The Desert Nexus.

Book 1

Proofed and Edited 12/31/11

Nexus nex·us  nek-sus

- noun, plural nex·us·es 

- a means of connection; tie; link.

- the core or center of an operation.

This story is in the same Universe as The Hotel, but only touches tangentially on that tale until the very end, although readers of that older story will certainly recognize various major players and locations.  This is a long, seven part story with bondage and female slavery as the context focus - it is Not a page after page masturbation fantasy. 

For those who haven't read The Hotel, a few notes...

Sheik Hassan - The man whose tentacles of slavery reach into every country.

Suliman's - An erotic school in Turkey that turns out exquisite courteseans whose skills are indicated by the color of their silk neck ware.  These are not usually slaves or bound women and are known as silk girls.  They are extremely expensive.

Tarkan's - A slavery, also in Turkey, where any and all kinds of women are collected, bought and sold.  These women range in value from a few hundred dollars to a million Euros each.

The delivery service.  Run by a Frenchman, for several thousand dollars he can deliver any woman from any place in the world to any other.  Somehow.

---------------

Prolog

I opened my eyes and began wondering where I was.  That was a definite mistake - not the wondering bit, but the part where I was staring directly into the Iraqi sun.  That definitely did not help my splitting head at all.  I instantly closed them and concentrated on making the throbbing go away.  That was better.  If I could find a cooler place to relax...

My eyes snapped open again almost with an audible click.  Not to stare at the sun again, but at the still burning remains of our CH-46 Chinook helicopter.  I didn't exactly jump to my feet, but I managed to assume a somewhat vertical stance as I looked around at the disaster.   It didn't resemble a flying machine at all - just several piles of burning machinery surrounded by pieces and shards of metal.  Including over a dozen inert lumps that had been the crew and my squad.  Since I had been standing in the open hatch, I must have been thrown clear on impact. 

It didn't take but a few seconds of observation to see that none of them were in any condition to be assisted by me - in fact, it would take a coroner just to determine who was who.  

I began to cycle into survival mode.  I knew that whoever shot the missile (or round, or rock or whatever got us) would soon be along to make sure the job was completed.  I had to beat feet rapidly.  My bandolier was still around my neck, so I looked for and found what appeared to be a serviceable M-4 rifle.  I had long ago learned that the most important item for desert survival, beside protection, was water.   The crash had been violent and pieces of 782 gear had been thrown everywhere.  I found a web belt, and began to look for and collect any canteens that had survived the impact and the fire.  Shortly I had seven attached to the belt and thrown over my shoulder.  On an impulse, I grabbed the tarp that we used to keep flying sand out of the ready ammo.

From the skid marks left by the falling chopper, I knew which way we had come from.  Obviously, back that way would be the bad guys so I needed to get gone in another direction - now!  To the south the terrain looked somewhat more rough, so I headed that way.  Unfortunately, a blind man could follow my footprints in the sand.  Hopefully, I could find some harder terrain.  I continually looked over my shoulder and then around in all directions for any pursuers, but saw no one.  Finally, I came to a small hill, climbed it and settled down behind some rocks.  It was time for some rest, a couple of pieces of grunt candy - ibuprofen -  and some major planning.

It was about 6 hours to sundown, and I would wait here until then, unless the tactical situation required me to haul ass, suddenly.  Walking fast in the Iraqi sun causes massive sweating, and requires a corresponding massive input of water, which I didn't have.   Walking at night is much more comfortable, and in my situation, safer.   There were no sticks or wood within a zillion miles of this place, but I stacked up two pillars of rocks to make a small tent shelter with the tarp to get out of the direct sun.  I could barely make out the remnants of the smoke from the crash far in the distance, but still no movement.   That was puzzling - there was no way that the bastards that shot us out of the sky wouldn't check for survivors.  Unless... Maybe the chopper had had a major malfunction and just suddenly crashed.  The problem with that theory was, that if I waited by the wreckage for rescue, and, if I was wrong, I was dead.

As I watched over the horizon for any movement, I ran over my few options.   A direct walk to the north back to Bagdad would take me through the active uprising area.  I probably couldn't get through there alive with an entire company for escort.  Going around to the east was unknown territory for me - I would have no idea which of the few towns were friendly and which were not.   A detour in a big circle to the west would be much safer, but I knew for a fact that there were no sources of water in that vast desert that I could find and seven canteens would take me only a part of the way.

That left south - a somewhat safer area.  At the Saudi border, directly south, was a series of unnamed and shallow water sources.   Lakes, I guess you could call them, although I had no idea where the water came from.   The problem was, that the distance I estimated to be about two hundred kilometers.  I could make that, but I would have to hurry and really watch the water.   If I made it...  I started again. Once I made it to the lakes, my water problem would be reset and I could then plan the next course of action. 

As the sun was setting, I saddled up and got ready to move.  By now my muscles were informing me of what I had been through a few hours ago, but they should loosen up in a while.  With my compass, I selected a star that was just becoming visible in the direction I assumed I needed to go and started off at a fast pace.  Nothing happened during the night as I piled up the klicks.  Fortunately, I ran into no sandstorms or bad weather, although one of the infrequent massive rains would have been helpful.  I rested the next day, and started again.  And again...

I only had three MRE's for food, but it is water that counts in the desert, not chow.  If I started getting weak, I could easily shoot something and cook it over a fire made of the very sparse brush that I passed on occasion.  If I didn't find water in a few days, food wouldn't matter. 

I missed the lakes - not a surprise since I had only a vague idea where they were and where I started from.  I was finally down to no water and counting steps one hundred at a time, then the next hundred.  I could see the shadow of a mountain in the distance and used that as my point of reference.  What the heck - that was a good a destination as anything.  The sun was up but I didn't stop because I knew that if I quit now I would never get up again.  I thought about the girls I had known to keep my mind off my swollen tongue. 

Surprisingly, the mountain was getting closer fast.  Very fast.  I must have really been putting the klicks under my exhausted legs.

Then I ran into the mountain.  It was hard...

---------------

The Story

I awoke in Heaven, which really surprised me for two reasons.  First, I had never believed in an afterlife, and second, there was no way that I would be let in even if it existed.  But here I was - laying on an unbelievably soft bed, under what seemed to be silk sheets, with two angels standing beside the bed.  And to add proof that it was actually the promised land, Heaven was equipped with air conditioning.  Now all I needed...

Snap!  Suddenly my brain started functioning again and I actually woke up with the exclamation of "What the hell..." which wasn't really the proper expression for what was really a nirvana - even if it couldn't be the real thing.  A second or so later, I was reconsidering the fact that maybe I had  made it after all.  On each side of the bed was a girl right out of Hollywood and the Arabian Nights.  One was black, the other white, but their attire was the center of my attention.  It was pure harem girl fashion, with transparent silks showing everything - EveryThing!  Both just stood there and looked at me with no discernible expression, which was fair since I was assaulting them visually with wide open eyes.   This can't be happening - I'm still laying out in the desert having hallucinations as I expire.  My body didn't think it was a dream.  It was reacting even as I watched.  At least that proved that I didn't leave my cojones out in the sands.  Then I realized that under the sheets, I was totally naked - not even wearing a flimsy hospital gown.

The black girl turned, walked to the wall, then came back to the original position.  It was then I noticed that both were wearing golden chains.  Loose chains, one to each wrist and ankle from some kind of neck collar, but long enough not to restrict movement in any way.  I made an effort to shut down the out-of-control thoughts I was having.  At least I hadn't woken up in a Taliban, cave chained to the wall. There was lots of intel here, but not enough was understood to be able to make any tactical moves.  Female nudity I didn't object to, but I wasn't used to it - especially in this part of the world where most women spent their entire day covered from head to toe.   I relaxed, and continued to enjoy the scenery while waiting for the next move of...  who?

The black girl's foray to the wall must to have been to push a button or pull a bell rope or something.  Very shortly a man entered and stopped at the foot of the bed.  His English was understandable, but not all that good and I won't attempt to recreate his halting sentences, just the meaning.

"Ah, Mister Sergeant.  You are awake at last."  He held up his hand as I started to reply.  "Please wait for your questions until later.  I am not qualified to answer them.  First you must eat.  Then the chirurgeon will look at you again."  He clapped his hands - I kid you not - just like in the movies, and though the door? curtains? came yet another babe in transparent clothes pushing a food cart.   Another motion by him and my two original angels helped me to a sitting position and deposited a gigantic pillow behind me to lay back against.  A bed tray was set over me and filled up with plates of not totally unknown food, although, at this point I would have eaten boiled leather.  There was certainly nothing wrong with it, especially when served by two sets of tits bobbing back and forth as the owners moved plates and dishes around.  I went easy on the wine.  Wine?  Alcohol in the Middle East?  Hmmmmm.  Anyway, I wanted to have my wits around me - this was too much like being fatted up for slaughter.

Once the meal was over, I took stock of my physical self.  It was obvious that I had barely squeaked through my adventure.  I could feel blisters on my feet, my face was hot from probable sunburn and I had just enough energy to lay back on the big pillow.  I noticed both girls backing up to the walls, then saw the reason.  A doctor had entered the room.  And this one looked just like any medical person anywhere, including the white jacket and listening thingie hanging from his neck.

"How're we feeling, Sergeant?" he asked as he stopped beside the bed.  No Saudi this - his accent was pure British.  He started probing around my midriff, poking and listening. 

"Better than anytime in the last few days, for sure," I answered.  "Say, Doc.  What the hell is this place?"

It didn't work. He put his finger to his lips and smiled.  "Rest now, questions and answers later, old boy."  He looked at the bottom of my feet, seemed satisfied, then continued, "No need to worry.  You're in a place of friends.  And the proper American authorities will be notified that you are still among the living.  I suspect that your host will speak to you later this evening."

What the heck.  Go with the flow, I decided.  "Can you at least tell me where I am?"

"Certainly, old boy.  This is the residence of Sheik Abdul Hassan, in northern Saudi Arabia."

---------------

Later that day

I was sitting up by now and had been provided with a robe.  There was nothing seriously wrong with me - I was young and in top physical shape - just beaten to hell by several days and several hundred klicks of desert walking.  When I indicated to the girls that I had to take a leak, they handed me a bowl, then removed it when I was finished with no more expression than they had shown when serving the meal.  Hell, I could have filled it with a garden hose for all they seemed to care.  My appreciation of them had settled down to general admiration of the female form.

The dude that had originally greeted me entered again that evening.  I assumed it was evening - at least it was many hours since I woke up.  "Greeting, Mister Sergeant," he began.  "Are you adequate to a speaking with his Excellency?"

"Sure, as long as I don't have to walk very far."

"No walking at all," he replied and clapped his hands again.  Another girl pushed a wheelchair into the room.  I settled into it and out the room we went.

It was apparent very quickly that this was no ordinary house, but rather was a massive mansion.  I was wheeled up and down hallways too fast to make any kind of examination, but it was obvious that so far the total of the treasures that I had been pushed past exceeded the total worth of my hometown.  I didn't know what to do with that fact, so I just let it rest for later consumption.

Eventually we came to a very large study, expensive books in expensive bookcases, furniture polished to a shine that would satisfy a drill instructor and so forth.  Standing in the middle of the room was the Great Man.  I was rolled into the room, and immediately my pusher girl and her main man disappeared.

The man in the room was middle aged, dressed sort of half Middle East and half western.  Immediately he said, "Sergeant Harris.  Are you up to a drink?"  Perfect English with no accent.

"Thank you, Sir," I replied.  "Anything you have."

"Scotch?"  I nodded and he walked over and unlocked a cabinet.  Shortly, I had a glass of the smoothest booze I had ever tasted.  It suddenly occurred to me where I was.

"I'm not complaining, Mr. Hassan, but isn't alcohol a no-no in these parts."

He smiled.  "Yes, of course.  It can get you flogged just for possession, let alone consumption."  He sat down in an overstuffed leather chair in front of me.  "I am afraid that I, like my father before me, have been corrupted by western values, Sergeant.  At least, that is what the common people would think if they knew. 

He looked though the amber liquid in his glass for a few moments, then continued.  "I am a Sybarite, Sergeant."  I didn't know the word, but I could guess its meaning.  "I take and use the best from every part of the world, wherever I can find it.   The world would be a better place if that were done by everyone.  For examples, your country would be for the better if you were to adopt our attitude for crime - few criminals would chance being subjected to our kind of justice.  This country would be enhanced if the people would realize that western antibiotics are better for a wound than camel dung and so forth."  Another swallow.  "I am trying to bring the common people that I am responsible for out of the past and into the present.  It is slow, but it will happen."  His American English was too perfect to have been learned by living in the US.  For one thing, it was totally lacking in slang.  It had to have come from lessons and a teacher.

"But," he changed the course of the conversation, "I am interested in your recent adventure.  From my... contacts, I know who you are and most of your past history, but the part between your departing on your mission and your arrival in this country is blank.  Would you grant me the boon of giving the story."

"Sure," I replied.  "It's the least I can do for your kindness so far."  I gave him a fairly complete description of my adventure, even though the last part of walking to the mountain was fairly hazy.  Then I asked him to fill in what happened afterward.

"That part is simple and short.  You triggered an alarm at a water well.  Apparently by trying to enter the building.  A security detachment was detailed to investigate and found you unconscious beside the structure."  I thought about that for a few seconds.  So my mountain that I had seen on the horizon and then "walked into" was the side of a barn, or equivalent.

I set the glass down and said.  "There is no way for me to repay you, Mr. Hassan, but I can assure you that I am grateful for your saving my life.  And I can guarantee that my superiors will be told that in no uncertain terms."

He smiled.  "The American authorities have been notified of your... survival and whereabouts.  Tomorrow you will be driven to the airbase at Riaude and turned over to them.  But for tonight, could I discuss a possible future for yourself."

What the heck was this?  This guy was a gazillionaire and I was a dumb grunt with a high school education.  He could hire the most expensive help on the planet out of petty cash, so what possible value could he get by hiring me?  If that is what this was about. What could I do but nod?

He sat back, reached over and picked up a folder.  "A day or so is too short a time to compile any kind of complete dossier on someone, but I have friends in high places, as the saying goes.  Many friends and very high places."  He opened the folder.  "You grew up in a small town in the southern part of Texas and you are fluent in Spanish.  And you are twenty two years of age, unmarried, irreligious, not homosexual and an expert marksman.  After grand school, you apparently had some contretemps with the local authorities." 

I assumed that he meant high school - that was the first time I noticed him to flub his English.  Anyway, it was more a statement than a question, but I answered.  "Yes sir.  There were no jobs available at the time, even if I had a skill.  I drifted into the pay of the local, well, it wasn't a gang as we think of it today, but I am afraid that much of their income was not exactly from legal sources.  The Judge gave me a choice between the Army and going up the river.  And here I am.  It was a good choice." 

After saying that, I wasn't sure if he would connect "river" with "prison", but he nodded and said, "It appears that you are a lot like me - an amoral person.  That is, you wouldn't deliberately bring harm to another man, but silly religious and moral beliefs are not for you.  Plus, you have risen rapidly to a role of leadership in a difficult, shall we say career?  And after three - what is the word? - tours of duty?"  I nodded "...you are alive and unwounded and highly thought of by your superiors.  In the American idiom, it appears that you have replaced a lack of higher education with an ability to think on your feet.  I have need of a representative of that mettle in America."

I waited for a few seconds for him to continue.  "Doing what?" I hesitated then added,  "If I may ask."

He smiled and got to his feet.  "Do you like women, Sergeant?" 

That was unexpected.  But I have to admit that I have always considered the pleasure of shooting a gun to be exceeded only by the use of pussy.  Preferably more than one or more than once.  "Er... yes, of course," was all that I could come up with.

"I have taken the liberty of assigning a therapist to you for tonight.  You are still recuperating, but I am sure your body will welcome some attention by a skilled practitioner.  Good night to you, Sergeant."

---------------

My Room

After being wheeled back to my quarters, my valet, as I began to think my unnamed male servant, did his clapping routine and he, my girl pusher and my two bedside angels instantly disappeared, leaving me sitting in the wheelchair.   Immediately, into the room came my "therapist."   Holy shit!  A slight girl, maybe 5'3", without an ounce of fat, tits of a perfect size for her and hairless from the neck down.  That was easy to tell, since she was totally nude without even so much as a ring on a finger.

I had been tired of sitting in that damned chair, so I stood up and pushed it out of the way.  I had no problem with moving, as long as I didn't have to hike somewhere on my blistered feet.  She took me by one hand and slowly guided me through a curtain lined doorway behind the bed.  Inside was a sumptuous bathtub and shower.  Ok, bathtub is not a good description.  Gigantic hot tub with tons of marble and gold fittings describes it better.  She pulled me to the shower, pushed some buttons on a panel, and then pushed me into the warm water stream.  I won't describe the shower, but suffice it to say that she scrubbed every part of me with soap and some kind of abrasive sponge.  Of course, by now my johnson was at full attention so I hoped that she wasn't easily offended.  She wasn't - heck, I could have been a marble statue for all she noticed.

Afterward, back in the bedroom, I watched as she opened a cabinet, pulled out a sheet of something, then spread it over the bed.  Then she pointed to it for an obvious reason.   Hmmmm.

In my halting Arabic, I said, "I can understand your talk if you speak slow."  But she just shook her head, pointed to me and again indicated that I should lay on the bed.  What the heck, I certainly wasn't going to fight with a naked girl that wanted me to lay down.  I started for the bed and she shook her head, then pointed to my robe and then to the floor.  Ok that made sense - off it came.  I climbed into the bed and began to lay on my back, when she rotated her wrist as an indication that I should flip over onto my stomach.  No problem.  Then she brought what looked like a huge salad bowl and set it beside me.  It was half full of liquid - I thought.  With my head turned, I watched her cup her hands, dip into the bowl and lift out a double handful of what?...

Jeez!  It was clear, but looked like the slime in a horror movie, or that stuff that kids play with at Halloween.   Her hands came up full but the stuff trailed down into the bowl as she dumped the load onto my back and began to spread it around.   It was warm and slicker than rifle lubriplate.  Shortly, she began her massage.  Soon, both of us and the bed were covered in the pleasantly scented goop.  It was a strange feeling, laying there in, and being covered with the stuff, but I decided not to complain.

Now, I have never had a massage in a parlor, either by a legitimate therapist or a hooker, but I decided that I might have been missing something.  This girl used every part of her body as she moved from the back of my neck to the soles of my feet, slithering back and forth, up and down.  Most interestingly, even though the massive erotism of the act was apparent, I shortly began to just enjoy the massage.  It felt wonderful.  My rod actually began to subside in the pleasure of her actions with the goop.

Well, it didn't actually subside for very long.  Eventually, she waved that I should turn over. Now I could actually see her as she went through her routines.  Instantly, my brain had to supply a considerable supply of blood to a lower part of my body.  This was a very young woman, but she had more experience and ability than any of the thirty something 'hos that I had used in the past.  Far more. She wasn't coy - every now and then, my pecker was the target of her ministrations until she thought I was about to blow, then she would move to massage some other spot.  Sometimes she would have her tits dangling just above my face, and then would turn around to work the other end of me and her twat would be in full open view - on purpose.   By now, both of us were totally covered with the slimy goop, which only added to the sensations.   She apparently had an intimate knowledge of the human body - nerve endings or response points or some such.  Her actions were not touched by any particle of affection, or feelings, or tenderness - just pure, raw, intensive sexual stimulation.

Finally, minutes or hours later, she straddled me and slowly began to impale herself as she looked me straight into the eyes.  By now, I had no conscious will left and just enjoyed laying there in an intense haze of stimulation as her tight slit moved up and down my rod.  When I went off, I was surprised that she wasn't lifted into the air from the force.  My nuts actually began to ache from the intense orgasm.

As we lay there, her slight body on top of me and her head resting on my shoulder, I realized that I now had a problem.  After this little fireball, screwing any of the bitches that usually serviced me was now going to be like jacking off into a watermelon.  I could recognized that she had far surpassed the line that separated mere competence from total mastery of a skill.

I dozed for a while, then she began to rise, pulling on my hand for me to follow.  Into the shower again and she washed every last bit of the goop from our bodies, but...  She focused more attention on my groin than it needed in the act of cleaning - including some extra close refurbishing with her mouth.  Before I knew what was happening, I was blind with lust again and shortly was blasting another load into her.

Somebody had been watching.  When we re-entered the bedroom, the bed had been made and all evidence of the slime, and our sex act, was gone.  She gently pushed me onto the bed and immediately disappeared behind the curtained door that she had come in.  She hadn't spoken a word in my presence.  I just crawled under the sheet and collapsed.

---------------

New York

I was standing on a street in Manhattan, looking up at the street signs.  Two more blocks east and about four south would bring me to the office building I was looking for.  It had been about three months since my adventure in the desert and I had been a civilian for two of them.   My return to my outfit in Bagdad had been fairly uneventful.  My debriefing took several days and as it turned out, we hadn't been shot down.  As I had speculated that day, the crash was an accident, either pilot error or a machine malfunction.   I never found out, since I was long gone from the country before any determination was made.   If I had stayed with the chopper, I would have been found the next day.  Well, I did what I had to do and it turned out ok in the end.

I mustered out a month later when my enlistment was up - a free man, both from the Army and the judicial system that put me in it.  I had no regrets - the Army - and the war - had been both good to me and good for me.   Now I was following up on an offer made by my previous host, Sheik Hassan, that he gave me as I left his domicile.

The visit to the office was short and only concerned the receptionist who gave me a set of instructions and a plane ticket.

---------------

Saudia Arabia

My entry into the country was about par for the course - at least at the beginning.  Middle Easterners aren't all that fond of Westerners - they like our money, and fear our power, but there is no love lost between the average citizens of both regions.  I was treated with the same cold courtesy showed to all strangers in that part of the world until I showed my document with the name Abdul Hassan printed and signed prominently at the bottom.  Suddenly, I was elevated to just about royalty status.   My luggage was returned in haste, my passport stamped so quickly I was afraid that the little official dude would spring his wrist,  and a smiling lackey escorted me to the private loading area.  There a limo was waiting and very shortly, I was heading up the road at some ungodly speed across the desert.

Several hours later, I recognized the compound that passed as Hassan's home.  It was more like a small town, hundreds of miles from anywhere, with a stone wall right out of the history books, water gardens, the main residence and dozens of other outbuildings of unknown purposes.  On the front steps was my old "valet."  He waved his hands and my luggage was instantly claimed by a helper, then to me he said, "Welcome back, Mister Sergeant.  Please follow me."  Shortly I was in a suite with a half dozen servants all trying to be of service, even though with only one suitcase there wasn't much work for them.

"Please, relax for the afternoon, Mister Sergeant.  His Excellency requests that you join him for dinner this evening.  Until then, Shasha will see to your needs."  He pointed to a young dish, brown and with long shiny black hair, naked and waiting in the corner.  Interesting.  She had golden bracelets connected with a like colored chain, and anklets hooked the same way.  The chains were light enough and long enough to allow most normal uses of both her hands and arms, so I assumed that the purpose was symbolic - to indicate to others - and her - that she was a bound female. 

I nodded, and he and all but the girl left.

Ok, so I was asked to have dinner with the Man.  His "request" for my presence was exactly the same as a General who "asks" for something.  It was an order, pure and simple.  Meanwhile...  In my halting Arabic I told the girl, "I need a bath."  Instantly, she moved across the room to a curtained doorway, and waited - the bathroom, I assumed.   It was.

What a bath!  I just lay back in the deep tub, soap suds a foot high on the surface of the water.  My little bath girl sponged and rubbed - far beyond what it took to get me clean.  What the hell, I decided.  It was obvious that this wasn't some strict oriental bath shop, where the attendants were off limits.   She rubbed everything she had against me, so I rubbed back.  While she cleaned, I felt and probed.  She didn't complain - just giggled and squealed as I nipped and pinched here and there.   Finally, I had all I could take, pulled her around in the water, facing away from me and wondering what would happen once she realized where I was maneuvering her.   What happened was, that she reached down and guided my now throbbing cock into her warm and sudsy wet slot.  I had never tried to screw under water, and the movements were much slower than I was used to, but by reaching around and using her tits as handles, we did pretty well.

An hour later, refreshed in more ways than one, I relaxed on the bed for a short catnap.  My internal clock was still on North American time and I wanted to be ready for whatever I was here for.  As I dozed off, I decided that this kind of life could be gotten used to.  I wondered what the bill would be.

-------------

Later

Like before, the evening meal was simple but sumptuous.  Sheik Hassan greeted me in an apparently sincere welcome and introduced me to Jean - pronounced Jhon, which led me to believe - correctly, as it turned out - that he was French.  During the meal, most of the conversation was in the form of questions to me as to my exit from the Army and what I did when I got back to the States.

Finally, in private and over forbidden cocktails, he got down to business.   The longer I listened, the higher my tendency for totally disbelief rose - I had to remind myself over and over that this man didn't play games.  Especially with some no-name ex-sergeant.  I was being considered for the position of his agent for America.  I also found out that Jean was also one of several in Europe.  He apparently understood English, but said absolutely nothing the entire time we were in the study except for an initial polite greeting.

My host was saying, "You will be an associate of Jean for a few months.  That will give both of us time to determine if we want to work with each other.  Obviously, until you become a full member of my organization, there are certain aspects to my operations that you will not know about.  During that time, you are free to decide at any time not to continue.  It has happened."  He refilled his own glass.  I wondered where he got the stuff, then reminded myself that a person of his power could stock the cabinet with plutonium if he wanted.  He continued.  "Obviously, if you and I decide to make our relationship more permanent, then certain forms as to confidentiality would come to the fore."   He was very politely telling me that I was a dead man if I ratted.  I nodded.

About an hour later, he got to his feet and motioned us to follow.  "Let me give you a short tour of some of my facilities."   Jean excused himself and I followed my host through the door and down a long hall.  A long flight of stairs - down - led us to a small room with a large window.  Beyond was a huge room - I mean, probably the size of a basketball court.  It appeared to have a translucent ceiling, but since it was now nighttime, I couldn't be sure.  Not that I spent more than a millisecond looking up.  

The room was a garden of sorts - water pools and a couple of fountains, tropical plants and bushes with winding walkways around and through.  In the distance I could see furniture of some kind.  But I didn't pay much attention to the flora either.  It was the fauna that got me goggle eyed.

Women. About 20 or so that I could see.  The room was big enough for hundreds.  All kinds and types - black, white, oriental.   Some were totally naked except for a halter, some wore various - well, I could only call them Hollywood harem garments.  I looked at my host for some explanation.

He smiled.  "This is my private seraglio."  I assumed the word actually meant harem.  "As women come and go through my organization over the years, I naturally - what is the phrase...  cherry pick...?"  I nodded.  "...cherry pick the very best for myself.  He pointed to a buxom white girl sitting on a bench about 20 feet beyond what I assumed was a one way mirror from her side.  She was reading something.  "Look at that woman closely." 

I looked.  A beautiful girl, caucasian, in her apparent twenties, totally naked except for some kind of weird bra that held her tits up without hiding anything. A great figure - not skinny, not chubby.   I certainly wouldn't kick her out of bed.  She reminded me of...  of... 

"Holy shit!"  I wasn't sure if I said that out loud, but I looked at the Sheik with my mouth open.  He nodded.  This was the actress that had the drinking problem, or drug problem, whichever it was, that got high or overdosed one night and fell off a cliff into the ocean and was never found.  We had read about it in the Stars and Stripes.  Muther frack, I muttered, this time fortunately under my breath.  All at once, the realization set in that the "hobby" of my host was real, and in spades!   I had assumed that he trafficked in third world women - ones that wouldn't be missed or that wouldn't have any effort made to be retrieved.  Or maybe even sold by families.  This put a whole new light on the... what?

My host anticipated my question.  "We get all kinds of women from all over the world.  They range from those who have never seen an electric light to royalty.  Some actually wind up in far better and longer lives than they would have had if left alone, and that doesn't always include ignorant females from the third world. There are lots of women out there who are both rich and very unhappy and wind up in better circumstances.  But, as always, the feelings of the slave mean nothing - it is her luck of the draw, I believe the saying goes.

He motioned to me and we continued down another hall, down stairs, more halls and finally up again.  Apparently we were now in an outbuilding.  At this time, I first saw what most of the world assumed disappeared hundreds of years ago - a real slaver establishment.

First, and on the lowest floor, probably four levels below ground, were small cells only big enough for a woman to lie down and stand up.  A sleeping mat was on the floor of most, along with a pot to be used as a commode.  At the moment, I only saw two women in residence.   The level would have held dozens.

The women were attached to the wall with a plain iron collar and a chain that would have restrained an elephant.  It must have just been for psychological reasons, since the barred door on each cell was obviously far more than sufficient to hold a single person.

Hassan explained, "We keep any new captures here while they get used to the idea of what has happened to them.  It might be a month, or several months.  He pointed to one of the naked females - a very nice looking brunette.  Well, her body and face were nice, at least.  At the moment she wasn't exactly turned out for the prom, with wildly disarrayed hair and no makeup whatsoever and her expression as she looked at us wasn't exactly affectionate.  "Interestingly enough, usually the educated females like her stay down here the shortest amount of time.  Once the rage and threats subside, boredom sets in and it isn't long before she will agree to just about anything to get some mental stimulation.  On the other hand, some lower class women consider that being allowed to just sit or sleep all day, and be fed without having to work for it, is a vastly superior life to what they had been living."

We climbed the stairs to the next level.  Here were much larger cells, but not much more luxurious, although these had actual doors with a window, rather than bars like the lower floor accommodations.  There were few women here - only three that I counted - but again, collared and chained to the wall. 

He went on, "These will get rudimentary training on how to act as a chattel.  Nothing rigorous, but you can tell that they have learned to be deferential to anyone in view."  That was so.  As each heard us and looked up and saw us at her window, she immediately dropped to her knees and bowed her head.

On the next level up, he continued.  "Here, the women are sorted as to their final... ah... vocation, if you will.  Most will become sexual domestics, a few will be sent off for rigorous concubine training, and rarely, one is chosen to fill a spot in my own collection."  He shook his head.  "Alas, no new women have reached that level of perfection in the last couple of years."

Above this section was a floor of miscellaneous rooms of different functions, including the kitchen that serviced all of the women in this area.  Since it was fairly late at night, it was totally empty of either chattels or staff.  There were "classrooms", a medical office, and...  and...  a room with all kinds of interesting stuff... or equipment.  In a few moments, I realized that it was a punishment room.   The clue was the wall on which hung several different kinds of whips.  Other indications were chains and manacles attached to various walls and furniture.  Wow!  It was just beginning to sink in as to just what I was getting into.   There was much more I saw on this level and the one above, but a lot of it made no sense to me.  I assumed that someday it would.

Back in his private lounge, he continued, "Some of the women will be sent to be trained, either here or in other countries."  To my questioning look, he answered, "I have an intensive training establishment here that can turn a women into a courtesan, cocotte, harlot, tart or a wife.  There is an establishment in Turkey that can do wondrous things with a woman and allow her to keep her identity and spirit.  And others in Spain, Vietnam, and the like."

He continued, "Others will be sold to dealers all over the world.  But, not much of that is done by me.  I only deal in high quality females - it is seldom that I have to dispose of an inferior product.  At any rate, when you become a full member of my establishment, you will learn much more about my activities."  

More?  Shit, how much more could there be?   Well... an entire underground world's worth, as I found out as time went along. 

---------------

Later

Later that night, laying beside a "superior product" who had drained me dry, sleep wouldn't come.  In fact, my mind was roaring with thoughts and impressions and what-ifs.  Most of what I had seen I wouldn't have believed existed before tonight, and all of it was totally illegal almost everywhere in the world.  And if I accepted the offer, I would be a part of something that most Americans would deny that even existed in our modern times. 

How could something like this be going on for decades - heck, it had been going on since prehistoric times - without hitting the headlines at least once?  Surely, in all the years since slavery was made illegal in most of the world, someone, somewhere would have exposed a slaver organization, or an operation that captured females.  Or some high class woman in all those years would have escaped to blow the whistle on her captors.  It didn't make sense, unless it was so powerful all over the world that it feared no government or justice anywhere.   And just who was "it", anyway?  Sheik Hassan?  Did he control the world's market in bound females, or did multiple copies of him occur all over the world?

And what was I going to do?

--------------

Paris, France, or parts thereabouts.

Jean did speak English.  When we left Saudi he was just a cardboard cutout to me.  I knew nothing about him except that he was now my boss for a while.  He had a major accent, but I had no problem understanding him.  In the weeks and months that followed, I picked up a fair amount of French, mostly through immersion.

His chateau was outside of Paris, about halfway down the road to Orleans.  It wasn't an entire kingdom, like the Sheiks's, but it definitely wasn't a mere middle class house.  A really nice mansion, with gardens and a huge lake.  Also hot and cold running girls, but these weren't from Hassan's stock - they could come and go as they pleased.  I found out later that they were on Jean's payroll as entertainers - either of Jean or any guests that might be in residence.  I discovered early on that, while I liked girls, and liked them best when they were under me, he was a satyr.  At any given time of the day, if he wasn't working, he would have a girl stretched out on the couch or bent over a desk. 

For two weeks or more, I just hung around as on vacation - or, "on holiday" in the local idiom goes in Europe.  I started learning French from the girls I was servicing, and since I had no other occupation, I serviced a lot.   It was a wonderful life, but I knew that eventually it would wear thin.

---------------

Time passes

I was engaged in my usual warmup activity before starting the day, i.e. I was inserted deeply into the broad that warmed my bed that night, when another cunt appeared at the door.  "Monsieur Sergeant.  Monsieur Jean wishes for your presence in the lounge."  I switched my fantasies to the fast track, unloaded into her and started pulling my clothes on.

"Ah, Bonjour Rodger," he greeted as I entered - actually his pronunciation came out as Rowjere, but I wasn't offended.  "It is time to get you trained."  He motioned me over to a large table, loaded with paperwork. "I was waiting until a new operation started up so that you can see how one goes down from the top."  He picked up a large 8x10 photograph and handed it it to me.  "A nice looking beech.   Hold on while I order coffee."

The picture was of a young woman exiting a shop of some kind.  A real looker.  I'd do her for sure, but what about her made her valuable as a female capture?  Ok, slave.  I was having trouble with that word.  I assumed it was the American in me.

When he sat down he picked up a folder and handed it to me.  I opened it and began to read.  Madem Cosette Dupont.  Twenty four years of age.  Famous soft porn French movie star.  Married a wealthy industrialist who conveniently died a couple of years later.  After the usual lawsuits by unhappy siblings and relatives, she wound up with the whole pile. 

"Who does your intel collecting?" I asked.  We were speaking English since my French was totally insufficient for anything but asking where the bathroom or train station was.

"First things first.  Sometimes, I get a request for a specific capture, like this one.  Usually, its a famous or wealthy woman and is sometimes impossible and I don't even try.  But when the request comes in, I begin the search the for a set of possible operations.  On occasion I will pick one on my own to sell - any high class European woman will bring a fabulous price within the Sheik's network.

He sat down across from me.  "Some of the Sheik's agents will take the first woman that fits the requirement.  I have a set of rules that I never bend, one of which is that I never capture a woman who has children that she is responsible for.  Or one that is in a happy marriage - not that that is a major problem these days."

"Now,  the first procedure is to find out everything about the woman. I have a worker who begins to compile a beginning dossier on her - starting with Internet searches, then possibly followed up with actual visits to the appropriate registres d'état-civil - which would be the equivalent of county courthouses in your country."

"Who does the legwork?" I asked.   "Obviously a trusted employee?"

"Ah, Bon," he replied.  "That brings up a most important - THE most important point.  That is, selecting the members of my, and someday, maybe, your organization.  The female quarry that we hunt is a minor consideration.  The world is full of targets.  But... And it is a very important but, your team members have to be dedicated and trusted.  All it takes is one to ruin your whole life."

I nodded.  It was obviously that he was talking about characteristics that organized crime had learned decades, if not centuries before.  The rewards of working outside of the law have to be very high, and so do the punishments for breaking the trust.  He gave me a rundown on his organizations.  First was a woman who did intel gathering.  I gathered that she was an expert in tracking down every last iota of info on any given person or subject. She was a cell of one - that is, she reported directly to Jean and knew nothing of anyone else in his organization.  Neither did anyone else know of her.

There was a man who was a ferret.  He specialized in disguises and infiltrating any other entity, be it a company, political unit, place of residence and so forth.  Suffice it to say that there were very few locks or alarms in the world that he couldn't open or bypass in seconds.  Also a cell of one.

The only other men who were on Jeans payroll were the heads of field teams.  Each was responsible for recruiting his own agents as needed for any field operation.  Both teams had their areas of expertise.  Again, neither knew of the other or anyone else connected to Jean.

He continued.  "I pay very well for performance and each knows that I expect expertise from them and anyone under them."  A scantily clad female came in with coffee and the mail, which he took and rewarded by sticking his hand up her brief dress and fingering her for a while as he sorted through the stack.  A smack on the butt and she left.  Back to me, he said, "None of my agents EVER come to my house and very seldom even meet with me unless there is an op going on.  If you set up operations in America, I strongly suggest that you set up a secure structure somewhat like this."

I nodded again.  That made definite sense.  He continued.  "Just as the Sheik has a hierarchy of agents, so do I, and so do most of the other of his agents, I assume.  Although I know of at least one in Asia that is a lone wolf."  He poured himself a cup of coffee and pushed the tray towards me.  I shook my head.

"Anyway, back to the process.  Once I have as much info on the target as I can find, then usually my ferret begins to physically observe her daily activities.  Nothing intense or too illegal - just observations on where she usually goes, how often, how long she stays.  And who she associates with, what her hobbies are - tennis, golf, museums, movies, etc.  Finally, I sit down and try to plan an operation.  Sometimes it takes a week to come up with a viable solution, sometimes months.  On occasion, the woman lives alone and we just go in and take her."  He shook his head with a wry expression.  "And sometimes I never come up with one and move on to another target."

He opened a folder - a dossier, I assume.  "No computer," I commented.

"No," he replied.  "Remember, security, toujours security.  Any computer can be hacked.  And it is the first thing that the authorities will seize in a raid."

"But this had to come off of a computer, somewhere."

"Oui," he agreed. "I have a very good friend in America, who has a hobby somewhat like the Sheik, although not as grand... large.  He is an expert in secure communications and set up a special laptop for me.  That's it over there.  I take it to some Internet connection somewhere, usually a busy cafe, and send an innocuous email to what looks like a friend.  It is a trigger to tell the email computer, wherever it is, to send what it has.  In a few seconds, in comes an encrypted package containing any information that one or more of my agents emailed to the server.  I bring it home, decrypt it, then print it out.  I click on an icon and the laptop destroys the original information.  When we have gotten all the info we need, the paper will go into an industrial shredder and water mulcher."

I thought about that for a moment.  "As I understand, almost any information can be retrieved from any computer if the desire and money is enough."

"Are you a computer expert?," my mentor asked.  It wasn't sarcasm - he was really asking.

I shook my head.  "Not if you are talking about programming or the like.  But I have built a few, and I can get around one pretty well."

He waved his hand at the laptop sitting across the room.  "Look at it after while and give me your opinion."

We spent an hour going over the information that his data collector had sent.  There wasn't much there - just raw statistics about her childhood, schools, education, clubs and so forth.  Obviously, we would have to wait until his ferrets got back with some info.

--------------

Time passes

I spent the next couple of weeks touring France, and working on my language lessons - that is, when I could find the time when I wasn't between a shapely pair of legs.  One thing about the immersion method of learning, it is fast even if my accent wasn't exactly pretty.  But at least I could get around on the street now without being totally helpless.

During that time I took a look at his 'secure' laptop.  I expected to see an ordinary computer with and ordinary operating system, Linux in this instance.  Instead, I found a home directory with literally thousands of folders each having thousands of files.  What the hell?  Is that what his 'expert' was calling security.  Yes, to a human it would be an impossible task to search all that, but a computer program could blow through and catalog everything in seconds.  Or so I thought.

As I dug deeper, I discovered that every file had a random name, like 'eu87Dsjiv8sl'  and '98widls9dugr.'  But, the kicker was that I discovered that every file was encrypted - thousands of them.   And, every file had exactly the same size and creation date.   WTF???  I parsed through the system logs to try to determine if any were touched at a different time which would tell me which one(s) were real.  Nothing, all logs had been erased.

An hour or so later, I decided that I was looking at the product of a genuine expert in security.  Apparently, when the program downloaded the encrypted message from wherever, it then built several thousand dummy files of exactly the same size as the real one, encrypted them, and changed the creation date on all of them to be the same. Then it erased the log files to remove all traces of what had been done.  It would take all the computers in the world a gazillion years to brute force decrypt all of those dummy files to find the real one.  I couldn't find the actual program that did the work, but it had to be on there somewhere.  Oh, well, Jean would either show me how or not, eventually.

---------------

One night

I had just gotten out of the shower, alone for a change, and wondering where my bath girl had gone.  Drying off, I heard a heated discussion in the bedroom - one that was way too fast for my still limited French.  All I could tell was that the voices were female.  Opening the door, I saw two familiar girls - very familiar.  I knew all about them physically, inside and out.  Anyway, they were standing tittie to tittie in a loud verbal disagreement.  I gathered that the topic of argument was whose turn it was to service me tonight.

Man, this was a completely different life I was having now, from my pre-Army days.  Being fought over by two gorgeous vixens was not something that was a problem as a pimply faced youth.  I just stood and watched, my ego inflating like a life vest in a water landing.   Finally, as I became afraid that the verbal assault was about to turn physical, I stepped into the room and said, "Now, now girls.  What's the problem here."   The commotion stopped - they knew better than to fight in the presence of the Master's house guest.

"Monsieur Sergeant," started the brunette.  "It is my turn tonight in your bed." 

She was a majority of one, as the redhead immediately begged to disagree.  "No it is not, you beech!  You were here last."

"She liar!  I 'ave been with Monsieur Jean last night.  You were..."

"Enough already!"  I spoke English, but they knew enough to shut up.  In stumbling French, I continued. "There is enough to go around for everybody.  You..." pointing at the redhead, "...lay there, and you on the other side."  With that I climbed into bed and pointed with both hands.  They immediately complied, glaring at each other still, but with out any further verbal abuse.

What a night!  Both tried to out do the other, and worked over my weakening body for hours.  The next morning Jean noticed that I was less than alert, but didn't comment.

---------------

Time passes

One morning, Jean called me to follow him, and we drove into the city.  We entered an ordinary cafe with Internet access and sat down.  Jean was an aberration in Frenchmen in that he far preferred coffee in a country where wine was the major drink.  We conversed in my halting French, as he casually opened his laptop, plugged in a flash drive and then keyed something in.   From watching him, anyone would have assumed that we came here for the coffee, not the Internet.   I heard a 'ping', and we continued our conversation.  After two cups of coffee, his machine pinged twice, he removed the flash drive and closed the cover.  We continued our conversation for a while longer then casually got up and left.

On the way back to his chateau, I learned that the magic program was on the flash drive - that the laptop was useless without it.  The first ping I heard was the incoming message, and the second pair of pings signaled that the program had secured the computer and had done a secure erase on the flash drive.  It was now just an empty piece of temporary storage.  He didn't say how or where he reloaded it for the next time.  I assumed that somewhere in his home was a hidden computer with the critical program.  I was wrong, I found out much later.

Once in his office, he decrypted the received message - I don't know how he determined where it was and what it was called in that gigantic mass of dummy files, but shortly we had a stack of printouts from one of his ferrets and I assumed the original file was now history.

Madam Cosette Dupont lived alone, but in a secure and very upscale apartment complex that would be tough to enter and even tougher to exit with an unwilling woman.  She was the owner of an industrial complex - or something like that - which I thought was strange for a twenty four year old young woman.  Then I remembered an item from the original data on the girl - her husband had died and she had inherited the business two years before.  I casually wondered if his death may have been assisted in some way.  

She rode the Paris metro to her office and back most days - not unusual even for the very rich, given the traffic situation in the capital.  She spent Saturdays at an exclusive club in the country.  I have to say that his ferret was thorough.  There was a two week list of her activities by the minute.  Some of the observations were from inside her company, and some were from inside the club, which meant that either the ferret got in somehow, or paid someone on the inside for the info.

We read every line on every report.  Jean made the point that this business required total concentration and if I was the type that tended to gloss over things or wanted to rush the operation, then I needed to find a different line of work.  This would be, he said, like a heart transplant operation - everything had to go according to an excruciatingly detailed plan with no missing steps and no guesswork.   Sloppy work would get the person a concrete bedroom for years.  He told me that he had had several operations that had been aborted because of circumstances, but never one that went south because of bad planning.  I could only agree.

---------------

Time passes

We were becoming friends.  One evening he sent me a new girl, named Fleurdemur which I translated as Wall Flower, so it had to be a nickname.   She was one that he had acquired for his own use, and sent to some place in Turkey for an education in sexuality.   Interesting, I thought, until he mentioned that the cost of said training was a hundred thousand euros - about a hundred and forty thousand dollars.  I just stared at him blankly.   There was no reason for him to be spoofing me, but that was ridiculous.  You could get a doctorate at an exclusive college in the States for that kind of money. 

When she left my bed, late that night, I just lay and thought about the new world that I had entered.  One that I had never had a clue even existed.  Not just modern day slavery, but the existence of women that, from a point of sexuality, made all of the women of the movies and glamor mags, and certainly any that I had used in my lifetime, seem like clumsy hick teenagers with spread legs.

This woman, wearing only a wisp of green cloth around her neck when she entered my room, had a knowledge of the male body that was clinical.  She could push here, and rub there, and pinch that and play my nerve endings like a musical instrument.  Parts of me that I never thought of as usable in the sex act, like the bottoms of my feet, and back of my neck, she manipulated to either bring me up, or if I was getting too close to shooting off, back down.  She could have me in a blind rut, with my cojones feeling like they were about to explode, and not have come close to my privates.  Where did a woman get that kind of knowledge?   Was this what the Sheik was talking about when he mentioned his training of women?  Or was it something else.

---------------

Time passes

Jean and I were looking over some new intel in his study, when suddenly, we heard a crash of glass breaking, and some yelling and screaming.  Jean reached under the table and pulled out an automatic pistol and handed it to me.  I half pulled the slide back to see if a round was chambered - no - then let it go back to rest.  I was ready to jack and load as we walked to the door, then through a small library toward the source of the commotion.  As we looked though the next door, I flipped the automatic to safe and stuck it in my belt.  Jean and I just stood there, enjoying the sport.

Two girls - the same two that I had the ménage à trois session with a couple of night ago - were rolling on the floor in a massive girl fight, hair pulling, face slapping and all.  And accompanied by screams, yells and unlikely threats.  A lamp was laying shattered on the floor, obviously the source of the noise that alerted us.  Finally, as it looked like they were about to trash the room, Jean walked in and commanded, "CESSEZ!"  Both girls immediately stopped their activity, looked up in fear, then jumped to their feet with their heads down.  "Clean this room up, then come to my study!"  They both jumped to obey, and, smiling at me, Jean turned and headed back the way we came.

Shortly, they were standing in front of his desk, very contrite, trying to explain the ruckus.  Sure enough, it was about me.  My ego was going to be blimp sized if this kept up.  Jean heard them out, then lowered the boom.

"I will give you a choice.  You can both have punishment under the whip, or you can leave my employ now.  Which is it?"  That was no choice at all for two girls whose only assets were their bodies.  Going back to living in a dirty flat on the wrong side of the city and servicing pimply faced boys and old men for coins wasn't an option they would ever choose willingly.

With her head down, the brunette said, "The whip, Monsieur."   The redhead nodded and quietly agreed, "Yes Monsieur, the whip please." 

---------------

Time passes

More information about our quarry came in from the ferret.  We pored over it page by page and line by line, and then over it again.  A large whiteboard kept a list of our musings...

Travel.  She either rides the Metro or in a private chauffered limo.  She prefers the Metro - probably because it is much faster. Occasionally uses taxis.

Home.  A secure apartment complex used by many high government officials with excellent security.  Not a good choice for a kidnapping.

Work.  Not very secure, but very busy.  She is never alone.  Her office building is a high-rise in the suburbs.

Play.  Most of her weekends are spent at her exclusive club.  Again, also used by important officials with the associated security.

Encounters.  Dates only seldom and then only high class males.  Unknown if she is straight or bi.

Misc.  She isn't a hermit. She occasionally goes shopping, or the theatre, but not anything predictable.

Jean sat back with his ever present coffee cup and waited for me to finish reading.  When I put the last paper down, he asked, "Ok.  If you had to approach this yourself back home, what would you try?"

I looked up at the white board, not really seeing it since the facts were engraved in my mind.  In a few moments I replied.  "I would say that the only opening here is while she is traveling to and from work on the train.  Every place else she goes is loaded with guards and cameras."

"As is our subway system," he replied.  "But you are right, that looks like our only point of access."  We began to outline a possible plan of attack. My duty as trainee was to build an operational plan.

---------------

The exercise room

I was never into the discipline gig - in fact, I had never hit a girl on purpose, but right now my johnson was rock hard at seeing 'my' two girls standing about ten feet apart in the middle of the floor, wrists locked together and held high over their heads by ropes dangling from the high ceiling.   They had been in that position for a considerable time, just looking at the floor and shifting their weight from time to time.   I just sat and looked, my imagination in overdrive.  Jean hadn't come back yet. 

My adrenaline wouldn't let me stay put for long, so I stood up and walked around and around them, just looking.  I stepped up behind the redhead and ran my fingers down her spine.  She jumped like she had been electrocuted the instant I touched her.  So, the anticipation was not just running high with me.

Finally, Jean came into the room carrying a braided whip, which he handed to me.  Holy shit!  Was I going to do this?  I felt of the thong - it was soft leather, and would squeeze flat, so it was hollow inside.  It wasn't a bull whip - one of those would tear a girl to ribbons.  It just looked like a smaller version of one.  He pointed to it and said quietly, "That won't cause blood unless you swing it with maximum effort."

Walking up to the girls he said, "This is your last opportunity to refuse.  Do you want to leave now, or take your punishment?"

Both just mumbled, "Punishment, Monsieur."

He nodded at me and said, "Go ahead."

Trying to look nonchalant, I walked behind the girls and measured my distance.  Uncoiling the thong, I took aim at the back of the brunette, and swung it with a goodly amount of velocity, but, of course, using no where near my maximum strength.  The girl jumped like she had been electrocuted, all the muscles in her legs, back and arms spasming.  She also let out a loud cry, that she tried to cut off.   Jean looked with approval as I stepped up to her and examined the welt across her back.  No damage to her skin.

Another lash, a pause to let her feel the full effects, then another - about ten in all.  Each were accompanied by her body reacting as before, and also the same sharp cry.  She would move her head all the way back, then all the way forward, and shift her weight from foot to foot, just trying to alleviate the pain, somehow.

The redhead's threshold of pain was much lower than the brunette's.  From the first lash, she screamed and begged and thrashed, kicking and trying to turn away from the lash.  All that got her was a few stripes on her stomach. 

We sat there, as another girl, with fearful eyes, brought our coffee tray.  After ten minutes or so, Jean took the whip and walked up to the girls. He weighed their breasts, ran his hand down to their cracks and felt for a while, then stepped behind them and gave each ten more strokes.  But, his were considerable more severe than mine.  Now the girls were in real pain, jumping and thrashing, screaming for it to stop.  When he was finished, they just hung by their wrists, their legs barely able to support them.  They had red zebra stripes from their shoulder blades down to their upper thighs.  He let them hang there for an hour, then sent another girl in to unhook the rope ends at the wall and let them down. 

---------------

Time passes

A week later, after long hours of skull sweat and even longer hours of actually investigating the physical area that would be used, I laid an outline before him.  After a long appraisal, he returned it to me with a grade of a solid F minus. 

"Rowjere, do you remember what your Honorable General Eisenhower said about plans?"  I shook my head.  "Something like 'Before the battle, plans are everything, after it starts, they are nothing.'  You are too focused on the actual operation.  If it was that easy, we could just write out the instructions and drink mint juleps until the target was delivered to us.  Remember that in our business, the most important rule is the old adage of 'He that fights and runs away, lives to fight another day.'  No target is worth the slightest risk if it can be avoided.  The world is full of other females of value."

So, I started over.  The actual operation was trivial compared to the series of 'What ifs..." that accompanied every step.  He would point at a line on my chart and ask, "Ok, your team is here with the girl, but some other maintenance worker has come along and turned on the lights.  What do they do?"  I would have to come up with a set of counter moves.  The plan had only one starting place and one successful ending, but dozens of aborted exits if necessary.  However, this operation would have a critical cusp.  If something went wrong before the girl was taken, we would just fold and start the game another day.  If it blew up after she was snatched, then that was it as far as she was concerned - the team would scatter and the plan would be shredded - metaphorically - and certain evidence would be allowed to be found that would suggest a kidnapping for ransom.

"The van has a blowout here.  Now what?" More alternative moves.  Christ, compared to Jean's requirements, the ops that I was involved with in Iraq were planned as casually as a little girl's birthday party.  Finally, I came up with an operational plan - with a lot of his help - that he approved of.  The hard part was over, now all we had to do was initiate it.  Well, so I thought at the time - actually, what followed made the previous month seem like planning a night at the movies.

Fortunately, the hard days were always followed by hard nights.  Or, nights with a hard - you get the idea.  He had a bevy of women at his chalet that were always at our beck and call.  He had no favorites that were his exclusively and I was offered the use of any of them when I wanted.  Naturally, I soon developed my own favorites that I came back to over and over.  Since his was an ordinary, if very wealthy, residence in a modern civilized country, none were slaves, or bound women, or whatever the term that may be used for unwilling cunts in servitude.  He wasn't into B&D other than casual play and had no interest in torture or captivity, although for a woman to reside in his very comfortable abode, she was required to submit to his will without reservation.   Any refusal to obey would bring instant dismissal, although I have to say that in all the time I have known him and his household, I can never recall a woman leaving against her will.   On occasion, a girl and a guest would become infatuated with each other, and she would ask permission to take up residence with her new soulmate.  Obviously, he or she didn't have to ask, but they always did - Jean being a very powerful person in his county that one would be unwise to irritate.  Jean always graciously acceded to their request - it gave him an opening to install a new and possibly even more talented "employee."  The range of talents of his dozen or so sirens was truly awesome.  Some were trained to the n'th degree in screwing, others were just young and full of raw erotism.  And others fell at all ranges between those extremes.  I had long since decided that Heaven actually existed - only it wasn't somewhere in the afterlife - it was just a few dozen miles from Paris, France.

---------------

Time passes

The week of the possible operation came around.  Jean's data collector and ferret were paid off and told to take a holiday somewhere.   

Several days were allowed for the selected team to go over the physical operational areas and to get back with more questions and suggestions.  There weren't many - at Jean's rate of pay, he expected nothing less than total expertise.   I myself spent a considerable amount of time wandering the route that the operation would take, making innocuous notes about possible problems and advantages.  Finally, we made several dry runs with the snatch team to iron out any kinks.

Jean had let me do all the actual planning, but of course, with lots of "suggestions" and input from his experience.  I had no doubt that every last element of my plan and operation was intimately scrutinized by himself in massive depth.  I didn't have a part in the actual snatch, but would just observe as it went down - or south, I grimly reminded myself.

Now we just needed the right circumstances to come together.

---------------

Time passes

It was a dark and stormy day - well, from a Parisian standpoint, anyway.  Compared to some of the storms that I had seen in the midwest of America, this was mild rainy winter day.  From the weather reports the day before, we were acting on the good chance that the day would be usable for our operation.  But first, I got a surprise the night before...

That evening before, Jean called me to his office via a message girl.  When I got there, he was in conversation with a woman - a young woman, mid twenties or so. "Ah, Rowjere.  I want you to meet Ekaterina." 

I stepped closer to her and made the obligatory greeting of "Glad to meet you, Miss Ekaterina."

"Thank you, Roger."  She nodded and continued.  "Please call me Katja."  Very good English, with an accent but a lovely one that I couldn't quite place.  She wasn't from one of the western Romance countries, and definitely not from the Nordic area.  The Balkans maybe.  Or Poland.

Jean continued, this time in French.  "Katja is here to watch the operation go down.  She is an agent for the Sheik."

Katja dropped a sheaf of papers she had been holding.  "I have been reading your operational plan, Roger.  It is well thought out.  Unless, that American miscreant of yours happens to drop by?"  To my puzzled look, she smiled and said, "Murphy."  Ah.  This wasn't some beautiful bimbo. She was obviously intelligent, multilingual, and very good at it.  She knew about the obscure - to a foreigner - Murphy's law which meant that she had a knowledge of at least one foreign culture - American, in this case.  And there was the little matter that she was apparently agent without portfolio to one of the most powerful men in the world - the Sheik.  I wondered why she was really here.

The next morning, we got up very early and drove into the city.  A couple of phone calls got the teams ready to roll, then I left and relaxed in a coffee bistro next to a Metro station.  I had long since checked the area around for cameras.  There were some, but nowhere near the saturation level of London and most British cities.   There were none at the coffee shop that I could tell, but still, Jean's fanaticism about safety meant that we didn't hang around as a group.  Jean would just sit in a hotel room with a set of throwaway phones as a go between for messages if necessary.  Katja would wait at another bistro several stations up the line.  There was actually no reason for me to be here since I had absolutely no part in the first part of the operation. Well, I did actually have a tiny part at the end.  But mostly I was just an observer for my own education - an observer in a false mustache and wig and a workers hat pulled down low.  If this thing went seriously south, I would be just another awed passenger on the train.

---------------

Paris - outside a Metro station

I erased the text message on my phone and walked over to the train platform, carrying a workman's lunch satchel - just another lowly wage slave going into the city to work.  In a few minutes the front cab of a locomotive appeared with the destination name I was looking for - Denfert-Rochereau.  I moved to the second car and entered, casually looking around.  I could see Katja standing bored at the other end and assumed that I had entered the right car.  Very casually, and trying to hold an expression of total boredom, I looked down the double row of seats for our target.  At this point, I was sure that the people closest to me would hear my heart pounding.  I couldn't see the woman we were waiting for - apparently she - No. There she was.  In a seat facing away from me about a third of the way back.   Standing next to her was a man that I recognized as being one of our team.

Station after station went by, we stopped and let people off and others on.  I had memorized the sequence of stops, not that they meant anything to me, but I knew that the critical one was coming up.  Unconsciously, I gripped the hand rail tighter.  Then, suddenly, there was a double blink of the lights, and then darkness for a few seconds before the power came back on for good.  During the time of confusion, as the train jerked and banged from loss of power, I saw our agent's hand move suddenly, then back to his pocket.  Our target slapped her neck, and looked around, but not up at him.  I didn't even see the pressurized syringe that he had used to inject her.

I looked at my cell phone.  No bars.  So, either the person in charge of the cell phone jammer had done his job, or we were so far underground that phones wouldn't work anyway.  Either way, no calls would be placed to 911, or whatever the French equivalent was.  We stopped at a station for a moment, then continued.  I could see our mark shaking her head, and placing her hand to her forehead as the... whatever it was that she was injected with, went to work.  By the next station she was just sitting there looking straight ahead.  Our man reached down and took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet, whispering something in her ear.  I knew - or rather I was told - that by now her mind would be just about totally blank and that she should follow any orders given by anyone.  I heard him tell her, "This is our station, dear.  We get off here."  The train stopped and I watched through the window as she obediently allowed herself to be led stumbling to the platform and onto the escalator.  At the top I knew would be a waiting car which would drive our captive to the holding tank somewhere.  I also noticed that her purse had been removed from her hand and was being brought back into the train by another of our operatives.

In the seat behind the one in which she had been sitting, a young man was slumped over, apparently asleep.  Her bodyguard had gotten a different juice mixture than his boss.  I assumed that he would eventually wake up somewhere down the line.

I sat down as the train started up again.  Phase one of the op had gone well - at least so far.  Murphy would really have to have a hard-on against us for that part to go wrong now.  About ten minutes later we pulled into the station I wanted and I made sure I was one of the first ones out and up the escalator.  Across the street from the entrance of the underground was the building where Madam Dupont had her office on the top floor.  I walked quickly across the street and entered the lobby.  I hadn't been there before, but it was laid out exactly as the pictures that I had been shown.

It had a moderately sized lobby with the usual newsstand, coffee kiosk and a flower shop.  Leading to the elevators was a set of glass doors with a badge reader.  On the other side I could see two guards sitting at their desk of video monitors and further down the hall were the elevators. 

I purchased a cup of coffee and a paper and pretended to be looking for the classifieds or something until I saw a woman walk through the rotating doors.  It was Madam Dupont, wearing her upscale female business suit, and holding her head forward so that the water dripping off of her wide brimmed hat didn't fall on her.  She was attempting to close the umbrella as she walked to the security door and inserted her badge.  The guards noticed her coming and immediately got to their feet, obviously mouthing some kind of appropriate greeting suitable for the person who oks the paychecks.  I saw her return the greeting as she struggled to get the uncooperative umbrella closed.  Finally, about the time she got to the elevator, she got it put away and entered the lift.

"Ahhh," I exclaimed as I pretended to have found what I was looking for.  I left the building and walked back across the street to stand under the awning of a store, obviously hoping that the rain would stop, or at least slow down.  Since it was a terrible day, weatherwise, no one was interested in observing some nobody sheltering from the elements.  Eventually, I saw a woman exit the building, then cross the street and enter the entrance to the Metro.  I followed.

Since the train I got on was heading back out of the city, it was mostly empty, with plenty of seats.  I sat down beside the woman I had followed.

In a low voice, and not looking at her, I asked, "Any problems?"

"No Monsieur," she answered.  "It went just as planned."

"The purse?"

"Here, Monsieur."  She handed me the black purse and I jammed it into my empty lunch satchel.  From my pocket, I slipped a fat envelop to her.  She was a professional - she didn't smile or laugh with joy at the thought of stacks of hundred Euro notes that were now hers - she just made it disappear and continued to wear a normal expression.  I casually looked at her.  Our makeup specialist had done an excellent job, although now most of the makeup had been disposed of.  Since the woman was of the same size and weight as our target, all that had to be done to make her a copy of the quarry was a little facial rubber or whatever they used.  Up close and looking directly into her face, she would never have passed, but on a stormy day, dressed from head to foot in the manner of Madam Dupont's dress style and wearing dripping rain wear, and with a wide brim hat drooping down as she hurried across the lobby fumbling with an umbrella in front of her face, she looked the part and no mere guard was going to stop the boss and ask for an ID.  Especially when they had just seen her badge in at the doors.  Jean had made the remark that people see what they assume they will see.  It was a valuable lesson that I would remember.

In a lady's restroom on an upper floor, she reversed her coat to a show a new color and pattern and wadded the hat into a now unfolded cloth bag.  The purse that she had been given when the original woman was snatched also went into the bag.  The rubber, or plastic makeup went down the toilet. Shortly, while the guards were involved with some visitors at the front desk, she walked back through the front doors, just another anonymous worker leaving the building.

Eventually, our duplicate - now a hooker again - got up and left the train at a station that I didn't even bother to get the name of.

I sat back and thought about what had just happened.  In fact, I was kind of proud of myself.  Assuming that our quarry was safely deposited by now in her cell, then the op went without a hitch.  In a few hours, somebody was going to realize that the rich woman had disappeared, but since both the security badge computer and two guards would swear that she had at least made it to work, hopefully what really happened would remain a mystery.

---------------

Jean's Mansion

I didn't see Jean until the next morning. I didn't see Katja, either.   He filled me in on the ending. 

The car that left the Metro station, with the quarry inside, wound up in an old warehouse outside of Reims, about a hundred kilometers away.  Before noon, Jean had driven there, and picked up the still stupefied woman and drove her to hidden place, known only to him.  I asked the question of why take her way out of Paris then drive her back?

"Ah, think about it, Monsieur Rowjere," he answered.  "It is dangerous driving around with a woman against her will, no?"  I nodded.  The same thing had occurred to me.  "Especially for me, an upstanding member of the community.  But, the woman was in the passenger seat, upright and looking no different than any other wife in an automobile."  He smiled at the female who had just served us our morning coffee and slapped her on the butt as she turned away.  "But, on the rare chance that I had been stopped by the gendarmes, I would just be a well known personage who had found an unfortunate woman wandering down the road and was trying to get her into the city and report the incident to the authorities.  A good Samaritan as it were."  A pause for coffee.  "Katja left to make arrangements for her transfer - next week, maybe.  It depends on how long the 'heat' stays on, as you Americans say."

I set my cup down.  "That brings up a question. What and who is Katja, anyway?  Other than some kind of agent for the Sheik, as you said."

Jean actually looked around before answering, even though we were in his private study.  "Mon Ami. Be very careful with any questions about Mademoiselle Ekaterina.  Be VERY careful about ANYTHING with her."  My eyes opened wider in question as I waited. "She is a beautiful young femm, no? Very desirable and a real asset in bed to any man."  An actual gulp of coffee. 

"Mon Ami, she is a cobra.  Actually worse than a cobra because that reptile can only strike once and then has to re-coil.  I have a friend in Turkey, one Ilhami by name - another agent of Hassan.  He and Katja were walking down a street in Istanbul when they were set upon by three thugs with knives who wanted my friend's purse and Katja's pussy. Ilhami said that he had barely realized that they had been accosted before all three were dead on the pavement and Katja had not even used a weapon.  Then they continued down the street with her aspect not even changed from before the incident.  She didn't even bother to comment on what just happened.  There are many other stories."  He shook his head, apparently at the memory of the tales.

"She was trained by the remnants of the StB - the Státní Bezpečnost.  For what purpose, I have no idea."  To my puzzled look, he amplified.  "The old Czech Secret Police.  Like the Israeli Mossad, or the Iranian SAVAK."  I nodded.  Note to self - don't hit on this woman.   "I assume, and it is only an assumption with no real info behind it, is that she is the Sheik's troubleshooter - with the emphasis on shooter."

He stood up. "Anyway, Mon Ami, that was an excellent first operation for you, but now you will get to see one of the, how you say?...  Ah, 'fringe benefits' of being an agent of the Sheik.  Plus, you have a task to do.  By the by, take along your shaving kit and a few clothes."

---------------

Somewhere down the road from Jean's mansion

It was still pouring cats and dogs as we motored along a road called Fr. 342 going who knows where.  Eventually we pulled onto a much less traveled road, in what he called the mountains, but from my aspect, they were just foothills.   Miles further on, we came to a private road, well signed, and more miles later we pulled up to a remote... hunting lodge?  Whatever.  That is what it looked like.

We dashed to the porch through the downpour, then into the building.  It was nice, and actually looked like the wilderness lodge of a wealthy person.  A big main room, lots of stuffed furniture, a pool table, card tables, a fireplace - not lit - everything for the millionaire getaway.

As I looked around, Jean explained somewhat.  "This is real - it's owned by a company that leases remote villas and shoreside retreats.  If you had enough money and pull, you might be able to trace the corporation trail back to someone, but I have no idea who.  I could guess that our desert friend is at the top, but I won't.  Watch carefully."

We entered a small room off the kitchen, and he opened a panel labeled in big red letters, 'High Voltage'.  He flipped one breaker on and another off. "Remember that and remember to always put them back when you leave.  Mystified, I could only agree. 

Back in the large front room he handed me a... plug?  It looked like the male end of an extension cord, but with no wire attached.  "That is the security key." he said.  Then pointed.  "Behind that sofa you will find a wall outlet.  Plug that into the bottom hole."  Jeez, talk about James Bond gadgets, I thought, as I pulled the sofa out slightly and plugged the male stub in.

I barely heard something, stood up and watched the entire stone fireplace move backwards almost silently.  It stopped about four feet back and exposed a flight of steep and narrow stairs leading down.  Holy Shit!  Jean waved to me to follow and descended the steps.

--------------

Under the lodge

At the bottom was a long concrete hallway, at least three meters down.  Jean stopped, and said.  "There are sensors on the road and around the building.  If you hear a loud beeping, it means a possible intruder, although it usually is just a large animal.  If it goes off, you immediately go upstairs and pull the plug out of the socket."  I nodded.   On the wall was a switch which he flipped.  I watched the fireplace silently move back into place above our heads.

Six meters along was a door, not locked, but when he opened it I noticed that it was about fifteen centimeters thick - about six inches - and apparently fairly light.  "Noise deadening," Jean commented as I inspected it.  Just beyond was another identical door.  "Same here," he said as he opened it also.  The other side was a room, about four meters square and just bare concrete with a wooden chest at our feet beside the door.  But it wasn't the room I was staring at.

On a pallet in an opposite corner was the object of my planning for the last few months.  She still had her clothes on, but with two additional items - two chains from bolts in the wall equidistant from the corner led to two manacles on her ankles.  Either of the metallic constraints would have secured an elephant, let alone a female human.  But, by now I was beginning to think like Jean.  However remote the possibility of a padlock failing, it was still a chance greater than zero.  Hence, the two separate chains and locks lowered the chance as close to zero as practical.

