The Plan-B Bust: 4 / 5

An Altered Fates Story
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

When Caresse woke the next morning, she wasn’t angry or hurt. For the first few moments of being awake, she felt determined, strong. Soon, however, those first few moments passed, and the events of the previous evening came flooding back into her mind. As William’s shouts and threats replayed in her memory, she found herself overwhelmed with fear. Yesterday, her anger kept her fears at bay, but now in the light of morning, while she was open, alone, and vulnerable, those fears came rushing in, unstopped.

William was right: as soon as Handsome Dan comes to know that someone claiming to be Caresse Desmesne is alive and cooperating with law enforcement, he would want her dead, even if it meant killing her a second time. If William and Joseph -- out of sheer sexual frustration -- cut her off and left her alone in the woods, what would she do? Sure, now she had money, but how could she spend it? Where would she go? Where could she go? She was one of the most recognizable women in the state. She couldn’t simply drive out and buy gas and groceries, or sit down in a restaurant to have a meal. She’d be recognized. She’d be hunted. Everything she could possibly do would leave a blazing trail behind her.

She lay on the bed, her eyes squeezed tight shut, her fists balled up and pressed to her temples. She trembled and shook. She tried to calm herself by taking deep, slow breaths. It didn’t help. She had no inner walls or barriers to block the flood of anxiety that was filling her mind and her soul. It felt as though the entire world, and life itself, was collapsing in on her. She had never been so frightened in her life.

… or had she?

The fear was overwhelming, yes, but it had a very familiar taste. She had been this frightened once before -- honestly, she had been frightened far worse than this. It happened back when Andy was eighteen, and had to come to grips with the fact that he would never walk again, and never experience sex… not even for the first time. He couldn’t even masturbate. Not ever. Never. Never ever. Never had abruptly become the central pillar and foundation of his life. He was scared out of his wits then, even worse than he was scared now. Back then, he was sure that he would die. And if he didn’t die, he might kill himself. And if he didn’t kill himself, what kind of life would he have? He remembered the sensation of endlessly falling into a dark, whirling pit of electrified despair, into a pit that had no walls and no bottom. There was no light above him and nothing but darkness beneath his feet. He was lost, trapped, alone and alive in the frozen vacuum of space.

And then? What happened after that? He hadn’t died. He didn’t kill himself. He fell asleep and woke up the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. He was still Andy. He was still the same person inside. He’d gone on to have a successful career in electrical engineering, electronic surveillance, and high levels of law enforcement. He’d done well for himself and his community. He’d been afraid like this before, yes -- so deeply and thoroughly afraid -- but he was just a kid, and the had fear passed, in the same way that the fear was beginning to pass right now.

Because suddenly, something distracted Andy’s (or Caresse’s) mind. A question hit her: Why did Plice want to kill Caresse the first time? She and Joseph and William had seen it happen. They were sickened, shocked, and horrified, but they didn’t stop to ask why it happened. William had run and kicked off his crazy Plan B, and the real Caresse, the dead Caresse, was forgotten in the mad unfolding of Andy’s transformation.

Caresse sat up on the edge of her bed. Her fear by now was nothing but an ebbing electric tingle. She asked herself again: Why did Plice want her dead the first time? It wasn’t because he was tired of her and wanted a new girlfriend. There were no signs of any issue between them. Plice seemed to be genuinely in love and truly happy with Caresse. He had no obvious reason for killing her. Why, then, had he sent the Gipper? The Gipper certainly wouldn’t have killed her on his own initiative. He had no reason to kill her. He was clearly quite happy with Caresse. Her murder wasn’t a crime of passion. It was clinical, professional, detached. And afterward, the Gipper had cried like a child.

Could Plice have suspected that Caresse was his leak? That she was the one tipping off the task force about the arson and the other crimes that were foiled? Is that what turned him against her? All of the tips had come from conversations at her condo, it’s true, but Andy, Joseph, and William were always careful to choose intel they were sure was known outside of Plice’s tight inner circle. It was important because they needed to safeguard against playing their hand, and revealing where the intel originated.

