Chapter 1

Just a note: There is minimal content about what may take place in a BDSM environment. SOL has many authors that will provide you content and a set of dialogues. In general, most BDSM arrangements are by consent, the levels range from mild to fetish. Those that involve children or are not by adult consent are vile and should never be considered even in faux. The few portions of this story that deal with some clubs, are ones that follow a show type model as was part of the description of the club in Spain.

The clubs are one of the few public, semi-public places that the rich and powerful may visit. Private social clubs, Casinos and Resorts are others. The setting of Middle Europe is used, France, Germany, Switzerland, Turkey and the Russias are the locations which most of the story will focus on, although Odessa is real and worldwide. Much of the things mentioned have appeared in public and military records. The story is fiction.

At some 'hide' in the countryside:

The hide had been provisioned with food (tasteless), water, limited ammo and some of the older .338 Lapua and .50 Barrett weapons. A few hides had begun to include the .416 but none here had those or any of the new thermal scopes.

Breathing air was cooled or heated within the vest before it was discharged to match the ambient temperature. This 'sanction' was to be about two miles and should not be considered possible because of the distance. Time was a slight problem but it was other things, which made this a difficult assignment. I knew at least two other assets would be there, but I hoped that the message that would be broadcast would make multiple kills un-necessary. A sanction is an assassination sponsored by some legitimate body.

It was not that it would be a hard climb, but that it would take a long time. The site had been prepared years ago. At a time that even the houses and compounds had not been built. In 2008 the average kill range was 1,000 - 1,500 meters. Most kills required two shots, or even more if armour or plate glass was in use.*

*(a kill is not the same as shooting at a range target; body armour and various armoured glass made all but a head shot not feasible at a distance. The target record is held by two Canadians for target shots only )

The hide site was within the mountain itself and had tunnels leading out six sides. Normally an ascent like this would be done under the cover of darkness, but now, in 2014, in the real world of a sanction, the use of drones, thermal imaging and comparative mapping from satellites made daytime the best time to advance. For some reason, more data gathering and comparison was being done in the day.

I had taken the Mark VIII thermal scope and a Bowden Eliminator chambered for a .416 round. These combined the range of the .50, and the variety of cartridges for the .338 Lapua. This .416 had computer controls, and three of the newer rounds could be configured while in flight. 'The Sabot', 'The Accelerator', and 'The Exploding' round could also be guided on target from remote aerial and/or satellite guidance.

Vehicle penetration and sheer energy did not match the .50 cal depleted uranium round, but the range and accuracy of the .416 made it an ideal choice against soft targets. The Sabot round would defeat all body armour and glass, while the other rounds, except the mercury-filled, would kill at a range of at least two miles away, however no one had the ability to shoot two or three times for such a kill.

Even until 2012, just over one mile was the best kill range the .416 could achieve. Thermal-free hood, gloves, boots, vest and pants were always worn under the white or camo outerwear. Heating and cooling sections were used to keep the user comfortable. Breath usually needed to be cooled, so doing this while heating the body required special gear. Weight was always the limiting factor. Hydro packs kept water cool or warm but food was more like that in a spacecraft, and only small amounts of ammo could be carried. The old maxim of 'one shot, one kill' was always in mind.

Getting up to the cave was to take several days. When the first ultimatum was given, the Premier had gone to the bunker along with his staff. The cat and mouse game continued for a while. One last comment was made in the message the premier received. It merely made an apology for what was to happen and indicated that no more requests to him would follow, to use this remaining time to ready himself and say goodbye to friends and family. His next actions would dictate the number of kills that would occur.

ur.

Once the order and failsafe were issued, nothing further would be broadcast or would be heard. This was both good and bad. Good because it meant things would soon be over, bad because without communications, if things changed many others may die, even one or more of us. Once in the cave we had ammo for ten to twenty targets, and food (more like paste) and water (worst desert case) for ninety days or more. We carried no IDs, used no uniforms or insignias and did not rely on our extraction from a client's resource, we would be on our own. We were paid up-front, and most casualties came from those hired by the client to eliminate 'us', the shooter(s), for security purposes I am certain. I say 'us, ' only because a few had been trained at the same places and been in teams during several previous conflicts. It was there where we learned the 'fallacy' of trusting the government or client.

