Brittany's Travels Ch. 06

"Brittany!"

It was an American man's voice, not familiar to her at all, and so she told herself it couldn't be her father. But she had no idea who it was, for she didn't look back before kicking off back down the hill. She bombed all the way down, figuring the risk of ending up like Marcus was the lesser of two evils.

She got to the bottom safely and, remembering her plan to escape from the top of the hill, she took her place in the queue for the lift. Ignoring her thundering heart, she stared straight ahead and did her best to look inconspicuous.

"Brittany!" It was the same voice, and once again she ignored it, but to no avail. "Brittany," it came again, a touch more conciliatory this time, as he sidled up beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see it was just who she was most afraid it would be.

"Sorry," she said. "My name is...Nicole." It wouldn't do to blow Erika's cover, after all.

"You go by your middle name now, do you?" he asked. Brittany's heart leapt into her throat - her middle name was in fact Nicole, and how would he know that if he wasn't really her father? Well, it was possible, but if he had Penny fooled...

"No, my name is Nicole Bazanni." Brittany had often wished she'd had a dollar for every time she'd been mistaken for Italian rather than Greek, but now she welcomed that confusion.

"Brittany, please! I know it's you! Look at me, please!" He grabbed her arm and tried to turn her towards him.

Brittany wriggled away. "Sir, don't touch me! I don't know who you are and I'm not who you think I am!"

"Brittany, come on!" he said. "Enough of this! I'm sorry I haven't been in touch, but I want to catch up, all right?"

"Get lost, sir!" Brittany was yelling now, hoping it would get someone else to alert resort security.

To her relief, it did. He only had one more chance to try to touch her and get swatted away before two men in orange jackets appeared. "Is there a problem, Miss?" one of them asked her.

"This man won't leave me alone!" Brittany snapped.

"Gentlemen, I'm sorry," Lou said. "This is my daughter, and we came here to reconcile, my whole family. She's not cooperating, but there's no trouble. Except for my poor heart, I suppose."

"I see," said the other guard.

"No!" Brittany insisted. "I don't even know this man, and he won't leave me alone!"

"You see what I have to put up with?" Lou asked them with a sugary smile.

"Ah, yes," said the first guard. "I have two teenage daughters myself, sir. I understand all too well."

"No you don't!" Brittany was on the verge of panicking now.

"Oh, yes we do, Miss," said the other guard. "Give your poor father a chance. Someday he'll be gone and you'll be sorry then. We're sorry to trouble you, sir." And with that they were both gone before Brittany could protest again.

She was ready to cry, but also set to fight Lou off if she needed to. But before she could do either, Lou pulled back his jacket to reveal a pistol holstered in his belt. "Brittany, you're coming with me," he declared, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her off towards the parking lot. "I'll take your backpack, too, thank you. Thank you for the show, by the way." When they'd reached the edge of the snow, he pulled his skis off and nodded for her to do the same. Seeing no choice for the time being, she did.

"You sick bastard," Brittany grumbled. "Watching your daughter masturbate?"

"You've turned into a beautiful woman, Brittany," he declared. "Shame to let that body go to waste. I have to admit I didn't expect you to be so horny - I mean, first thing this morning after you fucked your brother in law last night? - but then you are my daughter."

Brittany forced herself not to smile. At least that bit of subterfuge had worked.

"Staring at the phone won't make it ring any faster," Angie reminded Joseph when she joined him in his office that morning.

"Don't take away my one bit of hope," Joseph said, looking up to see his usually-alert colleague looking haggard and pale. "You didn't get much sleep either, huh?"

"I'm not sure if I got any," Angie admitted. "But I did get a clue." She set down a classified folder on the conference table. "Ever hear of the Galarde Farm?"

"Oh, good heavens, she isn't there, is she?" Joseph jumped up from his chair and grabbed up the folder to flip through.

"We don't know," Angie said. "But it's a best guess at this point. Did you know the Galarde Farm was in with Mansfield?"

"No," Joseph said. "But it's a natural fit. A tourist attraction with people in and out all the time over the summer, easy for a quick exchange with nothing suspicious. And there have always been rumors about the place being involved with the mob. Wait a minute, do we know for a fact that they are in bed with Mansfield?"

