Charlie Ford Meets Secret Agent Man by J.D. Tynan

  I shuddered and didn't want to think about that. I was just concentrating on holding my breath.

  "I think I'm going to be sick," I said, and then I was. I think it was a combination of fear, the stench of manure and a horrible concussion. Even shrouded, I could already tell that I had double vision. "I think I have a concussion," I said.

  Like it mattered to them.

  I heard some voices, all in that strange accent that I couldn't put my finger on. Men scurried around me, then someone lifted the shroud and I was in a barn.

  One man walked toward me holding my bag. My bag? What in hell was he doing with my bag and what the hell? I glared and realized that the last time I saw my bag was at the safe house. I hoped he wasn't angry with me for killing one of his men.

  "Charlie Ford. Nice to meet you. You have something ve vant."

  The barn spun around, little stars danced in my peripheral vision and I went numb all over. I passed out, or they immobilized me again. I couldn't tell at that point.

  ***

  The walls were white, the ceiling was white and the man beside me was dressed all in white. White everything. I hadn't seen that much white since my mother had redecorated the front room and then forbade us kids to set foot in it for three years. Three years, we could not go into the living room. In fact, I don't even think my mother set foot in that room. I hated white, white was sterile and droll and so tranquil. For a moment, I thought I was dead. That was until something sharp jabbed into my arm and I felt fuzzy, warm and tingly. I didn't feel dead anymore, I felt high.

  “H-e-y." I grinned, or at least I think I grinned. I felt good. I'd never done drugs in my life, but I did enjoy the gas mask at the dentist office back when I had my wisdom teeth pulled. I felt rather tingly and very free. "Who're you?"

  Some man that I recognized stepped into view. I wasn't sure where I recognized him from until he spoke. "Hello again, Miss Ford. Did you have a nice rest?" He was the same asshole from the barn. He was dressed a little differently, but same accent and same beady eyes. He looked like a rat. I hate rats.

  "I feel wonderful. My head hurts though and so does my back. I think I may have broken my little finger. I'm not very nice to my brothers. My eye hurts, I have a crick in my side and I need to …you know…pee." I could tell I was high because then there were three rats. I began singing and I never sing. I have a horrible voice that sounds like cats shrieking when they mate. "Three blind mice; see how they run… Oh, I forget the rest."

  "Miss Ford," he said sternly and lifted my hand up. I think he was trying to cop a feel, or feel for a pulse.

  "What, Mr. Rat?"

  Chuckles broke out and then it was silent.

  "Where is Claude Munson?"

  Oh, my God! My eyes popped open. They felt very heavy. I tried to blink a couple of times but it was hard. My eyes were starting to lose their moisture. Oh, my God! Back to my dilemma at hand. I reminded myself that my dry eyes were the least of my problems.

  Truth serum, oh shit. My mind reeled through the fog and I tried to shut up, I really, really did.

  "I dunno."

  "The girl? Where is the girl?"

  "I dunno. She was there, and we had Oreos and Pepsi and then we made a plan and I had this map and then I held her hand. I had her hand, right here in mine." I stared at my left hand and held it up against the light. There were two of them. Two left hands. "I had her hand and then I felt this pain and then it went black and then I think that I peed my pants and I woke up alone. She wasn't there, but I could hear the water dripping, and then I got up and she wasn't there…did I mention that I have to….you know….pee?"

  Many harsh words resounded in the room, and then he got in my face and glared at me with his beady eyes.

  "Do you even know who you are dealing with? Where is the girl?"

  "You look like a rat," I said with crossed eyes. "Templeton," I giggled. "You're Templeton the rat."

  A doctor was now in my face with a penlight in my eyes, this time and he asked me some questions. This man sounded like he spoke dumb-shit too. Kind of like Bifocal Man.

  "At hotel, who vas coming for girl?"

  "The executioner was coming for me," I said with wide eyes. "I don't know who got Bella… I thought I just told you that. Now leave me the hell alone. You're pissing me off and I want to sleep." I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. I felt sick to my stomach, as if I was going to vomit again.

