Axiom Ch. 06

"That's preposterous-"

"No, it's not. You damn well know what I'm talking about-"

"Damn straight I do. The question is, do you?" she hissed. "If I choose to filter out what to tell you, you'll have to deal with it and learn to respect that. I don't need to tell you everything. I don't owe you an explanation, and you have no right to sit there and go all high school on me-"

"Fuck you, Gwyneth. Fuck you."

"Well fuck you too."

So much for witty repartee. Dylan abruptly got up and threw some cash on the table before striding off in a huff. Left alone at the table, she put her hands behind her head and blew out a breath. Typical him. When provoked, his solution was simple but juvenile. He was the ignoring type. Which meant that from this second forth, she might as well as be a ghost in his eyes. His tactics involved pretending she didn't exist, making life so terribly inconvenient until one of them caved in and apologized.

Well she'd be damned if she was going to say sorry. What right did he have to get angry at her for keeping a secret? So they were friends. That didn't mean that she had to keep him posted on everything she was doing. And she sure as hell didn't need his approval, either. She sighed, rubbed at her temples and signaled for the bill. Screw him.

It didn't help that they were sitting opposite each other in the office. Throughout the day, he just ignored her like she was made of thin air. Not that she went out of her way to talk to him. She just kept glowering at him, hoping that he would catch her angry stare and at least do something, anything at all. But he just avoided looking at her altogether. The amount of work pouring in was simply staggering - the fact that Nicholas Scodelario was in the office had everyone panicking like a herd of nervy sheep. Office output was at a new maximum, and everyone was just driving themselves hard. Come dinnertime she forced herself not to face Dylan as he packed up his things and left without a goodbye.

What a great day. She was exhausted, and her mood was perched nicely on the South Pole. Without Dylan giving her a ride home, it meant that she would have to take the subway back home - hurrah, what a lovely end to a horrid day. She checked the messages on her iPhone, reading through the thread of texts she'd been swapping with Aidan all day. To hand it to him, he'd made the time to send out a few funny messages. But the sparse replies always came late because he was just so busy.

She hadn't managed to see him once all day. Sighing, her stomach growled and she glanced at her watch. Ten thirty. Her fingers hovered over the phone as she contemplated asking him out for dinner, but she looked at the timestamps on each message and realized that it was very unlikely that he would even have time for a quick coffee, what more dinner.

Briefly, she wondered if she should at least let him know that she was leaving the office, but she glanced over at Dylan's desk and her temper flared. Why should she tell Aidan about her whereabouts? She was done being questioned, and the thought of having to report her activities to someone made her feel indignant. If she wanted to go home, she could damn well go home without needing to inform anyone. Talking to Aidan could wait until she was back and settled at home. She slipped the phone into her pocket, picked up her bag and headed towards the elevator.

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Aidan was reading through a liability assessment when he heard the knock on the door. "Come in."

In walked Julian, dressed as sharply as ever, a wry smile on his lips. He went straight to the bar and poured himself a drink, whereas Aidan didn't even look up from the stack of papers he was reading. Julian sipped from his glass and looked around the spacious office, surveying the New York skyline through the wall of plate glass in front of him. "Which case is that?"

"The Fitzpatrick one. What are you doing here? It's pretty late."

"Your father called." At the sound of those words Aidan's head jerked upwards in surprise, his brows knotted into a frown.

"My father called you here?"

Julian nodded and took another sip of whisky. "He's on his way. Needs to talk to us urgently, or so I gather."

Aidan's jaw tightened. "Does he want to meet Marty, too?"

"Didn't mention anything about him. Also, I can't seem to reach Marty. His phone's been switched off."

Just in time, Nicholas burst in without even knocking, his wrinkled face taut and expressionless. His eyes flicked over the two younger men in the room, and he was practically rearing like a cobra ready to strike. Aidan could see that whatever it was his father needed to talk about, it was big enough to send Nicholas into a combative stance. Even at a glance, the adrenaline was highly visible - from the white knuckles on his fists to the even, robotic breaths.

