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Chapter 2: A Murder Earthshaking
Hank Dalton hurried through the underground passage between his home and his office. The scanner had announced TWO people in the visitor's conveyance. Hank glanced at the data link in his hand, a device known commercially as a Palm Slave, and tried to discern the people carried in the slave compartment of the government-issue sky car. Normal people never paid attention to the contents of a slave compartment. They thought that nobody important was back there.
As Hank climbed a spiral staircase to his office, he noted that the sky car had parked and that FOUR people had disembarked—and that there were three more people inside the sky car. Hank's slave secretary, Nancy, greeted the four people. Using his Palm Slave, Hank identified the people who stepped out of the sky car. The slave secretary was petite and showed no signs of having borne Hank Dalton two children over the past seven years. She had short brown, almost black hair, large expressive brown eyes, small but full breasts, and had gone by the name Nancy Isobel when she was a Legal Resident. Nancy did wear four things—a pair of earrings, a navel ring and an iridescent metal-mesh slave choker. Hank felt himself getting aroused watching Nancy's muscular buttocks flex and her firm breasts jiggle and suppressed his sexual excitement. Business concerning "Uncle Sampson's estate" was code for an issue concerning the United States Remaining or U.S.R., itself a euphemism. The rump of the former 51 United States, confined to the South Eastern part of the continent minus Florida, still called itself the United States of America and regarded the independent nations of Capitallia and Atzlan to be temporarily in rebellion. Getting his mind off of Nancy's delectable nether region and back to business, Hank identified Ned Saunders, Mrs. Regina Harold, daughter Charity Harold and a woman whom he had never met before, Karen Coalfield. Hank took a guess at the three people hidden in the sky car. His own scanners were not able to determine more than that there were three other humans in the back of the sky car, one slave and two Legal Residents.
Once in his office Hank had a few moments to bring his racing pulse under control and to evaluate the situation. He made his office wall transparent and watched as Nancy led the four into the conference room adjoining Hank's private office. Dalton could see them, but they would see only a video screen if they looked in his direction—a video screen currently configured to display a California beach scene. Dalton could see the clocks on the opposite wall—computerized digital numbers, flanking an octagonal shadow box mounted on the wall. One clock read 0954 hours and was labeled 'Pacific Local Time' and the other read 1254 hours and was labeled 'New York City Time.' Capitallia's seat of government was the former United Nations complex in New York City—a real-time video feed from the Capitallia World Network was displayed below the New York City clock and a real-time video feed of the Virginia Street downtown gambling strip in Reno was under the Pacific Local Time clock.
Nancy served refreshments to the four visitors and requested permission to have something brought to the three people remaining in the sky car and was told that they were fine. Each visitor presented credentials to the ID scanner, indicating that this was an official meeting. Hank had his conference room security sensors conduct a quick scan. The scan revealed that Hank's old army buddy Ned Saunders was wearing a 6.5mm Compact Personal Defensive Weapon, a descendant of generations of slug-throwing selective fire handguns. The blonde woman had an identical pistol in her large shoulder bag. Ned was wearing a safari jacket and brown pants. His leopard-print ascot provided a bit of color on otherwise subdued Earth-toned clothing—down to his buffed brown boots with their pebbled surface. The woman identified herself as Agent Karen A. Coalfield and she wore a puce-colored pantsuit with color-coordinated accessories. The second free woman, Mrs. Regina Harold, wore a formal black mourning dress that came down to her knees. The outfit included long sleeves, black stockings, black gloves, and a hat with a black veil covering half of her face. Given that the outside air temperature was now 34 degrees on the Centigrade scale and rising and that the interior office spaces were kept at a comfortable temperature/humidity level for normally nude Silver Orb residents, the sheen of perspiration on the woman's exposed face was understandable. Regina Harold was the wife of the late Capitallian Senator Benton Harold. With Regina was daughter Charity Harold, a slender brunette on the verge of adulthood. Charity was wearing a matching black dress, had a Legal Resident ID bracelet on her left wrist, but lacked gloves and hat. The daughter was too young for the hat and traditionally the wife wore a veil.