  "Hey." I grabbed The Rat by the jacket lapel as he tried to move away. "I feel like I'm going to be…."

  Let's just say, there was a lot more shouting and the room quickly cleared.

  ***

  I did get some sleep and when I woke up eight hours later, I had the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. That and I felt sure I had a concussion. My head was clear then. I knew I was in serious shit, and I knew what I had to do.

  I climbed from the bed, quickly tried to open the door. I knew it was too much to ask that the bad dudes had forgotten to lock me in, but there's always a chance, especially since they had all exited so quickly to escape my projectile vomiting. I went through the drawers two at a time and found what I was looking for. It wasn't as big as I had hoped but I was sure that it could inflict damage if I used it correctly. I carefully climbed back under the sheet, and waited. I waited and waited for what seemed like hours before I heard lots of shouting, many loud bangs that sounded like firecrackers and then men in black uniforms with gear similar to what I used to wear took over my room . They all wore masks and when I sat up to try to scream, someone put a mask around my head and yet another one of my captors carried me out over his shoulder. I could feel the cold air on my buttocks because I was wearing a horrible hospital gown with no back. Did they really make those just to humiliate people, or was there a plausible reason for the design?

  I tell you, I was starting to think that this was supposed to be my life. My life as a kidnap-ee. I think I'll write a book. The cloud of gas was thick and made it hard for me to see, but when we reached the cool air of the great outdoors and I saw yet another scary looking black SUV with tinted windows, I panicked.

  I wish that I had known for certain if my captor was a good guy or a bad guy because then I would have felt a little better about my decision to shove the scalpel I had found into the shoulder of the man carrying me. I dug it in deep too.

  I was dropped to the ground…again…as he screamed out in pain and surprise.

  I took off running as fast as I could go, my ass hanging out for the world to see. I didn't care. The pavement was cool under my bare feet and my breathing was hard to control. The funny thing was, was that I felt like I had made great strides. I felt like I had run at least fifty yards, so when someone tackled me to the ground not more than twenty feet in front of the SUV, I was shocked. My lungs burned, my muscles ached and I had only run twenty feet. Amazing.

  "Fuck you," I screamed loudly and wriggled, writhed and was finally subdued and handcuffed with some plastic baggy ties. "Get off me," I shouted again, screamed out in terror, and was finally tossed into the vehicle. I was no longer playing the invalid card and dug in deep with my toes as someone lifted my legs into the backseat. I kept a good hold on the door and the doorjamb and realized that I was spread eagle in an unattractive position, still wearing nothing beneath my gown. Oh well, I was surely going to die soon anyway. Embarrassment meant nothing at that point. I remained kicking and screaming until my voice gave out.

  I gave up trying to move in the SUV because I wore handcuffs and there were six serious looking soldiers sitting beside me, each of them staring out the window, trying not to notice the big hole in my gown. My nipple was hanging out there for all to see, as was my ass and I do have to say that leather is somewhat nice on the bare buttocks.

  The man I had stabbed was in front mumbling under his breath and although I wasn't positive, I was sure that he said the word, "Bitch."

  "You're American?" I screamed out and started writhing again. I managed a goo
d swift kick to the chest of the man across from me and I was sure he was laughing when he grabbed my legs and held them tightly together at the knees.

  "You stupid assholes. Why didn't you tell me? You jerks," I shrieked at him with strained vocal chords. I managed to get a few good insults before they gagged me. It was probably a good thing too because I had a lot more that I wanted to say. The drive was nice once I calmed down and felt good that I was most certainly in good hands. I don't know why they hadn't identified themselves, but I was sure that each and every one of them would deny any of this happening if it ever came down to a congressional hearing. I'd heard stories about these guys, and according to the U.S., they probably don't even exist. We pulled to a stop in front of an old building. A large, garage-type panel opened up and we drove in. The vehicle stopped and when I got out, I smelled cat pee.

  ***

  "You stupid fucker," I yelled at DuLucere and tried to wiggle free to get at him. "Where is she?" I kicked and shrieked and made an ass out of myself before they once again lifted me off my feet and carried me into a room with bright lights, a steel table and a couple cups of coffee.

