THE COLOR OF DEMONS EXCERPT
Read an excerpt from the critically-acclaimed thriller, THE COLOR OF DEMONS, by Stephen Hawley Martin and David Nathan Martin
First, some background:
Millie Bardoe, 28, and Matt Warner, 32, knew each other some years ago at Georgetown University when he was in law school and she was an undergraduate. Sexual chemistry existed between the two then as it does now, but Millie kept Matt at arm's length because of her fear of becoming involved with a man she viewed as a womanizer who'd only bring her trouble and grief. Now the two are strategists for competing presidential candidates, Matt for a conservative black woman, a former secretary of state, and Millie for a liberal white woman, a senator from New York. The War on Terror has intensified. The Middle East and much of Eastern Europe have been overrun by a Taliban-like organization known as the Free Fascists. The leader of this group spends a good deal of his time at a fortified chateau in France. Unknown to one another in advance, Millie and Matt have traveled to that country to meet with the Free Fascist leader, each to try to broker a deal that would give their party an upper hand in the election. As fate would have it, they booked themselves into the same hotel near the chateau and ran into one another in the lobby. As acquaintances abroad, they spend the day together sightseeing, and had dinner the night before their appointments. The scene below begins after Matt has had his interview in which he was strip-searched and brutally ejected from the chateau. Millie's appointment followed Matt's. She, too, was strip-searched and humiliated. But in her case, the Free Fascist leader has decided to hold her captive. Much to her horror and disbelief, she has been told she will be kept in a harem reserved for his pleasure.
Fortunately, she is not without an ally inside the chateau.
Monday Afternoon
October 29, 2012
Châteauxmont
The door opened, and Aline's head appeared. Millie folded her arms across the flimsy chemise. She shivered. Except for her shoes, she might as well be naked.
Aline de Comeau stepped in and gently closed the door. Millie's clothes and handbag were under her arm. She sat down, said in a whisper, "I know from the surveillance monitor you've removed the glass and bars from the window. I advise you wait until dark before you attempt to escape. It will not be long now. Cross the courtyard. Climb the wall."
Millie felt her eyebrows lift. "I see. Thank you, Aline. Your name is Aline?"
"Yes, Aline de Comeau." She laid Millie's clothes and purse on the table. "These things will be helpful to you. But take the little outfit you now wear with you. If you leave it here, they will know I helped you. Also, if you fail they will know. Do not fail."
"What sort of chance do I have?" Millie said.
"It is risky. Very risky. But you have no choice. If you stay here, you will become a slave to their whims and desires. They are sadists. Your life will be short-six months, perhaps, and those six months will be filled with horror."
Millie studied Aline's face. Most of her body and her hair were covered with a beautiful, red silk robe and hood. Her visible skin was smooth and fine.
"Why are you helping me?" Millie said.
Aline regarded Millie as if deciding whether to answer. "I do so to in an effort to save my soul. My choice is between denying my destiny and suffering the consequences, or a short period of excruciating pain at the end of my time on Earth. You see, I am trusted and have a good position here. I have power. The men keep their hands off me. But one day I will be caught helping you, or someone like you, and I will be tortured and killed. This is the choice I have made because it is preferable to becoming a pawn of Satan, the Prince of Darkness."
"Prince of Darkness? Satan? You speak figuratively, of course."
"I am literally and deadly serious." She stood. "One more thing. You will not find your car. They have taken it. I know your watch is a telephone. Use it to call your friend, but wait until you are outside the chateau."
"What? How did you-"
She put a finger to her lips. "Say no more. Wait until dark."
Gradually, the light visible through the small window waned, and Millie began to feel she could breathe again, as though the dense fog of uncertainty and anxiety gradually was lifting. As the minutes inched by, a feeling of excitement and anticipation grew, replacing the cold sense of dread. She was not out of danger, but as soon as it was dark, really dark, she would climb through that opening and scramble away. Unless, of course, she was caught. But in the final analysis, she had no choice. Aline had made that clear.
Aline. How had she known about the watch? How had she known about Matt?
