A horn sounded. 

   What was that? Collette thought, sitting up in bed.  The sun had made its appearance in morning sky, bathing the French landscape in its warm glow.  Collette looked out the window, listening for the sound to return.

     The horn sounded again, longer this time, more insistent.

    Graham stirred and opened his eyes.  He looked up at Collette, sitting up, staring out the window, "what's up?"

    "Shh," she said, raising a hand towards him.  She listened and the horn sounded again.  It was low and loud and this time it did not end. It just kept warbling, demanding attention.  The horn blared and Collette's face fell.  She looked at Graham, "On the floor, NOW!" She screamed the last word as the two of them bounced off the bed.  The two of them lay on the floor of their stateroom, their hands over their heads.

    "What's...?" He never finished the question.

    A loudshriek cut him off. The shriek grew in volume and intensity until it overpowered the horn that was still wailing loudly.  The train slowed and Collette and Graham were forced forward in the cabin, rolling on the floor until they were pressed against the front wall of their cabin. 

    The screeching of the brakes stopped as the train crashed against three cars that were parked successively on the tracks.  The three cars were decimated as the powerful engine crashed into them.  A fireball burst into the morning air as the three cars caught fire in a burst of explosive energy.  The engine of the train caught fire and the engineer was burned to a cinder in seconds.  The explosion was deafening, the sound racing outward, forcing birds to flee in a dark wave of panic.

    The train derailed, flipping to its side, the cars digging into the ground.  Graham cut his forehead as he flipped with the train, his head striking the edge of the bed.  He fell against the glass window which was now splintered and cracked but fortunately not broken. He could see grass and rocks and dirt scraping the plastic window.  Blood seeped from his head and drained down his face, stinging his eyes and causing him to squeeze them shut.  He gasped as the train bounced along the ground, slowing as the energy of the derailment was dissipated into the hard earth.

    Collette bounced and fell on top of Graham, groaning in pain.  Graham grunted as Collette landed on him.  Collette felt her knee strike the wall of the train and a sharp rictus of pain shot up her body.  Stars floated before her vision.  Her head swam in a wave of agony.  Her mouth bounced against her tongue and she could taste the bitter coppery flavor of blood.  She pitched forward as the train slipped along the ground, her head hitting the forward wall of the cabin.  For Collette, the world became a dark haze, her vision growing dim as she struggled with consciousness.

    The engine exploded, sending another wave of sound racing into the morning.  Bits of metal flew like flak and rained down on the ground.  The burning bits of metal started small fires as nearby trees and bushes became fuel.  Two passengers in the dining car were thrown from the train where they died instantly.  The raging heat found their bodies a suitable fuel, and the dead couple burst into flames.  The luggage car flipped upward and landed on a sleep car, crushing three people who were still asleep and a young woman who had been standing in the aisle, changing clothes.  Two more sleep cars pitched into the ground and stopped.  

    The train stopped and the sound diminished to only the raging fires, the occasional scream or cry of pain, and a lone baby crying. 

    Graham groaned and fell silent as his world went dark.

    Collette shifted against Graham and lifted herself up on her hands.  She rolled over and stood up, standing on the splintered plastic that had been the window.  Above her was the door that led from their stateroom.  She looked at Graham as he lay unconscious on the wall of the train.  "Graham," she said, shaking him gently.

    He moaned.

    "Graham," she said, more insistently.

    Graham moaned and opened his eyes slowly, blinking back the light that seemed to burn his eyes.

    "I'm going to see what is going on," she informed him.  "Don't go anywhere. Understood?"

    At first she wasn't sure he had heard her and as she opened her mouth to tell him again not to leave he muttered a dry "uh huh."

    Collette looked above her and reached up to grab the door handle.  The door swung in on her and she had to duck to avoid the falling door.  The hallway, normally only a thin two-foot passageway was now a short crawl space.  She gripped the door jamb and pulled herself up.  She crawled on hands and knees, inching along the flat wall of the train.  She made her was towards the engine, heading forward along the corridor.  A new sound emerged from the morning sky mixing with the sounds of the fires and the moans of pain and the screeching crying of a child; it was the sound of a helicopter. 

