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Corporation Safe House Berlin, April 21st 1920 8:07PM
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“Are you finished?” Peter asked coldly. The man with the beard nodded, oddly apologetic. Peter waited while the man finished buttoning his pants and fastened his belt. “Who ordered this?” he asked, nodding towards the sobbing figure on the bed.
“M...Max said we should. You know it’s standard practice,” the man said, trying to avoid the taller man’s gaze. Peter had a reputation for being unpredictable and he had a violent temper. The cold look he gave made the man shiver.
“I’d best be going,” the bearded man added.
Peter nodded. “Yes I think you’d better,” he snapped. As the man turned for the door, he added, "You can tell the others that there will be no more turns with this one. Make it clear to them just how bad an idea it would be to cross me.”
The man paused in the doorway. “Y...yes, Peter, don’t worry. I’ll make it clear.”
Peter waited until the man had left, then took the jug of water he was carrying and put it on the small dresser. Reaching for the lamp, he turned it up and crossed to the small bed.
Anna stared up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. Her body was still clothed in the torn remains of her underwear, her wrists bound to the iron bedstead above her head.
He busied himself with the pitcher “Are you thirsty?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
For a moment she glared at him, as if wanting to know how he could think of something as trivial as water at this moment. However, in the end her need got the better of her, and she nodded her head submissively. After the usual warnings about what would happen if she screamed, he reached behind her head and loosened the knot.
Peter regretted removing her gag almost the moment the heavy knot slipped from her mouth. Not because she screamed or shouted, begged or called him names, but because she remained perfectly silent. In a strange way her silence hung in the air like an accusation, one that was far more cutting that anything she could have said.
He glanced down at the thick, knotted band of cloth he had taken from her mouth, noting the slight smearing of blood where she had accidentally bit her lip. She had fought desperately for her freedom the moment she had realized that this was not a lover’s game. He remembered her hands clawing at his when he tied the cloth in place, the look of horror and betrayal in her eyes as he tied her struggling body for the first time.
He found himself looking into her eyes again, but this time there was no look of fear or hate or anything understandable. Instead she looked tired, physically and mentally, as if the many hours of brutal rape she had endured had loaded down her soul with a burden she would rather not bare. Remembering why he was here, Peter reached for the glass that stood on the small bedside table, bringing it up to her lips and watching as she gratefully drained every drop of the water.
"More?" he asked.
She just nodded. Peter stood and started filling the glass, keeping his eyes averted, not wanting to look down. But he did of course, he couldn’t help himself. His eyes drifted down her half-naked body from her bound wrists, across her pert breasts and beyond. He paused at her crotch, shivering at her matted pubic fur and the trickle of cum that still leaked from her abused hole. The sheet underneath was damp, the size of the stain showing just how much cum the girl had been forced to take in the last few hours. As he watched her thigh muscles twitched, tugging on the ropes tied around her knees binding her legs open.
Peter looked away, concentrating on filling the glass with water. Once he was finished he returned to the bed and brought the glass to her lips again, waiting patiently while she drank. That done, he picked up the gag and reached for her.
"Why, Erik?" Anna croaked, throat still sore after several hours of screaming into the gag. Her tired eyes looking up at the man she had loved and thought she knew.
“Erik--” she started. Peter froze and turned away. For the past two years he had been Peter Heiden, the rich and handsome playboy son of wealthy parents. These days Erik Muller sounded like the name of a stranger -- coarse, common, the name of some working class whelp. Peter despised Erik, hated his common uneducated stupidity, and yet the sound of his old name would always bring back happy memories of before the war. He fought them down -- that was the past, one better forgotten. He wished desperately that he could stuff the gag back into her mouth and just walk away. That was what Max would have done, and it was certainly what Max had taught his young protŽgŽ.
"I tried to warn you," Peter said at last. "I begged you not to come to Berlin." His voice wavered a little, pain and exasperation evident in every word. He had warned her to stay away from him, not to attempt to meet and re-establish their relationship. He had realized that Anna had no fear for her own safety so he had hinted that she would put him in danger if she looked for him. He had told her that he risked being shot as a deserter even though Max had seen to it that Erik Muller had received a hero’s burial and Peter Heiden an honorable discharge.
