Indoctrination - Chapter 35

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WARNING! This is a work of erotic BDSM FICTION. It is ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL of an EXTREME SEXUAL NATURE, including acts of abduction, exhibitionism, humiliation, and discipline. This is not for readers who are easily offended or incapable of distinguishing fact from fiction. The author does not promote such activity in real life unless it is between consenting adults and practiced safely. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give anyone the rights to post or print content without obtaining the author's permission first.
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Indoctrination
by Night Owl

The dancing of the female before the male, that she be found pleasing and he be pleased, is one of the most profound lessons in all of human biology.

“Dancer of Gor”
by John Norman


Chapter 35: Sa-eela

For Amber Brkich, time seemed to stand still. Languishing in solitary confinement, she was weak, her body nearly drained of all its strength, and what little was left, she had little motivation to use it. She just lay there on her side with her legs bent in front of her on a filthy blanket. The chains linking her collar to her wrists and ankles allowed just enough movement to sit with her back against the wall or lay on her side in a semi-fetal position but never enough to stand up and stretch her limbs. Moving around was even more difficult, mostly just crawling on her knees, and after a while, she didn’t even bother with it. The only improvement to her sorry situation was a strip of rep cloth she had been given to wrap around her body, mostly from her breasts to just barely over her ass, but little else.

Her room was the old stone shed near the kennel house where the dogs were kept. There were no windows and the door was always paddle locked. During the day, it became a sweatbox and sometimes she had to remain uncovered and naked just to cool off her heated body. The dirt floor was blanketed with straw to keep it from getting muddy when it rained, which it did twice, all day, adding more to her misery.

There was no way of telling how long Amber had been there since being forced into insolation. The painful sessions had finally ceased, and now she was just left there, wasting away. Her body was filthy, underweight. The hair grew out under her arms, over her legs, and even the v-patch in between began to show again. Twice a day she was given food, passed through a small hatch from outside. Twice she was unchained and taken blindfolded to an outhouse nearby so she could relieve herself. Other than that, she just lay there, alone and forgotten, alone with her own thoughts, her own self-vilification. The punishment was taking its toll.

Everyday her mind replayed the events that brought her there, the failed escape attempt with Heidi, their punishment, hanging together in a painful suspension, for hours it seemed. Amber hadn’t seen Heidi since and was sure they either killed her or shipped her down the work plantation in South America she had heard so much about.

At night, Amber often heard noises, little bodies scuttling across the ground, sometimes outside, sometimes in the room with her. Rats maybe. She had seen at least two since arriving at Dark Oak Manor. She often dreamed there were a dozen of them scampering around her in the darkness, closing in with their teeth bared, ready to claw at and take little bites from her flesh. If she woke up with a start, it often took several minutes for her heart to stop racing and to convince herself that it was just a nightmare.

At least her limited sleep allowed those nights to pass fairly quickly, but the days spent percolating in the heat seemed to drag on. Occasionally, the door would swing open, bringing the blinding light into her space, and Sonia would ask,

“So is your mind right?”

“Yes Mistress, my mind is right!” she would answer her almost desperately, but only for Sonia to shake her head in response and close the door again.

So Amber had lost all hope. She no longer had any desire to escape her captivity, nor was Heidi around to rekindle that desire – and even if she was, Amber would not have listened.

One day, she heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching outside. It could have been someone coming to drop off her meal through the hatch, or to take her to the outhouse, she had no way of knowing anymore. When the lock rattled at the door, she tried to raise herself on one arm but couldn’t. She was too weak, and frankly, just didn’t care. Whatever was to happen next, would just happen.

The door swung open. Amber covered her eyes and tried to make out the shadowy figure standing in the doorway.

“Is your mind right?” came Sonia’s voice.

“Yes, Mistress. My mind is right.”

This time the answer was immediate and with no emotion attached to it – like the cord being pulled on a talking doll.

For a while, Sonia stood there. Amber was expecting her to turn and slam the door behind her again. Instead, she approached and unlocked the ankle cuffs and connecting chain. A leash was then attached to her wrist cuffs.

“Stand up,” Sonia ordered sharply.

Amber tried hard to rise up on her feet. When Sonia took her by one arm to help, the gesture was surprisingly gentle. That was the moment Amber knew her time in solitary was over. She would have cried if she had any tears left.

The trip down the path was slow and laborious, but Sonia was patient with her. When they reached the house, Amber was immediately taken to the shower room where Monique was waiting.

