Monica's Justice

by Richard Alexander (Gromets Plaza)

(story continues from Monica's Justice 18 - Captives of Shark Island)

Chapter Nineteen - Sending in the Cavalry - Trish's story
 

The words spoken behind me left me stunned with disbelief. Everything seemed to have stopped as I bent forward tied to the post, Kim’s strap-on jammed up my backside. Then, very slowly, the big dildo withdrew, inch by uncomfortable inch.

“On your knees!” hissed the voice, and at the same time as I saw Kim fall to her knees beside me, I sensed a further person on the other side. Megan!

“Eaghan!” I exclaimed, unbelieving.

“Sssh,” she whispered, looking past me towards the house. I turned my head to where Kim knelt beside me and saw Monica’s cousin Debra pulling a ball gag hard into Kim’s mouth with one hand while holding a pistol to her throat. Megan moved around to join her and together they finished gagging Kim then forced her face down on to the ground where they quickly tied her wrists behind her and turned the position into a tight hogtie.

It had been nearly a month since I had seen the pair, at the funeral for Catherine following her tragic death at the hands of the madman for whom the police were still searching. Both Megan and Debra had taken the episode very hard, for they were obviously much closer to her as an immediate friend and work colleague at the Citadel. Now, it seemed, they had returned in a different, rescuing guise.

With Kim immovably trussed up, Megan dragged her unceremoniously into a group of shrubs near where Shawnee was still being tortured by the rope through her pussy and the twine attached to her nipples. She had seen what was going on and now mewed plaintively to be released.

Debbie was busy undoing me, however - first my ankles, then my wrists, before allowing me to unbuckle the gag strap behind my neck and prise the awful ring from my mouth. Debbie and I hugged each other, and I couldn’t hold back the tears that now came flooding out.

“Sssh,” Debbie whispered again, but this time more in comfort than in warning. She held me tightly and waited until my outburst had subsided into stifled sobs while Megan freed Shawnee and went through the same cathartic process.

“What are you doing here?” I asked earnestly, never so grateful to see someone in my life.

“We heard you were in a spot of bother,” Debra replied.

“God, that’s the understatement of the year! You know Portia’s back in the country?”

“Yes, we’ve been listening to the intellectual conversation that’s been happening on the verandah,” Megan said. “We just had to wait for an opportunity to get in and do something.”

“And where did you get that gun?” I was horrified at the thought of somebody getting shot. I had seen it happen once and never wanted to again.

“Don’t worry – it’s only a replica. We can’t kill anyone with it.”

Both girls were attired in black lycra catsuits and rubber soled camouflage boots. Each had her hair pulled back in a pony tail and had smudged dirt on her face. They were the sexiest raiding party I had ever seen.

Debra noticed me looking her up and down.

“What?” she demanded.

“What are you, Charlie’s Angels?”

“It was all we had,” she said defensively.

“These must be the little black numbers that commandos wear,” I suggested.

“I’m pleased to see they haven’t totally destroyed your sense of fashion,” Megan observed wryly. “Coming from a naked woman who moments ago was tied to a post, that’s most commendable.”

“Ha-ha. Now, what are we going to do about these two bastards? They’ll no doubt be practising their perversions again, using poor Jill and Emma as bedtime therapy.”

“Sometimes a front line surprise charge is as good as anything else,” Debra suggested. “There are four of us – let’s go upstairs and just take ‘em.”

We agreed on the plan, but the idea of being naked when tackling Roger and Warren did not appeal to me, nor to Shawnee , so while the other two hid in the shadows and checked on Kim’s bonds, Shawnee and I quickly slipped across to the sleeping quarters. While I pulled on jeans and a teeshirt, Shawnee , who did not have quarters of her own here, went inside Leila’s room where she kept a few garments of her own. Truth was, Shawnee was so often either naked or clad in such clothing as came out of the basement storeroom, there was no need for her to have much of her own wardrobe.

