Part 2: Chercher La Femme

Chapter 18: Girl Hunt Dismounted

At the regular weekly meeting of the advisors, head of security, and the Chief Eunuch, the Head of Protocol, Kamal Qumsiyeh opened the meeting by saying, “The Emir, may he live for ever, asked me today if he has enough sons yet.”

“How did you answer that?” inquired the new Diplomatic Adviser, Ghada Baroud, “I assume we don’t want another problem like finding him and getting him on to the throne.”

“Naturally I could not advise him one way or the other, but it really does not matter as he just wants to go off acquiring some new slaves for his harem.”

“Where from? The only working slave markets are here, the island of Rab, off the Croatian coast, and those in Saudi Arabia which are forbidden to foreigners.”

“I think he just wants to go round some of the capitals of Europe to see what he can find. Be fair he can dazzle anyone with his wallet and he can play the gentleman with the best of them. Once the women are in Kobekistan it is his choice what happens to them. I explained he could send someone else, or have dossiers prepared by the embassies, but I think he really wants a break from here. I went into some detail about his grandfather’s methods, but he is determined to go himself.”

Ghada Baroud then said, “I’ll let the embassies know when he is coming, and they can report back on his activities. Not checking up on him, you understand, merely making sure we know what we need to know. As an afterthought we might do well to send Maktum with him as bodyguard cum chauffeur, he can keep us notified also.”

Chapter 19: Paris

The details of the journey were booked by Kamal Qumsiyeh as usual, and much to his surprise the Emir, may he live for ever, as the advisor hoped after the problems of the last three and a half years, made no objection to the detailed arrangement that he would stay in the embassy and have a chauffeur from the royal bodyguard. “I suppose that is how you will find out what I am up to? OK, assign a spy to watch me.”

The bodyguard’s first report was studied carefully by the small group of Advisors in Kobekistan as it was the first time since his accession he had gone anywhere outside the country on his own.

It read:

It is difficult to know what to put in this report as I do not wish to write anything the inclusion or omission of which you advisors will disapprove, nor yet anything likely to anger His Magnificence, may he live for ever.

I am less in His Magnificence, may he live for ever’s confidence than you perhaps imagine. After our arrival at the Paris Embassy I know nothing of what passed between His Magnificence, may he live for ever, and the staff here until I was told that His Magnificence, may he live for ever, proposed to go for a walk out of the Embassy and in the spring sunshine. As he walked along, I fell into step behind him.

After an hour walking apparently at random, His Magnificence, may he live for ever, entered a restaurant called La Potinière, closely followed by myself. We were seated, naturally at different tables, but I managed to get one with a good view of His Magnificence, may he live for ever’s situation and had detected no untoward incidents. Naturally the French Service De La Protection followed us, but did not enter the restaurant.

His Magnificence, may he live for ever, seemed to enjoy his meal, as I did. He ate caviar followed by lobster. I deduce that he had either visited the establishment before, or at least knew its reputation. He was clearly not recognised by the staff, nor made himself known to them. He entered into conversation with the waitress.

We returned to the Embassy, where we separated.

I was later informed that His Magnificence, may he live for ever, wished to dine at the same restaurant tomorrow and I will attend the security meeting with the French authorities, the Surété and the French SDLP to agree the seating. His Magnificence, may he live for ever, made it very clear to me that he wished to be served by the same waitress as today, which may be significant.

This report was the subject of much discussion and two orders were despatched to Maktum, the first was that reports were to include the abbreviation HM as code for “His Magnificence, may he live for ever” and second that details of what HM ate was not important, but that he, Maktum, was to act as food taster to HM.

In his acknowledgement Maktum did not explain that in a visit such as this one, incognito, there was minimal risk and so there would be no food tasting as it would be difficult to arrange and very cumbersome to execute. It would also prevent any hope of anonymity.

On his return to the Embassy, the Emir, may he live for ever, asked the French Embassy Head of Security to investigate the waitress. When he indicated that his interest in her was sexual, the man conferred with Maktum for a moment and then recommended to the Emir that if he wanted her shipped to Kobekistan, abduction would be much easier and more certain than wooing her.