“Clean her up and shave her,” Sonia ordered. “Then take her back to her cell and see that she gets some rest.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Monique answered with her drawn downward.

Before Sonia left, she turned to Amber, “It’s good to see you again, hon. It hasn’t been the same here since you left.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Monique guided her into one of the shower stalls and Amber winced and groaned in pain as her arms were raised to secure her wrists in the metal restraints. It felt as if shards of broken glass were shifting deep within the muscles in her shoulders and back.

“I’m sorry,” Monique whispered, and her blue eyes welled up as she assessed the poor woman hanging before her; the state of her fragile body, the wisps of hair in her armpits, “I’m going to get you cleaned up, shave you, and massage those kinks out of your muscles. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

Amber groaned again, this time with appreciation as Monique sprayed her body with warm water, then lathered her hands with soap and ran them up and down her arms, back, around her breasts and up and down her legs.

After rinsing and toweling her off, she guided Amber carefully to the shaving table and set to work in shaving Amber’s arms and legs, then placed her ankles in stirrups and removed all the rough stubble in her nether region – all by using a straight razor with incredible precision and care.

Next, Amber was taken to a padded massage table, draped with a clean, white towel and pillow.

“Here,” Monique ordered, “lie face down,” while reaching for a bottle of sensual lavender oil.

A strained groan passed Amber’s lips and she squirmed while hugging the pillow beneath her chest as Monique mercilessly rubbed out some of the tough knots her back.

“I’m sorry,” Monique apologized again, “but you’re so stiff!”

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” Amber moaned again as Monique’s hands found a good spot. “I had a rough day at work.”

Monique giggled softly, “It’s good to see you haven’t lost your humor, but be careful what you say, they’ll be watching and observing.”

“I know,” Amber moaned. “My mind IS right.”

Monique applied more oil and trailed her hands around Amber’s sore shoulders and slowly up and down her spine, delivering a reasonable amount of pressure with her thumbs and palms.

“Mmmmmmmm ...” Amber happily hummed into the mattress.

Monique smiled, “I can feel your body starting to relax a little.”

She ran her hands down Amber’s hips, rubbing the kinks out of the joints, then back up the sides of her torso. Amber moaned again in content as Monique’s fingers found the sides of her breasts and gently kneading what she could against the towel underneath.

“You have beautiful breasts,” Monique commented.

Amber didn’t dare reply, though she turned her head and glanced up with admiration at the cleavage of Monique’s D-sized breasts generously exposed in the open tunic she wore.

Her oiled hands roamed freely up and down Amber’s outer thighs, down to her calves and even around the soles of her feet. She massaged both legs in all earnest, sliding her hands up between Amber’s inner thighs and very close to her vagina before moving to her buttocks and kneading her fingers deep into both cheeks.

Monique finished the massage with light broad strokes all over Amber’s nude body, before tapping table, “That will be enough for now. It’s time to take you up to your cell so you can get some rest. Are you hungry?”

“Not really, just thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some water.”

Monique helped towel off most of the oil on Amber’s body then lead her, still naked, to her room. As always, her bed was just a simple cot, but it was a welcome feeling after lying on the cold, hard ground. Her wrists and ankles were strapped to the bedframe with a bed sheet pulled over her body.

“Try to get some rest,” Monique ordered before she left, “and later I’ll bring some food. You should try to eat something.”

Only a few hours had passed since Amber was brought back to the house, and her spirits already began to improve. For the first time in what seemed like ages, she felt clean again, she felt human, and lying in the dark, naked, and sandwiched between two cool bed sheets, she was still charged up from the massage, making sleep nearly impossible. She wished Monique was still there with her. She missed the skin-on-skin contact, man or woman. She missed the feel of another warm body pressed against her body.

Amber’s thoughts then turned to Raven. She could still remember what it was like to sleep with him, to feel his hard chest underneath her head, their legs entangled and his member, still stiff from lovemaking pressing against her lower abdomen. She looked down at her breasts, now rising fully aroused from her ribs, her nipples as hard as marbles and pointing upward in the darkness. She wanted to touch them, squeeze them and play with her nipples. She wanted to masturbate in the worst way, but that was impossible with her arms and legs spread apart and locked in restraints.

(“How could you be thinking of such things after what you’ve been though?” she berated herself.)

Amber closed her eyes tight and tried to turn her attention on something else.

(“My mind is right,” she kept repeating to herself until she finally fell asleep.)

