Chapter Fifteen: Lines of Communication

Chapter Fifteen

Lines of Communication

Samar Chatterjee plodded down the tree lined street, his big hands thrust deep into the pockets of his blue Kolkata Knight Raiders hoodie. The aroma of early barbecues scented the air but the big man was not full of the joys of spring. His head was down and his brow was creased into wrinkles of annoyance. He wanted to help Ellie, but even with her assurance he still didn't trust the mysterious man in black.

He turned the corner and saw the jet black VW camper parked up against the curb, exactly where the weirdo that had been with Ellie had told him it would be. In spite of himself Samar paused to take in the glossy finish and polished chrome. He whistled softly under his breath. "You have a cool ride man, I'll give you that..." 

He pulled the keychain out of his pocket, unlocked the driver's door and clambered in, looking around the interior with the critical eye of a motor enthusiast. Samar liked cars; his own heavily modded Mk 2 Golf was his pride and joy. Campers weren't really his thing, but he was impressed in spite of himself. The seat seemed to morph to fit his body shape and was more comfortable than any of the furniture in the flat he shared with his mother. Everything seemed to be either black or silver, but it was all showroom perfect and enticingly organic looking. He ran an almost reverent hand over the dashboard, then thrust the key into the ignition and fired up the engine.

That was when he really got a surprise...

-oOo-

The Duke showed no emotion as he wiped Ellie's spittle from his face with a perfectly laundered white linen handkerchief. He stepped back slightly and regarded his prisoner with calculating eyes.

"I really was hoping you'd see reason, Miss Sage." His raspy sandpaper-on-stone voice scraped on Ellie's ears as she returned his dispassionate gaze with a wrathful glare. "Your cooperation is not required, but it would have made things more," he paused, as if searching for the most appropriate word "palatable." He turned his back to her and continued. "As it is, I suppose I shall have to leave you here."

Without further comment he walked out through the seamless white wall, leaving Ellie paralysed, glaring at the cell wall in mute and impotent fury.

-oOo-

Samar had driven maybe a hundred yards, marvelling at the raw power he could feel under his right foot and the unexpectedly smooth handling of the venerable camper. "I dunno know what he's done to this engine," he thought to himself, "but this is sweeeet!"

The voice took him completely by surprise.

"Tris? Is that you?"

The voice was tinny and sounded far away - even a little other-worldly. He looked around sharply in the direction of the sound, which caused him to swerve the 'van slightly to the right - an action which earned some indignant honking from a Ford Fiesta approaching from the opposite direction.

As he raised his hand to wave an apology Samar caught a blur of movement in his peripheral vision and let out an involuntary cry of alarm. Hovering next to his right ear was a golf ball sized sphere which glowed a soft yellow from within. Samar pulled sharply to the curb.

The far away voice came again. "Who the bloody hell are you?!" Samar tried to catch the hovering orb, but it darted out of the way and zipped into the back of the camper, just out of reach. "I asked you a question!"  The disembodied voice was still distant and tinny but carried an unmistakable level of threat. Samar was about to reply when the engine of the camper cut out and the doors all locked themselves at once.

-oOo-

Bunco's hands flew across the mahogany veneer of the console. The image from the com-globe was unstable to say the least, but he could tell that he was looking at the inside of the camper-van. He was not looking at his friend however. The man with the shoulder length hair and the neatly trimmed beard was big enough to make at least two Tristians. In a few key strokes he disabled the vehicle's engine and locked the doors.

"I said, who the bloody hell are you?!" he demanded again, then flinched as a section of the console exploded in what he regarded as an unnecessarily melodramatic shower of sparks and a sharp smell of ozone. The damage to the Fuga Libero had been extensive, and although Bunco's equipment was heavily shielded it had not been immune.

The face of the big man loomed larger as he leaned into the back of the camper to get a better look at the com-globe, the small lens distorting his features, drastically foreshortening his face and making his nose look comically large. Bunco gazed at the flickering visage on his screen. The man was big, certainly, big enough to pose a physical threat even to a skilled combatant such as Tristian. But he didn't look threatening. If anything he looked confused. Bunco leaned in to the mike.

"Hello? Sorry to startle you, old chap. Name's Bunco. I'm a friend of Trisitan's. Who are you?"

The face on the screen peered closer.

