Lisette Ruisseau
& the Cyber Geeks
by
Brian Sands
Chapter One: The Coming
Storm
When Lisette answered the
authoritative knock at the front door she found a young police constable
shuffling on the welcome mat, the ubiquitous hat with its familiar blue and
white checked band turning over nervously in his fingers. The local squad car
stood at the roadside behind the visitor, its blue and white lights flashing,
although there were no neighbours, and no other road users were in sight.
The officer continued to
twist his headgear as his eyes connected with those of the young woman before
travelling down the lines of her slender body: black angora pullover and short
black skirt, dark stockings and the smart matching business shoes with slightly
chunky functional heels. Lisette’s severe black garb was softened by the blue
silk scarf tied loosely at her throat and by her honey-blonde hair which was
still piled up in the chic going-to-the-city coiffeur that she had worn all
day.
"Yes, officer? What’s
the trouble?"
"Erhm, Miss ... "
The young man cast his eyes around the open fields that abutted on either side
of the small white cottage. "Have you seen anyone in the area, acting, you
know, suspiciously?"
"Why no. I heard on
the car radio that an escaped prisoner was loose somewhere in the district. But
I’ve just arrived home, and I saw no one the last half hour out from the
village. Why? Is the man reported to be coming this way?"
"That’s what we need
to know, Miss. You say you’ve seen nothing?"
"No, nothing at all.
Not even a farm tractor. But it’s only mid-afternoon. I usually hear them in
the distance at tea-time," Lisette paused and glanced at her wristwatch,
"in about two hours from now."
The young constable relaxed
visibly. "Well that’s all right then. He must have headed in another
direction. There’s not much cover in the fields over this side of the
village."
"I’ll keep my eyes
open and phone your people if I see anything wrong," said Lisette.
"The police and other community numbers are on a fridge magnet left by the
previous owner."
"That’s a relief.
Miss, let us know the moment you see anything at all suspicious. You can’t be
too careful, a woman ... alone, I suppose?"
"Yes. I’m here for
another week, getting away from the city grind to catch up on my research. It’s
not a holiday," she hastened to add, "It’s part of my work ...
Where’s your partner? I thought you people worked in pairs."
"We’re very short
staffed at present Miss, on account of the escape."
"I see. Well I hope
you get your man," said Lisette, but without much inner conviction,
wondering whether the rest of the local police were as gormless as this one
appeared to be.
"I’ll be going
then." At the steps from the porch leading down to the neatly manicured
front path, he stopped and turned. "Remember to keep all doors and windows
locked, Miss, just in case."
"I will. Don’t
worry."
Lisette watched
thoughtfully as the police car disappeared slowly down the road. She then
turned and re-entered the house, carefully closing the door behind her, making
sure that the lock snicked into place. There was something strange about that
encounter that she could not quite put her finger on, something about the young
man that did not seem quite right.
The young woman activated
the television by its remote as she walked into the cosy living area. She was
in time to catch an afternoon news bulletin.
"The police have
completed sweeping the areas on two sides towards which the escapee might have
headed after absconding from the medium security prison farm." While it
was thought that he was still somewhere in the district, "folks can rest
comfortably in their beds tonight in the two most populated sectors." Not
this godforsaken sector, thought Lisette.
"The constabulary are
confident that the offender is heading towards the provincial coastal town. He
may have run the other way, towards the mountains, but the weather will break
in the next twelve hours and he will be going to ground in the open dressed
only in prison clothing."
Lisette switched off the
television and walked through into the kitchen. She looked out onto the narrow
back yard and the open fields beyond. Already dark cumulo-nimbus clouds were
building up to the west over the coastline that could be seen as a faint
horizon blur in fine weather. Lisette hugged her arms around her body and
shivered. The storm will come in less than twelve hours. Soon it won’t be fit
for a dog out there.
A wind was mounting. The
door to the crazily leaning woodshed began to flap backwards and forwards on
rusty hinges. The cottage was well insulated against the weather, which meant
that Lisette could scarcely hear the door, but its continual movement would
threaten the whole structure.
Drat! I’d better shut it
and batten it down.
