“Party time… party time…”, Pollux crooned, dancing a little jig in the doorway.  “We land in four hours… the shipment is on its way.”.  He looked suspiciously at Heather, then back at Castor.  “Oh… bad timing?”, he grinned as he slipped away.

            Castor shut the door behind him and locked it furtively.  When he turned to look at her again, his face crossed with frustration and a hint of anger, Heather felt a sick chill run down her spine, then subside.  He wants control, she realized, almost too late.  He’s afraid to let anyone influence him, even sexually.  Her brain went into overdrive.  “I’m sorry….”, she began, every word killing her as she said it because deep down she had been curious to see how far it could have gone.  “I don’t want to interfere with your plans…”.

            “Don’t get too comfortable.”, he interjected coldly, turning his back to her and fiddling with one of his guns.  He spoke to her in an icy, hateful tone but was unwilling to make eye contact.  “Your ass is getting kicked to the curb when we land.  I was hoping I could have a little fun with your eager-beaver agent buddies… hoping maybe they would follow us here.  Guess they’re even more incompetent than I imagined.”.  These last words stung a little, but she feigned dispassion.  “But since they’re nowhere to be found, I have no other use for you.”.  Without another word, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.   

            The adrenaline rush slowly wearing off, Heather’s head was fuzzy and dull.  She hadn’t slept for almost 36 hours, and was really starting to feel the effect… as she laid down on a cot in the corner of the room, she strained to listen to something, anything, going on outside the door.  She heard raucous laughter, but nothing was said that she could discern, and she must have dozed off for five hours or more, her ears picking up sketchy sounds but too exhausted to react.  Her legs and arms were lead; subconsciously, she realized she was leaving herself open to just about anything, but she knew she was in no danger.  It was amazing how the brain could shut down the body regardless of environment, how it could get what it needed under any circumstances.  If Castor and his crew wanted her gone, then so be it… but for now, she needed to rest. 

Sometime later, her eyes popped open reflexively to a distinctive, nervous tapping on the other side of the wall.… it took a moment to adjust to the dimness, and she raised her head a little to get a better look.  The room was filled with boxes, cases and bags of all types.  Between the new cargo and the crates of money stacked along the wall, it was getting stuffy in there.  Heather’s body, still drained, was sprawled out on the cot awkwardly… she felt a piercing cramp in her right calf, and sat upright to rub it out.  The dull humming of the engine was white noise; it seemed to help her think more clearly, and now she was formulating a plan.  He snapped… I almost got through to him, she mused blithely, trying unsuccessfully to work out the throbbing knot in her leg.  Then another thought, darker and more pervasive.  What if they don’t find the plane in time?  Or what if they find the plane, but not me? 

Despite everything she knew about Castor Troy, she was honestly not convinced that he would hurt her.  Between studying his files and watching his every move for the past several hours, she was beginning to get a good analysis of him… a man so far beyond himself, beyond reality and all the trappings of it.  In a warped, disjointed way he saw himself as an underground hero – Superman with tap shoes and a water pistol – and beyond this self-delusion was another factor that made him stand out from all the other cases that entwined her in the past:  he had never actually killed anyone.  He was responsible for deaths, but not at his own hands… for this reason alone, he was especially intriguing.

Realizing that her charley horse wasn’t going away on its own, Heather gingerly stood up and tried to walk it off, crossing the room while grasping at anything that would support her.  The door was just a few feet from the cot, but it was an agonizing hike as she inched her way across the cold floor.  As she reached for the knob, she kicked against something and fell forward… a white hot flash of pain raced across her eyes and temples, then the vague realization that she had banged her head against hard, sharp metal.  Before she could pull herself back up, she heard a voice.

“Baby….”, a sweet soft voice crooned… Castor.  How long was he standing there?  “What happened… are you hurt?”.  Large, smooth hands touched her face tenderly.  She tried to speak, but couldn’t put together words.  “Sssshhhh… let me help you up… here, let me look at your face… let me look….”.  She was at his mercy in every way imaginable, from that first word from his lips, his sincere warmth… Bastard.  He knows what he’s doing.  The words flashed across her brain, but dissipated with a sweep of screaming pain.  She was gathered up in his arms now, pressed so close to him… his slim build was compact and solid, and for the first time she noticed that he wore a bulletproof vest.  He was looking into her eyes intently, with more than a hint of concern, gently stroking her forehead.  It stung when he touched it, and he winced a little as he looked at the damage.  “Here, lie down… lemme get something for you.”.  Heather didn’t fight him off, but let him carry her back to the cot.  As sick as it made her feel, she liked the way his arms felt around her and the way he was talking to her at that moment.  It  was a ruse.  She knew it, but she didn’t care.  He knew how to toy with her mind, and all her education, experience and intelligence could not build a shield strong enough to deflect him. 

