RETRIBUTION!

(PART ONE)

BY

WALLACE

Retribution: n recompense, usually for evil. Revenge

Jet lag!

I felt like I was seventy years old with severe arthritis and a hangover that was the result of a three-day drinking binge so the last thing I needed was any rough stuff. I'd dumped my bags on the sofa as you do and was just heading for the kitchen to make coffee before falling into bed when I heard a key scrape in the lock.

It wasn't Mrs Johnson from downstairs because I'd phoned her the night or morning before. The only other person who had a key was Sheila and she was currently in New York probably tied up and having the crap beaten out of her by a very nice group of people who I'd left something like twelve hours ago.

I could see the outline of a familiar figure through the frosted glass of the door and immediately felt more than a tinge of annoyance. I quickly slipped into the bedroom grabbed what I needed and pressed myself back against the wall.

I heard the front door close and light but deliberate footsteps, as if someone were looking around. I heard the clip clop of heels on the bare kitchen floor and then the slight squeak as the fridge door opened. What, I wondered, was anyone likely to find in there?

A couple more clip clops and then the hall carpet muffled the steps to some degree but they were getting closer. I waited, the anticipation fluttering in my stomach, hardly daring to breath in case I was heard. Someone entered the bedroom and walked past the door behind which I was hiding. I darted forward, grabbed their hands, and pulled them roughly behind them. As quickly as I could I slipped the standard, Metropolitan Police issue handcuffs onto a pair of slim wrists and heard the satisfying sound of the ratchets clicking smoothly into place. I pulled the intruder hard against me clamped a hand over their mouth and said,

"I am the householder and I am performing a citizen's arrest because you have entered my home with intent to steal… Oh! Good Morning Inspector Bannion, how nice of you to pop in!" she wriggled out of my grasp and despite the fact that her hands were pinioned behind her did a very good job of what Linda would call "going into one!"

"Don't give me that Simon Templar shit and that other stuff's all bollocks so don't try to exercise your common law rights with me! Under the PACE act of 1984 YOU can only arrest someone for a an offence that carries a minimum five year penalty and this at the very worst is common trespass which is a civil offence and not a criminal one and therefore doesn't count AND as you are not a serving Police Officer you have just breached the Health and Safety at Work Act of 1974 by restraining me against my will! So get these cuffs off my wrists before I nick you for assaulting a Police Officer and for false imprisonment, which I, as a proper copper, can do!"

I looked at her, all righteous indignation, in a short black skirt and thick black tights; red silk blouse, black leather jacket and gloves and I couldn't help feeling a faint flicker somewhere, despite the way I felt. It's not innocent, submissive, damsels in distress with me, it's mature, feisty women who don't know when to give up and this one certainly didn't but I wasn't over impressed all the same.

" It's seven o'clock! What's wrong with the bell? " I realised now that she had used Linda's old key. The one they had found on her when she'd been beaten and left for dead in a Soho alleyway. I moved closer and lowered my voice, there was a definite tinge of sadness in it, "You could also say "Hello" as well Emma." I tried to brush my hand lightly against her cheek because Emma Bannion, Detective Inspector Emma Bannion and I had history, recent history, but she moved her head away quickly. She raised her manacled wrists.

"Get your pervertalia off me, right this minute!" I saw a pout coming on. She lowered her eyes and her voice," And if you remember you always used to be up by six!"

"So what? You wanted to surprise me? What are you, the highest paid strippergram on the force? " I drew a sharp breath. I knew my mouth had run away with me even before I had said it. She looked at me hard for a moment her lower jaw jutting and I think that if she had been able to then she would have slapped me but instead she turned her back on me and stuck out her cuffed hands.

"Just get these off! And DO NOT give me any bollocks about losing the key because I know that that's the one area of your life where you are bloody organised, so get on with it!" She turned back to me, looking, well, looking quite gorgeous. Her short blond hair just slightly askew, the little puffy bags under her eyes a little more prominent than usual, her blue eyes glittering with rage and frustration. I moved forward and she gave me a warning look.

In her anger she had stumped further into the room and put herself just inches away from the big modern four-poster bed that was the centrepiece of the bedroom where Sheila and I used to sleep. I moved closer until I could smell the leather of her jacket and the nuance of her perfume and then I leaned forward and brushed my lips against hers. For a moment she tried to move away, for a moment she was going to baulk and then I kissed her properly and to my surprise she responded, her lips soft and puffy, closed at first but soon open. I put an arm around her to steady her, felt her relax against me, saw her eyes start to close and then the doorbell rang.

She broke away and stood inches from the bed, in high dudgeon.

"Get them off now!" she hissed.

"The keys are in the other room," I hissed back, "I take it this is something to do with you?" she looked a little sheepish.

"Yes! It's Barbara, I told her to come looking for me if I didn't phone." I was tired and irritated.

"Right come with me!" I bent down slightly to look into her eyes, " And look relaxed for God's sake!" she threw me a look and I guided her out of the bedroom and to the door.

Even under normal circumstances meeting Sergeant Jones was a trifle daunting and as I opened the door to her now I could feel the heat of her stare on me, we weren't exactly good friends at the best of times. She looked straight at Emma Bannion.

"Everything all right Guv?" If she was surprised to see me there she didn't show it, "Only you…" I stayed close to Emma and we both did our level best not to make it obvious that her hands were cuffed behind her. She nodded,

"Yes, fine Babs. Any more from Leeds?" Sergeant Jones nodded her curly blonde head.

"Yep. Just had a call from Traffic. They've found the vehicle, it was in an all night car park near the Shopping Centre and it looks as if it's been in an accident. Socco are there now." Emma nodded again

"Get back to Leeds, tell them that I want to be the first to know what they find and circulate her description, ports as well, in case she's trying to do a runner. Oh and get the CCTV tapes pulled from the car park, they might show us something." Part of me wanted to laugh, watching Emma with her hands tied behind her back conducting business as usual but another part of me wanted desperately to know what the hell was going on? Babs and I didn't see eye to eye very often but I'd seen her in action before and she was a good copper. She looked first at Emma and then me with a suspicious stare.

"Anticipated that Guv, did it already," for a moment I thought she was going to throw a salute, Emma nodded her approval and Barbara looked thoughtful, " any point us talking to Sue Chandler yet?" she was still watching me and saw me wince, I could see Emma watching me out the corner of her eye as well. She blew out her cheeks.

"Well you've got the rapport with her Babs. She seems to spill her guts out to you but we don't know if she's involved yet. Tell you what, talk to the nick and get a list of her most recent visitors, say for the last two months and have a word with that contact of yours, you know, the big lesbian screw," Now it was Barbara's turn to wince, "see if she's seen or heard anything unusual, anything that might suggest that Susie's up to something." Barbara nodded.

"What about you?" Emma gave me an odd kind of look, one that was meant only for me

"I might be here for a while," Was it my imagination or was she trying to communicate something to Barbara as well? " I'll call you later." And with that Barbara turned, inclined her head toward Emma and said "Guv" and headed for the lifts all however many stone of her.

And she was a big girl was Barbara, with thighs that could crack heads, not just walnuts and biceps that made mine look puny but she also had the face of an angel. Round, unlined, cheeky maybe, her skin soft and perfect with no sag in sight despite her size and a mop of curly blonde hair.

I watched her stump over to the lifts, watched her big legs in those black pantyhose that she always wore. Everybody else wore tights but for some reason I always associated Barbara with pantyhose and always wondered how she might look in just them and her big black bra…

Yes, you're right; it IS very difficult being me sometimes.

*

She didn't know how long she had been there or how long it took her to stop crying. The sound of earth falling and the noise of the mechanical digger shovelling it all on top of her had stopped a long time ago and she had cried herself out a long time after that.

The paralysing fear had gone to be replaced by feelings of depression and despair and nothingness. Of futility. Of waste. For the first time in her life she truly wanted to die and she wanted to die soon because she knew that an agonising death awaited her otherwise.

She had no chances, there was no point in expecting last minute rescues, she was finished, it was a horrible way to die and a sadistic one.

By rights she should have started to suffocate by now and she hadn't, suggesting that air was being pumped in to her dark and cramped coffin and the only reason that could possibly be was because they wanted her to suffer. They wanted her not to die from lack of air but from starvation and that could take weeks.

She wondered what would come first, death or madness.

When would she start to piss herself?

When would the smell of defecation make her so nauseous that she might even choke on her own vomit?

The fact that she had air had given her some kind of hope, for a while, but in the silence, the utter silence and the blackness of her tomb, she had forced that hope from her mind.

She drew in a deep breath and shuddered. They had been quiet for a long time and she had assumed that their batteries or whatever had run down but suddenly the vibrator in her vagina whirred strongly into life and the one in her back passage followed shortly afterwards.

This was the last thing she needed right now. She was not in the right frame of mind to deal with this but both dildos whirred on and they were soon making her feel sensations that she didn't think possible in these circumstances. Her pulse was racing and her legs felt like jelly even in their tightly bandaged wrappings.

She would have jumped if she had been able too because the little pump on her clit began to suck very subtly up and down at her delicate little bud and then she felt something happening around her aching tits. Aching from the rings that had been pushed down past her nipples. They too were being sucked, nipples and tits both being pumped up, and let down and pumped up again

She wasn't prepared for what happened next, she wasn't prepared for the shocks that began to course though the cheeks of her bottom causing the muscles to spasm. A series of them, one after the other, each one more powerful than the one before. She wanted to cry out but she couldn't because of the wadded cloth and the rubber pump gag in her mouth.

This must be the legacy of her silver captors. They must have stuck TENS pads to her when she was blissed out at some point. She then realised with horror that her gag was inflating again and she broke out into a sweat as she felt the sides of her prison pushing against her, squeezing her ever tighter. She had realised soon after her interment that they too were inflatable. The pulsing in her rectum grew more and more powerful and although she didn't want to she knew that she was very close to a climax.

She had always revelled in the fantasy of mummification and had actually had it done to her once in controlled and very different circumstances, but now she was heavily mummified, wrapped in layers of bandage and cotton wool, blind, deaf, dumb incapable of movement and she had been buried alive.

She took a deep breath.

A deep breath that didn't just smell of rubber this time. The anaesthetic mask was still over her nose and once more she was breathing in the dark heavy, somehow comforting, almost exciting aroma of the powerful gas. She welcomed it, wondering vaguely in the back of her mind if whoever had kidnapped her (and she had put a lot of thought into just who that might be), would just simply kill her with an overdose of anaesthetic.

She breathed it in deeply again just as the vaginal vibrator turned itself up to full speed and it felt as if her clitoris would be pumped to the very end of the tube. Her tits had actually reached that point and she shivered as she thought she somehow heard laughter in her right ear, the laughter of someone she knew. She didn't have time to think about that because her heart was pumping and her whole body seemed to be spasming with anachronistic pleasure and just when she thought she was about to climax, just when she thought she was going to finally come an extra strong wave of gas hit her and rendered her almost instantly unconscious.

*

No sooner had I closed the door on Sergeant Jones than Emma said,

"Now get me out of these handcuffs!"

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Take these off and we'll talk". We were so close to each other that our noses were touching.

"I want to know now!" Detective Inspector Emma Bannion looked at me for a second and then spoke with all the authority of her rank,

"You take these off me right away or we'll do our talking at the station. Do I make myself clear."

I'm not usually the caveman type but, like I said before, Emma and I have history. Using both hands to heft her up and pull her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry, her hands were still cuffed so I didn't have any flailing arms to worry about, I grabbed hold of her ankles with one hand, pulled her shoes off with the other, dropped them on the floor and carried her into the bedroom.

There was a look of anger mixed with fear in her eyes when I laid her face up on the bed but rape wasn't my thing. The bedside cabinet was close enough for me to lean over and grab what I wanted whilst Emma started to talk calmly and rationally.

"Bill, this is false imprisonment at best, kidnapping at worst, if you stop now and let me go we can forget all about it…" but I'd heard her negotiating voice before. I pinched her nose and as if by magic her mouth opened. It was a big ball gag, a number six, the biggest you can get and the only one that wasn't too small for Sheila's mouth. The only one that actually kept her quiet. I pushed it between her teeth, felt it slip satisfyingly into place and buckled it behind her head. I knew Emma well enough to know that she would not try to talk through the gag like Sheila would. In fact she seemed calm just lying there looking up at me. True the look on her face said she wanted to kill me but then she wouldn't be the first or the last to want to do that

She lay still.

Another tactic. Don't intentionally annoy your captor by struggling. I got up, slipped my hand inside the bedside cabinet again and found what I was looking for.

She studied me as I walked past and sat at her feet and she passively watched me attach the second pair of handcuffs to her ankles. I looked at her in return. Her face was composed but I had no doubt that she was simmering away inside. I wanted to kiss her right there and then but this wasn't about that, this was about finding out what the hell was going on.

My mind wandered back to the time when Sheila had first been kidnapped and when I had first meet Emma Bannion. When she had not exactly tricked me into staying at her house but suggested it was the one place where I would be safe at that time.

It was Emma who had come downstairs barefoot and in just a short silk robe after I had walked her dog, Rocky and it was Emma who had wanted me to tie her up and show her how it felt.

That night, that first night "How do you want me?" sounded an innocent enough question until I saw her lying on the white rug in the darkened living room, the red light from the fire making her body glow and glisten. My first instinct was to get the hell out of there and my second was to kiss her. Maybe I should have done the first but I certainly did the second after I'd put her in quite a strict hogtie, shown her her first gag and then stroked her warm, soft body from her mother of pearl polished toenails to her soft, short, blond hair and taken in every gentle curve and crevice on the way.

I found myself sitting next to Emma with my hand on her stockinged feet. I decided that the bedroom was an inappropriate place to do this so I helped her up, put her back over my shoulder, carried her into the living room and eased her into one of our leather armchairs.

Her eyes were smouldering.

I squatted down in front of her and put my fingers just on the soles of her sensitive feet. She immediately realised what I was up to and glared at me.

"I know you hate this Emma!" I'd done it when she'd been tied up before and received the equivalent of a formal caution when I had eventually untied her. She was looking at me apprehensively. I ran a finger from the heel to the ball of her right foot. She tried not to but she jerked instinctively, her face a cauldron of anger and fear. I took my hand away,

"I'm going to make us a coffee. When I come back it would be nice if you told me what exactly is going on. Not like before!" Definitely not like before. Then she had been, let's say economical with the truth, only telling me what was really going on when I'd stumbled so far into a heap of shit that I nearly buried myself. She knew that even I would not have got involved if I'd known whom I was really dealing with. At least I don't think I would. I stroked the very tips of her toes. " This time Emma I'd like to know what's happening and who's involved. The truth please, the whole truth...." She still stared at me. More from the training manual of course, I walked away and suddenly thought better of it, I could see that she was watching me very carefully. I thought for a moment and then remembered that I'd done some shopping with Amy on my last day in New York But not your average kind of shopping.

I kept my back to Emma while I opened my bag and rummaged around. Surprisingly for me I found what I needed fairly quickly, drew it out and turned back to Emma keeping it behind my back. I walked behind her and she tried to follow me with her eyes.

"Sorry Emma, I like you a lot, I might even…anyway that's neither here nor there, but I'm sorry my darling, I don't trust you!" and I slipped the thickly padded white patent leather blindfold over her eyes and buckled it in place. I then helped her up out of the chair, spun her round a couple of times, like kids used to do when they played Blind Mans Buff, and walked her, as slowly and as carefully as I could with her ankles cuffed, to a spot at the end of the room where I helped her to lay face down on the carpet. Not wanting her to be too uncomfortable I then got a cushion and eased it under her head. I touched her on the shoulder and kissed her lightly on the cheek, doing my best to keep my emotions in check because she looked so vulnerable lying there gagged and blindfolded, her hands behind her back and her little shoeless feet moving randomly from time to time.

"…and nothing BUT the truth please Emma." And I went outside to make the coffee.

*

She woke up in light and felt an enormous sense of relief flood through her entire being.

She could feel air on her body!

She could move!

She wasn't encased anymore!

She opened her eyes almost surprised that she could and stared into brilliant white light. Then she shut them again, her mind reeling.

Was she dead?

Was this that white tunnel that people who had had Near Death Experiences spoke about?

She opened her eyes again and blinked several times to get herself accustomed to light once more and then she realised that so relieved had she been to find herself no longer mummified and no longer buried alive that she hadn't noticed the warnings that her body was giving her, that things might not be quite as they were before the world had suddenly gone mad.

She opened her eyes fully.

She was in a white room.

A completely white room.

Floors, walls, ceiling, all white apart from the huge window directly in front of her. At least it was a pane of glass but it didn't seem to look out on to anything.

Pure white!

Everything else was pure white.

Hard to know where floor ended, walls started and finished and ceiling commenced.

It reminded her of "2001: A Space Odyssey." so clean and white was everything and there was also that same kind of eerie silence.

She thought she could make out the faint hum of electricity, but she had been in sensory deprivation for a long time and she had also been under the influence of what was probably some kind of hallucinogenic drug so she decided that her senses might not be too reliable as yet.

She was alive, she wasn't buried she wasn't going to die. At least she hoped she wasn't

One thing was certain, her arms and legs felt strange. She looked around her. Looked at her arms and at her legs and then tried to move them.

She was sitting on some kind of seat. It felt warm and comfortable which suggested it was padded plastic and she was naked. Completely naked once more. She looked down for confirmation and saw that her pubic hair really had been completely shaven and that it had not been a dream. Her bare ankles where attached to the legs of the chair she was sitting on with what looked like thickly padded white plastic straps or bands. Her arms were also tied but not to her sides as she might have expected.

The chair had a headrest and her head lay comfortably against that but it was once more restrained by a forehead strap that held it straight and rigid. She could look down without any major discomfort but up was a problem right now.

But her arms. …

It seemed as if below the headrest was a cross piece sticking out at right angles to the chair and that her arms were attached to this with the same thickly padded plastic straps.

She was effectively crucified sitting down.

She looked down at her tits and saw that they had come through their ordeal relatively unscathed. There were faint marks where she guessed the rings had been and the odd small bruise but otherwise, apart from feeling a little tender they seemed relatively okay.

Her pussy felt sore and so did her arse, which also felt as if it were still full of lubricant, Her pussy felt pretty liquid too but, and here she gave herself a severe ticking off, that may have something to do with her current predicament

For a moment she wondered how long she had been asleep and whether she had in fact been in a kind of suspended animation and woken up in some future time but she dismissed this as being a flight of fancy not helped by the drug or drugs she had been given.

She realised that she was still quite woozy and for a few moments she thought that was responsible for what she heard next.

"Hello My Baby! And how are you now My Precious?" she didn't move. She stayed almost rigidly still, certain that she must be hallucinating.

"Come, come sweetheart you must talk to Mummy or Mummy will have to punish!" certain now that it was not her imagination Sarah replied,

"Who are you? Where are you? In a voice that was cracked and croaky and didn't sound at all like her own. The voice, the anonymous voice was soft and motherly but somehow mechanical. Muted, low and not quite human.

" I'm just outside my love", said the voice, "I'm your Mummy and these are your Nannies!"

*

I pushed an armchair against the wall, put a cushion against that and eased her upright. I settled her against the cushion and then unbuckled the gag. I eased it as gently as I could from between her teeth, laid it on the a tea towel that I had grabbed earlier and covered it over I didn't particularly want her to see her own saliva dripping gag for obvious reasons.

She made a groaning noise and worked her jaw.

"Here have a sip of this, there was some Evian water in the fridge." She gulped as the water went down.

"I know. Are you going to take the blindfold off or are there some more indignities you'd like to subject me to?" I was on firmer ground here; she was starting to sound like Sheila. I kissed her cheek,

"Sorry Emma but I think I'd like to keep you like this for the time being." She shook her head.

"You really don't trust me do you?" she sounded genuinely concerned.

"No!" I looked down at the floor, "I think I love you but I really don't trust you. Sorry."

I had panicked slightly earlier when I thought I had REALLY lost the key to the handcuffs but I had managed to find it actually in the place where it was supposed to be. In the small metal cash box where we kept all our keys, carefully numbered and catalogued in a notebook.

A system we had started one evening nearly two years ago when it had looked for a time that we were going to have to call the fire brigade to free Sheila from some leg irons that we had been experimenting with. It is very difficult to try to dress someone when they are naked apart from leg irons and a rather snazzy pair of high tech stainless steel manacles and it's even more difficult to think of an excuse for how they got like that in the first place. I don't suggest you try it, though under the right circumstances it could be fun.

For some time after relations between Sheila and myself had plummeted to new depths but we recovered after I had grovelled enormously and taken her to see both Mama Mia and Phantom in the same week.

I laid my hand on the tops of Emma's feet, where she wasn't so sensitive and raised the coffee mug to her lips.

"Is there sugar in this?"

"Mmm, two and it's black. I made it strong as well. It's Colombian. Tesco's Finest." she took a sip.

"Mmm. You make such nice coffee." Then she looked up at me, or at least where she thought I should be, with sightless eyes. Look this is stupid! Untie me, please?" she could be so innocent at times when you considered the things she'd seen. When you considered just the things she'd seen since I'd been involved with her. I really thought that innocence was genuine. Emma wasn't that manipulative. Or rather I hoped she wasn't. I sighed

"Okay. I'll take the blindfold off," because I really wanted to look into those dazzling blue eyes, "and I'll recuff your hands in front of you to make you more comfortable and when you've told me everything I'll let you go. Okay?"

There was a long silence suggesting it wasn't but eventually she said.

"Okay but there really is no need for this I would have told you everything anyway!"

I was kneeling behind her now unlocking the handcuffs.

"Come off it Emma you were here to see what you could find," I freed her right wrist, rubbed it for her and eased it round in front of her. Without a struggle she already had her left arm in the prayer position and meekly let me close the cuff on her wrist. Now and only now did I unbuckle her blindfold.

I sat down beside her; she picked up the coffee mug, took a long swig and then looked at me.

"You're going to let me go after this?" I was slightly outraged.

"Of course I am! What did you think I was going to do with you?" she put down the mug, gently touched my leg with her conjoined hands and said throatily,

"I could think of some things." Taken off guard and a little more than stirred I chanced my arm.

"You're not mad at me then?" her face was angelic – for about two seconds.

"Mad? I'm fucking fuming. A key witness has gone missing, presumed got at or even dead already, none of you lot are potentially safe and one of the biggest crime families in the history of British Justice could well get off Scot free." Her face changed, she was the other Emma again. The one I'd massaged naked on the carpet all that time ago. She picked up her cup and said sweetly, "That's assuming of course that you and your mates in S and M land have got nothing to do with this!"

She must have seen my brow furrow in incomprehension. She put the cup down again and leaned forward so that her face was only a few inches from mine, "Oh, and if it's any consolation…I think I love you too… but for the moment, the distrust is mutual!" and then she kissed me.

*

This was unreal, a long time ago she might even have laughed but she was still in a certain amount of shock from her previous ordeal

She hadn't seen the door and didn't even know it was there until it opened. Her jaw dropped. There were two of them, both of similar shape and build, she didn't have to be a genius to realise that they had to be the two silver creatures from the Moor but their appearance had changed radically.

Now they wore nurse's uniform. Pure white and made from a shiny material that had to be PVC. On their heads were shiny, white, nurses caps and around their waists were tiny PVC aprons but it was what was in between that concerned her or rather the lack of what was in between.

Each "Nanny" wore white high-heeled shoes with six-inch heels; each Nanny wore American tan nylons with seams that were attached to a PVC garter belt by eight pure white and shiny suspenders. They wore brief white PVC panties and a skimpy white PVC bra. Around their necks were stethoscopes and that was it. That was all they wore.

Sarah could not help notice the bare flesh between stocking tops and panties and between panties and bras, what she didn't notice immediately but saw now, were the faces of these Nannies.

Or rather the lack of them.

Each Nanny wore a mask. A skin coloured mask of moulded rubber with real hair attached to it. They had long dark eyelashes, impossibly red Cupid's bow lips and pert, snubby little noses. Their apparently sightless eyes where heavily made up. The Nanny now on her left had sparkling blue eyes and blonde hair and looked not unlike Madonna twenty years ago, the Nanny on her right had silky black hair and her eyes were green, Dita Von Teese to the life. As they took up position on either side of her the soft, detached voice began to speak again

"Now you must do exactly as your Nannies want or Mummy will be cross! Do you understand?" Before she could say anything the Nanny to her left moved behind her and pinched her nose sharply and the Nanny to her right eased something inside her mouth.

She heard a pumping sound and felt the something begin to slowly fill her oral cavity and expand and expand and expand until it filled it entirely, inflating her cheeks and making speech impossible. It was slow but inevitable. She tried to struggle but she was too firmly strapped down for that.

Nanny One, the one on her left, began to stroke her forehead gently and she knew instantly that this was her little silver friend from before. The green-eyed Nanny, Nanny Two, was now wheeling over an ominous looking trolley loaded with what Sarah the Nurse recognised as medical apparatus.

She did her best to look down and saw to her horror what appeared to be a huge pink dummy sticking out of her mouth. A dummy with an inflatable pacifier inside. She shivered. Infantilism was not her bag but there was something oddly kinky and arousing about this particular set up.

Now that she could see her and watch the way she moved, so the more convinced Sarah became that Nanny One and the silver creature from the ambulance that had teased and tormented her so delightfully were one and the same. She was beside her now and in her hands was an oversized baby's bottle that must have held a least a litre of fluid that looked like milk.

She offered it up to the huge dummy and with a slow gliding motion eased it into the area at the front where the handle would normally be. Almost immediately Sarah felt warm liquid flowing into her mouth. She realised that the inflatable gag must have a hollow tube imbedded in it so that she could be fed.

She was thankful, (or was she?) that the Nannies or Mummy or whoever, had not decided that their captive adult baby should be breast-fed. To her slight disappointment she saw Nanny One relinquish the bottle in order to allow Nanny Two to take hold of it and to gently stroke her cheek. She had no option but to suck at it gently and take in the fluid, the fluid that felt warm and comforting and relaxing. Now Nanny One was back and in her hands and to Sarah's mounting horror, she was holding a large disposable nappy.

She tried to move, she tried to struggle but the restraints held her firm and strangely, the more she struggled, so the quicker the warm milky fluid seemed to flow into her mouth.

"Hush now Baby! Hush now my pet! There's something to make you go wee wee and something to make you go toilet in your nice warm milky. Now your Nannies have got two more bottles for you, so drink that nicely and let Nanny put your nappy on and then your plastic pants because you're too young to be in control and you won't be once you've drunk all your nice milky!"

It was so soft and sweet and yet somehow so chilling. She wondered if the voice was going to continue – but it didn't.

Nanny One slipped the thick warm fleecy comfortable nappy under her relatively easily but that was mainly because Nanny Two had pinched her left nipple hard enough to make her squirm in her seat and lift her bottom just enough for the nappy to be slipped underneath her and fastened in place.

The more milk she drunk so the more comfortable and woozy she felt. She even lifted up her bottom voluntarily to allow a snug warm pair of plastic pants to be slipped round her thick comfortable nappy and be tied in position.

Nanny one held her to her not inconsequential breasts whilst Nanny Two stroked her cheek for a few moments before returning to the medical trolley.

There must be openings in both her nappy and her plastic pants, she realised as she sucked contentedly on her bottle, because even now Nanny One, the little minx, was pushing something through them and into her vagina which seemed to be held open by something in the nappy which pressed against her labia.

It felt soft and warm and it made her shiver with excitement.

The more milk she drank so the more helpless she became and the more dependent, gloriously and submissively dependent, she became on the Nannies but something deep in the back of her mind told her that Nanny One was easing a catheter into her. She could feel it. She could feel the rubber tubing wriggling around inside her like it was somehow alive and then she felt it slide home.

Nanny One was already taking a surgical clamp and attaching it to the tube that now stuck obscenely out of her rapidly dampening pussy and her weirdly anachronistic attire. She was walking away Sarah realised with concern but she was walking away only to return pushing a medical stand on four castored legs hanging from which appeared to be the type of bag that they used for drips but much larger than usual and also empty.

Nanny Two, satisfied that all the milk had gone from the first bottle, unplugged it from her dummy and dropped it onto the trolley. She bent down, picked up a full one this time and eased it back into the huge pacifier that filled Sarah's mouth. She cradled her head in her arms once more and let nature take it's course.

To her shame Sarah began to suck on it hungrily, whilst Nanny One was unclamping and offering the tube from her nappy up to the drip bottle on the stand. Satisfied that it was fully in place she now released the clamp and the happily sucking Sarah could only watch as her own urine began to flow quickly into the bag.

Sarah was now too calm and too peaceful to be as horrified about this as she should have been. Although Nanny Two was still feeding her she was also lightly stroking her tits as well and the feeling of euphoria was starting to overwhelm her.

The fact that she was helpless and the fact that somewhere, somewhere far, far away she knew exactly what they were doing, that it was a quite terrible and yet somehow deliciously perverted thing to do just added to her arousal. Now Nanny One was picking up a second rubber tube, one that came out of the bag that was rapidly filling with urine and attaching it to what had to be a second hole in her dummy.

That done, she sealed it with a clamp.

Then the voice again.

That soft gentle voice.

"Now Baby, soon you'll lose control of your Number Ones AND your Number Twos as well. Soon you'll be a helpless baby wetting your nappy for us and doing poo poos whenever we want, especially when we start on Baby's enema therapy tomorrow!" Sarah's tenuous grip on reality was slipping fast but she realised finally that the lovely warm milk she was drinking, if that indeed was what it was, was spiked not least with diuretics and laxatives, she struggled a little but both Nannies pressing her down against the chair and stroking her ample tits now.

"That's it Baby don't try to fight or Mummy WILL have to punish. Do you understand Baby Sarah?" and Sarah nodded as best she could before letting her eyes hood over and allowing the Nannies to do exactly what they wanted with her.

"Good baby. Good, good baby Sarah. Now if Sarah's good and drinks up all her nice milkies like a good girl, then she can have more milk and she won't have to drink all that nasty pee pee that's collecting in the bag up there for her!" Sarah looked up at the bag that was rapidly filling with her own piss, realised that if she did not do as they said then they would make her drink it and felt a sudden liquid surge within her.

She was a nurse.

She had no kidney problems and she knew that urine was sterile.

She had even heard of an actress who drank her own on a daily basis.

But here she was being turned into a baby and about to be force-fed her own piss by two masked Nannies and suddenly she desperately wanted to come.

And when Nanny One slipped a gentle, exploring hand into her warm soft nappy and began to gently stroke at her already engorged clit she did exactly that she climaxed as violently and as loudly as her restraints and the gag would allow.

*

Eventually one of us broke the kiss, I can't remember who it was and she said,

"Look I'd really love to stay and let you ravish me all day but I have GOT to get back to the factory," she looked at the wall clock, but I was there before her,

"Don't tell me, Barbara's got another check point coming up." She nodded

"Mmm, eight thirty, we've been up most of the night as it is!" I felt like I'd been up for a couple of years. I kissed her again,

"Tell me what's happening! Please?" she gave me a frank stare.

"Okay, in a nutshell, Sarah Beaumont's gone missing," she looked into my eyes, "Have you had any contact with her?" I shook my head.

"We weren't exactly friends, you know we weren't. She helped Sue Chandler, she provided her with all the information that she used to kidnap Linda and Sheila. I'm not exactly going to send her flowers on her birthday am I?" Then I realised just what I'd said. "But…" Emma shook her head.

"Yeah, yeah! Well, she relocated to Leeds, she had friends up there apparently and she was working as a nurse again in St James' the big hospital. She went to the pub with her friends on Sunday night and when they tried to check if she'd got home OK they couldn't contact her, bearing in mind her history they called the police in Leeds and they called us".

"She hasn't turned up and because she's a very important witness we're assuming that the Chandlers, what's left of them, are involved!" She looked at me more than slightly quizzically and I finally caught on.

"Oh, I see! Or else I've had her kidnapped to get revenge, right?" She nodded.

"Or someone close to you like Sheila or Linda Hutton, Linda's certainly got contacts, people who owe her more than the odd favour…" Her voice tailed off and she looked up at the ceiling almost dreamily, "Or someone not so close…" that lost me slightly but I could see her line of thinking otherwise, there was a flaw however."

"Well that means your mate Liz Fisher's a suspect too!" She put up a straight bat to that.

"Liz would NOT be involved," I wondered how well she knew Liz these days. I threw her a googly.

"She's in New York!" Emma's hackles were starting to rise." With Linda, Sheila and myself. I just got back." she looked at me intensely.

"We know that too. Or rather we found out not so long ago. The FBI has had Sheila under surveillance since she arrived in the States. But we don't have the manpower or the budget to watch everybody. YOU slipped under the radar!" I couldn't believe it.

"What, the Feds are watching Sheila? That must be nice for them." she pursed her lips and spoke to me slowly like she was speaking to a child. A slightly stupid child.

"Sheila and Sarah Beaumont are the most important witnesses we've got," she looked at me and wrinkled her nose, " and they both refused point blank to go into witness protection, so at the moment Sheila's under surveillance twenty four seven. And while a couple of our boys would have loved an all expenses paid weekend in the Big Apple, the Chandlers have got links to The Mob AND the Russian Mafia, so J. Edgar's finest took over and bloody thorough they are too! Any way they report that she 's fine. She's been doing the normal tourist things, you know, shopping and fucking and having the shit kicked out of her and then, my, my, if someone else doesn't suddenly come to the FBI's attention. Someone from England who seems to have a talent for hitting people!" I started to protest and she tried to raise a hand, which she thought better of when she remembered the handcuffs.

"I know, I know and if I was a man and my EX girlfriend," and here she eyeballed me intensely, " who had made it quite clear to me that it was over, by the way, was going somewhere to be comprehensively tortured then I wouldn't be too happy about it either but you've got to admit," her blue eyes glittered, "that in the light of Sarah's disappearance, in the light of the fact that you two are no longer an item, in light of the fact that it does seem to be one hell of a bloody coincidence that you should all pop up the States at the same time then it does look as if a conspiracy theory might just be on the cards!." I looked at her quizzically, " Well it COULD seem to an outsider that you, Sheila and Linda Hutton were all trying to create some fairly high profile alibis for yourselves!" I was saved from having to answer by what could only be a ring tone that sounded pretty much like the theme from Starsky and Hutch, I looked at her in disbelief and she regarded me disdainfully.

"Just give me my bag! The bloody phone's in there." Her bag was sitting next to me; I'd bought it with me in case she needed it I looked at her and let my hand hover just above it. Did she want me to fish it out?

" Yes! Get the bloody thing! I can't exactly go delving in there with these," she indicated her hands, "Can I?" I had to get really close to her so that I could put the phone to her ear. I pressed the green button and she didn't look impressed.

"Hello? Yes Babs! Yup, I'm fine. Okay. Okay and what did they see? WHAT? How many? Two little ones and a big one! Any flying saucers with that? Bright white lights, that sort of thing? A white van! I see. Two little silver men and one big one driving a white van? And where were Noddy and Big Ears while all this was going off? What's that? They weren't men. They had tits!" Emma looked at me archly, I knew this was all for my benefit and I sat there feeling more helpless than she was and she knew it and she was enjoying every second.

" And what? And high heeled silver boots!" Now she stared, her eyes boring into me like lasers, "What time was this Babs? Uh, huh and this caller wouldn't give their name? Well this is the Twenty First Century Barbara we can track phone calls now. Oh they did? A phone box in Leeds town centre?"

She looked at me even more intensely and cocked her head to one side.

"People in silver suits with high heeled boots," I was going to tell her that rhymed but I thought better of it, "Know what that sounds like to me Babs?" The lasers were back on again, "It certainly doesn't sound like extra terrestrials, it sounds like two ordinary size women and one tall one wearing FETISH GEAR!" she said it slowly and clearly as if talking to an idiot and she was looking at me all the time, "Latex or rubber or what's that other stuff? Er, PVC that's it!" I could see her mind racing. "Anything on the car yet?" She looked at me all the time that Sergeant Jones was filling her in on the Scene Of Crime Officer's findings. Eventually she sighed and asked, "Any one been up there?" and another one-sided conversation took place.

According to recent research this is what apparently drives people crazy about mobile phone conversations in public places – you can't hear what the other person is saying. Personally what annoys me is that the big headed Pratt on the phone has the gall to assume that the people sitting in the bus or train or restaurant or toilet or whatever lead such boring lives that they would give even the merest scintilla of a rat's arse about whatever it is they are talking but in this case I WAS interested. Very interested.

Eventually the call ended and Emma held the phone awkwardly in both hands whilst trying to reduce me to ash with a single stare, finally she said,

"Well! Do you want the good news or the bad news?" I never have liked that game and when I stayed silent Emma smiled sarcastically, "Okay, the good news is that I haven't got enough to nick you," I still wasn't playing but that didn't stop Emma, "and the bad news is that given another day or so..." she didn't get as much time to gloat as she would have liked because at that moment another phone rang.

Another phone, another ring tone, this time it was the theme from Thunderbirds. I had the good grace to blush and then fished my phone out of my pocket.

She was watching me so carefully. Trying to crane her neck so far forward it was comical. I had to answer this because if I didn't she would assume the worst and it couldn't have been much worse - it was the Bishop with some news that I just didn't need right then

"Bill?"

"Yes Bish, what's up?"

"Bill have you heard from Lady Heather?" I was genuinely bewildered

"No! I've just got back from the States."

"I know," he sounded worried, "I was just checking, only Heather and the terrible twosome," He meant Ally and Angela, lovely girls but a real pain when they were together, "were on their way to FETCON '03, you know the fetish convention in Harrogate?" I had to shake my head, the very idea of a fetish convention in Harrogate filled me with horror and so, suddenly, did something else and it was sitting not a million miles away from me. I lowered my voice as if it would make any difference.

"Is er, is something wrong?"

"I don't know I was due to meet the three of them in Whitby because it's not so far away from there and Ally being part woman, part Goth wanted to see where Dracula's supposed to have come ashore. I wasn't over concerned yesterday when they didn't phone because I know there are blank spots up here but I'm at the hotel now and they didn't show last night, I wondered if you'd heard anything?" I shook my head, subconsciously not wanting to let Emma know what was happening and then I realised that as yet most phones don't pick up gestures. I let out a sigh.

"No Bish! Not heard a thing. Have you told the police?" Of course Emma was suddenly as rigid as a dog on the scent of its next meal and I was between a rock and a hard place, "Just a sec," I held the phone away from me and looked at her, hungry with anticipation would have been an understatement.

