ã Brian
Sands 2004
ã Brian
Sands 2004