"Master, Mistresses, your drinks," Nancy held a tray with four glasses. Ned selected a cocktail glass filled with clear liquid and a green olive at the bottom. Regina took two, a shot glass with amber fluid and a tumbler with ice cubes and clear brown liquid. Charity grabbed an opaque pink bubbly drink in another tumbler. Karen's drink was plain water, no ice. "Miss Charity, Nevada Law prohibits serving alcohol to people under the age of 21."
"That's not fair," Charity pouted. "I can get champagne in California. Here I can get married or become a concubine in three more years. I can become a prostitute at age 19. Why can' I have a little champagne?"
"Because Nancy is a slave and her master has commanded her to obey all laws," Regina said just before knocking back the contents of the shot glass in an unlady-like fashion. The woman placed the empty shot glass on the tray and licked her lips. "I could use two or three more of those, but not right now."
"Where's this Mr. Dalton?" Karen asked.
It was time for Hank to make his appearance. He stepped into a short hallway and emerged through the projection. The doorway from Hank's office to the conference room was obscured but the video projection so that Hank appeared to emerge from the crashing surf. Digital manipulation deceived the eye; it looked as if Hank were part of the video until he stepped from projected sand to conference room carpet.
"Good morning, all," Hank's emerging from the video image produced different reactions. Young Charity abandoned her half-consumed pink fizzy drink on the conference room table and rushed to embrace the naked man with a shout of 'Uncle Hank!' Charity and her sisters were frequent visitors to Silver Orb and they called Hank Dalton "Uncle Hank." Regina retained her own glass and made a more dignified journey across the room. Nancy smiled, lowered her head respectfully and peered at her master. Ned Saunders took in Hank's abrupt entrance and the reaction of Karen Coalfield. "I heard about Benton on the news. My condolences to you both and to the rest of your family."
"Dave didn't do it," Regina whispered into Hank's ear. "He couldn't."
"I know," Hank lied. He had a weeping girl cinched around his waist under his left arm and Regina had slipped Hank's right arm around her own waist. "I wish we were meeting under different circumstances."
"You're naked!" Karen Coalfield squealed, her face flushed to a shade that matched her pants suit. "What happened to your hair!"
Hank squeezed Regina's shoulder and then used his right hand to brush his short grey scalp hair. "Um, I got old? It turned gray and began falling out?"
"That's not—"
"Agent Coalfield," Ned barked, still amused. "Later."
"The obvious question is 'why are you here, Mrs. Harold?' Silver Orb isn't your usual haunt and you didn't schedule another two week vacation for your children." Hank placed his hand on Regina's shoulder and gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Then there's a state funeral to attend. I am expecting to be there myself to say goodbye to my old commanding officer."
"I came here for privacy," Regina said. Her veil hid her expression, but the short explosive laugh and rueful tone betrayed her combating emotions. "Privacy in a place where I won't be wearing anything. Ned claims that this is the safest place in Capitallia."
"It would take a combined arms battle team to get in here," Ned quipped. "As we flew in, the sky car's defensive systems were protesting about being tracked by anti-aircraft systems."
"Yes, Ned, a 500-man military task force with tanks, artillery and helicopter gunships could breach Silver Orb's perimeter," Hank admitted.
Ned roared in laughter. He spilled his martini on the carpet.
"Would," Ned gasped. He took a moment to compose himself, gulped down his concoction of gin and vermouth, took a deep breath and started again. "Would there be any survivors?"
"Why?" Hank asked with a straight face. "How many prisoners would you want?"
"I don't want to be facing paparazzi," Regina explained. "That's why Benton and I sent our girls here two or three times a year. No news media. No citizens with their cell phones. Now I want to be left alone to get good and drunk and then I want to use your services as a grief counselor. After that—well, we'll see."
Karen had turned her attention to the octagonal shadow box on the wall. She was absorbed in examining the various patches, rank insignia, medals and badges surrounding a plain dagger mounted in the center. Finally, Karen pointed at a small patch that had a blue rectangle in the upper left quarter with 51 tiny white-pointed stars on it. The rest of the little flag consisted of 7 horizontal red stripes and 6 horizontal white stripes alternating.
"Why do you have this thing?"