Once un-leashed, completion of the assignment was normally due within seventy-two hours. Most clients were government or military, since a satellite broadcast was normally used to start the clock. Prices were between three and five million dollars; with a few as high as ten million(each), under special circumstances.

This was one of those specials. The target was well protected, and there was only a small window of opportunity. But there was an alternate target, if the primary could not be removed. There would be only one shot, and a kill was expected. The client had provided this mountain cave. Now my location was known and if I were to be terminated, well, just say there would be a small follow-up action.

It was an agreement a few of us had made with each other. If one of the four of us was given an assignment, then terminated, retribution from the others made that event a breach of our security, most clients found a need for this security very rare.

Even while waiting; Max was always on my mind. How that young girl could have gotten so badly to me, I'd never understand. I wanted to hate her. The ease of her actions and her obvious intelligence made that difficult.

"Game on, it's Showtime children" followed by the password, came though the headset.

I removed the frequency chip, and then placed it into a glass-lined vial of acid where it would soon dissolve.

I prepared for the kill. One of the two targets was on the way. Inside the compound was a large house with the primary target inside. He was well guarded and every window was Armolamex III glass*. The Sabot could penetrate that but if the target was wearing body armour and at this distance only a head shot would kill. I waited, knowing that the secondary would now be my target.

* Armoured glass is a clear security glass composed of several clear glass panes sandwiched with layers of polyvinyl butyral (PVB) and a layer of polycarbonate on the inside or centre. Armoured cars use Armolamex VI or better, that will stop an armour piercing .50(4-5 even) or a special sabot or chemical round (only 1 folks). The passenger cage is secured for 45-60 minutes except for a tank, howitzers, mini gun fire or greater fire power like a bomb or a laser or repeated chemical attacks to the same spot.(The driver goes on the first hit usually a RPG round or tank mine or both.)

In about an hour, three cars pulled into the courtyard. A tall man opened the rear door of the car and a little girl ran out. As she reached the door, it opened. She ran up and hugged her father just as my shot was released. I saw them both tumble down. The explosive round had reduced their heads to mere pieces.

Killing both seemed the kindest thing to do. The child would always blame herself if she had lived, so would the father if only she was killed. It was better this way. I began the long way home, wherever that was...

I had told Paulie that I would call him when I got back. I put off calling, and went on a holiday to Rio. The beach was like many others around the world, but looking up one could watch huge condors floating above on the thermal currents. After a week of this and turning away questionable ladies, it was time to return. I had pretty much decided to retire. I had saved a decent amount of money. This last job had pumped up my nest egg to over thirty-five million. One last call to Paulie, from a throwaway phone, and John Symthe would disappear forever.

I called Paulie. He asked me where I was. Not something he had ever done. He wanted to meet me. I knew he was not alone and seemed to need help. I told him I was headed out on another assignment and might see him at our usual place next month. Then I hung up, removed the SIM chip and disposed of the phone. We had no usual place and it was a signal that I would find him and try to help.

When I called, I had been outside his home. After our chat, I began to view the outside as well as many thermal views within the house. My own thermal signature was obscured by the clothes I had worn, and I decided night was my friend, here. There had been six others in the house with Paulie.

At about 0200 hours, I entered the house by quietly opening the second floor patio.

As soon as I entered, a voice spoke, "Hello, Ryan. Why did you leave me?"

I was caught. Me, who had to live by my wits for most of my life, now I was facing my worst enemy.

"Hi, Marcia, long time no see."

"You miserable dog, you! Do you know how many times I went looking for you? I thought we were a thing. Daddy thought so too, when I told him. Why did you run out on me?"