“Would that be possible?” asked the Emir.

“As the Master wishes,” replied Maktum.

“But would it cause trouble?”

“We will inquire about the woman my Master wants. The Europeans have odd ideas about women and there may be a husband or father who objects. Strangling him might cause some small stir,” said the bodyguard and the Emir could scarcely keep a straight face when he realised that the man was totally serious.

As events progressed Maktum reported to the advisors:

HM seems to be serious about wooing this waitress. He has invited her to the opera and supper. I am to take him to collect her and then he intends to go shopping with her. We have asked the Sûreté for her file but they have nothing against her on file.

Later he reported:

The shopping expedition was apparently a success. Three evening gowns were purchased and some jewellery. She spent the night in the embassy, presumably with HM.

On reading this report Hajji Darwish Dosmukhamedov remarked, “Three gowns, it seems he intends to display her in western company, and with the ‘some jewellery’ costing the best part of a million euros.”

“We must be careful not to provoke him by complaining about the cost, or he may examine some of our expenditures a little too closely,” cautioned Kamal Qumsiyeh.

Shortly after this conversation the Chief Eunuch was informed that the Emir, may he live for ever, was returning later that day with a new concubine. The Chief Eunuch reported the next significant event to the advisors’ group as, “HM has brought in a new female to the harem but I am unsure of her position. She arrived wearing the costume of two years ago but I do not think she was ever in the harem under either of the HMs I have served. She is to be a full time servant to the new one HM brought back from France and I think she was the filthy brothel female HM brought in with his idea for the latest harem dress to show me. It appears that she is to help the French one to settle in. Personally I think the whip would achieve the same result much quicker. Add to that he has actually bought this latest one, and it is all so unnecessary.”

The other advisors murmurs their sympathy but as they all agreed, “If His Magnificence, may he live for ever, wants it so, then it must be so.”

Chapter 20: Ireland

The visit to Ireland by His Magnificence Mahmoud Abdullah may he live for ever, in search of a wife or concubine was initially somewhat fraught. Dublin had no Kobekistani Embassy, so Hajji Darwish Dosmukhamedov booked a number of rooms at the Shelbourne Hotel on St. Stephen’s Green. There was a suite of sitting room, bathroom and double bedroom with views over the Park for the Emir. Three other double bedrooms were booked for female members of the party, since it was unthinkable that the Emir would be without female company; on this occasion the stewardesses of the Royal aircraft were to provide this service. Other rooms were reserved for his security staff, headed by Maktum who would double as a chauffeur. A conference room was also booked for discussions with the Garda Siochana when necessary, and for any dinners the Emir might wish to give. All these were booked in the name of David Ransome, and the hotel was given to understand that he was an oil magnate who was in Dublin for business reasons, though of course the higher echelons of the Gardai knew exactly who he was.

This led to the first little difficulties; when the party arrived, the Assistant Manager on duty first insisted on seeing David Ransome’s passport, which turned out to be British, and then insisted on going into detail as to how the bills would be paid. David Ransome produced a Royal Bank of Kobekistan Visa card and it was duly debited with two weeks advance rental for the rooms. This led to David ordering Hajji Darwish Dosmukhamedov to smooth his way, and so the advisor spoke to the oil importing part of the Eirean government.

An hour later the hotel’s own bank manager was on the telephone saying that a letter of credit for two hundred thousand euros had been deposited with them, and that he had solid assurances that more could be obtained in minutes if necessary. What had made the bank, and so the hotel, nervous was that this had come direct from the Irish Foreign Ministry; it seemed that this visitor was so important that the Irish Government was guaranteeing his financial status.

The first outing into Dublin was that evening when the Emir climbed into the Rolls and said, “Take me to the Celt, please.”

Maktum turned and looked at his Master and said, “As the Master pleases, but your servant does not understand.”

The Emir went wild with glee, “Got you. For the first time ever, I’ve asked for somewhere you don’t know. Go across Butt Bridge, turn left into Gardiner Street and left again into Talbot Street. Then you’ll see it.”

Maktum drove off without comment. He made a mental note to ask if anyone else in the party knew anything about the Emir’s previous visit to Dublin years earlier.