His gruff voice broke the tense silence. "Marty was found unconscious in his home this evening. He was rushed to the hospital, but pronounced dead on arrival. So far, it appears that he died due to cardiac complications. We're still waiting for the proper autopsy results, but the both of you need to be aware about this."

As soon as he said those words, Julian looked aghast and distraught, unable to believe that something like this would happen at such an inopportune time.

"Fuck me," Julian stuttered. "What happened?"

"He was found by some guy who usually delivers Chinese food to his place. Rang the doorbell, no one answered, so he tried the door. Unlocked. Walked in, saw Marty passed out on the floor, called 911."

"No one noticed he collapsed?"

"He lived alone. Never got married, no kids."

As he continued dispensing information, Nicholas watched carefully as the machinations of his son's mind began to whirr, the full implications of the news spreading like ink in water. Aidan's expression wasn't one of grief - on the other hand, his eyes widened in chilling terror as his train of thought amok, a million and ten computations racing through at once.

"Marty never had a history of cardiac problems." Aidan could barely keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"Exactly," Julian agreed, unaware of what his friend was trying to insinuate. "He looked perfectly fine the last time I saw him. I can't believe this is happening."

Aidan ignored him and just stared long and hard at his father as if he was trying to read the secrets hidden in the older man's cold, hard eyes. Finally it dawned upon him properly, all the answers falling into place.

"Professionals?" Aidan's voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

"I believe so." Nicholas didn't say anything else, but his facial expression urged caution.

"Jesus Christ." Aidan was still shell-shocked. He quickly regained his composure and clapped a hand on his pocket, suddenly remembering what he needed to do. He fished out his BlackBerry and breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw that he had no new messages from Gwyneth. If she had left the office, she probably would have dropped him a note at least. But that was just a speculation, and he needed to be sure.

Without offering an explanation, he jumped up and strode towards the door, almost breaking into a jog. Julian just stood there looking bewildered, but Aidan knew that his father understood. The fact that Nicholas just stood there, his face completely devoid of any expression, could only mean one of two things. Either he thought that Gwyneth was in no harm and Aidan was just being paranoid, or he knew that something had already happened to her, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

Aidan's heart was beating frantically during the elevator ride to the floor where she usually worked. As soon as the doors pinged open he dashed out, practically running to where she sat, half-expecting to find her slim, slender frame hunched over a stack of paperwork. His blood turned cold at the sight of the empty desk and his legs faltered, his steps dwindling to a halt.

If he had been scared before, now the fear had escalated to a terrifying level. Trembling with adrenaline and shock, he fished his phone out, hit a number on speed dial and pressed the phone to his ear. The dial tone beeped...and beeped...and beeped. Redial. More waiting. After three tries he decided that he'd had enough. Too much time had already been wasted. He punched in a different number and moved towards his office with determined strides. "Get me Trent right now."

They'd been compromised. Somehow, sometime, a few people over at Ceres had found out about what they were doing, and they'd decided to go for the simplest, most effective solution. Threatening and destroying their careers would've been paltry. The three men had enough money to sustain multiple generations of excessive spending. Also, it would have been hard to touch them three once they were done with the project. What Ceres really needed was for them to stop whatever they were doing at that very instant. To drop whatever they were doing immediately, without question or bargain.

So why argue, why try to negotiate with men who were in a position to blackmail you, when you can have them forever silenced? There was no need for Ceres to carry out elaborate secret plans. Enough money will buy you all the silence you want, at the right price. What the three idiots overlooked was the fact that while their selves and reputations were invincible and untouchable, their corporeal self was very much human. Exposed. Mortal. And so were the people they loved. Of course, to have all three men die at once would've been suspicious. But even then, dealing with this problem was easy. First, all you have to do is polish off one to send the message, loud and clear. Continue with this, and someone else dies.

Second, you grab the enemy by his weakest spot and hold a knife to it. So that he knows that if you so much as move a fucking finger, the guillotine blade falls. With that as a threat, you'll have him prancing like a marionette in your fingers.

Ah, life. The problem is that playing fair is a rubbish idea. The only way to ever win is to break every fucking rule in the goddamn book.

