All characters, events, and locations in this story are copyright 1998 by The Cliffhanger. Though based on familiar comic book themes, this story contains descriptions of violence, bondage, and torture that may offend some readers.
PART A
Midnight in Oceana. Along the waterfront, scantily clad college students dance wildly to the pulsing music of high-tech dance bars, obliterating the gentle lapping of the water along the moon-washed beaches. The mystery and romance of the enchanting tropical city is all but lost on the drunken revelers, whose sole ambition is to attract someone to share the beach with that night. Meanwhile, in the run-down Mission District far from the glitter of the night life, a dark intruder pays an unwelcome visit to the City Morgue, planning on making a less savory pickup of his own!
(I) THE MORGUE OF MYSTERIES
"Carefully, carefully. There, now, stop." The corpse slid into view from its small, refrigerated vault. The Nightcrawler, dressed in a filthy suit of turn-of-the-century design, rubbed his gloved hands in anticipation. The fiend was impossibly tall and thin, with mad eyes and continuous facial tick. He wore the rings, lapel pins, and other cherished items from a hundred robbed graves. A polished reddish stone was strung around his neck by means of coarse twine. He fingered the stone nervously as he cackled.
"He's a darlin' boy," he preened over the body of a lanky young man, frozen in death with waxy skin and empty staring eyes. The Nightcrawler's cockney accent was so thick as to make every word sound almost like a sneer. "But not what we're grubbin' for tonight, lads. Quick now, check the other vaults!"
The six lumbering thugs fanned out awkwardly across the darkened examination room, searching for other doors bearing names of the recently deceased. All the men were dressed in old-fashioned attire--rag wool sweaters, canvas duck pants, moldering suits--and they all smelled of dirt, embalming fluid, and alcohol. They walked stiffly but without hesitation through the darkened room.
Then one let out a child-like whimper. "What now? Who said that?" The Nightcrawler drew an antique multi-barreled pistol from his ragged greatcoat. Three more muffled shots rang out in rapid succession, followed by more mournful groans. The Nightcrawler began stroking his good luck charm nervously.
"Quickly, you men, back to me!"
Only two of his henchmen returned, apparently unconcerned about the fate of their comrades. The Nightcrawlers command, however, was ill-advised, for even as they rallied together a gurney came racing across the floor at break-neck speed, knocking them all over like ragged bowling pins. Even as the men scrambled for their feet another groaned, clutching futilely at a gyro dart embedded in his back. The last henchmen was caught neatly under the chin with a powerful kick. That left only the Nightcrawler, pinned beneath the strangely heavy old-fashioned steel gurney. A sleek booted foot kicked his gun safely out of his reach.
"Who in 'ell are you?" The Nightcrawler howled, squinting at the darkness.
His eyes grew wide as a figure suddenly materialized before him, almost as if from thin air, dressed all in black with a black cape that reached nearly to the floor. The thin lighting from the skylight above revealed almost no features except for the pistol dully gleaming in a gloved hand.
"Hands up, Nightcrawler!" Came a voice that was commanding, yet young and feminine. "Your grave robbing days are over."
"Could it be the Silk Specta? Bloody hell. I've heard that there was a new vigilante in Oceana. You've got nothing on me, angel."
"Tell it to the judge, when I send you to stink up the Oceanis State Pen." A flare burst to life in the Specter's hands. She dropped the brilliantly burning stick to the floor, filling the room with reddish light and dancing misshapen shadows.
The splash of light revealed the Silk Specter to be a shapely young woman with shoulder-length black hair and calm, enchanting eyes. She wore a turtleneck bodysuit, tights and cape, all violet-black, made of a silky, form-fitting material well suiting her namesake. The bodysuit was tight around her abdomen, loosened somewhat at the bodice, and tapered rapidly as the sleeves extended down her arms. Shoulder pads within the costume gave her firm body a lean, angular look. A utility belt lined with compartments and equipment was secured around her thin waist, clasped with a brushed-steel buckle bearing the symbol of a shapely stylized ghost, which upon closer inspection was made of two S's with one reversed as if in a mirror. Her identify was concealed behind an eye mask that seemed almost painted on. Even with high heel boots the Specter couldn't have been taller than 5'7".
"So the Silk Specta is but a girl, " the Nightcrawler chuckled dryly, resuming his interrupted massage of the reddish stone. "Well I'm afraid, Specta, you've made agraveerror in judgment."
"What?" the Specter asked rhetorically, until she felt the press of hands against her body. She tried to level her pistol at the unseen and unheard assailants, but found the gun swiftly pulled from her hand. She struggled like a wildcat, but more hands seized her until she was lifted into the air by a full press of men, the same thugs she had just injected with over 10 cc's of a powerful animal tranquilizer. Their vice-life fingers were icy against Nina's soft skin, and the sexy avenger was suddenly confronted with the terrible possibility that her captors were not men at all but some unnatural creation of the Nightcrawler's.
"And who says it don't pay to 'elp out a friend in need. Lets find our two lovebirds an' get out 'o 'ere." He walked up to the Specter with eyes full of malice and perhaps a little lust. "You, we'll take along on the hoof. I think we can have some sport with you alivefor a bit." He ran his dirty fingers through the Specter's mane of black hair. She turned her head to one side as if to remove his fingers from her person.
The Nightcrawler picked up the Specters gun and pretended to check its sites. "Wicked iron, this is. Packs quite a wallop I fancy."
"Better be careful with that thing," Nina sounded surprisingly cool. "It's not safe to play with guns."
"Thank ye for the warnin', I'll just make certain I keep it pointed at you. Sweet dreams, Silk Specta."
He drew a point-blank bead on Nina and pulled the trigger. But instead of firing a deadly projectile, the pistol grip delivered a powerful electric shock to his hand that sent him flying across the room. While the Nightcrawler lay sprawled out motionless on the floor, the Specter seized the opportunity to break free from her captors and lunge for the fallen weapon. She began firing even as she rolled and by the time Nina had gained one knee the pistol in her gloved hand was empty. But in that split second she had struck each reeking henchmen at least once, injecting each with enough tranquilizer to stop a charging rhino. The Maid of Mystery stared wide-eyed while, as a group, they swayed and moaned but refused to topple over. Her heart raced and she was almost transfixed by their unholy dance.
"Ohhh, my 'ead. After her, boys. Show no mercy!"
Nina was stunned as the group of burly, reeking men suddenly charged at her with gurgles of renewed fury. The drug had had no effect on them at all! She made a move to pull another clip from her utility belt, but quickly realized the futility of the gesture. Dropping her gun, the masked vigilante instead assumed a defensive position and lashed out at the leader of the group. The battle was brief but furious. Nina landed savage blow after savage blow but the punishment was lost on the crazed oafs. Finally, she fell under the sheer weight of her attackers. The Silk Specter was seized roughly and lifted into the air.
"Bring her here, lads." The Nightcrawler had regained his feet and righted the steel gurney. "We'll chain her down here, on the cremation gurney."
Nina struggled wildly as she was carried over and slammed down on the steel cart. The force of the impact left her all but unconscious and by the time her vision refocused, the uncanny criminals were wrapping layers of heavy chain around her arms and legs, securing her to the gurney. The masked dynamo turned her head to one side and noticed even in the dim reddish light that the top of the gurney was indeed pitted and blackened from frequent use in the blazing crematorium.
"I'm afraid you've made your final heroic gesture, Silk Specta. You're a bit more dangerous than I gave you credit for. I'd best just take what I want from you now and dispose of the rest in the incinerator."
"Come now, Nightcrawler, where's your bedside manner?" Nina pulled at the tightening chains searching for a means of escape from the deadly trap. Meanwhile the Nightcrawler was lovingly extracting an array of filthy but razor sharp antique surgical instruments from a leather case in his coat pocket.
"Don't worry, I haven't lost a patient yet, least until they begged fer it. You'll be quite alert when I commit you to the flames. Now lets see, such a unique opportunity, I'll have to focus on your more stunning attributes. I'll need both nipples, one of those exquisite eyes, and your left ovary--are you pregnant dear? Pity. Oh, I'm forgetting something: your anesthesia."
Nightcrawler reached into his coat and pulled out a ball gag, covered with dirt and deeply gouged from past wearers. He forced the gag past Nina's clean white teeth until her mouth was completely filled, then strapped it into place. The toadies had finished their work with the chains and had withdrawn to a discrete distance.
"Much better. Wouldn't want to wake the dead, would we Silk Specta?" Nightcrawler fiddled with the stone around his neck nervously while he admired his handy work. "Just one more thing--the incinerator. Itll need a sec to warm up. I'll be right back. Gents, if the Specta breaks free, crush her skull. That'll help pop those eyes right out!"
The Silk Specter was numb from shock, pain and horror as her captor strode gleefully out of the room. She was now only moments away from live dissection and cremation at the hands of a death-worshipping lunatic. The simple message uttered by the Oracle of the Spirit Theater that dispatched her on this mission did not seem to predict such a dire brush with death. "You must learn the secret of the Nightcrawler. Where his treasure is, so is his heart."
Treasure. Heart. Nina tried to force herself to think calmly. But the words meant nothing to her now. She had only a moments respite to plan her escape!
In her normal life, Nina was a premier magician, escape artist, and daredevil, and her skills had helped her to some degree already. Even as she was being chained to the gurney she had instinctively held her arms in the position which would create some slack in the chains once she relaxed. She had used it countless times on stage and it gave her at least a small glimmer of hope. Her arms had some play and in time she could get free, but surrounded by impervious henchman as she was, it wasn't nearly enough. She strained to reach for her utility belt but the chains went tight with her fingers still an inch away. The seconds ticked by and Nina knew her brief opportunity to attempt any type of escape was rapidly evaporating. She moaned into the gag and pulled hard against the chains in exasperation.
Where his treasure is, so is his heart. The voice echoed again as if in answer to prayer. Where his treasure is, so is his heart.
Nina closed her eyes and forced herself to relax, she could visualize the Nightcrawler strutting about, fighting, fawning over the corpse, gloating over her trapped bodyfiddling with his good luck piece! That must be his treasure! He clearly had some kind over unnatural control over his henchmen--she had felt their confusion when their master was shocked by her pistol. If the Nightcrawler relied on a mystical charm to control his muscle, she might just have a chance after all.