Jean had told me that he had deposited her here still stupefied by the drug, so we would be the first people she would have seen since waking up.  Beside her pallet was a bucket with a lid for her toilet needs - probably not quite up to the gold plated standard that she set her ass on several times a day, but adequate and better than squatting in a corner of the room.  Also, beside her was a large jug of water, some cans and packages of edibles.

She instantly saw us enter and jumped to her feet, the chains rattling.  I watched as she tried to decide whether to hurl expletives and threats at us or to be fearful of what was going to happen.   She took the middle road.

"I know what you are doing," she started.  Good, that was somewhat more than I knew at the moment.  "I won't insult you by making threats for what you've done.  You know I'm very wealthy..."  She waited for an acknowledgment that didn't come.  "...and I can pay well for my release."  She waited.  No reply from Jean and there was no way I was going to talk right now.  Finally, "How much do you want?"

Jean just walked closer and looked her up and down.  Her thousand Euro outfit was wrinkled and somewhat worse for wear now, and her tussled hair and makeup would have horrified her if she had had a mirror.  Warily, she looked at us, uncertain, and certainly taken aback by the offer of large amounts of money not being immediately pounced on by those she assumed to be her kidnappers.  She tried again, somewhat less demanding, "Tell me what you want."

Jean finally spoke up.  "It isn't money, Madam.  We just came down her for a piece of ass."  It took a few seconds for the expression to enter her mind, be translated, then reviewed as she tried to understand what she was hearing.  Then the a look of incredulity took over her expression and the negotiating female disappeared, replace by a raging she-tiger with bared teeth.

"You wouldn't dare!" she hissed.  "My associates would have you nailed up by your goddamned privates.  Even the Securite Bureau couldn't protect the bastard that assaults me."

Jean assumed an injured looked.  "You misconstrue us, Madam.  We would never assault a lady.  You will be here for a while and all we want is to use your pussy.  It will help you and we to pass the time."  He was pushing her hot buttons with a will.  Hot buttons, Hell! If this had been the army, the buttons would have launched a nuclear strike.

I just watched.  I would love to have a piece of that, but there was no way I was going to come within range of her teeth and claws.  Right now, she would rip the jewels off any man that came in range.  Jean turned around and walked to the wooden chest over by the door.  Opening it, he fumbled around for a while and then came up with a short whip and some miscellaneous items.  Walking back over, he pointed to her.  "Hold her left arm - don't let her get her teeth into you."  I grabbed it, turning my body so as to make sure that she didn't knee me in the cojones.  He took the other arm and immediately snapped a manacle cuff on her wrist.  Handing me the other, I did the same to the arm I was holding.

She went berserk - or tried to.  She tried to struggle and tear away, but she was being held by two men.  There wasn't a chance for a small female in that kind of contest.  Jean next gently kicked her behind the knees and we sat her down on her mat, still furiously cursing and struggling.  He took one ankle and pulled it up and back until the knee and elbow were side by side.  With a small clip, he fastened the eye of the wrist cuff to the first link in the chain attached to the ankle manacle.  Then he did the same to the other arm and leg.  We let her go and she rolled backwards onto her backside.

She had stopped cursing but was looking at us with murder in her eyes.  After all, this was a women who had always given orders and expected instant obedience.  She had no experience with men saying no to her, let alone being manhandled against her will by two of them.  And damn sure no expectation of ever being chained in a dungeon.

And an erotic scene it was.  She was on her back, knees bent almost to her ample chest, wrists and ankles hooked together on each side - left to left and right to right.  In that position, the natural position was for her legs to be widely spread, showing her white panties under her dress.  With an effort, she could just almost bring her knees together, but the unnatural strain was considerable and shortly, her knees would part as her legs went back to the least strained position - that is, wide open.  Now she was quiet, wondering just what would happen next.

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt.  Jean would fuck any woman he could get his dick into and there was no way he was going to pass this up.  I wondered how kosher the act would be.  Did the Sheik want his merchandise unsullied, or did he not care?  Considering how freely he allowed access to the captured women at his desert compound, it was probably the latter.  Whatever.  I backed away and headed for the door. Jean didn't even notice. 

Upstairs, I explored the building.  There was a nice kitchen, fully stocked, which was good since it appeared that I would be here for several days.  Apparently there was no TV input to the building - not unexpected, given the remoteness of the area - but there WAS a TV and a DVD player.  Looking around some more, I found a closet that was stuffed with movies. 

A bedroom was fully made up and ready, the bathroom was stocked with new vanities.  Apparently, someone had expected us, or maybe the building was always restocked after every use.

---------------

Upstairs

Two hours or so later, Jean came back up holding her clothes - apparently ALL of them.  And quite satisfied, it appeared.  "Have you looked around?" he asked.  "I assume that the lodge is fully stocked."  I said yes, and he continued.  "Ok, you're going to stay here until we move her to the plane.  You and I are the only people in the world who know where she is."  He handed me an envelope.  "You're a wealthy American who has come up here for some peace and quiet.  With your real name and passport, of course. Nobody should come up here, unless it is lost hikers or the like.   Your stay should be for just a few days."

He got ready to leave, then said, "You can do whatever you want with her.  Just make sure that she isn't damaged."

"I was going to ask about that," I replied.  "The Sheik doesn't care if his merchandise is... used?"

He shook his head. "No. Virginity in a kept woman isn't even a minor consideration, and Madam Dupont is a long way and time from being a virgin.  But, the most important factor is that she isn't the Sheik's property - not yet.  She will be, but for now, she is my woman.  Au revoir."

---------------

Under the Lodge

The woman was as I had last seen her, except that she was totally naked and had a gag in her mouth and a blindfold over her eyes - her clothes just being a torn wad of cloth on the way back to Paris by now.   The realization that I had up to a week with a woman who had no will suddenly hit me.  It was a powerful and quite...  quixotic feeling, maybe.  My johnson certainly knew - it was already rock hard.  As I walked over to the woman, I could tell that she could hear me approaching.  I stooped down and inspected her beautiful tits, and the wide open crack that she kept trying to close, but had to let open again as her muscles tired.  I wondered how I was going to play this.

First, I reached down and pulled the sleep mask from her eyes.  Then I removed the ball gag.  Since it was attached with an elastic band, I just moved it down and let it hang around her neck.   She immediately let out a groan and began to work her jaws to relieve the pain from being stretched wide open for a couple of hours, at least. She was no longer the imperious woman - at least not for the moment.  Finally, she asked in a low voice, "Who are you?"

"Just a passerby, as it were."  My French was a dead giveaway.

"You are English."  Well, almost a dead giveaway.  I just nodded - why give her any info that she might, however unlikely, use against me someday. 

"I'm here to guard you, Madam." That was sort of true.

"What are you going to do with me."  Still a low voice.

I shrugged.  "I'm just the hired help.  How and where you go I have no idea."  Half of that was true - the how part.  I decided to act the part of a loyal, but not too bright hireling.

She looked around, or tried to.  "Is HE gone?"

"You mean the Patron?  Yes.  He won't be back until tomorrow - I think."

"Please unhook me.  This is very uncomfortable."  She rattled her wrists to emphasize what she was talking about.

I shook my head.  "He told me to leave you like this during the day - that the confinement might temper your disposition."   Totally untrue.

Her eyes got wide. "You are going to leave me like this for hours?  You can't!"  I shrugged and got to my feet and headed for the door.  "Wait!  Please!"  She was really frantic now, facing an unknown period of horrible cramps from the doubled up position.  I stopped at the door and looked at her.

"Really, Madam.  I can't do anything.  He told me to leave you like that during daylight hours.  He's a person that you don't cross but once." 

"Come back!  Please don't leave yet."  Still frantic.  "You can turn me loose for a while if he won't be back today."   I stopped and pretended to be weighing my options and risks.

"Why would I take the risk?"  I walked back over to her and pretended to be inspecting her assets.  Well, maybe not pretending as much as rutting over them as I looked.

In a quiet voice, she said, "You can have me, then afterward we can talk."

"Are you sure?  I don't rape women."  So far that was true. 

"Yes! Yes!  It wouldn't be rape.  Turn me loose and you can have me anyway you want."  She almost descended into crying. "But please unhook me for a while."   I looked down the hallway, then pretended to be deep in indecision between pissing off the boss and wanting her body.  Finally, with another look down the hall, I walked back over to her and began to unhook her wrists from her ankles.  These weren't locks - just spring loaded clips that required more strength than the fingers on the single hand of a female could supply.  She stretched her arms and legs out as they spasmed, but apparently felt wonderful.  I began to take my clothes off, watching for her reaction.  Of course, by now, she was going to put out or my perfect record on rape was going to be history.

She didn't try to weasel out - just lay back, bent her knees and moved her ankles apart.  I lay between them and inserted my dong in her waiting twat and began to pump.  The level of my rutting precluded any foreplay - I just wanted to get my rocks off.  Finesse could wait till next time, and with a week or so to go, there would definitely be several next times.

---------------

Underground again

Afterward, I slipped on my shorts and went back upstairs, telling her that I would be back in a little while.  Using the pressure cooker, I whomped up some hot vegetable soup and carried it, with two bowls, glasses and, a bottle of wine down to the underground room.  I was interested in just what she was going to offer me, besides tail.

Afterwards, she was in a much better mood than I had seen her in so far.  She would be here for far too short a time for the Stockholm syndrome to fully develop, but she was already seeing me as her only hope.  She probably hated my guts just on general principal, but she was putting on a friendly front.  Especially after a couple of glasses of what I was told was excellent wine.  To me, all wine - eighty Euro corked bottles or eight dollar a gallon bottle capped rotgut - was just drinkable kerosene, but I acted the part of a connoisseur. 

Pouring me another glass, and smiling, she asked, "What's your name?"  Sam was the first moniker that popped into my head.  "Where are you from, Sam?"  London was the only British city I could remember on the spur of the moment.  "Do you know who I am?"  I shook my head.  "I'm a very wealthy Parisian business woman."  I looked suitably impressed.  She slowed down, not wanting to be too transparent yet.  She knew that I was her last chance.

She brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, then looked up at the ceiling.  "Sam," she started again.  "Do you have any idea what he plans to do with me?"   I nodded and acted like I didn't want to say.  She reached over and lightly took hold of my arm.  "Please tell me."

I pursed my lips, obviously trying to make up my mind.  Then after a couple of false starts, I said, "He's sold you to a drug lord in Colombia."  Hell, that news almost depressed me, but it hit her like a ton of bricks.   I stood up and said, "I need to check the security cams on the lower floors."  Nothing wrong with making her think she was in a high-rise in Paris.  I left her alone to let the unwelcome news sink in and to come up with her next series of offers. 

I suddenly realized that I was pooped for the day.  I decided to leave her be for the night and crash.

---------------

Later

With all the wine, my system made me get up after midnight and pump out the bilges.  While I was up, I slipped down the stairs and quietly moved down the hall to observe my inmate.  I had left the doors open so it was easy.  As expected she was asleep, so she wasn't staying up all night worrying...  Then I noticed the wine bottle - totally empty.  She had killed the last half after I left, so I guess she actually WAS trying to get something off her mind.  Of course, if I was scheduled to become the squeeze of the head a South American drug cartel, I would probably hit the bottle also.

---------------

Morning

I made a breakfast for two, and headed downstairs.  She was relieved to see me - actually, she was probably relieved to see that it WAS me, and not my boss.  I set the tray down, and we ate.  I had also brought a comb and a toothbrush as a token of my concern for the poor woman.  After breakfast, I waited for the spiel.  It wasn't long in coming.

She laid her hand on my arm.  "Sam," she began. "I've been thinking."  I just bet you have, lady.  About a mile a minute.  "Like I told you, I'm a rich and powerful woman."  Were, lady. Were.  Right now you're a naked and chained cunt. 

I shut off the interior monolog and waited for the rest of the tale.

"You could have a position high up in my organization."  I managed a somewhat doubting expression.  "Maybe, say, head of security.  Office next to mine on the top floor.  And, oh, let's say, two hundred thousand Euros a year.  And a limo."  Wow, said my expression now.  She scooted over to me and traced her fingers down my chest.  "And there would be other benefits.  I'm not married and need access to a man, like any other woman."  She let her knees fall apart slowly.  Leaning over, she almost whispered, "This could be yours as often as you like."   I was still wearing only shorts and it was obvious that I would never be able to wait until that promotion came through.

She smiled and lay back.  "You like what you see - your body says so.  She patted the mat beside her.  "Lay down here."  I shucked off my shorts and did what she wanted.  Then she proceeded to try to convince me to accept the offered position.  With deep French kisses, tongue work up and down and a good vacuum job on my rod, followed by a long and really sweaty session that ended with her full and me empty.

We lay beside each other, cooling down while she plotted and I waited for my nuts to stop aching.  Eventually, she sat up and leaned over me, making sure her tits were dangling in full view and started tracing my chest again.  "Sam.  We have to act before he comes back.  Once we get to my tower, we're safe.  When I give my description of him, and the police start looking, he'll be gone and never dare to come back."

I propped myself up on one elbow.  "There is a slight problem.  I don't have the keys to the locks on your manacles." 

She sat up suddenly, tits jiggling.  "Then you need to go out and buy a saw, or a cutter thingie of some kind." 

I shook my head.  "I donno.  He's a powerful person in the continental underground.  He might just come after both of us and nail us to the river docks by our hands and feet."

"Sam!," she started, suddenly worried that I was slipping away from her offer.  "I assure you that my organization can handle any mobster that exists."

I got to my feet and picked up my shorts.  "I got to think about it.  Right now I have to go and send one of my daily messages.  If they don't hear from me regularly, they are going to come storming over here to see what is wrong.  Lay back.  I have to hook you up again."

"What?  No!"  She shook her head violently, then attempted to back up to the wall.

"If he's coming back today, it will be in the next hour or so, and if he finds you unhooked, both of us are in trouble."  She didn't cooperate but she didn't fight me as I reconnected each ankle to each wrist. 

"Think about it, Sam," she called as I slipped the mask over her eyes.  "You could be a big man in Paris society."

I nodded, but didn't really hear her.  I was enjoying the sight of a helpless female on her back with her legs spread in the unnatural position.  I was never into the B&D scene, but it was possible that I had been missing an interesting phase of sexual play.  I pulled band of the ball gag over her head and waited for her to open her mouth to speak.  As I let go of the ball, the elastic pulled it into position.  It didn't stop her from talking - it just muffled the words and made them totally unintelligible.

---------------

Later

By noon I couldn't take it anymore.  The thoughts and mental pictures of the gagged, blindfolded and spread open cunt down below totally destroyed my concentration on anything I tried to do.  I got a third of the way through a DVD movie and realized that I couldn't even remember what the name of it was.  I have always liked reading, but a session with a book was a total failure.  Again, two chapters into the book and I didn't even know what it was about.

What the heck.  Go with the flow.  I went back down the fireplace stairs and stopped at the last door, looking.  My johnson was like a steel bar as I looked at the bitch in her uncomfortable position on the far side of the room.  She froze as she heard me walk across the floor, obviously wondering if it was me or my boss.  Hmmmm - suddenly I hatched and idea. 

From a practical standpoint, she could lay on either side, on her back or sit up.  All had disadvantages from a comfort standpoint, but at the moment she was on her right side.  I stooped down, took an ankle and pulled it to place her on her back.  She immediately began to comment, or protest or something.  To me it was just "mumfff hummeff eeegaa" and so forth.  Had she only been in the normal position of a beautiful and naked female lying down, her appeal would be immense.  As a helpless and spread slave, with everything in the open and available, she was a ball buster.   I began to feel of her boobs - an action which immediately increased the volume of protests, but nothing like when I began to work my fingers into her slit.  Despite the fact that I had unloaded my nuts just a few hours earlier, I knew that I was on the verge of doing it again just from the visual and tactile stimulation.  I got up and walked back upstairs for a few minutes to cool down, then back down to my unwilling toy.

This time I didn't hesitate.  I dropped to my knees, wet my rod with a little spit, then inserted it into the wriggling woman.  Even with my five minute timeout, I only lasted a short time.  The stimulation was just too great - it was a "slam, bamm, thank you ma'am" session.  I unloaded and immediately withdrew and went back up stairs leaving her fiercely mumbling in rage.

---------------

Two hours later

"Sam!" she exclaimed.  "Thank god.  Please unhook me.  The cramps are terrible." 

I had come back down, immediately walked over to her - I made sure she could hear me approach - and removed her blindfold and gag.   "He's gone," I lied.  "Won't be back till tomorrow."  I looked at the wet puddle on the floor.  "Did he use you again?"  Don't lay it on too thick, I told myself.

A long stream of profanity - surprisingly good - preceded her answer.  "He's a sick bastard!  What kind of man gets his kicks from fucking a helpless woman!"

Hmmmm.  That would be me, I told myself.  My first introduction to bondage was far beyond anything I would ever have imagined. I unclipped her wrists from her ankles, and she fell back on her mat, with her arms and legs twitching from the release.  

That evening, I fed her, listened to another offer of the golden life if only I helped her escape, then enjoyed another and much slower piece of ass than the last time.

--------------

The next day

It was almost a mirror of the previous day.  About noon, I came down and informed her that he was on the way, but that this time he wanted her hog-tied before he got there.  Once again, she verbally protested but didn't fight me as I lay her on her stomach, then connected each wrist to the corresponding ankle, then a single clip to connect all together behind her back.   On went the sleep mask and the gag, and I made a noisy retreat upstairs to wait for my Boss to "arrive".  She probably really wouldn't like this next visit.

A couple of hours later, I returned to my captive as the evil Patron and, just to let her know who it was, I popped her on the butt with a short piece of wood I had found.  Then some more feeling around, just to set the scene, after which I took off the clip that was holding both wrists and ankles together in the classic hogtie.  Now she was still on her stomach, and each wrist was still hooked to its companion ankle on the still bent back leg, but now her thighs could be spread.  I spread them as wide as they would go.

This time I put a massive amount of lube on my dick, and aimed at the little ass dimple that was plainly showing.  As it hit the spot, and began the mission, she reared up like a stranded whale - or tried to.  I put a hand on the back of her neck and forced her head back to the floor.  That did nothing to stop the now frantic yelling around the gag.  I still couldn't understand what she was saying, but I doubted that it was an expression of pleasure as I slowly fed my rod all the way up her poop chute.   Once again, the erotic feelings of the situation overwhelmed the actual sex act and eventually - much too soon, but despite my best efforts, I couldn't slow it down - I gave her a creamy enema.

I sat back on the floor as she again thrashed around like the afore mentioned stranded whale.  I could get used to this life, but I knew that I was going to have to slow down.  Getting ass from her in the morning and evenings as me, then at noon as my evil boss couldn't be kept up.  I was still young, but, nonetheless, I wasn't an eighteen year old stud anymore. 

--------------

Days pass

That is how it went every day.  In the morning, I would let her take me to the top of the Mountain and offer me all the kingdoms of Earth, then after squirting into her cunt, waffle about her offer.  Then hurriedly bind her up and leave before the boss "arrived."  Then back down that evening to commiserate with her about his cruelty, but now, for these late sessions, I would usually just feel around, rather than plug her again.  Each day, I seemed to come closer and closer to accepting her offers.  For her part, she was desperate to close the deal before my boss came back to deliver her, and her performance showed it.  I doubt that she had ever before performed some of the actions that she engaged in with me. 

I was just finishing a light breakfast, the alarm went off and I ran down the steps, closed the sound proofed doors, and, back upstairs, yanked the security plug out of the socket.  The fireplace immediately closed up and I sat at the window watching for whomever would be coming up the road.  Relieved, I saw that it was Jean.

He ran up the step, we embraced in the French fashion, which I hadn't quite gotten used to yet.  "How is she," he asked, as we sat down waiting for the coffee to drip through.

I chuckled.  "I wish you could have given me a couple of more days.  So far, I've probably lost fifteen pounds and she's offered me a directorship, a villa on the Riviera, and all the pussy I can use."

He laughed.  "She's closer than you think."  What the hell did that mean?  "Anyway, the plane leaves at 11:00 today, so we will leave in about two hours.  Get your stuff together - you're going with her."  When I looked surprised, he added.  "The Sheik wants you along."

About 8:30ish, we both went into the underground room together.  When she saw Jean, she just groaned and hung her head.  He walked behind her holding a small aluminum cylinder in one hand, reached for her hair with the other and pulled her head to the side.  The pointy end of the cylinder was jabbed into the side of her neck and gave out a low hiss.  The woman snapped out of her funk with a curse, and stood up spitting words at Jean.

"You son of a bitch!  I'm not going to be a moll for some bastard drug dealer!  I'll see both of you in hell first!"

Jean looked at me, puzzled.  "Drug dealer?" he asked.

I just smiled and said, "I'll tell you later."

The drug didn't take long.  Shortly, she fell to her knees, then still cursing in an ever slurring voice, finally collapsed on the mat.  Jean unlocked her manacles and motioned for me to take her.  I picked her limp body off the floor, slung her over my shoulder and headed for the stairs.  Upstairs, I waited for Jean to pull the security plug to close the fireplace, then flip off the specific circuit breakers.  Finally, I deposited her on a blanket in the trunk of the car and we were off down the road.

In an hour or so we swung into the general aviation section of a major airport, and then into a very large hanger at one end.  After the hanger doors were closed, we removed the limp woman from the car, and I again carried her up the boarding ladder and strapped her into a seat of the Gulfstream.

Five minutes later, I waved bye to Jean and we were off - just me, the ex-Madam Dupont and the pilots.

---------------

Saudia Arabia

Late that afternoon, I was driven up the long road to the desert compound.  After the usual period of resting and a shower, I was escorted into the Sheik's study.  Surprise, Katja was there.  The Sheik was all smiles.

"Sit down, Rodger."  He handed me my usual drink as I relaxed into an overstuffed chair.  "From all reports, and especially from the results, you have the ability to become a first class representative for me."  To my widened eyes, he continued.  "Yes, you have reached a... a..."  He struggled for the English word for a moment.  "...cusp - a fork in the road as it were - that will require a decision from you before you continue." 

I knew exactly what he was referring to.  I needed to tell him if I was interested in this new "job."  No problem - I had long since decided.  "Mr. Hassan, I would be more than happy to... ah... work for your organization if you have a place for me."  What I wasn't sure about was if it was even an option for me to walk away after all that had happened.  But no matter, I was in if he wanted.

That was what he wanted to hear.  "Excellent, Rodger.  By the way, if you check your Swiss account, you will find a substantial balance that has been deposited for your labors of the last few weeks."  He relaxed in his own chair.  "You will still need some experience before you branch out on your own, but I will start up the process from here."  He leaned forward and handed me a set of papers.  "You will be the manager of an export firm in the American city of your choice.   A real firm that will actually export products.  After enough time has passed so as not to raise any sudden wealth flags with the authorities, you will own it.   Any profits will be yours, but the reason for it is for your own cover.  If you are a successful agent for me you will become very wealthy, and that wealth needs some cover to appear legitimate.  Also, wealth brings its own protection from authorities.  Even in your country, the police do not think twice about arresting an ordinary citizen first and trying to determine guilt later.  They are much less likely to do so to a person of money - and the more money, the less of a chance."

I sat back and scanned over the papers.  They didn't mean much to me since I didn't know enough about running a business to make a success of a hot dog stand.  He knew what I was thinking.

"Don't worry about any of this yet.  You will have a professional manager who will run the day to day operations.  You will just need to appear to run things from your office.  But, it has happened before that a new agent learned to enjoy his shadow business and became the real manager.  But that is in the future.  For now, you will be shown much more of my organization and how it works."

---------------

The Sheiks compound

The next day, Katja took me on an eye opening tour of the Sheik's operation.  I had seen his harem and assumed that it was the sum total of his female operation.  Not even close.  As it turned out, there was more underground than above, and that is saying a bunch since there was a lot aboveground in his compound.  Walking to one of the outbuildings, we walked down a flight of stairs to a long corridor.  The first place we stopped at was a window looking down into a single room - another one way mirror I assumed.

The room was empty except for a sleeping mat and the usual squat toilet in the corner.  And a woman.  In seconds I realized that it was My woman - the ex-Madam Dupont.  The only thing she was wearing was a chain leading from a collar around her neck to a cleat in the wall.  It was only a symbol as far as she was concerned, since it was long enough to allow her to reach any part of the small room.  Right now, she was just sitting on her mat staring at the wall.

"She seems to be taking her captivity calmly," I remarked to my guide.

Katja shook her head.  "That is because she is exhausted.  For the last day or so she has been yanking on the chain and yelling threats of one severity or another." 

"How long will she just be left to think about it?"

Katja watched for a few seconds before replying.  "She is a high class slave.  Her training will be slow and subtle, since the desired result is a tamed woman and not a broken one.  Others that you will see are just bed warmers.  They will be strung up and whipped from the first day to break them to their new life.  Her first lesson starts in a few minutes." 

We moved on down the hallway.  Another window.  Windows at even intervals on both sides and about half the rooms had a lovely woman with a neck chain.  Most were totally naked except for some kind of titty holder.  So far this wasn't even close to what I had expected.  Actually, I wasn't sure just What I was expecting.  A dungeon with women being punished with the whip or rack or something, I guess.  This was more like a hotel with unwilling guests.

We were about to enter another stairwell when a man approached Katja and began to talk.  It was Arabic, so I could only follow some of it.  Something about a woman being ready for her... something.  Katja nodded and turned to me.  "Come.  You will see the first procedure that begins the breaking of a woman."  Back upstairs we went and out into the compound.  The sun was well up and it was on its way to a sweltering desert day.  We walked over to a waiting Humvee and she waved me to the front passenger seat. 

Inside I was surprised to see Madam Dupont in the back escorted by another large man.  The chain was gone, but the collar was still on her neck.  From the red patches on her cheeks apparently she had been forcibly told to shut up.  What the hell was going down here?  I had no clue.

Katja gunned the already running engine and out the gate we went, then around the walls to a dirt road leading off into the desert.  We only went a few miles before she stopped and got out.  So did our male escort and his captive.  Far in the distance I could see the Sheiks compound - barely - and a glance around only showed flat desert in all other directions.  Not even a radio tower broke the smooth horizon.

Katja walked up to Madam Dupont.  In a conversational voice as though she were discussing luncheon plans, she began - in perfect French, "Madam.  You were given the choice between being a slave or being set free.  You chose the latter.  You are now free.  The closest town is that way..." she pointed out toward the south, approximately.  "...about one hundred and fifty kilometers."  She took a large water bottle and a wad of cloth from the escort, and gave it to the stunned woman.  Before the now freed captive could even begin to get her thoughts into some kind of order, Katja waved us back into the Humvee and leadfooted it into a big circle in the sand and then roared back down the road to the compound. 

I was about as confused as the freed woman.  What the fuck was going on?  I knew for an absolute fact that even a hardened soldier couldn't make it a hundred and fifty clicks in the daytime desert with a single container of water.  And a soft city woman wearing nothing but a rag and barefoot would be buzzard bait before noon.  For this I planned an operation to capture a beautiful cunt?  Then I reminded myself that I wasn't in the employ of fools who would waste a lovely woman just because she wanted to shout her displeasure.  I sat back and waited for act two.

---------------

Back at the compound

I followed Katja into the main building, then into an elevator.  It let us out on the top floor into a... well, it was a lounge of some kind, with large glass windows all around looking out over the desert and a wide over hanging roof to keep the slanting sun from entering.  Sheik Hassan was standing at one end looking through a fairly large telescope.  Ah... The plot begins to thicken.  A dim light began to dawn in my mind.

"Good morning, Katja.  Roger."  I nodded as we walked up to him.  He stepped back and offered the eyepiece of the telescope to me.  Of course, it was trained on the woman we had just dumped in the sands.  She was still just standing and looking back and forth over the horizon.  So far she apparently hadn't decided on a course to take.  Not that there was a choice.  I noticed that she was wearing a full length sack dress of some kind - apparently that was the cloth that I had seen her given when we dropped her off. I lifted my head and stepped back.  Hassan smiled and said, "Your evaluation?"

That didn't need much thought.  "She only has one possible destination.  Here.  Her intelligence is enough to come to that conclusion pretty soon."

I looked out over the horizon, but she wasn't visible without the 'scope.  "It's an interesting play on your part.  I assume that when she gets back here, she will have to beg to get in.  Plus, she will have been shown in no uncertain terms that escape from here is absolutely impossible for an unequipped female."

Hassan clapped me on the back and we retired to some plush loungers.  A flunky came up with a tray of the usual drinks.  Reaching for his glass, he said, "It always pleasures me greatly to find that my choice of associates was entirely correct.  You have the ability to reach conclusions with insufficient facts."  There wasn't much I could say to that, so I just took a swallow.  "The reports of your operation in France were highly complimentary."  Whose reports, I wondered - Jean or Katja?  Or both?  Not that it mattered.  I had apparently passed my initiation ritual.

For the next hour or so he questioned me - in depth - about the French operation.  Not so much as about what happened, but why I decided to do something this way or that.  Katja would occasionally look out the 'scope at the female in the sands, and then eventually said, "She is coming back."  We both got up and looked at the approaching woman stumbling down the road in her bare feet.  A city woman's feet are definitely not up to walking down a rocky and hot desert road barefoot.   Eventually she reached the compound, obviously exhausted, and began to walk around the wall looking for an entrance.  Katja motioned to me and we headed back down to the floor of the compound.  A flunky was waiting at the bottom and followed us out. 

The gate was closed so we climbed a ladder to the top of the wall to where we could look down and over the wall.  Eventually, the woman came stumbling along the wall and found the entry road and the gate.  She stood there wobbling back and forth in the now noontime blazing sun.  She was covered with dirt, probably from having fallen several times into a sweaty heap.  Finally, she slapped at the solid wooden gate with a hand and yelled, "Let me in, Please!"  Her strength was about gone and nobody inside would have heard her except us. 

Katja stepped up to the edge of the wall and loudly asked, "What do you want?"

Confused, the woman looked all around before she looked up.  Squinting in the sun, she said again, "Please let me in." 

Katja pointed down the road.  "I told you the next city is that way.  Be off with you."

"Please.  I can't walk all the way to another city.  You know that."  Well, I had to admit that the unfortunate woman had control of her emotions.  Most women would be babbling for mercy by now.

Katja just looked down at her.  "That is of no interest to me."  She could have been discussing lunch and I wondered if the attitude was posed, or was she actually as cold as she seemed.

Madam Dupont just stood there for a moment, unsteadily wobbling back and forth.  Her strength was just about gone, apparently.  Finally, she said, "What do you want from me?  I'm wealthy.  If it is ransom you want, just say so."

"I don't need anything from you except for you to go away so I can get out of the sun."  I had to agree with that.  It was blazing hot by now.

The woman fell to her knees - from lack of ability to stand up, I assumed, rather than any supplication.  "Please have mercy.  Let me in out of the sun.  Please."  Now she was begging.

Katja just looked at her for a moment as though she was trying to make up her mind. "There are no females in here except for slave girls.  Do you wish to become a thrall?" 

Madam just looked up at the woman on the wall, apparently trying to reconcile what she was hearing.  For some idiotic reason, a dim memory of a school lesson suddenly popped up in my mind - "Give me liberty or give me death."  I wondered if the woman would choose the latter.  Nope.  She finally replied, "Yes. Yes. I'll do anything you want.  Just let me in, please."

Another pause by Katja.  Then, "Take your clothes off."

Apparently, totally confused by the order, Madam just replied with a single word.  "W...w...what?"

"Slavegirls don't wear clothes in the Master's compound.  Either take them off or go away."

Madam Dupont still apparently wasn't believing what she was hearing.  She just stood there looking up in confusion.  But as Katja shook her head, and turned around to leave, the woman screamed, "NO! NO! Please come back.  I'll do it."  She began tearing at the pullover dress and shortly was buck naked and leaning against the gate.   Katja walked over and waved at the flunky waiting at the foot of the gate, inside.  He pushed one panel open and disappeared from view under us.  In a few seconds, he appeared again towing the sobbing woman with a chain connected to her neck collar.  We moved down the stone steps and followed the pair across the compound and into the entrance to the underground chambers.

---------------

The next day

We - Katja, myself, and the man who had retrieved Madam Dupont - were in a small room.  Somewhere.  So far, I had no inkling of how to maneuver around the maze of the underground structures.  Madam Dupont was there also, but not by choice.  She was strung up by her wrists to the ceiling, naked, almost on tiptoe and held there by descending chains that kept her arms widely spread.  God, it was erotic, and I had already had to carefully adjust my rock hard johnson to a new position that wasn't so noticeable.  Madam was a real dish of perfect proportions.  In fact, she looked like a barbie doll.   No wonder she had been marked for capture.

Marked was an accurate statement.  On her right rear shoulder, and again on top of her right breast, two characters in Arabic scrip had been hand written in black ink.  I finally figured out that they were numbers.  Madam Dupont had disappeared.   In her place was bond female number 72.

I barely had time to wonder what happened next, when the man picked up some kind of flat whip, stepped up to the side and rear of the dangling woman, and let her have a stroke across the middle of the back.  There was a very short hesitation while the woman's nervous system translated the sudden feeling as pain, then she let out a scream at the top of her lungs.  I was just suddenly wide eyed as I leaned against the back wall, watching.  Holy Fuck - this wasn't play acting.  This was real punishment.

Another stroke followed as did another scream.  Eventually, she received about a dozen or so and by the last was just hanging by her wrists and whimpering.  I couldn't believe that a woman this desirable would be damaged apparently on a whim, then noticed that, although her back had cherry red welts crisscrossing each other, there was not a trace of blood anywhere on it.  Looking closer, I saw that the wide strap had not cut her skin at any place.   Katja looked as if she had just watched a particulary boring game of some kind.  Son of a bitch.  Jean was right.  This woman was ice cold.

Katja, looked at me, then headed for the door.  As we walked down the hall, she said, "That is the second lesson, the first being that there is no escape from here.  She now knows the punishment for any infractions or laziness on her part from now on."  A pause.  "At least, she knows ONE of the punishments, now."

---------------

Later

I was sitting at a computer and attempting to access my new bank account that had been set up for me.  It took a while, since the main page was in German, or maybe Swiss, but I finally found an English section and entered the number and very long password.  A few seconds later, I was sitting back in my chair, stunned.   Damn, now much did a high class woman bring on the open market?  I had an ungodly sum of money in my new account - far, far more than the normal working stiff accumulated during an entire lifetime.

---------------

Later

I entered the small cell of female no. 72.  As the door opened, she scrambled to her knees, then to the squatting position that she had already been taught.  Since she was afraid to look up, she didn't know it was me yet.  "On your hands and knees."  She immediately assumed the doggie position and I knelt down behind her, wet my tool, and shoved it in.  Holding on with her boobs as handles, I pumped away.  She was still just as good as ever.

An hour later, I was having lunch with the Man and Katja.  He had some more questions about my operational planning, but mostly it was just a friendly luncheon.  Afterward, in the lounge, I got a chance to ask about what I had found online.

"Mr. Hassan," I started.  "I've come to realize the value that a high class female can bring around the world, but I can't reconcile the amount of money deposited in my account with any possible highest value of any female.  Especially, since my share has to be only a fraction of her worth."

The Sheik smiled.  "You are, of course, inquiring about your secret account balance?"  I nodded.  "You are correct.  The girl you brought is valuable, but not close to a figure like that."  Another sip of his ever-present and forbidden liqueur.  "You just have a portion of the facts."

"While you were planning and carrying out your most professional operation, I was working on a coherent operation in tandem.  As it turns out, the woman had sold her shares in the corporation two weeks ago, and moved the money offshore.  Then, unfortunately, she disappeared."

I used a refill to allow myself a few seconds to think about that.  Son of a bitch!  While I was involved in taking the woman, he was just as involved in taking her fortune.  I wondered how? Bribes? Forgeries?  Then I dropped the subject - even if they gave me a detailed roadmap, I probably wouldn't understand the financial information. 

He continued.  "Your balance not only reflects the considerable share that you got for the girl, but the vastly greater share of her assets that come to you."  He held up his hand as I started to speak.  "As I said, your first operation shows a latent and very worthy talent for the, shall we say, career path?"

"Thank you sir, but I have to say that it wouldn't have happened without Jean's tutelage." 

"Correct.  It wasn't random choice when I sent you with him to learn.  Of all my agents, he is the most meticulous.  I have others that are totally reckless, and some will pay for that some day when something goes wrong.  Others are just good at their work.  With Jean, an operation may not come to a successful conclusion, but if not, you may be assured that it wasn't because of flaws in his meticulous planning."

"At any rate, you need to stay here for a few weeks.  There is some training that you need to participate in, and of course, always with recreation when you feel the need."

---------------

That night.

I lay there beside my bedwarmer for the night.  So far, nothing had happened and she was already asleep.   My mind was in too much of a roil for sex just yet.  I thought about what I was becoming and what I had become.  First, and it really hadn't sunk in yet, despite my having told myself a dozen times and having logged on to the bank's website just as many - I was well on the way to becoming a very wealthy man.  Me.  A dumb grunt from nowhere.  An ignorant kid who joined the army to stay out of jail.

And second, I was in a business that involved girls, and what could be done with girls, and as many as I wanted.  I never had any trouble getting dates, but like all single American men, unless I paid for it, I only got sex if the girl was willing and if she was wined and dined properly.  And it was only performed the way she wanted.   Now I just walked in and took it.  And it was how I wanted it, and when I wanted it, and as long as I wanted it. 

And there was the matter of my becoming a CEO of a company in America.  When did that start, and how?  I couldn't start my own operation in the US yet.  There was no way that I had enough experience after a single operation, however successful.  So did I plan others?  With Jean?  Somebody else?  How would I...

The door opened and in the dim light another woman walked up to the bed - wearing very little and what little she wore, hid nothing.  Who?...  Holy shit!  Her?!  The woman slapped the sleeping girl on the butt - not lightly - and as the young cunt woke up, startled, told her in Arabic to beat it.  The girl fled in panic from the room.

Katja then pulled the flimsy nightgown - if that is what it was - over her head, dropped it on the floor and eased herself into the bed beside me.  

What the hell!  Life is like a high stakes dice game - most people come up craps, but a very few lucky ones walk off with the pot.  I guess I was in the latter group - at least for now.  One thing for sure, whatever my life was destined to be, it wasn't going to be boring.

End of Book 1

The Desert Nexus.

Book 2

Proofed and Edited 10/23/11

---------------

The Sheik's Compound

I was sitting in the lounge waiting for my host to hand me a drink.  The mood was grim, to say the least.  Well, mine wasn't.  I was still just pissed.   I accepted the class, and waited for him to sit down in his favorite lounger.  "From the top, Roger." he said.  "What went wrong?"

"In a nutshell, Marko is an idiot!"  I shook my head.  My Arabic by now was pretty good, but I had to stop translating American idioms into another language.  They usually came out as nonsense.  "To put it a better way, he isn't a professional.  At least his methods, aren't."  In my mood, I didn't think of the possibility that Marco might have been hand picked by the Sheik.

"Give me a timeline of what happened." 

I recounted the action from the start, though the capture, and then to the time that the balloon went up.  Balloon, shit.  It was like a fire in an ammo dump.  I concluded with, "Marko is like an alcoholic trying to run a liquor store, or a little kid in charge of a candy stand.  He won't take his mind off the merchandise."  I looked my boss - he was waiting for amplification.  "At least twice he interrupted an critical planning meeting because a girl caught his eye and he wanted to screw her.  And on the day of the operation, he had two of his cunts in the control car with him!"  I gulped some good sipping liquor in disgust.

Hassan sat back in thought.  Musing, he said, "That situation will have to be mended."  More thought.  Then, "And the Princess Lenova?  She will be guarded beyond any hope of repeating the operation from now on."

I realized that, in my fury in reporting the actions of the klutz in command, my report had left out some critical need-to-know info.  "No.  When the Polietzi blocked the bridge, I had the driver run through a courtyard and into a garage.  I had along a little gadget I was working on, just in case - I set it on top of the car and turned it on and we ran out the other side.  There was a driver just getting in his car, we pulled him out and put the Princess in the back seat.  By now she was pretty well out of it with the drug, so she was no problem."

"Gadget?" he queried.

I nodded and asked, "With your permission?"  He nodded also.  To the waiting flunky at the door, I said, "Bring the blue box from my room. It's on the window shelf."  He disappeared.

The Sheik's eyes were wide as he leaned forward waiting for the rest of the tale.  "How did you drive a car out of the city with the authorities checking everything?"

I shook my head.  "We didn't.  We went back downtown and parked the car in a lot underground, swiped some registration plates and switched them.  We put the Princess in the trunk and my man went to find a safe house.  That night we moved her to a fleabag apartment across from the main police station. I figured that nobody would do a search around there.  At least not right away.  My man dumped the car that night."

Son of a bitch!  The man was actually impressed.  I continued.  "As an American I stood out like a sore thumb..."  Dammit, knock of the slang!  "...so I left him with her and orders to keep her sedated continually.  In a few days we should be able to move her out."  He nodded.  "Oh, and by the way, I promised the man a good bonus if he saw us through."

The Sheik smiled and nodded.  "Yes.  He will be a rich man if he continues to the end."  He stood up.  "You have done well.  Very well." 

The flunky reappeared with my box.  I opened it and took out a smaller black plastic box - not much to it but a single switch sticking out on the end.  The Sheik looked at it with intense interest, then at me.  I walked to a desk along one wall, set the box down with the long end pointing at us, and flipped the switch.  In about two seconds, the Sheik jumped out of his chair as a loud rifle shot went off, accompanied by a yellow flash from the end of the box.  Then a whole fusillade of shots and flashes as the "shooter" got down to business.  I hastily reached down and flipped it off.

"My apologies.  I had forgotten how loud it was inside a room."  He was looking at the box, wide eyed, then back at me.  "Hopefully, it can make a pursuer pause and take cover long enough for a person to disappear.  It apparently worked for us.  Something did, anyway."

He made some exclamation in Arabic that I didn't understand, then waved at the door.  "Go down and sleep - rest and we will talk tomorrow."

That is what I wanted - sleep that is.  In fact, I popped the girl who was waiting on my bed on the butt and told her to beat it.  I had no energy to spare, tonight.

---------------

The next day

"I want you to go back, keep your distance of course, and clean up things as much as you can.  And arrange for the Princess to be moved if possible.  Oh, and tell Marko to come to a meeting at our usual place in Prague - on the seventeenth."  From the Sheik's expression I had a feeling that Marco might shortly be unemployed - and probably feeding the buzzards to boot.

I spent two more weeks back in the operation city.  While I was there, a major fire broke out in a warehouse in the rundown part of the city, and across town a gas leak blew an office building apart, and burned what was left to ashes.  Fortunately, it was on a weekend, so there were no casualties.   Eventually, a small plane departed a deserted runway some where in the country with a pilot and a passenger.  There wasn't much room for anybody else since the passenger was prone and unconscious.

---------------

Weeks later

Back at the Sheik's compound, I was told to take a month's rest.  I spent part of it learning more about the business, and the rest laying between sets of legs. 

The first night, I had just relaxed in my gigantic hot tub with two bath girls ready to bathe me.  God, it was nice, laying back in hot soapy water, looking at and playing with four bobbing tits moving around...

The curtain opened and yet another bath girl entered - naked as Eve, but much deadlier.  Katja!  She stepped into the water, pointed at the two girls and jerked her thumb toward the curtain door.  Fear in their faces, they jumped out of the tub and flew out of the room.  The assassin's reputation even extended to the lower staff.

Smiling, Katja picked up a sponge and began to take the place of my missing servants.  Shortly, I was sponging her, and then not long after that the water was splashing out left and right as we thrashed together in the soap suds.  Whatever her training, she was all woman at the appropriate times and her body could hold its own against any on the Parisian runways.

Later, as we relaxed in the bed, munching on fruit, and each other, she said, "You really have made an impression on the Sheik."  I just kept my expression noncommittal.  She continued, "Yes.  Less than a year with him, your first operation a total success, and now you rescue a blown engagement from the jaws of failure."  She smiled and nodded.  "You will go far."   I just smiled, lifted a bobbling tittie, and began to rise to begin another engagement.  She put a hand on my chest and pushed me back down.  "Go to sleep.  You need it."

---------------

Time passes

The Princess was strung up with her arms together over her head and her legs widely separated and held by hooks from rings in the floor to her ankle bracelets - a standard whipping position that didn't allow the girl to turn her body away from the side getting striped.  Her back was smooth and clear so it hadn't started yet.  I walked around to the front to get my first real look at the young woman.  Beautiful of course, but that was a given in this place - the only plain looking females did cleaning or cooking in their specific workareas. 

She just looked at me - coldly - without speaking.  Interesting.  No cursing, begging, threats or offers of bribes.  Balkan women had a different personality than western females.  More fatalistic, I guess.  I walked up to her and felt her body - tits first, of course.  The typical American in me - boobs above all else.  Unlike most girls today, this one still had her pubic hair - a bikini trim, and temporary of course - but the rest of her body was western style hairless.  She had long black hair, all tussled now of course and in need of a shampoo.  And a bath, I could tell.  Apparently she hadn't had one since that wild day of her capture.  I just contented myself with moving my hands up and down, squeezing her here and there, and once, spreading her rear cheeks to look at the little ass star.  Her cold stare never changed.  I wondered if it would once the leather started its work.

Topo came in the room - a tall lean and brown Arab, only wearing his usual loin cloth.  He was the head of discipline for all women here, and usually handled the training chastisement - or the real punishment, if needed.  He was unimpressed with her previous status - to him, it was just another female to break to the realization of her new position.  He felt her back, and legs - totally ignoring her tits - pushing, and poking, getting a feeling for the underlying muscle and fat.  Finally, he picked up a strange looking - to me - lash.  It had a three foot stiff handle and a five foot round, tapering, soft leather braided thong.  Handing it to me, he said, "You may begin, Mister Sergeant."  My usual moniker among the staff here.

I took the whip by the handle, hesitantly, then firmly.  Appearing squeamish in this place would get me assigned to being beneath contempt by the staff.  He pointed to where I should stand, then backed up against the wall.  I held the whip up, just to get a measure of distance, brought it back over my shoulder,  then swung it at the woman.  Not my full strength by far, but a good stroke nonetheless.

It caught her by surprise as it hit.  She jumped and let out a little squeal.  It also surprised me.  It made a loud crack as it hit her skin.  I looked and saw a thin red welt appearing on her back, but no blood or blood blisters.  I looked over at Topo, who just nodded at her again.  Crack!  This time she didn't yelp, but still jumped.  Again and again I swung, for about a dozen strokes, none of which got a verbal response out of her.  She didn't have as good a control over her muscles - at each contact, they contracted and she jumped.  It was finally getting to her.  The last two strokes made her lift a leg off the floor involuntarily.  Finally, Topo held his hand up.  I stopped as he walked over to her and examined the damage - a dozen bright red stripes across her back and butt.  He walked in front, put his hand under her chin and pushed it up and looked into her face.  Trying to gage her current mental state, I assumed.  They stared at each other for a few seconds, then he let her chin drop.  He looked at me and said, "More.  Harder."

Now I was raising red welts across her back and butt.  About five strokes later, her iron discipline broke and she began to cry at each stroke.  Finally, she was begging for it to stop - I guess.  I didn't speak her language, but I assumed that she wasn't commenting on the weather.  After another dozen, it ended.  We left her hanging by her wrists and sobbing quietly.

---------------

Time passes

During my stay at Hassan's compound, I spent an hour or so a day in training with Katja.  This had nothing to do with the Sheik, just something I wanted to do.  Of course, I had some hand to hand combat training in the Army, but that was strictly kindergarten compared to the Czech woman's knowledge of personal combat.  I was considerably larger and stronger than her, and in a contest of mere strength, I would win hands down, but she had an intimate knowledge of killing and disabling with a single blow - even with just a single finger.  But mainly, it was her reactions that made her deadly - she was faster than the cobra that Jean had described.  I would aim a killing punch at her - pulled, of course, and before it hit, she would have returned two or three on me, any one of which would have felled a trained boxer.  Because I was heavier, I would never have her speed and balance, but my strokes hit with twice or more than the force of hers.  As time went on, I learned a thing or two about unarmed combat.

Hassan's operation only handled high class women - quality instead of quantity.  He arranged for me to tour a very large operation in Turkey - one that handled the lower end of females.   Most of them, he informed me, would go to petty chiefs, tribal leaders, and businessmen around Asia.  They would be bedwarmers for a while then gradually become just bound female workers as they were replaced in turn by younger females. 

---------------

Turkey, some moderately sized city

From the street, this Tarkan's place looked like some low-rent business on the wrong side of town back in the states.  Inside, it was considerably different, and vastly larger than it looked from outside.  It must have taken up the entire block, assuming that this city had blocks.  Anyway, it was probably the size of a superstore back home.

Since I was sent there by the Sheik, the proprietor couldn't do enough for me.  He was a fat Turk, over dressed and must have been in his forties.  We settled in his office and out came the obligatory drinks.  Well, actually, I use the term office loosely.  It was indeed the place where he did his  paperwork, but it wouldn't have be recognized as an office by any businessman I ever met.   It was sort of a hodgepodge of part furniture store, cheap bar, pornographic painting gallery, and particularly untidy bachelors pad.  Well, there WAS a desk with paperwork in one corner. 

Over drinks - it had alcohol in it, but what I was drinking was beyond me - he told me the story of his nephew in Chicago, and a friend in Detroit and so forth.  I had long since learned that everybody in Europe and Asia had some relative somewhere in the US.  He assured me that a friend of the Sheik's was a friend of his, and all I had to do was ask for anything I needed.   First was a tour. 

The front of the establishment was fairly plush, with several apartments - for guests like me, I presumed - and a couple of theaters that were used for auctions.  In fact, the smaller one had a sale session going on as we entered.   The girls on the stage were nothing spectacular, and in fact, some were just plain homely.  The men in the audience were - well, just men in normal garb for this area.  Ordinary business men, I assumed.

To my question - I didn't speak Turkish, but he spoke Arabic and by now I did also - he answered, "Ah, this is just a vending to clear out some of the lower quality females."  He pointed to the one on the platform - a middle aged woman, thin, dark and from... India, maybe?  Pakistan?   "She is an illegal, like most of the others.  They are boat people who come here in great numbers whenever situations get really bad in their home country."

"Do you give them any training?" I asked.

He shook his head.  "No, they are not worth it.  They will become female domestics, and in all probability, have a far better life than they left."  Another one came to the platform, also skinny.  "Most of them come in here half dead, or worse, from starvation.  They have little to eat in their country and almost none at all on the boat.  The... operators...  of the smuggling crews do not waste money on victuals for their passengers.  We feed them, slowly at first, then more to get them back to a semblance of health.  A starving, skin and bone woman can't be given away.  She surely can't be sold."

We watched a few more as they were sold, then moved on down a hall.  This area was nowhere near as nice, but was sort of like a budget hotel in the States.  Doors on the hallways had grills that looked into various sized rooms.  Some rooms were occupied, but unlike in the auction from which we had just come, these women were desirable.  None were of the movie starlet calibre that the Sheik collected, but there were very few that I would have kicked out of bed.  They all had the single trait of being stark naked.  Of course - they were slaves.

Then, through one door, I heard American English being spoken.  Looking in, I saw three women sitting on a mat, just talking.  Nice looking.  Really nice and a trio of colors.  Hair color, that is.  Blond, Brunette, and Redhead.  I wondered if the selection was deliberate.   Tarken saw me looking intently, and asked behind a smile.  "Mister Sergeant."  My moniker given to me by the Sheik's staff had followed me here, somehow.  "May I ask if your personal interests are with girls?  Or boys?"

I didn't take my eyes off the Redhead - man, she was a carrot-topped barbie doll!  "Girls, definitely," I answered.  For a fact.  If a guy wanted to be plugged by another man, that was his business, but I was totally convex.  Any dude who hit on me and didn't immediately take my no for an answer would get his rod stuffed up his own bunghole.

He beamed a smile.  "Excellent!  May I take the liberty of sending one to your bed, tonight?  Or two?"

"How about that one with the red hair?"

He immediately turned to his hanger-on - office assistant, I assumed - and gave him a set of instructions in Turkish.

"But, it is time for the noon meal.  I have reserved a table at Abadan's.  His cuisine is beyond heaven.  And his liquor is distilled by the sea nymphs."

---------------

Later that afternoon.

We were in the training area, looking through a large grill at a...  well, it was a class, of sorts.  Six girls were practicing moves - kneeling, squatting, bowing and so forth.  Tarkan said that it was just a rough set of lessons on how to behave before their betters. 

I was looking at the instructor.  She wasn't wearing calf length, high heeled boots, leather panties and bra with chains and studs, but nonetheless, I knew I was looking at a dominatrix.  She stalked back and forth, swinging a riding crop as she talked in single or double words, at the most.  Sometimes the crop swung into an attractive behind, if she needed to emphasize a point.  Up and down her students went, at a word from the woman.  I turned to Tarkan and asked, "Do they get sexual training, here?"

He shook his head.  "No.  As women they are expected to lay back or bend over and accept what they receive."  He held up a finger.  "But, there is an establishment in town that does provide erotic training and - how do you say in American? - In spades?"  I just looked at him as he continued.  "You will see it tomorrow."  I just nodded.

Further on, we came to the low rent district.  These were holding cells - no other word for it - for his boat people, as he called them, although the great majority didn't actually come here on a boat.   But most were refugees, even so.  One major thing that changed was the smell.  This back part of the building had an overpowering odor of shit, piss, cunts, armpits and who knows what, despite the desperate work of several fans trying to pull the fetid air out of the area.  The women here were in all stages of recovery, some almost normal like the ones I had seen being sold in the morning, and all the way down to unbelievable skeleton figures that looked to be straight out of a Nazi concentration camp. 

"God almighty!" I exclaimed, forgetting that I was in a Muslim country.  "Where did they come from?"

Tarkan looked at me with a sad smile.  "My friend.  You are an American.  To you, the idea of hungry people is some skinny children in news pictures after an earthquake, or tidal wave, or some war in a faraway land."  He waved his arm at the grill separating us from the... unfortunates.  "This is what actual poverty and hunger looks like in this part of the world."  

I just stood there and looked.  His statement that the most of the women that came through his establishment would be better off, I had dismissed as a self-serving verbalization for what is really a despicable business.  Yes, I know that I was a part of it, but it was still despicable.

But now I wondered.  If you have no choice, is it better to starve as a free person, or live in bondage and be fed?  Shit if I knew - the world had been arguing about that for millennia.  In fact, my own country had killed about six hundred thousand men while discussing a similar situation.

As we walked, I asked about something I had noticed.  "What determines if a woman is..."  I didn't know the word for depilated.  "...made bare on her privates."

He stopped and answered.  "Most women coming from the west are already shorn.  It is just a feature of women from your world.  When we get one from the west that has her hair, we have it permanently removed.  That is considered exotic by men over here, and apparently necessary by men in your country.  The eastern women are left natural."  He spread his hands.  "For myself, I don't understand the reason for it - the removal, I mean.  To me, a woman's slit is meant to be penetrated and it feels the same no matter how it is decorated." 

---------------

Night

What a day!  I was getting an ear and eyeful of the world slave business, in spades.  How many people back home would believe a tenth of what I had learned over the last few months?   I had finished a bath - by myself, interestingly enough - and was relaxing on the bed.   The room was nothing like the guest area of the Sheik's house - it was more like a normal bedroom in an American motel.  Not that I cared, but I was wondering if...  A light knock on the door.  Ah...

"Enter," I said in Arabic.   The door opened and revealed one of Tarkan's flunkies.

"Mister Sergeant," he started, in halting Arabic. "Tarkan Bey gives his greeting, and hopes this miserable slave will be good to your desire."  He turned around and pulled, then pushed a woman into the room.   I thanked him and he immediately left, closing the door and leaving the girl standing, buck naked, hands at her sides and looking at the floor.

The redhead looked even more beautiful than when I saw her that morning.  As I walked around her in a close inspection, I could tell that she was as clean as a sterilized scalpel.  She had obviously just been bathed and perfumed.  In Arabic, I said, "What is your name?"

Still looking at the floor, she replied in a quiet Yankee accent - Boston area, maybe? - in English, of course,  "This worthless slavegirl is sorry, Master.  She does not speak your language."   Interesting.  How was I going to play this?   Hmmmmm.

"Parlez-vous francais?"  There was a good chance of an educated female from the northeast having learned the language.

"Oui, Monsieur.  Un peu."  Ok.  With my definitely non-native French, she wouldn't be able to tell that I was a compatriot.

"Stand over here by the bed.  You can look up."   I looked down.  And up.  And all over.  She was probably twenty five, twenty six or so, hourglass figure, large, but not massive tits, bare, of course, from her eyebrows down, and long red hair.  Real red - not from a bottle.  It was straight, with no trace of that perm stuff that women of my country used.  Of course, it had to be quite a while since she had visited a salon.   The Sheik hadn't been totally factual in his description of Tarkan's establishment being one that handled inferior products - this was a real baby doll. 

I sat on the bed, directly in front of her.  "Tell me about yourself. What is your name?  Where are you from?"

She was very nervous, almost scared.  Of course, being a naked slave in what was probably an unknown country and not knowing just what the dude in front of her was going to do probably had something to do with that condition.  "Rita, Master," she replied quietly.  "This girl is from America, Master.  A little town outside of Springfield, called Marlbury."  I guess she assumed that I would know that it was in the state of Massachusetts - unlikely if I had been who I was pretending to be.

I stood up and removed my robe, sat back down on the bed, then swiveled around to lay back.  "I assume you know what you are here for?"  She nodded.  "Please me."

I was apparent very quickly that she had not been trained in any erotic arts - this was just a beautiful girl with an American woman's knowledge of sex.  That is to say, almost nil.   She assumed, as all her sisters did, that a man would first want his dick sucked, and immediately bent over mine with her long hair hiding her face and began what she assumed to be an erotic act.   Of course, in my state, it DID feel good, but only because of the situation - not from any expertise on her part.  While she worked, I kept my hands busy on her dangling tits, then made her move around so I could also finger around on her slit.

Finally, I needed some relief, and pulled her away from my rod and on her back.  In a few seconds, I was buried in her and pumping away.  Again, her knowledge of sex was limited to bending her knees and spreading her legs to let the man do the work.   Finally, once relieved of my gonadal pressures, I lay back down beside her.   She was just waiting, hoping that she had been satisfactory.  And she was, in the manner of water to a man in the desert, but as champaign to a man celebrating, she wasn't.

"How did you get here?" I asked.  Then added, "The whole story."

==============

Somewhere USA, sometime ago.

Margarita Langston was no different than any other of the wives in her circle.  Born to an upscale family, never in need of money - except for an economics class or two, she had no idea what a recession was - it was just assumed that she would go to a first class college and marry a future leader of the community.  And so it happened.  And also, like most of her friends, the marriage was great until the point where the husband was really moving up the ladder.  And it happened quickly - only a couple of years out of college.

In defense of the men of this class of wedded families, it wasn't entirely their fault.  To climb that corporate ladder,  a total commitment to the company was required.  Anyone who gave less, fell off the rungs before they got very high.  Suddenly, there was no time for trips to Europe, or the Carribean, or to a mountain retreat.   And not a whole lot of time at home, not in this day of Internet connections and smart phones - he never really left work.  And even less energy at the end of the day to spend in erotic activities with the wives.  Sex became a necessary duty that was only performed when the pressures of these still young men got too high to be ignored. 

Some wives reacted by finding their sexual release elsewhere, but most just settled into a life of sameness, or actual boredom.  A few rebelled and sought divorces while they were young enough to make a new and better match.  Not many - divorce would definitely put you out of the pale in the exclusive circles of these families.

Rita fell into the first category.  Bored, drinking too much and going out during the day to meaningless meetings with the other girls at the local coffee klatch or discrete bar.  Until, that is, one day while switching out clothes for the new season, she found an overlooked hotel receipt for a Mr. and Mrs Langston in an exclusive hotel in Manhatten.  In disbelief, she checked back over the calendar to match the date on the receipt with their schedules, and found that the dates were during the week that he had gone to a legal symposium in that city - by himself.

Rita was no wallflower.  She had a temper to match her red hair, but fortunately, by the time that evening rolled around and her husband had come home she had calmed down, and had the beginnings of a plan.

==============

A month or so later.

Rita was sitting in the lobby of the hotel - in an alcove off the bar, but with the front desk in full view.  She had left home yesterday "to attend a baby shower of a girl friend upstate" - a nonexistent girl friend expecting an equally fictional baby - and instead, checked in to the hotel that her husband had reservations to for his conference.  Given the drive time from home, he should show up anytime. 

Sure enough, about six pm, he walked in the door and up to the desk.  And not alone.  Beside him was obviously the current "Mrs Langston."  Shit, Rita swore.  He was cradle robbing.  The girl was without doubt attractive, but Rita would have given good odds that she wasn't older than eighteen or nineteen.  She held up her phone, and snapped several pictures.  

===============

Friday

"How was the conference, Dear?"  Rita walked up to her husband as he was getting changed from his traveling clothes.  She handed him a cold glass - bourbon on the rocks, his favorite unwinding drink. 

He smiled and replied.  "Busy, too much to see and not enough time to see it all."  I'll bet there was a lot to see, she thought, but kept quiet.

That evening, after dinner and after the cook had cleaned up and left, she walked into his study.  "I had quite a bit that I saw this week also, Honey.  Let me show you."  Like most men who didn't know what their wives did all day and who cared less, he knew that he had to at least look interested for five minutes or so.

"I took some pictures on my trip.  What do you think?"  She laid the sheaf of processed phone photos in front of him.

She watched the blood drain out of his face, then it go blank as he furiously tried to figure out a response.  That was the beginning of a very loud weekend.  The fight went on and on until she finally realized in a flash of insight that the marriage, for all intents and purposes, was over.  He might promise not to stray again, and probably wouldn't in the near future, but eventually, some young thing in a tight sweater would catch his eye and his cojones would take control.  At that point she brought up the D-word.

He instantly reacted.  "We can't divorce - that's out.  Do you hear?"  She was surprised by the intensity that suddenly showed its head.  "I will be an associate Vice President in eight months or so, and then a full partner in less than five years.  If I get a divorce, that blows it.  If old man Withers even finds out that we separated, I'll be stuck as a junior VP in charge of paperwork from now on - or in charge of the mailroom."  He pointed his finger at her.  "Don't even mention divorce to anyone, period."  

Her fiery temper got loose again.  She jumped up and said, "I'll publish our divorce on a billboard if I have a mind to, and neither you or that fat son of a bitch you work for will stop me."

It was a mistake.

===============

A week later

They had calmed down, but were sleeping in different beds.  She mentioned a possible divorce a couple of times, but he didn't seem to react.  She wondered if he was feeling remorse at his betrayal.  Or, resignation.  Or...

She woke up choking.  She frantically tried to reach over and turn on the lamp, but thrashed around and knocked the phone to the floor with a clatter, then her glass of water with a smash.  Finally, she managed to get it flipped on and tried to figure out what was happening.  Breathing was hard, and she was soaking wet and laying in wet sheets.  Her voice wouldn't seem to work, so she managed to get out of the bed and stagger to the door, then around the corner to his current bedroom.  She shoved the door open, and leaning against the frame, tried to shout at him...   

===============

A white room

She woke in confusion - nothing was familiar and that didn't help.  She tried to touch her throbbing head with her hand but it didn't seem to work.  Finally, she managed to move her head enough to look around.  A hospital room!  And hoses entering her arm and...  she suddenly realized that something was stuck down her throat.  She tried to yell, but all that came out was a low "uuuuuh."  Then she realized that her arms were fastened to the sides of the bed.  Apparently, all the activity caused something to appear on a monitor because a nurse suddenly appeared within her vision.  She had a hypodermic that disappeared out of her vision, and then she became very sleepy...

==============

An unknown time passes

She came awake again, quietly this time.  She had discovered that thrashing around just got her put to sleep again, so after opening her eyes just long enough to see that there were several people in the room, she closed them and just listened.   As she became more aware, she looked over with lidded eyes at the group standing a few feet away.  A white coated doctor, of course, and her husband, and... who was that?  Ah, it was three of his college friends and members of the men's club that he belonged to.  And, apparently a couple of wives.  One of them was speaking...

"But what is it that she actually has, Doctor?"  She turned around and looked at Rita laying there.  She closed her eyes again but not before recognizing her - her sister in law.  So, this had to be her clinic - she had a practice catering to wealthy clients - none of this medicare or insurance bullshit for her.  She didn't know her very well, but had always assumed her to be an ordinary Doctor.  Whenever she came by the house to visit, she seemed, well, another woman on the way to riches and possessions.

"It has all the symptoms of a rare nervous system disorder.  It doesn't really have a name, but it can be thought of as like a severe Parkenson's disease." 

The other woman spoke up.  "Can't you do anything for her, Doctor?"

She shook his head.  "As I was explaining as you came in, there is a clinic in Switzerland that has made remarkable progress in this type of affliction.  We can't do much for it here because the experimental drugs are proscribed in the US."

Her husband spoke up this time.  "What did they say?"

"I've made arrangements to transfer her to them as soon as transportation is available."

"Transportation, hell.  I'll have the company jet ready as soon as you want."  She suddenly realized that this was the boss, Mr. Withers speaking.

A nurse came in and said, "Doctor, her signs are showing that she is regaining consciousness.  Shall I sedate her?"

She must have nodded, and then said to the audience, "The pain is terrible and we have to keep her under for now."

She opened her eyes and tried to shout "Noooooo" but again, all that came out was a low moan.  "Don't worry, honey" the nurse smiled.  "I have your fix here."  Slowly the room went black again.  

===============

Time passes

Christ, what a headache!  She rubbed her forehead, and decided to get a pair of ibuprofen as soon...  Suddenly, she came to full consciousness and looked around.  She was laying on a mat in a... a... cellar, maybe?  She struggled to a sitting position, then just sat there for a moment hoping her head would clear.  The sudden realization that she was totally nude didn't help her state of shock at all. 

Something was dragging on her throat.  She reached up to feel... something hard... a ring of metal, then realized that a chain was leading from her neck across the floor to the wall.  In growing disbelief, she pulled on it, but in her weakened state, she could barely even straighten it out, besides, it was obvious even in her confused state that no human being was ever going break it.  She started to get to her feet, but her dizziness took over and she plopped back down on her butt.

She held her head in her hands and thought back as best she could.  She had been in that hospital bed for an unknown time, until they sent her... somewhere - she couldn't remember - for a cure, or a...

She just lay back for a while, letting her swimming head slow down a bit.  She could see a plastic jug beside her, apparently holding water - which would be wonderful since she suddenly realized that she had an overpowering thirst.  Sure enough, it was water.  She gulped down about a quart before her thirst was quenched.  Much better.  Looking around, she could see nothing but an overhead bare lightbulb, the door to the little room and a big plastic bucket - empty.  There was nothing besides the water in the room of any use and certainly nothing to tell her what the hell was going on.

The water helped.  She began to remember, then tried to put a timeline together.  She could remember the hospital bed, but had no idea how long she was in it.  She had unpleasant memories of being in hospital cuffs and not being able to use her hands.  And the fact that every time she woke up, she was immediately sedated again.  The last thing she could remember was a discussion of sending her somewhere for a cure.   A cure...  For what?

Then the memories came flooding back.  The infidelity, the divorce discussions, waking up sick that night with something...  Suddenly, she was horror stricken as the pieces fell into place.  She hadn't gotten sick - he must have put a drug in her drink that night.  Almost certainly supplied by his sister, a doctor.  That goddammed female would have known exactly what to give and how much.  She had to have been in on it.

An emergency ambulance ride to Her personal clinic.  Lots of sedation to keep the patient quiet.  A phony diagnosis by Her, and a recommendation, also by Her, to send her out of the country for some phony treatment.   All with innocent bedside witnesses to testify as to how horribly sick the poor woman was.  God, she had been stupid for threatening a divorce without getting her ducks in a row first.  If she had given the matter any decent thought, she would have known that her husband wasn't going to stand by as she trashed his career.  She should have taken the photos to a divorce attorney and had him do the talking.  She was married to an attorney and was highly educated herself, and she well knew the old adage that, "The person who acts as her own lawyer, has a fool for a client."  She dropped her head and said to herself, "Rita, you are one stupid bitch."

After a decent period of self-loathing, she got back to the present.  Carefully, she stood up.  It didn't help - nothing else was apparent that hadn't been sitting down.  With no windows, a door with no apparent doorknob, and the obvious problem of the chain, there wasn't much she was going to do but sit and wait.  

Wait for whom?