I rejoined the other two minutes later revelling in being clothed again for the first time in many days, unless you counted rubber suits and the other fetish gear that Warren had a predilection for.

“How’s our friend?” I asked Debra, inclining my head to the bushes.

“Very uncomfortable,” she replied.

“Good.”

We reached the verandah and moved through the kitchen. In the hallway only the low level night lights were on, giving us just enough illumination to see our way ahead. I had bare feet and led the way, creeping slowly up the stairs, keeping to the edges of the tread. Monica’s bedroom was the first at the top, while Roger had taken the second and Warren the third, moving around from the top flight of stairs. No doubt the décor in Monica’s room had been just a little too feminine for the macho pair, while three out of four of the other guest rooms were quite masculine, reflecting the makeup of our clientele.

By the time we got to the top our eyes had accustomed themselves to the dark. There was a glimmer of light showing under each of the two bedroom doors, and we positioned ourselves outside the first like a Swat team ready to burst in. Debra held the pistol double-handed and looked like a bit player from a cop show on television.

There was no sound from the room, no humping, no cries, no paddle on naked flesh. I put my finger to my lips and eased the door open.

The bedside light was on and the room was in disarray. My gaze fell on the figure of Roger lying face down on the bed, one arm draped across the naked and spread-eagled figure of Emma. She was gagged with an inflatable gag, pumped up to the point where her jaw and cheeks were distended in what must have been extreme discomfort. Her eyes snapped open with the click of the door latch and widened in incredulity. She tried to sit up but the ropes holding her wrists and ankles to the big king-size bed were tied to tightly, and all she could do was raise her head.

“Hmmnn!” she moaned softly through her nose. Again I put my finger to my lips and looked around at the scattering of ropes, straps and toys that had evidently been experimented with that evening. Emma’s thighs, belly and breasts bore red marks that were indicative of yet another painful experience with Roger, and a riding crop lay on the sheet near her left ankle.

I motioned to the others – back up, and we retreated into the hallway.

“Roger’s asleep – let’s try Warren first,” I whispered. “We don’t want to tip him off if he’s awake by making a mess of tacking Roger.”

We tiptoed along to the next room, and from here came definite sounds of activity. This was one of the two rooms with four-poster beds, which were popular with our more imaginative clients, and somehow I had the feeling that Warren O’Rorke had selected the room for exactly that reason.

The sounds from the room left me in no doubt what was happening. They were male grunts, the heavy rutting noises that come on the run up to a climax. The thought of this animal having his way with Jill made me lose all further need for caution and I led the charge into the room.

It was one of those moments when you see things as a series of snapshots – photo frames captured in the blink of an eye. I took in Jillian lying on her back, arms spread wide and bound to the edges of the bed. Each ankle was pulled up high and wide, roped to the top bar of the four-poster. Black duct tape was wound around her mouth and head over the blonde hair, and her eyes were big and staring as we burst in to the room. Warren was lying on top of Jill, his hands kneading her breasts as she struggled against the ropes while he pumped hard inside her.

I grabbed him by the hair and hauled him back before he had a chance to collect himself. His dick popped out as Shawnee grabbed his ankles and dragged him backwards off the bed. We were on top of him so quickly he had no chance to let off more than a brief exclamation before Debbie thrust the muzzle of the pistol under his chin.

“You really wanna go off with a bang, shithead?” she hissed.

A look of terror flashed across Warren ’s face as Debbie pushed hard with the gun into the soft skin under his jaw.

“They’d never find your body,” I added, my face close to his, as I still gripped him by the hair. “Make one sound – just one. Give us an excuse to shoot your balls off first…” I said it with a ferocity I felt but without the confidence that I could have carried it through, even if the gun had been operable.

Warren believed me, however, and being set upon by four very angry females when you’re naked and in flagrante delicto was not the best time to think about resistance. Shawnee was already into the toy trunk in the corner and pulled out a pair of handcuffs with which we secured Warren ’s wrists behind his back. Another pair went on his ankles, the connecting chain looping through that of the wrist cuffs, forcing his back into an arch in what would be a very uncomfortable hogtie as the steel bit into flesh and bone.

