>>> Interlude One
>>> Seven years ago
>>> The Congo
The big, dark-haired man with the unkempt brushy mustache brought in the same folding chair he’d used the previous four times and sat down across the tent from her. His body looked fat, but Lois had seen him move and knew that whatever fat he carried sheathed hard cords of muscle. He looked at her with dead, flat eyes, as if she were just a piece of raw meat. Even his voice was flat, almost toneless. “Your name is Lois Lane, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Are you married? Do you have children?”
“No to both questions. Why do you—”
“Why are you here?”
“I was supposed to meet a source. That’s all it was. Just a meet with a source. I do it all the time in Metropolis.”
“What happened when you attempted to meet this source, Miss Lane?”
“The Congo isn’t Metropolis.”
“No, it is not. Please continue.”
This was worse than talking to Metro PD after she’d scooped them. If not for the other men in the tent – all armed, all silent and brutish – she would have tried to run. “We’ve been going over this for hours and I’m telling you the same thing every time! May I have some water? I’m really thirsty.”
“Very soon. Now, your story, please?”
“The guy told me he’d take me to the camp where the gun-runners were getting ready to ship out several truckloads of munitions. We met outside the hotel just before midnight and I followed him, camera and notepad and satellite phone all ready to use. I rode in his Land Rover for about half an hour, then hiked for nearly that long. I knew I was fully dependent on him, but I really thought the two thousand dollar payoff I’d promised him would keep him happy.”
“And did it?”
“No. Turned out he valued his skin more than my money.”
“Ah, that sometimes happens here. Tell me the rest.”
“We – I don’t even know your name!”
“That is not important at the moment. What is important is that you tell me all that you know.”
This was definitely worse than the police. The big guy sitting in front of her was truly scary. “O – okay. We stopped outside the camp and watched for about ten minutes, I guess, and then there were three guys with guns behind me yelling at me to raise my hands and go with them.”
“You obeyed, of course.”
“Yes! I was afraid they’d shoot me if I didn’t.”
“They would have, Miss Lane. Now, please, tell me the rest of the story.”
His calm assurance that she had almost been shot startled her and she tried to take back control of the conversation. “Of course, Mr. Harvey.”
“My name is not Mr. Harvey.”
Something in his eyes frightened her and she tried to backpedal. “Sorry. There’s a reporter named Paul Harvey back in the US who goes on the radio and tells heartwarming stories about famous people from before they became famous, and he ends the segment by saying, ‘Now you know the rest of the story.’ It’s quite popular.”
“I am sure it is. But now you should imitate your Mr. Harvey and tell me the rest of your own heartwarming story.”
“But that’s it! The men with the guns brought me into the camp and beat me up and asked me questions and I told them what I know and I’ve been here since yesterday getting yelled at and pushed around and pushed around and yelled at! I’m a reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis and you really shouldn’t treat me this way!”
“What should happen to you and what will happen to you may be two very different things, Miss Lane. Are you certain you have told all that you know?”
“Yes! That’s it! And now I don’t have any proof because your bully boys took my camera and recorder and purse and notepad and phone and everything!”
“Yes, that is a shame. How much of this information have you transmitted to your employers in Metropolis?”
“Nothing! I told you that already!”
“So your employers know nothing of our operation here?”
“Only that there is one. And before you ask again, they don’t know where it is or how much stuff you’re moving because I didn’t know any of that before I got here yesterday and I didn’t have a chance to tell them!”
The man stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. I believe you.”
“So – that means I can go home?”
“Home? Oh, no, Miss Lane, you will never go home.”
“What? No! I have to go back! I have a life there!”
“That life is over. Your life now belongs to me.”
“Belongs to – no way! You’re crazy! I’m not a slave!”
“Yes, you are. You are a slave. My slave. You will never see your home again. You are now my property, mine to do with as I wish.”
“But you – I don’t even know your name!”
The man stood and folded the chair, then waved one hand at the other men in the tent with them. “My name? You may address me as Rodolfo, Miss Lane.”
“Wait! Where are you going – what do you guys think – Hey! Rodolfo! Come back! No! What are you doing? Get your hands off me! You can’t – Rodolfo! Help! Stop it! No! Let go of me! Noooo! Help! Aaaahhhh!”
*****
Lois lay on the thin blanket, sobbing past her bruised eyelids. Her eyes were swollen shut and her nose felt broken. She thought she was bleeding internally, too.
The blood flowing down around her thighs had mostly dried. It adhered to the skin on both legs, gluing them together like a macabre adhesive. The remains of her shredded clothes were strewn around the room as if thrown there by a tornado.
The date rape stories she’d covered in college had taught her that rape wasn’t about sex but about the attacker demonstrating his own power and strength, about demeaning and dehumanizing his victim. She’d occasionally wondered if some of those girls had brought their pain on themselves by their actions or attitudes or their need for affection.