==============

Time passes

Rita was about in the last stages of dying from boredom.  She had been chained in the little stone room for weeks, or months, maybe, with nothing to see and nothing to do.  Once a day a voice would tell her to put her bucket, jug of water and empty food bowl by the door, then lay face down on the mat away from the door.  The light would go out, leaving her in pitch darkness, the door would open and in seconds, all three items would be removed and replaced, and the light would come back on.  That was the only event in her daily routine.

She had learned what the bucket was for on the first day, when her bladder suddenly signaled fullness, and she suddenly realized that the room didn't come with a commode.  She hadn't squatted to pee, or anything else, since she was a little girl, but she had no choice here.  Then came the realization that the bucket didn't come equipped with toilet paper - an absolute and vital necessity for any western woman.  By now she was a disgusting and filthy mess, top to bottom, despite her using the residue of her water bottle everyday to try to bath somewhat.

The only consolation was that apparently she wasn't going to be killed and disposed of.  That would have happened long ago.  Instead, someone - her husband? - was going to a lot of trouble to keep her alive, but isolated.  Rita couldn't figure out the scheme of things.  They couldn't keep her in this little room for the rest of her life.   They - whoever they were - could just dispose of her and save themselves the effort.  But the instant they let her out, the whistle would be blown on the whole scheme.  They wouldn't allow that, either.  So just what was going to happen?   Thoughts like these were her only entertainment.  Over and over.

==============

Time passes

"Stand up, facing away from the door!  Do not turn around!"  The new orders, after all this time, stunned her for a moment.  Then, she jumped to her feet, chain rattling and waited.  The door opened and a... bag... something was pulled over her head.  She could feel her hair being pulled through a hole in the back, and her tongue could feel an opening at her mouth, but other than that, it covered her whole head.  Then her hands were pulled behind her and fastened together, the she felt the collar being removed and heard it clank as it was dropped on the floor.  Finally, a hand grabbed her upper arm and roughly pulled her along in a walk.

She felt grass beneath her feet, but no warmth on her bare skin, so it was apparently night.  Shortly, she was pushed into a car, obviously the back seat, and felt it take off down some unpaved road.   She had no sight, and little hearing, so her impression of time and distance were totally skewed.  Her only calculation was that they had driven for at least four hours, but probably not more than eight.  Twice, the car stopped, and the first time she was pulled out, two hands on her shoulders pushed her down in the squatting position with the single command.  "Piss."   The second time was apparently for gasoline.

Eventually, the car stopped and she was led somewhere - a building apparently - then the mask and the manacles were removed.   She blinked in the light from another hanging bulb and saw a man leaving the room.  A much larger room, apparently made to hold several people, but not in comfort.  There were eight platforms along the walls that were each the size of a single small bed, but without mattresses or even blankets.  Like the other, this one had a concrete floor and walls, and a single wooden door with a small grill.  She walked over and looked out, but all she could see was another door that was across and apparent hallway.  She sat down on one of the platforms and waited - not that she had a choice of options.

The wait wasn't long.  The door opened and an exceedingly ugly man with a pitted face entered holding a thin chain.  He walked up to her, and without speech, wrapped it around her neck and fastened it somehow.  Then, taking the other end of the six foot leash, towed her out of the room and down a long dimly lit hallway.   Stopping at a doorway, he removed the chain, opened the door and pushed her in.

A much smaller room - no place to sleep here or even sit.  She hoped that...  Oh my God!  It was a shower room.  A Shower Room!  She pulled a short rope running up to one of the four apparent shower heads and a heavy rain of lukewarm water gushed out.  On a small chiseled out hole in the wall was a blob of what might be soap.  And it was - not name brand, perfumed and branded American type soap, but soap nonetheless.  She luxuriated in the stream of water and the feel of cleanliness that she hadn't experienced for ages.  After at least ten more minutes than she actually needed to get clean, she pulled on the shutoff rope and walked to the center of the room, waiting.  For what, she didn't know, but she was Clean!  There were no towels, but she wiped the remaining droplets from her body with her hands and started air drying.

Very shortly, the same ugly man entered, reattached the leash, and pulled her the other way up the hall.  This time to a cluttered room with another large and fat man waiting.  In a horrible accent, he said in English, "Stand still, hands to your side.  Look down.  Don't move."  Then the two had a short burst of conversation that left Rita wondering what language it was.  And where she was. 

The fat man, apparently a boss of some kind, walked up and looked her over, then to her shock, reached up and took first one breast, then the other, weighing and squeezing them.  In her previous life, as she was beginning to think of it, the idea of that happening wasn't even...  well, she never considered that her body could be intimately touched without her permission.  Fortunately, her sense of self-preservation made her suppress any outrage.  She had a gut feeling that any resistance would be crushed immediately.  Then her composure was really tested as his hands dropped and she felt her... her... private area poked and prodded by fingers - front and back.

She was still in mild shock as the man suddenly pulled on her leash and towed her back down a different hallway.   Then the leash was removed again, and she was pushed through another door.

===============

A room

Rita stood in front of the now locked door, looking around.  This was another large room like the first, with the same arrangement of platforms around the walls.  But these sleeping shelves had thin mats covering them.  But she noticed nothing of this - her eyes were on the two women standing in the center of the room.  She stared at them for a moment, and they stared back.  Finally, the blond - the other was a brunette - asked, "Who are you."

Rita hesitated in her sudden realization that they - this girl, at least - was American.  Or her accent was.  Finally, she walked closer and simply said, "Rita."  The girl nodded and said, "Carla.  And this is Penny."   Both of the other girls sat down on the mat that was in the middle of the room.  Carla, just waved at it in invitation for Rita to join them.

For Rita, it was the first conversation that she had had in months.  In fact, the only interaction with another human being in all that time, if you didn't count the short sessions a man bringing food and water, and the events of the last day or so.  They began to get acquainted.  Rita started by telling her story - she wanted to talk - to say something to a real person who was listening.  Finally, she wound down and began to listen to the tales of the other two.

Carla had been a client of some kind of bondage school - it really didn't make sense to Rita, but apparently it was some kind of sexual spa.  Anyway, she went to sleep one night in her hotel room and woke up here.  She thought that "here" was some place in the Balkans, just from hints and indications that she had put together in the last few months.  Maybe Czechoslovakia, or Bulgaria.  Maybe Turkey. 

Penny had been a bad girl.  She had been the bait in some kind of stock scam ring that got busted.  She and two others hotfooted to Canada to let the heat cool down, then left for Europe when it appeared that the Feds had traced them to their hideout city.  In Berlin, she had made the major mistake of letting a strange man in a bar hand her a drink.  Like Carla, she woke up here.

What this place was, neither knew.  Other than a single inspection in an office like Rita just had, and trips to the shower, they hadn't left this room.  Food was delivered, there was a squat toilet in one corner and a wash basin in another - all they needed to live.  So, sitting and talking was the only entertainment they had.  Well, not all, exactly.

Rita was horrified to learn that the girls in this room - and probably her, also - were considered freely available for sexual services by the staff.  "You mean that a man just comes in and... and..."

"...fucks us in front of the others," Penny finished for her. 

At the sight of Rita's wide eyed panic, Carla took her arm and said, "Easy, girl.  It takes some getting used to, but it isn't a big deal.  And there's nothing you can do about it but cooperate."

Rita wasn't soothed by the advice.  "That's against the law.  They can't just... just take a..." 

Carla reached over and grabbed the panicked girl by the shoulders and shook her.  "Stop it!"  She pulled the girl close to her face.  "If you want to survive, and you do, you have to realize that you're in a place where the rules you grew up with don't apply here."  She waited for the words to sink in, then continued.  "The world here, wherever the hell it is, is run by men and for men.  Women, girls, cunts - Us - don't count.  We just obey."

She let go of Rita's shoulders and took her hands.  "Listen.  You have to prepare yourself.  You're the new girl here and men always go for new, so you're going to be used by the staff next, and probably by a lot of them.  Just cooperate and let it roll off you." 

Carla was right on.  An hour later, the door opened, a man pointed to Rita then and barked a command.  Carla quietly said, "Get down on the mat on your hands and knees and spread your legs."  Rita began to backup to a corner, shaking her head and just staring at the man.  Carla called to her much more emphatically, "Rita!  Do what he wants!"  The wide eyed girl violently shook her head.  "You're going to get yourself beaten, girl!  Do it now!"  

The astonished man, with the ends of his rope-belt still in his hands, looked at the girl with astonishment, as though some simple tool had suddenly refused to work.  Then he pulled his loose pants back up, and stalked out the door, leaving the crying girl on her knees in the corner.

Penny, walked over to her and yanked her to her feet.  "Damn it, you stupid bitch!  You're going to get us all striped!"  She brought her hand back to slap the still crying girl across the face, but it was caught by Carla.  She pushed Penny away and took the girl by the shoulders.

"Rita!  Stop it!  This isn't going to help."  She shook her to try to get some attention. "You are going to have to play the game here. You don't have any choice, except to..."

The door flew open with a bang, and both Carla and Penny spun around to see who it was.  That was followed immediately by them moving to the center mat and instantly dropping into a submissive stance, on their hand and knees.  With their heads bowed, all they could see out of the corners of their eyes were the feet of the other two persons in the room, but they knew exactly what was happening as the punishment master dragged the redhead out of the room by her hair.

===============

The punishment suite

The pain of being pulled along by her tresses, bent over and stumbling, finally stopped, but before she could react to the release, she saw her wrists being connected together with pair of leather cuffs.  The man disappeared behind her and she began to notice her surroundings.  Just an empty room with no furnishings and...  There was a clicking sound behind her and she felt her wrists being raised.  Looking up she could see the rope attached to the center of her cuffs leading into some kind of double pulley then across the ceiling of the room.  Turning around, she saw it leading to a... mechanism of some kind on the wall, and the man who apparently had dragged her in here was turning a crank.

She suddenly realized that her arms were being drawn above her head, and tried futilely to pull them back down, while protesting, "No.  No."  Shortly she was held in a vertical stretch that almost had her on her tiptoes, then she realized in panic that he wasn't stopping.  "Nooooo," she cried as her feet left the floor and she swung gently back and forth.  The strain was terrific - she hadn't been suspended by her arms since using the playground bars as a little girl.

Then with horror, she saw him uncoil a long whip and shake it out on the floor.  Her mind was rejecting what her eyes were seeing - nobody was struck with a whip these days.  That was something done only in the long historic past.  He was trying to scare her into...

Suddenly, her midriff exploded in an excruciating circle of pain as the whip contacted her back, curled around under one side of her ribcage, across her stomach, around the other side and then finally expended its final energy as the tip lashed a welt on her back.  It totally knocked the breath out of her, leaving her gasping and unable to scream.  Her legs doubled up in reaction as her nervous system tried to find some way to alleviate the unwanted impulses coming from the receptors of her skin.  Finally, she got enough air to let out a shriek that only stopped when her lungs ran empty again.  She had never experienced pain like that in her life - not even remotely close to it.

And it was only just starting.

===============

Later

After her ordeal under the lash was over, she was dumped back in the room with the other two girls, almost unconscious.  She was a mass of raised red welts, but the punishment master was an expert - there was not a trace of blood or broken skin on her body.  They, whomever they were, gave her a few days to recover before subjecting her to what got her punished by refusing in the first place.

A month later, the act of being used for sex was just something to be endured, and was neither erotic or interesting.  Eventually the new wore off of her status, and the other two girls began to share the load, so to speak.

She got the usual lessons about how to behave in front of men, like always using the word Master, and never using the first person in referring to themselves.

A few months later, the girls were surprised when Rita was taken out of the room...

===============

---------------

The bedroom.

It was quite a story.  I had no reason to disbelieve any part of it, not that it mattered.  By now, it was quite late - it had been a long story, interrupted by questions from me.  I got up, pulled her with me into the bathroom and cleaned both of us up with a hot washcloth.  I left her to pee and waited for her on the bed.  We just went to sleep without any further sexual action.

I woke the next morning with her snuggled next to me and with her arms around my neck.  Apparently I had triggered some kind of security response in her as the first man who didn't just use her and then push her to the mat with contempt.  I got up, leaving her sleeping, made my morning ablutions, and headed in for breakfast.  In answer to Tarkans jovial questionings, I mentioned that I would like her as my bedwarmer while I was here.  He laughed and shouted an order to a flunky.  After my leisurely meal, I filled up a plate with another smaller meal, and a glass of milk and headed back to my room. 

She was awake and was sporting a new item of apparel.  While I had been eating, and obviously in response to my request, someone had entered and fitted her with a thin silver collar and a small chain that had enough length to reach the bathroom from the bed, where it was attached.  I pointed to the thick rug at the side of the bed, and said, "Sit down."  She immediately did, and I handed her the plate and the glass.  As she devoured the meal, I said, "You will be my bedwarmer while I am visiting."  She nodded, but showed no expression.

Enough of her.  It was time for another tour.

---------------

Across town

Suliman's was a training establishment that went back through generations of his family.  I understood it to be a training school for the erotic arts, sort of a good wife's academy on how to please a man.  I wasn't even close.

Suliman greeted me in the local fashion, that is like a long lost favorite cousin.   Of course, I suspected that the fact of my having Sheik Hassan as a sponsor went a long long way toward fashioning that greeting.  After the obligatory round of drinks - tea - he gave me the tour. 

The girls in the establishment were all sorted by category, and by wearing a scarf around their neck.  Red, yellow and green, in ascending order of there level of "education."  We looked through one way glass to see several sessions in progress.  I had to admit, they covered everything, apparently.   I knew first hand of the quality of the training here.  My only experience with one of his graduates was with my friend and colleague's girl, Wall Flower, but it was awesome.  The experience couldn't be explained, only experienced.

I asked about the entry requirements.  A thin wisp of an idea was beginning to develop in my mind.

He smiled and replied, "Our prerequisites are very strict.  We have few openings and many many requests for training.  But, may I say that anyone recommended by Meester Hassan will, of course, be acted on with dispatch." 

Later, over lunch at the local club, he said to me over a cup of tea, "Meester Rodger, with your permission, I have arranged a session with one of our green silk girls."  I just smiled and nodded as he continued.  "They always need practice, and a new face is stimulating to them."

---------------

Tarkans

That night I just lay beside my redhead.  There was no chance of her servicing me tonight - not after a two hour session with a near-graduate of Suliman's.   I just lay back in the dark and thought about the differences between the two girls.  Rita was actually far better looking than the green silk girl, Pumita.  In fact, in ordinary circumstances, the girl of Suliman could have been called plain.  But the comparison stopped there.  If Rita was considered to be a slingshot, then Pumita was a Squad Automatic Weapon. 

Rita barely knew more of sex than to wet down a man's tool with her mouth, then roll over and let it be stuffed into her cunt.   Pumita, on the other hand, could cause a massive erotic craving in a man just by manipulating his feet and legs.  And once she got serious and began working up around his important equipment, she could turn him into a blindly rutting rapist, then just as suddenly, turn him off and begin the process again.  And again.

I would like to possess such a girl, I thought.  They were ungodly expensive, but I could afford one.  My fear was becoming like that fool Marko, and not being able to keep my mind on task with such a piece on tap.  But that was a problem for the future.

---------------

Around

For the next month or so, using Tarkan's as a headquarters, I visited two more agents of the Sheik - one in Germany and one in Britain.  And of course, made time to visit my new friend, Jean, in France.  He had just pulled off another snatch, but nothing like last time.  This one was just taken in her apartment and immediately shipped out.  Nothing much to talk about, he said.  I tried to forget my disappointment by laying between the legs of some of his live-in girls.  It worked.

Agents who were domiciled in a western country didn't have dungeons with actual slavegirls - at least, as far as anyone in the Sheik's network knew.  There was too much chance of an escape over the years, however slight it might be, that would instantly hit all the newspapers and Internet sites in the world.  That agent would instantly have to decamp to parts unknown.  That being said, some agents did have harems of their own, but located in areas of the world where the chance of exposure was almost nonexistent, escape by a lone female was virtually impossible, and any revelations could be easily hushed up with a certain amount of payola.   Actually, the Sheik did mention an actual slave dungeon, and in my country no less, but he obviously didn't give me any particulars.  I got the impression that the owner wasn't an agent - he was more like an independent peer of some kind.

The man in Britain was in it for the money - to him, females were just a product to make money on.  Like Jean in Paris, he kept several desirable cunts on the domestic staff for his own pleasure, rather than holding females in bondage somewhere.  He just liked pussy - ropes and chains and whips had no attraction for him.  

Herr Willi Schmidt, of Munich, was cut from entirely different cloth.  I was invited to a holiday with him to his remote casbah, as he called it.  He was into B&D big time and his mountain retreat somewhere that was apparently stocked with special stuff.  I told him that I would be happy to get the tour whenever we both had time.

---------------

Tarkans

By the first of the next month, I was back at Tarkans.  I had asked about purchasing the redhead, and he agreed to put her up for sale in the next auction.  He offered to just make a present of her, but I had no intention of using my connection with Sheik in that way.  I just asked him to allow me to attend the auction and bid in the normal way.

That was an interesting day.   Tarkan had two or three levels of auctions - actually, they were keyed to the quality of the girls that were for sale.  There was no sense in letting a minor business man attend a sale for top level girls that he couldn't possibly afford, and rich buyers had no interest in plain domestics.  Their staff would buy those if needed.

This day had about fifteen men in the chairs.  Nine girls would be sold, all at top dollar and all western women.   Tarkan had assigned a clerk to stay with me to make sure that I didn't get tripped up by the language or anything else that I couldn't follow.  Four girls went by, and were sold, then Rita appeared, not really knowing what was happening at first.  The bidding was spirited - this was a beautiful young woman displaying her wares on the platform.

Finally, I raised my hand, the auctioneer pointed and said his word of acceptance.  More bidding, and I kept up.  Then came a bid from a man in the back.  Suddenly the bidding stopped.  What the hell?  I looked around for answers, but nothing had changed.  I upped the bid.  More jabber from the auctioneer.   THe man upped me.  Then I did him.  Something had changed in the room, and I didn't like the feeling I was getting.

Suddenly, a little weasel slinked up to my helper and they conversed for a few seconds.  Then my man whispered to me, "Meester Sergeant, I have been asked to tell you to cease your bidding."

What the hell was this?  "By who?  That dude over there?"

"Yes, Meester Sergeant."  He was nodding vigorously.  "He is a very powerful.  A bad man."

I looked over at the "bad" man, held his stare till he looked away, then raised my hand for my bid.  When I looked back, he was gone. I looked around and he was heading for the door.  The auctioneer did his 'if there are no more bids' routine, then pointed to me and said the word for sold.

---------------

My room

Back in my room, Rita was standing there in front of me, almost at attention.  For myself, I was still adjusting to the idea that I had just bought a human being.  I asked her, "Do you understand what just happened?"   We were still conversing in French - she still didn't know I was an American, like her.

"Yes, Master," she replied, almost tearfully.  "This girl has been sold and bought by the Master."  I looked her up and down.  With her looks and Suliman's school, she would be a nice bedwarmer for me.  "May this girl ask a question?"  I nodded.  "Can people actually be made slaves here, Master?"

I lay back on the bed.  I was clothed but she wasn't.  I didn't even know if her old clothes even still existed.  "I wouldn't have believed it myself, two years ago.  But, yes, they can and are."  I paused.  "And you are, now."  I patted the bed.  "Sit down."

At the sight of her large bobbing titties next to me, I felt stirrings beginning in my groin, but ignored them.  "Listen to me," I began.  "For whatever reason, you have happened to end up in a primitive part of the world as a bound person.  If you had been sold to another at that auction, it could have been to a man who gets his kicks by torturing women.  Or hanging them."  Her eyes got wider.  "Most probably, though, you would have been the new sex toy for a rich businessman.  He would have kept you until the new wore off or he procured a younger woman.  Then you would most likely have been demoted to the kitchen, or cleaning crew, or maybe even work in the fields.  And available to every other male in the place, day or night.  Understand?"  She nodded and said nothing, but I had her full attention. 

"If you tried to escape, you would be a naked woman in a part of the world where single women have no rights.  When you were caught, you would be sent back to your master for punishment.  Or, maybe even kept by the finder as his new toy.  You might find yourself owned by a butcher and cleaning up blood and guts in his shop for the rest of your life."  I looked to see if she was getting bored, but her eyes were laser focused on me.

"If, somehow, you managed to make it all the way back to America, you would find that you don't exist.  You have no passport, identity cards, or money. Margarita Langs... whatever your last name was, is dead.  Somewhere there is a legal death certificate registered with that woman's name.  Were you ever fingerprinted?  Or had your DNA printed?"  She shook her head. "I thought not.  You have no way to prove who you are, especially with no money.  And if the persons who were responsible for your pseudo death, find out that you are back, they will not hesitate to make sure that you are dead for real.  They would have no other choice."

Time to wrap this up.  My johnson was telling me that I was spending way too much time in talk.  "I'm a rich man, and fairly powerful - and my future looks to be a climb up from here.  You are now my actual, if not legal to the world, slavegirl.  If you obey me you will find me a kind master.  I don't beat women against their will for kicks - that isn't my thing.  You will sleep in a warm bed and eat good food.  You might even have your own body servants someday.  But, I want you to know that if you disobey me, or displeasure me, I will whip your bottom like a naughty little girl.  Understand?"  Another vigorous nod.

"I am going to give you something that most slaves don't get - a choice of which road you want.  And you must choose right now.  If you wish, I will put you in the next auction and let you be sold to the highest bidder and wave goodbye to you as you leave the platform.  Or you can follow me along my road wherever it goes.  Which do you want?"  I wondered if that was the truth?  Would I actually resell her if she wanted?  It was obvious that I hadn't turned into a hardened slave owner yet.  Not if I was giving a slave a choice.  Of course, it would be a strange and adventurous woman to give up a somewhat hopeful destination to wander down a totally unknown path.

She took no time in deciding.  She leaned against me and said, "Please, Master.  This girl wishes to go with you."

That night I spent a considerable amount of time and skill making sure that she had an orgasm - possibly the first one that she had ever experienced that was induced by a male.  Certainly, the first one in many years.  Once again, when I woke up, she was snuggled up next to me.

---------------

Tarkan's office

I was looking at the paper that Tarkan had handed me moments before.  "The next class starts on the fifteenth of next month.  She will need to be back by then."  He took a swig of his usual morning pick-me-up - some kind of of local pilsner.  Horse piss to me.  "Why not just leave her here till then?"

"I thought about it," I replied.  "But, I want to show her to a friend in France before she goes into training.  Besides, she hasn't really imprinted to me yet.  She needs to see me every day before her school starts.  I won't see much of her then."

We left that morning.  The Sheik's cargo plane would be landing in a few hours, so there was no rush.  We would take the trolley across town, then a cab to the airport.  I had Rita dressed in a simple garb as lower class women wore here - the first clothes she had been permitted to wear in months. To her, the walk to main street was an excursion.  She kept having to choke back her verbal delight at seeing this and that.  For an ex-high class, educated American, wearing cheap sandals and a used pullover dress, she was probably happier than she had been in years.  About halfway to the trolly stop, I knew something wasn't right.

All men who have been in close combat have a sixth sense - those that don't develop it usually wind up as coffin stuffing.  In the Air Force, it is called situational awareness - the idea that in combat a pilot has to have knowledge of everything that is happening around him.  It is the unknown threat that kills you.  For a ground pounder, the same sense is there.  It has no formal name, but it is real, nonetheless.

Back in the 'worl, between tours and after I was discharged, that sixth sense would come to the fore even in innocuous situations.  Coming out of a big box store, walking across the parking lot, I would automatically look behind every car that I passed, every wall and divider that I went by, and every few seconds, my head would swivel one eighty degrees to check my six o'clock.  I will probably do that for the rest of my life.

At my six, were the same two guys, one wearing a red fez, the other a plaid shirt.  Each time I glanced they were a little closer.  Ahead, I scanned for the likely position of the ambush.  If this was going to be a gun battle, I was in for trouble, but I doubted it.  Gunplay in this country got you a little cell and bread and water for life.  I decided that the best defense is a good offense, and, pulling her by the arm, turned around and started back the way we came.  The pair suddenly got interested in looking in a shop window - they had stopped, probably confused by the wrench in the gears of their plan.  As I got closer, I could see no bulges that might indicate a handgun, but, of course, somewhere on their persons would be a long knife - probably two.

They suddenly disappeared into the store - a little rug shop, it looked like.  Holding her arm, I hurried her along, back in the direction we had come.  At the corner of the block it happened.  Apparently the other half of the ambush had a vehicle, and when they saw me reverse course, drove around the block to get in front of us.  Three of them, all with drawn knives.

I pushed Rita out of the way - hard - this was man's work and I didn't need a woman in the way.  I moved around to get a wall behind me, and so I could see up and down the street.  All three spread out, so as to attack at the same time - something I didn't want to happen.  I did a phony lunge at the nearest and he fell for it.  His knife hand went under my side and was clamped by my left arm.  Meanwhile, my right fist tried it best to punch its way to his backbone through his stomach.  It didn't make it, but as he doubled over the edge of my hand met his adams apple edge on coming up.  I pushed his collapsing body at a second attacker an instant later.  They collided and gave me a chance to work on the third bastard.  I had more time now, and threw an overhead punch that he easily avoided.  Unfortunately, while he was concentrating on it, he failed to entirely avoid my ankle meeting his balls in a football style drop kick.  As he doubled over I gave his neck a treatment, known by the men of my old squad, as the Bagdad Twist.  For good measure, I swooped up his knife.

Now I could see the first two SOB's running up the street carrying Rita between them.  Ok, so the idea was to capture her - if the intention had been to kill, she would already be lying dead on the ground.

That left the third member of the cast of players, now untangled from his expiring buddy.  He took another look at the situation and apparently decided to report back to headquarters.  He made it about twenty meters before I kicked his heel and he tripped and rolled in the dirt.  I didn't want to be caught carrying a knife around a foreign country, so I got rid of it by storing it in the neck of the thrashing thug. 

Now I looked around to quickly get a situational picture.  This had been self-defense, but I didn't want to test that theory in a third world country.  This was mostly a warehouse area, and very few people were around, and none were even bothering to notice our little disagreement.  No cops were in sight - neither were the two scumbags with Rita - so I headed back for Tarkan's place, taking a meandering path and always checking my six.

---------------

Tarkan's office again

"His name is Yilmaz.  It means... ah... what is the word in English?  Fearless, or brave or bold - something like that.  It doesn't translate well."

"Screw the name," I said.  "What is he?"  I was holding my second drink.  The reaction had finally set in and I needed to stop trembling.

Tarkan looked grim.  "You would call him a mobster, but he is more like the head of a drug gang.  He has no sense of mercy.  If he orders a killing, it is not only the man, but his family, friends, and anyone else that can be connected to him.  Your refusing to drop out of the auction on his orders was an offense to him."  He was on his third drink.  "The world would be a better place if he were not in it.  But, my friend, he isn't someone you want to cross swords with.  He is merciless.  It is best that you leave the country for a while."

I was going to leave the country, for sure.  In about an hour on the Sheik's cargo plane.  But first, "Get me everything you know about him.  Don't spy or take any risks.  Just common knowledge like where he lives and so forth.  Send it to me at the Sheik's compound."

He shook his head.  "I will do it, my friend, but please don't start something that you will regret.  He will not bother me.  It is well known that I have the Sheik as a principal.  But, I enjoy having you as a friend.  I don't want to have to identify your body."

I stood up and shook hands. "Goodbye for now, my friend."  I looked out in the hall for any lurkers, then quietly said, "Gather that information yourself and keep it quiet.  The only people who knew if and when I was leaving with Rita, were a few people in this building.  You have a mole in your house, Tarkan."

Yilmaz might be the Fearless, but, if I could arrange it, he was going to learn the American custom of Payback.

---------------

The Desert Compound

The stop at Hassan's was short.  Just long enough to brief him on what had happened.  He was concerned.

"This is serious, my friend. I have never had an agent attacked by a local thug." 

I was enjoying an ice cold soft drink, now.  I didn't need any liquor.  I was running on adrenaline.  "I doubt that he knows who I am and anything about my connection with you.  I think this was just a small time hood who got his ego stepped on and wanted revenge."

"It still needs handling," he came back.

I smiled over the ice cubes.  "Believe me, Mr. Hassan.  It will be handled.  And the handle will have 'Made in USA' stamped on it."

---------------

Time passes

I stopped in Paris to consult with my friend, Jean, got some good advice from him, made some arrangements, then continued on to the Land of the Free.  From New York, I took a red-eye to Atlanta, then rented a car and headed to the suburbs.  By now I was dead on my feet, so I checked into a fleabag for some rack time until nightfall. 

The club was an exclusive nightspot, for swells and pretty singles.  Twenty-five year old ex-sergeants need not apply for admission.  The bouncer at the door turned all away except for the exclusive few on his list and the occasional cunt sporting the right equipment.  He was big and mean looking, but it was a front.  I could see the slack muscles that used to pump iron, but that were now on a body that just drank and screwed.  I could take him with two fingers on my left hand, but since that would probably cause a ruckus, I tried reasoning with him when he told me to beat it. 

"My good Sir," I said. "I have no desire to visit your club.  I have an important message for your employee, Mr. Dodge.  His Uncle has passed away and left him a pile.  I need to give him a number."

The bum didn't know whether to believe me or not, but said, "Wait here," then stuck his head in the door and shouted over the music, "Polla!  Tell Dodge to come out here!"  I just stood there an admired the applicants for admission.  Some of them would bring a pretty penny in certain places in the world.  Shortly, a man came out the door and up to the bouncer.  "This guy says he has a message for you."

Mr. Dodge - Telly - looked at me for a second, did a double take, then stepped down to my level and grabbed my hand, slapping my shoulder with the other.  "Sarge!  Goddamn!  It is you!  Son of a bitch!  Where you been, man?"  I tried to get a word in edgewise, but it was hopeless.  "Burt!"  This to the bouncer.  "He's with me.  Come on in Bro."  He led me though the door and across a dance floor, I guess.   The place was packed - I mean, jammed like an Istanbul streetcar.  Nobody was going to dance anywhere.  They would kill each other if they tried.  The ruckus was beyond painful - I've been in firefights where the total noise level was less.  Nobody was going to hear anything anybody said, either.

Telly finally led me to a back room, closed the door and shut out most of the audible mayhem.  After a few more exclamations, he pointed me to a sofa and asked me if I wanted a drink.  I shook my head.  Telly had been a top-notch soldier in my squad - my corporal.  He lived for excitement and danger.  In fact, he once mentioned to me, that to him, the only thing that made life worth living, was the possibility that they might get shot at sometime during the day.  He was wounded during a firefight one night and, despite his vocal protests, was medically discharged and sent packing.

"How's the hole in the arm, doing," I asked. 

He held up the item in question.  "It's fine, Bro.  Those bastards didn't even give me a chance to heal before they cut me loose."   After some more good ole boy talk, he suddenly turned serious.  "Ok, Sarge.  You didn't come here for old time sake's.  Whassup?"

I looked around.  "Is this place secure?" 

He snorted. "Hell, who knows?  It hasn't been swept for bugs, if that's what you mean.  But I doubt that anybody that works here has enough ears left to listen to a megaphone, let alone a mic."

I waved him closer and in a low voice, began my spiel.  "I have an operation starting up and I'm just now recruiting."  His eyes lit up. "Obviously, I can't say much about it right now, but it isn't a criminal enterprise.  Actually, we're the good guys and it's a hostage rescue and payback op."  He just nodded - a professional who knew when to make small talk and when to listen.  "I need about five people, all fighters.  It will be dangerous, violent and well paid, win or lose."

"Just you and five others?"

I shook my head.  "No, there will be others - I have massive support behind this.  How massive you wouldn't believe."  A pause. "You have a good job here.  I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want any part of it.  But I was hoping you would know who..."  He interrupted me with a slash of his hand.

"Screw that, Sarge.  I'm in and that's that. Keerist!  I would give anything to get back in the shit!"  I knew it before I got on the plane.  This was like offering a free rock to a crackhead.

"Ok, you will be squad leader.  How about Bummer.  Think he would be available?"

Telly nodded.  "Hell, yes."  He's like me - about to go crazy as a civy.  Tried to join a freelance outfit, but the limp gets him cut every time."  Bummer had the same story as Telly.  Wounded in combat, then released on medical, even though with a limp he was more deadly than an entire squad of low time soldiers.  

"Who else, I asked.  He thought a moment.

"Remember Chip?"  I nodded.  An electronic nut.  He could make a TV out of a toaster - almost. "He might be available." 

We talked some more, then I gave him a card with my phone number and left him to turn in his notice to the club.

---------------

France, outside of Paris

My team had come in two days before and was relaxing in the comforts of Jean's mansion.  These five grunts assumed that they had died and somehow, some mistake had gotten them into heaven.  They had five of Jean's beautiful "employees" assigned to keep them satisfied, and they mixed and matched all day and night for those two days until I was afraid that none of them would have any strength left for the mission.  

The reason for the delay, was that I was waiting for a courier to arrive with some needed info.  Finally, a girl arrived on the patio to inform us that a woman had arrived.

In the study, the info was waiting - brought, naturally, by Katja.  I had previously told Telly to warn his men to treat her with absolute respect and leave off the sexual Americanism lingo.  Not only because she was my friend, but because I assumed that they would want to return home with their balls still swinging under them.  She had collected the info from Tarkan, but had made some contacts and collected much more intel that would come in handy.

I summoned the team, and we relaxed in the study - the five grunts, Katja, Jean and I.  I started with an overview of what had happened to me on that day, then followed with a generic outline of what we were going to do.  There was no actual plan yet - this crew would come up with one.  I then turned it over to Katja.

She stood up and pulled a thick stack of paperwork from a filer.  She handed a photo to Jean.  He looked at it then passed it on.  "This  photo is a satellite view of the target.  You can see that it is a compound with a large mansion and several out buildings inside of a twelve foot concrete wall.  The wall is topped with broken glass and razor wire."  Another photo.  "Here is a closeup from the ground, of the top of the wall.  You can barely see the thin wire that is probably a signal trip.  If it breaks, it probably sets off an alarm inside.  Fairly crude and easy to jumper around."

"Here is a detailed overhead from a plane."  This one was really good.  Even small rocks were apparent in the resolution.   More photos followed - views of all sides of the wall, and the gate.  "Note that the gate has a watchtower and is always manned.  It appears that the gate is controlled from here."

She pulled out a piece of paper.  "Do not treat this info as accurate.  We will need to refine our data much more, but this is what is thought to be.  Yilmaz isn't married in the normal sense of the word, but he keeps a harem of women.  Most of his thugs live in town, but he keep his core of trusted associates in his compound.  Some tipsters say fifteen - some say fifty.  Who knows?"

Bummer raised his arm.  I grinned behind my hand - seven of the eight people in this room had killed an unknown, but fairly large number of people, and one of them was raising his hand like a schoolboy.  "Do you know if there are any guards walking the compound at night."

Katja shook her head.  "Unknown.  One is alway in the watchtower by the gate, but as to the grounds, who knows.  Why?"

"Well," he answered. "If we see a sentry walking at night, then we know there are no motion sensors active inside the walls.  Otherwise, they would go off all night."

She pointed to him.  "Good point.  We will need to find that out.  And you have touched on a major problem.  We need to see what happens inside on a given day - somehow."

Dolby - he and Jonesie were the final two members of our team - asked, "Is there a tall enough building around that looks down into the compound?"

"No.  Nothing but shacks and a few warehouses in the area."

"Ok, here's a way."  This was Chip - our resident electronic and math genius.  He pulled the overhead picture of the compound out of the pile.  "We can put wireless cameras on top of the wall looking in, here, here, here and...  probably here.  In the dark of the moon, or a storm at night, we can easily reach the top from the outside with a lightweight scaling ladder.  It would take only seconds each.  The receiver could be in a car parked anywhere in a... oh, say three hundred meter radius."

Telly. "Wouldn't you be taking the chance of them being seen in the daytime."

Chip shook his head.  "The actual camera is about this big..." He indicated the tip of is little finger.  "...and the sender and battery pack is smaller than a deck of cards.  It probably couldn't even be seen from the ground unless you stood back far enough to get a viewing angle - and then you would be so far away you couldn't see it anyway.  Besides, we can disguise them as a blob of concrete or something."

I chimed in.  "Good idea.  Go online and order eight of them.  Jean can get you on a computer."  I looked over and Jean was already opening a laptop.

The briefing went on for hours and I finally wrapped it up.

"Ok.  We will be leaving for our safe house tomorrow.  You will travel individually and will not recognize each other if you happen to cross paths.  I will have some detailed instructions for your travel before you leave.  I will entertain any suggestions you come up with, and I am looking for some.   Remember, this won't be a shoot-em up op.  It will be down and dirty, close in.  A firefight would wake the neighborhood and light up the local 911 lines - or whatever the hell goes for it over there." 

"When you get in country, the gloves go on and never come off unless you are taking a shower.  Remember that all of we ex-army guys have been fingerprinted.  I don't want the locals asking Interpol and them asking the FBI if they can match the ones they found."

"Get some sleep.  I'll see you in the morning."  

---------------

A big house, somewhere in Turkey.

The cameras had been delivered by Jean, who had flown them in from Paris.  They had been installed two nights before and the car with the receiver wasn't needed. Our safe house was about a half mile from the target and was big, rambling and in a neighborhood of mostly illegals, so nobody was going to stick their nose in our business.   Chip had rigged up a directional antenna and we could receive real time feeds downstairs.  Instead of four, we used six - two of them looking outside the walls just for good measure.

The first bit of good intel we got was the fact that a sentry did walk the grounds at night.  So, no alarms in the compound.  Shortly, we had the section spotted that housed the troops.  The best count we could come up with was about twelve to fourteen - goons, that is.   There would be servants - we could see some of them come and go.  Another good part was that the gate was almost never opened at night, so it was unlikely that someone would drive up and demand to be let in while we were there.   

All day we hashed out plans, then modified them, then hashed them again.  Jean, the careful pessimist was his usual self, always asking an answer to what would be done if this went wrong, or if that person did this.  He also made us plan how to exit the operation if it went well, or if it had problems, or if it went completely south.  All in all, a good man to have on a planning team, even if he wasn't a field operator.

In a few days, we had a pretty accurate count of the occupants of the compound.  There were eleven goons that slept in the barracks.  There were also fourteen servants that came in the morning and left in the evening.  And an unknown number of women.    Not many people for such a large facility.

I opened some boxes and pulled out several sets of night vision gear. "Practice with these tonight.  These are category four, so they operate differently than the ones we had in Iraq."

"Cat four!" Telly exclaimed. "How the hell did you...  I mean, the Army doesn't even have these yet."  I just smiled - I had told them that I had a massive support organization behind me.

I passed out the .45 calibre automatics.  These were modified to take a massive silencer and the bullets were low velocity subsonic.  The bullets were so underpowered that the action had to be cycled by hand, as the recoil wasn't sufficient to autoload.  As such, they were almost as quiet as a movie pistol.  We had already familiarized ourselves with them in a forest outside of Paris.

The last thing, was a long barrel, bolt action .22 rifle.  It also had a silencer and used standard velocity shorts.  It was almost dead quiet, but it also had a minimum of stopping power.  Even a thick jacket might slow it down enough to protect the target.  Jonesie was the user for it.  He was the best shot of any of us.  Many was the time we saw him drop a target, using an M-14 under iron sights at a range that we could barely even see what he was shooting at.

---------------

Night, late.

"Sarge!"  I was immediately awake, reaching for my nonexistent .45 on my hip.  I could see Telly in the dim light, standing over my cot.

No long stream of verbiage from him on an op, simply, "Problem.  Downstairs."

I jumped up and followed him to the bank of laptops that were monitoring the cameras.  Chip pointed to the one that looked out from the front wall.  In the inflared view, I could see two cars and a van.  Most disturbing was the apparent swat team that was in full assault mode, crouching and holding all sorts of weaponry.

I turned around to Telly.  "Wake everyone up.  Get ready for scatterplan alpha."  Suddenly, there was just a hole in the air where he had been standing.  The action was a half mile away, but if they moved to our side of the compound we were gone. "I thought the scumbag had everybody downtown paid off."

We watched as whatever was going down, prepared to take place.  Katja had entered and spoke up.  "I don't think it has anything to do with our target."  I looked at her and waited.  "There are only about a dozen armed cops, if that is what they are.  Nowhere near enough to take down an area the size of the compound -  at least not if they do it according to the rules of the rest of the world."  She pointed to another camera.  "Here's the kicker.  The gate guard is just standing there in the tower, watching - he hasn't pushed the panic button."

Shortly, everybody in the building was standing behind us watching.  If they were wondering what was going on, they were disciplined enough not to jabber out questions to the people on duty. 

Suddenly, it went down.  They stormed a house from all sides.  Our cameras didn't have audio and the action was too far away to hear, but we could see flash-bangs going off - or hell, in this part of the world they could be grenades.  It was obviously a police raid for something.  I turned around to face everybody.  "Back to bed.  False alarm."  I was still jumpy.  We didn't need something like it to happen the night we went in.

---------------

Three days later.

Telly came to my room where I was napping.  "Sarge, we may be in luck."  I immediately sat up and waited.  "Two cars left at fifteen hundred hours with about eight of the goons.  Katja followed them and she just called in.  They motored out of town.  I don't think they're coming back today."  I knew what he was thinking - that only left four to six of his men in the compound. 

"Is there a chance he went with them."

He shook his head.  "No.  We've seen him in the compound, since."

"Ok, get everybody ready.  Tonight's the night."

---------------

Later that evening

A couple of hours later, Katja called back in to report that the cars were still on the Interstate, or its equivalent, heading south.  Everybody checked and rechecked his equipment, and we went over the plan, the alternate plan, and the alternate alternate.  Fortunately, the moon would be down by midnight, which was good, since it was an absolutely clear night.

Katja made a call to Tarkan, the result of which would mean that a pair of trucks and a car would be delivered to an old warehouse just down the street from us.  He still wasn't told what was going on, for his protection, although he could probably guess, since he was told to expect a delivery of merchandise shortly.

About dark, she came into report that she had seen the trucks and a car entering the building and the two drivers get into a following car and drive away. 

---------------

01:00 hours

I stood below a black ladder, wearing a black set of utilities, and looking around for any movement.  I could see everything as well as in daylight, although the picture in my goggles was green on black.  Above me was another black blob, standing at the top of the ladder and looking over the wall - Jonesie.  Five minutes went by, then ten, then fifteen, damn! Was this guy ever going to...  then... a quiet pop.  Down the ladder he came and gave a thumbs up. I raised my clinched fist.  Four more black apparitions appeared, one carrying another ladder.  Up the already set ladder he went, carrying the other section, and a few seconds later gave a single low whistle.  He had dropped the other section over the wall and hooked it into the top of the one he was standing on.  Now we could go up and over, not only the wall, but the razor wire and the tripwire.

Nothing was left in the house we had vacated.  All of the equipment, spare clothes, water, and trash was in the back of Jean's car and was long gone. He would drive to Tarkans and stay there to wait the outcome, making sure that nobody else in his organization knew was was happening.  There was still the problem of the mole that needed to be found.

In short order, all of us were over the wall and spreading out on our assignments.  Jonesie was crouched behind a box of some kind, looking through his night vision rifle scope at the top of the watch tower, waiting.  The result of his first bullet was still laying on the ground in the rear of the compound with what looked like a tiny third eye in his head.  Telly and I moved up the steps to the front door.  We had plans if it was locked, but it wasn't.  Even in the current situation, I smiled, remembering Jean with his ever present questioning, "So... You get to here and the door is locked.  Are you going to ring the doorbell?" 

Slowly, I opened the door and peered around the frame.  This was a mansion, and what I could see in the entry way showed it.  Unfortunately, we had no idea of the inside layout.  We just waited for our other team members, reactions and nerves on edge.  We heard another almost inaudible pop, and then a not quite so inaudible thump, as the gate guard fell to the wooden floor.  In seconds, all three had joined us.  Chip gave a thumbs up, then three fingers, which indicated that there were - had been three goons in the barracks but no women.  That counted up right, three there, one on the ground in the back and one in the tower.  I pointed to Jonesie, Bummer and Dolby and made the signal to search the buildings in the compound.  They disappeared.

I pointed, and in we went - the three of of us.  Like all houses, this one was much larger inside than it looked to be from without.  We cleared the bottom floor in just a few minutes - nobody there.  All the bedrooms were apparently upstairs.   Up the carpeted stairs we went.

Unless there was an unlikely goon inside the house, we only had one other person to kill.  But we also didn't want a second floor full of screaming women.  But something was wrong.  A game room, a theater, a huge bathroom with a sauna and hot tube were empty, as you would expect, but so were the bedrooms we came to.  Where the hell were the women?  We knew that there were many in residence here - they were seen on camera every day on the veranda and through the windows.  At the end of the hallway was a set of double doors that had to be the master bedroom.  I waited for the men to check the rest of the floor.  Finally, Chip appeared and raised two fingers.  Two girls?  That's all?  What the fuck?  He gave an index finger and thumb gun sign, then a thumbs up, which meant that he had pumped sleepy juice into both with one of the two injection guns we were carrying.  Then he touched his hair, and made a flat swipe with his hand.  Neither was a redhead.  Shit.

Then Telley appeared with the other injection gun and flashed one finger.  And that she was no redhead.

I waved for Chip to keep a lookout, then Telly and I slowly eased open a door each.  Paydirt.  There was the bastard, in a very large canopied bed, and with what looked like two companions.  The room was huge, with erotic paintings on the wall, marble pillars with erotic statuary, and a bookshelf filled with sex toys - some I didn't even recognize.  In front of the bed was a metal platform, about four feet square and six inches tall, made of polished stainless steel.  There were rings and holes in it.  I assumed that it was for bondage attachments, maybe.  Whatever, not important.  I waved at Telly.  He moved around one side, and I the other.  I looked at him and nodded and both of us jabbed the business end of an injector into the neck of the woman on either side of the bed.  One twitched and made a little squeal, but didn't wake up.  Neither did the snoring sob.  On a sudden decision, I poked him in the neck and pulled the trigger.  From the lack of contents of the liquor bottle on the nightstand, he probably wouldn't have woken up even without the bye-bye juice.

I opened my phone, hit speed dial, connected to Katja and said, "Now."  Back downstairs, everybody was meeting in the front hallway.  Bummer gave a fast and brief report.  "Nothing, Sarge.  Garage - lots of fancy cars. Barracks. Workshop. Storage. Wellhouse. A couple with just junk."

To Jonesie I said, "Go figure out how to open the gate.  Katja is on her way."  To the rest, I said,  Tear this place apart - find where his stash is.  Look behind furniture, paintings, under rugs, everywhere.  We have five hours to daylight."

They took off.  I just stood and looked for a moment.  Where the hell is my redhead?  We had seen many more than five women.  We saw none leave.  That meant they were still here somewhere.  I went up the stairs three at a time, looked in every room and mentally calculated the layout of the second floor.  Every room had a window, except for a bathroom, an exercise room, and two bedrooms.  There was no place for a secret room up here.  Certainly not big enough for a bunch of women.

Downstairs, I did the same thing, mentally measuring and trying to determine if a room or rooms were too short, or too far apart.  No.  There was no way that an internal hidden room was here either.   Unless it was one of the outbuildings, and that didn't jive with our visual intel over the past week, it had to be in a basement.  I whistled.  In seconds everybody appeared looking for orders.  "There has to be a basement.  Look for a hidden entrance."  I went from room to room - it was obvious which ones that the men had been in.  All the rugs were pulled back, the furniture was moved, paintings were askew.  I remembered the fireplace in the lodge in France.  If the one here had that sophistication, we would never find it in the time we had.

I sat back to think.  The entrance would be at least semi-private.  He wouldn't want to advertise it to one and all.  The bedroom would have been the best place, but it was on the upper floor.  A half hour later, all I had received from the searchers was a "Nothing yet, Sarge."  Meanwhile, Katja had driven into the compound in a panel truck.  I had her back it up to the front door, then both her and Jonesie immediately disappeared out the gate, jogging across the field back to our temporary warehouse and the other truck and car.  Fifteen minutes later they were back with both.  I told Jonesie where the girls were, and to load them into one truck, and the five stiffs into the car.

I gave Katja a quick rundown on what was happening.  She just nodded and began to look around.  Another half hour went by.  Shit on a shingle.  This wasn't turning out right.  Once again, each man that came into my view, just shook his head. 

"Rodger!"  It was Katja.  "Come up here!"  Again, I took the steps at full gallop and followed her into the master bedroom.  She pointed to the strange metal platform at the end of the bed.  Kneeling down, she motioned to me.  Look here - beside it.  Then she got up and turned out the lights. Holy shit, the platform was outlined in a very thin sliver of light.  This was a trap door!  It made sense.  An entire room couldn't be hidden on the upper floor, but a four foot square shaft leading to a basement could.  Lights on, I tried to move it, lift it, swivel it, but no luck.  I walked to the door and gave a loud whistle.

Very shortly, the four men came galloping into the room.  I pointed to the platform.  "It's a trapdoor.  Help me figure out how to get it open." 

They began to pull and pry with no luck, then Chip said, "Stop."  We looked at him.  "It isn't a trap door.  It's an elevator.  Watch."  He pushed on one side, over and over.  We could hear the platform faintly clunk as it hit against the walls of the shaft.  It would move very slightly in both dimensions.

I stood up.  "Look for a button, or movable book or some kind of trigger."  For several minutes we tore the room apart.  I was about to tell Telly to break out the C-4 were were carrying for emergencies, when Katja found the controls.  The head of a female statue was hinged, and when opened, exposed a toggle switch.  I pointed to Bummer.  "Go help Jonesie load up, then tell him to get up into the gate tower and stand watch.  Dolby - stand by that switch."  I motioned to Katja and Telly to get on the platform, then hopped on myself, and nodded to Doyle.

Smoothly the platform began to descend.  Since it was a platform and not a cage, the mechanism had to be a hydraulic cylinder under it.  Shortly, we came to a stop in a brightly lit basement - and just stared.

---------------

Underground

The basement was huge - the same layout as the first floor of the house.  A high ceiling and the open expanse was only interrupted at intervals by supporting posts for the house above.   But dimensions were not what we were looking at.  On mats along a wall, were sleeping women.  Then we noticed that they were attached to the concrete wall with a chain and a manacle around one ankle.  Shit, then over on the facing wall, several...

"Who are you?"  My Turkish was still fairly poor, but I got the gist of the demand from the large woman who appeared in front of us - she was apparently the only one clothed down here, wearing a house coat or something.  So...  The dungeon has a dungeon mistress.  No time to waste on her.  I pointed and Telly and I quickly moved forward - faster than she could back up - and each grabbed an arm.  Telly put the gun to her neck and fired.  The prick of the injection got her to jabbering at full bore, but only for a minute or two until she collapsed.  We picked her up and deposited her on the platform.  There was another switch on a pole right next to the platform.  It made sense - there had to be a way to control the elevator from down here.  I pushed it and the woman disappeared from sight, overhead.  Dolby would know what to do when she appeared.

There had to be another and larger secret entrance to this underground room.  All this stuff didn't come down that four foot hole, but there wasn't time to look for it.

The noise had started to wake up the girls, who naturally started jabbering.  "Katja, tell them all to shut up and keep quiet or...  make something up."   She walked to the center of the room and began to speak in several different languages.  It worked - the noise level dropped immediately.  I was examining the closest girl - her manacle was held on by a simple padlock.  About this time, the elevator came back down with Chip, who looked around in surprise.

I pointed at him. "Tell them to send down the bolt cutters.  Tell Dolby to come down - he doesn't need to stand by the switch."  He nodded and went back to shout up the shaft.

By now I had counted.  Twelve girls.  Plus the five already in the truck made seventeen.  Plus the boss bitch.  I scanned around some more.  YES.  There was Rita, too far away to see her expression, but I hoped she was glad to see me.  I waved to her, but otherwise paid no attention.  Time for that later and for the boss to jack around with a cunt in the middle of a dangerous operation, would be unprofessional - like that fool Marko. 

On the far wall was the area for the bad girls apparently.  One was strung up in a strappado hang - something cruel enough for two lovers playing torture games, but hung that way all night, the pain might cause the girl to actually lose her mind.  Another was sitting, contorted in a medieval rig that held her arms and legs parallel to each other and her body doubled up.  She was definitely in pain.  That cocksucker upstairs wasn't into B&D games - he was getting off on real Nazi style agony!

Shit, then I noticed, down low, a set of bars in the wall, over an opening only about two feet high and three feet long.  Stooping down, I saw it was a very small nitch in the wall and two girls were jammed into it, barely able to move, all tangled up with each other and laying in their own piss and shit.  From what I could see, one was unconscious - hopefully asleep, although that was doubtful with all the commotion that had been going on. 

I stood up and shouted, "Tell Dolby to start on this wall first!  Telly! Go around the walls - look in anything and behind everything.  I don't want to leave anybody behind in this goddamned place."

That made an even twenty girls, unless we got another surprise.

Dolby appeared with the bolt cutters.  "Start cutting locks - over there first.  There's two girls in a cell down low.  Then take them to the truck, but don't juice anybody until you get there - we don't want to have to carry them."  He nodded and headed over with the cutters.  Bummer followed.   In a half hour, the basement was almost empty of girls.

---------------

The far end of the basement

"Sarge, you need to look at this!  Telly was waving me over to a door.  Beyond it was a short hallway, and as as I got to the end of that, I saw that the end wall wasn't a wall, it was a door.  But it wasn't a normal door - it was metal and heavy, with a massive lock and hinges to match.  "Chip!" I called.   As he trotted over, I pointed.  "Get this ready to open.  And don't use so much that we wake up the neighborhood."

Finally, the last set of girls went up the elevator and I nodded to Chip.  He lit the fuse and trotted over to us and we hunkered down and covered our ears.  He wasn't trying to blow the whole door off, just the lock, so the amount of C-4 was only about the size of a golf ball.

Bamm!  We ran over to the door and saw that the bail of the lock had been neatly sliced through and the body was gone.  Chip, yanked the bail out of the lock holes, then pulled on the welded handle.  The heavy door slowly squeaked open.

We just stared.  Again.  Finally, Bummer said a single word. "Jackpot."

Inside were stacks of currency - Euros mostly, but not an inconsiderable amount of dollars.  And bags of something.  Well, well.  Another petty crook who didn't trust the banking system.  It wasn't a Federal Reserve bank, but it wasn't a trivial stash, either.   I spun around and started giving orders.  Immediately, armloads of bills were being carried to the platform elevator.  Then some heavy sacks - gold coins, I saw when I examined one. In five minutes we had the vault emptied and the last load going up.  I quickly walked around the huge basement, looking for anything we might have missed.  Like a semi-hidden door or room with another woman or women in it.  I didn't want to leave any to die of thirst.  Nothing.  I turned out the lights, and rode the platform up for the last time.  At the top, I nodded to Chip.  He removed the statue with the elevator switch from its pedestal, then cut the wires, and replaced the statue.  The elevator might not even be found until the property was sold to someone else.  And maybe not even then.

I looked at my watch.  Finished and still forty five minutes to daybreak.  So far so good.  The vehicles were running, stopped at the gate and with everyone inside except Chip.  Katja was driving the truck with the loot and my team, Bummer was driving the car with the stiffs, and I was at the wheel of the truck with the girls.  Chip was on the tower, and at a wave from me, pushed the button to open the gate.  We drove out - the others onward, but I stopped just outside, waiting.   The gate closed behind me and it took a minute or so for Chip to disable the drive motor, then he swung over the wall, and let himself drop to the dirt.  In seconds he was in the cab with me and we were off.

Not very far - just back to the warehouse that we had temporarily stored our vehicles in.  I didn't want to drive through town at this early hour.  Some cop might be curious about what was being hauled at this time of night - or morning, actually.  By daybreak, normal traffic would begin to hit the roads and we would blend in with it.

---------------

On the road

The truck with the loot and my team was gone - headed for the airport and the private hanger of the Sheik's cargo company, and followed by the car with the late employees of Yilmaz, the Fearless.  It wasn't stolen - just anonymous, having been purchased by a straw buyer a few days before.  It would be left at convenient parking spot somewhere along the route, all five stiffs sitting up in the seats.  It might be hours before anyone noticed them.

The truck, with the girls stacked in the back like cordwood, headed for Tarkans.   I was driving and had Chip as the passenger.  I still had a job for him to do before he met the others at Jean's eventually.   It was uneventful, if not very fast in the horrible traffic of that city.  A coded phone call ahead made sure that the garage entrance was open and waiting for us to drive in.

---------------

Tarkan's office

As we relaxed in Tarkan's office, he handed me a folder.  Ahhh.  It was from what passed for a private detective in those parts.  There were twenty or thirty sheets of paper inside, but the first one told me what I wanted to know.   Tarken was managing to hold on to his temper as I read excerpts from it.  Chip was already setting up the machine, and we were getting ready for our next act.   He nodded and I looked at my host and also nodded.

He opened the door and shouted down the hall for a flunky, gave a few orders, and then sat back and waited.  Shortly, his man - the one that spoke very good English and that I sometimes took with me as a translator - came in, followed by another employee - short, nervous, and wondering what was going on. 

As his clerk translated, I began my spiel.  "Mister Barrack.  We have discovered that someone is leaking information from Tarkan's business, to someone outside.  We're testing all his employees with this lie detector to find out who.  You're next."  I didn't need the lie detector - I knew it was him.  According to the info that I had just received, he was the only one to have an unexplained source of income.  A newer car, a mistress with new clothes, a brother-in-law with a new truck for his carpet business and so forth.  None of which he was going to purchase as a low end flunky for Tarkan.

That definitely got his nervous level to rise.  He began babbling something, probably his innocence on the life of his mother and so forth.  I held up my hand.  "Don't speak until you are asked a question.  Take off your shirt and sit in that chair."  He looked around, trying to decide his best course of action, and since I was between him and the door, and had a knife plainly visible in my waistband, he made the only real one he had.

Chip began to attach electrodes, making impressive gestures and examining each as he hooked it up.  It was an old surplus machine I had picked up on the "Net.  I didn't even know if it worked, and didn't care since nobody in the room knew anything about interpreting one.  But it had working ink pins that scribbled back and forth impressively, just like those you see in the movies. 

Finally, he was made ready.  Actually, if this had been a real session, it would probably have to have been called off because the suspect was sweating like a pig, and looking at the machine in real fear.  If he had denied burning Rome on the orders of Nero, it would probably have indicated he was lying.

"Is your name really Barrack?"  He nodded vigorously.  "Speak yes or no." 

"Evet! Evet!" he blurted out, still nodding.  Chip looked at the machine, then at me and gave a single affirmative nod.  This was all an act, rehearsed by us before now, and Chip's findings were keyed by the position of my left hand - above my waist, true - below it, lie.

"Do you work for Tarkan?"  And several more questions to set the stage, and the mood. 

"Have you ever accepted money from someone for information?"

"Hayir! Hayir!" Now he was forcefully shaking his head, drops of sweat flying in all directions.  Chip looked at me with a grim expression and slowly shook his head.   By now the little man was almost in a panic.

I smiled at him.  "Are you sure?" I asked calmly.  He opened his mouth to answer and I leaned over in his face and shouted a question, "How much did Yilmaz pay you to spy?" 

That did it.  He pulled himself out of his chair and onto his knees, dragging the attach leads with him.  "Mercy, please!  I didn't tell him anything important.  He said he was trying to find a girl that was stolen from him and that he would reward me if I helped.  I didn't mean to harm..." and on and on.  It was horseshit.  From the report of his outside income, he had been an agent of the Fearless one far longer than I had known Tarken.  I looked up at my host, him grimly watching with his hand on the knife in his belt. 

The last I ever saw of him was as Tarkan's two personal guards escorted the babbling little man down the hall.  And I never asked.

---------------

Tarkan's office

I sent Chip off to a room to relax and get a shower that all of us needed by now.  Once Tarkan's mood got back to normal, he suddenly remembered something.  Something that he didn't want to tell me, from his demeanor.  Finally, he spoke.  "My friend.  I have some news for you that is not... gladsome."  Uh-oh. What the hell was this?  I waited.  "Your slavegirl with the red hair..."  What?  I knew she was all right - I had seen her.  Had she died from a reaction to the sleep injection or something like that?  "While she was a captive, she was... altered."

My hair rose on end.  "Altered?  What..."

"Her vocal cords were removed."  As my eyes got wider, he continued.  "It is commonly done with foreign women."  He went on, desperately unhappy to be the bearer of such news.  "It is healing nicely and she is in no pain.  But, alas, she will never speak again."

Stunned, I just sat there.  Then a fury began to build that I had trouble keeping inside.  That cock sucking bastard...  When I got to the Sheik's, I would perform the same operation on that son of a bitch, only I would remove his talkbox through his asshole.

"There is more," he continued with a pained expression.  "She was marked."

  

---------------

My room

When I got to my room, Rita was still asleep from the drug and probably wouldn't wake for hours.  I looked at her face, cursing myself for sending that goddamned bastard on the plane, rather than bringing him here where I could carve my initials on his heart.  On both cheeks, inflamed red, were the deep imprints of two brands - Yilmaz's initials, I was told.  

I turned her head to look at her throat.  Sure enough, there was a one inch scar on the side of her throat, red but not infected.  At that moment, I was living for revenge and nothing else.

I took a badly need shower, then laid down for a few hours rest.

A movement woke me - Rita was nestled up next to me, her body soft and beautiful as ever.  Suddenly, she noticed that I was awake, and sat up in the bed, just looking away from me.  I couldn't quite determine her mood - afraid?  No, apprehensive maybe.   What happened to us last month wasn't her fault, but I guess the attitude of a slave is that she can be punished for anything bad th...  

Then it hit me.  She was afraid that she was now damaged goods and I would throw her away.  Not a chance.  She was my first girl and she would remain my first girl.  I pulled her over to me and smiled, her boobs resting on my chest.  "Nobody screws with my woman without my permission.  If I didn't want you, I wouldn't have gone to all that trouble of getting you back.  As soon as your face heals, I'll have a plastic surgeon fix those scars.  You're my bedwarmer and you will stay my bedwarmer, understand?"  She nodded, trying to keep from smiling, then suddenly broke down and cried into the pillow. 

I relaxed while she was having her catharsis session, thinking about our operation.  It had gone well - not perfect - but with no more glitches than a good mission, and far fewer than some I had been on.  My only regret was that we didn't have enough time to loot the house properly.  There was no telling how many valuables were left behind.  My team worked together as a well oiled machine.  Hopefully, they would do so again.  

Rita had calmed herself, and was trying to snuggle closer to me than was physically possible to get.  I thought about my plans for her - she couldn't enter Suliman's academy now, not looking like that.   But for now, it was time to get to work.  I had an operation to wind down.  I rolled her over, popped her on the butt, and said, "I have to go.  You just rest and get ready for tonight.  Hungry?"  She nodded.  "I'll have some food sent in."

On the way to Tarkan's office, I stopped by the kitchen and placed an order. 

---------------

A large room

We were in a large room somewhere in the back of Tarkan's rambling establishment.  In a long row, chained by the neck to the wall, were the nineteen girls that we had taken from the compound.  With Tarkan beside me, I walked down the row, inspecting each in turn.  They were really lookers, but that was no surprise - Yilmaz wouldn't have collected ugly women.  My only surprise was how many he had.  Eighteen, plus the dungeon witch and Rita.   Two of Tarkan's workers were with us, each holding a short crop.  From the occasional red stripe on the stomach of a girl, apparently they had already had to use them to keep the piece.

"What do you think, my friend," I asked. 

He was in a jovial mood after shucking off the problem of a traitor in his midst.  "A good catch.  I've never received so many high quality girls in one batch, before.   They will bring much money." 

I nodded, and replied, while still examining the harem.  "I'll leave it to you.  Prepare them how you will - train them or fatten them up, and get them ready for the block."  He nodded, still smiling. 

"Except for her." I pointed to the fat mistress of the dungeon.  "Keep her for me." 

He nodded.  "As you wish.  She would bring little, anyway."

I turned away from the girls and said, "I need to get gone."   He nodded again.  "I'll be back in a few days - a week or two at the most.  Let Rita use my room and care for her well."

"It will be exactly as you wish, my friend."

---------------

The Sheik's compound

I had put Chip on a plane for Paris.  He would meet up with the others and wait till I got there.  I assumed they would find sufficient entertainment at Jean's place to keep occupied.

I was seated in the top floor lounge with Katja and the Sheik.  She had already told him of the operation, but he was anxious to hear it from me, also.  The door was locked and the liquor was cold and good. 

He leaned over and filled my glass again, all smiles and in a cordial mood.  "My accountant will have a preliminary estimate of the value your take from the... basement... yes, basement in a day or so.  I assume that you will want the currency converted and sent to your account?  The gold you should just hang on to." 

I nodded. "And of course, don't forget your share of the... profits.  It wouldn't have come off without your support."

Katja spoke up.  "What did Tarkan think about the women?"  I had already had his accountant transfer a share to her bank account.  I never knew when I might see her again and she was far too valuable a friend and asset to let slip away.

I got up and walked to the window before answering.  I was still keyed up and was having trouble winding down.  And I still had one unfinished task waiting for me that I was looking forward to.   "He says they will bring about two million - thereabouts."  Looking at the Sheik, I continued.  "I inspected all of them myself before I left, but I didn't see any that I thought would pique your interest.  They were all very desirable, but nothing spectacular."  I thought for a moment.  "I could have a video made of each and sent to you if you wish."

"No need."  He set his glass down.  Now, as to your request - he is your prisoner and it is your loss that he caused, so it is your choice.  Do you still wish it?  I nodded grimly.

---------------

In a large holding cell

Yilmaz rose as I entered his cell.  He was only wearing shorts - the room he was in wasn't exactly air-conditioned.  I walked up to him and he saw death in my eyes - but he was wrong.  I pulled the K-Bar out of my waistband and held it up.  In my broken Turkish, previously rehearsed, I said slowly, "See this?  You can use it if you can get it."  I tossed it into the opposite corner.  "You have tried to kill me, you have stolen my property and returned it to me damaged.  I killed your men who attacked me.  We are even on that point.  I have taken your property.  We are also even on that.  But, you have deliberately mutilated a defenseless woman who has done you no harm.  That act pisses off any American man. That you will pay for, now.  Unless you can protect yourself by killing me."

I stepped toward him and he struck out in desperation.  I easily warded off the blow.  Then he lunged for the corner of the room where the knife was laying.  He made it about halfway before my foot thudded into his side.  I heard an unknown number of ribs crack as he fell on his face, gasping.  I waited for him to rise, then stepped toward him again.  This time, I trapped his swing under my left armpit, and broke his arm just below the elbow with my right.  He fell back against the wall, howling.  He circled around me as I watched, then gasping at the pain, suddenly dove for the knife and came up with it in his good hand.  Looking up back toward the door and up, I could see Hassan and Katja watching from an upper floor window. 

Holding the knife straight in front of himself, and favoring his damaged ribs, he just stood and waited.  I also just watched for a moment, then moved in.  The clumsy knife lunge I easily avoided, batted it from his hand, then broke the other arm.  He shouted in pain and doubled over.  I just shoved him to the floor, then knocked on the door.   A flunky immediately opened it, and handed me a heavy kettle.  It radiated heat and had two rods sticking out.  I set it beside the moaning scumbag, then straddled his body and sat down on his chest, pinning his arms under my legs. 

Reaching over, I threw off the leather cover of the iron pot, looked in for a moment and pulled out an iron with a glowing R at the end.  Grabbing his hair, I positioned the brand over his terrified face, then shoved it against his cheek.  He howled like a banshee for a moment, then fainted dead away.  After five seconds, I pulled the iron back and tossed it away.   Getting up, I knocked on the door again.  This time I was handed a pail of water which I dumped on the unconscious form.  Sputtering, and yelling, he came back to life.  I resumed my seat on his chest, picked up the other iron, this one with an H.  Holding him by the hair again, I pressed it into his other cheek.  He stayed awake this time, but he was almost beyond noticing.  

I stood up and just looked at him for a moment, then said, "That is for what you did to her voice.  This is for what you did to her face."  I picked up my K-Bar, placed the blade in his waistband and slashed downward, twice, then threw the remnants of his shorts away.  Next, I kicked his knees apart, reached down and pulled his balls as far down as possible... 

---------------

The Sheik's lounge

"Rodger,"  the Sheik began.  "I have taken the liberty to start building up your organization.  It will take a few months, but it is time for you to go back to America and... how do you say it? ...set up shop."  When you get back from Paris, I will have a series of briefings ready for you, and a temporary manager to get you started."

Wow.  Things were moving along.  I looked over at Katja.  "How about you?  Do you want to visit America as my advisor?"  She just winked.