"Samar. Erm,  I was picking up your mate's 'van?" his intonation rose as though his answer had in fact been a question. Bunco smiled and leaned back into the mike.

"Capital - simply capital!" His fingers deftly caressed a couple of controls on his console to re-start the camper's engine. "Take me to him then, and let's get a move on," another shower of sparks erupted from a control panel on the wall behind him. "I'm not entirely sure how long I can keep this line open."

-oOo-

The paralysis ended so abruptly that Ellie's muscles were unable to adjust fast enough and she crashed face first into the floor like an unstrung marionette. She groaned as she felt the cartilage in her nose crunch.

"Bollocks!"

Gingerly she sat up and propped herself against the softly glowing whiteness of the wall. She licked her lips and tasted the copper salted tang of the blood that was running freely down her face. With a heavy sigh she pulled up the hem of her T-Shirt and wiped it away, tipping her head forwards, vaguely remembering that this was how you avoided choking on your own blood when you had a nosebleed.

Smacking her head into the floor had done little to alleviate the headache she'd had since Tristian had allowed The Duke to take her from her flat. She raised her fingers to her temples and gave them a gentle massage. It helped, but not much.

"So," she muttered to herself. "What the fuck do I do now?"

-oOo-

Samar hurried up the stairs to Ellie's flat trying to ignore the faintly glowing ball that hovered by his ear. The door to the flat was open, and Samar entered to find the Viscount perched on the edge of the sofa holding a steaming bowl of curry in one hand with a fork poised in the other. Laid out on a cloth on the carpet in front of him was a huge spread of naan breads, samosas and any number of other Indian take-away staples. He was looking at the feast with a comical expression of overwhelmed bemusement on his face.

The big man grinned in spite of himself. "Ma likes you then."

Trisitian looked up. "I think she might be trying to feed me to death!"

The com-globe emerged from behind Samar's head. "Pleased to see you've got your priorities in order old bean, but I could do with a sit-rep if you'd be so good?"

At the sound of his friend's distantly metallic voice the Viscount leapt to his feet, "Bunco-" he began, the joy in his voice instantly tempered by the Niagra of fish curry cascading down his trousers. He tutted at the mess and swiped ineffectually at it with the square of kitchen roll he'd been using as a napkin. Samar shook his head slightly and headed for the kitchen.

"Never mind your bloody trousers, man! The boat's in a bad way and I don't know how long this link will last!"

"Alright, alright, keep your wig on!" Trisitan sank back into the sofa, deftly catching the dampened towel that Samar had tossed him from the kitchen doorway. "It's bad Bunco. Ellie's back in The Office - or at least that's my best guess. Duke bloody Regimen came in and took her himself."

"Oh that's just wonderful!" The irritation in Bunco's voice was unmissable. "Why didn't you stop him?"

A slight snarl curled Trisitan's lip. "Well, goodness me - why on Earth didn't I think of that?" He scrubbed viciously at his stained trousers, "He had a bloody gun to her head and I was unarmed. And he's the bloody Duke! Where are you?"

"Undisclosed location in V594."

"You went from 607 to 594? Not a massive jump."

"Yes, well, the Libero is pretty banged up. Sorry if we didn't set any records."  The irritation in Bunco's voice was joined by an edge of sarcasm.

Tristian's expression sobered. "Finningly AS in 607 is gone. I left the Red Kite to do a survey of our other bases there, but I don't hold out much hope." He stood cautiously, carefully stepping over the now curry splattered feast on the floor before him. "Doesn't matter now though - we need to get Ellie back, and for that I need you. Let me have your coordinates and I'll come and meet up."

There was a pause before the globe spoke again. "Not such a good idea. Stoici is even more convinced that you're a traitor now. I'll call the Kite back and come to you."

Trisitian stepped forward, narrowly avoiding a plate of samosas, raising a finger at the globe as he did so. "You can't bring Red here you idiot! We need to keep a low-"

He stopped abruptly as the orb went dark and fell to the ground. Picking it up and dropping it into a waistcoat pocket Trisitian swore under his breath.

"How long have you two been married?"

The chuckling voice behind him made Tristian whirl in surprise. He'd almost forgotten Samar. "What?"

Samar grinned. ""You two. I don't know who this Bunco is, but you bicker like a couple of old women." His smile faded. "Which isn't helping get Ellie back home. So. Explain to me how we're going to do that.