A Darker Shade Of Pale

[Keeper]

Still in his blood-stained clothing, Boris Karkarov jabbed a finger at Paul Mavin.
“I don’t give a damn about protocol,” he ranted, “You get your Miss Wallace here. I have more than just her wayward investigator to worry about know!”
“I am sure Inspector Wallce will meet with you, Mr Karkarov, however she is not on this line. We have to give it time for the message to get through, but I will chase her up again right away,” Mavin added with a placating wave of his hand.
Karkarov watched Mavin leave and sat back in his chair, grinning. He was pleased with the way his plan had worked out.

[Keeper]

Susan Wallace let out a small moan as sweat beaded on her forehead and chest and ran in little streams into her heaving cleavage.
Her heart was pounding and her breath was coming in quick, short gasps.
She was nearing the end and she knew it.
Oh god! She thought, then in a hoarse voice instructed, “Harder.”
“That’s it,” she said, her legs and arms burning with each thrusting movement.
“Harder!” she called again, following each forward lunge of her hips with an animalistic grunt.
“Harder, goddammit!” she almost screamed the words, her hands gripping tighter with the strain, her chest soaked in sweat.
“Oh god yeesssss!” she called out as she saw the red light flashing.
She didn’t stop immediately, but let herself come down from her peak slowly.
After a couple of minutes she let go of the bar in her hands and said, “Normal setting,” putting the rowing machine back to the resistance level she usually started at.
Susan liked to push herself hard as she neared the end of her daily routine.

Her home was on the beach and from her floor to ceiling windows she looked out over the crystal clear waters of the south-western Pacific. Despite working for I-Cops she had insisted on keeping her Australian home as well as her Company New York apartment.

It was a bright day, the rich blue sky devoid of any cloud and she believed there was no substitute for the clear skies, golden sand and rolling surf.

She watched a couple of gulls performing some fantastic aerial gymnastics, squabbling over whatever morsel the lead gull had in its yellow beak.
The rear bird was squawking away, calling in reinforcements perhaps?
More gull were indeed coming into view now, swooping majestically over her roof.
The first gull dropped its cargo but somehow managed to twist in the air, dive, and reclaim it before any of its peers made off with it.

So engrossed in the chase was she that Susan didn’t hear the phone ringing straight away.
She answered it.
“Oh,” said the voice. “I thought you might not be there. I have been trying to get hold of you for some time, Inspector.”
“I was out,” Susan lied, not quite sure why she did.
She listened then as the man on the other end of the line explained about the situation on Calicos.
“Damn!” Wallace cursed aloud. “I’ll come straight in.”

Within an hour she was boarding an Infinity jet that whisked her off to headquarters.

[Keeper]

Susan Wallace stepped from the conveyor and was surprised to find Paul Mavin waiting for her.
“Agent Mavin!” she greeted him with a smile.
“Ma’am,” Mavin said, his face grave. “Thank you for coming. There have been some tragic developments.”
“So I understand. Shall we walk and talk?”
Mavin nodded, stepping in alongside the confident strides of the senior I-Cop.
Mavin then explained that Karkarov was now staying in rented secure accommodation out on the lakeside. A Corporate Security Force had been employed to keep him safe.

[Keeper]

The drive out to the lake-side house was pleasant and swift, and Wallace sat in silence for the whole journey, just watching the scenery roll by.
She made a mental note to visit this area once she was back on homeline.
Susan had expected to find some sort of log cabin affair, albeit on a more grandiose scale, but Karkarov’s lake-side safe-house looked more like something out of a sci-fi movie; a weird amalgamation of glass and steel saucers all joining a central hub.

Mavin led the I-Cop through the ultramodern house to a saucer shaped room that reached out over the lake.
Almost out of place, a log fire crackled away in one of the internal walls and the room itself, although furnished in a modern style had an alpine-lodge feel to it.

