Your Master Requires Your Company · Part 1 (1/3)
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The Problem “So here’s the problem we face,” the Director began his explanation for calling in Robert and Big Mike. “A serious situation is developing that threatens to expose the Center, one that forces us to act immediately. There’s an investigative reporter who uncovered some potentially damaging information. Fortunately we have someone on site who is working to deflect the reporter’s attention, but that’s not going to buy us much time. We do have a long term solution, but to implement it we need your help.”
“We all have a vested interest in the Center,” Big Mike replied. “I’ll do whatever I can, and I’m sure Bob feels the same. What do you have in mind?” Robert nodded in agreement.
“Thanks, Mike. We really need to borrow your Paula for a few days. And Bob? Once before, I asked if Cathy could help us with a pick up. This is a similar situation, except the stakes are higher. She’s the clear choice, considering how well she handled the last time we asked for her services.”
The Center depended on secrecy for its existence. It was housed in an obsolete, underground strategic missile base, sold off to a commercial real estate management company after the property was listed as surplus. Its location in the vast, mostly empty southwestern American desert guaranteed anonymity. There were no nearby towns, and the only access road ran through a long stretch of barren desert before it connected to the nearest highway.
The syndicate members who owned and operated the Center controlled substantial financial resources, which were often used to suppress any inquiries into why the Center existed. Privacy was essential, for the Center operated outside of legal boundaries. The underground complex existed for the sole purpose of “educating” a particular type of woman on the virtues of being obedient and submissive. Where it crossed into the criminal realm was the policy of confining those women, regardless of their opinion on the matter. In many cases kidnapping was also involved, or in Center terminology a “seizure”.
The Center was split into two sections. The Secure Area operated under conditions that made a supermax prison look like a resort hotel. No one had ever escaped from this part of the Center, and for good reason. Security, unhampered by legal technicalities, was intense and pervasive. The other section, living quarters for the staff, wasn’t as restrictive but did impose close supervision over the women who lived there.
Going Undercover “I think you’re on to something here, Alisha. Inspector LaRonde, from Internal Affairs, agrees with me the facts you’ve uncovered are disturbing. They’re not enough to file charges though. If we go public now everyone involved will simply disappear.” Perry Kaiser, the General Manager of the TV station, was doing the talking while Alisha Grey, a writer and researcher for the station, and the police inspector listened. They were in his office, meeting after hours to avoid arousing suspicion.
“Ms. Grey,” Inspector LaRonde began, “from what I’ve heard I don’t feel safe trusting anyone in my department. I’ll have to take the evidence straight to the state Attorney General, but to go to that level I need an airtight case, one that can’t be covered up. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll be blunt. The only way I can move forward is by placing someone undercover who can gather more information first hand. Naturally, it should be someone from the police department, but you can see my problem. Any officer I select might already be compromised and even if not they run the risk of being recognized.”
Alisha had an uneasy feeling she knew where the Inspector was heading. She studied the woman who was about to ask the unthinkable. The Inspector was a small, unremarkable woman, not the supermodel type portrayed on TV cop shows.
Perry interrupted. “Look, Alisha, we know this is a lot to ask of you, way out of line for your job, for any investigative reporter much less a staff researcher. I’ll be frank; I’m against this, even though the Inspector can be very persuasive. It’s potentially dangerous. No pressure here, say no and we’ll look for some other solution.”
Question asked without actually saying the words, Alisha thought. They want me to go undercover. It made sense; from the facts she’d gathered she fit the mysterious organization’s targeted profile. With a bit of luck she might get in. Getting out afterwards, that was the real problem. She had to clear that part up first.
“Okay, assuming I’m somehow kidnapped by this group, how will you be able to track me, and I hope rescue me from wherever these women wind up? I’m not too keen on simply disappearing.”
Inspector LaRonde had an answer. “I’ve held this back until now. You discovered these women go missing, and there’s an implied link to law enforcement. What you don’t know is they were all white collar convicts, serving multi-year sentences at a state minimum security facility. These people are clever; it looks like the prisoner walked off the premises, which is possible in those types of facilities. I don’t think that’s the real story. All I’m asking is that you be, umm, the ‘bait’ for my trap. I’ll have a few trusted people around you at all times; some help I’ve recruited from other departments, long-time friends with unquestioned integrity. I’ll fake a history for you; after that you wait for their move.”
That didn’t sound nearly as risky for Alisha. True, she’d be sent to a prison, but it wasn’t a real sentence, and at worst it would last a few months in one of those “Country Club” locations. I’ll come back as a real, credited investigative reporter, with national exposure. Her career would skyrocket after that.
“So, do I rob a liquor store? Or hold up a bank?” Whatever happened, it promised to be a memorable adventure.