And I spilled.

What else could I do? She would have found out eventually. There was a look on her face that was unfathomable.

"Get his number and I'll pass it on to Babs. She can talk to him and get the details and she can inform the West Yorkshire Police, my geography's not too good but I think the Sarah Beaumont enquiry comes under South Yorkshire. Anyway we're going to treat this as suspicious even if they don't," She lowered her voice, " very suspicious!"

I got a number for the Bishop and passed it on to Emma asking him, as he rang off, to keep me informed. I didn't wait for a lecture, things had suddenly got serious. I stood up and walked over to the wall unit where I kept the cigar box and the keys. Emma leaned back against her cushion.

"These three friends of yours…" I knew what was coming and I nodded as I walked towards her, keys in hand, "I think I've met them once. Lady Heather bears a striking resemblance to Linda except that she's actually got manners and isn't a professional East Ender, right?" I nodded again, " and it would be fair to say that she is above average height for a woman, right?" I nodded again as I removed the handcuffs from her ankles, Heather and Linda were both about 6 feet 2 inches tall.

"And would it also be correct to say that Allison and Angela are about average height, roughly five foot six or so? Say something damn you!" I had actually nodded again but I was behind her now unlocking her wrists.

"Yes Inspector, it would be correct to say that too," I replied wearily as I helped her to stand up and she rubbed her wrists vigorously.

"Where are my shoes?"

"They're in the hall, I was just about to get them."

"Don't bother. Can I just have a look at those handcuffs only they look like the ones we use and you shouldn't be able to get them commercially." I handed her the cuffs, which would count as one of my smaller mistakes in a lifetime full of pretty big ones and the odd elephant.

She was quick. Very, very quick.

Moving fast in just her tights and with no shoes to hamper her she slipped behind me grabbed one wrist and then the other and slid the handcuffs deftly into place before I could even open my mouth. Then she walked outside put on her shoes and ambled back in to stand in front of me with a tangible glow of triumph radiating from her already alarmingly smug features.

"William David Rodgers, I am arresting you in connection with the possible abduction of Sarah Beaumont, you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention something, when questioned, which you later rely on in court! Do you understand?" and I stood there wondering whether it was possible that you actually got more gullible as you got older instead of less. I nodded more to keep her quiet than anything else.

There was more than a hint of satisfaction in Emma's voice when she spoke next

"If I were you Willy, I'd get yourself a brief. A good one!"

*

"Are you sure you've got a licence to drive in England?" Lady Heather sighed.

"Yes Ally, I am fully licensed to drive an automobile in this country. Driving on the opposite side of the road takes a little getting used to but otherwise I am fine." Ally was nothing if not persistent.

"And it definitely says UK on your license and not Pongo's Creek or somewhere?"

Angela looked up from her catalogue,

"Where's Pongo's Creek?" Ally was irritated but did not turn round

"Oh go back to sleep Ange! It's a place in Oz that I just made up. Mind that car!"

Now it was Lady Heather's turn to be irritated. She eased the car through the light motorway traffic until she was back in the left hand lane.

"Ally you're supposed to be navigating not driving, that's why I let you sit in the front with me otherwise I would have put you in the back with Angela and preferably tied the two of you together!" Ally winced as a huge lorry and trailer slipped past them showering the big green 4x4 they had borrowed from Linda with spray from the recent downpour. Heather regarded Ally seriously in the rear view mirror for several moments, finally she said,

"Ally, have you ever driven a car before?" Ally looked puzzled.

"Yeah. My dad's old Holden, he used to let me drive a bit when we were away from Melbourne, why?"

"Pongo's Creek huh!"

"No! Not bloody Pongo's Creek! What are you driving at?" Heather ignored the unintentional pun.

"Well, what I'm trying to say is that you're not exactly used to driving on the Freeway right?"

"Motorway!" said Ally glumly; "they're called Motorways over here!" Heather shrugged.

"Whatever."

"Well you know, everywhere's not the same as Burger King. Just 'cos they call like a Chicken Royale the same thing all over the world…" Heather sighed;

"Okay Ally, I was not hoping to start a conversation on the merits and demerits of globalisation, although I CAN see you picking up a demerit or two before today is over," Ally grinned wryly, she'd read "The Story of "O", "I was just trying to point out that you are the most nervous passenger I have ever driven with and if you are not exceedingly cautious I may well use something from that catalogue that Angela is poring over to SHUT YOU UP!" Ally looked slightly hurt, just as yet another car came desperately close, horn blaring.

The tall, older woman and smaller younger girl with the jet-black hair and the white streak for a fringe regarded each other as best they could in the rear-view.

"That was nothing to do with me!" said Lady Heather haughtily

"Well it sure wasn't me!" said Ally frostily.

"Hey! Why don't you two shuddup, I'm trying to read here!" Ally rounded on the voice from the capacious back street and then froze.

"Strewth!" Lady Heather held the big car steady.

"What's wrong now?" Ally was almost but not quite speechless.

"Angela you are such a …oh what's the word?" another car passed and two men in football shirts leaned out of the offside windows making gestures with their fists. Lady Heather was puzzled on two counts.

"Bitch? Whore? Strumpet? Harlot? Slut? Superslut? Megaslut? Omnislut?" the other being that she did not for the life of her know why their car seemed to be attracting so much attention but for Ally the penny had finally dropped.

"Yeah!" she said through gritted teeth, "All of those!" Realising that Angela could not be seen in her mirror Ally put a hand on the steering wheel, "I'll hold it steady while you get an eyeful" Still puzzled Lady Heather turned to see Angela comfortably ensconced on the back seat.

She had kicked off her high-heeled sandals and was barefoot, one foot on the floor, the other tucked, at nearly a ninety-degree angle to her body, into one the safety handles above the nearside door. She was wearing an extremely short skirt and an even skimpier top and that appeared to be all that she was wearing because her shaven crotch with its very prominent labia and four piercings was visible to just about everyone in the nearside lane, as were most of her generous breasts.

Just to make matters worse her free hand, the one not holding the catalogue, was now rubbing slowly and seductively against the dark and puffy entrance to her vagina.

"Okay!" Heather turned smoothly back to face the front and took over the steering again. Satisfied that the car was under control she spoke quietly to Ally.

"Yes Ally you were right. She's all those things, plus a few more besides…"
"What kinda like a Scarlet Woman?" said Ally innocently but with a deepening grin as a coach carrying what could only be a crowd of football supporters drew level with them and then kept pace whilst loud cheers could clearly be heard from inside.

"Yes that's right Allison dear," she said quietly and angelically," AND IT'S HER LAZY, GOOD FOR NOTHING, FREAKIN' ASS THAT'S GONNA BE SCARLET WHEN I'VE FINISHED WITH HER! ANGELA! GET YOUR STEAMING, DIRTY, SLUTTISH PUSSY UNDER COVER RIGHT NOW BEFORE I PULL OVER, STAKE YOU OUT IN THAT FIELD OVER THERE AND LEAVE YOU FOR THOSE ASSHOLES IN THAT BUS! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Angela knew from past experience that Lady Heather did not make idle threats. Thirty seconds ago she had been engrossed in her catalogue, in particular the section on "The Bonking Bunny" a vibrator shaped like a cross between a rabbit and a fiercely erect penis clutching a clitoral stimulator for a carrot. Now she was sitting bolt upright, her face as red as Heather had predicted her backside would be, pulling frantically at her skirt and top and trying to find her shoes blindly with her feet in order to attain some kind of normality.

Lady Heather stared straight ahead as the coach passed them and the onlookers on board waved them a disappointed but good-natured goodbye. Eventually she spoke,

" Angie baby, did I ever threaten to sew those pussy rings to your clit ring and leave you just room enough to pee?" Angela nodded sheepishly,

"Yes you did!" after what seemed an age and in a voice so low it was barely audible Heather finally said,

"Don't go to sleep tonight Angela and if you do, don't expect to be able to take a PISS, let alone play with yourself ever AGAIN!" and then she smiled sweetly, "Okay Honey?"

Angela knew she wouldn't do it permanently but she knew that she WOULD do it if she had to or indeed just because she could. She remembered the two weeks of enforced chastity after she had been caught giving Niles a particularly long and eventful blowjob in a storeroom when Niles should have been filming an exceptionally well known, well proportioned and in Linda's words, well expensive, Bondage Model to promote The Bishop's website.

Lady Heather had taken great delight in tying her down, inserting a butt plug liberally coated with toothpaste into her sensitive little arse and a dildo coated with vapour rub into her pussy and then sealing everything in place with a chastity belt with a twelve number combination.

She had to go down on her knees and beg Lady Heather to be released in the morning and in the evening in order to wash and go to the toilet which she did under Heather's eagle eye, sex of course being completely out of the question although Niles did claim conjugal rights and get custody of her mouth for the fortnight.

Lady Heather still had her eyes fixed firmly on the road.

"Allison is that our turn off ahead? It does say Whitby, oh and Angela? Hand over that catalogue, you know I'm starting to think that if someone gave you Webster's dictionary you'd probably find something to…" she stumbled for a second, "Hey Ally what's that English word again? You know, for playing with yourself?" Ally grinned.

"Wank! Yeah you're right Heather on both counts. Next turn is Whitby and… hey he's pretty close!"

Heather didn't see what was happening but she felt it as they took the off ramp to Whitby.

She dismissed it at first as a simple nudge, as the car behind, it was a black 4x4 with huge bull bars and tinted windows, got just a little too close as they both slowed down, but it wasn't the case. The car shuddered and she eased off the gas some more, expecting the black car to do the same so that they could stop, inspect the damage, if any, and exchange details, if necessary, but it didn't.

As she slowed down, so the other car sped up and hit them again. This time the car jerked forward, and so did they. Heather sped up a little but the big black 4x4 accelerated enough to cause its tyres to screech and then hit them again. This time it was all she could do to keep the vehicle under control. Instinctively she put her foot down on the accelerator and the big car gathered sped leaving the black car far enough behind to give them a chance of getting away.

Heather blew out her cheeks. For a moment she had thought that things were going to get nasty

But the black car had dropped back for a reason.

So it could come at her again.

And come at her much, much faster than before.

Even now it was filling her rear view mirror

Now Heather realised that things WERE going to get nasty.

"Angela, forget everything I just said and put your seat belt on honey!" Aware that they were approaching a roundabout and also aware that the black 4x4 was looming ever closer she eased her foot down on the accelerator. The response was immediate, the car was a gas-guzzler but it had a throaty V8 engine that responded to the gas pedal instantly

They all felt the drag as Bessie, (Linda's name, not hers) pulled away smoothly. Hands lightly on the steering wheel Lady Heather guided the Range Rover round the roundabout and onto the road for Whitby but the other driver was matching her speed. This time when the 4x4 hit them they were all thrown forward,

Heather floored the accelerator, reaching out blindly for the seat belt that she had not been wearing. The big engine, rather than roar, throbbed powerfully, and the speedo slipped into the seventies. Eyes fixed intently on the road she said,

"Ally get your seat belt on sweetheart!" Both Ally and Angela had their heads turned, watching the big black vehicle behind them.

"I already have!" Ally tended to look up to Heather and treat her like the mother who had been either too busy or too drunk too bother with her, even though she was only 10 years older. "What's going on?"

"Don't know sweetheart, have you got your mobile on you?" Speedometer touching ninety now on a two lane "A" road, fields and trees seemingly whizzing past them, Ally shook her head.

"It's in my bag." The driver of the black vehicle had been caught out by their sudden burst of speed but now he was just a few feet behind them again and edging closer. The stakes were much higher now, a bump at this speed could send them crashing off the road. Heather's mind was working at full speed. If she could contact The Bishop to let him know what was happening and then maybe the police… but her phone was also with her baggage and that was all sitting behind Angela neatly piled into the hatchback.

And then the black vehicle hit them again.

The steering wheel seemed to come alive in her hands and it was all she could do to control it, the vehicle swerved to the left whilst the black car maintained a straight course.

Heather could guess why.

If she tried to counter the swerve too violently she would swing off to the right and the black 4x4 would then be able to either nudge her into the opposite lane and the oncoming traffic or, if it caught her nearside, the fields to her left.

The second choice was preferable to the first. She had just a split second to think.

Steer INTO a skid.

Steer into it.

The Range Rover was veering violently left like a frightened animal that had run inadvertently into traffic. As calmly as she could she turned the steering wheel slowly left. There was wooden fencing in between them and the field and she felt the big car buck as it crossed from road to verge and then buck again as she finally managed to get it under control and back onto the road.

The black car was coming up fast on her right but since they had now straightened up, instead of hitting them as planned it was drawing level. Heather did something she thought she'd never do and steered her vehicle carefully and deliberately toward the other. She had to stop this. She had to stop it now and if they would not stop ramming her then she had no option but to ram them.

As she got closer she tried to see who was driving but the windows were black and reflective, it was impossible to see in. To all intents and purposes the vehicle was empty.

For the first time in the journey from London she had both girls' undivided attention as she heaved the car over to finally make contact with their attackers. But it just wasn't hard enough.

She had hoped to bump them away, to push them just far enough onto the verge in the middle of the road to give them a chance to get away but it didn't happen. Angela screamed at roughly the same time as the metal did as the two cars broadsided each other. The blue and orange sparks were visible from where Angela was sitting but she had the good sense to throw herself to the other side of the seat.

Both cars travelled for something like 200 yards grating and grinding against each other until Heather, realising that they were had nothing to gain from this, turned the wheel and hauled her vehicle away from the other and accelerated once more.

There was traffic coming the other way, two cars and a dumpster and she'd had enough experience of dumpsters in LA to know they were bad news. Suddenly a thought hit her. What about Angela? What about her mobile? She'd been texting Niles almost constantly since they started out that morning.

"Ange, your mobile..." Angela was doing her best to sit upright, she was visibly frightened but then they all were in one way or another

"Out of battery, ran out about an hour ago! Why are they doing this?" Heather wanted to say "Shit!" but she didn't. instead she said as mildly as she could,

"I don't know Angela. now just put your belt on honey and you'll be fine!"

She felt a responsibility to these two girls, Angela was a total screwball but totally likable as well and Ally was like the younger sister she never ever had.

The dumpster, carrying a full load, tarpaulin flapping in the wind was now almost on them. She didn't want to but she knew that she had to give way and that she also had to slow down, which would give the black car every opportunity to ram them again.

She thought about the Bishop. She thought about what he was always saying to her, that there was always at least two ways to do a thing. She looked at the dumpster bearing down on her. It was only another vehicle and its driver didn't want an accident any more than she did. ..

She had eased off the gas pedal in anticipation but now she floored it and as she did so she felt a sudden forward jerk that snapped her head back against the headrest as the following vehicle made brief contact once again before the engine took over and dragged them away.

Speedo just touching one hundred miles per hour she rocketed past the dumpster and felt the car shake but the black car had anticipated her. It was still close behind and it was coming closer still.

She saw a roundabout up ahead and wondered, just wondered if the stupid idea that had just flashed into her mind might really work and then she caught movement in the back of the vehicle out the corner of her eye.

"Angela what are you doing? I told you to put your seat belt on!"

Angela!

Gorgeous, spunky little Angela, who never took "No" for an answer.

On anything

She had slipped her shoes off again and was now starting to climb over the back seat.

"I'm going to get one of your phones!" was the slightly muffled reply. Ally whirled round,

" Ange You can't!" but Angela's bare backside was already visible as she struggled over the high seat.

Heather knew she shouldn't do it but she NEEDED a phone. THEY needed a phone if they were to get out of this mess. She looked at Ally as best she could without taking her eyes off the road and gave her what she hoped was an encouraging look.

"She's not stupid Ally and she'll be careful, won't you Angela?" but Angela had already disappeared behind the rear seat and was now trying to ease her way through the large tubular bars behind which lay the luggage. She had just raised her head a little to find the best place to climb through when she saw something hit the large rear window and was surprised to see several little cracks appear in the glass. but at that moment she was too concerned about the phones to let that bother her and she began to squeeze through the bars.

She heard what sounded like a series of plops barely audible above the noise of the engine and the wind that was now buffeting the vehicle but still she was too busy to worry about them. It was only when Ally shouted,

"What the bloody hell was that!" that she looked up and to her horror saw that the glass in front of her was no longer clear. It seemed to be peppered with tiny holes each with dozens of little cracks emanating from it but she was still intent on reaching the mobiles. She pushed and squeezed and wriggled again and finally she was through the bars and into the freedom of the luggage area.

There had been more pops whilst she had been exerting herself and the rear window was now completely opaque, a mass of chips and cracks as if it had been peppered by stones thrown up from the side of the road. There was another noise. A much louder one this time and she didn't even have time to scream before the whole window seemed to cave in on her.

"Fuck!" Heather had seen it all clearly.

It had looked like the barrel of a rifle at first and it was protruding from the front passenger window of the black car. It wasn't big enough to be a rifle barrel but it had to be a gun of some description and it was clutched tightly in a shiny silver hand.

They wanted to cause damage but not loss of life. That was all she could assume.

A real gun would have smashed that window first time and probably taken out one of them as well. This had to be something different, something lower powered, like an air rifle.

The glass caved in on top of Angela and the sudden rush of cold air from outside seemed as if it was going to drag them backwards out of their seats. As it was, loose papers, sweet wrappers and even empty drinks cans flew into the air as if suddenly imbued with a life of their own The car was full of noise now. The wind that had previously whistled harmlessly around the vehicle now seemed to be trying to tear it apart from the inside out.

Heather screwed up her eyes and scoured the rear view mirror but she could not see what she was looking for

"Angela!" for one heart stopping moment Heather thought that Ally was actually going to unbuckle her seat belt and try to find her. She put a restraining arm across her and heaved the vehicle, tyres screeching, into the roundabout throwing the automatic gearbox into overdrive as she did it.

Ally, not the hardiest of passengers at the best of times, looked fearfully at the speed they were now doing, knowing that it would be difficult to veer off the roundabout without the car skidding or swerving or even overturning on the wet road

The black car followed but it did not seem quite as quick. Heather shouted hooray silently in her head as she saw the vehicle receding and put her plan into action. Contrary to Ally's worst fears she had never intended to leave the roundabout. What she hoped to do, before the driver of the other vehicle realised it, was catch up with him as they circled and play him at his own game.

The wind whistled around them and the tyres squealed as she took the inside lane and found herself rapidly catching up with her pursuer. Fortunately for her there were no other vehicles in sight. Foot to the floor, praying that nothing would go wrong and that Angela was okay she held the steering wheel tightly now and was rewarded by seeing the rear of the back vehicle looming in front of her. She knew she would have to slow down or she would not only kill the people in the black car but probably her and Allison as well but she could not afford to slow down yet.

She inched closer and closer, the wind from the broken window pulling at her hair as if trying to distract her. Ally sat next to her, rigid in her seat. She was close now. So close. She eased off the gas just a little. Just enough to let the car slow down,

Just enough to…

She never even saw it coming, she was too busy concentrating on the black car and worrying about Angela to even notice the large white van that had slipped in behind her and was now just inches from her rear bumper.

It hit her once and threw them both forward

Blood pounding in her ears, no time even to look in the rear view mirror, she corrected and pushed the car forward, not really knowing what she was doing or why she was doing it, she was too shocked, too surprised, too frightened. The white van hit them again. Ally was screaming "Oh my God!" and there was still no sign of Angela.

She had to cope; she had to deal with this.

The white van was coming at her again. She floored the accelerator once more and sent the Range Rover crashing into the back of the black 4x4. Ally screamed again. She heard a gasp in her own ears that had to be her. Despite the whiplash both her and Ally's belts were holding and Ally was petrified but unharmed. She eased off the accelerator preparing to ram the black car again but the van driver had anticipated her.

He too had dropped back, he too was doing what she was doing and losing speed but now there was sufficient distance between them, he or she was speeding up again and there could be only one reason for that. So that he could hit her harder. Now the black car was braking, the bright red brake lights clearly visible in the gloom. Suddenly she realised what they were up to.

She was going to be the meat in their sandwich

They were going to crush Bessie between them but she had one more weapon. One more thing that she could try. One more thing that she had never ever done before.

"Hold on Ally!" she shouted and cranking the speedo up to over one hundred miles per hour, spinning the steering wheel as hard to the right as she could and then wrenching the handbrake up violently she executed what would be her first and probably her last handbrake turn.

The car responded like a frightened gazelle but it DID respond. Bucking and leaping, tyres screaming, the car executed an almost perfect one hundred and eighty degree turn and now it was travelling away from her pursuers BUT ON THE SAME CARRIAGEWAY!

She had to get over.

She had to get onto the other side of the road.

She was already lucky that there was no other traffic around.

And she was still accelerating

Ally watched wide-eyed as the speedometer crept up to one hundred and twenty on a road with a limit of seventy miles an hour. Adrenaline pumping through her veins Heather crossed the grass verge. A cursory glance had told her there was nothing coming but motorcyclists are hard to see at the best of times and a black Harley Davidson with its lights off on a dark winter afternoon in January when it is already dark is almost impossible to detect

It was more by luck than judgement that Heather saw the motorcyclist in the inside lane doing just over a ton just as she was about to cross. She swerved violently, just managing to control the now battered Range Rover, just able to maintain a straight course.

The bike rider had zoomed away unharmed but to her horror she now saw that he, or she, their face was hidden by a black helmet with a black tinted visor, had now dismounted and was standing on the grass verge both hands together pointing something in her direction.

She swerved again. She had no option. This time she had no doubt that a gun was being pointed at her or her vehicle.

She twisted the steering wheel and accelerated back across the road, the car rearing viciously as it hit the verge. Even above the wind and the engine noise the shots were plainly audible: One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Quick and relentless! It had to be a machine pistol at the very least

You never hear the bullet that kills you but she had heard every one of these and now she felt the impact as with deadly accuracy all six shots crashed into her offside front tyre shredding it instantly and causing the Range Rover to swerve so violently that she thought it was going to lose contact with the ground. She did not have long to wait. She battled with the steering wheel but this time the result was inevitable.

The Range Rover slewed across the road again and when it hit the grass verge in the centre it bucked and when it hit the raised camber, mounted the kerb, hit the grass verge and crashed into the sturdy wooden fence on the far side of the road it hit it so hard that it shot into the air and when it came down again a few seconds later it crashed into the field so hard that the suspension was crushed and all four wheels buckled by the impact. The engine was still racing but with nothing left to propel it forward Bessie subsided into the mud, a beaten and battered giant.

Finally even Heather had to admit defeat. There were tears in her eyes, she was shocked and angry but she had someone else to consider. Ally had hit her head hard on the roof when they had crashed and she was close to tears too.

The black car had crashed through the fence after them but it had fared much better than Bessie and it was sitting just a few feet away from them now, the doors opening slowly

The already wired Ally screamed when she saw them.

Two silver figures were walking slowly and purposefully toward them carrying long silver rods in their hands.

"What the fuck?" she was shaking and scared out of her wits. Lady Heather put a hand to her forehead because it was throbbing and was shocked to see blood on her fingers. She wanted to fall apart too but she couldn't for Ally's sake

"I don't know sweetheart but we have to get out of here now!" she said shakily but before she could do anything else the vehicle lurched and suddenly a figure was running, as fast as she had ever seen anyone run, across the field and towards the road. She couldn't quite see in the gloom but she guessed that that figure was barefoot.

Angela must have been laying low in the back of the car and waiting for her chance

Both Heather and Ally watched helplessly as she ran fiercely and bravely toward the relative safety of the road and even now she was running towards some headlights that had just appeared out of the murk Headlights that both they and she realised far too late belonged to an anonymous white van that was pulling up at the side of the road just as she reached the verge. At first it was obvious that she didn't comprehend the danger because she kept on running towards it.

It was only when the back doors were thrown open and a tall silver figure that could only be a woman came hurtling at her that she realised her mistake but it was too late, the long silver rod that she carried hit her first on her left breast, then on her right and was finally swung viciously into her crotch causing her to scream and then collapse to the ground

Realising that it was over Lady Heather turned to Ally who was crying silently, took her hand and held it tightly and put her free arm around her as both doors of the Range Rover were flung open and two figures clad entirely in silver beckoned them slowly out of the vehicle.

THE STORY CONTINUES IN PART TWO

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.

RETRIBUTION

(PART TWO)

BY

WALLACE

Lady Heather looked down at the girl crying in her arms. Fully aware that there were two people carrying some kind of weapon at each door of the car, she whispered in her ear

" Honey, if they wanted to kill us we would be dead already, understand?" Ally moved her head against her shoulder, "Good girl, now turn around, look at the one your side and do whatever she says, okay?" Ally sniffled and nodded again, "And Ally?" Allison looked up at her, her eyes wide and full of tears. "Any more crying and I'm gonna spank your butt! Got it?" Ally looked up at her and did her best to smile. Heather patted her on the shoulder and then they both turned to face their captors.

*

"Interview with William Rodgers. Commencing O nine hundred hours, present are DI Emma Bannion and DS James Clarke. For the record, Mr. Rodgers has declined legal representation but understands that he may end this interview at any time and contact a solicitor if he so wishes. Would you please confirm that Mister Rodgers."

It would be difficult to describe Emma's demeanour. One moment her eyes seemed to be full of almost religious fervour, the next there would be something suggesting betrayal, then there was the smugness of earlier on and then, something else. Was it hurt? Was it just that she knew something that I didn't?

Perhaps paranoia is another thing I'm getting prone to as I get older as well.

Not taking my eyes off her I nodded.

Detective Sergeant Clarke, who had been sitting with his arms folded, his legs extended and crossed at the ankles and had allowed his eyes to hood over, roused from his seemingly somnolent posture.

"For the benefit of the tape, Mr. Rodgers is nodding his head." I'd only known Jimmy Clarke for about twenty minutes but I'd warmed to him straight away. He was tall, balding and what you would call wiry I guess and he struck me as, well, almost human for a policeman. It had been Jimmy who had asked me if I wanted a coffee as soon as I had arrived, explaining that it came out of a machine and was therefore shit but was also hot and wet. And it was Jimmy who, realising I was still handcuffed had retrieved a key and unlocked them saying, not unkindly and with a broad grin, as I rubbed my sore wrists,

"Bet you're not used to being on the receiving end of them are ya mate?"

And he was right, I definitely wasn't and even on the short drive to a place I passed nearly every day and had never even realised that there was a police presence inside, I had wondered just how Sheila could stand being cuffed for, in one case, days at a time.

"Mr.Rodgers, " I was back in that small well-lit and windowless room again. It reminded me of some kind of bunker somehow. The walls were unplastered, unpainted and lined with grey breezeblocks and there was that smell, that indefinable smell that seems to be present in new buildings. One of the fluorescents in its modern silver unit was flickering occasionally which was annoying me, "do you know Sarah Catherine Beaumont?" I nodded,

"Yes I do,"

"And what relationship is she to you?"

"A friend. Well, she was, I haven't seen her for nearly six months." Emma looked at me intensely.

"Would you still describe her as a friend Mr. Rodgers?" I looked at her equally intensely.

"Not really." Emma was moving in for the kill.

"Why is that?" she asked sweetly. I sighed

"Because I consider her to be partly responsible for the abduction, beating and sexual violation of two of my best friends." metaphorically she could taste blood but having tasted it she wanted more.

"Mr Rodgers, can you account for your movements over the last four days? We know you've been in New York for just over a week but whilst the Federal Bureau of Investigation were able to track you up to and including Wednesday evening you then seem to have vanished off the face of the earth! Would you explain that?" So sweet, so innocent and she had me over a barrel. Yes, I could explain and it was going to embarrass me and probably kill off what was left of the relationship between us. I nodded slowly. If she had tasted blood before, now she could see it in the water.

There was a slight squeak. Emma swivelled in her chair to watch the door opening and then turned back to the tape recorder at the side of the table around which we were sitting.

"Detective Chief Inspector Martin has entered the room." He had presence. A tall man with salt and pepper hair, wearing a navy double-breasted suit, pale blue shirt and a red tie. He stooped and whispered something to Emma who in turn leaned over towards the recorder.

"Interview terminated at O nine ten." And then she got up, switched off the tape recorder and walked out without a backward glance. The Chief Inspector sat down in her place and extended a hand.

"Bob Martin." He said and indicated the man next to him who was still sitting with his arms folded, "You've met my Sergeant." His handshake was firm like most policemen, but he didn't try to break my hand like some do. He looked at me thoughtfully.

"Tell me Bill, do you have any problems working with Inspector Bannion?" I looked at him. Working? He saw my slightly puzzled expression. "It's all right she's already declared an interest and asked to be taken off this case but I think that it might be better if she remained as your handler." I sat there shocked to the core. I'd read my spy books. I knew what a handler was.

Emma!

Emma was my handler.

Emma had declared an interest.

In other words she had told all and sundry that she was sleeping with me. That she was fucking me or vice versa. Suddenly all that business on the first night came into focus. I had been puzzled and more than a little flattered by her interest.

Attractive career woman.

Older man who'd written the odd mucky book.

Now suddenly it all seemed very clear.

Inside I was raging.

"My handler?" And my voice did not come out properly, it was a dry croak but nobody mentioned it. The Inspector sat back in his chair.

"Emma is aware that I intend to tell you what is going on. I'm not sure how much she expects me to tell you but it'll be more than I should and less than I ought but my hands are tied." He paused and looked around him," This department," he waved his hand, "is called C10 and I'm basically the head of it. My boss is Detective Chief Superintendent Ron Ramsey who deals with the politics and handles most of the fall out!" I looked at him.

"C10? Never heard of it. So what are you, a secret department?" He smiled.

" Officially we are SO31 but, like I said, DS Ramsey handles the politics and when he's asked about us he says that we're not a secret department but a department with secrets." He paused and smiled wryly, more to himself than anyone else. "We handle odd cases, the ones that require specialist knowledge, the ones that other units haven't the resources or the manpower, or just the wherewithal to deal with." Jimmy Clarke seemed to come out of his stupor again.

"All the kinky ones," he said with a grin, "remember the Amazons in the shiny black cat suits who were robbin' security vans?" I looked at him blankly.

"No, you probably wouldn't, the Guv'nor got it swept out of the papers after the second one and the London Eye. It didn't just get wrecked in that October storm like the papers said, it was a terrorist action well before 9/11, only it was home-grown terrorists but we managed to suppress it!" Chief Inspector Martin looked at his Sergeant thoughtfully and then leaned a little closer toward me. He seemed to have made an inward decision.

"Emma Bannion is new to this department and she comes with the highest recommendation. We had two vacancies to fill because," He looked down at the table briefly, "I've just lost two good members of staff who both resigned suddenly, so Emma and her sergeant have taken their places. Now, I do things differently to her old boss, so I am making you aware of what's happening because I am going to need your help." There wasn't exactly pain in his eyes; it was concern more than anything else. That light fitting was flickering again and even though he was sitting behind it he said,

"I thought they'd fixed that damn thing Jimmy!" Jimmy grinned,

"They did but the ballast's gone," He stood up "tell ya what, I'll go and talk to Handy Trevor and on the way back I'll get the coffees all right?" He looked at me, "Milk and one?" I nodded, "Want yours black guv?" the Chief Inspector turned to him.

" Yes Jimmy and use the freeze dried stuff not the granules, they taste like gravy! And see if there are any biscuits about would you? Only I can't remember the last time I ate!" Jimmy grinned again and left the room. Bob Martin steepled his fingers.

"There are things you need to know Bill and the first is that the man you killed, the man WE thought…" I nodded automatically, I would never forget that and he could see the pain in my face, "Yes, well I'm sorry to tell you this but everyone was under the impression that he was a bouncer called Vincent Henry, as I'm sure you're aware." I nodded again and I could feel the apprehension building in my stomach, he blew out his cheeks, "Well in the last few days we've received intelligence that identifies him as Henry Vincent Walker," he looked at me bleakly, "He was actually Sue Chandler's step brother!"

He let this sink in for a moment and I felt like I'd just been punched in the stomach. "Sue Chandler, bless her, was grooming him to take over from her brothers once she'd got them both out of the way. She believed that young Harry would do exactly what she told him and that with him as the nominal head of operations she could take over the whole Chandler Organization, because she also believed, rightly we think, that some of the people she would be dealing with, like the Yardies and the Snakeheads AND the various Mafias for that matter would not accept a woman as the head of a major crime syndicate."

Fuck!

I couldn't believe it.

Sue Chandler already blamed me, wrongly, for the death of her sister years ago and now I'd knocked off another of her clan intentionally. If the kidnappings of Linda and Sheila were her revenge for her sister's suicide what the hell would she do for the wilful murder of someone who was not only family but was pivotal to her plans to take over her brother's crime empire?

I rubbed my forehead in disbelief just as Jimmy came through the door with plastic cups in a plastic ring in one hand, a biscuit tin in the other and a sheath of papers under his arm. He put the cups and the tin on the table and flourished the papers.

"Reports from Forensics guv'nor, it's pretty much how we thought, looked like it exploded but they're fairly sure it was torched, no traces as yet."

Not for the first time that morning I was feeling more than a little confused.

The Inspector looked at me kindly.

"I know this is a lot to take in at once especially as most of it's not very pleasant." He took the papers from Jimmy and pulled a pair of reading glasses from his top pocket. He put them on and studied the notes in front of him for a few seconds, then he looked up.

"Bill, does the registration number BES 51E mean anything to you?" I thought for a moment. Of course it did! Put together on a number plate so that the "S" and the "5" looked similar it spelt BESSIE, Linda's big green Range Rover, it was how she always referred to it or her.

I was already feeling pretty sick and remembering that Linda had let Lady Heather use BESSIE while she was in New York did not help at all.

"Yes, it does, it's Linda's car, the one that…" something was wrenching at my gut.

"The one that your friends were travelling to Whitby in?" He asked gently. I looked down at the floor.

"Mmm." The Chief Inspector had obviously decided that the only way to deal with this was to plough through it and he did just that.

" The remains of a burnt out Range Rover were discovered last night in a field near Whitby. Several motorists, including the driver of a skip lorry, witnessed incidents at approximately four O'clock in the afternoon that would suggest that attempts were being made to force the car off the road." Jimmy Clarke, who had taken up his previous position and had appeared to be dozing, suddenly came to life.

"Any idea who might have been driving?" I smiled. I couldn't help it. Ally couldn't drive and Angela, although she seemed to spend a lot of her time on the Santa Monica freeway was not considered a safe driver by anyone. In fact Lady Heather had said that she would rather travel in a pine box to Whitby than let Angela drive her there. Then I realised the implications of that statement…

"Lady Heather, Bishops wife, she was the only one who was really qualified…" Jimmy nodded slowly.

" Well from what the Yorkshire boys are piecin' together, your mate Lady Heather seems to 'ave the driving prowess of Michael Schumacher and it looks like she's as stubborn as him an' all!" He grinned hugely, "At one point the tyre marks on the tarmac indicate she must 'ave done one hell of a hand brake turn in the middle of the road AND on a roundabout but," his voice became softer," if anything had been coming the same way…" he crashed his right fist into his open left palm, " they'd all've been finished!"

"You're telling me they're not?" I said quietly. I was shaking now. Inspector Martin looked at me openly, he shook his head.

"We don't think so, although they DID find half a dozen, spent, 9 millimetre cartridges on the grass verge." He sighed and carried on," From what information we have the Beaumont abduction and this seem to be related. In both cases we can place what appear to be women in silver suits at the scene and even though they DO bear certain similarities to your friends in the Range Rover we do NOT suspect either them or you!" He put his head to one side, " I don't think you've turned into a criminal mastermind overnight, but Emma arrested you for your own safety. She went to your flat of her own volition but she has my backing." My inference from that was that the Inspector did NOT approve but I didn't probe, " We were slightly concerned about your disappearance in New York but there was no intelligence to suggest that Sue Chandler had targeted you, YET! We've got some pretty reliable contacts who can tell us what contracts are out and on whom, so when you showed up again on Virgin Atlantic's computer this morning then we were quite relieved but Emma wanted to keep tabs on you. She wanted to make sure that your flat was safe but you got there before her, mix up in time zones."

Was it a mix up?

I wondered.

Both he and Emma seemed too sharp for that and it only added fuel to my suspicions about Emma.

Jimmy joined the conversation.

"Right now there's a bloke of your stamp, Ritchie Harris," he looked me up and down, "could be twins the pair of yer, in Leman Street Nick. Custody Sergeant's got him down for abduction under your name and he's going to stay there!" He saw my worried look, "Don't worry he'll get plenty of grub and he's getting paid for it," he turned to the Inspector, "Double bubble according to Roy King!" The Inspector winced; I assumed that the money was coming out of his budget. Jimmy turned back to me "Oh, and by the way, he's a traffic warden, so if ever anyone spanks you in the mouth for no reason…" I smiled but there wasn't a lot of mirth in it.

"So what do I do?" The Inspector put both hands on the desk.

"You," he said quietly, " are going back to New York, you're safer over there right now, " he put up a hand to stifle the objection that he knew was coming, "You are Bill you really are, I cannot tell you why just please accept it. You're much more use to me over there than you are here where Sue Chandler can get at you more easily," suddenly he was speaking in little more than a whisper.

"There are leaks. The Chandlers were always one step ahead of us but the information they are getting now is even more accurate than it was before and it can only come from one or more people WITHIN the Metropolitan Police Force! It's information that can only come from relatively well-placed sources as well. It could," and here he looked at Jimmy, " even be from inside this department, because we were coordinating the original kidnap although we weren't actually involved as such and Sue had access to data that only we were collating." Finally I was coming to the end of the tunnel.

"So, " I said equally quietly and mentally referring to the Le Carres I'd read at school, "you've got a mole and you're using me to catch them!" And then it all finally dawned on me, "that's why Emma was so close to me on the original investigation. Because it was a vendetta personal to Sue Chandler you knew she'd want to contact me at some point and you hoped that she'd slip up." Bob Martin nodded.

"We still do! And if you're in New York she HAS to contact you one way or another, she'll want her pound of flesh." I shook my head

"No. She could just kill 'em. Sarah, Lady Heather, Ally and Angela she could kill 'em one at a time and send me the pictures!"

"No! Not her style. Not her style at all. She hates you! As far she's concerned you killed her sister 15 years ago and now you've murdered her baby brother, the heir to the throne that she's never had access to and her only chance to get there! And now, like they used to say in the films, it's PERSONAL! YOU'VE screwed up her plans! YOU'VE made her look small in the eyes of the world!"

