How Heroes are created 1

Isabelle Marceau looked at the English Channel she had a nice view at from her place in the sanatorium`s luxurious winter garden. As often in autumn, the sky was grey, but here, in an air-conditioned room and surrounded by green plants, this even added to her well-being. Isabelle wanted to reach for the table beside her easy chair – when suddenly two hands were pressed on her eyes from behind.

She gasped and reflexively reached for these hands. For a second, she had hoped it would be Mike, but the fingers under her own were petite and feminine. However, Isabelle felt a wave of joy rush through her heart. She brushed over the hands covering her eyes.

»Wrinkles, a few calluses – nice to see you, Maman!«

There was a strange mixture of snort and giggle and a second later, Isabelle had risen and hugged her younger sister who repeated the gesture, placing kisses on Isabelle`s cheeks.

»You better keep such things about wrinkles and calluses to yourself, Coeur de Soeur, for Maman will be here sooner or later, too!«

Samantha let Isabelle go and placed a second chair beside Isabelle`s. Only now, Isabelle noticed that one of the orderlies had accompanied her sister, carrying a tray. Samantha took it from him, »accidentally« bending forward so the young man could get a look at her ample cleavage.

»Thank you, Tintin! My sister and I can now help ourselves!«

Samantha softened the blow of shooing the young man away with her most charming smile and then, she draped herself on the easy chair whilst Isabelle checked the tray that not only had a second cup of coffee on it, but also a plate with a few small cakes.

»Phew, Samantha! I have just finished lunch an hour ago! I gained three pounds during the last week already!«

Her sister leaned forward and tugged on the belt of Isabelle`s bathrobe and let her eyes wander critically over her belly. Then, she suddenly squeezed her side.

»More to love for Mikey!«

Isabelle playfully slapped Samantha`s hand and smiled, but sighed nevertheless. It had been seven days now that she hadn`t seen Mike, though this time, they had separated on good terms.

A few weeks ago, she had been involved in a crime that include the kidnapping of three pharmacologists – and also her own. Repeatedly, she had found herself naked, bound and gagged and in the end, it had been a matter of hours that Mike had saved her life. And though Isabelle had not suffered physical damage, except for some rope marks, she had not fully recovered yet.

Ignoring her (anyway weak) protests, Mike had insisted that she accompanied him in his hotel for a few days once they had handled with the criminals. Isabelle had protested against him treating her like something fragile, but then, she had to admit that she indeed was lacking her former strength. Their first night had been interrupted twice by her having nightmares and she felt triggered by harmless things: someone using saran wrap; the sound of closing trunk lids, all that reminded her of her latest ordeal. Isabelle had even problems in looking at the bruise at Mike`s left knee: if the dog hadn`t caused his bike accident, he would never had met said dog and its owner and without the help of Hermione, a Malinois, Mike never would have found her. Had he passed the street some three seconds earlier, Isabelle would have died in the car`s trunk, bound, gagged and completely helpless.

So, when at Sunday, Mike had told her that he had spoken to Colonel Beranger, her superior, and arranged three more weeks for her to recover, she had been unable to blame him for being paternalistic and had instead been grateful, even more as he had promised her a surprise.

They had travelled to Paris on his bike and here, Mike had not only arranged a romantic night in one of the best hotels, he had also secretly called Samantha to celebrate Isabelle`s birthday with her. A few weeks ago, when she and Mike had broken up, Isabelle and Samantha had quarreled and now, they could finally become reconciled. The next day, however, Mike had told her about the second part of his surprise:

»I have to go back to England for a few days. However, you will be so close I can almost wave to you from across the Channel!«

And so, on Wednesday, September 6th, Isabelle had checked in at the Sanatorium Mike had found. It was indeed luxurious, but he had insisted that she would at least give it a try for the next two weeks.

»When we see next, you will be ready for new adventures!«

This had been one week ago and indeed, the routine of good food, swimming and relaxing had done her good. Isabelle again could sleep well and she only occasionally had to think of her ordeal. Samantha now ripped her from her thoughts by holding something to her face.

»When I had told Tintin that I am your sister, he gave me these!«

It was two postcards and a letter in an envelope without a sender on it. Isabelle started with the postcards, knowing that her sister, who had started devouring one of the cakes, had read them anyway. One was from Mike, charming, but also a bit shallow. It showed the London Tower and Isabelle frowned. He had told her about him having to deal a few things in Sheffield, but he obviously had also been at London, too.

»I wonder if he still has some ›business‹ to do with the Secret Service, too!«

The second card was from her mother, announcing that she would try to visit Isabelle at the sanatorium if she could get a few days off. Isabelle smiled at the thought of how a first encounter of her Maman and Mike would be.

