Assault on Lou's

Jeff's good intentions of an early bedtime were forgotten. He stayed up late, practically glued to the televid, following all the developments of the rescue as the night wore on. By the time the day was dawning over in Italy, and the news anchorman gave a big thanks to International Rescue, the hour was well past midnight. Lou had armed her alarm system around eleven and said her goodnights, giving him a chaste peck on the cheek before going off to her room.

Jeff looked over at the vidphone and debated whether or not he should call Scott for a final update before going to sleep, but decided against it. I'll catch him in the morning on my way to Tallahassee. That way I can speak freely and not wonder if I'm being overheard. He shook his head sadly. Lou must find it hard living like this, always looking over her shoulder, never able to feel secure. Maybe I should invite her out the island for an extended vacation. At least there she wouldn't have to worry about all this cloak and dagger business. He sighed and stretched. The sigh turned into a yawn and Jeff stood up to make his way to the guest room. He reached in back of the stereo and fumbled for the jammer's switch, toggling it into the off position. Then he turned off the lights, and prepared himself for bed.

"Did you deactivate the alarm?"

"Yeah. I got all three units; garage, front door, and back door."

"I don't like this. Taking her with him here is just asking for trouble."

"Too bad. It's orders from higher up. Just don't hurt him too much and we should be golden."

"I still don't like it, but then who cares what I think?"

"Let's just get on with it."

"Three, Five, you're with me. We'll take her out. Two, Four, you go after him. Handle him gently. I have no desire to have the whole country looking for us. Everyone through the back door." A look at a lighted watch face. "Three a.m. Let's do it."

It seemed as if Jeff had just fallen asleep when rough, gloved hands hauled him from beneath the covers. Disoriented, he tried to lash out only to find himself pushed violently up against a wall, his face mashed against the painted surface. His arms were pinned behind him and he felt his wrists being fastened together. As this was going on, a hand was put up against the back of his head, and a low voice, unidentifiable as to gender, spoke.

"Now, Mr. Tracy. We don't want to hurt you, but if we have to, we will. You cooperate and you'll walk away from this alive." He was blindfolded then propelled out the guest room door and across the hall to the living room. As he passed through the hallway, he could hear a commotion coming from the rear of the building; shouts and swearing and loud thumps, ending abruptly with a scream. His assailants pushed him down onto the couch, and he slowly righted himself into a sitting position.

"Keep an eye on him," the low voice said. "I'll go help the others." A grunt was the answer he or she got, then footsteps hurried out of the room and down the uncarpeted hall.

One of the straps on Lou's tank top broke as she was hauled unceremoniously out of bed. It only took seconds for her to come alert and start fighting the three black clad bodies who surrounded her and sought to immobilize her. A well-placed kick doubled over one of her assailants, and a flailing elbow made contact, too. Her enemies cursed as they tried to get close enough to hold her still. At last, one of the three managed to grab her right arm and twist it sharply. Lou screamed as her shoulder was neatly dislocated. The person who had taken the elbow moved in swiftly with a hypospray. Pressed to the side of her neck, the dose was powered past her skin and directly into the carotid artery. Within moments, Lou lay unconscious on the floor.

"Damn bitch!" The one Lou had kicked returned the favor, slamming a foot into her ribs.

"Don't waste time," the leader growled. "Pick her up and bring her to the kitchen. We have to tie her down before she comes around. That serum doesn't take long."

Jeff strained his ears to hear what was going on in other parts of the house. He could hear the breathing of the person set to guard him and an occasional clinking sound as the bastard changed position. Trying to ignore that, he focused on listening to the noises coming from down the hall. At first, he could hear someone complaining in a medium whining tone, and being answered by a low rumble. Then a loud slap resounded down the hall and he winced. A sing-song murmuring reached his ears, familiar, yet not, but another slap cut that short. Lou's voice, words indistinct but the tone recognizable, sounded forth, the volume made soft by distance. Drunken laughter, from a single throat, wafted down the hall, and a sharp, harsh word, followed by yet another blow silenced it. Jeff seethed; he could only imagine what was happening to Lou in her own kitchen. A loud and distinct, "No!" came to his hearing, followed by a shriek of pain. It was all he could do to hold himself still.