    Collette'sbrow furrowed; why was a helicopter approaching?  She thought that it could be a rescue or news copter, but pushed the thought away quickly.  It was too soon for a news crew to be notified or a rescue attempt made.  No, she reasoned, the helicopter was here for another reason and she was pretty sure that that reason was not a good one.  A thought appeared that the helicopter was somehow involved with the accident.  The two were connected she knew she just didn't know how.

    Collette crawled forward, the room growing warmer.  The sound of a fire grew in volume.  She inched forward and heard a new sound, "help!" Weak in power but insistent in tone.  "Please, help me!"

    Collette crawled faster, looking for the source of the call for help.   "I'm coming!" she screamed.

    The unseen victim heard her call out and shouted louder, "I'm here, please, help me.  Please."  The words came in both French and English and Collette wondered if he knew he was mixing the languages.  She supposed that he didn't realize what he was saying; that he was simply screaming for help and hoping that his cries would be answered.

    Outside, the helicopter landed.

    Two men leapt from the helicopter with large automatic rifles leading the way.  They ran, one behind the other, towards the train.  They dodged small fires and piles of fallen debris to reach the side of the train.  They made their way to a gap between two passenger cars.  The first man went aft, towards the caboose while the second climbed into the train, moving forward, towards the engine compartment that was a burning husk of charred metal.

    The two men crawled through the train, keeping in contact with small, hands-free communication devices, a microphone inches from their mouths and a speaker wedged in their ears.  Three minutes after the helicopter landed and about a minutes after Collette found the source of the pleas for help, the second man reported, "I found him."

    The first man spun around and made his way to his partner's side.  He was kneeling above and open door staring into a large compartment with a lone man lying unconscious on the wall of the train.  The window was streaked and dark, the hard French ground peering up at them.  The first man nodded and dropped into the compartment.  He pointed his weapon at the unconscious man and then bent down.  "Wake up," he said, shaking the man.

    Graham groaned, stirred slightly and fell silent.

    The first man shook him again, "get up!" Louder this time, more insistent.

    Graham opened his eyes and instantly regretted it.  He was staring into the muzzle of a large bored weapon.  His hands instinctively jerked to his face as if to say, "don't hurt me." 

    "On your feet," the man said.

    His heart was pounding and his eyes were wide with fright, "don't shoot," Graham said as he slowly climbed to his feet.  He groaned in pain and wobbled on unsteady legs.  His eyes were burning and he could feel his pulse in his throbbing head.  He noticed another man above him also armed with a large weapon. 

    The man above him said, "follow me."

    Nervously, Graham nodded.

    The upper man began crawling from the train and Graham pulled himself upwards.  Graham followed the lead man while the second man followed behind him.  The two men were professional and there was always at least one weapon pointed at him at any time.  The second man dropped a small notepad onto the bed as he climbed from the cabin. 

   The three of them moved briskly and Graham swallowed heavily as he climbed from the train.  The smell of burning gas and melting metal assailed his nostrils and his face contorted in discomfort.  Forty yards away was a helicopter and that was where Graham was being lead.  Kidnapped, he thought, I'm being kidnapped.  Why?  He had no answer to his query.  It had to be because of Collette, he reasoned, but who knew he even in France?  Nobody that he knew of.  His head throbbed. 

    "Get in," Graham was instructed and he instantly obeyed. 

    The first man, tall and with dark hair, climbed into the pilot's seat as the second man, equally tall but with dirty blonde hair climbed next to Graham; keeping his weapon pointed at his charge.  The pilot started the helicopter and as the vehicle lifted off Collette heard the engine whine and wondered what task the helicopter's crew had been sent to perform. 