" First she wants to weaken you by attacking the people closest to you and then she'll want YOU but she'll need to keep THEM alive so she can kill you in front of them, so she can reclaim her moral territory and to prove to all and sundry that she CAN! Pour encourager les autres!" I can't say that I wasn't chilled to the marrow because I was, even though I'd suspected as much myself. I turned towards the door because it was a new voice I had just heard.

A woman's voice.

A very confident, slightly husky woman's voice.

She was standing in the now open doorway, I'd been looking down so the first thing I saw were red knee length boots with a pointed toe and a four inch heel which led to bare, tanned, knees and thighs, a shortish red leather skirt and a white peasant, half sleeved blouse. A cheeky face with soft peach coloured lips, a little button nose, brown eyes and short, boyish, brown hair completed the picture. Early thirties? She walked towards me letting the door close behind her and stuck out a hand,

"Hi! Charlie Wright – Patterson," she indicated the two policemen, "I'm their resident shrink!"

*

It was like she was looking at something from another world, but to the best of her knowledge extra terrestrials don't dress in shiny PVC and wear high heeled, totally impractical for the terrain, boots and she wasn't even going to consider the very obvious breasts.

It was dark and already a wind was starting to blow up around the remains of the range rover. The woman? Girl? In the silver cat suit was pointing what appeared to be a thin silver pipe with a handle and a two pronged fork at the end, at her and then taking two, maybe three, paces back.

So she couldn't speak.

Or didn't want to.

But what she wanted was obvious; she wanted her to get out of the car. Heather knew she had to accept orders for the time being, although she hadn't expected them to come like this. She swung her long legs over until they rested on the door seal and then the silver girl gestured at her. Gestured at her feet with the silver pipe. Lady Heather was puzzled at first but then it occurred to her that the silver creature's companion who she could see out of the corner of her eye was making similar gestures to Allison, who was pale but holding up okay. The creatures might be mute but there was a good chance that they might be able to hear and understand English.

She gave them her very best Californian drawl, which sounded pretty much the same as the Texan one in some respects but was infinitely less annoying.

"What do you want me to do Honey?" She looked at the silver being. It was pretty obvious that she had registered and understood what she said and now she was gesturing at Lady Heather's feet with her silver stick. Heather looked down.

"My boots?" Heather LOVED boots. She had pairs in every conceivable shape and texture. Snakeskin boots, Alligator boots, cotton boots, gold and silver lame boots, fur boots, moon boots. Ankle length, knee length, thigh length. She had them in black and brown and red and blue and white and yellow and pink and even green. She had them in high heels; she had them in low heels. She had several pairs with open toes that could look really, somehow, decadent. Some of them were the most comfortable things she had ever worn and some of them weren't but they always made her look and feel good.

The ones she was wearing now were her driving boots, a pair of red cowboy boots, hand embroidered with a Cuban heel that she had had for something like fifteen years and that still fitted her like gloves.

The silver creature was nodding slowly.

"My boots?" She said again, "You want my boots?" The creature shook her head and Heather finally saw sense. "Oh! You want me to take OFF my boots!" The creature nodded enthusiastically. Behind her Allison was having pretty much the same trouble. As she began to pull off the first boot so Heather whispered to her younger companion.

"They want your shoes honey!" Allison was dumbfounded.

"Why?" Heather pulled the boot off and dropped it onto the floor below the dashboard, she sighed.

"I guess it's because they don't want us running away baby! If we're barefoot we're less likely to go dashing off," she looked down into the muddy field and wrinkled her nose. "Especially in this!"

"But…" Heather was insistent,

"No "buts" sweetheart! You saw what happened to Angela, just take off your shoes and leave them in the car!" Today, like most days, Ally was wearing all black but she had opted for trousers with a huge flare rather than the short skirt and stockings that she normally wore and like Angela she was wearing high-heeled strappy sandals and her toenails, as usual, were painted black. Without another word she began to unbuckle her shoes.

Lady Heather had now pulled off both her boots but the creature was still gesturing at her feet, she looked up at her and realised immediately what she wanted.

"My socks? You want me take my socks of as well?" The creature nodded. Heather sighed and grateful that she had painted her toe nails that morning pulled off her socks and tucked each one into its appropriate boot. She looked down. Her feet always looked too small for her and with their scarlet nail polish they looked even more pale and delicate than usual. She looked back up at her captor.

"Okay now?" The silver being nodded and took several paces back once more, indicating that she wanted her to step out of the stricken Range Rover.

"You okay honey?" she asked Allison who seemed to have recovered a little.

"I guess so!"

"Okay now get out of the car and just do what they want. Shit!" she hadn't meant to say it but as she was talking to Allison she had looked up and seen the largest of the three creatures, weapon tucked into her belt, walking slowly towards them in the gloom, the inert body of Angela hanging limply in her arms.

Heather watched as the creature drew level with the range rover and stopped. The white van was now driving slowly into the field. Heather turned to the silver being who was as tall as she was.

"Is she okay?" The tall creature did not even turn. The white van was backing up towards them and even now she was shifting Angela's body in her arms in order, it appeared, to heave her into the back. Heather had had enough

"ANSWER ME DAMMIT! IS SHE OKAY?" The smaller one put a hand on her shoulder more in a gesture of compassion than anything else but Heather was past compassion. Heedless of the fact that she was barefoot she slipped past her silver captor and moved quickly towards Angela. The tall one saw her coming and dumped Angela's body into the back of the van.

She didn't even bother to draw her weapon. She strode forward, grabbed Heather by the arm and punched her hard in the face.

Lady Heather may have been to better schools than Linda Hutton and her parents may have cared much more about her but she had still been raised to look after herself. Bare feet skidding in the mud she managed to steady herself and, clenching both hands together, delivered a blow to the silver ones stomach that doubled her up.

Reluctantly, it seemed, the smaller silver creature that had been watching over Heather came forward now lifting the weapon that Heather already recognised as a cattle prod. The larger of the two was still doubled over. Heather wanted to grab Ally and run but she was standing watching her wide eyed with another smaller silver creature standing next to her cattle prod raised run and she couldn't leave without Angela and she couldn't leave Ally on her own.

She straightened up and put up her hands.

"Okay! Just let me see Angela and I'll…"

The tallest silver creature punched her fiercely in the face again and then thrust the cattle prod hard into her crotch. So hard that Heather staggered backwards. She was unconscious before she hit the ground

*

"So when did you first find that you enjoyed tying up women?" I smiled, the question wasn't quite a blunt as it might sound. We were now in Charlie's office on the sixth floor of the Broadgate complex that was built around Liverpool Street station in the late eighties. The room was predominantly green and there were houseplants in every conceivable nook and cranny. The lighting was soft and the windows double-glazed to keep out traffic noise. The whole building was very warm but in here there was just a hint of air-conditioning keeping the room pleasantly cool.

Below us was the Broadgate ice rink and even now, at roughly eleven in the morning on a crisp winters day two weeks after Christmas, there were already some hardy souls out on the ice.

Charlie was smiling at me. I had been left in her care after the two policemen had been called away on other business and we had been chatting amicably for over half an hour. I knew what she was doing but she was probing me so pleasantly that it would have been churlish not to answer. I put my hands on the desk.

"Charlie, I honestly don't know. When I was six I clearly remember having rubber fantasies and I haven't a clue how I came by them, girls, women, dressed entirely in rubber and chained up or tied up in dungeons, I was SIX years old for Christ's sake. There wasn't anything like that freely available in the late fifties; it's just always been there, in my head. Any TV programme where people got tied up got my interest straight away and when The Man From Uncle and The Avengers came along…" she propped her elbows on the desk and supported her chin on her joined fists.

"Mmm, so you think you were born with it then?" I shook my head.

"I don't know Charlie, I honestly don't know! It used to be like a curse, I used to be so ashamed of it…" She smiled

"But you seem to have turned it around, you know, the books, the websites..." I sighed

"Well, times have changed. People admit to reading and watching "stuff" now that was taboo a few years ago, in fact sometimes I think that maybe people give you a bit too much information about their little peccadilloes." I had no problems with what Charlie was asking me but I thought it was my turn to ask a question or two

"What about you Charlie?" She looked at me,

"Oh what? What do I think about pornography?"

"No! When did YOU first find that you liked tying up women?" For a very short time she looked a little flustered and then she smiled broadly but didn't say anything. I don't really know why I did it; maybe I just wanted her to know and to report back that I was a little more perceptive than I looked. I smiled.

"Only the way you look at Inspector Martin, the first impression is that you and he…" she laughed.

"Oh Bob! Bob's a sweetie but…" I was feeling so very, very smug.

"But you prefer your sweeties to have holes…" her expression was intentionally comical. If she were upset she didn't show it but I somehow felt that I'd hit the nail right on the head for once

"And your inference is based on what exactly?" She chewed the end of her pen, I didn't back down.

"On experience." She looked down at the desk for a moment and then she looked up

"Your ex?" She asked, still smiling.

"Mmm, among others, didn't know if she was Arthur or Martha!" Charlie pursed her lips.

"And by that you mean?" She put down the pen

"I mean that Sheila was and is bisexual and can NOT accept it. You, on the other hand and please don't think I'm being presumptive because I don't mean to be, seem very comfortable with it." She looked, right then, very, very sexual. She tossed back her head and her eyes were glittering.

"Okay, so what would you say I was? You know, am I dominant or submissive or what?" There was some kind of chemistry between us right now. I could feel it and if she couldn't I would have been very surprised

"I hate labels Charlie," for the first time she interrupted me.

"Funnily enough," she said, with more than a twinkle in her eye, "that's exactly what Sheila said when I spoke to HER!" Now it was her turn to fluster me momentarily.

"You spoke to Sheila?" It was hard to keep the surprise out of my voice. If SHE was smug she didn't show it.

"Mmm. Whilst she was still in hospital. I had to assess her suitability as a witness. I thought we got on very well! I liked her and I think she liked me!" I smiled.

"Birds of a feather! And I do NOT mean that unkindly!" Now she smiled.

"No! I think you might be right!" She leaned forward and said quietly. "She still likes you, you know. In fact I shouldn't say this but I'd be very surprised if she wasn't still in love with you!" I pulled a face

"Well she's got a funny way of showing it!" I grinned because I couldn't help it, "Even funnier than usual." Charlie spread out her hands.

"Bill you have to remember that Sheila is not a demonstrative person." She saw my grin widen. "You KNOW what I mean. She has difficulty showing affection and she shows it in the only way she can - by arguing and generally bad mouthing people. Think about it! The two people that she argues with the most are her two best friends and lovers," She counted off on her fingers, "You…" I knew a little bit about doctor/patient confidentiality and I knew she couldn't tell me. I sighed a little

"I know about Linda!" Her face remained neutral.

"Thought you might."

"Mmm, have done for a couple of years. Linda doesn't talk about it but I think she would tell me if I asked." Charlie pursed her lips.

"And what about you and Linda, would YOU tell Sheila if SHE asked?" we locked eyes.

"You've been talking to Sarah Beaumont!" Charlie held my gaze.

"Couldn't possibly say!" I had nothing to hide because there WAS nothing to hide.

"Linda and I get on, we get on very well, chalk and cheese maybe but nothing has ever happened between us!" I thought for a second and corrected myself, "Apart from the odd kiss. Sarah thought it had but by that time she was so paranoid about Linda and Sheila, and her and Sheila that she would have believed anything!" Charlie and I had still not broken eye contact," We've been out quite a bit but always as a threesome with Liz because we all seem to get on. And before you ask, I am not sleeping with Liz either." Suddenly something stirred inside me. "Charlie, does Sheila know all this? Is that why she's shutting me out?" Charlie folded her arms and sat back in her chair.

"Bill, I think you have to look at the bigger picture here. She may have heard rumours about you and Linda but she didn't mention them to me. But just think about it for a second. You have just done the ultimate! Buying people chocolates or gifts or whatever is one thing. Making sacrifices for them is another. But when you KILL for someone, what else is left? What can she DO for you? You've killed someone for HER. How can she ever repay THAT? And how must it make her feel?"

For a moment I didn't think I would be able to close my mouth, she had just turned my world upside down!

"No Charlie that's wrong! She's wrong! I didn't kill for HER. I killed another person because he was about to kill Niles and ultimately me. At that moment Sheila didn't even come into it!" Charlie reached forward and took hold of my hand.

"That's not how SHE sees it. I know what you're saying and I completely agree but my opinionated guess, my fairly educated guess, based on one session, is that she is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder." Suddenly her eyes were soft and sympathetic. "Your comment earlier? About her not knowing whether she was Arthur of Martha? It couldn't be more apposite right now. At this moment she is questioning EVERYTHING in her life including you, including Linda, including her whole attitude to her own sexuality. She is undergoing a kind of mental housecleaning. You MUST give her time Bill. She needs that more than anything right now and don't worry about Sam. COM!… I put her in touch with them!" She let this sink for a moment, "I know BJ personally and he WILL not harm her, I promise you that, but she needs some form of release and judging from her comments when I interviewed her I think this is exactly the release she needs!" then that mischievous look came back. "Oh and give Amy my love when you see her!" Dumbfounded might not quite have covered how I felt but it wasn't too far off.

Charlie patted my hand, looked away for a few seconds and then said,

"Now, where were we? Oh yes you were going to tell me," she smiled,

Not sarcastically, "Without labelling me, what you thought I was and I have to admit that I've just given you a fairly big clue!" I couldn't help smiling back at her

"Well Charlie, bearing in mind what you HAVE just said, I'd say that you were a switch. That you were dominant with other women and submissive with men!" The temperature in the room seemed to have risen a little. She leaned across the desk and said quietly,

"And would you like me to be submissive to you?" I shivered but I had to be honest.

"I don't consider myself to be dominant, I don't expect anyone to bow or scrape or grovel to me!" I said equally quietly. She was more or less in my face now and still smiling.

"So, not like most men then!" She said in a whisper and more to herself than anyone else, she was somehow looking up into my eyes giving her just the tiniest suggestion of compliance. "I don't bow or scrape or grovel to anyone," she said a little more loudly and I swear that she licked her lips, "But I do as I'm told sometimes," was it me or were her eyes twinkling? " Just sometimes!" Now she was sucking at the end of her pen and I'm sure it was just my imagination that saw her treating it as if it were an erect penis. She changed tack.

"So you don't think of yourself as dominant." She sucked on the pen again. "You do in your books!" I was about to express surprise that she'd actually read them, I didn't get time "Maybe YOU'RE a switch. Maybe you're really a submissive!" I shook my head vigourously.

"No I'm not!" But Charlie was quick to take the advantage.

"Sure you're not in denial? Sure you're not suffering from the same problem as Sheila?"

Before I could answer Chief Inspector Martin walked in followed closely by Sergeant Clarke.

"Sorry to interrupt Charlie but I've just been speaking to Keith Hartnell, Crime Reporter at The Sun, he got these pictures attached to an unsigned and unidentifiable email about 15 minutes ago!" He spread them out on the desk in front of us. Charlie picked up one and studied it, her expression blank. I tentatively touched one and looked at the Inspector.

"Yes of course, " He said, "you can probably throw more light on them than we can!" I picked it up. It was colour and printed on photographic quality printer paper. It was a good likeness. The background was fuzzy but the subject was clear enough. It was a woman. A woman in her late thirties to early forties. A large but attractive woman with very large breasts wearing just a large disposable nappy her head covered by a PVC baby bonnet. Her eyes were closed and she was sucking contentedly on a large dummy. I looked back at the Inspector.

"Recognise her?" He asked. I nodded

"Yes, " I put down the picture because I'd seen enough, "It's Sarah. Sarah Beaumont." He nodded and looked down at the floor briefly.

"I thought so!" He handed me a piece of paper, it was a copy of an email and it took a little time to decipher even though it consisted of only fourteen words.

"can U reely trust a witnes like this praps U shuld ask the Chandlers!" I looked at him.

"And that was all?"

"Mmm. That was all. Didn't HAVE to say much else. Keith is aware of the Chandler situation although we managed to keep the last kidnap out of the papers. He is NOT going to print these because he's a responsible journalist but he IS going to show the photos and the email to Sue Chandler's solicitor and I have to say that I don't think he has any option." Now it was my turn to look at the floor, "and before you say anything you should know that Sue is likely to be released on bail this afternoon anyway. They've set it at a couple of million but that's probably a day's turnover for her. She's getting out on a technicality and also on compassionate grounds. It doesn't look as if Kevin Chandler will see out the week."

Straight as ever Jimmy Clarke put down the photograph he had been holding.

"And to be honest when the CPS see these they might start to wonder how sturdy a case they've got all together. Adult babies are pretty laughable in the eyes of the public. Someone, probably Sue Chandler, is doing their best to discredit Sarah, that's probably why she was kidnapped! These won't stay secret for long; they'll probably end up on the Internet eventually." He rubbed his nose thoughtfully.

"The defence are certainly going to try and pull Linda Hutton apart because in their eyes she's an ex hooker and we know that she's not exactly unknown to the some of the major players in the East End, some high up members of the MET AND a couple of High Court Judges, in fact word was that the prosecution were very iffy about putting her on the stand at all and that just leaves Sheila!" He paused, as if choosing his words, "From what Emma tells us and judging by Charlie's assessment there's a good chance that she might be considered to be an unreliable witness." He looked at me, "Come on Bill gissa straight answer, what's your opinion of Sheila in the witness box?" I rubbed the back of my neck; it was something that had been worrying me for weeks.

"Well she's mercurial at best. No matter how much you coach her if she thinks the defence is giving her shit she'll throw it right back at them!" Charlie looked concerned.

" We could consider Vallium before she goes in the box." I knew she was only being helpful.

"Charlie you'd need more than Vallium. I suspect that you could give Sheila all the drugs that Sue Chandler sells in a day and it wouldn't make the slightest iota of difference!" Charlie sat back in her chair.

"And that's why you love her so much isn't it?" I know I went red, I could feel the flush in my cheeks and I nodded.

*

The first thing she saw were two silver beings with long silver weapons on their laps sitting opposite her and she had to concentrate hard for a few seconds. She must have been dragged upright because she was in a sitting position. Her head was resting on something. Something that felt soft and smelt nice. She moved her head a little. Her head was on Ally's bare shoulder. She looked down at Heather her face a mask of concern.

"How do you feel?" Heather's reply was instant.

"Stupid! Totally dumb. I'm sorry Ally, I really am." She felt something touch her right shoulder. Something that was also soft. She turned and saw Angela fully awake, naked, her hands tied behind her back and gagged with a big solid ball gag.

"Ange! You okay honey?" she whispered softly. She wanted to stroke her hair and then realised that her hands were tied also. Angela mewed through her gag and put her head on Heather's shoulder again. Heather whispered "Good girl!" to her and turned her head to Ally once more, noticing as she did so that Ally's hands were also tied but that she was wearing underwear, black underwear of course, black mesh Gossard panties and a black mesh bra that barely contained her generous breasts. She like the others was also barefoot. She guessed Heather's next question.

"I had to undress Angela and you! Like your stuff by the way," Heather looked down, she was wearing a low cut violet bra and a deep cut violet thong, " and then I had to take my own clothes off. Angela didn't HAVE any underwear on that's why she's naked and they gagged her because once she regained consciousness she wouldn't stop abusing them!" Heather turned to Angela who was still nestled into her.

"You GO girl!" she whispered and kissed her gently on the top of the head. Angela snuggled even further into her. Heather felt a hand on her right shoulder. One of the two silver beings was standing next to her looking at her somehow questioningly. Then she moved her hand and lightly stroked Heather's cheek. Quite dumbfounded Heather looked at Ally for answers whilst the other silver creature looked on, saying and doing nothing.

Ally looked up at the silver one.

"She's okay! She's really is! She was worried about you and Ange but neither of them can speak. It's the tall one that's the bastard and she's in front!" She motioned with her head to what Heather realised must be the front of the large white van, that seemed to double as some kind of ambulance. The three of them sat on the movable stretcher whilst the two silver creatures sat on the chairs provided for the paramedics and nurses.

The one in front of her stroked her cheek again and moved her head questioningly.

Reluctantly Heather nodded her head.

"Yeah I'm okay I guess but that…" the silver one put a hand over her mouth and a finger to her own lips. She looked at her for a few moments and moved her head questioningly. Heather understood and nodded her head in agreement. When the creature took her hand away she said.

"Okay, honey I won't say anymore." satisfied, the silver creature sat down again. Very, very quietly Heather whispered to Ally,

"If I get the chance the big one is dead meat!" Ally looked at her for a few seconds and then, like Angela, rested her head comfortably on Heather's left shoulder and closed her eyes.

*

"Well. Have we heard from either of them?" Charlie's voice

"No! Gerda contacted O last Monday and O contacted us. Something was going off, Gerda was absolutely sure of that and O had suspicions too but neither of them could say much and since then nothing!" Inspector Martin.

"Do you think they're involved in any of this stuff?" Charlie. There was a pause.

"I think Gerda might be." The Inspector again

" Well Sir Steven's still on the Costa Del Crime sunning 'imself…" Jimmy

" …and we all know where Mistress Antoinette is!" Inspector Martin.

I had excused myself on the grounds of wanting a pee but had phoned the Bishop to find out the latest. The door to Charlie's office was ajar when I got back and I couldn't stop myself from listening.

"Well, what d'you think?" the Inspector again.

"He's up for it. Deep down he's angry, but he's rational and his experiences have changed him, I'd say for the better." It was Charlie, "He hasn't come to terms with killing someone yet…."

"Don't think you ever do luv!" Jimmy

"No. Agreed. But he CAN live with himself. He's also extremely aware of what's going on around him. Probably on the border line between very astute and totally paranoid…" Charlie

"That means he must have sussed you out STRAIGHT away!" Jimmy.

"Don't look so smug Jimmy. It took you nearly three years!" Charlie again. there was a pause "One thing I would say Bob. He's honest. Very honest. Perhaps too honest."

"What? You mean he'd never be a copper then?" Jimmy, "Or never get past DCI anyway!" I could imagine him grinning at the Inspector. Charlie was speaking again

"Bob I know this was partly my idea and I know we're being as straight as we can but we are really putting him in a very difficult position and expecting him to act the right way." There was a pause and then the Inspector spoke.

"I know Charlie and I agree but we've run out of options. I don't think O and Gerda are in any danger YET neither is he, YET, but his friends are, Bettie is and so is Mistress Antoinette. I will keep all of them as safe as I possibly can…bugger!" The phone was ringing, "Answer that Charlie and tell them we've gone abroad for a week or something!"

I trusted the Inspector.

Rightly or wrongly I trusted all three of them, him, Jimmy and Charlie the dominant forensic psychiatrist but one thing I had noticed was that Emma had not once been mentioned unless she was one the people they spoke of in code names.

O and Gerda were two famous literary slaves. Sir Steven was O's Master and Mistress Antoinette was a real life dominant who spanned nearly thirty years. But Bettie? Who was Bettie? Staying on the same theme, the only Bettie I could think of was Bettie Page, the original bondage starlet but who were they really?" I pushed open the door and walked in as discreetly as I could, wondering whether I was going to get any answers.

*

Jimmy looked at me archly. It was early afternoon now and the sun was so bright that Charlie had had to close the blinds.

"Okay sunshine any questions?" I shook my head.

"Well it's not exactly rocket science! I go to New York and wait to be contacted, although personally I think you're barking up the wrong tree! They could just as well contact me here." The Inspector was forthright

"They could just as well KILL you here. You have to trust me Bill, the FBI are a much safer pair of hands right now than we are. We HAVE to trace the source of the leak and you can help. Just stay put over there, go and find Sheila and if at all possible I want you to keep HER there as well." I raised my eyebrows. He raised his, "We'll pay REASONABLE expenses. It's worth it just to keep her in place and who knows…" I smiled genuinely,

"Sorry Inspector, I'll give it a go but I can't guarantee she'll want to spend much time with me." Charlie had donned a pair of glasses that made her look totally different, somehow bookish and perhaps even more alluring.

"You never know until you try Bill, romantic weekend in The Big Apple, it might rekindle old fires." I shrugged

"Yeah and it might start World War three!" Charlie and the Inspector laughed and Jimmy pursed his lips.

"Well, just do yer best okay?" I nodded, "Now we've got you on the nine o'clock out of Stansted tonight." I looked puzzled

"Stansted?" He grinned

"Yeah, they fly to New York from there but it's a cargo flight, the old pilots'll love you, they'll have someone different to talk to!" He adopted a conspiratorial tone, "And if you're a good boy they might even let you fly the plane for a bit!" I smiled

"What happens when I get to New York?" Jimmy was full of himself.

"You're a very lucky man! You've got your own personal customs officer. A geezer called Joe Lebowski. He'll meet you off the plane and check you in. Apparently he's massive and smokes big smelly cigars but he'll have ID and make sure you see it, okay?"

I was about to ask what happened next but the theme from Thunderbirds stopped me. I cursed myself for not putting the phone on vibrate but Jimmy smiled.

"It's alright mate, go outside and answer it. There's a rest room just down the corridor," He looked at his watch, "should be empty this time a day."

I walked slowly from the room raising the phone to my ear as I did it and heard a voice I had not been expecting.

"Hey Big Guy! How are ya?"

"Amy Hi! Look Amy, this is a bit difficult to explain, I would have called you earlier but something happened."

"Don't tell me! You got arrested, right?" Well, it's the sort of thing you say to people and 99 times out of a hundred it ain't true.

"Er, right first time!" A pause. A long one.

"You're serious?"

"Very!"

"Have you been hitting people again?"

"No! Look Amy, it's a long story but I'm coming back to New York."

"When?" Might have been my imagination but she sounded genuinely pleased.

"Tonight!"

"Hey that's great! BJ wants to talk to you!"

"Wants my ass more like!" I was taking that sort of slow plod that you do when you're too busy concentrating on your mobile to worry too much about walking properly and I was just turning into the rest room. There was a water cooler and a fridge and some comfortable chairs that had seen better days, you know the kind of thing and there were also two bags. Two holdalls that looked remarkably like mine.

"No Bill he wants to talk, guess he's got a sort of..." the reception had cut out. Fairly normal in London but transatlantic calls were normally free of it

"Amy! You still there?"

"Yeah sure, anything wrong…" it cut out again and this time there seemed to be a buzzing noise on the line which was followed by the arrival of Emma.

"Are these anything to do with you?" I hissed. She nodded a little haughtily.

"I was asked to pack you some stuff because you wouldn't be going back home. Why? Problem?" Amy was still trying to get through. And the buzzing was even louder.

"Bill are you still …"

But by then I had already thrown down the phone and launched myself at Emma who screamed, called me an arsehole and crashed to the floor with me on top of her.

The bomb exploded about five seconds later.

*

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Oh, don't be so daft! Of course I am Linda!" Liz fixed her with a steady gaze, "Look New York was great! But right now we're both more use over here. I count Bishop as a friend as much as you do, okay?"

They were standing on the twentieth floor of a car park in Tobacco Dock. They had slipped back into the capital through London City Airport in Docklands and now they were picking up Linda's second car, which they had left there something like two weeks previously. When Liz had asked if it would be okay as they were parked at the top in the open air and there seemed to be no other cars around, Linda had just winked rather annoyingly and suggested that she was calling in a favour.

Despite the coldness of the day it was very bright. Liz slipped on her sunglasses.

"The view up here is fantastic! Look, there's that Gherkin thing, oh and there's Ken's Glass Testicle!" Linda stood next to her, gloved hands on her hips. She was wearing a knee length burgundy leather skirt, matching jacket and burgundy over the knee boots with a five-inch heel. She also wore a matching leather waistcoat and a black blouse.

"The "Gherkin" is the Swiss Re building and "Ken's Testicle" is the London Assembly, " she turned her head away from Liz and scoffed, "Huh! Call yourself a producer? Y'know Jack Shit!" and then she turned back and smiled." Have you thought about what I said?" Liz looked at her, a little comically, Linda thought.

She was wearing tight black pants, soft brown furry boots to her knee, a brown suede bomber jacket with a huge furry collar and sunglasses.

"Yes I have, but Linda you know what my problem is, I like you, I like you a lot, I might even… but I'm just not ready…" Linda looked at her sternly.

"Whaddyou think I am, some rampant old dyke?" Liz studied her, dressed, as always, from head to toe in leather and smiled to herself. Dyke was not the word that sprang to mind right now. She shook her head. Linda was looking in the direction of Tower Bridge. A chilly wind was starting to blow around them. "Liz, get this straight, I am not asking you to move in with me for sex, I'm asking you to move in because…because it makes sense! Where I live is central to The City and the West End and we both need someone around – I've got two spare bedrooms you know that!" Liz smiled

"Oh what? You mean we can't sleep in that double bed and read the paper to each other like Morecambe and Wise used to!" Linda smacked her hard on the backside but she was laughing.

"Bollocks Liz if you can't…" but Liz had moved a little closer.

"Linda I WANT to move in with you! I maybe want to do other things as well…maybe… but I can't get the sex thing right in my head yet! God knows I didn't have a string of men lining up for me but, well, my parents, they're still alive, just about, and they're a different generation, you know that…" Putting aside the fact that Liz had not been quite so reticent in a New York hotel bedroom with Sheila, Linda took her by the shoulders.

"Two women living together, happens all the time, don't mean they're shoving dildoes up each other or rimming each other or licking each other's fannies…" Liz did her best to keep a straight face.

"Yes, yes, very succinctly put dear!" Deep down she knew that right now she needed Linda in her life because Linda had changed that life, for the better and beyond all recognition. She leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek, then she sighed.

"Yes Linda, I will move in with you!" Linda punched her playfully on the shoulder and grinned hugely.

"You know it makes sense!" Liz grinned back

"Yes, Del Boy, I suppose it does." She looked thoughtful. "And at least if I'm around I can try and keep YOU out of trouble." She turned suddenly as she heard the noise of a car revving it's way up the inclines of the car park and sounding very close. She turned to Linda. " I thought you said nothing comes up here."

"It don't! Nothing gets past the sixth floor, apart from us. Might be the Old Bill checking us out, let's get going!"

They picked up their bags and packages and moved towards the silver, sporty looking German car that was parked in the far corner but before they could reach it a black 4x4 with thick, black, bull bars attached came bouncing off the ramp and headed straight for them, behind it came a black Harley Davidson whose rider was dressed entirely in black leather. Linda saw it first and she had already dropped her bags and was sprinting towards the car.

"Run Liz!" but Liz didn't follow orders well, she was too used to giving them. Thirty seconds ago the roof of the car park had been a haven of tranquillity now it was a cauldron of noise and exhaust smoke.

Liz had dropped her bags and their packages on the ground. The motorcyclist was circling them and the 4x4 had slowed down but was moving inexorably towards her. Linda had reached their car and not for the first time she felt powerless as the black vehicle closed in on Liz who was rummaging furiously on the floor. Suddenly she stood up; Linda was already running back towards her as she saw the front door of the 4x4 open slowly.

"This must be what happened to Heather and the others!" Liz shouted, "Here catch!" Linda was taken by surprise but she managed to catch the object all the same. She couldn't help smiling. In her hands was a twelve-foot, sixteen strand, and oiled Kangaroo hide Snake Whip that she had bought in New York.

Snake Whips were slower and less accurate than Bull Whips but right now she wasn't worried about that. She unfurled it, weighed it in the palm of her hand, spread her legs and turned slowly in the direction of the motorcyclist and cracked it in the air three times as if to signal that she was ready.

Liz meanwhile had finished her rummaging and had dropped into a low crouch holding the black cordless violet wand that she had bought when Linda had fallen in love with the snake whip. Violet wands had been around for years but this one delivered a much stronger shock and had a metal rather than a glass ultra violet end. The sparks they sent out could also be used to ignite flammable liquids, Liz grabbed the bottle of surgical alcohol she had also bought and dropped it into the pocket of her jacket just in case.

Linda edged toward the motorcyclist, wishing that the black visor did not cover his or her face because she wanted to see their fear but it didn't really matter too much. She raised her arm, cracked the whip, aimed and bought it down just inches from the Harley Davidson's front wheel. The rider saw it coming and had no option but to take evasive action in case it made contact. One foot on the ground handling the bike like a speedway rider and revving furiously they turned the bike in on itself and sent it hurtling back towards Linda.

Liz could see that the 4x4 intended to pin her up against the wall of the car park, realising that she was being hampered by the sunglasses she threw them on the floor and muttered "Bollocks!" as two hundred and fifty pounds worth of Louis Vuitton shades were crushed under the unforgiving wheels of the black vehicle. The passenger door was fully open now and already she could see a silver boot with a high heel making contact with the ground. She rolled again and dragged herself up behind the creature in the shiny silver PVC suit and rounded silver mask.

Liz was not going to stand around and chat, she raised the wand and threw herself at the silver woman, it was only then that she realised that she too was carrying a weapon.

Not even bothering to think whether the PVC suit would afford the creature any protection, she lashed out with the Violet Wand that she had earlier turned up to full power, striking the creature in the areas where she hoped she would be most vulnerable. She struck out at her tits once, twice, three times and was relieved to see her cringe signifying that the creature was obviously vulnerable to pain.

She reacted but she didn't make a sound.

Liz ducked down again, going for the weakest spot, hoping to disable her attacker for long enough to help Linda. She jabbed the wand at her victim's crotch, holding it close but not quite touching so that the electric sparks could jump and feeling the creature literally vibrate with pain and writhe against the wand, which she would have pushed up into the soft sensitive membranes of her cunt if she had been able.

She felt more than a little satisfaction when the creature doubled over in agony and collapsed on the floor but it wasn't over. Door swinging open the car was now reversing and reversing very, very fast. So fast that the tyres were screeching on the pitted concrete surface of the car park

Linda waited until the last moment and then she jumped out of the motorcyclist's way, the cycle zoomed past her and had to brake hard to avoid hitting the low brick wall at the far end. Apparently fearless, Linda advanced towards the motorcycle swirling the whip around and around above her head. Then she jerked her right hand violently and sent the whip cracking into the body of the motorcyclist. She guessed that one strike through the thick leathers that he or she wore would not hurt them too badly but that wasn't her plan. Before the rider could recover she steadied her aim and cracked off another shot. This time she wasn't aiming for the body – she was aiming for the head.

The silver creature was beginning to stir but Liz was more concerned about the 4x4 that was literally screeching toward her. She had never played chicken before but now she was it and she was looking straight at a set of bull bars that could crush her. The noise of the engine was ringing in her ears. She could hear Linda shouting at her,

"Liz! Get out of the way! Get OUT of the fucking way!"

She left it until the very last moment because she wanted to make sure.

She wasn't doing this for herself she was doing it for Linda. she doubted if even she could take another beating like the one she had had before and she wasn't going to let her. Only one thing was in her mind now.

She had to save Linda.

She could literally feel the heat of the engine when she finally threw herself to one side; automatically putting out an arm to save herself and hearing something crack as she hit the ground awkwardly.

Tears in her eyes, she rolled over and heard the grinding, grating and immensely satisfying crash as the 4x4 hit the wall at something like sixty miles an hour, shattering the radiator and causing the bonnet and wings to concertina into the main body of the vehicle.

Engine noise ricocheting of the walls, the motorcycle was coming at Linda but Linda would not get out of the way. She aimed the whip once more and brought it crashing down onto the rider's helmet. This time they reacted as she knew they must. The cycle skidded dangerously, at one point keeling over to an angle of something like twenty degrees to the ground. The rider corrected but she was pleased to see them shaking their head vigorously as if to clear it.

She was deliberately lashing the whip at the rider's most vulnerable area and although the helmet they wore was designed to withstand impacts, it could only take so much. And she knew just how much damage a whip in the right hands could do.

Liz stood up unsteadily, her arm was numb and hung limply by her side, she could walk but it was painful.

Only the bull bars had saved the black vehicle from being completely wrecked but she didn't know what condition the driver was in Even now the prone silver creature on the floor was trying to get up, Liz bent down and thrust the violet wand into her crotch again, wanting to hear her scream but only seeing her writhe in what had to be acute pain.

Hot scalding steam was spattering out of the 4x4's radiator and the engine had died but the car park was still not quiet, it echoed with the roar of the motorcycle and with horror Liz realised that it was now coming at her full pelt

She knew she was in shock.

She knew her arm was broken.

Even putting her foot to the floor sent shock waves of pain through her body. For the motorcyclist this was a revenge-motivated attack, and she could not get away in time

Tears in her eyes, Liz looked straight at the charging motorcycle and then she heard Linda's voice,

"Oh no you don't, you cunt!"

She heard the whip crack once.

One moment the motor cycle was heading straight for her, the next it was leaping up into the air and away from her as the rider, the single strand of the snake whip embedded in their neck, was yanked out of the seat and brought crashing to the ground. She ducked, wincing in pain as she did so and felt the Harley Davidson whiz past her, fly over the perimeter wall and go crashing into the street below. She heard the screech of brakes as cars tried to avoid it and then a roar as the petrol tank exploded on impact with the ground. She raised herself up and surveyed her once peaceful surroundings.

The motorcyclist lay deadly still on the floor.

Linda was still trying to uncoil the whip from around the their neck.

The silver creature was on her feet and at the driver's door of the black vehicle.

Linda was standing up now, she shouted across to her.

"Are you all right?" the reaction was already kicking in, Liz shook her head.

"No! I feel like shit and my arm's broken… apart from that I'm fine! Linda, just call the police and let's get…" she didn't finish because bouncing off the entry ramp came another vehicle, a large white van this time. Having finally freed her whip Linda raised it but the back doors were open before she could react and another silver creature appeared, a much taller one this time, and ran straight for Liz.

Liz screamed as the creature grabbed her broken arm and pulled her by it towards the van. In the grip of the worst pain she had ever felt Liz used the only option left to her, holding the wand in her mouth she dug into her pocket with her good hand and grabbed the bottle of alcohol, loosening the top with her fingers as she did it. As soon as the bottle was out of her pocket she threw it at the silver creature dousing it in alcohol. Dropping the bottle to the floor she grabbed the wand and holding it on full power touched the creature with it.

