Sun of the Sleepless (41 page)

Rapunzel

Gertrude sat back into the voluminous pillows propped up against the headboard of the large French sleigh bed in her spacious attic room and tried to reconcile recent events with her current circumstances. She had to admit that the impish man had not lied when he had said that she would be comfortable; the bed linen was of the highest quality and laundered to a crisp perfection, the carpet was possessed of a luxurious deep pile and all of the furniture in her room exuded antique but very well cared for quality.

Looking around, she guessed that the floor space was greater than whole of her one-bedroomed apartment back in The Netherlands and the seating area in front of a large double-glazed set of doors was certainly better appointed than her own living room with a sumptuously upholstered sofa and chair set. She even had a flat screen television secreted in a discrete cabinet which was connected to a surround sound speaker system and a media centre which gave her access to a comprehensive range of music and entertainment. All in all, if this had of been a hotel room then she would have considered herself very happy indeed!

Of course, the illusion was shattered by the fact that along with the sliding doors that she supposed led to a balcony, all of the windows had their heavy wooden shutters closed up and securely padlocked. Even more significant was the fact that the main oak door to her room was locked from the outside and to cap it all, every telephone socket in the room was devoid of an attendant receiver except for a single handset that had no keypad on the face of it. She had picked up the phone and a voice had answered immediately, requesting whether she needed anything but she had simply slammed the handset back down. Regardless of the comfort offered by the room she was incarcerated within, there was no doubt that she was a prisoner.

She looked at the remnants of the breakfast that had been delivered to her. It had been brought in when she had been in the shower and placed on the coffee table in the lounge area, a continental breakfast with a range of pastries, cheeses, hams, and preserves. There was even a large flask of coffee although her room also boasted its own percolator.

Thinking through what she guessed had been the last twenty-four hours; from the fight in her apartment to her arrival here at the place she was now imprisoned, she could only wonder where she was actually located although she had her suspicions. The van she had been tied up in had travelled quite a distance and she knew that the last thing she remembered properly was being at home on Saturday morning. Even by road, in a single day they could have travelled from The Hague to any number of countries within Europe; Denmark, Germany, Belgium, France, perhaps even Luxembourg. For all she knew, she was still back home in The Netherlands.

Recalling events, as they had neared their destination last evening the man in the van with her had placed a velvet bag over her head and she was effectively rendered completely blind, however, even above the din of the engine and beyond the muffled quality of the sound inside the bag, she had heard an emergency services siren in the distance that she was sure was used in Germany. It was not definite, of course, but it was something to hold on to, something to give her a sense of awareness.

She knew that the van had travelled through a small town or village; she had felt herself swaying around as the vehicle turned corners although she had made no attempt to scream or cause a commotion. She did not want the gag back in her mouth just for the sake of creating some noise that nobody was likely to hear anyway.

After a while, the van had stopped, the tie about her ankles had been cut and she found herself bundled out of the rear doors to be marched across a gravel space, the stones scrunching beneath the slippers that had been placed onto her feet. The man who had sat next to her for the whole journey had tried to comfort her and let her know what obstacles were coming up, but she was essentially manhandled and guided the whole way. He had led her inside a building into a large hallway with a stone or tiled floor, the sounds of his footsteps echoing about the room in contrast to her shuffling, before stepping into what was obviously a lift and climbing to a higher floor, the storey of which she just could not ascertain although it was probably only two or three flights.

Marched along a corridor, she had eventually been deposited into the room in which she now sat. The tie about her wrist had been snicked off and the bag over her head removed before she was left alone to contemplate her new situation. As the door had edged shut, the last thing she had seen was a mischievous smile and quick wink from the little man before hearing the door lock clunk ominously.

She had investigated her surroundings immediately, looking for a possible escape route, but, since the room looked to have been built in the attic space, she guessed that the only real direct exit was through the main door - she really did not fancy climbing down a drain-pipe to ground level.

She had considered breaking the glass of the windows and trying to shout or signal for help, but she quickly dismissed the idea. The tight-fitting shutters across the windows would have prevented anyone from seeing her, besides, since she had just been marched across a forecourt area with a black bag over her head she figured that the building was probably remote and secure enough to prevent any outsiders from noticing something suspicious.

After dismissing any immediate ideas of escape, she had noticed a large dining tray which had been placed on the coffee table in the seating area next to the bed. Lifting the big domed metal cover of a wide dish, a meal of cold chicken, potatoes and salad had been revealed and another covered dish had contained a dessert pudding. There had even been a flask of hot soup and a flask of coffee and although she had not eaten all day and the food presented a tempting meal, she could not ignore her suspicions that the food was drugged.

After another half hour of hunger gnawing at her belly, she had sat down and eaten well enough although inwardly cursing each morsel of food as a reminder of the fact that she was being held against her will, so much so that in spite of her having spent a large part of Saturday in a drug induced state of unconsciousness, the stress of the situation had become too much for her and she had eventually curled up fully clothed on the big bed and slowly drifted off to a disturbed night of sleep after wiping away a few tears that had dripped from her eyes.

Waking up late on Sunday morning, she had decided to use the bathroom facilities and take a shower, ignoring the paranoia that told her that hidden cameras were spying on her and watching her every move. Wrapped in a fluffy white robe and with a towel about her head, she had come out of the bathroom and immediately spotted that a breakfast had been delivered and the remnants of last night's meal removed during her absence. Sullenly making herself comfortable on the sofa, she had pecked at the croissants and meats, once again trying not to enjoy the food, judging that to do so would constitute some form of self-betrayal. Now, having returned to the bed and nestled into the pillows, she waited for her next visitation, wondering what she could say and what she should do when the little man came back to retrieve the breakfast tray.