She couldn't reach her utility belt but her captors had not bothered to remove her left wrist bracer, which was equipped to fire a number of projectiles. Nina looked down the length of her own chained body and saw that her feet were pointed approximately toward the doorway through which the 'Crawler had disappeared. Nina concentrated desperately on moving the chains encircling her left wrist just enough to give herself a clear shot. She would have only one opportunity. Her body quivered slightly as she fought to hold the exact same position. Finally, the triumphant villain emerged in the doorway.
"There now, everything getting warm and"
The Specter let loose with a volley of tranquilizer darts from her bracer, trusting more to the shotgun effect than to her ability to aim while chained to a dissection table. The words died in the Nightcrawler's mouth as a number of darts struck home. He tried to stagger forward even as the drug took rapid effect. His hand went spasmodically for the stone but his strength was rapidly leaving him.
"Mengetdead." Before he could take two steps he sank to his knees. Nina looked about her breathlessly awaiting the response of the brutes to the collapse of their master. She would be helpless to save herself if they opted to pound her into a pulp. Her hunch was correct, however, as men lapsed into their humming shuffling idiot dance just as they had when Nightcrawler had been shocked by her pistol.
The Maid of Mystery went to work on the chains with the efficiency of the world-class escape artist. In moments she had slipped herself free, removed the disgusting gag, and slid down to the floor.
"Yeach!! Ill probably have to get a tetanus shot because of that thing," she muttered as she worked her aching jaw. "Now, lets take a closer look at Nightcrawlers 'treasure.'"
Nina bent down to examine the stone around his neck. It was about the size of a silver dollar, crystalline and worn smooth from untold hands. In the center of the crystal was what appeared to be a small severed hand or claw. To her amazement, the claw seemed to slowly move and flex, somehow displacing the solid crystal.
"Zombie Stone. Sure hope the Oracle knows what its talking about." With a sigh, Nina snapped the twine and placed the disturbing stone into a compartment of her utility belt.
Her work done, Nina picked up her gun and slipped it into its holster while backing slowly out of the room. It was an eerie scene, with the last of the light from the flare still illuminating the six men as they swayed and moaned about the room like autistic children. Ninas heart raced, however, when she noticed that they turned as one and shambled after her as she made for the door. Apparently, they followed the stone and not its wielder. But a sudden burst of speed put Nina outside the room well ahead of the reeking ruffians. It was with great relief that Nina closed the door to the steel-lined room and locked it shut, leaving the bizarre scene for the Oceana Special Crimes Unit to sort out. The zombie-thugs began pounding at the heavy door moaning as she backed slowly away.
Suddenly, the Specter heard sarcastic clapping from the doorway behind her. Nina whirled around defensively aiming her bracer as if it were still loaded, cursing herself for daydreaming and not promptly reloading her gun. In the darkened hallway stood one of the more striking women Nina had even seen. She was tall and slim wearing a form-fitting waterproof silver catsuit with built-in hood, pulled down to free her shoulder-length blonde hair. Her face was not beautiful but more exotic, with sly eyes, prominent cheekbones and a hook nose. Like Nina, she wore a fully equipped utility belt, but bearing equipment for a different purpose. She was a thief.
"Silver Seal," Nina said with confidence in her voice. "You here for round two?"
"Really, Silk Specter, I don't think all the hostility is necessary. Especially since I could have just had you for my own little play toy right now, had I desired." Nina didn't lower her arm, though the thought of serving as the pet of the Silver Seal--famed master thief and master lover--sent a shiver up her spine. The Seal had amassed a fortune as an amphibian burglar, robbing the houseboats and island hideaways of the world's rich and famous.
"So what brings you to the morgue on a night like this, Silver Seal? Hoping to cut in on the Nightcrawler's action."
"Stolen ovaries and stillborn brain tissue are hardly my line of work, though it might have been fun to watch him carve you up for spare parts. Of course, if you were fool enough to fall into his hands, I would have no use for you."
"I'd prefer if you just keep YOUR hands where I can see them."
"Hee, hee. Just put your arm down, Silkie. We both know youre empty. Besides, aren't you a little curious about why I'm here?"
Nina sighed and lowered her guard, crossing her arms before her.
"That's better. You know, you're every bit the looker I heard you were. Those grainy pictures in the papers dont do you justice."
"Just what do you want, Seal?"
"Please call me Stacy. That Silver Seal rubbish was started by the press. Come on, since you're so interested in cadavers tonight, I have something to show you." And with that she slipped out through the doorway with shocking grace and speed.
The Silk Specter followed quickly through the dimly lit halls of the morgue, cursing her trusting nature. She could well have just let one of Oceana's most notable criminals slip through her fingers. But then she caught sight of the Silver Seal again, standing before a heavy vault door. Her firm body showed almost no signs of exertion beneath the rubbery costume, despite the long sprint.
"Having a hard time keeping up?"
"Just show me what you want to show me. Then I'm taking you in."
"Fair enough," the Seal smiled. "Guards usually protect this room 24-hours a day, but they were driven off by the Nightcrawler. In ten minutes this place will be crawling with cops, so we'll have to peek fast."
Stacy made short work of the vault lock and opened the door. It was another cold storage room similar to the one that Nina had just been in, only smaller. "This is the maximum security vault, where they store the evidence for on-going police investigations."
The Silver Seal looked about until she found a nametag she was looking for. "Ready? Better hold onto your lunch." She pulled the refrigerated crypt open.
Nina gasped in horror, but then forced herself to assume a businesslike composure. The crypt contained the body of a young woman, or at least what once had been a young woman. The corpse was fried to a crisp and plugged with several bullet holes for good measure. The body was covered with what must once have been some sort of rubber or vinyl costume. The limbs were missing at the elbows and knees.
Without giving Nina any time to think, Stacy opened an adjacent refrigerator to reveal another young woman in much the same state of mutilation. She too had died wearing some sort of costume and was missing her limbs.
"Looks like they had a rough day at the office." Nina came off sounding tougher than she felt. "Vigilantes?"
"No, thieves. Once very good thieves. Now very dead thieves."
"Did they work together?"
Stacy shook her head. "They were both loners. But they died together trying to break into the private art vault of Evander Rockroth, the shipping tycoon and arms smuggler. Practically a suicide job, and you can see the result."
"Could they have rented themselves out as hired guns?"
"No, but I think they may have been surreptitiously recruited."
"Go on."
"There have been a number of contract thefts on the street recently for a new client known as the Prime Sinister, all Slovakian pieces. Very valuable. I know for a fact that several of the items on Sinister's wish list were acquired."
"By these two?"
The blonde thief nodded. "Among others. Theyve all disappeared without a trace, until these two turned up in the river this morning. God only knows what's happened to the others. And see this?"
Stacy pointed to the shoulder of one of the corpses. The rubber costume bore a symbol, almost like a military patch. It was of a bird with its head turned to one side and its beak opened as if in mid-scream. The symbol reminded the petite avenger of ancient Germanic heraldry, though pulled off with a modern aesthetic. The effect was very impressive.
"Never seen it before." Nina answered. "Almost looks like some kind of German military insignia."
"Very good. Looks like they both were in some kind of uniform."
"So you weren't kidding when you used the word 'recruited.'"
"Perhaps its strictly voluntary but I don't think so. I'm not a big fan of law enforcement, but I think this Prime Sinister might be preying on my own kind."
Nina gave her sultry enemy a good hard look. The Silver Seal had the body of warrior, long lean and powerful. She had the face and poise of a runway model but her manner was dead serious, and the look in her eyes dispelled any illusion that Stacy was anyone's vacuous trophy girlfriend. Nina had made a career out of manipulating peoples thoughts, impressions, and feelings, yet she could find no evidence of deceit in this legendary thief.
"So what's your proposal?"
The Silver Seal produced a golden rectangle from a belt pouch on her right hip. It looked like a picture frame, but it was decorated in dull red and green stones and the gold work was slightly lumpy and uneven. In short, it had the look of genuine antiquity.
"It's an akhlad--an ornamental frame used to decorate icons in the Eastern Orthodox Church."
"Excellent! I didn't know they were teaching medieval art history in high school these days. This is one of the items on Prime Sinisters wish list. I want you to back me up when I take it in to collect my fee. If he tries anything funny you take him down."
Nina thought about the offer for a moment. She couldn't see anything wrong with tailing the Silver Seal for a while. Hell, on many nights that would be a dream come true. Still, something seemed fishy
"Okay, I'll back you up. But after you make the drop safely, the deal's off. I take you and your fence down if I can."
"I'd expect nothing less," The Silver Seal smiled sweetly.
"Just one more thing. Why me?"
Stacy considered the question with a sexy brooding frown. "Because you've developed a bit of a reputation for yourself as a big game hunter, happy to throw the little ones back for a shot at the kingpins. I'm certain this Prime Sinister will be more of a challenge than a simple, nonviolent burglar." The word 'nonviolent' had sort of an empty ring. "Besides, if you take down the Prime Sinister I win. The Prime Sinister takes down you, I win again. I like those odds. Satisfied?"
"Perfectly."
"The Prime Sinister set up the meeting for 3:00 this morning, at the 47th floor penthouse suite of Rothrock Towers. How best to cover the situation I leave up to you. Surveillance was never my forte."
The Seal made to leave, her message delivered.
"Wait one second! I'm not letting you out of my sight until after this meeting. You know what they say, no honor among thieves."
Suddenly, the door to the crypt burst open. The Nightcrawlers six thugs ambled stiffly into the room braying like lost sheep.
"I'd like to stay, but I think your dates have arrived."
"You gotta be kidding me," Nina shook her head in disbelief as the group milled mindlessly around the room, content to be within the immediate proximity of the Zombie Stone. When the Maid of Mystery returned her attention to the wily thief, she was nowhere to be found.
***
"What are you doing here, Nina?" The Specter crouched on a rooftop adjacent to the building where the Seal was making her drop. The massive edifice of the Rothrock Towers was mostly dark, except for the penthouse suite on the 47th floor. Beyond the 47th, the structure narrowed to two-thirds of its original width and rose skyward for another forty darkened stories. "Me providing top cover so one of Oceana's most notorious crooks can fence a priceless relic right under my nose. The Silver Seal's probably laughing her ass off right now."