It screamed more in shock than in pain as the alcohol ignited, blackening the silver suit and giving Liz just enough time to aim the wand at its neck, roughly where she hoped the carotid artery was. The creature recoiled in pain, kicked her in the stomach and was aiming again but the first blow of Linda's whip across its back stopped the attack before it could properly start

This creature screamed in pain and screamed again and again as Linda's whip fell repeatedly across its shoulders and buttocks.

Engine still running, the van had turned and one of its windows had been rolled down.

Linda saw it first and shouted at the top of her voice.

"They've got a gun Liz, get down!" Barely able to move Liz threw herself agonisingly to the floor. The taller creature had forgotten about her now and was dragging the prone motorcyclist toward the white van whilst the smaller creature helped her companion who had been driving the 4x4 out of the vehicle and in the same direction. Whoever was in the passenger seat of the van opened fire and raked the car park with bullets.

Linda and Liz could only stay flat on the floor and pray that they would not be hit.

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.

RETRIBUTION

(PART 3)

BY

WALLACE

I was coughing a lot, I remember that much and the air was full of smoke and smelt bad, like burning rubber. My ears were ringing and there was stuff on top of me. Not heavy stuff, I guessed it must be broken ceiling tiles. Emma was moving underneath me.

"Ow! Get off me! It feels as if you've crushed my ribs!" I wasn't really fully conscious, I don't think.

"You never used to complain. What's the matter? Am I "handling" you wrong?"

"Bastard!"

"Alright you two! You're both in shock. Bill, I want to get you off of Emma if I can. Can you feel your arms and your legs? Can you move them? Gently now!" Charlie was kneeling beside us in the remains of the Rest Room already wearing disposable rubber gloves. A couple of the lights had been broken but apart from some local damage, like the scorched and blistered counter where the bags had been, the place looked fairly intact. I tried a few experimental moves that Emma took the brunt of.

"My legs and arms are okay but my back feels like it's on fire!"

"So does my chest!"

"Oh shut up Emma! If you thought a bit more about other people's feelings we might not be in this mess!"

"And that means what exactly?" I didn't answer because right then I wasn't too sure myself, but it is always unwise to ignore a woman when she is asking questions, and Emma was no exception. "Well bollocks to you! Just walk out of here and get yourself bloody killed…" I wasn't in the mood for this.

"With you around that seems likelier by the minute. I mean how did the bomb get in my bag in the first place?" The question hung heavily in the air for what seemed like several minutes. But finally Emma answered.

"Are you accusing ME? Are you saying I did it?" she said in disbelief. Her voice grew quiet, "You utter, utter, fucking arsehole!" Well I WAS in shock.

"Can't see anyone else around I distrust that much!" Now I'd done it. There was a long, long pause.

"Well, fuck you! You ungrateful bastard! Fuck you! That miserable bitch you're always pining after is welcome to you!" Now there was a sneer in her voice, " But even SHE doesn't want you anymore does she?" to say that I'd hurt her would be an understatement. she was sniffing back tears that she didn't want me to see.

And how did I feel?

Satisfied, pleased with myself, smug. Like the horrible bastard that I am sometimes, that maybe we all are occasionally.

I'd taken a lot recently.

Sheila and Linda had been kidnapped and I'd killed someone getting them back. Then I'd just found out that I probably had a price on my head because of it and now Heather and Ally and Angela were missing and so was Sarah Beaumont. I'd lost Sheila, the impossible woman I knew I loved. I'd also just been blown up, the woman that I thought I loved probably didn't love me, probably shagged me because she was told to and there was also the possibility, or was it just my own paranoid imagination? That she had something to do with all this.

"Right, the ambulance is on its way and the Bomb squad should be here soon as well, Liverpool Street is closed and so is Bishopsgate and they're evacuating the surrounding buildings and the station as a precaution. There don't seem to be any other casualties. How are they Charlie?" Inspector Martin was already kneeling next to her as he spoke. I could imagine Charlie looking up at him.

"Well, they're arguing which is a good sign…" She addressed me, "Bill, you've got some injuries to your back which are going to need looking at …" I noticed her gloves were bloody and I looked up at her.

"How bad?" She didn't smile

"I don't know. We need to get your shirt off and take a look. Well Bob?" Inspector Martin was also wearing disposable rubber gloves. He had been inspecting the remains of my luggage.

"Not subtle. I'd guess at a small amount of semtex in a jiffy bag with a lot of broken glass and a mobile phone. A basic anti personnel device. If you had been looking into your bag at the time Bill it would have probably taken your head off. But you managed to get yourself and Emma far enough away to avoid most of the blast. These things are not much use outside of a three metre or so radius depending on how much explosive there is, of course. Here, let me help!"

Charlie already had hold of one arm and the Inspector took the other. Very, very, carefully they helped me stand up

"Well this is nice! First day back and someone tries to blow us up. I was safer playing golf!" It was an unfamiliar voice and I looked up to see a slight but tall white haired man with a ruddy complexion and a pleasant smile on his face standing in the doorway. He was wearing a dark suit, a white shirt and a silver tie. The Inspector spoke first

"Hello Sir. Wasn't expecting you back for another week!" The white haired man smiled.

"Storms Bob. Summer storms. Malaga airport was flooded for a day and a half. The courses were unplayable. Anyway, " he looked around him, "looks like I might come in handy!" The Inspector nodded,

"Well sir, as you're here you COULD take the Press Briefing," he was still holding me by the arm. " Bill, this is my boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Ramsey. Sir, this is Bill Rodgers. You know, the Chandler business?" The Chief Superintendent looked at me sympathetically.

" It's still not over then!" There was blood running down my arm and onto my wrist and hand. It didn't seem to bother him; he took it in both of his and clasped it warmly

"Nice to meet you at last Bill! Ron Ramsey. We WILL sort this out I promise you, I've been bringing myself up to speed downstairs. You are in the very best possible hands believe me…"

At that moment Jimmy came through the door holding a printout in his hand. He looked at the Superintendent in mock surprise.

"'Allo guv, thought you were still up to yer neck in golf balls!" The Superintendent smiled.

"I missed YOU Jimmy!" Sergeant Clarke grinned

"Yeah about as much as you'd miss piles!" He looked at me with concern, "You all right, my son?" And when I nodded he nodded back and then turned to the Inspector "Sorry to interrupt guv, but this just came off the monitoring computer. A 999 call about 5 minutes ago. Attempted abduction, residents report gunfire, car park, Tobacco Dock, 13.15 and 20 seconds, called in originally by," and here he gave me a worried look, " Linda Hutton!"

*

"Well, guv? Does this change things?"

"No Jimmy, not one iota! You know, I'm sure Jaguars are for Superintendents and above. Has it got a siren?"

"Yes guv! And a light!" The Inspector nodded.

"Use 'em! " He turned to Charlie who was sitting in the back seat. "Have you got your belt on?" she was studying some papers, her legs crossed, glasses on the end of her nose, biting the end of a pen. She looked up absently.

"What? Oh belt. Er, okay!" Even as she said it Jimmy was placing the magnetic blue flashing light on the roof of the car with one hand and flicking on the siren with the other, whilst still managing to hold onto the steering wheel. There was a sudden surge of power that pushed them back against their seats as he accelerated and eased the big car across the lunchtime traffic and down Middlesex Street the wrong way.

"Let's hope there are no stalls out today!" Muttered the Inspector as Jimmy hurled the car down the street that on Sundays was better known as Petticoat Lane. He was about to look out of the window when he suddenly turned to Jimmy and said,

"That mate of yours, the traffic warden? No point keeping him any longer. Tell Leman Street to let him go!" Jimmy flicked him a glance and then nodded, a grim expression on his face.

*

The electric window glided downward as the body armoured, booted and helmeted figure carrying a Heckler and Koch MP5 semi automatic machine gun in both hands walked towards them. The Inspector showed his warrant card.

"Chief Inspector Martin, SO 31. What's the situation?" The uniformed man touched the peak of his helmet.

"Sergeant Warren sir, SO19. The building is now secure. There is one possible fatality and we have a female with a suspected broken arm, ambulance on its way. The bandits are long gone. We've got a wrecked all terrain vehicle, a partial registration on a large white van, possibly a Mercedes, and enough spent shells to make the place look like a firing range. Lucky no one was killed! And they took their injured with them." The Inspector looked puzzled.

"This possible fatality…" but the sergeant anticipated him.

"A bandit sir. One of the victims," he grinned to himself "if that's the right word, thinks she's Wonder Woman and says she may have killed a motorcyclist who was going straight for her friend - with a whip !" Charlie looked up from her papers.

"Linda Hutton." She said quietly. The Sergeant was nodding.

"That's right ma'am. Thing is, her story is consistent with the evidence. There's the remains of a Harley Davidson in the street and…." The Inspector looked around him. They were at the foot of the concrete ramp that led up to the tall, brick built car park that from the outside looked more like a factory or warehouse, he had already seen the fire engines in Wapping Lane. The air was filled with the sound of sirens. It seemed as if every Police Car in East London was parked in either Wapping Lane or Pennington Street and the Police Helicopter was fluttering somewhere overhead. He held up a hand.

"Thank you Sergeant, you've been very concise. May we go up?" The Sergeant looked a little relieved.

"Yessir, Inspector Carter is expecting you." In the driver's seat Jimmy acknowledged the Sergeant as well, said,

"Cheers mate!"

And took the big blue car slowly up the ramp.

They passed more police vehicles on their way to the top of the car park, motorcycles mainly but the odd white Land Rover and Transit Van were present as well. There was at least one armed policeman on every floor. At the very top were three armoured vans with heavy wire mesh over their windscreens and one car with its doors open, The sound of police radios was everywhere. In the absence of direction Jimmy parked on the west side of the building and opened the doors to let everybody out.

There was a small huddle of people around a yellow and green motorcycle on the north side up against the low parapet. The wrecked 4X4 was off to their left. The whole roof area was pock marked with bullet scars but it was worse here. They trod carefully to avoid spent shells. It was still bright but a strong wind was starting to gust northwesterly across the open tarmac. They could now see, rather than just hear, the helicopter that was sweeping the area for the white van.

One person stood out amongst the others, a tall woman dressed entirely in leather and shielding her eyes from the early afternoon sun. She smiled as they got nearer and put out a hand,

"'Allo Jimmy, you still in plain clothes? Thought they'd have busted your balls down to uniform by now!" Jimmy Clarke clenched Linda Hutton's hand in his,

"YOU'RE the only ball buster I know 'utton!" He looked her up and down," Fuck me! You get taller every time I see ya!" They both grinned. Inspector Martin was watching with a bemused expression on his face.

"Didn't know you two knew each other…" but Linda stepped in before he could finish.

"I know you too! Bob Martin. You WERE a sergeant… Lord Justice Carson… remember?" The Inspector looked thoughtful.

"Couldn't forget that one. I was in the Club and Vice Squad. Case hinged on whether the old boy was using prostitutes or not. The defence argued that Lynn Hutchins…"

"…was not a prostitute because she did not have sex with her clients for money and merely provided 'em with a service and Sergeant Martin agreed with 'em." The Inspector studied her closely. For a few seconds he looked dumbfounded.

"Bloody hell! You're Lynn Hutchins." Now it was his turn to shake hands with the woman now known as Linda Hutton.

"Yeah, changed me name, well so would you if you had an old man like mine!"

"Yes but you've altered. You're so much taller, you've filled out." Linda smiled.

"I WAS only nineteen. Nearly twenty years ago now." Already Linda's gaze was turning. Turning toward the only member of the threesome that she did not know.

She and Charlie looked at each other for some time. They were dressed similarly in leather but while Linda's outfit was burgundy, the skirt and boots that Charlie wore and the long leather coat she had put on over them were a lighter red. It soon became obvious that there was an unspoken conversation going on between them. Eventually Linda said,

"I get this feeling I should know you!" Charlie stood her ground.

"Perhaps you do." She said quietly and held out her hand. " Doctor Charlotte but I prefer Charlie, Wright - Patterson, I'm a forensic psychiatrist." The handshake lasted longer than it should have done.

"You're a whatchacallit… a profiler then!" Charlie nodded,

"Among other things. I also make the tea, listen to grievances, sort out arguments and patch people up because I trained in medicine… which, reminds me," The Inspector interrupted.

"Actually Charlie, why don't you talk to Linda whilst we talk to…"

"It's Liz. Liz Fisher." Linda smiled a quite dazzling smile, "You might not get a lot out of her right now, the paramedic," She indicated the yellow and green motorcycle, "reckons she's broken a bone in her upper arm which he says is known for bein' "exquisitely painful"!" Charlie agreed,

"Yes it is. It is very, very painful. Walking hurts, even breathing hurts." Linda nodded

"Mmm, well he's put it in a sling and she's on gas to relieve the pain 'til the ambulance gets here." She put her finger close to her forehead and twisted it, "High as a kite at the moment, so don't expect too much!" She turned to Charlie, "Are you SURE I don't know you?"

Charlie looked at her with a smile,

"Perhaps in another life," she took her by the arm, "can you tell me what you remember while it's still fresh?" And led her away to the other side of the car park whilst Jimmy and the Inspector squatted down next to Liz who was propped up against the parapet with a silver thermal blanket round her. The Inspector spoke first,

"Ms Fisher…" Liz giggled

"I'm not a Miz. Mizzes are all lesbians and I'm only just starting." She looked at the Inspector as if seeing him for the first time, "Bet you've got a nice bum!" The Inspector raised his eyebrows at Jimmy but Jimmy had already turned away and was studying the view of London much more intently than he really needed to.

*

"Well Charlie, get anything? " Charlie coughed.

"Yeah, pneumonia I think! It was freezing on that bloody roof." Jimmy looked at her in the driving mirror.

"Put yer thermals on girl! If you're gonna run around with yer bits out what do you expect?" Charlie smiled

"You sound like my Granny!" Jimmy took a right turn threading the steering wheel carefully through his hands as he did so.

"I feel about the same age sometimes luv!"

"Jimmy isn't this the, er "pretty", way back to Liverpool Street?" The Inspector was looking out of the car window. It was dark now. There was rain in the air and the light had faded quickly. It was just coming up to four O'clock in the afternoon.

"Yes guv. I just thought we might 'ave a little look around. That van seems to have disappeared into thin air and it has to be somewhere. They've either dumped it, got it in a lock up or…" Charlie was biting her pen again

"…laid low for a while until we forget about them." Jimmy smiled self deprecatingly.

"See? You know my methods already Watson!" Charlie couldn't help but smile broadly back. The Inspector was still studying the scenery. They were passing through an area of fairly low concrete flats built in the sixties.

"This is Chrisp Street Market."

"That's right guv. With all the estates round here it's lock up city AND if they're not East or North London based it would be very 'andy for the tunnel and South of the River!"

Jimmy steered the car into East India Dock Road, a noisy, dirty, artery lined with quaint little Docklands Light Railway stations that takes traffic from the city into East London and Essex and which at that time of day was filled almost entirely with heavy lorries. Off to the right and invisible from where they were was the Blackwall Tunnel that took traffic under the Thames and into South London and Kent.

Charlie saw it first.

They were sitting at traffic lights that seemed to be stuck permanently on red

" Bob, Jimmy, down that side road. Quick!" The brightly lit sign at the front of the building proclaimed it as "Kumar's Cash And Carry". It had a loading bay in a side street that was currently open. A large white Mercedes van was backing slowly inside it whilst a smaller blue transit van sat outside, its exhaust visible in the cold evening air. The Inspector was peering out of the window.

"Your eyes are better than mine Jimmy, what's the registration?".

"Er, Echo- Six- Zero- Six- Papa- Tango –Yankee." Charlie consulted her notes.

"Linda's a very good witness, she remembers details and things that other people don't. Ah, here it is! She got the first half and it's E606… that's it! That must be the one!" The Inspector took charge.

"Jimmy call it in! Tell Control we need back up including SO19. Tell them we will eyeball but do nothing else. Repeat, eyeball only!"

"Righto guv!" Jimmy was already radioing the details when Inspector Martin suddenly hit the dashboard with his open palm

"Damn!" Charlie tried to follow his gaze

"Bob, what's wrong?"

"Over there. Look!" About fifty yards back down the road sat an empty police car. Already two uniformed officers were walking purposefully towards the blue transit van that they could now see was parked on a double yellow line. Without looking away the Inspector said quietly.

"Get onto MP Jimmy, tell them to get those officers withdrawn immediately for their own safety!" Jimmy had anticipated him and was making an urgent request just as the sound of gunfire rose above the noise of the Monday evening traffic.

*

It was a long drive. Heather stayed awake all the time but Angela and Ally dozed fitfully, their heads supported comfortably enough by her bare shoulders. She closed her eyes occasionally but all the time she was covertly studying the two silver figures sitting opposite her and in particular the slightly smaller of the two, the one who had proved surprisingly sympathetic.

These silver beings reminded her of something. Of something that she had seen probably a long time ago but she couldn't remember what it was. It might have been on TV and it seemed to have a British connotation with her as well, but then lots of things did, being married to an Englishman as she was.

She watched their movements.

Angela couldn't speak and Ally was quietly terrified but she would have expected people sitting together to hold some sort of conversation or at least speak occasionally.

These two didn't.

Their movements were strange as well as if they were restricted in some way. They were wearing extremely high heels, thick gloves and masks but at no point did they try to adjust them or even scratch. They just sat there hands by their sides, cattle prods on their laps, hardly moving, never speaking and Heather knew she had to find out why.

*

It was rapid fire, possibly from a machine pistol like an Uzi. Jimmy was already gunning the big engine. The Inspector did not take his eyes off the scene behind him. Both policemen were wearing stab vests but stab vests would not hold up under a barrage of 9mm shells.

One had ducked behind a van opposite the blue one; the other was crawling towards a large wheelie bin.

"Jimmy, did I see a 728 about you the other day?"

"Yes guv, there WAS a memo. Owing to the number of attempts that there have been on your life in the last year I now 'ave the same status as a member of the Royalty Protection Branch and I carry a firearm at all times." The white van was almost fully inside the Cash and Carry and the driver's door was opening.

"What have you got?"

"Glock 17, 9mm automatic. Small, light and fast." Charlie looked at him for a second and blinked but said nothing.

A figure dressed totally in black and wearing a ski mask was stepping out of the white van. The Inspector spoke quietly.

"Okay, no heroics, if we go out there we're going to get mown down. Charlie, you MUST stay where you are. Jimmy, I want you to turn the car round as best you can and I want you to aim it straight for the blue van and if the bandit in the ski mask gets in the way so be it. Okay?" Jimmy nodded.

"Yes guv. Blues and twos? " The Inspector rubbed his chin.

"Mmm, flashing light AND siren might take 'em by surprise." Charlie looked sceptical.

"And it might draw their fire towards us and into the traffic." The Inspector thought for a moment.

"It's a chance we'll have to take. Jimmy, you only use your gun if there is no alternative. Okay, let's do it!" Jimmy made the big engine roar again as he slipped the blue flashing light on to the roof and flicked on the siren, it joined the others that were already becoming audible in the night air. Then he turned on the indicators and began to push his way out of the lane in which the big car was in.

"Come on you buggers MOVE!" the Inspector turned to Charlie.

"You can see what's happening better than I can. Tell us what you can see. I might have to get out and direct the traffic!" Charlie nodded briefly and then turned to look out the back window.

"The man in black, he's out of the van. He's got something in his hand. It has to be a weapon. It's quite small, bulky and black. He's walking towards the policeman behind the bin. Come on Jimmy! Come on! He's looking round. He's heard the siren. He's still walking forward." The Inspector already had his door open.

"Jimmy give me your gun!" Jimmy had the car between lanes now but progress was slow.

"Guv you can't…"

"Just give it to me... and a couple of clips!" reluctantly Jimmy took the surprisingly small weapon out of his shoulder holster and handed it to the Inspector who gave it a cursory inspection. He then delved into his pocket and pulled out two small, dark objects that looked vaguely like cassettes. The Inspector took them, dropped them into his own pocket and nodded his thanks.

"Soon as you can Jimmy!" Grey Crombie overcoat flapping in the breeze, gun held low in his right hand, Inspector Martin walked through the near stationary traffic until he could see the black clad gunman bearing down on the policeman behind the wheelie bin. He stopped in the centre of the road put his feet apart and raised the gun slowly, using his left hand to steady it. He shouted over the noise of the traffic

"ARMED POLICE OFFICER. PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON AND LAY DOWN ON THE FLOOR!" The figure stopped and turned slowly as if in surprise. It gave the officer behind the wheelie bin the chance he needed.

The man in the ski mask looked at the Inspector for a brief moment but already he was turning away. Metropolitan Police rules state that every opportunity must be given to an armed person to put down their weapon before they are engaged. Once again the Inspector shouted.

"ARMED POLICE! PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON!" The officer behind the bin was on his feet and had extended his baton. He took two paces toward the man in the ski mask before crashing to the ground in a fusillade of bullets.

The man was side on to him. The Inspector had no choice. Above him he could hear the blades of India Nine Zero, the police helicopter, beating steadily against the evening air. The noise of sirens was coming at him from all directions. He took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.

There was no doubt in his mind that the man was turning to face him once more before he was dragged from his feet seemingly by nothing more than a series of sharp noises that first stopped him stone dead and then made him waddle puppet like in the road before collapsing to the floor, his head nothing more than a heap of molten red sludge.

*

It was quiet.

Everything seemed still and peaceful.

She had to think for a moment and then she realised where she was.

She must have dozed off, her head against Ally's but now she was awake.

Fully awake.

The silver creatures were moving now.

The little one was next to Ally, touching her, urging her gently into wakefulness, one hand resting on the tattoo of an eagle that covered most of her upper back. The other one was next to Angela rubbing a gloved hand lightly against her cheek.

She moaned a little, raised her head to look at Heather, grimaced with something that looked almost like a wink and then straightened up.

The back doors of the van opened onto bright white nothingness.

Now the tall silver one was entering carrying a small leather case which she rested on the side of the ambulance where the two smaller silver beings had been sitting.

She opened the case, and then walked towards Allison.

Heather regarded the silver creature steadily.

Like Ally she was barefoot and in her underwear with her hands tied behind her back but she wasn't totally helpless, her feet were still free.

The tall one approached Ally and stood looking down on her.

Sensing her fear, playing on it, feeding on it.

Heather shifted imperceptibly in her seat hoping that somehow her closeness and the warmth of her body would give her some kind of comfort. Slowly Ally raised her head to look at the silver woman in front of her.

She raised her head until her eyes were in contact with whatever was behind the eye sockets in the silver mask. Heather's stomach lurched in anticipation as the silver being slowly raised a hand and touched Ally's left breast.

Ally did not move.

She remained utterly still.

Her eyes fixed on whatever there was behind the mask.

Heather wasn't religious although she had been raised as a Catholic but now she prayed silently to anyone at all for Ally to stay together and not be fazed by her silver nemesis.

The hand began to move. It moved downward and then upward again cupping Ally's generous breast feeling it, savouring it.

With a rising sense of unease Heather watched helpless as the silver figure shifted its position. It moved forward a fraction shifting its feet so that they were planted firmly on the floor of the van about eighteen inches apart and whilst it still had gentle hold of Ally's breast and maintained eye contact, it moved its free hand slowly down until it was resting just below Ally's naval.

Heather shifted in her seat. Suddenly she could feel sweat on her forehead. A fully awake Angela was moving restively against her but the smaller silver creature next to her had a gentle hand on her shoulder trying to calm and restrain her without too much force.

The other small one, the one that fascinated Heather, had moved position too. Heather looked up at the still and impassive silver being. She couldn't be sure but she thought she saw it shake it's head as if communicating with her silently and telling her to do nothing.

She turned back to Ally who was still staring up at the silver being as if mesmerized.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the creature's right hand began to move downward until it was just cupping Ally's shaven pubis. Still she didn't move. Still she looked up at the alien creature.

There was a gasp, it was low and almost inaudible and to her shame Heather realised that it had come from her and not from Ally and even now she watched in horror as the silver creature's hand moved lower and lower still until it covered Ally's crotch completely.

The next move was inevitable.

The sweat seemed to be dripping off Heather's forehead as Ally, without any command whatsoever hands tied behind her as they were and naked apart from her skimpy black mesh underwear began to slowly part her thighs.

Heather tensed her muscles but her silver companion shook her head once more.

Head still back, eyes still focused intently on the tall silver being, legs now as wide as the cramped space would allow, Ally did not flinch as first one and then two silver gloved fingers entered the puffy, crinkled outer lips of her vagina and began to probe gently inside.

*

There was a moment's silence and even years of policing could not prevent the feeling of horror that the Inspector felt as the virtually headless man that he had just shot and killed slumped to the floor, blood spattering onto the tarmac and the nearest vehicles.

But he didn't have time to wallow because, even now, the back doors of the small blue van were being flung open and two, possibly three figures, dressed entirely in black and wearing ski masks were spilling out onto the street.

For a moment the Inspector stood stock still, transfixed by the horror and the futility of it all but a sudden shout from somewhere behind him dragged him from his reverie.

"OUT THE WAY GUV! CAN'T AFFORD TO LOSE YOU RIGHT NOW!"

Jimmy had finally managed to turn the big car and was already accelerating forward. Off to his right he could see the blue flashing lights of a police car; probably the local Armed Response Vehicle that was tucked behind a bus and was even now disgorging armed officers into the street.

There were three black clad figures in the main road now and all three were heading towards the nearest vehicle, a single decked, number 106 bus, on its way to the Blackwall Tunnel.

The Inspector blinked.

If this turned into a hostage situation it would be horrendous.

Suddenly he remembered Jimmy and literally had to throw himself out of the way as the big engine roared and the brand new Jaguar that was actually assigned to Detective Chief Superintendent Ronald Ramsey careered past him and ploughed into the three armed men as if they were no more than skittles.

One was hit full on and was dragged under the chassis.

Another crashed onto the bonnet and was thrown off to the left landing just a few feet from a Heavy Goods Vehicle bound for Dover.

The third was struck a glancing blow by the left wing and was able to roll to safety. Even now he was staggering to his feet and aiming at the vehicle that had killed at least one of his colleagues.

Hairs prickling on the back of his neck, his pulse racing, the Inspector shouted a warning.

"JIMMY! CHARLIE! GET OUT OF THERE NOW!"

The road at that moment was the noisiest place the Inspector could ever remember being in.

Sirens; the beating of helicopter blades, the revving of engines, the sound of people screaming and now the steady rat-tat tat of gunfire all filled the cold evening air.

The man nearest him opened fire on the unmarked Jaguar raking it from one end to the other with nine millimetre shells. The Inspector looked up desperately but Jimmy was already out and was half dragging; half pulling Charlie into the road but the reluctant Charlie wanted her notes from the back of the car.

The Inspector could only watch as Jimmy shouted something that could only have been

"Fuck your notes!" before grabbing Charlie by the hand and wrenching her forward just as more gunfire lanced into the petrol tank and the brand new metallic blue Jaguar burst into a sheet of orange and yellow flame.

TO BE CONTINUED

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.

RETRIBUTION

(PART FOUR)

BY

WALLACE

He was close enough to feel the heat from the flames as the big car burnt steadily in the middle of the road but all he could think about were Charlie and Jimmy because at that moment they were nowhere to be seen.

He could see armed Police Officers literally crawling towards him to the left and the whole area seemed to have gone very quiet. Horns still blared but they were a long way off. The drivers who could actually see what had happened sat stunned in their vehicles.

The traffic was gridlocked.

He sensed rather than saw movement off to his right and then he noticed that the officers had stopped moving. Still in a half crouch, gun still in his right hand, the Inspector turned his head slowly and made unexpected eye contact with a tall, masked, silver creature dressed entirely in shiny PVC and carrying a semi automatic machine pistol.

*

Heather could only watch as the creature drove her fingers repeatedly in and out of Ally's moist opening and even now, eyes fixed on the strange being as they were, her breath was quickening, she was beginning to pant, her eyes were glazing over and there was sweat on her forehead. Sensing that she was close to orgasm even in these unreal circumstances, the creature drove her fingers in even harder, pumping them in and out of Ally's exposed vagina exactly as if she was being fucked.

Ally could resist no more she closed eyes as if wanting to block it all out but still she moaned and every now and then an arm or a leg would twitch involuntarily as the oncoming climax forced her to lose control of her muscles momentarily.

Her hands were tied behind her back; the two smaller silver creatures appeared to be watching her anxiously whilst the tall one fucked her mercilessly with no less than three fingers.

Now she moved just a little closer and stroked Ally's generous breasts through her black mesh bra, Ally groaned and Heather, her hands also tied behind her back, could watch no more.

"Hey, whatever you are! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

The smaller creatures swung round but Heather was already standing up. Even barefoot she stood the same height as the silver one, who turned slowly, her fingers no longer moving but still embedded deep inside Allison. For a moment she looked almost comical as she put her head to one side as if questioning what Heather had just said.

Now the two of them stood no more than a few inches from each other, their eyes locked together. Slowly the silver creature withdrew her gloved; glistening wet fingers from Ally's vagina with a slight plopping sound bought them up to her masked face and inspected them. Then, to Heather's intense annoyance, she began to smell them, breathing deep as if savouring the aroma.

So absorbed by this was Heather that she didn't see the creature's left hand come up swiftly and bitch slap her three times across the face and neither did she see the first three punches that the creature threw at her, hitting her on the nose and the lower lip and the jaw respectively which sent her staggering and then crashing to the floor where the creature continued to hit her until the smaller ones dragged her away.

*

He was cut off, literally cut off, standing in the middle of a major arterial road watching the remains of a brand new vehicle, which was now reduced to no more than a pile of white hot metal, burn with no form of communication open to him because his mobile phone was in what was left of the car, watching something that appeared to come from another planet walking slowly towards the black clad man lying in the road.

The man who had caused the explosion in the first place.

The creature walked forward slowly, moving the gun it held in its hands slowly from left to right. Now two more silver creatures were joining it, one emerging from the blue van, the other from the white one and both of them carried similar weapons.

It was obvious that the armed officers had never seen anything like this before and they watched as the taller of the three "aliens" moved deliberately forward until she was standing over the man lying prone on the floor.

Overhead the Police Helicopter still hovered but even now the steady beating of its blades was being drowned out by a much deeper, throatier sound. Suddenly the area was lit by a blindingly powerful searchlight, which seemed to pick out every policeman currently on the ground. It also made the actions of the tall silver being even more dramatic as she slowly raised her gun and almost casually fired what seemed like a whole clip full of bullets into the man lying prone and already injured on the ground.

*

It was quiet when she woke up.

Quiet but very, very, bright.

She tried to shield her eyes but her hands were still tied behind her back. She tried to sit up but it was difficult because her ankles had been tied together as well with coil after coil of soft cotton rope, she was somehow relieved to find that she still had her low cut bra and high cut panties on. She was not as uncomfortable as she could have been. She struggled to get upright but not only was she tied very tightly, she was also laying on something soft, Something that seemed to form itself around her body, Something that reacted almost as if it had a life of its own.

Her head ached and her lower lip was cracked and swollen. Her nose felt sore but not as painful as the time she had broken it falling off a horse. The room she was in was pure white; the light reflected off the walls and seemed to sting her eyes. Finally she struggled upright. She was laying on a kind of bed or at least something that looked like the bottom half of a bunk painted pure white and with what appeared to be a lid that was currently lying on the floor next to it, a Perspex lid with several flexible tubes attached. The sort of thing you might find on a vacuum cleaner but pure white.

She felt like shit but she was still alive.

The room was very quiet; there was a slight electronic hum but otherwise total silence. She looked around her. White floors, white walls, white ceiling. Too much of this place could drive her mad and then the white door opened and she began to seriously doubt the current state of her sanity.

*

The heavy throbbing noise was coming closer; Inspector Martin looked up and was amazed by what he saw. A huge black shape was descending slowly toward the ground. He started at first but was relieved by the voice he heard unexpectedly in his left ear.

"It's a Blackhawk C70 guv, civil version! Remember the time they tried to rob the Bank of England note repository in Loughton with a couple of 'em?" Jimmy had to shout to make himself heard above the noise, they were both trying to shield themselves from the downdraft. Still staring up at the helicopter the Inspector asked the question that had been bothering him for some time.

" Where's Charlie?"

They had both taken their eyes off the silver creatures and now they had to adjust their vision as a series of gunshots cut through the night air. The Inspector stared in shock as he saw the tall silver being standing in the middle of East India Dock road flanked by two smaller but identical creatures holding Charlie by the throat with one hand whilst still clutching the machine pistol in the other.

*

Two silver creatures entered the room, she somehow felt that they were not the same ones who had been around earlier but it was not them that drew her attention, it was what followed them.

She was looking at a woman.

A quite large woman with a completely shaven head and bare breasts to which were attached small gold cups with thin, barely discernible wires attached.

A woman who was sitting in a kind of small plastic car. Black and shiny in stark contrast to the pure white room, low and streamlined. Neither the woman's hands or her feet were visible but her upper torso seemed to jut out from the car as if it were built around her

It had four tiny wheels and it moved silently on what must have been a battery powered motor but the most remarkable thing about it was that the otherwise naked woman appeared to be moulded into it.

*

Until he was told otherwise he was the senior officer, so it was up to him to take charge of negotiations. This was now a hostage situation, Charlie was a hostage and he wanted her back. The huge Blackhawk helicopter that in other circumstances would be used as a gunship hovered above him, dwarfing the Police helicopter that was used for surveillance purposes only. He could hear sirens, he could see blue flashing lights everywhere, fire engines were trying to get to them through side roads but right now nothing was moving apart from the rope ladder that even now was being thrown from the Blackhawk.

He made his decision.

Shouting above the noise he looked directly at the tall silver creature.

"THERE ARE ARMED POLICE ALL AROUND YOU! LET YOUR HOSTAGE GO AND I WILL TELL THEM TO HOLD THEIR FIRE UNTIL YOU ARE IN THE HELICOPTER…" The man who had been dragged under the car had died when the Jaguar had exploded but one man was still alive, the one who had fallen just in front of the lorry. He was beginning to move. The tall silver creature appeared to be staring at the Inspector but even as he spoke she moved her arm suddenly to the left and riddled the injured man with bullets.

It gave Charlie the chance she needed.

Catching her captor off guard she kicked her in the shins and then elbowed her in the stomach and before the silver one could recover she had grabbed the gun and turned it on the smaller silver creature to her left, who, taken by surprise, dropped her own at what must have been Charlie's whispered instruction and allowed Charlie to drag her off to the left and the cover of the white van.

A lot of what happened next would forever remain unclear in his memory. The tall silver creature picked up the discarded firearm and ran towards the injured policeman who was still lying on the pavement in a pool of his own blood, she stood over him, one hand holding the pistol the other by her side and she seemed to stare defiantly at the Inspector. The remaining smaller creature had followed her and was standing next to her, gun raised

It was his call.

The marksman could open fire but before they did the chances were that one or other of the silver creatures would execute one of his own.

*

The silver ones stood at the door as if guarding it but Heather could not take her eyes from the woman in the car.

Her head was shaven, she wore a gold collar around her neck, so wide it might have been a posture collar and a similar but narrower one around her forehead, both, like the nipple cups, had tiny wires attached. Her face was covered by a gold mask with eye, nose and mouth holes, similar to the Mask of Janus but with only one face.

The car moved silently towards her and the masked woman regarded her steadily.

Finally she spoke,

"Heather, if you cooperate with us no harm will come to you, I promise." her voice was low but sibilant. Heather was not sure she believed her,

"Where's the other one? The tall sonofabitch!" the masked woman was unphased.

"Number One is no longer here." Heather thought for a moment.

"Number One huh?" So who are you?" the woman answered immediately.

"I am Five." Heather looked at her.

"Hi Five!" she said cheekily but the humour was lost on the people around her, she tried to move her bound hands, "I would but I'm a little tied up at the moment!" still no one laughed. The woman continued as if nothing had happened,

"…and this is Seven and this is Nine." She indicated the two silver creatures. Heather looked at her in mock surprise.

"This is a joke, right? Either that or someone's been watching too much Star Trek!" the woman regarded her from what Heather assumed must be lidded eyes.

"Pure coincidence." She said quietly. Then she raised her head to study Heather once more. "We need to keep you out of the way for a while, you won't be harmed, far from it, you'll just be… out of circulation." Heather had decided some time ago to play the innocent abroad.

"The Maafia say that when they whack someone." She drawled.

"We're not the Mafia!" five held her gaze.

"Okay. Where are Ally and Angela?" Again five regarded her steadily.

"They're fine. They've cooperated and they're nearly ready, they'll be in in a minute or two." She anticipated Heather's look of surprise, "You've been out for some time, we gave you a sedative to let you…"

"…recover after being beaten while I was helpless?" there was no rancour in Heather's voice, she was just stating a fact. Five moved on.

"Seven and Nine looked after you, they bathed your lip and washed you down…" Heather looked up at the anonymous creatures with a kind of affection.

"Thanks guys!" she said quietly. Then she turned to Five. "Are these the same ones who were with us in the ambulance?" five hesitated for a moment and then she shook her head. Heather nodded.

So there were quite a few of them. A regular army of silver women. She wondered where they all came from and whether it was something they should know about in Area 51.

Five was still looking at her.

"Well, are you going to help us?" Heather asked a question that she already knew the answer to.

"What happens if I don't?" she saw the naked woman's right arm flex just a little and a small compartment opened in the side of the strange vehicle she was sitting in.

"Then we use this!" inside the compartment was a small disposable syringe, Heather looked at the clear liquid inside as if it would somehow tell her what it was, "But I'd rather not," said Five hastily," because it will be much easier all round if you 're still conscious!"

*

The term Mexican Stand Off was something they used to use in cowboy films when he was young. He never really knew what it meant but he guessed that it referred to situations like these.

SO19 were not here yet but he knew that they would shoot first and ask questions much later. So far the officers from the Armed Response Vehicle had held their fire but they wouldn't wait forever. He didn't feel exposed, standing as he was in the middle of the road with stationary traffic all around him. He was thankful that so far people were staying in their cars. There were already enough targets around to shoot at.

He wondered where Charlie was; and he wondered how this would all end, when a single shot answered all his questions for him. It came from somewhere very close. Somewhere in the direction in which Charlie had gone, then he saw the small silver being running desperately towards her companions.

When she neared them the taller one pushed her towards the rope ladder of the helicopter and began to fire indiscriminately into the traffic. Her smaller colleague followed suit whilst the armed officers did their best to pick off distant, moving targets.