"No," Angie admitted. "But we've got a tip that Lou Kyriazis has been there."

"Recently?"

Angie shook her head. "But I was able to get through to resort security. They don't have any reports of any problems with Erika. I did try to get them to at least have a look in her room, but you know the Swiss and their security."

"I've got a chit I can cash in with them," Joseph said. "Meantime, can we get INTERPOL to have a look at the Galarde Farm?"

"I've already called," Angie said. "They said not without some sort of disturbance."

"A missing agent isn't a disturbance?!" Joseph threw the folder down on the table in frustration.

"Technically she's not an agent and she's not missing."

"Yeah, I know. I know."

The Galarde Farm was an unlikely tourist attraction near the French border, popular among eco-tourists in the summertime who wanted to see how an old fashioned European farm operated (and who were largely unaware that they were in fact seeing no such thing), and it was indeed a popular spot for illicit business, including Mansfield Consulting business for quite some time. Just as Angie and Joseph had guessed, it was Brittany's destination, and Lou drove her there in a Mercedes SUV with a henchman seated beside her in the back seat with a gun pointed at her. She did her best to ignore their jeering conversation, which made it all too clear that her seatmate had also been in the audience throughout all the fun she'd had in her room. "You've got to give my wife lessons," he said at one point. "She couldn't go half as hard as you do."

"Maybe that's your fault," Brittany couldn't resist saying.

"You bitch."

He raised his free hand to her, but a shout from Lou - "Hands off!" - made him back down.

He said it with a British accent.

"You're not my father!" Brittany wasn't sure if she was more frightened or more relieved at that realization.

"No, but he'll be joining us soon enough, my dear," the man said in what Brittany guessed was his real accent. "You've certainly made business a lot more complicated for us lately, and I know he'll want a word with you about that."

"Brian?"

The man only laughed. "It's none of your business if I'm Brian or not. I'm not your father, but I'll see to it that you meet him soon enough. Now, no more questions."

It was off-season at the Galarde Farm, so there were no tourists about as the man Brittany suspected was Brian pulled up to the gate and entered the combination to open it. She did see some farmhands milling about by the barn across the field as he parked the SUV outside the mansion, and wondered if they were in cahoots with Mansfield Consulting as well. Her best guess was no; she'd already learned how well they operated in plain sight among other people who were none the wiser. She hoped so, anyway, as she searched the scene for escape opportunities.

"Enjoy the view," her seatmate teased as maybe-Brian opened the sliding door to escort her out. "You'll have a couple of days to see it from a window up there."

"Shut up," maybe-Brian ordered. "She doesn't need to know how long it'll take to get her father here."

Brittany kept to herself her considerable satisfaction that he hadn't disputed the estimate of a couple of days. That ought to be enough.

The loose-lipped gunman ushered her into an opulent, wide hallway with the sounds of a business emanating from doorways on both sides, but no one in immediate sight, and he ordered her up the stairs. The bedroom he prodded her to did have a great view of the farm as promised, but Brittany saw straight off that it offered no escape route; the window had no balcony and it didn't appear able to be opened anyway.

It was a beautiful bedroom, at least, with a king-size bed and lots of elegant décor everywhere. "I guess if I've got to be kidnapped, this is a good place for it," Brittany admitted.

"Excellent attitude," said the gunman from the doorway, where he still had his pistol trained on her. "There are some dry clothes in the closet if you want to change."

"I do," Brittany admitted. "And I guess there's no point in asking for privacy. You've already seen me naked several times on that bug, huh? Could you at least tell me where it was?"

"Nope," said the man. "But I will tell you your sweeping was utterly amateurish. Angie and Joseph should have taught you better than that."

"You're welcome to tell them that." Seeing no point in trying to compromise, she set about undressing.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"Yes," Brittany admitted. "I don't suppose I can have any privacy even for that."

"You should be used to that anyway," the man said.

"I am." So they knew she'd been in prison. Brittany tamped down her reaction to that revelation - it wasn't as though she hadn't already been nearly sure of as much.

She thought about keeping her panties on until she got to the bathroom, but that would have looked too much like she was trying to hide something - which, after all, she was. She steeled herself for the inevitable rude comment as she stood naked before him, and sure enough, it came. "I ought to lend you my electric razor," he said, leering at her bushy triangle, which to her delight was still cloaking the money perfectly.