In the midst of this there was a voice from the half-opened doorway.

“ Warren – what’s going – holy fuck!”

Roger had only a towel wrapped around him when he took in the tableau of me kneeling over a naked and hog-chained Warren, with the black-clad figures of Megan and Debra were about to release Jillian from her widely-stretched position on the bed.

We were all surprised, but Roger probably more so, particularly when Megan, Debra and I sprang at him. He turned to run and tripped on the towel as it slipped down his legs. In a second we were on top of him.

“ Shawnee – rope!” Megan called.

Shawnee was with us moments later bearing an assortment of rope and other restraints. Smart girl, she had brought with her several heavy plastic cable ties – ideal for quick securing of a recalcitrant captive. Two zips on Roger’s wrists and his arms were secured sufficiently so that we could then bind his elbows tightly with some of the rope. He did not like that at all and struggled and fought, cursing and shouting until Shawnee proffered a ball gag which we shoved behind his teeth and buckled in place, following it up with a leather blindfold.

“Time for this one to go down to the cells for the night,” I said to Megan and Debbie. I don’t know why I was giving the orders. I suppose I was the senior person from Bilboes there, and it was I who had been suffering at the hands of these two scum. I did not care right then what Megan and Debbie did to Roger, I just wanted him locked up out of my sight.

As they disappeared down the stairs with their prisoner, I returned to the bedroom where Warren lay on the floor giving vent to his anger and pain.

“Get the harness gag, Shawnee ,” I ordered. “No, not that one – the big one with the black ball.” In these bedrooms Monica’s obsessiveness remained when she was absent, if only through the size colour coding of the ball gags. White was the smallest, then red, then the big black ball meant plenty of discomfort and a painful stretch to the jaw. Add to this the tightness of a full harness and things would be about as unpleasant as they could be, and unpleasant was going to be flavour of the month for Warren O’Rorke from here on.

I forced the ball behind his teeth as he made gurgling sounds, then I began buckling the straps as tightly as I could manage – around the neck, over the top and under the chin. That would shut the bastard up for a bit.

“Give me a rope, Shawnee – now!” I was losing it, I knew, and the others didn’t know what to do or say with me in this mood. I snatched the rope from Shawnee and looped it through the top of the head harness before pulling it back to loop around the ankle chain before I tied it off. Warren whined with distress, but I was not finished with him yet.

“ Shawnee , the brass screw clamps!” Warren grunted with fear, but there was nothing he could do. Shawnee burrowed into the trunk and emerged with two small brass squares which had a vice-like screw bar in the middle. I rolled Warren on to his side like a rigid object and toyed with his nipples to get them erect. He knew what was going to happen and tried to protest, but to no avail. Slowly I teased his nipples and fitted the first cold metal over one before slowly and deliberately screwing it closed until metal began to close on flesh. His whines of pain went up an octave as I gave each screw a final half turn. His breathing was fast and ragged and his eyes were screwed up with pain.

“Would you rather I did it on your dick, arsehole?”

His eyes flickered fearfully, and my off-hand remark gave me an idea. I went to the trunk and came back with several more cable ties, one of which went around his balls and two more around his dick.

“Ever worked on a farm, Warren ?” I asked squatting down beside him. “On some sheep farms they dock lambs tails by putting a tight rubber band around the tail. Eventually circulation stops, it turns black and drops off. I wonder if it would work with a penis, or just the balls…” I mused. I stood up with him still lying on his side, knowing that if he made the slightest wrong move he would end up on his stomach, bearing down on his bound family jewels and his clamped nipples, not to mention the further strain that would then be on the gag.

“Remember that first day when you had me hogtied on the table?” I asked. He made no reply other than to continue breathing heavily. I shoved him with my foot, nearly tilting him over on to his stomach. “I asked you a question!” I shouted at him.