Boris Karkarov turned to greet his guest, his face sporting an obviously forced smile.
“Inspector Wallace, thank you for coming at such short notice,” the Russian said offering his hand, which Wallace shook.
“Not at all, Mr Karkarov. After I heard what happened yesterday I felt it important I come and see things for myself.”
Karkarov looked the blond woman over, without being too obvious. Her hair was different today, it cascaded in ringlets down over her shoulders. Her business suit was not styled as severely as it was the last time he saw her, and the knee length skirt had an enticing split up the back.
He looked into her pale blue eyes and said, “Please, have a seat.”

“What have the police discovered so far?” Wallace asked as she lowered herself into a leather armchair.
“Nothing of any use. Apparently the gunman had just started working for one of my subsidiary companies as a security operative. Very good pay I might add.
“Another unlikely suspect,” Wallace mused. “Has Agent Black managed to uncover anything?”
“Ah, well, it’s your Agent Black that has become one of my issues, Inspector.”
Wallace straightened in her chair. “How so? Mavin mentioned a member of your staff may be influencing him?”
“Da,” Karkarov said, pausing to look pensively across the lake. He returned his gaze to Wallace and noticed her intense attention.
Karkarov knew that these infinity types were somehow more resistant to his influence than his own people and Black had proven that to an extreme. But things were not such hard work when the commands were easily accepted, like when the recipient was distracted.
It would have been simple enough to force Wallace to obey with inhibition reducing drugs, but her mind, if it understood what was happening in the slightest would resist and that just meant he had to push his commands harder. It became very tiring.
However. If he could get her to lower her guard, a few subtle commands would open the door for further, more direct instructions.
So he would play along for now, answering her, playing the worried little infinity lap-dog.
Of course, he had an entire squad of men waiting to enforce the issue if need-be.

“Black has done something hideous. I wasn’t to know her presence would set off in such a disgraceful way.”
“Whose presence, Mr Karkarov?”
“Chrissie Simmons, one of my housemaids.”
“Simmons? What has she got to do with this?”
“Apparently she is his wife, or something,” Karkarov shrugged.
Susan Wallace then remembered. Nikki Simmons had been Black’s wife, until she was murdered by an entity that was supposedly some sort of half angel. But Black had come across her facsimile on many worlds, in many variations and not gone off the rails before.
“What is Agent Black supposed to have done?”
Karkarov could already sense the confusion mounting in Wallace’s mind, just a few more shock revelations and the door would be wide open.
“He raped her.” Karkarov had to try hard to stifle his laugh when he saw the abject horror on her face.
She shook her head. “He couldn’t have!” She thought she knew him so well and this definitely didn’t sound like him.
“I wish that were true, inspector, but I have proof.”
Karkarov placed some photographs of Chrissie Simmons’ naked body on the table between them.
The graphic photo’s showed the bruising to Chrissie’s arms, wrists, her throat and cheeks. It also showed bruises around her breasts and between her legs.
Karkarov’s face showed sombre, restrained horror, but inside he was appreciating the work he’d done on Chrissie.

[Keeper]

Susan Wallace couldn’t believe what she was seeing and hearing. Something must have gone seriously wrong if Black had resorted to this… this barbarism.
Rape was the most heinous act a man could commit on a woman, better that he kill her, almost.
But Black?
Surely not.
But the photo’s?
No, she knew him so well. Or did she, really?
“My god!” she breathed, horrified with even the slightest inkling that Black may have been capable of this.
“I know,” Karkarov said softly, “appalling isn’t it?”
Wallace shook her head silently, she so didn’t want this to be right.
Christ, this could have been her. “What am I thinking?” she thought to herself.
“You are sure it was Agent Black?” Wallace asked.
“Definitely. Let me show you.” With that Karkarov went to an adjoining room.
Proof? Wallace’s heart sank.
“Won’t you come in here,” Karkarov said to someone in the other room.
Moments later an exact copy of the woman pictured in Black’s file walked in.