  DuLucere did the gentlemanly thing and wrapped his jacket around my shoulders, to cover my ass along with my breast. It still didn't make up for what he had done, but I was happy that the soldiers were no longer gawking at my nipple.

  "Thank you," I said and went inside, took a seat and cried. I cried so hard and so long that I needed an entire box of Kleenex, but it didn't do any good because my tied hands were still behind me. "Is she alright?" I sniffed loudly and sucked back the last of my tears.

  "Are you alright?" DuLucere asked me and then lit up a cigarette. I couldn't believe that he didn't even have the courtesy to un-cuff me before killing me with his second- hand smoke.

  "No, I'm not," I screamed and coughed because I hate smoke. "I have a concussion, a bruised back, a black eye, and I'm worried about Bella."

  "Can you tell me exactly what they said to you? Every detail could make a difference. Do you remember names, faces, any marks they might have had?"

  I took the Fifth and sat there biting my bottom lip. If he wanted answers, he was just going to have to drug me the way the bad guys did.

  I shook my head, held it high and bravely sucked back more tears. I couldn't believe that they were treating me like a criminal. Where's the hospitality?

  DuLucere finished his cigarette, tossed the butt on the floor and left the room. The damn man didn't even have the courtesy to put it out all the way. I stood up and tried to maneuver the chair leg over to smother the butt. After it was properly extinguished, I did the unthinkable and laid down on the floor, wiggled my bare ass against the dirty floor and shimmied myself into having my hands in front of my body. When I got up, I noticed the tiny camera in the corner pointed straight at me. I looked around. There was no big two-way mirror like in the movies.

  I stuck my tongue out at the camera and flipped it the bird. "Did you have a nice show?" I shouted, because I had just exposed my most private parts to a camera and on the other end of that camera were certainly at least six men. Oh well. I couldn't think of one thing that could be more humiliating. I was spent. They had done everything under the sun to me. If it was possible, it had happened to me, and nothing, I mean nothing could surprise me then.

  I was wrong.

  Chapter Eleven

  I figured the worst was over. I knew that I was in good hands since Interpol had me in custody. I felt good that I had heard an American soldier call me a bitch, but absolutely nothing felt good about sitting in that brightly lit room with my hands tied together with plastic tie strings. The chair I was sitting on was cold as steel against my bare bottom. I had no shoes on, and I had no passport. The bad guys had my bag. The bag? The bag that had gotten me this far, but the worst part about sitting alone in that room was that I was alone. Bella was God knows where, and I was alone.

  I didn't look up when I heard the creaking sound of the door opening and for a minute, I was happy that DuLucere was back. I just wanted to go home and I was ready to tell my story.

  I looked up and swallowed hard. It wasn't DuLucere who had come back; it was Secret Agent Man.

  I think my jaw dropped into my lap and I know my heart jumped into my throat and I most definitely was glad to see a friendly face.

  "Miss Ford," he sat down as if he didn't know me at all. He looked me up and down without regard and then stood up and went back out.

  The door opened a few minutes later and a soldier wrapped a blanket around me and handed me a cup of hot coffee.

  I held the coffee up to my lips and sipped it carefully because it was hot and my lips had cuts in several different places. It's a good thing that I wasn't one of those vain women who cared what they looked like. I was sure I looked like a train wreck.

  My heart raced. I felt reprieve. That was until he spoke to me in that Secret Agent Man tone and suddenly sounded like all the rest of them.

  "Can I call you Charlie?"

  I sucked back my tears because there was no way I was going to bawl like a baby in front of Ryan. I glared hard, did my best impersonation of a prisoner of war, and pretended he was the enemy instead of the man I'd been fantasizing about in the shower.

  "Who's Charlie?" I snapped because I was angry, hurt and feeling my true grit.

  "Okay," he said hastily. "Miss Ford it is."

  "My name is Natasha," I barked and held back the tears. I think he almost smiled, but he held back and frowned instead. "Natasha?"

  "Natasha."

