Desires Captive

It was impossible for Saffron to hold back her shudder of horror. Olivia’s cruel laughter was drowned out by the Mercedes’ engine firing, the paintwork flashing briefly in the sun before it disappeared in the direction she had driven with Nico such a short time ago.

It was the realisation of all her worst nightmares; a descent to hell itself, with every nerve in her body screaming in mindless panic as she fought against her desire to turn and run, knowing that to do so would be to invite Olivia’s gleeful retaliation.

As she stood there in the hot sun, all her tentative awakening emotions were gripped with the frost of reality. Desire and burgeoning love had been crushed by bitterness and a burning desire for revenge; not so much because she had been kidnapped, Saffron realised, but because of the way it had been accomplished; the ease with which Nico had insinuated himself into her life, her vulnerability towards him. He had used her, coldly, calculatingly and callously, and she would make him pay for that if she spent the last drop of her life’s blood in doing so. A raging thirst for revenge filled her, blotting out fear and panic, and making her strong enough to face the barrage of those three cold faces and three machine-guns with pride and calm.

Her anger burned with the death touch of unyielding ice, enabling her to clarify her thoughts, and use the adrenalin pumping through her veins to think swiftly and clearly. Her father was a millionaire and that fact was well publicised, which, presumably, was why they had made her their prey, but most of his wealth was tied up in his business, and even if he could raise whatever ransom was demanded, Saffron had severe doubts that she would ever be set free. She had already read her fate in the implacable eyes of her kidnappers; how many victims suffering exactly her situation had ever been released? Look at her father’s close friend. He had been kidnapped and then murdered. She was faced with two choices; either she could give in to the panic she had battened down inside herself and become a grovelling, pleading object; or she could devote her last ounce of stamina, all her mental and physical reserves in trying to outwit her captors. The same instincts which had raised her father from relative obscurity to the position he held today surfaced in Saffron; the age-old need for survival pumped urgently through her bloodstream, and without conscious volition her decision was made. As she numbly followed the direction Olivia indicated with her gun the words of an old saw floated into her mind, ‘Living well is the best revenge,’ but in her case simply living would be her revenge, and she would cling to that thought with every breath she drew. Somehow, she didn’t know how yet, she was going to live and she was going to bring to justice those who had perpetuated this crime against her; and Nico… Revenge was a heady wine and she had drunk deeply of it; deeply enough to overcome her fear, and her mind worked feverishly as she sought some avenue of escape, striving to ignore the dangerous silence and the two guns at her back as Olivia led the way to the dusty Land Rover.

CHAPTER THREE (#ufd42cbc3-8acc-519c-8424-aa61c886dd66)

‘IN,’ she ordered Saffron curtly. The muzzle of the machine-gun pressed coldly against her spine, but Saffron refused to give way to the terror threatening to surge over her, sesnsing that this was exactly what Olivia was waiting for.

Of the two men, the taller watched her impassively as she struggled into the Land Rover, but it was the smaller, swarthier of the two who made Saffron shudder as she saw the way his eyes roamed hotly over her body.

‘Remember what Nico said,’ Olivia instructed as she swung herself into the Land Rover. ‘When we get back to the farm everything must appear as normal.’

‘Nico!’ The swarthier of the two men spat noisesomely. ‘Dio, who is Nico to give us orders? Always before we have worked on our own.’

The complaint had an air of repetition, confirmed when Saffron heard Olivia respond curtly, ‘That was before. We have orders now from Rome. Nico is in charge. Wasn’t he the one to suggest this?’ she added defensively. ‘It will make us more money than…’

‘Money—ah yes, we are always in need of that,’ the taller of the men agreed. ‘Our cause is not noted for its wealthy supporters.’

They all laughed, then Saffron gasped in pain as Olivia grasped her wrist and ordered, ‘Piero, you take the wheel. Guido, help me get the handcuffs on her.’

Guido was the smaller of the two men, the one Saffron disliked the most, and she flinched away from the sourness of his body as he bent towards her. Although not tall, he was well muscled, his fingers easily gripping both her wrists, and she was forced to submit to the final indignity of having her wrists constrained in the handcuffs attached to the side of the Land Rover.