"Never heard that one before," Brittany said as he turned and bade her follow him down the hall to the bathroom. Any number of smarter retorts roared through her mind as she did her best to stay cool and hope no one else came out in the hall - to her relief, no one did - but every one she could think of might have encouraged him to ask for a closer look at her pussy. That was to be avoided at all costs.

Telling herself it was just like what she'd learned to live with in prison, only now her audience was male, Brittany sat down and relieved herself. When she finished and wiped her pussy, she could feel the edges of the bank notes still there. But she couldn't see them, and of course neither could he. "Hope that was as good for you as it was for me," she said as she stood up and flushed.

"I'm not that kind of pervert," he said. "Now wash your hands."

She did, and he ushered her back to the bedroom. Once again, she lucked out and no one added to her humiliation by appearing in the hallway. Back in the bedroom, she opened the closet door and shuffled through the promised clothes. Mostly old and mostly not in her size, but at least they were dry.

"We didn't know your bra size," the man said. "Sorry."

"I'll live." She pulled on a frumpy tan top that was at least loose enough to not betray her bralessness, and a pair of blue slacks that were too long for her. "Now what?" she asked.

"Now you wait until your father gets here." He waved the gun at a bookcase by the bed. "We got you some books in English. Enjoy. But you're not leaving this room, except to go to the bathroom."

"Wonderful." As the man took up his post outside the room, leaving the door open, Brittany turned her attention to the bookcase, wondering what sort of godawful genre fiction they'd scared up for her. Instead she was greeted with some impressive history tomes, biographies, and some of the same classic authors she'd fallen in love with in prison. Initially delighted, she then felt panic rising up - just how had they known this about her? A contact in prison? Who?!

It didn't matter now. She could worry about that after she'd made her escape. Seeing no immediate way to do that, she helped herself to a book on women in occupied Paris and curled up on the bed, doing her best to pretend she was back in New Hampshire with Angie right down the hall.

When the sky began to grow dark, Brittany got up to have a look out the window. The gunman saw her but remained out in the hall. "Like I said," he said. "All the time in the world to enjoy the view."

"It's beautiful." Brittany kept her semi-trained eyes focused mostly on the field below, but she did snatch enough glimpses of the periphery to see the tall fence she'd seen out front ran all around the farm, and that there were a few guards posted around the smaller buildings across the field. Off to the left was a long, low structure that she guessed was a barn for the animals. The driveway where they had parked led on to that building, although the door it led to was currently closed. If there was a way out, she deduced, that was it.

"We've suspected the Galarde Farm of being a haven of drug activity for years," explained Agent Sims, as Joseph and Angie watched stone-faced from the table. "The location and the clientele is perfect for it, lots of well-heeled tourists safe from the prying eyes of the city, and no one is suspicious when anyone unusual comes and goes. Angie, I'm pretty sure you're right this is where they'd take her, but we can't get anyone close enough to confirm it. They've got eyes everywhere in the villages around it."

"How hard can it be?" Joseph snapped. "It's a farm!"

"It's also a multimillion-dollar business, a legitimate one, selling foie gras and veal to rich Americans at outrageous prices," Agent Sims said. "And they get their share of famous guests. So security is tight, and no one is surprised to see armed guards there."

"Any chance Brittany could enlist the guards' help?" Angie asked. "I mean, are they in on the..."

"I'm afraid they are," Agent Sims said. "The farmhands aren't, we're pretty sure of that."

"But they're not armed," Joseph grumbled.

"They also probably don't speak English," Agent Sims added. "And they'll do what the guards tell them if they want to keep their jobs. The same goes for the villagers, they know how important the farm is to the local economy."

"So even if she can get off the farm," Joseph said, "The locals will turn her in."

Agent Sims nodded. "The only way I can see her getting away is by staying out of sight of anyone at all, and walking to the border, to France."

"How far is that?" Angie asked.

"Fifty kilometres as the crow flies, quite a bit farther on the twisty mountain roads."

"I do not like those odds at all," Joseph said, shaking his head in despair.

"Well, we've got one hope," Angie said.

"What's that?" both men asked.

"Brittany doesn't know the odds."