How incredibly strange all of this was. Aline had said she was helping in order to save her soul, that she didn't want to be Satan's pawn. How primitive it was to believe the personification of evil existed-a fallen angel named Lucifer, the Light Bearer, who was jealous of God and wanted to be like Him. Such nonsense. Evil didn't exist in and of itself. Evil was error-wrong thinking that existed only in the hearts and minds of humans, and then only when their wants and needs weren't fulfilled. As the Dali Llama had said, all people want the same thing-an end to their suffering. They want security, fulfillment, happiness. When a person had these things, the evil inside them would disappear.
Or would it? How did this belief of hers line up with the fact that Anwar Hammassad and his cronies kidnapped innocent women and forced them to become sex slaves?
Was having a sex slave a form of happiness? One could argue it was. And one could certainly argue this form of perverted happiness couldn't be achieved without practicing evil. "Sadists," Aline had called them-from the name of that Frenchman-the Marquis de Sade. Hadn't he been evil?
She supposed so. Where did that leave her neat little theory?
How quiet it was here. Dead silence, except for the occasional chirp of a barn swallow. She looked up at the window. A pair had probably made a mud nest under the eves just outside.
It was still not completely dark. Even so, she should get ready. She took off the flimsy nightgown and put on her pants suit, then stuffed the nightgown in her pocketbook. At least her outfit was dark blue. It would make her harder to see.
Matt had said he'd come into this life to teach her pragmatism, and to help her see evil was real. He'd said she was here to teach him compassion.
Matt did need to learn compassion. But he was wrong about her. She was as pragmatic as anyone. And evil . . . well, even if the Marquis de Sade and Anwar Hammassad practiced evil to achieve a perverted form of happiness, that didn't mean evil was real in and of itself. Did it?
And what about Matt and his assertion they were married in a former life? Could such a thing really be possible? What a far-out idea that she and Matt had made a pact before incarnating 'this time.' It all seemed highly improbable.
But then, who could know for sure? Last night wasn't the first time she'd heard about reincarnation, or the theory Earth was a school-a place we come to learn on the long journey toward reunification with God. She had friends who bought this explanation of life hook, line and sinker.
And what about the dream she'd had? It had probably been brought on by what Matt had said-the story of World War Two and leaving her a young widow.
She looked up at the window. It was almost dark. She lifted the chair onto the table and climbed up. The clouds had parted. The sky was clear, and a full moon had appeared. She'd be able to see her way, but they'd be able to see her, even in her dark suit.
She pulled out the glass, climbed down and placed it on the table. Then she climbed back up and did the same for the grill. She didn't want to risk anything falling and making a crash.
The time had come to climb through the opening and drop to the ground. She put her arms through and pulled, shinnying with her legs as best as she could. What was she going to do with her pocketbook? She looked down. Drop it.
She was halfway through, now, but the opening was narrower than she'd thought. Or perhaps her hips were wider than she'd believed. A scene from that old animated movie, Peter Pan, flashed in her mind-when Tinker Bell got shut in the drawer of Wendy's vanity table. She'd tried to escape through the key hole, only to find her hips were too big to make it through. This was followed by the image of Pooh Bear when he got stuck in Rabbit's door, trying to leave Rabbit's house after eating all Rabbit's honey. Unlike Pooh, though, she didn't have days to wait until she slimmed down.
Push, tug, pull, turn.
And once she got through, how was she going to get to the ground? It was six, maybe eight feet, and she'd be pointed headfirst.
Her hips were sliding now. She was almost through, but wait. Time to slow down.
Oh no!
She slid, spread her legs, and caught herself by pressing her feet against the sides of the window, and keeping her toes bent at 45 degrees. She was hanging, her hands three feet above the ground. Then one set of toes lost its grip, followed by the other, and she fell. Her hands smacked the courtyard's gravel surface, followed by her knees, which were protected, thankfully, by the legs of her pant suit. She rolled over, and sat up. She looked at her raw, stinging hands. At least the skin wasn't broken. She picked up her purse, traversed the open space in a crouched position, reached the vines, and climbed. In a moment, she was on top of the wall.
It was twenty feet straight down to a cobblestone road. But the vines continued most of the way. She'd have to climb.
She dropped her purse again, and hand over hand, lowered herself as far as possible before she hung down, let go, and dropped the rest of the way to the stone surface. Thank goodness, she was out of the castle. Should she call Matt? She looked at her watch. He'd be at the bar, waiting for her. But where was she? Where would she tell him to meet her?