‘Just in case you try to do something foolish like jumping out,’ Olivia warned her. ‘Not that you would. You are not exactly the stuff of martyrs, are you? Does it never worry you that while you live off champagne and caviare, dressed in fine silks and satins, there are people in the world living from hand to mouth, forced always into giving a tithe of their pitiful income to support their oppressors? But soon all that will end. The curse that has held our people in bondage for so long will be removed.’

Her fanaticism terrified Saffron. She didn’t begin to understand what the other girl was talking about, but an inner instinct urged her to show interest, as though by listening to her captors she might discover the key to her own freedom.

‘You believe in Communism?’ she hazarded.

‘You are right.’ Olivia’s dark eyes glittered. ‘Each man and woman has the right to be equal, but they are denied that basic human right; wealth which should be evenly spread among them is held by far too few, the Church especially, but soon all that will end.’

Saffron couldn’t believe her ears. ‘But Italy is a Catholic country,’ she protested. ‘The people would never abandon their religion.’

‘Then we shall have to use force,’ Guido cut in. ‘In the end they will see the wisdom of what we are doing. The Church is rotten and corrupt; a money-making machine feeding off the people. We will take that wealth and share it among them.’

Surely they couldn’t believe such a thing could be accomplished, Saffron thought, appalled, but she saw that they did. Each of them was wearing a rapt, fixed expression, zeal written clearly on their features. Did Nico share their fanatical views?

‘The organisation has strong supporters in the universities,’ Olivia told her. ‘Our young people see how false the Christian religion is. “Blessed are the meek,"’ she quoted scornfully. ‘That is what they say, but saying and doing are two different things, and in this world the meek get trodden underfoot.’

‘And you intend to change that?’

‘It is what many people think we intend to do,’ Piero told her mirthlessly. ‘But there will always be those who hold power and those who yield before it, but before we can rebuild first we have to destroy, and for that we need money—money we raise by ransoming rich prizes such as you.’

‘Of all the so-called terrorist organisations in the world, we are the most feared,’ Olivia boasted. ‘More so than the P.L.O. or the Red Brigade. Already we have been responsible for the deaths of over a thousand people.’

‘But you’re killing innocent people,’ Saffron expostulated. ‘Surely you would gain more support for your cause by using reasoned argument, not mindless terrorism?’

‘The way rich dictators do?’ Piero scoffed. ‘We have discovered that one machine-gun speaks more potently that a million useless words, although the day will come when the world will listen to our words, even if we have to destroy everyone who tries to stand in our way.’

The venom in his voice terrified Saffron. To her their words were those of political extremists, the enormity of what they were suggesting almost impossible for her to grasp.

‘Out!’

She had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn’t realised the Land Rover had stopped.

‘Hurry!’ Olivia ordered, almost pushing her out of the Land Rover as she unlocked the handcuffs. ‘Don’t keep Guido waiting,’ she warned Saffron. ‘He gets impatient, and when he gets impatient…’

She didn’t finish the threat, but she didn’t need to. Saffron could see the man grinning at her coarsely, as he lolled against the side of the Land Rover, picking his teeth.

‘Why don’t I just give her a sample of what’s in store?’ he suggested, moving towards her. His fingers had grasped her shirt front and Saffron had stiffened rigidly into her seat, before Olivia responded with an obvious ring of regret,

‘Nico said not to touch her.’

Guido grimaced. ‘Because he wants her for himself?’ he suggested. ‘And besides, how would he know? He won’t be the first man she’s had, by all accounts, and she’s a hot little piece.’

‘Nico doesn’t want her,’ Olivia denied heatedly, her eyes flashing venomously over Saffron’s slender body. ‘He despises her and all she stands for, you’ve heard him…

‘Get out!’ she ordered Saffron again, and Saffron did so shakily, the thought of Guido touching her making her almost physically sick, blotting out her mental anguish. Thank God they didn’t know the truth, she thought half hysterically. If they did… She shuddered violently, realising that the destruction of her innocence would be merely amusing to a man like Guido.

The farmhouse was set among a few acres of scrubby olives and neglected vines, half a dozen painfully thin cows in a small paddock attached to the main building.

‘Another idea of Nico’s,’ Olivia told her, watching her. ‘If anyone comes up here poking around we’re just another poor family trying to get a living out of a run-down smallholding. Guido and Piero are my brothers.’