“Uh! Ugghhh!” he grunted in panic.

“Good,” I said. “Then I hope you continue to remember – for as long as it takes. Now you know what it was like.”

I turned my attention to Jill, who was in the process of being undone by Shawnee . Jill’s legs were now free and I helped Shawnee untie Jill’s wrists, then cut the tape free from her mouth. We hugged each other and I whispered the best words of comfort I could find. More tears flowed – all three of us were now crying from relief and the knowledge that the nightmare that had threatened to go on forever was over.

We moved next door and left Jill to free Emma, still bound to the bed. I put my arm around Shawnee and together we went downstairs, where we met Megan emerging from the door to the basement.

“You’ll find another inmate ready for the cells, upstairs,” I told her. “At least, he’ll be ready in an hour or two. I’d really like to hit the sack now, and I think this one -” I indicated Shawnee “also needs to catch up on her rest. We’ve had rather a trying time over the last week.”

Megan looked at me understandingly.

“Sure. You guys get some rest. We’ll talk about it all in the morning. Deb and I will keep an eye on things tonight. I suppose we’d also better take in our little vixen in the shrubbery…”

“I’d like her to be very uncomfortable, sore and awake for the rest of the night. Can you manage that?”

“It will be my pleasure,” Megan said.

“Thanks, sweetie.” I kissed her, and took Shawnee by the arm.

“Come along Shawnee , you can sleep with me tonight.”

Shawnee did not object. She could have slept in any of the girls’ rooms, but I think neither of us wanted to be alone that night. Jill and Emma would be consoling each other, and I felt some responsibility to Shawnee as the youngest member of the establishment.

As we lay snuggled up to each other we talked for some time, before finally falling asleep, exhausted, but safe in the knowledge that our tormentors were now locked up and we could awaken to a new and more hopeful day tomorrow, and with it the opportunity to find out the location of Monica and the others.

* * * *

It did not take long the following day to ascertain that neither Roger nor Warren knew the whereabouts of Monica. I had presupposed that such was the case anyway, but wanted to make sure.

Over breakfast with the others I learned how the absence of activity within Bilboes had sparked their concern, particularly after the phone calls had not been returned. It had been Debbie who had first become suspicious, since she and Monica spoke on a regular basis. Both she and Megan had the code for the front gate, and when this had been changed their suspicions had been aroused still further. That was when they had decided to break in to see what was going on.

They had been aware of the increase in security, and had been party to Steven’s plans for this. They knew that the outer perimeter had holes in it, simply because it was too long and too unwieldy to fully protect. Their knowledge of the place enabled them to do a long circuit through the bush to the rear of the property and work their way through to the back lawn. Had the alarm system been switched on from that point they would have had trouble getting into the house, but with the occupants intent on extracting their pound of flesh from us, alarms were not in the picture as far as Kim, Warren and Roger were concerned.

From that point on, we knew the story, but had to recount our version for Megan and Debbie as we all sat on the verandah after breakfast, examining our options. We decided we didn’t really have any, other than forcing some information out of whomever we could.

I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to fool about with any of our prisoners. There was no time. Over a week had passed since Monica and the others had driven away in the luxury limousine. I had gathered that they were held prisoner on some island that had been right in the path of Cyclone Suzie, and I was not about to pussy-foot around wasting time in getting the details. I had a fair idea that Kim was the one with this information, and was happy to let Jill take charge of the interrogation of the two men. Kim was mine.