"Would you believe that I went to the store, was hit in the head; and had a sudden loss of memory?" She glared at me.

"Well then, maybe because you were in love with me but I was not with you. You were always smothering me. We never talked about us, it was always what you wanted, never what I thought about anything. I got tired of just being your date at yet another party. There was never anyone else for me, but you just seemed to want to drag me along as your pet or toy."

Marcia slightly nodded her head.

"Paulie works for Daddy, you know? I knew this was one way that you would come back. You can go to Paulie's funeral, now."

I lunged for her, grabbed her, ready to squeeze the very life out of her. She just placed her arms around my neck and kissed me.

"Kidding! The boys only took him out to a nice dinner. It did not take much to convince him to help. Even he thought we made a nice couple. When he told me about that Bimbo(Max) he had set you up to work for, I got this plan ready."

Now what I going to do? Marcia had been held for ransom five years ago when I had rescued her. Paulie had told me that her father was very appreciative and wanted to thank me in person. Paulie mentioned that it was the kind of invitation that I could not refuse.

Gino(Her Dad) was about twelve years older than I was. When I called to let Paulie know Marcia was safe, maybe. He had sent a car over for us. We were taken to, what I assumed was his estate. The three of us were served what, by my appetite, was one of the best meals I ever had. Later a drink was served and we made a toast. "To friends!" he said. "If you ever need anything, tell Paulie. It will be taken care of." He reached into a drawer near his chair and handed me something. I opened the box and inside was a ring. It was heavy gold with a design and a small stone set in the middle. I put it on, and it fit.

Gino said, "I won't insult you with more money, now, but you are a family friend, and are under our protection. It will be of great interest for you to know that if anyone does kill you, a vendetta will result," He laughed and added, "Then we shall dance and drink at your funeral."

I had been invited to several social events since then. At least once a year there was some family event where Gino would introduce me and hug and kiss me on both cheeks. I had watched Marcia grow up. When she was to graduate high school, I got a call from Paulie. 'There was a problem at Gino's, would I go there and do him a favour?'

What kind of a favour I wondered. Gino was by this time like my brother. There was nothing that we would not do for each other. By now even the guards knew me, my car, and Gino had given me the security codes to the house and grounds. I drove up to the door, went up to the door and the butler and two guards were before me. "You need to see Gino, right now, things are really bad," one of the guards, said. I knew him, his name was Sal and I knew he had been with Gino many years.

I followed him into the library. "Ryan," Gino said, tossing his hair with his hands. "It's Marcia, go talk to her, try to make her understand our point of view on this." Since I was not sure what our point of view was, I went up to see Marcia. I knocked on her door and heard her sobbing.

There was a soft "Yes?"

I look back to when I entered the room, as the beginning of my being her personal puppy dog. Ever since I had rescued her, and watched her grow up to be a young lady, I knew there was nothing she would ask me that I would not do for her. She was family. My family, and just as Gino had told me years before, family always took care of family.

"What's up, princess?" I said.

She ran up to me and put her arms around me.

"Oh, Ryan, Papa is so unfair. He insists that he must send bodyguards and drive me to my Prom. Any boy who ever tried to take me out was never good enough or was chased away by the guards if they even tried to hold my hand, let alone kiss me. Now no one will even take me to the Prom. It's just not fair."

"Let me talk to Gino, and see what I can do," I said.

Gino and I had a long talk. That meant he talked and I listened. After he finished, I asked him one question.

"Gino, if you are so afraid of Marcia being kidnapped again, why did you send her to a regular school? You certainly could afford a tutor and kept her in this castle."

We both knew that since the ransom, there was an unreasonable fear in Gino that it would happen again. I had made sure there was a clear message left on the dead bodies of the kidnappers, to never bother the family again. To make that cleat to anyone, in the weeks that followed, several other bodies were found with pieces missing.

Gino said, "Because I wanted her to have a normal life."

