Wallbanger (14 page)

“How did you come to be his su—puppet?”

The question made the smile falter a hair,
but Kizzie noticed.

“I was lucky to have found him. We met at a
club in Tallinn a year and a half ago. Then he brought me here to
his castle.” She lifted her arms and spread them wide to indicate
the vast space. “And you? How did you meet your Master?”

Went to see a man about a boat…
.
“Known him for years,” Kizzie said, deciding to spare the girl all
the grizzly details. The answer didn’t appear to suffice and she
added, “Oh, you know, the usual, he said ‘jump’, I asked ‘how
high?’, and the rest,” she shrugged, “is the rest.”

Sumi’s eyes rounded. “Romantic!”

“Uh…yeah….”
Already casting for the
Lifetime movie.

“He’s very good to you. A very pretty collar
for a very pretty sub.”

Kizzie had forgotten about the neckwear, but
noticed the extra attention the girl paid her exposed breasts.

“I’ll be happy to show you the ropes if you
become Sacha’s puppet.” Sumi giggled at her pun, a tiny little
sound that barely shifted the constant upturn of her mouth. Her
voice lowered further, and she reached out a hand to rest on
Kizzie’s knee. “It can be hard sometimes with a Master, yes? We
puppets…we stick together.” Solemn, she looked Kizzie in the eye
and nodded, gave her leg a little squeeze. “Are you thirsty,
Gigi?”

“No, thank you.”

“If you need anything, just let me know.
Zlata,” Sumi whispered, “Khotite vody?”

The statue didn’t answer. Did stones drink
water?

“Will you be okay here for a while? I am
hostess in the Kukol´nik ’s absence and should attend to the others
before he is finished with your Master Duquesne.”

“Sure.” But she really wondered if Sumi was
going back to play with Master Vadim.

On silent feet, the girl departed quickly,
and Kizzie turned her view to Zlata—well, Zlata’s ass, to be
specific. How the woman had maintained the position this long she
didn’t know.

She walked over, dropped to the floor. Long,
curly black hair thinned in the back, like it had been snatched and
pulled frequently. The bones of the girl’s spine and hips were
etched in bas-relief on pale skin, the gangly body severely in need
of food. The ropes that covered her barely held and through them,
angry red cuts were newly scarred.

Yep. Sacha would die a slow, agonizing,
painful death.

Avoiding the urge to reach out she whispered,
“Zlata?” No response, and Kizzie studied the body to make sure it
was still breathing. The ribcage lifted and fell, and she tried
again. “Zlata.”

“Go away. You not speak to me. He will
hear.”

It came back in soft, barely audible English.
Not friendly, but English. She wondered why Sumi believed the girl
only spoke Russian. Was she not supposed to speak to her?

Still beside the human sculpture, Kizzie
looked around quickly to see if anyone was headed their way. “Talk
to me a moment.”

The devotee kept up the silent worship and
Kizzie got off the floor. Zlata would be a dead end, and she hoped
she didn’t mean that literally. Sumi was her best bet. Wondering
where the other puppet had gone off to, Kizzie decided it was time
she did a little looking around for herself.

* * * *

Sacha leaned back in his office chair, the
delightful haze his habit blessed him with beginning to fade
slightly. He could tell Xander had not expected this, but it was
better to strike now, while the man was at his home, than to wait
for them to be on neutral territory. Man or woman, didn’t matter,
everyone was just a puppet in Sacha’s production. He controlled all
the strings. He had the power to make them all twist this way and
that, this
Amerikanskoy
included.

“Let me get this straight,” Xander said. “The
new offer
grants
me the right to distribute Harvey to any
potential buyers in the smaller territories—Cuba, a couple
countries in South America, New Zealand, and…where was the
other?”

“French Guiana.”

“And this is only after I pay a
nominal
fee of and additional 35 million? The better
question is, do you think
I’m
a fool?” Sacha smirked and
Xander continued. “All of those areas are in the weapons-free zone;
meaning the likelihood of me finding a buyer is nil. What am I
supposed to do about the clients I have lined up?”

