Page 25 of Vicious Hearts

“Stay by your phone,” he tells me. “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

I hang up and sit down, holding the sides of my head like a madman. I sit this way for two minutes before I put my armor on.

I can’t afford to fall apart. I down a glass of whiskey and put my suit on, excluding the tie. I wear my Patek Philippe and slip into my loafers, then climb aboard the waiting chopper and head back towards the US mainland. We may have to make a few stops to refuel, and we may even have to change to a jet at some point, but I’m determined to get to Ariadne before any harm comes to her.

We’re forty minutes into the flight when Dante calls me.

“I have eyes on her,” he tells me. “She’s safe. Tell me what your plan is, and I’ll make it happen.”

* * *

We turnthe chopper around and refuel on our way back to the yacht. I don’t bother to pack anything; my usual practice when I stay on one of my boats. Everything gets left behind, especially if I’m in a hurry to go somewhere. We’re close enough to Guatemala that we can make it by helicopter; I confirm with the pilot and tell him to make the necessary arrangements as I make a few calls to tie up loose ends before I’m in the air again.

Dante has done me a solid by extracting Ariadne and ensuring her safety, and I don’t know how I’ll ever repay him. But I don’t dwell on the matter too much as I go about conducting my business pre-flight. When the pilot indicates the all-clear, I climb aboard

and we lift into the air bound for a new destination. I know this whole situation isn’t ideal, but it’s snowballed past anything I could have imagined. On a high one day, cut down at the knees the next when I realized the source of my high could very well be the next person I bury.

I shake the thought away, look down at the fading lights of the Diabolique as it winks at me from a distance, and sigh as I sit back in my seat, wishing for this day to end.

21

ARIADNE

Here we go again. It’s all I can think as a hood is thrown over my head and my hands are tied behind my back. I can’t say I’m manhandled, because I’m not, but a thousand and one scenarios run through my mind as I try to figure out what’s happening.

I haven’t had contact with Caleph Rojas since I left the boat by chopper to return to Seattle, and I don’t think he’s in any hurry to see me again, so he can’t be behind this. My overactive writer’s imagination goes into overdrive, and I wonder if it’s the FBI or the CIA, taking me to some secret, undisclosed location where they will interrogate me all about my time with Rojas and if I know where he is. Maybe they’ll even ask me about the crooked politicians and what I thinktheirpunishment to be. And then an even worse thought comes to me – what if I’ve been targeted by those very politicians whose lives I’ve ruined? I’ve received a few prank calls over the past few days. And I’ve felt the eeriest feeling like I’m being watched, or someone is following me since yesterday. I had planned to go to the police to file a report this afternoon; I was sure I was being stalked and I wanted there to be at least some sort of documentation on the matter. Surely, they could offersomesort of protection?

I try to wriggle free of my bonds, but it’s no use. No doubt they’ve used zip ties, and they are near impossible to escape. I’m hustled into a vehicle and from the amount of space my body has, I’m guessing I’m in a van. There is a jerk and then the vehicle starts to move at a regular pace. This guy’s in no hurry. When I talk, trying to strike up a conversation with an invisible force, there is no answer, but when I try to scream, a gag is placed over my mouth to drown out the noise. It’s not enough though, because my voice is scratching through the fabric as I try to make as much noise as possible. I must be making enough noise, because the radio is switched on and Starship’s Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now booms through the cabin.

“Dude,” I hear someone say. “Really?”

“Gotta keep her quiet somehow.”

* * *

I hearthe whir of propellors as I’m led by a strong arm holding mine up a set of stairs. I still don’t know where I am or where I’m going. I don’t have any idea who requests the pleasure of my presence, and I don’t think I even want to know as I stumble up a set of metal stairs that clang as my pumps tap at their metallic finish.

All I know is a fire alarm went off in my apartment building and we had to evacuate in the middle of the night. I’ve been meaning to move out of the share apartment now that I can afford to do so, and maybe if I’d moved my ass and done so, this wouldn’t have happened. But one minute I was standing on the sidewalk, the next I was toppling over as heavy arms lifted me and put me in the back of the van. God’s honest truth? I think I’m more disappointed that I didn’t hear anyone screaming at the kidnappers to stop. But hey, what do I care – if I’m not there, my rent doesn’t get paid. Too late I reconsider, knowing my roommate is bitch enough to toss my things out on the sidewalk and rent out my room rather than wait for me to come back. She has been an obnoxious little witch ever since I moved in, going so far as to put a money tin on top of the toilet bowl. Now I have to pay if I double flush. The girl is just plain crazy, if you ask me.

We’re in an airplane. Someone straps me in, and the plane takes off after a short message from the pilot. The gag is still in my mouth, but I still make sounds. There must be others on the plane. A crew member. A captain. Anyone; there has to be someone who can see and hear me and come to my aid?

But no one comes to my aid, and after a smooth take-off, we’re in the air, hurtling to an unknown destination. I liked it better when I travelled by boat. My throat is hoarse and parched from all the screaming I’ve done, the fabric gag so tight it’s caused my mouth to dry up painfully.

I feel myself fading quickly underneath the hood, my weary muscles relaxing into the seat. Maybe I’ll fall asleep then wake to find this has been just one big, bad dream. The gag will be gone, as will the hood, and my hands will be untied. And the nightmare will be over.

* * *

I’min what feels like a jeep, because the wind whips at my face as we speed through what seems to be a jungle. Oh God. There are only the sounds of birds and monkeys. I could be in Africa for all I know!

This possibility causes a tight ring of fear to wind itself around my chest and… oh my God, I think I’m going to have a panic attack. I start to breathe heavily, until soon I’m hyperventilating, my heart beating out of its chest cavity as the fear encompasses even the air around me. I double over and do my breathing exercises the best I can, considering my current condition.

I take deep breaths, slowing down and pacing myself. It’s only a panic attack, I tell myself, although I think I’m going to have to be a little more convincing, because this feels different. Maybe I’m having a heart attack. I could die out here and no one would ever know. I’d be buried out here in the jungle, or maybe not. Maybe the coyotes would get me; make dinner out of my flesh and bones until there was nothing left but a whisper of the person I had once been.

22

CALEPH

Iremove the gag which has been tied over the hood. I shake my head; it’s a good thing the girl didn’t suffocate. Then I remove the hood and wait as her eyes adjust to the light. Her eyes widen in shock when she sees me, turning to saucers as she regards me with disbelief.

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