The Inspector was already running in the direction of the white Mercedes van just as the first silver being was hurrying up the rope ladder. He was relieved to see Charlie standing between the van and the brick wall of the building. He called out.

"Charlie, are you okay?" Charlie looked distracted. She stared into his eyes.

"You were right Bob. It WAS her. She 's okay and Linda's theory was right too. They can't talk Bob. They're gagged and their hands are restrained. They've got very limited movement!" Charlie paused, it seemed to the Inspector that she was trying to suck in air, he assumed that it was shock, the aftermath of the situation she had been in.

Above him he could see the last figure climbing into the helicopter and even now it was moving upward into the night sky, the searchlight beam flicking off as quickly as it had flicked on.

He put his hands on Charlie's upper arms.

"Charlie, was she able to tell you anything about who's doing this?"

There was a sudden burst of gunfire.

The unarmed Police Helicopter had got too close to the big Sikorsy Blackhawk. The Inspector was alarmed to see white-hot tracer bullets stab into the night air. He was also relieved to see the police helicopter bobbing quickly away from its larger aggressor unharmed. He turned his attention back to Charlie who was becoming increasingly more distressed.

"I asked her Bob. I asked her who it was and all she did… all she did was clap her hands! She just clapped her hands over and over again…" without warning Charlie fell forward. The Inspector just managed to catch her in his arms before she hit the ground. Her mouth was open and tiny red bubbles were beginning to form round her lips. The Inspector looked around him and then he saw it on the wall.

He saw the blood spatter from the bullet that had entered Charlie's chest and exited through her lower back and already he was running past an open mouthed Jimmy with Charlie in his arms looking desperately for the ambulance that he knew must be on it's way.

THE STORY CONTINUES IN PART FIVE

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.

RETRIBUTION

(PART FIVE)

BY

WALLACE

He slipped quietly into the darkened office, pulled off his coat and hung it on the stand to dry. The rain had been threatening for the last couple of hours and now it was tipping it down. He sat in his chair without switching on the light and loosened his tie before pressing the redial button on his mobile phone.

He looked out onto the late rush hour traffic moving silently through the double-glazed windows of his office, Then he tensed as the number he had been dialling for what seemed like hours was suddenly answered.

"Bob! Bob where are you? I've been trying to get you for ages. Yes I KNOW I've rung Jimmy's mobile number but you two seem to be joined at the hip these days and I also know that YOUR phone was destroyed along with MY car!" He let that sink in for a few seconds.

"Bob, I've got the Assistant Commissioner on my back and she wants answers. Yes, Rose MacGregor, yes, she IS normally okay but you have to admit these are not normal circumstances and she's getting shit from the TOP…" he nodded to the window as if the person he was talking to was in the room with him. "Yes I know that Bob but apart from snarling up virtually the whole of London we have how many deaths to deal with? Five? Including one dead officer… and one critical! Oh God! No, no, leave that to me, I'm not having some spotty constable doorstepping the family in the middle of the night, I'll deal with it personally, it's the only way, I'll get the details later!" he leant forward in his chair.

"Now listen Bob, from what I've heard I'm quite sure that you did the right thing under the circumstances as they unfolded and I will back you all the way. The car, which I'm sure you were not responsible for, is explainable, just tell Sergeant Clarke to watch his arse for the next few weeks." Now he stretched out putting his feet on the desk and putting out his left arm to ease the tension in it.

"We need to put a lid on this Bob. We're into damage limitation now, so I'm going to need a full report first thing in the morning. Something solid I can fend Rosie off with. Okay? And Bob? I'm very sorry about what happened. Really sorry! What's that? Oh yes I've been here all night, I was downstairs fending off your friends in the press for most of the time and a right pain in the arse they are too but you're one of the few coppers I know who's got a good relationship with virtually every press and TV man, and woman for that matter, in the UK so I can't argue. Listen, I'm going to be here until late… very late, so if you want to pop in and talk that's fine, just make sure you bring coffee with you!" he smiled, " Or get Jimmy to do it, you can tell him that's his penance for ruining the best car I never nearly had! Oh yes, and for wrecking it in record time as well! Yes, okay Bob, see you later."

Chief Superintendent Ramsey pulled out a pack of Marlboro lites, lit one and sat watching the traffic with a concerned expression on his face. With everything that had happened he couldn't seem to actually ask after Charlie Wright Patterson outright, technically she wasn't a police officer but he still didn't know if she were dead or alive.

*

It's funny how people's attitudes to flying differ. Sheila, for example, could spend whole nights happily blindfolded, gagged and bound and could stay in one position almost indefinitely without moving a muscle but put her on a plane and she'd be restless within Five minutes and looking up and down the rows of seats for someone to have an argument with whilst I would be quite content to read a book or sleep the whole way.

This time of course things were slightly different. Normally I would want to get to sleep BECAUSE of Sheila but now there was no Sheila to hide from, an unmitigated pain in the arse had been replaced by a sore back that felt like it was on fire and was still leaking blood occasionally.

The hospital had not been exactly fun, partly because they had put me in a cubicle in Casualty next to an incandescent Emma Bannion, who, despite the fact that she was calling me names that were making even the hardened casualty staff blush, looked quite cute in her hospital gown, wriggling her toes and blaming me for just about every human ill since the beginning of time.

By the time she had been x-rayed and the doctors had decided she had three cracked ribs I thought she might have run out of steam but she hadn't. I was on my front having the glass removed from my back by a young student doctor with what appeared to be an overgrown pair of tweezers and Emma was cussing me ever so quietly under her breath. She'd already covered all the F and B words and now whilst she waited for the all clear to collect her painkillers and go home she had reached the C's.

Every time she called me a cunt of some description, ever so quietly but just loud enough to hear, so the young doctor, a German girl called Annalise, would either tense or just start a little and each time it would be transmitted directly through to my already sore back and all the while DI Bannion would lay there with a smug, self satisfied look on her face.

*

"So where am I then?" Seven and Nine had helped Heather to stand up. Her ankles were still bound together and Seven was now blindfolding her whilst Nine was helping her to stay upright.

"We call it The Village," Heather could sense something. It was like a low kind of rumble. She nodded

"The Village huh? Don't seem very Villagey!" satisfied that she could stand whilst bound and blindfolded the two silver women were now pulling out a large drawer form the large single bunk in which Heather had originally found herself.

"Okay so if you're Five and these are Seven and Nine…hey, careful Nine! Or is it Seven? If you wanted my panties I could have taken them off for you." then she tried to move her bound wrists, "or maybe not!" she said reflectively, gentle, ticklish hands made her start," Hey! That's my pussy you've got there, I kinda wanna hang on to that… aaah!" it was a short little gasp. A gasp born not of pain but of pleasure. She felt soft gentle fingers sliding against her outer lips. They felt greasier than they should and then they went away only to return seconds later feeling softer and slimier than they did before. Five spoke bringing Heather out of the momentary reverie she had fallen into.

"It's lubricant, we need to untie your ankles, will you let us or will you try to run?" she was blindfolded for Chrissake but one silver being was holding her whilst the other was massaging her pussy softly and gently. It was a little overwhelming. She didn't speak, she didn't trust herself to, she just nodded her head and she could feel the girl behind her let go of her to crouch on the floor and begin to untie her.

"Seven, just make sure she doesn't try to get away!" it was Five's voice, soft but insistent. So Seven must be on her knees in front of her and Nine behind her. She could kick out blindly. She could try to run but how would she get the blindfold off with her hands still tied?

No, there was nothing for it but to bide her time and just accept, as best she could, whatever they were going to do to her.

*

Both Emma and I were still in Accident and Emergency when it was suddenly turned into something akin to a War Zone. The sound of sirens is never very far away when you're in the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel Road but now they were everywhere.

The walking wounded arrived first, either on foot or incredibly by taxi and then came the serious injuries. Even Five floors away the sound of the emergency helicopter that sits on the roof above Casualty waiting to go into action could clearly be heard coming and going as it ferried the most seriously wounded to the relative safety of the hospital.

The plain clothes officer who had drawn the short straw and accompanied myself and Emma soon found out about the carnage in the East India Dock Road but it was only when a deathly pale Charlie covered to the neck in blankets, being drip fed saline and blood through canulas in both hands and with an oxygen mask strapped over her mouth was rushed through Casualty and straight into the area occupied by the Crash and Triage team, did we realise just how bad things really had been.

*

She felt the pressure go from her ankles as the last rope was removed but then she felt her legs being pushed apart and something that felt like a leather strap being attached to first one and then the other.

"Hey, hey! I thought I gave you my word that I wouldn't try to run!" she felt a soft hand against her cheek for a few fleeting seconds and then the blindfold was removed.

"I'm sorry Heather but your word is not enough!" Blinking against the intense white light Heather looked around her. She was still in the same room and she was standing just a few feet away from the white bed but now there was a twelve inch metal bar between her ankles, a leg spreader attached by wide leather straps that prevented her from moving very far.

She didn't look Five straight in the eye at first.

"Mmm good title for a song or even a film that," Then she smiled benevolently at Five, "Y'know "Your Word Is Not Enough?" Five looked at her as if she was a little lost or maybe her mind was elsewhere. Heather tended to pick up on things like that.

"What's worrying you Five? What you afraid of?"

From her strange confinement, the shaven headed, bare breasted being known as only as Five looked up at the tall barefoot woman whose lilac panties were just above her knees and whose bra was now being undone carefully by one of the silver clad figures both of whom had now removed their gloves to reveal white and black skin respectively.

"We need to put you into Lock Down and we need to do it now, both Allison and Angela are now ready." as if in corroboration of her statement the door opened slowly. Two more silver creatures stood there but Heather was more concerned with their companions. She gasped in horror and turned slowly back to Five.

"What the hell have you done to them?" she asked, her voice no more than a shocked whisper.

*

She pulled her anorak around her as best she could and tried to find the leeward side of the steps up to the hospital, the side that would protect her most from the wind. Hands deep in pockets, mobile phone tucked under her chin she was relieved to hear it being answered.

"Hi! It's me. Yeah, best I could do, it's chaos here and it's the first chance I've had to get out. No. I'm okay, cold and a bit shaky, bloody cold in fact. My tights were in tatters so I've binned 'em and I'm absolutely freezing! Yes, soon. It's a mess but I've sorted it out as best I can. Yes, he's gone, she's taking him, yeah, as we agreed, so it worked out all right in the end didn't it?… But bloody hell - Semtex! Bloody Semtex! I'd have expected C4 or something similar but Semtex? What century is he in? Is he hoping they'll blame the IRA? Anyway, just as well I was there or he would have missed it completely. No, couple of cracked ribs but they're bloody sore. No, I don't think he suspects and before you ask I don't know HOW she is, I couldn't even get close. There's a couple of knuckle draggers from SO19 on the door as well so I've got no chance even if I flash my warrant card and smile, no one, but no one, is getting in there!"

She listened intently for a few moments to the voice on the other end of the phone.

"WHAT! Gerda's surfaced? Christ! No wonder the shit's hitting the fan. Look, you'll have to tell me later, I've got to get back; the doctors will be looking for me. Yeah, American Airlines flight 304, leaves just after midnight, gets into JFK around eight thirty. No, of course he doesn't know! I'm staying downtown from him and yes, I WILL be careful and I'll keep in touch. Yes, of course I will. Okay! Bye!"

Detective Inspector Emma Bannion took hold of her mobile phone and dropped it into her pocket then she looked across the road to the market stalls outside Whitechapel Underground station and watched them being rapidly dismantled in the cold night air. They sold a lot of clothes over there and she made a mental note to come and take a look sometime.

Sometime when she didn't have quite as much on her plate as she did now.

*

Angela had a chain tattoo on her left ankle and it was now the only recognisable thing about her. The two new silver guards led their captives in on short chains. Short because they needed to control them closely. The girls could obviously not see and the short spreader bars between their bare ankles meant that that they could only take tiny, stiff little steps.

Apart from Angela's tattoo there was little visible that even hinted at the identity of the two people now being led to the white bunk and helped to sit down. Their feet and legs were bare and it seemed as if they had been thoroughly cleansed even down to the removal of their nail polish. Their freshly waxed legs shone in the strong light.

They were both dressed in shiny black PVC, their bodies covered literally from crotch to head. It appeared to be a one-piece garment at first although closer inspection would give the lie to that and it was quite obviously a distant cousin to a straitjacket. Their arms, rather than being crossed over each other below the breasts, were held rigidly at their sides and zipped uselessly into fists by soft, padded, shiny black gloves, very similar to boxing gloves but with just a little less bulk.

As Heather took in the full horror of what they were wearing she heard Five's voice in the background.

"Their arms are held in padded splints," she said in a dull monotone, " and although you can't see them, their necks are in orthopaedic braces. They couldn't move them if they tried but they ARE comfortable, I promise you that." It wasn't that Heather was unaccustomed to severely restrictive clothing, she'd used a lot of it on Angela AND Ally for that matter in the last few months but only for short periods of time. When Five had referred to Lock Down she had felt that she was talking about something a lot more permanent, "None of you will come to any harm," it was Five again, " as I said before we need to keep you out of the way for a while!" Heather was still stunned.

It was the heads of the two girls that particularly concerned her because, to all intents and purposes, they no longer had any.

THE STORY CONTINUES IN PART SIX

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.

RETRIBUTION

(PART 6)

BY

WALLACE

Any ideas I'd had about cargo planes flew out of my head the moment I arrived at Stansted. For some reason I'd been expecting an old, khaki coloured, twin prop Dakota held together with bits of string and lined inside with nothing more than wooden slats, the kind of thing paratroops used to jump out of.

What I got was an A320 Airbus with a sleek jet turbine slung under each wing. Pure white apart from a red/blue tail and built on two levels with a spacious cabin and galley and a crew consisting of two pilots, a navigator and two stewardesses. When I got on board I found that not only was I not the only passenger that night but that the guests of honour, whose food was just being loaded from a large truck, were three thoroughbred horses on their way to stud in the States.

It is fair to say that if they got star treatment then I and the head lad from the Somerset stable they came from, who was actually a head lass, and the vet who the insurance company insisted had to be with them at all times, also got looked after far better than we would have done under normal circumstances.

Juliet, the dark haired head lad, loved horses and spent most of the first couple of hours below decks with them. Val, the tall, blonde haired vet was battling the flu, worried by the behaviour of Carlton Prince, one of her charges and also determined to ease my pain as well.

She'd watched me shifting uncomfortably in my seat for some time before actually asking me what was wrong .The cabin crew were quite happy to ply us with as much drink as we required but we had so far refused, then the co-pilot Mike Mey, an hospitable South African from Cape Town with a fund of stories about flying who also knew what had happened to me earlier, eased himself into the cabin with an odd shaped bottle which he plonked in front of me and Val and winked broadly.

"It's Imoya brandy. Imoya means Ancient Wind of Africa. Get a coupla glasses of that down your neck and you'll forget about your back!" he looked at Val, "It'll sort that cold out as well."

Val, who was a natural sceptic, looked at him obliquely.

"Anything it doesn't do?" she asked picking up the bottle and studying it closely.

Mike looked at her carefully. It was the look of a man wondering just how far he could go.

"Well, it's not very good as a contraceptive apparently!" he said taking the bull by the horns. Val continued to study the brandy bottle.

" That's good!" she replied with just the trace of a smile, "'Cos there's about as much chance of me needing a contraceptive tonight as there is of Juliet needing a saddle to ride the horses around the flight deck!" Mike had taken on an expression of mock puzzlement.

"Oh, so you're of that age where you don't need 'em any more. Is that what you mean?" he said innocently. Val bristled and took hold of the bottle by its neck

"It would be a terrible waste if I emptied this over your head… but it wouldn't be the first time." Mike grinned.

"Time to go fly the plane. If you need anything just ring." I nodded and Val settled back in her seat.

"Try not to hold your breath!" she said with more than a trace of sarcasm. I turned slightly awkwardly to face her.

"So? When are you going to ring?" she didn't look at me

"What time does hell freeze over?" she asked quietly then she picked up her medical bag and began to rummage in it. "Now let's see, what's good for pain?" and at that moment I wasn't sure if she wanted to ease it or inflict it.

*

The journey to Stansted Airport was just another odd moment in a pretty odd day. Mister Price-Cunningham, the consultant orthopaedic surgeon, had pronounced me fit to travel after poking my back a few times and telling me jovially that my subcutaneous fat had probably saved me from more serious injury whilst regarding his own spare tyre through the half moon glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Breaking every hospital rule possible Emma had immediately phoned DS Jones and told her to buy me some clothes and get me to the airport ASAP.

Just under an hour later I was sitting in the passenger seat of Barbara Jones' small but surprisingly spacious little car as she picked her way quickly but confidently through the rat runs that would avoid the East India Dock Road which was still closed and take us on to the M11 which would lead us to Stansted Airport.

Maybe it was me.

Barbara and I didn't usually get on. It was something about her I think. An aura of dislike that she seemed to radiate. I always got the impression that she resented the relationship; such as it was, between Emma and myself. Whenever we needed to talk Barbara seemed to make it her business to be around. If ever I was with Emma, Barbara always seemed to phone and whatever we seemed to talk about Barbara always managed to pop into the conversation.

Tonight however things were different.

She smelt gorgeous and she looked radiant somehow, there was a definite glow about her. She wore a short leather blouson over a dark blouse and midi skirt but the skirt had ridden up to show her plump pantyhose covered thighs and the panty hose were sheer enough to show just a glimpse of pale white flesh through them. Her hair was soft and fluffy and her eyes were just lightly made up. As we grew closer to Redbridge and the M11 so Barbara Jones seemed to grow closer to me.

We had talked about the bomb, we had talked about the incident involving Charlie and we had talked about Emma's injuries and mine. At traffic lights she had briefly touched my back and drew a breath when she felt the padded gauze that had been taped from my shoulders to my waist just to stop the blood ruining everything I wore because none of the lacerations had been deep enough to warrant stitching. When we reached the entry slip and as she changed gear her hand just grazed my upper thigh. She looked at me.

"I wish you didn't have to go tonight," she said huskily.

I felt something; a frisson of something or other ran down my spine. I didn't get on with Barbara but there was something there, something lurking in her personality that attracted me to her.

Something that attracted me strongly.

I needed to steer her away from this. I noticed the clock on the dashboard.

"Look at the time Babs! At this rate we won't make it at all." She looked at me through the rear view mirror.

"Oh yes we will. I've already phoned on ahead and if there ARE any problems I'll just handcuff you and take you through Check-In and Customs as an escaped prisoner!" It wasn't my imagination; she really did lick her lips. She was staring at me through the mirror again.

"Would you like that?" she asked softly, "Would you like me to handcuff you?" that frisson again accompanied by a shivery tingle down my spine. I shifted in my seat but it wasn't my back this time, it was something a little further down. Her voice was now even lower, no more than a dark erotic whisper. Even the Sodium/ Mercury lighting of the Motorway seemed dim and full of shadows at that point

"Emma says you like to be in charge. I know you tie her up. I know she likes it. She likes being helpless." Barbara's face was full of shadows now. "She loves you!" she said hoarsely. "She was crying today because of what you said to her, because of what you think she's doing but she loves you. And you and her both think I hate you but you're wrong! You're both really, really wrong! The nearest thing to hate…" I realised she was already signalling and looking over her shoulder. We crossed two lanes of traffic and passed under a bridge. In a matter of seconds we were on the hard shoulder and stationary.

Before I could do or say anything she had leaned over and put her arms very gently around my sore shoulders drawing me into her. Her mouth was already open, her breath warm and fragrant. She started where she had finished,

"…the nearest thing to hate, Bill, is love!" and then she kissed me full on the lips.

*

Mike eased himself into the right hand seat just as Steve Burton; the Australian pilot was routinely checking his instrumentation. The lights were down on the flight deck and apart from the faraway hiss of the jets all was quiet. Tom Roberts, the navigator, was rechecking his calculations.

"That head wind from earlier? It's dropped. We should be bang on time." Steve smiled.

"Well that'll make a nice change. Probably be a first for Carlton Bloody Prince to be anywhere on time!" Mike looked at him wryly.

"Used to do him when you were betting, huh?" Steve grimaced.

"Every bloody time! Lovely horse, just didn't know where the flaming winning post was when I backed him!" he turned to his co-pilot, "Mike, I'm picking something up on the radar that shouldn't be there, check it for me willya?" Mike was already leading forward.

"Sure. 'bout two miles off to port and closing?"

"That's the baby! Wanna try New York for me?" Mike had the microphone in his hand.

"New York Centre, this is British United Airlines flight two niner. Do you copy?" The reply was instantaneous. A female voice studiedly bored.

"Good evening two niner, this is New York Centre. We currently have you on heading zero five two. ETA twenty one thirty nine hours, Eastern Standard Time."

Mike could also sound bored when he needed to.

"Roger that, New York. We have some activity off our port wing, now less than a mile away and closing, are you aware?" he squinted at the radar screen again. "We do not recognise the signature."

The voice was a familiar one. They had spoken before. Echoing a line from Close Encounters of the Third Kind it replied,

"Do you wish to report a UFO, two niner?" he smiled, he could picture the air traffic controller using the remark to buy herself just a little time. No pilot in his or her right mind ever did these days.

"That's a negative New York but it's getting closer!"

"We copy two niner. Appears to be the signature of a large helicopter, maybe a Sikorsky Black Hawk, but its faint and it keeps changing. We have no registered activity in the area and we are contacting the military, suggest you prepare for evasive action. Copy?" but BUA 29 did not copy because at that moment the Sikorsky Black Hawk off their port wing opened fire.

*

I couldn't help myself, I just couldn't. If I had the balls I might try and defend myself but I'd be defending the indefensible. I was tired. I was upset. I was hurt emotionally and physically. At that point I was a big kid like most men are in a crisis and I guess I needed comfort.

If I did then Barbara Lucas was the wrong place to look for it

She was warm and she was soft. I could feel her breasts, her ample buoyant breasts nudging softly against me. Her tongue was already easing itself sensuously into my mouth, her hands moving so gently down my back wanting to soothe and calm and gently arouse that I didn't flinch, as I would have done under other circumstances. It must have gone on for five minutes.

I felt calm and at ease

She broke gently and then insinuated her lips against my neck.

"I want to fuck you Bill!" she whispered. "But I want to make to make you wait!"

I didn't really take on the full impact of her words until her hands began to move south. Until they were stroking around my belt, now she was whispering into my ear.

"I think you need this bill. I think you need a STRONG woman.

Now she was doing the unthinkable, she was stroking her hand across the front of my trousers, ever so gently.

"You need me…" she whispered. "…and I need you!" one soft plump hand was pulling gently at my zipper. Her mouth slipped back over mine. "I need you Bill! " her voice was hoarse and breathy, " I need you as my slave!"

*

Tom saw it first.

"Shit! Tracers! They're firing at us!" Steve Burton glanced over his left shoulder and saw the brilliant white gunfire.

"Okay, seat belts everyone! Mike! Put out a mayday! Tom! Warn the passengers, turbulence will do." Mike was already on the microphone as Steve flicked the switch that would light up the seat belt warning in the cabin.

"Mayday! Mayday! This is BUA two niner. We are under attack. Repeat, we are under attack. Unidentified aircraft approximately eight hundred kilometres West of the Irish coast. Coordinates…." In the background Tom was on the PA to the cabin.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. This is your navigator Tom Roberts speaking. We have encountered an unexpected squall and turbulence and consequently may have to take avoiding action. Please fasten your seat belts. We apologise for any inconvenience." Steve was talking more to himself than to anyone else at that moment.

"Okay, let's take her up and away from all this. If we can't outrun a helicopter…" but he was already too late. The now visible black helicopter was firing again.

The plane lurched violently sideways. It seemed to hang for a moment as if it were about to fall out of the sky but then it continued onward.

Mike saw it first.

" Christ! We've been hit! Flameout port wing!" he watched incredulously as flames sprouted from the already blackened left turbine and the aeroplane went into a steep and unexpected dive toward the glittering, moonlit ocean below.

*

Inspector Martin was red-eyed and tired. He had undone his tie and was sipping something that tasted like freshly burnt rubber and old string he had got from a vending machine in A and E that alleged to sell coffee earlier. As Jimmy Clarke entered the main door he looked just as tired and just as red-eyed but he was also bad tempered with it.

"Fuck it guv! Fuck it sideways!" This was unusual for Jimmy.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly and then remembered, "Oh, I got you a tea," he handed Jimmy a brown plastic cup which Jimmy studied for a second. The Inspector grinned, "its hot and wet…well it's wet, that's all I can say." Jimmy took the cup and gulped most of it down as if looking for Dutch Courage. He looked at the Inspector apprehensively.

"Just been on the dog and bone to the factory, they're monitoring radio messages to and from the flight Bill's on." The Inspector nodded silently and Jimmy continued, "The last we got was that they were under attack!" The Inspector stared at Jimmy suddenly galvanised.

"WHAT?" Jimmy nodded.

"From a Sikorsky Black hawk like the one they lost over Dover." The Inspector's body language had changed completely.

"Well? What are we doing about it and why wasn't I told earlier?" Jimmy's voice was placatory.

"It's being dealt with guv and I thought you had enough on yer plate right now as it was. Rose McGregor was in the office when it came in. She's already spoken to the Ministry of Defence and they've scrambled a couple of Tornado's. They've also got a new aircraft carrier, HMS Indefatigable, undergoing sea trials somewhere in Mid Atlantic; she's been apprised of the situation too! " Jimmy's voice dropped.

"How is she guv?" the Inspector seemed suddenly distracted.

"What? Oh. She's critical but stable. Next twenty-four hours should tell. Socco have found it. It's a tiny needle about six inches long, probably fired from some kind of high-powered air rifle. Chances are she didn't realise she'd even been shot, just felt light headed and breathless from the punctured lung. They're not too worried about that at the moment they're more concerned about the needle they found near her heart, they don't know what damage, if any, it's done yet.

Jimmy looked down at his feet.

"Mmm, funny that." he looked at the Inspector. "Y'know, the way the Guv'nor never asked after 'er!" but the Inspector was studying the notice boards around the corridor.

"You said they'd scrambled the RAF?" Jimmy nodded.

"That's right guv! 'bout five minutes ago!" the Inspector was far away.

"You know what current policy is regarding terrorism after 911?" Jimmy was mystified. He shook his head.

"Dunno what you're…" but the Inspector would not be stopped.

"If there is the slightest reason to believe that an aircraft is carrying a bomb they will shoot it down… if anyone should happen to phone the airline or the papers alleging…"

But Jimmy was already running out the door to telephone the Assistant Commissioner.

THE STORY CONTINUES IN PART SEVEN

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.

RETRIBUTION

(PART SEVEN)

BY

WALLACE

When I first met Sheila, and that meeting was strange enough in itself, the whole pattern of my life changed. My social life, my home life, my sex life even, altered beyond all comprehension because along with Sheila, as some kind of bargain package, came several, not hangers on but friends. Friends of Sheila, or rather people whom Sheila tolerated and who tolerated her and who soon became friends of mine.

People who knew Sheila tended to huddle together like a sort of raggle-taggle support group although whether the support was needed for her or for them was never obvious

Linda Hutton was the first and the most enduring. She turned up a week or so after I had rescued or even saved Sheila from her self-imposed bondage and a very uncomfortable night on the sofa with just her increasingly worried cat Bruce for company. Linda was a born actress and despite herself and Sheila being at each other's throats most of the time, she was very careful when it came to men, Sheila's men that is.

Of course in the light of later events you could put another spin on that but Sheila had been in one abusive marriage and had, it later transpired, been saved from rape by Linda who was also indirectly the cause and was subsequently very protective of her friend and got very little thanks for it in return.

Linda was a born actress; there were several Linda personas, the hard Cockney dominatrix being one. The louche bimbo who turned up on my doorstep one morning and tried to get me into bed with her to see how faithful I would be to Sheila was another. But the real Linda was much softer, quieter and gentler and she only emerged when the other Lindas thought it was safe for her to make an appearance.

When it became obvious that part of my duties as partner to Sheila would be to keep her tied up as intricately and ingeniously as I could for as long as possible I enlisted Linda to help me. I knew a fair bit about bondage and the like already, the reasons for which there are no need to go into right now, but I needed practical help. Linda suggested that I learn the way she did, from the "bottom" up because she believed that the only way to be properly" dominant" was to see things the way a "submissive" saw them and that without doing that it was impossible to fully appreciate the way a the person you were "topping" felt.

The tier needed to do the tying occasionally.

In other words she wanted to tie me up.

It didn't work.

The real Linda is a terrible giggler and it tends to be contagious. As soon as the whips and the chains came out and she started to show me her collection of occlusive hoods and told me to strip we started to laugh. Neither us could deal with the situation without collapsing into fits of laughter and we soon abandoned it as a bad job.

We had no such problems when it came to me tying Linda up but that is entirely another story.

When Barbara Jones suddenly suggested, whilst insinuating her tongue down my throat, that she wanted me to be submissive to her, you might therefore have expected a fit of the giggles to occur or at the very least that I would push her away in disbelief but I didn't do either of those things.

In fact I was incredibly aroused.

Her hand was now gently stroking my abdomen and upper thigh sending shivers up and down my spine. I wanted to push her away but it didn't happen. I tried to reason with her.

"Barbara, I …"

"Sssh!" She kissed me again. Her hand was wandering towards the zip of my trousers. "This is what I've always wanted…" I'm not quite sure if it was me, or her, or both us that took a deep breath as her hand reached my zipper and begun to tug gently at it. "I'm already half way there!" for a moment I wondered what she was referring to and then she reached up with her free hand, took the hand that I was holding against her cheek and guided it down to her right leg.

Despite the fact that heavy lorries and buses and coaches were passing us and despite the fact that rain was now drumming on the roof of the car I was conscious only of her as she began to rub my hand against the soft nylon of what I had always assumed were her tights and then began to guide it upwards. So, so, slowly upwards, kissing me all the while, easing my hand forward, sliding it under her skirt and ever onwards.

It seemed as if we were breathing together, in sync, as her soft hand urged mine forward until, instead of gusset, I encountered thicker nylon and then a sudden feel of soft flesh and the hardness of a suspender.

She was wearing stockings.

Kissing me all the time, rubbing her hand against mine, she helped me explore her soft, bare, upper thigh, taking my hand back from time to time to let me feel the silky stocking top. Suddenly she moved it forward. I didn't need to be Einstein to guess where and it already felt warm.

Warm and inviting.

I felt a shiver run through me as she suddenly slid my zip down.

"I want you!" she whispered as she eased my hand against her soft warm panties with one hand and slipped the other inside my now open trouser front. "I want you Bill. I've already got one slave… It's a fantasy I've always had to have two slaves… bound and gagged and doing everything I asked… and now I've got one and I want…" she paused for a second. Her hand was now running around the edge of my underpants teasing me, making me grow, making me hard and wanting more. I was shivering as I felt soft fingers against the sensitive flesh of my abdomen and then the sudden shock and elation as those soft gentle fingers touched me. Touched my now erect penis just as she urged my hand into the leg of her panties and rubbed it gently into her amazingly soft pubic hair.

"Mmm." She kissed me again "You're bigger than I imagined and it's hard! Very, very hard!" she kissed my ear and whispered, "Don't you ever have sex?" then she urged my hand forward again even as her own was forming a fist and wrapping itself gently, so, so gently, round the shaft of my penis. "That's it!" she mouthed against my neck, biting and nibbling it gently. "Feel my pussy! It is sooo wet! So juicy!"

It was.

It was warm and moist, more than moist, and very inviting. Her hand was beginning to rub faster against me. It felt blissful. I began to slowly finger fuck her.

She was whispering again,

"Imagine what this will be like when I've got you tied up and I leave you in charge of my girl slave whilst I go out to work. She's at home now. Tied up. With a big fat dildo in her fanny and a little cover over her clit so she can't get off on it!" she kissed me again. "I keep her hands tied and only I can touch her clit. Some nights I ungag her and she begs me! She begs me Bill. She begs me to touch her clit and put her out of her misery but I don't. And that's what I'll do to you Bill. I'll have you tied up in rubber!" she kissed me again more passionately than before, more passionately than I thought was possible. "I love rubber, " she whispered, "I love the feel and I love the smell and so does my slave!" she ran a delicate finger around the glans of my penis almost making me jump out of my skin. Automatically I pushed my fingers as far into her as they would go and she groaned with pleasure.

She kissed me on the cheek.

"She'll look after you Bill. She'll look after you while I'm away and she'll have strict instructions to keep you tied up and gagged and your cock HARD!" she spat the word at me. She had gripped me again and was moving her hand against me purposefully now whilst I was easing my fingers in and out of her and bringing my thumb into contact with her clitoris. "I want your cock fucking hard. Just like it is now! So that I can come home and fuck you whilst my slave watches you from the chair where I've tied her up!" she was running her hand from the very tip of my knob to the base and then pulling quite forcefully up again as if trying to literally jerk the spunk out of me.

She kissed me hard.

"Oh, I shall enjoy you Bill! I shall enjoy you both! You AND my little slave." If it were at all possible her voice seemed to become even huskier," I've named her after a book." The friction was beginning to build. "I've named her after another slave!" and just when something else should have been going on alarm bells started to go off in my head.

She kissed me yet again.

"You know, the one in "The Story of O"!" and as Barbara Jones climaxed my mind suddenly went into overdrive.

*

Suzanne Prescott gave herself a cursory glance in the mirror and then smiled a dazzling white-toothed smile, the one she had become famous for on television. She adjusted the shoulder strap on her long black dress and put out a high-heeled sandaled foot just so she could see just how far the slit up her thigh extended, then she bent forward and ran her hands slowly and sensuously up her bare and freshly waxed left leg. She made a mental note to wear a black thong with the dress in future because what remained of her pubic hair was just visible through the slit.

It was dark in the bedroom but there was enough light to see. She looked over to the bed.

"Well Richard? What d'you think?" Richard did his best to answer but all he could do was raise his head a little and make mmphing noises through the three pairs of previously worn panties that were currently stuffed into his mouth and secured there with tape. Suzanne smiled and moved sensuously over to the bed. She looked good for her age, everyone told her she did.

She'd been relatively famous in a Soap Opera nearly twenty years ago but her career had flagged until she'd been persuaded to take part in a reality TV show that had boosted her popularity, not to mention her bank balance, beyond all recognition.

Suzanne was nearly fifty but didn't look it. She had been lucky, she didn't need cosmetic surgery and she didn't need make up to look good. She, unlike some of the other celebrities on the show, including some of the men, did not need two hours in the morning to make herself up, she could wash and dress and wander straight into the harsh view of the camera with no problems whatsoever. No one even mentioned the fact that she had put on more than a pound or two over the years, in fact the public loved her for it and she had become yet another overnight sensation.

Now she made guest appearances, advertised coffee, electrical goods and clothes on TV, had her own makeover show in the pipeline and wrote a weekly column for one of the more right wing tabloids.

Suzanne pretty much had it all including a twenty five year old toy boy called Richard.

After two failed marriages in which both husbands had run off with much younger women, Suzanne had decided that what was sauce for the goose was also fairly attractive to the gander and so she had blatantly picked Richard up in a night club nearly a year ago and they were still together. He hadn't strayed. He was attentive. He was good looking and vibrant and at the moment he didn't seem overly bothered about her money although she had already had her lawyers draw up a gagging contract in case of difficulties later. He showed every sign of loving her although Suzanne wasn't sure quite how SHE felt about that one.

But it all came as a bit of a shock when Suzanne walked in one day unexpectedly and found a strange woman in the house. A strange woman who was admiring her very feminine figure in one of the bedroom mirrors and it took her a few moments to realise that she didn't have a potential stalker on her hands but a boyfriend who liked to wear the clothes she still kept from when she was younger and slimmer and who, apart from the obvious style problems, looked very good in them.

She wasn't mad, she wasn't even vaguely upset, she just threw him on the bed as he was and without even bothering to close the curtains, stripped off her black stockings, tied his wrists to the bed, shoved her by now very damp knickers into his mouth and slipped her hand inside his, or rather her, Agent Provocateur panties.

Richard had a fair sized cock. It was wide rather than desperately long and it filled her to perfection. She was amazed when she slipped a well-manicured hand into his warm, soft and silky panties. She tossed her head to move her hair out of the way and then put her mouth close to his ear.

"You dirty fucking bastard!" she whispered hoarsely. "You've never been so fucking hard since I've known you." she slipped off her dress and her bra and then she pulled aside his panties and impaled herself on his rigid cock. It felt good, so good. She leaned forward and kissed him on his taped lips.

"Don't come!" she ordered and then she half closed her eyes and luxuriated in the feel of his firm thick cock. She couldn't get quite as much penetration as she would have liked with her on top but just to have Richard helpless and dressed in her own soft silky clothes, writhing underneath her and loving every minute of it more than made up for that.

From that moment on the pattern of their life changed completely. Suzanne, who had already been in charge, became bolder and Richard, who had secretly been wearing her clothes for months, could now do it almost all the time and now had his own wardrobe. With his long blonde hair and less than prominent Adams Apple he could easily pass as a female when dressed and they had recently taken to walking in the grounds of her large detached house near Reading, he wearing the underwear they went shopping for together, including black seamed stockings, underneath a black leather coat whilst she wore little more than a huge fake fur that made her feel warm and cosy and very, very randy and high heeled mules with a four inch heel.

Richard was loving and subservient. He loved his role. He loved being her maid. He loved wearing rubber clothes, stockings and six-inch heels and fulfilling her every whim, which could include anything from running her a bath, to cooking her meals and licking her eager and very wet cunt whenever she required it.

They had recently moved into water sports and Richard had, earlier that evening, been stripped to high heels, stockings and underwear and tied over a kind of vaulting horse in the "playroom" a large, airy, polished pine floored, ex bedroom on the second floor that housed their bondage equipment and whilst gagged and having his cock stroked had received a warm soapy four quart enema which had then been held in place by an inflatable butt plug whilst Suzanne had gently and sensuously stroked his rampant cock through his soft silky panties until he literally screamed for release though the soiled underwear stuffed in his mouth.

If he was screaming for orgasm then his cries went unheeded but if he was screaming for release of the enema then his protestations were eventually rewarded and, collared and leashed, he was led on his high heels to the light blue en suite bathroom where he was finally allowed to let go of the high volume enema.