Castor left the room and came back shortly with a first-aid kit, and after dabbing a little alcohol on her forehead he gently pressed a bandage on it, then stroked her cheek.  In the dark, she couldn’t readily make out his features, but his smooth manicured hands gave away his demeanor, at least for that moment.  He leaned close to her.  She thought for a moment that he would kiss her again, but instead he spoke softly, nearly at a whisper.

“Oh, Sinclaire… I don’t want you to leave.  Please don’t… you’ll break my heart if you walk away…what can I do to make you stay…”, he sang to her, all bravado and charm.  Taking her hands in his, he rubbed them thoughtfully.  “We’re landing in a few minutes.  I’ve got a room ready for you… you’ll really like it… at least I hope you will.”, he said before getting up to leave.  First he wants me off the plane, and now he has a room for me?, Heather thought as she watched him walk out.  She started to ask him about what he had said earlier, then thought better of it… he had an absurdly fickle temperment, but perhaps she could use it to her advantage.  If she could gain entrance to his hideout (or wherever they were landing), maybe she could find a way of calling for help.

It was dark now… how long had she been asleep?  It must have been longer than she thought.  They were approaching a string of islands that appeared to be inhabited but nowhere near industrialized.  She strained to overhear the pilot confirm landing… they were heading for Hierro Airport in the Canary Islands.  Just how many connections does he have, anyway?, she wondered.  The plane landed alongside another smaller aircraft, surrounded by men in gray jumpsuits.  With pistols barely concealed and two-ways in hand, they obviously were part of Castor’s gang… Heather wondered briefly just how many men worked with him in criminal enterprise.  Her understanding was that he was a loner; along with Pollux, his crimes were orchestrated in a minimalist fashion.  Now she was seeing something more, and as they were escorted to a blue Ferrari at the end of the runway – it matches his suit, she noticed – she was thankful that she had gotten this far.  How much further could she go? 

After unloading the cargo onto trucks, the men drove away in a single line, while she and Castor went in the opposite direction.   It wasn’t a far drive, so there was little need for subterfuge.  They had left Pollux behind with the others – she was left alone with Castor, and slowly realizing what a mistake this could turn out to be.  What had possessed her to think she could trust him?  Since leaving her with the cargo, he had said nothing to her, not even looked at her… but what was going through his mind?  He ran hot and cold; as she had assumed before even meeting him, he was starved for attention but pushed it away at every given opportunity.  Now he was driving and screaming at the top of his lungs along with the stereo, his crystal blue eyes feral and lusty.  Another heist, another success.  Castor had won again, and it seemed to fuel him with unadulterated passion; it was a drug without the bad side effects. 

“Castor…”, Heather said tentatively.  He didn’t seem to hear her at first, still rocking along with Led Zeppelin at full throttle.  They turned a corner, and she was floored.  Their destination turned out to be a small but elegant stone home on a hill overlooking the ocean.  Tranquil and seductive in its easy beauty, it was a far cry from what anyone would consider a den of dubious activity.  “This is absolutely beautiful… I’ve never seen anything like it.”.  She had to flatter him, make him think she really liked him and what he was doing for her, if she were to win his trust and get more information out of him.  It would be almost impossible, but she had to try.  He stopped singing, but didn’t reply at first.  “I had no idea you were so… successful.”.

He smiled slightly, and turned to look at her briefly, his eyes flashing with a rare warmth.  “What can I say, baby?  I’m one hell of a successful man… and I’m getting paid!!”, he shouted, thrusting his fist in the air triumphantly.  He really seemed to get off on acknowledgement and appreciation, she realized.  It was proving to be quite easy to placate him.

The inside of his home was as opulent as she had imagined it would be, but rather typical – leather furniture, chandeliers.  Castor was not an original man, but he did have good taste… except for some hideous surrealistic paintings lining the walls of the hallway.  Normally she would look at these to get a better sense of his temperament, but she was exhausted from her journey and everything that came with it.  She was also starting to get hungry.  “I can’t wait to see my room… where is it?”, Heather asked.  Her journey, and everything that had went with it, was catching up with her. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby… let me show you.  I know you’re tired… I’ve put you through so much.”, he replied, putting his arms around her for a moment before taking her hand.  It was strange how he seemed to ignore the fact that she was his enemy.   They knew each other only because she was one of the ones who were sent to bring him down.   He didn’t seem to acknowledge this.  He was so smooth, so charming… it would be sickening to her if she didn’t secretly enjoy it so much.  She didn’t want to admit that to herself, but it was true.  She loved it so much; the warmth, the attention, the seductive way he could touch her and make her skin tingle with anticipation.  Did he realize he was doing this?  Most likely.  Why did she let it continue?  Why did she put herself in this position?  She had to maintain control, and more importantly, figure out a way of calling for help. 

