Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Did she even read the fine print? I think these abductors are bluffing!You mean, she actually read it??
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A Tale of Two Barbs: A Pirate Cay Adventure
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
windar
Teller of Tales
24.
Kelly’s back was killing her as she bent to pick up the large rock. The welts from yesterday’s whipping throbbed with each motion of the inflamed tissue and the burning that had accompanied the bite of the cruel leather was rekindled by the sweat which worked its way into the small cuts despite their being partially scabbed over.
If only the doctor would have treated them with the special cream she used on the companions after they had suffered a whipping or a caning as a result of some failure to provide full and complete satisfaction. Barb had asked why the doctor was using over-the counter ointment instead of her magic elixir and had been told in no uncertain terms that “Criminals like you don’t merit any of the good stuff.”
So, Kelly had sucked it up, just as she had sucked up the enforced nudity, the exhausting and pointless labor that filled their days, broken only by meals of leftovers eaten without utensils out of dog bowls and sleeping outside on the hard ground, chained by their ankles to rings set into the wall of the villa, beset by insects much of the night.
‘Oh what I wouldn’t give for a night in an actual bed!” she thought. ‘I’d blow every member of the goddamn Senate and half of the House of Representatives if that would do it!’ But she doubted that would get them out of their sentence. More likely, they’d be sent back outside afterwards without even a thank you.
But at least Barb would take on her share now, unlike when she first got here. ‘All that needless suffering the girl had gone though over a simple blowjob,’ Kelly thought. ‘Well, she was cured of that now. That’s what a sentence of 25 years of hard labor will do.’
It was hard to keep track of days in this tropical climate, where the temperature and length of day didn’t change much with the seasons, but she figured it had been six months or so since that joke of a trial, so they were roughly one fiftieth of the way through their sentence, assuming they survived, which seemed doubtful.
Kelly tried to lift the rock and was rewarded with a shot of agony from a particularly painful welt about halfway up her back. She glared at Barb, who had just deposited her much smaller rock in the cart.
“Give me a hand here, would you?” Kelly demanded. Barb bent, and, together, they hoisted the rock up and let it fall onto the cart to join several of its mates.
They stopped to catch their breaths. One small mercy was that Robert wasn’t here. Kelly had heard the helicopter depart during the night and hadn’t heard it return. His absence suggested that he had been aboard.
Robert seldom left Pirate Cay; after all, why would he, when the two things he liked most in life, pussy and girls to whip, were both present in abundance? But apparently the boss had a mission for him somewhere, likely on the main island, and probably involving Big Fred, if Kelly had to guess.
Without Robert, they only had to contend with The Queen of Pirate Cay, Tara, and her Lady in Waiting, Delia, who were not at all anxious to leave the shade of the palm tree and the cushy lounge chairs they were lying on to venture into the hot sun where Barb and Kelly were toiling.
They contented themselves with shouting every so often, “Come on you lazy cunts! This isn’t a resort!” which made Kelly think of the dozens of sales pitches she’d made to prospective “companions” implying that, in fact, it was a resort.
Tara had gotten up a few minutes ago, but not to come and harass Barb and Kelly, but to head in the other direction, presumably to the ocean or the pool to float in the water to relieve the weight the Heir to Pirate Cay was putting on her back. Her companion hadn’t moved in a while and was likely dozing.
“The cart is full enough, Barb,” Kelly said, quietly, so as not to wake their taskmaster.
“Are you sure, Kelly? We’re supposed to have more rocks in it,” Barb noted.
“Yes, let’s go. Tara is off swimming, Robert isn’t here and Delia is asleep. Why make things any harder on ourselves than we have to?” She bent and slipped into the leather harness attached to the front of the cart. The straps hurt like hell against the welted skin on her back. She saw Barb wince as she slipped into the harness as well.
Slowly, achingly, they made their way over the rocky ground. Beside the pain in her back, Kelly’s feet ached every time she stepped on a sharp rock, which was hard to avoid, given how many littered the path.
