Identities Ch. 02

They passed an archway, through which Arley glimpsed an old-fashioned kitchen, its floor tiles discoloured with age, the walls lined with heavy wooden counters and cupboards. It looked as though they were in an old farmhouse, the sort of home that would have been impressive a generation ago but now required too much maintenance to be attractive to younger buyers. Unfortunately, this did not give Arley any indication of where the building was situated. There were many such houses in this part of the country.

Michael steered her through the next doorway into what was looked to be the dining room in a state of disarray. Much of the room's furniture had been cleared, exposing the wide floorboards, warped with the passing of the years so that gaps lay between their lengths. A wooden table remained, set against the far wall. There was also a single chair in the middle of the room, facing the table.

Arley saw all of this in a glance as she entered the room, her gaze darting about from item to item before fastening onto two male forms at the far end of the room. Her stomach lurched. Was he already here? But no, it was only Mark and Chris, talking to one another in low voices. Daniel was nowhere to be seen. The men turned as she entered and Arley felt an odd tightening in the back of her throat as she met Mark's gaze. She held his eyes for a moment, noticing their soft brown colour. Then quickly, she turned her head away. Several emotions jostled within her for predominance -- relief, unbidden, sprang into life at his presence, closely followed by irritation with herself for instinctively welcoming him. Then anger, her ever-constant shield and best defence. Beneath is all, pushed to the bottom, simmered fear.

Michael pulled her to the chair in the centre of the room and sat her in it, his hand heavy on her shoulder. Arley nervously straightened the skirt of the dress, smoothing it with her hands. She tried to get a grip on herself, to wipe all agitation from her features. Now more than ever, she had to keep a cool head. She had to convince them that she was Arley. Arley Adair, first-year law student from out West. Not Nadia, Arley. She forced her face to assume an expression of neutrality and waited.

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Michael had everything ready. He kept one eye on the girl as he moved behind her and retrieved the tablet from a nearby shelf. He pressed the power button and the machine flickered into life, chiming a bright greeting to the room. She half turned at the noise, looking over her shoulder anxiously. He ignored her.

Typing in the passcode, he waited for the tablet to load to its home page and then opened the video calling application. The German was already online. Michael paused for a moment, looking at the name next to the blank silhouette of the contact picture: E. von Bauer. He tapped the name.

The screen morphed into a video feed. A smooth white table blocked off the bottom half of the image. Behind the table there was a blank wall, also white, although not snow-bright like the table. Michael was reminded of a board room, a very antiseptic one. In the centre of the screen, behind the table, sat a man in a navy suit which, even through the video feed, looked expensive. He instantly drew they eye as the only animate object amongst the blank, sterile whiteness. The man was strikingly handsome, with thick golden hair carefully swept back from his face and a thin beard grazing his jaw. Grey eyes looked out steadily from above high cheekbones. His bearing in his seat was relaxed, his broad shoulders resting against the chair back, his hands idly clasped on the gleaming surface before him. But the gaze that met Michael's eyes was alert and direct. He looked like a man who was used to giving orders, and to seeing those orders obeyed.

Michael nodded once at the man on the screen, and the man nodded back, smiling a small smile. Michael then walked past the girl and placed the tablet on the table in front of her, propping it upright. Moving back from the table, he went to stand behind her once more but then changed his mind, walking instead a few feet to one side. It had suddenly occurred to him that Lord Bauer wanted to see the girl, and only the girl. To have a conversation one-on-one.

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Mark watched Michael tapping on the tablet, setting up the video call with the enigmatic von Bauer. After glancing back at him, Arley -- no, Nadia -- turned forward in her chair again, her back straight and tall. The blue dress she was wearing was made from a silky material so thin it was almost sheer, and Mark could see the outline of her slim form beneath the slight covering, could see her breasts rising in swift, shallow breaths. Her face was carefully calm, but the rigidity in her shoulders and neck betrayed her. She trembled as Michael brushed past her and placed the tablet on the table. Mark felt again a twinge of pity, but he quickly pushed it away.

He watched Nadia carefully as Michael moved back from the table, leaving her facing the man now on video. Her eyes locked instantly onto the screen, an arrested expression on her face. She stared, lips slightly parted, as the man in the video spoke.

"Hello, meine kleine maus," he said in a deep, accented voice. The girl's eyes flickered, but she said nothing, only looked fixedly at the man, brows drawn somewhat together.

"Nadia."

Mark saw her body jerk at the sound of the name.

"You knew I would find you."

Nothing from the girl.

"You made it four years. I'll admit, I am impressed. I never expected you could go so long. I applaud your spirit, mäuschen." Mark saw him smile tauntingly at her.

"But now I have you again...and this time, you will not escape."

Still, she said nothing, although her brows pulled further together. Mark could see her pulse fluttering rapidly in the smooth line of her throat.