When I went downstairs I found her in the Rack Room. One of Steven’s wickedest contraptions, the rack was like a giant four-poster bed with a rack bench in the middle instead of a comfortable mattress. The heavy beams that ran from corner to corner made a perfect suspension framework and it was in the middle of this that Kim hung, face down in a spreadeagle, her buttocks at waist height rising to her head nearly level with my own. The rack bench itself had been lowered to the floor, leaving ample space to access the unfortunate girl now hanging limply in her bonds. Her ankles and wrists were trapped in leather cuffs which in turn were connected by ropes over corner pulleys and down to cleats on the posts. To ease the strain on Kim’s neck, but not necessarily make things any more comfortable, Megan and Debbie had plaited her hair in with a rope such that her head could be supported with the rope tied off to one of the overhead beams. Kim had been gagged with a ball through which a piece of dowel passed and which was tied at the back of her neck. It was not a perfect gag, judging by the moans that were coming from her when I entered the room. A large puddle of drool had formed directly beneath her mouth on the padded bench now at floor level.

She had been here through the night, according to Megan. Twine had been tied around each of her nipples, beneath which dangled heavy lead weights the size of a golf ball, pulling down and distorting her breasts. Between her legs clips had been released on to her labia and again weights had been placed on these.

The weights became all the more uncomfortable over time and also with any struggles of the victim. These had been initiated by a large acrylic butt plug secured in place with a waist and crotch rope and connected to a TENS machine that was set to produce random interval shocks. Any jerking or swinging would set the weights doing the same and would convert the dreadful ache induced by the weights into something sharper and more agonising.

Kim hung there as I entered, her body shiny with sweat in the warmth of the dungeon.

I had done some dressing up of my own today, borrowing Mary’s Gestapo outfit – the long leather skirt, authentic jacket, cap, high boots, white shirt and black tie. It was perhaps just a shade melodramatic, but it made me feel in the mood, and the truth was that the mood I was in was not one of messing about.

The light had been left on all night, as had two other flood lights, one on each side of her, forcing her to look straight ahead to avoid their glare. Kim tried to turn her head when the door opened, but the lights and the rope holding her by the hair made this almost impossible. A moment after I closed the door with a thump the TENS machine activated and Kim jerked, uttering a long groan of pain as her body swung and twitched, the heavy lead weights swinging in a motion all their own.

I strolled around the helpless figure, saying nothing, just listening to the rasping of her panting as she struggled to overcome the residual pain from the electricity up her arse. The heels of my boots made echoing clicks on the concrete floor as I examined my victim.

With deliberation I took off my black cap and jacket with the sinister double lightning insignia and dropped them on the floor in front of Kim where she could see them.

“I want some answers,” I said softly. “I do not want to be messed about with. I am prepared to beat you all day, shoot electricity through your nipples and cunt, and load up those weights until you think your most tender parts are being pulled off.” I spoke quietly and matter-of-factly, letting my words hang there as I completed a circuit.

I took down a two-metre stockwhip that hung on a wall hook and let it unfurl in front of Kim. Her head was held in such a manner that I could look directly at her with barely a need to stoop, and I could see the fear in her eyes.

“Have you ever been beaten with a stockwhip, Kimmy?” I had no idea whether she had received such punishment at the hands of either Helen or Jax. I suspected not, for it was a fearsome method of inflicting pain, and not one that a mistress would use without extreme provocation. My question was rhetorical, for I was not expecting answers from her just yet. Kim made no sound, and I wondered how strong her will was and just what motivation she might have for holding out on me. It was not clear to me yet what role her former mistress had in all of this, but I would get to the bottom of it very soon.

“Let me tell you it creates a pain that puts every flogging and beating with a riding crop you ever had into a remote second place. I happen to be quite good with a stockwhip, though that may not come as any comfort to you.” I flicked my wrist at that point and the tip of the whip leapt up and down to produce a loud crack that made Kim jerk with fright.

“Imagine that stroke landing between your legs, on that most tender of pink little buds you have there.” I moved around behind her and leaned in to push a finger between the crotch ropes and up her pussy, then slide it out to gently massage her clit between my thumb and forefinger. I tugged on the weights still dangling from her labia and she moaned in distress. “I can flick those off with the whip – more pain the like of which you will never have experienced. You should be glad I’m so good with this whip. Having an inexperienced person whip you can leave such awful scars. You should be looking forward to this.