Karkarov saw the look on Susan Wallace’s face and knew it was the right time. Her thoughts would be in turmoil and confusion and his subtle entry would go unnoticed.
“Miss Wallace, this is Chrissie Simmons from my household staff.”
Chrissie smiled pitifully at the woman, just as she’d been instructed to do.
“Would you like to ask Miss Simmons some questions, or leave her to recover peacefully?”
Leave her… leave her… you’ve heard enough… leave her!
Susan Wallace felt uneasy, almost like she’d been on the receiving end of a tele-sales cold call and had been suckered into something she didn’t want. She couldn’t put her finger on what was troubling her though.
“No, I’ll leave her, she’s been through enough,” Wallace surprised herself with that answer, she’d normally try to delve to the bottom of an issue.
“Leave us,” Karkarov instructed Chrissie, who walked out of the room having said nothing.

[Keeper]

The door was ajar now and all Karkarov had to do was step inside.
“Can I get you a coffee or tea?”
“Yes, coffee please, I don’t drink tea,” Susan Wallace answered, needing something to give her time to think.
“But tea is better. You’ll have tea won’t you?”
Have tea… have tea… drink tea…
“I’ll have tea,” Wallace said smiling.
Karkarov picked up a phone and ordered some tea.
When it arrived Susan sipped at it and wrinkled her nose in disgust, wondering why she’d asked for tea.

“Miss Wallace?” Karkarov said solicitously.
“Yes?”
“You’d do as I aksed, wouldn’t you?”
Obey him… do as he says… Obey…
“Yes.” She said it as if he’d asked her nothing more than to confirm the time.
Karkarov smiled.
“You’ll do as I tell you and think there’s nothing wrong at all. You’ll never question what it is I ask of you.”
Obey… obey… obey
“Whatever you want, Mr Karkarov.”

Karkarov had to stifle a laugh. Now for the test.
“You look uncomfortable, why don’t you take your skirt off?”
Susan stood, unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor.
Karkarov laughed aloud this time. “Got you!”

[Keeper]

George Milner looked over to the clock on the wall and said, “It’s two o’clock, Frank. Your turn to check on our carcass.” He was referring to the black and blue form currently hanging by his ankles in the locked room at the back of Mr Karkarov’s house.
Last night their boss had returned to the Room and beaten the captive to within an inch of his life.
This morning he had instructed his bodyguards to remain behind and watch over him. Karkarov wanted his prisoner alive for the moment.

With an annoyed huff Frank Arrow got up and strolled into the adjoining room.
Switching on the light he saw the broken body tied to the frame.
The bruises were a deep purple colour, one of the man’s arms was broken, and there were numerous lacerations on his torso where either the whip had cut in, or the flesh was so badly bruised and swollen that it had split, like an over-ripe tomato.
The man was very still and quiet, as usual, and Frank wandered over to give him a poke in a particularly deep wound.
The man didn’t respond.
Confusion quickly turned to comprehension. The man’s chest which had been struggling to draw breath into his body no longer rose and fell, and his eyes looked vacant and lifeless.
Frank checked for a pulse at the man’s neck and both his wrists but found nothing.
“George,” he called, “I think this fella’s croaked.”
George huffed and walked into the room. “He’s done what?”
George was a Californian and Frank from the East End of London.
Despite a common language there were times when George didn’t have a clue what his friend was saying.
“He’s croaked it,” Frank repeated.
“What?”
“I fink he’s slipped his muddy soil, mate.”
George looked around and couldn’t see any earth in the room.
“You know,” the Californian said, “the words are English, but I’ll be damned if what you’re saying is!”
“Don’t you fackin’ start that shit wiv me sonny!” the big Londoner threatened. “Bloody Yank lecturing me about the Queen’s English, you fackin’ twat!” He grinned at George then pointed at Black’s inert body. “The bloke’s gone to bed!”
Still baffled George examined the hanging man closer, looking for some clue as to what his friend was on about.
“Shit!” George cursed after a few seconds. “He looks dead to me.”
“That’s what I was sayin’, you bloody septic wanker!”
“Boss wanted him alive,” George commented.
“Yeah,” Frank said shaking his head. “Guess he got a little carried away last night and broke ‘im.”
“You’re going to have to call him,” George said.
“What? Why me? He gets on better with you – says ‘e can’t understand me,” Frank objected.
“Hey, you found the body – you call him,” George grinned at his friend and colleague.
“Bastard!” Frank spat.

