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London, New Year’s Eve 2000 Duncan Balfour didn’t know how his nemesis had gotten all the video footage of Fletcher growing up, but he would find out and make someone pay. He wanted to turn off the computer and get away from those images of his boy laughing at birthday parties, holidays on the beach, and school breaks, but he couldn’t. Whoever was behind this must know that Balfour would be torturing himself wondering what was happening to Fletcher. Anything would be better than waiting for more contact with the kidnapper. Scotland, New Year’s Eve 2000 Anika had Seth Holden’s head in her lap, languidly brushing her fingers through his hair. It had taken her the better part of an hour to entice the young man to relax enough to feel comfortable to lay his head in her lap. She wished she had more time available to her – maybe later, she would make the time to totally transform this young man. Normally, she preferred physical domination of men in the traditional sense – swatting their asses with her riding crop or whip and making them crawl on all fours. Very occasionally, she found a gentle-natured soul who responded better to a different approach – she felt as much of a power rush in physically transforming them into a more ideal physical image. Of course, by doing that, Anika also knew all their weaknesses and could just as easily dismantle that new self image. As she stroked Seth’s hair, she began sliding her other hand under his shirt and teasing his nipples, smiling as his breathing deepened and his trousers became tighter. Men were such easy playthings – it took so little physical stimulation to get them aroused, and their bodies always showed their excitement. Anika leaned over and kissed the shy young man and was surprised at the eagerness with which the kiss was returned. Of course, she shouldn't have been, she reminded herself – he had probably been dreaming of seductive kisses since puberty, and never had the self-confidence to even approach a girl or another boy for that that matter. Anika started whispering about what a cute mouth and eyes Seth had, making the shy lad blush and look away in delight. He was almost ready for her to make her move. Taking a handful of his hair, she told him how soft and thick it was – how nice it felt between her fingers. It was just too bad the style didn’t suit him. As she expected, Seth was crestfallen hearing those words – she could imagine the teasing he’d received about his looks in the past. Before he could react, Anika quickly pointed out that fixing a bad choice of hairstyles was the easiest thing in the world. She brushed the hair off his forehead, telling him how much difference little changes could make – changing the way he combed his hair, a slightly more flattering cut, maybe even a chance or enhancement of color, and anyone could look devastatingly sexy. Anika almost laughed aloud when Seth’s eyes grew wide and asked if that really was true. Smiling, she kissed him on the tip of the nose and took his hand to lead him into her bathroom. He belonged to her now. Anika had Seth kneeling in front of her as she sat on the vanity stool and brushed his hair, changing the part from the middle of his head to a high right hand part. She was impressed at the change it did make in him. Holding up a mirror, she pointed out that the only real problem with his style was that the stylist left too much bulk to hair, and how some layering and a little tapering would solve that problem. He didn’t even protest when she produced a small set of scissors and started gathering locks of his hair to snip away. She grinned down at him – he never had a chance. In the operating room, Fletcher groaned and rolled his head as if to clear it before opening his eyes. He’d had some weird dreams – he vaguely remembered a blonde goddess, sensations of floating and flying through the air, and some other things that didn’t make any sense. He reached up to rub his head and found his hands couldn’t move – opening his eyes, he found himself naked and strapped down to some kind of table. Something flashed through his head – that blonde, she wasn’t a goddess – the bitch had jabbed him with something. He immediately began shouting to be released, threatening anyone who could hear him without taking into account that strapped down like he was, he wasn’t in any position to carry out any of the threats. A broad, bald man appeared and stared down dispassionately at him. “You’re awake,” Max observed. “’Bout time.” “You’d fucking well better let me go,” Fletcher threatened. “Yeah? Or what will you do?” Max countered. “Shut up and stop acting like such a asshole.” Max disappeared from sight, ignoring the young man’s screams and threats. Fletcher found his head felt strange against the table and realized while he was unconscious someone had shaved his head – that infuriated him even more, making him increase his idle threats. He only stopped when the lights in the room dimmed to near darkness. One light was left shining directly into his face. The silhouette of a man blocked most of the light shining into his eyes. Fletcher squinted, but couldn’t make out any features on the man – he heard other people moving around in the room and tried to twist to see what was going on. “Shut up, all that shouting is giving me a headache,” the man at his feet said. “Who the fuck are you?” Fletcher shouted, ignoring the man. “What the fuck is going on here?” “You can call me Knight – Mr. Knight,” Knight said. “As for what is going on – let’s just say it’s time to settle accounts old and new.” Knight moved