C. Eldon Fleming was sitting at a sidewalk table in front of the approved cafe. Le Cafe Noir did not look like its name. Its facade was a grayish white, with red trim. The only black thing around was visible under the nails of the waiter who brought Fleming his vermouth.
Other than the neglect of his manicure, Maurice – as the waiter had introduced himself – could not be faulted. His courtesy and the speed with which he appeared when required were much better than the American had found in the hotel dining room. He wondered how much of the service was due to the "coupons" Frenchmen vied for. These clever paper incentives were furnished tourists when they entered the country, and they were to be given to citizens who met high standards of courtesy and service in dealings with the visitors.
Fleming listened to the accordionist inside the cafe. He was playing Julie la Rousse. The American remembered sitting in sidewalk cafes in 1945 when other tunes were more in vogue. He looked at his pocket watch. Still almost an hour before he was due at the bank.
He'd spent all of this morning in planning and preparing for what was ahead. He unconsciously patted the breast of his jacket, feeling the papers which he'd put in the inside pocket. A rough map of the Salon area, pinpointing the farmhouse, a slightly less rough sketch of the floor plan, with suggested approaches for the Surete when they closed in, and a brief few paragraphs describing the situation there.
He didn't pat his hip pocket where he again carried the Beretta. But he could feel its reassuring hardness as he leaned back in the chair. What worried him was the probability that he would be given some kind of search when they picked him up. He argued with himself that he had lost their original bloodhound only for a few minutes. He was sure that they also had the hotel staked out, and that they knew he hadn't had time for any lengthy conversations.
He'd checked the suite, and knew that it had been searched thoroughly during the family's absence. He knew that it hadn't been the Surete, because his.38 DA Special was missing from his luggage. It had been registered upon entering the country, and would not have been confiscated. So presumably Gerault and company wouldn't expect him to be armed. They knew how much cash he had on him – he seldom carried a lot of cash – and the American Express money orders had been in the hotel suite, so they should know he couldn't have purchased a pistol in the short time he'd had after evading their "tail" up to the moment he arrived at the hotel.
Still, they might want to be certain he hadn't acquired a knife or something. Yes, he had to expect that he would be frisked again. He gambled that it would happen after he'd entered the car. He'd try to slip it into the seat while they went over him, then get it back before they arrived at the farmhouse.
He ordered shrimp and a green salad, and Maurice brought a fine bowl of bouillabaisse to start him off. It was the best version of the famous fish soup which he'd had since his army days here. He mentally saluted Gerault's taste in restaurants, as he enjoyed the rest of his meal. He promised to bring the family here after he'd gotten them out of this mess.
He ate slowly, and after he'd tipped Maurice and paid the cashier, he returned and gave the waiter one of the prized coupons. The man's face flowed as he thanked Fleming profusely, begging him to return.
At the bank, Monsieur Guiyesse took Fleming through the wooden gate into the plush office area reserved for VIP's. Guiyesse was a thin, tall man with graying black hair – a typical Man of Distinction. He presented the draft for Fleming to sign, took it to one of the clerks, and returned to sit with his patron until the cash was ready.
Fleming slipped the papers from his inside jacket pocket, and handed them to Guiyesse.
"Wait until after I leave here, then find some way to get these to the Surete without being followed. It shows exactly where and how to apprehend the kidnappers who are holding me and my family."
Guiyesse's eyes narrowed as he accepted the papers, then he put them in the top drawer of his desk.
"I could telephone them and have them send a man over here to get them," he suggested.
"No!" Fleming insisted. "They may have someone watching the bank who might know the man they send. Better if you phone them and have them pick them up somewhere else after you drop them off in a safe place. We can't take any chances. The leader of this gang is very vindictive, and a sadist. He would enjoy the excuse to torture us more than he has already." Guiyesse nodded understandingly.
The clerk arrived with the money, and Guiyesse counted it out into the attache case Fleming had brought with him from the hotel. The moment the case was latched, the American stood up, shook hands with the banker, and thanked him.
"We'll be very grateful for your help in delivering those papers, Monsieur Guiyesse," Fleming said.
"Please call me Henri," said the banker. "I am happy to be of service."
The taxi which pulled up as Fleming came out of the bank could very likely be a plant, he knew. But it didn't matter. All that counted was that he would appear to be following orders. If he conducted himself properly from here on, and came back with the money, they would have little to say about the few minutes during which he'd shaken off his first tracker. After all, he had made it look very innocent and accidental.