Maybe Plice had tested for leaks in his outer circle. He was crafty and careful enough for that. Maybe he went looking for a leaker and didn’t find one. If he did, he could have eliminated every other potential traitor, and found himself left with only one possible explanation: Caresse was the leaker. It wasn’t true, but Caresse could see how Plice could have arrived there.

Which meant that William, Joseph, and Andy had gotten Caresse killed.

So, sure: Once Plice knew that another Caresse was alive, he might wonder why -- he might even know she was a fake -- but he’d certainly want her dead.

However, now that the wave of fear had passed, Caresse was no longer frightened by the thought. It was simply a disagreeable fact that she had to face and deal with. She’d already thought about it, and the remedy was clear: she needed to finish making her escape plan: her own Plan B.

Caresse looked at the clock. There was just enough time to get ready and possibly meet Reacher for a jog. She hoped he wouldn’t wait for her at the end of the driveway. William might see him, and that would cause another big issue.

She dressed in her running clothes and quietly opened her bedroom door. The door to the other bedroom was wide open. William had pulled his mattress into the direct line of sight with her door, so she couldn’t miss seeing him. He was lying, completely naked, on the funky mattress. He had an erection sticking up at an angle.

She rolled her eyes and went into the bathroom. After quickly finishing her toilette, she went downstairs. The general disorder was no surprise. Last night she’d heard William knocking the furniture around, up-ending things, and making a general mess, but as she surveyed the disorder, it didn’t look as though he’d broken anything. She went outside. The air was crisp and clear. The world was quiet. Even the birds were silent. It was six, and there was no sign of Reacher. This was a good thing and a disappointment at the same time.

She took her time going up the road. Once again, she started to get a stitch in her side when she came in sight of the tree with the red dot, so she walked from that point forward. Where the woods opened up to the view of the valley, she saw Reacher sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree.

“Pull up a piece of Mother Nature and have a seat,” he said, with a smile.

She ran over and kissed him, just a quick one. Then she sat down, leaning into him. It was amazing how quickly she’d gotten comfortable with being an affectionate, loving woman. “What time did you pass my house?” she asked him.

“I didn’t pass your house,” he replied. “I didn’t go near your house. There’s another path -- it’s the long way around. I’ll show it to you later. It misses both your place and mine. I saw your friend drive in yesterday, so I kept out of sight.”

She turned to him, and they began kissing. “God!” she said. “I’m glad that making out is still so much fun.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know some other things that are lots of fun, too. How long is your friend going to be around?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “He should leave soon, I think, and then the next visit won’t be until the day after tomorrow.”

“Nice,” he said. “So we’ll have some time to ourselves, I hope?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I have a little work to do, but it won’t take up too much time.”

He nodded. “I guess you can’t stay too long right now, either.”

“No,” she said, with a pout.

“Alright,” he said. “Then I’ll see you later. We need to talk about your security arrangements. You’ve got some serious vulnerabilities.”

“Do I?” she asked.

“Yeah, for real. Don’t worry, though -- we can fix them.” He dusted off his backside. “Laters, babe.” Then he took off, running away from the road.

She watched him go, watched until he was out of sight, and then she returned to her house. To her surprise and relief, William’s car was gone. He was probably only pretending to be asleep when she left. Caresse wondered whether he’d ever come back. It’s only awkward if we make it awkward, she told herself.

When she went inside, she saw that William had done a hasty straightening. All the furniture was right-side up and more or less in place. The dirty dishes were all in the sink -- he hadn’t gone so far as to load the dishwasher, but at least he’d collected them and piled them up.

He also had left a note: Sorry about last night. I apologize for everything I said and for my offensive attitude. I was way out of line. I hope you can forgive me. -- William

She wasn’t entirely convinced, but at least the note was civil. She took a shower, loaded the dishwasher, and got started on her next video.