“No, no violent crime. We’ll set up a conviction for a victimless crime, something ‘white collar’ dealing with taxes. I’ll take an old trial, update the transcript for modern dates, change the suspect to your name and have you sentenced to prison. You’ll have a sentence for, hmm, somewhere around two or three years; that seems to be what this group looks for. Chances are excellent they’ll zero in on you immediately, since you don’t have any close community ties.”
Alisha felt a small pang of guilt. Like virtually everyone else she wasn’t one hundred percent honest on her tax returns. “So then what, a patrol car comes around to arrest me?”
The Inspector laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no, nothing so dramatic. This isn’t a TV show. For minimum security prisons you show up at the police station on the reporting date. They process you, arrange for transportation, and you get a free ride out to the location. Your room door is locked at night, but otherwise there are no barbed wire fences, guard towers, all that stuff you see in movies. The idea is, if you run away, then they send you to one of those maximum security hellholes. You’re far better off staying put, at least in theory.”
Alisha nodded. “Yeah, but people can be irrational. Okay, so how long do I have to go through the charade, in case this mysterious group ignores me?”
Inspector La Ronde leaned back in her chair. “Hmmm, do you think you could hold out for a month? Any longer and we’ll call off the operation. Bear in mind no one at this place will know you are working with the police, not even the Warden. Except for myself and some trusted associates no one will be aware you are not authentic.”
Alisha didn’t hesitate to accept. Even if the operation wasn’t successful she’d be in a position to write all about the experience. “Okay, I’m in. What’s next?”
On The Way
Robert helped Cathy into the back seat of the van, holding her waist as she climbed in. “I want you next to the window, on the right side behind me. Now, sit up straight while we get you situated.” Robert kept a hand on her shoulder, but motioned for Paula to come up next to him.
“This will be a day-long trip, which means we need the presence of a female officer to avoid suspicion. Cathy is going along as the companion in adversity, to help keep our new guest calm. So Paula, as the Corrections officer, you need a quick tutorial on procedures. Let’s start with her seat belt.”
Looking uncomfortable, Paula reached across Cathy’s waist and picked up the loose end of the combination seat belt and shoulder strap. She pulled it across and down to the latch on the other side. It closed with a mechanical click. Paula took in the slack in the lap belt until it was close around Cathy, but not too tight. Robert put the fingers of one hand under the belt, to make sure it was a proper fit. “That’s a little tight for me, but it’s within acceptable limits. Always make sure the locking buckle is fully engaged, too.” He yanked on the lap belt, testing the buckle.
“Yes, sir,” Paula answered. She tested the belt herself before checking to make sure the buckle wouldn’t open. Paula had been on the other end, in the car seat, several times but this was a first for her. Cathy, watching the procedure, saw the keyhole in the buckle of the seat belt. She might be able to maneuver her hands around to the side, close enough to reach the seat belt release, but she wouldn’t be able to open it on her own.
“Now, Paula, you’ll need to make sure her legs are secured, so the prisoner can’t start kicking the front seat. There’s a ring inset on the floorboard, under the bench seat. Get one of the padlocks from the bag in the front floorboard, so you can lock Cathy’s leg chain to the ring.”
Paula went to the front and opened a bag lying on the floor. “Any lock, sir, or a particular one?”
“They’re all keyed the same; just pick one,” Robert answered.
She came back with an open padlock in her hand. Reaching under Cathy’s seat Paula pulled up the recessed D-ring. With her other hand she hooked the chain between Cathy’s ankles in the padlock shackle and fastened it to the floor. Paula gave a final tug on the lock to make sure it held. “Is that the correct procedure, sir?” she asked, looking up at Robert.
Cathy leaned forward, as much as the shoulder strap allowed, looking down at Paula’s work. She could still move her legs, but she wasn’t able to reach the security grill separating front and back with her foot. Robert pushed her back with a hand on her shoulder. “I told you to sit up straight.”
Forbidden to speak, all Cathy could do was hang her head to express an apology. In order to stay in character she wasn’t allowed to wear her collar. Technically she shouldn’t even call him “sir” but that habit was too ingrained to ignore. This wasn’t the first time she’d been chosen to be the Judas Goat, the decoy to set the example of cool and composed and with any luck avoid screaming hysteria from an unwilling passenger. It wasn’t easy, sitting in a transport van hour after hour, chained like a dangerous criminal, without a clue as to their destination or how much longer it would go on. She’d had that unpleasant experience more than once, and wasn’t looking forward to another.
If it was up to her she’d turn down the offer, but Robert didn’t ask for her opinion. He did explain how important it was, that the Director had personally asked for her, and everyone at the Center was depending on her.
None of the reasons mattered to Cathy. Robert wanted her to play the part. Everything else was essentially irrelevant, though it was nice to know her role was important. Her master required her company. In Cathy’s life there were absolutes; obedience to the man who owned her soul was one of those inflexible laws of nature. On the positive side, he’d be in charge for the entire trip, which would keep them together.