‘And Nico?’ Saffron asked unwisely, wishing she hadn’t when she saw the triumph glittering in the other girl’s eyes, knew that she had wanted her to ask.

‘Oh, Nico plays the same role as he does in real life,’ she told Saffron softly. ‘He is my man, my lover.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘You stupid, little rich fool! Did you honestly think a man such as Nico would want a woman like you? A woman who has no conception of anything apart from her clothes and her jewellery?’ Her mouth twisted mockingly, and Saffron felt a sudden upsurge of reciprocal anger.

‘At least that’s better than those half-baked ideas you call your “cause”,’ she taunted, flinching as Olivia grasped a handful of her hair, twisting it until pain lanced through her scalp, her fingers leaving a scarlet imprint on Saffron’s face when she hit her.

Saffron wanted to retch with nausea, caused more by the sudden display of violence than pain. Physical violence had always been something she had abhorred, and this was the woman Nico preferred to her; had they laughed about her together, planning her capture, planning how Nico would make love to her?

‘It was his duty,’ Olivia told her, reading her mind. ‘Do not think he desired you—he hates you and your sort. If it wasn’t for the money your father will pay to get you back he would kill you with no more regret that he would stamp on a snake.’

It was just beginning to dawn on Saffron that she was actually held prisoner by these political fanatics, whose respect for human life was nil, and Nico was one of them. Just for a moment she verged on the humiliation of completely breaking down, and then with almost superhuman effort managed to restrain herself. She must fix her thoughts of escaping and revenge; she must give herself something to work for.

All too soon she was inside the farmhouse. Downstairs there was merely one large, primitive room with a mud floor, baked hard over the years, and the most basic of kitchen arrangements in one corner, with a large woodburning range and a single tap. They had walked past a small building set on its own, and Saffron shuddered to think of the primitive sanitary arrangements. Would her captors try to indoctrinate her with their beliefs? If they tried she would strongly resist their attempts, but she suspected that their organisation did not make converts of its victims and that they saw her merely in terms of the money she would bring in, just as Nico had seen her. Nico! Why did she still have to feel this senseless pain whenever she thought of him? The man she had thought he was simply hadn’t existed. He had been a daydream, a figure of romance and fiction conjured up by her own need.

‘Come!’

The curt word and the painful tug on her arm which accompanied it jerked Saffron back to reality. Olivia indicated that she was to walk up the rickety wooden stairs leading to the upper storey. Four doors opened off the small landing and one of them bore a new, shiny padlock. Olivia opened it and pushed back the door, disturbing clouds of dust as she thrust Saffron inside. The room was small with a small window, the air stale. A narrow camp bed occupied one corner, a sleeping bag flung down beside it.

‘Your room,’ Olivia told her in a parody of politeness. ‘I trust the signorina finds everything to her liking?’

The door was closed and locked before Saffron could make any comment.

Left to her own devices, she ran to the window, but she could see nothing other than the barren countryside and the narrow river meandering through one of the meadows. They were professionals, she acknowledged, mentally reviewing her situation; by the time her father learned that she was missing it would be far too late for anyone to find her. She had read about these politically motivated organisations; ruthless fanatics whose vicious treatment of their victims was not something she dared allow herself to dwell on, and yet unbidden, all the horror stories she had ever read came crowding into her mind. There had been the Getty heir; he had lost an ear, hadn’t he; and then Patty Hearst, forced to join the ‘gang’ who had kidnapped her, and there were dozens of others. All at once the self-control which had sustained her from the beginning of her ordeal deserted her. Her whole body started to tremble, and she had to force back a desire to scream and scream until she was hoarse. Panic, once allowed to force its way through her guard, flooded her mind. She flung herself face down on the camp bed, muffling the sound of her crying with the sleeping bag as tears overwhelmed her. And then to compound her misery, hunger pangs gnawed insistently at her stomach. Were they planning to starve her in addition to everything else? Her tears stopped flowing, and as she straightened up she acknowledged that she had probably needed that brief release. Gradually her body stopped trembling. Footsteps on the stair alerted her. Frantically scrubbing at her face, she prayed that in the dimness of the badly lit room no one would be able to tell that she had been crying. Stiff with tension, she listened.