“Why, Erik?” she asked again, and he found himself wanting to tell her. He wished he could tell her how he had marched off to war full of high hopes, with her picture in his pocket and her promise in his heart. Wished that he could tell her of the damp trenches, the maggot-ridden food and the constant smell of cordite and death. Most of all he wished he could have told her about the night he had gone over the top. How his entire regiment had charged into a French barrage, the lucky survivors making it through to the first line of French wire where the gas and the machine guns had been waiting.
A piece of shrapnel had torn the gas mask from his face. The acid had burnt his lungs; with streaming eyes he had looked around, spotting the corpse hanging on the wire. He had torn off its mask, ignoring the patches of rotting flesh that had come with it. He had clamped the mask to his own face, taking in a single breath of the death stench before he mercifully slid into unconsciousness.
He had been lucky; the survivors of the push found him and dragged him back to his own trenches. His “touch of gas” had won him some time in a small French sanitarium commandeered by the Imperial Army. That luck had held while he was there. Mindful of dissent in the Fatherland, the German generals were doing what they could to bolster support for the war. While Erik had rested in the sanitarium, there had been a visit by an aged Prussian General and his pretty young wife. The General hadn’t seemed too pleased with what he saw; here were a hundred working class boys being cared for in a spa that before the war had tended only to their social betters. The old man had murmured his disapproval, it didn’t do to give them any ideas, the proper social order had to be maintained after the war. However, by then Erik already had ideas, and so did the General’s pretty young wife. Taking a fancy to the handsome soldier she had persuaded her husband to transfer Erik to his headquarters.
Erik had been relieved to be sent to the General’s headquarters rather than back to the front. For two years he had performed his duties as an invisible servant, making sure that the Generals got their cigars and whiskey when they wanted them, their banquets were well stocked with food and that the Prussian’s wife was satisfied sexually. All the time he watched and learned, seeing first hand how the other half lived, realizing that when the rich fought wars it was the poor that died and promising himself that he would never be poor again. He also started to note the rituals and forms of address of his superiors, aping their educated, aristocratic accents in private, perfecting their rigid manners and Teutonic etiquette.
Finally they had been caught. The General’s wife had become careless. Hoping to use jealousy against her bombastic husband, she had deliberately flaunted her young lover to a point where the old man could no longer ignore it. Soon Erik had been in jail, awaiting a court-martial and a firing squad. Bitter and resentful, he had openly mocked the officers sent to try him, skillfully imitating their manners, their crisp upper class accents. Some scowled, some shouted, but one had just smiled and watched silently.
Later the officer had visited Erik in his cell with cigarettes and a flask of whiskey. The officer had introduced himself as Max Von Lundendorf; after a couple of whiskeys, he finally explained why he was here. He had a number of *items* in France that he needed transporting back to Germany, he explained, items that the German military authorities would not approve of. As an intelligence officer on the general staff, Max had secured all the necessary paperwork, but he couldn’t accompany the goods himself . The young officer who had been charged with accompanying the shipment had been killed in an air raid, so now he needed someone with the right bearing and quick wits to get the shipment though unexamined.
Of course Erik had agreed, assuming that Max was smuggling stolen artworks back to Germany. It was only later when he had seen the young French peasant girls chained and gagged in the basement of a commandeered Chateau that he had realized just what his new mentor had wanted to transport.
“Erik?”
Peter blinked. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said again.
“My family died in the flu epidemic Erik, you were all I had. . .” She sobbed and Peter fought the urge to take her in his arms. Anna had come to Berlin looking for Erik, and had run into Peter outside the opera. The little scene she had made had nearly ruined his cover. Max had been angry -- the girl was too dangerous to leave at liberty, he said. In the end she had left Peter with little option but to collect her. Peter closed his eyes and wished she had stayed away.
“I waited for you, Erik, all through the war, even after your mother received the telegram saying you had been killed. I knew I could never love another.” She looked up at him with the big blue eyes he had loved all his life.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he repeated, “I told you to stay away.”