Gertrude had managed to endure half an hour of waiting, poised to enter into a tirade of questions and argument, before deciding that nobody would be coming to collect the tray any time soon. With a distinct air of extreme irritation, she went to the bathroom and pick up her old clothes, slipping her underwear back on and dressing in her black and red striped jumper and jeans before returning to the lounge area with her damp hair now left to dry in the warmth of the room.

Her fear had subsided somewhat and her prevalent emotion was now one of anger. She also felt incredibly bored and needed to occupy her mind but then, an idea suddenly came to her. Since escape was not really an option just yet, she decided to switch on the television to try to find a local news station that would indicate where she was. Excitedly flicking through the channels, all she found was a blue screen indicating a lack of signal. She was out of luck; her jailers had pre-empted the possibility of using the television to fix her location and had disconnected all of the channels, leaving her only with the option of watching one of the numerous films stored on the media centre.

Gertrude forcefully jabbed the power button on the front of the TV and then threw the remote control at the bed in frustration, hitting the wall above it and causing a spray of plastic parts as it came apart and fell onto the pillows in pieces. She really was trapped in a gilded cage.

Frans Sprenger wheeled the small trolley along the corridor that led to Gertrude Verker's room and nodded at the guard placed just outside of the door. He grinned widely.

'How is our young friend?'

The guard turned to a flat-screen monitor next to him and harrumphed.

'She is quiet now, sitting on the sofa but she threw the television remote control at the wall a while ago. I think that she may be bored.'

'I don't blame her,' said Frans pursing his lips and knocking softly on the door, 'stuck in there with nothing to do. That is why I have brought her some entertainment!'

He grinned again and pointed to the bottom tier of the trolley.

The guard rolled his eyes and then stood up to unlock the door, swinging it open to let Frans pass.

At the sound of the light rap on the door, Gertrude looked up from the fashion magazine that she had been skimming through; she had discovered it at the bottom of the television cabinet and it was up to date but clearly purchased in The Netherlands and so gave her no further clue as to her whereabouts. The door swung open and the man from the van wandered in, whistling a jaunty tune and pushing a small trolley before him.

'Good day to you Miss Verker. I hope that you slept well and enjoyed your breakfast?'

Gertrude flipped the magazine closed and lobbed it onto the sofa next to her.

'Where am I? What is this place? Who are you?'

Frans smiled.

'I cannot tell you where you are, but I will say that you are in a very secure location, kind of like a castle; a traditional sort of place to be imprisoned, eh?' He chortled at his own attempt to lighten the mood.

Gertrude scowled.

'A castle? Just like in a fairy tale? Then you must be the ogre keeping me captive?' she sneered sarcastically. 'No, you are too small to be an ogre; you must be an evil dwarf or goblin. Is your name Rumpelstiltskin?'

Frans laughed impishly in spite of the baleful glare that she fixed him with.

'I have been called many things in my time Miss Verker but that is probably one of the least offensive! I must watch out just in case a valiant Prince comes to rescue you.'

Gertrude fumed at the dismissive response.

'Except that this isn't a fairy tale,' she snarled, 'and I am not the fair maiden locked up by the evil dwarf. I am just an innocent woman caught up in your criminal activities. It won't be Prince Charming that breaks down the door but the police and you will be arrested and go to prison for a long time for kidnapping me!'

'Kidnap?' Frans was taken aback. 'That would imply that we are asking for a ransom. No such demand has been made.'

She stopped for a moment, suddenly considering that she had been abducted to be forced into a prostitution ring or something worse.

'What do you want from me? There is no way I will be drugged up and used as a sex slave!'

Frans looked aghast.

'What? No, nothing like that will happen to you! You have entirely the wrong idea.'

'Then what can you want me for? Just let me go, take me back to The Hague and drop me off anywhere. I cannot tell the police anything, I don't even know where I am. Is this to do with the book? I cannot get it back for you, it is too late, the Americans have it now, they came to my flat and took it away. You must believe me? Why keep me here?'

Frans nodded slowly.

'Why keep you here? Well, for one thing, you know what I look like, but that is not the reason. I could produce ten witnesses that would swear I was in a different place for the entire time, maybe even in a different country; I could even produce the documentation that proved it. As for the book, you need not worry about that any more; you're not here because we want it back.'

He tried to adopt a conciliatory tone to placate her.

'Look, I have said before, we just need to keep you here for a week or so and then you will be freed. No harm will come to you I promise. You will be well fed and cared for, we will even get any special food in that you would like. We want you to be comfortable, although I realise that it is not the best of circumstances.'

Frans looked around the room and saw the broken pieces of the television remote control. He stiffened slightly and an angry frown appeared upon his face, he spoke sternly.

'You must not do that sort of thing though, there will be consequences -'

Gertrude paused for a moment before jutting her jaw out in defiance.

'- and what will you do?'

He suddenly grinned widely and pointed at her, dispensing with the faux anger that he had adopted.

'Not me! It is you that will have to get up off the sofa to switch the television on and off!'

Snickering mischievously, he then smiled again but Gertrude just shook her head incredulously.