When he was again in the hotel, he talked to the desk clerk.
"Do you have a paper cutter in your office that I could use in my room for a while?" he asked. "You mean scissors?" queried the clerk.
"No. A cutter for working with a small stack of paper. Something to cut several thicknesses at once."
"Ah, yes. I believe there is one in the manager's office. I'll send up a boy with it."
"No. I'll take it with me, now. And wrap it before you bring it out of the office. This is a very private matter, and I wouldn't want any of the other members of your staff to know about it."
The clerk looked at him curiously, then disappeared into the manager's office. In a few minutes he came out with a newspaper-wrapped bundle. Fleming thanked him, then went up to his suite, where he phoned down, requesting that all the newspapers available be sent up to him. Today's and for the previous two days, including the American editions.
The stack which a bellboy brought up later was much larger than Fleming had expected, and more than he required. He busied himself cutting packs of newsprint into the exact size of the banknotes.
Then he opened the attache case and laboriously duplicated the packets of money. He placed a genuine banknote on top and bottom of each phony pack. When he'd completed the project, anyone looking inside the case would believe it to contain exactly what it looked like: a hell of a lot of money.
He took the loose bills which had piled up on the bed, and put them into one of the travel cases which were a part of his wife's luggage, then shoved it under the bed.
He took the remnants and scraps of newspaper into the bathroom and tore the larger pieces until they could be flushed down the big drain. After he'd erased all the evidence of his trickery, he rewrapped the paper cutters went back down to the desk, and returned it to the clerk, who carried it back into the office.
Fleming then went into the boutique in the lobby and pretended to browse for a while, after which he went back up to his room.
He was thinking about the timing of the events to come, as he undressed and got into bed. If he could get to sleep this early, he'd be up very early, refreshed, and able to think fast when the time came. What bothered him was whether the Surete would do as he asked, and wait until he'd been taken back to the farmhouse before closing in. He wanted to be there with the family, in case of anything unforeseen.
He dreaded the first moments following his return. If Gerault looked at the money packets closely, there would be trouble. But he hoped that he could convince the Frenchman that he wasn't trying to be cheap and greedy. He just wanted the payoff to be on his own terms.
If Gerault would let the others go back to the hotel suite, then phone him, Fleming would remain at the farmhouse under captivity as hostage, and when he was convinced that Ann and the kids were safe and could not be recaptured, then he would tell Gerault where to get the money. He planned to wait until Ann phoned him from the hotel suite, make sure from her that they were safe, then have her get the money from the suitcase under the bed, and have a bellhop or other messenger deliver it to wherever Gerault wanted it.
He tossed for quite a while, and was just getting drowsy enough to sleep when his phone rang. It was Gerault's voice that greeted him.
"The schedule has changed. Bring the money down and get into the taxi which is waiting for you in front of your hotel."
"But, I'm in bed! It will take me a while to get dressed."
"You have five minutes. Hurry!" There was a click as the Frenchman hung up. Fleming started to worry. Things were bad, this way. The Surete would not come to the rescue until late in the morning! He'd better be able to convince Gerault about the phony money!
When he came out of the hotel, a taxi pulled up from the rank and opened its door. He got in; the driver pulled out into traffic without asking the destination, so Fleming sat there quietly, expecting to be driven to the garage where he'd been dropped.
But within ten or twelve blocks, the cab parked at the curb. The Citroen limousine pulled up beside it, and Gerault got out and paid the taxi driver. Fleming was hustled into the car, and they drove off. Yvette was again driving, and the sadist was seated beside the American, who wondered why he wasn't being blindfolded.
When they were well on the road to Salon, he turned and looked at Gerault, noting the tight corners of the Frenchman's mouth, and the way his eyes were narrowly slitted, even though very little light entered the darkly tinted windows. "No blindfold?" Fleming finally asked.
"Of what use would it be to a man who can map the route we take and diagram the house to which we go?" The Frenchman's voice was hard and sharp, and it made a warning bell ring in Fleming's mind. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.
"You heard me quite well, Monsieur Fleming. Let us not play any more games with each other. You have tried to enlist the aid of the Surete, and you have failed. You have attempted to double cross me and you have failed. Let us see if you have the money." He pulled the attache case onto his lap and opened it, then stared down at the packets for a moment before he closed the case.