“And, my dear Kim, don’t think I’m unaware of the fondness you sluts have for a bit of pain to get yourselves off. I’ve worked with subbies for many years. Let me tell you, I’ve seen it all, and I know all about your retreat into subspace. Try that, and I will bring you right back with a pain so extreme that you’ll wish never to be tied up again. Every waking moment you will be aware of the agony that will leave you screaming for mercy.”

My scene-setting speech was starting to make Kim agitated now, and she was trying to make plaintive mmphing noises and garbled mumbles.

“Is there something you wish to tell me, Kim?”

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled.

“Oh really?” I stepped back out of her line of vision and lined up on her exposed buttocks, flicking the whip so that it caught her on the left cheek. Kim screamed, writhing in her suspension in a way that set the lead weights swinging again. I gave her another flick on the other cheek and then an underhanded one that caught the side of her right breast.

Kim went berserk, letting loose a loud shriek that found its way out around the ball and dowel separating her jaws. I stood behind her and ran the length of the whip slowly through her pussy. Kim was panting and whimpering, her muscles trembling as her whole body tried to stiffen itself in anticipation of the next strike. Standing behind her I had almost the whole length of her body as a target.

“Do you wish to tell me something?”

“Eff! Eff! Eff!” Her garbled words burbled around the gag but there was no mistaking her desperation.

My next strike caught her between her cheeks, just below where the plug was still jammed in her arse. The crotch ropes would have protected her most intimate parts, but it was enough to make her cry out again.

I moved up behind her and undid the waist rope which was tied in the small of her back, then unwound it and pulled the rest of it out from her crotch, exposing the elliptical base of the butt plug with its wires leading back to the TENS machine.

If Kim had felt exposed before, she must have felt doubly so now that fresh air was circulating through her pussy and around the plug base. I moved across to the TENS machine and flicked a quick burst of electricity through her arse again. Kim let out a long cry.

“Would you like the plug out?” I inquired.

“Mmm! Eff!”

I gripped the plug by the base and slowly eased it almost out, before brutally pushing it home again, recalling my own torture at her hands and knowing I had a few demons of my own to lay to rest. Again I slipped it almost out before pushing it back home.

“No, I think we need a few more hours of electrical treatment, don’t you think?”

“Uh-uh! Uh-uh! Oghod oh!”

With a smooth motion I finally slid the device out and dropped it to the floor.

“Good. That clears the way for Mister Whippy,” I informed her, moving around to the front and dangling the whip in her face. Tears were streaming down Kim’s face and she was struggling to breath, weep and vocalise all at the same time. I returned to her spread legs and jammed the handle of the whip vertically between her cheeks.

“If you drop that whip, you get ten strokes with it between your legs. No rope protecting you now.”

I picked up a small flogger and cut loose with a flurry of blows against her dangling breasts. Kim shrieked and the weights swung, but the whip handle remained in place. I knew she was ready to spill the beans, but my own catharsis still had to be worked through. This was not just for me, but for Jill, for Emma, and for Shawnee, and no doubt for unspoken horrors that Monica and the others might be enduring right at that very moment.

I let fly with a larger flogger, this one with thin rubber thongs, beating the inside of her thighs as hard as I could. Kim screamed long and loud, but kept her cheeks clenched sufficiently to avoid the threatened treatment with the whip.

“Which one is worse – big flogger or little flogger?” I demanded.

“Ig un…” she moaned amidst more tears.

I picked up the little one again and sent a flurry of blows on to her exposed breasts and stomach.

“Big one or little one – which is worse?” I demanded again.

“Ill un…” she sobbed.

A further beating with the big flogger followed as she howled into the gag and the last few parts of her white skin turned a bright red colour.

Kim was sobbing uncontrollably now, unable to breathe properly, sniffling through her nose and drooling everywhere. I undid the strap at the back of her neck and pulled the saliva soaked gag free.

“Are you going to tell me everything now?” I prompted in my most reasonable tone.