to the head of the table, keeping his face in the shadows for now. He ran his hand over the stubble covering Fletcher’s head. “How’s it feel to have all your pretty hair shaved off against your will? Of course, you were pretty drugged at the time and probably don’t remember it. I was your age when my hair was shaved off against my will – they waited until the drugs wore off and I woke up to find myself shackled and helpless. I remember each pass of those clippers and the smiles on the faces of the people watching.” ‘What the fuck does that have to do with me?” Fletcher snarled. “Can’t you guess?” Knight asked. “It was your father who ordered it done, he was the one smiling at that first humiliation.” Knight saw the first faint glimmer of worry cross Fletcher’s eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small remote control. “Of course, thanks to the wonder of video tape, you and your friends can see you own haircutting.” “Friends?” Knight stepped away from the table and pressed the remote button raising the lights to reveal Sam Lovett, Thomas Jordan, and Morgan Parker strapped to chairs near the table. Their mouths were covered with tape, preventing them from speaking out. Knight hit another button on the remote and monitors around the room came to life showing Fletcher strapped to the chair in the warehouse as Anika ran the clippers over his head. “In case you’re wondering,” Knight said from behind Fletcher. “We sent the hair to your father.” Knight slowly moved around the table, leaving the lights up – and his scarred face exposed. He felt the familiar burning in his stomach when Fletcher hissed sharply when he saw the scarred face. Looking across the room, Knight saw the other three try to look away. Knight reached up and fingered his face. “Your father did this me, Fletcher. But, he did something else to me, first. You know what he did – why don’t you tell your friends what he did.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fletcher said, nervously. “Of course you do,” Knight said, his anger growing. “You’ve been joining your father on his summer cruises since you were fifteen. You’ve watched what he likes doing to good looking boys to break them and make them more docile for his brothels. You seemed to enjoy watching that!” Knight used the remote to change playback units and images of a younger Fletcher watching as a half dozen shackled young men blubbered as Dr. Collins’ assistant placed the castrating bands around the scrotums of the victims. The image changed to the ship’s infirmary where Fletcher eagerly watched as Collins castrated each of the young men. Knight grabbed Fletcher’s head and twisted it so he was facing his friends – each of them were staring in horror at him. At a nod from Knight, Max stepped up and ripped the tape from their mouths. “You sick fuck!” Jordan screamed. “I thought I knew you.” “That’s not real,” Sam babbled. “Come on, Fletch, say it’s a fake.” Fletcher tried to turn his head away, but Knight refused to release his grip. “No one was supposed to know,” Fletcher whimpered. “And that makes if fucking alright?” Jordan shouted. “So why are we here?” Morgan asked in a small voice. The others stopped shouting, the question striking fear into their hearts. “You are here to be witnesses,” Knight said. “No harm will come to you.” Knight looked around, feigning surprise. “But, there’s supposed to be another witness – where is he?” On cue, Anika entered the room, accompanied by Seth. Knight took the opportunity to leave the room for a while – things were getting close to the end now and he had some things to prepare. The others were amazed at the change in Seth Holden – he didn’t look like the dorky guy that Fletcher hazed and harassed at every opportunity. The mass of hair that never seemed to want to stay combed was fashionably styled – layered and parted casually. Seth looked like a regular guy – not some target of scorn. Each of the three felt ashamed of themselves for their parts in humiliating him at Fletcher’s direction. The new confidence Seth had felt seeing the change Anika had made in him was reinforced by the looks of wonder on the faces of Fletcher’s three friends. He had been a little nervous about the clothes Anika had laid out for him to wear – they were all hers. She had explained that everyone else at the manor were much larger and their clothes wouldn’t fit. She had found a white turtleneck top, a tennis sweater, and black jeans that could pass as part of a young man’s wardrobe – as long as no one examined them too closely. Seth walked straight towards the table on which Fletcher was strapped, squared his shoulders and stared down at his former tormenter. Reaching out, he fiercely rubbed Fletcher’s buzzed scalp. “Nice haircut, Baldy,” Seth said. “What’d you do – use a hedge trimmer to get that look, or are you trying to imitate a light bulb? Isn’t that the kind of thing you would have said to me?” “You’re right,” Fletcher admitted. “I deserved that – I was a prat. I should have treated you better, I’m sorry now.” “Right – you’re sorry now,” Seth said, his voice low in anger. “But, will you still be sorry next week or next month, or in six months time when your hair is grown back?” Seth leaned down close so only Fletcher could hear him. “Are you sorry for beating me down and raping me? Are you sorry for making me feel worthless all this time? Are you sorry for making me feel like I deserved the shit you dished out to me?” “Yes, yes – I am,” Fletcher said, his voice close to tears. “I’ll make it up to you, I should never have done those things, I wasn’t thinking.” “Well, think about