"At least in this you have not failed. It is the only thing which has saved you and your family from a number of unpleasant experiences. Now, scoot forward in your seat, while I see if you have brought with you anything we do not want you to have in your possession."
Fleming put his hands behind him as if to push himself forward. He pulled the Beretta from his pocket, and almost decided to use it there and then. But Gerault's silenced gun was aimed at him. He tucked the Beretta behind the seat cushion and scooted forward. The Frenchman used his free hand to feel and pat around for a few moments, then he leaned back and kept the gun aimed at Fleming.
"Pull out your pockets, one by one, while I see what you have." Fleming obeyed, and when he had exhibited the contents of every one of his pockets, including the lining itself, the Frenchman lowered the pistol slightly. "Bien. Sit back in your seat and relax."
They drove on, and Fleming studied the countryside, remembering the times he had driven through it in a jeep or truck. He wished that his reflexes were as fast now as they had been in those days. And that he had been sharp enough to guess that Gerault might have recruited someone at the bank, for it had to be that which had tipped him off. Whoever it was undoubtedly had followed Guiyesse and grabbed the papers before the Surete picked them up. It was a hell of a note!
His only hope now was that Guiyesse might have studied them before he dropped them off. And that the Surete, having missed the pickup, would check back with the banker and get enough information to find the place.
When they pulled up in front of the farmhouse, Gerault forced him out of the car before he could manage to get the Beretta back into his pocket. He barely had time to shove it down far enough behind the cushion to hide it from the Frenchman, who stayed inside until Fleming was clear of the car.
The hidden gun had been his last hope to turn the tables by himself. If the Surete didn't come through, the Flemings could be tortured to death!
Damn! Damn! Why the hell did I fool with that phony money? I only wanted to get Tommy and the girls out of there before the shooting started between Gerault and the Surete. Now, it looks like I've killed us all!
All the way down to the cellar, Fleming was sweating cold drops which beaded on his brow and upper lip. It would be only a matter of time before the newsprint "banknotes" would be discovered.
When the family was again alone in their dungeon, he confessed to the faulty planning and warned them of what might happen. He couldn't let them have any false hopes, and he was so disgusted with himself for having come a cropper, that he wanted them to hate him for it as he was hating himself. "Exactly where is the gun, Dad?" asked Tommy.
"What difference?" Fleming countered. "We can't reach it from here!"
"Mother gave me a hairpin they missed when they frisked us. I've been practicing, and I can open every one of my cuffs excepting the one on my right wrist. I lock them all up again, each time, just so I won't get caught at it before I'm completely loose."
"I'll be damned!" said Fleming. "Listen. Keep working on that stubborn one until you get it. If we can get one of us loose, and he can get out of here, we'll have it made."
"I know! I know! It's just that I can't seem to do as well when I'm working with my left hand. But I'll keep after it, all right!"
"Okay. Well, you all should know, anyway. Just in case. The gun is exactly like the 7.65 Beretta I have at home. You've all had training in how to use it. It's tucked between the seat and seat-back of the car out front – the rear seat, of course. There's a round in the chamber, and the safety's on. If any one of us manages to get to it, remember this: besides the round in the chamber, there are only four others in the clip. So make your shots count if you have to use it on these bastards."
"I'd hate to think of Le Boeuf getting hurt or killed, Daddy," Darla interjected.
"What are you talking about?" said Fleming. He was shocked to hear her defend the Moroccan. "Isn't he the sonovabitch that raped you first?"
"Yes, Daddy, but he was acting under orders. Gerault has something on him, and if he doesn't cooperate, Gerault will turn him in. He's really the only one of the bunch who has any compassion at all. And he's really a lot more intelligent and humane than you might guess from the way he acts."
"Darla, honey, you're inclined to romanticize a little too easily, you know. But even if you're one-hundred percent correct in your opinion of the Moroccan, we can't take chances. All of our lives es depend on getting the upper hand with these people."
"Yes, Daddy, but he's promised to help us all he can. He doesn't dare do anything that Gerault might discover and use as an excuse to turn him over to the police. But in any other way, I really believe that he'll honestly try to help us. He just can't refuse a direct order from Gerault if he's likely to be found out."
"What if Gerault orders him to kill us?"
"Oh, Daddy! You don't think they'll go that far, do you?"
"Honey, we are very likely to be skating right now on thinner ice than ever before in our lives – and I hope we can get lucky enough to get out of it somehow!"
