The Royal Hostage: Chapter One

The Royal Hostage
Chapter One: Abduction

"Eat."
The bag hit the table with a dull thump. In the darkened room where he was being held captive, Luca could smell the hamburger and fries before he could see them. Luca's stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten anything for almost two days.
"C-could you... my hands," said Luca, faintly.
His guard unlocked Luca's handcuffs. Although his fingers were nearly numb, Luca didn't care. He tore the paper wrappings off the food and wolfed it down. The feeling of fullness that quickly followed was not just a physical relief, although he immediately felt happier once the hunger pains subsided. The food also dispelled some of the acute, sickening sense of dread. The warm sensation in his belly was the first and only pleasant thing that had happened to Luca since the beginning of the whole horrific situation.
After he had finished every last crumb left in the bag, Luca carefully licked each of his fingers. Then he crossed his arms behind his back and docilely waited for the guard to replace the handcuffs.
Luca still didn't know why he had been kidnapped, or what side his kidnappers were on. But at least he knew one thing: they wanted to keep him alive.

--

Paolo Argentini was running the operation. He was a silent man in his early 30's, tall and slender with sandy blond hair. A "military consultant," Paolo had been a mercenary for nearly a decade and was renowned for his efficiency and professionalism. The man seemed to live for his job. Even those who had worked with him for years had no idea about Paolo's personal life, or even his personal preferences. Paolo preferred it that way.

Paolo had been hired by a foreign intelligence agency that was monitoring the civil unrest in Mirandum. Mirandum was only a small island country in the Mediterranean, but the incredible wealth of its royal family and the island's traditional role as a traffic-way for organized crime gave it some importance in international politics. Mirandum was still ruled by a hereditary monarchy that held absolute power. For a decade there had been factional conflict between the royalists and the democrats. When a democratic leader had been accidentally killed by police during a demonstration, it sparked the creation of an extremist terrorist movement. Bombings on buses and on city streets had become a constant fear for the people of Mirandum, although most ordinary citizens just wanted reconciliation and an end to violence.

At the moment when the situation looked like it was getting better the unthinkable had happened. The King had finally announced he would consider the formation of a democratic parliament and he invited the leaders of the moderate democratic movement to an open discussion. Mirandum, its neighbors, and the rest of the world rejoiced and looked forward to a new era of peace. As a gesture of goodwill the King invited the public to a ball in the royal palace. It was a gala affair: all the royal family, democratic leaders, and foreign ambassadors would be present. Millions of people around the world were watching live television coverage of the luxurious event. Just as King Aurelius was about to make his speech, there was an earth-shaking explosion. The palace had been bombed. The death toll was in the thousands, and no one who had been in the ballroom with the King had survived.

The entire country was in chaos. There was no government and no one left to form one. Rioting had turned the capital city into a warzone. Even Paolo was shaken up. He was a Mirandian citizen, after all. Paolo and his associates, Tito and Sergio, had been preparing to transport some Mirandian nobility to EU territory when the bombing happened. Now those Mirandians were all dead. Their clients, panicking, called them to tell them there was a change in plans. They had managed to locate the surviving heir to the throne, and they wanted Paolo and his men to intercept him before anyone else did.

Prince Lucius was only 19. He was only a distant cousin of the king, and until the disaster of two days ago he had been 28th in line for the throne. He was not interested in politics and tried to live his life out of the public eye. If he was known for anything it was his sporting prowess: he had been a youth tennis champion and was currently in training to represent Mirandum in the next summer Olympics. Paolo had occasionally seen pictures of Prince Lucius in the papers. He remembered one in particular from an article about the Olympic tryouts. The teenage Prince had a lanky, wiry build and a round, youthful face with large brown eyes and gently curled brown hair. Prince Lucius was the kind of person Paolo would have found attractive... if Paolo would allow himself to have those sort of feelings.