"Going to the Prom is a normal one-time thing, Gino," I said. "Every girl wants to go to hers, and without that, she will not have a normal life. Now what will you do to allow it, so she can attend?"

I knew that I was in deep trouble, when I saw the smile on Gino's face.

"Go ask Marcia to join us."

I went back up, knocked, then entered.

"I spoke with your dad, and he has something to say to you. Would you join us downstairs?"

As we entered, Gino said, "Please sit down, both of you."

Gino then went on how terrible it had been not to have been able to protect Marcia when she had been kidnapped. Actually three guards had been shot, the car bombed and gassed, and three of the kidnappers had been killed in the attack.

"I only wanted to protect you and yet let you have a normal life. Yes, you can go to the Prom."

Marcia got up and ran up to him, tears running from her eyes, she kissed him.

"Ryan will be your driver, date, and bodyguard."

She looked at me. I stared at her then saw the smirk again on Gino's face.

"Oh, Papa, thank you. Will he take me to dinner and can we stay out all night?"

"Of course, sweetheart. After all, I'm sure your date wants to make you happy."

I had my mouth open.

Marcia came up to me, closed my mouth, kissed me, and said, "I think you can make me very happy," as she skipped to her room, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

After that night of fighting off a sixteen-year-old attacker for twelve hours, I thought my torture was over. No such luck. Every social event after that, any dinner, family get-together or event saw me with Marcia. Pretty soon the sly winks and casual comments had us as a couple headed for the altar.

How had this happened? Marcia was no help, every time she saw me, or when we were together, she would run up to me with a hugs, some serious kisses and seemed to be attached to me physically. It was becoming a family joke for us to 'get a room'.

I found myself spending more and more time over at Gino's. I even had my own rooms there now, which really helped me to deny Marcia and I were not 'attached'. One day Gino asked me to join him for a walk. Sal and Vince followed us and both tried to hide smirks on their faces.

Gino and I were walking a bit then he stopped and asked me, "Ryan, just what is your intention regarding my daughter? You know she is in love with you, don't you?"

I gulped. A spinning and dizzy feeling came over me and I reached out to hold onto Gino. Sal and Vince were right there to hold me up.

When my head cleared, I said. "Gino, I have never even tried to be anything other than a friend to Marcia. I think of you as a brother, and I think of her as family. I would never, intentionally, do anything to hurt her."

"I know my friend. But, my daughter takes after some of us in the family. She thinks she knows what she wants, and she is used to getting it. It seems she thinks she wants you. So what now?"

I shook my head. If I really was honest with myself, I had to admit there were many dreams that I had involving Marcia. Since that night of the Prom, she had left me no doubts that she considered that we were meant to be together. Gino was now making me make a decision that I knew would affect the rest of my life.

"I have never thought about that, Gino." I said.

Like any man, I left, and started taking assignments as far away as possible.

I spoke with Paulie.

"Gino is really pissed off. You left him with a daughter who has made bringing you back the primary focus of the entire 'Cosa Nostra'. Gino knows you need a little time to think. He thinks it is funny in a way. He has never seen his daughter like this before. Every day she has a meeting with Sal and Vince. She is now giving them orders on how to find you.

She calls me each week to see if I have heard from you. People watch your house. Family interests check for any names you have used for credit cards, passports or a license. I would not want to be on her list. She is worse than her father. I think you would be better off to just marry her and keep her pregnant. If you don't, she will hound you till you do so."

"Man, Paulie, I don't know what to do. Help me. One minute I would do anything for her, another I just wish I had never met her. What should I do?'

He just laughed and said, "We have a few assignments for you. When you get back I have a very interesting one for you. It is an old friend of mine. The pay is out of this world, and one of the people you will eventually meet will give even Marcia a run for her money, so your problems will increase, I fear."

I took the first assignment. It was a solo mission. Some fanatical something or other wanted a new law passed. The Prime Minister had refused and an ultimatum issued. I hated these kinds of hits, if not the father, then kill the daughter. All this because some rich bitch wanted her way. I did the job. It would seem easy compared to a later one I would do to forget about someone else that I had fallen for and wish I had not gotten invoved.

