instructed, menace in every syllable.
Marietta shrank back. “No, please, no, don’t,” she whispered.
The man looked into her eyes and smiled slightly as he rested the twin prongs on the thin material of her blouse.
Then he pulled the trigger.
Marietta had never felt such agony. It seemed as if every nerve ending in her body was on fire, or bathed in acid. She lurched backward, and would have fallen but for the restraining hands of the other two men.
The man in front of her kept the trigger of the Taserpressed for what felt like minutes, such was the pain surging through her, though in reality the current could have flowed for only a matter of one or two seconds, possibly even less than that. Finally, mercifully, the agony stopped, the men released her arms, and Marietta slumped to the ground.
They gave her a couple of minutes to recover her senses, then jerked her back onto her feet and marched her toward the rear of the house. This time they were taking no chances. One man walked on either side of Marietta, gripping her upper arm. There was no way she could free herself from their grasp even if she had had the energy or the strength to do so. In any case, the last charge from the Taser had left her nerves jangling and screaming, and she knew that if her arms were released, she would probably not even be able to walk unaided. Running was out of the question.
The path ran beside the house, then curved around in a circle toward the back door of the building. Marietta assumed this was their destination, but instead she was led toward another, smaller structure hidden behind the house. It had also been solidly constructed of gray stone, and just one glance was enough to tell her that it had once been a small church or chapel. Most of the steeply pitched roof was missing, but all four walls were still standing, and looked to be in a reasonable state of repair. Strangely, even the old wooden church door was still in place, and both the windows in the end wall contained stained-glass panels.
One of the men lifted the latch on the door and swung it open, the well-oiled old hinges making no sound. Marietta was pushed through the doorway into the open space beyond. Above her head, about half of the original supporting timbers for the roof were still in place, a dimly visible skeleton, showing black against the evening sky.
The men led her down what was once the church’s central aisle, and across the space where the altar would have stood; a few broken slabs of stone were all that remained of the original structure. She was marched across to the far side of the building and shoved against the wall. The man behind her stepped over to one side, and Marietta briefly lost sight of him as the other two stood beside her, blocking her view. Then she heard a faint rumbling sound, and a section of the wall a few feet away from her swung open like a door. The third man reappeared, reached into the black opening in front of her, and clicked a switch. Naked bulbs sprang into life, illuminating a narrow spiral staircase that curved down to the right.
Marietta stopped dead. She’d always loathed cellars and any other sort of underground space. It wasn’t just simple claustrophobia, though this was a part of it. She’d always thought that a cellar smelled like a tomb.
“Keep going,” one of the men ordered.
“No,” Marietta said.
She felt the twin prongs of the Taser pressing into her back, and knew she would do anything to avoid suffering that pain again. Fighting back tears of terror and frustration in equal measure, she stumbled forward, and starteddown the stone staircase, the sound of her footsteps echoing off the walls.
It wasn’t a long staircase—for obvious reasons, deep cellars were almost unknown in Venice and on its islands—and after about twenty steps the staircase ended at a flagstone floor. Again, one of the men clicked a switch and a single bright light came on at one end of the room, enabling Marietta to
Marietta shrank back. “No, please, no, don’t,” she whispered.
The man looked into her eyes and smiled slightly as he rested the twin prongs on the thin material of her blouse.
Then he pulled the trigger.
Marietta had never felt such agony. It seemed as if every nerve ending in her body was on fire, or bathed in acid. She lurched backward, and would have fallen but for the restraining hands of the other two men.
The man in front of her kept the trigger of the Taserpressed for what felt like minutes, such was the pain surging through her, though in reality the current could have flowed for only a matter of one or two seconds, possibly even less than that. Finally, mercifully, the agony stopped, the men released her arms, and Marietta slumped to the ground.
They gave her a couple of minutes to recover her senses, then jerked her back onto her feet and marched her toward the rear of the house. This time they were taking no chances. One man walked on either side of Marietta, gripping her upper arm. There was no way she could free herself from their grasp even if she had had the energy or the strength to do so. In any case, the last charge from the Taser had left her nerves jangling and screaming, and she knew that if her arms were released, she would probably not even be able to walk unaided. Running was out of the question.
The path ran beside the house, then curved around in a circle toward the back door of the building. Marietta assumed this was their destination, but instead she was led toward another, smaller structure hidden behind the house. It had also been solidly constructed of gray stone, and just one glance was enough to tell her that it had once been a small church or chapel. Most of the steeply pitched roof was missing, but all four walls were still standing, and looked to be in a reasonable state of repair. Strangely, even the old wooden church door was still in place, and both the windows in the end wall contained stained-glass panels.
One of the men lifted the latch on the door and swung it open, the well-oiled old hinges making no sound. Marietta was pushed through the doorway into the open space beyond. Above her head, about half of the original supporting timbers for the roof were still in place, a dimly visible skeleton, showing black against the evening sky.
The men led her down what was once the church’s central aisle, and across the space where the altar would have stood; a few broken slabs of stone were all that remained of the original structure. She was marched across to the far side of the building and shoved against the wall. The man behind her stepped over to one side, and Marietta briefly lost sight of him as the other two stood beside her, blocking her view. Then she heard a faint rumbling sound, and a section of the wall a few feet away from her swung open like a door. The third man reappeared, reached into the black opening in front of her, and clicked a switch. Naked bulbs sprang into life, illuminating a narrow spiral staircase that curved down to the right.
Marietta stopped dead. She’d always loathed cellars and any other sort of underground space. It wasn’t just simple claustrophobia, though this was a part of it. She’d always thought that a cellar smelled like a tomb.
“Keep going,” one of the men ordered.
“No,” Marietta said.
She felt the twin prongs of the Taser pressing into her back, and knew she would do anything to avoid suffering that pain again. Fighting back tears of terror and frustration in equal measure, she stumbled forward, and starteddown the stone staircase, the sound of her footsteps echoing off the walls.
It wasn’t a long staircase—for obvious reasons, deep cellars were almost unknown in Venice and on its islands—and after about twenty steps the staircase ended at a flagstone floor. Again, one of the men clicked a switch and a single bright light came on at one end of the room, enabling Marietta to
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