"I was a United State Marine from 2082 until President Goldsmythe dissolved us," Hank said quietly. "You used the Uncle Sampson's Estate code, Ned. What was the emergency?"
"Four national senators died in Florida over the last ten days," Ned answered. "We suspect that the Langley Gang is behind it. Karen, report."
Still staring at the display of cloth and metal military decorations, Karen recited a summary of four political deaths. Rebecca Hurt, the junior senator from Florida, was killed along with her slave and flight instructor Henri when the sport biplane she was flying dove into the ground. Florida's senior senator, Coot Verikool, was found dead in his bedroom along with slave Justine—both had succumbed to heart attack at almost the same time. Senator Kenneth Bordon was the senior senator from Michigan and had been found at the bottom of the hotel swimming pool with his slave Ronald's fingers laced around the senator's neck. Ronald had drowned pinning his owner to the bottom of the pool. Nevada's senior senator had been Benton Harold. Slave Dave had used Senator Benton's old commando dagger to stab Benton Harold in the head just behind the ear before Slave Dave took a dive through a plate-glass window headfirst into the sidewalk thirteen stories below.
"Okay, that was impossible," Hank said. "Dave had no background in the Fairbairn knife technique and he didn't use Major Harold's own dagger to kill him. Are we supposed to think that Aztlan killed Senator Harold? Benton snapped his dagger off at the hilt in that Atzlan officer's back when we captured those Snakefly missiles. I mounted the pieces in a shadow box like that one. When you check Benton's office, you'll see the parts are under a centimeter of armored Plexiglas and there is 8 millimeters of aluminum armor on the sides and back. Benton insisted that I fill the box with resin so that he could see his broken dagger and remind himself from time to time of his own mortality, but he wanted it sealed away so that it could never be used again to kill anybody."
"Uncle Hank, why would Aslan the Lion kill Daddy?" Charity's face was a mixture of pain and confusion.
"Charity," Regina said. "Hush."
"May I answer your daughter, Mrs. Harold?"
"Please, call me Regina. You are going to know me in the Biblical sense tonight so you might as well call me by my first name, Hank."
"Very well. Aslan didn't kill your father. Aslan is in Narnia. We were referring to the nation called Aztlan. It was formed out of Texan, New Mexico, Arizona and part of California, plus the Mexican districts of Baja California, Baja California Sur, Sonora, Chihuahua and Coahulia. Aztlan formed just before Capitallia did." Hank rubbed his chin. "How can I do this and not lecture everyone to death? Oh, yes, Aztlan was 100 years in the making, and was formed of people who felt that they had their birthright stolen from them. Part of their argument was with the Mexican government and part of it was with the United States over the outcome of the Mexican American War of 1846. I'm sorry, but it has been going on a long time."
"Why would they want to kill Daddy?"
"Your father took away some nuclear-tipped missiles from the Aztlan military after they used them on Mexico City and Las Vegas. Aztlan soldiers objected to that—it was their job. Your father had to kill some of them to stay alive. Soldiers do that. One of those men was the brother of the current ruler."
"Daddy was a Marine," Charity said.
"He knows, honey," Regina patted Charity's shoulder. "Uncle Hank was Gunny Dalton."
Charity gaped at Hank.
"Hank and your daddy and I were in the same commando unit," Ned explained to the 13 year old girl. "Hank and I go way back—he saved my life more times than I can count.
"Back to the subject," Ned said as he squarely faced Hank Dalton. "What is your take on the assassination?"
"Dave wasn't responsible for killing Benton Harold." Hank said.
"You don't believe that Slave Dave killed his owner?" Karen asked.
"Oh, I believe that. I believe that Dave used a Fairbairn dagger to kill Benton, too. Our special operations detachment carried the British Commando dagger of World War Two for purposes of esprit de corps, and Benton had me drill everybody in the techniques specific to that blade. I had been an amateur historian and I studied World War Two special operations units in exhausting detail. I think that the technique and tool used was intended to give us a message. What I mean when I say that Slave Dave wasn't RESPONSIBLE for killing Benton Harold is that Slave Dave was under someone else's control. The slave control implants and modern behavior control techniques can make a puppet out of anyone. I wonder if they were cruel enough so that Dave was himself and was horrified about his body hurting Benton, or if he was just mindless during the operation?" Hank James Dalton shook his head. "What confuses me is were we supposed to think that Atzlan operatives did, or are we supposed to figure out that the old Central Intelligence Agency did it? William Fairbairn trained personnel in the CIA's predecessor, the World War Two Office of Strategic Services, in close quarter battle techniques Fairbairn developed as a cop in the international settlement at Shanghai following the First World War. Trouble is that Atzlan doesn't have modern mind control technology—"
"That we know of," Ned inserted.