But now she knew better. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t that at all. Rape was about dominating someone, destroying someone, proving that someone had no right to exist beyond serving the momentary whims of the attacker.
At least, that was what this kind of gang rape was all about.
The three muscular men who’d loomed over her in the hut while Rodolfo had interrogated her, the three who had set upon her with animal desire when he’d left and had dropped her where she now lay half-unconscious, had said nothing to her, hadn’t smiled, hadn’t seemed to realize or care that Lois was human. They had simply stripped off their clothes and attacked her. The only reaction any of them had shown was near the beginning of the attack when she’d bitten one man’s tongue and drawn blood. Her momentary flash of triumph had been overwhelmed by the tsunami of blows she’d received in return.
She’d lost count of the times the men had violated her.
All Lois wanted to do now was die. The Planet didn’t matter, her sister didn’t matter, Perry didn’t matter, her parents didn’t matter, the story absolutely didn’t matter. Death was her best option, her only friend, her only recourse.
Her biggest fear was that they wouldn’t let her die.
Before she could plan her demise, exhaustion overtook her and dropped her into painful sleep.
*****
She sat outside the doctor’s office staring into space. In a false show of compassion and care, Rodolfo had allowed his camp’s physician to examine her and treat her injuries. Lois had hoped for some flash of humanity from the doctor, some sign that he knew he was associated with an evil man, that he cared what happened to her, but the only communication between them had been his impersonal questions about her physical condition. She might as well have been a fish for all the human respect he’d given her.
Now she sat waiting. For what, she didn’t know, but at that point she didn’t much care.
She no longer had anything of her own. The tan one-piece zippered jumpsuit she been given, the underwear she wore, and the sandals on her feet were from Rodolfo. Her hair was a rat’s nest of tangles and her hands looked as if they’d been removed from a paper shredder at the last moment. Her face felt like the speed bag looked at her dojo back in Metropolis. Her only good news was that doctor had found no internal injuries or broken bones, and he had finally decided that her nose was bruised but not broken.
The door across the room opened and Rodolfo slipped in. “Hello, Lois,” he purred. “I am glad that you are feeling better this morning.”
The statement was so far out of context – and so devoid of truth – that Lois’ only response was to stare at his chest and take a deep breath before returning to her contemplation of the opposite wall.
Rodolfo picked up a chair and set it close to hers. “I regret last night, really, but I have learned that the quicker my trainees are broken, the more malleable they become.”
That statement was also out of context, but at least it contained some information. Lois turned her head to stare at his shoulder – she couldn’t look at his face – and repeated, “Trainees?”
“Yes. I will train you to serve me.”
“It’d be cheaper and quicker to buy a crate of Japanese blow-up dolls.”
He chuckled. “Very good! I had hoped that your spirit would remain unvanquished.” He stopped and crossed his legs as he laid his massive forearms across his knees. It was a very European gesture. “But that is not the service I require from you.”
She turned her head away and risked one more wisecrack. “I hope you’re not in the market for a new cook. I really suck at that.”
He shook his head. “No, no, not as a cook. Nor as a writer. I will explain.” He put both feet flat on the floor and leaned his elbows on his knees. It wasn’t much of a change of posture, but with his face that much closer to hers and his voice almost a whisper, Lois felt threatened.
“You will serve me,” he said, “and I will train you. You will learn to shoot, to survive in the woods, to avoid detection and capture, to fight with any weapon and with no weapon save your own body, and you will be paid well. You will learn to disappear in a crowd of people and move among them like a ghost. You will fight for whatever person or side I tell you to fight for.
“But you must know this also: you are dead. No one in your old life will ever see you again. You will not contact them. You will not notify them of your whereabouts. As far as anyone who ever heard of you knows, you disappeared and died this week in the Congo and your body will never be found.”
“Wh-what? I – I don’t understand what you mean.”
“That is not a problem. You will learn, and learn well. You see, one of the businesses in which I am invested provides soldiers for those who are willing to pay for them. My people are among the best-trained and most effective in the world, and that includes the American Green Berets and Special Forces, the British Commando Force, and even the East German Spetsnaz.”
“But – there’s not—”
“There is no East Germany? Not any more, no. But I have been in this business for many years, and I am very successful. You will be one of my better graduates.”
“No – no! I can’t be a soldier, a mercenary!”
“Yes, you will.”
“No! I can’t shoot – I can’t kill people!”
He leaned closer and she smelled the cheap tobacco on his breath. She saw the pores on his nose and forehead and his face loomed huge in her line of vision. “You will do everything I have told you and more. Or I will leave you dead beside the road for the vultures and jackals to consume. And then your family and friends may mourn your actual death.” He reached out and took her chin in his greasy hand. “Do you hear me, Lois Lane?”
“No – please don’t—”
His hand tightened and threatened to crush her jaw. “I asked you if you heard me.”
