Pastmaster: Holidays

Tigers. It was all the fault of Tigers. If it wasnt for the tigers then Davies wouldnt have gone to India and if he hadnt gone to India then he would have never fallen asleep on the coach after drinking too many beers which had a picture on them of a tiger.

Ordinarily this wouldnt have been a problem. People fall asleep in coaches all the time. In this coach for example everybody fell asleep. A very deep and restfull sleep. Aided no doubt by the drugs in the bottle of water they had been given to drink or the rifle buts they were hit with if they werent thirsty.

As a result of the (probably not) drugged beers and (definatley) drugged water the coachload of tourists didn't realise what they had gotten into.

Suprisingly there was no direct call for a ransom. True, a video was made admitting that a coachload of tourists had been kidnapped and that they were being help at a location that they probably didnt want to be held at and that they werent going anywhere for a while.

The kidnappers stated that unless the Indian Army pulled out of several key areas within seven days a tourist was going to be shot. And then another, and another, until each and every one was dead or the Indina Army pulled out. The camera swept across the still sleeping tourists lingering on a few wealthy Americans and attractive blondes. It glossed over an athletic looking young man without pausing, which proved that they had no idea who they had just liberated from his holiday.

The athletic looking young man didnt seem particualrly concerned when he woke up and found himself not on a coach or in a hotel room but lying in a cave. He looked around and slowly felt his concern grow. He needed to se the sky. If he could see the sky then he could get help. His watch was still on his wrist. But this cave looked man made and was therefore probably deep inside rock and rock not going to help him. Best to keep his head down and try and get out of here some other way. He shivered, it was cold and he didnt have a coat. More specifically he didnt have his work coat. Which would have been insanely useful. But he didnt have a Tescos either so he shoved the thought from his mind and started seeing what he did have.

He had about twenty people some as young as six and as old as sixty or seventy. Varying degrees of fitness and unknown levels of skill. He had to regard them all as useless until they proved otherwise. He had a pair of rather nice trainers which meant he was quick, he was dressed in black which meant he might be stealthy. He had a headache which meant reactions and thought process were slower and weaker then normal. He had a watch which would have to be hidden befroe it was removed. Not only was it shiny, water resistant and on a leather strap but it also emitted a signal which when picked up by his people would bring every military, police and fireman to his position. But to use it, he needed to see the sky.

There was a load burst of noise from some loudspeakers and bright lights were suddenly turned on in a not so subtle hint that they should wake up. So that they behaved themselves when fully conscious eight men armed with what looked like AK-47's ran in and pointed it at them. This was not a good sign. These men didnt look friendly.

"On your feet western scum!"

The message was short, loud and did nothing to make the headache go away.

A ninth man walked into view. He had a pistol but no rifle, and carried himself as though he was in charge. He had a mustache and looked to be in fantastic shape. He also had a very loud voice that echoed around the cave. He covered the ground in front of him with spit from his fury.

"You Western Scum came here to play the Imperial Overlords! To see and exploit our natural resources! Now you shall do so for the benefit of my people! These are diamond mines. If you find diamonds we shall give you food and water. No diamonds, no food and water. Do not try to escape or we will shoot you."

He stopped to take a breath and lear at some of the prettier women. He gestured and water was brought in. Everyone drank deeply.

The next few hours were some of the hardest that anyone in that group had ever worked. They were given no further food ro water, and were made to work with no face masks or goggles. One old woman collapsed and was dragged away to never be seen again. One American tried to start a fistfight and was shot for his troubles. Resistance semed futile.

Ten hours later they were ordered back to the cave where bread and water were waiting for them. The bread was stale and the water warm.

"How are you so calm?"

"Hmm?"

"We have been kidnapped, drugged, forced to work in a mine which we are not gonig to leave alive and you look like this is only mildly more interesting than daytime TV! What are you smoking!"

Everyone spoke in whispers so as not to attract the attention of the guards. Some of the women had already been taken only to come back crying with their clothing ripped and torn.

"My workmates are looking for me. They will find us. And these people are going to pay."

"Your off your meds mate. No-bodys going to find us here."

Jonathon Peter Davies grinned. His people were coming and he had to make these people believe that there was hope. He just needed to see the sky.

CHAPTER TWO

Four more work shifts came and went, the amount of bread and water went up and down and people became weaker and weaker. Davies knew that he had to do something and he had a vague outline of something that might become a plan. He managed to get one of the guards on his own whilst the big boss was in earshot.