    Beneath her a weak, "please."  A young man of perhaps twenty was pinned beneath a piece of metal that at one time had been the side of the train.  Blood spilled from the man's thigh and Collette knew he would lose the leg.  But, she promised herself, he won't die.  She climbed down to him and lifted the piece of metal from his leg.  The blood came quickly as the sharp metal pulled free.  "Come on," Collette said, "climb free.  I'll get you out of here."

    The man pulled himself from under the collapsed wall of the train and limped to one foot.  He winced and screamed a blood-curdling shriek of agony as the feeling returned to his damaged leg.  He collapsed to the new floor of the train and drifted into unconscious bliss. 

    Collette bandaged his leg, tying a tourniquet around the meaty part of his calf, just above the deep wound.  The blood stopped to barely a trickle.  Satisfied, she climbed back into the crawlway and pulled the man up with her.  He would be fine here, she knew, as she began her trek back towards the burning engine compartment. 

    She continued crawling forward, sweat breaking out on her forehead.  The heat of the fires was intense and she was forced to turn around as the heat exceeded what she felt was safe.  She had passed a few dead bodies; a young man and his new bride, a middle-aged businessman whose suit was now stained with blood and another body whose sex was no longer distinguishable. 

    Collette crawled back the way she had come.  She was not certain exactly what she was looking for, what clue she hoped to uncover from within the confines of the train, but she knew she would find something.  It was just a feeling, but her feelings, her hunches, have always served her well.  She would find something out of the ordinary inside the train.

    Collette continued crawling through the short passageways and when she reached her cabin she looked inside to check on Graham.  He was gone! "Graham?" she called out.

    Only the sound of dwindling fires and people full of misery greeted her ears. 

    "Graham?" she called again, a little louder.

    No reply.

    "Graham!" she shouted this time.  She felt her anger rise as the sudden, dawning comprehension of the helicopter washed through her mind.  Graham was no longer on the train; he had been captured and whisked away to parts unknown.  "Fuck," she hissed, slapping her fists into her thighs.

    Shestared into the empty cabin, cursing herself for leaving Graham alone.  It was a mistake and she so seldom made mistakes, especially ones this costly.  She could not believe that she was gone, but the proof was not before her eyes; Graham was gone.  She gritted her teeth, scowled in anger and shook her head.  Staring into their cabin she spotted a small notepad.  She dropped into the cabin and picked up the notepad.  Collette read the words scrawled on the blue lined paper.

   Collette,

    Yes, I know who you are.  What I don't know is what you are doing coming to me.  You have aided me considerably with the death of Kilandra, and for that I thank you.  I have with me your escort, Graham I believe his name is. Don't worry, he will be safe and well taken care of, assuming that you cooperate.  The train that you are scurrying through will not be righted so you will have to find an alternate mode of transportation to meet with a young boy in Monaco at the Holiday Inn Seaside.  He will know what you look like and will approach you when you when he feels the time is right.  He will deliver further instructions to you.  If you want to see Graham alive again and meet me, you will make that appointment, you will perform the job I have for you, and you will keep Mark safe. 

    See you soon,

    Tress

   Collette read and reread the note and her eyes kept locking on the name Mark.  Mark was here?  Was it possible?  She shook her head in disbelief. 

    If Mark was here, in France, that would explain how Tress knew she was coming; Mark would have warned her.  If Tress knew she was coming than that would explain the train wreck.  Tress had arranged it so that she could kidnap Graham and gain the upper hand.  Collette squeezed her hands into tight fists in seething anger and slammed her fist against the floor of the train.  She was angry, more with herself than with Tress. She had let her guard down slightly, enjoying Graham as he had enjoyed his adventure.  She cursed herself for bringing him even though she was still certain it was better than leaving him unprotected at home.

    She climbed from her cabin again and began moving aft.  She was no longer looking for unseen answers, she was looking for Mark.   Two cars away from hers she found Mark lying unconscious on the wall of his cabin with a small cut on his chin and his left leg bent at an odd angle.  Great, she thought with and exasperated exhalation of breath, his leg is broken.  She dropped into his cabin and softly slapped his face.  "Mark," she said, trying to rouse him.  "Mark.  Wake up."

