The Sons Of Cleito (The Abductions of Langley Garret Book 1) (3 page)

'You' better buckle up. It's a very short runway.'

I looked up at the square jawed man and nodded as I fastened my seatbelt and then looked out the window again. I felt a little turbulence as I saw the waves below me and heard the noise of the landing gear being lowered. There was still no sign of land, and I thought back to landing so often in Sydney and Singapore, where it often felt as if the plane was going to land on water until a runway magically appeared below as the plane's wheels touched down. I then felt the first thud of landing before I saw the tarmac appear below the plane's wings, then the screaming of its engines as they were thrown into reverse thrust. My fastened seatbelt came into good use as the plane braked hard and pushed me forward. The man opposite me had the better seat as he was facing the rear of the plane, and calmly sniffed as the plane roared to a speedy halt. I looked out from the window to see the tarmac and then a short stretch of sandy grass that suddenly stopped a short distance from the runway and appeared to end at a cliff, then ocean to the horizon.

'An island?' I asked. He only sniffed in reply.

The plane turned slowly and from my window I could tell it had turned to face the direction from where we had landed, presumably in preparation for take off. I waited for the engines to shutdown, but although now seemingly at idle speed, they still hadn't shutdown when the man sitting opposite me spoke.

'It's time to go,' was all he said, as the younger man quickly passed me in the aisle and went to the door of the plane, which was just in front of me on the left. He pulled a lever and the door opened outwards from the plane with the smell of salt air immediately entering the cabin. I saw a set of steps unfurling from inside the door down to the tarmac. As I unfastened my seatbelt and made to stand, the square jawed man sniffed, looked at me and nodded. I gathered that was his way of saying goodbye and I hope you enjoyed the flight. I moved towards the door of the plane and the young man standing near it. He gestured towards the door with his hand that I should disembark.

'What do I do now?' I asked him, as I stood at the open door and looked out and down onto nothing except a small area of dark grey tarmac and then sand in the distance.

'Please Mr Garret,' was his reply, as he again gestured with his hand for me to descend the steps. I bent my head down as I exited the door and then stepped down from the plane and looked around – at nothing and no one. Within seconds I heard the mechanical sound of the steps from the plane starting to retract and then looked up as the door of the plane closed. I stepped back from the plane thinking it was about to take off, finding a rock jutting from the sand at the edge of the tarmac that was at about seat height. There wasn't much else to do other than sit, wait and see what happened.

A sudden thud broke through the sound of the idling engines and then I saw my suitcase on the tarmac, below the tail of the plane. The thought that it was fortunate I owned a Samsonite suitcase that could handle being dropped like that came to my mind as the jet's engines roared and the plane started moving forward. The thrust from the engines hit my suitcase and I watched it spinning on the tarmac as the plane gained a little speed, and then roared away from me. I watched the plane as it lifted from the end of the runway and climbed rapidly, and then banked right, towards wherever it was heading.

My seat on my rock gave me a good view – of sand, a runway and my lonely suitcase. There was a small rocky outcrop just behind me and to my left, and the sunrise was reflecting across the ocean in front of me. I stood up and did the only logical thing I could think of doing. I walked over and collected my suitcase, and then returned with it to my rock. I sat back down and realised I was hungry. Even my very upside down stomach agreed.

Down

I thought about moving from my rock but for some reason I had an inkling that it was where I was supposed to be. My stomach was now sending me hunger messages, but the lower regions of my guts were sending panic and impending doom sensations. Just for once, my brain agreed in totality with my guts that this felt bad. It took more than an hour of waiting but my inkling proved to be correct and waiting on the rock had been a wise choice. Well, wise only in the sense though of being almost scared to death by what came from behind me.

'Sorry to have kept you waiting,' the voice said. That I was concentrating on the sun's reflection on the water in front of me, and not at all expecting someone to have silently snuck up from behind me would have been normally enough to make me jump in fright. But that it was a woman's voice seemed to add to the shock value of the utterance. I spun my head quickly.