this,” Seth said, placing his lips right against Fletcher’s ear. “I know what’s going to happen to you – and you deserve it.” Fletcher jerked his head to look down between his legs, and felt the bile rise up in his throat. The tears flowed freely. “Please, tell them not to do it,” he begged. “They might listen to you. I’ll pay you when I get home, I’ll do anything. Don’t let them do it.” “Think on this,” Seth said, straightening up. “Snip, snip.” He turned and walked away as Fletcher pulled and screamed at the straps holding him down. Anika and Max led Seth from the room – Max taking a firm grip on Seth’s arm as if he was dragging an unwilling victim away. Knight was waiting for them when Anika led Seth into the control room. Seth had never seen so many computers in one place, he looked around in wonder. Knight turned to face them. Seth knew what Knight looked like by now and how it had happened. Anika had explained everything as they were waiting to make their entrance earlier. Instead of revulsion, Seth found himself feeling pity for Knight. “So, you know what is going to happen,” Knight said simply. “I had originally planned to make you stay in there and watch – I thought it might be a good therapy for you, considering what Fletcher had done.” “Anika told me,” Seth replied. “You don’t have to stay here,” Knight announced. “Maybe it’s not the best thing – I don’t know now. I just know carrying around that hate and the self-loathing wasn’t good for you, either.” “I’ll stay,” Seth said, softly. “What about the others?” “Which ones?” Knight asked. “The three down there? They’ll see everything.” “No, not them,” Seth said. “The ones who didn’t escape – the ones Fletcher’s father castrated and made into sex slaves. What about them?” “I don’t know,” Knight admitted. “That depends a lot on the police and media.” He pointed to the computers. “In just a moment, I’m sending the police and media all of the files I’ve gathered. If they act on the information, the brothels – most of them, anyway, should be raided in just a couple of hours.” Knight sighed and rubbed at his temple. “I’ve already drained most of the money from his secret bank accounts – some of it has been added to his legal accounts. That should help pay most of them something.” Knight hit the enter button and the computer hard drives around the room whirred to life. “It’s done,” he said, as if to himself. He turned to Anika. “Take him to the media room – the two of you can watch everything from there. I don’t want either of you showing up on camera.” London, December 2000 Computers at New Scotland Yard and in the BBC news room went blank for a moment – in seconds, the screens came back to life and the hard drives began spinning as they received Knight’s download. Pandemonium erupted in each computer room as technicians attempted to regain control of their computers. As more and more information flashed up on the screens, attempts to regain control of the computers were forgotten as a new pandemonium broke out. At New Scotland Yard, calls were being made to senior officials, the Home Office, and raiding parties were quickly assembled. In the BBC news room, reporters were scrambling to get equipment to the news vans and onto the road as quickly as possible. London, Balfour Enterprises The videos of Fletcher disappeared from the screen. Dexter, who had returned from dispatching teams of the corporate security officers across the city in an attempt to find Balfour’s son, stood behind his boss expectantly. A new image appeared – a man with long blond hair and a heavily scarred face filled the screen. “Hello again, Duncan,” Knight said. “Remember me?” Duncan stared in shock at the screen – the scars triggered a memory long forgotten. He remembered the young man so many years ago – he remembered coldly and deliberately slashing the young man’s handsome face and destroying his looks. He shook his head, and licked his dry lips. “You can’t be,” he murmured. “He had to have died out there in the ocean.” “Almost, but not quite,” Knight said grimly. He briefly recounted his rescue, describing the old man and the third world hospital where the best the doctor could do was stitch the gashes in his face together – but, didn’t have reconstructive surgical skills. Balfour noticed Knight kept looking away as if he was watching something else at the same time. Balfour watched as Knight turned his mutilated face back to face him, wondering what his tormentor was watching off-screen. The smile Knight offered chilled Balfour and Dexter – the scars took away the usual warmth and humanity of the smile. “By the way, in case you’ve been wondering how I managed to crack your computers so easily,” Knight said smugly. “Well, you have yourself to thank for that – you paid me to create your software programs and the hardware for your new systems,” Knight faked a sheepish look, “well, I owned that company, too. You, Duncan, made it possible to pop in and visit you like this.” “Is that supposed to make you smart or something?” Dexter snarled. “No, it makes me the one in charge,” Knight admitted, coldly. He looked away once more. “Well, how would you like to see and talk to your son?” Knight didn’t wait for an answer – the screen just went blank, leaving Balfour waiting and worrying. Scotland, New Year’s Eve 2000 Dr. Mehet, his head and face covered by surgical cap and mask entered the room. To the three witnesses, Mehet looked like a mad doctor from one of those Hamer horror flicks in his long old-fashioned surgical gown, cap and mask. As he approached the table, he nodded to Max who joined him at the table. Max lifted