Epilog, Part 2. Saturday, 15 July, 16:10, Office of Senator, Hobart G. Moore.
“What the fuck is this, Merriweather?” demanded the Senator, pointing at an envelope lying on the far corner of his desktop.
“It’s my letter of resignation, Hobart.”
“Resignation? You can’t do that now! We’re about to begin difficult negotiations with the Administration over the next federal budget and the other side is playing their damnable games again. I need you now!”
“No sir, today is my last day, and that which happened just a few minutes ago was the last time you’ll ever get to fuck me,” she retorted, pulling up her panties and lowering her skirt, after straightening up from where she had been bent face down over his desk.
The Senator stared at her in wide-eyed astonishment, pants still gathered around his ankles.
“I can destroy you, Sherri! You know that.”
“I doubt it. I already checked to see that the six million promised me back in Tokyo is safely deposited in my Swiss bank account. It is. And besides, should I go to the press with lurid tales of how you fucked me over this very desk back when I was a naive college intern just arrived here from Winona, Minnesota, we’ll see who will be destroyed.”
“You were more than willing.”
“No, not really … you were powerful and I was simply scared … frightened that I’d lose the plum internship I’d worked so hard to obtain. No, Hobart. The press will have a field day, and there’ll be an investigation, possible censure, even a case for the courts … your political career ruined!”
***************
Sunday, 16 July, 13:39. On the Baltic coast somewhere near Gräddö, Sweden.
Gun Thorell stretched lazily and rolled over on her side to give Annika a gentle poke in the ribs.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep, Annika. The guys will be here soon with the food and drink.”
“I know. I wasn’t falling asleep.”
“Your eyes were closed, and the sun is warm. I know it was making me feel drowsy.”
“No, I was just recalling all that we went through together through in Tokyo just a few days ago, and thinking how fortunate we are to be back safe in Sweden, lying on this ancient granite slab, soaking up the warmth of that midsummer sun … about to gather with our closest friends.”
“Yeah. You realize it’s only been a little over three weeks since we were here, at this very spot, partying with our friends?”
“Uh-huh. As I recall you and I were wrestling with Barb, getting her to remove her bikini bottom, laughing and playfully rolling about in the nude by the time the guys arrived.”
“Yes, I remember. And I wish Barb was here now.”
“Me too.”
“Where is she?”
“Had to go back to Minnesota … something to do with her position at the university there. Needed to report in to her Dean. Don’t know exactly what the issue was, although I gathered there was a problem of some kind with her research budget. In any case, she promised to be back in Uppsala later this summer. I understand she’s going to be doing some work with Åke up in Sollefteå.”
“That and getting herself laid every time Åke can get her in bed, I’ll bet.
“Ha! Or laid out on that old torture rack he keeps in basement museum.
Did Åke really stretch her out on that thing? I wish I had been there at the time to have seen that.”
“He did … or more accurately, she allowed him to do it. He even got in a few lashes across her boobs and belly before she put an end to it.”
“Amazing, how she always manages to get herself in trouble. Oh! Listen? I think I hear the guys coming now. We ought to put our bottoms back on so as not be bare-assed when they get here.”
“Right.”
“Oh, by the way. What’s going on with you and Bertil Hansson? I noticed when the guys met our SÄPO plane at Arlanda on Friday that you went off alone with Bertil in his car while the rest of us rode back to Uppsala in the police van.”
“Yeah, it was quite a reception at the airport wasn’t it? Everyone was there … Chief Björklund, old Fintväder, most of the Uppsala detective squad, tv film crews … and much to my surprise, even the Prime Minister. And good old, Bulldozer, as always, managed to make a total ass of himself by insisting on making a self-congratulatory speech.”
“You’re avoiding my question, Gun.”
“Yes, I was. But if you really must know … Bertil and I stopped off at a hotel before returning to Uppsala.”
“Nooooo!”
“What about Maj? His wife?”
“Off visiting her sister in Sundsvall,” so he said.
“How long have you two been …?”
“Only once before … that’s the truth … but …”
“Okay. I won’t ask for details. Here come the guys!”
**************
Syndicate headquarters, undisclosed location somewhere in China. Sunday, 16 July, 20:52 (13:52 Swedish time).
“Have you seen this?”
“No, what is it?”
“News item picked off Swedish television … “
“This is several days old … “
“I know, but you might want to view it …. It’s a video of that windbag Chief of the Swedish Security Service, SÄPO, bragging about how he singlehandedly masterminded and led a lightening rescue strike in Tokyo to free those two Swedish cops, Thorell and Sjöberg, along with that American thorn in our side, Barbara Moore, from that Tokyo sex club where we had consigned them to a life of sex slavery.”
“This apparently happened days ago, and this is the first I’ve heard of it? And from that Swedish moron, Bulldozer Olsson, no less?” Where is Sato? Why didn’t he get in touch with us? The Red Dragon is his place, right? We sold those women to him as I recall.
“Monitoring Swedish news is not exactly high priority. And it seems the Tokyo police have been holding Sato for questioning since his club was raided.”
“Will they let him go?”
“Of course they will. It’s all for show until things die down. He owns them, after all.”
“And what about our operative in Tokyo? Why haven’t we heard from him?”
“He seems to have vanished into thin air.”
“Coward! He’ll pay for that. No one vanishes for long when the Syndicate wants them dead. Track him down and have him eliminated. And make sure that other heads roll as well. Everyone involved in the operation to abduct and deliver those women to Sato at the Red Dragon is to be eliminated. The Syndicate does not tolerate failure.”
“Of course. Consider it done. I understand that the American billionaire and Senator, Hobart Moore, had a hand in this. Barbara Moore, as you know, is his daughter.”
“Yes, that makes sense. The Senator has long been a thorn in our side. We’ll deal with him directly someday, rather than through his troublesome daughter, but not anytime soon … too high a political profile.”
“And what about his daughter and the two Swedes, Gun Thorell and Annika Sjöberg?”
“Let them enjoy their freedom for now. But they’ll learn in good time that the Syndicate neither forgets nor forgives. We’ll get them next time around.”
SLUT