Twice a day, meals were brought to her. At first, Amber could eat only a little, but each day, her appetite improved. Every night she was restrained naked to her bed for sleep, but thankfully, the urge to masturbate eventually went away. Then after the fourth day, she began to notice dozens of strange, red bites all over her body. They were only the size of a pinhead, but they itched terribly.

“Bed bugs,” Monique exclaimed, “Don’t worry, we’ve had them before. The bites are irritating but fairly harmless. We’ll have to sterilize those sheets, of course, then clean out your room.”

Amber’s body was washed thoroughly with soap and water the prevent infection, then the bites themselves were treated with corticosteroid cream to reduce the itchiness. Eventually, they went away but Amber couldn’t stop thinking about them. At night, she dreamed of the lentil-shaped creatures crawling all over her body as she lay there helplessly restrained to her bed, the nightmares so vivid, that she could even feel their tiny claws clinging to her flesh – all over.

Amber couldn’t help seeing the irony that she had never had this problem sleeping on the ground in that filthy kennel for so many days. She finally rationalized it was punishment for the ‘impure’ thoughts she had of Master Raven that first night. She would not let that happen again. She told Sonia her mind was right that first day out of the kennel, and she was determined to keep it that way.

Life in Dark Oak Manor hadn’t changed much since she had been put into isolation, even though it was only for a few weeks, it seemed much longer at the time. Tony and Gino were still the handlers. Len was working in the stables again – a demotion for letting Heidi talk him into putting both her and Amber in charge of cleaning the dungeon, which allowed them the chance to escape through the secret tunnel down there.

Of course, Monique was still there. She was Raven’s house slave and being a permanent fixture, Amber could always depend on her for guidance. Cobie (or ‘Jacoba’, as she was now called) was well into her training and arguably one of the prettiest woman to have arrived at Dark Oak Manor. She had striking blue eyes and an endearing smile. Her long, wavy brown hair and smooth alabastrine skin were a contrast of dark and light. But she was more than just a pretty face. Heavily backed with intelligence, passion, and an airy personality, it was a likely bet this girl would end up being someone's companion slave which, in regarding the relationship between master and kajira, was akin to a modern marriage.

There was also another girl, Bronwyn, who had arrived while Amber was away. She wasn’t a new trainee though but sent in by another house master for reinforcement. Only Heidi was still missing and no one dared to even mention her name.

After about two weeks, Amber started to gain weight again and she was allowed to do some light chores around the house. Then one day, Sonia approached her with a long robe.

“This is called a ‘robe of concealment’. It is designed to keep you covered and hidden from the eyes of others. I want you to wear this garment each day until I tell you otherwise. You will also tie your hair back into a bun every morning. Understood?”

“Yes Mistress.”

The robe was bright white and simple – no lace, no pattern, nothing decorative at all – just a heavy plain cloth. It hung loose off her body, hiding all of her curves. Its high collar nearly covered her neck, the long sleeves hid her arms completely, and the skirt fell all the way down to the ankles. A single slit up one side to the knee allowed her just enough freedom to move around in and little more. Her hair, tightly stretched around her scalp and tied in bun in back, made her pretty face appear bookish and ordinary.

She performed the house chores that were given her while the robe made her body underneath feel like it was being suffocated. At night, Sonia gave her a type of pajama to wear as she slept, so other than when she took a shower, Amber was always completely covered.

Guests came and went. There were small parties at the house and her presence occasionally drew curious glances, but most of the time, she was ignored, for she wasn’t dressed like the other girls with their beautiful bodies provocatively displayed.

Amber missed those lusty stares from men and the looks of admiration from other women she often received as a ‘red silk’. She wondered if maybe she had been given this clothing because her figure was no longer desirable after losing so much weight during her isolation.

Another thing Amber missed was her Gorean dance training and her instructor, Isha, who had left Dark Oak Manor suddenly and with no word as to why. Again, Amber’s imagination began to work against her, this time, convincing herself that Madam Isha left because of her trying to run away with Heidi; that she had fallen out of favor with her teacher as well as the rest of the house. Amber was sure she would never be given the chance to dance again.

Day by day, she grew deeper and deeper into despair, but she tried her best to keep it hidden from everyone else. The heavy, plain clothing made her feel like a piece of old furniture with a sheet over it to keep the dust off, but she wore it with a new sense of devotion.

When the next party was planned, Amber assumed she would spend much of it locked in her chamber, but this time as the guests began to arrive at the house, Sonia pulled her aside.