She threw on an old
overcoat that hung with several coils of rope on a peg at the back door, and
stepped down into the yard. The wind buffeted her, making strands of hair fly
about her face and causing the ends of her small silk scarf to flicker about
her cheek.
Lisette’s hand was on the
edge of the door and she was about to pull it shut and fasten it when she
thought she saw a movement from inside the shed.
"Come on, shoo!"
she cried, thinking that it was one of the farmer’s sheep that always seemed to
enjoy nibbling the grass at her back lawn. "This is no place for a little
lamb. Go home to your moth ..."
Then she stood absolutely
still and silent for, instead of the lost lamb she was expecting, the figure of
a man emerged from the inner gloom of the shed. He towered over Lisette’s five
foot six inches. He held an axe handle though it was not raised.
Lisette gulped, took a step
back, and found her voice. ‘
"There’s no need for
that. No-one’s out here except us and, by the looks of you, you could easily
overpower me. So put that silly thing down and come into the house where it’s
warmer. You look all in."
She knew from the gray
shirt and trousers he wore that he could be none other than the escaped
convict. He was dirty and unshaven. His eyes staring through strands of matted
hair were wild and hunted. This gave him a dangerous aspect. Yet at the same
time he looked vulnerable. He followed her meekly to the kitchen door.
Once they were inside,
Lisette turned and faced her intruder.
"I won’t give you any
resistance or try to get help. You wouldn’t let me anyway. You can see I’m
alone. I don’t want you to hurt me, but I don’t think you’re that kind of
man."
There was a long pause
while the desperado took time to think it through. Finally he spoke.
"No, I won’t hurt you.
All I need is a good twelve hours to rest up. Then I’ll get out of here."
He made a step forward and
faltered. Lisette went to him and took his arm.
"I’ll be all
right," he said. But the look on his face revealed the obvious truth that
he was close to exhaustion.
The man knew it too, for he
pulled abruptly away from Lisette, staggered to the door and took down the
coils of rope that hung there.
"In there...
please."
Lisette obeyed
mechanically. True to her word, she gave no resistance as he conducted her to
one of the heavy dining room chairs. It had a straight narrow back and was well
padded in the seat and the backrest. Without a word, the young woman sat in it.
She knew what was coming and with an air of resignation she put her arms behind
her around the back of the chair.
The man paused. A slightly
puzzled frown creased what she could see of his dirt-encrusted brow.
"Have you been tied up
before?"
"No, but it’s obvious
isn’t it? You can’t afford to have a good sleep while I’m free to call the ...
constabulary."
"Hmm. That’s true. But
most women in this situation would be frightened."
"I said before that I
don’t think you’ll hurt me. I think you have a nice face under all that grime.
And ... anyway, I can take it! I’ve never been tied up before, so make it good,
so I know what the experience is like."
"As you say ..."
Lisette’s intruder bent to his work.
"Only, not too tight
please," she exclaimed as she felt her wrists drawn together and crossed
and a piece of rope twisted around them.
Lisette experienced a sense
of wonder and apprehension as the man worked feverishly, turning the cord about
her wrists first in one direction and making a single knot, then in another
direction until she was held in a crossed set of loops. She winced as the final
double knot was tied off. He must be too tired to bother adjusting my bonds,
thought the young woman as her body was laced up in an untidy but effective
network of rope that held her firmly to the chair. Lisette tested her wrist
bonds. The coarse rope resisted her efforts to twist her wrists about. Lisette
realised that she would lose several layers of skin if she persisted in that
move and she allowed her hands and fingers to relax and fall limp. Soon her
ankles were tied to each leg of the chair, ropes wrapped around her lap and
over the chair’s seat.
"Sorry I have to do
this," said the man in a slurred voice.
"So am I,"
rejoined Lisette. "It’s a new experience, being tied up by an escaped
convict. I know why you’re doing this. But it’s really unnecessary because ...
What are you doing?"
The man was untying the
scarf knotted at her throat. "Sorry about this too," he added.
He shook out Lisette’s neck
square and folded it into a triangle before tying it firmly over her mouth and
lips. The crisp silk covered the lower half of her face below the nose and stretched
tautly around her cheeks and jaw. Lisette looked up at her captor in
frustration, unable to finish the sentence she had begun. She tried to speak,
but all she could say was a muffled, "It’s not fair."