---------------

Outside of Paris

We were sitting around a table in Jean's study - Jean, my five team members and myself.  I was doing the talking.  "...and as you remember, I guaranteed each of you a sum of fifty thousand dollars for the job.  Plus a share of any take.  At the time, I was assuming that we would find a few girls and a lot of cash.  Of course, you know we found a treasure trove and all of you get a share of it.

I handed out five thick manila envelopes, each with the name of a member on it.  "Don't open these yet.  I'm going to discuss what is in them.  Telly, if you will let me use yours as an example."  He pushed it back to me and I opened it.  I pulled out a fat wad of cash and dropped it on the table. 

"First is five thousand dollars in cash.  This isn't part of your share, or wages.  It's just for expenses to get you back home.  Second, and most important is this little card."  I held it up.  "On it you will find a number and a very long password.  Memorize both and don't forget them.  This number is for your bank account in a Swiss bank - one that has been in business for hundreds of years and has no branches outside of the country.  That means that it is immune to pressure from outside sources to reveal clients and accounts.  On the back is a web site.  It has instructions that you can download that will give you all kinds of financial advice, such as how to access your money in your account, how to invest it if you want.  It also has what NOT to do with all that money, like suddenly buying a flashy new red sports car and a mink coat for your current live-in cunt.  The last thing you want to do is draw attention to yourselves as being suddenly wealthy without a reason."  I pointed to one of them.  "Chip has agreed to help any of you who need assistance in downloading and printing out that document.  The reason for not just giving it to you now, is, of course, the problem that you have to go through customs and to avoid any red flags being raised on your account.

I sat down and looked at each man.  Finally, I said, "That concludes this operation and I want to thank all of you for your professional conduct, and your friendship.  You can now sightsee in Europe for a while, or go back home." 

As they began to smile and nod to each other, I said, 'But!"  That brought them up short.  They froze and waited.  "I think you know by now that I am an agent for a very powerful organization..."  Most nodded.  "It has been decided that they will set up a... well, franchise in the US.  I will be the agent in charge, and will need a set of, shall we say, employees.  I doubt that the operations there will be quite as spectacular as the one we just concluded, but I will say that the work will be seldom, danger will be involved, and the pay will be very lucrative.  If any of you are interested, please stay for a while.  Anyone who isn't, can leave with my thanks and good wishes."

I waited for a few moments.  Telly looked around, then said.  "Nobody is leaving, Sarge.  Keep talking."

---------------

End of Book 2

The Desert Nexus.

Book 3

Prolog

---------------

My office

The phone intercom beeped, and the voice of Shirley, my secretary, came though.  "Mr. Harris.  There is a woman here to see you.  She has a blue card."

Ahhh.  Finally.  "Send her in, please.  And no interruptions."  My blue cards were rare and only given out in special circumstances.  My employees knew that the holder of the card was a very important person to me.

I got up as the door opened, a young woman - almost a girl, actually - entered and waited for me to approach.  The door closed behind her and I said, "Welcome, Mademoiselle."  I didn't offer to shake hands, but gestured her to a lounging area by the big windows of my office.  She was a dish, totally poised and immaculately dressed, western upper class style, and with a delicate neck scarf topping off the entire ensemble - a green scarf.

She smiled and said, "Thank you, sir."  She reached into her purse and handed me an envelope.  "From Mr. Sulliman," she informed me.  I waited until she was seated, then sat down myself and said, "Excuse me," and began to read the contents. 

As per my request, the proprietor of the courtesan academy had chosen a teacher for my use, one Mademoiselle Colette Renard.  Also for my information, he included some suggestions as to remuneration and other items.  It didn't take long to read and I soon folded it and put it back in the envelope.  I looked at the green silk girl sitting there, back straight and composure perfect and waiting.  I remembered my last encounter with a girl of her class - actually, I remembered both girls.  They and the encounters were not forgettable.

"Mademoiselle Renard..." I began but she held up her hand.

"Please call me Colette, sir."

"Fine,"  I replied.  She had a beautiful accent.  "Please call me Rodger in private.  Did Mr. Suliman give you any information as to my needs?"

She shook her head. "No, Sir - Rodger.  Just that you had a girl who needed training."

I nodded.  "Ok, here's the short version of the story.  I have a bound concubine who was scheduled to attend Mr. Suliman's academy about a year ago, but unfortunate circumstances arose that prevented it.  Very unpleasant circumstances.  One result is that she lost her voice, and another that she had to have major surgery to repair her damaged face."  I paused, more to look at the young girl, than anything else.  "She is beautiful, but has that unfortunate American female deficiency.  That is, she knows nothing about the art of sex other than to lay back and make herself available.  I realize that she will never become a green silk girl, but Suliman assures me that any woman can be taught to a skill level far beyond the American norm."

She smiled and replied. "The only requirement for the woman is that she wishes to learn."

I nodded.  "Of course, and she does. Also, she is a submissive and I wish that to be emphasized." Colette nodded and I continued.  "What will you need?"

"Besides privacy, all that is needed is a set of willing male tools.  Will you be participating?"

Wow, what a question.  "Of course, I wouldn't turn that down, but I am very busy and can't be available all day.  Or, for that matter, sometimes for days at a time."

"Mr... Rodger, please don't take what I am about to say as an insult." I smiled and nodded. "You are still a relatively young man and will be just fine for our use, but this training uses up male capacity at a very high rate.  To keep this from taking a very long time, we would need at least two more very young and virile men, available at notice.  Have you ever been to the academy and seen some of the training?"

"Yes," I replied, remembering with pleasure.  "I was a guest of Tarkan and was given the tour.  I even had the unbelievable pleasure of being allowed to service a green silk girl."  I didn't add that when she was done with me, my nuts were as dry as the desert I once walked out of.  A brass monkey would have sore balls after an encounter with one of...  Woah. Back on topic.  "I have tentatively arranged for two or three young men for your use as needed."

"Excellent.  One other thing.  You realize that I have to have full disciplinary rights over the woman?"

"Certainly. I would expect you to be absolutely in charge.  If you need to string her up by her wrists and use a bull whip to stripe her, you have carte blanche."  She nodded her agreement.  "Now, one other thing before I show you to your suite.  Your remuneration.  This is a first for me and I don't know the forms.  Do you have a figure in mind?"

"No, sir.  I will leave that to you.  Mr. Suliman tells me you are a wise man."

I grimaced.  "I don't know about wise, but I always pay for quality.  How about this...  You will have your own three room suite, upstairs, an unlimited credit card in your name while you are here, and say, oh, twenty five thousand Euros as a termination bonus on your completion."

That got her attention.  "Thank you sir.  That is most generous." 

"Not at all.  Remember what I said.  I always pay for quality."

Book 3

---------------

Tarkans slavery, the year before.

I was headed back to the States to meet with the team that the Sheik was sending over, but first, I had a loose end to tie up.  I was in my room sitting on the bed and talking to Rita, who was standing in front of me.  I had just told her that I was leaving for the US.   My problem was what to do with her.  She was still in mild shock from my speaking to her in colloquial English, with a western accent, and that I was an American.

"If I hadn't taken a liking to you, Tarken would probably have sold you to a kind businessman somewhere.  You would still be a slavegirl, but at least you would still have your voice and neither of those scars."  She just stood there with an apprehensive look. "I consider this to be my fault and I will try to make it as right as I can.  When those completely heal, I can get you a plastic surgeon to repair your face.  Your voice can't be fixed, but, after the surgery, I can take you back to the USA with me, set you up with a home and a decent income and you can try to start a new life.  We might even lower the boom on your husba..."  That is as far as I got.   She just lunged at me, clamped her arms around my neck, and violently shook her head.

This was confusing.  What was she wanting?  "You don't want to go back to America?"  She just looked at me.  "You don't want surgery?"  That didn't make sense.  Surely she didn't want to stay at Tarkans.  She was still just looking at me.  A light dawned.  "You want to stay with me?"  That was it.  She hugged me as hard as she could, with her head under my chin, and crying a river.

Son of a bitch!  I for sure would never understand women.  Well, so be it.  Once you have fed a stray kitten, a decent person is responsible for it from then on.  What the hell, I was wealthy enough now to afford anything needed to take care of her.

Before I could take her back, I had to get her a new passport.  That was no problem - the Sheik's accountant gave me the addresses of a half dozen places that made perfect replicas of the "uncounterfitable US passport.

---------------

Dallas

I had chosen Texas as the site of my new business, for several reasons - no income tax, warm climate, lots of space, and far fewer of the nanny laws that were springing up all over.  The recession was in full swing, and we found a fairly new, small high rise office building a few miles from downtown.  Since it was in foreclosure, I got it for a song.  It only had about a forth of the offices rented and I reserved the top four floors for myself and my business.  The entire top floor would be my living quarters.  A contractor and a decorator had it part of it turned into a home within a month.

Long before that, the business opened in a single office, three floors below, as R&R Import Exports.  R&R?  Roger and Rita - a whim, but I liked it. My days were full of being force fed business lingo and procedures by the pencil pusher sent over to nursemaid me.  Actually, he was a nice guy - from California - but boring as plain paper.  All he knew and cared about was balance sheets and profit and loss figures.  Some days, my head wanted to explode.  A secretary was added, then a couple of salesmen and buyers, and pretty soon, we were actually importing and exporting stuff.

The amount of actual transactions of my company that first few months wouldn't even be a dot on the trade charts of the country, but they were real. Sometimes I forgot what the business was a cover for.  And in fact, my undercover business got its start far sooner than I had expected.  But more about that later.

I flew to Saudia Arabia to consult with the Sheik, then up to Tarkans to pick up Rita - and to finalize another transaction.  One that would appear somewhat later.

---------------

Dallas

I opened the door, then pulled her in by her arm.  She looked around in wonder.  Since the top floor used to be office space, every side of my home at the top of the high rise was solid windows, giving a breathtaking view of the metropolis, the sunrise and sunset, and everything else for about thirty miles around if the curtains were pulled.  She started to run around and look, but I grabbed her arm and swatted her behind. 

"This is my new home and you are the resident slavegirl.  Understand?"  Not really following what I was saying, she looked at me for information.  I continued, "Slavegirls don't wear clothes in the Master's house."  She smiled and nodded with sudden understanding.  Immediately she stripped off her traveling clothes and laid them on a sofa.  "Put on your titty support," I said.  She opened a suitcase and pulled out a halter - something that would hold up her beautiful knockers, but didn't conceal much and had round openings for her nipples.  I had started making her wear one several months ago.  Her boobs were a nice size and were going to start sagging badly if she stayed totally naked.  With that she ran around the house, looking and discovering.

I was coming out of the shower, and she was waiting, standing with her head down, and her legs open - her way of offering sex if I wanted it.  And her way of hoping that I would take time to do her also.  Why not?  A piece of tail before dinner would be a good appetizer.   I pointed to the bed, then spun her around and popped her behind.  She laughed silently and hopped on the king sized bed. 

An hour later, my nuts were empty and her spasms were settled down and she was asleep.  Jet lag - she was about eight hours out of sync with the local time.  I got up, dressed and went down to the office.

---------------

Dallas

Two days later, I had her dress for public, and we drove to a clinic a few miles away.  I left her there for the morning while I ran around on business of my own.  At 11:00 hours, I was seated with the surgeon.

"Forgive me if it's none of my business, but can you tell me how she got those?  I assume it was a criminal act?"

I nodded.  "Yes, she was kidnapped in Europe by a gang and branded with the initials of the leader."

"And her voice?"

"Same gang.  A rogue doctor removed her vocal cords on a whim by the leader."

He shook his head, obviously deeply shocked.  "I'm sorry.  That's...  a...  Damn!  It's unbelievable that she can still be cheerful after that.  Many women would probably commit suicide after those experiences.  She obviously has an iron will.  I hope the perpetrators were caught?" 

I smiled grimly. "I can guarantee that they will never be in a position to do it to another girl.

He shook his head again, still unbelieving.  "Anyway, it can be fixed.  Her scars, I mean.  I don't guarantee a total removal, but I can assure you that it can be made to where the scars will be invisible under a minimum of makeup.  One question.  You aren't her husband?  I ask, because your names are different."

"No, just a friend, so to speak.  Actually, I am acting as her ward.  I'm also paying the bills.  In full and in advance."  I leaned over towards him and handed him a signed blank check.  "Now, when can you start?" 

He looked at a schedule on the computer.  "Next week, if we can start doing tests on her this afternoon."

I stood up, opened my wallet and handed him my business card.  "Have someone call me a half hour before you are though today, and someone will pick her up."  He also stood up and offered his hand.  I took it but didn't let go until I said, "And one other thing, Doctor.  Don't let anything stand in the way of the best job that can be done.  Money, or anything else.  If you suddenly need a left handed flidget from Australia, you call me."  He gave a single nod and I left.

---------------

My home

There would be three surgeries before they would be finished.  Several weeks apart.  Right now she was recovering from the first, thick bandages on either side of her face, and almost too sore to eat.  I got her a refrigerator full of soft foods for now. 

I had also engaged a young college girl who needed to make some money and who was an expert in sign language.  An hour every day she would come over and teach Rita the art of signing, and that evening, if I wasn't too tired from trying to follow my paper pusher, she would teach me what she had learned.

I wasn't monogamous, and Rita knew it.  In fact, I had laid that out long ago when she first shared my bed.  Sometimes I bedded another girl, but the courtship ritual in this country almost wasn't worth the effort.  I preferred Jean's setup - just snap your fingers and a broad hits the sack with you.  I told myself that when I got established, I would stock my home the same way.  There was plenty of room - square footage wise, my living area was huge and in fact, only about ten percent of it was furnished or even carpeted.  The other rooms were empty and unpainted, waiting for some use some day.

However, one of the few girls that I laid, was a co-ed, supposedly, and she tried the old jailbait trick.  After a night with her - Rita was at the clinic for several days - I woke up the next morning and she was relaxing in the video room like she owned the place. And in fact, smoking a joint - an absolute no-no around me.  Right away, I could tell that something had changed with her attitude.  But I said fairly sharply, "Put that damn thing out.  Aren't you supposed to be in class this morning?"

She just smiled and inhaled again.  "We need to talk about that.  Look on the counter over there."  I did.  It was a drivers license. "Look at my age."  Well, well.  She wasn't a coed, but a older looking seventeen year old.  She gave me a few moments, then continued, "We need to come to an understanding before I leave, one with lots of zeros, and you won't have to go to jail as a sex offender."  Nothing subtle about her technique.  Not even any lead in.  Just pay up or else.

I hadn't expected my real business to start up so soon, but what the heck.  This might be fun.  "How much do you want?" 

She made a big deal about looking around, then said with a smirk.  "You appear to be loaded.  So, fifty thousand would seem to be a good figure - it's probably petty cash for you." 

"You want that in cash, I assume," I asked sarcastically. 

"Of course.  How would it look if an underage girl showed up at a bank with a check for fifty grand?"

I sighed.  "Let me see how much cash I have on hand.  Wait here."

"Hold it." she said sharply.  "Don't do anything dumb. I've already texted my girlfriend and told her where I am."

Hmmm.  I shook my head.  "Then forget it.  I'm not paying you a dime if you've already spread the news around."

Now she was worried that her fifty k's were in jeopardy.  "I didn't tell her about being fucked, just that I was in the Canopus building."   Where?  Canopus?  Oh yes.  That was the old name of this place before I bought it.  She didn't see the new sign when she came in - she's working from memory.

I nodded.  "Ok. Wait a moment."  I went to a back room, rummaged though a box, picked up a pistol looking device, then went to the refrigerator and pulled out a vial.  It was about two months past expiration, but I knew that those dates where very conservative - it should still be potent.  I screwed the vial on the top of the gun, then made sure the batteries were still good.  I put it in my pocket - it didn't fit all the way and the butt stuck out, but I doubt that she would notice, and it wouldn't make any difference if she did.

Back in the lounge area, she was still smoking.  You should never dull your senses during a critical operation.  I came up beside her and stopped.

"Where's the money."

"Wait a moment," I said.  "You need to know something.  In my real business in the past, I've had to make critical decisions on a moments notice - decisions that meant that I or my men were dead if I was wrong.  Decisions concerning what to do about deadly enemies, bad situations, and life and death choices."  Now she was confused at the turn of the conversation.  "I don't even consider blackmail threats from a dumb cunt to be worth two second's thought."  I pulled the injection gun from my pocket, whipped the barrel to her neck and pulled the trigger.  It made a satisfying "chunk" as the liquid was injected into her. 

"Owww!  You bastard!  That hurt!  Is that a BB gun?  Why did you do that?"  She stood up and rubbed the area with her hand, then looked at the smear it left on her fingers.  "I'm bleeding, damn you!  I'll have your ass, you son of a bitch."

"Yes you will, but not quite the way you think."  She started to say something, then started wobbling, reached down to steady herself, missed and fell toward the floor.  I caught her so she didn't bash her head on something, then gently let her down.

"Wadd chew do to me, you... I'm ummmmm snnn."  She was out.  My first capture in this country, and not even planned.  I picked up her phone, looked at the model, then did a quick search on the "Net.  It wasn't a GPS model - that was good.  I checked to see when her last call was.  Yesterday afternoon.  She had lied about calling a friend.  Dumb bitch. 

I got some tools, then the collar and chain that I used on Rita on occasion, then went down to the fifth floor.   There were no offices on that floor or on the ones directly above and below it.  She could shout all she wanted and nothing would make it through to any occupied suite.  I didn't take long to find a closet with an exposed building beam, wrap the end of the chain around it and secure it with two locks.  Two for primary and backup.

One elevator was reserved for my use - the building was mostly empty and its capacity wasn't needed at the moment.  But, importantly, it only worked with my key, or the keys of my few workers.  Today was a Saturday, so even that wasn't important.  I deposited her on the floor in the closet, then locked the chain around her neck.  Then put a nylon tie though the hold for good luck, although the chances of a padlock just suddenly failing open, was close to asymptotic zero.

Now, I needed to get rid of her car.  Of course, her keys were in her purse.  As soon as it got dark, I drove it over to the mall, and making sure my cap was down over my eyes and that I was always looking down, I walked away.  I left the keys in the car - along with her phone.  Maybe it would get stolen.  Several miles later, I stopped in a fast food joint for a meal, then began looking for a cab.  It took a while, because they were not that plentiful in this city, but I finally flagged one down and he dropped me off a mile from my building.  I leisurely walked the distance.

After I had gone upstairs and rested for a while, I got in my car and headed to the big box store.  I bought a couple of thick blankets, a pillow, water jug, and a two large buckets.  That night, I dropped the blankets, pillow, and a bucket beside her.  Also a box of munchies. Oh, yes, I also stripped her naked.

That night, I opened the encrypted file I had been given, read up on the pickup and delivery procedure, then sent an encrypted email with certain info.

--------------- 

My home

Rita was still gone, and I was lonely.  She was doing great and her morale was sky high.  I even paid the girl to visit her at the clinic to continue her lessons.  I reminded myself to reward the little girl for her efforts when she finished.  I also reminded myself to stop by the bank and get some cash - the delivery service I was expecting didn't take checks or credit cards.

The next day, an email came in to inform me that five tons of avocados were available.   The price was fifteen thousand.  What the hell?  Some more reading in my instructions deciphered that to tell me that the pickup would be in five days and cost fifteen k's.

The next night, I visited my little blackmailer.  Naturally, she had strong opinions about her living quarters.  But, I had brought along some negotiating... stuff.

"You bastard! Turn me loose!  You can't do this!" and so on. 

Finally, I managed to get a word in edgewise.  "How about a piece of ass, sweetie?"

"Fuck you, you bastard.  I'll have the police take a piece of your ass, you cocksucker."  Sweet seventeen, she wasn't.

"Ok, I'll see you tomorrow." I got up to leave.

"No! Wait!  Give me some water! Please."  Her voice finally faded out behind me, and after I closed both the closet and room door, was inaudible.

---------------

Downstairs a piece

Early the next morning, I checked on her again. When she saw me this time, she choked back the insults.  "Please," she begged in a raspy voice.  "Give me some water."

I stood there looked above folded arms.  "Have you thought about my request for a piece of ass?"

"No.  Please, just water.  Please." 

I pointed to the jug that I had set down, way out of her reach.  "You're a fairly dumb girl, wouldn't you say?"  She just looked at me, wondered what that meant.  "A smart girl would have long since realized that until I get fucked by you, you do without water."  I picked up a glass and the jug, then poured.   I drank it as she watched, licking dry lips.

"Ok.  I'll fuck you.  Now give me some water."

"No.  I'm doing the rule making here.  Fuck first, water second.  One glass for one fuck."  I waited then said, "Make up your mind or I'm leaving."

She hung her head and quietly said, "Ok."

I started to shuck off my clothes.  "On your stomach, spread your arms and legs out, wide."  She obeyed quickly - she was desperate for a drink.  Naked, I stepped behind her and could see her little dimple waiting between her spread ass crack.  I wet my rod, set it against the hole, and began to feed it in. 

"What are you doing!?  You said a fuck!"  She drew her arms in in preparation to raise herself.  I grabbed her behind her neck and squeezed. "Put your arms back out.   Now!" She did.  "Remember, I said a piece of ass and that is what I am getting."  I didn't want to dally, so I hurried on to completion and then stood up, watching her stretched hole slowly close up.  Then I walked over, poured a full glass of water, and handed it to her.  She gulped it down in seconds.

"Listen to me, sweetie.  From now on, curse at me - you get no water.  Raise your voice - no water.  Refuse to instantly do what I say - no water.  Capish?"

"Yes," she said quietly.  Can I have some more?"

"That's better."  I poured another glass and handed it to her.  I look to see how many snacks she had left.  She was probably hungry, but I well knew that hunger takes a place that is far behind thirst.  I took the empty glass from her, set it beside the jug, still out of her reach, and left.

---------------

My home office

My phone rang.  "Mr. Harris?"  "Yes", I answered.  "This is the driver for Sondor Package Express.  You have a pickup scheduled for today."  He asked directions - I gave them and went down to wait for him to arrive.  Soon, a panel truck backed up to the rear dock and a man in a coverall set climbed down and walked up to me.  "Harris?" he asked.  I nodded and he opened the rear door and dollied a wooden crate out and into the building, through the door I was holding open.  We got off at the proper floor, I unlocked the room and we entered.  I opened the door to the closet and he looked at the chained and naked girl standing there.

He handed me a purple pill and said quietly, "Give this to her. It'll take about ten minutes."

I poured a glass of water and walked over to the wondering woman.  She knew what it was and totally and violently refused.  He had to hold her head against her thrashing, then pinch her nose closed.  When she finally opened her mouth to gasp for air, I dropped the pill in then poured her mouth full of water.  Most of it went down her body, but the pill was swallowed along with the water in her mouth.  While waiting for it to take effect, I took him upstairs to complete the transaction.  I already had one hundred and fifty bills ready to go, and handed them over.  He didn't even bother to count it - just stuck it in his pocket.

He passed the time by looking out over the city.  In a few minutes, we headed back downstairs.  She was out cold on the floor, so I unlocked her collar and helped put the limp form into the box.  He hammered the nails in, stuck the dolly under it and a few minutes later, she was in the back of the van disappearing down the road. 

Wow!

---------------

Dallas

Rita's scars weren't gone yet, but vast progress had been made.  The next operation should do the trick.  Meanwhile, she was getting very good at signing - in fact, so was I.  It was fun.  Serious for her, but fun.  I also got her a smart phone so she could text me and use it as a writing pad for conversation that was too complex for signing, or with someone who didn't sign.

Sometimes, she was a little witch and it took a while for me to realize that she was trying to get punished.  The sub in her was really coming to the fore.  On occasion, after getting fed up with her nuzzling while I was trying to concentrate, I would drag her into the bedroom, spread her out face down with limbs tied tightly to all four corners, then lay into her with a rope whip, or a crop or even a cat.  Of course, the force I used was far less than damaging, but it wasn't play - it hurt!  She couldn't scream, but she would arch her back at the blow.  Her muscles would tremble in spasms, her feet would point and all four limbs would be rigid or jerking.   Afterwards, she would be contrite - bringing me a fresh drink, or snack, or just sitting there quietly watching.  She would also be hotter than a firecracker and hoping I would release the tension in her when I was done.  Usually I did, since the bondage play would have raised my pressures, also.

She was possibly the only real slave in existence who could just quit and walk out.  I seriously doubted that would happen.  I had absolutely no training in psychology or any other type of that mind BS, but in my amateur opinion, even after more had happened to her in her short lifetime than most women saw at the movies, she was probably happier than all her friends that she had left behind.

I got an email from, well... a contractor.   He wanted to sign my men for another cruise.  I had kept my five team members on a retainer, and for several months they enjoyed the lives of successful Men of Fortune, relaxing.  But I didn't want them to go stale.  Since my business was nowhere near far enough along to employ them in an operation that would use their skills, I contacted the Sheik and asked him if he knew of any need for the team anywhere.  I should have known.  He had more contacts than a spider's web in a spring garden.

I had contracted them to a shipper who had some valuable cargo, and a large, but slow ship.  His problem was that his fastest and most economical route was around the Horn of Africa and directly through pirate waters.  My team went along as a security detail, and with them went my guarantee that I would pay his losses if his ship was hijacked.   It was an excellent deal - excellent pay for all of us, and a chance to keep my men in action.   Of course, I had provided my team with enough firepower to hold off a battalion of untrained pirates, and arranged for a ship fitter to build a hidden compartment in the bowels of the ship to hide the weapons when in a port of a country that didn't care for armed men arriving - white hats or not.

Of course, all of them were rutting at the hope that a boat full of AK and RPG armed young fools would suddenly appear.  So far, in three cruises, nothing had happened.  If it did, nothing was going to appear on the evening news.   The only other people who would know would be the people on shore who would be waiting for a boat that would never come back.

---------------

A lounge in my home

"This is Rita.  Rita, this is Colette, of the green silk."  Of course, Rita knew what was going to happen and was looking forward to it.  She bobbed in a greeting, her thin silk lounging dress hiding nothing, then typed a message on her phone and showed it to the guest. 

Smiling, Colette replied, "Thank you, Rita.  I also hope we will become good friends." 

I turned to the woman.  "You will want to unpack and relax today.  I'm sure your body thinks its about time for bed, now.  You can start tomorrow or anytime you want."  I turned to my girl.  "Rita, if Colette wishes to buy anything, or go anywhere, message Sam."  She nodded, still smiling.  Sam was my gofer.  He was over fifty years old, barely educated enough to pass his driving exam, but was always cheerful and totally reliable. 

Back to Colette, I said, "In two weeks, Rita will go back for her last surgery to cover those brand marks.  So she'll be unavailable for several days.  That would be a good time for you to sightsee around the country, if you want...   What's wrong?"  She was suddenly staring at Rita's face, then at me, then back to Rita.

"Excuse me, sir.  I just connected the pieces - Tarkan, a woman with red hair and a branded face."  Now she had a look of awe, as she asked, "Are you the man they call 'Mister Sergeant'?"

Sort of taken aback, I said, "Well... yes."

"Mon Dieu!  You are the man whose woman was taken by the drug lord and tortured and branded!"

"...uuuh   Yes, but..."

Now she had her hand over her mouth.  "You stormed his fortress, killed thirty of his men, burned it to the ground and carved your initials in his face and turned him loose to beg on the streets as a eunuch!   And rescued your woman - Rita!"

Rita walked over to me, took my arm and leaned against me, beaming and nodding to our guest.  Holy Shit!  I might apply to the courts to change my name to Conan the Barbarian.  But for now, if I didn't get out of here, my ego was going to be too big for me to fit through the door.

"...Well, Tarkan has improved on the story a bit, but in the main, it's true.  I'm sure that Rita will tell you all about it while you're here." I looked at my watch.  "Sweetie, please take Colette to her suite and make her comfortable.  Ladies, I have to get back to work."

---------------

Loading dock

A box arrived, by special delivery.  I had it put in a storeroom on the empty floor just under our apartment.  I hammered the lid off and looked in.  There was my merchandise, still warm but unconscious.  Since I had no idea how long she would be out, I left her a plastic bucket and a jug of water. I locked the door and left.

Business was growing, even in the recession.  It was also absolutely legit.  I had no truck with moving anything illegal - drugs, weapons, outlawed items.  Taxes were paid in full and I made sure to stay in good with the authorities.  My reputation as an honest businessman would be extremely valuable in my other undertakings.   I now had a single cargo plane, a used DC-10 for high priority moves - imports mostly, but sometimes a load would leave the other way.  The crew was under strict instructions to make sure that nothing got onboard that wasn't on the manifest - drugs were always a problem in air cargo.  All ground personnel at overseas airports were constantly being offered bribes to get something on board - cargo handlers, ramp personnel, even refuelers.  Well, actually, it wasn't just overseas - plenty of people existed in airports in the US who would accept money under the table.  Anytime something was found, we notified the proper authorities and helped in any possible way to discover the connection on the receiving end.  As a result, I was thought of as a patriotic and cooperative businessman by the law.

Since I was only worried about breaking even, and had plenty of money to back me up, I had none of the worries of the usual starting business person.  Between the girls and loot taken from the residence of the ex-Yilmaz the Fearless, I was a multimillionaire - even after giving generous cuts to everybody involved.  And that wasn't even counting all the money I had earned from the French operation, two years before.

I was along way from a shrewd businessman, but I could run the day by day operations ok.  My mentor went back to his business in California, whatever it was, but was always just a phone call away.   I only had about fifteen employees - on purpose.  I intended to run lean and mean.  I paid very good salaries, but for them I wanted good work and loyalty.    

That night, I went down to check on my new merchandise.  She was awake, just sitting on the floor.  Unlike most captives, she was calm and just watched as I approached.  After all, she had a fair idea of what was going on.  "Get up," I said, in my butchered Turkish.   She did, and I snapped a set of manacles on her wrists, behind her back.  Then I pulled her out the door and to the elevator.

I took her to the far northeast corner of my apartment, the part that hadn't been developed yet, except for a single lounge in the corner, looking out over the horizon.  I let her look out at the nighttime view.

She was, of course, the woman who ran Yilmaz's dungeon - according to Rita, a cruel mistress, although a lot of that was probably on orders from The Fearless, himself.  She was in her late thirties, overweight to American standards, and not that bad looking, although she would never turn any male heads on the street.  One thing she had, was huge pendulous tits.  Massive things, maybe DDDD.  When I last saw her, she had the usual body hair of women from her part of the world, but I had paid Tarkan to have her permanently depilated from the eyebrows down. 

She also had the same operation performed on her that had been done on Rita.  I could still see the little X scar on her neck.  I have to admit that being an act of revenge on my part.

She had been the victim of a setup, planned by me, but performed to date by Tarkan.  She had been given the notion that she and the girls had been stolen while her boss was away.  And, somehow, word had gotten out to her boss that it was an inside job, working on information provided by her.  Of course, she could well imagine what would happen if he got his hands on her.  She was offered the choice - be set free on the streets of the city and take her chances, or become a bound female.  Obviously, she chose the latter as the best chance to live longer than a week.

Slowly, because my command of her only language was bad, I gave my spiel.  I pointed out at the sea of lights reaching to the horizon.  "Do you see that?"  She nodded.  "This is America.  You are here illegally, with no identification and no passport.  If you are caught, you will be sent to prison."  Prison in her mind was something different than existed here.  In her country, prisoners didn't sit in air-condition comfort watching TV and eating free food with any necessary medical care available.  In her part of the world, they worked long hours, and slept in crowded and fetid cells. And women had a totally different worry - many times they were just considered to be free prostitutes for use and abuse.  "Then, you will be sent back to where you came from and everybody will know when you arrive, including Yilmaz."  It might be true - the bastard might hear though the grapevine that she was back, but the info would be of little meaning to him now.

"I give you a choice.  Now.  I will give you a set of clothes and you may leave now.  Or you may stay as my slave.  Choose now."  What I would do if she took the first alternative, I didn't know.  But there was little chance of an ignorant third world female wanting to be tossed onto the streets of a totally alien country, even if she had been told that the streets here were paved with gold.

From her expression, I suddenly realized that she was terrified.  Of what?  Me?  Her old boss?  Being tossed out in a strange country as a voiceless, ignorant female?

"Do you want to leave?"  She shook her head violently.   "Do you want to be my slave?"  This time an affirmative nod.

--------------

Home

I had no problem "hiring" two young studs for the training of Rita - not in the current job market.  The hardest part was getting them to believe what they were being hired for.  My pay was good, but my rules were strict.  They would come to "work" at 9:00, and would usually leave by 16:00, although if Colette were finished before then, they could leave early.  They had a lounge of their own, big screen TV, cable, Internet, refrigerator - no alcohol - and other stuff deemed necessary by young men these days.  There was also a shower and they were to be immaculately clean, everyday.  There was to be no talk about what they were doing and absolutely no sex with other females during the time of employment.  I paid them well and legally and filed all the tax returns and withholding amounts.

A few times, I was the guinea pig.  At the start of her training, I would lay there on a table as Colette and Rita pushed and prodded and rubbed.  The woman's knowledge of a male nervous system was absolutely astounding, which I already knew to be a fact for any courtesan coming out of Suliman's.  At night, Rita would be bubbling over with excitement over what she had learned, and would want to practice on me.  That was usually fine with me, but sometimes she would want to practice longer than I wanted to be practiced on, and I would just flip her over and shove it in.

---------------

Home

Rita was stunned when I brought her way over to the northeast side of the building and showed her the new slavegirl.  The woman, now named Butterball, was just as stunned and not a little afraid to see Rita, probably remembering what she had done to the redhead in the name of Yilmaz.  I explained to Rita what she was, how she got there and what she believed.  And that she was now Rita's slave, to do with as she wanted, but mostly as a domestic.  She would clean and learn to cook, American style.  Her little living alcove wasn't uncomfortable, but it certainly wasn't luxurious, with not much more in the small windowless room but a sleeping mat and a shelf with certain female toiletries.  Of course, she had access to a small bathroom with a shower and commode on her end of the building.

I left her alone with her new possession, still stunned and unbelieving, but monitored the situation to make sure that Rita didn't just throttle her.  I have to say, I was surprised over the next few weeks.  Rita was strict with her, and was obviously relishing the situation, but I never saw her treat Butterball badly, just for the sake of cruelty.   But suddenly, our large home was even more spotless than it had been with Rita doing the cleaning - she made sure of that.  Many times, Butterball's efforts in cleaning a bathroom weren't satisfactory, and had to be done over.

---------------

My office in R&R

I found my first employee of my shadow business, if you don't count my squad, who actually didn't know anything about it.  As far as they knew, the girls that we had picked up from the raid, were turned loose the next day.  She was a very bright woman, thirty two years of age, but handicapped with a major limp that required her to use a walker or cane most of the time.   She had the bitter experience of seeing one job offer after another go to a much less qualified individual because of businesses' fear of hiring a person that might drive up their health care costs.  As it was, she was just about submerged in credit card debt from her impairment, working for minimum wage even with a masters degree, and fending off ever more obnoxious debt collectors.  But she was proud and refused to declare bankruptcy until it might be forced onto her.

She had physically come in to apply for a job with R&R - not because we were hiring - but for the hope.  If it was a business she hadn't appealed to, then she would at least try.  My secretary was sympathetic, but had to tell her that we had nothing open at the moment and, while she could fill out an application, Shirley could give no hope for the near future.  I was in my office, half listening, and heard the woman say that she was a forensic data analyst, way back before the recession killed her chance of a job.  I pushed the intercom button and told Shirley to send the woman in.

I met her at the door, and shook her hand.  She was using a cane at the moment, although she had come in to the front office with a walker.  "Good morning, Ms...?

"Sally Fergerson.  I'm glad to meet you sir.  Thank you very much for seeing me."

I waved to my lounge area, took the paperwork from Shirley's hand, and shut the door.   "Sit down, Ms. Fergerson.  My name is Rodger Harris."  I waited till she was seated in an overstuffed chair, then sat down myself and said, "Excuse me while I read this."  Of course, it was her resume.

Not Bad.  A Masters in math, a minor in computer forensics.  Good work history, but short. Because of her infirmity, she was always hired as a contractor - responsible for her own benefits and taxes, and fireable at will.  Reading between the lines of her resume, I was impressed that she had held her own against the blatant - and illegal - discrimination.  But she was obviously a person who understood computers and data - and unmarried.  An attractive woman, overall.

I looked up.  "So, your last position was lost because your employee shut the door?"

"Yes, Sir," she replied, then amplified it.  "Actually, they shipped all the work overseas."  I nodded.  Bastards.  I personally hated the businessmen who lived the good life in America, then shipped the work to sweatshops abroad so that they could build an even more ostentatious house and their wives could wear even bigger diamonds and drive a new Beamer whenever the old one got dusty.

"No luck since, obviously."

"No Sir."  She stopped, wondering how much to say, then touched her cane.  "They're afraid of this, although they won't say so.  I can't say I really blame them, given the chaotic state of the healthcare industry now.  They might be eventually stuck with supplying a nurse for every person labeled as disabled."

I liked her honesty.  "Tell me what you actually did for those companies, and what your skills are.  And keep in mind that you are talking to a computer neophyte."  Not exactly true, but I was definitely not in the geek class of computer skills.  She spoke for an hour or so, with me asking questions on occasion.  She might be the one.  Only time would tell.

"Ms. Fergerson..."  "Please call me Sally."  "...Sally, I might have a position for you, but to discuss it, you need to agree to keep what is said here confidential."

"Yes, Sir!"  I could have said that she would need to give me the rights to her first born, and she would have agreed for the chance of a job.

"Excellent.  I have another business, besides the one outside of that door.  It works in the gray area of the world."  I could see her processing that, and wondering. "It isn't openly illegal, but it isn't something that can be advertised, either.  For instant, I have a team of security specialists who escort ships through the pirate infested waters around Africa.  The nations around there can't be seen as consenting to having citizens of that area harmed, even when those same citizens are stealing ships and murdering crewmembers.  But they can't allow it, either.  We supply the protection, unnoticed and ignored by the governments around there."  Her eyes were definitely wider.   "A while back, we were involved in a rescue mission of women who were kidnapped.  And recently I was involved with a drug sting at an airport."   All of the above was true, just not the whole truth.  "Another reason for secrecy, is our own safety.  Some people in the world will stop at nothing for revenge and payback."  Me, for instance.

"I am looking for a person who can find out facts - data mining, I think it is called.  Not only on the Internet.  He...She... would be responsible for hiring an investigative service to get information, if necessary.  On rare occasions, that person might have to travel there in person to get the real scoop."  Someday I might trust her with the whole truth, but she would have to show tried and true loyalty before that would happen.  "Is that anything you might be interested in?"

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Harris!  I'm your girl. That is right up my alley, skills and ability wise."

"One other thing.  I pay well.  Very well, but for that pay, I expect superior work and loyalty.  I don't put up with being told that someone hasn't had time to do something yet." 

"I can swing it, Sir.  I can't count the times that I ate leftover cold pizza and took a bath at the ladies room sink to get a project out the door on time."

I made up my mind.  "Ok, Sally.  I'll give you a try.  A probationary period, of several months to see if I like your work and you like working for me.  At the end of that time, and both answers are yes, the position will be made permanent."

Her relief was apparent. A job, at last.  "I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Harris.  All I'm looking for is to prove my value to a firm."

I stood up.  "Come with me.  I'll show you where you'll work."

---------------

Home - the western lounge

My team and I were sitting in my lounge on the western side of the building, watching the sun set.  Rita was her usual bubbling self, roaming around among the men, serving drinks and snacks, thoroughly enjoying the attention she was getting from five young and virile male guests.  Her last surgery had gone well and had almost healed.  Very little of the brands could be seen, and the Doctor told us that even those remnants should fade with time.

Her filmy lounge dress - almost a negligee - would flare out behind her as she moved.  It was opaque, but so thin that there was no doubt that there was a beautiful woman underneath.  The guys were flirting and bantering with her - had we been in a bar, and she the waitress, her behind would have been black and blue from the pinches and pats, but in my home, my friends would no more show disrespect to my girl than they would have used our old regimental colors to wipe up a spill. 

Colette was off for the weekend, traveling.

Telly was describing the action, with lots of help from the others.

"...Dolby was on watch, in the crows nest.  At least, that's what we called it.  It was a fishing boat, but it had way too much horsepower for any third world trawler.  It pulled up abeam about a hundred meters away and this dude on a megaphone yelled for us to stop.  At least, that's what the captain said..." 

Chip interrupted, "Bummer and I already had the fifty cal set up behind a crate.  At that range we could have sawed it in half with a single belt..."

Telly again, "The captain sent the crew below and to the other side of the ship, then cut the engines, but that size ship doesn't stop on a dime.  They got impatient.  Some dude fired an AK into the air, then someone triggered an RPG..."

"Shit. I think it went about a foot over my head," said Jonesie.

"... but it impacted way beyond the ship.  They shot another and it hit up by the bow.  Knocked a six inch hole in the plating, but didn't hurt anything.  I had Chip wave a white flag on a stick, and they stopped."

"But the dumb sobs just kept getting closer," Bummer said, from under his glass. 

The liquor was really loosening tongues.  Telly continued, "Yep.  I thought they would send over a skiff, but they just motored in toward the ship.  I changed the plan, and had Chip get a satchel charge ready..."  "Twelve sticks," Chip interjected."  "The dumb bastards pulled right up to the side and slung a grappling hook over the rail.  Chip dropped the satchel into a hatch and we ducked.  It blew the boat in half."

"Twenty four pounds of C-4!" I exclaimed.  "I can believe that!  Hell, that much would blow a hole in the bottom of a cruiser!"

Dolby spoke up again.  "Then we just leaned over the rail with the M-4's and hosed down anybody who popped to the surface."

"Thank you, Rita, " said Telly, accepting his refill. "Then the captain put the pedal to the metal, and we played cards for the rest of the trip."

More talk went on, no different than with any group of men who had shared the dangers of combat together.  The owner of the ship didn't need their services right now.  His vessel was moving in a much more civilized part of the world at the moment.  But, it wouldn't be long before they would be called again.  Word of that kind of adventure, even though not published, would spread among ship owners.  And the existence of a  professional security team would be remembered.

The hour grew late, and suddenly Dolby stopped in mid sentence, staring at something past my chair.  I turned around to see Rita asleep - curled up on her plush beanbag chair like a kitten and with her long red hair spread out over the black fuzzy covering.  A strap of her silk dress had fallen down and one boob was laying out in the open enough to clearly show her nipple.  The photographer for any men's magazine would have killed for the chance of a photo op like that.

The conversation had totally stopped.  Finally, Telly said quietly, "Goddamn, Sarge!  That is one beautiful barbie doll." 

---------------

My office

I got a message and notice of payment from Mr. Hassan, for the girl that I had shipped to him.  He was purchasing her for himself and congratulated me on my selection.  What the hell? I thought.  She was just a young stupid cunt.  Well built, without a doubt - as good looking as another young Rita - but just a dumb American female.  Why in hell would he want her?  Strange.

It was a slow day, I had helped Sally select her office stuff - actually, that isn't accurate.  I had told her that I only bought quality, and instructed her to give the list of what she wanted to Shirley, unless it was something technical that needed to be purchased by her personally.  So far it was a large desk, two powerful desktop computers and a laptop, and hardware to connect them.  Besides standard office stuff, like white boards and filing cabinets.

Anyway, I went upstairs to relax, maybe even get a piece if they weren't engaged in a learning session.  It was late - the two guys had long gone home for the day.  The girls weren't in the usual places, but I heard them down the hall.  At the door of the south east skylounge, I stopped at the door and watched, wide eyed.  Butterball was on her knees, head back and mouth firmly planted in Rita's cunt, who was standing over her.  Colette was just enjoying the view - views actually.  She would look back and forth from the vista of Downtown out the window, and the two girls getting it on.  Rita just had her head back, eyes closed and was in paradise.  Colette, saw me out of the corner of her eye, looked around and winked at me.

Holy shit, I thought.  I went to my room to take a shower and wait for the girls to finish.

They were taking a long time.  I wondered if it had turned into a menage-a-trois with three girls on each other.  A male's fantasy come true. 

I was laying on the bed, reading some reports when, suddenly, Colette entered.  I immediately stopped reading, and stared.  She was nude, with just the green silk around her neck.  Well, well.  This didn't require any effort to figure out.   She smiled and said, "You are paying for my services - would you care to avail yourself of them?"    I just nodded, still staring.  "I have not pleasured a real man since I left Europe.  Skills unused will begin to atrophy."

"Rita and Butterball?" I asked.

She chuckled.  "They were naughty.  They are still in the south lounge doing... penitence, shall we say.  We will not be interrupted."

I leapt out of bed and shucked off my robe, then lay back down and watched her slink onto the bed in one of the myriad ways that she had been taught.  I knew what to expect - this would be my third Suliman girl - and wasn't disappointed.    For the next hour or so, I was beyond pleasure.  Suliman definitely hadn't fobbed off a ringer on me.  She played my body like a concert pianist in front of an international audience. 

When it was over, and I had given my all and more, we just lay there together and talked.   I asked her about her future plans.  So far she had none.  This was her first commission since graduating.  What she would do next was up in the air.  Something suddenly occurred to me - if she was an unattached single girl, how the hell did she get into Suliman's in the first place, and who paid for her training?   I didn't ask - it wasn't any of my business.  We did tell each other of some of our past, but that particular question didn't come up.  She was fascinated by the tale of Mr. Sergeant and the fight with the bad man in Turkey.  I told her the real truth of the operation, but it had no effect on her idea that it was the romantic mission of the century.

Eventually, nature called, we got up and, afterward, wondered down the hall to the lounge that I had last seen the girls in.  At the door, I just stopped and laughed.  Both women were hogtied and laying on the floor.  And not comfortably, either.  Of course, Rita loved bondage, but Butterball definitely did not and was obviously exhausted from trying to get loose.  I picked up a crop, and whacked both of them on the butt - hard - then we just left them there as we enjoyed a cocktail together.  

---------------

My office

To test Sally, I gave her a mark to track.  She threw herself into it with a single minded laser-like focus.  Her gratitude for being given a chance to prove herself was palpable.  I had to make her go home in the evenings or she would have spent all night at the work.  Her office now looked like a geek computer shop.  At first, she was hesitant to ask for what she thought was needed because of the money, but I assured her that I wanted everything possible that would help her in her job.  

My first real target couldn't possible require as complicated an operation as I had set up in France.  My organization wasn't even put together yet, let alone, tried and trusted.  It needed to be simple, but the result had to be quality.  The payoff on an ordinary woman would barely pay for her transportation.  But I had a deserving target in mind.  I looked forward to meeting the bitch.

Meanwhile, my team was back on the high seas riding shotgun for high value ships.  Sure enough, the word had gotten around and I now had more requests for their services than they could fulfill.  I had Telly contact three more ex-comrades who still craved the uncivilized life, and made two teams of four each.  Of course, Telly had one and I made Chip the squad leader of the other.  The money was excellent - my fees, as high as they were, came to only a minute fraction of the cost of the voyage and were just another write off for the ship's operators.

Rita was wearing out the young men that I had hired for her training.  And she was getting really good.  She didn't have the finesse of Colette and would never have the overall ability, but she made up for it with just bubbling enthusiasm.  Occasionally, she would still deliberately try to piss me off so that I would drag in into the bed by her hair and stripe her with a whip.   Colette, also, soon realized her occasional contrariness was a predilection for punishment, and asked me what she was allowed to do about it.  I told her to string Rita up by her wrists anytime that was needed and beat her ass.  Or, if Colette just wanted to do it for fun, have at it.

---------------

Saudia Arabia

I was sitting in the top viewlounge with the Sheik, discussing various operations that had gone on in his organization after I left for the States.  He had asked me to come over when I had a chance, and I hopped a plane the next week.   He apparently valued my opinion, even though I was probably his junior agent, but there was nothing that we had talked about so far that was of any urgency.  We had just come from the viewing window that looked out over his harem.  He had showed me the little blackmailing cunt that I had sent him a short while before.  She was sitting, naked, conversing with another girl.

"That one really has the fire in her belly," the Sheik said. "I haven't had her tamed yet because of the pleasure it gives me to watch her think that she is resisting.  I thank you for her presence."

"No problem, Mr. Hassan.  "Glad you like her."   I was mystified at what he saw in her.  To me she was an uneducated, spoiled, teenage American cunt like any one of hundreds that you can see in any mall in the country at any time.  But, if he was happy, I was happy.

But he didn't invite me halfway around the world to look at her.

He was just staring out over the desert, watching the sun drop lower in the west.  I wondered what was coming - so far I had no hint.  He finally turned around and said, "I am fearful of what is going to happen in the next few years.  The debts being run up all over the world are going to open a hole, someday, that will swallow us all.  I hope you still have the gold you took from that crime boss."  I nodded.  He continued,  "I would suggest that you keep a minimum of your wealth in currency.  I expect inflation to be ruinous eventually.  Actually, I am sure of it.  What I don't know, is what institutions and nations will fall because of it."

Wow.  He had a seriously pessimistic vision of the future.  But, one thing for sure, a lot of money was being spent that the people doing the spending, didn't have.  I made a note to visit the way my wealth was structured.  Possibly I had way too much in a Swiss bank.  Maybe more gold would be wise.  It was compact and easily hidden.

He sat back down.  "But, that isn't why I wanted to talk to you.  You are still building your team, correct?"  I nodded.  "I wonder if you could find a place for a daughter of mine?"  To my widening eyes, he continued.  "My youngest child is, well... she doesn't exactly fit into the society of this country.  Actually, she is more like a teenager in America - headstrong, wild, self-assured.  In fact, that is why she is my Chef d'ytat-Major."

I translated the French phrase into Chief of Staff.  How could that be?  I never heard of her.  Then I reminded myself, that just because I might have become his current fair-haired boy, that didn't mean that I automatically knew more than a fraction of the Sheik's business and life. 

He held up his hand.  "Please, Rodger.  This isn't a demand, just a request that you see if you can use her.  If not, then it is my hope that you will  sponsor her for a visit to America.  I certainly don't expect you to do her any favors on my account." 

He pushed the button on his desk as I answered.  "Mr. Hassan.  I would be more than honored to be her sponsor for a visit, however long.  As to using her in my organization, I would have to say that if she has the skill to run yours, then assisting me with mine would be a minor task for her."  I thought of something.  "I'm not sure how to ask this, but...  As a woman in America, she will naturally run into far more... ah... encounters... than she would here.   Do you..."

He interrupted me with a laugh.  "She is not a blushing virgin, by far.  In fact, if she wishes a liaison with a man, I would suggest that you not get in the way.  Katja has taught her a few things.  But, that does not worry me.  What does, is her forwardness and what will happen to her if she remains in this...  well... shall we say, conservative country."

I could see his point.  In this part of the world, allowing herself to get fingered, could get her thrown into a hole and stoned to death.  In fact, women in these lands were blamed if they were knocked down and raped.  Not exactly a hotbed of feminism here.

There was a discrete knock on the door and a woman entered.  I was expecting a teenager, but this was a mature female.  Probably twenty two, twenty three or so.  I stood up, as did the Sheik.  "Rodger, this is my daughter, Zafirah."  I smiled and gave a slight bow - women weren't touched by strangers in this part of the world, so shaking hands was out.  "This is Rodger Harris from America." 

She smiled, also.  A nice looking woman, unusually thin for a women in these parts, long black hair. "Yes, Abbi.  I well know about Mr. Sergeant." 

Hassan waved us to sit, and waited for the drinks - tea, this time, which I despise.  "Rodger has graciously agreed to sponsor you in your desire to visit his country."

"That is very kind, Mr. Harris."

"Please call me Rodger - the other makes me feel old.  When would you be planning to visit, if I may ask?"

Hassan spoke up.  "It will be soon, but not immediately.  There are several... things that she will need to handle before she leaves."

I pulled a blue bordered business card from my wallet and handed it to her.  "Show this to the guard, or anybody, when you get to my building."

We conversed for another hour.  I learned that she definitely wasn't a bimbo - she had been educated at Cambridge in Britain, which explained her perfect, but slightly accented English.  She also had an encyclopedic knowledge of the present world - far beyond mine.   She also spoke a dozen languages.  All in all, not the flighty, headstrong young woman that Hassan had described before she came in.

---------------

My suite

I was in my suite, about to undress and soak in the tub and was wondering where the bath girls were.  There was a knock on the door.  "Enter," I replied.  In came Zafirah and followed by a slavegirl.  That was easy to tell, since she was wearing a full serik - collar, bracelets, chains and all - and nothing else.

"Abbi thought you might enjoy this girl for tonight, rather than our usual bed girls."  She pointed, and the woman - not a teenager - immediately knelt in the floor with her head down.

"Uhhhh...  Thank you, Zafirah.  I'm sure she will be fine." 

"Call me Zee.  Everybody at Cambridge did.  But not around Abbi.  Good night, Rodger."  She left and closed the door.

I looked at the girl on the floor and wondered why the Sheik sent this one in particular.  She was fantastic - long black hair, nice tits - not large but high and firm, narrow waist and long legs under a really nice ass.   Of course, in this place, beauty was the norm.  "Prepare my bath in the big tub," I said in English.  No response.  I tried again in Arabic.  She immediately jumped to her feet, chains jangling, and quickly entered the bathroom.  Actually, there wasn't anything to prepare.  The water in the hot tub was always hot and ready to enter. 

Now, calling the bathing area of a suite in the Sheik's house just a bathroom, is like calling a Ferrari, just a car.  For one thing, it was about twice the size of the average American living room - upper class living room, I mean.   There were two tubs - one a normal type and size of large bathtub, and the other an eight person hot tub.   And there was a high tech shower, computer controlled water jets, programmable at will from a gentle rain, to a horizontal blast of water that would almost knock you down.  Two commodes and two bidets.  Gigantic sink bench with mirrors everywhere.  Thick rugs.  And so on. 

I entered the bathroom - she was standing beside the tub waiting, eyes still looking downward.  By now, I had deposited my clothes on the floor of the bedroom, so I just walked down the steps into the water, then lay down.  God, it was wonderful.  I had been planning to install one of these in my apartment, but hadn't gotten around to it yet.   I motioned for her to follow.  As she walked into the water, chains clinking, and began to submerge her body, I was looking closely at her face.  Had I seen her before?  I was fairly certain I hadn't bedded her, but...  What the heck.  Who cared?

"Attend yourself to my bath," I ordered.  She immediately picked up a gigantic sponge and began to rub me with it.  Legs first.  "What is your name," I demanded. 

Quietly, and still without looking at me, said, "This girl has been given the name of Badriya, Master."   Badriya. Badriya.  I believed that was the word for moon.  Maybe full moon. 

No matter. "I will call you Dreea."  I lay back and let her work.  Well, not exactly just lay there.  I did some close reconnaissance of the unfamiliar territory as it presented itself.  It was hilly and had strategically placed valleys and hiding places.

Dried off by my bath partner, we were laying on the bed, me on my side and her on her back.  I was idly tracing a finger up and down as I asked her questions.  This woman was definitely not a vixen - there was no hint of a Rita, who, by now, would be giggling and snuggling up and tweaking things, unless it was one of those times when she was trying to be contrary to get punished.  Dreea would instantly obey, but she wouldn't initiate anything on her own.   "What is your past?" I asked.  "How did you get here?"

She hesitated, clearly not wanted to discuss the topic.  I pinched a nipple, not lightly.  She squealed, but not as an erotic response.  "Speak, slave!  And the truth!"

"Yes, Master," she said, somewhat fearfully.  "I... this girl was traveling to the airport...  For a trip to Southern Spain - a holiday with other friends...  The automobile driver and guards were suborned...  It was confusing...  but, this girl was sedated at that point.  Nothing else is remembered until the Master came for me and I was taken here."  All of this and more came out haltingly, and with many pauses.

"Master?, "I asked.  "Who was the Master."

She looked at me as if to discover a trap.  A long pause, then she gestured at myself.  "This Master.  Here."

What? "Me?, I interjected. Then, as a memory came back flooding back,  "Holy Shit!, I exclaimed - in English.  She must have recognized the phrase, because she flinched.  "What was your name, then?"

She hung her head, and said. "I...  this girl was called Princess Lenova Katlina of the family of Reuss-Greiz". 

Son of a bitch.  This was the girl capture that Marco, the idiot, had screwed up and that had almost gotten me shot.  Now, finally, I recognized the haughty woman laying there in chains and now with clean and straight long black hair - the one that I had striped on her first day here.  Nothing wrong with my powers of observation, I thought, sarcastically.   I just lay back and thought about it.  I assumed that she would go straight into the Sheik's own collection.  Why was she sent to the bed of an associate?   And why was she so afraid?  I had already seen all of her body in the bath and there were no marks on it.  As far as I knew, and Katja had also told me, that women were treated well in his house, and never beaten unless they disobeyed or refused to learn.   The Sheik was only far enough into the bondage scene to make a woman know she was owned.  I don't think it was a matter of eroticism with him.

I looked at the woman for a moment.  She looked back then away.  "Why are you afraid?.  Is it of me?" 

She nodded.  I waited and she realized that I was expecting an explanation.  "...The Master is... I have... This girl has heard of the Master's deeds...  He..."  She trailed off, obviously fearing my response.  Conan the Barbarian is not a man to be insulted.

"Speak truthfully!  You will not be punished."

"The Master is fearsome.  No woman is safe from his acquirement if he wants her.  And no man survives that angers the Master."

I lay still for a moment, bemused at how my reputation had grown with so little foundation.  The French woman of my first operation was taken without my laying a hand on her until after the fact.  The Princess was captured only because I was running like hell trying to get away and she just happened to be along.  Rita was purchased.  I admit, my recovery of my redhead was worth a story or two, but as far as being a modern day Attila the Hun, sweeping across the world slaying men and taking their women, well...

Looking at her, I said, "No woman needs to fear me as long as she gives me pleasure."  I reached over to the stand beside the bed, picked up a small clip link, then rolled her over toward me.  Pulling her braceletted and chained arms behind her, I clipped both wrists together, then pushed her back over on her side.

I then lay on my back, and said, "Address yourself to my pleasure."

Dreea wasn't an accomplished sexual practitioner, by any means.  She didn't even know as much as Rita did back when I first met my redhead, which is definitely not saying much.  But, so that she didn't displeasure the ruthless and savage desperado laying beside her, she tried - desperately.  Raising up on her knees, and having trouble keeping her balance on the soft bed and without the use of her arms, she bent over my stiff johnson and tried to take it in her mouth.  Her long hair kept falling in the way, and she kept trying to toss it behind her with a throw of her head.  She finally got the end in her mouth and did a little sucking.

If I HAD been the man of my imputed reputation and expecting satisfactory sex from her, she would have been black and blue from a beating by now.  Her skills were pitiful, but my enjoyment wasn't from her manipulations, but the pleasure of watching a totally unskilled woman trying to be sensuous.   Finally, as she was just about to enter the final desperate stages of panic, I took pity on her, unhooked her wrists, and pulled her forward to lay beside me.  I was blowing my reputation as a cruel taskmaster - I had no problem punishing a female, but I had never had fun tormenting helpless little kittens.

She was violently shaking with fear as I began to rub and feel of her body, but not the sexual parts and not in a sexual way, yet.  In a little while, her breathing and pulse got back to normal, and I continued to play with her beautiful body.  I'm not a Lothario by far, but by this stage in my life I knew where a woman's buttons were.  It took a while, but slowly, as she continued to unbend and unwind, my rubs and twiddling of her clit and tweaking of her nipples began to get her to breathing heavier again.  I didn't try to kiss her, since in certain parts of the world that is a disgusting turn-off, and I had no idea of her feelings on the act. 

I had an idea that the fact that the lights were on was inhibiting her, so I reached over and flipped them off.  Now all that was left was the blue night light and both of us were just shadows.   I knew I was finally making progress when I felt her slowly spread her legs in response to the feeling she was getting from my gentle manipulations of her slit.  Now it was just a matter of time, and eventually she went over the edge with a feminine squeal that she tried to suppress.

Now it was my turn.  I rolled her over, chains rattling, lifted her leg, and entered her from behind.  It didn't take long at all.

---------------

Tarkans, in Turkey

We were examining my eighteen girls from the raid.  They were ready for sale and we were discussing the upcoming event.  But, I wasn't there for the auction - Tarkan could handle that without any input from me.  All of them were beautiful, since Yilmaz obviously didn't collect plain or ugly girls.  I had asked him to identify two or three that were intelligent, but not educated and not from a western country.  He pointed to a the pair of young twins - an item of my collection that I didn't even know about until this trip.  I hadn't noticed last time, but that was understandable considering the hectic wind-down to the raid.

Tarken said,  "Those two would fit your description. Since they can't speak and apparently can't read, I have had no luck in finding where they came from."  I looked at the two young girls - probably seventeen or eighteen.  Identical twins and quite beautiful.  That bastard had performed the vocalectomy, or whatever it is called on them.  Actually, he had had it done on about half of the girls.  And probably just from a sadistic viewpoint, since almost all of his girls were from the third world and couldn't have talked their way back home if they tried.  According to Tarkan's physician, most of them had a sterilization operation, also. 

I selected them and one other very young girl - she also was an unknown.  No vocal cords and wouldn't show recognition to any writing in any language that Tarkan showed her.  The rest I told him to sell.

---------------

Back home.

I woke up wondering why the alarm was going off if the sun was still down.  Then realized that it was a phone.  Suddenly, my hair stood on end as I realized that it was the cellphone that never rang.   The emergency cell that only my two team leaders had the number to.

"Hello?"

"Sarge?  This is Bummer."  He was on Chip's team, somewhere south of Africa right now.  Shit, if he was calling, where was Chip?  "We had an incident."

"Spill it," I barked.

"Part of the crew of the Empire Queen" - the ship they were contracted to - "was apparently paid off by someone.  They tried to take the ship last night.  They surprised the crew on the bridge - the captain and first mate are dead and four or five others.  They had everything - AK's, grenades.  Five of them total."

Shit!  A goddamned inside job.  "Casualties?"  I crossed my fingers.

"Chip got it the worst.  Bad wound to his arm and side.  He's in the hospital.  Sander got one in the flesh of his leg, but the sob didn't live to brag about it.  He'll be ok.  Brinker and me are fine."

"How about the scumbags?"

"Feeding the fish." 

"Where are you now?"

"The second mate pulled the ship into Cape Town.  Called his home office.  Don't know what they said."

"Keep your phone on and charged.  I'll call you later."

I called my secretary, woke her up and said.  "I need a plane ticket to Cape Town, South Africa, that leaves chop-chop."

---------------

Dallas

That was a busy week.  Fortunately, Telly's team had been paid off and was on shore.  I flew them to meet the ship and got them there before the replacement crew arrived.  I also suggested to the owners that they should check the paperwork of their applicants a little more throughly in the future.  Chip and Sander flew back to the US as soon as the doctor ok'ed it. 

I went up to the Hospital they had transferred to, not far from my building.  Chip was laying in bed, and Sander was sitting in a chair.  "Yo Sarge," greeted Sander.

"How's the shank doing?"

"Hah.  All I needed was two bandaids.  The only reason I'm still here is because Chip gets scared if he gets left alone in a strange place."

I looked over at Chip.  His right arm was covered by major bandages, and from what I was told, under the sheets his right side was also.  "You getting slow in your old age?" I asked.

He didn't laugh.  "Yeah, I guess.  That isn't all that is getting slow."

I already had the full reports of the team about what had happened.   Chip had been caught by surprise, but I thought nothing of that.  Anybody can be blindsided by a supposed friendly.   But his setup of the team, and his plan never having all four of them together while on the ship prevented a massacre and another hijacked ship.  And his team reacted instantly and professionally - proof of that was resting on the ocean floor as fish food.

He continued,  "I guess I won't be world traveling for you anymore."

I looked surprised.  "What makes you think that?"

"Well..."  He raised the damaged flipper a little.  "I won't be throwing frags with this, again.  Maybe I'll work for a cruise line - I kind of like being on the briny deep."

"What the hell are you talking about?   Do you think I'm going to let a man of your operational experience get away?"  I needed to knock that feeling-sorry-for-yourself bullshit out of him right now.  "So you won't be on the tip of the spear anymore.  So what?  You and I both are getting too old for that crap.  I can hire all the young grunts I need to sling lead.  When you get out of here, you're going to start helping me plan future ops.  And don't lay around here patting nurse's asses - I have a heavy set of plans right now that need developing."

"Uh... Ok.  Great!  Thanks Sarge."

I turned around to look at Sander.  "And you.  When you get your honorable discharge from this place, come up to my office."

---------------

Home

Chip had a small office next to Sally's.  He was still recuperating and would never get full use of his right arm, but at least it wasn't unusable.  He just couldn't lift weights with it any more.  I made Bummer team leader in Chip's place and had Telly find another young grunt to fill it back out to four.  All of them were now at sea on two separate ships.

The top three floors were now permanently reserved for my use. Of course the whole top floor was my apartment, although only a fraction of it was used by me.  The rest of it was unfinished area for future use.  The floor under it was for my shadow company offices, but only had two at the moment.  The third floor down had been totally empty.  I had a contractor build several nice suites on that floor, and gave Chip one for his use.  The rest would be for guests or maybe future employees.

One elevator was reserved for my top three floors, and in fact wouldn't work with a key.  At the moment, only myself and Colette had the key that would make it stop on the top floor.  When the two young dicks arrived in the mornings, the guard in the lobby would call and she would go down to bring them up.   Chip and Sally had keys that would access the lower two floors.

I had a meeting with Chip when he arrived, and told him a short version of my agency with the Sheik - mentioning no names or facts, of course.  I needed to know if he had a problem with the idea of capturing women.  He was somewhat surprised, but other than that, he was the typical professional Man of Fortune.  He subscribed to the mercenary's first rule of thumb - don't get emotionally involved in the politics of what you are being paid to do, or fight, or destroy.

Jean had a rule that he would never take a woman who was married, or who was responsible for children.   My rules also covered that area, but with the additional dictum that the woman had to deserve being taken.  I wouldn't just kidnap a decent woman for any reason.  Of course, that limited my choices to only evil unmarried women - so it wasn't a limitation at all.

Sally was working out fine, even though she had no idea what the data she was collecting was for.  Actually, she probably wouldn't have noticed it the facts had been in front of her.  She was a female geek - her entire world was computers, the Internet, data mining and so forth.  A geekess? 

But there was a subtle undercurrent that suddenly appeared with her.  I finally called her in and demanded to know what was bothering her.  I didn't need an employee that was having emotional problems or the like.

"I's sorry, Mr...  I mean, Rodger.  I had no intention of bothering you with my problems."  To my questioning look, she continued.  "My house is being repossessed and I can't seem to get it stopped."

"Repossessed?," I asked, mildly unbelieving. "You should be able to make payments on it now."  Unless, she owned a mansion.  She was well paid by comparison to most office stiffs.

"Yes, Sir."  I've been making full payments and back payments since I started working here.  I even have a catchup plan agreed to by the bank."

"So what reason did they give?"

"They didn't.  Just told me that it was going through foreclosure and to get out."

Fucking banks.  Took a bazillion dollars from the people to cover problems that they had made themselves, and then had no problem using those dollars to screw the same people who paid to bail them out.  "Sally, with your permission, I would like to have my legal department look into this."

"I didn't want to bring my problem to you, sir."

"That's the reason I'm offering to help."  I liked the fact that she was handling her own problems, and didn't come to me for an advance, or just to bitch about how life was treating her.   She was turning out to be a tough little woman.

---------------

Dallas

Chip's first mission was overseas.  He visited Tarkan's, took some pictures, then visited a little shop known by Jean, outside of Paris.  Back he went to Tarkan's with three passports with the pictures of my three selected females.   They were then dressed in some decent clothes, given phony suitcases, and all four hopped a flight for Mexico City.   I wondered what three young girls would think about getting on an airplane - something they probably had never thought would happen to them.  If they even knew what an airplane was.

The head of the R&R legal department came to me with the news that Sally was being set up for a screwing.  She had considerable equity in her house - far more than would usually make someone immune to foreclosure who was again making full payments.  Someone was going to take the foreclosed house, probably sell it to a friend and cohort for a song, then claim that they didn't even get enough from the sale to cover what was owed, let alone have any equity left to give to Sally.

That was an easy fix.  He got hold of the appropriate personnel at the bank, told them that if they foreclosed then he had a buyer that would purchase the house at full value.  That meant that the bank would recoup nothing but what they were owed, and would be short one more paying customer - a rare one these days - one who didn't walk away from a note and was doing her best to pay it on time and catch up what was owed.  He also mentioned in passing about a signed catch up agreement with their client that the bank seemed to be abrogating, illegally.  That fixed it.  He got a signed statement from the bank that the foreclosure was ended, and she would not be bothered again as long as she kept up with the note.