"I want to talk to your boss."

The guard sneered.

"What about?"

"One million US per person if you let us go. Or the same amount in weapons. Decent weapons. Not the rubbish your toting now. My boss can fix it."

The rifle but smshed into Davies stomach, winding him and forching him onto the floor. The guards foot then began playing football with Davies head. He stopped when Davies began yelling the same two words over and over again.

"The Historian! The Historian! The Historian will pay to get me out!"

The big boss stopped the guards foot connecting for a fith time.

"Whats this noise?"

Davies struggled to his feet, gasping for air and feeling the blood running down his face he was aware that everbody was looking at him. His voice was loud and he had just admitted that he was afflilated with the biggest terrorist on the planet. He was not going to be popular.

"Contact The Historian, tell him you have Jonathon Peter Davies captive, got that? Jonathon Peter Davies."

"And he will help us in exchange for your freedom?"

Davies had to agree that this statement did sound stupid but it was true, the Historian would pay anything to keep Davies free and playing his twisted game. Besides, he owes Davies a favor.

"I promise you, he will give you anything you ask for." (Probably just before he cuts off your head)

"And if he does not?"

"Then shoot me. Your not going to lose anything and you could gain a hell of a lot."

The guy smiled some new thought had entered his head. One from a very dark place.

"If The Historian does not come for you, you will pick someone and I will shoot them so that they die in very great pain. Or I will shoot five of my own choice so that they die in very great pain. Deal?"

He held out his hand. Everybody was looking, guards and captives. Davies looked the guy in the eyes.

"Deal."

CHAPTER THREE

Work was cut short that day, at least they assumed it was. They were all ushered into the cave where the standard bread and water was waiting for them. Davies paid no attention to the looks that were being shot at him. This was their only chance to escape and he was going to take it. Hopefully a few of the others would make it as well. Hopefully.

"Youve got some explaining to do mate."

Davies blinked. The two people he had been travelling with had come over to sit with him. Everybody else was treating him as though he had the plague. The guards were keeping an eye on him in case anyone tried anything.

"Why should The Historian care if you live or die! More to the point, why are you never around to meet up? John, are you a terrorist?"

John shook his head wondering how exactly he was gonig to get out of this without telling the truth.

"I am not a terrorist, never have been, never will be. I just reckon The Historian could use a bit of good PR."

"Great, so your a terrorist or betting someones life on a whim or even worse to get famous! I hope you get cancer!"

And with that they walked away. John was suddenly unable to swallow his stale bread. This was what his life was becomming, his job was forcing friends and family away and the worse part was, he couldnt care less.

CHAPTER FOUR

A short while later the loudspeakers blared into action rousing everybody from an exhausted sleep. Almost without thinking, everbody got to their feet. The men with the rifles came in followed by the commander. He was smiling. He made for Davies who regarded him warily.

"You! Davies! We called the Sons of History and do you know what they said?"

The pistol came out and was being pointed squarely in the middle of Davies forehead. Safety off, finger near the trigger. If fired, the bullet would go through Davies skull like a lightsaber through butter killing him insantly.

Except, the gun was only a few inches away from his face. Before the trigger could be pulled Davies could have grabbed the gun, knocked the general to the floor and shot three guards before dying from an overdose of lead poisoning. Probably not the best idea.

"What did they say?"

Davies kept his voice brittle, let this guy have his delusions, he probably had about twelve hours to live.

"I dont know. What did they say?"

The gun jerked towards the hostages.

"Pick someone and I will tell you what they said."

Davies eyes flicked over his fellow hostages, he had coldly chosen his victim hours ago. An elderly woman aged 75 who had finally achieved her lifes ambition of coming to India.

"Her."

With a few jerks of a rifle she was made to come out and lie down. The man in charge aimed his pistol at her chest. At that range the bullet would go through her lungs and she would drown in her own blood, suffocate to death or pick up an infection and die that way. A charming way to go.

A member of the crowd began shouting various things about Davies morals and what he should do with them. Davies felt sweat pool on his brow. He was trusting his nemisis to save his neck. Maybe The Historian had decided to let him rot? Had he tired of their game? He blinked. Chased the thoughts away.

The finger was on the trigger, firm and prepared to go to work. It started to squeeze. Two pairs of eyes fixed on Davies.One silently pleading for mercy the other, looking for a sign of weakness.

"The Sons of History said they would call back and when they did, do you know what they said?"