"No, but I can’t take
chances." In his exhaustion, the man himself could scarcely speak.
Satisfied with his
handiwork, the convict lurched unsteadily to the living room sofa and fell
sprawling into it like a toppling tree.
He’s out like a light,
though Lisette. Now’s my chance to get free.
But she could only sit in
the chair helplessly, kept in place by the tight bonds.
Lisette was not as
frightened as she expected to be. Firstly, she reasoned, the man holding her
prisoner was from a minimal security prison farm, so he was obviously not a
hardened criminal. Secondly, she had followed the story of the escape with
interest from the moment the news was broken early that morning while she was
drinking coffee in the coastal town, the same town where the police now
believed the man was heading. And, at a professional level, she disbelieved the
charges of which he was said to be guilty. Thirdly, Lisette had the strangest
feeling that she had known the man recently, not to have actually met him
perhaps, but he might be one of the people implicated in the case she was
presently working on.
And here I am, she thought
ruefully, bound and gagged and obviously not going anywhere until he wakes up
and decides to untie me.
Lisette began to find that
it was not only uncomfortable but also boring to be tied up for a long time.
Hours dragged by, and with
its passage she became more apprehensive. What if her intuition was wrong and
he turned out to be a serial killer, or worse? She cried a little.
The kitchen clock now
showed 5.30pm and the sleeping man had scarcely stirred. The sky outside was
becoming darker with every minute as the storm approached. It was almost upon
the little cottage and heavy drops of rain dashed themselves against the
kitchen windows. From where she was sitting, Lisette could see both the rain-swept
fields outside and the sleeping man within. The cottage was growing colder but
she was unable to light the ready-made fire in the grate, or the pot-bellied
stove that stood in the kitchen. The latter in a very few minutes could have
the whole interior warm.
I’ve been gagged and bound
for more than two hours, thought Lisette desperately. Her body was cramped.
Although she had kept her struggles to a minimum, her arms and wrists felt
tender and chafed and her jaw was beginning to ache. Her mouth under the tight
silk felt dry from breathing through the double layer of material, so new that
the sizing made it crisp and firm. She had only just bought it that morning in
the town. Lisette thought that she could slip it off her lips and onto her
chin, but the feeling of tight silk over her face and mouth was unusual. It had
a sensual quality and, although it was not comfortable, it did not hurt too
much. She decided to continue the experiment of keeping the gag over her mouth.
There’s more than one use for a silk scarf, she thought ironically.
Another hour passed before
the man began to stir and awaken. Lisette watched him thoughtfully as he
stretched well-muscled arms and half slid upright to the edge of the sofa,
whereupon he buried his face in his hands, rubbed his eyes groggily and ran
long surprisingly artistic looking fingers through his dark hair.
"Won’t you please
untie me!" Lisette asked through her gag. At least, that was what she
meant to say. It came out muffled and with half the words lost in the soft taut
fabric that pressed against her lips. The gag had slipped a little, but there
was nothing close to her that Lisette could used to catch it on or to rub
against to complete the job of getting it off her mouth.
"Uh hrrmph," was
the man’s only reaction to her request.
He came slowly to his feet
and stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. Although she had attempted to
speak, and he had probably heard her efforts, he looked at Lisette as if seeing
her for the first time. Then, coming to a decision with a shake of his head, he
walked across to her, took the scarf by the triangular corner that covered her
chin, and pulled it down off her mouth. The silk clung tenaciously to Lisette’s
mouth and cheeks and was difficult to pull off.
As the scarf fell softly
around her throat, where it was meant to be, thought Lisette, the young woman
opened her mouth and took a deep breath. With a quick movement, the man clamped
his hand tightly over Lisette’s mouth and held it there warningly.
"Mmmmm."
"No screams!"
Lisette nodded. The grip
was loosened and slowly taken away from her lips. His palm’s soft, doesn’t
smell at all bad, thought Lisette somewhere in the back of her mind, while in
her immediate reaction she jerked her head angrily, turning away from the impediment.
"You silly man! I
wasn’t going to scream. I was just taking the first decent breath in three
hours."
"Sorry."