"Uhhhh." The moan came unbidden to Lou's lips. She tried to open her eyes and found that she could not. Hmmm... I think I'm blindfolded. The realization didn't seem to concern her, nor did the throbbing pain in her shoulder. She tried to move her hands and feet and found them restrained. Tied up, too. Again, the fact didn't seem to give her pause; it was just a fact and detached from where she was, floating in a darkness.

"How much longer?" someone whined somewhere in the distance.

"She should be coming around about now," a deep, somewhat familiar voice answered. Her head jerked violently to one side and the sting of a palm slowly followed the slap. "C'mon, you. Wake up!"

Lou felt herself smiling. She now knew where she was and what had happened. I've been here before, she remembered. I've been shot full of truth serum. Powerful stuff, too; I feel high as a kite. Now, Myles, just remember: you are in control. Even as she thought this, she heard an off-key mumbling coming from somewhere"Less go fly uh kite,up too th' hi-yess hite..." Is that... me? Oh, God. I'm singing. I hate singing in front of people. And... Mary Poppins? Ugh.

Her captors hated it, too, for one of them let fly with another slap. Lou's head jerked in the other direction, and she tasted blood inside her mouth.

"Stop singing, bitch!" came a command from the whiner.

"That's enough," said a woman. Lou could feel the woman's breath close to her ear. "Now, dear Lucinda, where's the file? The one Tom gave you?"

Denial first. "Wha' file? I don' have enny file." Lou's words slurred from the drug.

A fist slammed into the side of her head, grazing along her jawline. "Wrong answer, love. Now, let's try it again. Where's the file?"

Her mind grabbed hold of her answer and held it tight. "I dunno whut chu mean. I don' have enny file." Lou began to laugh uncontrollably, her laughter sounding drunken in her ears. Another fist connected, this time over her blindfolded right eye. Lou stopped laughing, though an unwanted chuckle or giggle still occasionally slipped through

"Wrong again." The woman was getting impatient; Lou could tell in her voice. She grabbed Lou's chin. "Tom told us you had it, Lucinda. He begged and pleaded for us to leave his little wifey alone, crying and telling us that you had the file."

Lou shuddered uncontrollably. She knew now that these weren't Interpol regulars, that they were some rogue element that was looking for the disk. She took a deep breath. Time for some truth. "Oookay. Tom wuz right. I had th' file. But no more, no more. I's mashed it innu a milllllion pieshes. Burn'd th' pickchurs an' threw th' pieshes 'way."

There was a moment of silence, then a different voice started in. A voice that made Lou's blood run cold as she heard and recognized it. The owner of that low, genderless voice squatted before her, leaning in close, hot breath inches from her face.

"No, Lucinda. That's not like you. You wouldn't destroy such an interesting file. You're too much the pack rat when it comes to information."

She instinctively turned away, but her face was caught again, and brought back. A gloved hand pulled down her nightie top where the strap had broken, exposing her to the air. The leather covered fingers stroked and played with her for a moment, then the voice asked seductively, "Where is it? Where's the file?"

Bastard! "I tole y'already. Is mashed it. Is gone. Alllllll gone."

The gloved finger traced its way downward, down her side, down into her pajama waistband. She squirmed and shouted, "NO!" The owner of the finger chuckled and abandoned his exploration, opting instead to push hard on her damaged shoulder, eliciting a scream of pain.

Lou breathed out a sob, not entirely faked, and swallowed. She heard someone leave the room and the murmur of voices farther away. The footsteps returned, and her current torturer said, "Show her." The blindfold was removed, and Lou gasped.

Jeff was taken by surprise when someone came back down the hall and entered the living room. "She's being stubborn," the feminine voice said. "Bring him." Hands grabbed at his upper arms, forcing him off the couch. He thought briefly of slamming his captors into the wall as they led him down the corridor, but a gun in his ribs convinced him just how foolish such an act would be. At last they stopped at the end of the hall. Jeff could smell the spices left over from the enchiladas; it mixed with the musky scent of perspiration from several bodies. The grasp on his arms tightened, and the gun barrel moved from his side to his head.

"Show her," the low-voiced person said. Jeff heard the rustle of fabric, and then a gasp of horror.

"No, no!" He heard Lou murmur tearfully. "Don' hurt him. Please, don'!"

"Then for the last time, where is the file?" The low voice was hard and full of anger.

Lou swallowed again. Damn. I hoped they wouldn't do this. I guess it's time to make them think they've broken me. Time to give them what they're looking for.