the head of the table to an almost sitting position while Dr. Mehet fitted the lower end of the table with gynecological stirrups and strapped Fletcher’s legs into them, spreading the young man’s legs wide. Max forced a ball gag into Fletcher’s mouth, putting an end to the begs of forgiveness from the young man. His three captive friends watched in fascination as Mehet produced a set of small rechargeable clippers and proceeded to remove the thicket of reddish pubic hair between Fletcher’s legs. Sam Lovett, his mouth open in mute amazement, watched as the doctor shaved away the badge of manhood which had always been a source of pride to Fletcher. It was really going to happen – right here in front of him. He was going to witness the emasculation of another male – a person who was supposed to be his friend. But, after seeing those tapes of Fletcher watching and laughing as other young men – young men who had been kidnapped – were castrated, Sam wasn’t sure how he should feel. Under other circumstances, Sam was sure the very idea of being forced to watch as his friend’s balls were cut off would be sickening. But, if anyone deserved being castrated – Fletcher did, and that idea was getting Sam hot. He could feel his penis, thickening and filling his shorts – he didn’t want to feel that way, but he did. The idea of retribution actually fitting the crime, and being witness to it, was getting him excited. The doctor had finished with the electric clippers and now had all of Fletcher’s groin covered in shaving crème. Sam watched in fascination as the doctor took his time and meticulously shaved Fletcher from belly button to knees, paying special attention to the large testicles in their delicate sac. The doors at the far end of the room opened and Knight strode in – making his way straight to the table in the center of the room. Turning to face the monitors and cameras, he casually placed his hand on Fletcher’s stubbly head before using the remote to activate the system. He forced a wide smile, knowing the effect it would have on his mutilated face. Balfour’s face appeared on the monitors. As soon as he saw Fletcher strapped to the table with his groin shaved, he felt sick. “Well, here we are again. I bet this scene looks vaguely familiar,” Knight said, relishing the expression on Duncan Balfour’s face. “Don’t do this,” Balfour begged. “Those words sound familiar,” Knight countered. “Where did I hear them before?” He pretended to think hard for a moment, and then snapped his fingers theatrically. “Oh, I remember now! Those were the same words I cried out when I was strapped down.” Knight gestured and Dr. Mehet, hidden by his mask and gown appeared and placed an IV line into Fletcher’s arm. Knight clapped his hands together. “Well, looks like we’re almost ready to begin.” “You can’t force me to watch this atrocity,” Balfour snarled, his voice breaking. “It’s sickness, it’s …” “Your choice, Duncan, old friend,” Knight said conversationally, reaching into his pocket to pull out a syringe. “You leave and Fletcher here dies. All I need to do is inject this into his IV line and it’s all over for the little bastard. Ask Dexter behind you how long it will take for the potassium cyanide in this syringe to do its work.” “You’re a monster,” Balfour whimpered, tears flowing down his face. “A monster?” Knight considered the accusation, he fingered his ravaged face again. “I suppose you might be right – but consider this, you’re the one who created me. You’re the one who set all of this in motion so long ago.” Knight nodded to Dr. Mehet, who immediately went to work giving Fletcher a series of injections of novocaine. Fletcher screamed behind the ball gag. Knight glanced toward the three captive witnesses to see their reactions. Sam Lovett hoped his face didn’t betray the weird excitement he was experiencing – he felt a surge of guilty pleasure send chills through his body. He didn’t realize it, but he was actually leaning forward against the wide straps binding him to the chair. He couldn’t help himself – he shouldn’t be aroused by what was happening. But, he was – he just hoped no one else noticed it. Next to him, Tom Jordan found himself interested in the events unfolding in front of him – there was no doubt in his mind that both Fletcher and his father deserved to experience what they had put others through. He felt a sense of satisfaction that two evil people were getting their just deserts. On his other side, Morgan Parker was crying softly – he couldn’t find any sympathy in himself for Fletcher, maybe he did deserve just what was happening. He just didn’t want to have to witness it – he kept imagining that it was him strapped to the table and felt a dreadful sense of helplessness at the images that flashed through his mind. He could almost feel the needles entering his own flesh. Tears were streaming down the faces of both Balfours, too – Knight watched impassively as Dr. Mehet began threading a catheter into Fletcher’s penis. He looked up at the monitor into Duncan Balfour’s agonized face. It struck him that all he had to do was say one word and the operation would stop – the catheter was in place and Mehet was looking in his direction for instructions. Knight stared down at the thick, heavily veined penis between Fletcher’s legs and considered his next move. New Scotland Yard, New Year’s Eve 2000 Archie Bell paced his office impatiently – he couldn’t bring himself to continue reading the files that had been mysteriously sent to the police computers. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that such atrocities could be committed in a civilized society. Of course, things like that were commonplace in some places of the world – but not in Britain, things like genital mutilation and slavery just didn’t occur on his patch. Of course, the computer files that had flooded the Yard computers proved Bell was wrong in his beliefs. The raiding parties were ready to move – orders from the highest offices of Scotland Yard had put the raids on hold while the phone lines between police officials, the Home Office, and Downing Street buzzed with conference calls. Bell knew the cause of the delay and the reason for the calls. There was no doubt the brothels would be closed down – but, the question that needed to be answered was whether they were going to be officially closed down, or quietly eliminated. Bell was aware of the scandal officially raiding the brothels would cause and the embarrassment to the government. Bell didn’t care how it was done – he just wanted the damn places put out of business. The phone buzzed. Bell stared at the phone, it buzzed again. The buzz indicated the call was an internal Yard call, and not coming from an outside line. He let it buzz again before answering it. The message from the Superintendent himself was brief – the raids were on, and to be as public as possible. The necessary warrants were on their way to the raiding teams as they spoke, and a warrant for Duncan Balfour would be in Bell’s hands within the hour. As soon as the brief call was finished, Bell pressed the intercom button connecting him to the raiding team leaders. “Do it,” was all Bell said. Scotland, New Year’s Eve “Do it,” Knight said, staring down at Fletcher. Behind him, Duncan Balfour’s soft sobs became a loud keening. He knew all too well what he was going to be forced to witness – and the effects the procedure would have on his son. He’d watched the operation too many times for him not to know. In the control room Seth leaned closer to the monitor as Dr. Mehet lifted a scalpel from the tray at his elbow and began making the first incision. Anika had assured him that Fletcher wouldn’t feel any physical pain, so Seth knew that Fletcher’s efforts to scream around the ball gag in his mouth were from desperation and fright. Watching the surgical blade cut deeper into Fletcher’s groin, Seth was surprised that he didn’t feel revulsion. The truth was, he didn’t feel anything much at all beyond a sense that Fletcher was getting what he deserved – not for the things Balfour had done to him over the years, but for being a part of the forced castrations of all those others. Cutting deeper, Mehet cast a glance up at Knight who was alternating his dispassionate stare between the monitors and the young man on the table. Aside from rubbing at his scarred temple now and again, Knight showed no reaction at all. Mehet sponged away some of the blood from the incision, this wasn’t the first nullification he had done in his life and probably wouldn’t be the last. There were plenty of people in the world who actually desired the operation and the conventions of society generally denied those people access to the procedure. Mehet had no problem with providing the service – since he couldn’t openly advertise his services, he knew the individuals who managed to make their way to him were serious and knew their own minds. This was the first time he performed the operation on an unwilling victim, but it was also the surgery that gave him the greatest satisfaction. His only regret was that he wasn’t also going to nullify the elder Balfour – both father and son deserved the surgery. Across the room, Sam Lovett was in near agony – he wasn’t experiencing any sympathy pains, far from it. His own cock was aching because of the confinement in his jeans – he couldn’t believe the intensity of the erection he was experiencing. He knew that had his hands been free, he would already have ripped his jeans and shorts off and would be wanking away furiously. Fletcher found himself staring in disbelief at his groin from time to time between his tears. He could feel a pressure in his groin, but no pain at all. In the beginning, he tried to convince himself that this was just come kind of elaborate scam to show him how those other young men had felt to have their balls cut off. But, then he saw the blood and his flesh separate and he knew this was terribly real. He mentally cursed his father for introducing him to the pleasure of dominating others and the feeling of power he felt watching handsome young men having their manhood taken from them. It took Fletcher a few minutes to realize that the doctor was just cutting his balls off – he was going to lose his cock as well. Knight was taking everything from him – he was going to be left with nothing between his legs. Fletcher had thought he couldn’t feel any worse and discovered he was horribly wrong. Even when he had realized his castration was inevitable, he had allowed himself to think about ways to hide his humiliation. He had imagined visiting a surgeon and having artificial testicles implanted, so no one would ever know the truth. A fresh wave of tears and self-pity surged through Fletcher’s body moments before he passed out. London, Balfour Enterprises – New Year’s Eve Neither Duncan Balfour nor Simon Dexter could take their eyes from the screen – Duncan watched mesmerized in horror at what was being done to his son. Dexter, on the other hand, found himself enjoying the scene. He received a perverse satisfaction watching the spoiled son of his employer being humiliated – of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t also feel a desire to settle scores with this Knight bastard. To