Now, still wearing a pink and white corset with breast forms that were made from the same substance as real breast implants, black panties and black seamed stockings, he was tied and gagged on the bed whilst Suzanne slowly and seductively stripped for him.

The sight of her plump tanned and naked body only added to the engorgement of his cock, which had been teased mercilessly for nearly four hours now. She always wanted to kiss him and thank him for still managing to get a hard on at the sight of her but she didn't. Instead she walked over to him, naked apart from her mules, sat delicately on the side of the bed, slipped her hand inside his panties and began to move her hand gently up and down his cock.

The plug in his anus had helped keep him erect and Suzanne's gentle masturbation made him harder and harder.

"Good boy!" she whispered softly running her free hand over his large testicular sac. " I think you need emptying," she intoned as if confiding some deep dark secret, "These bollocks are so big and fucking heavy!" then she looked into his eyes, "But I think you need a bit of ball torture first." He groaned and closed his eyes because he could guess what was coming.

Suzanne leant forward and picked some things up off the bedside cabinet. They were small and innocuous looking but they provided her with a great deal of pleasure, the phrase "little things please little minds" often echoed at the back of her head when she did this. She picked up the elastic bands, stretched them a little, pulled the first one as far open as it would go and began to ease it over Richards's vulnerable, defenceless and clean shaven balls.

Normally she would have ignored the phone when it rang at this time of night but she was expecting a phone call from her agent. Giving herself just enough time to snap all three bands in place she gave his gonads a quick squeeze said,

"Think of me darling!" in a slightly ironic tone and walked over to the chair where she had left her bag.

As a newspaper columnist Suzanne had to have an opinion on everything including current affairs and her stance on Iraq was a fairly radical one. She believed that all Allied Troops should be pulled out of the war zone immediately because, she believed, it was American intervention in world affairs that had caused the rise of Islamic Fundamentalism in the first place. She repeated this belief most weeks in her column and received almost as much praise as she did criticism for it.

She answered the phone half expecting to hear that she had been "bumped" off a late night talk show for the second time in two weeks but when a male voice asked her to listen because the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands of people were at stake a simple Friday night television programme suddenly became the least of her worries.

*

So Barbara had a slave. A female slave and she had named her "O" after the slave in "L'Histoire D'O" by Pauline Reage. It sounded familiar, very familiar. At the very least it was a coincidence. Less than 8 hours after that surreal conversation I had heard outside Charlie's office in which O had been mentioned, here she was cropping up out of the blue.

Now I was intrigued and also causing concern to Barbara who, having climaxed herself, wanted to know why I hadn't. I brushed off her worries saying that we were getting very late and she immediately became business like, apologised for what had happened and told me not to worry but before we set off she pleaded with me not to get on the plane that evening.

There are times when I wish I had listened to her.

*

Juliet went downstairs about one O'clock in the morning

"You know I don't know which are the more troublesome," she said, grinning at first Val and then me, "men or horses!" and disappeared to check on Carlton Prince and his two travelling companions, Gingersnap and Go Solo.

Val and I chatted for a while but when Juliet didn't reappear after about an hour she too went down to check that everything was okay.

Left to my own devices I thought about Barbara, feeling mildly embarrassed for doing what I had nearly done and at my age as well, whilst Charlie's words echoed over and over in my head, " …maybe you're a switch. Maybe you're really a submissive…"

Was I?

If I was I'd never had the slightest inkling about it, but my reaction to Barbara had taken me completely by surprise. I hadn't even told her where to get off as I should have done, in fact I'd promised to ring her as soon as I got back, partly because I felt there might be more to Barbara than met the eye and partly because, well you can probably work it out for yourself.

There were a couple of times when I thought that I had heard noises downstairs but nothing came of it. Then came the announcement about turbulence, which I took at face value. It was only when the plane went into a steep dive and I heard screams from downstairs that I realised that something was going horribly wrong. I'd seen it all in films but I had no idea that one day I would really experience it. One moment we were moving steadily through the air, jets almost whispering, the next we were plunging toward the ocean, the engines screaming as if in pain.

I could vaguely hear Val's voice shouting for help but even standing up was difficult. When it came to walking it was like trying to negotiate one of those Crazy Houses they have at the seaside. I'd heard about G forces but never experienced them. My cheeks felt as if they were being torn from my face and my limbs were so heavy I could hardly move them. It was like walking in a gale.

Finally I reached the spiral staircase and half walked, half fell down it and when I finally reached the bottom I really wished that I had stayed where I was, in the comparative safety of the cabin.

I was looking at a scene from hell.

Gingersnap and Go Solo were whinnying with fright but lying down in their stalls. Carlton Prince wasn't. Val had been concerned about him all night and, it seemed, rightly so. Even now he was rearing up on his hind legs and bringing his front hooves crashing down onto the gate of his stall, which was already bent and buckled and looked like it would collapse at any moment.

I suppose my mind had blocked it out at first because suddenly I noticed what looked like a bundle of rags on the floor below the rearing horse, a bundle of rags which was leaking red stuff all over the floor and which I realised with mounting horror had to be Juliet. I ran over to her as best I could, trying to avoid Carlton Prince's flailing hooves but even as I did it I realised that her head had been smashed in.

We were still plummeting downwards; the jets were still screaming, the wind seemed to be wailing all around us. From what seemed like far, far away I heard something behind me. A voice. A female voice.

"Leave her! You can't do anything for her now. She's dead!"

I turned as best I could. Val was propped against a bulkhead, blood running from the side of her mouth, clutching her stomach with both hands.

It was like walking up hill but I managed it. I crouched down on the floor beside her, my hands shaking, wanting to throw up, scared, scared for me, scared for Val, scared for the frightened animal that was threatening to kick its way out of its stall at any moment.

I touched her hand and was about to ask the question I dreaded asking but she beat me to it,

"He's got a torsion," she jerked her head towards the shying horse and shouted over the screaming engines, "A torsion of the bowel. Fucking stable vet should have noticed it; we tried to calm him because he was frightening the others. We sedated them but when we tried him he just lashed out. Juliet didn't stand a chance and I stood there like an idiot," tears began to run down her cheeks, "then he kicked me in the stomach." I touched her lip and wiped the blood away. I looked into her eyes, worried, scared. How badly was she hurt? She tried to smile.

"It's not that bad. I bit my lip when he kicked me, nearly bit through it!" then in a tiny voice she asked, "What's happening?" I shook my head, I knew as much as she did. There was a crash. Two of the bars on the stall gate had hit the floor. Carlton Prince was almost free. Val's hand was already reaching into the bag that had landed close to her when she fell. What she bought out was an odd looking thing that had a pistol grip. She handed it to me.

"It's a bolt. A humane killer." She must have read my mind, "If he gets free he could kick his way through the fuselage of this plane and kill us all!" she looked up at me, "Look at his right leg, his fetlock, it's broken, he's dead already. We can't do anything for that!" my stomach turned over. There was blood running down the horse's right leg and bone was quite clearly sticking out of it. The plane was still diving. I wondered how long it would be before we hit the water and then Carlton Prince finally broke free and was flying headlong towards us.

THE STORY CONTINUES IN PART EIGHT

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.

Sent October 4 ^th 2004

RETRIBUTION

(PART 8)

BY

WALLACE

Lady Heather stared in amazement. She'd seen occlusive hoods before but never anything quite so stringent as the ones Ally and Angela were now wearing. Made of shiny black PVC like the rest of their outfits, they were inflatable and had been blown up to roughly the size of an over large watermelon.

Where the eyes and ears of the two girls should have been were large round stoppers that also appeared to be inflatable but were made of contrasting white plastic. It was obvious that they could neither see nor hear.

They couldn't speak either but their mouths had been dealt with differently. Heather was still bound and virtually naked, Five could see her staring at the girls.

"The hoods are attached to their lips by a special adhesive…" Heather looked at her in disgust.

"Superglue! You've superglued the fucking hoods onto them you bastards!" she noticed Five's arm move slightly and as if by telepathy the door opened and another silver creature entered. This one was carrying a cattle prod.

Seven and Nine had already stood up and both were touching her. Seven laid a soothing palm against her cheek whilst Nine put her hands lightly on her shoulders.

"It's a form of superglue but we have a solvent. It won't hurt them in any way." Five was doing her best to placate Heather. They locked eyes until Heather finally looked away with an expression on her face that suggested repulsion.

Unlike normal inflatable hoods these had openings for the mouth. The only way they could inflate them would be by sealing them to the skin

The girl's lips were now white and plump. There was another stopper in each of their mouths, which filled them completely and prevented speech of any kind. Heather looked back at Five. She spoke very, very quietly.

"Why? Why couldn't you just gag them and put the hoods over the top?" Five replied immediately.

"Because we needed to have access to their mouths. You'll see why later. Besides, this is much safer in the long run. Those lips extend into their mouths forming a kind of gum shield. They hold down the tongue and keep their airways open. It also covers their teeth and prevents them from biting anything." She looked at Heather archly. "You'll thank us for that tomorrow!" before Heather could ask the two new guards helped the girls to sit awkwardly on the white bunk and another question entered her mind.

"How do you know if they're okay? Do you care?" Five suppressed a sigh. Once again Heather saw her upper arm muscles flex, she moved forward a little and a small golden microphone dropped down from her headband. She spoke softly and almost lovingly into it.

"Allison. Allison can you hear me?" Heather watched in amazement as the shiny black figure nearest the door slowly nodded its head. Five looked at Heather and then continued. "Allison, Lady Heather is worried about you. Have the girls hurt you in any way?" slowly, very slowly the black clad figure shook its strange head. Five was still studying Heather, "And finally Allison, are you in any way uncomfortable and are your inserts troubling you at all?" there was a pause that in reality was quite brief but which seemed to last forever in the strange atmosphere of the white room that they were in. Finally the figure of Allison responded to the question and she slowly shook her head once more. Heather looked down at Five with a puzzled expression

"They've got ear pieces?" Five nodded.

"Mmm. Inside their earplugs, we use them on the new girls." Heather asked the question as casually as she could.

"What for?" but Five didn't answer instead she looked up at Heather

"Happy now?" she asked a trifle irritably. Heather remained stone-faced.

" You mentioned inserts. What damn inserts?" it was obvious that Five was beginning to lose patience but she soldiered on.

"Nothing for you to worry about Heather, you'll see them, or rather feel them soon enough and they seem to be keeping young Angela happy!" Heather looked over at the apparently serene figure of Angela. Apart from being led in and sat down she hadn't so much as twitched a muscle since. Heather wasn't a user but right now she wished she had some gum to chew.

"Yeah, well Angela would be happy in a field fulla carrots…" Five had had enough.

"I've been patient with you Heather, I've answered all your questions and I've indulged you for long enough! Now let us get on with what we have to or I'll just have you gagged and we'll do it without your input!" Heather's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?" she asked quietly. The bald headed woman's eyes became tiny slits.

"I've already told you, I am Five." Heather looked at her sceptically.

"Where is this place?" Five's annoyance was deepening.

"I've told you that too. We call it The Village, that's all you need to know!" but Heather would not be put off.

"Who's this "Number One"?" Five's hackles rose visibly and so did her voice.

"YOU are Number Sixty Six!" before she could say any more Heather jumped in.

"So I'm being "assimilated" am I? Like Seven and Nine? Like you! Well I'm not a number like you Five I'm a…" Five's reply bordered on angry.

"You are not being "assimilated" as you call it! You are being put into Lockdown for your own safety. You don't need to know any more and you will not be told any more!" She paused and looked over at the two silver clad girls standing in front and behind Lady Heather, " Nine hold her head! Seven use the ring gag on her. If she won't open her mouth pinch her nostrils and then slide it in when she has to open it!" there was a pause, a long pause. The two girls stood motionless. Heather decided that this was not the right time to say anything. Five drew a breath, when she did speak her voice was very quiet.

"If you two choose not to do what I tell you, then I'll have you both put into lockdown with THEM and I'll keep you here for as long as I want and I'll do whatever I want to the pair of you!" she looked at the girl standing in front of Heather. "It was a joy being in control of you last week Seven! I loved every minute of it. I felt everything you felt and you felt everything I wanted you to feel. I loved having you at my mercy but next time, next time; I won't be quite so easy on you. Do you understand?" It was hard to show fear under a mask and Seven didn't exactly crumple under the onslaught of Five's words. She stood stock still for a moment and then she made a kind of curtsy, bending just one knee, then, touching Heather on the cheek once more, she picked up a large padded ring with two black leather straps attached.

Heather didn't want to get the girl into any more trouble than she might already be in. She couldn't spread her legs because the bar between her ankles was already doing that but she shifted her bare feet as best she could and moved her bound wrists slightly, flexing her shoulder muscles to ease the tension in them at the same time.

"Okay Seven!" she drawled, "I'll come quietly!" she knew there was a joke there somewhere but this seemed neither the time nor the place. She looked the silver creature in the eye as best she could through the mask and said softly, "Okay girl. Do your worst!" and then she opened her mouth.

As she did so and without any warning Nine leaned into her and cupped both of her bare and ample breasts in her soft hands. Heather allowed herself the luxury of feeling the girl's body against her and somehow it made her imminent gagging a less than galling experience.

Seven eased the ring into her mouth forcing her jaws a little wider than they already were and then she too leaned into her, ostensibly so that she could buckle the gag behind her head.

Heather felt the girl's shiny PVC crotch sliding against her own bare, clean shaven slit and she suddenly wanted to kiss the girl who was rubbing against her so provocatively but she couldn't. There was a mask between them and maybe something more.

She'd had a long time to think about this and she'd also watched the girls in action. They weren't totally brainwashed. They had minds of their own but they also had restrictions. She had seen their limited movements and noted their silence and now she was sure that her theory was right. They were bound in some way, some way that restricted their movements and they were gagged as well. Not once had she heard any of the girls speak.

There was something else too.

Their sensuousness.

They would take any opportunity to touch and to feel, just like they were doing now. Not even the fact that they were hiding behind a mask would make someone quite as uninhibited as that.

Not unless…

Not unless there was something freeing those inhibitions or causing some kind of sensory overload.

She thought back to the remark Five had made about inserts and then with a vague feeling of disappointment she felt Seven moving away from her. If it were at all possible Five sounded even more impatient than before.

"At last! Now, lets see how effective it is." Her eyes travelled. " You can move away from her Nine, there'll be plenty of time for that later!" reluctantly it seemed, Nine finally let go of the breasts that she had been massaging so lovingly. Five turned back to Heather. " Good! Now Heather I want you to try to speak for me. Go on… speak!" but Heather had had enough for one day and she was trying to send a message too. She was trying to tell the girls who, she was absolutely sure now, were not doing this willingly, that she would cooperate with them rather than Five who was a figure of authority.

That she was an ally and could be trusted.

Heather stood silently looking toward the door of the white room. Five's eyes had narrowed again.

"I'll ask you once more Heather. Please try to speak for Me." She said it slowly and clearly, the way English people speak when they are abroad and can't speak the language but Heather said nothing. Five looked at the tall blonde woman standing defiantly in front of her

"Can't speak was made to speak!" she said quietly and then she turned her head towards the silver girl with the cattle prod who stood silently at the door. "Twelve!" she snapped, "Come over here, you're needed!"

Twelve walked slowly into the little tableau before her. Seven made the most infinitesimal movement of her head and Nine touched Heather briefly on the arm but she stood firm. Five was now showing a streak in her that Heather hadn't reckoned on her having. She'd started this and she couldn't back down now. Five turned to the newcomer. .

"Set it to high," she said softly almost as if talking to a child. Twelve hesitated for no more than a second. "Yes, high, Twelve and any more disobedience from any of you and I shall send YOU Twelve to Number Two and you won't like that will you?" her voice was low and deliberate, "because last time she whipped your pussy didn't she? That little CUNT between your legs. She shaved it and she whipped it and she hung you upside down and whipped it again! And someone had trouble walking for a few days after that." She hadn't taken her eyes off the silver clad being for a second and it was something of a shock when she suddenly raised her voice, "DIDN'T THEY TWELVE?"

Twelve nodded silently, Five turned her head away from her, and said in a voice that was barely audible, "Although by all accounts you enjoyed it!"

She looked at Heather for what seemed like an age and said finally. "Her breasts first, Twelve, one shock on each and if that doesn't get a response I want you to put it in her cunt and hold it there. Do I make myself clear?" Twelve nodded a little reluctantly.

It suddenly seemed very warm in the little room. Five moved the silent vehicle to which she was so strangely attached in order to see better and then she looked up at Heather again.

"No more chances, you either speak or you don't!" Heather stood silent and Five didn't hesitate, "Shock her Twelve! Shock her now!"

Heather had been a bit of a tomboy when she was younger and she'd had a thing for electrics, something that had manifested itself in other ways in later life. On one occasion she'd taken a tape recorder apart and put it back together again but once and only once she had forgotten to take the plug out before touching the coil and it had sent her flying across the room with all her muscles twitching.

She swore that if Nine hadn't grabbed her when she did she would have hit the opposite side of the small white room that was rapidly turning into some kind of torture chamber. It was as if someone had touched her tit with a red-hot poker and then made every muscle in her body spasm. The worst thing was losing control of her movements but she recovered quickly and silently and stood looking at the door once more. She wasn't expecting what happened next.

The little car moved forward again and Five snatched the cattle prod out of Twelve's hands. She wasn't even looking at Heather now.

"I haven't got time for this!" she said shortly, "TALK TO ME YOU BITCH!" and then she thrust the cattle prod deep into Heather's already lubricated vagina and switched it on.

*

Steve Burton had to shout to make himself heard over the noise of the wind and the screaming jet engines,

" Mike gimme a hand here!" Mike Mey instinctively grabbed at the controls. Steve had taken the autopilot off line shortly after they had identified the helicopter, the helicopter that the New York control centre was still attempting to contact. Between them they tried desperately to pull the aircraft out of its dive.

Not looking away from his instruments Steve shouted across to his co pilot

."What's the status of that engine?" At the top of his voice Mike shouted back

"The extinguishers have put it out. I did my best to feather it but it's cut out altogether now. Don't think the engine itself is damaged too bad. They hit the fuel line, that's what caused the fire!"

They had been flying well above a weather system in mid Atlantic at about Five thousand feet and whilst they still had a long way to travel they had to hit the ocean eventually.

At the moment they were falling through cloud and the helicopter was nowhere to be seen. Steve glanced over at Mike.

" Can you start it again?" Mike shook his head.

"Negative. Auxiliary pump should have kicked in by now!" Steve was a man who seemed to be running out of lifelines.

"Can you start it manually?" the aircraft bounced skittishly as they hit real turbulence. Both pilots held their breath for a second, worried that the helicopter might have returned, finally Mike blew out his cheeks.

"Risky! Could blow the whole fucking thing, then where would we be?" Steve Burton stared at him.

"Could we be worse off than we are now?" Mike was already hunched over the instrument panel. They had left Tom in charge of communications. Still wrestling with the controls Steve shouted back to him.

"What's going on Tom?" Tom turned in his seat as best he could

"New York are on our case. They've contacted Andrews Air Force Base and they've got three F16s up in the air now. There are also some F15s coming from Lakenheath and the RAF are scrambling two Tornados and a Nimrod from Kinross!" he pointed downward with his thumb, " Somewhere down there there's a Royal Navy aircraft carrier and they're looking for us too!" Steve stared straight ahead of him.

"Jesus Christ! They've got International fucking Rescue out after us! All we have to do is stay in the air! How's that pump coming Mike?" but Mike was too busy watching sparks fly out of the port engine.

*

I don't know what sort of crash I had been expecting. You somehow have this idea that hitting the water is less deadly than hitting dry parched earth, which is not apparently true. Anyway a sickening thud followed by flames and then hopefully total oblivion was churning in the back of my mind. Fortunately or unfortunately, whichever way you want to look at it, it never happened. It was as if a huge hand had suddenly made some kind of magic pass over the stricken plane and everything changed in seconds.

From what must have been at least a Forty-Five degree angle we were suddenly in level flight. The wind noise eased and the jets took on a lower, less strident tone. I was holding Val in my arms trying to shield her from Carlton Prince but the levelling out seemed to have calmed him a little. He had reared up a few inches from us and then dropped back on to all fours again although he was holding his right fore leg up and away from the floor

For a few seconds he looked around him and at the other horses sedated and relatively quiet in their stalls and then he shook his glossy brown head and whinnied pitifully. Val turned her head and whispered as if she were afraid that he might hear us,

"You've got to do it Bill. He doesn't mean us any harm but he's frightened and he's in a lot of pain. We can't do anything about that leg and if the plane dives again…" my voice when I finally did speak was deep and cracked. My back hurt like hell, the painkillers were wearing off already.

"What about you?" I asked. Val smiled as best she could

"Yeah. I think I'm okay but I feel as if, as if…" as if she'd been kicked by a horse. I looked at the sleek animal standing a few feet away from me and got to my feet holding the gun that would fire a bolt into his brain in my right hand.

"I don't want to do this Val. I really don't …" it was a horse not a human being. He didn't realise what was going on. He hadn't set out to kill Juliet or hurt any of us and he didn't mean us any harm. He was in a strange place with strange people and things were happening to his body that he didn't understand. Val looked up at me imploringly and suddenly I saw her side of things. Tears were running down her face again.

"Please Bill. Please. He's in agony. Please don't let him suffer…" She'd just seen another person die and she was hurt herself, she was entitled to be emotional. She was probably entitled to want vengeance on Carlton Prince for what he'd done as well but she didn't seem to. I looked at the horse who was breathing hard but remained relatively quiet, Val said softly.

"Between the eyes is the best place and squeeze the trigger like it were a gun. They don't know anything about it, I promise you." she took a deep breath and coughed hard, "I'd do it myself but…" her lip was bleeding again. I shook my head and sighed at the same time.

"No. Stay where you are. You need a doctor not a stroll around the deck!" I walked forward slowly holding the gun away from the horse as if he could see and sense my intentions. Maybe he could because he suddenly shook his head and whinnied. My guts seemed to turn over and that shiver that I couldn't get rid of ran down my spine again.

I was close now. Close enough to touch him. I reached out a hand and then turned back to Val for silent guidance. She nodded her head and I patted him on the neck.

"Good boy. Good boy." I breathed it so quietly I wondered if he could hear me at all. Horses on TV are one thing but horses in the flesh, especially a hunter chaser like Carlton Prince, are a different matter entirely. He was taller than me and must have been at least eighteen hands. I didn't know how that equated in pounds and ounces but he was one hell of a big horse.

I got even closer and slowly raised the gun. Even as I did so the plane jinked first to the left, then to the right and seemed to accelerate with every pound of thrust that the pilots could muster whilst a series of what had to be muffled explosions went off somewhere behind us.

Carlton Prince reared up.

Caught off balance I tried to duck out of the way but I felt something hit me hard on the side of the head, saw a flash of white light which was followed by intense pain and everything went black

THE STORY CONTINUES IN PART NINE

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead

Sent 6/10/04

RETRIBUTION

(PART NINE)

BY

WALLACE

Under other circumstances the long smooth object slipping inside her would have provoked feelings other than fear and repulsion and she was not going to let Five know what was going on in her head. She stared away from the car bound woman as blankly she could.

Heather was playing a dangerous game and she knew it.

There was no long period of eye contact.

There was no battle of wills.

Five simply switched the cattle prod, which was now firmly embedded in Heather's vagina, on full and held it there.

Her every muscle seemed to go into immediate spasm and the pain between her legs was indescribable.

She WOULD not scream.

She WOULD not.

She knew that at any moment she would either sink to her knees or collapse entirely. Seven and Nine could do nothing else but watch her mutely and just when it seemed as if she would have no option but to scream through the ring gag that held her mouth wide open a voice said.

"Weyall! And what do we have heyah? " There was a pause and then the voice, with more than a little contempt, said, "Switch that thang off fahve. Switch it off right now!" the pain between her legs stopped as suddenly as it started. She wasn't sure if she was losing consciousness or hallucinating because the voice, that voice, seemed to come from an era long gone.

It evoked strong memories.

She remembered the first time she had seen Gone With The Wind as a kid and marvelled at the Southern Belles in their finery and at the quaint way they spoke. For a while she had almost completely abandoned her tee shirts and jeans in favour of things much more feminine. For a while she had even affected an accent like Scarlett O'Hara's but she was eight years old then and she was positive that people didn't talk like that today, not even people from the deepest south.

They didn't, did they?

A gentle hand was gripping her arm, helping her to regain her footing .She was starting to feel more human. The nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach was ebbing but that voice was there again.

"Five," she pronounced it "Fahve", "Looks like you've been exceedin' yore authoridy agayan!" but before Five could speak that voice was suddenly very close to Heather's left ear.

"Can you stand on your own Honey?" despite her bound hands and the leg spreader Heather felt pretty stable again. Now she was finally able to look at her saviour and when she directed her gaze upward all she could do was stare in amazement.

Instead of the frothy crinoline and the bouffant hairstyle that she had somehow been expecting, Heather saw the shiniest, most elegant, black PVC catsuit she had ever seen, augmented by shiny patent biker boots that reached to the knees and had silver lace holes. The collar of the catsuit was turned up and the zipper at the front pulled down to almost halfway revealing generous, more than generous, tanned breasts.

The face of the newcomer was partially hidden, despite the fact that they were indoors, by large sunglasses but her lips were full, plump and glossy. She had a small, button nose and her hair, cut in a sixties style, straight and collar length, was blonde. She wasn't old Heather guessed, or at least she didn't look it but on the other hand, there was an air about her that suggested that she wasn't that young either.

An air of calmness and maturity mixed with something else, a kind of open sexuality. This woman somehow wore her lust on her sleeve.

She reached forward and brushed the short blonde hair out of Heather's eyes and stood back as if to admire the tall, naked and bound woman. Then she turned to the woman moulded to the small car.

"Take that thing out of her insides this minute Fahve!" there was a long pause and then she said, "And I think you and Ah need to have a liddle talk lader!" She paused again as if thinking and then her face brightened into a fairly broad smile.

" Tell ya what," she sashayed, there was no other word for it, over to Twelve who stood exactly the way she had when Five had divested her of the cattle prod. She got as close to her as she could without actually touching, then she breathed in deeply as if inhaling her scent. She waited a few seconds and then she almost waltzed behind the girl and put her arms around her, her hands touching her prominent breasts more than lightly.

Twelve stood stock-still. She did not move a muscle. The woman in black breathed deeply again and then she turned to Five once more,

"Seein' as how Twelve and I have some unfinished business to conclude this afternoon and she therefore won't be able to do sentry duty on our guests heyah," She indicated Heather and the encased and unrecognisable figures of Ally and Angela with an incredibly well manicured hand; " I've decided to nominate YOU for it instead!" Five seemed to freeze in her seat. The woman in the black cat suit let go of Twelve and turned to the other silver clad beings.

"Hear that girls? When we're all done heyah, Fahve has volunteered to do sentry dudy! And I want you to make her as comfortable as I'm sure she would make you! Unnerstayand?" there was little sign of agreement at first. The girls stood still and unmoving, stiffly to attention as they had always done and then suddenly and as if in unison each head twitched slightly forward in silent agreement. Without warning the woman in black rounded on Five and raised her voice just a little

"Ah swear you must be going deef! Get that monstrosity," she indicated the cattle prod, " out of her sweet little cunt rahght now!" She watched impassively, ignoring the shiver that visibly ran through Heather, as Five withdrew, none too gently, the invasive cattle prod. She was looking sulkier than a pregnant teen now. The woman in the cat suit walked over to Lady Heather and stood in front of her.

" "Ma but you're pretty!" she drawled quietly. "Let's see if you talk as pretty as you look!" this had to be a joke. She couldn't be for real. The woman reached forward and unbuckled the ring gag from the back of her neck and in the process managed to push Heather's head far enough into her cleavage for her to feel her soft skin against her cheek and smell her delicate and expensive perfume. Realising what she had done she said,

"Wha ah am so sorry honey!" raised her head, chucked her under the chin and pulled the ring, which was sodden with saliva, out of her mouth. She studied Heather again and folding her arms said, "Yep! You are so, so, pretty!" almost to herself. Heather grimaced and worked her jaw muscles for a few seconds then she looked at the newcomer

"Yeah! Purdier than a two-dollar whore!" she drawled back Western fashion. She didn't FEEL pretty right now. She was naked and tied up, her hair was a mess, she'd been beaten twice and shocked twice and as far as she was concerned she looked and felt like shit. The expression of the woman in the black cat suit did not change but she shook her head.

"No Honey! Reckon I'd could get at least 10 bucks for ya!" And then she lowered her voice, "That's if I was sellin' of course, which I ain't!" suddenly something caught her attention. She leaned in close to Heather.

"Why you're bleedin'! Don't move sweetheart!" Heather was not prepared for what happened next.

The tall silver creature that Five had referred to as Number One had split her lip when hitting her earlier on and the gag had opened up the cut again. Holding her head in both hands the woman in the black cat suit suddenly leant forward and put her lips to the cut. Heather could feel her tongue teasing it's way around her lips and then she withdrew and smiled, the blood, Heather's blood, visible on her own lips and teeth

Slowly, very slowly she licked them and smiled once more. Quietly she said,

"Looks like we just exchanged bodily fluids Honey!" and then she leaned forward once again, touched her lips to Heather's and moved in closer for a full-blown kiss. When she withdrew she left Heather feeling fairly breathless but when she closed her lips over hers again, Heather responded and the whole room seemed to freeze around them.

She felt the woman embrace her, she felt soft fingers running up and down her spine, she felt her head being pushed forward and held there as the woman in the PVC cat suit covered her lips with hers and kissed her in a way that she had NEVER been kissed before,

With her hands tied and her feet spread apart Heather might have been considered a victim but she gave as good as she got. The room was deathly silent; apart from that strange rumble that she had heard before, when they finally broke apart. The woman in black was now as breathless as she was and Heather swore she could see her eyes sparkling, even through the sunglasses.

"Mah, mah!" she crooned, "Ain't we the passionate one?" she moved closer again and touched Heather's cheek, "Ah KNOW you don't normally do this!" she took her hand away and raised it to her own lips. She then pouted turning her mouth into an "O" shape and lightly ran a finger in and out of the "O" as if she were sucking a penis.

She took out her finger after a while and moved it, glistening with saliva, towards Heather's lips. With a certain amount of surprise Heather felt her mouth opening almost as if her conscious mind had nothing to do with it and, to her immense chagrin, she sucked the wet finger inside her mouth hungrily, almost as if her life depended upon it.

With her other hand the woman in the cat suit reached forward and stroked Heather's hair. She stared into her eyes.

"Oh I am just goin' to lurve playing with you Honey! No one knows what to do bedder than a Dom who turns Sub and who knows?" she teased the hair out of Heather 's eyes again, "You might even wanna stay that way!" Heather shivered, the woman was slowly withdrawing her finger from her mouth and now she was pushing lightly on the top of her head. Seven and Nine had moved either side of her and they pressed gently on her shoulders, easing her into a kneeling position. The woman in black let go of Heather and put her hands on her hips.

"Good girl!" she said quietly, "Good girl! You ARE a tall one, aintcha? Oh I just lurve powerful women and I lurve powerful women who know when to give in!" she moved closer and she pulled the zipper of her cat suit slowly, very slowly, down past her cleavage until it was just a few tantalising inches from Heather's mouth. She looked down at the tall blonde woman.

"Now sweet cheeks, ah want you to do something for me…" Heather looked up at her, almost unable to believe what she was doing and what she was doing so willingly; the woman crouched down so that their eyes met. In a soft whisper she said,

"Think you could obey me honey? Ah think you could. Ah think that's what you WANT right now! You WANNA obey someone! You WANNA do their biddin'!" she put a hand under Heather's chin and moved her head up just a little so that she had no option but to look deep into the other woman's eyes. With the ghost of a smile just playing round the corners of her lips she said,

"Now in a minute Honey ah'm gonna stand up and when ah do I want you to grip this zipper in your teeth and pull it down until you can see my sweet little pussy and when you do that I want you to stop and ah want you to lean forward and ah want you to playant a kiss on mah pussy and say, "Thank you Miss Laura for allowin' me the privilege of kissing your sweet cunt!" think you can do that Honey?" automatically and without even a moments thought Heather said,

"Yes Miss Laura!" Miss Laura paused for a second as if drinking her in and then she said.

"You talk SO nahce. Ah bet you were bought up proper. Nahce family. Bet you were an only child! West coast. San Francisco. You get a better CLASS of person in San Francisco!" Heather tried not to look amazed. It was as if she had read her biog but it all appeared to be spontaneous. Without warning Laura suddenly stood up and walked over to where Nine stood straight and unmoving. From where she was kneeling Heather could see what was happening and already alarm bells were going off in her head.

Laura walked slowly round the silent girl as if trying to take her in from every angle. Of the five silver clad girls in the room, three wore gloves and two didn't; only their hands and fingers were visible the rest being covered by their boots, suits and masks The fingers and hands of Seven were white, the fingers and hands of Nine were not. Despite the spell that she appeared to be under Heather's mind was functioning pretty much as usual and she wondered what was going to happen next.

Laura walked around the girl once more and then she picked up her hand and inspected it. She touched it briefly and then allowed it to fall back to the girl's side. She looked at her once again.

Some things were obvious despite the all over silver suit that she wore. She was tall and willowy and had an excellent figure. Her breasts were generous but not huge and her waist was well defined. Her outward appearance suggested that she could have been a model.

Laura approached her again. Once more the room seemed as quiet as the grave and once more Heather heard that unmistakeable rumble. She also heard a voice in her head that told her that she was about to be enslaved to a Redneck but that thought was interrupted by Laura's voice.

"Now for some reason Nine I don't seem to have met you before!" she said ominously. Then she took the girl's hand in hers again and raised it once more but this time she raised it further. She raised it to her lips, looked at it for a few moments and then she lowered her head and kissed the back of Nine's hand almost reverentially then she looked into Nine's blank, masked face.

"You look real pretty, Nine! Ah cayant wait to get your mask off and see what's underneath!" she moved closer until she was whispering where Nine's ear would be."Maght be a little crowded, 'cos I HAVE to speak to Twelve and ah've also got me a new slave to groom but I think I can keep you…" she paused and looked upward for a moment and then she smiled to herself, "yeah… I think I can keep you… hanging around for a while." Her eyes wide she kissed Nine on the side of her mask and then sauntered back to Heather who was relieved to see that lust and sex appeared to know no boundaries.

Laura was just about to stand in front of Heather again when she realised how far down her zipper was and that her bare breasts were blatantly on show to everybody in the room. She looked around at the people silently watching her.

"Well now, I am hardly the gracious host now, am ah? How COULD ah walk around with ma titties hanging out? An in this air conditionin' an all!" it was the first time Heather had noticed it because she had had other things on her mind but the room WAS almost chilly, she shivered involuntarily. Laura, Miss Laura, was looking at her again.

"Heather?" feeling comfortable now in her new role Heather asked smoothly,

"Yes Miss Laura?" Miss Laura smiled.

"Wha ah declayah, you are gonna be such a GOOD slave," she crouched down once more and touched Heather's cheek, "ah always say that experience makes SO much difference!" she looked deep into Heather's eyes again, so deep that Heather thought she was going to drown but before she did there was a sudden noise, a kind of vibration. Laura stood up impatiently and pulled something from the confines of her cat suit.

It was obviously a mobile phone and she appeared to be reading a text message. Her eyes clouded over and she tutted audibly. She put the phone away and squatted down once more. She studied Heather for a few moments,

"Now, sweet cheeks, it appears that ah will have some things to do this ayafternoon, so our liddle "soiree" will have to wait until lader, but you can still pay homage to your New Mistress before she goes. Okay sweetheart?" Heather nodded, she knew what she had to do, she'd been through the routine hundreds of times but normally she had played Laura's role. This was the first occasion in a very, very, long time that she had been the sub.

With a certain amount of drama Miss Laura stood up. She brushed herself down and she shook herself as if to remove any creases from her cat suit. She pulled at the sleeves making the light ripple liquidly off the surface. Finally she shifted her feet, raised her head and nodded ever so slightly to signify that she was ready.

Heather took hold of Laura's zipper in her teeth and pulled at it gently. Pulled until it began to move downwards. Pulled until a tiny strip of pubic hair was visible. She noted with interest that Miss Laura was not a natural blonde and pulled some more.

She pulled at the zipper until a distinct musky odour became apparent and until the crinkly outer lips of Miss Laura's vagina were clearly visible. Heather let go of the zipper and moved her face closer.

Miss Laura wriggled.

"Why Heathah honey, you are SO gentle you are making me ticklish!" Heather stopped for a second as all good subs should and looked up at her new Mistress, awaiting permission.

"Mah, mah, but your are SO obedient as well!" Miss Laura smiled hugely, "Yes Heather, you MAY have permission to kiss my cunt and then you may thank me!" Heather nodded and then very, very gently, she placed her soft smooth lips around the puckered ones of Miss Laura and kissed them reverentially. She waited a few seconds, she knew the protocol, the Mistress was in charge, not her. She had to wait but she did not have to wait long. From far, far away it seemed, Miss Laura was speaking.

"Mmm, that feels so good. So, so, good! How about a little tongue honey?" Heather could not see her but Laura turned to the sulky Five and said knowingly, "No madder how busy you are Fahve, there's always time for a little tongue!" lips still clamped around the Mistress's pussy Heather reached out with her tongue and ran it downwards and then back up again. She waited a few seconds and when she heard nothing she dared to part Miss Laura's outer lips with that tongue and flutter it briefly in and out. She felt the Mistress shiver.

"Whoa! Hold it right there Heather! Just hold it there!" she could feel Laura's hands on her head. There was a pause. For a moment she thought that Laura was going to guide her head upward towards her clitoris but the hands very gently pushed her head away.

Still kneeling Heather looked up at Miss Laura with genuine feeling.

"Thank you Miss Laura, for allowing me the privilege of kissing your sweet cunt!" Heather shivered as she said it and so did Miss Laura.

"Wha you are welcome, slave Heathah! You are more than welcome. And ah am going to forgive you for being a little headstrong down theyah 'cos under other circumstances ah would have allowed you to carry on but ah just don't have the tahme right now!" she looked at Heather and her face turned thoughtful and a little more serious. "Stand up slave! I have to show Fahve something!" the rigours of the day had made Heather more than a little stiff but Seven and Nine took her arms and helped her stand upright.

