Chapter 7: Chapter 2.4: Tag, You’re It

TW: Strong language, assault, kidnap

……

“I know you’ve asked for a break, but we really need you urgently on this job. There’s nobody else who can do it.” 

Running a hand through his hair, Keary asked frustratedly, “Can’t it wait a day?” 

“Unfortunately not,” came the reply. “They’re moving the shipment in a few hours, and it’ll all be gone before dawn. We need to hit them now, or we’ll miss the opportunity. Of course, we’ll make it worth your while.” 

The man at the door held out a thick manila envelope. Keary considered for a moment, then sighed and took it. “I’ll be right there.” 

“Will you need a ride? We can’t bring you to the exact location, but maybe close by.” 

“No, it’s fine, I’ll get there on my own. All I need to do is go in, fuck things up, and get out, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’ll let you know when I’m onsite.” 

“Good. We’ll hear from you.” 

Keary closed the door, leaning against it to collect his thoughts. Then, gripping the envelope, he went back up the stairs. 

The door to Cardin’s room was closed. That wasn't a good sign. He knocked softly, then entered. 

“Hey.” 

Cardin didn’t respond. He had turned into a formless lump of mortification and shame under the blankets. Mouth twitching, Keary sat down on the bed. “Hey. Cardin.” 

The lump shifted anxiously away. 

Keary fought down a laugh before speaking again. “Listen, I’m really sorry about that. I’ve got to go somewhere, and it’s quite urgent. It’ll probably only take a few hours, but I’ll be late if I stay any longer. Will you be alright?” 

No answer. 

Standing, Keary sighed. As much as he was dying to finish what they’d started, he really had to go. “Again, I’m sorry. I’ll be back by sunrise, I promise.” He touched the lump softly where he guessed Cardin’s head would be. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He was just out the door when he heard a muffled voice murmur, “Travel safe…” 

……

Cloaked in the quilt, Cardin watched Keary’s figure, sleekly clad in black, leave the house on a muted motorbike. He curled up at the window alcove in the living room, long after the bike had trailed out of sight, drifting in and out of a restless slumber. 

Just as the sun was peeking up over the skyline, he seemed to hear footsteps coming up to the front door, and jolted out of semi-consciousness. 

He said he’d be back at sunrise. 

Clambering up from the alcove seat, he flew to the door and flung it open. 

“Keary!” 

His abrupt appearance startled the person at the door, a clean-shaven man in a tri-coloured windbreaker, black joggers, and white running shoes. He stood with his arm outstretched, as if he had just been about to knock. They stared at each other, bemused, the man taking in Cardin’s ruffled curls and unkempt state as the blonde blinked at him, trying to comprehend why there was an unfamiliar man at the door instead of Keary. 

“Uh…” the stranger began uncertainly, “I’m very sorry to disturb you this early in the morning. I only moved here recently, but I seem to have gotten a bit lost on my morning run, and I don’t have my mobile on me. Would you be so kind to let me borrow your phone to give my housemate a call to come pick me up?” 

A British accent? Too exhausted from his lack of sleep and the prolonged state of unrelieved passion and worry to hide his disappointment, Cardin brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, then gestured carelessly into the house. “Sure, yup, of course. The phone’s right in here.” 

“Thank you very much.” 

Cardin stepped aside to let the stranger in, then started to close the door. “It’s just right behind the sof—” 

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as a thick arm was hooked swiftly over his face to clamp his neck in a tight grip. Even as his hands flew up to try and free himself, a weight crushed him against the front door, and a gruff voice, no longer British, harshly demanded: 

“Where is it?” 

Is this another dream? Cardin barely had time to wonder, briefly struggling to push away from the door before bringing a leg up to his chest and kicking hard into the door. The force sent the both of them sprawling backwards, and the impact of the fall made the attacker loosen his grasp just enough for Cardin to twist out of it. He scrambled to his feet, attempting to sprint away, only to find himself hit the floor again heavily as the attacker grabbed his ankle, tripping him. He kicked out, but his foot met empty air as the stranger was already bearing down on top of him. 

“Come on Belyayev. Where the fuck is it?” 

“Where the fuck is what?” Cardin shouted, grappling against the hands that kept coming towards him. “I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about!” 

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The phone rang. 

“Just hand it over!” the man growled. He managed to catch Cardin’s left wrist and pinned it down roughly.  

“I said I don’t fucking know"—Cardin curled his right arm around his face, then twisted outward as hard as he could, lashing out furiously—“what the fuck ‘it’ is!” 