   Mark stirred, his eyes flittering open.  He looked at Collette and his face fell, she wasn't supposed to know he was here, he was just supposed to keep an eye on her.  The stupid train crashed had changed everything.  He had failed Tress as he had failed Kilandra.  His feet shifted and he screamed in agony as he pressed against his broken leg.  The pain washed over his eyes and he fell unconscious again.

    Collettewent into the bathroom and snapped the towel rod off the wall.  She broke it in half, using the door to the bathroom to pin the rod and allow her to use her full weight to snap the hard plastic.  With the rod in two pieces she returned to Mark's side.  She ripped Mark's pants, revealing his broken leg.  She used the two halves of the towel rod to make a splint for Mark's leg, binding it in place with the sheets from Mark's bed.  Satisfied that his leg was bound well, she waited for him to awaken.

    It took nearly forty-five minutes for Mark to awaken.  He screamed and fought an invisible assailant, his arms flailing over his face.  It looked to Collette like he was fighting a ghost or a memory and that his mind was not fully focused on what he was doing. 

    He calmed and his arms fell to his side.  Slowly, he sat up and looked at Collette.  "How did you know I was here?" He asked and then his voice cracked and he asked, "what are you going to do with me?"

    Collette stared at him through tight eyes, he doesn't know that Tress set him up.  Why?  "The train crashed," Collette said, choosing her words.  "I was trying to help survivors and just happened upon you.  As for what I am planning on doing with you," she smiled, "let's just say that once again you are my prisioner.  You will accompany me to Monaco."

    "What about Graham?"

    "I have sent him back to Paris without me," she lied.  "He's left already so when the authorities and the press arrives he won't be questioned."

    Mark glanced at her with a look that bordered on disbelief.  Finally he said, "so he is safe?"

    Collette heard the doubting tone in his voice.  "Yes," was all she said. 

    She stepped back and held her arm out to Mark, "let's go," she said.  She helped Mark to his feet smiling behind her eyes as he winced and groaned in pain.  She was dying that Graham was stolen from her and each moan that Mark uttered made that pain at least seem tolerable.  Mark climbed to his feet, aided by Collette's strong arms. 

    Collette climbed from the room, pulling herself up into the hallway above her.  She crawled away from the opening and called Mark to climb up to her.  Mark obeyed without hesitation.  He knew what his keeper was capable of and he would not cross her when she so clearly had the upper hand and he was injured.  He would keep an eye on an avenue of escape and if he felt he could make it, he would try.  He would return to Tress and explain the train wreck and ask for further orders.  He was a lackey, nothing more; he left the decisions to those above him. 

    He followed Collette from the train.  Collette had to help him drop to the ground and still he yelped in agony as his foot bounced off the hard soil.  Black smoke filled the air and off in the distance the sound of sirens could be heard, growing closer.  Small fires still burned.  A dozen men and women were lying on the ground moaning, crying, or unconscious or sitting up in shock, staring at the wreckage that lay before them.  They were numb or dozed or both and it would take time for the victims to recover. 

    "Let's go," Collette said, pulling on Mark's arm.  "We need to get away from here before the authorities arrive."  She heard the sirens and she did not want to answer any questions. 

    She led Mark away from the engine, towards the caboose.  Mark limped along as best he could and twice Collette had to catch him from falling.  They would not get very far if she had to carry him; she needed to find a different mode of transportation.  She listened to the sirens and added, quickly, to her thoughts. 

    They made their way past the wreckage.  Collette spotted a culvert thirty yards away and that was where she led Mark.  The culvert ran under a dirt road and there was a wooden shed another twenty yards beyond that.  It would be a place to hide until the authorities left.

    Ten minutes later Mark and Collette were sitting on the floor of the hot shed, unseen and as the night fell, they were forgotten.