It was his own fault she was here, of course. He had read in the papers that people in his home town were starving. He had felt the need to send his family money somehow, without letting them know he was still alive. There was only one person he could trust to do that. And so he had contacted Anna, and it was his fault that Anna was here. The guilt crushed him.
“Why, Erik?”
“For the money of course,” the deep booming voice said.
Peter and Anna looked towards the sound of the voice. Max stood in the doorway, dressed for an evening out. Smiling, he approached the bed. “Peter understands the power of money, my dear. It’s what separates the victor from the vanquished, what makes you a winner rather than a victim," he explained, reaching down and stroking Anna’s naked breast, feeling the nipple harden to his touch. He smiled at the girl’s gasp.
“Look at you, my dear -- good, strong, corn-fed peasant girl. So innocent of her needs, yet with a body sensitive to a man’s caresses -- have you any idea what a jaded aristocrat or foreign potentate would give to have you share his bed? How much he will pay for the pleasure he can take from your helpless body? In some places you are literally worth your weight in gold.”
Anna looked up with tear-filled eyes. “Please, Erik, untie me!" she pleaded. "Please, I love you, I have always loved you, free me Erik, I won’t tell anyone I promise, I can be your girl for now and always just as I promised--”
“She begs well, doesn’t she, Peter?” Max said. Getting no answer, he looked into Peter’s tortured eyes and saw the indecision there.
Max thought for a moment. “I can see what you are thinking,” he said, resting his hand on Peter’s shoulder, “so I will give you a choice my boy.”
He looked down at Anna. “If you like, you can keep her. I will tell our good friend the Baron that we were unable to fill his order. We both know that fresh little peasant girls arrive at the Central Station every day, we can easily make up the shortfall. If you decide to keep her she will need to be secured of course, she knows too much to ever be given her freedom, but I am content for you to keep her as your personal bed warmer.” He paused and looked down at Anna’s begging eyes, the life had returned to them, they were bright with hope. Max suppressed a smile. “My second offer is this. If you relinquish the girl then I will send you back to Russia as the Captain of your own crew. In effect all of eastern European operations will be under your direct control and you will take the captain’s share of any acquisitions. We both know that there is so much product waiting to be taken that you could be a millionaire in a few years.” Max smiled. “Think of it, boy -- you would never be hungry again. You could live this life until you die, leave your children and grandchildren secure for generations.”
Max stepped back. “Your choice, Peter. You couldn’t take the girl with you to Russia, anyway, so you have to choose between her and the captaincy.”
Peter looked down at his bound sweetheart. They had been together since childhood, and Erik’s greatest ambition had been to settle down with her and have children. But Erik had never lived the life that Peter had, never had fine clothes and fine women, never had men respect him.
“Please, Erik,” Anna begged, “I promise to be good, Erik, if you have to keep me chained I accept that. I want you Erik, I will do whatever you want. Please Erik. . .No! No, Erik, please don’t Erikummmmmpppphhhhh!”
Peter shoved the gag back into her mouth and tied it tightly behind the sobbing girl’s neck. She gave him one more begging look before he turned and headed for the door.
Outside, Max laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “Russia, then?” he asked gently.
Peter nodded.
“Trust me, it’s for the best,” Max said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have an dinner appointment with Mrs. Hoffmann’s mousy little secretary. She speaks, reads and writes eight languages, you know, including Arabic. I suspect she could be worth fifty thousand pounds. . .”
“Max?” Peter said to his departing mentor.
“Yes, Peter?”
“It was no accident, Anna meeting me outside the opera, was it?” His voice was cold and lifeless.
Max shook his head. “No, Peter. I sent a note to her rooming house. I had to see if you had what it takes to run a crew of your own.”
“And if I had chosen her?”
Max shrugged. “Then I would have shot you myself,” he said simply. “There is no room for weakness in this game. I told you that from the start.” Smiling, Max tapped his cane to the brim of his hat. “Have a good night, Peter. I assure you I will.” Smiling, he turned and walked away.
Unseen, Peter slowly dropped to his knees and wept.