“Not my problems,” Sacha said. “See,
I
have Harvey. That I’m not cutting you out completely should be
taken into consideration here. I know you and my father had a
different arrangement—

“A different arrangement? I was the to be the
sole owner.”

Sacha continued, undisturbed by the outburst,
“—but now that I’m running things, it’s time to get this ship back
in order. If we were on the streets, I’d have already killed you
for trying to sell in my city.”

Xander rubbed a hand over his chin.

That’s right, puppet. Dance….

“I don’t want to kill you, Xander. I simply
want the chain of command to be more defined than when you worked
with Nikolay. I control the manufacturing, you distribute, after
paying the fee, of course.”

“Of course.”

“35 mil gets you into the club. After that,
an 80/20 split on all sales is more than fair.”

A chuckle. “I’m assuming the 80’s in your
favor.”

“I’m covering the bulk of the operation,” he
sniffed another line of white powder, “you’re just selling it.”

“Like the drug game….”

“Exactly.”

“You give me the dope, I work your
corner….”

“Yes, yes. Now you get it,” Sacha said
enthusiastically. “There is plenty of money to go around, Xander.
This is a good offer.” He caught the other man’s gaze and said
firmly, “Take it.”

“And the funds I provided your father?”

Sacha couldn’t contain the laugh. “You’ll
have to get it from him!” Stupid American.

The man sitting across the desk took a moment
to consider his options. But that was the point of this exercise,
for Xander to realize he had none. If he didn’t take the deal,
Sacha had already decided to kill him. Never leave a snake lurking
in the grass to come back and bite you later.

Cocaine making a mad dash through his system,
Sacha sat up straighter, pleased with the way things were working
out. A few more silent seconds before Xander finally spoke, and
when he did it was very slowly, as though talking to a child. Sacha
didn’t appreciate the tone.

“Assuming I do find a buyer, what’s the
turnaround time on something like this?”

Sacha lied. “One week from the time you call
to delivery.”

“Hmm. Seems awful fast to cook a nuke,” he
said thoughtfully. “So you’ve already tested and got plenty of
product lined up…. And the production facility is close, then. In
Russia? Or Belarus?”

“Come, now, Xander. You don’t really expect
me to give you that information. If you knew that, what would you
need me for?”

“Oh, I understand—if you can’t.”

Sacha tilted his head, pulse increasing.

“Tell me about Harvey.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” Xander said, voice smooth and
even. “You want me to play dough-boy like some two-bit street
hustler, when clearly this is bigger than dimebags and eightballs.
I need to know exactly what it is I’m pushing. Give me the basics.
The alloy used in the casing—primarily gold or cobalt?”

Sacha blinked.

“Core component: plutonium or uranium? Which
isotopes, and what are the explosive yield and fallout per
megaton?”

He didn’t have those answers. Wouldn’t have
them until he located his father’s files. Or—

Nikolay’s screw-ups were bothering him
again.

The shift in the room was palpable. Somehow,
he’d lost control of this puppet’s strings. He hadn’t even realized
until now that this was Xander’s attack. What did the Americans
call it? Carrying fire in one hand and water in the other? Duquesne
would not fold.

His father had been the same way, unwilling
to yield, unwilling to acknowledge it was time he moved over and
let Sacha run the show. He’d put up a fight—as much of a fight a
man Nikolay’s age could manage—going on and on about the secrets.
The cattle prod managed to squeeze a hint out just before the old
man died, and he wondered what information Duquesne would spill in
a similar situation.

Sacha inhaled another line of snow, ignored
whatever Xander was saying, forced one more up the other nostril.
He grabbed his cheeks and pulled, sucking in more air. The burn
kick-started his brain cells as the pieces dropped into place in
his mind. He’d let the man talk all he wanted, because in the next
few hours, Xander Duquesne would no longer be a problem.

And to celebrate, I’ll make that bitch of
his dance and dance and dance.

8

Finally
.

Zlata rolled off of her knees and onto her
side, the pain in her joints screaming. She hated uncurling from
the position, preferring instead to endure the pain once than to
know the sweet relief of relaxing would be cut short when she had
to assume the pose again.