---------------

Home

While I waited for certain pieces to fall into place in my shadow company, I enjoyed learning how to run a real one.  I never thought I would be a businessman, but here I was.  I made sure to make myself slow down and enjoy life, especially while I was still young.  On occasion, my redhead and I would sit in the southwestern lounge, and watch the sun set over the far horizon.  My little vixen would snuggle up to me, and take a sip of the wine or other liquor whenever I held my glass to her up to her lips.  Sometimes, both of us would use the relaxation time to clean and oil my set of weapons - more from habit than any idea that I would need one.  Months ago, I had made the discovery that Rita actually knew how to handle and shoot a firearm somewhat - not military hardware of course, but sporting rifles and revolvers.  Her answer, tapped out on her phone, to my surprised question was, "My Dad was an avid hunter and on occasions he dragged me along.  Obviously trying to make up for the fact that he had a daughter and not a son."  I wanted to see if she actually could use a piece, or would act like the usual female around a loud firearm.  I had taken her into my short shooting range in the unused section of my floor and let her use the revolver that I kept behind the headboard of my bed.  It was way too big for her, but she could shoot it fairly well.     

Normally, there was little conversation in our relaxation sessions, but sometimes she would tap out a message on her phone and I would reply.  Apparently, now, the remembrance of being a newbie slave in Tarkan's place had turned into a set of romantic memories.  She could discuss them at will and apparently without distress.  I thought it strange, but I was convex, not concave.

But there was one item that she kept referring to, usually obliquely, or just in passing and, one day, I put the pieces together and realized that she was asking for a reenactment. 

The next time she needed punishment, I put my fingers in her beautiful long hair, pulled her head back, and said, "I have a surprise for my little carrot top bitch."  She looked back with an apprehensive expression - she craved punishment, loved the threat of it, but feared the actual encounter with whatever it might be that time.  My punishments were very real, but, of course, delivered without the slightest danger of damage.  I would no more injure my red haired beauty than I would carve my initials on a veterans memorial.

For this new surprise, I first put two wide leather cuffs on both wrists, and snugged them tight, then, pulling her by the hair, took her way back in the unfinished area of the house to a very large empty space.  In the center of the room, we stopped, I lifted her wrists and hooked a snapcatch through the rings of both cuffs.   Then I stepped back to let her get her bearings.  She looked around, in apprehension, and saw that her arms were being held over her head by a chain dropping from the ceiling.   By following it back, she could see that it went over a pulley to the wall, down another pulley to a winch mounted on the wall.  Just like the room at Tarkan's where she had been instructed in the wisdom of obeying commands - especially when told to get on her hands and knees and spread 'em. 

On the floor at her feet, she saw a bullwhip.

Suddenly, she looked at me and violently shook her head, and silently mouthing the word Noooo!   "Yessss." I replied with a smile.  I walked over to the wall and began to turn the crank on the winch.  Slowly, as her arms began to rise, with her futilely trying to pull them back down, she turned into a lovely arrow straight and vertical struggling female.  I didn't stop there.  She raised herself on tiptoes as her body continued to rise, then just began to swing around from her struggles as her feet left the floor.  I walked over, pickup up the coiled whip and rubbed it up and down her back.  "Do you remember this episode, sweetie?  How the leather felt as it kissed your skin?  How much you missed it?"  Apparently not, since she was vigorously shaking her head.  To draw out the suspense, I just walked around her, feeling and probing, and making sure she got a good view of the leather.

Finally, I stepped back and uncoiled the braided rawhide onto the floor.  Then with her looking back over her shoulder, I took a stance, aimed and laid one in the middle of her back.  It coiled all the way around her with a loud crack, then fell away as I whipped the handle with a flick of my wrist.  When it struck, she jumped as though she had been electrocuted - her legs first doubling up, then swinging back under her as her nervous system tried to alleviate the pain.  He mouth was wide open, but of course, no scream came out.  I walked up to look, and make sure that the stroke didn't do more than just pink the skin.  She had a developing ring of a thin red welt around her waist, but nothing even close to broken skin.

I let her thrash for a minute or so to enjoy the full experience of the lash, then stepped back and let her have another one.  She reacted the same way.  The braided leather thong looked like a genuine bull whip, but was specially made for this purpose.  Unlike the real thing, this one was hollow and apparently that characteristic made the loud crack when it landed, but not the damage that the real Mccoy would have created.   Nonetheless, the recipient of the business end of the tool knew that it was a real whip, and not one of those cloth toys that B&D shops sold.

After a half dozen strokes, she was still reacting, but much less vigorously as her muscles tired and became exhausted from the violent thrashing.  I walked over to her and said, "Is that enough?"  She ardently nodded.  "Learned your lesson?"  More vigorous head movement of assent.  "Should I just let you hang her for a while, or would you rather show your appreciation for the lesson?"  This time she didn't know whether to answer yes or no, so her head moved in all directions.   Smiling to myself, I finally cranked her down, took the cuffs off and led her to the bedroom where I snapped her chain and collar on and left her until it was time for me to go to bed.

That night, she was a red haired siren, vamp and temptress all in one.  With the training she had from Colette, on top of her bubbly enthusiasm for sex, she emptied me twice and would have done it again if I hadn't swatted her bottom and told her to go to sleep.

Speaking of Mademoiselle Colette, she had reported to me that Rita was about as far along in sexual training as she could get from learning on a part time basis.  So I paid her our agreed termination bonus, with my thanks.  She intended to stay in the US for a while, just traveling around and sightseeing, so I allowed her to use her suite in my house so that she would have a base of operations, so to speak.  It worked out well - we liked each other, she got a place to rest up from traveling, and I got to use her skills whenever she came through.    Of course, when I bedded Colette for the night, Rita would have a fit of jealousy, although the two girls had become very close friends.  That wasn't really a problem, since I would just chain her by the collar in another room.   Both girl's skills complemented each other - Colette's clinical and complete knowledge of sexual stimulation against Rita's amateur, but wildly enthusiastic natural aptitude.  Totally different - like sugar and salt.

The two young men were paid off and sent away with a set of tales that would get them marked as the world's biggest bullshitters if they ever told them.

--------------

Home

Chip showed up with the three girls, having driven them from Mexico City to Dallas.  Crossing the border with legal looking passports wasn't a problem - a young man with three young girls didn't fit any terrorist profiles, I guess.  It didn't matter now - all three would effectively disappear as far as immigration was concerned.  I had a small room fitted up in the back, with a bathroom, which they had to be shown how to use, and a window overlooking the city.  For a while they just stared at the vista that was far beyond anything they had imagined.   The probably knew they were in the legendary country of America, but I couldn't be sure.  Since the girls had been mutes ever since I captured them, Tarkan was never able to determine their origin, despite using every language available to him to try to get a reaction from them.  From their toilet habits, he was sure they were from a primitive village somewhere in the depths of Asia - pissing and pooping in front of a man or woman was not even a matter of notice to them.  A Western or even an educated woman from the third world would have turned scarlet and locked up in that situation.

Now they were hairless from the eyebrows down, and were Western style thin, and, except for their coal black hair and somewhat brown skin, would have been taken for normal, if very good looking, American teenagers in any public setting.  With a black magic marker, I wrote their new names on just above a tittie - Sugar and Spice were the two twins, and Cinnamon was the third girl. 

Next, I brought Rita over to show her our new family members.  After her surprise, and worry that she was being supplanted, I told her that she was in charge of the three.  They would be bedwarmers for any guests that I wished to favor, and I wanted her to train them in deportment and hygiene.  And she was to teach them to sign. 

That last was just an experiment.  None of the girls could talk, and none could understand a word spoken to them.  Whether or not Rita could teach them under those circumstances would be interesting.  They would have to learn like a child - from gestures and being shown by Rita.

I had made a change in the security of the top floor.  Now the elevator wouldn't rise or descend without the proper key and the only persons who had the key to the top floor were still just me and Colette.  And against all fire safety laws, the fire escape door was locked, although the key was very close by - just hidden.  Now, nobody could leave my house without my knowledge.  Butterball was the only one that I had mild worries about escaping - Rita would have pounded on the door to be let back in if I threw her out, and I was sure that the three new girls would no more try to go out in the strange and terrifying new world than an American housewife would go to the mall naked.

---------------

Home

The phone rang.  "Mr. Harris?  There is a woman in the lobby with a blue card.  She says her name is Zee."  Ahhh.  I had almost forgotten about the Sheik's daughter.   I met her in the lobby and escorted her up.  I had one suite left - I was going to have contractor make a couple more - and I showed her to it.   After she freshened up a bit, we met in a lounge.  The rest of the afternoon was just chit-chat and I took her out to eat that night.

The next day, Zee and Chip were in my apartment for our first strategy meeting.  I laid a huge folder of papers on the table and waved for them to start reading.   I had my organization set up somewhat like Jean's in that I didn't want anything on any computer that could be subpoenaed.   I tasked Sally to come up with some type of scheme.  My reasoning to her was that in this day and age, anybody can be made to turn over everything by some tobacco chewing backwater judge.  I told her that if that happened, I had clients who didn't understand civil law in this country and were going to be royally pissed if information about them and their business showed up on the Internet news sites.   She was basically a thrifty gal and had trouble spending money, even if it was mine, but eventually I got though to her that if I ordered something, cost was not a factor.  Eventually she came up with a scheme that would work.

I installed the outside unit of an air conditioner on the roof - well, not really.  It had all the electrical connections and freon pipes, but it was a dummy that looked just like the six others installed in a row beside it.  Inside this one was a computer file server and a UPS.  I also ran a very small fiber cable from Sally's room to the computer inside of the dummy.  On the wall behind her desk, easily reachable, was a normal wall socket - at least it looked normal.  She could flip up the plate and inside was a socket for a fiber patch cable from her desktop computer to plug into. 

If she was doing normal office work, her desktop computer would be used, but if she was doing sensitive work, she would have her desktop computer connected to the hidden one on the roof and it would be massaging the actual data - all her desktop would be doing was acting as a terminal.   Nothing of importance was ever appear on her office computer - nothing to be erased or encrypted and hidden.   Should the need arise, she could just yank on the patch cable, it would unplug and the socket plate would fall back to the normal position.  And to make sure that her data fiber connection didn't stand out, beside her desk was a rack with a fiber hub that connected to any and all computers on the top three floors.  Of course, unless she was actively engaged in sensitive work, the cable was plugged into the normal hub.   It wouldn't stand up to a major criminal investigation, but as far as civil suits went, anyone was welcome to subpoena any computer they could find. 

The computer would be flushed, formatted and reloaded after every operation.  Eventually, I planned for a panic button that, when pushed, would cremate the hidden computer, but that hadn't been made yet.

Sally had done a bang-up job on the data collection, despite the fact that she had done it all from her office.  She was a very accomplished hacker, although the usual Internet connected computer was about as secure as a paper bag.  Of course, she used a series of proxies all over the world so that nothing could be traced back to us.

We had a ton of data on the woman - almost back to when she was a little girl and her fingers discovered the little button between her legs.  I let the Chip and Zee hammer out all kinds of schemes.  Chip was learning from Zee about the capture business, and, in return, he could fill her in on what would would work and not work in American society.  I would just read their plans with interest.  There was no rush - I was still building up the shadow organization.  Well, I thought there wasn't a rush.  

Chip handed me a paper.  I read it and said, simply, "Shit!"   She was about to put herself beyond the pale of our efforts, according to my rules.

Chip just nodded.  "Yep.  We have just about six months before she becomes a June bride."

---------------

End of Book 3 

The Desert Nexus.

Book 4

---------------

The foyer of my home

The gubernatorial hopeful and his three aides were heading for the door.  The head man was speaking, but I knew he was lying since his lips were moving.  "I can assure you, Mr. Harris, that friends will not be forgotten once we are in office."  I made an appropriate comment as I inserted the key to open the elevator door.  The check I had given them had disappeared into the pocket of a flunky, and since that was the sole purpose of this visit, no time was wasted in their moving on to the next hopeful donor.  I shook their hands, smiled and waved as the door closed and then let my shoulders drop with relief that they were gone.

I knew that in this state, there was very little chance of their party winning the election for dog catcher, let alone governor, but my donation would be remembered.  Of course, I had given far more to the other party the week before.  Call it priming the pump, or spreading fertilizer for future planting.

Back in the western lounge, I saw that Rita's crew had everything all set up for the meeting.  Not that I was worried about it.  I knew that my redheaded doll would have everything perfect, or she would have one or more of her girls' skins showing red stripes.  We had a few minutes, so I sat back in Rita's fuzzy black beanbag chair and said, "Bring me a Margarita.  Two of them."  My redhead knew what that meant, and immediately turned around and signed to Sugar, who was standing in the inside doorway.  Or maybe it was Spice - from any distance at all, the twins were totally alike.   Rita signed to me and I replied, "No.  Leave it on."  Her green lounging gown was so thin and sheer that it really wouldn't have made any difference if she had taken it off.  It wasn't transparent, but still it was obvious that there was a beautiful female body underneath.  She sat back beside me, wiggling to settle her body into a comfortable position.

Shortly, Sugar - or Spice - hurried up with a steaming cold glass of green liquid.  I took it, tasted it, then relaxed back in the yielding bag chair.  I put my other arm around my girl and held the glass up to her lips.  She took a drink, then lay back against me.  This was the life - a cold Margarita in one hand and a hot Margarita in the other.  I had come a long way since I had walked out of the Iraqi desert as a no-name Sergeant.   The luck of the draw, or the roll of the dice - whatever you call it, now had me as a rich exporter and importer of products, and a custom business on the side.   Actually, it was more underneath than a sideline, but whatever, I was satisfied with my current lot in life.

The icing on the cake was my beautiful redheaded beauty - my willing and mute slave whose tale of possession was still talked about in certain parts of the world.  We sat there enjoying each other as we finished the drink.  One hand held the glass and the other explored the various hills and valleys of my girl.  For her part, she just snuggled up and enjoyed it.  Of course, Rita knew to have the drink made of mostly lime juice and very little alcohol, since I needed my wits for the upcoming strategy session.

The last few months had been busy.  The NAFTA trucking issue with Mexico had been settled and trade was really beginning to flow over the bridges.  I opened a small subsidiary office in Brownsville next to the border to handle incoming and outgoing cargo to that area.

I needed a pilot I could trust, so I queried Chip as to which of the team would be best to send to flight training.  Dunkelberry got the nod and now had a low time commercial license.  I bought a small plane and told him to fly as often as possible and to continue instruction, all the way up to instrument, multi-engine and so forth.

Sally, under my instruction, had looked for an out of the way... well, storage facility, shall we call it.  She came up with an abandoned WWII Army Air Force training field way out in the desert. The single runway was long since unusable without major work, but it had a couple of cinderblock buildings still standing, although without roofs.  These were refurbished and made usable. 

She set up a small company - legitimate - that repackaged solar arrays for installation in homes and businesses.  This deserted and almost always cloudless stretch of the state was perfect for running tests on various panels and several dozen were usually set up at any given time.  And at the gate was the sign, "Luxon Solar, Inc" - a perfectly normal tax paying entity.  Occasionally, a few times a month, there were usually a couple of engineers from Luxon running tests.  She also set up an arrangement for a state university to use the land for some kind of radio telescope array, and on occasion a van or truck from the college would be on site also.  Perfect camouflage for a single hidden room.

The runway was repaired so as to allow smaller aircraft to land, but not so well as to stand out as a usable airstrip.

Before the solar company took possession, Chip oversaw a crew of illegals build a small underground basement beside one of the buildings.  When finished, the excavated dirt was bulldozed flat, then sand was pushed back over the structure and it effectively disappeared from existence.  The only entrance was through the floor of a closet in one of the buildings - one that was filled with parts and pieces of solar panels and holders for the same.

All in all, it was a minor and remote business operation that looked - and was - legitimate. 

---------------

The Western lounge of my home

My current inside crew was all here - Chip, who was now my Chief of Staff and Telly and Bummer - my two action team leaders.  Sally, my computer wizard and finder-outer girl was now a trusted partner.  I had tested her over the months as I wondered what she would think about my underground business of capturing and selling women all over the world.  As it turned out, her attitude was like the ex-soldiers - that is, don't get involved with politics and issues.  Just do the job at hand.  Actually, her gratitude to me for considering her abilities, rather than her handicap, in giving her a real career was a major consideration for her.  Anything I wanted to do was fine with her.

The fifth member was Zee.  Zafirah was Sheik Hassans youngest daughter, sent to America, well, because she wanted to come, but mainly to get her out of her home country where her woman's lib attitudes were just going to cause trouble for both her and her father.  Female slavery was a natural thing to her - she had been her father's Chief of Staff for several years, before coming over here.

Our first operation was just days away, hopefully, and this was a final meeting to try to poke holes in it.  I wished that my good friend Jean could have come over from France.  He was an expert in planning this kind of op - anything he came up with had every i dotted and every t crossed, in spades.  Unfortunately, he had his own operation in progress at the moment.

Chip was talking. "...We know she still lives at her estate but will probably move to his, if she gets married.  Since his job is in New York, they only get together on the weekends."  He laid a map on the table.  "Since this is an upscale community, every house is going to be alarmed, but only against the usual threats.  Instead of our plan of having Brinker break in and disable any system, how about this..."  

---------------

Later

Once the meeting broke up, Sally hung around to give me an update.  Zee headed out to the night life of the town, which she couldn't get enough of after growing up in the strict fundamentalist culture of her country.  Telly and Bummer went down to the guest rooms on the floor under mine with one girl each - which ones I didn't know.  Rita handled that part of my household.  Chip went to his apartment on the same floor.  I knew he would be waiting for Sally - those two had hit it off big time.

"Before I start," she began, "The operation on Rita's Ex is complete.  All you have to is give the word."

Ah.  Good.  I nodded my satisfaction.

Sally opened her laptop.  "I've found a possible surgeon candidate.  At least he has all the qualifications, but I have no idea of what his attitude will be."

I sat back down as Butterball and Spice cleaned up the now disordered snack table in front of us.  "Lay it out."

She began to read. "Doctor William Bennett, MD, Surgeon.  Graduated from UNCF.  Started his own clinic about 6 years ago.  Wife is named Bonnie and was his head nurse.  Apparently he did excellent work, but he was indicted eighteen months ago for proscribed drugs and underaged clients.  Convicted, but with no jail time and three years probation.  His license to practice was pulled."  She looked up at me.  "As near as I can tell they're broke.  Lost their house and clinic.  She works as a school nurse - he's a clerk in a hardware store."  She handed me her report.  On paper - nothing stayed on a computer any longer than it took to get it printed off and then securely erased.

After reading through it, I nodded to her.  "Ok, follow up on it.  Put out some feelers to see what his attitude would be toward our needs."

---------------

Thursday

Brinker was almost an nth generation Mafia hooligan.  He grew up in the worst part of the Bronx and probably had committed every crime available to a young man before, like me, being hauled up in front of the judge.   He hadn't ever been caught in any... activities severe enough to prevent his joining the Army and, again like me, was given the choice of a bedroom at the state's expense or taking his chances in the Middle East as a grunt.  Like many young men in the same situation, he turned out to be an outstanding soldier.  He was also an excellent team member for me - he knew every fence, bookie and shady operation in the city, or, if in a strange city, how to find them.   Even though he wasn't on my inside staff, the beginning part of this operation was his.  Chip had asked his opinion on the best way to crack an upscale house, and with a few moment's thought, pointed out a far simpler and less risky plan than my crew had come up with. 

But, however canny he might be about a stealth operation, he was always thinking in third world mode.  Had I let him, he would have dressed for the operation in cammies and face paint.  I pointed out to him that he would stand out on the streets of a high class American neighborhood like a teenage debutant on the streets of Bagdad.  So, this afternoon, dressed in normal garb for a young man - i.e. jeans and a tee shirt and an MP3 player on his belt - he hopped the fence of the exclusive compound, and, carrying small barbell weights in either hand,  jogged along the sidewalks, just another yuppie trying to stay in shape.  And just like he had business there, he turned into the long driveway of our target's house and disappeared among the foliage.   A half mile away, relaxing in a parking lot, Zee and I were monitoring the radio.  Jonesie was standing by in a hot sports car.  Brinker had reported that he was in position A. That meant concealed in the bushes just beside the right side of the garage door.  If she kept the normal schedule, we had a couple of hours to wait.

Sure enough, about ninety minutes later, Jonesie reported her car entering the guarded entrance of the neighborhood and that it contained a single person.  We waited.  If it went according to plan, she would drive up to the garage, trigger the garage door opener, and drive in.  As soon as the car entered, Brinker would slide under the closing door and crawl over to the front right tire to wait for the woman to exit.  She was expected to walk around the front of the car toward the door to the house, but Brinker would be looking under the car to watch her feet to see which way she was going.   She would probably just walk past him, but even if she saw him crouching there, a single untrained female would have little chance against a young ex-soldier.

"Trigger is good.  Repeat, trigger is good."  Zee and I looked at each other as the code for success came through.  One way or another, she had gotten a pressurized syringe stuck in the side of her neck, then was deposited upright into the passenger seat.  Her car would soon be on its way out of the neighborhood gate.  All cars had to pass the guards' inspection on entry, but anybody could leave without interference. 

"Action is good, repeat, action is good."  He was outside of the gate and heading for the little rural airport about fifteen miles away.  Our radios were encrypted, but even if someone could listen, the one way talk would just be gibberish.  Jonesie would be following him at a few hundred meters distance.  If Brinker was pulled over for some random reason by the cops, the trail car would zoom up, stomp on the brakes, then peel out down the road, hopefully, with the cops in hot pursuit.   My reasoning was that it would be a whole lot easier to get Jonesie out of jail for reckless driving than Brinker for kidnapping.

Zee and I casually followed - but only so we could stay in radio contact.  A half hour later or so came what we were waiting for.  "Birdie is good."  The small plane, with Dunkelberry at the controls, was in the air and headed southwest.

--------------

Thursday Night - Luxor Test Facility

By now any Luxor engineers had long since gone home for the day, leaving only Chip waiting for the plane.  It wasn't frivolous decision that I chose to start up a company whose products only worked in the daytime.  Shortly before midnight he got the call from Brinker, flipped on the sparse runway lighting and watched the small twin engine craft land, turn and taxi up to the cinderblock building.  It took only a few minutes to transfer the captive to the underground vault, chain her legs to the wall, add a couple of wrist bracelets - unattached at this time - and leave.  Both got in the plane and flew back to eventually meet me in the city.

---------------

Friday Night - Luxor Test Facility

Doctor Langston was still fully clothed - later she would learn the proper attire of the slave girl.  Chip and Brinker had left her with plenty of food and water, a mat, and a portapotty for her use - in fact, enough food and water for her to stay there for several days unattended if necessary.  It wasn't.

She looked up in fear as I opened the door at the bottom of the stairs.  Of course, she knew nothing of me - yet - so I just appeared as an unknown stranger to her.  She stood up with an apprehensive expression on her face, then slowly backed up to put her back to the wall.  I kept my expression neutral as I stopped just inside the door, just looking at her.

Finally, she blurted, "Who are you?"  Not very original, but she couldn't have a clue as to her future life.

There was a box, stepladder and some folding chairs against the same wall as the door - too far away for her to reach.  I picked up a pair of chairs and walked toward her.  In front of the woman, I opened one, then backed up and opened the other and sat down.  I motioned for her to sit also.  Very cautiously, she pulled it back toward the wall as far as it would go then sat down.

"Why am I here?  What do you want?"  A pause.  "If it's ransom, I can pay it."

I finally spoke.  "I don't capture women for ransom.  In this case, it is for payback."  She opened her mouth to reply, but I continued.  "No. Be silent and listen."  I pulled an envelope out of my pocket, opened it, then handed her a photograph - years old, cropped from an old newspaper article about some meeting of female swells in Rita's city.  "Recognize this woman?"

It took a second or two, but I saw the puzzlement change to sudden surprised recognition, then back to fear.  She shook her head, violently. 

I just stared grimly at her till she finally dropped her eyes and murmured, "It's my sister-in-law."

I nodded.  "Good.  Now you are going to tell me the whole story about her, from start to finish."

She desperately began to feed me a line about the horrible illness that Rita had contracted, then the decision to send her to a clinic in Switzerland, and how the unfortunate woman had passed away not long after.  I could tell that she was frantically trying to figure out who I was and how I was related to the Rita incident.  I continued to ask questions, and she filled in the story.  Of course, it was all lies, but she didn't know that I knew - yet.

Finally, she wound down and I said, "Well, that's a pretty good story.  But..."  A pause as I looked at her over steepled fingers.  "I heard it somewhat differently from another person.  In fact, the stories are so different that someone is lying."  She just sat there, staring at me, still frantically trying to determine what the hell this interrogation was for.  "Are you sure that your version is correct?"

She nodded vigorously. 

"Think about it.  Make sure that you aren't leaving anything out."  I got up and started for the door.  "I'll be back."

---------------

Saturday Morning - my home.

Sally, Zee, Chip and I were meeting in one of my lounges.  We had just given orders for Telly's team to fly to meet a ship needing protection though pirate waters.  And discussed some other minor items.

Sally handed me a paper.  "The Governor and the Mayor want to meet with you this week.  No doubt for some more money."  She hesitated, then continued, "I'm not sure just how supporting those vultures is going to help us in any way.  You've never shown any interest in running for public office."

I just smiled.  "Just spreading a little manure here and there - you never know what will grow."  I picked up a folder.  "I need you to start building a dossier on this person."  She took the folder, opened it, and thumbed through the few pages.  Suddenly, she froze with her eyes open to the max.  She looked over at Chip, then tilted the folder so he could see the picture on top.  His expression mirrored hers.

He looked at me, then blurted out, "Holy Fucking Shit, Sarge!  Aren't you getting a little ambitious?"  Sally said nothing, but Zee looked at both, not understanding what the ruckus was about. 

"What is the matter?  Who is the woman?" she asked.

Sally looked at her for a moment, then at me as I nodded, then explained.  "This is Penelope Elsenburg.  She's heir to the biggest oil fortune in Texas, or maybe the U.S., for that matter.  Platforms, pipelines, refineries - you name it and her family owns it.  Add to that her Mother, who is... hmmmm..." A quick tap on her laptop.  "... eighty four years old and you are looking at the soon to be richest little girl around."  More reading.  "Father long dead and no siblings.  She's making noise like she wants to enter politics."

Zee looked at me.  "You want to kidnap her and take her fortune?"

"Hell, no."  I shook my head.  "For one thing, she is probably guarded as well as the president, and in this country, you don't just forge a few documents and lay your hands on wealth of that magnitude."  I shook my head again.  "I have other - and very tentative - plans involving her.  At this point, it is just a wild idea far in the future."  I pointed at Sally.  "Don't put her at the top of your to-do list - just begin collecting data when you have time."

--------------

Later

That afternoon I was back at the desert compound.  On weekends it was usually deserted, but I saw a van load of graduate students in the distance - obviously either modifying or doing maintenance on their radio telescope array.  Nothing to concern me.  They waved and I did also - to them, I was just another employee going about his business.  

My captive was starting to lose her upper class appearance.  I doubt that she had ever gone so long without a grooming session, or a bath,  or the other things that women feel to be essential. 

She was still wary, and rose as I entered again.  I walked to the box and pulled out a couple of short chains.  Pulling the step ladder over to the center of the room, I climbed up and attached one chain to each of two eyebolts in the concrete ceiling.  After replacing the stepladder, I walked over to the woman and stooped down to unlock the chains on her ankle bracelets, making sure she had no opportunity to kick me in the face or nuts.  I seriously doubted that she would try something like that, but I was still alive today because I never took chances that I could avoid.

"What are you doing?" was her only response. 

"We need to continue our discussion," I replied, "but in a way that makes you more, shall we say, willing to tell the truth."   I began to pull her to the center of the room, but she wasn't a stupid girl - it was obvious what the ceiling chains were for.

"NOO!  You aren't going to chain me to those."  Since she was a typical American female, good looking, but totally ummuscled, the statement had no effect on my actions.  Her struggling made no difference as I towed her to the center of the room, raised an already braceleted arm and connected it with the snap hook to the end of the chain.  In a few seconds the other was attached.  Now she was standing, both arms widely spread and raised over her head.  Her feet I connected together by putting another double ended snap hook through the anklet eyes.  I stood up in front of her, looking her in the eyes.

"Now, let's start your tale about Ms. Langston again.  According to my source, everything you told me last night was a lie.  Would you like to start over?"

"Please, let me down," she pleaded.  "Who are you?  What do you want me to say?  All I can tell you is what happened."

I just nodded, then reached up and took her blouse by both lapels.  With a swift pull, buttons flew like popcorn, revealing a nice set of bra covered tits.  Looks-wise, she was an attractive woman but nothing spectacular and certainly not a Rita.  Nonetheless, I knew that an educated upper class woman like her would bring a goodly sum on the auction block. 

She reacted instantly, pulling her body back as far as possible and screaming, "STOP!  You can't do that!" and so on.  Once again, she was wrong as I took my K-Bar and cut the blouse off, then her slacks, leaving her standing in bra and panties.  Up between her tits went the blade and her boobs popped out as the bra fell away.  The thin panties gave even less resistance.   I stood back and looked, as she wept and cringed in her futile attempts to pull loose from the chains.  Usually, by this time I would be rutting at the sight, but before I left my home I had one of Rita's girls empty me fully so I could concentrate on the job.  So, now I just enjoyed the view without my cojones demanding attention.

So far I hadn't touched her, but now I gripped her jaw with one hand and made her look at me.  I said.  "Stop the whining.  It isn't going to help you and I can give you something to whine about."   I let go.  "Now, let's go back to Ms. Langston's adventure.  I don't think you told the exact truth the first time.  In fact, according to my information the entire story was a lie from start to finish."

She wouldn't look at me - apparently embarrassed to be in her naked situation, but she replied, "What do you want me to say?  Rita was sick and couldn't be cured."  Finally, she looked up.  "I'm sorry she died, but I'm an ordinary doctor - not a miracle worker.  Why are you doing this to me?  What are you after?"

"Are you sure the sickness wasn't something that you and your brother thought up to get rid of a troublesome wife?"  I could tell that her mind was racing - who the hell was I, and how did I know anything about Rita?  One thing I didn't know was if they had sent her to be killed, or committed for life or what.  I doubted that they knew about a world wide slave industry, so I assumed that Rita got to where she went by happenstance.  

"Last chance.  What really happened."

Still looking down, she shook her head.  "Just what I told you.  What are you trying to find out?"

I walked over to the box and pulled out a riding crop.  She didn't seem to notice, or maybe she just had no idea what it was.  Without any more preliminaries, I walked behind her, lined up and laid a stroked across her back - and not a light one either.   Her head came back as her body began to realize what had just happened, then screamed at the top of her lungs.

I let twenty seconds go by, then gave her another.   Then a few more.  She was thrashing to the limit of her bonds, babbling, and screaming all together, but I ignored the ruckus and waited as I watched five or so welts on her back turn to a cherry red.   Despite my earlier session with Rita, my johnson was definitely showing interest in a helpless woman, bobbling her titties and writhing under the lash.  But I controlled myself.  In a few minutes, as she wound down to just pleading for the punishment to stop, I stepped around in front of her and said, "Ready to talk now?"

She nodded violently and sobbed, "Yes. Yes.  Please don't hit me again."

For the next two hours, she went through the story.  In the main, it followed Rita's tale, but of course it had far more details.  Sure enough, her husband was the instigator, and in fact, had a new housemate installed in his bed before Rita's plane had even landed.   Finally, I let her down, chained her legs to the wall and left.

When I got back to the office, I told Sally to instigate Operation Payback.

---------------

A lounge in my home.

"I don't understand why you are doing this, Mr. Harris."   The Ex-Doctor Bennett had accepted my, or rather, Sally's, invitation for a meeting on his future. "In particular, why someone of your position would want to hire a disgraced surgeon."  This came out with a certain amount of bitterness.   I just looked back at him over my drink.  He continued, "Obviously, the purpose might be for something not quite kosher?"

I set my drink down on the side table, and leaned toward him.  "Doctor..."

He raised his hand in protest.  "Mister is the proper title.  I believe the state decided that MD was one that I was no longer entitled to."

"Horseshit," I retorted.  "I respect most things in this country, but not the decrees of little tin Caesar bureaucrats who think their opinions are equivalent to stone tablets brought down from the mountain."  I lay back in my lounger and picked up my drink again.  "Yes, I'm very wealthy, and by all measurements, a successful businessman.  But, I got my start because a judge gave me a choice between jail and the Army.  Most of my employees have been rejected by society and left to sink or swim on their own.  Any that I hire not only choose to swim, but to use other people for flotation if necessary."

"I know most everything about your case and trial.  You operated on a minor without the parent's permission.  But, didn't that little girl show you a drivers license and birth certificate indicating that she was eighteen?"

He nodded.  "Yes, but..."

"And the drug you used, BioRetineSulph... whatever the hell it was - the drug company sold that to you as a legal skin tightener, correct."  Another nod.  "So the reason that you got hammered, and not the corporation that made the misrepresentation, is that they give lots of money to politicians and you don't."

He just sat there, expressionless.  "Your mistake is accepting their accusations.  I don't mean at the trial.  It would have taken far more power and money than you had to stop that freight train.  What I mean is, your acceptance now.  Your attitude should be, "Fuck all of you."

"What do you want," he asked.

I leaned forward again.  "I know what plastic surgeons can do.  My girl had to have major surgery on her face because of... well, injury.  It got me to thinking.  I may or may not have need of a plastic surgeon, someday.  As you say, the reason might or might not be kosher, but if it isn't, I guarantee that it won't be for some mobster-type crime."

"And you want me to be that surgeon."  It was a statement, not a question.  "An unlicensed surgeon breaking the law?  How would I even order supplies."

I shook my head.  "You misunderstand.  I will get you your license back and set you up in a clinic - totally legit.  It will be yours, entirely, but if I ever need a... job done, you will be available.  You can pay me back as your business gets back on its feet."

He just looked at me for a minute.  "If you can undo a decision by the medical board of this state, then you must have far more power than even this building shows."   

Actually, I wasn't that powerful at all, but I knew who was and how to pull their strings.

---------------

A few days later

A phone call informed me that the delivery service would be coming by the desert compound to pick up my package.  I met the driver - a different one from last time - and shortly Rita's sister-in-law was crated and off to begin her new life.

--------------

A lounge in my home

Just Sally and myself were meeting.  I could tell that her mind was furiously churning and trying to figure out just what the hell I was planning.  She was looking at her notes.  "Ok.  A female candidate has to be between thirty and thirty five years of age, five foot four, brunette, nordic features, and come from a life of - well, a disadvantaged past.  In other words, she has to be agreeable to service that may not be quite... ah, mainstream?   Wouldn't it be easier if you just told me what you are trying to do?"

I smiled. "Not quite yet.  I don't want you thinking that your boss has gone around the bend."

Later...

I asked, "How about Operation Payback?"

"It's triggered.  Just a matter of waiting for the appropriate tax authorities to notice."

-------------

The Shiek's compound.

I had come over for a status meeting with Hassan - nothing major, just checking in.  But I had a partner on this trip - Rita.  The Sheik was quite impressed with her beauty and wondered where in the world Tarkan had gotten someone like her.  Winking to me, he offered - in English - to buy her on the spot - an offer that made the redhead grab my arm and try to hide behind me.  Hiding a grin, I replied that I didn't want to sell her, but I might make a trade for a younger girl with a tighter cunt and higher titties.  Now she looked at me in wide eyed panic.   Her hands had just about cut off all circulation in my upper arm when both Hassan and I burst out in laughter.  As realization dawned that she was being spoofed, she furiously pushed my arm away and assumed a pouting expression, which just made her look all the cuter. 

I turned her around and popped her on the butt.  "Go sit down by that window," I ordered.  "This is man talk."  

After an hour, I had given the Sheik an outline of a future plan I was considering.  I enjoyed his growing incredulity as I went along.  Finally, he just sat back in thought.  Then, "Rodger, when you walked out of the desert and I decided to test you as an agent, I had no idea that I was engaging the reincarnation of Machiavelli."  He waved to his flunky - valet, servant, whatever you want to call him - and the man left the room, closing the door.  The Sheik rose, unlocked his forbidden cabinet and poured both of us a drink - a toast to success in the future and pretty girls for all.

---------------

Later that afternoon.

By now Rita was her normal bubbling self again. This was the first time in a year that she had left the building that was my home for any significant distance and was seeing sights that most people would have denied even existed in this day and age.  But I knew that the real shock was still in front of her.

I led her though the training quarters to the punishment room.  There in the room, chained from the ceiling in a big female X, was a naked, blindfolded and gagged woman.  Rita wasn't shocked - after all, she and her girls had experienced the exact same bondage many times.  Rita loved it, especially if I touched her up with a whip to some extent.  Standing in front of the new slave, I asked Rita, "Does she remind you of anybody?

Rita looked at me in confused puzzlement.  That was about the last question she would have expected from me.  But she looked closer and shook her head.  I expected no other answer.  The woman wouldn't have been recognized by her lover, let alone a casual in-law relative who hadn't seen her in a couple of years.

"No?"  I walked over and pulled the blindfold off.  "Does that help any?"  Rita's recognition system still didn't trigger.  For one thing, the facial distortion of the ball gag was almost as good a disguise as the blindfold.  For another, what the mind doesn't expect to see, it doesn't, and the last woman that my girl expected to run across halfway around the world, was her sister-in-law. 

I reached up and pulled the ball out of her mouth and let it hang around her throat.  "How about now."  Rita managed about one negative shake of her head, then her eyes few open so wide that she almost resembled a cartoon character.  Her jaw dropped and she brought her hand up to her mouth in a look of utter disbelief.

The chained woman was doing a close emulation of her sister-in-law.  I could see the utter shock of seeing the girl whom she knew was either dead or committed for life in some institution somewhere.  The only difference between the two was that the ex-Doctor could scream and Rita couldn't.  As soon as they both collected their wits, I said to the captive, "You remember your sister-in-law, don't you?   Remember, the one you sold into slavery because your younger brother didn't want to keep his pants zipped around young cunts?"  She just made a low moan.  Rita, on the other hand, just stood there staring.  I had planned this meeting, but had no idea how my redhead would react.  She had no weapons, so I didn't have to worry about her lunging forward to stab her relative in the heart.  On the other hand, there was always the possibility of her being grateful for being removed from a meanness life and into one that she could never have dreamed about and apparently enjoyed.

I picked up a leather whip from a shelf, and offered it to Rita.  "This is your chance to get even, if you want.  You would still be an upper class woman in America if it wasn't for her plotting."  She hesitantly took the handle.  Rita well knew what it was for and how to use it.  Many times one was used on her, and on occasion she used one on her domestic girls in my home.   She held the whip, all the while staring into the terrified eyes of the bound woman.  Then, finally, she shook her head and handed it back.   In her eyes, I could see the hatred for her ex-relative, but something inside of her didn't want to physically harm the woman.

I just nodded and turned to the slave.  "This is your new life.  Forget the money, prestige, fancy clubs.  They are gone forever for you.  You will be trained here to be a slave.  A sex slave," I added.  "The whip will be your instructor, and that crack between your open legs will be the property of a man.  You will fuck him when he says, how he says, and as often as he wants.  If he so desires, you will service anyone he wishes to give you to.  I suggest that you do your best to keep him happy so that the day when you are replaced by a younger cunt will be put off as long as possible.   

---------------

Back home. R&R offices

It had been an interesting trip.  Rita certainly enjoyed it, the shock of seeing her ex-relative notwithstanding.  But I had a ton of things to do, and every one that was completed just lined up even more.  I had another long and to-the-point conversation with my ex-surgeon in which I laid out what I expected from his end of the bargain if he accepted, emphasizing the commitment to loyalty in particular.  He accepted and I started the ball rolling to get his conviction reversed.

The business was doing very well - the legit R&R side of it, I mean.  It could have become far bigger if I had cared to let it.  But I had discovered an interesting thing about myself.  I loved to have lots of money, like anyone, but once I had enough for my needs, just stacking it up in an endless exercise of wealth building wasn't my thing.  I was happy to just let the business prosper without massive growth.

I was doing paperwork in my downstairs office when my R&R secretary, Shirley, slung open the door.  Looking up at her expression, I knew something had gone south, badly.  "The Brownsville office is on line two for you!  Mr. Brugada has been killed!"

What the fuck!!?  Brugada was the manager for my border office - a good man as far as I knew.  At least, so far, he had been a good manager.  I  picked up the phone and talked for a few minutes, then hung up and immediately called Sally, several floors up.  "Find Dunkelberry, asap.  I need to get to Brownsville, chop, chop."

"I don't have to look.  I know where he is.  Out in the plane working on his next license."

"Call him, now.  I'll meet him at the airport as soon as he can get there."

---------------

A police station, Brownsville.

Dunkleberry and I were looking at the remains of my deceased manager's car.  I've seen technicals in Iraq hit by fifty cal Ma Duces that were in better shape.

Dunk looked at me, then said quietly - and unnecessarily, "This was hit, Sarge.  No doubt about it."

I nodded.  The car had more bullet holes than could be counted, and that didn't even take into account those that had gone through the now non-existent windows.  But a hit for what?  Nothing having to do with the company, surely - our cargo was always totally legal manufacturing supplies or big box store items.  The assumption had to be made that my man was doing something on the side, and considering the location, it had to be drugs.  

A police lieutenant was standing there beside us.  I looked at him and he said, "Had to be a deal gone wrong."

I nodded.  "Looks like it.  All our info on him is that he was on the up and up.  I've had my people looking into it all afternoon, and if he was dirty, he hid it well."

After ID-ing what was left of the body, we headed over to the office.  It was like a hive of bees that had been stirred up, but settled down when they saw the big boss come in.  The three women had obviously spent the day crying, and the men were just looking grim.  The second in command had made sure that everybody stayed busy, and orders were still flowing in and out.  A good man - possibly a replacement that I now needed.  I waved him into the now vacant office.

Closing the door, I waved him to a seat.  I walked around the desk and sat down also. Dunkleberry just leaned against the wall.  "I appreciate your taking command when the news came in."  He - Miguel Durazo was his name - just nodded.  "I want you to take over Mr. Brugada's job for now.  I may make it permanent, but right now I just need someone to keep things going."

"Si, Senor," he replied.  "No problemo."

I sat back. "Do you have any idea why someone would have gunned him down." 

He looked back at the door before answering.  Uh-oh, I thought.  Something HAS been going down here.  "No, Senor.  But for the last three or four weeks, he has been... been..."

"Hablo Espanol.  Continue."

In that language, he continued.  "He has been very nervous and jumpy since about a month ago.  He would get a phone call, then leave suddenly for hours.  And he bought a gun.  It is in there."  He pointed to the side of the desk.  I opened it, looked under a folder and found an automatic .32, loaded and ready to go.  Shit, I thought.  A ladies gun.  About as good as a paintball gun in a firefight like he was on one side of.  What the fuck was going on with him?

I tore his office apart looking for anything that would shed some light on the situation, and finally gave up.  Nothing more was doable for the moment, at least by us, and by the next afternoon we were back home.  I assumed that it was a personal issue, not a company problem, and the police would either discover what, or write it off.   Boy, was I wrong.

---------------

Dallas

Both of my teams had been on vacation - and still were.  Apparently there was nothing to haul around the Horn of Africa at the moment.  I also had told Sally and Chip to take a couple of weeks off and go somewhere and enjoy each other.  Other than a few hours a day down on the R&R floor, I took it easy, also.  I relaxed with a girl or two in a lounge and read over a list of targets that I had Sally compile. 

One was a particularly obnoxious lawyer, but a little too old, I had decided.  Another was a pro football cheerleader - a nicely stacked dish, but Sally still couldn't prove that she was a blackmailing bitch, although we had good info that she was.   The going prices were far higher for educated women, although I wasn't sure why, since a twat was ineligible for a diploma.  An educated woman who was famous brought the best prices of all, but of course, were the hardest to obtain.  Obviously their value was as trophies, rather than tail.  Any pretty woman in her twenties was easily sold, but usually wound up as bed warmers till their looks started wearing off, then they just became female domestics.  

What the heck.  I decided that what was good for the help, was good for the boss.  Rita and I booked a flight to France, and laid up at Jean's - in both senses of the word.  To keep an eye on things, I had Dunkelberry stay in my home while we were gone.  Since he now had free access to several beautiful sets of pussy, in the form of Rita's girls, I doubt that he did much flying during that time.

---------------

Time passes

The elections came and went, and I continued to play the part of loyal supporter.  Because I was free with my donations, and very seldom asked for any of my chits to be cashed, I was very well regarded in the local political circles.  I had put in a very large ballroom in the unused end of my top floor, which was used for political insider get togethers.  It became a favorite hangout for political greats and wannabes.  Many times I rubbed elbows with the great and powerful as they and their wives looked out over the vista of the nighttime city.  But, to me politics was a means to an end, and was otherwise boring.  Even money was just another tool in the box.  What drove me was adventure and women, new sights and places.  Political power and wealth just for its own sake were drumbeats that I just couldn't hear.   And in fact, I was beginning to fear that I was becoming a little too civilized, or domesticated, maybe.  Possibly, I should go along as a team leader on an African pirate cruise just to hone the edges a little.

That's an idea.  The next time...  My phone bebopped the indication that Shirley was calling.

"Whats up, Shirl?"  I had just left my downstairs office a half hour ago.

"Mr. Durazo want to talk to you.  He says it's very important."

What the heck?  My new Brownsville manager?  "Ok, put him on."

"No.  He said he is driving up to see you in person."

I sat forward in my chair.  What the fuck?  "When?"

"He's on the way."

I hung up.  What was going down here?  This was coming too close on the heels of the shooting episode, only about two months ago.  I assumed that he had discovered something about his ex-boss, but what would be so important that he just couldn't tell me over the phone?  I hoped that he didn't have news that we had been importing narcotic baby food or something like that.   Anyway, he was almost seven hundred and fifty clicks away, so he couldn't possibly be here before early morning.

---------------

Morning

Apparently, whatever my southern manager wanted to talk about wasn't that critical.  He must have stopped for the night before he fell asleep on the road.  First thing in the morning, after checking in with Shirley, I left for an early meeting with a local freight company executive.  I had made it almost to the revolving doors when the lobby guard ran up to me.  "Mr. Harris!  They need you back up in your office.  She said it was very important."

Shit, now what?  Upstairs, Shirley met me at the elevator and motioned me to her desk.  On her computer was a news web site article.  A car had exploded last evening in the parking lot of an import company in Brownsville.  So far it was unknown who was in the car, but further updates will be posted as facts come in.  I sprinted to the elevator, cursed as it took its time, locked it when it stopped, then shouted in the door of Sally's office.  "Call Dunk to meet me at the airport with the plane.  Get Chip and find Telly and Bummer.  Put everybody else on standby.  Emergency meeting as soon as I get back!"  She was an excellent employee - while she was startled at my sudden appearance and shouting, she didn't waste time in stupid questions.  She was already dialing as I headed back to the elevator.

I sent off a message to the Sheik to tell him what was happening, and what I knew so far, which was essentially nothing.  Shortly I was off to the airport.

---------------

Brownsville office

The three women employees were still on the job, as well as one man.  The other two men had hauled ass for parts unknown - couldn't really blame them.  I had given Dunk the short version of what was going on - and in fact, it was the only version I had.  But he was prepared for trouble, as was I.

I called the four employees into the office.  They were still in a state of shock, mostly.  "First of all, let me express my gratitude for your remaining on the job.  As of the first of this month, all of you have a ten percent increase in salary, and there will be a substantial bonus in your next paycheck."  I sat down in the managers chair of death, as I was beginning to think of it.  "Now," I started again, "Does anybody have any idea what is going on?"  They did.  All of them looked at each other and the girl called Maria spoke. 

"Senor," she began hesitantly, "Yesterday two men came into the office to see Senor Durazo.  When they left, he was very excited."

"He said he had to go to Dallas."  This from the oldest woman.  All three women nodded.   I didn't bother to ask what the two men wanted.  Obviously, none of the four would be a party to the conversation.  Since it resulted in a bomb, I could assume that it wasn't a benign talk.

"Did he say why?"  Four negative shakes of the head.

"What did they look like?"

This time the man spoke up.  "Miembros de la cuadrillam, Senor."  Gang members. 

It couldn't be extortion - nobody at this location had any funds available beyond buying paper and pencils.  I had heard of gangs shaking workers down for part of their salary every month, but as far as I knew, that was only over the border.  And besides, an office with six or seven people wouldn't be worth it.

It had to be drugs.  But what had that to do with my office managers?  We didn't own any trucks, only the merchandise on them.  If someone wanted to hide a stash in one, he wouldn't need a low level manager to do it. 

More questioning got me nothing, except for what they had told the police, which was very little and excluded mentioning the two men since the police didn't ask.   I told them to keep working as usual.  They should be safe since the parties in question only concerned themselves with managers.

---------------

Late that night

My southern lounge.

I had just laid out everything I knew and turned it over to my brain trust for ideas.  Rita and the girls were acting as hostesses, of course, but my redhead could tell that this was something deadly serious and made sure that her girls knew this wasn't the night to play coy.

Sally agreed with me. "It has to be drugs.  We are importers - We have large quantities of stuff coming in over the bridges.  It has to be."

Chip added his two cents.  "The managers have to be in on it.  Maybe they got greedy or tried to cheat."

Sally shook her head.  "Brugada might have been. There's no way of telling.  But Durazo was trying to warn us of something so he probably wouldn't have been in on it - whatever IT is.

Telly spoke up.  "How about we get another manager, and when those two SOB's come back, Bummer and me will ask them?"

I shook my head. "No.  Any that come back like those two will just be low level grunts.  We want to find out who and what is behind this.  But you have a good idea."  I looked at both of my team leaders. "Who speaks Spanish besides me and Sanchez?  Dolby?" 

Bummer replied, "Yes, but pigin only.  Jonesie does.  He grew up in Arizona."

"Zee speaks it like a native," inserted Sally.

I shook my head emphatically.  "No.  Katja has taught her how to handle herself, but this could be some serious shit.  I don't want her in the line of fire."  And I damned sure didn't want to tell the Sheik that his daughter was killed for something that I hadn't even figured out.

I sat back and thought for a while, as the crew hashed out theories.  I knew that as good as they were, they wouldn't come up with anything.  There was too much intel that we didn't have.

Finally, I said to Telly.  "See if Jonesie and Sanchez want to volunteer for a mission that will probably be both boring and deadly."

---------------

Back at the Brownsville office

"This is Mr. Jones.  He will be the new interim manager for now."  I had Jonesie dressed in the manner of a lower end office manager.  He didn't like the fact that the attire didn't allow for him to carry any major concealed heat, but he had brought with him an under desk holster that would hold a hogleg big enough to stop a truck.   I didn't think he would have any problems, but I didn't want to lose a man.  I warned him to keep a low profile when out of the office and alway take the bus or a cab - any car he drove himself might wind up as scrap metal with him inside. 

I didn't want payback - I wanted intelligence.

---------------

Two days later

My home

"When do we kick ass and take names?"

I looked up in surprise. "Katja!  Jean!"  I jumped up and hugged him in the French fashion, then her in the best American style.  She gave back with a massive kiss. 

Holding her at arms length, I asked, "Where did you learn that expression?"

"While we were waiting to hit the compound that held Rita.  It seems to be a favorite expression of the American fighting man."

I waved them both to a lounger.  "Sit down.  RITA!!  Some drinks!" 

My girl came running in to the sudden summons, saw Katja and Jean, then ran over and embraced both in massive hugs.  She knew that the Czech woman and the Frenchman had been instrumental in freeing her from her captor in the compound my team had raided.  Then, crying and smiling at the same time, ran off to bring refreshments to us.

We filled each other in on what had happened since we last saw each other, then I began to tell the grim story of my satellite office - what little I knew of it, anyway.  I knew they weren't here for a visit - violence and danger drew Katja like a bee to sugar water and Jean would go anywhere to be able to plan an operation.  Besides, I knew that the Sheik had sent them.

---------------

Later

A lower floor was being turned into a new clinic for my soon-to-be restored surgeon.   Both he and his nurse wife had apparently gotten over their depression at being ripped loose from careers that they has spent much of their lives to develop.  A very high end attorney and a couple of political connections of mine were at work on their legal problem.

I had Telly and Bummer take their teams out to our desert compound over a couple of weekends for some target practice and just general fire and maneuver drill.  I wasn't sure what might happen down south, but I wanted everybody to have freshly honed skills.

A while back, I had asked Sally to find me some female candidates that fit a certain physical description.  She  brought a couple me to look at - their dossiers, that is, not the actual women.  I shook my head.  "Not close enough." 

She gave a short shake of her head.  "Boss, I can't do my job if you don't tell me what you want."  Her tone of voice was the closest she would come to a reprimand of me.

I pulled a picture out of my desk drawer, laid it down and said.  "The girl you are looking for needs to have the physical characteristics of her - not the face, obviously, just height, weigh, complexion and so forth.

Sally just sat there in her motorized chair, thinking furiously.  In her face, I could see the processes of her logical mind churning through if-then-else and for-next statements.  Because I only hire very good people, in just a few seconds the data sorted into an answer, her eyes few wide open and she quoted her lover with one of his favorite expressions.

"Holy Fucking Shit, Boss!"  She just stared at me.

"Keep it quiet, for now.  And that means no pillow talk with Chip, either."  Still wide-eyed, she just nodded, and rolled back to her office.

---------------

Evening

The skull session broke up.  Most of it was just bringing our guests up to speed.  We had no additional data to make any kind of judgement with.  Jean and Katja were starting to feel jet lag and needed to get some z's.  As everyone left, Jean hung back.  I knew he still wanted to talk.

I signed to Butterball for one more round of drinks - more to just have something to hold than any need for alcohol.  

I sat down and said, "Ok, my French Mentor.  I know you have something to say.  Spill it."

He sat down also, looked through his glass, then began, "Mon Ami, you have a... what is the term?   ... ah, oui, a blind spot."  Pause  "You and I are different.  With you, it is the offensive that is important.  As the saying goes, 'The best defense is a good offense' and you believe it.  And that is true most of the time.  I, of course, am diametrically opposite.  With myself, it is the defense that is important.  Protection is everything.  Another battle can always be fought."

I was used to his roundabout ways of coming to a point, so I just continued to listen.

"You exude loyalty and attract it like... like... a magnet.  You would trust your life to any of your men, and they would do the same with you. 

The Sheik has taken you into his deepest confidences far faster than any agent I have known.  In his line of business, that depth of trust is unheard of.  He sent you his favorite daughter for you to... monitor?  Oui, to keep an eye on.  Knowing his level of affection for her, that itself is an unbelievable confidence."

"Your beautiful redhead was an educated affluent woman, whom, through no fault of her own, was tossed into a stream of kidnapping, slavery and torture.  She is still a slave.  She can be sexually used any way and any time you choose.  She has no will of her own.  But, at any given time, she has ample opportunity to 'escape' from her life of slavery by walking out the door.  I also know that she would stab anybody in the heart who tried to take her away from here."

"Your remarkable Mademoiselle, Sally.  If someone had told her years ago that she would be doing for you what she does now, she would have laughed in their face.  And yet, in return for your trust in her when she was down, she willing does for you everyday, things that would have horrified her just to read about years ago." 

"In short, you give loyalty and you get it."

In a sudden insight, I didn't like the way his train of words was going.   "What are you saying, Jean?  That I have a traitor in my circle of friends?  Don't even think..."

He held up his hand and shook his head emphatically.  "NO. NO. Mon Ami.  I trust your compatriots as much as you do.  What I am saying is that trust doesn't flow by osmosis."   I shook my head in confusion.  "D'accord," he went on.  "Your office down south.  Two murders.  Two employees immediately leave.  They are probably innocent - just afraid of violent happenings that they have no understanding of."

"But..."  He wagged his finger.  "Four employees stay.  Why?  For one thing, you are a kind employer and pay good wages.  They probably enjoy the work.  In today's market, there aren't that many jobs available.  But there are other reasons for staying... like..."

"...one or more of them is in on the scheme, whatever it is," I finished for him.  Goddammit.  He was right.  I had a blind spot big enough to drive a Bradley through.  They were my employees and I automatically left them out of any suspicion.  Hell, I didn't even know their names. 

I got up, and slapped him on the shoulder.  "Good work, my friend.  I can alway count on you to bring me back down to earth.  Now, go get some rest.  Rita will get you anything you need."  Including any of the three pretty girls on my domestic staff, or even Butterball if that is who he wanted.  For that matter, he could have Rita if that was his desire.  She would love that.  I had availed myself of his girls more times that I could count, and none were ever held back.

I had some heavy cogitation to do, but first a bath.  Deep in thought, I had just dropped my clothes on the floor when I suddenly realized that my hot tub had more than just water in it. 

"It's about time.  I'm about to turn into a prune."  I couldn't see any of the Czech assassin's body from the neck down through the soap suds, but already my body was anticipating renewing my acquaintance with it.

---------------

A few days later

Chip and Zee had returned from the southern office where they and Jonesie had worked all weekend installing some special electronics.  I was preparing Sanchez to show up as another clerk in the office as soon as Sally could teach him enough to get started.  Like many young men today, his public school education left something to be desired.

Sally and Jean got on together like lifelong friends.  Both had razor sharp and logical minds, and together they had several optional plans to try, depending on where our first data led us.

That afternoon we were in Sally's office as she and Chip made the final connections.  Then, blink...blink.  Up on five computer screens were pictures - live video feeds from hidden cameras in the Brownsville office.  One each in the parking lot, street view, Jonesie's office and two in the outer office.

"These are compressed mpegs," said Chip.  "If we need high def, we can dl and view them here."

Jean spoke up, "Could you translate that, Monsieur Chip?"

"Sorry.  The cameras are very high resolution and we can't get that kind of picture to transmit over the Internet connection that is available in that office - especially five videos at once. It's too slow.  But the video server on site is storing the full pictures and if we need to view one, we can download it from there and see it here."  He tapped on the keyboard for a few seconds then went on.  "I would have loved to put full pan and zoom cameras there so we could zero in on anything we want, but it would have been impossible to hide them - at least over one weekend's work."

That was good work. "Ok, people, until something happens, go back to what you need to do." 

---------------

Time passes

After enough days had gone by, I sent Sanchez to Brownsville to 'apply' for a job.   Of course, Jonesie didn't 'know' him when he applied.  As a happenstance, Sanchez was given a desk that faced the managers office and was positioned in a way that the other employees weren't in any line of fire, should it come to that.

We were relaxing in the western lounge.  Chip and Zee were going over every manifest from Mexico in the last six months, trying to find anything that was out of order.  Even the times between border crossing and delivery were scrutinized to try to determine if any of the trucks had made an unauthorized detour.  Very few of the trucks had the satellite tracking system so all we had were some hazy route estimations.

Katja and Jean were kibitzing, not familiar enough with our work to help in this kind of data chase.  

Chip printed out a sheet.  "Here are fourteen that possibly took longer than normal on a given leg.  But that's just a guess.  Heck, there could be any number of reasons for the delays.  Besides, if one or more had contraband, it would only have taken a few minutes to transfer it to a pickup truck or something on the normal route." 

They had been hammering on the data for a couple of hours.  "Whatcha think," I asked.

Chip shook his head.  "Not enough data.  Statistically, I can prove that all of them took longer than they should in their routes...  or that they all ran them faster than normal.  There's nothing in the actual routes or end destinations comparison results except random statistical noise.  What we need is..."  He looked up as Sally came through the door, It was obvious that it wasn't to see if it was happy hour.  She had been heads down in her office working on something all afternoon.

"Move over, Hon," she said as she pushed Chip away from the laptop.  "Boss, I need someone who reads Spanish to look at this."  Katja, Zee and I all gathered behind her.  "Here is an example that I ran though an Internet translator but I want someone to verify what I think is going on."  To Chip she said, "Get the videos of camera 3 for today, starting about 14:00." 

In a few seconds, Zee made some exclamation that I didn't recognize.  Actually, I didn't even hear it over my emphatic, "Son of a fucking bitch!"  We were looking at an Instant Messaging stream between Maria in the Brownsville office and someone giving orders to her from somewhere else.  Besides a list of truck schedules that was sent by her, she received orders for various drivers to stop for so many minutes at various places on the other side of the border, then to make corresponding stops on this side. 

Chip stuck his head in the door with a "Boss," and a nod to follow him.  I followed him down the hall to another computer on which he had been accessing whatever Sally had asked for.  There was only one in the western lounge at the moment, and he had had to find another.  Sally didn't allow wireless access from my network since there is nothing easier to crack.  All hardware besides phones were hardwired to only go through her series of firewalls and other security appliances. 

The camera feed that Sally had asked for was positioned behind the office employees and made it easy to see whatever came and went on their monitors.  The hi-res video made it easy to watch a visual version of what the crew in the other room was reading about. 

"How many days worth of video do you have?"

He spread his hands in an encompassing gesture.  "...ahhhh.  Twelve days or so.  Ever since we installed the cameras." 

I nodded.  "Go back through all of that angle and see how often she does this.  And if anyone else is in on it."

In the lounge, the crew was now all business.  Jean was taking notes from the girls as Zee and Katja read through the stream of text while Sally hooked up another computer.  I didn't bother them and turned around to find one of my domestic crew.  Cinnamon was the first one I ran across, and signed to her to find Rita, chop, chop.  She came running up and I told her to prepare for a long night - sandwiches, finger food and drinks.  No alcohol.   Off she went at a jog.

For the next several hours, Mister Sergeant, that fearsome reincarnation of Conan the Barbarian, was reduced to a gofer.  I hauled equipment, hunted for cables, brought more printer paper up from the offices downstairs and acted as a Maitre D to Rita and her staff - calling for more coffee, snacks and food whenever supplies ran low.  The western lounge now looked like a surplus computer store with cables all over the floor and a half dozen computers setup all around the room.

---------------

Late that night

Sally was acting as the mistress of ceremonies and was wrapping up her spiel.  "...so we definitely have two employees and at least 7 drivers in on the deal.  We still don't know what they are 'importing' but I doubt that anyone here can't make an educated guess.  I have the IP of the sender, but it will take a while before I can get it traced to a physical address."

Chip spoke up.  "It's going to lead to a drug lord - has to.  The only question is which side of the border it's on."

Sally shook her head.  "No.  The real question here is what are we going to do about the situation."  She looked at me, offering a chance to take over, but I just stared back.  "A few things come to mind," she continued.  "We can back out of the problem by shutting down the operation and restarting anew.  Or just fire the employees and replace them.  Drivers are a bigger problem.  Any replacements that cross the border can be and probably will be either offered a deal or threatened with one."

"Shutting down their operation is probably not an option.  If two governments haven't been able to put a dent in drug smuggling, I doubt that we can."

Jean spoke up.  "A thought comes to mind.  Someone has a nice... des affaires...  operation?  Oui. ...operation set up here.  I doubt they will be overjoyed to see it brought down.  And, if you change out the miscreants working for them, it will be a dead...  giveaway?  ...giveaway that we are on to them."

Zee asked.  "Why is it so important for them to use your company for smuggling?  I was under the impression that there were many avenues that were used for illegal importation."

Sally shook her head.  "There are lots of other routes for smuggling, but almost all of them are really tough.  The remote border is being patrolled more heavily as time goes on.  Since 9/11 it is almost impossible to fly a plane into the country without having a fighter jet show up beside you.   And the Coasts Guard of most countries, and ours, is really cracking down."  She picked up a finger sandwich - the first food I had seen her reach for all night.  "Right now, all the legal garbage that has been holding up non-US truckers under the NAFTA treaty is just about over and rubber wheeled cross-border trade is really picking up.  And because of the touchiness of the legal ruckus, trucks crossing the border are really getting a pass.  Nobody wants to be accused of using customs searches to hinder competition - for now, anyway.   And R&R has a very good reputation with the authorities - we always inform them when contraband is found in our loads.  So... We're made to order for their smuggling use."

I had been furiously musing over the facts as they were presented, and had a major question that I had to answer before we did anything rash.   I stood up and looked over my crew.  Did I want to start a war, or just try to back out of the situation?  But, that question was not for tonight. 

"Ok, it's late and the day has not been without excitement.  Everybody go to bed.  Tomorrow is another day and we'll start planning what's going to happen."   As everyone began to rise, I said to Sally, "Excellent work, lady.  Remind me to give you a raise."

She smiled, and replied, "Can I ask a question?"

"Of course," I replied.

"How about a raise, Boss?"

I looked at her with a frown.  "I dunno.  I'll have to look at the budget."  I thought of something.  "Bye the bye, before you turn in, send a message to Telly and Bummer that I need to see them in the next couple of days.

Rita was disappointed that night.   I lay there with my mind racing until the wee early hours and my blood supply just wasn't sufficient to run both my brain and my pecker.  I told her to either do herself, or go bed down with Jean or one of her girls - I needed to think.

---------------

Morning

After breakfast, I gave a short summation of my plans, and then started giving orders.   Katja's mission was to see how she would crack my home and building, if someone had sent her on an assassination mission against it.  Then plug the holes and try again.

Chip was to keep digging through the server logs and the video files from the Brownsville office and see if he could wring out any more data.

Sally's job was to find who was on the other end.

Zee, Jean and I started a skull session as to some possible avenues of action.

As he stood up, Chip reminded me.  "Boss, we were about to start the cheerleader op."   That was a capture operation of a really beautiful ex-pro football cheerleader.  And a really evil one.  Sally had incontestable proof that she was a family destroying, career ending, blackmailing bitch. 

"Hmmm, Yes..." I replied.  "We can hold off a few days on that one."

Jean and Zee and I just talked in generalities and laid out a few what ifs, and if thens.  Without any intel about what we were up against, there was no way to even begin any real planning.

Later that morning, both Telly and Bummer showed up in response to the message from Sally last night.  I briefed them on what was happening - or at least what we thought was happening and told them to have the rest of the crew tuned up and standing by, just in case.  Shortly, several new bulges in their clothes indicated that they took my warning seriously.

I knew that we didn't just have the option that we used to payback Yilmaz for the kidnapping of Rita.  Storming down to some druggies compound and shooting it up would just start a war in which we would be way outnumbered.  Finesse was called for.

---------------

Days pass

In a few days, an alternation was made to some of the trailers that we sent south.  Before they were picked up by the driver, Telly had a team member connect a hidden recording GPS logger, following instructions by Chip.  Right now we had them on four trailers, and within a few weeks, several more would be carrying them.  Some trailers were provided already loaded by the customer, so those weren't tagged, but even so, we should be able to discern the locations of any unauthorized stops.  Another team member would be on hand when the trailer was delivered to the customer on our end.  He would pull the device and send the data to Sally.

Meanwhile, business had to go on as usual.  Both sides of it.  In an exclusive California hotel, a complimentary drink and exquisite snack tray was delivered to the suite of a newly affluent swell.  As the woman turned away to find her purse for a tip, she jumped and cursed as the injection tube was stabbed into the side of her neck.  Sander only had to restrain the struggling woman for a minute or so until the la-la juice took effect.   Quickly, he stripped off his workers hotel uniform, stepped to the mirror to straighten out his suit, then draped an evening wrap over the stupefied woman.  Shortly, he and his obviously too-early drinking date casually, if unsteadily, walked out a side entrance to a waiting cab. 

In an hour or so, Dunkelberry was flying the three of them across country.

---------------

My Home

Katja had made major changes to the security of my building.  She pointed out that if someone hired her to hit us, she would just drop a team from a helicopter onto the roof, then just walk down the service stairs.   A good point.  Helicopters were all over the city, and one more wouldn't even be noticed.  That hole was patched - any flying machine that came within 100 meters of my building would set off alarms.

The elevator was now modified to sound a musical tone upstairs if the button to my floor was pressed and/or the key was turned.  Naturally, the elevator service company refused to make such modifications for legal reasons, so Chip did the work one night.  A new procedure was put in place for anyone who was coming up to call before entering the lift.  And the call had to have one of three keywords embedded in the conversation.  Another sensor was put in the shaft just below my floor.  It it tripped and nobody was expecting visitors, then whomever was framed in the elevator doors was going to be staring into some serious hardware.

On the top four levels, the door leading to the each of the two fire stairs were replaced with massive steel portals and openable only from the inside. The top two floor doors were also alarmed.

---------------

Days pass

Another meeting in the western lounge, which was now permanently wired with a dozen computer network outlets.  Everybody was there, including all of the external team members - even Jonesie and Sanchez - who had all been brought up to speed on current events.  Sally was drawing on a whiteboard.  "...On the average of about every two or three days, a truck will detour to this location."  She pointed to a map on a laptop in front of us.  "It's a large mansion - not rural, but not in the middle of town, either.  On the other end, we can't tell where the truck stops for the drop off.  None of the GPS tracks show a common point on this side of the border.  I suspect that a pickup or SUV pulls up to the rig at a rest stop and the crate, or package or whatever, is transferred."