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Intercontinental Hotel, Moscow
January 1st 1929 6:37PM
Sophia stiffened at the sound of Miss Leona’s voice. Blast! The young English servant had been so caught up in her work she hadn’t thought to call up from the lobby and check if the German girl was here. Ever since Leona’s servant, Hanna, had been left behind in Munich, Sophia’s presence on the trip had been a sore point between the two friends. Sophia had done what she could to avoid conflict, and for the last few days she had effectively hidden out, always checking that Miss Leona was absent before attending her mistress.
Sophia sighed and carried the packages over to a small side table. Miss Alison had asked her to go shopping for mementos of the trip to give to friends in America. The assortment the young English girl had been able to find was poor but she hoped that her mistress would like them. Sophia had been hired in London after Alison’s American maid had left without notice. Alison’s uncle had offered to send the young heiress a servant from New York, but Alison had wanted a maid immediately and had hired Sophia from a London agency. Sophia hoped that her mistress liked her, and that when the vacation was over Alison would take her to New York.
“Sophie, mein leibchen , I forgot all about you!” Miss Leona stood just outside the bathroom door, her body covered in Alison’s Chinese silk dressing gown and her hair wrapped in a towel.
Sophia curtsied. “Y. . .yes Miss. I. . .I’ve been busy, Miss, what with Miss Alison’s tasks and all.” Nervously she curtsied again.
Leona smiled. Sophia blinked, it was so uncharacteristic, completely unlike the stern way that Miss Leona usually behaved. Relations between the young German heiress and the English lady's maid had never been warm. The animosity and loss of the Great War still made Anglo-German relationships strained, even at a personal level. Sophia had done what she could to get Miss Leona to like her, but her advances had always been rejected. Now Leona was smiling at her, calling her “Leibchen!” Instead of the German’s usual cold stares, Leona’s eyes had an odd look, almost a hunger, that the maid found disturbing. For some reason Sophia started to feel nervous, as if she was locked in a small room with a big cat.
“I. . .is there anything I can help you with, Miss,” she asked, curtsying again just to be sure.
Leona smiled. “Actually there is,” she said, her voice strong and imperious, the accent not nearly as obvious as it had been a moment before. “As you know, we will be leaving Moscow tomorrow, and as I was all alone I was forced to pack by myself. I’ve only left out clothes for travel tomorrow but Alison tells me that we will be going out tonight.” She paused. “You see my problem,” she asked raising an eyebrow, “I have nothing to wear. Fortunately, Alison, saint that she is, says that I can borrow anything from her wardrobe.” She gave the servant a broad smile. “Isn’t that wonderful? Now be a good girl and show me what you have. I quite liked the red dress -- you know the one?”
Indeed Sophia did know the one. It was her Mistress’ current favorite, bought just a few weeks ago in Paris. Alison had come to like it so much that she had already worn it two or three times, quite a record considering the heiress’ extensive wardrobe.
“Y. . .yes Miss.” Sophia stammered. She hated being put in situations like this; if Miss Alison had told the maid herself there wouldn’t be any problem, but to hear it from one of her lady’s friends left the girl very vulnerable. If she refused Miss Leona then it was possible that the German girl would get upset and complain to her mistress. If that was the case, Sophia could be fired for cheeking one of her betters. On the other hand, if she let Miss Leona have her Mistress’ clothes without permission. . . The servant looked longingly at the closed bathroom door. If she could slip in for just a moment and clear things--
“Well?” Leona demanded, voice still friendly but developing an iron edge.
Sophia swallowed. “Y. . .yes Miss,” she said nervously. There was no harm in letting Leona pick out an outfit, as long as Sophia got permission from Alison before Leona put anything on. She would let Miss Leona pick a few things then make an excuse and slip into the bathroom to get the final okay from Alison.
Sophia went over to the corner of the room where her Mistress' numerous cases and trunks were neatly piled. She started to open trunks and take out things for Leona’s approval. Leona seemed far more decisive than Alison. In a moment underwear, dress, and shoes had been selected. In fact, it was the small things that seemed to cause the most problems -- for some reason, Leona had her take out all of her mistress’ stockings, then all of her silk scarves. Nervously Sophia glanced at the bathroom door again. Soon Miss Leona would ask for help dressing and when that happened she would have to interrupt her mistress’ bath.