That building over there looked like an old stone barn or a stable, abandoned like most structures she'd seen in this village. She crept along, careful to stay in the shadows, close to the wall of the castle. The road and the wall followed a curve. She reached a point where she'd have to leave the safety of the shadows and continue on the road. She stopped to survey the situation. On each side of the road was a hedge about her height. The road seemed to be going downhill. Downhill was good, she supposed, since Châteauxmont was perched on a small mountaintop. If she stuck close to the hedge, she'd remain hidden in the shadow.
She continued for fifty yards and came to a hairpin turn. The view opened up. Now she had a good idea now where she was. This must be a back way out of the village. The road appeared to join the one she'd climbed earlier in the day in the car. The darkness made it difficult to see very far, but she remembered the stone bridge she'd crossed, and the canal where she'd seen a man fishing. They'd be at the foot of the hill.
She opened the watch face and punched in Matt's cell phone number.
"Yes?" a male voice said.
"Oh, Matt," she whispered. "I'm in a helluva fix. Can you come and get me?"
"Millie? What's wrong?"
"They were holding me prisoner, but I escaped. If they recapture me-"
"Say no more. I'll be right there. But where, exactly?"
"The stone bridge over the canal at the base of the mountain."
"I remember it. Hold on, I'll be there in five minutes."
Millie folded the phone back into place and jogged down the hill.
Five minutes passed, and she estimated she'd gone about three-quarters of a mile when the canal and bridge came into view. She turned and looked at Châteauxmont. It was an imposing sight against the night sky, framed by a huge full moon. She imagined knights returning from the Crusades arriving at this spot on a cool, late fall evening like this, and looking up-seeing those rounded towers and the high walls of stone. For them, it would have been a welcoming sight-home. For her, well, it really was like Count Dracula's lair.
A search light flashed on atop one of the walls, then another, and a siren began to wail. Millie felt the bottom of her stomach drop away. They must have discovered her missing! One search light turned toward the open field below the wall. Another scanned the road. This light moved toward her, and she dove to the side and rolled into the ditch. As soon as it passed, she jumped up and ran as fast as she could toward the bridge. Matt should be here at any minute.
She looked over her shoulder. The light was coming her way again. As it came near, she again dove to the side of the road and rolled into the ditch.
The siren continued to wail.
She was up again. Twenty yards more to the bridge. She ran at top speed, a sprint-her heart pounding. The bridge was just ahead now. She reached it, slipped behind the solid stone banister, and crouched. The light passed overhead.
Far down the road that paralleled the canal, she saw headlights. A car was coming this way.
Dear Lord, let it be Matt.
It was coming fast. Yes, it screeched around the turn and headed for the bridge. The car came to an abrupt stop with the whine of rubber on asphalt. Millie stood. The driver's door opened and Matt pointed to the passenger's side. The search light was headed this way again. Millie ran around and hopped into the passenger's side. The search light lit up the windshield like a photo flash. Matt threw the shift lever into reverse and stomped the gas. The car raced backwards off the bridge, Matt turned the wheel, the car spun, they were off in the direction of Créancey.
"They saw us," Millie said.
"Yes."
"They're crazy, Matt. Totally insane."
"Tell me about it."
"Oh, Matt, I've gotten you into a heckuva mess. They'll be after me. They can't let me escape because I know about Allbritton."
"What about Allbritton?"
"He's in with them-one of them. He must be the one who's holding a knife to Jessica's throat."
Matt tapped the brake. They were approaching Vandenessse. "You're right. They will be after you. We can't go back to Créancey."
Millie turned and looked through the rear windshield. Far behind she saw headlights turn in their direction. A car sped down the hill from the castle and crossed the bridge.
"Oh, no. They're after us already."
"Here," Matt said, handing her his cell phone-PDA. "Pull up a map on the Internet. Punch in Vandenesse-en-Auxois, France."
Millie got to work. "Any ideas where we should go?"
"We can't expect to outrun them all the way back to Paris. The closest city is Dijon, I think about twenty-five miles."
Millie had a map in view. "The writing is mighty small, but it's interactive. I'm zooming in."
Matt looked in the rearview mirror. "Must be them, all right. Those headlights are gaining on us fast."
"Hang a right at Vandenesse," Millie said. "We want Route D994."
Matt was hunched behind the wheel, eyes alert, speeding into the little town.
"Here, turn here," Millie said. "Toward Commarin."
