Chapter No. 32 The First Ordeal

A gentle evening breeze laps water in the main dolphin holding tank, creating a sense of serenity. Moonlight reflecting in undulating shimmers adds to this peaceful scene. As he stares out of the patio door at this serene spectacle, Eric takes sips from a martini to calm his nerves. But, everything is not calm. Something vague gnaws at his gut, a subconscious feeling of uneasiness that he just can't shake.

His wife had ventured out on a shopping spree over six hours ago, and she's long overdue.

Where is she? She always reports back if something happens to the car or she runs into a problem. I don't understand this.

Eric walks back to the couch, picks up a phone from the end table, and dials his wife's cell phone. He allows the phone to ring a dozen times before he hangs up.

Damn! No answer.

Same result as his uncounted previous attempts.

It just isn't like her. I hope she hasn't been abducted like that time she was grabbed out in front of Georgio's. Why do they always pick on her? They never bother me? They must think she knows more. That figures. How in the hell do they know so much about us?

I hate this.

Frustration finally pushing him over the edge, Eric punches in the Institute's security number. "This is Eric Hauptman. Say, have you seen Margaret Hauptman over there?"

"Let me see," the clinical voice on the other end said. "No. I don't see her name on the check-in list. She hasn't been in here."

"Are you sure?"

"I have the list right in front of me, sir."

"Oh . . . Ok. Thanks."

Eric sat down and slowly finished his drink. Something was definitely wrong, but he felt helpless. He thought about reporting her disappearance to the police, but he knew he wouldn't get any action from them because insufficient time had passed.

He got up and began pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

I can't stand waiting like this. Damn it, anyway.

After pacing and fretting, there was nothing left to do. He walked over to the Institute and found Willis at his usual post--the main security desk.

"What's the problem, Hauptman? Lose your wife?"

"It's not like her to fail to report back, especially after six hours. She's not answering her cell phone."

"Let me try the police," Willis said, rubbing his thick neck.

He punched a number into the main console. "This is Ralph Willis over at The Pacific Institute of Oceanography. Have you gotten any reports of a black Blazer having a problem?" His face went through several changes from apathy to concern. "Uh huh. Where is it now?" He looked up at Eric for an instant and then lowered his eyes. "Yeah. Thanks."

He hung up and stared into Eric's anxious eyes. "They found your Blazer at Solsalito and Avery with the motor running, the driver door open, and no one in sight. They towed it to the impound lot."

Eric's face reddened. "Why in the hell didn't they report it to me? They have the license number."

"The local police don't think in terms of security like we do. We'll have to assume that she's been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped! By whom?"

Willis pounded his large fist on his security console. "By that bastard Stram and his goons!"

Eric's eyes widened with terror. "Why? Why are they . . . what are we going to do?"

"We'll have to determine where they've taken her. I've got some contacts that may be able to help. Meanwhile, you get back to your place and wait. They may call you for . . . with some instructions."

Eric was discombobulated. He wanted to scream and yell but he knew it wouldn't do any good, so he gave Willis a half-hearted nod and left. His stomach churned and he felt numbness invading his body, causing his heart to beat faster and sweat to break out on his forehead.

He stopped and placed a hand against his chest.

Whoa! Was that my heart skipping? I've got to get myself under control. This isn't the time to fall to pieces. Get hold of yourself, Eric. Margaret needs you. God, I hope she's all right.

###

Margaret shook her head to clear the cobwebs, but the cobwebs were many. She couldn't feel her hands. It was as if they weren't there, but her wrists burned, her shoulders and ribs ached, and she had to struggle to breathe, as if something heavy was sitting on her chest. She tilted her head back and immediately noticed that her wrists were secured in manacles connected together by a long flexible rod. A chain attached to the rod at the midpoint ran up to a large crane near the ceiling. She looked down to see that her bare feet were not making contact. The inescapable conclusion was that she was suspended above the floor. She made an effort to swing her legs around to see if she could make contact with anything, but racking pain made her stop.