She looked up just in time to catch Leona’s Cheshire Cat smile. The heiress was twisting a long silk scarf into a ball. On the bed another scarf already had a knot in the center. Sophia’s eyes widened.
“Please Miss,” she started, “that’s finest Chinese silk you shouldn’t..... ummmmpphhh!!”
Leona had heard enough. Leaping forward, she stuffed the scarf ball deep into Sophia’s mouth. Before the young servant could react, Leona pushed her onto the bed, then leapt on top of her, straddling her body and pinning the startled girl’s arms by her side. As Sophia reared up and tried to spit the silken intruder from her mouth, Leona brought the knotted scarf down over the struggling servant’s head. The knot slid easily into Sophia’s already packed mouth. Leona pulled back, using the scarf like the reins of a horse, pulling Sophia’s head back and forcing the scarf even further into the young maid’s mouth.
“Ummmm,” Sophia moaned, shaking her head. She tried to struggle, tried to fight, but Leona’s weight held her firmly in place. She felt the scarf being knotted firmly behind her head. A moment later she became aware that another folded scarf was being packed into the front of her mouth. Then a broad silken band was tied firmly over her lips. Up until now Sophia had not really fought, as years of social conditioning had taught her not to strike her betters, but this was too much! Squealing into her tight gag, the frightened girl bucked and twisted, trying to pull one arm free.
Suddenly, something cold pressed against her throat. Sophia stiffened.
“You don’t really want to give me any trouble, do you Sophie?” Leona asked, sounding bemused. Sophia, eyes wide, gave a small shake of the head, mindful of the straight razor that Leona had pressed against her throat.
“You shave Miss Alison, right, Sophie? I suppose you also sharpen the razor?”
“Umm,” Sophia grunted in confirmation.
“Then you know how sharp this is,” Leona said, a harder edge entering her voice. “I want you to be clear on this, Sophie. The Master has decreed that all that will not serve will be destroyed. I am giving you the chance to serve us. If you accept, then you may live. If not, I will kill you now. Am I clear?”
“Ummm,” the English girl grunted again. What had come over Miss Leona? Master? Serve or be destroyed? Was she insane? Whatever her reasons, the threat was very real. Sophia’s father was a keen reader of The Police Gazette and there always seemed to be stories about people having their throats cut with razors.
“If you cooperate, all that will happen is that I will tie you up for a while. If you resist, you will be killed. Now, will you be a good girl for me?”
Miss Leona’s voice was cold and deliberate. Sophia had little doubt that the German girl would carry out her threat. Nervous of the razor, she grunted her surrender. A moment later she felt Leona shift her position.
“Hands on your head, Sophie, slowly and no tricks.”
An idea began to form in Sophia’s mind. Slowly, she slid her hands free of Leona’s body and brought them up to her head. “Good,” Leona said approvingly. Sophie felt the blade being removed from her throat.
Leona shifted position slightly and at the same time Sophia used the opportunity to slide one leg beneath her body. She felt Leona reaching forward to grab a wrist. . .
Sophia pushed up, hard, using the momentary instability in Leona’s position to tip the young German off of her body, off of the bed and onto the floor.
The maid jumped to her feet, fingers questing for the top layer of her gag.
“Ummmmmpppppphhh!!!” the scream had full force, but hardly a sound emerged. Sophia glanced over the side of the bed just in time to see Leona roll back and flip herself lightly to her feet. The straight razor was still clamped firmly between the young German’s teeth. As Sophia watched Leona grabbed the razor’s mother-of-pearl handle, removed the weapon from her mouth and took up a fighting stance.
Sophia realized that she was out of time. Abandoning the gag for now, Sophia turned and ran for the bathroom. The door had a lock, Sophia remembered, she would lock herself and Miss Alison safely inside and then remove the gag and cry for help. Sophia exploded through the door.
“Ummmmmppphh” she called in warning as she crashed through the door, then she saw the figure in the bath.
Alison rested in the bath, her entire body from her mouth downwards covered in a thick black goo. Her eyes were open, glazed and lifeless, a trickle of red blood coming from her left ear.