I nodded and pointed to Sanchez.  He stood up, somewhat uncomfortably.  Giving talks in front of an audience wasn't his bailiwick.  "Uhhh...  I roamed around across the border for a couple of days pretending to be a gulf oil field worker in off the drilling rig.  It wasn't any problem getting info on that compound - hell... I mean, heck, everybody in town knew what it was and who owned it."  He looked at a piece of paper.  "His name is Jorge Francos and tipsters say he came from the Almerez gang, down south.  Actually, he might be a subsidiary of it - that isn't an organization that usually allows people to resign.  Anyway, he's a petty thug, big ego, likes to use violence to prove that he's the Rey Grande of that area.  The bas... dude isn't above wasting a family's kids to prove it.  Or anybody else.  He has about thirty hired guns around the place.  From what I could tell, no professionals - just punks who know how to pull a trigger."   

Sally spoke up again.  "Jonesie.  We don't have a monopoly on covert surveillance.  That office could have a half dozen bugs besides ours.  Including the phone.  You and Sanchez need to operate like everything you say and do is recorded."  She handed both of the men a box.  These are go phones.  If you need to call up her to discuss the operation, use them and for god's sake, get out of the office before you do."

The briefing went on for a couple of hours.  I finally stood up and began the closing spiel.  "Ok.  I think everybody has the picture of what has happened and is apparently happening.  Here's the deal.   We're not going to get involved in a war if we can help it.  No profit in that and certainly not in getting one or some of us killed by some wannabe drug lord.  But, neither are we going to be a set of mules to help bring this poison into the country."  I looked around, but nobody wanted to interrupt.  "First thing, is that we are going to alter the game a little and see how the other side reacts.  Who knows?  He or they might just find another trucking company or they may go berserk, or anything in between.  We'll find out."

"Now, Jean.  I would like for you to take Sally and Zee home with you for a vacation.  Out of the line of fire, so to speak.  Just in case."

He nodded and started to reply, but Sally cut him off.  "No way Boss!"  She smiled at the Frenchman, then looked back at me.  "I would love to see Jean's home someday, but this is my operation too.  Besides, who is going to run the intel operation?  Chip?"  She slapped him on the arm.  "He can barely send emails correctly."   She was joking, of course.  Chip didn't have the professional computer skills of Sally, but he was an all around techie. 

From the looks that Zee was giving me, she wasn't leaving either.   Jean just shrugged.  I knew that he considered the female of the species to be totally unfathomable.

"Ok," I said. "On your heads be it."  And mine too, if Zee got killed by some punk hired gun.   "Ok, Jonesie.  You and Sanchez can head back when you want.  Stay frosty and remember that I want intel more than a body count.  But I also want you back alive."

---------------

The desert

Luxor Test Facility

I cracked open the door and looked across at our latest captive.  She was awake, but just sitting on her mat staring off in the distance.  She was a real dish - not a teenager, but still a well built young woman.  Of course, that was a given considering that just last year she was on the cheerleading section of a pro football team.  Big hips, narrow waist and huge tits that were still high.  Made to be a man's cushion, if not much else.  She was chained by both ankles to the walls, and her wrists had bracelets already encircling them, even though nothing was connected - yet.

Apparently she had gotten a taste of the high life of pro sports, and wanted it to continue after being cut from the team.  She had drifted, probably by happenstance, into dating men with rich wives and then blackmailing them with the obvious.  She had come to my attention when a political aide to the governor came to me in frantic confidence, looking for a favor and asking if there was a way out of his predicament.  It was a no brainer.  Not only was she a good catch, but I had another chit that I could cash someday.  Plus, I was doing her a favor.  That kind of game eventually came to a final end when the blackmailer picked on the wrong mark. 

A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she was instantly on her feet.  She wasn't a wallflower - her sudden rage might have been feigned, but it looked real enough for me to warn myself to make sure that her fingers didn't get near my eyes - or her foot to get near my cojones.   As I walked over to her corner, I ignored the expected threats, pleas, and predictions of my doom in the near term.  I had heard the same from many women before her.  Finally, as I stood there looking, her wrath, phony or not, collapsed and she simply asked, "What do you want?"

"For now, you mean?" I played along.  "Well...  First, I want to cut off all your clothes and examine your body."  As expected, that set her off again, so, as to save time for both of us, I stepped up to her and put my fist into her solar plexus.  Not hard, just enough to knock the breath out of a female.   As she doubled over, I pushed her to the floor on her stomach, pulled her arms behind her, and clipped the bracelets together.  Then I released her ankles from the wall chains and pulled her to the center of the room.

Once again, her ankles were connected, only this time widely spread.  I pulled her to her feet and connected each of the ceiling chains to the corresponding wrist, then removed the clip holding her wrists together.  By the time I walked over to the winch on the wall, she was recovering and beginning to straighten up.  Shortly, she was stretched vertically for my inspection.

My KBar made short work of her silk blouse, then her evening dress.  She had really dressed up for the aborted date that night.  The pile of cloth at her feet used to be fairly expensive attire.  Next, her G-string easily pulled off with a single cut, then it was time for the icing.  By now, she was starting to babble again and thrash in her fetters as what was happening to her finally reached her consciousness.   I wasn't listening as I put the knife blade between her tits, cutting edge out.  A short stroke later, and the pair of luscious boobs jumped out of the cloth.  Wow!  What a set.  High, firm and, for a woman of her size, just at the line between being awesome or grotesque.

Her thrashing and volume increased even more as I weighed them with both hands, wondering if they were real.  I couldn't feel any implants, but in actual fact, I really didn't know what artificial boobs would feel like.  Big nipples, too.  And they were real - as I pinched down on both, she suddenly stopped her babbling pleas and threw her head back with a loud "AAAUUUUUUUGGGGGG!"  That kept her attention off the fact that I had now stooped down in front of her and pulled her pussy open by both outer lips.   Hmmmm.  A standard twat, but I hadn't expected anything else.

From the back, I spread her cheeks and examined an ordinary little ass star.   Back around front, a little more fingering and titty bobbling was all that I could take.  As she watched with ever widening eyes, I began to strip off my clothes..."

---------------

Time passes

Jonesie got a "call" from the home office that turned the Brownsville office on end.   He announced that a truck had been found with our imports but that also had a stash of illegal drugs.  As a result, we would be doing no more importing by truck until the investigation was over.  And the news was real, even if the call wasn't.  We selected a truck that had made the detour to the compound over the border, searched it and found two hundred pounds of pot.  Then, in all innocence, like a good corporate citizen, we called in the DEA.  They assumed that it was a one time event, since we had never had the problem before.  But it gave us a reason to stop importing via truck to see what the scumbags might do.

During lunch that day, we saw the instant message go out that gave the details of the news.  One thing I knew for sure, was that, whatever happened, both of those traitorous females were destined for one of Tarkan's cells.

I wanted to send some more of my grunts down there to beef up the defense, but there was absolutely no place to conceal them in that office.  Besides, I couldn't make several guys sit in a hidden room for maybe weeks on end for something that probably would never happen.  Jonesie and his partner would just have to stay on high alert.

We certainly were alert on our end, but what was bothering me was that as far as anybody on the outside knew, the R&R business was run out of the real offices four floors below.  And my people down there were total legitimate and had no idea about any drug import problems.

So, due to technical problems, I had access restricted to the R&R floor to one elevator with no stops between the lobby and the office.  That would be much easier to watch.  A temporary sign indicated to visitors of R&R of which one they would have to take.   A new bank of high res cameras was installed watching the entire hallway leading to that elevator with the monitors in the lounge.   Telly's and Bummer's crews took two hour watches on the monitors, looking especially for multiple males that seemed out of place.

---------------

Time passes

Sally came to me with a news article where a certain wealthy dude up in the northeast had been caught with multiple overseas money laundering accounts.  I debated for a while, but decided not to burden Rita with the news that her ex was destined for bankruptcy and probably Federal prison.  The end of another successful op.

Meanwhile, my surgeon opened his doors after the successful restoration of his credentials and license.

---------------

Time passes

By now, the operation center was moved from the western lounge to an empty office across from Sally's, one floor below.  I needed the lounge back because I was still entertaining politicians and political hopefuls and that room was always a favorite of my guests.  It not only looked toward the setting sun, but over most of the city.  I now had given enough money, and had often supplied a very flavorful location for confidential meetings, that I now had the ear of most state politicians.  And not a few national ones.   I always got an invitation to any events that were happening, and free use of sky boxes at sports bowls.  Most of the time, the guys on my teams used the tickets for the football games, but I had to at least attend some of the political events - even though I usually hated the evening.  My usual escort was Rita, of course, and she loved the events.

I still had no use for political connections at the moment.  - but I had some plans in formulation in which they might come in handy, someday.  But, by happenstance, an invitation to a weekend on a yacht opened up an interesting possible sideline.  By "yacht", I actually mean a boat that was practically a miniature Queen Mary, although I doubt that the original ship was even close to the same elegance.  The owner, a massively rich oil man, was hosting the governor and certain important advisors.  I was invited because of my support of the machine in my part of the state.  And, because it was an outing for couples, I took Rita along.  She had to communicate with her smartphone screen, but despite the fact that new acquaintances always assumed that she was a big boobed kept woman - a dumb broad, so to speak - Rita's past was that of an intelligent upper class educated woman and she had no problem holding her own in high society.

The first evening, during a break in the alcohol and the plotting, I took Rita up to an observation deck and we both looked out over the vast distance to the barely visible port.  It was at this point that a young crony of the governor came up and nodded to me.  Bob - that name will do as well as any other - was an acquaintance, no more.  Seemed a normal enough guy, but I knew nothing about him.  After a few pleasantries, and his greeting to my girl, he said, "Can I ask you a personal question, Rodger?"  Hmmmm.  What was this about?   As it turned out, at least at first, it was just a friendly interchange between two young men not far enough up the political ladder to be meeting in the owners stateroom.

"Where did you get such a... a... desirable woman?"  As I opened my mouth to answer, he continued.  "And I'm not talking about her appearance."  He looked admiringly at Rita.  "You, my dear, are stunning.  But, I mean, her character... demeanor... whatever you want to call attitude toward life."

I looked around to make sure we weren't alone.  "What's wrong, Bob?  The significant other getting you down?"

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Jerry," - another good name for the person that I helped get away from the blackmailing cheerleader - said female whom, by the way, was now at Hassan's establishment learning how to be nice.   "Jerry said you helped him with a serious woman problem a while back."  I just looked blankly at him, then he continued.  "He didn't say what, or anything about it, but I didn't need a degree in psychology to notice that he had about a ton of worry lifted off him."   'Jerry' couldn't have said what happened - he had no clue.  All he knew was that the woman got out of his life  and that is all he cared about.

"And you have a woman problem?" I asked, blandly. 

"That goddammed bitch... Sorry, Rita...  wife is wonderful in the sack, or vacation, or while doing anything else she likes to do.  It's the rest of the time that makes her the spawn of hell." 

"And I assume that divorce isn't an option?"  I knew it wasn't.  His straight-laced boss would can his ass in a second before he would allow one half of a freshly broken marriage on his team.   He shook his head as Rita typed on her phone.  Shortly, she showed the message to me, and after I nodded, allowed Bob to read it.

Incredulity took over his face as he read, "I was taught the proper way to treat men in a Baltic slave trader's bazaar."  I saw the twinkle in her eye as she watched her message being read. 

Still with his mouth open, he looked at me but the words couldn't quite come out.  I filled in the silence.  "Don't look at me.  I didn't put her there.  I just rescued her from the place."  Not entirely true, but not completely false, either.  "But, they do accept applicants."  I was joking, but those five words were like the match that lights the fuse.

For the rest of the evening, I could see Bob surreptitiously looking at Rita, trying to believe what he had been told.

---------------

Time passes

Myself and the five of my inside staff were having a relaxing status meeting in the western lounge.  Nothing had happened on the Brownsville front, and nothing eminent was planned as far as appropriating new applicants for Tarken's hotel.  Sally was expounding with her usual whiteboard when suddenly, her eyes almost bugged out of her head as she looked past me toward the door.  I spun around and then stood stock still.

The three men were here on business, and the business ends of all three automatics were pointed at us.  It obvious that two were just gun toting thugs, but the other was a boss.  With an almost unnoticeable accent, he said, "Everybody will please sit down, very slowly, no sudden movements."   I slowly settled back in my chair, furiously wondering if this was related to the Brownsville operation, or had some connection with the my business as the Sheik's agent.  

"Good. Good. Continue to cooperate and there is a slight possibility that you will still be alive tonight to enjoy the marvelous view."  One of the thugs moved to the right to get a good crossfire position, should it be needed.  "I have come to give you a set of orders.  Please believe me when I say that I am not here to negotiate.  You WILL do what you are told, or action will be taken."  Since we were all seated, it would have been suicide to attempt any heroics against any one of the deadly machine pistols, let alone three.  I hoped that the fighters in my crew knew that.  He continued. "The action will be the extermination of all of you and everybody close to you - family, friends, acquaintances.   Believe me, my Patron does not allow for any disobayment of his instructions."

From that made up word, I now knew that, even as well as he spoke, English was a second language with him.  "You have the floor, it seems.  Spill it."

"You have an efficient and well regarded freight business.  As you probably know, it has become very difficult to move any of our products over the border without expensive and time consuming operations.  You will arrange for certain of your trucks to pick up a barrel, or crate, whenever ordered.  Then it will be delivered to the appropriate... ah, location. 

"So, you want us to help you in the illegal drug business.  Do you..."

He waved me to silence.  In a deliberately phony, almost Hollywood cliche manner, he said, "No. No.  You misunderstand.  You ARE going to assist us.  Or whoever takes over your business will do so."  He had grown tired of holding his weapon up, and it was now dangling at his side as he went through his spiel, but still, he could have it up and half the magazine shot off before I even began to get out of the chair.  "You seem to be uninterested in cooperating.  Let me demonstrate that we are serious."  He pointed at Zee.  "Stand up."  He turned to the flunky next to him and said in Spanish.  "One round in each knee." 

Shit!  "Wait a minute.  I haven't said we weren't going to help."  He just smiled as the man moved over and brought the gun up.  I prepared to launch myself at both.  Hopefully dead or alive, I would be able to knock both aside.  Maybe the others could...

"BOOOM!!!"  It sounded like a cannon had gone off as I saw the chest of the flunky explode outward.  Before I could get my bearings, out of the corner of my eye I saw Katja's arm move in a blur, and suddenly a knife appeared in the shoulder of the boss man.  The reflex pain caused him to drop his Uzi.  The other thug, naturally and automatically turned toward the sound of the first shot and couldn't quite recover and turn back before Chip cannoned into him. The man pulled the trigger and a stream of nine millimeter slugs ripped into the carpet, just inches from both Jean and Zee.  By now, both Katija and I had our weapons out, but Chip was in the way of any shot.   Chip managed to keep the Uzi pushed away, then landed a chop to the man's throat with the other.  The gun stopped, either from an empty mag, or because of the pain.  Katja had the boss's forehead lined up in her sights and I was staring down the barrel at the other assailant.  Chip began twisting the thug's head off.  Fortunately, that's an operation that takes two good limbs and his injured flipper didn't have the strength to complete the operation.

"NOOO, CHIP. STOP!"  He did.  "We need to ask him some questions first."  He nodded, then, with his good arm, balled his fist and cold cocked the goon, who just slid to the floor. 

Looking down the barrel of my pistol, I jerked back in the direction of the door to see which of my crew had just luckily, for us, happened to show up to intervene in the unwelcome meeting.  My jaw dropped.  Rita was standing there, wide eyed, holding the .357 magnum from my bed headboard. 

---------------

Later

We hauled the unconscious bastard into one of my unused rooms, stripped him naked as a precaution against hidden weapons, and chained him by the neck to one wall and an ankle to another.  The boss dude was patched up and chained in another room.   I didn't want them to try to bump themselves off in any way until I had a talk with both.  Some serious talks.

Katja and I checked the only three entrances to the top floor - the two emergency stairwells and the elevator.  Shortly, the entry point was obvious.  The hinges on one stairwell door had been thermited.

Back in the lounge, the stiff had been wrapped in a piece of plastic and also hauled to a back room.  The carpet was going to have to have some major work.  Chip had taken the gun from Rita's shaking hands so she didn't blow a hole in someone or something else by accident.  I'm not mocking my redhead for her reaction - by the time things had settled down, I was shaking so hard I almost had to lean against the wall to keep my legs from collapsing under me. 

Sally said what we were all thinking, "I could use a drink."  Then with emphasis, "Bad!"

Rita nodded, then turned and began to move toward the door.  Jean stopped her with a hand on her upper arm.  "No, no, Mademoiselle," he said to her.  "You are the guest of honor.  Please sit down over there."  She looked at him, confused, then at me and I nodded.  Jean escorted her to the couch as I went in search of the other girls, no doubt hiding under a bed somewhere, wondering what the firefight was about.  Eventually, I found Butterball and told her to locate the other girls, then get her ass in the lounge and start taking orders.

Eventually, we were all seated with our designated beverage, mostly in silence.  I knew that in a little while, we would all be jabbering to each other as we commented on the past hour or so.  Rita was sitting in the center of the couch, holding a large margarita in shaking hands.  I wanted to sit next to her, but Zee was on one side and Jean on the other and neither had any intention of moving.  They were having trouble because both wanted to put their arm around her shoulders.

I wondered just how the hell I was going to reward her for not only saving our asses, but for the totally correct response that she took.  Taking out the man who was going to shoot, instead of the boss who was talking was the absolutely correct action, and almost assuredly saved Zee's life at the minimum.

I made everybody stay in my home, overnight, and we took turns standing sentry in the hallway.  I had no idea how big this was and until I got some more intel, we were staying on full alert.  

---------------

Morning

It was balls-to-the-wall the next day, as we started our search for answers.  The members from my two action teams were on site now, and armed to the teeth.  They patrolled both floors while the rest of us were meeting.  I was about to begin the interview of our captive goons when Katja came up to me.  "Roger." she started, quietly.  "I was trained in the art of interrogation - intensively."

Hmmmm.  I thought about it for a moment.  My art of asking questions of some sob who didn't want to answer was crude - I just beat the shit out of him and shouted.  Having a professional on the job might garner much better results.  I nodded and gestured to the room.   I had plenty of other stuff to do, anyway.

We had taken the fingerprints of the stiff and the live goons and dispatched them downtown by courier after a call to a political acquaintance.  Meanwhile, Sally and Chip were going through the building security video frame by frame.  They had answered one question - it didn't appear that the guard or guards were in on it.  We saw the uniformed man sitting at the desk, then look up suddenly, jump to his feet and hurry down the hall. Obviously in response to some staged emergency.  In a few seconds, the three appeared, entered the stairwell and disappeared.   Now the only question was where did they get the key?  Of course, for a professional, I assume that it would be easy. 

Another question was how they connected my house as the point of control for R&R.  Why didn't they hit the real office downstairs and accost me there?

We were still short of information.  The goons that Katja was playing patty cake with were our only link so far. 

I stood up and called for everybody's attention.  "Ok, people.  We are in the war we didn't want, and things have to happen fast if we are to get this mess calmed down.  We need to buy some time while we figure out just what the hell is really going down here.  So start thinking - everybody!"

---------------

Afternoon

Katja came into the room and everybody looked up.  She walked up to me and said quietly, "They wouldn't say much more than we already know.  And I'm not sure that they actually knew any more."  She looked around, then continued, "They were from the Jorges organization and they deal in drugs.  We were to be their unwilling...  mules?"  I nodded.  "...mules.  No new information except that the underling said something that makes me think that they have been trying to get information about your company from employees downstairs."

"Shit," I exclaimed.  "More traitors on my payroll?"

She shook her head.  "No. No.  I don't think so.  I believe they they just befriended one of the clerks who likes to... to... drink in taprooms.  I doubt that he was in on it."

I stood there thinking about her info.  That would explain how they knew that I lived above the business.  Hmmmm.

Chip spoke up.  "The question now is, what do we do with them?"

Katja shook her head.  "Alas, the... goon that you took down tried to strangle me from behind and I was forced to defend myself.  And when I got back to his honcho, that person had ripped off his bandages and bled to death.  They are more afraid of their Patron than death, it appears."   She looked me in the eye as she spoke, and I barely nodded in return.

I turned around toward the others.  "Ok, one problem solved, but we still have to figure out what to do from...   Sally?"  I could tell that she needed to speak.

She just stood there for a moment then began.  "Ok, you want to quiet this down for a while so we can do some serious planning, right?"  I nodded.  "Ok..."  Pause.  "The Man's goon's did their job.  They terrified you into compliance and proof of that will be first thing tomorrow when the office gets an urgent order to immediately start the trucks again."    Pause.  So far so good.  "Unfortunately, his team must have crossed paths with a competing gang when they got back over the border, since they were found dead just outside of town."   Yesss... I thought.  As good a plan as any.  And a hell of a lot better than anything I had come up with.  Son of a bitch!  Maybe I should just turn the business over to Sally and lay around screwing Rita and her girls.  She was turning into a first class conniver.  Amazing what giving a person a single chance in life will do.  I made a note to transfer a considerable sum of money to her offshore account.

"Ok.  That is the plan we will go with.  Rita, ask Dunk to come in here.  Sally, you and Chip figure out how we are going to get those stiffs across the border - and fast.  They're going to be getting ripe.  I'll tell the office downstairs that we are starting the border importing again and Dunkelberry will fly me to Brownsville to brief Jonesie.   Questions?   Ok.  Go."

One finally thing needed to be done before bedtime.  I sent the Sheik a message about what was going on and a suggestion about his daughter.  She could take care of herself, but she was a long way from being a combat person. I didn't want an amateur underfoot in a firefight - especially one that we had to look out for.  We were going to have our hands full looking out for ourselves.   Fortunately, he took the hint, and called Zee back home on some pretense. 

---------------

Time passes

Every day, we met to plan how to get out of the hole we were in, and preferably make a profit on the operation at the same time.  Jean prepared to fly back home to oversee his organization, but promised to come back when anything was planned to happen.   Then...

"Bob," the aide to the governor asked to see me.  I had a suspicion of what he wanted, but now just wasn't the time.  Unfortunately, in politics a request denied is a slight to be remembered so I told him to stop by.

I invited him to the usual lounge and Rita stood by to serve us with refreshments.  Finally, after amenities were traded back and forth, I said,  "Ok, Bob.  This is about your wife.  Spill it."

Looking around, he said quietly, "Crap, is it that obvious?"

"You don't have to whisper up here.  My place is more secure than the Pentagon."  Unfortunately, recent events had proved otherwise, but it was a good line to settle him down.

He nodded, took a deep breath, and started, "Ok.  I have to do something about Arlene.  Something.  Anything."  He paused. "You said you knew of a place that could... adjust a woman's attitude.   My question is, were you joking?"

Holy shit.  Now what do I do?  Furiously thinking as I slowly spoke, I began, "No, I wasn't joking.  I don't know anything about it, but I know that such a place exists."  I ran though options in my mind like a grunt trying to find a foxhole in an artillery barrage.  "The problem is, she isn't going to go to that place voluntarily, and if you force her into it, all it will do is get you arrested when she 'graduates.'"   I thought of another factor.  "Not only that, but if she just disappears, the cops are going to put you to the third degree as the obvious suspect."

He nodded, "Yeah, it's just a dumb daydream.  It was stupid to even ask you about it.  But, I'm going to have to..." 

He stopped as I held up my hand.  "Give me your card.  I have an acquaintance whom, I think, is knowledgeable about certain aspects of...  of... female education.  If you want, I'll see if he will talk to you."

Bob gulped and then nodded.

I held up a finger.  "One thing more.  I don't want to know what happens and this conversation never took place. You will never speak to me on the subject again.  Agreed?"

I showed him out, then relaxed in Rita's chair with a nice stiff green liquid, then, seeing her standing in the doorway, waved her to come over and join me.  She immediately ran over, her silk dress flowing out behind her, then snuggled up to me and waited to be offered a sip.  For the next hour or so, I outlined a possible scenario and asked her opinion on various aspects of it.

Before Jean left for France, I discussed the plan with him.  He laughed at the idea, but thought it was a great experiment and agreed to set it up while I was working on our much more serious problem.  He also informed me of another facet of the Sheik's operation that I had heard nothing about.  Jeez, how far did his tentacles spread?

---------------

End of Book 4 

The Desert Nexus.

Book 5

---------------

Inside a dark box

The hours passed slowly.  Most of the team were taking the chance to try to sleep, but, of course, always with two of us on alert.  One watching the rear doors on one monitor and the other watching an external camera pointed mostly toward the house.  Right now we were like fish in a barrel if anybody suspected something.  All they would have to do is stand off with automatic weapons and riddle the trailer to handle all of us.  That wasn't a theory - in this country, stuff like that happened all the time.  Katja was the calmest of all of us.  She just leaned back and napped.  Of course, that meant that the guys had to act casual, also.

---------------

A few hours earlier

We watched the forward camera as Sanchez drove the eighteen wheeler up to the real gate of the compound and waited for someone to appear.  In a few seconds, a couple of submachine gun toting yoyo's came out, talked for a few seconds, then opened the double gate.  We felt and watched the truck lurch forward, stop, then back up to a platform.  We were in a large crate at the front of the truck, concealed by all the other cargo, but still in a position to drop through the floor of the trailer though a specially constructed trapdoor.  That was a last resort, since the appearance of eight armed men - and a very dangerous woman - in the compound, and in daylight, would result automatically in a massive firefight.

The crate had been specially constructed for our one time use, and had wiring to concealed cameras all around the vehicle - with sound on two of them.  We heard Sanchez explaining his tardiness with a tale of engine problems all day.   In a few minutes, I would push a special button that would back up his tale of woe.

The back doors opened and the trailer wobbled as a bucket brigade of men began to load the illicit cargo into a container in the center of the trailer.  When I assumed they were about half done, I pushed the button.  From the front of the truck came a bang and some clanking, then quiet as the engine stopped.  Sanchez hurried up to look, and in a few minutes delivered the bad news that it was dead.  The goon in in charge was not happy, but stood by as my man called someone on the phone.  Of course, I knew that someone would be Chip. 

Shortly, he delivered the news that another cab would immediately be sent down, and a local tow truck to haul off the bad tractor.  I crossed my fingers.  The acceptance of the next suggestion would rule our next actions.  Sanchez suggested that they wait for morning - he didn't want to cross the border at night.  It was much safer during the day when he could merge into a whole line of trucks going that way.  He could sleep in the cab for the night.  Some more back and forth, then the honcho went to apparently consult with the big man, then came back and agreed.  And warned my man not to leave the vicinity of the vehicle for the night.

So far so good.  We settled down for a several hour wait.

---------------

The wee hours

It was close to 01:00 and the team was awake and waiting.  We had brought night vision equipment, but the compound was lit up like a mall parking lot and so they weren't needed.  And in fact, would be useless even if we wore them.  A few minutes ago, I felt, or imagined a slight tremor at about the time Sanchez should have been leaving the cab.  The tension was rising from high to almost unbearable, when we heard the three knocks on the trap door.

"Ok.  Showtime." I announced, totally unnecessarily.  The trapdoor was immediately opened and we began dropping to the ground.  Under the truck was a prone shape - the guard for the front yard, now out of service - courtesy of Sanchez.  He quietly said to me, "There's another one who just went around the corner of the house there.  It'll take him about 40 seconds to make the turn." 

I pointed to Dolby and Bummer.  "One guard, walking around the house that way. Go."  In a millisecond there were just two holes in the air where both of them had been squatting.  They split up and went both ways around the building.  For everyone else, I pointed toward the rear of the truck and we moved out.

It was like daylight everywhere, and that single fact put everyone's taut nerves on a razor edge.  If there was a guard inside watching video cameras of the outside, things would go to hell in a hurry. 

Over the past few weeks, most trucks that were diverted to this place, had recording cameras at strategic places.  Using those recovered videos and also pursuing satellite images, we had a general idea of the layout of the grounds.  Of course, we had no idea of how the inside was laid out.   I was expecting ten or fifteen men - almost all just young punks who thought that carrying an automatic weapon made them a fearsome warrior.  They weren't my worry.  I had to assume that there would be at least a core of professionals running the goons.  George, or Jorge, whatever the scumbags name was, would be a fool if he didn't have at least one.

We were carrying automatic rifles in case things went south and we had to shoot ourselves out of the place, but for this operation only the low velocity silenced pistols were to be used.  Or, even better - naked blades.

A side door was locked, but Jonesie shoved a crowbar into the jam and slowly pried it open.  Inside, the first order of business was getting an idea of the layout, all the while being on the watch for wandering insomniacs.  We had four sets of sleepy guns with us since I knew we would encounter females, all of whom I assumed would be the squeeze of somebody.   I didn't particularly want any captures, but we couldn't afford to have screaming women running out of the building.

One thing was in our favor.  Unlike an operation like this in the normal American city, if there was a moderate amount of unavoidable gunplay, few people on the outside would notice, and even fewer would want to investigate.  We had already heard considerable gunfire from the city - that was just a fact of life for cities close to and on the wrong side of the border.

It was a big house - two floors at least.  I guess everybody who was in a line of work that might be violent wanted to have at least one floor between them and intruders.  Come to think of it, I was no different.  Hmmmm.  I would have to think about that som...   I froze as Telly gave the close fist, standby for the shit hitting the fan, sign.   I waited for him to give the signal to approach, very cautiously.   He backed up and pointed into an open door.

Millimeter by millimeter, I slowly looked around the door frame.  God almighty damn!  Son of a bitch!  And so forth.  Inside was a guard room, floor to ceiling with monitors giving images of the compound, including the door we had busted in.  Not only that, but the door that we entered we had idiotically left open and it was as obvious as a missing front tooth on a beauty contestant.  Fortunately, both of the guards were watching a porno flick on a laptop, regaling each other with the high points of the action.  I pulled back, and let my head settle against the wall.  Our luck was incredible, since an entire squad of men, and a woman, hadn't been seen crossing under the lights, nor had our entry into the building, even though in full view of a camera.  

I nodded to Telly and Katja, made the left/right sign and both pulled their knives out - Telly with his standard KBar and Katja with her favorite long bladed dagger.  I gave one emphatic nod and they swiftly entered the room together. In seconds, both guards were laying on the floor, no longer a problem.  Time to move.  More inspection of the downstairs, then behind us, a loud "Unnnnkkkk."  Katja was lowering a body to the floor.  He had picked the wrong time of night to need a piss.   I waited, looking down the hall at two others who were also waiting.  Shortly, Sanchez appeared, gave the thumbs up sign, then a single finger.   I turned around and continued down the hall.  At the end, I had found no room with anything of interest, so I turned around and motioned for my followers to reverse direction.

By now, the whole bottom floor should have been covered.  Time for the...  "Bam!"  That wasn't one of our silenced pistols!  Then two more.  Then silence.  The three of us ran to the end of the hallway, looked around the corner, then headed down another.  

Dolby appeared.  "Brinker is down.  Everybody else ok.  Nine tangos in all.  Dead."  Shit.  A man shot.  But, the mission had to be completed first, or more of us would go the same way.  Everybody was there except Brinker, hurt or dead, and Sander, whom I assumed was looking after his comrade. 

I barked out orders.  "Active mode now.  Upstairs."  We took the stairs, four steps at a time, in rush formation, always checking our corners.  A woman appeared, started a scream which cut off as Dunkleberry clocked her one in the stomach.  There was a short kerchunk as he pushed the sleepy gun into her neck and pulled the trigger.  Now the room she had come out of erupted with more female shrieks.  "Dunk!" I ordered.  "Do em!" and pointed into the room.  On the rest of us went, searching as fast as we could.  Finally, a big set of double doors indicated the probable sleeping quarters of the man himself.  The problem was, with all the ruckus, by now he had either disappeared through an inevitable escape route, or was waiting with an AK-47 for the doors to open.

Whatever.  One thing we couldn't do, is just stand by and see what happened.  I kicked the doors open, and aimed into the room, all the slack taken out of my trigger.   Then I dropped my arm.  No rush.  The drug honcho and his nightly squeeze were asleep.  Still.  That had to mean that they were either out on drugs or alcohol.  Nobody could have slept though the noise in the last minute or so.  I pointed to the woman and shortly, she was injected.  More orders.  "Search the entire compound.  Look for more goons, women and his stash."  They left on a run, I stepped up to the bed and saw Katja looking intently at me.  I nodded.  She raised her pistol and put a silenced round though the man's heart. 

Killing in cold blood wasn't my thing, but this man - all of the men in the building - were a pestilence on mankind.  They would shoot a school bus full of children on orders without question.  And enjoy the pleasure of the terror of the victims as they pulled the trigger.  I would lose no sleep over them tonight, assuming that I was still alive then.

---------------

Later

The loot we obviously would take.  I didn't particularly want the women, but couldn't leave anybody behind to tell the tale of a gringo attack on a local... well, businessman.  I didn't want to start cross border tit for tat retaliation raids.   So with us they would go.  Actually their profession wouldn't change that much, just the part of the world they practiced it in.

We had the drugged women in the truck, and it was running - Sanchez having disconnected the gadget that gave the phony breakdown.  Jorge's stash was being loaded now.  He was very wealthy, but by now, stacks of cash and gold coins didn't awe me at all.  The entire property had been searched high and low for any survivors.  We needed to exit clean from this place and leave no slightest hint of who hit it.  It would be automatically assumed that another gang had made the raid - if we could get out of town without notice.  Brinker was in a bad way, shot though the lung, but stable.  Battlefield medicine was something that all of us were unfortunately proficient in, and, of course, I had brought a full medic kit.   None the less, we needed to get him over the border and into a hospital.

Finally, the doors were latched, everybody piled in and we were off, not forgetting to close the gate behind us.  We were packed in the forward cab and sleeping quarters like sardines, but only for a short while.  We got to the place where our two cars had been dropped and everybody left in them heading for the border. Except for Sanchez, Katja and I.  

There was no way we were going to try to cross the border with the load we had in the back.  An inspection would cause headlines that would hit every news site in the world.  Instead, we waited for daylight and merged with a line of trucks heading south toward Mexico City.  Eventually we pulled into the secondary airport.  Not by coincidence, a cargo plane from a private carrier was waiting in a hanger.

---------------

Later

When we landed in Saudi, I finally got word that Brinker was stabilized and his prognosis was good.  All it would take would be time and he would heal.  That was a relief.  I had lost men before, and more than once, but it wasn't something I was ever going to get used to.  The plane was being unloaded in Hassans's private hanger, customs being avoided again, which is the reason I took this route.  A few hours later, both Sander and myself were collapsed in our beds at the Sheik's home.  Katja was in mine with me, but if it had been Helen of Troy and Cleopatra together with her, I wouldn't even have looked under the covers. 

_______________

Home

I sent everyone off on a months vacation.  I told Brinker to get well, then take his.   As it turned out, we had collected a truckload of women - apparently, everyone in the place had one or more available.  They were all at least pretty, of course, but I found none that I wanted, and neither did the Sheik.  Of course, Tarkan was ecstatic at receiving a passel of prime female flesh.  I told him to expect two more as soon as the package service came through.  I had sent Jonesie back to his Brownsville office until I could hire a real replacement.  While he was there, apparently two of my female employees quit.  One morning they just didn't show up and were never seen again.

The raid on the compound, as big as it was to us, didn't even make the back pages of American newspapers or news sites.  A few men had been found dead in a private house near the border, but so what?  Jorge, after all, wasn't a big, or even a little, drug lord.  He was just a tiny snake trying to bite off a piece of the action.  I'm sure that his slack was taken up before the women were even processed at Tarken's.   As it turned out, he did have a nice stash, most of which I split up between my crew - and of course, the Sheik.

Rita and I relaxed at Jean's, enjoying the spring weather in France.  While I was there, Jean told me about his meeting with Bob, the aide to the governor.   The one with 'the wife is a bitch and I can't get rid of her' problem.

He had met with Bob at a hotel room and presented himself as an agent for a female training service - for wives and significant others.  As it turned out, the Sheik had an associate who actually did just that.  I was having trouble believing some of what I was told about the service, but eventually I would see it for myself.

---------------

Tarken's

Rita stayed behind at Jean's.  Tarken's place gave her ambivalent emotions - I think in the back of her mind was the fear that somehow she would be trapped in the place again and sold to some old man in the Orient.  Besides, Jean and her really enjoyed each other.

Tarken met me with his usual ebullient style.  First, relaxing in his office with a glass of his horrible rotgut while he expounded on this and that, then a tour to view the latest imports.  The cheerleader wasn't here.  Apparently the Sheik had plans of his own for her.  But Rita's sister-in-law was.  She was occupying a room right next to the one that Rita had originally spent months in.  There were three other English speaking women with her, obviously from some other agent of the Sheik's.

The ex-doctor's attitude had definitely been adjusted - any trace of the affluent high class woman was gone.  She would instantly do anything required of her - anything.  I know that to be a fact because she spent the night in my bed and I ran her through her paces.  She still belonged to me, so she still had her voice, but knew better than to use it other than a "Yes" or "No" on occasion, coupled with the word, "Master."

The stash of girls from the border operation were still in the basic stages of training.  I noticed the two ex-employees of my Brownsville office among them but I don't think they recognized me.  To Tarkan's question, I told him to do whatever it took to bring their value to the highest level possible, then put them on the block.  I didn't want any of them reserved. Exactly, what he wanted to hear.

---------------

Back at Jean's

We were waiting for news from one of Jean's team members that Bob, the governors aide, and his wife had checked into a particular chalet on the outskirts of the city - on a vacation, supposedly.  

We waited, enjoying ourselves by the pool and watching some of his girls, and mine - Rita - sporting naked in the water.  It was wonderful.  The pressure was off, nothing was happening, except a minor operation with Bob's wife as the target.  Life is good if you are male, young and rich, and have several beautiful babes at call.

Ring! Ring!  Jean picked up the phone, said a few words, and hung up.  He nodded to me.  "Done."  Bob's wife was now on her way to what I thought of as a Stepford Wife Clinic - at least, that is what I had been told that it was.  But I wanted to see it before I believed it.

As it was explained to me, the operation went like this.  We couldn't just take his wife like she was a capture.  Actually, we could, but he could never get her back.  If the training didn't take, and at this point I was skeptical, when she was released from the training center she could make beaucoup trouble for her husband by claiming that he had her put away.  He needed to have at least a plausible innocence in the story.  Like this...

They decided on a month in Europe, it being the off season for politics.  Eventually they checked into a particular chalet, prearranged by an agent of Jean.  Late at night, a trio of thugs would then break in on them and demand to know where the drugs were.  Obviously, the pair would be terrified and would disclaim all knowledge of any drug stash, and insist that the men had the wrong house.  But, a single container of pot would be pulled from under the bed, the pair would be accused of stealing the other two suitcases.  Bob didn't know it, but he would be pistol whipped for the answers - for real, but obviously not severely.  He needed a real set of bruises and cuts to show the gendarmes.  Eventually, she would be hauled away in the thug's car, after warning Bob that he had better come up with their merchandise if he wanted her back.  That same night she would be packaged up and mailed off to her new education.

Bob would hang around the the city and the police station for a few weeks, before heading back to the US to the commiserations of his cohorts.  Jean had waited for a major news story somewhere in the world before tripping the switch and lucked up with one at about the right time.  The kidnapping of a wealthy American citizen certainly made the news, but quickly moved to the back pages over the latest Middle East setback.

---------------

Home

Things were back to normal.  Nothing major was happening on the shadow side of the business, although several females were being investigated for being possible shipping box stuffing.   Zee was back and concentrating on a particular mission I had given her. 

So, I ran the R&R business most of the time, hosted and attended boring political meetings, and relaxed between the legs of my girls.  Sometimes Rita and I would both lay back, each with a girl between our legs.  By now, all remnants of a civilized upper class woman had sluffed off of her.  She lived to give and take pleasure.  I had no doubt that if she was offered a magic switch that could rewind time to prevent that night, years ago, when she was drugged and hauled off to the clinic, she would stab the offerer in the heart and stomp on his switch.

She was probably the most unique slave in the world.  She had to instantly and totally obey me at all times, of course, but she could do anything she wanted, otherwise.  Spend money, go places, and, if one of the young grunts happened to be in the building and caught her eye, she could sidle up to him and offer her treasures for fun.  And no young man, or old one, for that matter, was going to say no to a stunning and experienced redhead standing there with her magnificent tits and hourglass body outlined under a flimsy silk gown.  At least, not after they knew that it was ok with the Sarge.  

It was a happy household, I think.  Rita's girls were having a much better life than fate had originally planned for them.  Rita was strict with them as to the performance of their duties, but she was never cruel just for the sake of being their taskmistress.  Many times, unobserved, I watched them when they were off duty.  They would watch TV and silently laugh and sign to each other about the actions on the screen.  It was no different than any group of female friends all around the country, except that it was much quieter.

Even Butterball was content with her lot.  How did I know, you ask?  She was getting along in years - probably approaching fifty - and I really didn't want or need an old woman on my staff.  She had been a good servant, so I offered, through Rita, to send her back home and guarantee a certain income to live on.  Butterball had long since learned of the spoof that her old employer had blamed her for his misfortune.  Surprisingly, she immediately dropped to her knees and silently bawled and signed a plea to be allowed to remain.  What the heck.  I shrugged and told Rita to tell her not to pack.

I guess she had thought that I had been displeased with her service, to date.  From then on, she was the most diligent of all the girls.  I thought it might be an interesting experiment to threaten to send all of the rest home.

---------------

Time passes

A relative of the Sheik - Jameel was his short name - had flown over for an appointment.  I cleared my schedule, invited him into one of the sky lounges, waited till Rita had served us, locked the door, then gave him the floor.  He handed me a flash drive, I stuck it into a laptop and decrypted it.  For a few minutes I read the missive from Hassan with growing surprise and excitement.  Wow!  This would be a good test run for my future plans.

We discussed certain aspects for a couple of hours, then agreed on a plan.  Rising, I offered him a bed for the night, and a warmer for it, but he politely declined and headed back for the airport.   I rode the elevator down a few floors and dropped in Dr. Bennett's office.  His business was doing fine and we had become friends.  Part of that was gratitude for helping put his life back together, but some was the fact that I held the mortgage on his business.  We weren't drinking buddies since our lives were so disparate, but there was respect between us.   I discussed an item with him, then there was nothing to do on that front except wait for circumstances.

A week later, I had a new woman installed in a suite on the floor below mine.  Sent over by the Sheik, she was off limits to all - my people would be friendly to her, but any questions and discussions of her were strictly verboten.  They could easily detect that she was German, and her name was Greta, but that was it.  I took her down to the surgeons office, along with a flash drive containing a massive number of photographs and other data.  This was going to be interesting. 

---------------

Somewhere in Vietnam

Jean and I had slept the night and part of the day away making up for about twenty nine hours of travel time to get here from Texas.  First, breakfast, and then a flunky led us down the hall to the owner's office, one Dr. Ngheim Thao by name.  Because of our position as being also affiliated with Sheik Hassan, he asked us to call him Thao.  As a note, names in that country are backward - that is, the family name comes first.  In other words, if he moved to the States, he would become Thao Ngheim.   Very polite, and much younger than I expected.  Even more than me - younger, I mean.  That was explained later when I found that that he was the second generation owner of the operation - his father having essentially retired from the business a few years before.

Thao's place wasn't a compound, nor was it particularly secure.  It was more like a very nice, if large, clinic in a rural part of the country. 

Security wasn't a big deal, since there weren't any hallways lined with rooms filled with chained beauties.  Also, nobody moved very far around that country without showing a valid ID many times, and all patients had their passports and IDs secured until they were released.   And, there was the fact that all of his patients were there voluntarily - at least, that is what the paperwork said.

It was a beautiful place - the jungle was just outside of the neatly kept grounds.  The first afternoon, I explored it somewhat, with a guide lent to me by Thao.  Jean stayed inside in the air conditioning.  He wanted no part of the stifling, humid climate of a country not far from the equator.  For myself, I had long ago learned, both in Texas, and later in the Middle East, to ignore heat.

Then I saw what went on in the clinic, and I never thought of the jungle again.

---------------

Later

We were looking at a monitor at the object of our trip - the significant other of the governor's aide.  She was wearing a simple armless, shapeless pullover - white - and had a simple collar, like a thin donut - also white.  The room she was in was almost out of some future utopian movie.  He had showed us an empty one a few minutes before.  It was pure white, but the lighting was through the translucent material so that it wasn't blinding and made no shadows.  There were no corners on anything - even the ceiling and walls flowed into each other in a curve without corners or edges.  The bed was a curved soap bar holding up a mattress and a pillow - also pure white.  When the door was closed, there was nothing for the eye to focus on, not even the cracks where the door merged into the wall invisibly.  Even the commode, just a hole in the floor, had a spring loaded cover that merged into the floor as invisibly as the door to the room.  The only indication of it was the small indentation for a finger to be able to lift it.

A person's vision would just skid and slide around trying to find something to look at.  All in all, it was the most benign torture chamber I had ever seen. 

Thao was explaining in English better than mine.  His French was better than Jean's, also.  "Obviously, she is still in the first stage of conversion.  With an educated woman, it usually takes from one to three months before her mind begins to turn in on itself, in rejection of the total lack of stimulation.  When she begins to reach that stage, we have to watch carefully.  Some women will try to injure themselves, just to try to get some change in their environment.  The collar is a dummy, just to get her used to wearing one while she is here."  What the hell is the difference between a dummy collar and a real one, I silently asked myself. As we watched, the woman stood up walked back and forth a few times, tried to feel where the door was, then apparently tried to use her fingernails to open it.  Then she slapped the wall in frustration, and sat back down on the bed.

Thao continued.  "Since the lighting never varies, she already has lost all sense of time.  Her circadian rhythm will be completely disrupted.  Even her meals and occasional cleansing is done at random intervals.  Of course, the reason for this stage of treatment, is to change the patient into a blank slate that can be written on."

I noticed that in this place, there were no such people as slaves, bound women, cunts, bed warmers or the like.  Everyone not on the staff was a "patient."  I assumed that to the outside authorities, they were patients also.  Not only that, but they were patients that brought vast sums of foreign currency into a very poor country.  I suspected that Thao was immune to any accusations that he was harboring unwilling slave girls.

He pushed a button and another woman appeared on the monitor, sleeping.  "This one is at stage two.  Notice the yellow collar.  It can inject certain drugs into her system on demand and in precisely metered amounts."  To our questioning looks, he continued.  "The chemicals are synthesized from female hormones and can be tuned to make a woman's emotions move to any point on her compass of feelings.  Those are the real secret to our work.  They were developed by my grandfather years ago in the days of the cold war and my father brought them to the current perfection."

Holy shit, I thought to myself.  I had heard of brainwashing, but this was taking it to levels that were unbelievable.

He pushed a button again and yet another woman appeared.  This one was watching TV.  "Another one in stage two.  She is allowed entertainment during the day, but it is carefully choreographed so that her medication stimuli and the movie are in sync."  Once again, to our incredulous expressions, he amplified.  "A particular movie may be a love story - in fact, it probably is..."

"A chick flick," I injected.

He stopped for a minute and thought over my slang.  "Chick flick.  What an interesting piece of American colloquialism."  He smiled.  "Chick flick. I shall remember that for our next staff meeting."   He continued.  "At points of the movie where the woman is engaged with the man in a friendly or amorous activity, the patient's bloodstream will receive a medicament that will make her feel the same way, and metered to the level that matches the action.  If it is the climax and the part where, as you Americans say, 'They live happily ever after,' then her dose will be increased to the point that she will probably weep with joy.  On the other hand, if the female on the screen is in conflict, or in actual disharmony with the male, she will be pulled down into a depression that may make her weep also."

Jean and I looked at each other.  Neither of us could believe what we were hearing.  Could this be true?

"Dr. Ngheim," Jean said.  "The lights in her room seem to be changing, or is that just the monitor?"

Thao smiled.  "No, it is happening.  The room is totally translucent like the one you looked at.  The appropriate color is displayed along with the drug injection.  As you can tell, it isn't an intense hue normally.  If she is being depressed, the color will redden.  During happy sessions, it will be blue.  If she is having a catharthis of unhappy tears, it will be a fairly deep red hue.  If she is crying with joy, the room will glow in a sky blue.  It is obvious to an outsider watching, but she will be totally oblivious to it." 

We watched for a while, and sure enough, as she wiped away tears, the room slowly changed to a light blue, then gradually returned to white as she smiled and recovered.

"Now, here is the final process - stage three, where all the training is permanentized."  That was the only time I caught him misusing an English word.  Another button press and another woman - this one sleeping also.

"A blue collar," noted Jean, and we waited for the explanation. 

"Again, she is entertained by movies, but in this case, movies produced by us - and in eight different languages.  If you watched one, it would be the most pitiable and sickeningly sweet pap you ever had the misfortune to sit through.  But to her, it is real.  She will also interact with actual men, and with videos and pictures of her male significant other."

He pointed.  "That collar not only has all the injection capability of the last one you saw, but it also can directly stimulate the Tri-Gemitorial nerve - the main nerve stem that connects the brain to the rest of your body.  By giving certain impulses at the correct time, while she is reacting to both the external stimuli and the injected drug, we can make the synapses of her brain retain the reaction." He smiled again.  "It is sort of like loading a program into a flash drive.  The data can remain there forever, unchanged." 

He flipped off the monitor.  Neither of us made a comment.  What was there to say after this demonstration?  I thought I was an expert in enslaving a girl.  Hell, compared to Thao, I was a little boy trying to bribe a little girl with candy into letting me look at her panties.

Finally, Jean asked.  "What is your success rate, if I may ask?"

Thao made a wry face.  "Sometimes I think it is too high.  On at least six occasions that I know of, after her male companion with which she had been cohered, passed away, from accident or naturally, the woman immediately suicided.  As far as information that I have, none have... shall we say, deprogrammed on her own."  A pause.  "A bigger problem is that the man may not realize that what he asked for is what he really wants.  On occasion, the woman becomes absolutely cloying and he wants her to stop.  If he pushes her away, she may break down into depression, or again, commit suicide.  That is why I, much more than my father did, always intensely interview the male to make sure that he knows what he is about to have created."

---------------

Home

Flying back, neither Jean or I hardly said a word to each other.  Our minds were absolutely transfixed on what we had seen over the last three days.  I was still having trouble believing it.  On the last day, we were allowed to watch a live performance with a man on the staff.  Unless the woman was acting for our benefit, which I didn't for a moment believe, she was a total emotional slave to her view of him.  Just a frown on his face would cause her to break down and bawl.  A smile, and she would jump from foot to foot like a little girl that had just been given a desperately wanted doll.

I wondered if Bob was going to like what he paid for.  Actually, even though he was aghast at the cost, what he didn't know was that he was only paying for a fraction of the service.  I funded the bulk of the treatment because I wanted to see the results.

A day or so later, Sally asked.  "Are you ok, Boss?" 

I was somewhere else and it took a minute for the question to sink in.  "What?  Yes...  Ok... I'm fine."

"Boss," she continued quietly, not quite certain of her ground, "What did you and Jean see over there?"

I hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Sally, did you ever see the old movie, The Stepford Wives?"

She looked at me with a stunned expression.  "Are... are you telling me that they can be... that such a place actually exists!?"

I shook my head.  "Sally, if I told you a tenth of it, you would walk out the door thinking your boss is a psycho."  I waved her away.  "Later.  When I can get my own beliefs wrapped around what I saw."

Rita knew something was wrong, also.  More than once, while inserted into her and pumping away, a flashback to the jungle clinic would suddenly cause a wet noodle to flop out of her twat.  It wasn't that I was suddenly impotent, just that the intense memory and resultant thought took all the blood away to the other end of my body.   It was several days before I got back to a semblance of normality. 

---------------

Time passes

Greta, the Sheik's girl was slowly being transformed.  Her starting facial features were fairly close to the pictures that she was being changed into.  I have no idea how many operations she had, but within four weeks, they were through and she was recovering - an exact duplicate of the woman in the pictures.  Shortly thereafter, the plane returned and off she went to...  somewhere.

Jean was on the same plane at the Sheik's request.  Obviously a major operation was starting up, somewhere, and probably with the woman that just left.

Meanwhile, Telly's team had hosed down another set of freelance socialists, trying to share the wealth on the high seas.   Just another bunch of kids with no clue about actual combat, all of them thinking that an AK-47 made them immortal.   The four that started climbing the ladder together were shot off first, then their skiff was sawed in half by the fifty cal.  Shortly, the high seas were a tiny bit safer for trade.

A couple of weeks later, Katja was called back to the Desert.  But before she left, we went over the security of my building.  Napoleon had said that he who stayed in a defensive posture, had already lost the battle.   I myself had reduced two heavily guarded and armed fortress houses with one hundred percent casualties on one side and almost none on mine.   I knew that my home was no different.  Nobody can stay on full alert 24/7.   Rather wasting effort by having someone falling asleep in front of security monitors month after month, I just needed a system that would give me just twenty or thirty seconds of warning.  Or, conversely, slow down an assault by that amount of lead time.

We slowly refined a new system.

---------------

Hassan's compound

I was sitting in the top glassed in lounge, knocking back some forbidden scotch.  The Sheik had asked me to come over for consultation.  Earlier, in the room also, were Jean, Katja, Zee and Willi Schmidt, his agent from Munich.  We discussed a new operation in progress for hours, then Hassan called a break until later in the afternoon.   To me he said, "Rodger, a moment with you please."

When the door closed, he said, "I fear that I have plagiarized your idea, my friend."

I just made a dismissive gesture with my free hand.  "What the heck.  This will be a real validation of the idea.  Besides, mine will be considerably more complicated if it occurs.  This will give some much needed insight on the method."

"What do you think about it?" he said.  "The plan, I mean, not the idea."

I looked through the amber liquid at the light.  "It is going to take some crackerjack plann... sorry, some split second timing, and not a little bit of luck, but it looks valid.  I can see a lot of Jean's work in it."

He nodded.  "This is my operation, even though it is in Willi's territory.  He obviously has to be included, but he has nowhere the finesse of Jean in planning, so yes, Willie is in nominal command, but will be following Jean's script."

"And me?"

He smiled.  "You are my youngest and newest agent...  And my most versatile."  He held up his hand as I began to speak.  "You have an innate ability to... to... what is the American idiom?  ... to think on your feet.  Jean can plan an operation better than Machiavelli.  Dr. Ngheim can mould a woman to fit any shape.  My other agents are very competent or they wouldn't be on my team.  But you have the capacity to instantly react to a rapidly changing situation - even to an engagement that is descending into chaos - or one that is falling apart at the seams, as you would say.  You won't have a working part in the operation, but I want you to... monitor it as it happens, looking for the unexpected.  I will give orders that you will have the authority to make changes and give orders at any moment, when it starts.

---------------

Two months later. 

Dusseldorf, Germany  

God only knew how much this op was costing Hassan.  It wasn't overly complex - no enterprise put together by Jean would be allowed to grow cumbersome.  But it was big, involving much pre-op work and preparation.  As it turned out, I did have a couple of working parts in the op.

The night finally rolled around.  Zee, Katja and I separately entered the building - with invitations courtesy of Hassan's money - after passing multiple security checkpoints that didn't quite reach the level of strip searches, but came close.  That fact showed the genius of Jean and his, as the Sheik called it, "Machiavellian mind."  Normally, our target was guarded like a major national leader, but... for this political ball, all of the security was on the perimeter.  It was assumed by the powers-that-be that everybody inside was on the up and up.  Nobody wanted gun toting security jocks roaming around amongst the swells.  I only had two jobs - the first was to watch the mark and call a preprogrammed number on my cell phone when I saw her enter the huge ladies room.  My second would come when the balloon went up.  Zee and Katja, being young and beautiful, naturally drew young, and not so young, men like flies to honey.  But they also, always circulated within a short distance of the women's loo or the mark, herself.  I had a young man, a helper, whose sole purpose was to talk to me while I casually watched - his purpose on the op being so that I didn't stick out like a sore thumb as a man who, for some reason, just stood there looking around.  I relaxed and practiced my German on him.

The night wore on.  Dancing, eating and, I am sure, deal making were rampant - no different than the get-togethers of the rich and famous all over the world.  But...  Damn - the woman was born with a male bladder.  Any other normal female who had been drinking alcohol would have already left to sit on the can three times by now.  Then, finally!  I saw her look around, say something to her hangers on, and head for the ladies room.  The two girls saw her and immediately headed for it also.  Katja, entered first, ahead of the mark.  Zee followed right behind.   I pulled out the phone, put my finger over the icon, and waited.  The girls would wait for her to get settled in a stall, and start doing her business.  By now my heart was pumping - the next few minutes would tell the tale.

In seconds, Zee came back out, opened her purse, looked in it for a second, then went back inside.  That was the signal.  I pushed the button and unconsciously braced myself for the coming ruckus.  A few seconds passed, then a few more.  Shit!  If that dude had screwed up the... The lights flared up, then went out instantly, followed immediately by a distant, "Boom."  In a second, the emergency lighting around the room automatically came on, allowing for some sight and preventing confusion and a stampede, but not much more.  My male partner evaporated as ordered, his job done. 

Pandemonium began, but not panic.  Some even guessed what had happened.  During the past weeks, an unknown fascist group had dynamited a couple of electrical substations around the city in support of their cause, whatever it was.  Probably, this was the same thing.  Some guy climbed on a table and shouted to everyone to relax, we were perfectly safe here, whatever had happened outside. 

I didn't bother to notice.  I was waiting outside of the ladies room as the few occupants streamed out into the dim light. As it turned out, apparently the emergency lighting in the loo was defective, and the room became instantly pitch black when the power failed.  I held the door open to let the ladies see which way to exit.  Zee appeared and nodded.  Everybody was out.

I knew that Katja had instantly opened the door to the mark's stall and jabbed her with a pressure syringe.  At the far end of the room was a door leading to a janitors closet.  Weeks ago, the long narrow room had been modified by adding a wall four feet away from the original one at the back.  This became a hidyhole for our female double.  She had been living in the cramped, but well supplied little cubbyhole for three days now, before security had locked the building down for tonight's soiree.   The mark would be pulled into the closet and quickly stripped of her clothes, shoes, purse and jewelry, which our agent would put on.  With one girl holding a flashlight, the other would help our woman get dressed and inspected.  Since we had no idea of what the mark's hairstyle would be for the night, they had several items to at least make it look close to the original.  But, our double couldn't be blamed for tousled hair after the chaos she would have gone through.  Soon she would exit the ladies room and out into her new life.

I walked to the entrance of the ballroom hall and said to a guard, "We have an injured woman here.  I've called for an ambulance.  Please let me know when it gets here."  He nodded and passed the word on.

Now, with less rush, Zee and Katja would dress our target in the uniform of a building worker - a cleaning maid.  Her beautiful long hair would be cut off, bagged and dumped in the trash.  Then a black wig would be pulled over her head. 

Sure enough, in a few minutes, the man hurried up to me followed by a couple of paramedics pushing a gurney.   Shortly, they had the woman on it, her face covered with a compress and were out the door, into the vehicle and driving down the road.  Fraulein Hauffmann was on her way to her new life, also.  I waited by the ladies room as Katja and Zee did their best to remove obvious traces of the secret room being a hidyhole.  Later in the week, a building crew would remove the false wall.  Soon, it would just be an unused space.

Now, it all depended on how well our look-alike could play her part.

---------------

The Sheik's compound

The four of us, Jean, the two girls and me, were feeling pretty good.  The op had gone like clockwork.  It might still fail, but if so, it wouldn't be because of us.  The Shiek had congratulated us over and over, and was in the process of pouring us as much as we wanted to drink, while he expounded on the future.  Other than the people in this room, and Herr Schmidt - and of course the pseudo Fraulein Hauffman - nobody else knew what the exercise had been about.  The rest of the team members - the bribed workers at the convention center, the phony ambulance crew, the man who install and detonated the explosives - all of them were paid to do a single job, then disappear.

I asked what he thought the chances of the female actor in a masquerade of a well known young woman.  I didn't see how she could possibly pull it off.  Maybe for a day, or a week, but eventually something was going to trip her up, like not recognizing a favorite childhood friend, or something.  He explained that the woman had been intensively studying for her part for over a year and had every known fact about her double's life.  Nonetheless, he admitted, there was always the chance of fate pointing her fickle finger and blowing her act.

Something suddenly occurred to me.  "What about her voice?" I asked.

Hassan just smiled.  "She has been taking voice training lessons for months.  Obviously, the woman can't exactly imitate her double, but it just so happens that tomorrow she will see a doctor about a persistent cough."  He gestured to Jean who took up the story.

"The doctor, who, by the way, just happens to be an asset of the Sheik, will find a small..."  He hesitated, looking for the Arabic word.  "...growth...?"

"Polyp," injected Zee.

Jean nodded.  "Oui, polyp, on her vocal cords. She will be notified by the doctor that the operation is minor and safe, but the tone of her voice might change somewhat."  I might have known - Jean would not only dot every i and cross every t of an operation that he had planned, but he would have it folded, spindled, certified and stamped ok by Satan himself.

The Sheik continued, "The plan is for her to announce that she is tired, and is going on holiday in the Swiss alps for a few weeks.  That will give her a chance to settle into her role without being around large numbers of people who know her closely.  If she can make it until her father dies, I think she will be ok - that shouldn't be too long.  After that, with forty percent of the voting stock, she can make decisions that will insulate her from her current associates."  He looked around at everybody, but we didn't interrupt.  "If she is suspected, there will be chaos and we will try to get her out of it.  But, if she is successful, she gets to become one of the wealthiest and most desirable young women on the planet, and I will control the major financial and political engine in Europe."

Man, like my grade school teacher always said, "If you are going to dream, dream big."

---------------

Back home

None of my crew, except for Zee, who had come back with me, knew of the operation in Germany.  And they wouldn't find out, unless it blew up and hit the news.  We had our own fish to fry.  Zee had become a friend to Penelope Elsenburg, the heir to the Texas oil fortune, during some of the political events that I hosted in my top floor ballroom - ballroom being a misnomer.  Nobody danced, they just stood around and drank, talked, plotted and looked out over the city.  It wasn't hard - Zee was young, beautiful, obviously upper class from somewhere, and had all the money of a wealthy young daughter.   Zee - and Katja - assumed that I was going to pull an operation like we had just concluded in Europe.  Not so.  I had no use for a thirty year old girl whom would someday have lots of money, but otherwise, had no value to my organization.  Someday she might become valuable, but not yet.

Besides, I had no duplicate of her and that wasn't something that you just came up with overnight.

I would satisfy myself with just watching how well the Sheik's latest enterprise turned out.  It all hinged on whether or not the girl could actually bring it off.  Plus there was another factor that I didn't bring up with the Sheik.  It also depended on her not double crossing her benefactor, although she had no idea of the extent of the Sheik's domain.  Loyalty was something that had to be tested, it just couldn't be advertised for.  I had no idea of the level of confidence that Hassan had in the girl.  After all, he didn't have a large lot to choose from, since women willing to risk such a ploy, AND be close enough in looks to be altered sufficiently are fairly scarce, I assumed.  Unlike my tested crew, there was no... way... to...

I stopped and stared off into the distance.  A few minutes thought and I was on the telephone.  Then a call downstairs to my R&R secretary. 

"Shirley.  Book me a flight to Hanoi as soon as one leaves."

---------------

Three weeks later

"Boss!  When did you get back?"  Sally was almost shocked when I walked in the door. 

"Just now, babe.  And I am beat.  Anything I just have to do before I go upstairs and crash?"

"Yes.  I have a ton of stuff for you to look at, but I guess it can wait until tomorrow."  She lowered her voice.  "You were at the... the... Stepford clinic, right?  Can you talk about it."

I smiled and said, "Yep, but not 'till tomorrow.  Good night.  Or day, or whatever."

Rita, of course, bubbled over when she saw me, but fortunately didn't insist on sex before I crashed.  Besides, it was the middle of the day for her - far too early to hit the sack for sleep.

---------------

Morning

Sally, Chip and Zee were relaxing in loungers, waiting for me as I entered the lounge.  "Morning all," I greeted and accepted the return welcome homes.   Rita's girls had already set out coffee, donuts and various other early morning snacks.  I indicated to her that this meeting was private so she would know to prevent anyone else from entering without my permission.  

"Boys and girls," I started.  "I'm going to tell you a tale and you will need to put your sense of disbelief on hold.  This is going to be hard to swallow without actually seeing it."  I began with the trip that Jean and I took to the Vietnamese clinic and all that we saw.  And the fact that we had an acquaintance who had actually sent a woman there.  I could tell that they were awed at what I was telling them, but they had no reason to think it was all a flat out lie. 

After I hit a summery point, Chip asked, "Jeez, Boss.  Do you think that the results are really... kosher?"

I shrugged.  "After that first visit, I had the same question.  But, I have just spent three weeks deeply embedded the the place, and I have to answer yes, now.  I can't say what a woman's retention would be after, say, a year or so, but I can vouch for the fact that her artificial emotional attachments are real and unbreakable while she is there."

I continued.  "That isn't the reason I revisited the place.  We aren't going to provide a service for sending wives and girlfriends to be retrained.  Of course, if a client needs such a service, we can certainly arrange it.  No, here's my idea - and by the way, this is top secret.  For an hour, I filled them in on my last trip, what I talked about with Dr. Thao, what I wanted to set up, and what we were going to try.  That definitely got their attention.  In fact, they were open mouthed speechless.

---------------

Time passes

To allow time for certain plans to ripen, I actually went along as a team member with Bummer's crew on a voyage around the horn of Africa.  Of course, nothing happened, but it was a relaxing couple of weeks.  I wound up in Kawait, took a flight over the border and spend a few days at Hassan's.  He showed me his latest "cherry pick" for his harem, the cheerleader.  As we watched her from above, sitting and talking with another girl, I reflected that by now I had enough data to be able to characterize his preferences.  He obviously got off on big hipped, big boobed, narrow waisted American girls - and the dumber the better.  The last three fit that category - an actress, a young cunt blackmailer, and the cheerleader.  I had no use for that factoid - it was just interesting.

Then it was on to Jean's place and a taste of some new female flesh.  We were now very close friends, having shared danger, conspiracies, and women.  I filled him in on my latest idea, and, like my inner circle, he was astonished as it sank in.

"Mon Dieu, Rowjere," he finally exclaimed.  "The Sheik was right - you are born to this career."

---------------

Home

"Mr. Harris, this is Bonnie Fields."  Sally indicated myself, then continued,  "Miss Fields, this is Mr. Rodger Harris."  I motioned to the lounge area in my office and we moved over and sat down.  Damn, she was a dish.  Of course, that was a requirement, but still, she was one nice piece of eye candy.  She didn't know it, but this was her final interview.

Sally had contracted with a research firm to construct a series of tests to find the type of girl we needed.  Of course, she couldn't ask the firm to help us find women who were were conniving, willing to break the law for money, and who would have no problem with a guilty conscience, but, it was a simple matter to turn yes into no.  We were looking for prospects that failed the tests they were given.  So, Bonnie was the first of a series of young and beautiful girls who had applied to take our tests.  There were some other requirements - they had to be single, not in a serious relationship, and with no close families.  Oh, and stunningly beautiful.  That cut the applicants way down, but still applied to a lot of women in this country. 

I looked her over, wishing that I had had Rita work me over before this interview, so I could keep my mind on the case at hand.  Sally was seated behind her, in a position to give me visual clues if something was wrong to her - or right, for that matter.

"Miss Fields," I began.  "So far you have successfully met all of our requirements for the position we are offering.  However, you will need to make some decisions and you won't have a lot of information on which to make those."  She just nodded, nervous, but naturally so.  "The position you are being considered for is not a job - it is a life long career.  If you accept, then your future will be much different than any that you have imagined.  All I can say at the moment, is that it will be a life of luxury, money and power."   Now her eyes were wide open.  "Still interested?"  She nodded, jerkily.

"The training will be intense - very intense, like a military boot camp, but not in the sense that you will be doing pushups and ten mile runs.  It will be mentally intense and you will come out of it with a whole new understanding of life."  Was that an understatement.   Now, she was absolutely frozen, like a deer in headlights. 

"Your salary while you are in training will be one hundred thousand a year.  Afterward, it will be adjusted to your skills and duties."  I talked some more, but Sally had already nodded and I had decided.  The girl had very little to say or ask, but that was normal, since she had absolutely no information on which to base a conversation.  The offer of unbelievable amounts of money and a career were overwhelming to a young woman with no other prospects than an early marriage to a minimum wage husband and, eventually, a mobile home filled with screaming kids.  Her youth had another benefit for us than just looks.  A more mature woman would have the sense to ask just what the candy this strange man was offering, would cost her.

"So, Miss Fields.   Are you interested?"

She nodded rapidly.  "Y..Yes, Sir!  Definitely!  Thank you."

"Great.  Sally will get you signed up and make arrangements to get you sent off for training." 