“I want you to put these on underneath your robe,” she said, and handed Amber a set of gold armbands with a small bell attached to each, matching anklets, also with small bells attached, a gold belly chain, a small emerald stone for her navel, and several colored beads to be draped around her neck.

“You are going to perform the Sa-eela dance tonight.”

“Ma’am ...?”

“You heard me.”

Amber immediately felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. She was excited to be given the opportunity to dance again, but she had never danced for strangers before, only for Isha during her training and that seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I’ll wait for you out in the hall while you get ready,” Sonia turned to walk away, “but don’t take too long, they’re all waiting for you in the Grand Room.”

Amber nervously slipped the gold bands high up on her arms, then the anklets. She put the beads around her neck and the belly chain, which hung low off her hips. Finally, she carefully inserted the stone into her navel before putting on the robe to, once again, conceal her body.

Sonia was waiting in the hall as promised and led her down the corridor and up the stairs to the main level. They passed the spiral staircase and stopped at the closed double doors that led to the Grand Room where Monique was waiting there for them, her body draped in scarlet silk. Amber could hear voices and laughter of at least two-dozen people from the other side.

“Both of you wait here,” Sonia instructed them, “and don’t open the doors until the drum starts,” she then disappeared.

Amber had not felt this nervous since her first night at Dark Oak Manor, when she was led into this very same room, blindfolded, and forced to strip in front of Raven and several other men she had never met before.

“Nervous?” Monique asked sympathetically.

Amber nodded her head slightly.

“Don’t worry. I’ve seen you dance during your lessons. You’re very good.”

“I’m not sure I remember how anymore.”

“It’ll all come back to you when the music starts. I’m sure of it.”

Amber smiled and hoped Monique was right.

The Sa-eela was one of the most moving, deeply rhythmic, and erotic slave dances of Gor. Performed in the nude, the common theme of the genre was the attempt on the part of a neglected slave to call herself to the attention of the masters watching. For better or worse, there was little or no standardization, rather each girl, in her own way, brought the nature of her own body, her own dispositions, her own sensuality and needs, her own personality to the dance. For the woman, the performance was a uniquely personal and creative art form that provided the most freedom of all the dances for the deepest intimacy of female self-expression.

The drumbeat began. Amber closed her eyes and took a breath while trying to bring herself into character. Finally, the doors opened.

As she anticipated, the room was full of people. Many turned their eyes toward her, but others were still engaged in conversation while Jacoba and Bronwyn served drinks. Both were also wearing silk, only Jacoba’s color was yellow, designating her as a ‘tavern slave’ and still training for her red silks.

Splintered logs crackled and spat upward from inside the large canopy fireplace. A large rug made of dark animal fur spread out before it and all the furniture had been moved away, presumably, to make room for her performance. Elsewhere, candles were set, providing the only light in the room to create a more intimate mood. To one side, Raven sat with a large group including Lamar Quinn and Tony Santos.

But there was something else that immediately drew Amber’s attention from the others.

At the center of the room, sat a narrow, dark oak coffee table with black, decorative wrought iron legs and crosspieces attaching them. Lying on top, or more specifically, tied to it, was a nude woman. At first, Amber didn’t recognize her, but as she looked more closely, she realized it was Heidi. The mystery as to her whereabouts had finally been revealed.

Amber glanced around the room, and then back at Heidi, who was literally a ‘living centerpiece’, like much of the furniture in the house. She seemed thinner, and her golden hair slightly graying, but she was still beautiful, her tanned, athletic body slicked and shimmering with oil. Lying face up on the narrow table, her arms and legs were drawn downward over the sides and tied with red, nylon rope to the cross pieces underneath, forcing her body into a back-bending arch with her head bent sharply backward over the table’s edge and tied down by her hair. More of the rope had been wrapped tightly and neatly in bands of three above and below her impressive D-sized breasts. Red twine was then cinched around the bands between her breasts and at the sides just below the folds of her armpits, drawing the breast ropes together and making her tits bulge outward between them. Between her legs, her shaved ‘muff’ had a single red crotch rope drawn deep inside her. Stretched between her lips was a bright red ball gag.

To complete the exotic tableau, dozens of small, decorative tea light candles were placed on the table surface all around her body, some only an inch away from her flesh, as if Heidi were being offered to some deity in a sacrificial ceremony with the rest of the room décor accentuating it.