'I'm sorry if I startled you,' she said from a short distance behind me.

'Um, yes,' was all I managed to say, as I looked at her in both shock and surprise.

'Would you come with me please?'

'Yes,' I said, as I stood and picked up my suitcase, still in a state of disbelief. The woman standing in front of me was surprising on many counts. Firstly by sneaking up so silently from behind me and scaring me witless, but also by being so different from those people who had made my acquaintance in the last couple of days. She didn't have eyes that could have killed, she didn't sniff her replies and she didn't seem interested in placing me in handcuffs. She was also stunningly beautiful. Blonde hair flowing across her shoulder and down her back, smiling green eyes, young, perhaps in her mid-twenties and standing only a little more than five-foot tall. Wearing an aquamarine jacket and knee length skirt with sensible shoes, she reminded me of someone who worked behind a five star hotel reception desk.

'You must be a little confused,' she said, as I moved forward towards her.

'Totally.'

'Well, this way,' she said, as she offered a half smile and then turned on her heels and started walking off towards the rocky outcrop I had noticed earlier. I skipped a little to catch up with her and followed to wherever it was that we were heading. It was a full five minutes of walking, more like plodding through the soft sand, before she slowed and stood beside a low rock face and waited for me to catch up. I looked at her wondering why we had stopped here but for some reason I wasn't surprised or shocked at what happened next. Part of the rock face moved away in the motion of a sliding door, revealing a pair of surprisingly ordinary looking silvery metallic elevator doors.

'Just like in the movies,' I said, thinking that today really couldn't get any weirder. She half smiled again, pushed the call button and waited, looking at the elevator doors with me looking at her back.

'Can I ask where we're going?'

'Sorry, I'm only responsible for collecting you,' she said, without turning her head and then was probably relieved when the elevator doors opened that she could complete her task without any more questions from me. I followed her into the elevator and stood against the rear, then dropped my suitcase. She pressed a button and stood on the side, staring ahead, seemingly nervous at my proximity. I gathered by this that our conversation had ended. There were no indicator lights for the number of floors above the doors but I could feel that it was quite some way down that we were travelling. The woman moved to face the doors and I presumed we had nearly arrived. When the doors opened, she stepped out and said, 'This way please.'

I stepped out into an area that resembled a cave, although its shape was more square than curved or round. The floor was made of roughly trowelled concrete and the room lit from recesses in the walls. It was bare except for two large blue-green doorways directly opposite the elevator. The woman strode towards the door on the left, opened it and waited for me to enter. When I did, I found myself in a white-washed corridor that stretched ahead and then heard the door close behind me. I waited for the woman, who walked ahead and led me off again, down the length of the corridor until we turned right, and then left into another. I noticed only a few doors dotting the long corridors but after the last turn they were becoming more numerous on both left and right. The woman stopped and checked something from her pocket and presumably verified that this was the door she was looking for. She placed her hand on a small glass panel on the wall adjacent to the door, and it opened.

'Please make yourself comfortable. You will be contacted shortly,' she said, as she stood by the open door and waited for me to enter. When I walked in it was immediately clear that it was my accommodation. I heard the door close behind me and glanced over my shoulder and was not surprised that the woman had not stayed to show me how the television and mini-bar worked. As there were neither that I could see, I suppose there was little point. After dropping my case, I checked my room and would have been pleased if I had been on holiday in Spain. The queen size bed felt comfortable and the bathroom was large and well supplied. A small writing desk and chair plus a small two-seater sofa and light cream walls made it very comfortable. That there were no windows was no surprise, but a tray on the writing table was – breakfast at last. When I removed the cover I found a note atop my neatly napkin wrapped slices of very cold toast.

'Dear Mr Garret,

We fully understand that you must be rather surprised by the events leading to your stay with us. Please make yourself comfortable and rest, as you are certain to be fatigued. You will be contacted once you have recovered from your journey. Please avail yourself of our hospitality in the meantime. You will find all you need in the buffet cabinet located in the wall above your writing desk.'