At least I’ll know where we’re headed, on the trip back. The restraints didn’t bother her. After her visits to the Center’s secure area it was a vacation, of sorts. Robert would be with her, and that’s all that mattered. He had given her an assignment; whatever it took she would see it was carried out to the very best of her abilities.
“Good job, Officer Paula,” he leaned over and kissed Cathy on the forehead. “I think our prisoner is suitably prepared for the trip.” Robert stepped back, closed the security grill and slid shut the side door of the van. “Hop in, and we’ll hit the road,” Cathy heard him say from the front passenger door. She turned to watch him through the bars covering the window. After Paula got in the passenger side, he closed her door and walked around the front of the van to get in the driver’s side.
While both her guards were looking elsewhere Cathy took the opportunity to test her bonds. The handcuffs on her wrists weren’t tight, but she couldn’t slip out of them. Robert had too much practice to make a clumsy mistake like that. The connecting chain between her wrists passed through a ring on the front of the heavy leather transport belt that encircled her waist. A quick, surreptitious tug on the cuffs confirmed there was little freedom of movement. Her master had plenty of practice; the belt was a tight fit, impossible to slip over her hips, and the locking buckle in back was far beyond her reach. Her hands would have to remain in her lap for the duration of the trip.
Satisfied there were no possible means of escape she settled back in her seat. As always it was reassuring to know Robert still cared about her, and he showed it in the extra time he took to be thorough in seeing she was properly controlled.
Cathy couldn’t lean over again without Robert or Paula noticing, but she did slide the leg chain through the padlock on the floor, to see how far she could reach. With one foot under the seat she couldn’t quite reach the base of the security grill with the other. Overall it was a very effective restraint system. She could move around a bit in her seat, and that was all.
The windows on either side of her compartment were crossed with metal bars. In front and behind her, and blocking the door were heavy grills that formed the prisoner compartment. A glance at the side door confirmed there was no door handle on the inside. Combined with the restraints she wore it was intimidating. Cathy felt helpless, unable to do anything on her own.
When Robert closed his door she immediately pulled back her foot and straightened out, sitting primly, legs together, hands folded together in her lap, the way he liked. He did glance back to check on her before starting the van. She sat very still for his last inspection, not even daring to breathe, hoping she would meet with his approval. The brief smile and a wink from his eye was all she needed. Regardless of how uncomfortable the trip might turn out, she didn’t care. Nothing else mattered except that she was where he wanted her to be.
Cathy and Paula were close friends at the Center. Judging by the frown on Paula’s face on the other side of the grill she wasn’t satisfied with Cathy’s demeanor, though she didn’t say anything. Poor Paula, I bet she’d trade places with me in a second. Not that Robert would allow it. Paula was the perfect choice for the role of Corrections officer. Her single-minded determination when given a job was legendary at the Center. Nothing and nobody, not even their friendship, would entice her to laxness in her duties. For the duration of this trip they were jailer and prisoner.
Paula may have been the best choice, but it wasn’t going to help Cathy. She straightened up, carefully lined up her legs and feet, folded her bound hands in her lap and stared at the back of Robert’s head. There, that should meet with Paula’s approval. Just my luck she’s going to supervise me. Robert wasn’t nearly as demanding.
Rest Stop
It was still morning when Robert turned off the highway into a rest stop. Cathy needed to use the restroom, and looked forward to a few minutes’ worth of exercise. Being restrained wasn’t painful, as long as she didn’t fight the bonds, but neither was it all that enjoyable during a long drive. Her shoulders and legs were stiff from inactivity, and her behind hurt from sitting too long.
When Robert parked the van there was one other car at the stop. Cathy saw two kids come out of the restrooms and head to the other car. Robert had chosen a parking spot some distance away. “Paula, why don’t you go first? I’ll stay here and watch Cathy. Remember, check the rest room for any security issues before you come back for the prisoner.”
“Yes, sir,” Paula answered. She glanced back at Cathy before she opened her door and got out. The people in the other car noticed Paula’s uniform but didn’t approach her.
“Sir? I’d never try to run away. You don’t need to keep me hooked up like this.” Cathy held up her shackled hands, straining against the transport belt.
Robert frowned, which told Cathy she’d gone too far. “I’ll decide how you will be dressed for this trip. Your job is to be a convicted criminal being transported to another location. I intend to see that you are treated accordingly until we reach our destination. Whether or not you will try to escape is immaterial. I will enforce the rules on how you are to be treated, and I’ll require Paula to do the same. Is that clear?”
Cathy dropped her hands into her lap and looked down. “I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
The other car pulled out of the parking area and drove back onto the highway, leaving them alone. “Good,” Robert said, “we don’t have any spectators. Now, let’s get you taken care of.” Cathy looked up and saw Paula approaching the van. Robert opened his door and walked around to the side. When Paula stopped next to him he handed her a set of keys before he opened the side door.