Looking through her binoculars, Nina could see the Silver Seal in a large office talking to burly, close-cropped man in a black business suit sitting behind a vast desk with his back to the window. A jewelers pad of green velvet was spread out across the desk and the man was examining the relic under a monocle eyepiece. The floor was of marble that glittered as if the were veined with gold. The rest of the room was concealed behind drapes of expensive-looking white silk. The Silver Seal looked right at home in the opulent environment of the corner office, sitting in a plush chair of white leather content to exchange few words with the man who most likely was the "Prime Sinister." Occasionally, Nina glanced down at the small screen on her left wrist bracer. The bug/tracer she had placed on the Seal back in the morgue prior to her disappearing act was functioning well; the precise latitude, longitude, and altitude of the large office was displayed on the tiny screen.
"Excellent work, Ms"
"Silver Seal. They call me the Silver Seal."
"Of course, your reputation precedes you. The akhlad is certainly genuine, once belonging to the Greek Orthodox Church of the Sacrament in Stanislov. I believe the agreed upon price was $325,000."
Nina almost choked. She was letting the Silver Seal walk away with a $325,000 score. It took all the willpower she had to remain in her hiding place. The masked vigilante now understood why the Silver Seal had recruited a vigilante rather than hiring one of her own to provide backup. She certainly could not trust one of her own.
"Precisely the posted price," the Seal sounded pleased. "It's always a pleasure to meet an honest criminal."
"Loyalty to a higher calling is often perceived as immorality, Ms Seal," the man said with a refined Eastern European accent as he handed the Seal an attach case, which Stacy didn't even bother to check. "Perhaps one day you will understand."
"Doubtful."
The two rose and shook hands, the burly fence towering over the graceful thief. Everything seemed very cordial--very under control. Then the Silver Seal disappeared behind the curtains, as if walking towards the private elevators of the 47th story office. Then she simply vanished.
The indicator light on Nina's wrist console went red as all contact with the tracer was lost.
"Damn! They cut off her signal in the elevator."
Instinctively the Silk Specter fired a drag line from her wrist bracer. The slim Teflon line arced gracefully through the warm night air to the distant skyscraper and the fearless heroine followed close behind. True to her namesake, she floated swiftly across the open expanse 400 feet above the ground and landed softly on the far roof. Her boots crunched along the rock-covered surface as she sped toward the metal enclosure housing the motor for the elevator. It whined powerfully, testimony to the fact that the elevator was in use. Nina made short work of the lock and was inside before 15 seconds had elapsed. The Silver Seal would have been envious.
The blind descent through inky darkness to intercept the dropping elevator would be chancy. Any number of unseen obstructions could be waiting to rend flesh and break bones. But with the Silver Seal at the mercy of unknown captors, there was no time to lose. Nina secured a line to the steel infrastructure supporting the elevator motor and dropped into the abyss, keeping just enough tension on the line to slow her descent. It seemed that she fell forever through the warm, oily void until her feet at last contacted the still-moving elevator. Once on the roof, she ignited a small light at her belt, felt for the emergency access hatch and flung it open.
Just as she had suspected, the elevator was rigged. The hatchway was covered with a mesh of thin wire that would effectively block all electromagnetic transmissions. Wafting up through the mesh was a dense choking gas. The Specter pulled a pair of cutters from her belt and removed the wire grid from the opening. The red LED on her wristband went from red to green, proving that the Silver Seal was trapped somewhere in the mist below. But then the elevator began slowing to a stop. She was out of time. The Specter would have to decide whether to risk her life attempting to save the notorious thief or allow her to be taken by the mysterious Prime Sinister.
At the ground level, the elevator was met by a squad of storm troopers wearing tailored black uniforms, riot armor, and gas masks, armed with automatic assault rifles. Despite the fact that the thief had been trapped in a tiny space flooded with stun gas for over two minutes, they took no chances. The men took up firing positions even as the elevator announced its arrival with a subdued "ding."
"The lift is arriving now," their leader spoke with a polished Eastern European accent into a compact radio. "Prepare the helo for departure."
The elevator doors slid open, releasing an avalanche of smothering vapor. It only took a moment for the fog to clear enough to reveal the lovely thief lying unconscious on the thickly carpeted floor.
"Bring her out," the grim-faced captain ordered and two troopers promptly complied, shouldering their weapons and sauntering toward the woman. But the moment they entered the misty, enclosed space, the Silk Specter swung down from the roof, skillfully flipping off their gas masks as she descended. The highly trained men sputtered in surprise as the teenage dynamo snatched a machine gun and opened fire. The commandos scrambled for cover as bullets ricocheted madly throughout the marble-lined lobby. Nina ran out of ammunition just as the elevator doors slid mercifully closed. The storm troopers return fire came too late: the digital display on the wall indicated that the elevator was again heading up.
"Adolph company, to Prime Sinister. Trouble, I'm afraid. The pigeon has flown with one accomplice. Looks like they're headed back for the roof."
"So the clever thief has a guardian angel, has she? Well theyve made a foolish mistake. The executive elevator only stops at the 47th and 101st floor executive suites. Alert Bruno company on the roof at once. Kill the angel, but I want the thief alive. It they stop on the 47th I'll see to it personally."
Though swift by many standards, the ascent of the executive elevator allowed plenty of time for Bruno company to set up an inescapable web of firing positions around the elevator door. Even as the elevator announced its arrival with a friendly "ping" they opened fire, shredding the sliding doors with 9mm slugs before they could open more than a few inches. Then the firing abruptly ceased and, obeying the terse commands of their superior officer, two troopers charged forward and pried the ruined doors open for a look inside.
"Captain Spaazman, the elevator is empty!"
Indeed it was. All that remained in the elevator was the attach case containing the $325,000 in counterfeit money
"Anything on the roof?"
One of the men lifted the other for a peek through the emergency hatch. "No, nothing."
"Damn!" Spaazman fumed. "They must have gotten off the lift on a lower floor."
At that time, a second elevator arrived bearing reinforcements from the ground level.
"You men. The thief is on the loose. Back to the ground level and seal off the building. I wish this clever guardian dead!"
Nina heard the order from atop the second elevator and knew she had to work fast. She had been able to transfer the inert Silver Seal to the roof of the second elevator in the nick of time before it started upward. Now it seemed it would start down again just as quickly. She had to hand it to them--the Prime Sinisters men were efficient.
The superstructure supporting the elevator motor was some 20 feet above her, barely visible in the dissipated beam of her belt light. The Silk Specter adjusted her wrist bracer and fired another drag line up into the network of girders. With its grappling action disabled, the projectile at the end of the line fell back down to her, creating a loop of wire. Then she quickly secured the Silver Seal to the line and began hoisting her to the level of the motor housing. Once she tied the line off it would be a simple matter of collecting her package at the top.
The light-colored form of the Silver Seal ascended into the twilight at the top of the shaft. Then, to Nina's surprise, she seemed to disappear from view, accompanied by the hiss of steam and the whine of poorly calibrated hydraulics.
"Stacy!" Nina whispered, hoping that the woman was at last regaining consciousness.
But the hissing and whining sounded again and a bizarre figure tilted into view. It seemed to be some sort of nightmare robot from the dawn of the industrial revolution. Parts of the creature appeared genuinely human--its face, its upper body, its right arm. But the rest was a jumble of molded plates, hoses, tension rods, hydraulic cylinders, and blinking lights comprising a vaguely human form. The man-thing wore what appeared to be a dingy, dented gray helmet with a visor bearing green glowing optics.
"Thank you for surrendering the thief, intruder," came the thing's emotionless, metallic voice. "Your extermination is now greatly simplified."
It raised a mechanical arm and the Specter realized too late that three of the rods in the nightmarish limb were the rotating barrels of a minigun. The gun's report was absolutely deafening in the enclosed area and Nina was amazed that the bullets passed through her with so much force that she barely felt a thing. But the firing died away and in a rain of empty shell casings Nina realized that she was still alive. The thing hadn't even bothered to shoot her.
"I am the Iron Lung. Have a nice trip." A deep hissing blue flame leapt from a finger-like appendage. The creature ran the flame slowly across the cable supporting the elevator. It quickly turned cherry red and began falling away in great globs of molten steel. It was only then that the Specter realized the true target of the minigun attack: the emergency brake mechanisms that would halt the descent of the elevator in the event of a cable failure. Before she could react, Nina felt the elevator lurch downward in free fall as she started her fatal descent to the sub basement of Rothrock Towers.
The Iron Lung peered down the elevator almost wistfully as he savored the symphony of moaning steel and singing gears. But suddenly a steel line whipped out of the depths and wrapped itself around the greasy rusted seal that approximated his waist. He braced himself instinctively against the steel superstructure as the entire weight of the elevator quickly transferred to his body.
"Arghhhh!" he moaned as his hydraulics were stressed to the limit and beyond. But the Iron Lung held, at least for the moment, and the elevator jerked to a stop. The strain was enormous, and the steel cable threatened at any moment to pull the mechanical monstrosity into the maw of the thousand-foot shaft. As the desperate tug of war continued, the Silk Specter slid gracefully up the dangerously overloaded drag line and swung up to the level of the floor. The haphazardly constructed man-robot towered over the slim heroine but every ounce of his concentration was consumed bearing the weight of the elevator.
"I am the Silk Specter," Nina plucked the line like a guitar string. "And you just stay right there."
"Ahhhhh, dont move Arrrrghhhintruder. I will destroy you!"
"Sorry, Sparky," Nina scooped up the Silver Seal, lifting the much larger woman with deceptive strength. "Got to be moving on."
"NEVER!!" An arm slowly emerged from the Iron Lungs torso. Once at full extension it sprouted a number of slim blades, which began rotating rapidly. The Iron Lung then slashed at the overloaded line with the saw. It snapped with a TWANG and the elevator resumed its plunge but the change in force sent the robot pitching over backward.
The Specter, now bearing the Silver Seal, pressed her small advantage and dashed for the elevator shaft. If she could reach the utility ladder she could get access to any floor in the building. It would be like finding a needle in a 100-story haystack for the Prime Sinisters goons and they would soon be forced to abandon the search due to the onset of daylight. All she had to do was get past the now prostrate Iron Lung
"Going somewhere, intruder?"
The huge cyborg at up and swung his mechanical arm like tank turret, catching Nina at the knees and sending her sprawling to the floor. Escape, it seemed, would not be so easy. The Maid of Mystery pushed the Seal safely into a corner, and stood up slowly to confront the mechanical nightmare.
