A Darker Shade Of Pale

[Keeper]

Chrissie Simmons walked quickly up the long path towards the colonial style mansion with its white washed walls and thick columns flanking the large glossy black doors.
She hated this house. Yes, the structure itself was pleasing enough, and the manicured gardens were the envy of the neighbourhood and everything she could have dreamed of, had the circumstances been different.
What she hated was what this house stood for, and who it belonged to.
Boris Karkarov was a man who brought misery to her life. Him, and her weak willed, naïve father.
Karkarov had persuaded her father to go for a business proposition that turned out to be highly illegal. The deal went south, her father got caught and her father’s business was brought to the verge of collapse.
Boris Karkarov had saved him, hiding evidence and keeping her father from going to prison by providing some of the best corporate criminal lawyers money could buy.
He also acquired her father’s company, ‘Zenith’ and all of its lucrative contracts, building it up to one of the United States’ most successful companies.
And as part of the deal, Chrissie’s father wound up with next to nothing and Chrissie had to work for the man who had brought down her family. It was the price she had to pay for keeping her father from prison.

[Keeper]

The sleek black high performance motorcycle sped through the downtown Chicago streets, picking through the traffic like a bat out of hell. It looked like something off of a concept artist’s drawing board, and had caused the local Infinity station chief to break out into a cold sweat, something the rider had merely stared blankly at.

The bike turned south, ignoring the curses from the drivers it cut up.

Once out in the suburbs it came to the gates of a huge house.
The gates opened before the motorcycle and the rider guided the machine up the long drive.
The concerned district security personnel who had been tracking the unusual visitor to their exclusive neighbourhood breathed a collective sigh as the gate swung sedately closed behind Mr Karkarov’s guest.

[Keeper]

On the journey home Karkarov spoke with the two men Mavin had assigned to replace Barker.
They had already shown that they were very thorough, always one I front, one behind, not letting him expose himself until they had checked that all was clear.
Disappointingly, these men were not from Infinity, that would have made things easier, or could have proven useful, at least. They were serious about their profession though, even though Karkarove knew that he had nothing to fear. He knew exactly who was plotting these attacks and when the next one was scheduled.

Progress was slow through the mid-afternoon traffic and Karkarov was getting agitated. God only knew what this damned investigator was looking into, and what he might be uncovering that could prove detrimental to Karkarov’s future plans.

He needed Infinity on his side right now.

[Keeper]

The rider dismounted and stood beside the motorcycle surveying the huge building. He noticed the cameras dotted around the grounds, recording all that happened within.
Alongside the mansion was a garage gig enough to house at least four large vehicles and room enough outside for many more.
The man noticed the blackened smear up the walls from the exploding Ferrari, though the chippings had already been renewed in the parking bays.
Tall, with jet black hair and of an athletic build, his complexion was darker than would be considered the norm for his native Finland, though he attributed that to his Israeli mother.
He wore a black tailored coat that bore a slight oriental cut to it, and reached to the floor. Under that only a pair of black pressed trousers and patent black shoes were visible.
As he finished his observations of the building and its grounds, he turned slowly to the black doors, and peered over the top of his dark glasses.

[Keeper]

Jeremy Stephens ran his finger along the top of the sitting room door architrave and looked at the digit for signs of dirt. He was a little disappointed to find none.
“Very well, Miss Simmons,” he said to the housemaid who waited patiently by the other doorway through to the lounge. “You may proceed to the kennels and clean the dog’s beds. I must see the chef and discuss this evening’s meals.” He was pleased to see the look of disappointment on the woman’s face.
Chrissie Simmons really disliked the dogs kennels above all other places in the god-forsaken mansion. Well, except for that place, she thought shuddering as she did so.
‘That place’ was a room in the south wing that Karkarov liked to keep private. Stephens, the head of household, was the olny member of staff allowed in there, unless directed specifically, and usually unwillingly by Karkarov himself.
Karkarov had taken her in there before, drunk and angry with someone. He’d dragged Chrissie by the hair and …
She blinked and swallowed hard, forcing the images away and fighting back the bile that rose in her throat.
Bastard! She’d love to get her own back one day. Pity the Russian hadn’t blown up in the sports car instead of Mr Barker.

“Wait,” Stephens said as a thought came to him. The chef was making a curry this evening. The dogs always got a bowl too. Tomorrow’s mess in the kennels would be so much more… fluid!
“Angeline has a hole in her stockings, she can do the kennels as penance. You will do them tomorrow.”
Chrissie nodded. “Yes, Mister Stephens. What would you like me to do now?”