The drumbeat suddenly grew louder, drawing Amber’s attention away from Heidi. Listening to the music, and with a long breath, she opened the robe and let it drop to the floor, baring her naked body to everyone, wearing only the jewelry and slave bells Sonia gave her. Any conversations still going on in the room finally stopped and all eyes turned on her.

She saw Goodwin Stryker seated at another table with one of his slaves, Loryanna and another girl, a beautiful redhead whom Amber didn’t recognize. She also saw Ethan Rom standing in back -- a man she knew to be dangerously sadistic and cruel – only now he seemed just as taken by her appearance as everyone else.

Suddenly, it was apparent to Amber why she was told to wear the suffocating clothing, for now everyone looked at her as though seeing her for the very the first time. As the beat continued, she recognized the music. She had danced to it before, and almost immediately, like turning on a light switch, the passion slave inside her emerged. Her nerves melted away, replaced with a sense of pride and desire to please everyone in the room and give them everything they came to see.

With a sly smile, she raised her arms high, eliciting the faint jingles from the bells, and turned her palms outward. Standing straight with her back arched a little and her pointed breasts hanging proudly off her ribs, she bent one leg slightly outward at the knee, revealing her smooth sex, and pointed her toes on the floor. She closed her eyes and let the drum beat take control. Flutes joined in and, gathering all the showmanship she could muster, Amber opened her eyes again and began her movements for the Sa-eela dance.

The music echoed loud and fierce throughout the room. She moved with the beat, twisting and turning her body slowly as if a tremendous need were growing inside her slave belly and aching for sweet release, which could only happen by giving pleasure to a Master. She ran her hands over her breasts then down her ribs and around the emerald stone in her navel, while curving her fingernails inward in a way that that left teasing trails across her flesh. She drew a soft moan, her body shivered slightly.

(“Watch me,”) Amber commanded with her thoughts, and everyone watched, mesmerized, as she executed an intricate series of dance steps that brought her closer to the fireplace and more intimately with her audience. She rolled her taut belly forward then backward, drawing more attention to the glittering stone, and thrust her willowy arms upward toward the ceiling, forcing her breasts to rise and flatten against her jutting ribs while twirling her wrists overhead. Her hips rolled gently, round curves turning slowly with the music, her body accentuated by the glow of the firelight licking over her light almond skin. When the beat grew faster, her movements changed, hips shifting from side to side, arms flailing, setting off the bells.

As Amber danced, she became one with the rhythm of the music. Her chestnut-colored hair, full of body and lust, fell across her face and cascaded sensually down over her shoulders. She became a slave from an ancient time in another world; a land of swords, warriors, and alien creatures; a slave dancing for her tribal masters, dancing on the beach, kicking sand with her feet in front of a large, angry fire sending sparks into the night sky. She moved to the table Heidi was tied to and danced around her, taunting the beautiful ‘virgin’ that was to be sacrificed. Heidi responded in the only way she knew how, with pathetic moans behind her gag, by twisting her arms and legs against the restraints as the candle flames performed their own flickering dance around her bound body.

The tempo of the music slowed and so did her movements. Anyone watching Amber would recognize her talent. She was once the student, under the tutelage of Madam Isha, one of the most skilled and desired Gorean dancers everyone had ever seen. Now SHE was the dance.

For a moment, her alluring green eyes hunted the room and met with the dark, glinting eyes of Raven, her Master, and the man she really wanted. She flashed a cheeky grin. Raven smiled back in approval.

Kneeling close to the crackling fire so she could feel its heat against her body, Amber closed her eyes and felt the beat of the drum rip and tear at her slave soul with such passion that it brought a moan tumbling from her parted lips at the need for the man she wanted to touch her.

She spread her knees wide, she raised her arms again and bent backward, arching her body sharply, head back and eyes closed as if in a trance, her hair splayed over the dark fur, all while her taut belly and hips undulated to the time of the music. Strongly and seductively, her tender hands played over her collar, her fingers moved down her neck, stroking it, downward to her breasts, fingertips dancing, circling around her soft curves, brushing, and tantalizing her ripe flesh as if her Master were touching them.

The mood of the music changed into a slow pulse, and she turned upon her belly, her fingers clawing at the fur, hips rocking and grinding. Rolling to her back, she lifted her legs high and thrust them wide apart, displaying her smooth slave flesh between them, piteously begging to be taken, and drawing gasps of approval from her audience.