“Yes! Yes! Oh God – no more! Please! I’ll tell you everything I know!” she gasped, tears flooding forth.

I knew there would be no further problems with Kim, as I reached for my pen and notebook….

* * * *

Later that day we had formed a plan of action and things were happening very fast. Kim sat in the back of the white Ford transit van, her arms spread along the wooden slats on one wall, ropes holding them in place at wrist and elbow. She wore a combination head harness and blind fold and her ankles were tied apart to the legs of the bench. She wore sandals, a short blue skirt and a white blouse open to the waist. We wanted access to persuasion points if we needed information in a hurry. Her breasts still showed the welts from the whip, but for the moment we were leaving them free of other pain-inducing encumbrances.

I climbed into the front seat beside Jill and started the engine. We waved to Emma, Megan, Debra and Shawnee as we headed down the driveway. It was over seventeen hundred kilometres to Cairns, and we had no more time to lose if we were to find Monica.

All through the afternoon and night we drove northwards. We had put a narrow mattress in the back and after dinner we drove in four-hour shifts, through the cane fields and silent beach-front towns sleeping in the humid tropical night. Staring through the darkness in the small hours the whole thing seemed to have a dreamlike quality. Perhaps it was my exhaustion, the legacy of the beatings and deprivation I had been through, or the aftermath of the rescue by Megan and Debbie that lifted me up before bringing me down again, now faced with the task of finding and rescuing Monica. Whatever the reason, I was dog tired as we drove into Cairns in the early afternoon of the next day.

Kim was now less restrained in the back. Her wrists were crossed and bound behind her, and she was collared and chained to one of the poles, but she was now ungagged and wore no blindfold. Jill sat beside her and the pair of them were able to see through the sliding window separating the driver’s cab from the rear.

We did not anticipate any trouble from Kim. She had been beaten and cowed into her natural role as a submissive, and did whatever we told her. Her bonds were superfluous, but we were taking no chances.

We made our way northwards through the city centre, past the Barrier Reef excursion port, where the sleek catamarans took tourists off shore to dive and snorkel on the famous reef. Ten minutes out of town was the international and domestic airport, and it was here we found Reef Helicopters.

“That’s it,” said Kim over my shoulder, as we drove down a side road towards a cluster of small buildings on the edge of the airport boundary that provided maintenance and subsidiary services for the industry. There were several small hangars with single and twin-engined light aircraft on the tarmac outside, and two helicopter operators.

“There’s a helicopter in front of the building – is that the one?” I asked.

“Yes – the blue and white one,” Kim confirmed.

“There’s someone working on the chopper,” I said.

“That’s him! That’s Sebastian,” Kim said. “He’s the pilot – and Jax’s toy boy,” she added in a vaguely resentful way.

“Good.” I pulled up outside the Reef Helicopters office. “Make sure she stays quiet, Jill,” I cautioned.

“I’ll be quiet, honestl- urff! Mmph!” I caught a brief glimpse of Kim’s big frustrated eyes as Jill buckled a ball in her mouth and forced her back on to the bench.

Putting on my sun glasses I climbed out into the glare of a tropical cairns afternoon. The heat hit me like a wave rising up from the concrete. I hefted my carry bag over my shoulder and walked across to where the dark haired guy with the white uniform was leaning into the cockpit. It was a smart piece of machinery, glistening in the sun.

“You must be Sebastian,” I said to his back. My voice startled him and he spun round. He was wearing a tailored white shirt and matching shorts in the manner of tropical military issue. His dark, closely cropped hair contrasted with the white clothing, as did his tanned skin. Had I not been preoccupied with my mission, I could quite have fancied him.

Despite my beating of Kim, I had still not established where Sebastian fitted in with the big scheme of things. He was pilot, chef and general gopher for Mistress Jax, so I gathered, and her subbie into the bargain. Talk about multi-skilled. He had been party to whatever was going on with Monica, but for whatever reason – money, blackmail, or just plain loyalty, he was not blabbing to anybody about what he had witnessed. Until circumstances dictated otherwise, I had to treat him as the enemy, which was partly the reason for the replica pistol Megan had given me which was now hidden in my carry bag.