 

---

 

Back at task-force headquarters, Joseph was surprised to see one of his female colleagues smiling at him. This woman had literally never given him the time of day before. She’d never returned his greetings, his nods and waves, but now, today, she was smiling at him. He checked to make sure there was no one standing near him or behind him -- he didn’t want to make an ass of himself by smiling back if she was actually smiling at someone else. But there was no one near him or behind him. So he smiled and waved back at her. She walked over to him, carrying two coffees.

“You’re from Major Crimes -- the county division, right?” the woman asked.

“Yup!” Joseph agreed, struggling to look and act more cool, intelligent, and appealing.

“You're the one who had that tip about Caresse Desmesne’s condo, aren’t you? That was a great tip! Too bad we couldn’t move on it -- we could have gotten a lot of great intel.”

“Yup!” Joseph agreed again. He hated being monosyllabic, but nothing more was coming to him.

“So, are you the guys who turned Caresse?”

“Turned her?” Joseph asked with a gulp. How could she know about Caresse? Had William already let the cat out of the bag?

“Yes,” the woman said. “She’s cooperating, isn’t she? Telling us what she knows?”

All Joseph managed to say was, “Uh--”

The woman smiled, and seemed to notice for the first time that she had two coffees in her hands. “Oh, hey, do you want a coffee? They gave me two by mistake downstairs, and I was looking for someone to give one to.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks.” Joseph took a sip and was surprised to find it had just the right amount of sugar and just the right amount of milk. How did she know how he took his coffee? Had she been watching him? Stalking him? Was she interested in him? This looked promising! She smiled again. Joseph felt like a king.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” the woman said in an undertone. “I didn’t realize it was still on the down-low. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Joseph assured her. “We were supposed to keep it under wraps, but…”

“Cat’s out of the bag!” she laughed.

“Yeah,” Joseph agreed, but he felt a little uncomfortable. Something about this wasn’t right.

The woman laughed again and said, “We should have a no-bag policy in this office.”

“No bags!” agreed Joseph with a laugh. “Just cats. Cats everywhere, cats without bags.”

“Cats without bags,” the woman said, and she touched her coffee cup to his, as if it were a toast.

Later, while Joseph finished his coffee alone, he pondered the exchange. He wondered why William hadn’t told him first, before he spilled the beans. Then his heart began to pound as he realized: he may have made a big mistake.

 

---

 

After lunch, Caresse saw Reacher walking up the driveway. She met him at the door. He was carrying two bottles of beer in his left hand. “Only two?” she asked.

“It’s not for parsimony,” he told her. “I need to keep my head clear. I think you do, too. But there’s no harm in a postprandial libation.”

“Oh, my,” she said with a smile, “Someone’s eaten their word-a-day calendar for lunch.”

“Don’t mock me for trying to improve myself,” he replied, smiling. Then he pulled her into a kiss.

“Look,” he said. “Let’s drink these and talk about security. We need to do this sooner than later. It’s important.” He pointed out that there was only one way in or out of their houses: the single road. “You turn left out of your driveway -- that’s north. It’s a dead end in that direction. You turn right out of your driveway -- that’s south. Anybody can block that road; all they need to do is to park a truck on it somewhere south of my driveway. We’d be trapped in here. Your path only goes as far as my house, it’s not a way out.”

“What’s the solution?” she asked.

“South of here, our dirt road meets another dirt road that has exits in both directions: east to the turnpike, west to route two. You need to park your weird little van off THAT road. Then you’ll have two ways out. I know a perfect place, and it’s close to where the other path comes out -- the one I mentioned this morning: the long way around from the crest of the hill.”

“Do you have a vehicle down there?”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “I shouldn’t tell you, but yeah, I have a motorcycle stashed in the bushes down there. The point is, if we get blocked in, you can run up to the crest, take the long path down to the road and drive out.” They finished the beers and he stood up. “Come on, let’s do this now.”