* * * * *

   The helicopter landed and Graham was motioned from his seat at gunpoint.  They had landed on a cement slab surrounded by lights.  A small orange cone stood erect on a pole, showing the direction and relative strength of the wind.  He obeyed without question, not making a sound.  An attractive woman with black hair approached him.  She was wearing a smart blue suit with a full skirt.  Her hair was pulled back into a single ponytail.  She extended a hand to Graham and said, "welcome Graham."

    Graham shook her hand, but said nothing.  He wondered briefly how she knew his name.

    "Don't worry," she said, sensing his discomfort and reading the fear in his eyes, "you won't be harmed.  You are merely here to insure the cooperation of a woman of your acquaintance."

    Graham found his voice, "she will come for me."  She knew, Graham reasoned, that she knew who he was because she was watching Collette.  He also figured that the train crashed because of this obviously dangerous woman before him.

    "Probably," the woman nodded.   "But," she said, "my home is a tad better defended than Kilandra's was.  Anyway, my name is Tress and you are my guest.  You can not leave, but you will be well taken care of."

    "Who is Kilandra?"

    "You don't know?" Tress looked at Graham critically, studying him, trying to see if he was lying.  He appeared to be telling the truth.  Does he even know what she does?

    Graham shook his head, "no.  Who is he?"

    "She was an associate of mine.  Collette killed her a few days ago.  That murder has so far led her to France.  Do you know why she has come to France?"

    "We were heading to Monaco."

    "You are in Monaco now," Tress said.  "She was coming to see me."

    "Why?"

    Tress shook her head, "that's what I  just asked you.  So you don't know that either.  Tell me, has she told you what she does for a living?"

    Graham nodded, "yes."

    "Well, that's a start." She exhaled and turned around, "please, follow me."

    Tressspun around and led Graham away from the helicopter pad and down a gravel lined path.   Tall well-manicured trees lined the path, reaching towards the heavens.  A small brook ran under a wooden bridge and Graham could see Koi swimming near the surface as if begging for food.  Graham figured that they were begging, that they were habitually fed by whoever happened across the bridge. 

    Tress's home was a huge, brick structure; almost a castle.  It was three stories tall with large windows and double doors.   He was led through the front door.  A long, red carpet adorned the entrance foyer and mirrored candles burned on each side of the hallway.  A coat-of-arms stood at the end of the hallway that T-ed left to the living room and right to a huge, formal dining room.  Just behind the suit of armor was a set of stairs that led upward to the second floor. 

    Tress ascended the stairs and Graham followed as directed.  She led him to a large room with an attached bathroom.  "This is your room," she said.  "The windows are barred.  Yes," she said, reading his face, "it is a prison cell, but it is at least a comfortable cell. You have television and a radio and you can use the intercom to order your meals when you are hungry.  Two guards will be posted outside the door." She took a deep breath and then concluded, "try to enjoy your stay."

    With that, she left Graham alone, locking his door behind her.

    He checked the door and confirmed what his ears had told him; he was locked in.  It was a prison, on that, Tress was right.  He crossed the room and looked out the barred windows.  He opened the window and shook futiley on the bars.  He checked the bathroom; it was loaded with soap and shampoo and toothpaste and even a new toothbrush. He realized that he was here for the duration; here until Collette rescued him.

    He turned on the television, not knowing what else to do.  He was frightened and didn't have an escape for his growing anxiety.  He flipped through the stations and rolled his eyes as the only thing in English that he found was an old and not-so-funny Jerry Lewis movie.  He picked up the phone resting next to the bed, half hoping that he would have a dial-tone.  He didn't.  His abduction was well plColletted, this guest room converted efficiently to a cell. 

    Graham threw himself onto the bed, cursing his day and wishing behind closed eyes for Collette to hurry up.  He didn't want to be here without her.  He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling.  "Please hurry," he sent a little prayer to the heavens. 

    He hoped she heard his prayer.

* * * * *

   "Do you think she will come?"

