The author of this damsel in distress story can be contacted at drake.fiction@gmail.com and would greatly welcome all comments and feedback. Martin Drake, October 2010.
"... how many times does this make? Four? Five? To tell the truth, darling, I’ve had you tied-up so often that I simply can’t keep track."
"Four." Ally muttered a sullen reply to Lady Longford’s drawled enquiry. "That nonsense in Rio doesn’t count."
The blonde spy tugged at the cuffs around her wrists, recalling the particulars of those unfortunate incidents. The first had been the brief encounter when tied to a chair at Longford Manor on her very first day with the agency. Thankfully her intrepid partner had staged an escape and no real harm was done. The entanglement that took place in Monte Carlo a few months later had been a much more serious affair. She had ended that mission bound hand and foot, rolling around in some scant lingerie while locked in a backstage dressing room during an international fashion show. While models strutted the catwalk and Ally mmphed into a gag, Lady Longford’s minions had traded compromising blackmail photographs for a top secret list of government defence contracts. It was true that she had spent the height of Rio’s mardi gras festival chained to the bed of a hotel honeymoon suite, but an overly-amorous contact from Interpol had been to blame for that debacle. Lady Longford couldn’t be given full credit for his embarrassing blunder, although she had used the ensuing confusion to flee Brazil with a consignment of smuggled diamonds. The most recent disaster had also been the most dangerous. With an incendiary device slowing ticking down to zero, Ally and a pretty journalist had been trussed together and dumped in the grotty basement of a Los Angeles news office. The girls had struggled free and diffused the bomb with seconds to spare. However the terrified reporter had bowed to the intimidating tactics, refusing to print a damaging story and its allegations against Longford and her shady accomplices.
And here they were again. On this occasion their paths had crossed in Washington, inside the Italian embassy’s cavernous library. Ally wondered what scheme her adversary was hatching now. It had something to do with a slim volume of da Vinci drawings. Lady Longford had also mentioned an ‘enigma’. Ally needed to unearth more if tonight’s operation wasn’t to be a total washout.
"So does the ambassador know that you’re stealing his books? Or is he in on the plot?"
"Giorgio?" The arrogant lady laughed at the notion, "No. Giorgio is a very sweet man, but not the brightest spark, I’m afraid. He likes the image portrayed by all these books, but I very much doubt that he’s read any of them. He hasn’t the slightest inkling about Leonardo’s riddle or the truth behind the Mona Lisa’s smile." Snapping her fingers, she beckoned for Ally to follow, "Come over here, my dear, and sit down on the floor. We’ll need to make you more secure before I take my leave."
With her hands cuffed and Lady Longford still brandishing a pistol, the young agent was forced to obey. She was escorted deeper into the library, down a narrow aisle cast in murky shadow by the bookcases looming to either side.
"Wait." A twirled index finger motioned for Ally to turn her back. "Let me take a look at those handcuffs. I would hate to think that you had done a sloppy job." Longford’s critical eye examined her prisoner’s efforts at self-bondage and judged them to be substandard. "This simply isn’t good enough. Is it, darling? You could slip free of these with no bother at all! Allow me to make a few adjustments for you."
Ally suppressed a small cry as the rigid cuffs were ratcheted tighter. She could feel the cold metal biting into her skin and bruising the small bones of her wrists. Never mind slipping free, the constriction was now so severe that it hurt to even wear the cuffs. Moving her arms or hands would not be a pleasant experience.
"Much better. Now, down you go."
A firm push on the shoulder directed Ally to the ground. It required considerable poise to settle herself on the carpeted floor without falling over. Flowing skirts, high heels and painfully tight handcuffs weren’t a recommended combination if one wished to move with dignity. At least Lady Longford appreciated the efforts that had gone into Ally’s stylish appearance for the evening. Her admiring gaze roved over the gown’s trim waistline and the sparkling jewels.
"I must say, you do look wonderful. That’s an American design, isn’t it? Not a patch on our European houses, of course, but quite fetching just the same. And what a lovely wrap. Do you mind if I borrow it?"
The delicate scarf was removed from the spy’s arms and twisted until it resembled a thin rope. Manicured hands dragged Ally’s skirts out of the way, positioned slender legs side-by-side then proceeded to bind them together. The long length of chiffon was wound around and between each dainty ankle, hitched once then circled back in two more passes before being tied-off with a final double-knot. The soft material compacted into a very small, very dense lump. Ally’s nose wrinkled in annoyance. Not only would it take forever to unpick such a tight binding, the beautiful scarf would be ruined beyond redemption.