Dinner was delivered to her room by a well-dressed woman Brittany had never seen before. It was, at least, a very good dinner: a juicy slab of ham, seasoned potatoes, crisp vegetables and a green salad with fresher-looking leaves than Brittany would have imagined were available anywhere in Europe in the winter. It was all served on fine china with silver utensils, and topped off with a glass of champagne. "Thank you," Brittany said as she sat down in the chair that a second maid had carried in.

The woman nodded. "Yes, Miss," she said with a smile, and Brittany knew she recognized the well-intentioned response of a woman who didn't speak a word of English. She did consider dusting off her high school French for the occasion, but just as quickly she remembered it was best that no one be aware she even might understand any language but English.

Not that it mattered, for what little chatting she could overhear from the hallway had all been in English anyway. None of it had been of any use to her, but halfway through her meal she did overhear a familiar-sounding woman's voice in English. "You know I need to confirm!" she said, in a French accent.

Brittany paused, her knife halfway through the next bite of ham, and listened for more.

"You will have that opportunity later," said maybe-Brian, whose presence she hadn't been aware of. From her vantage point in the room she could only see the gunman's back, but she was able to determine that he was looking at them. "It's too risky now."

"Risky for whom?" demanded the woman. "She's not going anywhere!"

"Risky for you, and you know it!" said maybe-Brian. "It's nothing that can't wait until Lou is here."

"That bitch blew a -" the woman's voice was muffled in mid-sentence, and Brittany guessed maybe-Brian must have clamped his hand over her mouth. Just what, Brittany was left to wonder, had she blown?" The possibilities made her chuckle a bit as she resumed eating, but she still couldn't place the woman's voice, and there was nothing further from her to provide any further clues.

A moment later, maybe-Brian stepped in. Now that he'd done away with his disguise, Brittany saw he was much fairer-skinned than she, and had light hair. Definitely nothing like her father. "How's your dinner, dear?"

"Wonderful, thanks." Brittany didn't look up at him.

"Can I get you some more champagne?"

"No thank you."

"Any dessert? We might have something suitably American kicking around downstairs."

"No thank you."

He stood there, smiling but unmoving, long enough to make Brittany nervous. She ignored him until she'd finished everything, and finally allowed a look at him as she set her utensils down. "What, is it your turn to watch me pee?" she snapped.

"I'll leave that to your friend over there," he said. "But do you need to go again."

"I'll wait." She had already made up her mind to only allow it once more before she went to bed.

"I think he would prefer that, too. Now then, Brittany, is there anything you'd like to share with me before your father arrives?"

"I've got nothing to say to you or him," she said.

"That's no way to talk about your dear old dad!"

"It's exactly how to talk about a man I haven't seen since I was eight, and who had me thrown in jail for something I didn't do." Brittany was thinking twice about turning down that second glass of champagne, but it was too late for that.

"Well, he didn't actually have you thrown in jail," maybe-Brian said. "And he couldn't have done anything about it without blowing his own cover. Have a heart, Brittany."

"You're joking, right?"

"No, I'm telling you as one professional to another, it couldn't be avoided. You take chances in your job, after all, otherwise you wouldn't be here. And you've had people sent to jail as well, or worse."

"They weren't innocent like I was."

"Legally you're still not innocent, Brittany," maybe-Brian said. "I would keep that in mind if I were you. One word from my colleagues or me and you can be on the next plane back to the States in chains. Understood."

"Of course." Brittany told herself he was only trying to get under her skin...but then, he was doing a damn good job of it. She pushed back from the makeshift table and said nothing.

"Are you sure you don't want any dessert? We might even have apple pie around somewhere."

"Good night, Brian."

He laughed but said nothing else, and turned to go.

Brittany went back to her book, and put off the next bathroom trip as long as she could stand to. When that was done and her friend had once again escorted her down the hall in the nude, she decided to call it a night. "I think I'll go to bed now, if that's okay."

"Of course it is," he said. "But I'll have to cuff you to the bed."

"Of course you will." Brittany climbed into bed and offered no resistance as he cuffed her right hand to the bedpost. The angle was uncomfortable, but she made the best of it as he turned out the light and took up his post out in the hallway. Brittany was tempted to try to stay awake, but sleep offered the closest she could hope to an escape right now. She closed her eyes.