She looked at the envelope. It had a postmark from Marseille and the writing of her name and address looked feminine. Isabelle knew only a few women from Marseille and she had not given one of them her address!

»You allow me?«

Samantha, busy with taking a bite from the next piece of cake, just grunted something unintelligible and so, Isabelle opened the envelope. It contained a postcard showing the harbor of Marseille and it read:

»Dear Isabelle!

Forgive me for interrupting your recovery holiday, but I just wanted to express my best wishes for your getting well! I hope you are having a good time, at least according to the circumstances. Actually, I have not returned to work, but soon, I will have to get back to the old treadmill at the University. I hope we will see soon!

Yours, Lioba!«

Isabelle petrified and stared at the card. Samantha recognized her change of mood and took her hand.

»Something wrong, Coeur de Soeur?«

When they had met in Paris, Mike had retreated for a while, allowing the Marceau sisters some time together, and then, Isabelle had given Samantha a short summary of her latest ordeal. She had spared most of the details, though she knew that during their adventure at Malta, her younger sister knew a thing or two about being naked, bound and gagged. However, she had mentioned that she had met Lioba – Mike`s ex who still had feelings for him.

»And now, she is sending you a postcard?«, Samantha asked. She had taken the card from Isabelle`s hands and read it. Then, she hugged her sister.

»Come on, you told me that she`s actually a nice person! And Mike`s not with her!«

»But he gave her my address!«, Isabelle murmured. She remembered the few days at Mike`s hotel, when Lioba had once visited her. They had avoided talking about their predicaments, but she had told Isabelle that she was currently living at a hotel, too, and was looking for a new apartment.

»I know that the criminals are arrested, but somehow, I am still looking for cameras whenever I undress or go to pee!«

Isabelle could understand that, since she had been with her when they had been imprisoned at Lioba`s apartment, forced to be nude the entire time whilst being watched by cameras every minute and also being bound and gagged for a considerable part of this time. She could understand that Lioba no longer felt save at her own home, for Isabelle was considering to move, too.

Mike had not tried to hide the fact that he was helping Lioba to find a new apartment and when he had returned to her, she had found no traces of lipstick or anything else that indicated he was cheating on her. In addition, Isabelle knew that she had to trust Mike if they wanted to have a stable relationship.

Obviously, he had told Lioba where she was. Isabelle wasn`t sure whether that was a good sign. Did Lioba want to wait for her recovery so they could have a fair fight for Mike? Or had she moved on not only from her apartment and wanted to be just friends with her? She sighed.

»The only problem in here is that you don`t get some booze if you need it!«

Samantha chuckled. Then, she looked over her shoulder before she produced a small hip flask from her handbag. With a conspiratorial look, she poured some of the flask`s content into their coffee cups. They toasted.

»I know I should reprimand you for your careless dealing with alcohol – but thank you!«

Samantha checked her watch and took her sister`s hand.

»Anyway, I have to check in at my hotel now. It may not be as luxurious as your spa here, but at least, they serve wine for dinner.«

Isabelle grimaced and then replied:

»I will think of you enviously during my massage – or when I have to choose between lobster and steak for dinner!«

Samantha faked a sob.

»If I had a sugar daddy, I would not have to lie on a rough mattress in a much too small room tonight!«

Isabelle rose from her easy chair and put her hands on her hips.

»Are you calling your older sister a whore, young Lady?«

»Nah, Mike`s too rich – you are a courtesan!«

The two sisters hugged and Samantha promised to visit her again the next day before she pranced away, obviously looking for Tintin, the young and considerably handsome orderly. Shaking her head, she sank back on her chair. Samantha`s visit had cheered her up and now, she could also see a positive aspect of Mike`s postcard.

»Maybe, he just wanted to show me that he`s in London and therefore can be here soon!«

Isabelle missed Mike in more than one way. She knew that he would find a way of bending the strict rules of the sanatorium and to sneak into her bedroom at night. And then-

»Oh my God! I am sitting here, partially clad and longing for my man – in an overpriced spa he has paid for! Maybe, I have really become a courtesan!«

***

Unbeknownst to her, Samantha was also thinking of Mike as she walked towards the bus stop. It was not because they had kissed once or because he had seen her in the nude on that occasion. But that occasion had been whilst she had been kidnapped by a bunch of White Slavers and Mike had risked his life to save her. And, according to Isabelle, this had not been the only time Mike had deliberately risked his own life and well-being to save hers.