"Well, the worst thing that Gerault can be holding over his head is murder – right? He wouldn't commit one murder just to keep from being turned in for another, would he?"
"Of course, he would! He'd have to! Whatever Gerault has on him – even murder – is unknown to the authorities at present. If he had to kill us on Gerault's orders, that could be presumed to be without the knowledge of the authorities, too. What he really has to fear is Gerault's telling on him. And that will happen, supposedly, the moment he refuses to do anything Gerault orders including our mass murders!"
"I think he'd kill Gerault, first!" said Darla. "I really do!"
"Well, honey, we can't take chances. The only thing we can do is plan to overcome them, no matter how we do it. If Le Boeuf goes along with our takeover – if we are lucky enough to make it – then he'll be spared. But if he resists us, we'll have to fight him in any way we can. It's survival, honey. Surely you can see that."
"I guess so," said Darla, feeling strangely sad about this discussion which might lead to the kindly Moroccan's death.
They ceased any further discussion as the stairway door opened. Gerault descended slowly, and as he entered the circle of light provided by the naked bulb in the center of the arena, they saw the black look he wore on his face. "It seems that we have need of the services of Madame Fleming," he announced. He moved to where Ann was chained, and unlocked her shackles. He led her up the stairs as the others looked at each other and then followed the departing pair with anxious eyes.
Ann was taken to the living room, where the sofa bed was opened and ready for occupants. She looked at it, then studied the dark face of Gerault.
"Your husband has seen fit to play a dangerous game," he said. "I have examined the ransom he brought from Marseilles, and it seems to be somewhat less than the agreed amount." He was looking at her with mocking eyes, and the arch of his brows made her think of the prototype of all the Mephistopheles characters she had seen or imagined in the role.
"We shall now begin a very interesting series of adventures. You are honored to be the first member of your family to inaugurate this series. Take off your clothes and get on the bed!"
Ann slowly removed her clothes, wondering what was going to happen to her, now. When she had removed all but her bra and panties, she hesitated, wondering again what she was in for. Gerault stepped toward her, and tore the brassiere from her, making the straps cut her shoulders and arms, cruelly.
Then his hands were under the band of her panties, and he gave the elastic a mighty jerk downward, pulling them from the area of her blonde-feathered genitals, and off her thighs. Another jerk, and he had them down past her calves, at her ankles. She stepped out of them, and her eyes were wide as he moved her rudely back onto the bed. Then he was spreading her legs, and his mouth found her opening blossom of flesh, as it split asunder.
He's eating me. I hope it ends these! What can he have planned? Oh! He certainly knows how to get at the heart of a cunt! He's licking and slurping at my little erection as though he's going to devour it! Oh-h-h! That tongue! It's pushing right into my hot pussy! What's he doing, now? Oh-h-h-h! He's biting at my cant lips with his teeth! Oh-h-h! It hurts so good! This is torture, all right, but I think I can stand it, of I can just hold on!
Then she felt the lips and tongue depart, and her hungry flesh lay there, exposed and throbbing with her need. Suddenly she felt the entrance of a hard intruder, as Gerault's rigid member penetrated her passage.
He's fucking me, now. I can stand that. Le Boeuf gave me one of Darla's pills this morning, and I can take whatever he dishes out. In fact, I think it feels good!
Then the meaty invader was pounding at her, and she felt the slap of his hairy bag on her buttocks and anus as he plunged repeatedly into her depths. She began to groan as the frictional contact of his loins rubbed her sensitivities excitedly. Then he was moving faster, and she felt his mouth on her breast. He sucked and nibbled at the delicate bud which formed excitedly under his teasing mouth. She felt herself going, and the thrilling plunge into oblivion was an ecstatic pleasure, until he started to bite her. As she felt the shuddering tremors start to spread from the center of her being, his teeth clamped down on her tender nipple, and she felt pain such as she'd never known before.
Then he was grabbing her buttocks with his pinching hands, clawing his nails into her soft flesh until she wanted to die from the agony. Her scream started deep in her throat, and rolled out loudly onto the afternoon air.
He reached up with one hand and grabbed her by the throat, cutting off her sounds at the source. But the teeth didn't let up. They bit deeply into the sensitive flesh of the spongy nipple, and the shock traveled through her like an electric current.
Then he was speeding up his movements still more, and she felt the beginnings of his pulsing end.