They made their way into the forest and started up hill. However, when they had gotten a short distance, just out of Delia’s sight, should she awaken, Kelly stopped and bent to slip out of the harness, then sat on a patch of ground.
Barb looked at her. “Aren’t we supposed to go all the way to the top? What if they see us?”
“We’ll tell them we already got there and are on the way down. Those two bitches won’t do anything. I’m not taking another step,” Kelly replied. Barb slipped out of the harness and collapsed onto ground next to Kelly.
They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the forest birds. “Do you have any idea who that woman was yesterday?” Barb asked.
“I never saw her before in my life,” Kelly replied. “He rarely had any women guests. Maybe a couple over the years.”
“Tara and Delia seemed very friendly with her.”
“Those two cunts would eat pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner if they could. Plus, I suspect that the boss told them to show her a good time, not that they needed any encouragement.”
“At least she didn’t whip us very hard. I barely felt those,” Barb said.
“Yeah, and he didn’t have Robert give us extra to make up for them, which is unusual. Something is up with her. I don’t know what, but after all the time I spent here, I can sense when something’s up. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Robert’s absence is connected with her somehow.”
“Really?” Barb asked.
“Trust me. I’ve been on Pirate Cay for quite a while,” Kelly replied. “You know, don’t take offense, but she looked a bit like you. Older and more sophisticated, but something like how I would imagine you in fifteen years or so. Of course, that’s assuming you had stayed at Pitcher and lived a normal life. Fifteen years from now here, you’ll be an old lady or dead.”
“Thanks, Kelly,” Barb said.
“I’ll be even older and deader,” Kelly said. “Even her accent sounded like yours. Midwestern. Definitely not from the East Coast. She could be your older sister.”
“I’m an only child,” Barb replied. “My Mom had some complications from the pregnancy and they didn’t think it was worth the risk to have another. But I guess she did look a bit like me.”
“And, you know, as they were taking us away to the clinic afterwards, I thought I heard Tara call her ‘Barb’. Maybe I imagined it, though.”
“Maybe,” Barb replied. “It’s a pretty common name.”
Kelly’s back was killing her as she bent to pick up the large rock. The welts from yesterday’s whipping throbbed with each motion of the inflamed tissue and the burning that had accompanied the bite of the cruel leather was rekindled by the sweat which worked its way into the small cuts despite their being partially scabbed over.
If only the doctor would have treated them with the special cream she used on the companions after they had suffered a whipping or a caning as a result of some failure to provide full and complete satisfaction. Barb had asked why the doctor was using over-the counter ointment instead of her magic elixir and had been told in no uncertain terms that “Criminals like you don’t merit any of the good stuff.”
So, Kelly had sucked it up, just as she had sucked up the enforced nudity, the exhausting and pointless labor that filled their days, broken only by meals of leftovers eaten without utensils out of dog bowls and sleeping outside on the hard ground, chained by their ankles to rings set into the wall of the villa, beset by insects much of the night.
‘Oh what I wouldn’t give for a night in an actual bed!” she thought. ‘I’d blow every member of the goddamn Senate and half of the House of Representatives if that would do it!’ But she doubted that would get them out of their sentence. More likely, they’d be sent back outside afterwards without even a thank you.
But at least Barb would take on her share now, unlike when she first got here. ‘All that needless suffering the girl had gone though over a simple blowjob,’ Kelly thought. ‘Well, she was cured of that now. That’s what a sentence of 25 years of hard labor will do.’
It was hard to keep track of days in this tropical climate, where the temperature and length of day didn’t change much with the seasons, but she figured it had been six months or so since that joke of a trial, so they were roughly one fiftieth of the way through their sentence, assuming they survived, which seemed doubtful.
Kelly tried to lift the rock and was rewarded with a shot of agony from a particularly painful welt about halfway up her back. She glared at Barb, who had just deposited her much smaller rock in the cart.