When I returned, Paulie had set me up to find another kidnap victim, or rather, two. It was a mother and daughter. The husband, it seemed, disposed of Sally and Sheila. The grandfather wanted them back. He was willing to use any means at his disposal and money was no object. I had told Paulie that this was not a one-man job, but he insisted I try. I owed a lot to Paulie, and did as he asked.

I tried to tell the man that he was wasting his money. If I ever did find something that I would have to hand it over to the authorities.

Just as before he said, "Keep Looking!"

So guess what? I kept looking.

His daughter and granddaughter had been abducted. From everything that had been found out, the son-in-law had probably arranged the whole thing.

He was a greedy SOB, and did not want to wait for any 'estate' or 'heir' thing. He must have been a little surprised when the grandfather refused to pay the ransom. The greedy bastard died of heart failure. It was felt he either killed off his wife and daughter, or sold them into slavery. When the grandfather demanded proof of life, they were long gone.

That was one of the reasons I kept telling the man that he should let the cops handle it, as they were the professionals. Yeah, right: professional coffee and doughnut eaters. But, after all, I was not a kidnap rescue-er. My only good point was that the man trusted me. He had heard from a friend that when I took a mission, I never gave up. That was a while ago; but, yeah, it stuck with my rep.

I was used to having good people around me, helping me: a team effort. I called the man and asked if we could meet. I knew he lived in Paris, France. I told him I could be at Charles De Gaulle airport, the next day. He laughed and suggested he would have a ride waiting for me. He said to look for 'Mr. Smythe' on the sign in the baggage area.

I thought if I met him and told him in person that he was wasting his money, then he might listen. I had agreed to a month for $20,000 plus expenses. So far, he would get back nearly $4,300 from the $30,000 he had wired me. If I had not received the call from my former client, I would never have taken the job, or the man's money. This was going to be hard, costly and more than one man could do.

The body of the son-in-law was found in Spain, near Madrid. That was about twenty days ago. He'd asked my client to have me call him less than one day after he got the ransom demand. Hell, I was willing to return the twenty Gs, if he would just drop me from the mission, and get someone else instead.

That former client was into loaning money, and the doctor he loaned it to was easy to find: just look in the book, or in this case, the internet. He had owed nearly five $ mil. He thought he was untouchable. He was willing to pay, but not right then.

My client took a dim view of any contract that was not adhered to. He, like me, valued a man's word. So he had asked for a 'not so gentle' reminder to be delivered to the doctor. It would say that the doctor 'now' owed six mil. 'Now' meant in forty-eight hours, or the next time something much more personal would happen. As usual, my client left the method to me.

I had all these great, sick ideas I had always wanted to try. Then I remembered a movie I had seen, and another idea was formed.

'Hee, hee, hee! This is going to be fun, ' I thought.

No blood, gore, or cops; but he would get the message! It was simple enough. I bought a prop in town, paid cash, and then stopped at a greeting card shop. I bought two things. I mailed one of the cards to his house via a local document delivery service.

Late that night, I paid a visit to him. He was fast asleep and alone in bed. I went to his wardrobe, got his best suit (a Louis Roth, I think), and laid it out on the bed near him. I took the small gift and the card and put both on his clothes. The next morning he woke up later than usual, on his bed was a single lily and the unsigned card: "My Deepest Sympathy" it read.

Later that day, as he read the mail, he opened the card I had sent.

"Your Loss Will Not Be Forgotten" was followed by a date, forty-eight hours in the future. He made arrangements, and paid the six mil the next day. My client laughed so much that he was holding his ribs as he handed me a briefcase. I had been on this for less than a week; four days, in fact. The case was all leather, and was really nice.

I rose to shake his hand and leave. We had done business before, and I was not going to charge him for this.

"Don't you care what's in it, Ryan?"

