Abducted Ch. 13

Chapter 13 -- "Out of the Frying Pan, ... "

I can literally hear my stomach churning and my teeth grinding, both at the same time. I breathe deeply, quietly, and remain impassive, while I assess the situation:

We are on the verge of stealing at least $1,500,000.00, the three of us. All we have to do is to stay out of sight, out of mind, and out of trouble. Undetected, merely for another fifteen minutes. Then we can blow this joint, scatter to the winds, and enjoy the fruits of six-figure numbered bank accounts, for the rest of our lives.

Instead ...

One of my partners-in-crime is driving a stolen van somewhere in the city, which contains every ounce of forensic evidence necessary to nail us all, should he be lucky enough to get caught by the police. But, hey, maybe he took precautions: Maybe, he's keeping his head low by driving through the nearby barrio -- gangland territory of the young Cholos, who just might be a little pissed at him right now, too.

On the other hand, what could happen, and what probably will happen, is that Chano will be driving the van back through the entrance on the other side of the warehouse any minute. No harm, and no foul.

I weigh the possibilities.

"Harris, ... ping the van's GPS. I'm going to text him, and ask him what in the bejeeeezus.."

"I have, already, Boss. I've been doing it the last ten minutes." Harris paused. "It hasn't moved."

"Locate ... "

"It's a mile away...about three blocks away from where you and Chano, uh, rescued Ms. Harley."

I massage my eyes, and I think to myself: "An hour from now, I'll be laughing at this, ... an hour from now, I'll be laughing."

Harris gasped: "Oh ... shit."

I exhale. NOW, what?

"This is ... bad, I think."

In an instant, I am peering over Harris' shoulder, into the screen of one of the laptops arrayed on the table. I see a small Black Dot, traveling far too quickly along an unlabeled path, ... North, toward the city.

We spoke it in unison: "He's being chased!"

Harris sits back, his mouth agape, as he watches the Black Dot make a quick turn to the East. Moving away from us, still, but Harris is right:

This is bad.

I put my hand firmly on his shoulder. "Harris, you have a job to do. Make us rich," I ordered. "Do it now. I'll watch this."

It is a quick decision, but an easy one. I can't do a thing for Chano. I'm pulling for him, but we can't help him. We can't go careening through rush-hour traffic to catch up with him, even if we know where he is going -- and right now, he doesn't know where he's going.

Assuming that that's Chano, still driving the van.

Harris, meanwhile, has got money to steal.

And, I have evidence to destroy, and a witness to keep quiet.

The Black Dot keeps racing, in fits and starts, meandering through the grid. Then, suddenly, it stops.

No movement at all.

Harris fingers are flying across the keyboard with the aid of the recently acquired bank transfer codes, ... and, I jump to completing the final task at hand.

I race to a small washroom near the manager's office, just off the main warehouse floor.

I come out, hauling three red, five-gallon jugs, filled with gasoline.

Harris freezes.

"Do your job," I say sternly. "Do it, quick. You don't want to be here when this goes up."

I knew what he was worried about. Harris can be a bit squeamish.

I'd always figured that Chano and I would have to take care of the 'clean-up' part of this operation. Harris was always interested in the technical aspects of hacking. And he was always, always interested in the money. This part? Well ... Chano and me already knew.

Harris wouldn't be here to see the end of our operation. We always knew what he would be thinking about. And, we knew that he was squeamish.

My idea had been for Harris to finish up his part; then, Chano and I would confirm our newly minted six-figure bank accounts, and, then, for Harris would be 'excused' from the proceedings. He would don his horn-rimmed glasses, leave the warehouse, and wait for us in the speedboat docked along the wharf. Then, Chano and I would handle this part.

"Finish it, Harris. Then, get out of here." I paused. "The rest is on me."

The young man adjusts his glasses, and goes back to the keyboard in front of him.

I race back into the washroom, and lug three more red jugs into the main floor.

I also grab several lengths of rope from the wall, and slung them over my shoulder.

"Harris?!"

"It's done, Boss." He swallows, and hits the "Print" button on the laptop. Next to him, the machine hums smoothly, and paper slides through it, for just a few seconds. Then, it stops.

I had already unscrewed the tops of two of the gasoline cans.

I checked my watch: It was only 5:47 PM.

A lot can change in two minutes.

Chano had been the 'expert' on this part. He had the serial-arsonist-for-hire experience, in our little group. But, I had paid close attention when he showed me where the best places were inside the warehouse to start the fires.

Without Harris' knowledge -- he could be squeamish, sometimes, we knew -- Chano showed me where to find the greasy blankets and the yellowed newspapers the homeless squatters had left behind months ago. He demonstrated how to break up the old, discarded wooden pallets for kindling. Already, throughout the main floor of the warehouse, piles had been stacked in the optimal places that he had identified. He had described how the weight-bearing walls should be the first to go, because they would quickly 'implode' the entire structure down, on top of itself. Old wooden buildings like this burn quick, and easy, he'd said, and it would take weeks for anyone to sift through them for any 'evidence' left behind.

