Excerpt from KANGAL Book two of The Tripper Series

“She sits in her own waste; having no choice, she is starting to get used to the idea. Hands bound behind her with chains that are threaded through a metal ring in the wall, she has no ability to stand up and move. About all she can do it lay down left or right, either way her now ragged dress and its extra contents would come with her just the same. Might as well sit up, it seems to smell less, and be more tolerable in this position anyway. Not to mention any blood that is flowing from her face has a better chance of finding its way down her throat instead of across her face and into her eye. Knowing nothing about the amount of blood her body contains she is looking at it as a victory over the government that turned against her, and locked her in one of its nastiest prisons. It seems it is their strongest desire to remove her of all her blood, and will, through beatings.

Having been here for over a month now she knows exactly what she is accused of. . .not a good time for it either. France is looking for scapegoats and culprits as to why they are doing so bad in this war against the Germans. She of her frequent travels, and ability to spend time with people of power, and willingness to do so regardless of their nationality. She is driven solely on a monetary basis, not a belief system or nationality basis. This is what made her most dangerous.

So naturally she was a spy, or at least the perfect scapegoat, that no one would miss, to take the fall as one. After all, all of those powerful men will just replace her with someone else; she has no internal lies about her status in societies. Just the best paid concubine they will ever have had is all she is. Unfortunately that won’t be realized until several years from now, and she will be long dead by then. Im visse’, she will be dead by the end of the month if she is lucky to live that long even.

At the top of the stairs, down a long dark hallway, not far from where the woman slumps tied to the wall, a key scrapes its way into a rarely used lock. It screams its protest, and is used anyway. The key turns and stops, a little more pressure is applied and the cylinder reluctantly releases with a click that rings down the stairs, traveling the hallway to the woman. Who beaten severely, and starved of food or any sustenance other than water that was more piss than anything, kinda hears the noise in the back reaches of her brain. Ears swollen shut from a cane’s blows, she feels the sound more that hears it.

The heavy door groans profusely as it is pushed open, the sound echoes indefinitely.

Whispering…

A scuff of a boot on a step and then another and another, reaching the bottom of the stairs, a pause.

Someone talks, quietly, under his breath, “He said right.” A scuff of boots that turn into

Click

Click

Click, click, click… the sound is moving confidently toward her.

Its about this time she manages to start lifting her head. It takes a minute or so to get it high enough to be able to take a look. When she manages, she sees shiny black boots standing there totally out of place in this dungeon. Working her head higher she sees the rest of the man matches his boots. Totally put together, perfection through effort, she has seen many a man like this before. Most of her powerful customers had at least one of these guys hanging around. They were the kind kept around to handle things that are not happening, and never did. The kind of things that would ruin their reputation and strip them of their power upon becoming common knowledge. Therefore these men do things, that most are not capable of.

He speaks, “You awake?” he cocks his head and looks sideways at her a little bit, waiting.

She manages to nod her head a bit.

“Good.” He says.

I am here to present you with a choice: stay here and die, or come with me, and help redeem yourself in the eyes of France.”

He stands and watches her as her head sways back and forth, half from semi-consciousness, and half as a reaction to her bodies pain. They obviously have been working her hard.

He crouches down onto his haunches, moving himself to her level, he does his best to make contact with her, “This is a one time offer.” He tries to look into her eyes, they are so swollen he can’t tell if she can see him or not.

“If you help me catch a spy, we will release you from the accusation of being a spy and set you free.”

The man waits patiently.

He hears a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Yes, I will do it.” She whispers….

Quieter, almost not out-loud, “I will do anything.” She says.

He watches her fall over on the straw.

Over and over she’s says this phrase, not aware that she has actually passed out and is dreaming this expression over and over in her brain.

He watches her for a moment, trying to see what men see in her, hard to see in this state. Mostly he likes her tenacity, it may come in handy too.

The man calls for the guard. He works his way down the stairs and hall, quickly.

“Yes Mr. Batard?”

“Carry her out of here and get started cleaning her up. I will send my doctor.”

“But she stinks and is filthily and is. . .probably disease ridden.”

“And that is all your doing.” Mr. Batard says. After a thought, “Carry her out of here. Now!”

The guard reluctantly moves towards her and after unchaining her from the wall, picks her up and throws her, rag doll like, over his shoulder. He bounces her a bit to reposition her, some of the waste escapes her dress and falls to the ancient straw.

“Misfortunate suisje.” Escapes the guards mouth as he walks down the hall.

The man, Lee Batard, stands there watching the guard and his half dead package moving down the hall. He then listens to the guards boots scrape as he ascends the stairs towards the fresh air and light above.

“You have no idea my man, no idea at all, how misfortunate you really are.” The man smiles, knowing the guard will be killed as soon as he reaches the automobile. We can’t have any witnesses now can we, this didn’t happen after all. Looking around in distain, he marvels that this woman, this Mata Hari is as tough as she was talked up to be. Surviving in this environment for as long as she did proves it.

Amazingly she confessed to nothing the entire time she was here, not even things they know for a fact she did. This is exactly why he needs her for this gig, no other can pull it off. She is dead anyway, so he can just return her to here when he is finished with her, then she will be able to finish her job as scapegoat to France.

Getting a whiff of the freshly fallen poop, he steps over it, and with purpose strides down the hall, hoping it will be a long time before he has to reclaim anyone from this spot again. Yet knowing this war is just getting warmed up, he is sure he will be here frequently and often over the next few years.”

 

Book two takes us further back in time, a couple hundred years in fact, so far back the repercussions have already been felt!