"Besides, the USR has a border with Florida. Atzlan consists of parts of what was Northern Mexico, Baja California, the southern quarter of California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas." Hank met Ned's gaze. "I complained about what happened to the old Disneyland when La Raza took over the place, but you should see what they did to the Alamo."
"Stick to the subject, Hank."
"Well, the USR held onto Virginia and Maryland—and CIA, FBI and NSA headquarters. We actually got most of the personnel because the USA had a poor track record of honoring contracts. In Capitallia the contract is sacred. The USA often unilaterally broke treaties with the Native American tribes, and after 2015 was treating everyone as if they were Indians on the Reservations. The borders between Capitallia, Aztlan and the USR were established in 2090 but they are still contested. The USR doesn't always keep to its treaties and Aztlan never bothered with treaties."
"Who do those Aztlan people think they are?" Mrs. Harold asked. "First, they just take over the states bordering Mexico and start a war, now they keep causing trouble."
"They call themselves 'la Raza' and think that the old Mexican Empire is their birthright—stolen by Yankee conquerors. Imagine that the area west of the Louisiana Purchase was claimed up to the Oregon Territory and down to Columbia was one big country. That is what Aztlan is supposed to be. All people of Mexican descent are part of la Raza, but as the author of 'Animal Farm' wrote: 'some animals are more equal than others.' Just like the myth of equality in the USR. Capitallia is far more honest with slaves and Legal Resident Non-citizens and full Citizens. Equality was a fairy tale. People were never equal—not even before the law."
"How did Aztlan come about?"
"Well, Regina, there was a period of over a century when uncontrolled immigration, mostly from Mexico, put nearly 100 million Latinos in the United States—that was over a quarter of the nation's population in 2088." Ned held out his empty martini glass and continued talking as Nancy refilled it. "That was called the Reconquista and is the main reason Capitallia is so strict about who can be a citizen. It is why we have those controls on our Legal Residents. In the old USA many illegal immigrants were granted citizenship in multiple amnesty programs. As automatic citizens they were allowed to own real estate and businesses, become professionals, vote and hold public office. Many were never loyal to the United States and they plotted its downfall from within. Capitallia makes damned sure that all citizens are loyal before they are granted citizenship."
"Benton Harold killed the son of Aztlan's first minister for the Aztlan Defense Forces with the dagger that he keeps in his office, Mrs. Harold. He kept it there to remind himself that he was mortal. It is a possible motive because Aztlan's current ruler is that dead colonel's son."
"Well, if these Aztlanders did kill my husband," Regina said, "where did they come from?"
"They could have staged out of Cuba," Ned commented. That is a lot of open water patrolled by the US Navy for Atzlan operators to cross."
"I don't think so, Ned." Hank shook his head. "Ever since that woman Maria claimed that she was the reincarnation of Fidel Castro and her cult overthrew the old regime, Cuba has been closed to the rest of the world. It is possible that the USR allowed some Atzlan bravos to cross its territory to get to Florida, but the USR hates Atzlan more than it hates us. We do have the old 75 and 95 land corridors through to Florida and three air corridors, too."
"The 75 was closed again because of the race riots in Atlanta," Ned fished out his olive and popped into his mouth.
"Our information is that half of Atlanta has burned down and there were more than 2000 fatalities," Karen said. "It is the same old story. Washington stirs up racial incidents and then accuses us of exporting terrorists. We won't even waste our money SHOOTING those damned terrorists. Why would we fund them?"
"The Langley Gang now calls itself The Department of Truth and Light." Ned added. "They changed names last month."
"Really, Ned?" Hank chuckled. "And I used to get regular reprimands for my sarcasm."