Laura glanced briefly at Five and then she moved forward until she was standing once more in front of the bound and naked Heather. She moved in close to her.

"Nothin' personal but they have to put you into Lockdown now. Don't worry, ah'll be back!" she smiled at the cliché and then she kissed Heather on the cheek. "Au revoir honey, we're gonna be seein' a lot more of each other!" and then she turned. "Seven! Give me that ring gag!" Heather didn't even sigh; in fact she lowered her head so that Laura could buckle it in place. Laura smiled and whispered,

"Think of me slave!" and then without any warning she lowered her right hand and began to touch Heather in her most intimate place.

"Mmm, so you're still nahce and lubricated Heather, that's good! Ah wonder how much of that is KY and how much is you?" Heather always felt compliant when she was gagged and she just gave Laura a wide-eyed look. Laura smiled,

"Now let me see… it should be round about…" all of a sudden Heather gasped, "…heyah!" she turned to the two girls who had been supporting Heather. "Seven, Nahne, you might wanna hold Lady Heather up a liddle more 'cos ah'm just gonna play with her little clitty for a while!" she looked back at Heather "How is that sweetheart? Feel good?" Heather nodded and Miss Laura's fingers began to move faster. "What about now?" Heather could feel her knees trembling. Her backbone had already turned to liquid and there were Goosebumps all over her body. She did her best to speak even though know she knew she would sound like an idiot through the ring gag and just as she expected it came out as,

"Yeth Misstreth, it feels good!" Laura's fingers moved even faster.

"How good slave? Does it feel like you could come?" She asked, almost as excited as Heather now.

" Yeth Mithtreth, I could come! I could really come!" Laura smiled.

"You know what you have to do slave. You only hayave to ask!" The two girls supported Heather's whole weight now, her pussy was soaked and her muscle control seemed to have gone completely. Like Laura said, she knew what she had to do and so she did it. She asked. Even though she hated herself for doing it.

"Pleathe Mithtreth, may I have permission to come? Pleathe!" they stared at each other for some time and there seemed to be a kind of rapport between them. Something that said that if the boot where ever on the other foot then Laura would expect exactly the same treatment. Once more the room was silent. Once more that strange rumbling echoed in the background.

With absolutely no warning whatsoever Laura suddenly withdrew her fingers from Heather's pussy.

"Permission denied!" she said shortly. Heather screamed,

"Noooooo!" and went limp in the girl's arms. Laura leaned forward and kissed her softly on the cheek.

"Don't worry sweetheart," she whispered, "you'll live and there'll be other times." Despite the air conditioning sweat was running down Heather's face. Laura turned on her heel and looked directly at the woman in the tiny car.

"See Fahve?" she said with more than a little triumph in her tone. "Thayat's how you get someone to talk through a ring gag! Just a liddle Friendly Persuasion is all you need!" and without a backward glance she flounced out of the room.

*

Things went relatively smoothly after that. Seven and Nine helped Heather to sit and Twelve withdrew various items from the big drawer under the large white bed that occupied the middle of the room. Five remained quiet virtually throughout. With Laura gone and Five taking very much a backseat role the girls were left pretty much to their own devices.

They were gentle and indulgent with Heather and Heather responded the way she knew she had to. She simply let them get on with what they must do. She was gagged now and as Laura had demonstrated she could still speak but she chose not to, preferring instead to luxuriate in the light gentle touch of the silver clad girls as they prepared her for Lockdown.

Whatever that was.

*

It must have taken nearly an hour but now Heather stood looking down at the masked figures of Angela and Allison and realised that she herself must be almost ready.

She was dressed differently to them, where they wore shiny black; she had been dressed in shiny white PVC. Her legs and feet were still bare but her ankles were now contained by comfortable, padded white PVC shackles about four inches wide that were stitched tightly together. She wore a kind of white PVC corset that had arms attached. Arms that in turn had thick, padded, white gloves attached to them that held her hands in useless fists and that strapped tightly to the side of the corset and were in turn splinted to prevent any arm movement whatsoever.

Where this corset differed from the norm was that it had shoulders. It left her breasts bare but the shoulders were attached to a thick and padded white posture collar. As a result she could not move her neck any more than she could move her arms.

Since walking in the ankle shackle was impossible, she now relied entirely on the girls for movement. If she needed to sit they helped her to sit. If she needed to walk they shuffled her forward. Seldom could she ever remember being quite so helpless and in company. The very thought of her immobility and dependence on the young faceless girls made her embarrassingly excited.

The skullcap was white PVC and held her hair out of the way. It felt tight on her head but not uncomfortable and with her bare breasts, legs and feet and her otherwise all white attire she looked very strange indeed. But despite the air conditioning and probably because of the way the girls had dealt with her, Heather felt somehow warm and comfortable.

Throughout her dressing she had kept her eyes on both Allison and Angela and neither had at any time seemed distressed. She had noticed that they tended to twitch a little occasionally but otherwise they seemed fine.

Finally Five broke the silence.

"You are almost ready for Lockdown now, Heather, we just have to add your inserts and connect you up!"

Inserts.

That word again.

Twelve was moving towards her carrying something in her hand.

Heather shivered; it had a pistol grip and was quite large but it had a fairly fine end which was in effect a rigid tube, it looked, to all intents and purposes like a large plastic gun with a silencer attached.

Five anticipated her.

"Forbearance is the watchword here Heather. We do not intend to hurt you and this is the only sensible way to insert this particular item. Seven! Bring the lubricant!" Five looked up, " it would held us greatly if you could bend forward as best you could!" there seemed little point in arguing at this late stage. Nine rubbed her shoulders and helped her to bend at the waist, whilst Twelve approached with the fairly mean looking weapon.

Seven patted her bottom gently and then inserted what looked like a fairly large oilcan into Heather's tight rosebud. She shivered as she felt the little puckered hole filling with cool, greasy fluid.

Satisfied that she was as full as could be Twelve approached with the plastic gun.

"This should not hurt!" Five intoned, "You will feel a rush of air and then it should enter you quite easily, now that you are lubricated." Heather looked at her with a puzzled expression but she held her counsel. The tube slipped into her easily enough and as Twelve pulled the trigger so she felt it transmitted around the sensitive muscles of her rectum. There was a surge; a feeling of compression and something entered her. Something long and somehow multifaceted

The girls helped her stand up. She could feel it, whatever it was, inside of her. It felt long and jointed and it also felt strange but exciting. Heather was no stranger to anal play but she had ever experienced anything like this before. She also had a feeling that there was something outside of her. Something attached to whatever was INSIDE. Gagged as she was she could only look at Five and hope that she would answer her query. As it turned out she was more than happy to do so.

"Anal beads!" she said brightly, "We all wear them. The only sensible way to insert them efficiently is via that gun that Twelve used… it works on compressed air and literally fires the beads into your anal canal. What you can feel outside are the wires, which will allow them to be connected to Central Station. Those wires control the beads and can literally make them come alive inside your anus. Believe me, the effect is generally very pleasant but they CAN be used as a punishment if necessary!" Heather pondered this thought just as Twelve came back with something else. Something much more recognisable. Something very large.

Five smiled at her.

"I chose this specially for you Heather! It's much bigger than the ones the girls wear although of course they have to be fairly small so that they can walk normally. You on the other hand will not have that problem. Allison and Angela were fitted with size sevens but I think you can cope with a size ten like mine. There shouldn't be any major difficulties."

Heather looked at her in disgust.

It was a huge and lifelike penis that was currently glistening with lubricant. It had wires and tubes attached to it and a kind of outcrop that had to be a clitoral vibrator. Five saw her worried stare.

"Don't worry too much about the clitoral stimulator. It is designed to stop you from becoming comatose!" Heather stared at her in amazement. Five carried on, "You will find that Lockdown is very, very comfortable and, generally, very, very, pleasurable too. So much so that you can drift off and not want to come back. Direct pressure on the clitoris reverses that problem. You will also be fitted with tens pads soon. Once we are monitoring your body and if you appear to be going in to too deep a trance, the TENS pads and the clitoral stimulator will kick in and bring you back to full waking consciousness!"

Even as Five spoke Seven was on her knees applying yet more lubricant to Heather's vagina. Heather got the vague impression that Five would have enjoyed this much more if she did not have to stay after class as it were and then she gasped as Twelve pushed the giant penis gently inside her.

*

They helped her lay down flat on the thick mattress of the white bunk. It was made from a special material that moulded itself to the shape of her body. Under her head they now placed a pillow of the same material.

She felt warm and comfortable despite the various things that had been done to her body in the past hour.

Not even that fact that the huge penis inside her ever moistening cunt was also a catheter and that a large clear plastic bag for her waste was now being hung on a stand a few inches from the bunk seemed to bother her. That might be because of the gas she was now inhaling, although Five had insisted, when they had inserted the nasal tubes into her nostrils, that it was nothing more than pure oxygen.

The ring gag was still in her mouth and it had been joined by something else, which now filled her mouth completely and prevented any intelligible speech whatsoever. It looked and felt like a medium sized penis, pink and veined, about five inches in length with a lifelike eye and tubes attached to the bottom of it.

As Twelve had coated it with a pleasant tasting paste and eased it gently into her wide open mouth, pausing at each inch to prevent the gag reflex from kicking in, Five had explained that the penis would not only keep her absolutely quiet it would also monitor her breathing and the amount of saliva in her mouth and it would, if it had to, introduce fluids, if Central Station deemed it necessary.

Heather was intrigued by mention of this Central Station but she could also see a lot of dials and read outs on the "dashboard" of the little car into which Five was fixed.

A lot had happened to Heather in the last hour but, surprisingly, she felt none the worse for it.

They had applied sensors to her forehead, neck and chest and sticky TENS pads to her feet and buttocks and the lips of her vagina.

They had put goggles on her that Five had explained were similar to a blindfold but could be controlled electronically to let in as much light as Central Station saw fit. They had plugged her ears and tested the tiny speakers that lay inside the plugs.

Finally they had pulled a pure white helmet over her head, which had holes for the goggles and for her nostril and mouth tubes and the sensor wires.

The girls were now tidying up all the other wires that ran from her body and placing them in long clip on tubes that would hold them all together.

She was comfortable and utterly helpless.

She could be fed by a tube and her waste, her liquid waste at least, could simply run out of her body and into the bag provided. She was deaf, dumb and not quite blind but she felt calm and controlled.

Her nipples however, felt strangely left out bare as they were and with nothing attached to them. As a fairly old hand at severe restrictive bondage she had expected nipple clamps at the very least.

Ally and Angela, who must have been dealt with in much the same way as her hours ago and seemed none the worse for it, were now being led slowly forward. They didn't have the luxury of sight so progress was fairly slow. They had previously had their inserts connected and the trailing wires had all been put into cable tidies like Heathers so now they were ready.

Although ready for exactly what Heather could not tell.

She could still recognise Angela by the tattoo on her left ankle. She was on the left of her and four of the silver girls were now carefully lifting her and laying her helpless form next to her but a little lower down so that what passed for Angela's head was level with Heather's chest. Satisfied that she was comfortable, the girls then moved to the other side of the bed and did the same to Allison, lifting her gently and laying her with her inflated, masked head, once again level with Heather's chest.

There was a slight rustling in her ears and then she heard Five's voice clearly in her head.

"We are almost ready for you Heather. As you probably guessed I myself am part of Central Station and I will be responsible for much of your monitoring!" Heather could almost feel the distaste in her voice but Five continued. "You might remember hearing me say earlier that I felt everything the girls felt and that is true." she paused for just a few seconds, "Now, I can feel everything you feel and everything Allison and Angela feel. When your dildoes switch on, so will mine. When your anal beads come to life, mine will also. I am also linked to you, Heather, by a process that is currently experimental and is called, for want of a better title, an Empathy Link. Sensors on our forehead should be able to link you and I and Central Station together. Central Station will be running a programme, which should follow your eye movements, predict exactly how you are feeling at any given moment and relay that information to me. This will enable me to manually override the system if, for example, you should panic or become suddenly claustrophobic." She let this sink in for a moment. "The girls are now about to seal you in the Lockdown chamber. To do this they must first fasten Allison and Angela to you and then place the latex membrane over them."

It was already happening.

Seven and Nine were standing by her head. Each touched her gently on the cheek before moving down to the two black clad figures of Allison and Angela.

Working quickly and efficiently they pulled the stoppers out of their mouths and offered them up to Heather's exposed nipples. She groaned in both anguish and pleasure as both of the girls began to suckle on her like hungry babies.

She almost orgasmed there and then.

Their mouths seemed to seal themselves around her nipples and she remembered that they had had soft rubber gumshields inserted to stop them biting her and presumably to seal them in place.

Now Seven and Nine were pulling what looked a thin latex sheet up and over the girls. Twelve who, Heather thought idly, must be a wizard with Home Improvements, then sealed that membrane to her posture collar with what looked like a heat-sealing gun.

There was a muffled hum and the membrane seemed to shrink, Heather realised what was happening. She and the girls were effectively on a vacuum bed and the air was now being pumped out of the membrane, trapping them in place and holding them immobile.

The light dimmed and she saw the cover of her cocoon being lowered. The rigid plastic "lid" of the bed was now being placed over her and the two girls, who even now were sucking contentedly and softly on her nipples, filling her somehow with warmth and comfort.

She heard the snaps as the lid was clamped in place, followed by a strange hum and then almost immediate pressure. It steadily built up until there was no free space available in the chamber and she could not even twitch. She realised that the lid must contain hundreds of tiny air bags that had been pressurised to keep her and more importantly, the girls, in exactly the same place all the time they were in Lockdown.

She could still see because there was an area of clear Plexiglas around her face allowing her to look out until the goggles blocked out the light.

She watched in silent amazement as the silver clad girls advanced slowly on Five. Seven knelt and touched something at the front of the vehicle. Then all four of them shuffled it towards Heather in the Lockdown chamber and lined it up so that she could see Five's face and vice versa.

She heard her voice once more.

"As you can see Heather I can watch you until your sleep period but this is the last time that I will communicate with you for a while. As you are aware, Number Two intends to release you later but as she has pressing business to attend to I cannot tell you when that will be."

Her voice seemed to grow hoarse with emotion as Twelve approached her with a penis gag similar to Heather's and Nine buckled a ring gag firmly in place behind her head. Seven had produced a thick padded band and was using it to fasten Five's head to the headrest of the vehicle. Now Twelve was on her knees and Heather assumed that she was putting some kind of brake on the car to prevent it from moving.

The girls stopped and studied Number Five for a few moments and then silently each one approached the vehicle. With their backs to her, Heather could only wonder at what they were doing but she could hear Five's breathing in her headphones and suddenly she guessed.

The girls were getting their silent own back

They were touching her.

They were feeling her tits with their soft delicate hands.

They were touching her bare scalp.

They were insinuating their hands further down to her abdomen. She heard a muffled gasp as Seven bent so low that she just had to be teasing Five's clit.

All of a sudden and as if at some silent signal the girls stopped what they were doing and stood up. As they did so, Heather's dildo began to vibrate and, judging by the frantic sucking on her nipples, so did those of Ally and Angela. She looked out of her little window and saw Five sitting bolt upright in her car.

So she was right.

She really WAS going to feel what they could feel.

The vibration of the dildo lowered to a kind of gentle background hum. The anal beads came gently to life and a noise became noticeable in her ears.

A soft regular noise.

A heartbeat.

A slow regular heartbeat.

They were returning her to the womb.

She felt calm and relaxed.

The lenses of her goggles began to darken and her eyes began to close.

She didn't even notice as the lights in the pure white room went out and the silver clad girls filed silently out through the pure white door leaving the silent gagged figure of Five to watch over them until they were wakened once more.

*

Liz woke with a start. She was in a strange place and her mouth felt like it had been crapped in.

Where the hell was she?

Then she remembered.

She remembered the surreal incident on the car park roof and the silver creatures and the pain.

Oh yes, the pain.

She tried to move her left arm but it wouldn't work. Frightened for a moment she checked to see if it was still there.

To her intense relief it was and even as she tried to sit up the pain came back, not quite as bad as before but enough to make her groan in agony. She closed her eyes for a second and almost immediately she heard a voice in her ear.

"Hello. Are you awake?"

"Daft fucking question!" She thought to herself, but she opened her eyes and said quietly,

"I hope so!" the blonde, good-looking girl in the blue nurses uniform grinned.

"Hi" she said, "I'm Danni, do you need anything?"

"Yeah," she thought, " a new arm!" but she actually said,

"Cup of tea and some painkillers would be nice." then she winced. Danni studied her face for a moment.

"I've been briefed on you Liz. You're post op and you've just a had a pin inserted in your upper arm, right?" Liz nodded and even that seemed to cause her pain. Undeterred Danni continued,

" You were still in theatre when I came on duty. You were out like a light when you came up and you've been like that ever since. I've managed to take your blood pressure a couple of times and that's fine and I've had a look at the operation site and that seems fine too…" sometimes Liz thought that she was never off duty. This girl could DO television with the right vehicle. She was pretty, she had big tits and great legs and she oozed a kind of naive sexuality, even in the state she was in she could see that. She tried to raise herself up a little in the bed but the pain defeated her. Danni patted her hand.

"I think you might need an injection, I'll speak to the House Officer and see if he'll prescribe something, then I'll get you that tea."

Liz looked around her.

At the small, pastel coloured room she was in.

It was dimly lit for sleep, and she suddenly saw something she hadn't noticed before. She looked at Danni in wonder.

"Danni, what time is it and how long has SHE been here?" Danni looked at the tall leather clad woman who was sitting in an orthopaedic chair, head down, feet up on a stool, sleeping peacefully. Danni looked at her watch.

"It's now three thirty," She said quietly. "This is a private room so visitors can stay. She's been here since you were bought in." Liz looked at Linda with a bemused expression on her face.

"I told her not to wait. I told her to go home. I told her I'd be okay. Stupid cow!" even as she spoke the tall woman seemed to rouse and her hands moved in her lap.

Eyes still closed, head still down, she shifted in her chair. Her legs came off the stool and although obviously still asleep she spread them so that they were wide open. This made the hitherto unnoticeable split up the side of her midi skirt very obvious. She was wearing black, lace top, hold up stockings and when she shifted again her black thong and bare left upper thigh were clearly visible.

Danni was quick to observe this

"She's got nice legs your friend!" Liz was currently at a crossroads in her life. To say she was confused about her sexuality was to put it mildly.

"Has she?" she asked innocently and then she changed her mind. "Yes, yes, she has! She's got very nice legs and her tits are…" she stopped, totally embarrassed, not knowing what to say next but Danni already had a hand on her shoulder.

"It's alright Liz. I understand. It's not easy to tell another woman how you feel but I sort of guessed!" Liz needed an out and she got it but not the way she would have liked.

Linda fidgeted in her sleep, moving her hands until the left one was stroking at her visible upper thigh and the right came to rest between her spread legs. To Liz's intense chagrin that right hand began to move itself against the skimpy front of her black thong.

Even now she was moving one finger until it was undoubtedly in contact with her clitoris. She began to rub delicately at it, head thrown back now, eyes still closed and she started to moan out loud.

"Oh no! Not my tits! Oh please stop sucking my tits! Please! Oh shit! If that thing goes off in my cunt again... if it vibrates one more time and if those anal beads, those fucking beautiful anal beads…. aaaaggghhhh!"

Danni and Liz could only stare in horrified wonder as, still apparently asleep; Linda came to orgasm right in front of them.

THE STORY CONTINUES IN PART TEN

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.

Sent 14/10/04

RETRIBUTION

(PART TEN)

BY

WALLACE

This chapter is dedicated to anyone who hates and fears the dentist as much as I do

Danni patted Liz's inner thigh just a little too long and little too high up for her liking and dropped the syringe into the kidney bowl on her trolley. She pulled down Liz's ivory silk night dress and rolled back the bedclothes,

"There! That shouldn't take long now. Try not to move your arm too much and I'll make the tea. I was going to have one anyway." She was just about to leave when she stopped suddenly as if remembering something, she looked at the two silent women, "Neither of you have been outside yet, have you?" she found herself staring at two impassive and slightly annoyed looking faces.

"Mmm," she began a trifle nervously, "well there are two armed policeman out there right now and nobody comes in here without their say-so!" there was an unnerving silence. She bustled over to the trolley and said quickly "Just to let you know, that's all!" Trying her best not to rush, she pushed it out of the room leaving it silent and frosty.

Linda was now looking out of the window onto the Whitechapel road. There were still buses running, even at this time in the morning. Simmering and hurting at the same time, Liz hissed,

"What the fuck is going on with you? If you were that fucking frustrated you COULD have mentioned it, I mean I thought only men did things like that, mind you, I suppose I'm lucky you decided it to do it here and not on a number 37 bus or something…." Her arm was throbbing and her mouth was dry. Danni, despite her nurses training, had clearly been embarrassed and Linda, who had personal armour plating that an armadillo would be proud of, was unusually quiet and withdrawn. She turned away from the window and walked towards the bed.

When she spoke her voice was almost a whisper.

"Liz, be honest, have you ever known me do anything like that before?" Liz looked straight ahead of her. At the moment even the slightest movement was painful.

"No. So, tell me! Give me a reason. Don't just stand there saying nothing." Linda looked down at her maroon and black patent boots.

"Would you believe me?" it was too much. Liz raised herself up on her good arm.

"I don't fucking know until you tell me, do I?" Linda looked back up at her. She knew she was in pain even now but the anger and the adrenaline in her system was somehow overriding it. Reluctantly she made a decision.

"Okay, but you ain't gonna believe me!" stony faced and pale, eyes never leaving hers, Liz said softly.

"You don't know that until you tell me."

So she did.

*

"You alright Guv?" Jimmy looked quizzically at his superior officer, "Only you got one of those looks on yer face!" Inspector Martin glanced at him for a moment, not quite sure what he should say. They were still in the London Hospital where the Assistant Commissioner had told them to stay until Charlie regained consciousness, in the hope that she might give them more information She had also had another phone sent over to the Inspector so that he could contact her directly.

Even now that phone was ringing.

Quite happy that he did not have to answer any more questions from Jimmy, Chief Inspector Martin walked out onto the front steps of the Royal London Hospital and was immediately surprised by the cold, the icy drizzle that was falling steadily and the noise of the traffic, which even at One o'clock in the morning was considerable. He put the phone to his ear.

"Hello."

"Bob, it's Rose MacGregor!" he blinked

"Hello Ma'am. Thought you'd have gone home by now." if he had learned one thing in his career, it was that the higher up the ladder you got, the less likely you were to give a straight answer to anything.

"Phil Hammond. Know him?"

"Yes Ma'am, he's editor of …" Rose Macgregor wasn't known for her patience.

"I know what he's the editor of Bob, he's spent the last ten minutes shouting it down my ear!" the Inspector grinned

"Sounds like Phil, he's old school."

"Is he reliable?" Bob Martin did not even have to think.

"Absolutely! One of those journalists who would never, ever, reveal a source!" Rose sounded sceptical,

"Well, that can work both ways! Bob, one of his columnists has received a phone call from a group calling themselves The Brothers of Islam…" he couldn't help himself

"What? Never heard of 'em!"

"No, neither have we but bearing in mind what we discussed last night, I haven't spoken to either MI5 or MI6 about this yet and I'm not sure that I intend to. The Brothers of Islam claim to be on OUR side Bob. They claim that the current wave of Fundamentalism is harming their Religion in the eyes of the West and that they wish to make recompense for that!" The Inspector thought he could see where this was going.

"And how do they intend to do that?" he asked cautiously

"By informing us that Flight BUA29 to New York has a bomb on board that will explode after landing and that it is a "dirty bomb" made from just a fraction of the tons of weapons grade Plutonium that have gone missing from various nuclear stockpiles over the last few years, including our own!" the Inspector blew out his cheeks and rubbed a hand over his face.

"Bollocks!" he said it as quietly as he could.

"My sentiments exactly!" said Rose MacGregor. The Inspector recovered as quickly as he could.

"Sorry Ma'am, but this is not what we need right now!" the Assistant Commissioner lowered her voice.

"Any ideas?" he realised he had somehow hunched himself over. Charlie would have said that he was trying to make himself safe. Trying to return to the womb. He thought about Charlie for a second and how she was lying in intensive care right now. He straightened up immediately.

"Yes Ma'am, we call their bluff. We must NOT, under any circumstances, shoot that aircraft down, that's exactly what he, what she, what THEY want! It HAS to reach New York, it just HAS to!" There were butterflies in his stomach as he waited for Rose Macgregor to reply.

The line seemed to go silent for a few seconds, almost as if she had gone away or was talking to someone else and then suddenly she was there again.

"Totally agree Bob. And that is what I intend to tell the Prime Minister's Press Secretary as soon as I get off the phone to you. There's a siege mentality in Downing Street right now and they're prepared to listen to me in the same way that I listen to you. You're not on your own on this Bob, I back you all the way but if we are wrong and we nuke the Big Apple then you and I go together, so let's hope and pray that you… that WE have got this right!" Rose Macgregor cleared her throat and then carried on.

" I've already spoken to the Ministry of Defence and told them that the only person who can give the order to fire on that aircraft is the Prime Minister himself and now I'm going to make the Prime Minister aware of that too!" Bob Martin looked at the wet pavement in amazement, she was actually laughing.

"Oh and Bob…"

"Yes Ma'am?"

"Chief Superintendent Ramsey informs me that he came back from leave a little early and would like to take the rest of the week off. I have approved it. Any problems?" the Inspector shook his head

"Er, this is genuine leave Ma'am and not "gardening leave" I take it." The Assistant Commissioner's voice was severe.

"You take it correctly Chief Inspector!" now he nodded

"In that case Ma'am, I don't see a problem."

"Good! And how's Charlie? Can she talk yet?" the Inspector's face became grim

"No Ma'am. They found a second needle or rather a part of one near her heart or rather in it. It's been drawn in by the pumping action of the heart and it could theoretically pierce it at any moment! She's listed as critical and they're going to operate again. It's microsurgery Ma'am and it could be tricky, very tricky!" There was a pause at the other end of the phone. When she did eventually speak the Assistant Commissioner sounded subdued.

"Keep me informed Bob. Keep me informed. I very much doubt that I will be sleeping tonight, so call me at any time! And now I MUST ring Number 10 and then it's up to the Prime Minister to convince the President to allow that plane to land. That's assuming it's still in the air of course!" the Inspector breathed in deeply

"You haven't heard anymore then... I thought…" Rose Macgregor sounded genuinely apologetic,

"Sorry Bob, there just hasn't been time. We lost contact with them about twenty minutes ago and we've heard nothing since. There's heavy cloud in the area so that isn't helping. All I can tell you is that there is no wreckage as of yet." It seemed the longest pause he had ever experienced, "I really must go Bob, ring me in half an hour, I should know more then!"

He wished Jimmy were outside with him now even though he had been glad to get away from him five minutes ago. He felt like he needed as many of the team that he trusted around him at that moment and for various reasons virtually none of them were.

He thought about Daisy and Barbara Lucas and Charlie, especially Charlie lying pale and at what Jimmy had referred to as "death's door" just over an hour ago and then he thought about Jimmy.

Poor old Jimmy!

The one who took all the flak, all the time, but the one whom he probably trusted the most. He could never bring himself to tell him that of course but if Jimmy didn't know by now, then he was far less astute than the Inspector gave him credit for.

Chief Inspector Martin looked across the road at the people who still were milling around the entrance to Whitechapel Underground station.

The stakes had just been raised and raised high.

There were no Brothers of Islam – they didn't exist. He was sure of that but would the Prime Minister be prepared to gamble on what was little more than an assumption?

And would the President accept it?

New York had been devastated once before, could they even consider allowing an aeroplane that just might have a nuclear device on board, to land? He thought of the person whose death warrant he may have inadvertently signed and he shivered, then he pulled up his collar against the cold night air and walked back inside the hospital.

*

It was warm here in the study but the weather forecasters were expecting it to be the coldest night of the year so far. There was just one green shaded lamp lighting the whole room but it was enough. The security lights had finally gone out in the garden and he stared into the dark as if hoping to find some kind of inspiration.

Considering that they were in the very centre of London there was still a lot of wildlife activity out there and he wanted to encourage it, not put up electric fences and sonic devices to keep away the cats and the squirrels and the foxes and the pair of magpies that he had grown quite fond of during his tenure and that often sat outside the window chattering as if trying to tell him their thoughts on the current world situation.

He stared out of the window quite blankly now, listening carefully to the voice on the other end. Finally he said,

"Thank you, Mister President." And put the phone down

The door behind him opened and a tall man in sweatshirt and jogging bottoms entered holding a McDonalds carrier bag in his hand. A towel was wrapped around his neck. He closed the door behind him and approached the highly polished ornate walnut desk.

" This is all Harriet could get and she had to go to bloody Stepney for it! Everywhere else is closed. If the key to the bloody kitchens wasn't…" the Prime Minister looked at his Press Secretary thoughtfully and interrupted what he knew was going to become a rant.

"Oh, so we've got a Harriet working for us now have we?" he grinned impishly. The press never reported his sense of humour; they were too busy looking for reasons for him to resign.

The Press Secretary pulled a face.

"You know we have Prime Minister, she's been here nearly a year and…" he came to an abrupt halt as if realising that the he was being gently wound up. The Prime Minister smiled to himself. Andrew often referred to him as "Prime Minister" when he was getting annoyed with him.

"… and for exactly how much of that time have you been sleeping with her?" was the question he really wanted to ask but he didn't. Andrew Herriot was known for his energetic approach to both his job and his sex life, although his wife didn't seem to be aware of the latter. He began doling out food onto the desk then he stopped and looked at his employer quizzically. "Well? Did you talk to him?" the Prime Minister nodded.

" Of course I did! He was just back from Camp David." Press Secretaries know how to "push buttons" with the media. Sometimes it is necessary to annoy people to get results. The Prime Minister found that sometimes Press Secretaries needed to have some of their buttons pushed. Andrew looked at him blankly.

"And?" the annoyance was obvious in his voice. The Prime Minister shrugged.

"He was his normal, affable self." Andrews's cheeks were colouring just a little.

"And?" the Prime Minister sighed.

"It's a hard decision Andrew. Especially with the elections coming up in six months..." the Press Secretary kept his counsel. "He DID give me what he referred to as a piece of friendly advice though…" Andrew stared at him. He was only interested in one thing right now and the Prime Minister knew that. He trusted his Press Secretary over and above his Cabinet colleagues but he was just a little too intense at times. After a brief pause he continued,

"Yes Andrew! Yes, he's going to do it. He spoke to Langley while I was on the phone or rather one of his aides did. Bottom line is that the CIA have never heard of the Brothers of Islam!" Andrew snorted.

"Well that's not exactly proof positive after the fuck up in Iraq is it?" his voice softened. "If it's any help I've spoken to You Know Who at the BBC. He owes me a couple and he's never heard of them either," he lowered his voice and a slight grin played around the corners of his mouth, "there aren't many cranks he's not aware of!" the Prime Minister inclined his head gravely.

"Well, the President is on board. He's talking to the Joint Chiefs now BUT," he raised an almost threatening finger and there was an overlong pause, "he wants a complete press black out on this! Nothing in! Nothing out!"

The Press Secretary was already nodding. As a young and ambitious, very ambitious, journalist he'd worked his way from junior reporter to Business Correspondent to Night Editor and finally News Editor in just two years in the disparate group of newspaper offices that was still known collectively as Fleet Street. He KNEW where all the bodies were buried and he also knew WHEN to start digging

" You've got that! I sounded out all the Night Editors that matter earlier on… but what about that prick in Defence? I can't see him going for this. An aircraft with even a one per cent chance of having a bomb on board, not just any old bomb, mind you, but a nuclear bomb, landing in New York… he'll go fucking apeshit!" The Prime Minister shrugged and said calmly

"The Prezz is a man of his word, he's never backed down on us yet." But Andrew was thinking out loud,

"...and then there's all the others…any one of them…" the Prime Minister saw his chance.

"…and that is precisely why WE should have at least SOME of the cabinet on board, let me…" the Press Secretary often seemed at his most dangerous when he was speaking quietly and his voice was little more than a whisper now.

"No, Prime Minister! We've discussed this already- you know we have! And do not even THINK about the Deputy PM because he could screw this whole thing up just by opening that big fucking mouth of his, you know that too!" The Prime Minister was about to open HIS mouth again but his Press Secretary was ahead of him, "And the Cabinet Secretary is a Civil Servant and whilst a civil servant of his calibre might not be buyable, those fuckers often have agendas that we can't even BEGIN to fathom, so Sir William stays in the dark too! Okay?" He was pushing his luck here and he knew it but his boss did not reply. Andrew knew that he had very nearly crossed a line, he offered the Prime Minister, who didn't even want to ask how he had managed to get one at this time in the morning, an Egg McMuffin, "You know what we agreed. We keep this on a need to know basis until we've got a result and we keep everybody but everybody, who doesn't need to know, out of the loop until then!" The Prime Minister winced.

"And when will that be?"

"I don't know Prime Minister, my crystal fucking ball is not working too well these days. If it was I might know a wee bit more than I do now about the bloody Brothers of Islam but I don't!" he leaned forward, "Prime Minister, it is absolutely vital that that plane does not get shot down. Absolutely vital! Then his expression changed, "so what was this piece of advice he gave you?" the Prime Minister smiled wearily.

"He told me to do my very best to see that I did not step on my cock on this one!"

Andrew snorted.

"Huh! The amount of times we've stepped on our metaphorical cock recently it's a wonder it doesn't reach the fucking floor by now!" And then he looked up at the Prime Minister "D'you want fries with that? They seem to have made a mistake with the order."

*

Steve Burton chanced a look around him.

The aircraft was holding up but only just.

Even now he could hear the airframe creaking and he could literally feel the aircraft trying to tear itself apart. Everything that moved seemed to be vibrating or resonating somehow. The rudder, the wing and tail flaps, the tail itself. Even the seats were shuddering

The Airbus still showed no signs of recovering from the steep and apparently irreversible dive it had gone into shortly after being fired on by the black helicopter gunship. To make matters worse a fierce wind was howling around them, so strong and so fierce that it seemed as if that alone would rip the plane apart before it even reached the ocean below.

He shouted across to his co-pilot.

" IS THAT ENGINE GOING TO FIRE OR NOT?" several things ran through Mike Mey's mind at that moment but he knew that his Captain had a right to be concerned. He glanced out at the engine again; sparks were still flying from the housing and he knew that the next ten seconds were critical.

If BUA 29 did not straighten up very soon they would all be dead and the huge aeroplane would be just so much flotsam floating on the surface of the Atlantic. He shouted across the cockpit that was now so noisy that he could only just be heard.

"JUST KEEP YOUR FINGERS CROSSED! HOW YOU DOING?" Steve pulled a face.

"BAD MIKE, REALLY BAD!" from behind them Tom joined in.

"AND I'VE LOST ALL RADIO CONTACT!" under other circumstances losing the radio would be bad news but it didn't really seem to matter much now. Mike could see the ocean glittering below them in the light of the full moon and it was coming perilously closer by the second. Whilst the wind still tore at the wings and the tail and howled frighteningly around them, Mike turned to the override button for the fuel pump, pressed it yet again and held it this time, along with his breath.

"KEEP 'EM CROSSED!" he shouted, "I'M TRYING THE PORT ENGINE AGAIN!"

Whether any of them were praying was debateable but the cockpit fell as silent as the screaming wind would allow. For a while it seemed as if no one was even daring to breath and then there was a pulse.

A slow, steady, throbbing pulse, almost as if a heartbeat had been restored. A heartbeat that instead of pumping life-giving blood was pumping fuel into a previously dead engine. Mike could not even begin to hope that the auxiliary pump was finally starting to kick in.

The pulse seemed to grow steadier and louder and then the engine began to whine and although sparks were still flying from it suddenly the plane was starting to slow down.

Steve Burton didn't have to look across at Mike. He could actually feel that he was beginning to get control of his aircraft once more.

His spirits seemed to soar.

The controls were responding!

They were sluggish but there was life there at last. Not daring to look at him Steve shouted across to his co-pilot.

"GIMME A HAND HERE, MIKE!" but Mike could see by now that the turbine was back in business and that the blades were starting to gather speed. He already had his hands on the controls and by pulling back on them with all their strength the pilots could actually feel the angle of the dive slackening.

The huge Airbus that seemed destined to throw itself suicidally into the turbulent waters of the Atlantic Ocean was finally beginning to level out and with that levelling out came a reduction in speed.

As the plane gradually straightened, so the noise lessened and the G forces diminished until finally they were level and under control once again.

Steve looked around him and began to take stock of their situation.

They had fallen a long, long way .In aviation terms they were now flying at zero feet but in reality they were still high enough above the ocean to leave a small margin for error but not that high that they were safe. They were probably invisible to radar at this height but still vulnerable to attack if the gunship should come back

Steve's shoulders burned and ached.

The tension had ebbed from his stomach but it would not go fully until BUA flight two nine was safely on the ground in New York.

He turned to Mike Mey

"Good Job! Good fucking job! Feather it right back, Mike! I don't want either engine running too hot right now, just in case we need the extra power later. Just in case those bastards in the helicopter come back!" He turned to Tom who was sitting behind Mike. "Any idea what happened to them?"

Tom shook his head.

"No! They just seemed to shoot and run!" Steve bit his bottom lip.

"Let's hope so! What about the radio?" Tom turned in his seat

" The radio's screwed! Nothing I've done so far will get it back up." Steve was a practical Australian, the truth didn't frighten him.

"Right, well that's not a major problem yet. New York'll be tracking us on radar and if we NEED to talk to anyone we've all got mobiles, so it should be okay. Mike, is the radar working?" Mike was already checking the luminous green display. He nodded

"Yeah, it's working fine… What the FUCK is that?" the radar screen was situated between the two pilots. Steve peered at the small screen.

"Two smallish objects moving very fast. Must be fighters. It's the cavalry Mike! It's our escort out of here!" but Mike was sceptical.

"Escort? At that speed?" Suddenly two strike aircraft seemed to materialise in front and high above them, criss crossing the sky at breakneck speed. The noise was deafening.

"THAT'S NO FUCKING ESCORT, STEVE!" Mike Mey had to shout once more to be heard. Steve Burton was staring out of the window in disbelief.

"I think you're right! Tom! The radio! Find out what the…" but Tom was ahead of him.

"No chance! Sorry, it's still just static." Steve continued to stare at the darkened sky outside.