“Give me a hand here, would you?” Kelly demanded. Barb bent, and, together, they hoisted the rock up and let it fall onto the cart to join several of its mates.
They stopped to catch their breaths. One small mercy was that Robert wasn’t here. Kelly had heard the helicopter depart during the night and hadn’t heard it return. His absence suggested that he had been aboard.
Robert seldom left Pirate Cay; after all, why would he, when the two things he liked most in life, pussy and girls to whip, were both present in abundance? But apparently the boss had a mission for him somewhere, likely on the main island, and probably involving Big Fred, if Kelly had to guess.
Without Robert, they only had to contend with The Queen of Pirate Cay, Tara, and her Lady in Waiting, Delia, who were not at all anxious to leave the shade of the palm tree and the cushy lounge chairs they were lying on to venture into the hot sun where Barb and Kelly were toiling.
They contented themselves with shouting every so often, “Come on you lazy cunts! This isn’t a resort!” which made Kelly think of the dozens of sales pitches she’d made to prospective “companions” implying that, in fact, it was a resort.
Tara had gotten up a few minutes ago, but not to come and harass Barb and Kelly, but to head in the other direction, presumably to the ocean or the pool to float in the water to relieve the weight the Heir to Pirate Cay was putting on her back. Her companion hadn’t moved in a while and was likely dozing.
“The cart is full enough, Barb,” Kelly said, quietly, so as not to wake their taskmaster.
“Are you sure, Kelly? We’re supposed to have more rocks in it,” Barb noted.
“Yes, let’s go. Tara is off swimming, Robert isn’t here and Delia is asleep. Why make things any harder on ourselves than we have to?” She bent and slipped into the leather harness attached to the front of the cart. The straps hurt like hell against the welted skin on her back. She saw Barb wince as she slipped into the harness as well.
Slowly, achingly, they made their way over the rocky ground. Beside the pain in her back, Kelly’s feet ached every time she stepped on a sharp rock, which was hard to avoid, given how many littered the path.
They made their way into the forest and started up hill. However, when they had gotten a short distance, just out of Delia’s sight, should she awaken, Kelly stopped and bent to slip out of the harness, then sat on a patch of ground.
Barb looked at her. “Aren’t we supposed to go all the way to the top? What if they see us?”
“We’ll tell them we already got there and are on the way down. Those two bitches won’t do anything. I’m not taking another step,” Kelly replied. Barb slipped out of the harness and collapsed onto ground next to Kelly.
They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the forest birds. “Do you have any idea who that woman was yesterday?” Barb asked.
“I never saw her before in my life,” Kelly replied. “He rarely had any women guests. Maybe a couple over the years.”
“Tara and Delia seemed very friendly with her.”
“Those two cunts would eat pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner if they could. Plus, I suspect that the boss told them to show her a good time, not that they needed any encouragement.”
“At least she didn’t whip us very hard. I barely felt those,” Barb said.
“Yeah, and he didn’t have Robert give us extra to make up for them, which is unusual. Something is up with her. I don’t know what, but after all the time I spent here, I can sense when something’s up. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Robert’s absence is connected with her somehow.”
“Really?” Barb asked.
“Trust me. I’ve been on Pirate Cay for quite a while,” Kelly replied. “You know, don’t take offense, but she looked a bit like you. Older and more sophisticated, but something like how I would imagine you in fifteen years or so. Of course, that’s assuming you had stayed at Pitcher and lived a normal life. Fifteen years from now here, you’ll be an old lady or dead.”
“Thanks, Kelly,” Barb said.
“I’ll be even older and deader,” Kelly said. “Even her accent sounded like yours. Midwestern. Definitely not from the East Coast. She could be your older sister.”
“I’m an only child,” Barb replied. “My Mom had some complications from the pregnancy and they didn’t think it was worth the risk to have another. But I guess she did look a bit like me.”
“And, you know, as they were taking us away to the clinic afterwards, I thought I heard Tara call her ‘Barb’. Maybe I imagined it, though.”