His elbow connected with the attacker’s nose with a crunch. The man reeled back, spewing blood and curses, and Cardin dashed behind the couch toward where the phone stood ringing. Grabbing the receiver, he managed to yell, “Keary, help! Someone came into the house, he—" before something slammed into the side of his head and all he knew was darkness. 

……

Tearing along the highway, Keary swore. This was bad. This was very bad. He should have known better than to leave Cardin alone, especially after the situation with the tail in town yesterday. He should have sent Nigel over to the house immediately, but he hadn’t been thinking straight, focussed solely on getting this annoying job over and done with as quickly as possible so that he could get back. In his haste, he had been careless, had been seen, and then had been delayed by the battle that ensued. He could already feel the bruising on his ribs, forearms and shins. There had been several of them, some armed, and they had put up quite a fight. 

Still, none of that had sent his heart into his throat the way it had done when he had heard Cardin cry out just before the line went dead.  

Fuck!! 

He was already way past the highway speed limit but was still at least half an hour away from the house. The attacker would probably be long gone by then, but there was no knowing what exactly he had done to Cardin. 

What if he's…? 

Not allowing himself to finish the chilling thought, Keary activated the smart voice assistant through his headset and placed a call to Mikka. 

“Mikka,” he began urgently as soon as the line connected, not waiting for her greeting. “Hack into the satellites system and track anybody that comes or goes from my place within the hour. Let me know exactly where they end up.” 

“Keary?” The girl’s voice was thick with sleep. “What—”

“The satellites, Mikka! Now!” he barked. 

“Alright, alright! I got it! Sheesh!” She cut the call.  

Mouth set in a tight grim line, Keary revved his bike yet faster, fervently praying that he wouldn’t be too late. 

……

He surfaced sluggishly back into consciousness, the chill air slicing into his lungs. There was a ringing sound in his ears, his head throbbed, and his eyelids felt so heavy that he was having difficulty raising them. He blinked slowly, struggling to make out his surroundings. 

He was sitting in what appeared to be the middle of an empty warehouse. Pain sliced through him; the wounds on his arms had been chafed in the struggle. Trying to move, he found his fingers numb, his wrists bound tightly behind him. His ankles were also tied to the legs of the chair he was seated on. His captor hadn't been considerate enough to grab a jacket for him, leaving him to shiver in thin clothes in the chill air. 

A deep, rough voice spoke from behind him, which Cardin recognised as belonging to the intruder who had attacked him. 

“Where did you keep the information, Belyayev?” 

“I…” Cardin coughed weakly as the words scratched through his dry throat. “I’m not Bellayev, or whoever it is you’re looking for. You’ve got the wrong guy.” 

Silence. “Not Belyayev?” 

Cardin tried to shake his head, then stopped as pain pounded through it. “I don’t know who that is.” 

Another pause. “Then who are you?” 

“Cardin…” he hesitated. “I'm Cardin Rasheville…” 

The man laughed in harsh astonishment. “Fuck me. Did you really go in that deep?” He laughed again. “They told me you do things methodically, but to this point? Well, whatever.” He circled to stand before Cardin, expression losing any trace of humour. “Whoever you’ve decided to be now, you’re the one holding the information, and I need to get it back to them. So,” he grabbed a fistful of Cardin’s hair, yanking the golden head backward, “where the fuck is it?” 

Confused, Cardin grit his teeth, his mind swimming. This man was saying things that didn’t make any sense to him at all. He had no idea what else he could say to convince this madman that he didn’t have what he was after. This all felt like an extremely bad nightmare that he would wake up from any moment now. He opened his mouth to state his ignorance once more. “I told you, I don’t know anyth—” 

A hard blow struck him across the face, jarring the pain in his head and intensifying the ringing sound in his ears. “Enough bullshit. We know you have it.” A second stinging slap fell. Cardin felt nausea rising as his head spun. He tasted blood. “Now where is it?” 

We’re going nowhere, Cardin thought hopelessly. He’s going to beat me to death before he accepts that I don’t have what he wants, and nothing I say will change his mind. Despair kindled into rage inside him, and he spat, “Va te faire foutre, connard!” 

As the curse echoed, the third strike landed, this time a fist in his stomach. Cardin reeled forward, winded, but as he gulped for the winter air, bile rose. He hurled violently. 

His captor made a sound of disgust as he leaped back. Then he muttered in a thick Russian accent, “Eto trata vremeni…”  A waste of time. 

Breathing shallowly and struggling to maintain consciousness, Cardin vaguely registered the sound of a pistol cocking. He trembled, helpless, as the man levelled the gun at him. 

I guess this is it. 

“Don’t take this personally, comrade,” the man muttered. “It’s just spring-cleaning.” 

……

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