"So you should be! I’m
not one of those 1950s hysterics you see on old movies like The Day of the
Triffids, screaming whenever they see something green moving. Anyway, look
around you. Who would hear me in this isolated place?"
"You’re right. I
wasn’t thinking. And you have a right to be angry at the way you’ve been
treated. But ... if you continue haranguing me in that way I’ll have to gag you
again."
Lisette went quiet.
"Sorry. I’ll be more reasonable. But it’s no fun being tied up like
this."
"I’ll get you out of
those ropes very soon," promised the man. There was a trace of kindness in
his voice. "But first I need to wash, and find a new change of clothes. I
don’t suppose you have ...?"
"Well, in fact,"
said Lisette looking up at her captor, "There’s a shower recess in the
bathroom en suite to my bedroom, and the previous owner’s left an
assortment of clothing in one of the closets that I haven’t touched. Some it
it’s pretty hideous but if you don’t have much taste you’re welcome to whatever
you can find."
"Thank you."
But instead of leaving for
the bathroom immediately, he bent over Lisette and began to untie the scarf
from around her neck.
"This precaution has
to be taken again."
"No! It’s not nec
..." Lisette’s voice trailed off as once more the silk was tied tightly
over her mouth.
"It’s only for a short
time, while I’m out of the room."
Lisette sat in the chair
resignedly, listening to the distant sound of the bathroom shower. Through the
kitchen window the rain was now pelting down, leaving broad runnels of water
across the windowpanes and distorting what was left of the view of the fields.
After about ten minutes, she heard the convict moving about in her bedroom and
one of the two closets being opened. Several more minutes passed, then the man
reappeared in the doorway.
Lisette’s eyes went wide.
For instead of a scruffy object wearing shapeless trousers and shirt in prison
green there stood a good-looking man, freshly shaven, his hair clean and combed
back from a broad brow, the result of Lisette’s own shampoo and the small
safety razor she used occasionally on her legs. She guessed it was now very
blunt. He wore a pair of light grey trousers and a matching jacket. The suit
was a fraction large, even for such a well-built man, as was the white shirt
that he wore beneath. He still had on his prison work boots, but had made an
obvious effort to clean them, another of her small supply of towels to go in
the wash she thought.
"Thank you," he
said gravely as he walked towards her, "I feel a hundred percent on how I
was a few hours ago."
He was removing Lisette’s
gag as he spoke, pulling it down from her face with the same difficulty as before.
This time he did not attempt to stop Lisette’s mouth when she opened it and
took a deep breath.
"I- I was going to say
that there’s no need to keep me gagged all the time. This cottage is modelled
on the ones they have up on the fjords in Norway. It’s so well insulated
against the cold outside that very little sound escapes from inside. I left the
stereo on at full volume a few days ago when I went in to the village, and I
heard nothing when I came home until I opened the door. So I could scream my head
off in here and a visitor on the other side of the door would not hear
me."
"You do understand
that I couldn’t take any chances, in a strange place like this?"
"I guess so. But you
didn’t give me a chance to explain. You had that gag on me quicker than I could
think ... Have you done this before?"
The man laughed, not
unpleasantly: "Yers. You could say that I’ve had a certain degree of
experience in those matters."
"Are you a
professional kidnapper, or thief?"
Lisette tried to connect
the snatches of information from the police reports about the prison farm
escapee and some of the elements in the case she was on, but without success.
The hunch eluded her.
The man continued.
"I’m what they called early in the twentieth century a soldier of fortune.
It’s true that I’ve been a thief."
"Tying up women?"
"That too."
"You’re very good at
it."
"Thank you, though
it’s rather an embarrassing compliment to receive."
"So?"
"Believe it or not,
dear lady, I’m going straight, seen the error of my ways and all that."
"Won’t you untie me,
then?"
"In good time. I
thought you wanted to know something about me."
"I do. But these ropes
are hurting, and I’m cramped!"
"Oh very well."
The man sighed theatrically
and hunkered down behind Lisette. She felt his long strong fingers working at
the knot of her wrist bonds.
"So, what’s your
name?" Lisette asked.
The man paused at what he
was doing for a moment, then continued to unfasten her ropes.
"I guess it doesn’t
matter. You’ve surely read it in the papers, or heard it on the broadcasts."