I had soaked up every word he'd said. I told him, I don't like to leave evidence behind.

Now, I was racing amongst the pillars in the center of the building, with two gas jugs in hand. I began pouring the accelerant on the floor, around them, then to the far wall. A pile of kindling had been set up in the corner of one of the weight-bearing walls.

I spread the dry kindling along the floor, and soak them with gas.

Harris appears behind me, with a sheet of paper in one hand.

"What about Chano?"

I had been thinking about that. A part of me wanted to say, screw him. He's the one who put himself in jeopardy, and by extension, us, as well. He's a big boy; he'll have to fend for himself.

But, then there was the part, which said, we couldn't have gotten here without him. Yes, he screwed up, but he helped make it right. I couldn't have retrieved Elizabeth -- our meal ticket -- by myself. And, he was the one who had the contacts who let us have this warehouse, undisturbed, while we executed our plan.

And, I liked him. He was brutish, and kind of stupid, but I did like him.

I snatched the paper from Harris. I read, and recognize my account, with the Banco Nacional de Costa Rica. Heck, I'd practically memorized that number, when I opened it up last month. But, my eyes fix on the most important words:

"Transaction confirmed. Transfer, 700,000 dollars, American."

The other numbers and symbols were for an unfamiliar account, though the denomination signs looked very English -- the Caymans, the Bahamas, maybe?

I stuff the paper carefully into my breast pocket, where it will be safe. Hell, when I get to Costa Rica, I'll probably frame it!

"He'll get it," I assured Harris. "He earned it. If I can get a hold of him, or if he can get out of whatever fix he's gotten into, ... it'll all be there. Wait, ... it's $700,000.00? We were aiming only for ... "

"They had a heavy volume day," Harris panted. "Are you sure, Boss? Are you sure about Chano, and ... about all of ... this?"

"Harris ... you should leave. Now. Get gone. And, ... good job."

He may not even have heard the last part. He was already sprinting toward the side entrance to the warehouse. He paused at the door, and yelled back: "Be sure to melt the hard drives!"

My mind was already on the mattresses we had slept on, in the far corner. Chano had said that those would go up like matchsticks.

I grabbed two more jugs as I hear the door slam shut behind me.

I soak the mattresses, and then the blankets, and then a pile of rags left against another weight-bearing post. Let's see, ... yes, almost forgot, I had to torch the computer 'center', as well.

I use a whole jug on that one. I soak every laptop and wire until they fairly drip with gasoline.

I wipe my brow. Lugging these things around was not for the unfit. I flex my muscles, and for an instant marvel at what I've accomplished.

I put together a team -- each of us with our own flaws -- but, I'd put together a team, and I'd managed them on a Project of a Lifetime! Successfully, assuming that I can get away in (I glanced at my watch again) the next 7 minutes.

To the tune of almost 3/4 of a million dollars.

I can almost taste the rum drinks and the sea air, in that tropical paradise that I plan to call home.

Thank goodness for Harris' magic fingers. Thank goodness for Chano's brawn, and thuggish 'expertise'. Thank goodness for Ms. Elizabeth Harley's hard-won bank transfer codes.

And, thank goodness I paid attention in my Finance classes at university, before they kicked me out for cheating. If only they could see me now!

I beat The System. Hell, I didn't beat it! I kicked its ass!

And, now, I had only one five-gallon jug of gasoline left. And, there was only one more weight-bearing wall to prime.

That would be in the manager's office.

Where pretty Elizabeth Harley was locked inside.

I hoist the last jug in one hand. I began to unfurl the final coils of rope from my shoulder, and I kick the door open.

*

Chapter 14 Escape#2

I was now alone in the makeshift office a little worse for wear, but definitely not so tense or wound up, thanks to my recent exercise with School. As I lay on the mattress, I could smell gasoline. The scent was getting stronger and I realize that my abductors are planning to destroy all evidence. Was I part of the evidence?

As my mind was again clearly focused on what was going on around me as well as my circumstances, I knew that it made little sense to believe that I would be spared. Thank goodness for my relaxed state as I am able to crouch and walk my legs through my arms so that my hands are no longer tied behind my back, but are now tied in front. I use my teeth, (Thank you for taking my gag off, School) to untie my hands and use a chair to stand on moving a panel aside in the false ceiling. I grab a series of metal supports above the ceiling tiles and hoist myself up still wearing just a pair of light blue panties that now contain numerous DNA samples; some of which are definitely mine.

Just as I move the ceiling panel back into place I hear the door to the now vacant office open up. I scramble as quietly as I can through the maze of metal supports, working my way up towards the ceiling of the warehouse, which is at least 40 feet above the floor.