For a moment Sophia was startled at the ghastly sight, so surprised that she forgot her own desperate situation. She was snapped from her horror by the door being thrust open. Sophia half turned, just in time to see the chamber pot that crashed down on her head.
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Corporation Safe House, Moscow
January 1st 1929 6:33PM
The knock on the door woke Peter from his slumbers. He yawned and stretched. Something in the dream was disturbing, he had felt the approach of darkness, something evil, like the devil come to claim his soul. And he seemed to remember a woman's voice saying he had betrayed her, felt his heart torn from him. It was another dream about Anna, he was sure. They had been coming more and more frequently these days, almost as if the time he had spent back in Germany had reminded him of his guilt.
The knock came again.
“Come!”
Karl entered nervously. “C. . .can I ask you something, Peter?” he stuttered.
Peter blinked. “Of course Karl,” he said, “my door is always open, you know that. Please come in.”
As he came closer, Karl flashed Peter a weak smile. They had worked together for four years and in that time Peter had never seen the big Bavarian this nervous. Peter wondered what it was all about. As Karl made no attempt to start the conversation, he decided to take the initiative. “What can I do for you, Karl?” he asked, gesturing for the big man to take the other chair.
Karl smiled nervously and sat. “It’s about closing up business here, Peter. I was wondering what would happen to the house and contents?”
Peter shrugged. His men had spent the last few hours stripping the house of all traces of Corporate occupation. The secret room in the basement was gone. Even the coffin was waiting in the back of a truck hidden in one of the outbuildings. When the Moscow police searched the place tomorrow they would find nothing incriminating.
“I suppose we will sell it furnished,” Peter said, “I’m sure that there are companies in Germany that would buy a headquarters in Moscow.”
Karl squirmed a little. “And Marie?” he asked.
“She’s served us well,” Peter said, “I intend to be humane when the time comes.” He noted the way Karl stiffened. “Unless you have another idea?” he offered.
Karl licked his lips. “I have a friend,” he said, “runs a small sex house in Krakow, he’s always looking for girls, especially experienced ones. I have an offer of ten thousand for her, if you are interested.”
“Krakow is a long way from Moscow,” Peter said, “how do you plan to get her there?”
“I thought I could drug her and take her on the night train, we could get off just before the border and cross into Poland on foot. One of my contacts would pick us up on the other side.”
Peter watched as the big Bavarian rubbed his nose. Ten thousand was far too much to pay for a worn-out whore like Marie, it was also the exact amount that Karl would make for his part in the Michaels' capture.
“I’m afraid it’s out of the question,” Peter said, watching Karl intently, “we both know that security is paramount, especially since Marie knows too much about the Michaels' assignment. If she escaped and found the right ear in the internal security service she could get us all shot. Worse, I am sure that the Soviets would love to win favor with the Americans. If they ever found out what happened to Miss Michaels, I am sure that they would intervene.” He paused, “I’m sorry but I’m afraid you will have to tell your friend no. I simply cannot risk it. You understand?”
Karl nodded sadly. The big man seemed strangely relieved -- it was obvious that he had tried to save Marie by buying her life. Though he had failed, he had at least made the attempt. Peter could see that Karl had needed to make the attempt to satisfy his conscience, but now his offer had been refused he wouldn’t give any more trouble. Peter was secretly relieved. Karl was a good man and Peter would have hated to kill him.
Peter stood and put a hand on Karl’s shoulder. “I know how you feel about Marie,” he said kindly, “I am sure we all feel the same way. Rest assured that when the time comes we will be gentle and kind. I think it’s the least we can do.”
--------------
Marie watched through a crack in the drawing room door as Karl left. She had come up to see if Peter wanted any supper, arriving outside the sitting room door at the moment that her future was being discussed. It had taken all her strength to stop herself from bursting in and groveling on her knees for her life. From somewhere she had found the presence of mind to hide when Karl left.