When they reached the Celt, the Emir got out of the car and said, “Now vanish for three hours. I’ll be perfectly safe here. I promise not to go anywhere else.”

Inside the bar, the Emir found all was pretty well as he remembered it from his student days. The left wall was covered with what looked to be small drawers in a wooden chest of drawers, each with an abbreviated Latin name on it, which had come from an old fashioned chemist’s shop. To his right was the high bar where pints were being served.

Maktum parked the Rolls and followed him into the bar, later reporting:

It wasn’t long before HM was deep in conversation with some of the locals, mostly with an older couple called Tom and Dee who seemed to live on Social Security payments and free drinks. The following evening he was even more popular when he went with them for a meal in an improbable little Italian Restaurant run by an Iranian further along Talbot Street. He stayed quite late in the Celt each night, apparently because he enjoyed the cosmopolitan atmosphere combined with the local live bands who played there every night.

It was on his fourth successive evening in the Celt that he saw Kaitlin for the first time. She was singing with the band and he bought them all a drink, as had become his habit. During the interval he struck up a conversation with her about the band and the songs she sang. She has that unique look about her that comes with a pale complexion and the light red hair that is seen to perfection only in parts of Ireland.

He spent so much time with her that they were quickly regarded as an accepted pair when she started to use the Celt on evenings when she wasn’t singing there.

Hajji Darwish Dosmukhamedov was asked to arrange for her to visit Kobekistan with the Emir, but she did not stay long and it appeared that his visit to Dublin had not found a new concubine.

Chapter 21: New Zealand

In the June of 2010 New Zealand were to play rugby matches, one against Ireland and two against Wales and so it was decided that watching rugby was the cover story for his visit to New Zealand. Davina was an English concubine of his grandfather’s, whom he had allowed retire to Auckland shortly after his accession, so a visit to her was also arranged. She was told, in confidence, why he was visiting and she promised to arrange for him to meet some suitable candidates.

Her matchmaking efforts foundered over the public attempt to humiliate His Magnificence Mahmoud Abdullah, may he live for ever, by one candidate and he decided to spare no effort to respond in kind, preferably by enslaving the girl.

Chapter 22: Invitation

The Kobekistani Ambassador to New Zealand reported to Ghada Baroud, the abduction of Miss Browne-with-an-e in exact detail, thanks to a recording take routinely as a cautious approach to an absolute monarch.

“I insist,” thundered the Emir, “If you are saying that she cannot be put aboard my private aircraft without anyone in New Zealand knowing it has been done, then I will get a new Head of Security in this embassy.”

“Master, it can be done, but it is illegal,” protested the unfortunate staff member.

“Under the Vienna Conventions, in what country are we now standing?” demanded the Emir.

“Master, the Kobekistani Embassy and its grounds are in Kobekistan, but...”

“But nothing. In Kobekistan who decrees what is the law?”

“You, Master.”

“Fine, persuade her to come into the Embassy without breaking New Zealand law. Drug her here, because I say that is legal. Put her in a crate and move it to the plane as a Diplomatic Bag. Would that not be entirely legal?” the Emir was really angry now.

“But...” the protest continued.

“Maktum, how long would it take to strangle this one?” asked the Emir.

Maktum moved forwards slowly, eyeing up the other Security guard.

“Perhaps five minutes, Master, if I did not hurry.”

The Emir turned back to the unfortunate embassy official, “Your choice.”

The man fell to the floor in obeisance, “As the Master wishes.”

“Good,” said the Emir cheering up, “And if it is done in the next twenty-four hours you can keep your job as well as your life.”

Twenty-two hours later the aircraft of the Air Kobekistani Royal Flight took off bearing the Emir home, and carrying a large crate of diplomatic material. The New Zealand customs officials were not in the least perturbed by the unusual size of the crate, assuming that the visiting head of state had been shopping, and was using the diplomatic bag privilege simply as a means of avoiding departure delays. Kobekistan, after all, was a good friend of New Zealand, buying substantial quantities of meat and wool from their huge sheep farms and paying for it in crude oil.