"Not that name. I’m
sure it’s an alias. I mean your real name."
"Why do you want to
know?"
"Because ... because I
have a hunch ..."
"I don’t know. You
have a rather pretty neck and shoulders."
"Don"t tease me
... Ohhh, that feels good!"
Lisette was now able to
bring her arms to the front and sat massaging them, and her wrists, while the
stranger continued untying the bonds from around her waist and legs.
"Well, if you must
know, my name is Doug ... ah, Donald Caisson."
"I bet that’s another
alias."
"Yers, but one that’s
closer to the truth. The nickname is because old associates used to regard me
as a hard case."
"I think you have a
sense of humour, Mr Caisson, that has got you into trouble before, and will get
you into trouble again."
Lisette raised herself
slowly from the chair where she had been sitting for so many hours.
"Call me Don ... Can I
prepare you a drink, from your own resources? ... I’m in enough trouble
already, dear lady."
"That’s obvious. But I
think I know more than you think I know about your, ah, case, Mr Caisson, uh
Don."
"I think I need a
stiff drink in order to absorb that reasoning, my dear ... And what’s your name
may I ask, or is that too impertinent?"
"It’s not impertinent
at all," replied Lisette. She was enormously relieved to be out of the
ropes and the gag at last, and she was beginning to warm towards this strange
man. "It’s Lisette ... Lisette Ruisseau."
"Ah, French."
"My mother was French.
My father was a Scotsman."
"A good combination.
It helps to reconcile a fiery temper with elfin beauty and intelligence."
"Ah. I take it that’s
a throwback to an earlier career as a gigolo?"
"Touché. Very
nearly right my dear Lisette ... Scotch and soda, brandy and dry, gin and
tonic?"
"Gin and tonic
please."
They sat in easy chairs
opposite each other with their drinks in their hands. The fire was now roaring
merrily in the grate, responding to the infusion of oxygen that the storm drove
down the chimney.
"So, what did you mean
when you said you might be able to help me?" asked Don Caisson.
"You’re not in the business as a fairy-godmother I take it."
"No," chuckled
Lisette. "It’s to do with my job. I’m employed by a branch of Revenue to
investigate computer fraud."
"You are, then, a
fairy godmother of sorts."
"If you like. And I’ve
been trying to think where I’ve come across one of your aliases before, Mister
Case. That was your name on the news bulletins the last twelve hours. Oh yes, I
didn’t come down in the last shower," she continued in response to Donald
Caisson’s startled look.
"Not in this present
downpour anyway," the man said with a glance at the now dark windows with
their runnels of rain.
He regains his composure
fast, thought Lisette in silent admiration. I could really take to this
charmer.
"This afternoon I had
a lot of time for quiet thinking," continued Lisette, "Quiet, involuntary
thinking need I add. And, before you ask the obvious question, I’ll tell you
that there have been rather difficult situations in my career in which I have
found myself bound and gagged. It’s no fun, especially when one’s life is on
the line, and I’ve been lucky so far that the cavalry have always managed to
come to my rescue."
"So it was a clever
ruse when you said that you had not been tied up before ... a trick to persuade
me to tie the ropes more lightly than I might have done." It was a
statement, not a question.
"Yes, but I outsmarted
myself. The rope was so rough on my skin that I decided not to struggle. And,
anyway, I wasn’t lying when I said I think I can trust you, Mr Caisson ...
Don."
"There’s always a time
when one’s luck runs out," said Don pensively, taking another sip of his
whisky and soda.
"I know." Lisette
shivered. "Am I still your prisoner, by the way?"
"Oh yes. I can’t let
you go while the search is on. I need to get back into the city and lie low.
There are people after me."
"I think I know why.
Some of it’s coming back to me, though I’ll have to double-check the records
back in the office ... If I’m not entirely wrong, you, Mr Case, Donald Caisson,
or whoever you really are, created a lot of trouble for a certain European drug
ring. You and a very attractive fellow-countrywoman of mine."
"You’re uncomfortably
close to the point," Don conceded. His demeanour was now very grave.
"That little caper, the Ring of the Niebelungen, so to speak, was given
added bite because I, ah, had the misfortune to contract a somewhat unsettling
malady. No one knows. I shan’t be telling you. And it’s not germane to the case
... And you are quite right. Someone’s out to get me."