The Iron Lung stood over seven feet tall. Upon closer inspection it seemed that he must be some sort of mechanically enhanced human, though the quality of the enhancements was closer to that of an H.G. Wells novel than a modern biomechanics laboratory. His "limbs" seemed to be made of structural girders with steel plates riveted over strategic points. Within the steel gridwork Nina could see the hydraulics, actuators, and wiring that accounted for his tremendous strength. Circuit boxes with blinking lights were distributed almost randomly across his great body, seeming to focus at an armored access panel on his chest. His body was filthy and dented with most of the paint buried under grime or long ago worn away. His mechanical components were leaking lubricant, and he reeked like a gang of automobile mechanics. The backpack was apparently his power source, for it bore the yellow symbol of radioactivity in chipped, faded paint. The portions of his anatomy which Nina took for flesh were sickly white with purple splotches, as if the long-ago procedure that merged man and scrap pile had left him permanently bruised. She could now see that what she took for his visor were, in fact, glowing optics mounted permanently in his eye sockets.
"Surrender now, intruder. Spare yourself the unnecessary and futile pain."
"My daddy always said I was a glutton for punishment"
The Silk Specter picked up a long torque wrench and launched herself at the Iron Lung. She swung the wrench with deceptive power, striking him low on the head where he seemed the most vulnerable. But the blow bounced harmlessly away and the Iron Lung responded with a backhand to the abdomen and follow-on chop to the back of her neck. The Specter was far from invulnerable and sank to her knees as stars danced before her eyes.
"You see, it was pointless to resist." He swung his massive arm upward for a crushing blow that would snap the shapely heroine's back like a twig, but in that instant Nina pulled a charge from her belt that detonated with a blinding flash followed by thick smoke. The dull green lenses that served as Iron Lung's eyes purred as the mechanical irises adjusted to the sudden changes in light. By the time he had regained his vision, the Specter was gone.
"There is no escape. You are completely surrounded"
"Just taking a little detour, Sparky!" Nina landed on the huge cyborg from above and immediately smeared a black paste across his eyes.
"You little fool!" the Iron Lung, finally departing from his robotic impartiality. "I will grind your bones to paste!"
He reached his more human-like hand up to wipe his eyes while he raised his robotic three-fingered pincer to crush the Specter's skull. As soon as the black-gloved hand reach the optics, however, Nina cuffed his wrist and clicked the other cuff closed around several pipes and hoses leading from his torso to his steel shod cranium. Then she ducked under the grasping artificial manipulator and was gone.
"Careful with that arm, Sparky. Wouldn't want you to blow a gasket!"
"Silence! I want none of yourAHHHHHHHH!" Without fully understanding his situation the Iron Lung wrenched his arm down with all his massive strength. The pipes and wiring tore lose with an explosion of sparks and a geyser of oily fluid. The bizarre cyborg sank slowly to the floor amongst a widening pool of his own juices, a look of foolish surprise frozen on his face.
Without waiting to see if the damage was lethal, the Silk Specter once again scooped up the rubber-clad Silver Seal and made a beeline for the elevator shaft before the rest of the paramilitary goons could close in. She had just reached the steel ladder leading down to freedom, when disaster struck: the Silver Seal started to moan.
The Iron Lung lashed out once again with his long artificial hand, homing in on the source of the sound and Nina gasped as he clamped down on her throat with his three unsteady digits. The masked young vigilantes windpipe was slowly forced closed and it was all she could do to dump the dazed thief back on the floor before grasping futilely at the vise closing around her throat. Nina struggled madly as the Iron Lung swung her far out over the empty void of the elevator shaft, but her legs werent long enough to kick him and she couldn't begin to loosen his grip around her throat. Her airway was completely closed off and the young daredevil's head was starting to spin.
"I could just snap your spine right now, intruder." The Iron Lungs eyes were dark and his voice scratchy and distant. "But I am denied the sight of it. I think I will enjoy hearing your screams as you fall through the darkness."
The Silk Specter could do nothingsay nothingto save herself. It was a struggle to even remain conscious, so as to grant the Iron Lung his request to hear her screams. The Silver Seal was beginning to stir on the lip of the shaft, but she would require hours to regain her strength, and an army of thieves could not hope to stop the monster before her. The ever-calculating machine that was the mind of the Silk Specter rapidly began losing its focus as her oxygen supply was exhausted. It was almost time to die.
"Now you die, human bitch, just like all other enemies of the state."
"Wait!" came a voice from behind. "Don't drop her." It was the voice of the Prime Sinister, who had come to the roof to supervise the capture operation personally. "That would be far too pleasant a death for a girl who has caused us so very much trouble. Drop her before me."
The damaged robot complied, dumping the youthful crime fighter in a heap before the Prime Sinister. Nina coughed and gasped for breath as the Prime Sinister's armored guards secured her arms in a rubber single glove and attached chains to her ankles.
"Remove her equipment then bring her to the sub basement. I think it's appropriate that she join Commander Alexis in the sub basement. She will be an integral part of my little thank-you gift to the residents of Oceana."
***
Nina Blackstone swam through the darkness of her own mind, struggling to reassert her grip on reality. The sound of her own heartbeat pounded with a primal, urgent rhythm that reminded her of tribal drums on some uncharted tropical island. Then it dawned on her that that the noises she was hearing WERE drums and she opened her eyes in surprise. She found herself standing within a shallow but lofty ceremonial cave, ornately carved with long twisting sea creatures, tiled with dark volcanic stone, and lit by a ring of sputtering torches. Steps leading down from the mouth of the stage-like cave descended into a sea of faces, all concealed behind skeletal white make up with darkened eye sockets. Directly in front of her was a rough stone altar, set with chains and deeply grooved to funnel the blood from ritual sacrifices into ornate clay urns at either side of the timeworn edifice. Commanding the scene was a huge statue of a sinister eerie-looking man with a heavy brow and rippling muscles, apparently carved out of the living rock. But the figure was overgrown with vines and brush so that its Olympian lines were distorted and altered until the statute seemed almost inhuman. Before the altar was a woman--a priestess--in white robes, holding a long flint dagger stained to the color of rust from innumerable sacrifices. Nina herself wore only a loincloth of white linen, with her arms tied behind her back and her long black hair flowing down over her shoulders. Burly and powerful, but oddly insubstantial, men in black robes flanked her to either side.
The drums radiated from everywhere and nowhere and Nina found herself slowly swaying to the penetrating rhythm. It was as if she were drugged, witnessing a scene which she was part of yet powerless to control; as if she wasn't aware that she was the sacrifice whose blood would soon be trickling into the ceremonial urns. Then the priestess lifted her arms in a grand expression that was the sign for the men flanking Nina to lift her and place her on the table. She didn't--couldn't--struggle as the men secured her to the altar with the ancient manacles. The snare was far more than merely physical, but emotional and spiritual as well. Her body was like lead, and she was entirely unable to struggle, despite her mounting sense of desperation.
Then the priestess leaned over, and Nina's eyes widened in recognition: this was not some mysterious Polynesian priestess on a long-forgotten island of mystery, it was the Silver Seal. Her flowing blonde locks were caked dark with mud, but even the reddish skeletal makeup could not conceal her striking features. But if the Seal recognized the identity of her sacrificial victim she gave no indication as she ran her long fingers along the hilt of the primitive dagger in her hand. To avoid looking at the disturbing countenance of the pagan-Stacy, Nina turned her attention to the heavens, to the roof of the shallow cave, and to the countenance of the god to which she was to be sacrificed. She gasped again in surprise! The vines, the way they covered strategic portions of the idol, created a godly caricature of the Iron Lung! At last Nina found the strength to struggle, and the illusion around her began dissolving into murky chaos, but it was too late. She was held fast, completely unable to move
"Comfortable on your little bed?"
The Silk Specters eyes flew open and she was greeted with a horrifying sight. Just as the dream had foretold, she was lying bound on her back, but on a cold steel cylinder rather than a sacrificial altar, and in coil after coil of tight rope rather than ancient chains. The cylinder was some four feet in diameter, painted drab green, and tapered at either end, nestled in a wooden crate filled with wood shavings. She still wore her costume, though her utility belt, cape, and wrist bracer had been removed. Her captors had replaced her utility belt with a broad leather bondage belt pulled to its tightest setting around Ninas surprisingly narrow waist. A leather crotch strap held some sort of thin electronic device snuggly up against her sex. Her arms were pulled straight back around the cylinder as if hugging someone behind her, where her wrists were chained together, to reinforce the tight rope bondage. It didnt take much imagination to come to the conclusion that she was tied and chained to a huge bomb.
"Very comfortable, thank you."
"Well soon take care of that. My men tell me you are the vigilante known as the Silk Specter. An impressive display you put on against the Iron Lung. He has never been so nearly bested in single combat."
The Prime Sinister, as her initial view through the spy scope had indicated, was a large blocky man with broad shoulders and powerful arms. His hair was graying and buzzed short, his eyes a steely blue. His expression was intense and the cut of this jaw betrayed that he was a man of little mirth and less mercy. He was dressed in an exquisite black silk suit of Italian design, with a starched white shirt, conservative tie, and shoes polished so as to shine like a mirror. He wore black rubber gloves and a trench coat made of some high-tech rubber derivative. On the lapel of his coat was a pin of a strange bird in profile, with its beak open in fury. It was the same symbol the Silver Seal had pointed out to her on the shoulders of the dead girls in the morgue.
"It is time for you to die, Silk Specter, but I've planned a particularly spectacular exit for you. Indeed, it will be a spectacular death for many." He stepped aside so the Specter could get a better look at her surroundings. They were in some sort of narrow, squat room with heavy steel doors and cement walls lined with electrical conduits. Just beyond the Prime Sinister was another crate that also contained an olive drab bomb similar to Ninas. Interestingly, it too bore a bound young woman, unconscious but stunningly beautiful even in oblivion. She had dark brown shoulder-length hair pulled back in a French braid, delicate features, and soft creamy skin. Her long, lean body was encased in a black jumpsuit of kid leather that almost resembled patent, with boots and gloves of a similar material. The only marking she wore was a shoulder patch of a national flag that Nina could not identify. She wore a utility belt still loaded with equipment, that better resembled the tools of a utility worker than a spy, but at least the belt spared the woman the indignity of the bondage strap Nina wore. The sexy girl was secured to her own bomb with heavy nylon straps pulled painfully tight, though the woman apparently didnt care.