I replied, "Nah, you have always been fair with me. This case is enough for me."

"You keep this up and you'll have to get a real job," he said. "Look inside the case."

Inside was two hundred fifty thousand dollars, in neat packages.

He said, "You made me some extra money with this one, plus he paid the regular interest. I figured you could use a vacation. Thanks."

You see the reason why I could not refuse to try to find the man's daughter? Paulie had always treated me fairly; so when he had called, how could I refuse his request? So with some regret at failing; I left for France, to let the man down gently. He should save his money. I did not find out until later, that the ransom of two hundred fifty million would not have been more than a few weeks worth of interest on his capital!

When I got to the airport, not one but four men and a very attractive woman were holding up signs with 'Mr. Smythe' on it.

The girl, woman, female, whatever; greeted me in the traditional European way. She kissed both cheeks, then gave me a light kiss on the lips.

"Why, Uncle Ryan, you do care for me!" she said as she brushed up against my groin. She started towards the door, saying, "Walk this way, please."

As she swayed her hips, I said, "If I walked that way, I'd be arrested."

The four men had not even smiled, but the girl was having fun. When we got to the exit, three black Mercedes 600 limos were waiting. One of the men opened the back door of the centre car. The girl got in, and let her short dress ride up near her waist. I, of course, followed. One man got in the front seat. The others went to the front and back cars.

The girl said, "I'm Max. I help the Baron when travel is required."

Then she motioned for the cars to proceed. If she'd been older, had lowered her skirt, and had not been so damn cute; I might not have kept staring at her with my mouth wide open. I did notice that the cars were armoured. By the feel of mine, it had been done by someone who knew what a tank mine could do. This car was ready to go into combat. The roof had flip down armour for over the windows and a shield that separated the front from the back cage.

If I had to guess, we would be protected for several hours from anything but a tank, a 105mm cannon or an A-10 with mini-guns; these were serious transports. Man, would I like to have one of these!

Max said, "Boys and their toys, can't you think about anything else to play with, except cars?"

Again I just stared at her with my mouth open. She had to be eighteen, but maybe not. She raised the seat area between us. Inside was a small arsenal.

"These are in case our trip should be interrupted; now, or later. Each car is identical."

"We will be using identical cars while we search for Sheila and Sally." She showed me the flat screens overhead. "Satellite, aerial and drone monitors will be available in the other cars, as well. There are eight more cars like this, and four large vans will join us in Spain. You will have room for up to ten more of your men, plus the twenty I already have waiting. Do you have any questions before we meet The Baron?" she asked, as she handed me a large case.

I just could not help myself. I kept staring at her with my mouth open.

She snapped her fingers under my nose and said, "Max to Ryan! Max to Ryan! Come in please!"

"Uhh!" was all I could say.

I had come to have this poor old man cancel the mission. I was going to tell him it was too big for any one man. So he gets a woman (no, a girl) with twenty men, ten million in armoured vehicles, and God know what kind of firepower ... yeah, my mouth was still open.

I guess it was a day for surprises. When I opened the case, I found two graphite Sig-Sauer .40 calibre semi-auto pistols, with silencers; two deadly sharp knives; and a hard case full of pre-filled syringes. The bottom was filled with cash and gold coins, plus a Swiss bank account statement showed a balance of thirty million. I looked at Max.

"Don't look at me! If you need more, talk to The Baron. I'm not giving you any of mine ... not of money, that is," she said, and then smiled.

She lowered another panel in the car. Twenty-four throwaway cellphones and a dozen pre-loaded debit cards were there.

"For emergency use," she continued. "I have a small team gathering intel for us in Madrid (Small? Sure! She had twenty operatives there!). We will be based in Costa del Sol, where the trail will begin. Can your people meet us there?" she asked.

She handed me a number, saying, "Have them call, and someone will met them when they arrive. We leave within forty-eight hours. A helicopter will take us from the chateau in two hours. The vehicles are already in Spain, so are other supplies and assets."