As she searched the room for a phone or computer – anything that could be useful, she heard his cell phone ring, causing him to jump a little.  Answering it quickly, he wandered into a small room to their right and shut the door.  Now that she had release from him and a few minutes to collect her thoughts, she could check out her surroundings.  There was a large doorway to the right of the entrance… it led into a long, narrow dining room with another door at the end.  Beyond it was the kitchen… was there a telephone anywhere?  Not likely… he’s too damn clever to use a land line., she thought ruefully. 

At the other end of the hallway, opposite the entrance, was yet another door.  Heather opened it carefully and peered inside… to her surprise, it was filled with computer equipment, books, journals, and assorted information.  Wish I had some way of taking it with me, she thought as she rifled through it.  Why would he leave all of this out where it can easily be found?   She was disappointed to discover the computers were all password protected… there wasn’t enough time to guess at the code.  As she turned to leave, something peeking under a stack of papers caught her eye.  It was a small tape recorder, one of the portable types used by college students sleeping through boring lectures.  If she couldn’t contact her team directly, could she deliver a tape?   She strapped it around her waist and under her dress, hoping the bulge of its slim case would not be noticeable… she knew she was taking a huge chance, but there were no other options to be found.  If she could get away from him for a few minutes, she could record information about her location and maybe even about Castor himself.  There was always a chance that she’d never be found… pessimism was not exactly an asset in her situation, but it forced itself on her nonetheless.

Creeping up to the door, she listened intently.  Castor was deeply engrossed in conversation about something… definitely illegal, but she couldn’t make out any details.  Maybe there was enough time.  Heather walked upstairs as quietly as she could and snooped around… most of the rooms were locked, save for a simple but elegant bathroom at the far end.  After recording her message, making sure to include any information she could remember from his dossier, she went back downstairs and hid the recorder behind a large plant.  With any luck, she would be able to retrieve it later.  A couple of minutes later, Castor opened the door and stepped out, a look of satisfaction on his face.  “Business.”, he quipped, and without another word he walked to the end of the hallway, right across from the office she had found.  Pressing his hand against one of the paintings, he opened a small passage that led downstairs.  It was dark, moody, without windows… the stairs seemed to wind down forever, and she started to wonder where they were going.  Eventually they reached a set of huge oak doors that towered above her.  Castor unlocked and opened them, and she found herself in a gaping, empty chamber… it reminded her of a womb.  With no furniture except for a mattress in the center, in front of an ornate stone fireplace, it was creepy but strangely erotic at the same time.  The whole room was aglow with candles… small ones, fat ones… and Heather stifled a giggle at the banality and unoriginality of it all.  It was obvious when Castor approached her from behind, however, that he was quite earnest.  The look in his eyes was not love or even infatuation… it was raw hunger. 

“I just have to tell you something…“, he whispered into her ear dramatically, his hot breath playing against her hair as he wrapped his arms around her tightly, “I knew you would be at the hotel last night…. and I was waiting for you.  And when you walked into the room…you were even more beautiful than I imagined.”.  His dick was pressed hard against her, and this time he was not afraid of her noticing.  “I wanted you right then and there.  I’m so glad you’re here now, alone with me.  Sinclaire…”, he breathed, licking her neck, tentatively at first but  then more insistently.  “I need you… right now… please don’t refuse me.  I can make you so happy.”.  Castor had a way about him that made Heather follow… a raw animal magnetism that she obeyed.  He grasped her by the shoulders and pushed her down to her knees gently, caressing her face and hair with something close to reverence.  It was so unlike his recent behavior; he was a man of extremes, and his unpredictability was intoxicating.  He pressed himself firmly against her and she felt a surge of excitement at the way he took control... running his fingers through her hair, he leaned his head back a little and stood before her with an air of impatience and urgency, his cock nearly bursting from his pants.  “I know you want it.”, he said, running his hands over her head.  He somehow knew exactly what she liked, what her innermost erotic secrets were and that one little thing that turned her on more than anything else.  There were many things she could have done at that moment, but only one thing she wanted to do.  She was gripped with a craving she couldn’t shake off.