His eyes captured hers and she looked into them, really looked, for the first time. No humanity gazed back at her. No compassion or care made itself evident. She saw only the flat black of his greed and violence.
“Y-yes! Yes, I hear you!”
He released her and stood easily. “Good. Remember that I require total obedience from you, and you will suffer far less pain. Now come, breakfast awaits. You may not feel hungry, but you require nourishment. We must leave this location soon, perhaps tomorrow or the next day. You must be prepared to travel.”
She had no choice. She rose and followed him on unsteady legs that felt seven feet long and toothpick-thin. Her obituary formed in her mind as she stumbled toward the rude cafeteria.
Lois Lane, reporter for the Daily Planet, intrepid and brave, taking risks that no one else would take in order to get her name on the front page above the fold, had finally jumped too far and fallen too hard. She was twenty-five years old at the time of her death from unnatural causes, and will surely be missed by her family and a few colleagues. Mourn for her now, for soon she will slip from your minds. She’ll be forgotten within a few months, except as an answer to a trivia question, and someone else will take over her desk and her beat and her position as top dog in the newsroom.
Top dog. She almost laughed. They’d called her Mad Dog Lane for her crazy stunts and her tenacity in getting the story. But she wasn’t top dog here. She was at the bottom of the ranks, lower than the malnourished children she’d seen scrounging for food along the side of the road. She was less than human now.
Rodolfo had shown her true inhumanity, true madness, true evil. And she’d never be able to write about it. No one would believe her if she did.
The worst part was that even though she would rather be dead than serve this monster, there was a small part of her that didn’t want to die. That miniscule part of her mind, her spirit, her deep well of anger, wanted to learn everything Rodolfo could teach her, soak up all of his lessons, absorb all the skills he wanted her to acquire.
And when that was done, that small part wanted to kill him.
She decided she would live at least long enough to accomplish that last act of defiance and independence. Rodolfo would die.
And she would eliminate his odious existence from the earth.
If she could.
*****
Two days later, early in the morning, she climbed into the back of an old farm truck and sat down against the wooden frame of the cargo area next to the cab. Two young men, each one barely needing to shave once a week, wearing jumpsuits and thin sandals like hers, climbed in and sat down on the other side of the truck bed.
Rodolfo and another man Lois hadn’t seen before followed them. “We are going to the airfield now,” Rodolfo said. “We will make a stop before we arrive at our final destination. The stop will have food and drink and you will be able to stretch your legs and relieve yourselves, but if you try to run you will not survive.”
She glanced at the two men whom she surmised were captives as she was. They were both bruised and appeared frightened, and for a moment she wondered if they had received the same kind of treatment she had.
She decided she didn’t care.
It really didn’t matter. Together, she and the two men outnumbered their captors, but they had no weapons and all three of them had been beaten into submission. There was no way for them to overpower two alert, armed, and violent men and find their way back to civilization.
The truck lurched away and began bumping down the trail. Lois did her best to find a comfortable position, as did the two men. Those guys seemed to know each other and leaned against one another, either for warmth or comfort.
Lois had no one to lean on.
After a few minutes they swung onto a smoother road. She closed her eyes to sleep, but she couldn’t quite get there. Her bruises kept bouncing against the hard frame of the truck’s bed and her body refused to find a comfortable spot. So she settled for closing her eyes against the morning sun and feigning sleep.
She heard Rodolfo’s companion say something she didn’t catch, then Rodolfo said, “Because it amuses me.”
“It is dangerous, Rodolfo. Any of them might rise up and murder you in your sleep.”
“Yes, I know. That is part of the amusement.”
“I don’t understand.”
Rodolfo chuckled. “This one, dozing by herself. Five days ago, she planned to discover the truth about me and report it in her great American newspaper. She was so confident, so self-assured, so certain that she could not be hurt. Yet now, here she is, my captive, one with whom I will do as I please. And it pleases me to use her to make a great deal of money.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps she will not survive long enough. It is a great risk you take.”
“A great risk, yes, but for great rewards, not all of which are financial.”
“I do not think she will become your willing lover.”
“Nor do I. The rewards of which I speak are not physical.”
The man shook his head. “I still do not understand. The others – even these two boys – are already outside the law. They are thieves and thugs and bullies and one or two have already killed. Why this one, who is honest?”
“The question answers itself, Abdul. Because she is pure, because she is honest, I will mold her as I wish for her to be molded. I will make her one of us. There is no greater pleasure than to corrupt the good.”
She waited to hear more, but Abdul pointed out some animal not far from the road and they began talking about hunting. Lois finally shifted to move the discomfort to a different part of her body and turned her face toward the wooden beams.
No one would rescue her. No one would ever know where she was or what had happened to her. Her disappearance would be a mystery for a few days or weeks, then she’d fade away and be forgotten.
She was going to die alone and unmourned. And her tears refused to flow.