The beat grew stronger, louder, and the slave girl sprang back to her feet. She furiously swayed and spun faster and faster, moving from one man to another, drawing their hands out to her, only to spin away until she found Raven again and stopped. Her eyes locked on his. The slave girl’s hips began gyrating again, faster, and faster, then she broke into a swirl of dance, spinning in front of him.

Suddenly, in the music there was the sharp CRACK of a whip. The girl screamed and her body jerked as if the braided leather and tassels had coiled around her frame, searing her flesh with its heat. She collapsed before the boots of her Master, rolling and rocking before him, fingers pinching and grabbing her breasts, her passion erupting from the sting of His leather. She rose to her knees, her body glistening with sweat as she audaciously attempted to entice Him -- her heart racing with hope that He, too, would thirst for her.

With a grin, her Master reached down to grip her hair with both hands and pulled her to His chest, raping a kiss from her lips as she melted against Him. Another CRACK of the invisible whip and she flung herself backward. She writhed and rolled in the fur, her body responding with jerks and shudders as if the whip were striking her again ... CRACK ... and again. She rolled on her back, stretched her arms above her head and brought her hands together, crossed at the wrists as if now bound with leather thongs. She spread her legs wide, brought her knees up and raised her hips, offering that part of her to the whip ... CRACK ... followed by a scream that sent out chills to everyone watching.

As the music slowed and faded, the slave girl crawled before her new Master. Her arms stretched forward and she knelt before him, then grasped his boots and kissed them.

The music stopped followed by the applause of everyone in the room. Raven stood up and paused a moment, as if slightly overcome by what saw. He then reached down to help Amber to her feet.

“That was a splendid performance, pet,” he said, placing his hands on her cheeks. “You can go now.”

Monique led her out of the room. Amber felt dazed and confused, as if waking from a dream.

“I’ve never seen anything it!” Lamar Quinn couldn’t contain his excitement. “When is she going to auction? I’ll bid top dollar for her.”

“You better fill your pockets, friend.” Goodwin Stryker chimed in. “I’ll be there too, biding against you.”

Raven wasn’t even listening to the others and as he watched Amber leave the room, Carlo Santos approached him.

"She has talent,” he said.

“She does.”

Then Santos smiled, “And you had doubts about her being a performer, didn’t you?”

"I never had doubts about her knowing the steps,” Raven corrected him. “I just didn’t think she had the heart ... at least until now."


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He had every intention of singing like a lark, but he wasn’t planning on giving in that easily. Not until he got the deal he wanted.

“I told you guys before,” he barked. “I won’t testify in a courtroom. The deal is, I give you all the background information, how The Organization is run, the location of all the training facilities, and more, but testifying is out!”

The two men sat in the small ‘interviewing room’ with a table between them -- Dave Roberts, former slaver, mercenary, obtainer of women for The Organization, now informer for the FBI, facing agent Phil Trask.

“My superiors are pushing for a court appearance,” Trask told him.

“Then push back. They don’t understand what I give you guys will bring in dozens more. Let them testify to save their own necks. You don’t need me for a court appearance because I’m giving everything else.”

Trask knew he was right, but the FBI always liked to play hardball to see if they could get more.

“And another thing,” Dave continued. “After this is over, wherever you send me, it better be someplace warm, with a beach maybe, and not some fucking trailer park in Kansas.”

“Look, I’m not your travel agent, but I’ll see what I can do. Right now, we need something more than just that list you gave us in the parking garage.”

“What more could you want?”

“For a start, it would be nice to give their families some relief from all the hell they’ve been going through. Can you tell me more about some of these women, like where they are now, and more importantly, are all of them still alive?”

“As far as I know, most of them are,” Dave suddenly looked away.

“Most of them?”

Then Dave shifted uneasily in his chair. “I know of one on those girls on the list ... her name was Colleen ... Hastings ... or Holten ...”

Trask quickly scanned his copy, “Colleen Haskell?”

“Yeah, she’s the one.”

“What about her?”

“Well ... she died ... but think it was an accident.”

“An accident?”

“That’s right. I didn’t see it ... I mean ... I wasn’t even there, but I heard she and her owner were playing some game when it happened. The guy was so devastated over the whole thing, he killed himself. I guess he was quite fond of her.”

“Touching,” the agent said with a tone of disgust, then leaned back in his chair. “So you’re sure about this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Trask wasn’t looking forward to breaking the tragic news to this woman’s family, but at least having to admit that seemed to knock Dave off balance, so he decided to change the subject.