Putting those concerns to one side, she encouraged the revelation of further hints that might shed light on the enemy’s plans. "If the ambassador is as innocent as you claim then how did you learn about the book? Somebody must have led you here. Who are you working with this time?"
Lady Longford tilted her head and smiled, "Why, Miss Douglas, I do believe you’re on a fishing trip. Are you really so ignorant that you can’t guess where my information comes from? Perhaps I have over-estimated your knowledge of these matters."
"Not at all," Ally held her bluff, "I just thought that you might like to confess your sins. They say it’s good for the soul."
"Most amusing." The devious Englishwoman loosened the white scarf which held back her hair. She shook out the cascade of chestnut curls, tying a quick overhand knot in the centre of the folded square. "I really must apologise for coming unprepared. I hope you don’t mind, but we’ll just have to improvise your gag. Open wide ..."
The bulky knot was prodded into Ally’s mouth. She grunted as the scarf was secured behind her head, wedging it snugly between her lips and trapping her own blonde locks below the silk band. A second gorgeous accessory had now been sacrificed to enforce her captivity. The witch would answer for her crimes against fashion if nothing else!
"There. All done." Lady Longford rose gracefully to her feet, collected her small bag and hid the gun away. She watched the bound agent for a few moments to be sure that the restraints would do their job. Metal links clinked when handcuffed arms were flexed. Long legs wormed below the gown, though more meaningful movement would prove impossible. Parted lips chewed around the gag, muted words unlikely to travel far. Not bad. The bonds would certainly keep the interfering pest busy for a while. Satisfied that all was in order, the villainess backed away, blowing a kiss as she departed, "Goodbye, my dear. It’s been delightful to see you again, but I really must dash. I’m sure somebody will be along sooner or later. Do try to have fun until then."
Ally listened as Lady Longford’s shrill laughter and receding footsteps drifted down the aisle, followed soon after by a muffled thump as the distant door swung shut. She gave another gagged grunt, propping an elbow on a low shelf and levering herself into a position which was slightly less uncomfortable. There was no telling how long it would be before somebody discovered her. Judging by the coating of dust on the nearest books, this secluded section of the library wasn’t used, or even cleaned, with any regularity. On the other hand, it would be typical of Lady Longford to cause her victim the maximum embarrassment by dispatching some random dupe to stumble upon her vulnerability. Either way, for Ally to be spared further blushes she would have to extricate herself as quickly as possible.
Fortunately her familiarity with restraints had taught this spy a thing or two about eluding jeopardy. The lockpicks used to gain entrance to the library were still secreted within her stiletto heel. All she had to do was slip them from their hiding place, pick the lock of the handcuffs, rid herself of these restrictive scarves and stroll out the front door as though nothing had happened. Should be easy enough.
Or not. Ally craned her neck, trying to determine why her efforts were being hampered. The spiked heels kept getting tangled in the folds of her gown. She could kick her shoes free of the skirts by stretching her legs straight out, but then she obviously couldn’t reach the heels with her cuffed hands. However when she bent her knees and curled her feet back towards her bum, the damned skirt kept gathering itself and getting in the way. Several minutes were wasted while Ally twisted, turned, heaved and kicked in vain attempts to wrestle with her clothing. In the end she was left huffing, puffing, increasingly dishevelled and thoroughly frustrated. A stream of unladylike expletives were reduced to garbled nonsense thanks to the thick wad of silk stuffed inside her mouth.
Exasperated outbursts clearly weren’t going to help. Patience and rational thought were needed here. Ally shut her eyes and rested her head against the shelves. Her wrists were aching, sweat plastered her fringe against her forehead and the gag was becoming soaked with saliva, the sensation of sodden cloth tasting foul and feeling disgusting. Perhaps it would be easier just to admit defeat, to languish helplessly in her bonds and meekly await whatever fate lay in store. Passive acceptance of her plight would certainly require less energy, but Ally wasn’t built that way. Her childhood dreams had never cast her as the imperilled princess or distressed damsel. She had always longed to be the knight in shining armour, confronting evil and riding in to save the day.