He turned the wheel-tires screamed. Millie was thrown toward him-the seat belt locked, catching her. The car fishtailed. Matt steered into the skid, and they straightened out.
Millie said, "There's a expressway, A38. It goes to Dijon, but we'll need to take little country roads to get there-five or six kilometers."
"Little country roads are good. Maybe we can lose them."
"In two or three kilometers, we'll reach a town called Commarin," Millie said. "You'll want to hang a left onto D114E. Looks like a winding road that heads toward Montoillot."
Matt nodded. The Renault's engine wound up tight each time he shifted into another gear. The road ahead was straight but narrow. There seemed to be farmland on both sides. A fence on the right side whizzed by.
He looked in the rearview mirror. "Damn."
"What's wrong?"
"They're gaining on us."
Millie turned. The headlights were only about fifty yards behind, now, and gaining fast. She looked at the Renault's speedometer. The needle moved past 150. She multiplied by six. Eighty miles an hour and climbing.
She looked back. The headlights were still gaining on them-were now only twenty-five yards away. A series of red flashes on the passenger's side of the car behind illuminated the darkness-her ears filled with the crack-crack-crack of gunshots. The Renault rocked. Two holes appeared in the rear windshield just behind her-the glass around the holes splintered into overlapping spider webs.
"We're hit!" she screamed. She tried to dive to the floor but was held back by the seat belt.
Matt shouted, "Commarin coming up!"
Millie shouted, "Left on D114E!"
Matt slammed on the brakes, turned the wheel. The Renault went into a skid. He pulled the shift lever, stomped the gas, and turned the wheel into the skid. The car fishtailed but miraculously didn't leave the road.
Millie looked behind. The car chasing them was skidding, turning, turning-now it was headed backwards. It left the road, smashed through a fence, flipped into the air, landed on its side, and rolled over onto its roof. She wasn't sure, but it appeared to have come to rest in someone's driveway.
"They crashed," she said.
Matt nodded toward the rearview mirror. "I saw."
Millie felt herself tremble. She took a deep breath and let it out. "Are you all right?" she said.
"No permanent damage," Matt said. "Just shook up. Almost dying does that to me."
Millie looked behind. The car was out of sight. "I'll bet they're hurt."
Matt's brow furrowed. "Please don't tell me you want to go back."
"Don't you think we should? They may need help."
"Right. We'd open their door and find ourselves looking down the barrel of an AK-47."
Millie said, "So you don't think all people are just looking for happiness, each in his or her own way?"
Matt looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He said, "You're absolutely right, Millie. His eyes sparkled, like he couldn't wait to get her into bed. "And what right have we to deny them the happiness of shooting us and watching us die in pain?"
Okay, so what if he was handsome, sexy, and dying to get her into bed? So what if they'd both almost died? So what if he'd just saved her life?
What should she do about it?
He said, "So you think it's all right for them to kidnap women and shoot people, right?"
"Okay, okay, no I don't," she said. "No, it's not all right. You win. Evil exists."
"Good girl!"
"Oh, and thank you."
"Thank me? For what?"
"For saving my life," she said. "For being my knight in shining armor to the rescue."
"Oh, that. Think nothing of it." He smiled that wry little smile that seemed to say he knew something amusing about her-like perhaps she wasn't wearing any underwear. "I'm happy to save you any time, Millie. I'm sure you'd do the same for me."
There, on cue, was the knot. "Uh-huh. Be glad to. All you have to do is call."
"I will," he said. "And since we've got the first lesson for this incarnation out of the way, let's move on to the next."
"Right," she said. "What was it, again?"
"Pragmatism. Like, for example, we can't go back to Créancey, so where are we going to spend the night?"
"I'll get right on it," Millie said. She searched on the floor and found the phone/PDA. "And don't forget to turn right at Montoillot, follow the road and take the ramp onto A38 toward Dijon."
# # #
Excerpted from From:
THE COLOR OF DEMONS:
A Martin Brothers Thriller
by Stephen Hawley Martin and David Nathan Martin
Hardcover, 320 pages, 6" x 9"
Suggested retail: $23.95
ISBN 1-892538-48-2
Published by The Oaklea Press
Distributed by Midpoint Trade Books
http://www.OakleaPress.com
CLICK HERE FOR INFORMATION on how to purchase.
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