Dexter, the thought of hunting down Knight and making him feel unremitting pain for as long as possible was just a bonus to the whole event. He would, of course, be sure to mask his enjoyment of Fletcher’s nullification while he was in Duncan’s presence. From years of experience, Duncan Balfour knew that the doctor was nearing the completion of the removal of Fletcher’s genitals. He also knew that the doctor had cut deep to remove all traces of his son’s penis. He couldn’t focus on anything but the surgery he was watching – he had tried to think of revenge against Knight, but couldn’t keep his attention on anything but the horror he was watching. The intercom on his desk began bleeping, but Duncan ignored it. He couldn’t tear his attention from the screen. Dexter lifted the phone and listened to the excited babbling of the security guard at the main desk downstairs. The man was going on about Scotland Yard, warrants, and police in the lobby. Eventually, Dexter got the man to calm down enough to calmly explain what was going on – and what he heard wasn’t good. The guard read the warrant over the intercom and Dexter’s blood ran cold. Somehow, Scotland Yard knew about everything – including his own participation in the brothel operations. Dexter tried to make Balfour understand what was happening downstairs, but the old man just kept staring at the screen. Glancing down, Dexter saw the doctor sliding Fletcher’s cock and balls away from his body – down the catheter and off of it. He was fascinated momentarily at seeing the genitals in the doctor’s hands, holding them for everyone to see before dropping them into a waste receptacle. Then, reality returned and he realized it was only moments before the executive suite was flooded by the police. Duncan Balfour saw the masked doctor pull his son’s genitals down the catheter and felt a cloud fill his mind. Dexter seemed to be raving something about police – but that just didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t go to the police and tell them what had been done to his son without his own activities coming to light. He absently waved away Dexter’s ranting about the police – the man must be an idiot to even think of the police at a time like this. Numbly, Duncan Balfour stood up and staggered away from his desk. He would never be able to face his son after this. Moving like a zombie, Duncan stepped out onto the terrace overlooking the city. The cold winter air hit him like a fist, but failed to bring him to his senses. Dexter watched as Duncan staggered into the night – he knew what the old man was doing, and knew that he wasn’t about to do a thing to stop it. He watched as Duncan lumbered dream-like to the terrace railing and just climbed right over it. The old man didn’t even scream as he tumbled the eighteen stories to the pavement below. Behind him, the lift chimes announced the police were about to enter the executive suite. Dexter was surprised to find he had already pulled the Baretta from its holster – the old man was right. The only way out now was death – he wouldn’t be around to care about the scandal about to break. Sliding the barrel into his mouth, Dexter tasted metal and cleaning solution for just a moment before squeezing the trigger. As he squeezed, Dexter wondered if he would hear the report of the pistol before he died. He didn’t. Bell was just stepping out of the lift when the shot rang out. He and the other police officers instinctively ducked and sought cover. After a few moments of silence, he cautiously made his way into the office. The air was thick with the scent of cordite and blood. There was a strange thumping sound coming from the far side of the desk. Making his way cautiously into the room, Bell found Dexter’s body on its back – his right foot jerking up and down convulsively. The jerking slowed and stopped, leaving Dexter still. Bell’s radio squawked, a constable in the street going on about a body having fallen from the building. That explained where Duncan Balfour was, Bell decided as he moved around the desk. The computer was on, making Bell glance in its direction. Bell vomited all over the desk at what he saw happening on the screen.
Scotland, New Year’s Eve Knight saw Balfour push away from the desk and disappear from the monitor, in the background he could hear Dexter ranting on about the police in the lobby. Moments later, he heard the report of a gunshot. He waited for a second shot and when it didn’t come, wondered which one had killed himself. It really didn’t matter – if the police were in the lobby, whoever was left standing would have a lot of questions to answer. He almost broke the connection, but decided not to do so. Turning his attention back to Mehet, he noticed the Egyptian doctor was already beginning to stitch up the incision. He was using large stitches that would leave Fletcher with a large, but straight scar along his lower abdomen as a life-long reminder of his loss. Hearing retching from the speakers, Knight turned in time to catch a strange face vomiting all over Duncan Balfour’s desk. He guessed the stranger was from Scotland Yard and wondered if the man was aware that Balfour’s desk was an expensive antique, and wondered if the man had any idea of the damage his vomit would cause to the finish. He smiled his broadest smile at the cameras. “Hello there,” Knight greeted the stranger nonchalantly . “I’m guessing you’re with the police – am I right?” “Who are you?” Bell gasped, wiping the remains of bile from his lips and wishing he had a drink. “Ah, I asked you first,” Knight countered. “You look like you could use a drink – I’m sure Duncan Balfour has something around there – go ahead and help yourself, I’ll wait.” “I am Chief Inspector Archibald Bell of the CID,” Bell finally answered. “Now, I ask again – who are you?” “No one of any importance,” Knight responded. “Knight will do as a name, though – it’s what everyone else calls me.” Knight grinned and gestured to Fletcher on the table. “You’re just in time to see something very few people get to witness these days – justice fitting the crime.” “From where I stand, it appears you are in the process of committing a crime,” Bell said stiffly. “I must caution you …” “Give it a rest,” Knight interrupted. “For one thing, you have no idea where I am – so you certainly can’t expect your warnings and threats of possible arrest to carry a hell of a lot of weight. For another, even if you did have any idea of where I am, what’s been done here is just about finished.” Knight turned and checked Mehet’s progress – the doctor was indeed just about finished. “Be that as it may,” Bell announced, “I cannot stand by and watch as a crime is committed and not say something.” “Okay, you’ve said your piece and I’ve ignored it,” Knight said genially. “Now, if you’ve taken the time to go through the files that have been downloaded to your computers, you’ll find that young Balfour here has been an accomplice to his father’s crimes of kidnapping, white slavery, and mutilation.” “That doesn’t give you a right to take the law into your own hands,” Bell objected. “Maybe not, but I’ve done it,” Knight countered. “Now, if you stop being so stiff-necked about everything, I might just give you the chance to wrap this whole case up and add a feather to your cap. You’ll be able to arrest young Fletcher and, who knows, you might even be lucky enough to lay your hands on me if you’re fast – and lucky – enough.” Knight broke the connection, leaving Bell staring at a blank screen. London, Balfour Enterprises – New Year’s Eve Bell couldn’t believe the calm manner of the man calling himself Knight – he seemed not to care that he would be prosecuted if he was caught. And, Bell planned to make it a point to make sure that Knight was caught. But, that would have to come later – for now, he had one hell of a mess to get sorted. Already there were news crews swarming around the brothels and the street in front of Balfour Enterprises. Outside the windows, the sky exploded in flashes of light startling Bell for a second. Then he heard the chimes from Big Ben as another barrage of fireworks exploded in the sky – it was New Year’s Day now. He wandered out onto the terrace and looked over the railing to where Balfour’s body lay, already covered by a sheet. “Happy fucking New Year,” Bell muttered to himself. Scotland – New Year’s Day Knight watched as the helicopter carrying Fletcher’s three former friends lifted off from the tennis court. In a few hours, they’d be released physically unharmed near Manchester. The flight through the darkness would make it almost impossible for them to tell anyone the location of the estate. The helicopter had no sooner lifted off when two more swooped in low and settled down lightly. Turning, he saw that Max was already leading Anika and Seth from the house towards the nearest aircraft. He lifted his hand in a farewell wave. Anika was concerned that Knight wasn’t flying back in the same helicopter as she and Seth – she wasn’t afraid that Knight would do anything to harm her. But, she was concerned that he was taking too many risks by taking Fletcher back to London himself. The way he taunted the police inspector was bound to make the man do everything he could to see Knight in prison. She tried to turn, but Max stopped her. “It’s the way he wants it,” Max shouted over the beating of the rotors. “Just making sure to cover all his bases and keep you and the kid clear of everything in case something goes wrong.” Max turned on Seth, jabbing a beefy finger at the young man’s chest. “And you remember, you was taken against your will by a bunch of thugs. Keep Anika clear of everything, understand? You say anything to bring her into it and you’ll answer to me, right? Keep her clear, and I’ll owe you.” Before Seth could answer, Max shoved him into the passenger compartment of the helicopter and then assisted Anika into the craft before sliding the door closed. Stepping back, he pointed one last warning finger in Seth’s direction before offering a brief wave farewell. Turning on his heel, Max trudged back to the house to retrieve the drugged Fletcher. Knight watched as Max returned, Fletcher thrown over the big man’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Mehet following and looking concerned. “Your helicopter will be here shortly,” Knight said to the Egyptian doctor. “The money we agreed on has already been added to your Swiss account.” “And a generous bonus,” Mehet added. “I took the liberty of checking before coming out here.” He handed Knight a thermos bottle. “Are you sure you want this?” Knight just took the thermos and smiled at the doctor before climbing into the helicopter beside Max. London, New Year’s Day Knight’s helicopter landed just before dawn, staying on the rooftop landing pad just long enough for Max to lug the unconscious Fletcher downstairs and once more strap him in the plain wooden chair. Knight followed down the stairs slowly, pausing once to light a cigarette. Reaching the ground floor, he found Max standing by the Bentley waiting for him. Reaching into his breast pocket, Knight pulled two train station baggage claim tickets and handed them over to Max. “It’s time for you to get out of here,” Knight