“Maybe,” Barb replied. “It’s a pretty common name.”
M
montycrusto
Guest
Mmmhh.. I love this bit! All female convicts should be kept like this, especially in hot countries.
Does remind me of this panel from Pichard’s Marie-Gabrielle de Saint Eutrope:
Very common! Very very common!! Common as muck!!
great chapter @windar , more of this wouldn’t go amiss, not with me anyway
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
I prefer an unzipped, open fronted orange jumpsuit myself Monty, but I agree ... a wonderful chapter!
M
montycrusto
Guest
Orange jumpsuits have their place.. and so do thin, grey, short prison dresses with no underwear.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
All of the above are images of fantasy Monty ... but the Orange Jumpsuit just does it for me ...
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Ouch!
Smart move.
Does the same immunity cover Prince Andrew?
At least the great philosopher David Hume had the courtesy to change the incorrect Scottish spelling to the correct pronunciation. Some Scots have common sense.
Barb and Windy - you continue to weave an evil and entrancing plot!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Every member of the Senate (the Republicans too?
) and only half the House of Representatives?Could someone explain Kelly that she needs a majority in both chambers, in order to get things favourable for her?
windar
Teller of Tales
She only needs half plus one. Of course quite a few of the members are women (though not as many as in Iceland), but she will be happy to take care of them too...
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
As far as I understand the US Constitution well, blowing half plus one in the House and two-thirds in the Senate, and she can enforce an impeachment of the president!She only needs half plus one. Of course quite a few of the members are women (though not as many as in Iceland), but she will be happy to take care of them too...
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
PRPR had a so much more classy ring to it!
That's our Barb alright!
Need a booster collagen injection, Barb?
I'll bet a few (many?) stayed glued to the screen. I was!
A sad, but necessary cost.
Where can we buy copies of the video?
Ditto my several previous comments. This story is immensely enjoyable (as is a part of me reading it!)
What????
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Young Barb is about 20? Then don't you mean twenty-five years.
Another bit of unexpected plot twist (or perhaps just the groundwork for a twist - I've given up trying to read ahead. If I didn't know better, I'd think you guys are just making this up as you go along!
)
windar
Teller of Tales
It's best to be diplomatic in the case of the ambassador
We just throw stuff at the wall and see if it sticks....If I didn't know better, I'd think you guys are just making this up as you go along!
25.
“As you were!” snapped the President as he swept into the Situation Room. A red-faced Rose followed with the coffee urn. He was irritable and had just chewed her out for no good reason at all.
The reason for his foul mood was that he had just been informed that the joint CIA/military rescue mission to snatch Ambassador Moore from the clutches of the PRFF had failed.
“Is everyone present?” he growled. “Leo? … Mr Prime Minister?”
“Yes, we’re here, Mr President,” replied Leo from the speakers belonging to one of the room’s wall screens.
“Okay, good,” the President replied before turning to the Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staffs and saying, with an edge to his voice, “Well, Fitz, suppose you tell me what the fuck happened with our rescue mission.”
“It turned out badly as you already know Mr.President.”
“Fitz, from what I hear, it was a complete fucking disaster.”
“Yes, Mr President, one might say that. But here’s what happened. Following the video call yesterday evening with the PRFF, the whiz kid analysts over at Langley were able to finally get a definite fix on the origin of the call. It looked good. We had the coordinates, and satellite imagery confirmed a building at those coordinates that had all the hallmarks of a clandestine headquarters. So we put together a team of Navy Seals and CIA special ops folks, and planned a mission to rescue our kidnapped Ambassador. As you may recall, you were informed of all this at … uh … precisely 23:30 hours last night. And you gave the go ahead at 23:40.”
“I did, Fitz, and I did so because I was all but assured of success. I recall hearing a probability estimate of 94 percent, which sounded pretty good. So, tell me, what went wrong?”