Boris Karkarov was enjoying watching Susan Wallace clean his office in just her underwear.
She was now being very compliant and had easily fallen under his ‘spell’.
He had found that with many people, once they became used to his suggestions, then he had to spend less concentration time getting them to do his bidding.
In fact some of his staff were so conditioned to his commands that he often didn’t need to use his powers at all. They just obeyed him without question.

The phone rang on his desk.
“Karkarov,” he answered.
“Hello boss, it’s Frank,” came the response.
“It’s about the geezer you’ve got in the Room.” He looked at George who glared at him in warning.
“What about him?” Karkarov asked suspiciously.
“Well boss, I think you must have gone in a bit brutal on ‘im last night cos e’s gone and curled his toes up.”
George shook his head in disbelief at the Englishman’s inability to just say one word instead of several seemingly unrelated words.
“He’s dead?” Karkarov learned his English in London.
Frank grinned and cast a victoriously smug look in George’s direction.
“Yes boss.”
“You are sure of this?”
“Yes boss. I knows me a stiff when I sees one.”
“That is unfortunate,” Karkarov said, though he wasn’t that bothered now he had this blond beauty under his control. He had no further use for Agent Black, and even less for a corpse.
“Put him in the back of the truck. Come nightfall you will take him to a farm where I have some contacts. They will dispose of the body. I’ll text you the details later.”
Karkarov put the phone down.

[Keeper]

“Come on George,” said Frank walking back towards the room. “We’ve got to get rid of this body.”
George just rolled his eyes and followed Frank.

They unlocked the clamps that held the body in place and let it drop to the floor. They decided they needed something to wrap the body in so George went off to find Stephens.
Frank dragged the body to the centre of the room so that they’d have better access to the corpse.

Caleb Black was relieved to be down from the X-shaped frame.
In utter agony he’d shut most of his bodily functions down, making himself appear dead to anything but the most complex medical device.

Now that he was down, his pains from days of hanging in that position, and the intense beating Karkarov had given him were threatening to overwhelm his self-control.
Slowly he allowed his heartbeat to increase back to normal rate and almost screamed as the pain in his body seared him like fire.