I was getting used to not knowing anyone's name so was hardly surprised that the note had not been signed, but I was very pleased however when I found a button on the wall above the writing desk and it opened the buffet cabinet that was set almost invisibly into the wall. When the wall opened to the right and left it revealed a fully stocked refrigerator, fresh fruit, as well as cutlery, plates and glasses. On the right though was something that attracted my immediate attention – an automatic coffee machine. I placed a cup under the nozzles and pushed the button for an espresso. It ground into action and started oozing out freshly made coffee with a rich creamy yellow foam on top. I sipped my coffee as I walked over to the door and only tried to open it once. There was no point trying again as there was no doubt I was being held captive, so all I could do was enjoy my coffee, have some breakfast then a shower and get some rest – and wonder what in the name of fucking hell was going on.

It was after my breakfast and while I was taking off my clothes before getting into the shower that I looked down at my right ankle and wondered about the bracelet the young man on the plane had fitted to it. It was almost transparent and thinner in diameter than a pencil. I felt around it looking for a join but couldn't see or feel one. When I put pressure on it with both hands trying to bend it, or perhaps break it, the bracelet changed to a translucent pale green colour before giving my fingers a nasty electrical shock that sent me tumbling onto my backside. Recovering from the zap, I looked down at the now reddish coloured bracelet, which had tightened quite painfully around my ankle. I stayed seated on the cold bathroom floor, half dressed, with my back against the wall and waited for the bracelet to forgive my intrusion, and for the pain to subside. After a few minutes the red colour slowly changed to lilac then light blue as it took its time in releasing the pressure around my ankle. When it finally returned to being transparent again, I understood its message. It was only a mild warning of what it could possibly do to me if I upset it again.

With fake bravado, and drugs, I had somehow managed to stay relatively calm and controlled since the whistling deliveryman began the process of my abduction and journey to hell knows where. As I sat with my bare arse on the cold bathroom floor, absorbing the reality of my situation, my bravado suddenly collapsed and melted into the grout between the blue tiles, leaving me unprotected from the reality that fell from the heavens and hit me hard. I fought for a moment but it was in vain, as tears formed in my eyes and started flowing freely down my cheeks. I was helpless, imprisoned and shit scared.

After my shower there was little to do other than rest, and I didn't surprise myself when I woke feeling very groggy after a long sleep. My watch told me it was probably around three in the afternoon, but I had no way of knowing if it was afternoon at all. About the only thing I was sure of was that I needed coffee. Luckily this was one wish I had that could be fulfilled. The other hundred or so had no chance whatsoever, which included wishing I could call Helen and telling her I hadn't left her but had been abducted and was being held captive somewhere deep below an island, somewhere in the middle of nowhere – and hoping that she was enjoying her champagne. It hit me then that even if I could call her, she probably wouldn't believe the first part of what I wanted to tell her and definitely wouldn't believe the second, but would perhaps accept my wishing her cheers for her first sip of celebratory champagne. I made a coffee and tried to stop myself from wishing.

I looked around my room and wondered if there was anything to read. After searching every door and drawer I could find, in vain, it was clear that reading wasn't being offered as part of my room package. Noting that my writing desk was void of any paper, pens or pencils, writing too was off the menu so it was a very inaptly named writing desk. I could only contemplate, or think about finding something sharp to carve my name into a wall as Lord Byron had done on a pillar in the dungeons of Château de Chillon to commemorate his
'The Prisoner of Chillon'
ode. This was great for Byron, as he hadn't been imprisoned there; he was only visiting to show off. It was François de Bonivard, a Genevois monk and politician, who did all the suffering by actually being imprisoned, yet Byron got all the glory for writing a poem about the suffering of the poor forgotten monk. I doubted anyone was going to write about my imprisonment, and with my lack of anything at all to write with; it certainly wasn't going to be me.