“We were that confident of success, Mr. President. We had their coordinates, as I said, and we had assembled the best team in the world. They flew in under cover of darkness at 0-three hundred on four Ospreys carrying 24 men each, launched from a light assault carrier stationed offshore. Once on the ground, our teams established a secure perimeter, closed in on the target, launched smoke grenades and various diversionary pyrotechnics, and stormed the building.”
“And …?”
“Well, Mr. President … that’s the rather embarrassing part. As it turned out, the PRFF proved to be far more craftier than we gave them credit for. They managed to somehow trick us … through some kind of high tech wizardry … into thinking we had the right coordinates, when in fact we didn’t.”
“So, what happened?” What did the raid yield, if anything?”
“Uh … would you believe seventeen prostitutes, a Madame, and six Johns? The place turned out to be a brothel.”
“Casualties?”
“Two sprained ankles, plus some minor scratches and bruises inflicted by several of the prostitutes who decided to put up a fight. We also lost an Osprey that had to be left behind due to engine trouble; damned things are always breaking down.”
“It really was a fucking disaster then. But …what’s done is done. What do we do now when the leader of the PRFF comes on screen, which should be happening any moment now?”
“Mr President,” responded Leo, speaking from the screen on the wall, “I believe the Prime Minister has something to say on this. I’m going to put him on.”
“Sure, why not?”
“Good evening, Mr President.”
“Good evening to you, Mr Prime Minister. What do you have for us?”
“My advice, Mr President is that we stall for another twenty-four hours.”
“But that would be costly! The PRFF has told us, as you well know, that they will double the ransom demand, and they have threatened to subject poor Ambassador Moore to tortures more cruel than those she has already endured.”
“Yes, I am aware of that, and having met and gotten to know Ambassador Moore, I am especially aggrieved by the prospect of her continued sufferings at the hands of such monstrous people. She is an innocent victim in this. But, if given another twenty-four hours, I believe I have the means to achieve what your people so ignominiously failed to pull off.”
“How?”
“Ah, Mr President. That I cannot share. Suffice it to say that my man, Robert, informs me that he can pull it off. And I have every confidence in his ability to deliver.”
“Who is this Robert? We know he is there with you and Leo, but we only know him as ‘Robert’ and we never see him on screen.”
“Robert is his nom de guerre. Let’s just say he is a soldier of fortune who knows these islands like no one else. He’s assessed the situation thoroughly and assures me that given the proper resources, which I and my associates here in Providencia are prepared to provide, he will have rescued Ambassador Moore by this time tomorrow.”
“I see. What do you think, Leo?”
“I think we should go for it, Mr President.”
“And what do you say, Fitz?”
“I don’t like it, Mr President. I don’t like it at all. I think we’d be better off to give our own people another go at it.”
“For some reason, Fitz, that scares the hell out of me. I don’t see where we have any choice. Okay, Mr Prime Minister. We’ll go with it. Give your Robert, whoever he is, a thumb’s up, Now, I see it’s about time for our PRFF friends to check in. This should be interesting.”
As though on cue, the same man they had seen exactly twenty-four hours earlier, clad in camouflage fatigues and balaclava, suddenly appeared on screen, backed by the PRFF flag.
“My comrades and I are extremely disappointed,” he began, eschewing any formalities. “You have failed to meet our ransom demands or issued a call for new Commonwealth elections … in addition to launching a duplicitous attack that has failed ignominiously. For shame! Now you must pay the price for your obstinance and treachery. Our ransom demand has doubled and your dear Ambassador Moore must also pay a much higher price. Our patience wears thin. You have another twenty-four hours to do the right thing. Do not disappoint us a second time! And now, without further ado, and in the hope of spurring you on, I give you a little taste of Ambassador Moore’s continued sufferings.”
“Why is that necessary?” demanded the President. “There’s no need to interrogate her any further. She knows very little. Surely, by now, you’ve gotten everything she knows out of her.”
“Yes, we have. But we regard our ability to continue torturing her to be a powerful incentive for you to stop playing games and accede to our demands.”