"There was a time Nadia, do you remember..." The man's tone had changed. It was no longer commanding, it had become abstracted, distant. His voice was low and his expression remote. "There was a time when you stood beside me and I offered you everything. I offered you the world. And you said--"

"You have the wrong person," she cut across him in a hard, flat voice. "I am not Nadia Christensen. My name is Arley Adair, and I don't know who you are. All of this is a mistake."

There was a moment of silence after these words. The two of them looked at one another, the man a dark shape in the centre of solid whiteness, the woman sitting straight-backed in the wooden chair, her rich brown curls glowing in the warm light of the old room.

Then the man laughed, a loud, rolling laugh that came out of the tablet's speakers with a tinny edge. Mark saw him lean forward over the gleaming table so that he seemed to emerge out of the sea of white to fill the frame of the video. "Nadia, liebchen, you are too cute," he chuckled.

She also shifted forward in her seat. "No, listen to me," she insisted. "My father's name is Thomas Adair. He works as an actuary in Vancouver, which is where we moved after my mother died when I was seven. I grew up there. Look him up, look me up, there are pictures, I--"

"All of that is over now." His voice cut across hers smoothly as he settled back again in his chair. "You should know by now that you cannot run from me, Nadia. You can change your name, you can move across the world, and I will still find you. I will always find you. And bring you back to where you belong -- with me. You are mine."

Mark watched as distress mounted in the girl. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and she swallowed. Her frown had changed from one of angry defiance to one of trepidation. She drew a shaky breath and opened her mouth to speak. But again, von Bauer forestalled her.

"Say it, mäuschen," he breathed. His eyes had narrowed.

There was a pause in which nobody moved. The girl's entire body had gone rigid.

"Say it." The man's voice had turned cold. He stared from out of the screen at the girl, his features suddenly forbidding, and his hard grey eyes seemed to freeze her upon the chair. Her breath caught as he spoke again, more harshly. "Say it. 'Ich werde nie dein sein' -- say it again. I want to hear the words on your lips. Then I will know it is truly you."

She had started to tremble. Her mouth opened, then closed again. She seemed unable to tear her eyes away from the man on the screen who was becoming increasingly aggressive.

"Ich werde nie dein sein. Say it again. Say it, say it YOU BITCH! SAY IT!" His fist came slamming down on the expanse of whiteness before him.

In an instant, before any of the men in the room could move to stop her, the girl had leapt from her seat and flung herself at the table. She grabbed the tablet with both hands, raised it high, and then with a cry she threw it will all her strength on to the ground at her feet. The screen splintered into a web of cracks, the light inside the machine went out instantly. The man it had contained was gone.

Nadia stood there for the space of a heartbeat, her chest heaving and her chestnut curls splayed haphazardly across her face and shoulders. Then Michael was on her. Grabbing her arm, he jerked her about roughly, making her cry out. He raised his arm and struck her, hard, across the face. The loud crack caused by his hand meeting her skin had not faded from the room when she fell to the ground in a heap beside the ruined tablet.

Michael's face was black with rage. He bent and grasped a fistful of curls at the base of the girls' neck, then dragged her upwards so that she was halfway lifted from the ground. Dazed, her one hand automatically flew to his, trying to dislodge him, while her other planted itself on the floor to steady her shaking body. A sound came from the back of her throat, something between a gasp and a sob. Michael bent over her and twisted her face upwards to his. He raised his arm again.

Before he knew what he was doing, Mark rushed forward. He collided with Michael, and they both stumbled from the impact as he pulled his friend away from the girl. Physically, the two men were well-matched. Mark was a few inches taller, but Michael was more solid, with a greater depth in his chest and abdomen. Michael snarled, tried to push Mark aside. But the taller man stood his ground. Glancing behind him, Mark saw Chris crossing the room to where Nadia was still half sitting, half lying on the floor, one hand raised to her flaming cheek. Chris grasped her beneath her arms and pulled her to her feet.

"You fucking bitch!" Michael spat.

"Michael." Mark spoke in a loud, hard voice. "Michael, that's enough." His mind was racing, trying to think of what he could say to calm down his friend. Michael's reaction to the girl's misbehaviour was alarming, disproportionate.

"Look man," he said urgently. "That guy is going to be pissed if we hand her over with a purple face. We're not supposed to hurt her, right?"

Michael opened his mouth angrily, but at that moment, the ringing of a phone broke out, the cheery, bright noise sounding strange in the tension-filled room.

Mark stepped back from Michael as the latter pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and looked down at the lit screen. He glanced briefly up at Mark. "It's him."

Michael swiped his thumb across the phone's screen and lifted it to his face. "Hello. ... Yes. Yes she did." He threw a murderous look at Nadia, who now stood beside the broken tablet with Chris at her side, one of Chris' hands encircling her arm.