“Now?” she asked.

“Now,” he replied. “It’s important. This could mean life or death.” The two of them got into her van and drove south on their dirt road, then west to the spot he mentioned. With his help, she backed the van into a small clear space. She was able to pull in far enough that it was pretty well hidden, but they added a tarp and some branches to completely camouflage the vehicle. Then they took the long walk up the other path, ending at the crest of the hill. After a little rest and a short vigorous session of sex against a tree, they started down the road to her house.

While they walked, they talked. He asked her whether she had an escape plan. “Not entirely,” she confessed. “The thing that stumps me is where would I go? I think I’m pretty recognizable. I don’t know how far I’d have to go for people not to know who I am.”

“The way I see it,” he told her, “Is that you have two choices: one is to do like Jack Reacher, which means to always be on the move.”

“He was a good guy, though, wasn’t he? He wasn’t on the run, was he?”

“No, but he didn’t want to be findable. He didn’t want to be weighed down by possessions, which is what happens if you stay in one place too long.”

“What’s the other choice?”

“You go somewhere where everybody looks like you,” he said. “Like, if you were a redhead, you could go to Ireland or Scotland. You’d just be another piece of hay in the haystack. For you, some places that might work are Miami, Los Angeles... maybe Vegas. I don’t know.”

“I see,” she said. “That makes sense.”

“You want to go somewhere where you’re a dime a dozen.”

They were silent for a few moments, then she asked, “So why are you out here? You’re not on the move, and there’s no one who looks like you around here.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For Dan Plice to find me.”

“How would he find you? Did you leave this as your forwarding address?”

“Funny,” he scoffed. “Do you think it’s really that hard to find anyone? If somebody’s looking for you, even if they only halfway know what they’re doing, they’ll find you soon enough.”

“Is that why your house is booby trapped?”

“Yes.”

“Up the wazoo? I didn’t know people still used that phrase. My grandfather used to say it.”

“Umm,” Reacher said. “I can guarantee you: if you go in my house, and you find the wazoo, take a look up inside it. You'll see a booby trap.”

“What kind of booby trap?”

He considered for a moment, then said, “Traps. Plural. They’re non-lethal. If you happen to be there when they go off, just remember that there are five. That’s a very helpful and important tip, so make sure you remember.”

“Five, up the wazoo,” she said. They walked for another moment in silence, then she asked, “Why is Plice looking for you?”

“There are two reasons,” he replied. “The first is that I took out one of his hit men. The other reason is that I stole money from him. A lot of money. I took it so he’d come after me.”

She looked at him in silence, then she took his arm and moved in close, her body against his, as they walked. He freed his arm, put it around her, and held her until they arrived at her driveway.

 

---

 

When William got back to town, he called his colleague. “Joe, meet me at Andy’s house. Right away. I’ve got something I need to show you. It’s important.”

“Okay,” Joseph agreed. He wanted to ask whether William had spoken about Caresse to anyone on the task force, but he knew better than to say anything sensitive over the phone. Besides, there were people working nearby who might overhear, so he hung up and drove to Andy’s.

When he entered Andy’s apartment, he saw William sitting at the table, scowling at his laptop.

“William,” Joseph asked, “Did you tell anybody on the task force about Caresse? That she’s cooperating?”

“Huh! Cooperating,” William repeated with a sneer.

“Did you tell anyone?” Joseph repeated.

“No, of course not!”

“Well, one of the investigators from--”

William interrupted him with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Come here and look at this, will you?” He was watching the video of Henry and Caresse. William had already watched it several times already. This time, the video was at the point where Henry placed his phone atop the mirror and Caresse was returning from the bathroom.

“Oh, Henry, you dog!” Joseph crowed. “I knew his day would come! Damn! I should have made that bet! In the end, Caresse could not resist!”

“That’s not Caresse, you idiot,” William growled.