One end of the adjacent bomb--and presumably Ninas as well--bore stubby fins, while the other end terminated at an empty socket, presumably designed for some sort of detonator. In place of the tapering propeller-type detonator normally found on air-dropped bombs, the Prime Sinisters men had simply rammed a large blob of plastic explosive into the socket. Bold yellow writing in the Cyrillic alphabet adorned the bomb at various points and Nina couldnt help but wonder if at least one of the warning labels advised against using unapproved detonators. Wires ran from the lumpy plastique to a heavy aluminum transit case along one cement wall. The lid of the transit case was removed, revealing a sophisticated control panel with red LED readouts. The box was clearly some sort of timer.
"As you may be aware, two of my Dangergirls were killed yesterday while attempting to obtain a certain artifact from the private collection of Evander Rockroth. Normally I take such losses in stride--my Dangergirls pride themselves on grace under fire. But Mr. Rothrock had the audacity to allow their bodies to be recovered by the police, and that offense I cannot forgive. So I plan to blow up Rothrock Tower--his headquarters--along with a considerable portion of downtown Oceana."
Nina looked about at the small army of faces surrounding the pair of bombs and their female victims. Most were concealed behind impassive gas masks integrated with their combat helmets, and the few officers in the group nodded with understanding. Apparently they were as prepared to detonate 2,000-pound bombs in a crowded city center as they were to abduct thieves in the night. Indeed, most looked down at her with a secret smile, as if approving of the fate their pesky prisoner would soon endure. She would get no help from anyone in the room.
"So what have you done with the Silver Seal?"
"Nothing yet. But soon she will embark on a brief but glorious career as my newest Dangergirl. I daresay that you eclipse her in beauty and perhaps even in fighting prowess, but your irritating heroic streak would be difficult to break without intensive and prolonged therapy." He ran his meaty hand up Nina's abdomen to her chest and gently kneaded her breasts. "Not that Princess Christine wouldn't enjoy the challenge, but I'd best spare her the temptation."
"Oh I dont know. I'd hate to miss out on all the fun."
"Oh don't worry, I have a game for us to play right here. I call it heads you die, tails you die." The Prime Sinister tugged lovingly at one of the coils of rope holding Nina tightly against the cold metal of the bomb. "These may feel tight now, but I assure you they arent. They are tied with constrictor knots; the more you struggle the tighter they draw."
"So all I have to do is keep my cool while the timer on this bomb ticks down to keep from getting turned into paste, right?" Nina fought to remain calm though inwardly her heart was racing.
"Yes in theory, but there is this," he gently touched the device snugged against Ninas thinly-covered pussy. "It's called soni-stim, one of my own inventions. I brought it along to entertain a pesky nuisance prior to her big performance, while I conducted some other business." He smiled at the leather-clad woman. "But she has alas succumbed to human frailty, so I will put my toy to better use."
With that he reached down and activated the belt around Nina's waist. Instantly her crotch was bombarded with powerful sonic waves focused precisely on her clitoris. Despite her precarious predicament she found the pulsing fingers of the sound waves intensely erotic. Nina began to gyrate her hips discretely.
"As a superheroine, I'm confident you expect only the harshest treatment, so here is your challenge. In 45 minutes both of these bombs will explode, killing thousands innocent citizens. If you can control your own sexual appetites, then you will be allowed the full time to contemplate some sort of daring escape. But every slight struggle will tighten your bonds, breaking bones and halting circulation. My men are experts at leaving just enough slack around your vital organs to ensure that you can survive well into the constriction process, savoring every snapping bone. Judging by your reaction to the belt on its lowest setting I think that the last 45 minutes of your life will be the longest."
"So this is just a setup, right? Youre setting up that girl over there to take the fall for the explosions."
"Inquisitive even into the jaws of death, eh? Yes, Ive taken the liberty of removing any kind of metal object from your costume, anything that might survive the blast and subsequent collapse of this building. Commander Alexis is lying on a Kevlar sheet, which will prevent her body from being completely shredded as yours will. Her tattered remains will be discovered in the wreckage some weeks from now, as will the metal implements of her utility belt, all tools used to service military bombs."
"So at least you fear international retribution."
"I fear no one. But any discomfort I can direct toward my enemies is always satisfying." To illustrate his point he reached down and turned up the stimulation belt.
"Uhhhhgggh. MMMMhhhhh!" Nina moaned. The caress of the belt was like the kiss of the most discrete lover, but the Maid of Mystery didnt dare allow her body to respond.
"I didnt realize Oceana's defenders were so beautiful. I should have attacked the city years ago."
"This isnt over, Prime Sinister." The Silk Specter hissed, though the tear in her eye betrayed her growing frustration.
Even the Prime Sinister couldn't help but admire the spunk of his young adversary. She had the wide-eyed wholesome good looks of a beauty queen; her body was trim with firm generous breasts, a thin waist accentuated by the tight stim belt, and gracefully flaring hips. The high-cut bodysuit and translucent hose perfectly flaunted her tanned, athletic legs and her close-fitting high-heeled boots accented her graceful lines as she struggled. The silky violet-black bodysuit was clearly custom designed to highlight the sensuous features of the Specter's body. As her pelvis rocked gently in the embrace of the stim belt, the flat muscular plain of her stomach shimmered even in the low light. Her breasts strained against the looser fabric at her chest as her nipples hardened despite the smirks of her onlookers. Under other circumstances this Silk Specter would be ideal fodder for his personal entertainment or that of Princess Caroline. But she had very nearly defeated the Iron Lung and would have escaped if not for her ill-conceived concern over the Silver Seal. The look of determination in her huge green eyes further convinced him that he was doing the right thing. She had to die, and the hell she would endure in the constriction bondage was at least some consolation for the nights of lost entertainment.
"No this isn't over, but you'll soon wish it were. And in case you're counting on a rescue, we will booby trap the door once we leave. The bombs will instantly detonate the next time it is opened. And though I assume you are far too courageous to scream for help, I must take steps to ensure your complete silence."
A man came forward with a complex two-piece gag. Nina tried to turn her head away, but it was pointless. One man seized her head roughly between two strong hands while the other inserted the first piece of the gag: a large steel ring that rested firmly against her front teeth, holding her mouth open to its maximum extent. After securing the ring in place with rubber straps behind her head, the man produced the second piece of the gag: an inflatable rubber plug. He inserted the plug through the ring and began pumping until her mouth was completely filled, tongue forced firmly against the floor of her mouth. The effect was devastating and inwardly Nina wondered if she could even survive for 45 minutes gagged in this horrible but utterly silencing fashion before choking on her own saliva. With a chill, she realized that the Prime Sinister didn't care.
Nina fought to remain perfectly still, breathing in cautiously through her nose as the men packed up their gear and filed out of the room. Yet even the rise and fall of her chest was causing the ropes to tighten, forcing the small of her back tighter against the bomb casing, which would in less than an hour would tear her to shreds.
<<Detonation in 45 minutes,>> came a soft female voice.
<
"The timer is set. Enjoy my little love bomb, Silk Specter. Oh, there is one more amusing feature of the stim belt that you will enjoy. Every three minutes, the sonic bombardment will intensify until it reaches maximum power in 33 minutes. I will be eagerly listening for the 'report' of your ultimate demise."
With that, Nina could hear the heavy clang as the Prime Sinister closed the door, leaving her to a torturous death. The overhead emergency lights, tucked away behind steel safety cages, shed gloomy dungeon-like light on the Maid of Mystery. The ropes were already fiendishly tight, and the cuffs holding her in the lethal embrace of the bomb were military--very difficult to escape under the best of circumstances. But these were not the best of circumstances; she could already feel her body swirling upward towards her first climax. Things were about to get very tight.
IT THIS THE END OF THE SILK SPECTER? CAN SHE POSSIBLY ESCAPE THE DOUBLE DEATHTRAP OF SEXUAL CONSTRICTION AND TICKING TIME BOMB? OUR PERKY HEROINE HAS IT ALL ON THE LINE, TRUE BELIEVERS, AND ONLY SHE STANDS BETWEEN OCEANA AND 4000 POUNDS OF DISASTER!
(II) THE MINISTRY OF BETRAYAL
Focused--the Silk Specter had to stay focused. No cavalry was coming to the rescue and her only hope was escape from the web of constricting knots. She had to concentrate on her training and never question the fact that she could escape from even the complex military cuffs. Her enemy now was not the Prime Sinister or the Iron Lung, her enemies were pain, fear, and the ticking clock. But the stim belt had already driven her to three climaxes in the space of nine minutes--each three-minute intensification had driven her helplessly over the edge -- and the transient pleasure was immediately repaid only with cruel and irreversible tightening of the ropes. The circulation was already all but cut off to her legs and her hands were tingling beneath her leather gloves. Yet she had to fight through the pain and pleasure and fear and continue working on the cuffs. If she lost her composure she would certainly die here, after of course, enduring the slow self-infliction of horrific internal injuries.
But the Prime Sinister had been wrong about one thing: he hadnt removed all the metal objects in Ninas costume. He had missed the needle-thin lock pick that the Maid of Mystery had sewn into the sleeve of her costume. The moment the Prime Sinister locked the doors Nina had extracted the pick and went to work on the strange lock. She knew she could do it--eventually--if only she could remain disciplined to the procedure and keep her cool. There were about 280 combinations of pressure and rotation to try on a strange lock, and she could conceivably get through half of them before the bombs exploded. She still had a chance.
Click.
The stim belt suddenly intensified again, and the Specter's own body betrayed her with waves of paralyzing pleasure. Just as in her past experience, she was simply unable to control it. The delicious stimulation, amplified by her own disturbing fetish for bondage and danger, sent the Maid of Mystery spiraling over the top. Waves of bliss radiated out from her sex, momentarily blotting out all pain, and Nina was forced to redirect all her efforts to simply maintaining a tenuous grip on the lock pick. But then the sensations slowly dissipated, to be replaced by the deep maddening pain that foretold the nearly complete constriction of her circulatory system. The bonds were serving as a web of painful tourniquets rapidly killing her limbs; if she couldnt get free soon there would be no point in escaping.
But, oddly, for a moment Nina almost wished she HAD dropped the pick; it would have absolved her of any further responsibility. She would no longer have to maintain her discipline and her sense of hope. She could then just abandon herself to the wonderful stimulation of the belt, focusing on the mind-numbing pleasure even while her limbs were reduced to dead, crushed, and ultimately useless appendages. But the pick was still in her quivering fingers and the raven-haired vigilante applied herself to continue working through the myriad combinations of lock patterns that could in theory spring the lock. Her life, her silent companions life, and the lives of a thousand innocent civilians depended on her determination.