»The bravest thing one of my exes did so far was asking me out whilst Maman was in the same room!«, she thought and sighed. She had no crush on Mike, but the idea of a partner who would not hesitate to catch a bullet aimed at her had something intriguing.

»I should ask Mike if he has got a younger relative, maybe, a bit taller than him!«

Busy with such thoughts, Samantha had not looked left and right and not noticed the person in the corner she had just passed. And when she did, it was already too late.

Strong arms were slung around her from behind and a damp rag was pressed over her mouth and nose. Samantha gasped and her eyes widened. She felt that she was lifted from the ground and a strange stench reached her blocked nose.

»Mmhhmmmph!«

A bit delayed, she reacted to the assault and tried to break free from the vice grip, but her attacker just tightened his grip. Samantha flailed her legs and screamed into the cloth pressed over her face. She knew it was chloroform or some other narcotic and she desperately tried to get her mouth free.

»Uuuhhmmph!«

There, just a dozen yards away, she spotted a man in a white T-Shirt and trousers, obviously an orderly. Again, Samantha squirmed and moaned, but already, she felt weakened. Her vision blurred and more and more, it felt as if her limbs were made of lead.

»Mhhmmmm!«

The orderly turned around and walked away, not noticing her. Then, everything went black and Samantha lost her consciousness.

***

 Mike knew that the location was meant to impress him, but he had to admit that it worked. The rooms of the club, though hidden inside a rather plain looking building, seemed to have time-travelled from the times of Queen Victoria and he was sure that his hotel room cost less than the Whiskey and the cigar he was just enjoying. Well, actually, he just enjoyed the cigar for he wasn`t a great fan of Whiskey, but since he was here on an invitation from Mr. Bishop, he had thought that complaining would have been impolite.

Bishop, high ranking member of the Secret Service, had met him at Marseille some two weeks ago when Mike had finally managed to capture a potential traitor of military secrets and perhaps helped that Britain kept control over their part of the Virgin Islands. To make things a bit more delicate, the traitor had been Bishop`s former secretary and mistress.

»Now, are you trying to show me how far I could get if I would consider rejoining the Service, Mr. Bishop?«

Mike resisted the urge to fumble on his bow tie. He actually felt good in a suit, but he was no friend of ties or bow ties. However, in these rooms, he was sure he would have felt underdressed even in an Armani suit.

Bishop laughed politely and took a sip from his Whiskey before he answered:

»Usually, I am some ranks away from being allowed here – but fortunately, we got an invitation!«

As on keyword, there was a knock on the door and when Bishop rose from his armchair, Mike did the same and looked at the entering man.

He seemed to be in his 60ies and though he was sporting a plain suit, he could not hide his military background. For a second, Mike thought of saluting, but then decided to just stand straight as the man shook his hand.

»So, you are Corporal Dunbar?«

»Just Lance Corporal, Sir!«, Mike corrected the man who noticed the low rank with a slight raising of his eyebrow. Then, he introduced himself as Rear Admiral Sir Robert Steele. Mike could not remember the man from his time at the Royal Marines; perhaps, he had gotten promoted after he had quit.

He now was sure that Bishop had something else in mind than to thank him for saving his ass.

»Well, Dunbar, Archie told me that you helped defending the interests of the Commonwealth and stood brave in the line of fire!«

»A kind exaggeration in my favor, Admiral«, Mike replied. Steele smiled.

»Oh, strictly speaking, I am retired – but us never fully retire, don`t we, Dunbar?«

Now, Mike was alert. This was a not so subtle reference to his own retirement from both the Navy and the Secret Service. He forced himself not to show his curiosity and wait for Steele to let the cat out of the sack.

»So, Dunbar, you come from coming from rather simple backgrounds, but attended a considerably good school. Excellent at languages and sometimes at sports, average in other subjects. You joined the Royal Marines, but were honorably discharged after two years when you started studying French and German. Here, you got into contact with Archie`s predecessor and joined the Service after achieving your Master`s degree, only to leave after just four years.«

»That`s about sums it up, Admiral!«

Now, Steele frowned and focused him with stern eyes.

»No, it doesn`t! It`s the biography of a gifted man who refuses to make the most of it! You are idling around – Lance Corporal!«

He emphasized on Mike`s rank as if it proved his accusation. Mike smiled grimly.

»Now, you are sounding like my fiancé, Admiral!«

Mike was not sure whether Isabelle could be called that, but this was not the time to discuss that matter. Steele`s expression softened and he scoffed.

»Fiancé? Well, at least, you are more interested in a stable relationship than – others!«

He did not look at Bishop, but Mike could hear the man faintly clear his throat. If Bishop hadn`t talked too frankly to his mistress, the girl would not have gotten the information she had tried to sell to the Americans and obviously, Steele knew about that fact.

