*Warning: Although nothing explicit, there is a bit of implied non-consensual sexual content in this part. Don't read further if this kind of stuff bugs you, and don't come whining to me if you ignore this warning, read on, and don't like what you see.
He blinked into the darkness, trying to adjust his vision, but it was useless. When he had first regained consciousness, he'd been panicked by the impenetrable blackness surrounding him. He had thought he was blind. A few endless minutes later, after taking deep breaths and forcing himself to relax, he had realized the truth.
'So this is what they mean by the phrase 'pitch black',' he thought, seriously beginning to question his own sanity as he latched onto the obvious follow-up, 'Who the hell are THEY, anyhow?'
He shook himself out of his mental reverie and tried to assess the situation yet again. He was no longer hanging, although his arms were still stretched above him and tied securely. He bounced gently, wincing at the pain that whipped through his entire body at the slight movement, and discovered that he was lying spread-eagle on something soft and warm. He tentatively identified it as a mattress and irrationally hoped that it offered firm enough support for his lower back. Before he could fully comprehend the absurdity of that last thought, he felt the man's presence.
"Comfy?"
Peter grunted in reply, unwilling to waste precious energy on a more verbal response.
"What, no answer? How uncivilized. Well, if that's how you want to play the game..." the hated giggle reverberated throughout the room.
Peter winced, shuddered, and squeezed his eyelids together tightly as a sudden assault of bright light centered on him. A detective's instinctive drive to gather all available information forced him to open his eyes and look around. He found himself in a much smaller room than the last, lying on a moldy, obviously ancient mattress covering about one fifth of the floor space. The only other objects in the room were the portable lamp and the video camera, behind which stood the now-familiar figure in black. The man played with the camera for a moment before turning his attention back to his victim.
"Well then, little savage, let's have a little more fun, shall we? Smile now, nephew-boy, you're on Kermit's Camera." Once again, the signature of the man's insanity broke free. Tugging at the black mask concealing his features, the man moved closer toward the mattress, suggestively swinging his hips and reaching out to intimately caress his victim's inner thigh.
******
Kermit pounded the keys with fear-born desperation. The APB, although still fairly recent, had yet turned up any leads. Nor had any of his searches. CIA, FBI, VA, DIA...he had tapped into the best of the best and had still come up empty. It was as if Richard Mariston had simply ceased to exist after they had returned. Kermit was now running all of the same information searches on Kyle Mariston, in hopes that the sicko might actually be using his own dead brother's identity to hide his own.
"Come on, come on, where are you, kid? Damnit, the one time I desperately need my contacts to come through and...what the hell...?" Kermit paused in his mumbled litany as an unknown, yet strangely familiar, email address popped up in his inbox. Caution prevailed over curiosity as Kermit ran every scan he knew on the email before opening it. As the garbled text displayed on his screen, he immediately recognized the source of the encoded message. 'Son of a...I knew you'd get in touch, old friend. Question is, do you already know what's going on or am I gonna have to break it to you?' Practiced fingers flew over the keyboard, swiftly decoding the only words, other than "We found Peter and he is just fine", that could bring a smile to his face.
Kermit:
Peter's your nephew? Damn small world, eh? Just heard about the abduction and will be there by midnight tonight. Mariston is in for one hell of a shock if he thinks he's playing this game against a single opponent, my friend. Tell Caine and Captain Simms that I am on my way, I will contact the other necessary parties. One last piece of advice: stop blaming yourself for this, comprende? I don't, I know Caine doesn't, and we both know that Peter certainly doesn't, so stop it right now - that's an order!
There was no name or signature file at the bottom, but Kermit had no doubt as to the author. The raging headache he had been nursing for the past few hours suddenly began to subside as the odds of bringing Peter home alive increased dramatically.
End Part 10