With that the image on the wall screen switched, accompanied by the customary pixelations and flashing colors, to one shot from an overhead camera trained downward to capture a naked Barb, lying stretched out on her back, strapped to a fulcrum-mounted board, at the head of which stood a large metal tub filled with murky water.
The board had just been raised. She could be seen gasping and sputtering, water streaming from nose and open mouth, sodden hair plastered to her face, neck and shoulders.
An off-camera female voice shouted, “Again! Dunk the capitalist bitch a second time, and this time let’s leave her under longer!”
The board began to tilt with a groan and a creak, the upper end descending rapidly, drawing her head beneath the surface of the water. Seconds ticked by. The camera zoomed in on her face. It looked oddly distorted under the water. And then the camera zoomed out to capture a man’s balled fist sweeping into the frame, descending in a downward arc to belt her in the stomach, causing her body to flinch and strain against the half dozen leather straps that secured her firmly to the board.
In the aftermath of the stomach punch, the surface of the water over her face suddenly roiled with a riot of bubbles and ripples due to her expelling the breath she had been so desperately attempting to hold. And as Barb’s body began to shiver and shake uncontrollably, a woman’s hand could be seen caressing her chest … as a lover would.
“Keep her under a bit longer,” the woman could be heard to say, instructing her comrades as she abruptly seized and cruelly twisted one of Barb’s nipples.
“This is for show, comrades …” the woman continued, “to all those scumbags watching in Washington and Providencia City, that we revolutionaries are determined and utterly ruthless.”
And then the screen went dark.
“My God!” exclaimed the President. “All I can say is … Mr Prime Minister, I hope your Robert, whoever he really is, delivers as promised!”
“I’m confident that he will, Mr. President, but I have two requests to make of you … assuming that Robert is in fact successful. Given that I as Prime Minister of Providencia have a personal political stake in this sordid affair, and that I as Prime Minister feel a profound sense of responsibility for the unfortunate plight of Ambassador Moore, I ask first of all for your solemn agreement that this entire matter be kept in strict confidence. And second, I respectfully request that I be allowed personally to see to Ms Moore’s rest and recuperation in the aftermath of her ordeal. Indeed, I’ve already arranged with my associates to provide her with a special place where she may recover in peace and seclusion. It’s the very least I can do.”
“Well yes, Mr Prime Minister. We can accede to that. I believe that it’s in the interest of my administration to keep this entire affair out of the public eye. Think of the field day the GOP might have with it. Wouldn’t you agree, Fitz?”
“Yes, I concur, Mr President.”
“What say you, Leo?”
“I think the Prime Minister’s plan would work out well for all involved, and it’s quite obvious that Ambassador Moore will need a quiet and private place to rest and recuperate. We can name an interim ambassador to take her place, or even leave the post temporarily in the hands of her assistant … Jimmy something or other, as I recall.”
“Agreed then. This meeting is adjourned.”
“As you were!” snapped the President as he swept into the Situation Room. A red-faced Rose followed with the coffee urn. He was irritable and had just chewed her out for no good reason at all.
The reason for his foul mood was that he had just been informed that the joint CIA/military rescue mission to snatch Ambassador Moore from the clutches of the PRFF had failed.
“Is everyone present?” he growled. “Leo? … Mr Prime Minister?”
“Yes, we’re here, Mr President,” replied Leo from the speakers belonging to one of the room’s wall screens.
“Okay, good,” the President replied before turning to the Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staffs and saying, with an edge to his voice, “Well, Fitz, suppose you tell me what the fuck happened with our rescue mission.”
“It turned out badly as you already know Mr.President.”
“Fitz, from what I hear, it was a complete fucking disaster.”
