“You don’t frighten me. You’re still nothing but a pathetic little wog with an inferiority complex two miles high.”
This worked, for a split second he turned his back on me, both as an insult and to obtain sufficient room to begin a savage assault. It was literally a split second, but it was all I needed. My legs were free, so I simply raised them and wrapped my legs around his neck as he turned towards me.
I knew I was strong, but just how strong remained to be seen. I simply squeezed, ignoring his hands as he punched and scrabbled against my thighs.
“Many men would die to get where you are now!” I said, watching his face turn blue. He was hurting my thighs, and he was trying to bite my inner legs, but I didn’t give him either the space or the time to get a good mouthful.
The punches and struggles became weaker, which was just as well, for my arms were killing me. He was trying to pull away from me, so I was hanging on for dear life while trying to throttle him at the same time. I watched his eyes rotate upwards and he showed me the whites. He started to slump, so I let go, released myself from the bonds and pushed him away. He fell like a rag-doll onto the cold, damp floor. I was over him immediately, ready to finish him off, but I needn’t have bothered, he was dead.
“Well done legs, I owe you a pampering at a spa in the not too distant future, but now, you’ve some more work to do.”
I stripped the man, who had some unexpectedly sexy silk briefs on underneath his uniform. I’ve always wondered why some Arab men hold hands with each other.
The handgun was a Mauser, not one I’d choose, but better than nothing. I checked the clip and was pleased to see ten rounds. His boots were too big, but better than bare feet.
Fully clothed and armed once more, I found the only way out of the chamber. It was up a rope ladder suspended from the ceiling. We were in a bottle dungeon, not dissimilar to the one at St Andrews in Scotland, only this one was new and not over six hundred years old.
The dungeon was simple. Shaped like a bottle (dead give away there), the only way in or out was through the top. Supplies were dropped down, and the floor was set at a slant so the occupant(s) could never stand straight. I’m sure the wishy-washy liberals and civil liberty pinkos would hate it, but to my view, what an ideal way of dealing with anti-social criminal scum who refuse to coexist in society without hurting others.
Still, I mustn’t reveal my slightly right of centre views to the world, particularly as I had to work out how to get out of here. Once at the top of the ladder, I faced a wooden hatch, which was firmly closed.
Okay, perched on a precarious rope ladder was hardy the most effective platform to instigate an attack, but I counted on the element of surprise being on my side. I was tempted to draw the Mauser, but decided not to. Often uncluttered hands are more effective in a fight.
I knocked on the trapdoor.
It opened, so I waited just under the lip. Sure enough, a dark face leaned over, peering down into the gloom. Reaching up, I grabbed the man’s collar and heaved him over the edge and me. He fell with a shriek into the pit, landing with a sickening crunch next to the other body.
I was out the hatch, gun ready as quickly as I could. There was only one other man here, and he was still getting up from a chair, but one look down the barrel of my Mauser made him think twice about being brave. Unfortunately, he thought a third time, so I had to shoot him as he reached for his AK47.
The sound of that pair of shots in a confined space was deafening, making my ears ring. The room was typical of many gaolers’ rooms, with chairs, a table, some food, a kettle and a few bottles of beer. I wondered how many people they’d incarcerated here. On a shelf at the end of the room was my wetsuit and boots. They’d obviously cut me out of the suit, ruining it in the process. I exchanged the large boots of the deceased bully for the ones I’d been wearing. I was fed up with losing perfectly good boots, so it was nice to get these ones back.
It was then I noticed another set of boots with a wetsuit on the next shelf up. It didn’t take me long to realise that Mike was also probably naked somewhere.
There was another identical hatch on the floor, about six yards away from the one I’d just emerged. Someone was thumping on it from below, so I opened it and retreated. An angry head appeared, swearing in Arabic, so I hit it with a chair. It fell away, making a similar crunch on landing to that of the guard I’d pulled over previously.
I peered over the edge, to see a naked male strung up in a similar fashion to how they’d tied me earlier. The only difference was the hood that covered his head. I assumed it was Mike, by a process of elimination. Returning to the shelves, I found my equipment belt, and replaced the one I’d taken from my captor. Taking a stun grenade, I taped it to the doorframe, with the pin attached to the door handle, so if anyone came in while I was releasing Mike, they’d get a surprise.
Going down rope ladders is an acquired skill, and one I’d acquired as a teenager. Moments later, I was standing by a battered and bleeding Mike, having just finished off the unconscious guard. Poor Mike was shivering with cold, so he was less well endowed than when I’d felt him through his wetsuit. His head was on one side, as if trying to ascertain what was happening.
“So, you American pig, the men can’t get you to talk, so now it is up to a woman,” I said, disguising my voice heavily.
He slumped against his bonds, as if this was the last straw. I suddenly felt sorry for him, but part of me appreciated his predicament, as I now had payback for the London abduction.
“Okay, I guess this makes us even.”
“Rebecca?” he asked, hopefully lifting his hooded head.
I laughed and took his hood off.
He stared at me, blinking in the relative brightness, but then he stared at the crumpled mess of a guard who lay at the bottom of the ladder.
“How?”
“Don’t ask, let’s just find you some clothes and then we can get out of here,” I told him, cutting through his bonds with the knife from my belt.
It took us a few seconds to strip the dead guard and then together we scrambled up and out of the dungeon.
“What now?” he asked.
“Now we finish what we came here for. I’m not sure what happened, but I don’t think it was supposed to. This time, we stick together.”
The labyrinth of tunnels must have taken the organisation months if not years to build. I wondered how long they’d been preparing for this, or whether this installation was a left-over from the Cold-War. Armed with weapons taken from the enemy, we worked our way along the dungeons’ level. Finding no one else, but many empty chambers, I began to believe that this place had been here for some time.
We came to a stairwell, but not the same as the one we’d come down. This one had level markers with doors off at each landing. We noticed we were on level -6.
Mike took point as we ascended to the next level, with utmost caution. Neither of us was aware as to how they managed to catch us, so we weren’t quite so brash on this occasion. The door had no security locks, but there was a small sensor at waist level. It was so small that I nearly missed it, but saw it just before Mike walked past. It was a simple infrared beam, which means we probably missed a similar trap when we first entered the complex. Ducking under the beam, we moved into the corridor and immediately felt the vibrations. They rose to an uncomfortable level before diminishing and stopping abruptly. That meant the device was still operating, so whatever had caused the last incident wasn’t terminal.
There were six doors, three aside and each about forty metres apart. At the far end was a set of double doors with a security lock and a rotating amber light just above it, giving off a surreal whirling light down the corridor.
“That’ll be where it all happens!” Mike whispered.