Stephens was about to answer when there came several sharp knocks at the front door.
He frowned, “Who the devil is that?” he huffed as he made his way towards the hallway. No one was scheduled to come today, workmen always came in through the rear entrance, Mr Karkarov would just walk in, and any guests of course would have to be buzzed in at the front gate anyway which would mean he would already know about them.
“Come with me, I’ll find you something to be getting on with once I’ve sorted this out,” he told Chrissie.
Stephens marched down the hallway and pulled the door open.
The figure standing silently before him, hands clasped casually behind his back certainly didn’t look like a workman. His clothes were impeccably clean, his trousers pressed almost to a knife edge (something the housekeeper found strangely reassuring) and his shoes gleamed.
Then Stephens saw the unusual bike and did a double-take.
“Yes?” he asked eventually, snapping the word out.
“I’m here to see Mr……”
“He’s not here, did you have an appointment?” Stephens snapped again, cutting the man off in mid-stream.
Unperturbed, the man continued, “Karkarov’s private office.”
“What?” Stephens was taken aback by the strange demand and before he could say anything more the dark suited man in the long coat was stepping in, pushing Stephens gently aside.

[Keeper]

Caleb Black’s footsteps faltered as he entered the marble enshrouded hallway. The gold-veined white marble lined the floors and walls, blending into the curving stair off to the right, with wrought iron rails and gold finishings. A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling two floors up casting its brilliant light down over the entrance.
But it was not this magnificent splendour that caused the out of character hesitation.
Beyond the fifty-something, salt and pepper haired Mr Stephens was a woman in a maids uniform.

Her face, her hair, her eyes, all so familiar yet at the same time, completely unknown.
He felt as though his heart had stopped and he was unsure why. This was not the first time he had come across her in his cross-world travels, yet it always hit him like a tsunami.

“What in the blue blazes do you think you are doing?” Stephens fumed. “Miss Simmons…”
Another wave crashed against Black’s heart.
“… phone the police!” Stephens finished.

“Get a grip!” Black scolded himself. An enormous tidal barrier formed in his mind against the crashing memories of a love departed.

He knew this mind so well, he could get inside with no resistance, and planted a thought, strong and full conviction: “Disobey!”

Chrissie took a step backwards, away from the two men, nervous and timid.
Not like Nikki, Black realised, and the waters on the other side of the barrier calmed a little.

“The police!” Stephens barked at her, and this time she flinched but remained where she stood.
“Quiet,” Black said in a calm but authoritative voice.
Stephens was taken aback.
His indecision was Black’s moment. The agent reached out with his mind, forcing his way into the butler’s.
Stephens winced as his head began to throb.
“You seem to have a headache. Why don’t you go to your room and lay down for an hour or two?” Black said quietly.
The butler nodded slowly rubbing his forehead.
“I do have a headache,” he announced. “I’m going to lay down.” With that he walked away towards the back of the house.
Chrissie Simmons watched him go with some degree of confusion. She’d never seen Stephens act in such a submissive manner to anyone but Karkarov before.
She looked back at the strange visitor, “I think you’d better come back later,” she said with trepidation.
“I’m sorry Miss Simmons, but I cannot.”
It’s not Nikki, not her, he told himself as he threatened to melt into her eyes.
Even through his dark glasses Chrissie could sense the intense stare and her cheeks reddened.
Black snapped himself out of it. “Sorry,” he said again reaching into a pocket and producing an identity card. “I’m with the Bureaux,” he allowed her time to read the card with the large letters spelling FBI.
“Oh, okay,” Chrissie couldn’t understand why, but she wasn’t convinced. “Shouldn’t you have a warrant or something?”
Black replied, shaking his head, “Not if Mr Karkarov has asked for our help.”
“Oh okay,” Chrissie said again.

[Keeper]

Karkarov’s limousine raced out of the city and up into the hills. As soon as the black car came to a halt outside the big black doors, Karkarov alighted from the vehicle, noticing the strange motorcycle as he stormed past it.
Throwing open the doors he was surprised to find no sign of Stephens. Perhaps he was detaining the investigator.
“Stephens?” he called like a man summoning a naughty dog.
Scowling at the lack of response he moved towards the lounge, assuming that to be the first place Stephens would take an unannounced visitor.
There was no visitor, no Stephens, only Angeline Wottabo, the black maid, cleaning his crystal glasses to an incredible gleam in a bowl of hot soapy water.
She immediately assumed an attention-like stance as he entered.
“Have you seen Stephens?” Karkarov barked without warmth.
“No, sir.”
“Anyone else here? Not staff?”
“I don’t know Mr Karkarov.”
He moved out towards the sitting room and heard cutlery chinking from within the kitchen.
Again, upon noticing Karkarov, the occupants stopped what they were doing and awaited instructions.
“Stephens, where is he?” Karkarov barked once more.
“He had a bad headache, sir, he’s gone to bed,” Chrissie Simmons offered, regretting it the moment the sound left her lips.
“What?” Karkarov had never heard of the like, Stephens was never ill. He turned to leave but remembered the bike.
“Who’s is that motorbike?”
Chrissie genuinely had no idea what Karkarov was talking about but again, against her better judgement offered, “It could belong to the FBI man.”
“FBI!” Karkarov almost choked. “Where is he?”
“In your office, sir.”
“My office? Who let him in there?” Karkarov stood with his hands on his hips, his face a visage of pure anger.
Although Chrissie didn’t want to tell him it was her, she felt compelled to answer, a voice at the back of her mind urging her to tell. “Me,” she said meekly.