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The subway ride home was uneventful. She'd scrabbled around her wallet and found a pocket-sized Polaroid shot of them back in college. They'd dressed up as Pulp Fiction's Vincent Vega and Jules Winnfield for Halloween - Gwyneth had short hair then, so a little hair gel for her and an afro wig for Dylan was all it took. She smiled at the memory of how fun it was, walking around in suits, carrying fake guns. Shouting out their favorite lines from the movie to anyone who would listen. Eating quarter pounders and skulking down corridors of random apartments.

"SAY WHAT AGAIN, I DARE YOU, I DOUBLE DARE YOU, MOTHERFUCKER."

The crackle of the speaker announced the upcoming destination in a barely decipherable buzz of noise. She slipped the photo back into her purse and got up to leave, clutching her bag a little tighter. At least she hadn't worn heels today. Gwyneth sighed in exhaustion as she walked up the steps towards the street, looking forward to a nice shower and maybe a goodnight call from Aidan.

She hadn't taken more than a few steps when she felt the sharp prick on her neck that felt a lot like a very painful ant bite. She whizzed around to react, but as soon as she saw the bulky man standing behind her, she knew. Fuck. And they'd gone for the carotids, the blood vessel closest to the head. The panic kicked in and a large part of her wanted to flail, or scream, or do something, anything at all - but it was only a matter of seconds before she slumped into his arms like any other drunk girl on the street and was stuffed, unconscious, into the backseat of a nondescript black car.

When she came to, they were still in the car. She found herself sprawled flat on the backseat, lying facedown into the fabric of the cushion. She blinked several times in an attempt to clear her head as her head was swimming, but at least she had to presence of mind not to make a sound. For a while she just lay perfectly still, taking in deep, steady breaths as she tried to gather herself together.

The fact that she was practically paralyzed by fear helped a great deal, she didn't move a muscle. As long as the man thought she was still passed out, it would buy her extra time to think. Slowly but surely the drug-heavy smog began to clear. She could feel the car turning left and right, but there was no way she could orient herself now. She had no idea where she was, or who had taken her, or why she had been taken in the first place.

Eventually she felt the car slow down and come to a halt. They'd arrived somewhere. Quickly pretending to be asleep, she closed her eyes and prayed desperately that they wouldn't know that she had regained consciousness. She could hear the car door open and a pair of strong arms fished her out. She forced herself to go limp in his arms, tipping her head back and letting it hang loose over the crook of his elbow.

"How much did you give her?"

"Point five mills. Didn't think she'd be out for so long."

"Nah, it's normal for her 'cos she's skinny. The drugs will be a little harder on her system."

So there were two men, not one. They unceremoniously dumped her on the floor, but she didn't flinch. With her cheek pressed against a cold, gritty floor, she played dead, hearing them shuffle about her, shifting and moving some things around.

"Should I board this up?"

"What, you think she's going to climb out through that?" He snorted with laughter, and she could tell by the change in volume that he turned to face her. "I don't think she can even manage a push-up."

More laughter, then there was the sound of footsteps walking away. The door creaked and she could hear the lock being turned, footsteps fading away again, more faintly this time. Silence. For a few minutes she was too terrified to even open her eye an inch. What if someone was watching her?

Summoning all the courage she could, she cracked one eye open in a tiny slit. Absolute darkness, save for a line of light coming from underneath the door. Both eyes flashed open and she realized that she was alone, locked away in some godforsaken room. She still felt a little weak from the drug, but she suspected that it wouldn't last long. If it acted quickly, chances were that it wore off quickly as well. She heaved herself into an upright position and leaned against the wall, forcing herself to sit up straight. A few deep breaths later, she was was surprised that the panic hadn't returned. The only thing she could feel right now was a kind of detached numbness, as if she couldn't yet believe that this was really happening.

Through the confusion, a beacon of common sense dictated that she checked her pockets for her phone. She gasped quietly and almost cried with joy when she felt her fingers close around the familiar rectangular bulk. Thank heavens she had put her phone in silent mode just before she left the office. In the time it took for them to bring her here, she already received twenty missed calls from Aidan along with countless text messages. The time on the clock showed that she'd been out for almost 45 minutes.