The sound of the gunshot was deafening.

CHAPTER FIVE

Davies eyes never left the Generals. They blinked at the sound of the gunshot but they never left his. The General smiled.

"There must be ice in your veins young man. I could make a killer out of you with very little effort. But that is not what I am going to do with you."

He burst out laughing and gestured down.

The bullet had gone wide. Not by much, but it was enough that the little old lady was thanking her lucky stars instead of being amongst them. Davies grinned. Hate was such a useful tool.

The shift that day was tense. Everybody was still being worked as hard as they had been on the first day even though they were weaker. Davies was constantly on guard from someone 'accidentaly' putting a pickaxe through various parts of his anatomy. They finished the shift and found the traditional bread and water waiting for them. Everybody then collapsed into a sleep that was far deeper than they realised.

Again, the group found itself waking up somewhere that it hadnt fallen asleep. In this case, they found themselves dumped inside several vans in the parking areas of several hotels. All apart from one.

Jonathon Peter Davies awoke in a rather nice private jet looking at a well dressed middle aged man who was regarding him over a glass of wine. Davies was aware that he was covered in blood, dirt and clothes that were screaming for lighter fluid and a match.

"Welcome back Davies. The Historian sends his regards."

CHAPTER SIX

Davies was groggy and thirsty. That took precendence over anything else.

"I'll send him a card. Any danger of a cup of tea?"

"None whatsoever."

"I dont suppose this plane is heading anywhere near my flat is it?"

"No. We have put considerable reources into getting you out of a stupid situation and we want our pound of flesh."

He smiled and Davies got the feeling that he wasnt talknig metaphorically. Enough was enough, it was time to go home. He triggered his watch knowing that in twenty seconds every PASTMASTER on the planet would be heading for his location.

A rather attractive Asian girl appeared and offered him a glass of orange juice. He took it with a smile and then shot it a nasty look.

"Its just orange juice Davies. I've wanted to talk to you for quite a while and i'm not going to waste this precious opportuinty."

Davies continued shooting the glass a nasty look. The man took some and drank some.

"Trust me now?"

"No."

Davies drank some though. It was cool and refreshing, he signalled for another which was quickly brought.

"The gentlemen who put me in that rather basic hotel?"

"Will no longer be troubling anyone. Does this bother you?"

Too much ice in the glass. Davies took another sip.

"Not in the slightest. Tell me, what does the future hold?"

"Torture pain, more torture then death i'm afraid."


If they heard about it, most people would think my job was pretty exciting. After all, I was for an organisation that doesn’t exist, I cross the globe fighting villains, hell, I even have a ‘secret identity’.

Sadly, like learning to drive and shave, its completely over-rated.

I spend most of my time in an office, fighting paperwork, studying reports and catching up on Deadliest Warrior. The rest of the time I’m forced to study, improvise and adapt to situations that will kill me in a heartbeat if I get the chance.

Take right now for example. I’ve been kidnapped and immobilised. My people are looking for me because I’m four hours late for work. But I have no idea where my phone or tracking device (cunningly disguised as a fairly cheap watch are.) This means they have no idea where I am.

Also, I’m not tied up. They’ve gone down the chemical option which means that I can’t cut my bonds and escape. Worse it means the enemy has a vague idea of when I’ll be able to move and can come back and dose me up again.

All in all, not a particularly good Thursday I think you would agree.

I dozed off through a lack of options, and was awoken three hours later by a young lady dressed as a maid who enquired if I was ready to take afternoon tea. Seeing as she had laid out my clothes and I never turn down an a brew I accepted.

Also, they had made an appalling tactical mistake.

You see, my (rather fetching coat) is in fact not a coat at all. It’s a mark 3 advanced nanite-tech defensive item of clothing. In other words, they had just handed me a Kevlar vest. With an ear-pod in it. Not to mention, they’d given me back my watch.

My day was getting better.

I indicated a need to relieve myself and was directed to a bathroom. After doing what I had asked permission for, I activated the ear-pod and signalled I couldn’t talk. (Villains have no respect for privacy.) I then made my way down the stairs and out into wonderland.

My pot of tea, (Early Grey, naturally) was served outside in the grounds of a rather lovely 18th century house. The gentleman waiting for me was dressed in 18th century clothing, as was the maid. In fact, where it not for the that I could see where a plane was slowly making its way across the sky I would have thought that I had somehow fallen backwards in time.