“Yes, Mr President, one might say that. But here’s what happened. Following the video call yesterday evening with the PRFF, the whiz kid analysts over at Langley were able to finally get a definite fix on the origin of the call. It looked good. We had the coordinates, and satellite imagery confirmed a building at those coordinates that had all the hallmarks of a clandestine headquarters. So we put together a team of Navy Seals and CIA special ops folks, and planned a mission to rescue our kidnapped Ambassador. As you may recall, you were informed of all this at … uh … precisely 23:30 hours last night. And you gave the go ahead at 23:40.”
“I did, Fitz, and I did so because I was all but assured of success. I recall hearing a probability estimate of 94 percent, which sounded pretty good. So, tell me, what went wrong?”
“We were that confident of success, Mr. President. We had their coordinates, as I said, and we had assembled the best team in the world. They flew in under cover of darkness at 0-three hundred on four Ospreys carrying 24 men each, launched from a light assault carrier stationed offshore. Once on the ground, our teams established a secure perimeter, closed in on the target, launched smoke grenades and various diversionary pyrotechnics, and stormed the building.”
“And …?”
“Well, Mr. President … that’s the rather embarrassing part. As it turned out, the PRFF proved to be far more craftier than we gave them credit for. They managed to somehow trick us … through some kind of high tech wizardry … into thinking we had the right coordinates, when in fact we didn’t.”
“So, what happened?” What did the raid yield, if anything?”
“Uh … would you believe seventeen prostitutes, a Madame, and six Johns? The place turned out to be a brothel.”
“Casualties?”
“Two sprained ankles, plus some minor scratches and bruises inflicted by several of the prostitutes who decided to put up a fight. We also lost an Osprey that had to be left behind due to engine trouble; damned things are always breaking down.”
“It really was a fucking disaster then. But …what’s done is done. What do we do now when the leader of the PRFF comes on screen, which should be happening any moment now?”
“Mr President,” responded Leo, speaking from the screen on the wall, “I believe the Prime Minister has something to say on this. I’m going to put him on.”
“Sure, why not?”
“Good evening, Mr President.”
“Good evening to you, Mr Prime Minister. What do you have for us?”
“My advice, Mr President is that we stall for another twenty-four hours.”
“But that would be costly! The PRFF has told us, as you well know, that they will double the ransom demand, and they have threatened to subject poor Ambassador Moore to tortures more cruel than those she has already endured.”
“Yes, I am aware of that, and having met and gotten to know Ambassador Moore, I am especially aggrieved by the prospect of her continued sufferings at the hands of such monstrous people. She is an innocent victim in this. But, if given another twenty-four hours, I believe I have the means to achieve what your people so ignominiously failed to pull off.”
“How?”
“Ah, Mr President. That I cannot share. Suffice it to say that my man, Robert, informs me that he can pull it off. And I have every confidence in his ability to deliver.”
“Who is this Robert? We know he is there with you and Leo, but we only know him as ‘Robert’ and we never see him on screen.”
“Robert is his nom de guerre. Let’s just say he is a soldier of fortune who knows these islands like no one else. He’s assessed the situation thoroughly and assures me that given the proper resources, which I and my associates here in Providencia are prepared to provide, he will have rescued Ambassador Moore by this time tomorrow.”
“I see. What do you think, Leo?”
“I think we should go for it, Mr President.”
“And what do you say, Fitz?”
“I don’t like it, Mr President. I don’t like it at all. I think we’d be better off to give our own people another go at it.”
“For some reason, Fitz, that scares the hell out of me. I don’t see where we have any choice. Okay, Mr Prime Minister. We’ll go with it. Give your Robert, whoever he is, a thumb’s up, Now, I see it’s about time for our PRFF friends to check in. This should be interesting.”
As though on cue, the same man they had seen exactly twenty-four hours earlier, clad in camouflage fatigues and balaclava, suddenly appeared on screen, backed by the PRFF flag.
