kidnapping - for red_peril

[abyssum_invocat]

At the end of a long day at work, Sinthia's eyes were tired, and she wanted nothing more than to get her girls from daycare, go home, and rest a while before eating. This pregnancy was taking its toll on her more than the twins had: partially, she supposed, because she thought about it more, not knowing whether the child she carried was a boy or girl. Illya, Margot, and Mischa had all been so excited to hear the news, and the soon-to-be sisters were busily dreaming up all kinds of plans for their baby sibling.

After locking up her desk and the items she was restoring, Sinthia headed out to her car, parked on the street just past the light of the streetlamp. She never saw the man who flipped a black bag over her head, surprised shout muffled by the heavy fabric and the wet handkerchief pressed over her nose and mouth. By the time she lost her balance she was already fading out of consciousness.

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[red_peril]

Illya worked later than usual that evening, meeting with a new client interested in carrying his line of children's clothing. It was an exciting time. He had a beautiful wife, two beautiful daughters and a new child on the way, his business taking off. Life was good. They were happy.

Leaving him totally unprepared when his assistant, Claire, interrupted the end of the meeting, saying he had an urgent phone call from the girls' daycare saying that Sinthia had not picked them up yet. Illya excused himself from the meeting and took the call, insuring that he would pick up the girls immediately. From the car, he tried to call Sinthia's phone, but there was no answer. He got dumped into voice mail after a few rings. His next call was to her boss, and their friend, Pierre.

"Is Sinthia still at work?" he tried not to sound too worried. Perhaps she had just gotten absorbed in her work and the time had got away from her.

"She left about an hour ago," Pierre told him. Illya's heart started to sink, this would be very unlike her. He tried very hard not to think the worst. Pierre stayed with him on the phone and walked out of the building. "This is bad. Illya, Sinthia's car is still here. I just found her car keys on the ground next to it. Should I call the police?"

"Not yet. I'm picking up the girls. Could you watch them and the dogs for me tonight? I will meet you at the apartment." He reached the day care and the girls ran to him, looking upset. Illya hugged them as they wrapped their arms around him. He apologized to the ladies that took care of them and paid them extra before taking the girls out to the car and getting them settled into their car seats.

Margot clutched her sister's hand and looked like she was about to cry. "It's Okay, Mama will be Okay..."

"No, Papa, she won't," Margot said, putting her thumb in her mouth, tears running down her cheeks.

"What do you mean, baby?" he asked, heart sinking.

Mischa answered for her sister, "A bad man has her." Her voice was small and frightened.

He looked between his twin daughters and Margot nodded gravely. "How do you know this?"

"We just know," Mischa said. Margot took her thumb out of her mouth and said, "Ulavlivatel' krys."

A cold chill ran down his spine, "Rat Catcher?" It was the name used by a man the Vor hired to kill traitors. This was worse than he had initially imagined. "Do you know where he has Mama?" he asked them.

"Near the water," Mischa answered, pointing to the Seine.

"We must hurry," He strapped them into their car seats and the girls clutched each other's hands between them. Admittedly, he drove a little too fast to meet Pierre at the apartment.

[abyssum_invocat]

Sinthia was quiet when she woke, coming back to awareness remarkably fast; she held her breath and listened hard for any sounds she could hear, anything that would have been missing for her to discern her location. The exact moments of the kidnapping were fuzzy to her, but she risked opening her eyes to see what--or who--was around her.

No one in sight when she blinked, adjusting her eyes to the darkness of where she was, but her fingers and toes were bare and cold; her shoes and gloves had been taken off. Everything else was untouched, which did not bode overly well given her knowledge of torture techniques. She'd used enough of them herself. Her limbs were also bound behind her back, wrists and ankles tugged together uncomfortably.

"Where are we?" she asked, deciding to get to the point. Someone would be there with her--there was no point in going through the hassle of taking her alive to leave her alone.

[red_peril]

Illya wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't dwell on the fact that the peaceful, happy life he'd had for the last five years with Sinthia and his girls was being torn apart. There was no time for it. He had to make sure that the girls were safe.

Once he got to the apartment with the girls, he packed bags for both of them. The girls stood in their room, holding each other's hands, eyes wide as they watched him. Illya packed clothes, shoes, underwear, toothbrushes, hair brushes, all the practical things. Enough for five days. He would ask Pierre and Armand to keep his girls and their dogs out of harms way.

When Pierre and Armand arrived, the girls didn't want to go. "Papa, be careful," Margot said when he said good bye as their friends loaded the girls into their car seats.

He leaned into the car and kissed both of them as he buckled them into their car seats. "I will baby. It's OK. You know Uncle Pierre and Uncle Armand will take good care of you." The girls nodded.

"Illya, are you sure you don't want to call the police?" Pierre asked one final time.

"I am sure. If you don't hear from me by Saturday, call them," Illya told him. Heart sinking, he watched Pierre drive off with his girls. Now that he knew they were safe, he had to prepare for whatever would come next. If it was the Rat Catcher, as Margot said, then he would be in for the fight of his life.

[abyssum_invocat]

Nothing but silence greeted Sinthia's question, her own voice ringing on the damp stone walls. It would have been unnerving for many, but Sinthia had been through these sorts of tests before, and she kept her head--she was worried for her girls, and for Illya. And for her son, still gestating.

She shifted her cheek on the rough surface she was laid on, curling her fingers to keep blood flowing to them as she tried to note details to figure out where she was. Somewhere near the Seine, but she couldn't focus enough to tell more than that. That was worrisome. Before she could push herself to a different position, a phone was laid in front of her face, the screen lit and the number displayed on it familiar.

It was her husband's phone number, already ringing.

"Illya?" she asked, a panicked note coloring her own voice, heard clashing with his as the call connected. "Illya, it's me, and I don't know where I am," she began, until a metallic click stopped her: that was the sound of a magazine being loaded and seated into a pistol.

"Your wife is alive," came a rough, heavily-accented voice. Russian by the sound. Of course. "For now. You have thirty minutes if you want to see her unharmed. Longer, if you don't mind she is missing some parts," the man continued, making Sinthia's heart jerk. She was barely showing her pregnancy, and there was no way he could know her condition, but still the threat made her worry. "Come to the Pont Neuf bridge. You will find us. Thirty minutes."

[red_peril]

When the phone rang, he answered immediately to hear Sinthia's panicked voice. "Sinthia?!"

"Your wife is alive..."

The sound of the gun being loaded and the announcement that Sinthia was alive, made his heart freeze. He said nothing but listened to the instructions. Illya didn't bother to make threats.

"I will be there." The man clicked off. He had thirty minutes to reach the bridge. He went to the gun safe and opened it. He took out the Makarov, and slipped a loaded magazine in it. It was small and easy to hide beneath his suit jacket. He also took several knives. The Rat Catcher had not said for him to come unarmed and he was sure the man didn't expect him to.

Their apartment was a twenty minute walk from the bridge. With every heartbeat he was losing precious time. He left the apartment at a fast walk, hoping to reach the bridge before he was expected.