That was probably why she had pursued a career in law enforcement, pitting wits against Lady Longford and her ilk. Speaking of which, she had absolutely no idea where this latest investigation was leading. There was no denying that Longford was extremely smart and possessed a flair for dramatic inventiveness, but her ultimate objective was usually fairly transparent. What could she hope to achieve by stealing a collection of centuries old art? Ally could understand if it was a simple case of theft for financial gain, but that didn’t seem to be her goal. The allusions to some greater mystery also left Ally baffled. Was Lady Longford going to exchange the drawings for some more tangible asset? Were they going to be used as a bargaining chip in an underworld power play? The agent sighed and roused herself from lethargy. Enough pointless conjecture. She needed to focus her thoughts on the conundrum of her escape. She had to find a way to unravel her snarled skirts and get hold of those lockpicks.
Maybe it was a question of gravity. Bracing herself against the impact, the young woman threw herself onto her back and then flopped over onto her stomach. She raised her bound legs from the floor and again curled her feet towards her hands. The fall had left her winded and the relentless pressure from the handcuffs never let up, but the potential for escape was just a little bit closer. Ignoring the agony at her wrists, she continued to wriggle about, writhing her legs and grappling for her prize. It was hard work, but she had to persevere. Now that she wasn’t sitting on the skirts, she had more leeway to struggle and her own weight wasn’t adding to the complications. A few more flicks back and forth and the cumbersome folds finally fell away from her elevated feet. The satin puddled around her knees and thighs, but it no longer obstructed access to her shoes. The words strangled by the gag this time were a shout of pure jubilation. Stage one of operation ‘get the hell out of here’ was complete.
The prone position and vigorous contortions had left Ally’s bosom squashed against the carpet, her breasts threatening to spill out from the low cut bodice. The bedraggled agent rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the situation. This really wasn’t the time to worry about a minor wardrobe malfunction. Her hands flailed blindly, but managed to grasp hold of an ankle and its strappy shoe. Nimble fingers pried at the cleverly designed latch and the steel picks popped out. A tricky operation was made that bit more difficult since necessity dictated that each step must be done unsighted. Hoping not to make a mistake after all of her struggles to reach this point and praying that the cuffs hadn’t numbed her touch, Ally reversed her fingertip grip on the lockpicks and probed to locate the handcuffs’ tiny lock. She fiddled with painstaking precision until, to her very great relief, a small snick signalled victory and the first metal band sprung open.
Groaning with exhaustion, the weary spy rolled onto her side, taking a well-earned moment to savour her partial freedom and to recover some much-needed strength. The short ordeal had left her feeling mentally and physically drained, but she was still only half done. Tugging the gag from her mouth, she let the damp silk hang at her throat while she scrutinised the bonds around her ankles, sighing glumly when she remembered how tightly the gauzy wrap had been tied. She just knew that she was going to break a nail unravelling that nasty little knot. The agency had better come up with a plan to predict Lady Longford’s next move. When Ally got out of here she was going to be in the mood for revenge!
The Athena Agency’s finest minds convened to discuss that very subject when Ally eventually managed to complete her escape, making it safely back to base and delivering her intriguing report. The meeting was being chaired by Athena herself, the forty-something blonde dressed in a tailored business suit and looking as alert and commanding as ever despite the lateness of the hour.
"Thank-you, Agent Douglas." The director nodded as Ally finished a quick resume of events at the embassy. Her shrewd gaze then turned to the other agents seated at the conference table, "So what do we make of this?"
Agent Cristina Torres stifled a yawn. She had been in bed, sleeping off an eighteen hour stakeout, when the call summoning her back to the office was patched through. "It sounds to me like Longford’s been reading too many Dan Brown novels. Da Vinci’s Enigma? Riddles hidden in libraries? Are we really taking this seriously? Surely we’ve got more important things to do."
"I think we should keep an open mind." Olivia Wilson looked up from her laptop and a small mountain of reference books, "Leonardo was a true genius. His talents encompassed almost every aspect of the arts and sciences. Only a small fraction of his life’s works have been catalogued by universities and museums. Who knows what else might be out there? Countless secrets might lie in private collections or lost in forgotten attics."
"Do you think that’s what she’s up to, Owl? Chasing down lost masterpieces?" Ally had changed into a navy sweatshirt and pants, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. "What would a newly discovered da Vinci be worth on the open market?"
Olivia shrugged and began to polish her thick glasses, "Millions? Maybe hundreds of millions? But I don’t think that’s the point. Cristina’s joke about conspiracy theories may not be so far fetched. Much of Leonardo’s work was commissioned by Europe’s most powerful and most ruthless families. Some of his patrons were engaged in a dubious web of politics that spanned borders and was rumoured to hold sway over popes and kings. Their machinations might hold some value to modern criminals and terrorists. And that’s not all. From the time of his death right up to the current day, da Vinci has enthralled and inspired all kinds of secret societies, scholastic cults and religious sects. It’s possible that Lady Longford is on the trail of an elaborate puzzle constructed by his so called disciples rather than anything directly linked to the maestro himself."