“So tell me more about Marco and the other guy you worked with in kidnapping these girls.”

“Women ... I mean, you make it sound like we took little kids from the playground. We never did that. The Organization had age restrictions.”

Trask pulled the list Dave gave and read one of the names,

“Nanette LaFleur, age 19, reported missing in Commerce City, Colorado. I consider 19 pretty damn young don’t you?”

Trask had to be careful at this point. He needed to play the likable agent that Dave could trust, even though he really wanted to thump the man’s skull.

“Yeah,” Dave adjusted his chair. “I remember her. I think she was just shy of 20 though.”

“How did you do it ... I mean kidnap her without getting caught or leaving a trace? From what I gather, you guys seemed very efficient.”

“I have to admit, we had it down to science. I’m not bragging ... just saying it like it was, you know?”

“I know. You guys were pretty damn good, I’ll admit that. So how did you do it? You mentioned surveillance?”

“Off course. You guys have the listening device Marco left behind after we brought in that other woman ... Heidi,” Dave his finger against the desk as if trying to remember, “Heidi ...”

“Strobel.”

“That’s right. Strobel. Anyway, we did the same thing with the other one, Nanette -- bugging, watching her house, learning her daily routines, and so on. Finally we got our opportunity when she left a party one night. She was pretty drunk and stoned, so it was easy for Jason to get her sedated and into the car.”

“Jason? So that’s the other guy you worked with?”

“Dammit!” Dave’s smile went away, “Well I guess you got me there, but I’m not saying any more about him.”

Trask went through a stack of folders and pulled out a photo, “Is this the girl you took that night?”

The photo showed a pretty young woman, with long straight black hair. She was wearing a tank top that said ‘Peace’.

“Yeah, that’s her. I think her name is Lima now.”

“Lima?”

“Yeah ... some of them get a different name when they go to their new owners.”

“After their training?

“That’s right.”

“And where is this training facility you keep bringing up?”

Dave smiled again. “Later, when I know we have the deal I want.”

“All right,” Trask changed the subject and just keep him talking, “then let’s get back to Marco Sanchez.”

“You pretty much know the story. He was supposed to do a sweep of this woman’s house after we left and clear everything out, but the idiot bastard screwed up by leaving his fingerprints and that bugging device behind.”

“And you said The Organization ‘took care of him’?”

“That’s right. The Organization really got nervous after we found out what Marco did. They knew you FBI guys would eventually be on to him, if not already, so he was eliminated. When I heard about it, I knew it was only a matter of time before they put a hit on me next because we were both on the same job.”

“Guilt by association.”

“Something like that.”

“Do you think the same order would be put out for this guy Jason?”

Dave tapped his fingers nervously, “Do you have a cigarette?”

Trask pulled the pack out of his coat pocket and gave him one, then lit it for him, “If you want this deal, then you’ll have to give us names of people in this Organization, and we might as well start with him.”

“Not him.”

“Why not? Are you afraid of this guy?”

“No … not really,” Dave took a nervous puff. “He’s a good friend of mine.”

“Like he was a friend of Marco’s?”

“Yeah.”

“And didn’t he ice Marco ... for The Organization?”

“What makes you think he did it?”

“Dave, we know he did it. We have the evidence.”

Trask was lying, but he had a hunch it was a good guess.

Dave took another puff but said nothing.

“What makes you think he wouldn’t pull the trigger on you if he had the chance?”

Still no answer, and the agent was starting to think he had over-reached.

Dave finally looked at him, “Because I’m sure he took off already and is hiding out somewhere. We both knew we would be next. We didn’t really discuss it, but we just knew. You’ll never find him.”

“It’s too bad he left you behind.”

“He was looking out for himself, just like I am now.”

“That’s right. So what do you owe this guy now?”

Dave put the cigarette out in the ashtray. His hand was shaking a little.

Trask knew this was the tricky part. He had a nibble but far from reeling in this fish, “If you want a deal with us, then you have to give us something. Give me Jason’s last name and his last known whereabouts.”

There was a long pause (uncomfortable for both men, but Trask was not showing it yet). Then Dave finally broke,

“His last name is Clark, and I think he’s in Mexico somewhere. That’s all I know about that, and I’m not saying anything more until I know we have a deal.”

Trask picked up the stack of folders and stood up, “Don’t worry, Roberts. You just keep talking and I think you’ll get your deal.”

(continued)