At 19, she had the body of a woman four times
her age; bones brittle and thin. She ate a little portion of
whatever the cook prepared—and as soon as she was dismissed from
the table, she ran to the bathroom to return it. Then, in the early
hours of the morning when the house was sleeping, she’d creep to
the kitchen and steal two slices of bread from the bag, a piece of
fruit or raw vegetable if she could find one, and drink water
straight from the tap. She needed all of her faculties to execute
her plan, and quickly learned every meal was being fortified with
things that had zero nutritional value.

Each day she affected the slack-faced look of
the other puppets, and waited for the moment this life would
end.

She had to believe it would be over soon.

Courage….

She didn’t feel very courageous. But she was
determined to see this plan through.

By the crack at the bottom of the door, she
could hear the deep voices of the two men inside; could tell from
the escalating tones things were not going well. If she went now,
she would be back at her post in time—she
had
to be back in
time. Anything else would mean pain. It was a risk, it was
always
a risk, but there were things more pressing than
Sacha’s rage that she had to contend with.

So long as she hurried she would be fine.

Pushing herself from the floor, she stretched
her aching limbs, hearing the pops and creaks as bones shifted back
into place. Then she turned on her heel and inched away from the
office.

First she’d get to Xander’s sub.

And then, God willing, Xander.

* * * *

Kizzie rounded another corner, walking down a
corridor Sumi had failed to show her. She could hear the different
activity going on in the rooms, women screaming, whips cracking.
The girls here were a livelier bunch, and she figured they must be
some of the female guests in attendance, because Sacha’s lifeless
puppets couldn’t muster the energy to hum.

From the threshold, she peeked in at the
action in a room where a voluptuous woman knelt on the floor, legs
on either side of a bolster, grinding against the vibrating Sybian
machine. Two men flanked her, cocks in hand, stroking in time with
her mewling. She watched intently the way the woman’s fingers
roamed across her lush body, head tipped back, mouth opened
rapturously.

One man advanced, pushing his dick past the
parted lips and—

Kizzie turned away, face heating. She had
other things to focus on at the moment, like finding Sacha’s
bedroom. Her theory: people kept their valuables close at hand.
Sacha was not a trusting man, regardless of how much control he
appeared to have over his compound. She’d bet he had Intel on
Harvey tucked safely away in a vault in his room. Screw Xander’s
‘look-but-don’t-touch’ edict. She was already here, might as well
touch something.

Making another turn, she came to a
door—locked. It only made her want to get inside it even more. And
with the lock picks she’d hidden beneath the corset just along the
stiff ribbing, it would be a cinch.

She tiptoed to the end of the hallway to
check that no one was coming, the area darkening a bit as she
approached an alcove near a double sash window. A noise at her back
made her rush inside the little niche, pressing against a wall,
when a warm body brushed her from behind.

The response was automatic; elbow rammed
backward into the gut of her assailant, landing with a solid
thump
, and she threw her head back, missing the chin she’d
hoped to find there, connecting with his breastbone instead. Strong
arms gripped about her middle, holding her limbs to her sides with
the force of a vice grip. A hand clamped over her open mouth, and
she tried to bite down.

“Quiet,” the voice whispered.

Kizzie stopped fighting, relief flooding her.
Still in his hold, she allowed him to shift his body to the front
of the space to peek cautiously around the side. A couple of tense
moments passed before he released her.

“How many?” she asked.

“One guard,” Marchande murmured back.
“Bedroom?”

She nodded.

“Already looked. Nothing. Even in the
safe—just cash. Eyes and ears planted.” He checked around the edge
again. “Company.”

Kizzie forced her way to the front, and
Marchande let her see for herself. Sure enough one guard headed
their way, a compact submachine gun in his hold. He stopped at the
bedroom door, jiggled the handle, and continued up the hall.
Another pause at a large mirror Kizzie hadn’t noticed and he looked
himself over, finger-combing his greasy hair. He struck a few poses
with the gun—‘cause everyone did that when they thought no one was
watching.