She didn't even bother reading the texts - she already knew what they would say. A sudden wave of drowsiness washed over her and she closed her eyes, feeling the entire room sway around her. Breathe, she told herself. Count to three and breathe. In a few moments she felt better again, and with a newfound clarity in her head she thought of an idea.

Technology. The built-in GPS wasn't one of the reasons Gwyneth bought an iPhone, but she couldn't have been happier to have that working in her favor right now. With a few taps of her fingers, she managed to roughly pinpoint her location to the best that she could. She processed the information with frantic eyes and quickly composed a text message.

Am at port elizabeth, just arrived two men here am safe a little drugged pls see if you can track my phone. will talk through text not taking any calls cant talk

Screw punctuation, she thought, sending the poorly edited text to Aidan. Her fine motor skills were still impeded and typing was difficult. Almost immediately, she received a reply.

Stay put. We're on our way. You're going to be safe, Gwyneth. Be strong, don't panic. I'm coming for you.

Tears pricked at her eyes when she read that message. Her heart swelled with emotions, bubbling so violently it almost burst over. She didn't even know how to feel now, didn't know whether to panic or to stay calm - but she just clenched her fists and steeled herself, telling herself to be strong. To be fierce and to fight. This wasn't the time for fear or cowardice. No time to cry or feel scared. She thought of Aidan, of how he had been so cold towards her when they first met...and she felt the same vague numbness wash all over her, imbuing her with much needed courage. She clutched at the phone tightly in her fist, running her thumb over the edges like it was a rosary. The deep breaths definitely helped - she was feeling a lot better right now.

Over the next few minutes she just sat there, trying to regain her full strength while her mind pieced together what fragments it could. So she had been abducted. Okay. The only link of causation she could think of right now was Aidan and the Ceres case. Either they'd mistakenly believed that she, too, was in on the plan, or worse still, they knew about Aidan and her. Right. Next - the fact that they had her sedated so quickly and smoothly indicated that these weren't the average thugs.

In fact, judging by the bulk of the man she saw right before she passed out, she would've guessed an ex-military background. These men were professionals. Next. The fact that she was still alive probably meant that she was more valuable alive than dead. Was this an attempt to keep Aidan's mouth shut? Or was this meant to punish him? She didn't know, but she hoped that her death wasn't already paid for.

A mind map of questions slowly sketched itself out in her mind. When she was done with it, she felt like her normal self again and tried pushing herself off and getting to her feet. Perfect. A quick check of the phone revealed that 20 minutes had passed, and the texts from Aidan were pouring in.

...are you alright? Please reply, let me know you're safe...

...don't be scared. We're almost there. Nothing's going to happen to you...

..so worried about you, Gwyneth, please text me as soon as you read this...

She sent off a quick reply letting him know that she was safe, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that staying in the room was a bad idea. Gwyneth looked up at the window nearby. It was small, probably measuring about 2 feet square. Being pretty skinny, she could definitely fit through. The biggest problem was that it was quite high up, which would make climbing through it difficult. Even on her tiptoes, she could just barely push the windowpane open, but not to its maximum. Forcing her entire body out of that small, tall hole would be difficult - not altogether impossible, but definitely challenging.

A frisson of fear ran up her spine but she quashed it, gritting her teeth together and saying a silent prayer. She told herself again and again that she could do this. Where the bursts of brassy courage was coming from, she didn't know, but it didn't matter. She blew out a nervous sigh and reached up for the window's edges, stretching her body as far as she could. Her fingers curled around the windowsill and she made sure to grip it as hard as she could. Now came the hardest part - trying to pull herself up that ridiculous height so that she could thread herself through the window.

All those times she'd tried doing pull-ups in the gym, giving up each and every time despite Dylan's encouragements...she regretted it now. But this wasn't the time for failure. She clenched her jaw and exerted every ounce of strength she had, but her body barely budged. Improvising, she kicked off her shoes and tried planting her bare feet on the wall in an attempt to gain purchase but to little avail. Frustrated, she dropped herself quietly back onto the floor, letting go of the window and sucking in a few deep breaths, trying to muster as much energy as she could. For someone who was kidnapped, she sure was taking it very well. It was probably the shock, she surmised. Shock and pure adrenaline.