---------------

A night, the ballroom

Another fundraiser and plotting soiree, as I called them.  This time it was the local party head hosting the leaders of a couple of powerful religious conferences.  Religion was a blank page to me, so I just mingled and smiled.  When I wondered why anyone in politics would care, Sally reminded me that we were in the lower end of the Bible belt and the religious leaders could shift a considerable number of votes one way or the other.  Apparently, it was important, since the governor had sent his chief of staff over to act as a pseudo Master of Ceremonies.  So, again, I mingled and smiled.  Actually, I mingled for sure, but my smile had to be constantly maintained in the face of excruciating boredom.  That was about to change...

The hostesses for the occasion were rented - pretty and upright young girls, mostly college students making money on the side.  Obviously, my crew of girls were totally unsatisfactory for this kind of job, especially tonight with a bunch of bible thumpers milling around and issuing platitudes.   Suddenly, a movement in the door caught my eye - Rita  She was standing in the doorway and dressed in ordinary clothes rather than her usual filmy silk.  She looked around till she spotted me and gave a short signing phrase.

I blinked, not believing what she had 'said.'  I nodded, looked around for the governor's man and quickly walked up to him.  "Bill!" - not his real name - "I have an emergency in progress."  To his widening eyes, I amplified my statement.  "Not here.  It's with a critical shipment enroute.   I'll send someone up to take my place."  He opened his mouth to speak, then just nodded.  I headed for the door, not quite running.  In the hall, I double checked with Rita and she informed me that the message came from Sally.

I ran to the elevator, waited for the damn thing to take forever, then got off and sprinted to Sally's office.  She handed me a printout of an email.  All it said was "Desert Oasis."   She handed me another paper.  "You have a ticket on Trans Atlantic in two hours.  I told Brinker to tell Rita to get your contingency bag to the elevator.  Sam has the car waiting downstairs.  You have to hurry." 

I nodded.  Then remembered the party.  "Is Chip around?"  She nodded.  "Have him go upstairs and take my place at that stupid get-together.  I need a representative there."  I told her the name of the governors chief.   She nodded.

Three hours later, I was relaxing in the first class lounge several miles above earth and wondering what had hit the fan.  "Desert Oasis" was the Sheiks code word equivalent of... well, 'The Shit has Hit the Fan' is actually a good description. 

---------------

Sydney

I had flown two thirds of the way around the world.  My jet lag had jet lag.  The stop in Saudi had been short, and in fact, Hassan had met me at the plane and we retired to warehouse to a talk.  He explained the walls of all hotels in this part of the world were wired one way or another and to never discuss anything of importance while inside.  So now, we were sitting on two uncomfortable metal chairs in the middle of about an acre of concrete floor. 

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Rodger."  I nodded but just waited.  "My agent in Australia has been arrested for kidnapping."  He picked up a sheaf of papers.  "All I know, or think I know, is that a capture was initiated, but the girl got away, exposed one of his men who then... ratted?  Yes, ratted on his senior." 

To me it sounded like his agent hadn't properly vetted his men.  You had to have a solid foundation of trust and loyalty before you even thought about starting in this business.  Again, I just nodded as he continued.  "I don't know what you can do, if anything, but you are far and away my best troubleshooter.  I would appreciate it if you will see what can be done.  You have carte blanche."

I thought for a moment.  "I'd like to take Katja with me.  I might need a female operative."   He immediately nodded, pushed a button and gave a short order.

So, here we were. 

Had the woman been a nonentity, it would have been much easier.  But, she was a very well known bitch, a wealthy... something.  A trust fund baby, I guess she could be called.  She owned an unearned fortune and had never worked a day in her life as far as I knew.  She had been involved in many a scandal - she reveled in them, apparently.  So, her every move and utterance was splattered all over the tabloids.

The Sheik's agent for the country, one Terrance Scott, was free on bail, but under orders to remain in his townhouse.  The first item of business was to talk to him, but without appearing in a photograph or video by the newspersons staking out his home.   We walked down the street to his residence and looked over the situation from afar.  By now, the news was wearing off, the broadcast trucks had gone, but I could still see several shapes in vehicles parked along the street.  Obviously, they were gypsy news hounds, hoping for a picture or a story they could sell.  

---------------

Afternoon

After contacting the Sheik, and having an email sent to Mr. Scott to expect us, we slipped in the now unlocked back gate and walked up to the back door with a minimum of fuss.  We were both wearing ball caps with the bill pulled down low just in case.  The door opened and we hurriedly entered the foyer.  Scott was middle aged, in good shape physically - a normal prosperous business man with a nice home.   After introductions, he led us to the rear of the house, out the back door and to a patio with a large pool.  A large square cube made entirely of glass panels for walls sat at one end, with a view down the hill behind his property.  It wasn't a greenhouse, since there were no plants in it - just a place to relax out of the sun with a view of the pool on one side and scenery in the distance on the other.

He waved us to any of the comfortable chairs in the room and indicated a low bar on one end.  "Anything you want?"  We selected our refreshments and he continued.   "The paparazzi in this country have no qualms about trespassing to get a story, and the legal system, if not the law, is on their side.  All you can do is call the police.  Here, nobody can sneak up and be listening."

Man, that was a different situation than my state.  If I caught one there, I would still call the police, but it would be to have his unconscious body removed from the premises.  "How about pictures with a telephoto lens from that way?  Katja and I don't want to appear in one while we are working on the problem."

He shook his head.  "The outside glass is lightly mirrored.  We're invisible - at least during daylight.  When the sun goes down we can lower those shades."

I nodded.  "Ok, from the top.  What happened."

He began a tale of woe, in which Murphy played an unwelcome part in a big way.  Scott was one of the agents who had a very small organization.  Just a man and woman on his payroll.  He had been working on capturing this particular woman for months.  The plan was very simple.  With a lot of not exactly bribe money, his man procured a taxi license and a legitimate vehicle.  Well, mostly legitimate.  This one had a few special modifications, including quickly changeable number plates and light and... some other stuff.  Of course, nothing about this cab or the license could be tied back to Scott - that was a given in this business.

The target, the trust fund baby, spent her entire life in the night scenes around the city.  His man would park outside of whichever venue she was enjoying that night, waiting for the woman inside - Scott's woman, not the mark - to indicate that the target was leaving.  He would immediately turn on his 'Vacant' light, and pull up to the curb as close as possible.  For the last few weeks, just the luck of the draw meant that another cab was already there, and she took it instead, or she was delayed at the entrance and another patron engaged him.   Or several other reasons for her not to enter his vehicle. 

But, finally one night, the stars aligned and she was in - actually, two of them.  Herself and a female friend.  As he pulled away from the curb, he pressed a button to let the sleepy gas fill the interior of the vehicle, and surreptitiously brought up a rubber tube to his mouth.  That would allow for him to breathe out of an oxygen tank and hopefully, stay awake.  It worked in tests.

A few blocks away, with the passengers slowly falling into unconsciousness, Murphy laughed and pointed his finger.  A drunk driver - one with at least a dozen citations - ran straight though the light and plowed into the cab, knocking the driver senseless, but otherwise not harming anyone.  Murphy laughed again, and rolled his dice.  Had this been a normal accident, the fact that a cop was almost on the scene and just missed getting hit himself, would have seemed fortunate.  But, in this case as he pried the doors open to check on the passengers, it became obvious that something inside the cab was wrong.   His head started spinning and he fell back on his butt on the pavement.   To make a very long and detailed story shorter, the authorities discovered that they had found a kidnap vehicle, made to order. 

Who knows how hard they leaned on Scott's man, but eventually he sang.  Of course, he didn't know much about Scotts setup, and nothing at all about it being part of a worldwide organization, but nonetheless, his tale got the Sheik's man arrested on major charges, some of which were still being figured out.   Fortunately, a search of his home turned up nothing incriminating.  He couldn't totally disown the man, since there was too much danger of them having been seen together at some time, but he, of course, proclaimed his innocence of any ridiculous scheme of kidnapping by gas.

After several hours of getting all the info that he could dredge up, I said, "Ok.  We need to get gone before a random police check on you.  We'll get back when we...  He interrupted me and from his expression, the reason was serious. 

He hesitated, then started, "I... I have some girls I need you to look after.  They have food and water for probably only a couple more days..."

---------------

Hell and gone, somewhere in the Outback

The loaded truck had bounced along the dirt road for days, it seemed.  God almighty, I used to think of West Texas as a major area of badlands, but this desolation made that area seem like somebody's neat little backyard rock garden.  As we used to say, nothing but miles and miles, of miles and miles.   How the hell anyone used to find anything out here before the advent of GPS was beyond me.  I had two of them in my lap, and I still barely knew where I was.   Man, I would have to be one horny dude to drive out here for a piece of ass.  Then I remembered that Scott was a private pilot, or whatever they called them down under.  He had his own light plane.  I wish we had brought Dunkelberry.  We could have flown out here in a couple of hours.

Now I wasn't even on a bumpy road - just following the tire indentions of a trail.  About thirty minutes later, a bump on the horizon signaled my destination - at least according to the device I was holding.  Shortly, I pulled up to a strange building - a Quonset hut, probably left over from WWII and moved here from some defunct base.  Inside was a nice getaway, but nothing spectacular.  It was the almost empty storage shed I was interested in.  Inside, following instructions, I moved a heavy bench sideways, looked for and found a round hole in the floor under it.  Then with a piece of threaded pipe from a bin, I inserted it into the hole and screwed it in.  Using that for leverage, I pulled and the trapdoor lifted, showing a ladder leading down - way down.  Almost thirty feet, it appeared. 

At the bottom was a door.   I slowly pushed it open.  Wow! Inside was a hollowed out chamber in the solid rock - big, furnished, carpeted, luxurious.  Two holes in the walls indicated other rooms.  I had heard of... houses?  ...living spaces like this around the Outback of Australia.  They made wonderful places to get away from the ungodly heat up above.  Not to mention secure and totally fire, bug and weather proof.   

The room had lights, but they were off and the dim illumination came from two small florescent bulbs on two walls.  Since the only power came from the solar array above and at night from batteries, obviously the occupants had to practice fairly intense energy saving.   One hole in the wall was dark, but the other was showing a dim glow, so that is where the girls had to be.  I could hear a... TV?  It had to be a DVD player or something.

I walked quietly through the opening - it was easy.  The carpet was everywhere and thick.  In the back of my mind, I wondered just how you got carpet laid in a secret underground house in the middle of nowhere.  Another opening, and in a room with what looked like wrestling pads all over the floor, were three girls watching TV.  They were sprawled out on the mats, chatting and facing away from me, so I just stood and looked for a while.

Nice.  Really nice.  But, of course, who would keep ugly girls in a harem?

Finally, one looked in my direction and gave out a shriek. The three then immediately backed up to the wall in fear, waiting for whatever was going to happen.   I waved her hand to try to reassure them.  "Settle down.  Nothing is wrong.  Your master is busy and he asked me to check on you.  Who is in charge?"

No answer.  Again, "Who is the number one girl?"

One of them raised her hand timidly, and said, "I am, sir."  Interesting.  Sir. Not Master.  These girls' bondage was fairly light.

"Show me your food supplies."  She jumped up and I followed her back into the main living room, for want of a better term, then into the unlit opening on the other side.  She flipped a switch and I saw that it was a kitchen.  How the hell did they cook anything?  There was no way that those solar panels would run an electric stove - not even close.  Then I saw that the stove was a gas appliance.  Hmmmm.  Where was the propane tank?

She pointed to the far back of the room - the pantry - and the supplies on the shelves.  Well, that answered that.  They still had plenty of food.  "Water?" I asked.  She pointed to a gauge on the wall.  Down to less than a quarter.  That would have been the problem.  But, all in all, they were doing fine.

I said, "Get the other girls.  I'm going to let down the supplies that I brought.  Get them stored."

Up on top, I uncoiled a hose from the truck, connected it to the big tank in the back of the truck, and stuck the end down the hidden filler pipe - I was following the instructions that Scott had written out.  As the water ran from the tank in the truck to where ever the underground storage was, I began to haul boxes of provisions into the shed.  I would fill up a canvas sling and lower it down the shaft.  The girls would quickly empty it, and I would repeat the process.

I wasn't about to try the return trip the same day.  Before I got an hour down the road, it would be dark, and the Outback was a place where it was dead easy to get lost in broad daylight.  If I took off in the dark, it was a good possibility that someone would find my bones years from now, GPS or no.   Besides, the hours of travel that day took it out of me.  I would spend the night in the underground luxury suite.

Meanwhile, back in the city, Katja was interviewing women.

---------------

Night

By now, the three girls knew I wasn't an intruder, since I had arrived with supplies for them.  It was fairly obvious, even without testimony from Scott, that I was here for him.  I looked around the subterranean quarters.  It was a marvel of green engineering.  Scott must be an engineer, or at least had some training in that field.  Water was the bottleneck, of course.  Apparently the water table was far too deep to make a well practicable.  So, the water usage was carefully planned and metered. 

I took a shower under the tutelage of the girls.  First was a short wetting, then a soaping, then another spray to get rinsed.  Total water usage per person was probably a quart or so.  The used water went into a holding tank, and was used for flushing the toilet.  The septic sump, which was really just a special aerobic septic tank, and eventually the liquid was pumped up to the surface.  The toilet was just a squat hole over the tank with a baffle, like on an airliner, to keep the smells down.

The solar array on top was run by some kind of special controller.  It gave preference to charging the batteries to full after the nights usage.  Once they were topped off, the power that wasn't being used by lights or other equipment was diverted to a...  well, it was a dehumidifier actually, up top and sitting in the open air on top of the main hut.  The water that it produced, ran into the storage tank, augmenting the trucked in supplies.  It was an excellent way to use any excess power, rather than just throwing it away.

The electrical usage was very small, and easily supplied by battery and array.  Plus, the girls were very well trained in conservation - especially since they didn't want to spend their lives in the dark, waiting for the sun to come up and supply some juice.

By bedtime, I had changed from a sudden stranger, to an agent of their owner, to something new and exotic in the sameness of their lives.  I relaxed on the sleeping mat while they played around with various parts of me, and tried to decide who got to go first.  While they debated, I spent the time squeezing and probing three new sets of tits and twats. 

---------------

Back in Sydney

The squealing scumbag was still in jail.  His bond was way out of reach for him and I had no idea of the bonding rules of this country.  It didn't matter anyway.

I followed the instructions relayed to me from an unknown source - just another of the Sheik's many resources around the planet.  I was in the skid row section of town, definitely.  I knocked on a door and when it cracked open, I just said, "Dobber?"  A goon looked at me, obviously deciding whether to let me in or just knife me right there.  Finally, the door opened and I followed him down a long hall to a dingy room.  He motioned for me to enter, followed me and closed the door - and stood leaning against it.  At a desk was the man I wanted to see, I assumed.  I had no idea if Dobber was his name or just a code word. 

He motioned to a chair.  "Siddown."  He looked me over, then continued.  "You a seppo, right, mate?"

"What?"

"American bloke."

I nodded and he continued, "What kind of lurk you got going down here?"  I suddenly realized that I had a major problem.   By now, I spoke a half dozen languages fairly well, but apparently one of them wasn't Australian.

We conversed for a while, as he probed to see just what I was, or was pretending to be.  The fact that I was even here, was proof that I had some horsepower somewhere, but like any person on the edge of civilization, you lived a lot longer if you checked yourself.  I decided that he might be missing an actual education, but this wasn't just some dumb goon I was talking to.

Finally, I gave it a try.  "There is a squealer in the Sydney jail that is causing problems for my... principal.  Making up tales, lying, causing all sorts of problems."  He just looked at me, sort of a might be interested expression on his face.   "I need the situation handled, but..." I spread my hands, "...this isn't my country and I have no contacts to speak of."

"Hmmmm.  This bloke with the mouth.  You want him bailed up, or creamed."

"Does six feet under, translate?"

He leaned back.  "Who's the pommy bastid?"  I told him.  His eyes opened in surprise.  "Oh.  That bloke.  He's still in the rags.  Going to be a hard yakka to get to him right now, mate"

"Hard?  Or impossible?" I asked. "And it needs to look like a jail dispute, not an order from outside."

"Nothing's impossible, but it's going to take a pile of lolly." 

I hoped he was talking about money.  "Name it." 

Now it was serious time.  He looked at me trying to see what the market would bear.  Eventually, he said, "Fifty thousand should get it done."

It was my turn to get serious.  "I don't give a damn about 'should get it done'.  How much to see it through?  And no mistakes.  Period!"

"Sixty five."

I laid a single piece of paper and a yellow ribbon on his desk.  "Here's an address of a car wash.  Have someone pull into it tomorrow at 11 am.  In a car with this ribbon tied to the antenna."  He nodded.  "A woman will give him a briefcase.  And by the way, time is important."  He nodded again.

I stood up and said, "Thank you for your service.   Maybe we will do business again.  Reliable... ah... contractors are a valuable asset."   As he walked me to the door, I remarked.  "By the way, tell your pickup man to treat the woman with respect, tomorrow.  She could... what is your term?  ...barny all three of our asses and not even muss up her makeup."

--------------- 

A day or so passes

We did do business again.  I gave him a shopping list.  It was legal stuff, sort of, but I didn't know where to buy it and didn't have time to learn.

Meanwhile, the cops had obviously trashed the scumbags home in their search, but there was still plenty to choose from.  They were long gone, so breaking in and looking around was easy.  I selected some appropriate personal items that would come in handy.

---------------

A few days later

Katja brought me a paper.  Not headlined, but on the front page was the news that the kidnapper cabbie had apparently had a falling out while in an exercise yard of the jail.  Some other inmate had expressed his displeasure by burying a shiv in him - all the way.  It was nicely done - the deed wasn't even discovered until the men were called back indoors.

One problem solved, but we still had work to do.

The hardest part was getting into and out of the selected house without being seen.  The place was going to be all over the news fairly quickly, and we didn't need nosy neighbors to talk about traffic in and out of the place.   It was an ordinary frame house in an old rural neighborhood, not isolated, but the next closest house was over a hundred meters away.  It had been vacant for years, I guess.  Run down as it was, it was highly unlikely to be sold any time soon.  My recently hired gofer found it.  Dobber was a good asset to have in this part of the world.  I would have to recommend him to the Sheik if he came through on this.

Just before leaving, I walked in and looked over the woman again.  A totally naked woman.  She was chained by her extremities to eyebolts in the floor - not stretched out, but all she could to was sit up and her legs wouldn't quite close.  All around the mat that she was on were empty water bottles and empty food boxes - crackers, snack cakes, jerky and so forth.  Beside the mat, also, was a five gallon plastic bucket that fortunately had a lid, since it stunk like an outhouse - which it was.  She had been using it ever since we had hired her.

In certain strategic places in the house, were the items that I had taken from the home of Scott's problem employee.  The one worrisome weakness in my plan was that none of the items supplied by Dobber would have the perp's fingerprints on them.  I tried to sort of alleviate that problem by leaving several sets of gloves around.  I doubted the police would check for fingerprints, but if they did, maybe the gloves would suggest why they were lacking.

I stooped down beside the hooker - ex-hooker, if things turned out right.  Once more I went over the scenario.  She was being paid well - very well - but only if she successfully did her part.  Stretched out like she was, my johnson was wondering why I was standing around talking, rather than pumping.  But, it would have been stupid of me to pump my load into her for later police analysis.  Finally, looking outside for observers in the night, I left the house and a chained woman woman who would obviously be dead of thirst in a few days.

---------------

A day later

This time the news really hit the headlines.  Big time.  An anonymous call from a hunter claimed that he had heard a woman screaming in a rural house.  A follow up by the local cop produced major excitement for himself - it being the first real crime that he had discovered in his dull little town in years.

A woman had been found chained naked in an abandoned house in the boonies.  She was a known hooker by the police of Sydney, but in this case, it wasn't a night's game.  It was real kidnapping, torture and rape.  The tabloids went nuts with the pictures of the mat and chains.  And with all the sicko paraphernalia on the walls - gags, whips, ropes and so forth - stuff that Dobber had procured for me.  The police were more interested in the description of the man and all of the personal items found in the house.  And in her tale of taking a taxi and waking up chained to the floor.

A few days later, the attorneys for one Mr. Terrence Scott petitioned to the court to have the charges dropped, it now being obvious that he had been falsely accused by his part time employee in an attempt to spread the blame.  The equivalent of the local District Attorney had no objections, and Scott walked out a free and exculpated man.  I had to look that last word up, but it indicated that our results were good.

The ex-hooker, after milking the sympathy of the public for all it was worth, took a short vacation to Tahiti to rest up from the horrible experience.  And to check out her new and very flush bank account.

Katja flew back to brief the Sheik, and I headed home.  I had my own fish to fry.

---------------

End of book 5

The Desert Nexus.

Book 6

---------------

In the Ballroom

This was quite a mixer, tonight.  This was an election year and things were getting serious.  Tonight, in addition to the party regulars, there was a Senator and four Representatives in from D.C. standing around trying to look the part of concerned public servants.  They were concerned, of course, but the wellbeing of the country took a far back seat to the concern about being reelected. 

It had been a year since our Australian jaunt, and not long after, Katja had given me the news that the Sheik considered me to be his unofficial second in command.  For some reason, he considered our plotting down under to be a brilliant stroke of improvisation.  Actually, I thought it was an ad-hock operation to fix a minor problem.  There was absolutely no evidence leading back to his agent, Scott, and he would have been eventually exonerated anyway.  All we did was to remove the inevitable cloud that would have hung over him forever from a serious criminal charge - proven or not.  And, of course, we greatly speeded the legal process along.

Tonight, there were three unmarried beauties on the floor.  Rita, obviously, since she enjoyed these affairs that almost drove me out of my skull with boredom.  Zee and her friend, Penelope Elsenburg, were here.  Several months ago, Zee had dropped the bombshell on me that both of them shared a bed on occasion.  Since she came to the States, she was always in the company of one man or another, so I had assumed that she was totally straight.  Now, it appeared, she was either experimenting or had actually gone bi.  I was still parsing out what that would mean in the future.   Possibly it could range from an unbelievable stroke of luck, to a monkey wrench in the gears of my future plans for the girl.  Would her feelings for a female lover override her loyalty to me and her father?  Time would tell.

"Good evening, Penny," I greeted as the young heiress and Zee walked up to me.  She returned the courtesy and I quickly looked around the crowded room with an exaggerated conspiratorial search.  "It's beyond me why you come to these good-old-boy affairs.  Surely two beautiful young women can find something far more exciting to do beyond rubbing shoulders with these fuddy duddies." 

Penelope crinkled her nose at me.  "Back at you, Rodger.  I know that you hate this stuff as much as I do."

"Ah, oui, Mademoiselle.  But it ees part of my job.  My poor beesness must keep the powers-that-be 'appy."

She laughed and then replied quietly, leaning toward me.  "Puut! My father insists that I keep tabs on the rulers of society, as he calls them.  He keeps telling me that running a business empire requires a lot more than just knowing balance sheets and pipeline fees."  A smart man. He was definitely right about that.  Now she leaned even closer and whispered, "If we should happen to just slip out in a few minutes, you won't tell him if he calls, will you?" 

I nodded toward a group having a heated conversation about - heck, who knows.  Bill number 1234 or something equivalent.  "Stop by and say hello to the Governor before you leave.  If anybody asks, then I can say that the last time I saw you, you were in a talk-talk with the rich and powerful." 

She pecked me on the cheek.  "That's a dear, Rodger.  Come on Zee, let's blow this joint."

I saw Bob, the governors aide, across the room, so eventually I sidled up beside him, and in a low voice, asked, "Have they found any traces of your wife, yet." 

He looked around quickly, and not with a poker face.  I made a note not to trust him with any important secrets in the future. "No, not yet."

I shook my head.  "Shame.  Well, I'm sure she will turn up eventually."  In fact, I knew she would.  Her "graduation" from what I had nicknamed the Stepford Academy should happen fairly soon.  It would be very interesting to see what Bob got back for his money.  Actually, I was more interested in what I would get for my money.  I had four girls at Dr. Thao's in Vietnam going through some very special training that might or might not take.  I had also hired Mademoiselle Colette Renard - Rita's sex mentor from a couple of years ago - to assist in the training.  She was and had been overseas at Thao's, with the girls, giving them some additional skills, not all of which were sexual.

The Senator finally glad-handed his way around the room to where I was standing.  I had planned to cash in a very small chit tonight.  I didn't expect any problems, since my account was very flush with favors owed by various politicians and I had made very few withdrawals so far.  Actually, with the Senator I expected enthusiasm, since I was the coordinator of a Super Political Action Committee that gave major support to selected public servants, including him.  As he walked up to me, I stepped over to a window for more privacy.  The unwritten rules of the room would prevent any kibitzers from approaching while they saw us talking. 

"Nice turnout, tonight Senator," I started. "It's always interesting to actually see the political process in action."

The Senator looked at me with a wry smile.  "Horseshit, Rodger," he said quietly.  "I didn't get to where I am by not being able to read people, and I know that you, sir, absolutely hate these circuses."   I started to reply as he held up his hand to interrupt.  ""Of all the people in this room, you are the only one that doesn't want help from me to climb the political ladder.  And that makes you just about the only person here that I would trust with anything important.  Or believe, for that matter."

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that compliment, but decided to play it low key.  "Actually, Senator, I was wanting to run a minor thing by you."  He had no problem translating that to a request to cash a chit.   "I have a young woman - a ward, actually - who will be graduating from the Ecole d'Etudes Politiques de Paris shortly.  She is attractive, educated, multi-lingual - well, anyway, a young woman full of sugar and spice and bubbly enthusiasm.  I've offered her a spot in my company, but for some frigging reason thinks she can help change the world by entering the political process."   I shook my head to underscore my disbelief of her alleged attitude and waste of a young life.  "So, I promised her that I would see if someone in office had a spot for a beginning intern." 

He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.  "Hell yes.  Send her over when she...  No, hold on."  He took out a business card, wrote a brief note on the back, then handed it to me.  "When she's ready, have her come to my current location and show this to my aide.  I'll personally get her placed in a real position."

I nodded my thanks and the conversation went back to normal for two men comfortable with their lives.  For all his trust in me, what I had just told him was not exactly accurate.  Well, actually, it was a total pack of lies, front to back.  Mostly.   Bonnie would be 'graduating' for sure, but not from a prestigious French university, but from a bootcamp-like force fed training session in Vietnam. 

Eventually, the get-together began to wind down, multiple deals having been consummated and promises having been made and kept.  At this level, unlike campaign statements made to gullible voters, promises were always kept.  Breaching of trust among the rich and powerful had really negative consequences - not as fatal as with the mob, but just as permanent.  As always, I was glad when the last guest left and the girls began to clean up.  I planned to hit the rack early - tomorrow was the start of my first vacation in a year.

--------------

Germany - somewhere in the Black Forest

Willi Schmidt was one of the few western agents of the Sheik to actually have his harem in his home country.  He was rich and powerful enough to assume that he could handle the fallout of any security breaches.  I guessed.  Anyway, the Sheik had said that the tour of his establishment was a real treat and eye opener so I finally availed myself of the long-standing invitation to visit it.  His mansion stood in the middle of a huge - for Europe - plot of forest.  It must have been a square mile or more.  I had learned from the Sheik that Willie had entered his agency as a very wealthy man, unlike most agents - like me - who had procured their wealth from slavery.  He had become a girl-monger from an enjoyment of women.  Really strange women, mostly.

After the flight, and limo ride to his place, he greeted me warmly and shortly I was relaxing from the trip in my suite, which naturally had a couple of nude female valets to serve my every need.  These, I noticed, were just ordinary, if young and beautiful, girls.  I certainly didn't see anything exotic about them.  A couple of hours later, refreshed in several ways, I walked downstairs to meet my host in his study.  After the usual greetings and exchange of news between friends, I asked about the progress of our female double from his operation last year - the ersatz Fraulein Hauffmann.  I knew that nothing had blown up - I would have heard about that in spades - but since I had no need to know, I didn't get reports.

Willie smiled and refilled my glass.  "Ja. It is unbelievable, but she made it without exposure until the father passed away.  Now she is sole heir to his massive empire, and another type of agent for the Sheik."  He leaned back in the cushion recliner.  "With her at the helm, we have a much easier access to government... ah... forms and permissions.  Not only here, but in most of Europe."  He grimaced and almost shuddered.  "I have to admit of many nights of waking up in an angstschweiß..."  I shook my head. My German wasn't very colloquial.  "ah... cold sweat... when I thought about what might happen if she was exposed."

"The Sheik's airline now has bevorzugte förder... ah... favored carrier... status in Europe now, thanks to her.  It makes for a much easier task of moving... products... yes, products around."  Products, of course, meaning warm and cuddly carbon based units.  Finally, after more conversation and schnapps, he rose.  "Now, let me show you my collection."   He led the way out the back of his mansion, under a covered walkway to another building that housed an indoor racquet ball court - empty of anyone, of course.  We entered a fairly cluttered closet containing the normal athletic stuff - extra rackets, balls, towels, floor wax and so forth.  He pushed something that I didn't see, and down we went.  The room was an elevator, obviously.  Nothing that would startle me now.  Or even impress me.  Not after all the things that I had seen and done in the Sheik's service.  Shortly, we were walking down a short hall to a set of double doors.  They weren't even locked.  Interesting.

However, once the doors were opened, my suave not-to-be-impressed demeanor left instantly.   It reminded me of the Sheik's round harem room, but this one was even bigger, with a very tall curved translucent ceiling showing the remnants of the rays from the setting sun...   Whoa! Translucent!  How the hell could the ceiling be exposed to daylight this far underground?  Hmmmm.  It had to be an artificial effect. A question for later.

From the doorway, I could see many three sided cubicles around most of the wall.   The single bed, and minor furnishings meant that they were for the use of his harem.  I could hear the girls across the floor, but couldn't see them.  The center of the room was a garden, furnished with what looked like, to me, to be jungle foliage. A small stream wandered through it and I could hear water splashing somewhere.  Suddenly, an older and very fat woman hurried up, wearing the weirdest hollywood getup I had seen in a while.  I smiled to myself.  Apparently, it was a rule of the master/slave world that all harem mistresses be fat and gaudily dressed.  The Sheik's woman was also, as was my own girl, Butterball - although her time of wielding the whip was before she hooked up with me.   Willie made a hand gesture that meant something to her, but nothing to me, and she nodded and returned the way she came.

His indoor park... conservatory, I believe the proper name is, was beautiful and immaculately kept.  Not a rock was out of place and not a plant had a single dead leaf.  If I had had the room in my building, something like this would be a very relax...

I stopped as we rounded a curve in the path and some of his girls came into view.  I looked at Willie, who was obviously enjoying my reaction, then back to the gaggle of girls.

I knew that Willie wasn't into B&D and that, rather, he collected 'exotics'.  I just didn't know what that meant before.  Now, the meaning of the word came into being in the scene before me.   He motioned, and we continued to approach the girls.  They acted like we were invisible, which I assumed was result of the hand signal that he had made to his mistress a few seconds ago.  They just continued to chatter to each other as they sat, stood, or fiddled with something.

Every girl was abnormal in some way.  There was an immensely fat girl on a round bed.  And one with no arms.  Another with coke bottle breasts.  And one girl had the absolute largest knockers I have ever seen.  Even bigger than ZZZ's I told myself, although I had no idea how big tits of that impossible letter size would be.  She had a strange harness holding them up.  Not a bra as such, but big bowls supported by struts attached to a wide belt around her waist and actual cables on each side of the cups leading to over the shoulder wide straps.  Jeasus H. Krist.  How would she ever...

I stopped as my eyes bugged out even more, if that is possible.  I had just noticed a woman standing to the side.  A normal size woman - young, wide hips, narrow waist, pretty face.  But...  I swear I shook my head to clear it, just like a character in a cartoon.  This one had THREE boobs.  Three normal sized and perfectly shaped jugs.  No way.  This has to be a prosthesis job, I told myself, even though I knew that Willie wouldn't have a fake in his collection.  I watched as she moved.  All three bobbled and jiggled normally.

"What?" I asked, as I suddenly realized that Willie had said something.

He pointed to a couple of comfortable chairs.  "Have a seat.  You look like you could use another drink."  He was really enjoying himself at my expense.  Somehow, I managed to back up and sit down, all the while never taking my eyes off of his collection.  Someone placed a glass in my hand and I gulped it down without even realizing what it was.  Eventually, I looked over at my host, still speechless.  He finally took pity on me.

He began to point, and as he did, the appropriate girl walked up and stopped in front of us. 

"This is Trio."  The three tittied girl.  "I found her in London."  He gave me the story of her capture from a life of ridicule.

"Sheena."  The girl with the huge boobs.   Then Milo, the armless girl.  Many more.  A woman with multicolored tattoos from her hair to the tops of her feet.  The huge female on the bed - not just fat - ginormous.  Another with twelve inch long cylindrical tits that were only about two inches across. 

Some more came up.  One girl had golden weights on her inner pussy lips that had stretched them at least six inches long.   Then one with three inch long nipples.  Another with two working vaginas, side by side.  There was a hermaphrodite, but this one wasn't a normal Trans with tits and a set of balls and a pecker.    He... She had big jugs and a large dick for sure, but no balls.  Under the dong was an actual pussy slit.  Then others, all with some sexual difference.

Finally, the last was a... Whoa!  I looked over at Willie in confusion.  This was a young man.  A normal man in a harem?  Was Willie bisexual?  Should I ask?  He smiled and shook his head.  "No.  I don't schwingen that way.  He's just salt to season the all girl chorus."  He waved at the boy to approach.  "Stretch was a gift from a...  an... associate of the Sheik in America.  I assure you that he doesn't have free reign of the girls, although he does get one on occasion."   I was wondering why an ordinary boy would be sent all the way from my country - surely, any number could be procured in Europe much more eas...

The young man had come out from behind the armless girl who had been squatting on her haunches in front of him.  It was then I that I finally noticed his exotic feature.  His balls were stretched almost to his knees.  I leaned forward to look closer, and finally realized that I was seeing three shiny metal rings encircling his scrotum - obviously the weights that had done the job.  Sonofabitch!  How long would a male have to wear those to have his sac stretch so far?

We sat for a while as I just looked in wonder.  As we got up to leave, he said, "You may have any of these while you are here, of course, but, I will understand if you are... are... put off by the deformities.  I enjoy them, but many do not.  But, there are several ordinary girls up in the house for your use, also. 

At the moment, sex was the farthest thing from my mind.  I was still just bemused by the parade of strangeness that I had just witnessed.  And bothered by something that he had mentioned in context with the boy with the long nuts.  In my service to date with the Sheik, this was the second reference that I had heard of a person in my country who apparently wasn't an agent, but was an... associate?  What did that mean?   Did the Sheik have an equal in America?  Was there a parallel organization like the Sheik's, but not closely affiliated with it?  Probably not a competitor, since Willie's brief comment on the man was not colored with any emotion toward something like that.  

This would take some investigation. 

 

---------------

Over the last year

After Bonnie had been sent to be 'trained' in Dr. Thao's clinic, or whatever you might call it, Sally had interviewed dozens of other young women and had picked out three more.  They were sent along to follow Bonnie.  None of them were teens.  I wanted young women, but ones that were mature enough to be interesting to older men in ways besides having an available cunt.  And that were of an age to have been able to have graduated from college. Unlike the wife of Bob, the Governor's aide, these weren't to be broken, but to have their psyche permanently repointed to absolute loyalty.  To me, of course.  Dr. Thao wasn't sure that it could be done to the level that I wanted, but was willing to try.  To that end, I made several trips to Vietnam to make videos for the purpose, and to appear in front of the girls so that the level of response could be measured.

Other training was needed, also.  None of the four had any education or experiences beyond high school.  Intelligent, yes.  That was a requirement, but none could pass as anything other than what they were - shallow American cunts with a high school diploma.   That was the reason for my hiring of Mademoiselle Colette.  In their time at the Clinic, she force-fed them the French language, continental deportment, and many other aspects of being a college trained woman.  And, they got an abbreviated course on Colette's specialty - sex.  They would never become silk courtesans, but in a year's time, she could have them far beyond the American female standard of lay back and spread 'em.

Meanwhile, Jean, back in France, was... well, arranging for them to graduate from various prestigious universities.  That is something that is very hard to do inside of one year, and even harder if you have never been a student of the university, which, of course, none of them had.  I had no idea how or what he did, but eventually the records of the associated university had a full transcript of the girl's years of classroom activities, including incidentals like interviews with her dean, and membership in various on campus societies.  Even the passport office had records of her coming and going.  It needed to be done thoroughly, since someday the girl might and probably would be subjected to background checks.

I made one last trip to Vietnam before the girls would finish their... well, training was probably a misnomer.  But it wasn't like a dictator's forced indoctrination.   For this to work, the girls had to enter it willingly.   They had, but now we would begin to see if they now had...  regrets.

I was walking in the garden with Sara, the third candidate that I had sent.  She was dressed like a wealthy young woman - immaculate garments, a minimum of makeup, styled hair and so forth - all products of Colette.  Her mother wouldn't have recognized the young sophisticate standing beside me.  I wondered how much was real and how much was veneer.  I had a canned conversation practiced, carefully choreographed by Sally, that was mostly subtle questions.  And a pocket recorder to capture it all for later analysis.  She had a small bracelet on her arm which I knew was a...  well, a super patch, sort of like one that a tobacco addict wore to try to kick the habit.  But, this one was light years more advanced than a mere piece of paper soaked with nicotine substitute.  They had worn the sophisticated collars for most of their stay here, but now were tapering off to a much less chemical input.

The young woman was respectful and seemed to be happy with the idea of starting her new career.  Even anxious to get started.  Hmmmm.  Was it real, or was it chemical?  I detected no smoldering resentment, or false front, but, I reminded myself - I wasn't a trained psychologist.  Hell, I wasn't even an amateur one.

Later, Dr. Thao gave me his analysis.  "Their allegiance to you is real, and, I think, permanent.  You are an admired authority figure to them and disloyalty to you would be almost impossible without risking a mental breakdown.   What is unknown, is the depth of the emotion."  At my questioning look, he continued.  "Let me put it this way.  If someone offered them money to deceive you, they would reject it out of hand.  They would even go to prison rather than betray you.  But, in an extreme event, such as you ordering them to murder someone, would they comply or fall apart mentally?  I don't know.  I hasten to add, that the murder example is just that.  I'm certainly not suggesting that you..."  I held up my hand and nodded that I understood.

"That won't be a problem," I replied.  "Their mission isn't going to be as female assassins or anything like that.  Just a set of eyes and ears for me."

Before I left, there was one other item on my agenda.  I laid out what I wanted and asked if he thought it was possible.  The Doctor sat back and steepled his hands to his face.  Several minutes went by as he looked at all sides of the question.  Finally, "That is an interesting... ah... stratagem.  It can certainly be done, but for a famous person, it would have to be subtle... beyond subtle.  It would have to be exquisitely fine.  Especially with someone who can afford all of the diagnoses they wish."  He nodded.  "Let me work on the idea for a while.  Maybe even run some experiments."  He shook his head.  "I begin to see even more why the Sheik calls you his modern Machiavelli."

Back home, I began to carefully prepare for their return to the U.S. and their future 'careers'.

---------------

My home.

My first 'intern', Bonnie, had just arrived.  Now I would see if the rubber would hit the road, or just have a blowout and veer off into the ditch, taking my hard earned money with it.  She was sitting, poised, on a sofa in my new southeastern lounge, looking pert, intelligent and vivacious - nothing like the dumb cunt that left here a year ago.  Sally had proposed a series of tests to see if the loyalty training took.  Bonnie was reading her 'resume' that we had prepared specifically for her.  It was impressive, if brief - good grades in political science from a top end European college, command of the French language and a passing familiarity with German, very good comments for her internship with a politician.  A politician who, by the way, actually existed, but had never laid eyes on the young woman.  The comments were strictly a product of Jean's power and money.

Sally and I had gone over and over the recorded audio that I had brought back from Vietnam.  The girls always made the right answer, with the right inflection and on the surface, to a couple of totally amateur psychologists, it appeared that the training had 'taken'.  But as Sally said, "We can't prove a negative.  The only way we will know for sure if any are faking, is when one of them screws us over."

I had given Bonnie an overview of her mission, but short on details and final goals.  She understood that she was to just do a good job for her employer, like any young person just starting out, look for opportunities to move up, and enjoy life.  Besides the money she would be paid, I would give her an under-the-table cash stipend on occasion so that she could live the good life far beyond the reach of a real intern - but not blatantly, I emphasized.

Smiling, I said, "Stand up."  She did.  "Now go through that door, shut it, then knock and enter on command."  Excellent.  Instead of striding across the floor like a teenager, she gracefully walked out, shut the door, knocked, then entered and glided up to stop before me.  "Turn around."  She spun on a toe with stylish grace.  Colette had done an excellent job.  The girl had the poise and charm of an upper class daughter.  Of course, being stunningly beautiful didn't hurt, either.  Time to push the envelope and see what develops.

"Take your clothes off."  There was no feminine gasp of disbelief, no eye widening look of surprise.  She just smiled, and alluringly began to disrobe.  Shortly, she was standing there in the buff, a sexual statue.  I slowly twirled a finger and she, just as slowly, turned around in place again.  Then she settled in to that ageless female pose, with one leg bent and slightly in front of her, one arm at her side and the other on her hip.  The little vixen knew what she was doing to me.  Ok, so be it.   I led her down to the my bedroom, peeled off my own clothes and said.  "Ok. Show me what Mademoiselle Renard taught you." 

She was good.  Really good as she displayed her newly learned skills.  She could put on a hint of shyness, awed by the presence of a 'great man.'  Or come across as a sultry vixen that would squeeze the male dry like the grapes in a wine press.   After one final bout, with me taking her from behind and holding on to her delicious tits, I gave all that I had left and collapsed beside her.  For the next couple of hours, we just lay there, side by side, and talked.  I laid out her potential career in much greater detail than before.  Not an actual timeline, since I had no idea how it would develop, but what she was to watch for, and try to accomplish - tips, and hints.  Anything I could think of.  Meanwhile, I did a little titty tweaking and ass patting, but I knew that nothing else was going to develop today - sexwise, anyway.  I was no longer a hardleg teenager. 

A week later, after some more intensive instruction on behavior, she was off to DC and her interview with the Senator.

---------------

Time passes

Brinker - my grunt that had been shot in Mexico - had fully recovered.  Nevertheless, he had lost enough lung capacity to preclude him from future operations of that type, so I replaced him with yet another young ex-soldier.  However, I couldn't just let him go.  That would violate the loyalty code that infused my organization and besides, there was no way I was going to lose a man of his calibre.  And I'm not speaking of his weapons skills, which were very good, but of his street smarts.  His younger life, before the army, was not exactly spent on the right side of the law.  In fact, he was a complete gangster punk destined for long stretches of prison throughout his life, assuming that he lived very long, which wasn't a given.  Like me, the Army had given him pride, direction and skill to work within a unit and he still retained those.  But, he still had his knowledge of his earlier 'career'.   He could spot a cop, a hooker, a fence, a shill - fill in a word - two blocks away.  After a day in a strange city, he could find the local Fixer, the big Fence, the Numbers boss, the Head pimp or anything else that existed on the shadow side.  He was staying in an apartment under mine, next to the one that Cindy and Chip shared, when they weren't cohabitating at her house.  He became my in-country troubleshooter - literally, if necessary, but nothing like that had happened yet.

One night, in bed, Rita brought up a topic that came as a mild surprise.  Brinker had become infatuated with one of my girls - Cinnamon - and wanted to purchase her from me, but wasn't sure how to ask.  "Hmmmm," I mused.  I didn't see a problem.  To me the girl was almost invisible, since I seldom used her for sex and like a good slave girl, she stayed out of my way and sight if she wasn't needed. "What do you think," I asked.

She rolled over onto her back - it's difficult to sign when laying stomach to stomach in a bed.  But it wasn't for sign-talk.  She picked up her tablet that she used for complex communication and began to type.  Shortly I read...

"Brink is trying to emulate you, even though he may not know it.  He's tired of women who think he is just some minimum wage loser, because of his Bronx accent.  The only way that he could convince them otherwise, is to reveal that he works for you and is very well off, and he would never do that.  He wants his own high quality squeeze, just like his boss."   

I reached over and tweaked a nipple.  "Are you giving yourself the title of High Quality Squeeze?" I asked.  She wrinkled her nose and made a wry face at me, then set the tablet down and began to sign.

"It will give us a reason to get a new girl."  She lowered her head and looked at me under raised eyelids.  "You wouldn't mind sheathing your sword in a tighter scabbard, would you?"  She rolled back over to me and began to handle the weapon that she had just mentioned.  That ended the conversation for the moment as I inserted the topic of conversation into its familiar holder and began to polish it.

Later, I told Rita to tell Brinker that Cinnamon was his, and on the house.  And to make sure that she was used well.

---------------

Time passes

The other three girls had 'graduated' from Dr. Thao's and were placed in their new careers.  Two went to other politicians as new employees, but the other, Julie, was on standby.  As it turned out, she had a natural aptitude for languages and while she was waiting for an assignment, I had her intensively engaged in learning more of them.  I assigned her to Zee, both to learn new languages and to pick up more tips about how the upperclass world actually worked.

For the other three, the seed had been cast to the wind.  Now it would be interesting to see if anything grew from it.   I had plans to send some more girls through the same procedure, but not too many.  It was too ungodly expensive, even for me - especially without knowing if the exercise would bring fruit someday.

Colette came back, her work for now being over.  She was stunned by the size of the bonus that I gave her for the job well done.  Once again, she used my place as a center of operations, so to speak, as she traveled around the world sightseeing and living the good life until I might need her again.  But, not before a long long night the day before her first trip - a night that left both me and Rita sleeping until afternoon and Colette barely able to stagger to the airport taxi.

---------------

Time passes. My office

Zee was sitting in front of my desk and the door was closed.  I was having a serious and delicate talk with the daughter of the Sheik.  "...and please don't take this the wrong way, but I need to know where you think your relationship is going with Miss Elsenburg." 

Zee was a wee bit upset.  "Rodger." she answered in a raised tone of voice for her. "Penny is a friend, no more.  A close friend, yes, but no closer than many others that I have made during my stay in your country."  I could see her searching for words.  "But my friendship will in no way affect my relationship with you or my Father's business.  Why would you think...?"

I held up a hand and waved it back and forth to get her to pause.  "Woah, Zee!  I wasn't questioning your loyalty.  Not at all."  That wasn't exactly the whole truth.  I WAS somewhat worried that her female companionship might tend to override her duties.  "The reason that I was asking was to see if your friendship went so deep that I needed to shelve my plans for your friend."  Fortunately, I saw her relax internally.  "I know firsthand that friendship can spring up at any time between any two people.  Look at Rita and me, for instance.   When I first met her, she was nothing to me but a pretty bed warmer that I planned to use for my stay and never see again.  And now look at us."

She was relieved and began to make amends.  "I am sorry for the insinuation, Rodger.  I should know better.  But to answer your question more fully, she and I have fun together - we enjoy each other, but it is nothing exclusive, either with me or her.  But I have other friends that I enjoy being with even more."  A pause.  "Can you tell me what plans you have for her?"

I shook my head.  "If you're asking me if I plan to take her and sell her in Tarkan's market, the answer is no.  But she will be a powerful woman one day, just from the sheer size of her fortune and assets that she will inherit.  Those can be used.  But, I have to say that my plans for her are few and very tentative and there is a good chance that none of them will come to pass.  It all depends on several things coming into being.  But, I would like for you to remain her close friend for the present."

---------------

Time passes

R & R was doing very well.  We had expanded considerably and money was flowing in despite the worldwide recession.  Until recently, that is.  I almost always won my bids - I thought of a current contract to be the stepping stone to further business with that company, rather than a ticket to fleece the customer for all the market would bear.  The attitude worked - most of our business was repeat contracts.  Until recently.  For some reason, our percentage of bid wins was way down.  My sales staff worked on the problem without coming up with any reason that we were suddenly being underbid.  So, I brought in the experts.

Inside of a few days, Sally and Chip called me into her office.  "Sit down, Sarge," said Chip.  "We got a problem."

I flopped into the easy chair and said, "Ok, hit me."

Sally slid a sheet of paper over to me.  "Have a gander at this."  It was a list of our losing bids in one column and a list of their winners in the next, along with the actual figures.  I didn't bother to ask where they got inside information on the actual amount of the winning bid - Sally could hack into anything to get information, and she had explained many times that most companies had network security that would be insufficient for a lemonade stand.   Shit!  Virtually every loss was by just a percent or two of their bid under ours.  That made the problem as plain as day.

I flipped the paper back to her.  "Someone downstairs is feeding our bids to the competition."  Both nodded.  "Who?"

Sally shook her head.  "Looking at the permissions setup on your server, any one of five people."  She named them, or at least their login names.  They would be unknown to her as actual persons.  Even I could barely recall them by name.  "Since we assumed that you want to know, we have a plan to nail him, her or them.  Right?"  I nodded and they filled me in on the scheme.

As I left the room, I was hoping that it was a woman who was screwing me.  I would have her eating gruel out of a pot at Tarkans before she realized that she had been fired.  Or stake her out in one of his cells and offer her as a treat to his staff.

---------------

Time passes

Cinnamon was as close to a helpless and totally owned slave as you could find in the twenty-first century, even considering that fact that actual slavery was totally outlawed almost everywhere.  She was an illegal alien with absolutely no paperwork, she had no idea where in hell Dallas, Texas was.  She probably couldn't find the country of America on a map.  Heck, she probably wouldn't even recognize what a map Was.  She had no voice and no idea what the place that she originally came from was called by the rest of the world.  All that being said, she had my tough-as-nails ex-grunt, one time young mobster, wrapped around her finger like a schoolboy in front of his first date.  She had no education that Rita could ever determine, but in no way was she a dull and stupid cunt.  Instead, she was gifted with a natural cunning, unrestricted by any book learning.  Since they lived a floor down from us, Brinker 'hired' her out to do the same duties in my home that she had done before, with the exception of entertaining men.  Of course, Rita saw her every day and kept me up-to-date on the charade that the little vixen played out of pretending that her man was in charge of their domestic scene.   Rita silently laughed when I asked about how strict he was with her.

"He is about as pussy whipped as they come," she signed.  "Brink would no more damage Cinnamon than he would throw his rifle into the mud just before going into combat."  More silent chuckling.  "Her biggest worry is that she might laugh when he thinks he is severely whipping her."  I chuckled also.  She continued.  "Seriously, my biggest fear is that some punk might hit on her when they go out and for Brink to wind up in jail after sticking the guy's head on a fence post."   

---------------

Relaxing in the western lounge

I was looking at the sheaf of reports that Sally had handed me.  The culprit was one Mr. Thomas Harmon, a medium level salesman of R&R.  Sally was going through her set of copies.  "He's doing it out of desperation," she said.  "Two ex-wives, two sets of alimony payments, a court order for half the original value of a house that has dropped in value by fifty percent in the last year.  Hell, his required payments are about 96 percent of his gross pay, and about 130 percent of his take home check."  She shook her head in memory of how she had almost been in such a dire financial situation when I hired her.  "The guy has absolutely nothing left to live on when the payments are deducted.  The only thing allowing him to eat is the payments that he is getting from our competitor."

I'll be damned. Here I was wanting to crucify the thief and my best employee was sympathizing with him.  "So, you think we should let him slide?"

She shook her head.  "No, Boss.  It's just that I can feel what he is going through." She hesitated, then continued.  "You aren't going to have his arms and legs broken, are you?"  I just looked at her, detecting that she had more to say.  Finally, she handed me some more papers.  "Look here, Boss.  His first wife is a cast iron bitch. She is living the good life with a well off dude, but not in a married state so that her alimony doesn't get canceled.  When he got a good position with you, and the chance to at least have some money of his own, the second ex went back for more money, and somehow convinced the court to give it to her.  Of course, the fact that the sitting Judge is a woman might have something to do with her interpretation of the law.  He wound up with less than he was making in his old job.  Anyway, he's really had the screws turned on him."   

Wow, she was really simpatico with the guy taking my money.   "You really feel for this guy, don't you?"

She sat back with a slight grimace.  "No.  Not really.  It just struck a nerve when I saw another person who doesn't have a chance in hell of ever getting out from under the load.  I was just lucky."

Hmmmm.  There was a slight tremor in the force of my grey cells that I could detect and I wanted a moment to try to resolve it.  She waited while I mulled it over.  Finally, I said.  "Ok.  He has to stop the spying as of today - it's costing us big money.  But...  I'll talk to him after lunch and make him an offer he can't refuse.  It'll be up to him to take it or not.  If he doesn't, then it's jail."   Sally nodded.  Satisfied.  "By the way.  Get me the records of the legal mess with the ex's."

"Boss!  I've seen their pictures. They aren't anything you would bother with.  They wouldn't go for enough to pay for the gas to get them overseas." 

I nodded.  "That isn't my plan."

---------------

My R&R office.

On the summons from my R&R secretary, Mr. Harmon came into my office, looked at Brinker leaning against the wall, then sat in the chair I was pointing to.  I could tell that he knew what was coming from the rabbit-in-headlights look that he had.  I leaned back and started.  "First, let me say that I have a full set of records here..." - I pointed to a stack of papers - "...that lay out in detail your transactions with Midwest Shipping."  No expression change.  "Your selling bid information has cost us... well, a lot of money and worse, some good customers.  If the police come in on this, you're looking to be bunking for a long time with some dudes that aren't nearly as nice as me."  He glanced up at Brinker, still leaning against the wall and putting on a good act as my enforcer.  I wondered if my use of the word 'if' seemed to be of any significance to my employee.

I waited for any response, and he finally spoke in a slow and surprisingly firm tone.  "I'm glad it's over.  I hate that I did it, since you gave me a good position with your company and I turned around and..."  He paused for a minute then pointed to the phone.  "Anyway, if it is money you want, you might as well call the cops now.  I don't have a nickel to my name and anything I have coming is already taken."

"I know all about your two ex's and what they have done and are doing to you.  So, I know why you did what you did.  Water under the bridge."  I leaned forward.  "However, there might be a way for you to pay me back, clear the books, so to speak, and on completion, resume your position with me."  I held up a finger as he started to speak, and continued.  "Let me say that the mentioned payback will have absolutely nothing illegal to it and I will pay you a stipend in cash so that you will at least have some money to live on.  Your other two problems can be handled another day."  I stared straight into his eyes.  "Interested?  Yes or no.  Now."

---------------

The western lounge

Sally was with me, relaxing, sipping a cold drink and looking out over the city under the setting sun.  I had told Rita that this would be a hush-hush session so that she would restrict any access except for herself bringing refreshments.  Sally's interest was definitely up, obviously expecting a briefing on some fabulous scheme to kidnap the entire upcoming World Beauty Pageant or some national Football team's complete cheerleading squad. 

I sat down, sipped my drink and started.  "Let me tell you a story.  Actually, it's a series of partial stories that I want put together."

"When I first started with Sheik Hassan - and by first, I mean my first day on the job.  He showed me his fabulous harem and believe me, to a dumb grunt just out of the desert, it looked like a patch of heaven."  I held up my hand as she was obviously about to demand a detailed description.  "Some other time.  Anyway, he pointed out a woman - an American, he said - and like all the others, she was naked and stunningly beautiful.  Then, with a shock, I recognized her."  Sally's eyes were wide open and her expression plainly said, out with it!  "Do you remember the actress that disappeared a few years ago?  By falling into the ocean, drunk, one night?"

She did.  Her expression changed from anticipation to total disbelief.  "Boss! You're not joshing me?  Really?  Her... She was captured...  She's in a harem!?"  I nodded and let it sink in for a few seconds while I sipped the drink.  She was tossing the new data over in her mind and still having trouble believing the results.  "Boss.  I can't believe..."

I kept going.  "A few weeks later, he pointed out another girl and I recognized this one also.  You will recall the massive search for the actress that disappeared during a student flying lesson."

Now Sally was speechless.  Comically quiet with her eyes wide and her mouth open.  Then, very unwomenishly, "God Almighty damn, boss.  You're actually telling me that..."

I motioned her to silence.  "Interesting, huh?  To take two such well known celebrities would take an organization with far more skills than we have developed yet.  So... If that entity exists, it obviously feeds its products to the Sheik.  So why would he need another and far less capable agent in parallel?  Me."  Now, Sally was having problems even formulating a sentence.  "But... but..."   

Again, I waved her to silence.  "This story is just starting.  Fast forward a few months.  I was staying at Jean's for a good part of the year to learn the business and while I was there, he showed me his laptop, which was set up to be as impossible to crack as could be made.  It did the work mostly by destroying the data as fast as we used it.  But, anyway, he said that it was set up for him by a 'good friend in America, with a hobby like the Sheik.'"

I let her digest that factoid as I relaxed and continued sipping.  Rita knocked, entered and dropped off a plate of finger food and two more drinks.  I smiled at her, causally swatted her behind and she lightly scampered for the door, closing it behind her.

"Let's move on.  Again, months later I met Rita in a slave establishment in Turkey and made her tell me her story.  When she arrived at the place, she was put into a cell with two other American girls and naturally, they told each other of their adventures, there not being a whole lot else to do when you are confined to a single room for months.  One was a blond named Carla, who told the tale of being a wealthy client at a 'bondage spa' in this country and who went to sleep one night and woke up on a boat heading for the Balkans - although none of them actually knew where they were at the time."

I still had my associate's attention.  I could detect no tendency to doze off during the tale.

"Now, lastly.  Remember that earlier this year, I took a vacation to Europe?"  She nodded.  "Well, it really was a vacation.  I visited another agent of the Sheik and again, he showed me his harem.  I won't describe that one because you would absolutely KNOW that I was bullshitting you."  I stopped for a moment and remembered the unbelievable night and day that I had spent in bed with a three breasted girl.  Like most American men, I had tittie fetish anyway, and this girl had fifty percent more goodies than any other...  I shut off the internal dialog and continued with the story.  "Anyway, he had procured an...  oddity, shall we say... for his collection and just mentioned in passing that...  it..." - I almost said 'he', which would have really have confused my listener, since I was describing a collection of girls - "...mentioned that it was a gift from an associate of the Sheik in America."

"End of story."  I sat back and drained my glass and waited for her to sort through the data that I had given her. 

It didn't take long.  "Soooo...  There is another... person?... organization?... in this country that does what we do?   But, may or may not be in the Sheik's agency?"  She thought that over some more.  "Are you saying that we should find out?"

I threw out my hands.  "Sort of.  This is strictly between you and I.  I just want to know.  No other reason.  At least for the moment.  But I want our inquiries to be absolutely unknown.  And this isn't any kind of super priority job for you - just something to dabble with in slow times, or when you need a break."

"So.  No active enquiries or outside help?"

"Absolutely not!  Just passive data mining, as you call it.  No hacking or anything else that might be detected." Again, I threw up my hands.  "I don't even know what I will do with the info if you find out.  But it's something that has been nagging me all along."

---------------

Time passes

Penelope Elsenburg's father clearly wouldn't last much longer.  Although not able to move around without a valet and wheelchair, he was still as lucid and acid as ever.  Penny had decided to take her almost obligatory world tour before he passed away.  She knew that once that happened, her time as a carefree woman was over.  Of course, Zee would be going with her, which was fine with me.  It was their itinerary that was bothersome.  A few of the places they planned to visit, were not exactly, well... safe for natives, let alone for rich western girls.  I asked her to come see me.

She was sitting in my study, with Zee and Julie - my unassigned intern - and we were enjoying cocktails.  Using Zee as an opening, Julie had become a confidant of Penny, also.  I had made sure that the young woman had access to enough money to appear upperclass and wealthy.  

The talk was general for a few minutes, but finally, I came to the point.  "Penny. Can I offer you something as a friend?"   Wondering what was coming, she nodded.  "I'm not a whole lot older than you at all, but I've been around a considerable part of the world - including a war zone as a participant.  Some of the places you plan to visit are... well, would be dangerous for a pair of senior citizens.  For a pair of young girls...  Well, let me put it bluntly.  You could easily wind up assaulted and dead or wearing chains in a tribal lord's tent the rest of your life.  Believe me, I know."

She spoke up.  "I know what you're going to say, Rodger, and I appreciate it.  My father said the same thing, but we can't drag along a couple of bodyguards.  It would ruin the whole experience.  Besides, if it is bad as you say, what good would even male escorts be?"

"Well, there are bodyguards and there are bodyguards.  Believe me, if any of my men were assigned to the task, the bodies would get stacked very high on the sidewalk before you were harmed."  I held up my hand to stop her from replying.  "But that wasn't my idea at all.  I have a female associate - Zee can tell you all about her - who is even deadlier than my men.  Plus she is charming, continental, beautiful, and speaks about two dozen languages.  I think you would like her."  I looked up.  "Zee?"

The Sheiks daughter spoke, "Katja is her name.  She's a very good friend of mine - and Rodger.  And yes, if I was worried about trouble, I would rather have her beside me than a squad of police." 

Penny nodded.  "Well, ok.  Sure.  Tell..."  "Katja," inserted Zee...  "Katja that I will even pay her way."

I shook my head.  "No need.  She is very wealthy, also.  Since Paris is your first stop, how about I have her meet you there?"

Later that day, I sent a massage to Katja about the discussion.  Since I had previously inquired as to her availability for the mission, I knew there would be no trouble.  In fact, she jumped at the idea.  I think she was just bored at the moment, since no agent apparently had any operation going that might allow her to wield knives or shoot guns or otherwise engage in the violence that she loved.  I asked her to come on over.  Maybe I could do a little something about her boredom.

---------------

Houston.

"Justice Slone?"  Pause.  "My name is Patsy Echart. I'm an intern to Justice Barnwell.  He sends his compliments and has directed me to enquire as to whether you would care to join him and a few associates for an informal... ah... get-together that he is hosting tonight at the Petroleum Club?"  Pause.  "Excellent.  There will be a limo at the main entrance of your hotel at six-thirty."  Pause.  "He asks for you to bring a good appetite, also.  Good evening, your honor."

Katja handed me the phone.  I pulled the battery and dropped it into the trash.  The phone would be dropped into another random trash can shortly.   She nodded to me, and without a word, got out of the car and entered the black limo parked next to it.  I drove several miles to a large mall, parked and waited for the radio to signal the start of the action.  I knew that it was very unlikely for a junior Justice to refuse a chance to hobnob with a state Supreme Court Judge.

Our operation was carefully choreographed to avoid the ever increasing number of security cameras being installed on a daily basis.  Even the car I was driving had valid, but incorrect license plates.  The driver of the limo, Brinker, had sunglasses under a cap pulled down low, a wig and huge cotton balls puffing out his cheeks.  And phony tattoos on his arm and neck.  Katja was even more made up - she looked like a timid rural librarian on her first trip to the big city.  Some of Jean's caution was rubbing off on me.

I desperately wanted some coffee, but a mall concourse might as well be Hollywood, as far as number of cameras went.  Failing that, I wanted to check email badly, but wifi can be logged and traced and I was supposedly a couple of hundred miles north of here at the present.  What the heck.  I picked up a thick newspaper that I had purchased that morning.  At least it had words in a row and gave me something to do, even if the news was now a day behind an Internet news site.

Almost an hour later, my encrypted radio came to life.  "Is this thing working?"   Katja's voice giving the first signal.  The limo was in place at the judge's hotel.  Then, no more than five minutes later, the success signal, "Hello.  Can you hear me?"   I let out a long slow breath.  The quarry was in the bag.  Now, we had to get the bag to the hunting camp.

In a half hour or so - it was rush hour traffic time - I saw the limo driving across the crowded lot, turn about two lanes over from me and stop.  Immediately it started up again and disappeared into traffic.  Shortly, Katja opened the passenger side door and slid in beside me.  I cranked up and started out.

"Any problems?" I asked, knowing that from her silence so far that there hadn't been any.  She shook her head.  "The last memory the Judge will have is looking out the side window.  The injection hit hard."  I nodded and drove our preplanned route.  The Judge's cell was a high end smartphone with full GPS, that I knew was being logged as we moved.  Eventually some law enforcement official would pull that log.

A few miles from the International Airport, Katja made a call.

"Dobry vecher.  Ya ichU DzhOna...  Da... Da...  Spasiba"  This was the reason she was along - of all my inside team, she was the only one to speak Russian.  Some more conversation ensued, then she hung up and nodded.  She waited until we entered the airport property, turned the phone off, removed the battery, then handed it to me. 

I let her off at the entrance and said, "Have a good trip."  She was off to join Penny, Zee and Julie in Paris.

---------------

A lounge.  My home

Sally handed me a flash drive.  "Be careful with this.  This is the only copy."  I plugged it in, waited for it to mount, then she said, "The password is the tangential function of theta of the right triangle rxy."

I looked up at her with a frown. "In my high school the concept of 1,2,3,many was considered to be advanced math."

She made a wry face, said, "Sorry," then leaned over and typed a line of jibberjabber.  Changing her mind, she pulled the laptop in front of her.  "It'll be easier if I just tell you what I found, rather than you having to filter through all this."  I nodded.

"Ok, we begin several years before you started with the Sheik.   St. Louis.  One Mrs. Dame Merganser.  Forty two years of age.  Widow.  Fabulously wealthy.  Investigation paid for by remote relatives only came up with the fact that she cashed in her entire fortune and sold her mansion, and disappeared, and was never heard from again."

She paged down.  "A few months later.  "Little Rock.  Twila Stewart. Thirty eight.  Rich bitch.  One day, she and most of her money disappeared - forever.  This time, her relations went berserk with investigations but nothing was left but her real estate."

"A few months go by again.  "Tulsa - or parts there 'bouts.  Evelyn Lockhart.  Thirty two.  Moved all her money to bearer bonds and poof!  Gone."  She typed for a minute and three pictures appeared - the three women.  "Notice that these aren't young beauties.  In fact, they are fairly ordinary women.  The only thing they have in common is that they were very wealthy and disappeared without a trace."

"Well, maybe..." I started, but she interrupted.

"Hang on.  The council for the prosecution hasn't rested yet."  Click, click.  "This one is interesting.  Memphis - remember that city for later.  Susan Larson.  Wife of the mayor.  Rumors of a scandal.  Then she gets some kind of illness that can't be cured here.  Goes to Europe for special treatment and unfortunately, dies a few weeks later.  Sound familiar?"   Shit!  A carbon copy of Rita's adventure. 

"Mrs. Saphron Donner.  Thirty seven.  Divorcee.  Springfield... Missouri, that is.  Rich, disappeared, but in her instance, left her wealth behind.  She doesn't exactly fit the profile. "

"Jesus H. Keerist.  Who in hell..."

"Ah ah ah...  Down in front boss.  The story is just getting started. And interesting.  Jill Harris and Madelyn Albright, both in their late twenties and very good looking.  Both wealthy divorcees and friends.  From Memphis.  Sound familiar?"  I didn't answer - just sat, awestruck by the events Sally was describing and my admiration of her data mining skills.  She would have been one hell of a catch for the FBI or CIA.  "Get this.  Both cashed in their wealth, then went to Europe on a vacation together, moved around a few days, flew back via Canada, then evaporated forever.  That's three from the same city in the same timeframe."

"Fort Smith.  Stephanie Johnson. Divorcee. Rich.  Cashed in and vanished. Unlike some of the others, she was a real beauty."

"Little Rock, again.  Carla Smith.  Wealthy young blond beauty who inherited a fortune when her parents were killed in a car crash.  First name ring a bell?"

Yes it did.  Rita spoke of a Carla - blond and pretty - who was in a cell with her at Tarkans and had said that she was a client of a 'bondage spa.'

"Thats all I have filtered out so far.  But, all of them were very wealthy, not married or were widowed or divorced, no children, lived in a circle of only a few hundred miles of all the rest, and except the woman with the alleged illness and one other, took their loot with them.  And...  vanished without a trace.  Not a single clue has ever surfaced as to the whereabouts of any, except, maybe now with this Carla woman."

I sat back and tried to lasso my thoughts in my spinning head.  Absolutely nothing fit the profile that I expected.  Just musing out loud, I said, "It can't be for sex - too many were dowdy middle aged women. But..." a pause as I marshaled my thoughts.  "...this Carla woman is a link to the capture business of the Sheik." 

Sally inserted her thoughts.  "There is so much money involved, that has to be the central reason.  But..." She held up a finger for emphasis. "...the women had to have voluntarily cashed out their wealth with no coercion.  After all, you can't pull millions of dollars out of assets and into cash by sticking a gun in someone's ribs and shoving them in front of an ATM.  It takes months to convert that kind of wealth without raising red flags everywhere."

Late into the night I was still awake, with my redhead snuggled next to me, asleep and being totally ignored.  About the time I would tell myself to drop it and get some sleep, my thoughts would begin to go round and round again.