“What?”

“It’s not Caresse! Look at the date and time: it’s Andy.”

“Holy shit!”

“That lying bitch! She screws this clown, but then she whines you’re not good enough for me. She opens her legs for this nobody, this IDIOT, and then she pretends that she doesn’t like sex. Fucking hypocrite!” His voice was full of bile. “I’m so angry! SO FUCKING ANGRY!” They watched until Henry left and the video cut off.

“And then what happens?” Joseph asked.

“What do you mean, then what happens? That’s it: That’s all there is,” William responded.

“But she’s naked on the bed,” Joseph pointed out. “Something happens next. She gets up and runs around, she masturbates, I don’t know. But something happens next.”

William, still muttering an undercurrent of curses and imprecations, logged into the surveillance system. He was so upset that he typed the wrong password twice. Once in, he rolled back to the date and time of Henry and Caresse’s tryst. On the video, the condo was empty. The bed was unmade, but no one was there. William fast-forwarded and rewound several times, until he finally noticed the jump in the hours. In one moment the bed was made, and the next moment it was completely undone. “That little bitch!” he shouted. He rewound and played it again, just to be sure. “That lying, deceitful, hypocritical little bitch from hell! She set the recording back two hours! Do you see that? Everything she did was overwritten! Can you believe that? Who does she think she is? She turns into a woman, and she immediately becomes a devious, conniving hellion. She’s full of lies. Sweetness and lies.”

“We can get those hours back though, can’t we?”

“Andy could, yeah, but I can’t. He’s the frickin’ expert.”

“Hmm,” Joseph mused. “So... can I get a copy of that video?” William groaned in response. Joseph picked up a clean USB drive from a box on Andy's desk and began making his copy. Then he asked, “Hey, where did you get that video, anyway?”

“I found it when I searched her room this morning. It was on a USB drive, so I made a copy.”

“Why were you searching her room?”

“She put a lock on her bedroom door. Can you believe that? I tried her door in the night, and it was closed up tight. This morning, she went out for a jog, so I went looking for the key to her bedroom door. She must have taken it with her.” Then William told, in great detail, of his failed attempt to bring Caresse to ground. Joseph swore in disbelief.

“The thing is, Joe, she is dead set against sharing what she’s got. She’s stingy and spiteful and so ungrateful.”

“We just have to be persistent,” Joseph said. “We need to find the right ploy, or play, or whatever. That’s how it works. Persistence.”

“No,” William said. “She will never play ball. She made that abundantly clear.”

The two discussed the matter for hours. They ate Andy’s food and drank his beer. They felt that he owed them that much at least. Then, in the interest of a full and frank discussion, they opened his most expensive bottle of Scotch.

Joseph gave his summary: “What you’re saying is that we can’t get there by being nice; we can’t get there by being mean. The fact that we’re her friends and co-workers means nothing to her. The fact that she received this enormous hot-ass gift means nothing to her. We can’t get there by trickery; we can’t get there by guile. Bill, I don’t want to say I’m stumped, but I think I am. Or -- my head says I’m stumped, but my heart tells me that there has to be a way.”

“What I want to know is: what does that idiot Henry have, that we don’t have?”

Joseph regarded his friend in silence. He knew the answer, but he certainly wasn’t going to say it. The explanation was pretty simple. Henry had quite a lot that they didn’t have: (1) he was two decades younger than either Joe or Bill, (2) he had a full head of hair, (3) he was tall and good looking, (4) emotionally, he was as simple as a dog, and (5) Henry didn’t expect or demand anything. Henry was actually the male version of what Joseph and William wanted Caresse to be.