"I want to help
you."
"Is this a
professional interest?"
"I think it is,
mostly."
"But not
entirely?"
"No, not entirely. I
like you, Don. And I think you’ve been badly treated."
"If you’re willing to
help me," said Don slowly, "there is a way of getting you into the
organisation where you may have the opportunity of helping me in return. But
it’s very dangerous for you. You will not be a mole in the strict sense of the
term. You will be a prisoner, a snooping tax fraud inspector whose cover I
happened to penetrate. You will be the bait that may persuade them to accept me
once more among their ranks. How do you feel about that?"
"Do I have a choice?
You’ve said already that I’m your prisoner."
"I just wanted to give
you a scare, to test your mettle. In reality you’re free to go at any time,
only I’ll ask you to allow me to get away first."
"That won’t be
necessary. I’m willing to take chances. What do you have in mind?"
"Tell me, have you
received any visitors this afternoon?"
"Why no. There was
only the police officer."
"What did he look
like?" asked Don, suddenly coming to the edge of his seat.
"He was a young man, a
Constable. Looked pretty green to me."
"Was there anyone with
him, a more senior officer?"
"Why no. That puzzled
me at the time."
"So it should. You say
he was young?"
"Yes. Very skinny. His
uniform didn’t seem quite right ... I know what it was! He wasn’t wearing
regulation shoes. He was wearing what they call Doc Martins, you know those big
boots? Something like them anyway."
"I do indeed. In fact,
"‘Doc,’ is his nickname."
"You know him?"
"Oh yers. Have you
read Brighton Rock?"
"Graham Greene’s
classic detective thriller?"
"That’s the one. Do
you remember the character of that little spiv?"
"The one called The
Boy? Yes. Why?"
"Well, that’s him. His
clone anyway. That fictional character has a real-life doppelganger."
"Not that young
Constable?"
"You’ve got it, lady.
He’s bad news. He’s a loner. But the Organisation’s signed him on as a
part-time hit man. He has no loyalty to them or to anybody aside from
himself."
"Is he after
you?"
"No, not yet. He’s
looking for me, to bring me in to the fold. I’ve offered him a deal. He doesn’t
know anything about computers, just knows how to kill people in nasty ways, but
he swallowed my line."
Lisette looked at the rain-studded
window. "Will be he back in this weather?"
"He doesn’t know where
I am. But he gets fixated on small, elegant women like yourself so he’s sure to
be back for another look. He fancies himself as a ladies’ man."
"That little
creep!"
"Yers. But don’t say
that to his face. He’ll carve you up."
"I’ll be discreet. You
want me to meet him don’t you?"
"Yers, but as a
prisoner. Are you willing to trust me, and to take a risk with outcomes that
neither of us can predict?"
"Yes. You’re putting
your life on the line too ... aren’t you?"
"Indeed, dear
lady."
"What do I have to
do?"
"I suggest that you
shower and change. Do you have a car?"
"Yes. It’s parked at
the side of the house. You can’t see it from the road."
"Good. We might do it
two ways. One is that in the morning we drive to the city, to the docks area
where I have a place to lie low. If a member of the Organisation comes, they’ll
see you as a kidnap prisoner. And they’ll be very interested to know that
you’re a tax investigator. That should get me in well with them."
"What"s the other
scenario?"
"Like I said, that
little spiv might come back for another look. I can give him a big surprise.
He’ll love it if he sees that you’re my prisoner."
"In both those
scenarios, am I meant to be tied up?"
"Yes. If it’s too much
to ask, we can drop the matter. I’ll slip away in the morning and you can
continue as though nothing has happened."
"I can’t do that! This
is the first big break-through in my investigations. I can’t ignore it."
"Very well then. You’d
better freshen up. It could be a long night."
At the door to her bedroom,
Lisette stopped and turned.
"Mr Caisson ... Don.
There’s a lot of soft cotton rope in that spare room. It’s a sort of sewing
room that I’ve just set up, when I had to replace a button on my blouse. Will
you use that instead of the scratchy stuff I was tied with this
afternoon?"
"Yers."
Donald Caisson inclined his
head politely.
ã Brian
Sands 2004