Upstairs, in the large plush office, Caleb Black froze as he sensed something he had not expected.

“You stupid bitch!” Karkarov almost screamed and he lunged across the room, grabbing Chrissie by the hair. “Come with me.”
Again Chrissie didn’t want to go, but something in her head told her she should obey, in fat she had to obey. Yelping from the sharp pain from her pulled hair, she stumbled awkwardly behind him.

[Keeper]

Black placed the book he was leafing through back on Karkarov’s desk.
It was Karkarov’s personal diary containing his meetings and appointments. There was an interesting note there about an electrical supplier.
Karkarov’s business was about buying and selling other businesses, so why would he need to meet with this low level manager, Black wondered? And why was it that when Black called the supplier’s number, the man had said, “Hello Mr Karkarov”?
Was there some activity that Karkarov indulged in that Infinity were unaware of? It seemed unlikely. Infinity was usually pretty careful on who they approached, or dealt with.

Black could hear someone coming down the passage towards the office, but he made no attempt to turn to meet them. Instead he pulled open the top drawer of the desk and began looking through the contents.

The door burst open.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” a furious Karkarov asked, his voice quivering and high pitched.
Black was going to continue his search, ignoring the man, but a shrill yelp made him look up.
He saw the woman, the ‘not-Nikki’, her hair clasped in Karkarov’s hand as though it were a lead and he was dragging a dog to heel.
Anger flared within the agent.
“I asked you a question, boy!” Karkarov spat.
“You are Karkarov?” Black asked calmly despite his inner turmoil.
“Mister – Karkarov, yes. You are Miss Wallace’s investigator?”
There was no point in denying it so Black gave a slight nod.
“What gives you the right to go snooping around my personal things?” said the Russian as he made his way to his desk, Chrissie in tow, ingnoring her yelps as he dragged her along and slammed the drawer shut.
“The things here are either private or confidential,” Karkarov explained to the passive, expressionless face Black had adopted.
“You have spoken with Inspector Wallace?” Black asked.
“Yes.”
“And she has informed you of my purpose here?”
“Indeed she has,” Karkarov replied bitterly. “But I do not see how you snooping around my home and private office has bearing on what has happened?”
“Ow!” Chrissie gasped as Karkarov dragged her to his side and she caught her hip on the corner of the desk.
Black looked into her pleading eyes but forced himself to remain dispassionate; this was not Nikki.
With a sigh the Finn moved to the armchair located alongside a packed bookshelf and sat down slowly.
He smiled at the Russian. “If we were to meet for the first time in your office in the city, you would naturally choose to present yourself in the best light, offering me you public persona and not a true representation of you. Am I correct?”
“Not necessarily,” Karkarov said, though his voice contained less anger now.
“You would wish me, knowing who I am and what I am doing to think the worst of you upon our initial encounter?”
Karkarov shifted uncomfortably in his own chair. “No,” he conceded the point.
“That is exactly why I had to come here, while you were absent, so that I could glimpse the private side of your life, without my assessment being clouded by any influences you would otherwise employ, knowingly or not.”
Karkarov still didn’t look happy.
“I have no care what I find, Mr Karkarov, that is not my concern nor my purpose here, however I do need to understand you. From that point I try to understand what could motivate someone, either on a business or personal level to mount these attacks on you.”
Karkarov was silent for a while as he studied the black clad agent.
“On your knees, and stay there,” he instructed as he pushed Chrissie to the floor.
She could only obey.
Behind his dark glasses, Black’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he felt the man’s will enforce itself on the woman.
Interesting, the agent thought silently, let us see where this goes…

Karkarov let go of the maid’s hair and sat comfortably in his own chair. “Very well, Agent…?”
“Black.”
“Indeed! Very well, Agent Black, I understand your motives, however, as I explained to Miss Wallace, I am not overly concerned about these attacks.”
“You could have been killed in one of them, does that not bother you?”
“Of course, but additional measures have been put in place now so that any such occurrences cannot be repeated,” Karkarov said, pausing. “a man such as me is always going to have enemies, Agent Black, it is the nature of my business that not everybody is going to like what I do.”