--------------

Sally's office

Bill Griffin was a young attorney that was retained by R&R for the various legal stuff that a business had to do.  After a couple of years, I pretty well had him sized up.  A nice guy, married, and competent enough as a lawyer, apparently, but he would never be a leading attorney, or a partner in a law firm for several reasons - he didn't graduate from an Ivy League law school for one, he wasn't part of the good old boy legal network, and, while well off, he had nowhere near the money to move into the upper crust.

So, I thought he might be perfect for the job.

"Bill.  The reason I asked you to come up was to see if you would care to stand for District Judge?"  That caught him by surprise, for sure.  He had obviously assumed that my summons was for a legal reading or the like.

"Uhhhh...  Wow!   I...  I always hoped that someday I could move into a judgeship, but it was just a daydream.  But... Mr. Harris..."  "Rodger," I corrected.   "...Rodger.   I don't have anywhere near the money to even start a campaign, let alone run one."

"Ah.  Thats the beauty of the situation.  As you know, Justice Slone disappeared during the conference in Houston."  He nodded.  It had been a moderate headline story for a few days, until the next crisis happened in the world, somewhere.  "The Governor will appoint a replacement for the rest of her term - about three years.  If you agree, I will mention that you would be an excellent choice."  I paused to let that sink in. 

Sally spoke up.  "Three years from now, you'll have a judicial record, experience, and I'm sure that campaign money can be found for reelection."  I don't think he was hesitating, just stunned by being blindsided by the offer of the furthest thing from his mind.

Finally, he nodded, obviously still trying to believe this morning.  "Sure.  What the heck.  How can I turn down an offer like that?"

After that it was duck soup.  I had far more chits stored up with the ruling party than needed to make that a slam dunk.  Eventually, he was at one of my topside political get-togethers being congratulated by all present on his new Judgeship. 

---------------

Time passes

A special package arrived, courtesy of Dr. Thao.  Inside was a beautiful oriental lacquered jewelry case which I gave to Rita as a present - but not before removing the false bottom and removing a small vial and a flash drive.  In a few minutes, I had decrypted the contents of the drive and was reading the instructions.  Wow.  Shortly thereafter, I called Sally, Chip and Zee into a meeting.

My bid embezzler was back from Dr. Thao's, and back at work downstairs.  He had been the testee of the drug that I had received in the jewelry case.   I explained to him that unfortunately, the medicine didn't work as hoped and a billion dollar possibility was out the window, but that wasn't his fault.  He had performed as agreed and as far as I was concerned, his past actions were history and erased from the book.  And, I told him that I had some hope that is domestic problems might be alleviated, eventually.  Of course, everything I said about the medicine was false from front to end.

When I asked him of his experiences, he replied that the testing wasn't bad, but sometimes the drug made him dizzy and get the shakes.  But nothing severe.

---------------

The other side of the world

I stopped by the Sheik's for my yearly visit, but nothing important needed to be discussed.  I told him of my future plans, both in progress and planned, then headed for Tarkans slavery in Turkey.

I hadn't seen him for a year, and of course, he greeted me like a long lost brother.  Over glasses of the swill that he considered beer, he filled me in on various topics.

"I have some candidates for your approval.  Do you want them brought here, or go there to look?"

I shook my head.  "We can go to them.  I need to get on my feet and walk around anyway, after that plane ride.  But first, my friend, I have a question about Rita."

He leaned back, propped his feet on his cluttered desk and waved his mug at me, foam and liquid splashing on the floor.  "Go ahead. Shoot, as they say in your country.  What could I tell you about your beautiful red haired doxy, except to say that I have never seen such a tough berker as you, so quickly bewitched by a set of mammeries and a slit."  He laughed to show that he was making a joke.  

After the laughter at my expense had died down, I continued.  "I remember that she was in a cell with two young American beauties.  How did you come by such high quality women, if you can tell me without breaking confidences."

He dropped his feet and leaned onto his desk.  "Ah.  Alas, it happens all too seldom, and almost never from the same source.  Usually, it is just a lone female who did something unwise, like drink with the wrong person while on holiday in France.  Or Italy, Germany - pick any country. She passes through the underground traders, and then I bid on her.   Several times Sheik Hassan has sent them - I have no idea where he procured the women." 

He took a swig, then continued.  "A few years back, there was a man from America - a friend of a local business leader here.  He would send upperclass women over every now and then.  And, he bought a couple of locals while here.   I forget his last name, but the businessman, Ayhan Mustafa, would know.  Would you like an introduction?"

Shit no!  I damn sure didn't need it to get out that I was looking under carpets and behind doors of the slaver business.  I needed to back out of this conversation before Tarkan began to suspect that my interest wasn't just casual.  I waved my jug at him, hoping that some of my liquid would also spill out and relieve me from having to drink it.  "No.  It's none of my business.  I was just curious how you got such attractive American women in here. Forget it."

"No. Let us not forget.  I will take all the American females you can send.  Please do.  And, by the way, you will want to see the one that you sent, no?"

"Sure, but lets look at your prospective stock, first."

Shortly we were in the back of his establishment - with his female trainer, whom I secretly called his dominitrix - looking over a half dozen young females - all beauties.  Five were of middle eastern extraction and one was oriental.  None could have been over eighteen years of age.  He waved at them.  "As you requested all are uneducated and mostly uncivilized.  And they are skeeny, just like westerners desire."   Under the watchful eye of their female boss, I felt and probed each - more for the fun of it than any reason to try to choose. 

"Do they still have their voices?"

"Yes.  Do you want your selection muted?" he asked.

"No.  It isn't necessary."  I thought of something.  "Did my capture have the operation?"

He shook his head. "It is scheduled.  As you requested."

Finally, I pointed.  "This one will do.  Just to keep the transaction simple, how about if I trade my latest capture for this girl." 

"Anladımsa Arap olayım!" he exclaimed, shocked.  "Effendi, your woman is worth many times that of this amcyk!  I cannot accept that trade." 

The only word I could translate was amcyk - pussy. "Relax, my friend.  What is a couple of women between such comrades as we?"  I pointed over my shoulder.  "Just make sure that there is no chance of my capture getting back to America.  She was a powerful woman who could cause much trouble."

"That will be no reason to worry," he replied.  "She will have little time to plot an escape.  She will soon be voiceless in a scullery somewhere, and when she isn't working, I am sure that a prime western woman such as she will be spreading her legs quite often.

---------------

My bedroom at Tarkans

I was relaxing on my large bed, deliberately in the nude and sipping from a glass of soda - with ice, no less.  I didn't recognize the name on the can, but it was infinitely superior to the sewage that Tarkan served his best guests.  Shortly, I heard the knock I was waiting for, called out, and a servant entered.  "Mister Sergeant, here is the woman requested for your usage."  I nodded and he pulled on a rope, causing the woman to stumble into the room to stand beside him.  Her hands were manacled behind her, but except for the metal collar around her neck, she was baby naked.  He handed me a silk loop with a key, bowed and left, pulling the door closed.

I swung my feet over the bed, and sat looking at the ex-justice.  I knew she was thirty six years old, and, while not beauty contest qualified, was an attractive woman.  Her normal sized tits had always been bound up in a bra, so they were still high and firm.  Her brown hair had long since lost any kind of styling and was just long and straight, and now held together in a ponytail.  She was still looking at the floor as she had been taught - probably not without a few sessions with the dominitrix's crop.   Hairless all the way down, of course, but I had no idea if she was captured that way, or if Tarkan had had her depilated as he did all western women, or any women to be sent to a western destination.

I had already decided to do my language trick that I had used on Rita.  The chances of this woman every seeing the States again were virtually zero, but it wouldn't hurt for her not to know that I was a compatriot.  Some more of Jean's caution was rubbing off on me.

"Parlez-vous Francais?" 

Very unlikely and sure enough, she quietly replied in English, "No Sir."

I tried again with a much more likely lingo.  "Usted habla Espanol?"

She nodded.  "Si senor."   I would have bet on that, given that she grew up in South Texas.  Ok, so I would be a foreigner who spoke Spanish.

Back when we were trying to unravel the bid mess with the employee named Harmon, Sally had extensively researched him, his ex's and all of his legal troubles.  I had assumed that he had just been a man with a bad string of luck and an even worse choice of bed mates - which he was, but his troubles were given a lot of help by the local legal system.  After Sally went back and pulled the history of his divorce judge, we realized that he had been screwed by more than his ex-wives. 

Justice Judy Slone, I have to say, didn't exactly approach differences between a man and a woman with Lady Justice's blind eyes.  Maybe the woman really didn't realize her bias, but her rulings would have made the opinions column of a woman's lib website look as conservative as the ravings of a far right fundamentalist cult.   The male's attorney was always out of order, his motions were always denied, while the lawyer for the female just laid out what he wanted and got it stamped ok.   In a very short time, both Sally and myself realized that we had our next capture identified.  Because of this woman, my employee cost me several hundred thousand dollars, at least.

The judge was married, but as it turned out, only in law.  Her significant other was four states away and had been gone for three years.  I assume the reason for no divorce between them was the effect that it might have on their careers.

Long before the woman was missed, she was safely ensconced in chains at our Luxor facility.  In fact, it took several days before anybody missed her enough to call in the authorities, the assumption being that she just dropped out of the conference and had probably gone home.  Then, the investigation got very muddy - nobody could remember her leaving the hotel, and she hadn't checked out. And her phone records showed her driving around the city until she apparently turned off her phone at the airport, but no record of her getting on a plane could be found.

It wasn't in the news, but the call to the Russian Embassy in DC, had to have had the authorities spinning all kinds of theories.   Katja had called for an actual aide at the embassy, and claimed that she was ordered to report on the morrow with secret information.  Of course, the embassy personnel had no idea of what she was talking about, but probably assumed that it was some covert operation going on.  At any rate, they weren't going to tell any U.S. authorities anything and couldn't be made to anyway.

The missing Judge became an unsolved mystery that was mostly forgotten after the next news story broke.

"Do you know what you are, now?" I asked, still sitting on the bed.  I knew that she had been disciplined somewhat, but hadn't been sexually used since she got here since she was still my property.

"A prisoner of some kind, senor."  I stood up and grabbed each nipple between thumb and fingers.  She hadn't been here long enough for her reactions to change from free woman to slave, so she jumped and tried to step back.  Not something that a woman really wants to do with a man holding on to her buttons.  The sudden pain made her step forward again - with her hands bound behind her, there wasn't much else she could do.

"Why are you trying to pull away?" I asked, in reply, still not letting go, but shifting my hold from the nipples to her boobs.  "You need to understand one thing right now.  Your mind is the only thing you own.  Feel free to think of and about anything you want.  But..." I lifted her tits and squeezed, "...your body now belongs to me, and soon to the highest bidder to be used in anyway the owner wishes."

Her eyes were wide open and looking at me, despite her brief training about keeping her gaze down and averted.  I assume that it was very difficult for a woman, so recently in a position in which her word was law - literally - to take in what I was saying.  Or believing that there existed anywhere in the world a place that such words could be true. 

"Do you recall your session in the punishment room?"  From the sudden look of terror, I knew that she retained an excellent memory of it.  I had instructed Tarken to give her the session as soon as she arrived, just to let her know the penalty of trying to assert that she was still someone of any significance.  "If you displease me in the slightest, I will call out and you will be back with the whip kissing your skin."   I pointed to the bed.  "Lay down.  Spread your knees..."

---------------

Back home

It only took a couple of weeks for my new possession to be delivered.  I turned her over to Rita for her use and training and forgot about her.  I had very little sexual need of a new young cunt, what with Rita's nightly attentions and Mademoiselle Colette coming by every other week or so - and especially after an occasional all night session with both of them.

It had been a busy year and I had neglected Rita in some ways.  A week or so after the young girl's arrival, late at night, I happened to ask Rita to get a girl to clean up the lounge that we had been meeting in.

She signed to me, "Pepper will do it."

"Ok", I said absently, then "Wait a minute, who is Pepper?  The new girl?"  Rita nodded. "YOU gave her a name?  Yourself?"

Rita stubbornly stuck her jaw out and signed.  "Yes.  She's my girl and my responsibility and needed a name.  I gave her one."

"Hmmmm.   Ok.  Get her to clean it up in the morning.  Let's get to bed."  Shortly, I was waiting outside of the bathroom for her to finish her female ablutions.  As she came out, I spun her around and snapped a pair of manacles on her wrists behind her back.  Then I tied the end of a rope to the center of the binders, threw it over the convenient hook in the ceiling, used in the past for light bondage play sessions.   She still hadn't gotten over her surprise as I began to draw her up into the strappado position.  As her bound arms were pulled higher and higher behind her, she naturally bent over at the waist to try to relieve the pain from the unnatural position.  Finally, she was almost on her tiptoes and I tied the end of the rope off.

I walked around in front of her, and waited.  She could barely look up high enough to see my face.  Finally, I said.  "It seems that my little red haired bitch is putting on some airs."  Her mouth was moving, but with her hands bound behind her, she was totally mute.  "It also appears that the dumb cunt is telling her Master what her responsibilities are going to be."  Now she was shaking her head violently.

Back behind her, I picked up a crop, aimed at her bare behind and laid a stroke across it - and not a light one.  She jumped like she had been shot, the fingers of both hands pointing and spread widely and her leg muscles spasming.  Since any movement down, or in any direction just pulled her arms up higher behind her back, all she could do was stand on tiptoe and wait.  I gave her five more, slowly, then walked around and sat down in front of her on the bed.  "I wonder if the Sheik still wants you?  He offered excellent money.  And I could get a new squeeze that didn't have the illusions of grandeur."  Of course, the tears were flowing at full flood now - I wondered how much was from the pain and how much from the threats.   Empty threats, I might add.  Somebody else might manage to take her, but only after I ran out of strength and ammo.  I reached out and bobbled her lovely tits, now depending at full stretch from her bent over body. 

"What do you think?  Would you like a new owner?"  A violent shake of her head.  "Do you think you can convince me to keep you around?"  This time just as violent a nodding.  She knew - she hoped - that I was just play acting, but in the back of her mind was the real fear that maybe I wasn't.  There was no way for her to tell, and in my business - and she knew much about it - women could be uprooted and gone between dawn and daylight.  

I got up and entered the bathroom, taking my time getting cleaned up for bed.  Finally, I walked over and untied the rope at her back, but left the manacles on.  Then I laid on the bed and waited.  Still sobbing, she came around her usual side, clumsily climbed on and began to try to make amends.  She hadn't changed.   Although she feared punishment during the actual act, she craved it beforehand and for days afterwards, would be hotter than a firecracker as she remembered it.  I made a note not to neglect her disciplinary needs for so long in the future.

After she emptied me good, I put my arm around her and said, "Are you going to remember just who is the master and who is the cunt?"  Smiling, she bobbed her head, then snuggled up to me.  "You know?  Pepper is a good name for the new girl."  She just wiggled closer.  When my too full bladder woke me up later in the night, she was half laying on me, one boob on my chest and the other at my side and her head nestled under my chin - about as close as a woman can snuggle - especially one who still has her arms fastened behind her.

---------------

A few days later.

Penny's father had passed on and she was caught up in the throes of now having a full sized business empire to run.  Actually, run is the wrong word.  She no more ran her enterprises than the captain of a ship turned valves in the engine room or helped hoist the sails.   She was at the apex of the pyramid and received reports and acted on advice from trained associates.

I was now a sort of friendly mentor and she often came by for advice, especially at the beginning.  What I said was simple - just let your managers run it while you learn more by monitoring what they do.  Zee and Julie were continually by her side now, offering moral support.  In fact, they were closet board members, with more actual, if not official, power than the real ones. 

Speaking of Julie, she was the only one of my Vietnam trained interns that I saw frequently.  It was with her that I monitored the status of the artificial loyalty that was infused into their psychies.  That I hoped was infused.  So far, I could detect no hint that it was weakening or wearing off.  Julie seem to think it was an honor to share my bed, which she did on infrequent occasions.  But, I wondered, in her artificially altered state of mind, did she enjoy it or just pretend to so as to satisfy me?   Time would tell.

---------------

Time passes.  My ballroom

Another election coming up.  Another set of politicians coming around for money, or connections, or request for the Super Pac to support them.  I was losing one of my most powerful political friends - The Governor was retiring and his possible replacement was a woman.  Of course, I was one of the first to know of her candidacy, but that isn't what gave the the surprise.   The reason that I supported her had nothing to do with my shadow business with women - her sex being an interesting but minor fact.  But rather, I knew that she was very qualified for the position - far better than any of the other male klutzes that wanted the job.

No.  The surprise happen during another soiree in my ballroom.  This one was totally political, with an election a few months off and all of the machinery being cranked up to maximum for the campaigns.   The atmosphere was thick with plots and schemes - or should I say, preparation and plans.  I preferred the first description, but then, I also considered prostitution to be a more honorable profession than what was being practiced by these public servants.  At least a John got something for his money, unlike the poor taxpayer.

Oh, yes.  The surprise.  The Senator and Governor came up to me, along with the governor hopeful, Mrs. Jessica Locklear.  She was forty two, widowed - her Marine husband had been killed years ago in the middle east - and had been in politics all her life, including being the three term mayor of a major city.  After a few minutes of conversation, I suddenly did a double-take over Mrs. Locklear's shoulder.  After making sure I was really seeing the person, blurted out, "Bonni... Miss Fields?!" 

Sure enough, it was my first Vietnam trained intern, Bonny Fields.  She smiled and walked up to me to shake my limp hand.  I looked at the Senator in confusion, and he seemed surprised at my mild shock. 

"Didn't I mention it before?" he said.  "I've lent Bonnie to to Jessy for her campaign."  He leaned over and continued in a pretend sotto voice.  "She's quite the fireball when it comes to convincing wavering supporters." 

"Well, Bonnie," I said.  "Congratulations."  She just smiled to accept my compliment.  It took a while to free myself from the group, but I finally moved off.   To circulate, but mostly to think about what I had just learned. 

Then I noticed Bob, the current governor's aide, standing in a group and talking.  Next to him, and holding onto his arm was his wife, recently back among the living after having been rescued by the police somewhere in Europe.  Her long 'captivity' hadn't left her with any physical scars, but as far as mental ones, time would tell.  I had seen her many times on my trips to visit Dr. Thao's clinic, and knew that she had gotten the full monty treatment.  I also knew that she was now a single minded female, her entire life's focus being to be pleasing to her man - and not just sexually.  I hoped that Bob wasn't blindsided by the cloying, suffocating female he got back in place of the demanding bitch he had sent.  If so, too bad.  She couldn't be changed back.  

Eventually, I moved around away from the conversations to catch Bonnie's eye.  She had no problem seeing the very slight movement of my head toward the door.

---------------

My bedroom

Bonnie had walked in and kissed me.  None of her high school companions would recognize the elegant and self assured young woman standing in front of me.  Talk about a female makeover!  She motioned toward the bed with a questioning look.

I smiled, but said "No.  I need information more than I need a woman, right now.  When did all this happen?  Wait, hang on a minute."

Before she started, I sent word to Rita, then gave my redhead the mission of letting me know of the state of the party down the hall.  Especially if someone wondered where either Bonnie or myself was.  I had realized that my clandestine meeting with the intern would take a while, since I was developing a strategy on the fly.

She gave me the tale.  True to my instructions, she jumped into her new position on the Senator's staff with enthusiasm.  Anything needed, she would do, no matter how trivial or distasteful.  It wasn't long before his staff realized that they had a new member who could be counted on to get her assigned job done - no excuses.  Not only that, but she never claimed credit for her achievements - letting her others have the glory, although the big boss knew who actually deserved the credit.  And with that attitude came trust, and more important assignments.

It also didn't hurt that she succeeded in a couple of hopeless assignments, given to her by flunkies not wanting a failure on their own record.  This time she got full credit from the Senator after convincing certain powers to support the Senator in a legislative matter.  She didn't mention how she happened to be so persuasive, but it probably had to do with her being a single, beautiful and outgoing young woman. She was still far too junior to be promoted high up the Senator's staff, but he had his eye on her and she started getting choice assignments, of which the current one was to assist a friend in her attempt to become the next governor of Texas.

Finally, as the political swarm down the hall seemed to be breaking up, I stood up and finished my instructions.  "Ok, that's about it.  Anything needed for her campaign that you can't get, call me.  Anything.  My SuperPac will start giving major support, starting tomorrow.  I want her elected."  I kissed her again, then closed with, "Good job, Bonnie.  You're going to go far."

I just sat on the bed and thought.  An outrageous possibility had sprung up when I saw the pretty intern on the ballroom floor.  I gave it a twenty five percent change of coming to fruition.  With lots and lots of luck and hard work.  And money.

End of book 6

The Desert Nexus.

Book 7

---------------

Prolog

This was the year that Murphy got a major hardon for me - as bad as he had shafted Mr. Scott, the Sheik's agent in Australia.  The difference was that there was no one to pull me out of the shit - I had sink or swim on my own. 

The year started just fine.  The new Governor was the candidate that I had supported - actually, that I had pulled out all the stops to get elected.  And since much of my help was funneled through my shadow employee, Bonnie Fields - the first girl that I had sent to Vietnam for loyalty training, just to give the unnamable a name - she was now a major member of the new Governor's staff.  It looked like she would be, someday, the shaft that hit the mark.  I had already engaged Jean, in France, to continue building her phony past to the point that it should stand even heavy scrutiny.

My other plan was progressing very well also.  I had two girls, Zee and another Vietnam 'graduate', securely ensconced as confidants of Penelopy Elsenburg, the now fabulously wealthy heiress to the Elsenburg energy empire.  Even Katja was a part of the in-crowd of the woman, although not full time as were the other two girls.  But, so far, my plans with Penny were just barely out the gate and, despite what my inner circle suspected, had nothing to do with selling her on the open market.

Another and minor item, was the reopening of the divorce settlements of my one time internal information embezzler, Tom Harmon.  With a new judge on the bench, and one with no female vendetta against men, my legal office got his liabilities cut way down.  Of course, it didn't hurt that the young judge got his position because of the efforts of a concerned citizen.   Well, me, if you didn't recognize the description.

Then, all that went on the back burner.

---------------

My bedroom, not long after the election.

It had been a long night and I was sleeping in.  Actually, I had long since woken up, but was just enjoying the feeling of relaxing in a warm bed on a cold and blustery day.  Then...

I looked up to see Rita suddenly appear at the door.  One look at her, and I had the .357 pulled out from under the pillow, and was on my feet.  She violently shook her head, and began to sign so rapidly that I had to tell her to slow down and start over.  She did, and in seconds I was out the door and heading for Sally's office, one floor below mine.  I passed Brinker at the door, and waved him to follow me.  Apparently, he was the one to bring the news to Rita to take to me.

Chip had just hung up a phone, as I stormed in the door.  The look on his face wasn't pleasant.  As soon as he saw me, he stood up and said, "Sally has been arrested!  She's at the downtown jail!  We have to..."

I waved both hands to get him to stop.  "Whoh!  Back it up and start from the beginning."

He shook his head.  "I can't.  I don't know what happened.  I just got the call that she is being held.  We've got to get down there."

Chip was my Chief of Staff, and as level headed as they come, but Sally was his woman, and that was overriding his judgement.

I shook my head in turn.  "No we don't.  Sit down!"  This last with emphasis and with me pointing to his chair.  He did and I continued.  "I know what Sally means to you, but you're my squad leader and we aren't going to charge until we know which direction the shots are coming from." 

I saw him take a deep breath and relax - somewhat.  "Ok, Sarge.  You're right."

"Good."  I sat down, motioned to Brinker and said,  "You got any contacts in the downtown pokey," I asked.

He shook his head.  "No.  You want me to see if I can find one?" 

I nodded.  "Yes, but don't go into any enemy territory, yet.  Just see what you can find out from afar."   He nodded and left.

"Do we send a lawyer down there?" Chip asked. 

I nodded and pulled my phone out of my pocket. "But not one of ours.  We don't want her connected with us, and definitely not where it looks like we are considering her so important that we send a corporate attorney to a jail.  Remember, to the world, she is just a nobody computer geek."   A call and the spending of a stored up good-old-boy chit later, and I said.  "Now we wait.  When we get some intel, we move, but not before."

My question was - did her arrest have something to do with me?  Say, an important woman escaped from some third world country and is now back and blowing the whistle?  On reflection, that didn't make sense.  The cops would be knocking down my door, not Sally's.  No woman we ever captured even knew of Sally's existence.   Other than that, she wasn't working on anything particularly illegal at the moment as far as I knew.  In fact, during the last week she had just been reviewing security of the R&R network, downstairs.

---------------

A bar on the northeast side of town

A few hours later, Chip and I met the selected attorney at a place of his choosing.  This wasn't a corporate attorney, but a rock crawler who specialized in finding every loophole that his client could crawl through, innocent or not - and usually not.

"...in the middle of a sting.  The CCTF was..."  He stopped and amplified as I shook my head, "...Computer Crimes Task Force... had the coffee shop wired and watched.  They hauled her in for an ATM cracking scheme they they've been chasing for a long time."  He spread his hands to invite me to comment. 

I did.  "What the Fuck!  ATM hacking?  At a coffee shop?"  I looked at Chip, who immediately rose to her defense, naturally.

"Sarge!  She visits that place all the time!  She practically has her own reserved table."  He looked back and forth at us.  "The joint has high speed Internet and her college girlfriends are always in the place."

I turned back to the legal eagle.  "The cops have to have gotten something mixed up.  This isn't making sense."

He nodded.  "Thats what she said, but we'll just have to wait until the bail hearing tomorrow to see what cards the other side is holding."

-------------

The next day.

Same bar, but just me and the attorney.  "They claim to have proof that she was involved in the scheme, but that it is in several encrypted files on her laptop that they can't decipher, or whatever it is you do to secret computer stuff."  Uh oh.  A light was beginning to dawn - sort of like the glow from a nuclear explosion.  "They've asked the judge to require her to give them the key, or code, or whatever."

"Can they?  I thought that was Fifth Amendment stuff."

"For computers it hasn't been cast in stone yet.  The courts are still sorting it out.  To the computer world, it's the same as requiring a person to incriminate themselves.  But, and it's a big but at the moment, law enforcement - all over the country - hates the idea and is doing everything they can to make sure that computers don't fall under that protection."  He spread his hands, then finished his drink.  "It's a toss up.  The judge could rule either way."

"Ok.  Keep me posted."

---------------

Western Lounge

A major thunderstorm was parked over the city and giving quite an impressive display - which none of us were watching.  Chip, Zee and myself were sitting around the table and I was filling them in.

"Here's what happened - I think.  Frankly, Sally was in the wrong place at the wrong time."  I waved Rita away at the door.  The last thing I wanted right now was snacks or alcohol.  "The cops have been chasing a ring that is hacking into banks or ATMs and apparently using Internet connections at shops and hotels to do it.  Sally apparently has used her favorite Internet hangout at about the same time as they claim to have logs of the illegal activity."

The two just nodded.  "The problem is, when they took her in for questioning, they found some encrypted files on her laptop."  I shook my head.  "I leave it to your imagination just what those might contain, but I doubt it is anything that we want known.  Her problem..."  I started over.  "Our problem along with hers, is that she has two choices, neither of them good.  If she gives them the keys, she goes free but whatever is in those files, probably comes to roost on us.  If she refuses, she goes up the river, if the prosecutor can manage it."

"Do you have any pull down there," asked Chip. 

I shook my head.  "I never cared about local politics since it was too far down the ladder.  All my contacts are at the State and National level."  I wondered how Chip would take the next news.  "Her problem is that the judge has agreed to refuse bail until she gives up the keys.  I don't have any doubt that we can beat this thing, but I don't want Sally to spend five years behind bars while we run it through multiple courts."

I could see Chip's blood pressure rising even as he drew breath to demand that we storm the jail with our men and sprung her.  Not really, but he was going to want to know what I was going to do, chop chop.

"Ok, for now we are in intel mode.  Chip, I want you to visit Sally as her boyfriend - and for moral support.  There is nothing you can do but I want her to know that her problems are now ours and all measures will be taken to get her free.  And she will know why I don't show up in court or at the jail, but tell her anyway - I need to pull strings without being associated with her.  And remember, no matter what they say and post on the wall, don't believe for a minute that the conversation won't be recorded.   By the way, I've given her attorney a message to the same effect and he can deliver it verbatim."

---------------

A month later

Nothing had worked.  The local prosecutor was one of those career climbers, all too numerous, who only cared about getting a conviction for his record - the guilt or innocence of the accused was of no matter to him.  I was going to have to solve the problem outside of the legal system. 

One piece of information that the prosecutor didn't have, was that I would personally hold him responsible if any slightest harm came to my employee, and again, my response would be outside of the legal system.  Even if she came through unscathed, he was going to be unpleasantly surprised at his next campaign for reelection, as his opponent came at him with anything we could dig up - and quite possibly everything we could make up - including an unlimited amount of money.

Brinker was a godsend and was going to be stunned by the size of the bonus that he was going to receive after this was over.  Using skills developed during his pre-Army days - "Don't tell me about it, just do it" - we had several contacts in the administration section of the downtown jail, and several more on the outside.  He even managed to get a hooker arrested and held long enough to deliver a message in the exercise yard.   She didn't need to work for several months after that. 

His expense account was cash and unlimited.

Sally had refused to divulge the keys to her encrypted files to the grand jury, and the judge had waxed wroth, to quote Zee, who retrieved the micro recorder taped to the underside of a bench in the courtroom.  He decreed that she would sit in prison for three months, then would be asked again.  According to her attorney, she would have to be charged or released when the term of the grand jury was up.  Unfortunately, he also dashed our hopes by educating us with the fact that all the prosecutor would have to do to keep her was to resubmit the case to the next jury.

---------------

The ball room lounge.

I looked around the room at my employees - friends and buddies, actually.  Jean, Brinker, Chip, Telly and several members of his team.  Not all - half of my crew of grunts were on the ocean trolling for pirates, and were too far away to recall.  Besides, I didn't need that many for this operation.

Jean had flown in and had been driven from the airport by Brinker.  His skill in seeing flaws would keep emotions from clouding the plan of the op, and would also keep any rose colored glasses from being used.

Rita had just left with her serving girls and with orders to allow nobody near the room until I called.  I stood up.  "My friends."  Friends hell - these were blood brothers of the closest kind. "Ever since I started this organization, I have developed plans and had resources on standby for the inevitable day when one of us got arrested or detained for following my orders.  But, I have to say, this situation with our female cohort caught me by surprise.  I never in my wildest fear expected one of us to be hauled down for something that we didn't do and not be able to prove our innocence because of something else we were guilty of."  I shook my head.

"Sally is going to be held in prison for an indefinite time, because she refuses to release information that would clear her, but that would also compromise the organization.  I am going to attempt to alleviate her sentence, but in this operation, your participation is totally voluntary.   If it works, everything will be great.  If it fails, it could be bad - really bad."  I looked around the room, but nobody seemed to be particularly concerned.  "This isn't a third world operation against drug dealers or mobsters.  We can't and won't use lethal force - not against men only doing their jobs.  It has to be a soft op."

I could have been talking about the upcoming company picnic, as far as any concern that I could detect on anyone's faces.  "I know that all of you here, except for Jean, have been trained to kill, not play nice against an enemy.  This kind of thing is not what you hired on for.  So, if you wish to sit this one out, there will be no repercussions - and in fact, if you think your reactions would be a problem in a soft op, I WANT you to sit it out.  The fact of participation or no, will have no bearing on your future with me.  Now, if..."

Telly stood up and raised his hand.  I nodded for him to speak.

"Sarge," he began, looking around the room.  "You're wasting valuable time with this volunteer bullshit.  Let's get on with the plan."  A murmur of agreement rumbled around the room.

Goddamn!  Except for Jean, I couldn't have hired a more unsavory group of outcasts if I had scoured the railroad yards and neon bars.  I would also never be in the company of finer men than were in front of me tonight.

I nodded, trying to keep my face under control.  "Ok, here it is.  Anybody sees a problem or a better way, don't ask.  Just talk."

---------------

Later

When the meeting broke up, Jean and I relaxed with a drink.  He was looking at me without saying anything, until I blurted out, "What?"

He just shook his head.  "Mon Ami.  I would sign any reasonable pact with the Devil to have just a portion of the... charisma?...  yes, charisma that you have in abundance."  I crinkled my brow, trying to figure out what he was talking about.  He continued with a wry smile.   "To have men willing to follow me into Hell - no protests, no exclamations - not even questions about how to get back out.  Just... lead the way."  He raised his glass in a one-sided toast.  "I salute you, my friend."  

---------------

Time passes

For this operation, we were using temporary help, so to speak, for the exposed parts of the mission - that is bribing and anything internal to the jail.  While I would trust my men with my life, and knew they they wouldn't deliberately disobey orders, I was worried about their automatic reactions to an unforeseen event.  During the whole of their professional lives, and some of their young ones, they had escaped tough situations by immediate and automatic reactions - reactions that usually left bodies on the ground.  I didn't want that to happen here.  What was planned would be a headline grabber for a couple of days, but if an innocent person or a uniformed officer was harmed, it would turn into a massive manhunt by every state law enforcement agency that could get on the scene.

The keystone of the plan, was a bribe to an insider.  If he got cold feet, or ratted, or just screwed up, the op was history.  With the amount he was being paid, I doubted that he would willingly welch - given that he was otherwise looking at a lifetime of almost minimum wage slaving and no education to rise any higher.  Of course, with Jean in the middle of the operational planning, there were multiple places that we could call it off and evaporate to leave the authorities wondering what didn't happen.

The key to timing, was knowing when the action was planned.  We had an idea, but for this to work we needed timely info.  To that end, Telly had a team member installed in a fleabag room, overlooking the garage door to the back of the jail complex.  We ran the route over and over, with Jean playing the part of Murphy and throwing monkey wrenches at us during each run.  Finally, when we got word that the time was just about nigh, we stopped the practice and waited at our respective kickoff points.

---------------

An evening

Jean had produced a diagram showing the risk factor of the mission, at all points during the operation.  For now, we were low on the curve.  If it blew up now, not only was nobody at risk, but the powers-that-be wouldn't even know they had been targeted.  Over the radio came the word for the start and shortly thereafter the word 'one.'  Excellent.  So far so good.  The team member in the apartment confirmed that the numbers and the vehicles were as we expected.  Since it passed right under his window, he could also confirm that the bus wasn't stuffed with SWAT team members, lying on the floor.  It would be dark in an hour, but our plan was made to accommodate either day or night.

The next node of our strategy, was determining the route they would take.  The usual one was down highway 46, but on occasion they took the Interstate.  The latter would have been better - the massive traffic would have easily submerged our few vehicles.   However, this wasn't a transfer of dangerous criminals, but a dozen or so low-risk female prisoners.  The usual vehicle, as it was this time, was an old school bus, and not even a full sized one.  It was one of those shorties and bought by the prison transfer system because it was old and cheap.  It was also not a vehicle in which you wanted to try to keep up with traffic on a crowded Interstate highway.  So, usually it took the more leisure alternate route, and as it turned out, it did this time also.

The next node of the operation was a little more dangerous, but still nothing compared to later.  The bus was always followed by a van or a car with two or three armed officers as escort.  If this one failed, all bets were off also.  I waited for word from the trigger car, which would initiate action as soon at the short convoy got out into the deserted country side.       

Of course, listening to the radio was an exercise in nail biting patience, with each minute lasting about forever.  We were using encrypted radios - only a fool would try something like this with cell phones.  Given the snooping capabilities of current phone technology, you might as well email the cops a copy of your plan.

Finally, came the nonsensical phrase, "Bobble head is swinging."  I crossed my fingers and waited.  A couple of hours later in perceived time, which was actually only about five minutes came the welcome, "Warp speed, Captain." 

Apparently it had actually worked in real life, just like it did in the practice tests.  A van driven by Bummer, with Jonesie literally riding shotgun, but laying prone where the passenger's seat normally was, would have come up behind the following escort car, normal like.  The marksman would have sighted through a specially modified hole in the front of the van, and put a single silenced round into the tread of a rear tire.  Then, Bummer would have slowed down for the next turnoff, made the turn and waited for the escort car to disappear down the road.  Back on the highway, they would head for home - one crew safe. 

Unless the tire blew out on impact of the low velocity round, the escort car should have gotten a mile or two down the road before they driver noticed they were getting a flat.  But by now, another car was behind them, waiting for a chance to pass.  This one had Dolby and Sanchez - and a very powerful cell phone jammer.  We assumed that once they realized they had a problem, they would put a call to both headquarters somewhere and to the bus now disappearing into the distance in front of them.  With the jammer going full blast, there wasn't a chance.  As the escort car pulled over to stop on the side of the road, Dolby courteously slowed down, almost to a stop to wait for an oncoming car to pass, then pulled into the opposite lane.   As they passed the now stopped officers, Sanchez handed Dolby the jammer, who then dropped it out the window into the ditch opposite the escort car.  It was camouflaged as a crushed beer can and probably wouldn't be found until the next aluminum can collector happened along.  It was so powerful that the battery would last less than thirty minutes, but that would be plenty of time.  While they were changing the tire, no calls would be made or received.

Another team zoomed off into the dusk - just two innocent guys driving down the road.

Next was THE major node.  Here we would see if we had been double crossed by the driver, who supposedly was firmly in our pay, thanks to Brinker's temporary agent - said agent who was now paid off and far away from what he knew was going to be a stirred up hornets nest.  Telly and I were waiting down the road at a rest stop - actually just a wide place in the road with a memorial plaque.  He sudden stirred, leaned over to look out the external mirror, and said, "Here it comes, Sarge."

The peeling yellow bus zoomed past us at it's maximum forty five miles per hour.  I waited to let it get ahead, then said, "Let's go."   We followed it for another five miles till the critical point approached.  If he turned off here, the the plan was still in progress.  If he kept going, I would give the signal for everyone to evaporate.  By now it was almost dark.

"There's the brake lights, Sarge.  The bastard is going to do it."  Sure enough, he turned right on an oil top road, and kept going.  Now he was behind another car that had been waiting for him.   We turned also.   Eventually we saw them turn off the road, and followed them up a dirt lane among some mesquite trees.  By the time we pulled up behind the bus, Dunkleberry was outside giving the thumbs up.  I knew that both he and Brinker had jumped on the bus and, using a couple of injection guns, squirted everyone on board in the neck, except for Sally and the driver.  It was easy - only the driver had been conscious.

All of us had ski masks on and were fully clothed, covering every inch of our bodies, including tattoos on a couple of arms.  And gloves.  Not exactly comfortable attire for a hot night in Texas, but necessary - at least until the driver was taken care of.

As I came to the front - and only - door of the bus, I heard Brinker giving his canned speech.

"...real good.  Your money is exactly where we agreed.  Remember, leave it alone for at least a year and when you finally start using it, don't buy a goddamned red sports car and a fir coat for your live in cunt."  He turned as he felt the bus move as I climbed the steps, then continued with his warnings.  "They're going to put both of you through the ringer, so...  You were driving along normally, got somewhere south of the crossroads, then the next thing you knew, you woke up here.  Got it?"  The driver was scared, but nodded, hoping that we were really going to pay off and not just dispose of him, next.  "They will find the reason on board as to why you were knocked out.  We aren't going to tell you what, because as an innocent driver, you don't know.  Give me that hose." 

The driver turned to pull on a plastic hose dangling out the window, and Brinker shot him in the neck with the injector.  Even though he knew what was coming, he tried to protest, then slumped over the wheel.  In the far back, I could see the officer that had been riding herd on the prisoners, lying on the floor. 

Now, speed was of the absolute essence.  The plan was to be back in the city before the word even got out and roadblocks started getting set up.  The team member back in the Dallas apartment was monitoring the enforcement radio channels, waiting for the shit to hit the fan.  When it did, he would call us.  He would have to use a cell phone since we were far out of range our radios.  But, both he and I had a pair of cheap throwaways.

By now, Telly and Dunkleberry had cut the chains on all the females in the bus, and were hauling them bodily to the back of the small panel truck parked outside the door.  No finesse - we just dumped them in the back.  In a few minutes, we were all sweating bullets, but it was far more important to get the warm bodies transferred and gone from this place than take time to undress.  I removed the driver's phone, then walked to the back to get the guard's.

Finally, we removed a canister from under the drivers seat, and replaced it with another, more complicated one.  The driver was laid in the floor and the last thing done, was to totally smash out a side window.  With that, Brinker started the van, and roared off.  Dunkelberry took Brinkers car and Telly and I got back in ours.  

Total time after the bus stopped.  Less than ten minutes.

---------------

On the road. 

Instead of turning back toward the route we had arrived on, we followed the oil road on to an intersection.  There, we passed another small truck, which, after we passed, turned on its headlights and began to follow us.  I smiled as I remember Jean pointing to a timeline of the proposed operation and saying, sarcastically, "Ok, you are here, with a truck full of wanted women and 'Bang', you blow a tire.  Are you going to pull over to the side of the road and call Triple A?  Or change it yourself."  Ok, so we had a spare vehicle following us in that unlikely case.

Another intersection and a better road, then finally we came to the Interstate.  There we merged into traffic, heading north.  Just some more innocent vehicles using the nation's highways - well within the speed limit, of course.  I kept pulling the cell phone out of my pocket and making sure it was still on.  I was expecting any second for it to ring with the word that somebody somewhere finally realized that something was wrong. 

Finally, we pulled into the city, and turned on the road leading to the airport.  Telly looked over at me and exclaimed, "Christ, Sarge!  Did the cops shut down for the night and go home?"

I was wondering the same thing.  Apparently, sending a group of prisoners off into the distance wasn't something that concerned anyone of rank.  "Don't complain.  Just keep hoping that the phone doesn't ring." 

-------------

The airport

Dunkelberry had zoomed ahead and made sure that all employees of the terminal were gone for the day, as ordered.  The Sheik's plane was fueled and waiting, but the crew was hiding on board.  We pulled into the open hanger doors behind the truck and waited for the motors to slowly grind them shut.  Then, once more, a hurry up job of getting the cargo on board - a much harder task, this time, going up fifteen steps with each, than just dumping them into the back of a low truck as before.

Dunk already had the tractor hooked to the front landing gear and, as soon as the hanger doors hit their open stops again, pulled the plane out.  Shortly, it was started, and taxiing for takeoff - two pilots, Chip and thirteen women.  Now, all of us had our adrenaline collapse, and, exhausted, closed up the terminal and headed for home.  I called a number on the phone and told our watcher to haul ass.  He would fly out tonight to Europe and meet the anti pirate team when they came ashore.   I wanted him gone for a few months, just in case someone wondered who rented the apartment down by the jail - for only two weeks.  The two trucks, we dropped off at a remote warehouse - just two more among several others.

---------------

My home.  Western lounge

Jean already had the girls prepared for us.   Waiting were drinks of all kinds, hamburgers, fries, snacks and any girl they wanted, with the exception of Cinnamon.  Brinker would share anything with a buddy - ammo, rations or blood, but not his squeeze.  As the alcohol flowed, so did the remembrances, and each item was discussed over and over - all of it being the normal reaction to a tough, dangerous and successful mission.  For myself, I just mostly smiled, listened and drank.  And thought about the future.

---------------

Next day

I was totally exhausted.  I didn't even wake up until 11:00 hours the next morning, and even then I felt like I had been dragged behind a HumVee for a couple of miles.  Rita was obviously checking up on me because she immediately came in with breakfast.  As I relaxed, she asked questions of the last night.  Being a intelligent woman, she was naturally impatient to hear of the adventure.  So, I slowly ate and filled her in.

Unbelievably, the authorities didn't even begin to suspect something was wrong until morning.  The cops in the escort car fixed their flat, and took off down the road but never caught up with the bus, obviously.  Once they got to the prison, they called back to the station to report that the bus hadn't showed up, but for some reason, it didn't seem to cause any concern.  Only when the driver and shotgun of the bus woke up and drove to a phone, did the shit hit the fan.  Hell, we could have stopped for dinner and a drink.

"...no.  The driver already had the canister of sleepy gas that we gave him.  He put it in his overnight bag and carried it on."  "...well, I got the idea from the capture cab that the agent in Australia had used.  In this case, when he reached down and turned on the gas valve, he pushed a clear air hose out the vent window and breathed through that."  He had worried about somebody noticing, but was assured that it wouldn't make much difference.  The guard in the back was much too far away to see it, and everybody else would be keeling over in a few seconds.  For obvious reasons, all the windows of the prison bus were permanently sealed shut and the only incoming air was from the insufficient air-conditioner - which he turned off just before gassing them.

"...oh yes.  It was important to give him an alibi, since, if they suspected him, then the next question would be, who paid you?  And the question probably wouldn't be asked in a polite tone of voice."  It wouldn't have mattered that much, but Jean said that it would be just another wall between them and us.  We had replaced the original canister with another empty one, but this one had a radio controlled valve.  Obviously, the bad guys had triggered it from beside the road as it drove past, followed the bus until the driver fell unconscious, then broke their way into the bus via the window when it rolled to a stop.

All in all, We wound up with twelve girls, in addition to Sally - a dozen ordinary cunts that I had no interest in, but if we had just snatched our girl, and left the rest, the fuzz would be going berserk to find everybody she had ever associated with.  Now, she was just one of a dozen others that had disappeared.  Of course, the police would be going over and over every girl's past to see which one was important enough to warrant such a massive kidnap operation.  I expected to be interviewed about Sally, but we had long established her cover in my building as just another low paid part time computer techie - one who did server stuff and cleaned viruses off PC's.  Her office had already been altered by Chip to look like the parts mess of the just described computer junkie - no records or papers were left, and of course, all PC's in upper floors were scrubbed clean of important data.

Besides, what would a rich and powerful industrialist who hobnobbed with governors and senators care about a female hacker?  I made more in ten minutes than even the biggest ATM held.

As the explanations ran down, I just sat back on the lounger and sipped the drink, alternating with allowing Rita to enjoy it also.  She knew I wasn't just relaxing and finally signed, "Something is bothering you."  A statement, not a question.

I emptied the glass, then put my arm around her.  "I think we're about through with the capture business - at least, actively."  She just widened her eyes and waited.  I was still marshaling my thoughts.  "We have excellent friends and comrades, but we've been lucky, too."  I looked at her.  "Remember the parable of the pitcher that went to the well too often?"  She nodded.   "Why risk all this for money we don't need, and girls that we can buy if we want?  I think we'll confine our business to pirate ships and politics.  And the import business, downstairs."

---------------

Saudia Arabia

I flew over to brief the Sheik on my decision to move the business into another realm, wondering just what he would think of an agent making decisions like that on his own.  As it turned out, I needn't have worried. 

"Rodger, you continue to astound me.  I don't know why.  I knew that when it was time for you to take off the training wheels, just to use the American idiom, that you would recognize the correct time to do it."  He refilled our glasses with his forbidden liquor.  "Of all my agents, except for Jean, you are the only one to recognize that the female side of our business is just the icing on the cake."  He shook his head, and continued, "I fear that my association with you has permanently changed my command of the English language.  I seem to be unable to avoid colloquial terms." 

"My other agents would never believe it, but my family's wealth has never come from the women themselves, but from all of the outside interests connected with them.  Madem Dupont, of your first operation, was a woman who would have brought a million Euros on the open market, but her business interests that I acquired, were worth far more.  The same with Fraulein Hauffmann from Germany.  High valued that she was, the amount paled into insignificance before the power and money that I acquired from her double."

"But..." he waved his finger at me.  "You have been curious about another associate in your country."  He pushed a button.  "I have never spoken of him - he is a friend, not an agent and his secrets are not mine to reveal - until he gave me permission."

What the Fuck!  How in hell did the Sheik know of my researches?  Only Sally and myself were privy to the secret and that thought brought up extremely unpleasant ideas.  I continued to flounder in my mind in total confusion until the Sheik smiled and continued.  "Relax, my friend.  You have no mole in your camp, and I have no secret cameras in your building.  I have known that a man of your intelligence would have wondered from the start about certain anomalies - such as how I got two American movie actresses in my seraglio, and how Tarkan came by so many upper class females from your country.  If you had been the type not to wonder, I would never have associated with you."  He looked over my shoulder as I heard the door open.  He pointed and I turned around.  "Rodger, may I present a compatriot of yours, Bill Tatum."

A trim and healthy man, and a beautiful younger woman were entering the room.  He was several years older than me, and the woman was probably close to my age.   He walked up an offered his hand.  "I am glad to finally meet you, sir."

I took it - firm it was, no wimp this - and replied.  "Rodger, Mr. Tatum."

He smiled and returned, "Bill." 

I turned to the smiling woman, who bowed and said, "So, this is the famous Mister Sergeant?"

Abashed, I replied.  "A moniker from a previous life, I'm afraid."

Mr. Tatum - Bill - put his hand on her shoulder, and said, "This is Teema.  My wife."   I nodded said something appropriate - I hoped - but I was looking at her neckwear.  It was a wisp of blue cloth - probably worth more than my suit.  

Blinking, I just stared as my mind assembled pieces of information from the past, and tried to reject the result.  I looked over at her husband, who laughed quietly and said, "Yes - she is the only living Blue Silk girl, at the present." 

I swallowed in preparation to say something probably asinine, but the woman waved her hand and said, with amusement, "Relax, Mr. Sergeant.  I do it just like all other women - just better than most."

Better!  A trainee at Suliman's with a yellow neck band could make Cleopatra seem like a frigid cunt, and, I knew first hand, that a green silk girl like Colette could leave a brass monkey with sore balls just by a gentle massage - let alone by doing anything sexual.  What in hell would a woman like this one be capable of? 

Fortunately, I kept my thoughts to myself.  "My pardon, Ma'am.  But until now the idea of a girl with blue silk has been just a legend.  Frankly, I wasn't ever sure that the tales were true."

The Sheik was enjoying the interaction.  He waved, and said, "Sit down my friends.  Let us get acquainted."

For hours, we talked.  Bill told me of his start into the female business, although not where their stash of girls were kept - I told him mine.  Even of my research to figure out if there actually was another organization that mirrored mine. 

Bill was into bondage, pure and simple.  He had started as a teen and carried it on through life.  Like me, he only cared enough about money to live comfortably and to get whatever he needed done.   Teema was introduced into his world by an Uncle or the like in Europe somewhere, but she said that was a separate story that would have to wait for another time.  She cared nothing for the B&D scene, but was apparently bisexual.  The drumbeat she followed, was sex, pure and simple, and the search for perfection in the subject.  I gathered that neither of them was monogamous - something that I thought interesting, until I thought of Rita.  Come to think of it, neither were we.

They had a young son, now asleep downstairs, that I would meet in the morning.  Finally, late at night, we wished each other a good night, before which they invited me to their mountain home at any time - insisted that I visit, actually.  Teema smiled and said, "I want to meet Rita - Mr. Hassan tells me that she is a stunning and intelligent woman..." - she winked - "...and that he has offered to purchase her on more than one occasion."

"Certainly," I replied.  "When you get down my way, stop in for a few days.  I have plenty of room and Rita will love the company.   And, of course, I'll bring her when I get up your way."

"Excellent," she replied.  "I want to hear the stories, first hand, about her adventures when you rescued her.  And I know it would be a waste of time asking you to tell them."

I laughed.  "She'll bend your ear for hours on the topic.  But," I shook a finger at her, "be sure and discount much of what she says, otherwise she'll have me striding into the compound on seven league boots and tearing the building down with my bare hands like Samson."

---------------

My office

"How is Penny?" I asked.

Zee was sitting and looking out the window. "About normal, when I left.  The shakes and dizzy spells are definitely getting worse and more often."

"And the her Doctors?"

"Not a clue.  She's had every Cat Scan, MRI, and blood test available.  Not only that, she's pe'ed in more cups than I've ever drunk out of."  A pause. "I don't like this, Rodger."

I looked at her.  "Do you want to call it off?  She's your friend and I will, if you want." 

She shook her head.  "I don't feel like a friend.  More like a traitorous bitch.  A friend doesn't poison a friend."

Hmmmm.  I very much doubted that Zee would revolt, but I needed to put her mind at ease.  What she and Julia were feeding Penelope drop by drop and at random intervals, wasn't poison and had no long term effects.  It just caused epileptic like seizures for a short time, and according to Dr. Thao, it metabolized so rapidly that the minute amount of drug was almost impossible to detect.  Especially if tests weren't run immediately, and the girls knew never to put the drop in her drink when medical help was close by. 

Zee was her father's daughter, with all that implied in a family business based on female slavery, and world-wise beyond most senior citizens, but, she was still a young woman, with all the feelings and hormones that went with that state of being.  "Do you think she would be amenable to the suggestion now?" I asked.  It was months early according to the plan, and her partner I wasn't worried about - if I ordered it, Julie's neurological conditioning would allow her to strangle her friend without a qualm, but Zee was an unaltered woman and her feelings were starting to worry me.

"I think she will.  Can I try?"  That was obviously an opinion based on hope, rather than rational thought, but so be it.

I nodded. "Ok.  Ask her over for a pajama party, or something, and see what she says.  Do it in the blue room so I can listen in."  That suite had long been fitted with mics and cameras, but I had never had reason to use them.  "Be sure and clue Julia in to the plan, so she can give her two cents worth."

---------------

The weekend.

I was watching and listening to the girls from my desk, with a small window in my upper desktop, while I did normal work on the computer.  So far, the scene had been a normal evening get-together with the three girls and Rita and Colette, sitting on the bed and floor in various stages of undress and exchanging clothes and girl-talk.  Anyone watching would have assumed that I was enjoying the scene as a voyeur but that was far from the case.  With the exception of Penny, I could view any of the girls I wanted in the privacy of my bedroom, in any state of undress and pose I wanted - including prone and under me.  No, I was waiting for Zee to pop the question.

Meanwhile, I missed having Sally on my staff.  She was still at Jeans, relaxing and enjoying herself, from all accounts.  Of course, Chip visited her often, and to maximize the time he could spend with her, I used him as my courier at the moment.  She was still doing work for me, just long distance, but it wasn't the same.  Jean was carefully putting together a new past for her in the hope that someday I could get her back.  She had minimal plastic surgery planned to alter her face, and she was amenable to a boob job - apparently a good percentage of the female population of the western world craved bigger tits than they were born with.  Of course, that was the fault of men like me that drooled over being able to bounce jugs and pull nipples as we played. 

However, naturally, Jean was on top of the problem, as usual.  For one thing, he pointed out, Sally wasn't a criminal - she had never been charged with a crime, let alone tried or convicted.  The assumption would be that she was kidnapped, so she wasn't guilty of escaping from custody.  By American law, she was still innocent.  And, if she wanted to hang around Paris for five more years, the statute of limitations would expire and she was home free. 

Unfortunately, it would take more than a new look and passport to allow her to come back to my building before the five years was up.  The appearance of a new employee, doing the same work as the fugitive one, and on the same floor with the same disability wouldn't pass scrutiny, even by an Inspector Clouseau quality flatfoot.  And her fingerprints were a problem that I hadn't figured out, yet.  Telly's suggestion was that we just hack into the FBI fingerprint database and erase them, which showed just how clueless he was about things outside of weapons and tactics.  However, the Sheik was, as always, a fountain of information on things illegal and how to get them done.  He assured me that problem could be fixed, although the procedure wasn't exactly minor outpatient surgery. 

Whatever.  Time would tell.  One thing that had definitely changed since we got Sally sprung, was that she had put an entirely new procedure in place for secure data.  It was all stored overseas, on a server in a country highly unfriendly with the West, double encrypted far beyond any rational security expert's dream, and only decrypted after loading onto a machine that had no connection to anything else.  After use, the entire hard drive of the machine was securely erased, and reloaded with the Operating System.  No incriminating file was allowed off the premises, or even on them for very long.  I doubted that...

I moved my attention to the video window, then maximized it and turned the sound up.  Zee was speaking.  "... had an employee with the same symptoms as you.  Rodger sent him to a specialized clinic in the Far East.  In a few months he was back and cured.  In fact, he still works downstairs in the import company."  Julie nodded as though she had just remembered the same thing.  Of course, Rita and Colette weren't in on the scheme, but would always agree that their mentor could work miracles.

"Really," Penny asked.  "The same... whatever it is... shakes and dizziness?"  

Zee nodded.  "Why don't you allow me to ask him?" 

"Yes.  Yes.  Of course.  Thank you."    I'll be damned!  The stupid little plot was actually working.  And months ahead of schedule.

"I think he's in his office right now.  Get your clothes on, girls - I'll see if he can come down here."

I closed the monitor window and waited for Zee to appear.  Shortly she did, and asked, "You heard?"

"Yep," I answered.  "That was an excellent job."  I stood up and we both headed down the hall.

---------------

Vietnam

A week later, we were motored to the entrance of Dr. Thao's clinic.  He was waiting for us at the door with a ready and warm welcome.  I introduced the young woman and we retired to his office.  He knew all about her, obviously, since he was a major participant in the scheme, and in fact, had produced the chemical that had given her the phony symptoms.  She wouldn't get the full course that my interns had received, just enough during her 'cure' to to regard me as lifesaver to whom to be eternally grateful.  And to have an undercurrent in her thoughts that I was the guru of problem solving.  Other than that, she would enjoy a normal life.

I stayed a few days, and met his young son, now back for the summer, from college in the U.S.   A chip off the old block - he was heavy into the idea of bio-alterations, as he called it.  When I left, I had plenty of food for thought, although nothing that I was going to act on any time soon.  My plate was full enough at the moment, and the year hadn't been without excitement.

---------------

Tarkans

I was halfway around the world at the clinic, so I just kept going, first to the Sheik's desert compound for consultation, then on to Tarkans.  This time I made sure to tell him that I was under a nonexistent Doctor's order to avoid alcohol before my soon-to-be checkup.  That got me out of drinking his rotgut beer. That was fortunate, since I had sent him twelve prime western women and he would have insisted on us chugging all morning to celebrate. 

In the back of his establishment, in a not-so-fancy room, I walked back in forth in front of the line of women.  They were still sullen and didn't yet realize just what they had become, but had learned quickly how to obey orders.   Tarnkan's dominitrix, and her ever ready crop, standing behind the line of cunts, had instilled a sense of discipline from the first day.

A couple of the women were fairly good looking broads.  I stopped in front of a tall, thin brunette with big tits and looked her up and down.  As I reached out to weigh a boob, she jumped back at my touch.  I wasn't offended, but she was, as the female trainer's crop lashed across her butt with a loud crack.  Then another across the back.  The last one took her to her knees with a sob.

I waited for a few seconds for her reeling senses to refocus, then said, "Stand up!"  She did, unsteadily.  "You will have a much less painful life if you realize that your body is not yours any longer."  Now I reached out with both hands and gave her tits a good squeezing, and this time she didn't object.  Nice.  Firm, and not phony.  While she was still halfway in shock from the crop, I gently kicked her feet apart, reached down to her twat, split it apart with two fingers, then stuck my middle one up the hole.  Not for any reason in particular, just to let her know that I could do it, and that her feelings were of no value.

Back in Tarkan's office, I thought about the line of girls.  Prime women he called them. I shook my head, thinking about the term.  Amazing how something can change so much in value, just by moving it somewhere else.  These girls were mostly run of the mill uneducated street bitches.  Tattoos, piercing holes, and remnants of purple and green hair - after classy females like Rita and Colette, they had no effect on me, but over here, they would bring premium prices to various village chiefs, businessmen and tribal leaders.  I told him to fatten them up, put them on the block, and we would split the profit.   At that, he started up with his one-sided toasting of our eternal friendship and promises of giving me his second wife's next daughter.  I hoped he was kidding.

I asked where the ex-judge had gone. 

"Ah," he laughed.  "She is spreading her legs in a casbah in Bulgaria.  Without complaint, of course, since she has lost her voice."  Another swig - he must have a cast iron liver.  "The Pasha is most taken with her."

---------------

France.  Jean's Mansion

Sally met me at the door, and as well as she could, tried to squeeze me to death for several seconds.  Of course, Chip was there, ready to shake my hand off as soon as I could tear myself away from his significant other.  Along with Jean, we sat in his luxurious study for hours, reminiscing and talking about her ordeal for the past several weeks.  Eventually, after a sumptuous dinner, we retired to his lounge where I asked for their attention.

"My friends.  These last few weeks have made me admit something that I have been avoiding for a long time.  None of us are old and decrepit, but we aren't getting younger.  We've been very successful.  We have become very wealthy.  But, it is time for the gambler to cash in his chips and get up from the table with his stash."   They were surprised at the direction my talk was going, but not shocked, or even concerned.   I continued, "We aren't going out of business, I assure you.  Our future is still full of plots and plans - just nothing that will have a chance of us going back to the pokey."  I smiled.  "Welllll...  Maybe not totally kosher.  If someone crosses us, he will wind up selling pencils and she will be staring at the ceiling on some foreign pallet." 

"Here's my line of thought..."  

===============================

The years pass

I am no longer a man in my twenties.  In fact, very shortly I will be able to say that about my forties.  My frenzied pursuit of tail has slowed somewhat, but is still at a very healthy level.  My incomparable redhead is still my favorite squeeze and will always be.  Especially since we have a smaller version of her in the form of a beautiful little carrot topped daughter.  She gets her fiery spirit from me, but hopefully her looks will be from her mother.

With my still sexy Rita on tap, and frequent performances by others in my circle, I have no need to search the world for new stuff.  Besides, as I had told her years ago, an activity that was exciting and adrenaline stimulating to a young man, comes to be a hazardous and frightening risk to an older one with vastly more to lose.

For a person who doesn't care for the pursuit of money, beyond what I need to live well on and operate, my fortune is worldwide and beyond counting.  Even my crew of accountants isn't exactly sure of the sum total.

The times - they became a'different.  Primary energy costs climbed through the roof, and the old days of using electricity for heating a hot tub, or gasoline for driving to the big city for a casual shopping day were mostly gone.  Automobiles were far smaller, slower and in some cases, barely big enough to hold the occupant.  Air travel was now exclusively for the wealthy, or, naturally, for politicians on 'official' trips.  Passenger trains are coming back - a far more fuel efficient mode of transportation than individual vehicles.    My import/export business has become very large, but most of our merchandise goes by water and train, not air.  Ships are still massive, but also slow.  Very slow.  A factor - as I was told by engineers who know that stuff - is that a boat that doubles its speed, uses four times the fuel.  The reverse of that is, by cutting speeds to just above that needed to safely steer the ship, the fuel costs could be minimized.  With the production of vessels with mathematically perfect hulls for the slow speeds, the fuel required for a voyage is now less than a fifth of what it had been twenty years before.

All of my grunts are retired from wearing cammies and shooting pirates, and are wealthy in their own right.  A couple even have their own teams that are leased out to guard various assets around the world.  Most live in town and we meet almost weekly.

Chip and Sally are married, and like Paris so much they just stayed there - still working for me - and Jean.  And Katja. 

The female assassin is finally slowing down.  She isn't now on a constant quest for violence and danger, rather, she is now the defacto ruler of the Sheik's domain.  Of course, in that country, a woman can't be in charge of anything, let alone own a huge desert mansion and compound.  But, one of Hassans lesser sons became the figurehead, while she runs the business.  All that being said, it would be a very unwise young man to assume that she was just a normal helpless middle aged female.  With her at the helm, both the Sheik's vast enterprises and mine were merged together in many aspects.

The Sheik himself, has retired to his bevy of beauties, and while still lucid, age is definitely beginning to tell on him.

Bill and Teema have become our close friends, and Rita and I visit back and forth with them very often.  His - their harem is unbelievable, but unfortunately, not something that I can reveal the details or whereabouts of.  Take it from me, it is a dominate person's dream.

Jean and I still visit each other and plot, but our operations are civil, not military, and are about money and power, not females and chains.   That isn't to say that we haven't sent the odd female to the Sheik - I mean, Katja's -  or Tarkan's - always one that had crossed us somehow, rather than a woman selected for her value.  Did I say plot?  More like ....

Penny had come back from the retired Dr. Thao's clinic, perfectly attuned to me and my psychic - if that is the word.  Anyway, I suggested, and she agreed - on anything.  Years ago she married and since then, Zee has been the CEO of the empire, with Julie her secretary without portfolio.   As such, I had control of the largest industrial complex in the country, and it had only grown larger since those early days after Penny's father had passed away.    Between it and the Super Pacs - that were now called PIC's, Political Investment Committees - that I controlled, enough money was funneled into the political stream to pretty well shape government business to my way of thinking - which was, leave capitalism alone - as bad as it is, the alternatives are far worse.   All this isn't to say that I just got on the phone to a Congressman and ordered laws to be passed.  I didn't have anywhere close to that kind of power.  No, rather, my current action teams determined a path that needed to be taken, then various methods of pushing the elected officials along that direction were taken.  Money, favors, political chits, both bought and paid, all according to a strict mathematical formula and...

Say what, you ask?  One of my greatest 'inventions' were my current action teams - no different in principle than my older teams that shot up pirates and drug dealers in the good old days.  Only, the weapons of these teams were mathematics and information - not rifles and bullets.    Like my previous crew - still very close comrades -  these were very well paid, loyal and tested.  The difference was that, while my older teams got their education from the streets and battlefields, these were the cream from the best universities in the world.  

I still lived in the same building, now in the middle of a vastly larger city, grown almost a hundred miles across any dimension.  Of course, the building had been facelifted a few years ago for energy conservation, but it still had my living quarters on the top floor, but the one under it was totally consumed by my newer... ah...  organization.   It was populated by a group of people, both young and old, who were masters in math and societal interaction.  We - and I say we because they provided the smarts and I the money - we built the science of political sociology mathematics.  Psicho, was the codename.  Political Science with Integrated Choreographed Humanistic Operations.   What the hell, you ask?  Let me give an example.

Say, A particular law needs to be passed - in my opinion, of course - to fix a problem, but a law that isn't a slam dunk, by any means.   Long before one of my friendly politicians is asked to submit it, my crew starts to work to lay the groundwork.  Over the months, or years, a meticulous operation is planned and started.  Unlike an op that is designed to get your favorite squeeze out of the clutches of a street boss, this one can't be put together as a front to back plan.  Rather, it evolves over time. 

First, maybe, information about the problem is brought to the attention of certain news media - possibly even staged if necessary.  Then following a rising curve on a chart, maybe an event, or a story - anything - is brought to the attention of the public.  The reactions are carefully and mathematically plotted.  A push here on the public awareness, a pull there by a prominent commentator to get the line on the chart to follow the desired curve.  Done properly, a few people thinking that something might need to be changed, can drag along others who really believe that the change is needed.  Then, with the appropriate stimuli applied at proper intervals, eventually the political hierarchy suddenly realizes that the people are clamoring for something they didn't even know existed before our operation began.

It worked with politicians and elections, also.  Given enough time, we could make almost any candidate the darling of the electorate - or conversely, dump a problem legislator or troublesome candidate into the shitcan.

I don't want to give the impression that I put together a dream team of sociologists and mathematicians and we started changing the Republic overnight.  Rather, it was a long learning curve, with far more failures than successes at the beginning.  But, over time the science behind our formulas and methods was changed and refined and our success rate steadily climbed.  It is still climbing.

We have many operations going at the present.  Some are minor and take a few months to conclude.  For instance, the prosecutor who had tried to burn Sally long ago, lost his reelection and finally wound up representing people with parking tickets from a fleabag office by the tracks.  It was one of our first tests of the idea.

Some operations will take years and a few have conclusion dates far into the future.  Some are big...

On a master chart in a locked room, the three time governor of Texas, Mrs. Jessica Locklear, shows to have a 72.3 percent chance of being the first female President of the United States.  An entire team of my best operatives is working full time on the project to boost even those overwhelming odds, ably assisted by Governor Locklear's Chief of Staff, one Miss Bonnie Fields, who will probably become the Secretary of the U.S. Department of State.  Two other assistants, past graduates of an obscure training facility in the Far East, and beholden to an obscure one time sergeant nobody, will be also high in the administration.

All over the country, several dozen interns are working themselves up the ladder, thanks to the encouragement given to them by a person who saw that they were educated for the task in Vietnam.

Coda

---------------

I am standing in one of my many lounges, looking out over the lights of my adopted city.  My red-haired squeeze is asleep on a sofa, looking as luscious and desirable as ever.  Shortly, I will wake her up and we will retire to my huge bed, probably not to have sex, but to fall asleep in each other arms.  She has been with me almost a quarter of a century, and I never tire of exploring her body.

I drain my class in a silent toast to all the comrades that I had called 'buddy' and who had honored me by returning the salutation.  And all the women that I had enjoyed, either with or against their will.  What would the next twenty five years bring to an uneducated ex-sergeant?

The State had become my plaything years ago.  The Country was about to fall into my sphere of influence shortly, unless Murphy stuck it to us.   Unlikely, but I have long since learned to respect him and his whims. 

I smile and tell myself, Heck, I'm not even fifty yet.  Tomorrow?  Who knows?  Maybe the World.

End of The Desert Nexus