    "Yes."

    "You saw the tape from Kilandra's house," Robert Guglia, a short, Italian man said.  "What if she comes here with murder on her mind?"

    Tress sighed, "we have Graham.  She will not risk his life and as you know I will not have any problem with taking it.  No, my friend, I don't think she will do anything rash.  She will come and she will bring Mark with her and she will do what I require of her.   Then, I will let her have her Graham back and she will go free.  And then, months later, she will be killed.  We will give her the time to feel that she got away unscathed and then we will strike.  Surprise, Robert, it is surprise that can make a difficult battle simple and an impossible battle possible."

    Robert nodded.  "I hope you're right."

    She smiled at him, "tsk, tsk, tsk, Robert. Haven't you learned by now not to doubt me?"  She was chiding him, but her tone was playful.

    He shook his head, "no ma'am.  I don't doubt you."

    "Good, good.  Now, set up a rotating shift of guards outside Graham's room.  If any assault happens make sure the guards know to kill Graham immediately.  I don't care if it is not Collette; I won't risk it.  He dies upon any alarm."

    "Understood." 

    "Have Marco come visit me.  I need to have him deliver another message to Collette when she finally makes it to Monaco."

    "Isn't he a little young to deal with someone so dangerous?"

    "Not at all.  She won't hurt him; he is but a child.  Relax, Robert; we have the upper hand."

    He didn't sound convinced when he said, "if you say so."

    "I do say so."

    Robert nodded.  "I will send Marco to you and take care of the orders for Graham.  Anything else you need?"

    "No."

    He bowed his head, "as you wish."  He turned to follow his orders.

    You worry to much, Robert, she thought as he left.  She will meet Marco and she will obey, without question.  "Trust me," she said to the now empty room.

    * * * * *

    Robert picked up the phone and dialed the number.  A young voice came on the line, "Marco."

    "Polo," Robert said automatically.

    "Hi, Bob," Marco said.  He smiled knowing how much Robert hated to be called Bob.  He supposed that was why he did it.

    Robert tensed but said nothing, he knew it was intentional, "Marco," Robert began, "Tress wants to see you as soon as possible."

    "Goodie," Marco said, "she has a job for me then?"

    "Yes."

    "Goodie," he repeated, "I'll be there in an hour."

    "See you then, Marco," Robert said. He hung up the phone and added, "you little shit." 

    * * * * *

   Marco skipped from his house,  a seven story brick apartment complex with peeling paint and falling sheetrock.  It was not clean, by any stretch of the imagination, but it was home.  He lived there with his mother and though she did not ask where her son of eleven earned the large sums of money he brought home, she knew that it was dangerous work he did.  She wanted to stop him, had actually once tried to start the conversation, but she could not bring herself to do it.  They did need the money to survive; had needed since she lost her left leg in an anonymous attack by an anonymous terrorist. 

    She sighed as she watched him skip out the door.

* * * * *

    Marco made it to Tress's house.  He was not stopped as he walked up her driveway and he entered her home unmolested.  "Anybody home?"

    Tress's voice reached his ears, "in here Marco."

    "Goodie."  He followed the sound of the voice and found Tress sitting at the dining room table sipping a cup of tea.

    Tress smiled at him and said, "please, Marco, have a seat.  Can I get you anything?"

    "Ice cream!"

    She nodded and climbed to her feet. Tress walked to the kitchen and grabbed an ice cream sandwich from the stand alone freezer.  She returned to the dining room and handed the frozen treat to Marco, "here you go."

    "Goodie," he said, taking the treat and opening it quickly.

    "I have a job for you," Tress said, returning to her seat. 

    With his mouth full, Marco said, "what?"

    "I want you to deliver a note to a woman at the Holiday Inn Seaside.  Make sure she reads it and then get away from her.  Can you do that?"

    "Yes," he said, smacking the ice cream sandwich noisily.