"Longford specifically mentioned the Mona Lisa’s smile." Athena picked out one of the phrases quoted in Ally’s report. "Does that crop up as a key in any of these puzzles?"
"Not to my knowledge." Olivia gestured apologetically to her pile of books, "I’ve tried to do some research, but this isn’t really my field."
The director steepled her fingers and leant back, "To be perfectly honest, I share Agent Torres’ scepticism, but we all know Caroline Longford. If she has taken an interest in da Vinci conspiracies then so must we. Owl, I want the name of someone who can help us out. It sounds like we’ll need to call in an expert."
Meredith Duvert really loved her job. There couldn’t be many lines of employment which would offer a steady pay cheque for the privilege of indulging her lifelong passion for art while living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Meredith’s role as Dean of Renaissance Studies at the Sorbonne University in Paris did exactly that. She just wished that the department could afford a couple of research assistants.
The attractive academic wiped grimy dust from her hands and surveyed the task that lay ahead. She was standing among a dozen wooden crates which had just been delivered to the university’s basement storeroom. The shipment contained antiques and other rare artefacts bequeathed by a wealthy alumni. It fell to Meredith to sort through each large crate, fully document the objects found and give every item a unique entry in the faculty’s database. Normally she would have enlisted a few students with the lure of extra credit, but the delivery had been made just as the summer holidays began. The campus was all but deserted and so she found herself working here alone.
Although perhaps not quite as alone as she had thought. A scuffling noise came from the top of the stairs leading down to the basement. Meredith turned with a slight start; she wasn’t expecting company. The dim overhead lighting didn’t stretch to the room’s furthest corners, but something was definitely moving up there.
"Allo? Pierre?" The scholar shielded her eyes and peered cautiously towards the stairs. Maybe the security guard was doing his rounds. Hopefully it wasn’t a rat. Please, she begged, don’t let it be a rat.
"Dr Duvert?" It was a woman who stepped out of the gloom. She casually made her way down, descending the stairs with an air of supreme confidence. "Are you Meredith Duvert, the renowned art historian?"
"Oui. I am Dr Duvert. How can I help you?"
The woman walked through the basement, casting curious glances at the various items spread around the room. She stopped by one of the crates and picked up an unusual clockwork mechanism, "I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Doctor. It’s good that I’ve caught you alone. Tell me, is it true that you’re the foremost expert on Leonardo da Vinci’s life and career?"
"That is probably a fair assessment. I’ve published many papers on the subject and am considered something of an authority by my peers." Meredith gave a nervous swallow and pointed to the ornate device, "Could you please put that down? It’s a seventeenth century miniature orrery based on Galileo’s observations of the solar system. It’s the only working model that still survives from that period."
"Very impressive! I can see that you know your topic well." The orrery was carefully set aside. "What can you tell me about Signore del Giocondo?"
"I assume you mean the wealthy silk merchant born in Florence around 1470. He hired da Vinci to paint his wife; the portrait more commonly known as the Mona Lisa. What is this about? Who are you?"
"I work for a very important organisation. My employers need the benefit of your opinions and knowledge to assist with a project they’re working on." The woman moved closer. She drew an object from her pocket, a small cylinder similar in size and shape to a dispenser used for breath freshener.
"No, I’m sorry." The historian shook her head, "I don’t do freelance work. Perhaps if you ..."
"Did I give the impression that I was asking?" The brusque interruption was accompanied by a stony glare, "My employers are not accustomed to refusals. You will be coming with me whether you like it or not."
Meredith sensed her danger too late. She took a frightened pace back, but not fast enough to avoid the fine cloud of mist suddenly sprayed in her face. Heady fumes immediately flooded her mouth and nostrils. Her head began to swim, the edges of the room starting to spin. Another backwards step was taken, but now her legs were wobbling, the floor seeming to tilt at a most unnatural angle. It was no use. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t seem to think. Her vision was fading and her muscles growing weak. With a soft whimper of fear, the drugged girl’s knees buckled. She slumped to the floor, fainting into black oblivion as the powerful anaesthetic took it’s full effect.
Victoria McDonald, Lady Longford’s statuesque enforcer, smiled down at her unconscious victim. She flipped open a mobile phone and punched in a number, "I’ve got her. Give me five minutes then bring the van into the loading bay. That should give me plenty of time to get our little professor ready for her trip."
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