She whispered something, something that Jeff could not make out clearly. There was a loud smack, and Jeff convulsed in his captors' grip, wanting to break free and help Lou. "Easy, Mr. Tracy," murmured the woman who held the gun. "Let's not be hasty now."

"Th' littuh box. Is sin th' littuh box," Lou said with an audible sob. There was a slight collective groan from the people in the room, and the low voice commanded to one of the not-yet-heard-from people in the room to fetch whatever it was they were looking for. A louder groan, this one of disgust, reached Jeff's ears, then the low-voiced one said, "Take him back."

Jeff was hustled off down the corridor again, but as his escorts reached the end nearest the front door and the entry to the living room, there was a skittering of gravel outside and even Jeff could make out the bright, then dark, then bright again of a police car's light.

"The locals!" his silent-til-now escort and guard shouted. The declaration was greeted by a loud, "What?" down in the kitchen. Jeff was shoved roughly, stumbling face-down onto the leather sofa, then helplessly rolling off between the sofa and the ottoman. The two who held him ran off down the hall just as a pounding and shouting was heard at the front door.

"Police! Open up!"

Jeff breathed a sigh of relief and tried to wriggle his hands out of their bonds. Suddenly, he heard a shot ring out, and another. Where? Where was it? Was it inside the house? Or outside? He began to shout, "Lou! Lou, can you hear me? Lou! Where are you? Lou! Are you all right?"

Finally the front door slammed open and the sound of running feet went by. Someone, a man, said, "In there! I'll take the back!" and suddenly the ottoman was cleared away and Jeff was being untied. "Hold still, sir, while I cut these cuffs off," a commanding female voice said sternly. Then Jeff's hands were free and he pulled off the blindfold. The house was still dark and someone was shining a flashlight in his eyes. He held up a hand to shield them as he was helped from the floor.

"Are you all right, sir? What's your name?" The female sheriff's officer, tall, with curly dark hair, put out a hand to steady him.

"Never mind about me," Jeff said, already moving out of the room. "Lou?"

The relief she had been waiting for, had been anticipating, had finally arrived. She squashed the desire to ask, "What took you so long?" as the blindfold was removed from her face. Squinting from the bright kitchen light, her blurred vision could only make out a dark roundish shape peering back at her. "Luci?" the shape asked. There was a sudden commotion at the doorway and the dark thing went away, and a lighter shape, topped with red, swam into view. A soft voice murmured, "Let's cover you up, okay?" as delicate fingers pulled her nightie back into place.

Jeff hustled down the hall to the now-lit kitchen. A massive, dark man stopped him at the door, calling to the woman who had followed Jeff, "Chris, order an ambulance."

"Right," the woman said, and she fingered her earpiece to put in the call. The muscular officer turned his eyes to Jeff and caught his gaze.

"Now, sir. Who are you, and what happened here?" he asked gruffly.

"My name is Jefferson Tracy. Please, officer..." Jeff read the shiny name tag that the lawman wore., "...Mason. Let me see Mrs. Myles. I need to see that she's all right."

"Mrs. Myles is being tended by our officers. As soon as it's possible, you can see her," Officer Mason said. He turned back as he heard a soft, slurred, "Joze? 'S thachyou? Where's Cheff?"

Officer Mason glanced at Jeff, huffed once through his nose, then led Jeff over to the kitchen chair where Lou sat. Jeff's eyes widened and he stifled a gasp as he crouched down in front of Lou. Her face was bruised and battered; her lower lip was split and her puffy nose bled from the right nostril. One eye was swollen shut, and there were bruises forming on her wrists and ankles. Her right arm hung from the shoulder at an odd angle. The red-haired officer was preparing an ice pack for Lou's eye. Jeff touched her gently on the knee. "Lou? Lucinda?"

"Cheff? Oh god, Cheff. I tought dey shotchu," she said, almost throwing herself into his arms.

He held her as he had the evening before, whispering words of comfort in her ear, mindful of the shoulder, and her torn tank top, but this time her seemingly boneless body weight threatened to push him back onto the floor. He glanced over at Officer Mason with an expression of concern and questioning. Then he put his hands on Lou's waist and pushed her back up on the chair. "Sit tight until the ambulance gets here, Lou."