The Prince had been attending university in Florence when the bombing occurred. He had immediately taken the train to the international airport at Rome where he was waiting for a flight to Mirandum. All flights had been suspended for at least 24 hours, so Paolo's team had time to catch up to him. They found him sitting on his suitcase amongst a crowd of stranded Mirandians, looking up at the television monitors broadcasting the latest news about the palace attack.

Paolo introduced himself as Lieutenant Argentini from the Mirandian police, flashing a fake badge and ID. Prince Lucius only nodded absently. Paolo could see that the boy was numb and that the reality of the situation was only slowly sinking in. "I just saw on it on the news," said the Prince. "My parents and my sister have been confirmed dead. Are there any survivors from my family at all?"

"Your Highness, we are deeply sorry. The reports are still coming in and we will keep you informed. Our job now is to assure your safety. We have a ship waiting in the harbour to take you to a safe location." They escorted the Prince out to the parking lot and into their car, a black sedan with tinted windows like those used by the Mirandian secret service.

When Paolo turned the keys, the radio blared on with more news about the tragedy. Paolo switched it off. "I'm sorry, Prince Lucius, but you really don't need to hear any more of that for the moment."

From the front passenger seat, the Prince smiled wearily. "Thanks. But you can call me Luca. Everyone does."

"If you insist," said Paolo, awkwardly. "...Prince Luca."

Luca sighed. His friends in Florence had treated him as a normal university student, but now that world was gone forever. It had been his first year away from home and he had enjoyed it so much. Now it all felt like a dream never to be recovered. To be a normal teenager, without having to worry about family obligations or how he would appear in the press. Suddenly Luca had a terrible thought. "Excuse me, Lieutenant, but do you happen to know... who is now the heir apparent?"

"Well, your Highness," said Paolo, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, "it appears that you are."
The confirmation of his fears hit Luca like a jolt of cold water. He put his hands over his face and sank down in his seat.
When they reached the harbour, Paolo pulled the car up to where a small motor yacht was docked. Tito and Sergio got out first and opened the trunk, but Paolo motioned for Luca to stay in the car.
"I don't suppose you can tell me where we're going?" The prince asked.
"We don't know ourselves," said Paolo. "Once we embark we will be contacted by our superiors."

Luca thought he saw an expression of sympathy for a moment on Paolo's face. Luca was surprised, but had no time to react, when Paolo reached across the seat and grabbed him in a headlock. Luca heard the car door open and one of the other men, the taller burly one, leaned into the cab and pinned Luca's body against the seat. Unseen hands took Luca's left arm; he felt a prick above his elbow. Luca didn't even have time to scream.

"What?" Luca gasped. When his attackers released him, he fell back into the car. He looked down at his arm and saw a pin-point of blood, then looked up to see the other men putting away a syringe.
"Sedative. I apologize, your Highness, but we can't take any chances." Paolo got out and walked around to Luca's side of the car, offering him his arm. "It's rather fast-acting, so take care. You're going to start feeling woozy."

"You're not with the police."
"I am sorry for the deception, Your Highness, but it was necessary for our purposes."
Luca's mind was already whirling. He stumbled out of the car and looked around him. The harbour seemed deserted. It wouldn't be worth calling for help if no one was there to hear him. All of the sudden Luca felt very strange. When he tried to take a step his leg felt like it was made of lead.
"Careful there," said Paolo, catching Luca just before he hit the ground.
Luca no longer wanted to scream, anyway. It was taking all his energy to keep his eyes open. Paolo dragged him on board the ship and placed him on a bunk in the cabin. Luca heard the engine start and felt the yacht pushing off from the dock, then lost consciousness.
When he woke up, he was handcuffed and sitting up in a dark room. Paolo brought him some fast food and freed his hands to let him eat it. Luca still felt groggy afterwards, and soon fell asleep in his chair.

