Excerpt: Stolen Time

To hear excerpts from Stolen Time read by the author, listen to the Time Out! podcast at http://www.penslinger.com

Week 1
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What the hell is going on? Angie asked herself.
She had been walking down the street looking forward to dinner with Ness when suddenly she heard sqealing brakes, close by. She had turned to look at the source, a rusty white van that had pulled up nexxt to her on the street, and before she could do anything else the side door slid open and two men jumped out. They deftly slid a hood over her head and then pulled her into the van. Then the door was shut and the van was moving again. She doubted if it had been stopped for longer than three seconds.
Strong hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her up. She struggled, but the hand held her easily. Another pair of hands pulled her arms backwards and she felt a restraint tighten around her wrists. It was tight enough to hold her, but not so tight that her hands lacked blood flow. Then she was led backwards a step or two and placed in a waiting seat.
"Take the hood off," a voice commanded in a thick German accent.
The hood was pulled off and she glared up at the man who had taken it off, and older man with salt-and-pepper hair and expressionless gray eyes. Another man chuckled a large black man who was just taking off his ski mask.
Another man stoop-walked from the front passenger seat to the rear of the van to sit opposite of her. The other men made way for him, so he was clearly in charge. He had short dark hair, and a silver goatee. His eyes were green, she noticed as she tried to memorize his features. Angie also noticed a few scars on his face and hands.
"Not too smart showing your faces to me," she said hotly. She hoped this didn't mean she would be killed, but she was already getting the sense this was more that the average rape and dump scenario.
"We have no worries about that," the man said. He said the "W" like a "V" and was clearly the source of the German accent she had heard earlier.
"You will not be, how do you say, 'getting away'." He chuckled, and the black man joined in. The other man watched the conversation without comment.
Angie felt her hopes fall to a pit in her stomach. They were going to kill her.
"Oh, we will not kill you. That will be up to your husband."
Angie's brow furrowed as she tried to understand what Ness could have to do with this. Karl pulled a tube out of his jacket pocket. It looked like an Epi-pen, the kind that those with extreme allergies carried with them in case they had a reaction. He pulled a cap off of one end, and then leaned toward her to jab the black-tipped end against her leg. She felt the sting of the needle in her flesh, and then the burn of whatever the pen contained. After a moment he pulled the pen from her leg and sat back.
"Your husband has told you about Intellisys, yes?"
"Ness? No, he's never mentioned it." Her confusion at the question was masked by the growing pain in her body. She felt as if her veins were afire. She wondered what he'd injected her with.
"A pity," the man said, putting the penback in his pocket. "Your husband has something we need. Something of ours. We need it back, and we need him."
"I don't know what you are taking about," Angie said through clenched teeth. The pain was growing, and she felt a sweat break out on her forehead. "What do you need Ness for? Are you going to prosecute."
The man gave a short humorless laugh.
"No, we need him to use the device he has in his posession to forward our aims. You are the carrot that will make him do our will."
"And why the hell would he do anything for you?" She was panting now, the pain actually causing her toes and fingers to curl invountarily.
"Because if he does not, then you won't get the antidote."
That caught her attention. Antidotes are only needed for....
"You poisioned me?"
"I'm afraid so," the man said without a hint of remorse in his voice.
"And there's an antidote?"
"Yes there is, mein lieber, but that will not save you."
"What? Why not?" The brief hope that the idea of an antidote gave her began to fade away.
"Perhaps I misspoke, yes?" He said with a smile that held no warmth. "English is not my first language, as I am sure you can tell. It is not so much an antidote as an..."
The man made a show is groping for the right word.
"...inhibiter. Yes, that is the correct word. It only delays the inevitable."
As the realization that she was going to die from this poison reached her face, and the grief and fear were plain on her face, the man smiled again. This time he meant it.