Clack.
Nina could hardly believe it: the cuff around her right wrist suddenly sprang loose and the chain fell away.
"Thank god!" She moaned to herself, and tucked the pick back into her glove.
The ropes were another matter entirely. An escape artist cut her teeth on escaping from rope knots, and Ninas first trick was allowing members of the audience to tie her to a wooden chair and entertaining them with her banter while she miraculously wriggled free. These ropes were much more expertly tied, but the result was the same. In less than two minutes she had escaped, urged onward by the impending intensification of the sonic stimulator still nestled firmly against her crotch.
Gratefully the Silk Specter eased herself off the bomb and worked the circulation back into her arms. With fumbling, half-dead fingers she worked at the rear buckles of the bondage belt. The belt, unfortunately, was locked too, so she was forced to meet yet another onslaught head on. The incremental waves of passion were electrifying, though tempered somewhat by her lack of helplessness. She sank to her knees with her head down, silky mane all but concealing her face as she pressed the insidious device against her drenched pussy like her lovers head. When the powerful orgasm finally abated, Nina began surveying her surroundings for some means of escape. She could certainly get free of the belt eventually, but in doing so she could compromise her opportunity to escape from the cement chamber before the detonation of the bombs.
Her method of escape came to her after only a moments contemplation. Her surprising flexibility and athletic ability allowed her wriggle through very small spaces. Any of half a dozen conduits would serve the purpose of getting her to an adjoining room. But then Nina was forced to confront the other woman still strapped to the massive bomb. If she fled now, she could easily get free of the blast zone. But the city would still suffer terrible destruction and the mysterious woman would suffer the fate she had just narrowly avoided for herself.
Trying her best to ignore the delicious but distracting stimulation of the belt, Nina walked to the detonator and examined the high-tech control panel. But Nina was no electrical engineer by any stretch of the imagination, and the myriad of lights and buttons left her baffled.
"Damn. I knew I should have played more Nintendo."
She ran her finger across the panel, as if to push a button at random. But the danger of a fail-safe mechanism actually detonating the bombs was too great. Overcoming her natural tendency toward decisive action, the masked cutie pulled her finger away. She had to find another way.
Well, maybe sleeping beauty over there can help me out, before these bombs blow us all to dog food. Her hand strayed again towards the vibrator. Her hips were beginning to gyrate again against her will. Or before this belt drives me crazy!
Nina waddled over to the bound young woman, and was once again impressed by her beauty. She was thinner than Nina and several inches taller with the soft rounded feminine features of a plastic surgeons masterpiece. Her leather catsuit fit her like a second skin from high collar to tapering legs disappearing in her soft boots, custom designed for silent movement. If anything this woman was more athletic than Nina, with narrower hips and smaller breasts. Nina wondered silently why she hadnt had the plastic surgeon correct the breasts while she was at it. Nina almost hopelessly withdrew some smelling salts from her belt and held it under the womans sculpted nose.
Nothing.
"Damn, she must be really out. Ohhh, ohh nooo." The belt was having its effect again and Nina was forced to kneel back down to endure the waves of feminine ecstasy. At first her body was only marginally interested, but after realizing that only her good fortune with the cuffs excused her from enduring the same orgasm still strapped to the puke-green bomb while trying to maintain a grip on her pick, she reached such great levels of delight that she slipped over onto her side in a nearly fetal position. But at last the climax abated and the Specter could get back to work.
The salts had no effect, so Nina was forced to institute the most dramatic measures she could. In her belt she did have an injector that was actually made to counter snakebites, but the serum was suspended in solution of adrenaline extract. The injector actually contained enough medicine for four injections, but Nina emptied the entire thing into the womans arm, just below her shoulder patch.
Again nothing.
"Fuck. I might as well just blow these bombs and get this over with."
In disgust she withdrew a set of wire cutters from her tombmates utility belt and headed back toward the detonator. Nina reasoned that she had almost no chance of disarming the detonator using the keyboard. Its array of displays and control was simply too complicated figure out while trapped in a concrete chamber being diddled by a sonic vibrator. But the wires she could appreciate, there were only thirteen of them, five to each bomb and three jumpers between sockets. Assuming at least one wire would disarm the device that gave her a 7.7 percent chance of success. The odds were not good and the assumptions shaky, but at least it was a concept she could grasp.
"Okay sleeping beauty, we either live together or die together. Along with half of Oceanas business elite. This superheroine business really sucks sometimes. So what color?"
A rainbow of colors greeted the magician-turned-vigilante, so she naturally regressed to her experience with theatrical pyrotechnics. A red, a black and a ground normally led to each flash pot, and either the red or the black would prevent the device from igniting. Jumper wires were used just to keep all the devices from detonating in case of a power surge or a failure of the detonator. Now, each bomb was indeed connected with a red and a black wire as well as a white, a yellow and a pink one. The yellow wires seemed to be cross-connected in the same bundles that led to the other bombs. But on closer inspection one bomb actually had a brown wire, apparently making it some kind of master device. So therefore it made complete sense that she could try to cut the brown wire
"The green wire."
The Specter looked up startled, to find Sleeping Beauty looking at her through narrow slits of eyes.
"Cut the green wire. Then push the red plunger on the upper left of the detonator."
After delivering her crucial message the women again went silent, lost in oblivion as if she had never spoken. Astounded, Nina bent back down to inspect the back of the transit case. One of the jumpers was in fact green. She reached out and steadily cut the wire.
<<Failsafe redirect,>> came the feminine voice from the detonator. <<Detonation in 5 4-3>
Quickly the Specter reached up and depressed the plunger per instructions.
<
Nina breathed a huge sigh of relief and sank down beside the detonator. With her mind occupied with thoughts of the many tight scrapes she had narrowly escaped in her short career, she turned over on her stomach and withdrew her lock pick. It was high time to get rid of the stim belt.
****
Kirsten Alexis rolled over with a long, luxurious moan and opened her eyes. She was amazed to find herself lying in the midst of a huge bed, heavenly comfortable with soft satin sheets, a thick down comforter and genuine goose feather pillows. The walls of the room were paneled in dark oak with intricately carved molding running along the ceiling. The floor was varnished hardwood with a thick animal pelt throw rug that Kirsten thought might well be from a polar bear. Golden sunlight streamed in through a bay window with a built-in window seat, though if it was light from a setting or rising sun she could not guess. Several bookshelves lined the wall of the room, filled with neatly ordered books and antique curios. The head and footboards of the bed were of intricately patterned wrought iron, which formed a frame for mosquito netting. A swag of sheer cloth was thrown decoratively over the frame and it swayed serenely in the breeze generated by an antique ceiling fan.
But despite the quiet, almost inviting surroundings Kirstens mind was filled with a powerful sense of dread and elusive fear. Her waking thoughts were focused on darkness, helplessness, humiliation and encroaching madness. It seemed almost as if death itself had seized hold of her heart while she slept, that she had been trapped in a monstrous nightmare from which there was no escape. Her heartbeat quickened as she summoned up these images from her subconscious. Then it came back to her in a horrifying flood--her investigation, her capture at the hands of the Prime Sinister, her days as his helpless plaything, her long ordeal in sensory isolation, and finally her attachment to the 2,000 pound bomb. And now she washere, wherever here was. Perhaps just another trick of her mind; a fantasy world of her own construction. Yet even the fantasy of her slowly dying brain was preferable to the endless void of the suspension chamber. She shuddered at the horrors she had endured and the evil of the man who would casually condemn his enemies to such a fate.
Every muscle in her body ached as Kirsten sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side. She felt as if she had just gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson while giving birth to sextuplets. But an antique full-length mirror on one corner showed that she appeared none the worse for the wear. Her uniform had been removed and she was now dressed in a sweatshirt with nylon athletic shorts. The shirt bore a picture of a black mask with zebra stripes and the words "I am the Masked Magician." Kirstens long dark hair was disheveled but clean and her blue eyes looked weary.
She turned her attention away from her own familiar visage and walked gingerly over to the window. Beyond the dusty panes she could see a garbage-strewn lot surrounded with dark brooding tenements. Even the glorious sun (which was setting, she concluded) could not breathe beauty into the crumbling, soot-stained hulks. Yet on the horizon rose a modern skyline of awesome glass spires, some over 100 stories tall. It could only be the skyline of Oceana, the strange, beautiful city where she had vacationed for two weeks after completing her grueling basic training. It seemed like a century ago, but the skyline still comforted her. For long days as the Prime Sinisters prisoner she had craved desperately for just this moment: one more glance at a sunset.
Her reverie was broken by what sounded like applause from a large crowd, and not very far away. Kirstens eyes were drawn to the door from which the sound seemed to emanate. Next to the door hung a framed poster showing a man chained hand and foot being thrown into the ocean. It was a handbill for a magician known as Houdini who would be making his grand escape off the New Jersey peer on November 13th, 1904. She had never heard of him, but the handbill seemed authentic.
"If Im dreaming all this," Kirsten murmured in a delicate Slavic accent that made her words seem very precise, "then I should have been a poet rather than a spy. I have no allies in this cursed city, so it seems I have a secret admirer. Might as well get this over with."
Kirsten reluctantly moved away from the window and tried the door. To her surprise it wasnt locked, so whoever her benefactor was he apparently didnt consider the sexy spy much of a threat. The door opened to a narrow hallway carpeted in plush hunter green and lined with antiques. In a shallow alcove stood a full suit of armor, which a moment's inspection convinced the well-schooled agent that it was Prussian and absolutely authentic. Then the not-so-distant crowd erupted into scattered applause once again followed by a single penetrating voice.
"Oh what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, but in a fiction, in a dream of passion, could force his soul so to his own conceit, that from her working all his visage wan'd; tears in his voice, and his whole function suiting with forms to his conceit?"
Accompanied by the distant soliloquy, Kirsten completed her short journey down the hall and through an archway into what appeared to be some kind of study, gorgeously decorated with overstuffed black leather furniture, tiffany lamps, art deco iron work, priceless antiques, and huge potted tropical plants. Sitting at a roll-top desk was an equally gorgeous young woman--almost a girl--with deep red hair and captivating green eyes. She wore a cream-colored vest of crinkled silk with a matching pleated skirt that came to mid thigh. Though Kirsten didnt consider herself overly fond of females, this shapely and immaculately dressed woman even gave her pause to reconsider.