“Cathy,” he said, to get her attention, “Paula is going to escort you to the women’s restroom. You will do exactly as she says, understand? If you don’t, she will force you to cooperate, by any means necessary.” He glanced over at Paula to emphasize his point.
The two women were about the same size and build. In a contest of physical strength they’d be evenly matched. However, Paula wasn’t encumbered with handcuffs and leg irons, unlike Cathy. Any altercation would be one-sided.
It was Paula who retrieved Cathy’s jail-issue sandals from behind the rear seat. They matched the Corrections department inmate dress for women: drab and flimsy. She slipped her feet into them while Paula unlocked her ankle chain from the ring in the floor.
That still left Cathy trapped by the seat belt. Robert pointed out to Paula which key to use. “Don’t take too long. We have to be at the rendezvous location in three hours.”
Back Seat “You still want to go through with this? Once we start there’s no backing out. The Inspector and I are the only two people who know you’ll be undercover, until you get to your destination. You walk out that door, you’re committed.” Perry was playing his role to the fullest as the concerned editor.
“I’m sure, don’t worry. We’re going to bust this racket wide open. The exposure will reach all the way to the top. I bet by next year we’ll have a new governor.” Alisha was positive her investigation would yield sensational results. Meanwhile, no one knew who she was. In her position as a researcher she’d never appeared on air; there was a zero chance she’d be recognized as a plant.
Her bravado also helped to hide the tinge of fear at what Alisha faced. She wore the scratchy prison uniform, a cheap sleeveless dress that ended at her knees. A leather belt around her waist kept the handcuffs close to her body. Leg irons on her ankles made it difficult for her to walk. She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life. They did a good job to make sure I’m not going to escape.
Alisha’s guard waited outside the small room where she was getting her final instructions from the Inspector. “Please, please remember, this isn’t acting. You are a convicted criminal, being transferred to a minimum security installation. Don’t forget it’s still a prison, and if you try to escape you go from minimum to maximum. It will be just you, plus the two officers in the car. Don’t confide in anyone about who you are. Chances are they won’t believe you anyway. Above all, follow the orders from the officers, no matter what. If you cause trouble they are authorized to use ‘appropriate’ force, the extremely unpleasant kind, and that you don’t want.”
That part was clear. Everything depended on her being in the right place. Minimum security couldn’t be that bad; the inmates were all white collar criminals, not violent mental cases. Alisha jerked on the handcuffs locked on her wrists. “Are these really necessary? I figured, you know, minimum security, I’m not a flight risk.”
“Sorry about that, but there’s nothing I can do. There’s a fixed policy for transportation, no exceptions, no matter who you are or where you’re going. Don’t forget your cover: three years for tax evasion.” The Inspector chuckled. “You better file on time from now on. Don’t forget, that’s how they got Al Capone.”
Alisha had read the full background prepared for her. Not just tax evasion; according to the confession she’d also hid away more than a million in illegal income in a Cayman Islands bank. Not exactly in the same class as a gangland boss, she thought. Undeclared income smuggling exotic animals, I wonder who came up with that one?
She heard the garage door open. Looking out the window she saw the unmarked car drive in. “That’s your ride, Alisha. We’ll have a big party for you as soon as you get back. Hang in there; something should happen within a few weeks. Worst case it will be one month; after that we’ll cancel the operation.” The reassuring words were from Perry, the station manager.
“I’m looking forward to four weeks of an ‘all expenses paid’ vacation at a state sponsored luxury resort. Just make sure it doesn’t turn into the full three years.” She was nervous; it showed in the feeble attempt at a joke.
A woman got out of the car and came to the door. The Inspector gestured for her to enter. “I’m here for an Alisha Grey?” the woman asked.
The Inspector handed her a clipboard. After the woman, dressed in a Corrections officer uniform, signed for the prisoner she immediately took hold of Alisha’s arm. “Let’s go.”
With a backward glance at the two people she relied on to eventually rescue her, Alisha slowly shuffled out to the car. The chains on her ankles were frustrating in the way they slowed her down to little more than a crawl.
Once she was seated the female officer sat next to her in the back seat. The male officer started the car and off they went. Alisha watched the city go by when they drove onto the freeway. In the custody of strangers, the phrase ran through her head. This was the point of no return.
She turned to the officer next to her. “How long is the trip?” Alisha wasn’t looking forward to being locked up in chains all day long.
The woman frowned. “We’re not going to be friends. If you expect a conversation, forget it. I’m not going to answer your questions. Nor do I want your life story. Everyone has some sad tale of woe to explain how they got here. I’m not interested.”
So much for empathy and compassion, Alisha thought in reaction to the officer’s sharp words. It was going to be a long trip in silence.
Your Master Requires Your Company · Part 1 (1/3)
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