»My wife and I are married for 37 years now«, Steele continued. »Fatma and I met when I was stationed in the Oman.«

To Mike`s surprise, the man now pulled out his wallet and showed a photo to him. He would have expected a picture of Steele`s wedding, but he saw a slightly younger Steele, wearing the parade uniform of a Rear Admiral. Beside him stood a woman in a fancy dress and Mike had to admit that he had slightly misjudged Steele: he might look like the epitome British Officer with a stick up his ass, but he seemed to be no racist, for the woman had a dark skin. Since her name was Fatma, Mike guessed that she was an Arab. Beside the two, he saw a young woman that could only be their daughter.

»The picture was taken three months ago, on the occasion of my dismissal from active service. It – it was the last time we saw Laila!«

Steele had been an Officer for too long to let himself go, but Mike noticed that the man`s voice slightly trembled.

»Now we are talking!«, he thought and then, he decided to take the privilege of being a civilian now and spoke directly to Steele:

»Admiral, may I assume that you are in need of some help – help by someone who is just – idling around otherwise?«

Steele frowned and Mike could hear a gasp from Bishop, but he held the Admiral`s look and after a few seconds, the man let out a sigh.

»Forgive me my words, Dunbar, I am used to giving orders and not to negotiate with civilians. Well, you guessed right!«

He let himself fall into one of the armchairs and whilst Bishop handed a Whiskey to the man, Mike saw the gesture as an invitation to sit down, too. Steel took a sip and then, he spoke:

»Laila has her looks from her mother, but she has obviously inherited my stubbornness, too. And so, she decided not to pick one of the handsome young Officers that so frequently were around at our house. Instead, she became a journalist.«

Given the fact that the press usually didn`t praise the Royal Navy, this sure had led to some debate at the Steele`s home. However, the Admiral sure had not come here because he had become alienated with his daughter.

»Well, Fatma and I love her and so, we supported her step. At least, she didn`t work for the Yellow Press – though now, I wish she would have chosen to write about celebrity weddings and football players wasting their money on drugs and parties!«

Mike began to understand.

»So, instead, your daughter decided to become a serious journalist. Investigating – serious matters.«

Steele took another sip from his glass before he nodded. Then, he continued:

»Fatma and I met at Muscat, but she is from Yemen – or rather South Yemen, since the country was still divided back then. A very poor country and so, she had done like so many other Yemenites before – she had decided to work in Saudi Arabia.«

Mike quickly scraped together his knowledge about the subject: the rich Gulf States attracted a lot of guest workers from poor countries and most of them had quite a reputation for not treating these workers well. There were several reports about slavery-like conditions.

»Fatma was quite lucky. She just had to do long hours of hard work for lousy payment and she got beaten occasionally – but she could avoid worse before she managed to escape, without a passport and with little more than the clothes she was wearing.«

So far, it sounded like a happy end: the poor mistreated girl found a handsome Lieutenant who fell in love with her and took her with him, away from the place of her suffering. However, it seemed that it was not meant for Steele and his wife to live happily ever after.

»She hardly spoke about her experience, but when she got older, Laila wanted to know more about her heritage and then, when she had started to work as a journalist, she dug deeper into the matter. I assume you have noticed the rumors of the last World Championship?«

Mike nodded. The Championship held at Qatar had been controversial at best. There had been numerous reports about the treatment of workers and the lack of human rights in the country. However, when the games had started, this hadn`t bothered too many people. Most countries didn`t want to upset the rulers of the lands that had so much of the oil they needed.

»Well, Laila kept concentrated on the subject, even after public interest ceased when the games were over. And now, I am afraid that she – stepped on the wrong toes.«

Steele allowed himself to gulp and to empty his Whiskey before he got into details: four days ago, Laila had not attended the party of her mother`s 60th birthday, though she had promised that she would come two days earlier. At the time of her phone call, Laila had been at Calais. She had not gone into details, but Steele knew that she wanted to meet one of her informants there.

»And since then, she has just – vanished!«

The Admiral`s fingers cramped around the empty glass. He reported that he had informed the Police – who had told him that this was a matter of their French colleagues. The French, however, could not help him because Laila had not even checked in at a hotel and therefore, they had no point to start any investigation. They had promised him to have a look, but the Officer Steele had spoken to had sounded as if there wasn`t much hope.

»The last thing we know for sure is that she has left London 10 days ago. She had only told her boss that she was behind something great and that he would get a sensational story once she was back.

»And now, it seems she really found something great!«

Mike focused Steele.