"Tell me this is not a dream," Kirsten almost whispered from archway. Nina looked up from the papers she was scanning to regard Kirsten with placid green eyes through a pair of antique glasses. The glasses magnified the size of Ninas eyes tremendously and Kirsten couldnt help but smile. When Nina realized what Kirsten found amusing she pulled the glasses off her face with a wry smile.
"Oh, of course this isnt a dream. In dreams women dont need reading glasses." Unless of course the reading glasses speed up your reading rate four-fold, Nina thought but did not add. The glasses were another little priceless treasure she had come across over the months since she had taken up residence in the Spirit Theater.
Nina stood up and approached the woman. "How are you feeling? I couldnt rouse you, so I brought you here."
"I have had worse," Kirsten lied. "You rescued me from the bomb?"
"Yes, my name is Nina Blackstone. You're safe here in my home."
"I am greatly in your debt. My name is Kirsten Alexis. How long have I been out?"
"About 14 hours. Please, sit down," Nina motioned to a library table lit by accountant lamps of green glass. There was a tray on the table loaded with fruit, bread and covered tin of soup. "Here, I saved you some lunch. I figured you would be hungry when you woke up."
At the sight of the inviting plate of food, Kirsten's stomach did a flip. Until that moment she hadn't realized just how famished she was. Nina helped the beautiful stranger into a chair and returned to her papers for a moment while Kirsten ate eagerly. The last rays of daylight streamed in through massive stained glass windows commanding one wall and the dramatic play of colors made the scene almost surreal. Occasionally the mysterious crowd would burst out in cheers or laughter and Kirsten started getting the bizarre sensation that she was somehow on stage.
"Ay; truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness: this was sometimes a paradox, but now the time gives it proof"
"Excuse me, but where is all that crowd noise coming from?"
"I live above a theater. The Spirit Theater it was called."
"Oh, and there is a performance going on tonight."
Nina give her new friend a mysterious smile. "Not exactly. The last performance in the Spirit that I've been able to confirm was in 1927."
"So what is going on down there?"
"I think it's Hamlet, somewhere in the third act. Lets just say the theater is spiritually fortified."
"You mean haunted?"
"Among other things. If you feel your stay with the Prime Sinister weakened your mental state, I'd recommend against exploring the theater after dark."
"Oh, I see." Kirsten had no idea whether to believe this woman or not. Her claims seemed absolutely ludicrous but her manner was so matter-of-fact that Kirsten was forced to conclude she was serious. The dramatic words of not-so-distant actors seemed to be carried into the study only occasionally as if on a nonexistent wind.
"I'm sorry, " Nina looked up from her papers and smiled. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I guess I've grown a little hardened to the odd goings-on around here. Of course, you can leave as soon as you feel up to it. I considered admitting you to a hospital for a more controlled recovery, but you struck me as the type who was looking to avoid official entanglements."
"I appreciate your discretion. My clothes?"
"Certainly." Nina picked up a neatly folded black outfit from one of the leather chairs. "It had a lot of rubber material on it but I took it off with theatrical adhesive remover. I hope I didn't damage it."
Kirsten held up the garment, a black catsuit made of soft kid leather custom made by the Security Ministry to her exact specifications. On many occasions her very life depended on the complete freedom of movement stealth characteristics, and the distracting sex appeal her uniform offered. After days of interrogation in the various rubber costumes forced on her by the Prime Sinister she was returned to her uniform for her final death on the bomb. Clearly it was meant to be a warning to her government of the dangers of intervening in his affairs.
"Do not worry. It is tougher than it looks."
"Good. If you want to go out a little more casual, I think you'll find some clothes that fit you in the wardrobe of your room."
"Yes," Kirsten looked down at her clothes then over at Ninas razor-sharp business suit. "I do feel a bit like I am on holiday compared to you."
"I had a little business to conduct in town this afternoon. I've been researching a mutual enemy of ours. Perhaps you can help me fill in some blanks."
Kirsten stopped eating and her expressed was guarded. This young woman was almost certainly more than she seemed. Perhaps she wasn't out of danger after all "Hmmmm. So what is your interest in the Prime Sinister?"
"I could ask you the same question. The Prime Sinister has been abducting some our local color--female thieves. He's luring them in with large payouts for Eastern European antiquities then somehow coercing them into going after the big stuff. Calls them his Dangergirls. He snatched one girl from right underneath my nose."
"So are you also a thief?" That would explain a lot about the opulence of the apartment if not the strange goings-on downstairs.
"No. I'm a vigilante--the Silk Specter."
"I thought you American vigilantes all had secret identities."
"We do, but that only protects you from the people who can't possibly harm you. Besides anyone who the Prime Sinister hates as much as you can't be all bad."
Kirsten laughed softly and went back to her soup. Despite a spy's natural paranoia, she liked this clever young vigilante. Nina continued.
"The item my mark was trying to collect on when she was ambushed was an akhlad looted from a church in Stanislov, in Slovakia. I did a little homework and I think the patch on your shoulder belongs to the Slovakian Security Ministry. The Prime Sinister had an Eastern European accent as did his storm troopers, and he seems to have plenty of money--enough money to pay retail for his goodies and hire powerful henchman like the Nightcrawler to recover his dead thieves. Sounds like the Prime Sinister is trying to pull together an entire museum of Eastern European history and using his Dangergirls to acquire the pieces when the owners wont sell."
"You are a smart girl Nina Blackstone. And if you managed to snatch me from the Prime Sinister, you must be quite brave as well."
"And I'm very persistent." The queer look in Nina's eyes told Kirsten that this was her cue to share her knowledge of the Prime Sinister.
"I do not suppose you would consider leaving this matter up to international law enforcement agencies?"
"Maybe, as long as they get to him before I do."
"Oh, what a noble mind is here oerthrown! The courtiers, soldiers, scholars eye, tongue, sword: The expectancy and rose of the fair state, the glass of fashion and the mould of form, the observd of all observers quite, quite down!"
"Very well. His name is Vlad Koskov. He is a doctor of clinical psychology from the Institute of Health in Kursk and a leading authority on mental conditioning and mind control. He served as the Minister of Internal Security for the country of Moldavia, our southern neighbor, under the Communists where he was given ample opportunity to perfect his technique. When the Communists fell, Koskov was forced to free the country, though not before he managed to loot much of Moldavia's treasury. He used it to purchase an island 200 miles southeast of your city. He calls it the Isle of Tyranny."
"Some kind of concentration camp?"
Kirsten snorted. "Hardly. It is more likehow do you sayFantasy Island. Like an amusement park! Koskov calls himself the Prime Sinister and rules the island like a militant fascist state. The people are worked hard and brutally oppressed by his special police, the Dredgard. You have little choice in his statehe calls it Tyrantisbut to join the Loyalists Party, enlist in the Dredgard, or join the resistance."
"And just who would want to take a vacation like that?"
"Oh, you would be surprised. Many residents of the former Eastern Block long for the old days, for some it was the days of their youth, for others it was the days of stability, or the days of intrigue, or the days of persecution we all glorify the past, do we not? The Prime Sinister caters to all these passions, and adds his own special twists."
"How so?"
"There is a strong fetish element in Tyrantis. First, Tyrantis is the world's leading producer of exotic rubber products, based on a species of rubber trees unique to the island. The clothing, equipment and even some of the building materials are based on resins and compounds from these plants. Then there are the living conditions. The people are amply supplied with all the necessities of life, just like a resort. But the laws of Tyrantis are intricate with a dizzying array of degrading and painful punishments specified for even insignificant crimes. Of course, living under such a law is quite unbearable. Fortunately it is applied very unevenly. By aligning yourself with the loyalists or a powerful rebel group you can make yourself immune to most petty prosecution for a price. The loyalists and Dredgard must be willing to inform on their friends and neighbors and participate in the torture and humiliation of their countrymen. The rebels must fight for the cause, and suffer Vlads more elaborate and time-consuming punishments for their crimes against the state. So the sadists join the Dredgard, the masochists join the rebels, and the escapist either become informing toadies or unaffiliated victims."
"So just how many guests are at the island at any one time?"
"It is hard to tell: most are regulars and stay for weeks on end. Many of the people on the island are 'staff' members--primarily women--who provide the theatrical cohesion. Some are certainly held on the island against their will, and are forced to play their roles under very real threat of torture and death. It is often difficult to distinguish between the three groupsguests, staff, and prisonersand even the novices are quickly drawn completely into their fantasy roles: shock troopers, interrogators, rebel warriors, resistance leaders, political officers. The intensity of the veterans and staff as well as the brutal treatment of the unwilling inmates adds spice to lives of the paying customers. The total number is in the thousands, but the line between guest and prisoner is vague and constantly shifting. The money collected by the guests is inconsequentialVlad is wealthy from the export of his rubber products alone."
"Sounds like the perfect environment for a mind control expert to continue indulging his interests and turn a profit while he's at it. Have you ever seen his Dangergirls?"
"Vlad has always been more advanced at the conditioning of his female subjects, partially due to our mental make-up and partially due to his personal interests. His most trusted lieutenants have always been beautiful women, but if what you say is correct he seems to be forming a new cadre of women with specialized skills in burglary."
"He mentioned a Princess Carolyn to me. Ever heard of her?" Kirsten shivered visibly.
"My god yes! I dont know where she came from, but shes apparently Vlads latest student of the macabre. She assisted during my interrogation sessions and Vlad turned me over to her several times after hours. Her appetite for cruel sport is only surpassed by her horrible creativity. With all of Vlads resources at her disposal, I would prefer a valiant death to life in her hands."
Nina leaned back in her chair lost in thought, so Kirsten bit into an apple and took in her unlikely rescuer. Ninas face showed youth and radiance; her tailored business suit, expensive French hose, and Italian pumps showed culture and refinement; and her perfectly formed proportions spoke of grace and beauty. But Kirsten couldnt quite see Nina Blackstone in the role of a superheroine. The professional vigilantes Kirsten was familiar with were all quitebutch. But Ninas next comment gave her a better appreciation for Ninas gifts, if not her value in a firefight.
"So you traveled to Tyrantis to retrieve some of your countrys citizens, or at least to ensure that they werent being unduly influenced by Vlads conditioning. And when you made contact, they turned you in to the Dredgard."
For a moment Kirsten was speechless. Nina had pegged her almost instantly. "Thats classified, but yes."