Even in this poor state Black knew that he had to act fast, and act strong. He waited for the right moment, patient, a spider waiting for his two flies.
George returned with a tarpaulin under his arm and a long machete-like knife.
“Christ mate!” Frank exclaimed. “Whatya plannin’ to do wiv that?”
“The scissors won’t cut the damn tarp. I had to get this from the garden shed.”
“Fuck,” Frank was relieved. “I thought you were going all Godfather on me. I mean, getting rid of a stiff is one thing, but hacking it up? Nah, not for me, Blue!”
“Me neither,” Caleb Black said, making both men jump and George even yelped.
“Jesus Christ!” Frank cursed as he jumped back away from the now sitting Black.
Black raised his hand as though grabbing some invisible thing in front of him. He then threw that invisible thing away.
Moments later Frank Arrow flew across the room as though he had been struck by some giant ghostly hammer. He hit the solid wall at almost forty miles an hour with a sickening crunch.
George Milner was frozen to the spot. He’d never seen anything like it before and was convinced that this was some sort of wraith comeback from the dead to seek vengeance. He’d seen The Crow!
Caleb Black dragged himself to his feet, cradling his broken arm.
George pointed the machete at Black with a shaking hand. “Stay Back!”
“Where are my things?” Black demanded, though his voice was barely above a whisper.
“What the fuck did you just do?” George’s voice had raised an octave.
Suddenly, by some unseen ghostly, yet immensely strong force the blade was wrenched away from his grasp. It rotated quickly and arced in towards his own head, stopping just as it pressed into his forehead.
“My things?” Black croaked, pressing the blade ahead a little to emphasise his words.
George dared not move but indicated the door with his eyes.
“Show me,” Black instructed, keeping the machete blade pressed to George’s head.
George led Black to a wardrobe where his things had been shoved into a box.
His pistol was on top.
“Back off and don’t move,” the Infinity agent told George and the American, almost mesmerised by the floating sword did as he was told.
“You’re the one who darted me?” Black asked, although he already knew the answer.
“Uh-huh!”
“Let me show you what you should have done,” Black said, a cold edge to his voice.
The machete dropped to the floor with a clatter and Black visibly relaxed as the effort of holding it there faded.
George relaxed too, but only momentarily.
Suddenly Black’s gun, the long silencer wavering slightly was pointing at his face.
“This,” Black explained as he pulled the trigger.
George Milner’s lifeless body thudded to the floor and Caleb Black nearly collapsed with exhaustion. He knew he couldn’t stay here though; he had to get away and recover.

Slowly he dressed as best as he could and staggered out of the mansion, using the manicured shrubbery and flora as cover.

He didn’t travel far, but he didn’t need to. He needed rest, and the boathouse of one of Karkarov’s neighbours provided him somewhere he could hide.
The boathouse extended out over the lake and a motor yacht was moored in the gently lapping water.
Black staggered onto it and fell onto the small bunk in the tiny cabin.

Within moments he was asleep.

[Keeper]

Jeremy Stephens got off the phone from the dry-cleaners. The idiots had forgotten to put one of Mr Karkarov’s suits on the delivery truck.
Stephens smirked, someone was about to lose their job. It gave him a warm feeling.
He strolled through the house on his way to the office when a shrill scream made him freeze. It was coming from the rear wing of the house.
Stephens ran towards the continuous sound, joined by the chef and three other housemaids.
As they entered the room where the scream’s source was, they all saw the body George Milner, a neat hole in his forehead, a huge ragged one just visible at the back of his head.
“My god!” the chef said turning away from the scene, his face ashen and ushered the now screaming trio of housemaids back out. Then he threw-up.
Stephens gave him a grateful nod as he moved towards Angeline. She had run out of breath and now stood whimpering, tray of hot food in her hands still.
Seeing the second plate, Stephens remembered about Frank. Ignoring Angeline he opened the door to the Room.
He saw the crumpled form of Frank Arrow, looking like he’d been run over and saw that their supposedly dead prisoner was now missing.
In an instant he was on the phone.
“Get her out of here, and keep the women quiet,” he instructed the chef who had come back in.

[Keeper]

Boris Karkarov was a happy man.
He had bombarded Susan Wallace with commands until any sort of resistance was gone. Then he had instructed her to supply him with a conveyor and Wallace had immediately contacted Infinity instructing them to deliver one. She’d torn strips off whoever was on the other end of that phone.
It would take a couple of days to get one.

A couple of days was good for Boris, he had a few ideas on how to fill that time.

Susan Wallace was straddled across the Russian her naked form writhing as Boris pushed himself deeper into her.

The phone on his desk rang.
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Karkarov grumbled trying to ignore the call but it wouldn’t stop.
Eventually he shoved Wallace away and answered it.
“What?” he snapped.
“Boris, it’s Jeremy,” Stephens said.
“I’m a little preoccupied Jeremy, is it important?”
“Frank and George are dead. Black is missing.”
“I thought he was dead?”
“Apparently not, sir.”
“Thank you Jeremy.” Karkarov hung up, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. Fuck, fuck, fuck.