Paolo's team had been instructed to bring the Prince to the safehouse they had prepared earlier for the Mirandians. The agency had informed them of the current situation in Mirandum: an extremist group had claimed responsibility for the bombing, and UN troops had come in to establish a temporary government. They had also learned that several minor Mirandian nobles who were living in Italy and France had been murdered immediately after the bombing. The extremists seemed bent on exterminating the noble family. It was not safe for the Prince's whereabouts to be known. The agency was currently working out a deal with the CIA, who had the resources to get the prince out of Europe without attracting notice.

"We'll probably have to lay low for a while," Paolo told Sergio and Tito when he got off the phone from his clients. "A couple of months at least."

"A couple of months in a beach house on San Sebastiano? It could be worse." Tito shrugged. He was the muscular, younger man who had held Luca down in the car.
"I ain't complaining" added Sergio. He was middle-aged, slightly stocky, and had a dark moustache.
Paolo had worked with both Sergio and Tito before and trusted them fairly well. Paolo was especially glad that neither one of them drank too much or talked too much.
"It could even be a nice vacation," said Sergio, dryly. Tito scoffed.

Paolo ducked into the kitchen to check on Luca. They had left the prince asleep, but he looked terribly uncomfortable sitting upright with his head slumped forward against the table. Paolo wondered if he should put him to bed.

The phone rang again. It was their contact at the agency. He sounded annoyed. "Here's the plan. We're going to give the kid up to the CIA. First, though, you're going to have to keep him undercover for a few months, until his appearance has altered enough not to attract suspicion."
"Wait, appearance altered? That's specialist stuff. And if you think you can find a plastic surgeon on San Sebastiano..."
"Don't worry, this is very low-tech. We just want him to gain a few pounds."
"...What kind of a disguise is that?"
"Look, this is the CIA's plan, not ours, but it seems sound. We know the extremists are monitoring border traffic. The facial recognition software that they currently use will fail to recognize a subject if they have gained a certain amount of weight."
Paolo could not believe what he was hearing. "How much?"
"Oh, say, about 50 kilos."
Paolo was momentarily stunned. "I guess we have the time for that. But what if he won't eat?"
"Make him. Tomorrow when you go to pick up supplies, further instructions will be relayed to you."

Tito and Sergio took the news fairly well, although Tito couldn't hide a smile. "Damn, I wonder how long that will take. This really is going to be a vacation. And I didn't even bring my swim trunks."
"You can buy some tomorrow when you go into Santa Maria for supplies. We'll get more instructions then."
"Yeah, this sounds like a CIA plan all right," muttered Sergio.
"You have a better idea?" said Paolo. "We're still too close to Mirandum to risk smuggling him out of the country. Right, I'm going to put the kid in the master bedroom. I can babysit him tonight, you two can fight over who get the bedroom with the best view."

Paolo scooped the limp Luca into his arms and carried him upstairs. He lay the prince on top of the bedcovers and carefully took off his sneakers and socks. Luca groaned in his sleep. Paolo stroked his hair, and Luca was quiet again. The prince was wearing a yellow tee shirt emblazoned with the logo of the Mirandian football team and a pair of green running shorts. The bright colors of his clothes set off the healthy glow of his tanned skin. His body and limbs were toned, but lean. Paolo admired the boy's graceful long legs as they lay sprawled over the mattress.

As he gazed at Luca, Paolo tried to imagine what he would look like distorted by extra layers of fat. The face softer, the limbs plumper, the stomach rounder. Perhaps it would be a pity to hide this slim elegance. But the thought of fattening Luca made Paolo extremely excited.

When he had first heard the agent's instructions, Paolo didn't want to believe his ears. He had to carefully control his emotions and pretend that he thought the plan was ridiculous. In fact, what Paolo was being asked to do was to carry out his darkest, most shameful, most gratifying fantasy.

Paolo settled himself into an armchair in the corner of the room and watched Luca sleep. The prince was peaceful, oblivious to Paolo's intentions.

Paolo was going to enjoy this job.