"Don' go!" she pleaded. "Cheff don' go!"

He took her left hand and rubbed the back of it. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, smiling at her gently. "I'll stay right here until the ambulance arrives."

"Luci?" Officer Mason now crouched before Lou again, catching her attention. "Luci? What happened? Who did this to you?"

"Hi, Joze," Lou said, frowning. "Whodunnit? Don' know." She shook her head slowly. "Buncha hoo... hooligans, tha's who. Lookin' fer valubles. Mama's emrald neckliss. Th' Borghetta pichure. My dimon' studs." She leaned forward with a little smile and pointed at Jeff. "Joze... they din' know. He smore valble than any ol' emrald."

Officer Mason took glanced over again at Jeff, his eyes narrowed as he studied the older man's face. They widened suddenly with recognition, and he nodded unconsciously. A pair of paramedics made an appearance and both Jeff and Officer Mason stepped back to let them do their work. Lou called out, "Cheff? Don' let them take me, Cheff?"

"I'm coming with you, Lou, don't worry," Jeff assured her. "Just let me get my shoes." He hurried down the hall and found the clothes he had taken off a few hours before. Moving quickly, he slipped on his pants, socks, and shoes, then put a jacket on over his t-shirt and was ready to go by the time the paramedics had Lou at the front door. One of them looked at him, then glanced back at Officer Mason, who nodded. "Let him ride with her."

"Thank you, Officer Mason," Jeff said with a tight smile.

"I'll see you at the hospital, Mr. Tracy," the policeman promised. "I still have questions to ask... of both of you."

Jeff nodded, and went to follow the paramedics. He turned briefly as he heard Officer Mason coo, "Well, hello there, Snowball. Where'd you come from?" The sheriff's man had Lou's white cat in his arms as if they were old friends, a fact that Jeff stashed away in his mind for later perusal.

"Well? Did you get it?" The leader of the raiders waited at the top of the road beyond Lou's house for the rest of her crew. The final man, the one who had been dispatched to fetch the disk, climbed into the dark blue Humvee.

"Yes." The black dressed figure held up the bag with the disk in it. "That was a nasty job. Why do you leave the nasty jobs to me?"

The woman ignored her companion and snatched it from his fingers. She removed the ski mask that had obscured her face and opened the dusty, foul smelling bag. Sliding the case out, she opened it. "Shine your light over here."

One of the other raiders pulled out a penlight and shone it on the disk. The woman smiled. "The markings are right. This must be the file."

"What happened to the paperwork?" the man with the low voice asked, removing his own ski mask.

"She must have burned it like she said she did," the woman replied, putting the disk back in its case. "But I bet all the pictures are on this little beauty."

"So, what do we do now?" the man who had been watching Jeff asked. "The cops are all over her place. They'll be looking for us."

The low voiced man pulled out a map. "According to this, the road was cleared farther along than this. We drive a little ways up, and it will double back to an old hunter's access track. That will hook us up with the main drag by the river further down."

"Good. Let's get out of here. We've got to rendezvous with a jet in Charlotte," the woman said as she started the Humvee. "Then on to the Bahamas."

Brains had just awakened, and was eating breakfast in his hotel suite. Being head engineer for one of the world's richest men had its advantages, one of which was a nearly unlimited expense account. Munching on a bagel, he sat on the sofa and used the remote to channel surf. He hastily backtracked when he heard the name, "Jefferson Tracy". The anchorwoman had already skipped to the next story, but Brains knew that she would get back to it sooner or later. At last, the story reappeared.

"In celebrity news today, Jefferson Tracy, the multi-billionaire recluse, was a victim in an alleged home invasion in Asheville, North Carolina. He was visiting with a Lucinda Myles, who is purported to be an old friend of Tracy's and his late wife. He and his friend were taken to a local hospital for treatment of their injuries."

Brains sat there blinking for a moment, then got up to find his satellite phone. Using his speed dial, he tried to call Jeff. He was disappointed when he got his employer's voice mail.

Where did I put Lou's number? he asked himself, rummaging through his briefcase to find his PDA. Ah, here it is.

He dialed Lou's number and made a disgusted face when her answering machine picked up. Blowing out a frustrated breath, he dropped to the sofa. What do I do now? He looked down at his phone. I guess it's time to call Scott. What time is it on the Island? Never mind; night or day, this can't wait.