"Brilliant! We're fired on, we fall thousands of feet, we recover and now…" the thunderous roar of afterburners filled the air again. The aircraft were returning. Mike Mey leaned into him.

"You know what makes this worse?" Steve shook his head. "They look like British bloody fighters!" Steve had already made up his mind.

"Mike, grab the controls and follow me! Okay?" Mike nodded.

"Sure. What you up to?" Steve Burton looked grim.

"Depends on what we got left in the tanks. On my mark, okay?" Mike Mey nodded again. The roar of the fighters was coming closer. Steve held his course; position and speed, his knuckles white, clutching the controls as if his life might well depend on them. He was taking a huge gamble.

Off to his left he thought he saw two tiny flashes of light.

He began to count slowly,

"Three, two, one, GO, GO, GO!" Now he was shouting orders, " FULL THROTTLE! NOW HARD LEFT! NOW HARD RIGHT! AND PULL HER UP MIKE! GIVE HER EVERYTHING YOU GOT! EVERYTHING!"

The roar of the Airbus' engines combined with that of the fighters to create a deafening wall of noise. Sluggish at first, the big aeroplane slowly began to respond, much to the relief of the two pilots.

Speed increasing all the time they zigzagged left and right and then, jets already beginning to whine, they started to rise at an almost impossible angle. They rose so steeply and so fast that the pilots were pinned to their seats by the gravitational forces. Praying that the aircraft were not carrying heat-seeking missiles, Mike and Steve pulled at the controls until their shoulders ached. Not even caring that the Airbus was once again groaning and creaking around them, their only concern at that moment was that the jet engines continued to function.

They heard a series of explosions, loud and ominous but not close enough to worry about and they allowed themselves the luxury of exchanging glances.

It had to be the missiles exploding far, far below them.

The aircraft continued to climb

Suddenly they were in cloud.

The thick cloud that had, unbeknownst to them, been hampering the vessels and other aircraft searching for them. Knowing that they could not climb forever Steve decided to level out but he didn't reduce his speed, hoping that they would still have enough fuel to get them to New York.

Once the plane was level he turned to his navigator and was surprised to see him emptying some tablets from a small brown bottle into his right hand

"You okay?" Tom looked round.

"What? Oh yes, yes. Bit of a headache, that's all, must be all the noise!" Steve nodded.

"Speaking of noise there's been some pretty strange rumblings coming from the cargo hold. Can you go down and make sure everything's okay?" Tom stood up.

"Yeah, 'course!" Steve turned to his navigator.

"Tom, we're also gonna need a full damage report. Okay?" Tom nodded.

"Sure. I'll get on it as soon as I get back." Without another word he slipped out of the cabin door. As soon as he had gone Steve turned to his co-pilot.

"Mike I want you to…" but Mike was already standing up.

"If we were in a Lancaster or something I'd have understood it, but not NOW! Wartime's one thing but this is two thousand and four, radio's just don't die anymore!" he rubbed the back of his neck. "He's been strange, really strange, not himself, very quiet, all night, just let me know when he's coming back, will ya?" and he eased himself into Tom's seat and began to check the radio equipment inch by inch.

*

Ed "Gus" McDonald had started grouching just after they had taken off on an unscheduled and allegedly routine reconnaissance and he was still moaning now.

"Y'know this is SUCH a pisser. I was due to play golf in the morning!" On the other side of the lead F16, Wayne Grissom waggled his wings and spoke into the microphone in his facemask.

"Know your trouble, Gus? You're turning into a fuckin' Brit.! You been over there too long, man. You'll be taking afternoon tea and reading the fucking Times next!"

Gus WAS an Anglophile, he would be the first to admit that and he had been stationed in England for several tours because he was a good flyer and because since 911 the UK's role for the USAF was more strategic now than it had been even during the Second World War.

He waggled back.

"Go screw yourself, Wayne! I'll trade you Blackpool for Disneyland any day!"

The three heavily armed aircraft soared above the silent ocean looking for anything untoward. The Captain of the flight, Lieutenant Commander John Alda had let the guys bitch at each other since take off but now they were nearing their target.

He broke his radio silence for the first time since leaving Lakenheath Air Base in Suffolk.

"Okay guys, listen up! Wayne, I'm sorry about your golf, but there'll be other days, okay? You two are the best wingmen I've got and I wanted you on board. We're looking for a British cargo plane. It's a British United Airlines A320 Airbus, call sign BUA two niner. It reported being fired on by a helicopter gunship in mid Atlantic and it MIGHT have a bomb on board. New York Air Traffic Control confirms the attack; some columnist for a Brit newspaper took the bomb threat. The RAF have scrambled too but if we get there first we escort it into New York and ensure that it lands safely, okay?" the attitude of both his pilots changed completely. The arguing stopped and they both acknowledged his transmission with a curt "Roger!"

Suddenly Flight 19 seemed to take on a new energy as Zebras Two and Three, in a practiced manoeuvre, pulled swiftly and smoothly away from their leader, Zebra One, and took up their allotted stations. Now all three were scouring the night sky and their radar for the endangered Airbus.

Gus MacDonald caught it first.

"Zebra Two, Zebra Leader. I got a hit on the radar. Dead in front but low, low down on the deck!"

"Copy Zebra Two. Could it be a chopper?" John Alda was worried. An aircraft so low could only mean one thing. Gus MacDonald's reply was immediate and unequivocal.

"Negative! Too big and too fast!"

"Copy, Zebra Two." Already the commander was transmitting, "United States Air Force Flight 19, calling British United Airlines Flight two niner, do you copy?" the radio was silent apart from static. He called Gus.

"Zebra Two from Zebra Leader, got a positive ID yet?"

"Roger Zebra Leader, it's an Airbus all right and it looks like it's been hit! Signs of damage port wing!" the next message was not one he was expecting, nor one he wanted to hear

"Zebra Three, Zebra Leader! Two contacts coming in Nor, Norwest and closing fast. They're fighters boss and it looks like they're in attack formation!"

"Copy Zebra Three. Can you ID them?" Again Wayne Grissom bought him news he didn't want to hear.

"British Tornados boss!" John Alda's blood ran cold.

"I need confirmation on that, Zebra Three."

"Zebra Two, Zebra Leader. I got visual. They're Tornados alright, they got RAF markings and it looks like they're gonna take out that plane!" John Alda's voice sounded urgent, even to him. The adrenaline was pumping through his body. His pulse was racing. He was beginning to sweat. His orders were to do something he had never ever wanted or had to do.

"United States Air Force flight leader to unidentified strike craft, the aircraft below you is under our protection! Repeat it is under our protection. If you take any further action we will have no option but to treat you as hostile. Repeat hostile!"

"In other words: back off motherfuckers!" he thought to himself " Or one of us is going to get hurt!" but neither his message nor his thoughts were answered. All he got was more static and the unmistakeable sonic booms of two sleek fighters preparing to destroy their prey.

Before he could even draw breath, the vapour trails of no less than four rockets were visible beneath him and they were snaking inexorably toward the stricken Airbus.

"Fuck!"

He didn't want to do this. He couldn't stop the missiles but he COULD stop the aircraft from attacking again. Even though they were Allies his orders were clear. He watched and waited hoping they would miss.

Hoping that they would not fire again, knowing that neither of those hopes was likely to materialise.

The sound of engines literally screaming bought him back to reality.

"You clever bastard!" he thought to himself as he saw the Airbus shoot forward and upward with a power he had never thought possible. Even now it was climbing away from the ocean and dragging itself up, up into the relative safety of the clouds above, leaving the missiles to explode harmlessly below it. Two collided with each other and the others hit the water and exploded on contact sending walls of spray high into the air.

The Airbus wasn't safe yet.

The Tornados screeched past him and careered off in opposite directions.

He knew the tactic.

They would fly away, turn and come back for a second strike and if missiles didn't work, they would literally shoot the Airbus out of the sky.

Lieutenant commander John Alda took a deep breath and spoke into his radio.

"Sorry guys! Never thought this would happen. We have to protect that plane. Those are our orders. Those aircraft are hostile and have to be dealt with. You know the procedure. Acknowledge!" There was a slight pause and then the radio crackled.

"Zebra Two received and acknowledged!"

"Zebra Three received and acknowledged!" John Alda spoke again.

"Flight Nineteen this is Zebra leader. We have to hit them before they get the chance to fire again. These aircraft are now hostile! Attack formation! Repeat, attack formation!"

And with that Flight 19 regrouped and prepared to blast out of the sky the Allied aircraft that they should, under other circumstances, have been supporting.

*

I opened my eyes and found myself on the floor of the cargo hold. I was still alive but I hurt. Oh boy, did I hurt. My head throbbed and my eye, my left eye, felt swollen and there had to be blood running down my face. My back was already sore from earlier and my knees hurt like hell from falling on them.

Suddenly reality hit me like a kick in the groin.

Carlton Prince!

Where the hell was he?

That he'd kicked me was a given. That it was little more than a glancing blow I took for granted because I was still alive, probably because I had been moving away from him at the time.

I orientated myself as best I could and looked round for Val. I'd heard her scream just as the big horse kicked me. I heard her before I saw her

"Oh my God! Are you all right!" she was crawling over to me, even though she was hurt herself. When she hugged me it felt as if I had somehow been given a second wind. The aircraft was now climbing as sharply as it had dived

She put out her hand and grabbed one of mine

"I'm okay." I said weakly but I didn't feel it.

We were still climbing.

I wanted to stand.

I wanted to get Val back to safety against the bulkhead.

I was frightened.

Yes, I was frightened to look for Carlton Prince in case he was coming for me again. Turning my head with the pressure all around me was difficult enough as it was. I pulled Val closer to me and said into her ear.

"Where is he, Val? What's he doing?" blood was still running down my face. I was expecting to be hit again at any moment. I'd been lucky that I hadn't caught the full on force of the blow but it had hurt, it had hurt me badly and my legs were like jelly.

Val was crying again.

"You've got to do it Bill. You've got to do it NOW! I know you're hurt but please…please do it." She was so pale. Her face was gaunt, her eyes bloodshot, I turned my head as best I could to look where she was looking and my stomach turned over.

Now I could see why Carlton Prince had not come back.

Now I hated myself for secretly wanting him dead but for not having the guts to do it.

We were still at an angle. We were still climbing. It felt comforting somehow. It felt like the situation was in some way under control.

But it didn't feel as if it were over.

I was trying to blot out what I was seeing.

Carlton Prince was almost back in his stall. The sudden change in altitude must have made him lose his balance and he must have slid or just fell as he was rearing up. Fell into the shattered remains of the steel pen in which he should have travelled safely to New York.

Carlton Prince was never going to travel anywhere again.

He had crashed against the remains of the steel gate that had kept him inside and impaled himself on one of the six-foot spars. It had entered his body just between his front forelegs and was sticking out of his neck. The floor was awash with blood. It was running from the wound and from his mouth. He was making very little noise but his eyes, his eyes were rolling pitifully and he was shaking his head and snorting as if trying to blow away the pain.

I wanted to cry.

I really, really wanted to cry right then and it wasn't for Carlton Prince it was for me. It was sheer bloody self-pity for the mess that I was in and I hated myself for it.

I stood up as best I could and steadied myself against the incline, which seemed to have eased just a little. Val was still lying on the floor. I'd let go of her hand and I couldn't bring myself to look at her. The bolt, the humane killer, was still in my other hand. Swaying against the roll of the plane I edged towards the stricken animal.

It was horrible.

At least if he had been free I would have felt that he had some sort of chance and now I was just walking up, in the same way as if I might feed him a sugar lump, to casually end his life.

In some ways it wasn't as bad as it could have been and in others it was much, much, worse. I patted him. I tried to reassure him but I don't even know if he knew I was there. Slowly I raised the gun. Slowly I put it to his head. To his forehead. To the area between his eyes and said quietly,

"I'm sorry. I am so, so, sorry!"

And then I shot him.

There is no such thing as a quick kill.

Carlton Prince's eyes rolled and he snorted and his front legs twitched and his head reared up and his hind legs moved involuntarily and then his whole body seemed to spasm and in fear I almost moved away as his eyes made contact with mine and he snorted again blowing more blood over my face and shirt.

And then he died.

His head fell and his body stopped twitching and he just somehow subsided. What was once a sleek lean animal was now just so much horsemeat.

I tried to pull my hand away but the gun would not come with it. The bolt was stuck in Carlton Prince's skull. I wanted to leave it there and run but that seemed wrong somehow. Very wrong. I twisted it as gently as I could and it seemed to coincide with the righting of the plane.

Suddenly we were flying straight again.

Suddenly all the danger SEEMED to be past even if it really wasn't.

I twisted again and this time the bolt came out of his head, bent and bloody.

I couldn't just drop it. I walked slowly back to Val doing my best to hold the gun away from me. When I reached her I sank to my knees feeling old and tired. Her eyes were closed. I touched her on the shoulder and she opened them. I was about to speak but she just shook her head and cried again and I gathered her into my arms and held her as best I could.

I didn't see the figure walking down the spiral staircase at first but I soon noticed both him and the horrified expression on his face when he realised that he'd just walked into some kind of blood spattered charnel house. He saw the dead horse first and then he saw Juliet's body. It was obvious from his body language that he was overwhelmed by the enormity of what must have happened.

He was in uniform so he had to be a member of the crew.

He walked a little unsteadily towards us and hunkered down. He looked at me and then he looked at Val, pale and barely conscious on the floor then he looked at me again and at the blood still running down my face and I was so glad he didn't ask me what happened.

"I'm Tom Roberts," he said quickly, "I'm the navigator," He looked around him, "My God! What a mess! How is she?" he indicated Val whose eyes were closed and was lying fairly limp in my arms

"Hi Tom," I said hoarsely, " She's been kicked in the stomach." He looked at Val and began to touch her. He'd obviously had first aid training, or at least I hoped he had. He felt her hands. He palpated her stomach. He asked if she could hear him, he had to ask three times before he got a reply and then he gently touched her face and put his fingers to her lower eyelids and pulled them down a little.

He looked at me with concern and whispered.

"She's very pale, she's barely conscious and I think she's losing blood. She MIGHT have a ruptured spleen but we won't know that until we reach New York." I looked at him and I didn't even have to ask. He rubbed a hand over his face. He seemed to be sweating, "And before you ask," he did his best to smile, "it SHOULD take about three hours to get there if we don't…" my curiosity and my fear got the better of me.

"If we don't what, Tom?"

A lot of things seemed to happen just then.

There were more explosions. Close ones. And then there were new sounds. Loud noises. The roaring of jets. Close up. Like there were other aircraft near us and over flying us. There was what had to be gunfire close by, followed by more explosions. The plane was rocking and now it was zigzagging again, like it was taking evasive action.

We were being attacked, we had to be and whatever it was it was very, very, close to us. So close that the sky around us lit up as if it were bonfire night or something. Then there were two huge explosions. One on either side of us. Explosions so huge I could already see one blossoming like a huge oily orange chrysanthemum on the left hand side of the plane

Explosions so big that and so seemingly devastating that the plane dropped again, dropped so quickly that my stomach felt like I were in a lift. Dropped so far that for a moment I thought we had been hit and as we dropped Tom Roberts pitched forward and collapsed onto the floor just behind me.

*

Andrew Herriot was watching the Prime Minister anxiously. He had been talking for over ten minutes. When he finally did put the phone down his face was grim. Andrew looked at him expectantly. It was some time before he spoke,

"Andrew are you sure you can keep this out of the papers?" His stomach seemed to spasm slightly but Andrew was optimistic on that point at least.

"Absolutely. Trust me on this one it will NOT come out. Not even abroad!" the Prime Minister nodded gravely and ran a hand across his forehead.

"It's not good Andrew. We've lost two Tornados. Apparently they were given the order to fire. That order has now been rescinded but the American flight that was also sent to escort the plane had no option but to shoot them down!" He looked at the desk. "Apparently there were no communications at the time. A complete radio blackout that the overflying Nimrod says had its epicentre around the Airbus itself!"

When he did speak Andrew's voice was very subdued.

"And have they regained contact with the Airbus now?" the Prime Minister nodded.

"Yes they have and I would NOT like to be on that flight at this moment in time. One of the horses they were transporting ran amok in the cargo hold." He paused to take a breath, " One of the passengers has facial injuries, another is much more seriously injured and another is dead, so is the horse and so, apparently, is one of the flight crew in an incident that was apparently unrelated." Andrew looked at him for a moment.

"Do we know which of the passengers is dead?" the Prime Minister let out a sigh.

"The man, your man, is still alive, he has a scalp wound but is otherwise okay." Andrew looked relieved

"So, four dead so far?"

The Prime Minister nodded again.

" Including the two airmen? Yes. And that's before they even reach New York… and it has to be New York because they are leaking fuel and they simply won't reach anywhere else. The State Department have contingency plans for this however and for what it's worth the Nimrod has some pretty advanced kit on board. It cannot detect any kind of serious radiation threat from that aircraft itself and once it lands, if it lands, it will be evacuated, checked and flown on to a special facility in the Nevada Desert where it will be contained, searched thoroughly from top to bottom and dealt with if necessary." Now Andrew ran a hand over his forehead.

"Area 51! The place they tell us doesn't exist." The ghost of a grin crossed the Prime Minister's face.

"I couldn't possibly comment on that Andrew, I can only tell you what the President told me and let me also tell you that if we cannot deal with this matter in house then the USAF are prepared to take the blame and call it a training accident. A friendly fire tragedy!" the Prime Minister locked eyes with his Press Secretary.

" Only I should have given the order to fire on that plane and that needs to be investigated Andrew and investigated zealously!" he paused and let out a breath and his whole body seemed to subside. Andrew wondered if now was the right time to ask if he had taken his medication but the Prime Minister was speaking again, "I just hope this contact of yours at Scotland Yard knows what she is doing Andrew because we cannot afford too many of these." Andrew did not look away but he knew that he was right and hoped to God that Rose Macgregor and her team were too.

*

John Alda flew low over the water whilst his two wingmen escorted the Airbus to what he sincerely hoped was safety. Communications had now been restored and there was a certain amount of relieved banter going on between the pilots.

He soon found what he was looking for floating on the dark and troubled surface of the ocean.

Wreckage.

Wreckage that despite the cold and the wet was still burning.

Wreckage from the two Allied planes that they had shot down less than five minutes previously.

It had been like shooting fish in a barrel.

They had hit the Tornados hard and fast with everything they had and both had exploded instantaneously with no signs of the pilot's ejecting. There was nothing to even suggest that either had managed to escape.

A wing fragment bearing the RAF roundel was floating on the surface below him and he said a silent prayer for his two brother flyers.

What he wanted to know right now was just who had given the order to fire.

*

She would have pinched herself if she could.

One moment she was quite happily being fed and played with in the nursery, the next she was in a rubber fetishists dream - or nightmare.

They had fed her, as they had done every couple of hours, she thought, although she had soon lost track of time and they had caught her unawares. This time, they had fed her, they had teased her nipples whilst her mouth was filled by the inflatable dummy that also allowed her to take in fluid and then one of them, the girl with the Dita Von Teese mask, had slipped her fingers inside her nappy and rubbed her erect little clitty softly. Her arms were still spread at shoulder height and fastened to the metal frame behind her so she had been able to do nothing about the sudden prick in her arm except look down to see the young Madonna look alike withdrawing a disposable needle.

Thirty seconds later she was unconscious.

The first thing she smelt as she became aware again was rubber.

The strong, overpowering and allegedly aphrodisiac scent of rubber.

It seemed to be everywhere.

The sight that she saw when she opened her eyes reminded her strongly of some drawings she had seen a long time ago of strange rubber practices.

Of black clad females and strange rituals.

Of rubber witches and their weird familiars.

Of gas masked rubber nurses and medical procedures that couldn't possibly exist in reality

She had to blink.

Where the last room was white this one was black. The walls were shiny black and reflective. The floor was dull and black and seemed to be heavily cushioned. The ceiling, as much of it as she could see, was also matt black and there were several dim strip lights installed flush with it but covered to reduce glare and provide the minimum amount of light necessary to see.

Where the last room had been air-conditioned this one was hot and stuffy and stank of rubber. She tried to move but she couldn't. She tried to move her head but she couldn't do that either.

She was in some kind of chair.

A chair with arms.

A chair that reclined.

A chair that she was strapped into, not just with one or two leather straps but with an intricate mesh of rubber that started at her toes and criss crossed its way up her body.

The chair itself, or rather its covering, seemed to be made of a material that shaped itself to her body. She was comfortable but she couldn't move an inch. Even her face was covered with the same lattice of thin rubber that held her tight and unmoving to the chair.

It criss crossed her legs and her stomach.

It criss crossed her thighs and her chest.

It criss crossed her tits and her cunt.

It even criss crossed her toes.

It seemed to be carefully arranged so that each strap was on a pressure point. There were even straps in the sensitive area behind her knees and there were certainly straps against her clitoris and her nipples which she could feel even now.

She tried to speak but she couldn't.

She tried to move her jaw and make a sound but she couldn't do that either.

Her mouth felt strange.

She couldn't move her tongue and there was pressure on and around her gums, her nose however, felt remarkable free and clear, especially as she had no option now but to breathe through it.

It occurred to her, for the first time, that she was naked.

Just by her head and just in her slightly restricted vision because she could not move her neck stood two female figures recognisable as such only because they had breasts. They were dressed in all in one, shiny, floor length black rubber capes that seemed to be pleated from the waist down. The sleeves were wide and loose and their hands were gloved with what appeared to be black, ultra thin, latex gloves. Their heads were covered by shiny black gas masks.

These gas masks had one odd feature.

The glass or Perspex area that allowed the wearer to see out was opaque so there was not even a suggestion that a real person was beneath the cape and the mask. She looked down at the two at her feet who even now were walking toward the end of the very small room and opening a door.

If she had been capable of any speech or sound she would have gasped because the two shiny black creatures that now entered also wore black masks and capes and she could also see that they wore shiny black high-heeled boots. They were pushing things into the room. One, she realised with just a slight shiver, was a light. A flat square light on a chrome pole, base and castors that looked very similar to the one used by dentists.

With another, deeper, shiver she realised that the chair she was in was, in fact, a dentists reclining chair.

The other object made her close her eyes and open them again because it was something she had never seen before.

Like the light it was on castors but unlike the light it was human. Or at least it appeared to be. She strained her eyes, as the object got closer.

It was a woman.

A Woman of about her own age with a shaven head like hers.

A woman who was encased up to her stomach in what appeared to be a shiny steel tube that was mounted on castors and was being pushed by a black, rubber clad figure with breasts and an anonymous shiny gas mask for a face,

. Sarah stared at her.

She was naked from the waist up. She had arms and they were visible but her hands were not. They seemed to be fixed inside the tube. She wore a gold headband and a high gold collar; there were gold cones on her nipples.

Her face was not masked.

She was quite a large woman and she was dramatically made up. Lots of dark eye shadow. Shiny BLACK lip-gloss and high, pencilled in, eyebrows. It was fairly obvious that she could not move from the steel tube into which she appeared to be moulded. The black clad girl pushed her as close as she could to Sarah and then stood back again. The other had positioned the light, plugged it in and now switched it on casting an eerie glow over the proceedings. The newcomer stared at her for a few seconds and then she began to speak impassively.

"Sarah Beaumont, I am Number Four." Sarah tried to move and speak but neither was possible, " Don't waste your time dear!" said the newcomer sarcastically, "We don't want you to speak because you've said too much in the past and you certainly can't move right now. Girls!" almost reluctantly at first the figures took closer order around Sarah's naked and restrained form. The woman spoke again.

"Thirteen! My mask please. Twenty-One! The drill! "

They came out of nowhere.

Or rather they emerged from doors made invisible by the black wall covering. Two more figures each dressed in black, one pushing a steel medical trolley, the other pushing what Sarah recognised with repulsion as a dentist's drill on a silver stand with castors attached

The figure known as Twenty-One pushed the shiny, stainless steel drill until it was next to Sarah's right shoulder and then she moved a pace away from it and stood impassive. Meanwhile, Thirteen was already attaching a shiny black medical mask around Number Four's mouth.

Sarah was drawn to Number Thirteen somehow. There was something about her stance; something about the way she walked that suggested that she might be her little friend from previously although it was quite clear that she was in reality just as tall as the majority of the other girls.

Fully masked now, Number Four spoke again.

"Closer, Thirteen. I want to be able to see her eyes!" was Thirteen a little reluctant? Maybe it was just her imagination but the figure of Number Four coming slowly towards her was real enough or was it, given the circumstances, more surreal than real?

It was somehow as if the figurehead from a ship had come to life and was talking to her.

"Your friends, Sarah Beaumont, your so called friends, wanted you dead but we saved you. We saved you but something has to be done about that mouth of yours!" Her bald head shining in the dim light, Number Four leaned in closer. When she spoke again her voice was low and threatening. "You spoke to people you should not have spoken to, Sarah Beaumont. You said things you should not have said!" if possible her voice grew even lower. "For that you should be punished! You MUST be punished, Sarah Beaumont and you WILL be!" Sarah was completely at her mercy; she could not move a muscle.

She'd worked in hospitals for over twenty years and she'd come across some strange people, some very strange people, not all of them patients but she could not remember meeting anyone as strange as the woman called Number Four. For the first time in her life she began to think that she was in the presence of someone who was truly insane. The bald woman continued.

"They asked me. They asked me what I would do to someone who talks when they shouldn't, who says the wrong things," her eyes were glittering now, "and I told them. I told them what they should do to you, Sarah Beaumont. I told them." suddenly her voice rose in pitch and pace and she leaned so far forward that Sarah could feel her breath on her face.

"I TOLD THEM THAT THEY SHOULD CUT OUT YOUR TONGUE!"

Sarah was grateful that her mouth would not open because otherwise she would have found it very difficult not to scream in fear. She did not know what to do for the best. If she showed that she was scared the woman would feed on it and if she didn't the chances were that this mad woman would show make sure that she was.

Still leaning in close but under control of a kind the woman whispered to her.

"But they said NO! They said that was too severe - even for you!" she broke off once more and looked around her, then she cried out," Thirteen! Come here girl, come here!"

She WAS reluctant this time, it was obvious but she moved forward all the same and stood next to Number Four. Her voice no more than a sibilant whisper, the encased woman looked into the opaque eye slit of number Thirteen.

"Number Twenty-One is trained in dentistry but you've had a very busy day, haven't you Thirteen?" the black clad girl nodded slowly. It seemed that she knew better than not to anger Number Four, "One policeman dead and a woman seriously injured. A woman who was seen near you not long before. Did you see what happened Thirteen?" Thirteen shook her head, Number Four continued. "That's good Thirteen. That's very good. I don't like the sight of blood much myself." She stared off into the middle distance for a few moments and then her gaze came slowly back to the girl who stood between her and Sarah. Number Four cleared her throat as if starting on a new topic.

"I think this might be therapeutic for you, Thirteen," she said quietly, " It's always good to work with your hands!" she turned her head, "TWENTY ONE! Start the drill and give it to her. Just put it into her hands and let her feel how powerful it is." She watched the girls carefully as the spine tingling wheeze of the dental drill filled the small room, " that's it! Feel that Thirteen! Feel the strength of it. You could drill through a skull with that and in seconds you'd be through to the grey matter." Sarah shivered. Four looked around her. "Twenty Seven! Push me closer! Alright Thirteen you may switch it off now." The black clad figure approached her with obvious trepidation but did as she was told and pushed her forward until she was actually touching Sarah's chair. When she spoke again it was so quietly that Sarah had to strain to hear her.

"Sarah Beaumont, while you were unconscious a wire cage was placed around your teeth and gums and screwed in place!" she paused for a moment to let it sink in and then she smiled a faint glimmer of a smile, "I watched every second, it was fascinating!" Then she looked away. "Fat people have their jaws wired up to stop them from eating." Then she looked directly into Sarah's blue eyes. " You can't eat NOW Sarah Beaumont! Neither can you speak...and you could certainly do with losing a pound or two..." That her thought processes were working was obvious from the dreamy look that came over her face.

"I could leave you here, restrained and mute as you are, couldn't I? " Sarah could not reply. Number Four leaned forward so far that their faces were almost touching. "COULDN'T I?" she shouted unexpectedly. Sarah was scared now, really scared. She blinked her eyes involuntarily and this somehow seemed to satisfy number Four, who carried on, seemingly appeased for the moment.

" I could lock the door and literally throw away the key!" She raised her voice again. "And you would die Sarah Beaumont! You would DIE! Eventually… it would be slow and very, very painful!" for a moment Sarah thought that she was going to spit on the floor and then she looked down and seemed to be almost talking to herself.

"Of course the best thing to do would be to have you carried downstairs to the cellars." She suddenly raised her head and looked at Sarah. Her eyes were two frightening black pools. "Yes, we have cellars here. As far down as we are, we still have cellars. And I'd like to take you to them just as you are now, Sarah Beaumont." Her face was suddenly no more than in inch or so from Sarah's again and, voice still low, she hissed, "And have you bricked up and watch you as you gradually disappear behind the bricks, unable to speak, unable to move but still able to...DIE!"

Sarah wanted to scream.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted above all to be away from here but she also knew that it wasn't going to happen and that it was all part of the nightmarish rollercoaster of events that had begun on Sunday night, however long ago that was now.

Number Four's mood seemed to have changed again.

"But they won't let me do that, Sarah Beaumont. They tell me you have to be kept alive because you're needed but they didn't say that you had to be able to talk!" she turned to the black rubberised figure of Thirteen. "Come closer now my dear. That's it, come closer don't be afraid. It's a simple procedure. Twenty-one! Twenty-seven! Some suction please! Sarah could do little but watch the girls walk away to what soon revealed itself as a fairly large equipment store when they opened the black rubber covered door to it. There was a big grin on Number Four's face now.

"Your tongue has been placed in a rubber sleeve. A rubber sleeve that is attached to your jaw harness. You can't speak Sarah Beaumont and you can't make a sound but apparently you need to eat." The girls were returning with a large black object on wheels that they eased into position by the side of her. They were already removing long rubber tubes with clear plastic housings on the ends.

Four spoke again.

"That's good girls! That's good! Now apply the suction!" Sarah was helpless, she couldn't move or speak, she was naked and vulnerable and she was embarrassed to find that, despite her fear, what followed made her, even in these circumstances, quite surprisingly excited.

She watched helpless as the rubber girls moved closer to her and began to tease at both her nipples and her clitoris simultaneously. Without warning they stopped and picked up the rubber hoses. In a swift movement the clear plastic housings were slipped on to both her nipples and her aroused and slightly engorged clitoris. Number Four watched as if hungry for more action.

"Come on girls! Switch them on! We cannot keep Sarah Beaumont waiting any longer." Sarah's muscles twitched involuntarily as first her nipples and then her clitoris were sucked into the tubes. She would have gasped if she could.

Number Four leaned in close again.

"We have to perform a small procedure on you now. It is a procedure that is necessary if you are to stay alive and it is a procedure that would normally require an anaesthetic!" If it was at all possible, her pupils seemed to dilate even more, "But you don't need anaesthetic my dear, you will be too busy concentrating on something else! Thirteen, turn on the drill!" she looked down toward Sarah's bare feet. "Are you ready Twenty-One?" the rubberised being known as Twenty-One nodded her head. It concerned Sarah that she had previously been applying what looked like thick grease to her rubber-gloved hands. A look of satisfaction came over Four's face. She nodded, "Then you may proceed!" she turned back to Sarah.

"Twenty-One has been lubricating her hands because in a moment she is going to slip one of them inside what is colloquially know as your pussy, or your CUNT if you prefer and she will continue to do so throughout your procedure. I believe it is known as fisting in certain circles and I believe it can be very pleasurable." She looked quizzically at the naked and bound woman, "and who am I to deny YOU pleasure, Sarah Beaumont?" Sarah stared at her in disbelief. This was a nightmare that would not go away. This was a nightmare that was actually happening.

Four now turned her attention to Thirteen.

"Come on girl. You didn't turn the drill on when I asked you to! You do realise that you should be punished for that don't you?" Thirteen nodded slowly and Four seemed to brighten up a little, "But I think that I can let you off this time, given the circumstances." She turned back to Sarah just as Sarah felt Twenty-One easing a tentative finger inside her. "Now, Sarah Beaumont, we are ready. So I should tell you what we are going to do to you, shouldn't I?" She smiled almost graciously. "It has been decided that you must be fed and the only way we can do that in your current situation is by tube. So what I intend to do, now that your jaws are wired up, is to drill a hole in your front teeth to allow that tube to be inserted. I hope you understand." She looked away from Sarah and up to number Thirteen who was standing motionless drill in hand.

"Well, it's all the same if she doesn't! A little bit of pain will soon make her understand. Won't it, Thirteen?" It seemed to take an age but Thirteen finally nodded.

Sarah closed her eyes as two more well greased fingers entered her vagina and began to spread more lubricant inside her. Number Four watched her face for a few seconds and then watched Twenty-One prepare to slide her whole hand inside the helpless woman. She muttered quietly,

"Mmm, if you are lucky, Sarah Beaumont, you may just climax as Thirteen finishes drilling out your teeth! SWITCH IT ON THIRTEEN!"

Sarah closed her eyes as Twenty-One entered her fully with her fist and Thirteen switched on the dentists drill with its unmistakeable whine and prepared, without anaesthetic and without any dental knowledge, to drill out her front teeth.

*

The painkiller had finally kicked in. Liz felt much more comfortable now, physically, if not mentally, she pursed her lips.

"Okay, I need to get this straight in my head. The similarity between you and Heather is obvious. Sheila called you "the same two peas out of different pods" once. That didn't make any sense at the time and you don't always expect sense from Sheila anyway but now you're telling me that you were both born on the same day, at the same time but eight thousand miles apart, is that right?" Linda nodded. Liz took a deep breath.

"So, you come from totally different backgrounds and totally different countries but to all intents and purposes Heather is the identical twin that you never had!" Liz looked at Linda sceptically. "Is THAT right?" Linda nodded again and Liz let out the breath noisily. "Christ I could do with another cup o' tea!" Linda looked almost relieved, she stood up.

"There's a machine downstairs. What d'you…" but Liz was not letting her off that lightly.

"Stay where you are Hutton! I've got to think my way through this." Linda muttered something under her breath that Liz assumed was derogatory but she ignored it. She looked down at the blanket on her bed for a few moments and then she looked back at Linda. She said quietly,

" So Heather is your Doppelganger! The double we're all supposed to have. Have you ever had these "psychic links" before?" Linda spread her arms.

"I told ya! Sometimes. When I was a kid. Well, about puberty time, I used to dream I was horse riding. I'd never been NEAR a horse in me life, let alone ride one. And then one night I woke up and I was in SO much pain. I'd fallen out of bed and it felt like my nose was broken. I used to keep my door locked by then. Y'know 'cos of my uncle…" Liz nodded. She knew about the abuse, not through Linda, who seldom talked about it but purely by chance when speaking to Sheila after their abduction. "…what with 'im and my bastard brothers, I'd often wake up sore or bleeding or with one of 'em trying to get into me bed…" Liz swallowed; she had originated from a background similar to Linda's but had grown up in a loving family environment. All this was foreign to her, "…but no one could get in. I was on me own. When I went back to sleep I dreamed about this hospital. This big concrete and glass place that I couldn't possibly have been in before. And the nurses dressed differently and so did the doctors. I never forgot the date it happened and when I first came across Heather in the States at some fetish do, I mean we couldn't help talking to each other could we? I asked her about it and she confirmed that April 23 ^rd 1983 was the day she broke her nose falling off a horse when she was 14."

Liz sighed.

It had been a long day and she was still under the influence of the anaesthetic. This tale of Linda's was too far fetched to be a lie, so far fetched it had the ring of truth about it. Under normal circumstances she would have spoken to Heather but of course Heather was nowhere to be found.

It suddenly occurred to her that, right now, Linda, however weirdly, could be the key to finding not just her but Allison and Angela and even Sarah Beaumont as well. Although she did not relish that particular prospect.

She took another long, deep breath.

"Know what I think, Linda?" Linda just looked at her, "I think you need to see a psychiatrist!" the colour drained from Linda's cheeks.

"Are you telling me you think I'm a fucking fruit bat or something?" Liz shook her head.

"I'm telling you nothing of the kind," as Liz was speaking Danni was entering the room with two cups in her hand, "That woman you were all over this afternoon on the roof, Charlie something or other…" Linda was prickly.

" Charlie Wright – Patterson and I weren't all over her, I just thought I knew her somehow that's all!"

Liz didn't have time for this right now, she wanted to sleep she wanted to sleep for a long time and she wanted it to be all over when she woke up.

"What was she Linda?" Linda still didn't get it.

"Eh?" Liz was nothing if not persistent.

"What was she? What did she do?" Linda shrugged.

"She was a profiler… a forensic psychiatrist is what she called herself!" Liz nodded. Danni was putting the cups carefully on the bedside cabinet where Liz's things were.

"Yes. And psychiatrists can conduct what they call cognitive interviews. They can take you back to an incident under a kind of hypnosis and get more or less total recall, if they're lucky." She looked at Linda long and hard. "Don't you see? She could take you back to the dream. Get you to remember everything you can. It might tell us where Heather and the others are. You've got her card somewhere, I know you have, I saw her give it to you."

Danni was standing by the bed with the look of someone who desperately wants to get into a conversation. Both women suddenly turned and looked at her, Liz spoke first,

"Hi Danni! Something wrong?" Danni looked worried.

"She worked for the police this woman?" they both nodded. "Charlotte Wright – Patterson. About thirty-five? Brown hair?" they both nodded again. Liz spoke first.

"Yes Danni. Why, what's wrong?" Suddenly not sure what to do with them, Danni put her hands in the pockets of her uniform.

"There was a major incident on the East India Dock Road this evening. A policeman was killed!" she paused and looked first at Liz then Linda, and then she looked at the floor. "I was just talking to one of my friends in A and E. Someone called Charlotte Wright -Patterson, it's a name you don't forget, was bought in around Seven, she was unusual because she'd been shot with some kind of needle…" Liz said "shit!" quietly under her breath. Linda was growing impatient.

"Yeah, so Danni? Spit it out!" Danni looked hard at her, her face a mask of concern.

"She died about two hours ago!"

THE STORY CONTINUES IN BOOK THREE: "REMORSE!"

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.