|
FOUNDLING: ONE OF THOSE KIND OF DAYS [ part 25 ] Sister A stood between the nearest terrorist and her charges. She did not know if they were after them all or a specific child. All the children were whimpering and most were wide-eyed and trembling. The nearest terrorist, with those masks over their faces, it was impossible to discern age or sex, walked towards her and in a Germanic voice asked which child was the Rhinegold child. Sister A stayed silent, and the man asked her again. Again she kept silent. He asked a third time and when she again refused, slapped her hard across the face. She staggered back, her hand automatically coming up to her swiftly bruising face. Ting Giggles ran out of the nearest group of c girls screaming at the terrorist and he sent her sprawling with a hard backhanded. Sister A screamed and rushed her assailant. He raised the pistol in his hand and fired. The impact of the slug drove Sister A backwards against the wall, and she slid down the wall, collapsing into a black clothed ball. All the girls screamed and scattered every witch way. The terrorist who shot Sister A just stood there dumfounded. The other three attempting and failing to snatch a single screaming little female as they sprinted through the dead garden like gazelles. Returning to their frozen leader, the other three terrorists removed their masks. One went for the damaged old panel van they were going to use as an escape vehicle and removing their gear transferred it to the Mercedes. As they drove off, little Giggles crawled out of a dense bush and over to her mistress. She rolled her over and with her tears dripping down on her mistress's face, kissed her cooling lips. Foundling ran like the wind, dragging, shoving, and finally carrying little Melissa far away from another group of kidnappers as she possibly could. It was getting dark when she dropped exhausted into a small area of dry brush. Dragging the sobbing Melissa behind her. As the night enfolded the two terrified little waifs, Foundling held Melissa close. Eventually, one of the bound guards managed to squirm loose. Freeing the rest, and forcing their way out of the luggage space under a bus, recovered their weapons and secured the area. There was no sign of a single child. A smear of blood down an outside wall of the abandoned villa was all they found. The battered truck was still wedged into the lead bus and Sister A's armored car along with the communications gear, was gone. It took a while for the drivers to start one of the buses, turn it around and head back down to the were the terrorists had erected the false road repair roadblock. Back in Berlin a corpulent middle aged nude man stood in the middle of a dim torture chamber. Every device, implement, cuff, chain and shackle had carefully been designed to hold, restrain and torture into submission one tiny little female. In the room beyond, a small iron cage hung in a gallows arm over a deep well. Very soon the desperate terrorist would deliver his little niece into his hands. The German police may have imprisoned him in his own house, but with her body to torture and her mind to break, he would not mind it one bit. He glanced at his expensive watch. In less than twenty-four ours his enjoyment would begin. He stroked his flaccid maleness. It had not blossomed in years, but even the dreams of what he would do to her, stiffened it. |