“And don’t forget your promise. When you’ve got the information you want out of her, I want my turn to get to know her better,” Pierre said lecherously.
“You have testicles for brains, Frenchman. Now, let’s get moving.”
Annabelle had almost reached the house, when her mobile phone started to ring. It was Kate Jackson at the café, there was a problem with one of the cookers, and she wanted to know which firm to call to repair it. Annabelle, told her that she’d come down right away and find the number for her. She hung up, and walked the short distance back to the café.
There were a few people already in the café having breakfast when she went in and Kate Jackson was helping one of the girls to serve the tables. Annabelle went through to the kitchen and found out from cook what the problem with the cooker was. Went into the office, and flipped through the business card index to find the number of the repair company, she was just about to phone them, when Kate appeared in the doorway.
“Rob Chapman, and those London friends of yours were up and off early this morning?”
“That’s right, Kate.”
“Look, Annabelle. You’re one of my dearest friends, and I know you’d tell me if it were any of my business. But, I have to ask, what is going on, and why is Jake Dillon really here?”
“Kate, I really don’t mind you asking, but there’s nothing going on, as you put it. And Jake is simply a friend in need of rest and relaxation, and that’s why he’s here.” She lied, and then added, “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I do need to ring the cooker repair company, and then I’ve got a million and one things to do at home, before I fly back to London this evening.”
Kate apologised to her friend for being so nosy, and then went back to work. Annabelle made the call, and she arranged for an engineer to come and repair the cooker, went and told cook, and then left. She walked across the driveway, went up the steps, found her key and unlocked the front door, then went inside. The house seemed unnaturally quite without her father there, she thought going through to the kitchen. Passing the coffee machine, she flicked the switch to turn it on, and then went over to the sliding glass doors, that opened out onto the raised teak deck. She pulled them apart, and walked outside. The sun was already beating down onto the weathered timbers, she splendoured at the magnificent view of the harbour and ocean beyond, which never failed to fill her with joy.
Annabelle stood there for a moment, enjoying the morning freshness, she then turned and went back inside and found Kurt sitting in one of the leather armchairs in the living room.
“We meet at last, Miss Cunningham.” The big German said the words with a malicious smirk.
Looking into the room, it was as if she were dreaming, but that rough looking face told her otherwise. The cropped blond hair, and facial scarring that distorted his features as he laughed.
Annabelle, in spite of being terrified, surprised even herself by turning and darting back out onto the deck. She had almost made it to the steps that led down to the front of the house, when Pierre moved around the corner, and grabbing her by the hair, pulled her around and stopped her in her tracks.
Kurt ordered the Frenchman to get her back inside. Pierre roughly pushed her through the open doorway back into the living room, closed the sliding doors as he came in and locked them. As she was picking herself up off the floor, Kurt stepped forward, and struck her heavily across the face. She was sent backwards with the force of the blow, and ended up sprawled face down, half on, half off, one of the long sofas.
“I think this one is going to be fun.” The big German said in fluent French.
Annabelle pulled herself up into a sitting position, her eyes darting around the room in search of something to use as a weapon, and then she remembered that she still had the Walther PPK in her jacket pocket. Dipping her hand in, she wrapped her hand around the butt of the pistol, and tried to relax, found the safety catch, and released it.
As Kurt moved ominously towards her, she pulled the weapon out and screamed at him, “Stay away from me, you bastards. Or so help me God, I’ll shoot you both.” Tears were rolling down over her cheeks, and her makeup was starting to smudge around her eyes.
It was Pierre who lurched forward first. Annabelle pulled the trigger once, and the bullet whizzed over his head and slammed into the plaster, high up on the far wall. As he recoiled behind one of the other chairs, Kurt seized the split second opportunity, and while Annabelle was wondering what to do next, moved in, and expertly kicked the gun out of her hand. She got up and tried to run back through the house to the front door, but was immediately knocked down onto the floor by the German. He rolled her over onto her front, and pressed her face, hard against the wood. The smell of beeswax polish, that her father used to clean the floor, filled her nostrils, and then he roughly twisted her right arm up her back. The searing pain was so terrible that she cried out.
“So you’re enjoying that, are you?” Kurt was a perfectionist, when it came to inflicting pain on his victims. He was enjoying himself so much that he’d almost forgotten why they were there. “I think we’ll try more, but this time it’ll be both arms.”
The pain was so intense, that she screamed at the top of her voice, and tried to thrash her legs around. He turned her over, and slapped her so hard across the face that she almost lost consciousness. From his pocket he pulled out a syringe filled with a clear liquid, and a long sheathed needle. He held the syringe up, took the sheath off, and squirted a small amount of the liquid into the air.
“Please listen carefully, Miss Cunningham. I’m going to ask you some questions.” He held the syringe just above her head. “If you do not cooperate with me, I’ll inject one of your eyes with this solution. You’re wondering what it is? Well, I can tell you that it’s better that you don’t know, believe me.”
Annabelle was terrified out of her mind, and couldn’t take her eyes off the syringe. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but please don’t hurt me anymore.”
“You have made a wise choice, Miss Cunningham. So tell me, where would we find the tunnel entrance that will lead us to U-683?”
“Devil’s Hole,” she said between sobs.
“But, that’s not far from here. How do you know this?”
“My father’s dive diary,” she gasped.
“Is that where Dillon and the others have gone this morning?”
Annabelle hesitated and he squeezed her throat between a large forefinger and thumb. “Is that right, Miss Cunningham?”
“Yes, that’s where they’ve gone this morning.” She said hoarsely.
Kurt looked down at her, suddenly forced her mouth open with his fingers, and then squirted the entire contents of the syringe down her throat. He waited a brief moment, before standing up and laughing loudly, “How was the tap water? Good for you, Miss Cunningham?” He then turned, and started to leave.
Pierre, who had been sitting on the other side of the room, stood up. “Now it’s my turn, yes?”
Kurt made a sweeping gesture with his arm towards Annabelle. “You can do what you like, Frenchman. Just make sure that when you’ve finished there is no trace of evidence.” And with that the big German left.
Annabelle had pulled herself up into a sitting position on the floor. And had spotted the Walther tucked under one of the leather chairs. As she went to get up, Pierre moved towards her and started to unbutton his shirt.
Her heart was pounding with the fear she felt. He moved closer to her, and as he did, she slowly stood up and faced him.