On the ground in Kobekistan, Bridget was transferred, still sedated, to the Golden Palace where her own clothing was replaced and she was allowed to recover consciousness. There she found herself lying on an uncomfortable narrow bed in a small windowless room which looked to be some sort of school storeroom. Light was provided by a single bulb set into the ceiling well out of reach. The door had no handle on the inside and although she screamed and hammered on it for a while nobody came. After a quarter of an hour of fruitless effort, she sat on the bed and tried to gather her thoughts. She had accepted an invitation to visit the apartment of the young English expatriate girl rugby fanatic whom she had just met in a bar and her last memory was of accepting a delicious drink of fruit juice from her. Clearly she had been drugged and was now being held, presumably for ransom, though who they thought would pay any large sum of money for her, she did not know.

Chapter 23: Now It’s My Turn, Slave-with-one-e

It was contrary to the advisors’ unanimous wish that His Magnificence Mahmoud Abdullah, may he live for ever, persisted with his plans for the immediate future of Miss Browne-with-an-e, but he overruled them, something he seldom did. He also arranged for her interview to be relayed to them on closed circuit TV.

The first Bridget heard was a key being turned in the lock and the man she only knew as David Ransome came in with four huge men carrying wicked looking scimitars.

“Now, Miss Bridget Browne-with-an-e, as was. Henceforward you are known as Akilah, which means clever. You are far too clever for your own good. A couple of days ago you saw fit to humiliate me in public. Now it is my turn, though these men are the only public available. Remove your clothes,” he ordered.

“I’ll do no such thing,” she said, “Release me at once!”

The Emir nodded and one of the men held her effortlessly while a second slit her clothes from neck to hem with the tip of his sword. It went through everything like a hot knife through butter, but such was the skill of the swordsman that her skin was not broken anywhere. Her clothes fell away to the side, baring her legs, belly and most of both breasts.

“Apart from needing a shave, you don’t have a bad body,” remarked the Emir, “If he lets you loose will you remove what’s left of your clothes, or shall I have these men do it for you?”

“I’ll see you in jail for this,” she snarled.

“I seriously doubt that,” said the Emir, “You are in my country, under my law, and are an indentured slave. Strip her.”

Three strokes of the sword tip were all that were necessary to free the remains of the clothing from the rest of her body. As she was held there almost apoplectic with anger, the Emir slowly walked round her and then looked her up and down.

“Yes, not a bad body at all, Akilah. I like the creamy skin colouring that a soupcon of Maori blood introduces; it takes whip marks so very well, I find.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she spluttered.

“I will tell you once more, and only once more. You are Akilah, a slave in my country, and are my property, and should address me as Master.”

“I am not Akilah, I am nobody’s property, and I am a citizen of New Zealand, and you can’t...”

Her protestations were cut off as she was pushed face down on to what she thought looked like a school gymnasium vaulting horse. Her wrists and ankles were securely fastened by padded cuffs to the sides of the horse leaving her back level and her buttocks hanging just over the end of the padding at the top. She was acutely aware that in this undignified position her most private parts were spread and displayed for the men to see. Moments later all thoughts of dignity fled as a hand was trailed through her vaginal cleft and up over her anus.

“When we have had all this shaved, I might even try these pleasure entrances myself,” said the Emir, “Of course, no civilised man would enter you at the moment for you have all the appeal of a hairy dog. However, there are lessons you must learn. I told you of your status and of the manners expected of you. You denied the truth of what I said, and you failed to show the respect due to your Master. For those offences I think three strokes will suffice at this time. I will show that leniency because you are newly indentured; later offences will not be treated so lightly. After each stroke you will count it, lest I apply too many or too few. Any you do not count, will not count. Is that clear?”

Bridget could not, or would not, reply. The Emir sighed.

“I asked you if the matter of counting the strokes was clear? You will now have six strokes; the extra three for not replying. Now, is that clear?”

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“Yes what?”

“Yes I understand,” she snapped.

“Very well, nine strokes it is then. Three more for lack of respect in your answer, which should have been ‘yes, Master’.”

“But...”

“But nothing. A slave does not say ‘but’ to her Master. Do you want to continue incur more strokes? I think not. Now, may we continue without further argument?”