The dingy room had a high ceiling, like an old factory or warehouse. Dim light filtered through small cracks and holes in painted windows high above, and swirling smoke rode these beams of light down to the dingy concrete floor. She could smell the faint residue of old cigarettes, maybe even a cigar, mixed with oil and stale water.

She took note of a small table and chair nearby, and on the table she saw a small briefcase. No, more like leather instrument case.

I'm not sure I like the looks of that.

Muffled sounds: faint voices, footsteps, shuffling were the only signs of life in this otherwise dead place.

Why am I suspended above the floor of this damn place? Who's doing this to me?

All I can remember is stopping for a traffic light and someone opening the door and dragging me out . . . something jabbing my neck. After that, everything is a blank.

What the hell's going on?

A metal door clanged open and three men marched in as if they were participating in a fire drill. She recognized the man in a blue blazer as Dr. Stram. The other two drew a blank. One was a huge mountain of a man with Samoan features dressed in fatigues that were large enough to make a good-sized tent. He took up position near the door and folded huge arms around his barrel chest. The other man was tall and gaunt, with a long somber face framed with bushy black hair, and he quickly plopped into the chair near the table. Dressed in a black suit, he appeared more at home in a mortuary.

Stram hurried to his victim. "Ah, my dear Mrs. Hauptman," he said with a smug grin. "I see that you've come around."

His victim clenched her teeth. "Why are you doing this?"

Stram erupted with a series of exhaled giggles. "No need to get hyper, Mrs. Hauptman. We would like you to give us some information about the creatures."

"Why in the hell should I give you any information?"

Stram's eyebrows rose. "I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you. You're in no position to resist us."

"The hell with you!" she yelled and then grunted from the exertion.

Stram gestured to the thin man. He opened the small leather case on the table, pulled out a dissection scalpel, and turned it around in his hand as if he were trying to obtain an optimum grip on it. The sight of the instrument brought beads of sweat to Margaret's brow. The tendons on her neck bulged and twisted when she swallowed hard.

Why is he fooling with that scalpel? What's he going to do with it? Oh, God! I hope he isn't going to cut me.

Stram took pleasure in the concern clearly showing on his subject's face. It was just the reaction that he wanted.

The man with the scalpel walked over to her left side. She strained to see what he was doing, but it was difficult because her arms were stretched along side her face and moving her head caused terrible neck and shoulder pain. He held the scalpel in his right hand, paused for a few maddening seconds, and then in one quick motion cut down the left side of her shorts, completely separating the two halves. She reacted with a brief yell. After staring with heavy lidded eyes at her for a minute, the man walked around to her right side and repeated the action, eliciting a louder yell from her. Stram pulled the two halves from her body, throwing them to the floor.

"What in the hell are you doing?" she shouted at Stram.

"Why, Mrs. Hauptman," he said with a leering grin. "It should be quite obvious. We're removing your clothing."

"Why? I'm not some young babe. Why would you want to see me without my clothes?"

"You underestimate your appearance, my dear woman. You are a handsome example of femininity."

"I've been called many things, but handsome was never one of them." She grunted again and then gritted her teeth.

"Why, my dear Mrs. Hauptman. I was giving you a complement. I'm sure that I would enjoy seeing you without clothing."

She twisted her face in disgust. "You're nothing but a pervert. Why don't you go to a nudie-bar? The women are much better looking than I am, not to mention much younger."

"I'm not here to banter with you. I need information."

Margaret defiantly turned her face away. Stram motioned to the thin man who then used his scalpel to carefully cut her short-sleeved top, starting at the collar, up the arm, then down the arm and down the side. He did the same on the other side. Stram pulled the blouse from her.

After yelling her dissatisfaction, Margaret gave Stram a mocking grin. "If you want me to undress for you, why don't you let me down? I'm sure that I could do it in an adequately seductive manner."