    Tressnodded appreciatively, "good.  She is dangerous so watch yourself."  Tress handed a picture of Collette to Marco and a sealed envelope. She knew Marco would not open that envelope; he was trustworthy and reliable.  "This is what she looks like and here is what I need her to read."

    Marco took both.  "She's pretty."

    Tress said nothing. 

    Marco finished his ice cream sandwich and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.  "Can I have another?"

    Tress nodded.

    "Goodie." He got up and fetched his own treat this time.  Sitting back down he said, "I'll deliver the envelope."  He was nodding vigorously.

    "I know.  I'll pay you when your done."

    "When will she be there?"

    "Tomorrow or the day after would be my guess.  You'll have to stay by the hotel for the next couple days until she shows up."

    "Okay," he said as he opened his second ice cream sandwich.

    Tress watched as Marco devoured the frozen treat.  He finished and diligently disposed of the paper wrapper.  "I'll let you know when I'm done," he said. "Okay?"

    "Okay, Marco," Tress said softly.

    "Goodie.  Anything else?"

    Tress shook her head.

    "Bye, Tress.  I'll talk to you after I deliver your package." With that he grabbed the photograph and the envelope and left Tress's house. 

    Tress watched him go.  Her brow was furrowed as she pondered if she had forgotten anything. She had her leverage and she had Collette's orders prepared.  She was satisfied with her preparations and merely settled in to wait.

* * * * *

    Theheat of the shed was merely unbearable.  Sweat ran in rivulets down Mark's face, stinging his eyes.  His leg throbbed and his mouth was dry.  He smacked his lips and looked over at Collette as she rested with her eyes half shut against the wall of the shed.  "I'm hungry," he said.

    Collette felt her own stomach grumble at the mere mention of food.  They had been hiding in the shed for nearly nine hours.  Sirens had come and gone.  News crews had reported the accident and had filmed the wrecked train from every angle.  Inside the shed, they had remained unmolested. 

    The sun had set, dark settling over the hillside.  Collette stood and said, "wait here," in an authoritative voice.  She opened the shed door and peered outside.  The news crews were gone, the authorities were gone, only darkness remained.  She looked back at Mark and said, "let's go."

    Markslowly climbed to his feet.  He grimaced as he did, his leg screaming at his mind.  Sit, don't stand.  Sit, sit.  He wanted to obey his aching leg and his pleading mind but knew he had to get going; that he had to follow Collette and see how this soap opera he was entangled in would end.  He did not know the connection he had with Collette, but he was certain that she was his new keeper.  He was still a slave; Collette's now, or perhaps Tress's.  Still, it was better than being trapped in a sheik's harem and subjected to the humiliations he had already endured thanks to Collette's influence.

    He followed Collette from the shed.  The night air was cool and he felt goose bumps break out over his skin as his body adjusted to the change in temperature from the oppressive heat of the shed to the relative cool of the French night.  The smell of jasmine was heavy in the air.  Collette had stepped left and Mark hobbled after her. 

    Collette had spotted a motorcycle and made her way to it.  The keys were missing but Collette was able to quickly hot wire the ignition and kick start the motorcycle.  She climbed aboard and told Mark to get on.

    Mark obeyed.

    Collette sped away with Mark clutching her tightly.  She made her way down a long dirt road; not sure of where she was going.  She knew she was heading to Monaco and was heading to a Holiday Inn on the Mediterranean Sea, she just didn't know how to get to a highway that would lead her to Monaco.  She would need a map.  She sped along the dirt road with the plan to stop at the first convenience store she found to get directions or a written map. 

    It took fifteen minutes of racing along the dark road with an occasionally light indicating an occupied house before she found a small store that was open.  She stopped the bike and told Mark to wait for her return.  She made her way into the store and spoke to the attendant in French.  She bought a map and he gave her directions that would get her to Monaco with little effort.

    She returned to the bike where Mark was waiting diligently.  She climbed aboard and before the sun rose in the east, she had crossed into Monaco. 

    She would have her answers soon.