said, his words slightly slurred. “Retrieve the bags with those tickets – one of them is for you. Follow the instructions inside the bag and see to it Anika gets the other bag.” Knight fondly patted the side of Max’s face as he pulled out his cell phone. “Get out of here – it won’t be long before the cops are all over this place.” “Here – you ain’t thinking of turning yourself in, is you?” Max asked, his voice full of concern. He searched Knight’s face for an answer and seeing those tired eyes; the answer came to him. Knight had drained the contents of the thermos about half an hour ago. Max felt his own eyes watering up. “Ah, Christ – you didn’t…” his voice trailed off as he realized Knight had taken some kind of poison. “Maybe it ain’t too late,” he tried hopefully. “Go on,” Knight said firmly, dialing the Scotland Yard switchboard. “It was already too late when this thing started.” Knight put the phone to his ear, ignoring Max. “Connect me with Archie Bell, please … just tell him it’s Knight, he’ll talk to me.” He put his hand over the phone. “Last chance, Max. If this Bell is half the man he seems to be, this place will be covered in cops in less than ten minutes. He probably has a helicopter waiting. Get a move on – and leave the main door open. Let’s make it easy on the cops for once.” Knight watched as Max reluctantly climbed into the Bentley and hit the automatic door opener. He turned his attention back to the phone. “Hiya Arch – hope you don’t mind being called Arch – remember me?” Knight laughed as Bell tried his best to draw him into a long conversation in order to get a trace on the line, he let Bell go for a minute or so before giving in and just telling him the warehouse address. Knight continued his conversation with the police inspector for a few more minutes before setting the phone down, leaving the line open. He walked around the warehouse floor once, feeling his limbs getting heavier. He was having trouble thinking clearly, and it was getting harder to breathe. He returned to the office and sat heavily in the wing chair. He could just hear the faint wail of police sirens in the distance. He shook his head in admiration – Mehet had done a great job with a concoction that probably hadn’t been used in a couple thousand years – it hadn’t tasted too bad, either. He wished Bell would hurry up – for some strange reason, he was really looking forward to meeting him in person. Knight’s eyes sagged closed as his head drifted forward until his chin was resting on the unmoving chest. New Scotland Yard, 4 January 2001 Detective Sergeant Hopkins entered Bell’s office with a steaming mug of coffee in each hand. Setting Bell’s mug on the desk, Hopkins glanced at the post mortem report on the desk. “So, since you normally don’t deliver coffee,” Bell said, “I must assume the grapevine has reported the preliminary PM results are in.” Hopkins had the good manners to blush slightly and admit his curiosity. “Our mysterious Mr. Knight was once known as Sean Colby – an American who had the misfortune to be stunningly handsome, and eager to work aboard a boat in the Caribbean the summer after graduating high school. Unfortunately, the boat he signed on was Balfour’s – Balfour denied the boy ever showed up for the cruise, and the investigation was dropped there. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors – they’re true. Knight or Colby, was completely and totally castrated – I’m told the popular term is nullified. Somehow, he managed to escape Balfour, but not before having his face mutilated. That was twenty years ago. Between then and now, Knight as he called himself learned about computers and amassed a fortune, and having vowed revenge – used that fortune to get it.” “And knowing he was about to be caught, topped himself,” Hopkins said, smugly. “Don’t be an idiot,” Bell snorted. “Had he chosen not to be caught, there is every likelihood we would never have gotten him. He had the resources, and he had the skills. Remember, he called us and told us where to find him.” “Well, we know a lot about him,” Hopkins objected. “It was only a matter of time before we caught up with him.” “We are not the Royal Canadian Mounted Police,” Bell snapped. “We do not always get our man. We are only lowly Scotland Yard investigators – sometimes one gets away from us. The little we now know about Knight we know because he left us a computer disc explaining his motives and taking full responsibility for everything.” Bell indicated the PM report again. “There’s a couple interesting things from his post – first is the method used to kill himself.” “Poison, right?” “Yes, poison,” Bell sneered. “But, this particular method hasn’t been used in several thousand years – not since the time of Socrates. He drank an infusion of hemlock,” he lifted the medical report, “classically prepared, by the way. Not that it mattered, he’d have never stood trial.” “Cover up?” “He was already a dead man before he ever took the hemlock,” Bell said, a touch of sadness in his voice. “He had a brain tumor – doc says he would have been a vegetable inside of another month or so and dead within six. The doc figures he was in excruciating pain for quite some time now.” Bell pushed the report aside and brightened grimly. “It might interest you to know that the Crown Prosecutor has decided to go ahead and prosecute both Collins and young Fletcher Balfour. They should be spending the rest of their lives on the inside.” “So what do we do now?” Hopkins wondered. “Why we finish this excellent coffee and move on,” Bell said. “We move on.”
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