Stram didn't make a reply to her taunt. He simply nodded. She felt a hand pull the left shoulder strap of her bra. She screamed when she felt the scalpel cut through it near where it's connected to the back strap.

"My dear lady, there's no need to be so vociferous. We're simply removing your undergarment."

Margaret glared at Stram. "Why don't you just unhook it? You don't need to destroy it."

"It's just a brassier."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I told you. We're removing your clothing," he said with a tone that suggested annoyance.
She jutted a defiant jaw out at him.

He nodded to the thin man again.

The scalpel cut through the right shoulder strap. She didn't scream this time. Instead, she grunted. The thin man came around in front and cut both shoulder straps at their connection to the cups. She watched both straps fall.

"You've ruined it. That's a special edition Cosabella Bra. They're not cheap."

"I'm surprised that a woman of your intellectual bearing would waste money on an expensive fashion undergarment."

"Well, if you must know, I'm wearing a Christian Dior control brief. They're all the rage."

Stram looked her lower torso over. "Yes, I see. Very fashionable. It becomes you quite nicely."

"I'm glad you approve."

"Well, since we've ruined your expensive bra, we may as well finish it." Stram gestured to the man with the scalpel and he went in back of Margaret. When she felt him pulling the back strap of her bra and the start of the scalpel's cut, she screamed as loud as she could. Stram gestured and the man with the scalpel stepped back without finishing the cut.

"I hope you're enjoying your little perverted game. You must get your kicks out of cutting off a woman's clothing."

"Mrs. Hauptman. I'm not here to be entertained by undressing you. I simply want some information."

"You're sick! I wouldn't give you the time of day!" She spat at him.

His brow furrowed and his teeth clenched. He wiped her spit from his face with a handkerchief. "If you're trying to provoke me, you're wasting your time. I have only one goal: to obtain information."

"You dirty bastard!"

Stram cracked a mocking smile and then stared at her with a serious expression. "Mrs. Hauptman. I had Dr. Meckler go through this little exercise to demonstrate his marvelous skill. He does all of our dissections and vivisections. He's quite good at it, you know. If you don't cooperate, I'll allow him to remove your skin one small section at a time just as skillfully as he removed your clothing. I think you realize how long we can prolong your suffering, not to mention the mess we would make."

"God damn you!"

"I think you should start with her breast," Stram said to Meckler. "A fifty centimeter square should be sufficient."

Meckler stood in front of Margaret. He paused a few seconds and then pulled the front of her bra forward so that he could position the scalpel to separate it between the cups.

"Ok! Ok!" she yelled, sounding as panicked as she could. "I get the message. I'll tell you what you want to know."

His face reflecting disappointment, Meckler removed his grip on her bra, allowing it to snap back. Margaret grimaced.

"Ouch! That hurt."

"You will suffer much more intense pain if you don't cooperate."

"Ok! Ok! I'll tell you. Just don't hurt me."

"That's better," Stram said. "But if you don't make good on your promise, I'll have Dr. Meckler skin you. He is so good he can peel the epidermal layer of your skin, exposing the underlying dermis with all its highly agitated nerve endings. He's done it before. It's a marvelous sight."

Margaret swallowed hard again. She knew what it would mean: horrible pain worse than burns.

"I don't know if I can tell you anything," she said in a low scratchy voice.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm having trouble staying conscious. What ever you gave me is interfering with my thinking."

Stram turned to Meckler. "I warned you. You gave her too much of your primitive anesthetic."

"It wasn't my fault," Meckler said, his squeaky voice rising in volume. "They told me that the woman would be one hundred sixty pounds." He pointed at Margaret. "This woman is less than one hundred fifteen pounds. If they had given me the correct weight, I would have prepared the correct dose."

"Yes," Stram said, frowning. "It's impossible to obtain reliable information these days." He gestured to the Samoan. "Get her down and take her to her cell. We'll continue this tomorrow, after she has had time to rid her blood of the anesthetic."