Black studied the man sitting in the leather chair behind his desk. He had already removed the magazine from the pistol strapped to the underside of the desktop, but Karkarov wasn’t making any meanings to be looking for it. Now he was looking for some indication of the businessman’s intentions. Was he going to play nice, or not?

Karkarov said no more whilst he too studied the man that sounded European, not that any of the Americans over this side of the Atlantic would be able to tell the difference, but he was guessing Scandinavia.
The Russian looked at Chrissie, obediently waiting with her head hanging in shame on her knees and instructed.
Karkarov couldn’t know what the agent had found, and where else he might have gone whilst left alone in the house, and it was this stupid woman’s fault. “Idiot girl,” he cursed in Russian, slapping her hard on the side of her head.
She yelped at the blow and whimpered as she moved herself back into position on her knees.
Black’s knuckles had turned white as he gripped the arms of the chair in anger, a move that didn’t go unnoticed.
“Oh, don’t conern yourself with this one, Agent Black. She is worthless, one who needs to be taught where her boundaries lay. I have ways of teaching these women their boundaries.” Karkarov allowed himself a chuckle.

“So I understand,” Black commented with a nod towards the cabinet which contained Boris’ DVD collection.
Some of that collection was home-made.
Karkarov gritted his teeth, there were things in that cabinet that this agent must not discover. “My personal life has no bearing here. You will leave it alone.”
The Russian’s eyes remained locked with his and Black could feel the command pressing on his mind, urging him to comply.
Obey… Obey… leave his personal life alone… Obey… the instruction went on unrelenting, becoming steadily stronger and Black could feel himself wanting to do as he was told. He fought the desire.
His mind suddenly let the command in and he saw a shift in Karkarov’s position, a relaxing of his shoulders.
The command sat there in his mind, like some pedagogue, forcing its will on him. Then Black’s own mind turned upon the command and crushed it completely.
He could see that Karkarov was unaware of the turn of events. “Very well, Mr Karkarov,” Black said monotone. “You are right, I must stay out of your personal life and stick with business only.
Karkarov smiled. “Leave us, wait in the lounge,” he instructed.
Black crushed the command just as it was getting comfortable, but rose from his chair and walked out the door.
Infinity were unaware of Karkarov’s psychic abilities. This was an interesting development indeed, and as such help distract his thoughts from what might be about to occur within the office.

[Keeper]

Tears poured down Chrissie Simmons’ cheeks as Karkarov dragged her to ‘the room’.
Inside the place was an S & M style dungeon. Karkarov locked the door.
“Take off your clothes,” his voice commanded.
Her eyes were clamped shut so she couldn’t see him. Sobbing, he obeys his insistent words.

She could do no other.

[Keeper]

It was two hours later that Boris Karkarov came into the lounge to meet with Caleb Black.

The Infinity agent, of course had not spent all that time waiting, but had in fact use the time to do some research on the Russian.
He was still waiting for the results of his inquiries.
“I am going to ask you questions,” Karkarov announced, “and you are going to answer them truthfully.”
That was a strong one, Black thought as he once more smashed the command away.
“Yes,” he said anyway, playing along with the overweight Russian.
“You work for Infinity?” Karkarov knew the answer, but like a polygraph operator, he wanted a few test positives.
“Yes,” Black replied. There was no harm in answering some of the Russian’s questions honestly, especially as it was likely the man already knew the answer. Of course, Black considered entering Karkarov’s mind but he wasn’t sure if that would warn him off, make him change his plans. Black was also unsure of the man’s capabilities, and didn’t want to reveal his own hand so early.
“And who is your superior?” Another question Karkarov already knew the answer to.
“Susan Wallace.”
Karkarov nodded appreciatively at the image that formed in his mind’s eye of the young woma dressed in a business skirt suit, her longlegs crossed as she sat in her seat opposite him earlier this morning.
“She is very pretty, yes?”
“Yes,” Black answered honestly, in fact, stunning seemed more fitting to the Infinity agent.
Karkarov’s eyes seemed unfocussed, as though his mind was elsewhere.
“The bastard’s not in my head, is he?” Black wondered silently.
“I hope you weren’t too hard on your housemaid, she was only doing what she thought was right,” he said, hoping to distract the Russian from whatever he was doing.
Focus returned to Karkarov’s expression, and he frowned deeply.