"Theyre connected," Nina spoke with absolute certainty, "Your missing citizens and my missing thieves, and Vlad is up to something big. Care to tell me who it was that you were sent to check up on?"
"Im sorry, Nina Blackstone, but that is classified. I would tell you if I could."
"Of course, I understand. So are you interested in sharing a ride back to Tyrantis?"
"No, not right away," Kirsten shivered inwardly at the thought of returning. "I must quickly convey what I know back to my government. Slovakia owes you a great debt. But in consideration of your safety, Nina Blackstone, I must ask that you not to go to the Isle of Tyranny. Vlad Koskov will only be brought to justice by the combined efforts of international security agencies. There is little to gain by you going there, and much to lose."
"Thank you for your concern, Commander Alexis. Unfortunately an associate of mine has recently been recruited into Koskovs little army of thieves. I dont think she will live long enough as a Dangergirl to allow for protracted multinational negotiations."
"Very well, then at least take this." She reached into a secret pocket of her black costume and pulled out a small chip. This card will allow you to bypass most of the security systems on Tyrantis. Just attach it to the side of the key card box and let it do its work. All of your worldly possessions will be confiscated before you are allowed on the island, so I hope you know how to smuggle it in."
"I think I can manage. So how do I find the Island of Tyranny?"
"Simple, you just sign up."
"They have an office in Oceana?"
"Of course. It is on the 47th floor of the Rothrock Tower, where else? Getting onto the island is the easy part. Escaping against the will of the Prime Sinister, however, is all but impossible."
Nina smiled her mysterious smile then held out her hand. "Come on. Now I've got a few things I want to show you."
****
Nina Blackstone had proven a most remarkable rescuer. Kirsten Alexis had spent another four hours in the Spirit Theater in the delightful company of the captivating vigilante, and they did see some amazing sights. Nina showed Kirsten the main auditorium with its intricately carved box seats, dual balconies and main stage, eternally lit by a single creepy "ghost light." Just as Nina had indicated, despite the intermittent sound of crowd noise and recitations, the theater was completely empty. Then they toured the main lobby, once a grand entrance with marble floors, Corinthian columns and massive candle-lit chandeliers. But the dust was thick everywhere and the chandeliers leaned at crazy angles. The wood on the massive banisters leading up to the balcony seats was bony white and splitting in places. The stairs were once carpeting in a luxurious red, but the carpet now was threadbare and moth eaten. Despite its relatively good condition, the entire building smelled of mildew, neglect, and rats.
Then they had returned to another part of the loft that Nina had renovated into a gymnasium and rehearsal area. The facility once again showed Nina's sharp eye for design, with a glossy parquet floor, overhead track lighting, and original artwork on the walls. But the equipment occupying the room better resembled a high-tech torture chamber than a modern gymnasium. There was a bed of nails, a hydraulic press suspended over a strap-lined table, a sinister-looking rack situated beneath a huge circular saw, a glass chamber lined on all walls with telescoping spikes, a suspension frame with a variety of chains and cuffs to trap an unsuspecting victim, and a Lucite tank of water sealed off from above by heavy steel doors. The machines were disturbing to the 24-year-old secret agent, who had already survived a number of close encounters with madmen who had sadistic and kinky notions of how best to deal with captured female spies. Kirsten relaxed, however, when Nina explained that the apparatus were all part of her act: she was a professional magician.
Nina had proceeded to prove her point by performing a series of tricks that were invaluable to girls in their respective lines of work. She produced a prop gun out of thin air, guessed Kirsten's age after asking an apparently unrelated series of questions, and slipped free from a pair of police handcuffs while casually discussing the fringe benefits of being a local celebrity. Then she demonstrated how she would easily extract herself from most rope bondage and even a leather straightjacket. Kirsten was fascinated and they worked late into the night until the lovely spy had mastered a few basic principles of escape and sleight-of-hand. Despite her sore muscles and foggy head, Kirsten couldnt help but enjoy the feel of the snug but not painful knots tied by the expert magician. The love of danger and peril just came with the job, and by 10 Oclock, Kirsten was more than a little aroused by their flirty games.
It took all of Kirstens will to decline Ninas offer to spend the night, with all its implied possibilities. But Kirsten had urgent news she had to report to her government and it simply couldnt wait. Kirsten had been sent by the Ministry of Security to recover Konrad Illych, the Speaker of the House for the fledgling republic of Slovakia and the charismatic glue that was holding the fragile government together. Unfortunately, Konrad Illych was a regular at the Isle of Tyranny, and his latest visit had extended for over 3 weeks. With militant nationalist forces with bases in Moldavia on the verge of taking over the government, it was imperative that Illych return to Slovakia and reassert his authority. Kirsten had traveled to Tyrantis as a tourist and, with the help of the high-level access chip obtained by the Ministry, was able to locate Illych and implore him to return. The Speaker of the House had other ideas, however. He promptly turned her over to the Dredgard, and after three days of interrogation and torture, she was sealed into the suspension chamber, never to see the light of day until waking up in Ninas guest bedroom. She had to inform her superiors immediately that Illych was a traitor and was now a brainwashed follower of the Prime Sinister. The fate of Slovakia might very well depend on the information she carried.
As a final courtesy Nina set Kirsten up with a smart pant suit in black wool with a silk camisole, $1000 in cash and drove her to the Oasis, one of Oceana's more fashionable hotels. From there they bade each other good bye and good luck, and Kirsten could almost feel the tears welling up as her new friend drove slowly away. As a beautiful woman in a dangerous job, sham and deception was her entire existence. The honesty, wit, and courage of Nina Blackstone came as a refreshing surprise, and the crumbling majesty of her secret lair was breathtaking. If only duty didn't demand so much right at the moment
Suppressing her emotions, she had contacted her safe house in Oceana and asked to be "taken in." The voice on the other side of the phone was a forced monotone impassive, trying to conceal any element of emotion or tractability. Perhaps it was just her exhausted mind playing tricks, but did the man sound almost surprised to hear from her? He gave her instructions with a bored air, but it seemed to be so lacking in personality that the man could well be hiding something. But then she hung up the phone and the moment of suspicion was gone. Besides, what did it matter? A spy with no support infrastructure whatsoever was as good as dead. Certainly, the man had been told that she had disappeared in the area and to be on the lookout. He must have simply been pleased to hear from her.
**
Pleased my ass, the young agent thought to herself as she struggled in her bonds. Kirsten was laying in the bottom of a slimy fishing boat, handcuffed and the wrists and ankles, wrapped in a weighted fishing net then tied again with hemp rope. The smell of dead fish was strong on the net and even stronger on the surging deck. The sky overhead was moonless and crystal clear, ablaze with ten thousand stars. But the wonderful view was spoiled by the stern faces of the two guards looking over her with their machine pistols at the ready. They seemed to enjoy the show as the young spy pulled vainly against the layers of bondage.
Kirsten had been taken completely by surprise. She had met her contacts at the appointed hour along the waterfront near a series of run-down warehouses far from prying eyes. She had exchanged the secret words that meant the difference between life and death and it seemed that the codes were all exchanged correctly. The next thing she knew, attackers were all around her. Suddenly regretting that she had not asked Nina for a gun, Kirsten took them on hand-to-hand. Though she doled out some stunning blows and forced one man over into the water she was eventually overcome by sheer numbers and her own lingering weakness. No one spoke a word as Kirsten was bound, netted and bound again. Her repeated protests were finally answered by a ball gag, which was thrust deeply into her mouth.
They had been chopping out to sea for over an hour, wanting to make certain Kirsten's murder was unobserved. Finally the tinny moan of the small outboard motor died down, replaced only by the rush of the water across the hull. Somewhere far beneath them was the bottom of the ocean . Soon it would serve as the final resting place of Commander Kirsten Alexis. Apparently the new lease on life which Nina had purchased for the star-crossed spy was to be very short indeed.
The station chief had a bushy black beard and deep set eyes. In the darkness he was little more than a shadow as he worked his way back from the wheelhouse.
"And now, traitor, it is time for you to reap the harvest of your treason. Lift her up."
The two guards manned the small crane normally used to haul in the fishing nets. Kirsten was lifted until she was hanging vertically like a roped mummy. She moaned through her gag and twisted prettily as she was maneuvered out over the water.
"I have strict instructions not to listen to your lies, prevetta. And my orders come from the highest levels. From the Speaker himself."
For a moment, Kirsten was stunned: how could she have been so stupid! Konrad Illych wasn't defecting to the Prime Sinister, he had been a double agent all along! When he betrayed Kirsten into the hands of the Prime Sinister he must have thought his secret safe and returned to Slovakia to resume his duties. The Prime Sinister must have contacted Konrad about her escape so the speaker had alerted all Slovakian agencies that she had gone rogue. The moment she contacted the Ministry she was to be apprehended and killed. If so, the Prime Sinister probably knew all about the secret access chip. The moment Nina tried to use it she would be captured as well!
Kirsten was suddenly drawn from her reverie as the station chief drew a .44 and drew a bead on her head, even as she swung helplessly over a watery grave.
"Lieutenant Commander Kirsten Alexis, special agent for the Ministry of Security, I am to personally verify your death before committing your body to an anonymous grave. The net will ensure you are undiscovered until you are completely consumed by the sea. May God forgive us all for our crimes."
With that he pulled back the hammer of the pistol and took careful aim. But what the station chief didn't know was that the expensive suit Kirsten wore was actually from the wardrobe of Nina Blackstone. During her long hour in the bottom of the boat Kirsten had discovered a thin but very hard strip running up the inside of one sleeve. Forcing the strip through the fabric she found that it was actually a very sharp steel blade. Her sensuous struggles over the last hour were largely to distract the guards while Kirsten worked on the net and the thick ropes. Even as she hung bound and in the sights of her executioner, Kirsten gave a mighty kick and the net gave way. She plopped quickly into the water, still cuffed but mercifully out of view.
"Impossible!" The station chief howled as he fired into the water. "Fire at will, you men. Don't let her get away."
The crackle of gunfire was weak and fleeting as they peppered the black water beneath the boat. They sprayed the ocean in precise patterns, leaving no room for survival for the handcuffed agent.
"That's it men, hold your fire. She isn't coming up."
The men shouldered their smoking weapons. Each had exhausted half a dozen clips.
"Lets get back to the city and tell the Ministry the job is done. I've had enough killing for one night."
To Be Continued