Mark walked over to the girl, keeping one ear attentive to Michael's conversation. "No sir," he heard his friend say behind him. There was silence in the room for several minutes as the man on the other end of the line spoke and Michael listened. Nadia's eyes were downcast as Mark came to stand in front of her. Gently, he reached out and grasped her chin, lifting her face. Her eyes flickered up to his and he was struck again by how blue they were. Against the simple blue dress, her eyes seemed to glow a perfect azure. For a moment, Mark forgot about Michael and his caller, about the tablet and the retaliatory blow. He studied her eyes, and the mixed fear and defiance he found there. Who are you? he wondered suddenly.

"I understand." Michael's voice was curt. Shaking himself mentally, Mark returned to his original purpose. He pressed his fingers against Nadia's jaw, not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to turn her head, lifting her cheek up for his examination. He was very aware of her proximity, of her thinly veiled breasts mere inches from his front, of the graceful line of her throat, exposed by the turning of her head. He looked intently at the reddened skin over her cheekbone. There were no cuts, no place where the skin had broken from the force of the impact. With luck, the bruising would be minimal. He released her and stepped back. Behind him, he heard Michael say, "Yes, of course."

Mark looked over at the man still on the phone. Michael's gaze was lowered, resting on the broken tablet, as he listened to the speaker. After a few moments, Michael's eyes snapped up to fix upon the girl, his expression grim. Mark felt, rather than saw, a tremor run through her.

"We will," Michael said into the phone, still staring at Nadia. "Yes." He hung up.

No one spoke as Michael walked across the room to where Nadia stood, Chris and Mark on her either side. When he reached her, he simply stood over her for a second or two. Then he smiled.

"You're in luck, kid. He's going to be buying you after all."

Mark watched the girl's mouth fall open, her bright eyes suddenly full of dismay, fear. "Michael, please." Her voice quavered. She looked up at him imploringly. "Please, this is all a mistake. I- I'm not who you think I am. I don't know that man, I- I don't know what's going on, I don't know anything. Please don't give me to him. Let me go."

If her pleading had any effect on Michael, he did not show it. He merely looked from Nadia to Chris, who still had hold of her arm. He nodded at the man and tilted his head towards the doorway. Chris moved in that direction, tugging the girl along with him.

"Please!" she cried, leaning away from Chris as much as she could, trying to pull herself from his grasp. She twisted back to face Michael, her bare feet tumbling over one another as she was propelled towards the door.

"Don't do this Michael. Let me go -- let me go! Michael!" She was sobbing now. She lashed out at Chris with her free hand, sending a fist flying at his face. But he only caught her wrist, tightened his grip on her, and yanked her through the door into the hall. Mark could hear her struggling as she was taken down the hall and down the stairs, back to the basement room. He deliberately avoided examining the emotions swirling within him; he didn't want to put a name to what he was feeling.

"What did he say?" he asked Michael, who had bent to pick up the ruined tablet.

"He wants another call with her, alone this time. Tomorrow." Michael's earlier anger had melted. He spoke in the same businesslike manner that he had used throughout their entire operation, from the day he first contacted Mark with the proposition, to the actual kidnapping in the alley.

"He is sending men to collect her the next day."

Mark felt something inside him constrict. He realized that he was troubled by the thought of handing the girl over to the man in the screen, although he wasn't sure why it troubled him. All he knew was that he suddenly worried they might be making a terrible mistake.

"And he says she is not to be harmed." Michael met Mark's eyes, but neither of them said anything. Mark heard again the crack of Michael's hand striking Nadia's cheek, saw the pile of tumbled curls about her head on the floor. How bad would the inevitable bruising be, and what would Bauer say about it? Before his mind's eye rose the image of her cheek uplifted to his face. He searched the memory for anything he might have missed. Without meaning to, he found himself thinking about the feel of her skin beneath his hand, about the sight of her jawline sweeping up to where her delicate ear sat nestled in curls. Unease rose up in him once more.

"Hey, can I see that photograph again?" he asked Michael abruptly. "The one Bauer sent us?"

Michael looked at him for a moment, frowning slightly. Then he shrugged and said, "Sure." He pulled the little square out of his pocket and handed it to Mark, then turned and left the room with the broken tablet.

Mark sank slowly onto the chair in the middle of the room, studying the photo. He wasn't sure why he was experiencing this sudden doubt. He looked hard at the woman in the picture. It was all the same: the thick coils of hair swept up into overburdened pins, revealing the elegant turn of jaw and neck, the strong brows that arched over the bright eyes, the slender physique -- every feature was identical to that of their captive. And yet...

He sighed and raised his head from the photograph, rubbing his hand over his eyes. The truth was that he was hesitant to sell the girl because he cared for her more than was proper for an operation like this. It had nothing to do with her claims of mistaken identity. He struggled more than he thought he would with harming her, and until now, he had not yet admitted this to himself. But it didn't change anything. Forty million dollars was forty million dollars.

Mark got to his feet and left the room, following after his friend. He couldn't help but worry about what the next few days would bring.