Free The Sons Of Cleito (The Abductions of Langley Garret Book 1) by Derek Haines Page A

that perhaps I would be spending the rest of my night on a battleship or cruiser.
    When the helicopter stopped moving forward and began hovering, I assumed we were readying to land. As my earphones weren't connected, I couldn't hear a word so I was working on educated guess work. A tap on my shoulder and the unclipping of my seat belts and then the fitting of something similar, but a little more elaborate and secure than the waist and groin harness that had lifted me aboard, I realised all my logical guess work wasn't worth a crumpet. I was positioned at the open door of the helicopter and I looked down in disbelief. As I was gently pushed out into the night again and then felt myself being lowered, I looked down again to confirm my first disbelieving look. I had never seen one before, but there was no doubt. I was being lowered towards a submarine.
    I knew it was an odd thought, but given my last few days I believed I had the right to one or two of them as I fell towards something what could only be associated with the adjectives black and evil. I was thinking, rather stupidly of course but I thought I was entitled to moments of irrationality now, that my chances of finding another beautiful young woman to fuck aboard this nasty looking black thing below me were highly remote. The second was that I was becoming totally fed up with being taken prisoner. The third came from left field. It seemed I was quite a popular capture. It was just the reason that remained an absolute fucking mystery to me.
    Perhaps I was becoming blasé, but when I felt my feet hit the deck of the submarine and a couple of seriously dedicated submariners made sure I was ok, as they unclipped me, and helped me down a hatch and onto a ladder that would lead to yet another room that would be a prison, I could only think about Chara and how she really didn't deserve to be killed. Really, the bastard who did it could have waited a few minutes longer and let me fully enjoy her interrogation.
    'This way,' a serious looking man in a uniform said as I arrived at the bottom of the ladder. He looked, smelt and probably wanked military. At least he didn't sniff. I didn't answer, just followed him and waited for a message from my guts. Nothing arrived so I assumed they were either asleep or getting thoroughly bored with sending me warnings of impending doom over and over again. I had to turn sideways occasionally to fit through the narrow gangways as I was led down into the bowels of this ugly black beast before finally arriving at my designated gaol for the night, or days to follow.
    'Make yourself comfortable sir,' was a missive platitude I had heard far too many times in a too shorter period of time. I grunted in reply and looked around at my cramped quarters, as I heard the hatch lock behind me. There was however a similarity to my last prison cell, there were no windows. I flopped down on the metal bunk that as hard as it tried, failed to convince me that it had any association with a bed and then looked across at a metal washbasin, and a rudimentary toilet device that would surely need Olympic standard gymnastics to be able to crap into. There were however some motoring magazines stuffed into a rack beside my head.
    The way out of date motoring magazines did help a little, in offsetting the feeling of loss I suddenly had at knowing my Samsonite suitcase, which had been so carefully packed by the large man in the scary ill-fitting black suit, had not made it along with me on this stage of my multiple captures. I supposed I was by myself from here on in with no watch and no suitcase. Someone was surely going to ask me some more questions about something I didn't have a clue about and maybe add to the cocktail of drugs that had been pumped into my system in the last few days; usually courtesy of a very kindly offered beverage. No mystery there. The only mystery I started to think about was who and how someone else would try to capture me from the bowels of a