When the conversation between the men degenerated to a low enough point, Joseph broke their logjam by making a startling admission: he had a bottle of rohypnol. “I was on a raid,” he said, “And I found a little bottle. It wasn't relevant to the search, so it wasn't really evidence, you know? So one minute, I was standing there, looking at the bottle. Then something happened -- the suspect made a break for it -- and without thinking, I dropped the bottle into my jacket. I forgot all about it until I got home and emptied my pockets. At that point, it would have been embarrassing to turn it in. Anyway, like I said, we didn’t need it as evidence, and the suspect wasn't about to report it missing, so I just -- uh, put in a safe place.”

William had his doubts about Joseph’s story, but he was interested in the possibilities. They discussed the practicalities and got down to specific tactics: they worked out the dosage (“we don’t want her unconscious; we just want her pliable”), they decided on the delivery mechanism (“we can crush it into a powder”), and noted the speed of effect (“it should take about 15 minutes”).

Once their plan was worked out in detail, the two men were so excited that they wanted to drive out at that moment, or at least the next morning. However, they weren’t scheduled to visit the safe house until Thursday -- the day after tomorrow. Arriving earlier -- especially on the heels of William’s disastrous visit -- might make Caresse suspicious and watchful. That was the last thing the two men wanted.

While Joseph and William wove their net of deception, their apartments were being searched by Plice’s men. Plice’s team had already searched Joseph’s and William’s cars, and had attached tracking devices. At the same time, one of the moles was going through their desks at work. There wasn’t much to find. The next day, they searched Andy’s apartment. His surveillance equipment was certainly interesting, but Plice’s men didn’t take anything or disturb anything; they didn’t want anyone to know that they’d been there.

 

---

 

“It’s nice to sleep in a real bed,” Reacher told her.

“Don’t you have a bed in your house?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “It’s not really a house, per se. It’s a big mouse trap.”

“Full of wazoos,” she laughed.

He squeezed her and kissed her.

“Tell me,” she said, “How much are you like the guy in the books?”

“Jack Reacher?”

“Yes.”

“Well… we’re both men, both Army, both know how to fight. That’s about it. In everything else, we’re complete opposites. He went to West Point; I was a high-school dropout. He was mustered out as a major; I was dishonorably discharged. He’s a marksman; I don’t like guns. He likes coffee; I drink Coke.” He paused. “There’s probably more differences, but the main thing is that I’ve been a bad person all my life and a criminal my entire adult life. The only thing that ever made me want to be different was when that little girl was shot.”

“Did you know her?”

“No, not at all, but it was so fucking senseless that it just killed me. You know the girl I’m talking about, right?”

Caresse nodded. At the time, the story was in all the papers. Amabelle Pressy was a nine-year-old girl who heard a noise and ran to see what it was. She ended up witnessing a murder by one of Plice’s men, and since she was a witness, she was killed on the spot.

“She was a complete innocent. A tiny angel.” Tears formed in his eyes. “It took me three months to find out who did it and to put him down. I put him down like a dog, and I really made it hurt. I had to put down some of Plice’s other men on the way there. I didn’t really want to kill them, but I had to do it. At that point, I thought about turning myself into a Punisher-type of character and taking out all of Plice’s organization, but that was a crazy thought. I’m not that kind of guy. I don’t have that ability.”

“Who’s the Punisher?”

He sighed. “Don’t they teach you anything in school? The Punisher is another fictional action hero. Frank Castle. His family was killed by the mob, so he kills every bad guy who was even peripherally involved.”

“Sounds pretty sick.”

“Not if you know the story.” He sniffed, wiped his eyes, and went on. “So… knowing I was not THAT guy, I thought about what I COULD do, and I started doing that: I started robbing him, disrupting his business... I made myself a pain in his backside. Once they figured who I was, I came out here.”

“Did you leave a trail?”