Slowly she sank to the floor, her sobs muffled by the steel and leather gag locked over her mouth. For a moment she rocked to and fro, shivering. So this was it, they were finally going to kill her? She swallowed and fought to keep her trembling under control. She had known that this day would come sooner or later, a slave’s life expectancy was only as long as she remained useful to her Master, and when the bloom of youth died from her cheeks the rest of her usually followed soon after. Marie was nearly thirty, with eight years of hard physical abuse behind her. If finding another whore hadn't been so difficult, Marie knew she would have been replaced long ago.
Slowly she gathered her wits and considered her situation. The steel gag was impossible to remove without the key, and the rubber and leather plug it held in her mouth effectively silenced her. Her wrists were bound in front of her by a pair of heavy manacles, the chain linking them long enough that she could do chores but far too short to allow free movement. She was allowed the freedom of the house in winter because the doors were locked and the windows shuttered. She shivered and sobbed silently. Even if she did manage to escape the house and survive the freezing weather outside, where could she go? She was a long way from home and knew no one in Moscow. In addition Peter’s money had bought a lot of low level apparatchiks; it seemed unlikely that the men could have operated this freely without paying off at least the local policemen. To the paranoid girl it seemed likely that some of the neighbors had been paid to turn a blind eye. Cold and alone, bound, gagged and helpless in a foreign land, Marie wept.
Alison Michaels! The thought popped into Marie’s head. Of course! If she could warn the young American of the plot against her, then they stood a chance! Peter himself had said that the Russians desperately wanted to normalize relations with America. Alison’s abduction would look bad internationally, the Soviets would do all they could to prevent it. Even Peter’s money couldn’t compete with the fear of the GRU.
Relieved she had a plan, Marie struggled to her feet. Holding the chain that linked her manacled wrists taught so that it didn’t rattle, she padded away from the door, shivering in the thin silken shift that represented almost all the clothing she owned. As quietly as she could she made her way over to the fire. She had tried to buy her life with her absolute obedience, tried to make the men value her for more than her cunt. She believed that Karl truly loved her but he was not the one she had to convince. For years she had quietly pursued Peter, tried to make him like her, perhaps even love her. At first she had been cold and calculating, trying desperately to make herself valuable to him. In the end it had all backfired, she had found herself falling in love with him, despite his cruelty and his indifference.
There were times, on those dark nights when Peter took the girl and a bottle of whiskey to bed with him, when Marie felt that she was important to him. On those nights she would hold the sobbing man to her ruined breasts and try to comfort him, hoping that in the morning he would return that kindness.
Except he never did. If anything he would be even more brutal for the next few days as if to excuse his weakness. Still, Marie had held out the hope that she could get through to him, that he would let her go. She had felt sure she was making slow progress. Now she had run out of time.
For a moment she warmed herself in front of the drawing room fire, building up the courage she would need to escape. Finally she was ready. Trying to keep the chains from rattling, she reached down. Like all the other potential weapons in the house, the poker and the heavy metal tongues were chained to an iron ring set firmly into the fire surround. Marie ignored them, the chain was too strong, the lock too secure and even if she did somehow manage to get them free a bound girl armed with a poker was hardly a match for six strong men armed with guns. Instead she emptied the coal bucket, putting the last few pieces onto the roaring fire.
Still shaking slightly she picked up the bucket and headed out of the room.
Like the other houses in this neighborhood the building had four floors, with the main living rooms above a partially subterranean basement that held the kitchen. As quietly as she dared, Marie carried the heavy bucket down the kitchen stairs. She slipped into the kitchen and headed for the boiler room door.
“Marie!”
She stiffened. Then forced her face into a gagged half smile and turned. Valeri was sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich.
Marie curtsied. “Ummm?” she grunted.
Valeri's rat like features twisted into a feral grin as he stood and walked over. “What are you doing?” he asked, his hand stroking her breasts through the silken top. Marie no longer felt sensation in her nipples, the torture she had received on the slave ship had seen to that, but she also knew what she had to do to satisfy her owners. Closing her eyes, she faked a low moan and thrust her tit into his waiting hand. As his hands continued to tease she faked another muffled moan and slid her body up and down his leg.
Valeri grinned. “It is true what they say about you French girls, you are all hot little sluts. Now what are you doing?”