He's coming in me, and I hurt so much that I can't come with him! God! He's a beast! I'm hanging high and dry, and I'm about to lose out while he fills my helpless cunt with his hot old cream. He's a bastard – worse than I imagined! And I thought Frenchmen were great lovers. Oh-h-h! Fuck me some more, and stop that biting!
But she was out of luck. Gerault was only out to relieve his animal lusts, and to make her miserable. She was furnishing the first payment on what he felt Fleming owed him for the double-cross!
Then Gerault was grabbing her buttocks tightly, pulling her to him, as he pumped his heated fluid into her in spasms. The flow was filling her, and she realized it, but she was dying for a release of her own. Then he rolled off her, and she felt the wet trail his member left across her thighs.
She looked up as his weight was lifted from her, and he got to his feet, and disappeared from her sight. She could see in the wall-mirror the results of his attack. Her left breast was streaked with blood, and the nipple was still bleeding slightly. The streak of white, stringy semen that trailed across her thigh from the pinkly wet slit of her opening was also visible.
She reached down and wiped it off, then smeared it onto the bed-linen in a far corner remote from her head. As she looked up to see what was going on, the gigantic figure of Le Boeuf filled her field of… vision.
He was stripped for action, and the hugeness of his member was all she could see. It was stretched to full length and seemed to be throbbing and pulsing as it stood there, extended from the blackness of his loins. Its own darkness seemed to threaten her, and yet she felt no real fear. It seemed large, but her hungry passage was unfulfilled, and anything that would fill her needs would gratify her, now.
Then heavy, large hands were grasping her buttocks, and she was rolled over onto her belly. The same large hands pulled at her soft skin, around the stomach area, and her butt rose in the air, until she felt the firm cheeks spread by searching fingers.
She turned her head, and looked into the wall-mirror. She could see the giant Moroccan poised over her, and his hands separating the cheeks of her ass. Then one of his handy disappeared under her, and she felt the fingers probing at her flowing crotch.
He's dipping his hand into my cunt, but only for the juice, she thought. What's he doing? Then she felt the wetness on the tight circle of her virgin anus. My God! Even Chuck hasn't fucked me there! My ass is too tight! That horrendous cock of his will split me in half!
Then she felt the head of his weapon press at the tight ring of her anus. Its heat and hardness seemed to tolerate no resistance. She felt her burning tissues part as the stiff invader pressed at the tender ring of flesh. A monstrously swelling sensation began to spread through her as his bulk slowly forced its way past the tight, puckered exit he was using as an entrance.
The aching pain of it was unbelievable. The force of the huge, meaty invader violated her with steady, brutal pressure. She was being spread open where she had never before been touched.
"Stop! Please stop! I can't stretch there like this! Fuck me right! You're killing me! Oh-h-h!" She was gasping with the agony of her fullness. Then she started to pass out. As her muscles automatically relaxed, the pain lessened, and she started to come to before completely losing consciousness. This made her tighten up her muscles, again, and the pain increased.
Oh! I've got to relax. It helps to relax, but I can't! Oh, God! There's no use begging. They're going to hurt us as much as they can! Ooh-h-h! He's fingering me. That helps. The way he's digging around in my sloppy cunt, helps take my mind off the pain. Oh! Not enough, thought. God! That hurts! He's pumping at me, now. It burns so! His finger's in my cant so deep, too. Oh! It's like being fucked with two pricks at once! If he wasn't so big it might feel good. Oh, if he only weren't so God awful big! Le Boeuf was thrusting at her hard, and she could feel the wet slap of his giant sac against her parted cheeks as he banged against her. It felt as if he must have torn up everything inside her. Then his arm, which was around her lower belly, shifted as he changed the position of his hand. In addition to the long finger which was sunk deep into her passage, another finger or thumb now was splashing in the soup of her flowing flesh to massage her throbbing bud. It felt so good that she started to move her hips. She was on her knees, and as she reacted to his stimulating fingers, the movement also gave added impetus to his unorthodox penetration.
Suddenly his size within her seemed to increase. It swelled and pulsed deep in her bowels.
He's coming in my ass. That hot cream is gooding my guts. It's like being fucked by a stud horse! Oh-h-h! I'm coming, too!
Then a red, shimmering curtain closed her off from the outside world as the big, black organ pumped its load into her body. Her flesh seemed to separate from her mind, melting into blobs of wet, hot, red meat that gleamed fluorescently in the blackness of space.
In a series of colorful explosions, she lost consciousness.