»Admiral, I assume you want me to have a look for Laila. But there is one question – why me and not some private detective? After all, there are plenty of former Policemen among those who are better qualified than me.«

»Harun Ibn Badr!«

For the first time, Bishop took part in the dialogue. Mike frowned; he had no idea who that man was. Then, however, he found something in his memory.

»Is he somehow related to Ahmed Ibn Badr?«

A few months ago, on the occasion where he had first met Isabelle, he had been paid by a man named Leblanc to get his ex-wife, who had not only stolen his money, but also taken care that he ended up in prison, into his clutches. This woman, Guylène Delacroix, had been involved in human trafficking and also had a criminal business liaison with Ahmed Ibn Badr, a rich businessman from Saudi Arabia. Mike and Ahmed had never met in person – but since he had left Isabelle bound and gagged and attached to some death traps and Ahmed`s bodyguard had tried to kill him, Mike had definitely enjoyed to hear that he had at least gotten two years in prison.

»Harun is Ahmed`s younger brother. We don`t know much about him. So far, he has no criminal record, but there are a few suspicions that he is not better than his brother. And, he obviously was the man Laila was after.«

Mike bought a few seconds by puffing his cigar. If Laila had somehow landed in the clutches of someone who was similar to Ahmed, this wasn`t good. Even worse was that this Harun was in Calais, or had at least been there a few days ago. Ten miles away from Calais, Isabelle was at a sanatorium and unlike him, she had been in court during Ahmed`s trial.

»If Harun has been at court, too, he perhaps knows who Belle is. And though it would be quite a coincidence if they met, this is too fucking close to be ignored!«

He put away the cigar and looked at Steele.

»Admiral, by sheer coincidence, I am passing through Calais by tomorrow anyway. I won`t promise anything, but I can have a look. Mr. Bishop, since you more or less recruited me, I am sure I can rely on some of the Service`s resources?«

Steele grabbed his hand. He still showed remarkable self-control, but his eyes mirrored his fear for his child.

»If you get our daughter back to us, I will be more than grateful, Dunbar! After all, I am a man of some influence!«

The Admiral`s eyes suddenly sparkled.

»Archie told me that you are not in the need of money – but there are more ways of honoring a hero!«

***

Slowly, Samantha regained her consciousness. First, she thought that she had had one too much the evening before, for she felt groggy and had a stale taste in her mouth. She blinked, but everything remained dark. Samantha tried to wipe her eyes, but her arms didn`t want to move the way she wanted.

»Mhmmm?«

Samantha again tried to get her right closer to her face, but now, something tightened around her wrist and she realized that she was tied with some rope. Her other hand was secured the same way and she now figured out she was lying on her back, with her hands tied to the sides of her head. She moved her body and according to the soft padding and a faint screech, she was lying on a bed. Her ankles were tied together and also secured to the lower end of that bed.

»Mhhmmmm! Uuuhmmmmm!«

Her mouth was stuffed with something big and soft and when she tried to spit out her gag, the girl felt the tape sealing her lips. In addition, she was blindfolded, perhaps with a sleeping mask. When she tried to shake it off, she recognized another detail of her bondage: her ears were covered with big headphones that enclosed her complete ears.

Now, she remembered the attack, how someone had grabbed her from behind and chloroformed her. Samantha tried to sit up, only to find out that another rope had been tied around her neck; loose enough to allow her to breathe, but tight enough to keep her from moving too much. She then flexed her fingers to reach her gag, but to no avail.

»Mmhrrrrrmmm! Uuhhmmmph! Nnggggg!«

With a mixture of anger and fear, the girl thrashed in her bonds and threw around her head whilst screaming through her gag. Her bonds remained in place, but she managed to dislodge the earphones a bit. Panting, she lay there, trying to listen if her captor was around.

»Mph! Uhhmmm!«

Samantha felt a shiver run down her spine. The sound had not come from her – but it was the moaning of a gagged woman. She was not the only captive in this room, wherever it may be!

Who was it? Was it Isabelle? But who could have done this and why? Samantha once again mewed and then waited for her co-captive to answer. There was a moan, but it didn`t help Samantha to figure out if it really was her sister. Samantha had been gagged before, also together with other women, and she knew that with their mouths stuffed, they all sounded more or less the same.

At least, a few things were better than the last time she had been in such a predicament. Except for her shoes, she still was dressed and the gag in her mouth was some wet rag, but not again a pair of panties. Also, this time, no agonizingly tight rope had been tied between her legs.

However, this was very little consolation for her, and with every minute that passed, Samantha felt her fear grow stronger.

***