"You deserved them." Ned took his empty glass over to the conference room mini-bar and opened up the shaker, peered in. "Could I get you something?"
"I'm fine, Ned. So far we've had a history lesson, you gave the Senator's widow, three daughters and surrogate mother a lift and we've discussed three other dead senators. What did you have in mind for me? What's the mission? Do I have any support?"
"Regina, I need your and Charity to leave for this. I need to give Hank his orders."
"If I can get someone to take me to your house," Regina responded. "I don't know the way."
"Nancy, will you please escort our guests and their slave to our home?"
"I can do that, Uncle Hank," Charity said.
"Nancy will make sure that you all have a bed and whatever else you need. Nancy, carry on."
"Yes, Master. Will we see you at the transition ceremonies today?"
"I think so."
In a moment the room was silent.
"We think that these four murders are only the tip of the iceberg," Ned poured the rest of the shaker into his martini glass and fished a pair of olives from the jar on the counter. He plopped one into the glass and held the other between thumb and forefinger. "Time is short. All four senators died in Florida. Do you still remember the place?"
"I vacationed in Orlando Land and toured the Space Center at Christmas. Other than that, I don't know Florida."
"Hank, you are too modest. When you take a vacation you plan it out like a military operation. You find out everything about the place, have maps and even building plans, you take a survival kit along and the first thing you do is make plans to get back to base alive. You drilled that into my head time and time again and I owe you my life so many times that I lost count. Always do the escape plans first. Never pull an ambush from a place that doesn't have a way out. Never pull a raid until the withdrawal phase has been rehearsed. Good soldiers live to fight another day—and you can't learn from your experiences if you don't survive them." Ned tossed his olive up and caught it. "You spent a little more than two weeks there. We lost you a few times."
"Those were your boys? I'm sorry, Ned. I thought that those were hostiles."
"A few were. Thank you for not killing anybody."
"I was on vacation. I didn't need to leave anybody for the alligators."
"The Agency needs you to be in Jacksonville by Thursday. I can expedite your visa and you will be taking one slave. Her name is Amanda."
"Amanda," Hank stared at Karen and watched the blonde blush again. "Karen Amanda Coalfield? From my first impression you'd be a liability on this mission."
"I am proficient at tradecraft," Karen sulked. "I need the field experience and being your slave is excellent cover."
"Ms. Coalfield, are you still a virgin?"
The blonde nodded, sniffing back tears.
"This is a job interview, Ms. Coalfield. Look at me. Look my direction," reluctantly the woman turned and stared at the floor. "I was going to suggest starting with my face, but starting at my feet and working up is workable too. Look at me. If you can't look at my body with your clothes on, what's going to happen when you walk around stark naked in Florida? They're not just naked there, I've seen people having sex in public at the beaches in Miami and at bars in Jacksonville. How can I rely on you to watch my back when seeing a little skin incapacitates you?"
"You can help her," Ned popped the olive in his mouth and chewed it with relish.
"I am fully implanted with the Jakefield Unitary System," Karen trembled as she spoke. "I have undergone therapy for my modesty. I'm still a virgin but you can take care of that."
"This is a bit extreme for just one quick mission, especially that Jakefield. I worked on it and my own system—the Jakefield was adopted and mine only got approved two years ago." Hank watched Ned gulp down the martini and the remaining olive. When Hank tried to meet Karen's eyes, she dropped her gaze again. "Better, but I need you to look me in the eye. There is something you aren't telling me."
"Karen's mother was Amanda Coalfield. You may have heard of her during the elections." Hank shook his head in answer to Ned's question. "It didn't stick because there are no more stigmas to sex outside marriage—whether prostitutes or mistresses or even concubines. After Amanda left Benton, she lived with me for a year. Then she vanished without a word. Amanda Coalfield was a free woman, so I just made sure that she wasn't abducted or anything.
"Sixteen years ago police in Missouri raided a cult compound and arrested the ring leaders for various federal crimes. Karen was 14 then and she was identified as my child through the DNA database. I rescued her from the orphanage. She was a mess, but I owed her. Amanda died a few months before the raid. I could have just let Karen stay in the orphanage, I had no legal obligations to her or her mother, but she was my flesh and blood."