“My comrades and I are extremely disappointed,” he began, eschewing any formalities. “You have failed to meet our ransom demands or issued a call for new Commonwealth elections … in addition to launching a duplicitous attack that has failed ignominiously. For shame! Now you must pay the price for your obstinance and treachery. Our ransom demand has doubled and your dear Ambassador Moore must also pay a much higher price. Our patience wears thin. You have another twenty-four hours to do the right thing. Do not disappoint us a second time! And now, without further ado, and in the hope of spurring you on, I give you a little taste of Ambassador Moore’s continued sufferings.”
“Why is that necessary?” demanded the President. “There’s no need to interrogate her any further. She knows very little. Surely, by now, you’ve gotten everything she knows out of her.”
“Yes, we have. But we regard our ability to continue torturing her to be a powerful incentive for you to stop playing games and accede to our demands.”
With that the image on the wall screen switched, accompanied by the customary pixelations and flashing colors, to one shot from an overhead camera trained downward to capture a naked Barb, lying stretched out on her back, strapped to a fulcrum-mounted board, at the head of which stood a large metal tub filled with murky water.
The board had just been raised. She could be seen gasping and sputtering, water streaming from nose and open mouth, sodden hair plastered to her face, neck and shoulders.
An off-camera female voice shouted, “Again! Dunk the capitalist bitch a second time, and this time let’s leave her under longer!”
The board began to tilt with a groan and a creak, the upper end descending rapidly, drawing her head beneath the surface of the water. Seconds ticked by. The camera zoomed in on her face. It looked oddly distorted under the water. And then the camera zoomed out to capture a man’s balled fist sweeping into the frame, descending in a downward arc to belt her in the stomach, causing her body to flinch and strain against the half dozen leather straps that secured her firmly to the board.
In the aftermath of the stomach punch, the surface of the water over her face suddenly roiled with a riot of bubbles and ripples due to her expelling the breath she had been so desperately attempting to hold. And as Barb’s body began to shiver and shake uncontrollably, a woman’s hand could be seen caressing her chest … as a lover would.
“Keep her under a bit longer,” the woman could be heard to say, instructing her comrades as she abruptly seized and cruelly twisted one of Barb’s nipples.
“This is for show, comrades …” the woman continued, “to all those scumbags watching in Washington and Providencia City, that we revolutionaries are determined and utterly ruthless.”
And then the screen went dark.
“My God!” exclaimed the President. “All I can say is … Mr Prime Minister, I hope your Robert, whoever he really is, delivers as promised!”
“I’m confident that he will, Mr. President, but I have two requests to make of you … assuming that Robert is in fact successful. Given that I as Prime Minister of Providencia have a personal political stake in this sordid affair, and that I as Prime Minister feel a profound sense of responsibility for the unfortunate plight of Ambassador Moore, I ask first of all for your solemn agreement that this entire matter be kept in strict confidence. And second, I respectfully request that I be allowed personally to see to Ms Moore’s rest and recuperation in the aftermath of her ordeal. Indeed, I’ve already arranged with my associates to provide her with a special place where she may recover in peace and seclusion. It’s the very least I can do.”
“Well yes, Mr Prime Minister. We can accede to that. I believe that it’s in the interest of my administration to keep this entire affair out of the public eye. Think of the field day the GOP might have with it. Wouldn’t you agree, Fitz?”
“Yes, I concur, Mr President.”
“What say you, Leo?”
“I think the Prime Minister’s plan would work out well for all involved, and it’s quite obvious that Ambassador Moore will need a quiet and private place to rest and recuperate. We can name an interim ambassador to take her place, or even leave the post temporarily in the hands of her assistant … Jimmy something or other, as I recall.”
“Agreed then. This meeting is adjourned.”
windar
Teller of Tales
Now if I wrote that, I would receive a string of
's
I didn't pee in the tub!!! I use the grass outside...
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Has Rose been promoted to West Wing coffee bhisti?
I'm coming to like and respect this rebel!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Damn!
Who did they send in ... Johnny English
I love this, so freaking hot!
I have Kat and Grace on standby if help is required, but in truth they would probably end up as captives too
Brilliant stuff as always ...