A yell issues from School's mouth that sounds like "What the f**k?" and I know that my absence is noted. I hold no false pretense that I can remain hidden as any simple mind could figure out my route of escape. My plan is to climb to the highest point in the warehouse and either remain there delaying School and Harry Potter's escape or try to find a window that could possibly lead me out on the roof, at which point I have no idea how I can possibly get to the street.

My entire body is back on high alert although this time I really am in a self-preservation mode as opposed to a "horny" one.

Once I climb into the steel rafters and get away from the office area, Potter immediately catches sight of me and yells to School. Although I find his alarm completely unnecessary as School is quickly climbing the same route that I have just traversed to get to me; and he isn't happy.

The memory of my recent spanking and shagging run through my head causing a warm flush of erotic energy to pass through my body, but I quickly get myself focused and continue my trapeze act towards the far wall.

Thank goodness I was a gymnast in High School and have kept myself in some semblance of shape so that I am able to maintain my distance from School. Also, it seems that he is much more comfortable with both feet on the ground as opposed to straddling metal supports high up over a concrete surface.

I reach the edge of the support system only to find myself 15 feet away from a series of metal vents high up on the sidewall. It will require a jump from a single metal bar along with grabbing the edge of the metal louvers of the vent, or I will have to lower myself to a hanging position from the bar and swing back and forth to gather enough forward momentum to fly across the gap to the vent. The louvers are spaced over a foot apart, so I will be able to grab the edge and potentially pull myself through the opening, however it has been 20 years since I performed any sort of uneven bar routine that would give me a chance at this.

As I stand there with my heart pounding in my chest knowing that every time I glance over my shoulder, School will be that much closer, I gingerly lower myself to a hanging position from the bar and start to swing.

School is gaining ground and far below me I see Harry set fire to his computer as well as the pile of coveralls, gloves, and stocking masks that they had worn during my abduction. I have no idea where the Brute is but hope that he isn't simply waiting for me outside if I make this leap to the factory vent. For some reason I am also able to notice that the van is missing.

Just as I let go of the bar, as my final swing seems to have afforded me the necessary momentum to reach the louver, simultaneously, I hear School shout, "Harley, Stop!" along with the sound of police sirens off in the distance. My heart is in my throat and goose bumps cover every inch of my very exposed flesh as my body sails across the gap to the louvers. I barely grab it with one hand, but thankfully it was at the top louver, so my knees are able to wedge themselves in the bottom louver to maintain my balance.

I quickly glance over my shoulder to see School has given up on me and is quickly descending to the floor of the warehouse. As he and Harry run for a door that will lead them back out onto the wharf, School ignites the gasoline whose fumes were permeating the warehouse. As I squeeze my almost naked body between the louvers making my way out onto one of the roof sections of the warehouse, the gasoline ignites into flames that almost reach to the metal scaffolding that I have just exited.

Off in the distance I see both police vehicles as well as emergency vehicles heading directly to the warehouse. I am beginning to surmise what the absence of the Brute might mean.

Over the roar of the fire, which now is lighting up my only dressed in panties frame, and the police vehicles, I think that I hear the sound of a powerful motorboat making its way out into the night. I can only assume that School and Potter have made their getaway.

My head is filled with mixed emotions as the last 10 hours have been so sexually fantasy filled for me and at the same time so perilous.

Long story short, I am rescued by the fire department before the entire warehouse goes completely up in flames and after a long interrogation, while still in my underwear wrapped in a police blanket that left most of me exposed, I am allowed to go home. I seem to be getting used to being barely dressed around hunky men.

Its funny how an experience like this doesn't stay in my conscious that long as within a matter of weeks I am back in my routine of riding the bus and working at the bank, although now and then I will feel a flush of very seductive warmth pass through me and I know that I had subconsciously been reliving my bondage experience.

As to my abductors, Chano, as it turned out his name was, ended up in jail for his role in the robbery, however School and Potter are still unfound. Also my bank never recovered the money that had been transferred and although the computer trail of the transfer was followed with great difficulty. By the time the authorities discovered what bank had been used the money was long gone.

The bank simply used its insurance policy to recoup the losses and business carried on as usual. And after about a month my fellow employees stopped asking me about what had happened, although my panty clad body was seen over and over standing on the warehouse roof highlighted by the flames issuing from the warehouse windows on the nightly news as the story was followed up on for the remainder of the summer. My notoriety resulted in me having to get an unlisted number as it seems that every freak in the city wanted to get me back into just my panties for their version of a "hot" date.

Even my tendency to stay out of alleys as well as to walk closer to the buildings on a city sidewalk eventually ware away and my life returned to as normal as it had been including my dreams of helplessness and exposure. I have to admit that my massager continues to get a lot of use, as I like to relive the entire experience of being stripped, bound, and sexually fondled while in a state of complete helplessness. A little fact that only 3 other people are aware of.

I have made reservations at a resort in Costa Rica for next month just to get away from everything for a while.

The End or is it??