"I am a virgin and I want to have a baby," Karen said. "I want to raise a daughter. I want her to have what I missed out on."
"Why not find a nice young man," Hank asked. "Or buy one. Renting is cheaper."
"Because it's a sin!"
"Karen was really fucked up by that Missouri cult," Ned was clearly drunk. "You know about how a cult can deeply indoctrinate people using old school techniques. Karen was under the control of The Fishers of Men almost from birth."
"That sounds almost like the old Silver Orb," Hank said. "So you were a child of the Fishers of Men? And why the slave control digital bio implants?"
Karen nodded. "I can't love. I panic when I see a naked person. Therapy helps only so much. What I need is someone to take control over me—total control. If I were married, it would be easier, but a concubine is a wife. A slave concubine can't sin because a slave isn't held responsible for her actions. My mental health care provider said that a slave implant and some time spent as a slave will make my life whole."
Hank's poker face revealed nothing as he glanced at Ned shaking more martinis. Hank's eyes shifted back to Karen and they bored into her. "So why me?"
"Because," Ned opened the shaker and poured half the contents over yet another olive, "you will give her love and you will protect her child. You are that sort of man, Hank. You will command her and you will release her from slavery when she is ready. We need Karen to be a real slave when you get to Florida. She's mostly trained, but you'll have to do all the sex stuff yourself."
"I will do anything you command," Karen paused, "Master."
"Get naked. Leave everything on the table."
"Yes, Master."
Karen trembled as she placed her purse on the table. She unbuttoned her jacket and placed it on the purse. She removed her shoes and left them on the floor. Next Karen removed her shirt.
"Amanda is a good girl," Karen changed to herself as she unfastened and slid her pants off. Karen repeated the chant as she peeled off her panty hose. Naked from the waist down, she pulled the shoulder straps of her sturdy white bra down off her shoulders and rotated the clasp from back to front so that she could unhook it. Naked now, Karen's hands kept fluttering over her unruly nest of brown pubic hair and her breasts. She kept hunching over. "Amanda is a good girl."
"Amanda IS a good girl," Hank repeated. "Amanda is a very good girl. Amanda is a good girl."
The words seemed to soothe the agitated woman. Karen turned her back on Hank as she reached under her clothes and into her purse. Hank's eyes narrowed and his body tensed—when Karen's hand came out with her quickset handcuffs, he relaxed. Karen secured her own hands behind her back.
"At three this afternoon I'm going to join the other people who are being enslaved here," Karen said. "My slave name is Amanda. I need to stay restrained. I can't keep my hands from covering up. What are your orders, my master?"
"Ned, she's got your puppy dog eyes. You never told me that you had a daughter."
"The rest of her is her mother," Ned's voice was slightly slurred. Of course. He was intoxicated. Ned finished off the remaining olives and martini. "Karen wants a child so that she can give it the childhood she never had. I want a grandchild or two or three. You have a bunch of women, but you always had a soft spot for strays. Karen will be welcomed into your home. It may be the first time that she's known love. Hear that tick, tick, tick?"
"No, Ned. I don't."
"Listen figuratively. That's Karen's biological clock running down."
"Modern medicine has broken the century barrier," Hank said. "Capitallia has a few citizens who were born during the 20th Century and who had volunteered as medical experimental slaves. They were able to turn back the clock. None of them look a day over 60 now—that's age 60 a year ago. Karen has perhaps 200 more years if nothing changes. We don't know because the suppressed medical studies of the 21st Century were released just after Capitallia became independent. It seems that the USA was suppressing the results of research into life extension as a population control measure. Now that we've rid ourselves of the old Department of Human Entitlements and Services, we can make use of that technology. They used convicts for experiments."
"How old are you, Hank? I lost count."
"I turned 72 in May."
"If you dyed your hair you could pass for half that."
"This is sun bleached," Hank claimed as he eyed Karen. The silent woman was flushed from the roots of her hair to her nipples. "Amanda is a good girl."
"Remember to breathe, Karen. Just like in karate class."
"Karate? What belt?"
"I didn't make brown belt, Master. I couldn't touch someone else."
"That's not good," Hank said.