“I’m sure I did, but not on purpose.” He looked at her for a few moments, then said, “I have to tell you something: I recognized you right away, and I figured you were on the run from Plice. I was happy, because I figured your being out here would increase my chances of seeing Plice out here. I figured he might get irritated over me, but he’d go absolute nuts over you. When I came up your driveway that night, I just wanted to have a look at you. I was ready to hate and despise you. Man, was I wrong. With my past, I never should have thought that I could judge, but I never -- never thought I’d end up liking you so much. You’re such an -- you’re such a wonderful person. You really are. At first, that night in your driveway, I only saw you as bait to lure Plice out here. Now I want to do everything I can to make sure you get out of here alive. I need to know that when it all comes down, you’ll be able to get away.” He raised himself up on one elbow and looked her in the eyes. “Promise me, Caresse, if it comes to it, that you will just go. Don’t look for me, don’t call my name, don’t say goodbye. Just go. When the shit hits the fan, the only way out is to leave, in that exact moment. You have to leave the dead to bury their own dead.”

A cold shiver ran though her like a icy knife as she heard those words.

“What about you? Don’t you want to get out of here alive? Don't you want to get away?”

“Naw,” he said. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not fine, that’s fine, too. I’m a spider, sitting on my spiderweb, waiting. I just want to take out Plice. That’s all I want. I want to end him permanently. Guys like him are a problem that can only be solved by a bullet in the head.”

She regarded him in silence for a moment. Then she said, “You said that you don’t like guns.”

He laughed. “We all have to make sacrifices.”

 

---

 

William and Joseph set off in Joseph’s car on Thursday, just after lunch. They were followed at a distance by Plice’s people. Joseph and William never saw them: partly because the followers were so professional, but mainly because William and Joseph were distracted and excited about the crime they were about to commit against Caresse.

When the two men arrived, William apologized again to Caresse for his bad manners, and Joseph apologized for the “grope fest” when Caresse was first transformed. She didn’t entirely trust their apologies, but they did behave themselves. They brought dinner -- Chinese food. They brought wine, but only one bottle.

William managed to drop the drug into Caresse’s wine without being seen, and the fine powder dissolved pretty quickly. He stirred it to be sure, and almost licked the spoon out of habit.

The two men tried to not focus on her wine glass. They didn’t want to give themselves away. She was maddenly slow to drink the wine, but once she did, she quickly began to feel groggy, and she heard herself slurring her words. She glanced at the men’s faces and immediately understood. Realizing that she had only moments before she’d fall completely under the spell of the drug, she muttered that she needed to use the bathroom, and headed for the stairs. The two men watched her as she struggled to ascend. They were afraid that she might fall, but they were equally afraid of playing their hand by offering to help. It took a long, suspenseful time, but luckily, after great physical effort, she made it to the top of the stairs without incident. She stumbled into her bedroom and threw the deadbolt before succumbing to the drug and falling to the floor.

“That goddam bitch!” William shouted, when he heard the deadbolt click. Pounding his fist on the table, he said, “She’s outsmarted us again, but not for long! Come on, Joe, let’s break down that goddamn door!”

“Wait,” Joseph said. “I think I saw a ladder in the garage.”

He was right: there was indeed a ladder in the garage, a relic of the last house-painting. The two men carried the ladder out and propped it up against the house. It was just high enough to reach the sill of her window, and her window was open. They ascended the rickety ladder, which bowed and wobbled comically and came perilously close to breaking. With some difficulty they lifted and pushed themselves through her window opening. Then they began their pitiful rape. Caresse, as Joseph had said, was not unconscious. She was nearly awake, but impaired and unable to resist.

If Joseph and William could have seen themselves, they wouldn’t have wanted a video of their act. No one wants to see the spectacle of two flabby, middle-aged men abusing a barely conscious woman. Neither man was at his best, neither had the ability or the stamina to go very far. For the most part, they ended up groping her and taking photos.

While they were so absorbed, one of Plice’s men was bold enough to climb the ladder and peek into the room. He took two or three photos, and climbed back down. He chose the one that best showed Caresse’s face, and sent it, encrypted, directly to Dan Plice. Plice replied, telling the watchers to take no action. They were to continue watching. Then he instructed his backup team to be out there by dawn.