He smiled easily, but then a lot of guys do that to me, and things are not always what they seem.

“Yes, that’s me. How can I help?”

“My name is Patricia Taylor. I’ve been asked to come to see you by Jacqui Burnett of Frazer Martin. She said you may know her better as Jax.” He smiled again, this time – I thought – just a little warily. “I work for Nolan Associates – we’re insurance loss adjusters here in Cairns. Miss Burnett said she hasn’t been able to raise her contacts on Shark Island and is worried there may have been some damage to the house. She wants us to fly out there and inspect it.”

Sebastian wiped his hands on a piece of rag.

“Can we do this tomorrow?”

“Miss Burnett was most insistent that it happen as soon as possible, which I would understand to be today. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead, but town is so close it was just as easy to come in person. I understand Miss Burnett is a good client of yours, so I assumed there would not be a problem.”

“Well… the only machine I have available at the moment is this one. It’ll take a couple of hours each way, so if this is really urgent, we should leave now. How long will you need there?”

“Not long. Half an hour. Just long enough to find out everything is okay. Or else long enough to pick up the survivors.” I meant it as a joke, though I wasn’t sure how far from the truth it was.

“I can only take five passengers,” he said seriously.

“It’s just me and my colleague, Miss Whitford – and if everything’s okay it’ll be just us coming back as well,” I told him lightly. “When do we take off?”

“Give me ten minutes to file a flight plan.”

While Sebastian went into the office, I returned to the van, checking that nobody was watching before opening one of the rear doors. Kim lay on the floor, bound hand and foot to the legs of one of the side benches. She was ball-gagged, and looked resigned to her position. Jill climbed out and closed the door.

“We’re taking off in ten minutes,” I told her. “We should be back before dark if there are no complications, though I can’t guarantee that. Whatever happens, the chopper can only take five passengers, so there may be a problem if we have to do some sort of rescue.”

Jill climbed into the van and drove it to a parking spot in the shade of a large tree. It wouldn’t do Kim any harm to sweat off a few pounds while we were away, and she had better hope that we’d be back safely.

Jill rejoined me and we walked out to the chopper. Sebastian was still in the office.

“We’re taking a hell of a risk doing this,” Jill said. “What if we fly right into a trap?”

“Look, we’ve been over this. We have the gun.”

“Which doesn’t actually work.”

“Okay, but it looks scary.”

“So we go charging in like Batman and Robin and find ourselves outnumbered by Portia, Jade and Bradley. They’ll be there waiting for us. And Mr fly-boy here would make it four on to two.”

“I’m open to ideas, Jill,” I said patiently, sensing her frustration.

“Dammit, Trish, I don’t have any.” She looked pleadingly at me, and I knew she was as nervous and worried as I was.

“We’ll just have to make a call – we may have to force Sebastian to land on the beach, maybe on the other side of the island, and make our way in on foot – catch them by surprise.” Jill was mollified only a little.

“I still don’t like it, but I guess it’s the best we can do. We should ring Megan and tell her what we’re doing.”

Jill took out her mobile phone and rang Bilboes, giving a brief account of the fact that we had made it this far, and were about to take off.”

“If you haven’t heard from us by tomorrow morning, you’d better get hold of Mon’s uncle and get a cop round here to at very least set Kim free. I guess we’ll just have to take whatever is coming our way if it goes that far.”

She flipped the phone back in her handbag and looked at me.

“Sebastian’s taking an awfully long time. Who else do you suppose he’s ringing?”

The inference of her words hung like black storm clouds in my mind as Sebastian strode briskly out to the helicopter.

Dear God, I thought, what mess were we getting ourselves into now?

 

* * *

09.04.06

story continues in Monica's Justice - Captives of Shark Island

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