"I'm mostly cured because of the control implants, Master. A few weeks ago I couldn't even take my clothes off." Karen looked down at her bare toes.
"I was going to bring her here in two more weeks, Hank, but this came up," Ned slurred.
"Karen," Hank asked, "you have a law degree. What was your specialty?"
"Constitutional law, Master."
Hank started to say something, but changed his mind.
"You've had enough time to adjust to being naked," Hank said after a short delay, "Do I need to address you as Amanda?"
"Master may address slave any way that pleases Master," Karen began to hyperventilate. Hank repeated her calming command, 'Amanda is a good girl, ' until Karen got her breathing under control. "Amanda was slave's slave name."
Ned ate the last olive and was swigging gin straight from the bottle. Karen was not the only person in the conference room with a case of nerves.
"Okay, you're Amanda. Right now I'm taking you home. I'll use a tunnel, but you will meet my family. The kids will be thrilled to get a new auntie. When we get home I want you to tell my wife Kelly that you are becoming my new slave and that your name is Amanda. She usually asks the woman to be my slave or concubine. This is different. Tonight you will be helping care for the children while the rest of us attend an orgy. I won't inflict that on you immediately, but you will experience the nightmare of standing up in a school auditorium completely naked. The differences: it won't be a dream and nearly everyone else will be naked, too."
Hank gently ran his fingertips lightly over Amanda's body. Her flat nipples popped out when he touched her breasts and a tell tale odor of feminine arousal reached Hank's nostrils as Karen told herself that Amanda was a good girl. Karen's armpits were hairy and having her hands cuffed behind her back made checking the armpits difficult. Hank knelt, ignoring his own stiffening penis as he ran a finger through the matted jungle covering her pubic bone, tugged at the mess.
"I am going to have you place your upper body on the table, Amanda," Hank positioned her so that he had her rump in the air and her feet were shoulder width apart. Karen's legs were covered with fine golden hairs. Hank pried open her butt cheeks and took a long look. He kept repeating the phrase "Amanda is a good girl."
After Hank helped Amanda stand up again, he looked over her one more time.
"Tall—abut a meter seventy five, right?" Karen nodded in answer. "You have good muscle tone in your arms and legs."
"She's got a fuckin' potbelly," Ned was peering in the empty olive jar as he slurred his words. "Karen has been eating too many éclairs and skipping her gym appointments. You'll have to fix that."
"I couldn't take all those women in the showers," a tear rolled down Karen's cheek. "They were—"
"Amanda is a good girl," Hank said. "I want you to ask Kelly to shave you. See how I am, Amanda? I want you to keep your body hairless below the neck at all times. I don't like tan lines, and you are okay. In Florida you will only wear your collar, sandals or heels, and sunscreen. If you still need handcuffs and leg irons, I'll fit you out with a set that you can escape from."
"Isn't that defeating the purpose?" Ned had finished off the gin and was looking through the neck at the bottom. He upended the bottle and shook it. "Why handcuff her if she can get out of them?"
"Amanda will be my back-up. She should be able to escape from standard handcuffs anyway. Amanda, don't worry about that bit of belly fat. That's about right for your first baby. Let's go home now. I have a lot of work to do and I need to sober Ned up so that he can finish my mission brief, give me my full mission orders—"
"Simple," Ned left the bottle on its side at the bar and staggered over to Hank. Ned put a hand on Hank's shoulder and his gin-scented breath made Hank grimace. "Go to Florida. Find out who is killing our politicians. Find out why. Then deal with them and report back to me in San Francisco. Other than that you are on your own, buddy. We will have no support for you because we don't know that our people haven't been compromised. Like last time we will be shadowing you—as will just about everybody else in Florida. Nothing you can't handle. Oh, yes, you do have an invite to speak to the naval commando school on sleep learning and memory editing. But if you are captured or killed the secretary will disavow any knowledge of you or this mission."
"I get to set national policy?"
"New York City is really pissed about those assassinations!'"
"Someone was drinking too much."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Giving a loose cannon like me orders like that." Hank looked into Karen/Amanda's eyes and said, "Oh. I see. Amanda is a good girl."
"Hank, have you got any more olives?"
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