  "Fine." He blew out his breath and stood up. I could see the monstrosity of a brace on his foot and a cane by his left hand. He looked almost as exhausted as I felt, but I held back my sympathetic feelings and concentrated on my hands, still shackled in my lap. "Mr. DuLucere tells me that you are hesitant about helping us out."

  I kept my lips pursed tightly together and glared into his eyes, begging him to cut the crap and give me a hug for fucks sake.

  "Natasha," he yelled and I noticed a new tension in his jaw that I hadn't seen since he snapped that man's neck in the tent in Africa. Even if I had wanted to speak at that time,

  I couldn't have. I just glared and felt one tiny tear seep out. I held up my hands to wipe it dry.

  "Can you take these off me, please?" I asked.

  He shook his head with a scowl. "You tried to kill one of my men, Charlie."

  Oh--that was so unfair.

  "I said my name's Natasha," I barked, and my voice cracked due to the tears I was so desperately trying to hold back. I don't think anything I could have said would have made a difference. These people weren't like the rest of us. They lived by a different code and spoke a different language. "Who are you?"

  I swore to myself that if he said Ryan, or Duane or Vince I was going to ram the top of my head right into his diagram.

  "You can call me Duane."

  I am a woman of my word, even if my word is just something I tell myself, so I swiftly jumped up, knowing full well that with that giant brace on, he would not be able to move fast enough, and I bent my head like a ram and crashed right into his body before he knew what hit him. Ryan staggered backwards and landed on his ass. I enjoyed it tremendously.

  The room, of course, filled with men and they lifted me off my feet, thrashing and screaming like a delusional mental patient.

  "You asshole," I screamed and then I was cuffed to the metal chair, my blanket was on the floor, my boob was hanging out and I had spilled my cup of coffee. Damn, it was actually good coffee, too.

  Ryan dusted himself off and didn't look too happy with me. In fact, he looked livid and a bit disappointed that I would take my rage out on him. "Maybe we should do this tomorrow, after you've calmed down a bit."

  "Calmed down?" I literally spat and wiggled in my seat.

  "Fuck you. Do you have any idea what in hell has happened to me in the past few days? Do you? I've been through hell and you have the fucking nerve to tell me to
calm the fuck down!" I took a well-needed breath. "Fuck you."

  Ryan remained docile. He really had the stealth and poise of a panther. He looked me straight in the eye and sent me a message that he meant business.

  "What can you tell us about Claude Munson?"

  I remained silent and glared hard. I meant business, too.

  "Did you hear or see anything that might help us out?"

  "Fuck. You," I grumbled one more time. That was all I had left.

  After a few minutes of staring into my lap, I heard the door creak open and two soldiers escorted another man inside. This man was a bit older than Ryan was, but seemed to be a rung below Ryan on the ladder of assholes. He was dressed like Ryan, in jeans and a long-sleeved oxford. Only Ryan made it all look good. He still managed to make my blood boil, but he also made it travel to my sensitive spots, and right then was not the time for me to be looking at Ryan with warm-fuzzy feelings.

  This man dropped a manila file down in front of Ryan and sent me a nice head nod. Ryan opened it. He flipped through the pages; he gave me a smirk a couple of times, and took his time reading it. He kicked his feet up onto the table and then turned to me after he was finished. He closed the file and my curiosity piqued.

  "Natasha, was it?" That time his eyes had softened, but I still wasn't in the mood to play his games. I nodded in lieu of an answer. "Natasha what?" he asked, and I thought very hard to come up with a good spy gal name. I stared at the concrete block wall behind his head, started with Anderson, and ended up with…

  "Lewinsky."

  He laughed under his breath, dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward across the table. I could smell him then since he was so close. I would have given anything for that hug.

  "Any relation to…."

  "Distant cousin." I cut him off and turned to hide my amusement. When I was serious again, I narrowed my eyes on him. "What happened to your leg?"

  There was that spark in his eye that I missed so much. "I tripped." He almost smiled and I laughed. I laughed because it was so good to see him. I laughed because my life sucked and I laughed because I was hysterical. The laughter quickly turned to tears; he motioned to the camera and a soldier came in.