The big man pressed a button on a control and Margaret returned to the floor. Stram rushed to her side when she wavered. The Samoan removed her manacles and then placed his huge arm around her and helped her stagger away.

###

The phone rang and Eric's hand flew to it. "Is that you Margaret?"

"No, Dr. Hauptman, but we have your wife."

"Who is this? Is this Stram? If you harm her, I'll kill you myself!"

"Calm yourself, Dr. Hauptman. Your wife is unharmed. However, if you want to see her again, you'll have to pay for her."

"What? You want money . . . a ransom?"

"No, Dr. Hauptman. We want to exchange your wife for one of the creatures."

Eric was speechless. Stram's offer stunned him. His wife for a creature; a creature for his wife. His head spun from the terrible dilemma.

"Are you still there, Dr. Hauptman?"

"Yes . . . yes, I am."

"You have my offer. I will be in touch."

After Stram had hung up, Eric pumped the answer button several times in frustration. "Hello! Hello!"

All he heard was a dial tone.

That sonofabitch!

Eric wasted no time in calling Willis.

"That was Stram. He has Margaret. He wants to exchange her for one of the creatures."

"Calm down, Dr. Hauptman. Why don't you come over here? I'll get Anderson. We need to talk about this."

"Ok. I'll be right there."

Eric hung up and ran as fast as he could to the Institute's main building. When he arrived, he found Willis and Anderson waiting.

Eric gestured wildly. "What are we going to do, Alan? That bastard has Margaret."

"Let's think this thing through," Anderson said as calmly as he could. "We need to come up with a plan."

"How in the hell are we going to come up with a plan? We have no idea where they're holding her."

"That's not exactly true," Willis said.

"What do you mean?" Eric asked him, his eyes filled with surprise.

"Well, I took the liberty of recording your brief conversation with Stram. We couldn't get a lock because they're jamming it, but we did get some clues as to the location of the call. Stram's voice sounded as if he was in a large empty room. My guess is a warehouse or factory. If we take into consideration the fact that the goons that captured the young mermaid headed for the warehouse district, I think there's a high probability that your wife is being held in an old factory or warehouse."

"Yes," Anderson said. "That's where she is. But which building?"

Willis pointed at Anderson. "That's where my contacts come in. I had a hunch that they were holding her in the warehouse district even before Hauptman's conversation with Stram so I did some homework. I found out that a building that once housed the Bremen Motor Transport Company was recently rented out to a Domino Shipping Agency. I haven't been able to find diddly squat about this company. My guess is that it's a front. I think that's where they're holding Hauptman's wife."

Eric's eyes brightened. "Why don't we just go in there and get her out?"

"Hold on there, Hauptman," Willis said. "If we just barge in, they may kill her. We have to come up with a plan--along with the right personnel--to pull it off."

"Yes," Anderson said, rubbing an index finger over his mouth. "Organize a plan as soon as you can."

"Shouldn't we contact the police?" Eric asked.

Willis guffawed. "Forget the police. They're useless in a situation like this. We would have to go through hell to prove to them that there's sufficient cause, and then they would probably screw it up."

"Then, let's get with it," Eric said.

Willis put his hand on Eric's shoulder. "I want you to go back to your place and wait for Stram's instructions for an exchange. I want you to string him along. Act as if you're going to do what he wants."

Eric stared at Anderson with a pleading expression. "Then, you have no intentions of going through with the exchange."

Anderson lowered his eyes for a few seconds and then raised them. "I will not allow Stram to get his hands on one of these creatures. We will do everything we can to get your wife out of there safely. I promise you."

Eric continued staring at him for a somber minute before walking away with his head bowed.

Willis shook his head. "I hope he doesn't come unglued. We don't want to lose control of the situation."

"Yes," Anderson said. "Keep an eye on him."

Willis nodded.