Marie twisted her head to one side and tried to look cute. “Ummmpphh?” she moaned holding up the empty bucket.
“You were sent for more coal?” Valeri asked.
“Ummm,” she nodded.
Valeri nodded, apparently satisfied. “Finish your chores,” he said, “then attend me in the upstairs guestroom.”
“Umm,” Marie murmured, submissively bowing her head.
Valeri’s grin widened. He nodded towards his half-eaten sandwich. “You may bring that with you,” he told the half-starved slave girl, “if you are very good I will remove your gag and let you eat it.”
“Hn umm hassa,” Marie said curtsying again.
Valeri gave her breast a parting grope then headed up the stairs and into the house.
Once she was sure that he had really gone, Marie darted over to the door that headed down to the small boiler room. The boiler only provided hot water, the idea of central heating had not made it this far east when the house was built. Hastily Marie dropped the bucket and crawled across the floor to the point where the water pipes went through the wall. Here there was a 2 foot square opening in the brickwork. Hurriedly the girl reached inside beyond the hot pipes until she felt the small sack she had hidden there.
Pulling the sack free, she shook its contents out on the floor.
In the early days of her captivity the men had been extremely careful to keep their new slave under control. Marie had spent the first year chained in an attic room, steel collar and gag robbing her of her liberty and her ability to speak. In that dingy room the men would visit her, take what they wanted and sometimes give her a treat like some food or a cool drink. Starved of real human contact, Marie had become more and more like an animal, a prize bitch kept for breeding. She had even lost her ability to speak when the steel gag was unlocked. The only time she was let out was once a week to wash.
Eventually though even the men had seen that this couldn’t continue. After a while they started to take her out at night to do laundry and other chores. Her hands would still be manacled in front, the steel gag still locked in place but she was allowed some freedom. She had been a good girl, obeying faithfully and appearing fully broken and over time her freedom had increased. After six years they trusted her enough to give her complete freedom of the house on winter nights. All the doors would be locked, all the windows shuttered and even if she managed to get outside, with no clothes she would last less than half an hour on a freezing Moscow street. In time the men had come to believe that escape was impossible and that Marie was a broken little fuck toy willing to serve their every need.
But Marie was cunning.
As standard practice the men would strip new recruits naked and burn all the girl’s possessions. However, in the winter the Corporation kept fewer men in Moscow, and faced with the choice of ravishing a terrified captive and disposing of her things it was often easier to let Marie do it. They would check of course to see that Marie had done as she was told, but by then all that was visible in the furnace was a pile of burning cloth. Over the years the girl had managed to rescue the odd piece of clothing from the fire. These were her treasures, the things she had hidden so carefully in the sack.
Most of the contents of the sack were peasant girls’ shawls. Left with the problem of clothes that could be put on with your wrists tied the large squares of thick fabric had seemed the most practical. Also in the pile was a peasant skirt and some strong leather boots. Her most prized possession was a thick hooded cloak taken from an aristocrat girl. The cloak had cost Marie dearly, she had been forced to burn 2 years worth of collected clothes to make up sufficient bulk in the furnace, but it would be worth it now. Hastily she dressed, putting on skirt, stockings and boots before winding shawls around the sections of the body she could reach. Finally she slipped on the cloak and hid the gag behind a scarf. Satisfied that she would look anonymous enough to escape, she made her way to the coal cellar.
The metal grill that covered the outside entrance to the coal cellar was held in place by an old length of chain. Once this had been locked but the lock had seized closed and had been cut off the year before. Now the chain was looped over a simple hook set into the cellar wall. Hands trembling, Marie lifted the chain from the hook, then put her shoulder against the grill and pushed.
For a moment she panted on the sidewalk, taking her first breath of fresh air for many years. Around her the snow continued to fall. Wiggling clear of the cellar, she struggled to her feet, resisting the desire to just stay and savor the moment. Freedom at last! Except that her mouth was still stoppered and her wrists still chained. Still, she knew where Alison’s hotel was, and she had overheard the room number. She had an hour to get there before the girls fell into Peter’s trap.
With a look of grim determination on her half-covered face, Marie marched off into the night.
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