Chapter 1

The Vassal Group. This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to any person or place, living or dead, real or imagined, is purely accidental.

Each year, some 900,000 reports of missing persons are filed. About half of the files are children abducted by a non-custodial parent. 200,000 children run away, some never seen again by family or friends. 48,000 adults are listed as missing each year. Of those, a very small portion, roughly one percent, are taken by the Vassal Group

The Vassal Group is an extremely organized criminal enterprise. They have embraced the latest technical, and scientific breakthroughs to assist them. A board of three psychologists, who determine the probability of the individual accepting training, screens each potential slave. Even with these cutting edge psychological screening techniques in place, an average of thirty slaves die each year in training. Most of the time, they are executed after they become catatonic. No psychiatrist has yet been able to satisfactorily rehab a catatonic patient to suit the needs of the Vassal group. No other rehabilitation program, to return the slave to the free world for example, is contemplated.

Still others resist the training and brainwashing until they are either beaten to death, or are starved to death. While it may seem opportunistic to grab one of the thousands of people who simply vanish on their own, that would be a bigger problem for the training program. Of those 48,000 who are reported as missing, a vast majority of them suffer from any number of problems including but certainly not limited to mental illness, brain chemical imbalance, drug or alcohol addictions, which make the candidate an unsuitable for the Vassal Group.

The group produces a few hundred units each year, and the clients are people who can afford the very best of everything. The quarterly auctions are held in pre-arranged and very secure facilities. These events are when Vassal is most vulnerable to penetration by the legal authorities of the world. For this reason, Vassal has bribed a number of key personnel in the various legal centers of the world. In America, that would be the Department of Justice. A key deputy undersecretary is relied upon to forward information that may be of interest to the Group. Far enough down the political ladder not to require confirmation hearings or political appointment, yet high enough to be in the pipeline of any major investigation information, this person is part of the layered defense of Vassal against investigations or exposure.

In a boardroom in New York, eight of the highest-ranking members of Vassal are meeting to determine the fate of potential slaves.

"Jesus tell me we have some good prospects this week." Tony said.

Tony was the head of the American Division of Vassal. He reports to a group called "the committee" on activities and prospects in America. The seven others in the room were heads of each separate division. Four of the assembled were called Training DM's, or Division Managers. In reality each of those managers oversaw three farms and at any given time, fifty or so abducted and forcibly enslaved people. One of those assembled was head of the Security Branch. He reported to Tony, but also had a channel to "the Committee." One was in charge of Recruitment, the euphemistic term given to people being kidnapped and forcibly enslaved. The last member of the meeting was responsible for sales, and oversaw the quarterly auctions held at four separate locations each fiscal quarter.

Each of the managers knew each other, at some level. They met every week, and each reported to Tony, who reported to the committee as needed. None of them knew details about anything outside of their area. The business model is one of extreme compartmentalization No one person knows anything that they don't absolutely need to know to perform their task.

The strict compartmentalization of and isolation imposed on the different branches of Vassal is cumbersome, but also absolutely necessary. If any of them, including Tony, tried to give information to the legal authorities, they couldn't give as much as it might seem. Dominique for example, could tell about the snatch teams in her area, the location of and some of the employees at the training farms. She could even tell the authorities about some of the product, slaves in simple language, at those farms. She couldn't tell them enough to find the other nine farms in the United States alone. She could affect no more than a quarter of the group's activities.

Tony could give them even less. He didn't know where any of the farms were, didn't know but a few names, and no vital information on trainers, or snatch teams He could give information on locations of the auctions held every three months, but those locations could be changed quickly and easily through a variety of front corporations.

Sales and Security had access to the most information; sales possessed the names and amounts of the client's interests. Security had personnel in place at each farm that reported directly to Security Center.

The Committee had personally approved both sales and Security, and both underwent polygraph testing at irregular intervals but never more than six weeks, to insure that they remained loyal. If they failed one test, there was no reason to worry about what would happen next, they would have their corpses disposed in a convenient manner, convenient to the committee.

The other DM's are tested at least every fiscal quarter.

Michael the DM in charge of Recruitment spoke first. "We only have five prospects this week, one of them may be a problem."

Dominique one of the four training managers spoke next. "If it's prospect number three, I agree we could have a big problem."

"Start at the beginning, what do we have this week?" Tony said.

"First up is Samantha. A divorced 28 year old with no children. No close family contacts, no close friends. She works at a distribution plant in Colorado. Fairly high turnover, mostly illegal aliens who are moving along before they are caught." Michael said as he flashed surveillance photos on the board behind him. "The team has had her under the eye for two weeks. They report she's a lonely homebody who was tossed aside by her first husband. No dates, only one night at a singles bar, where she left alone without giving her number out." Michael looked at his notes. "The shrinks say she's a four, high probability of acceptance of training."

"Ok, next."

"Brian out of Phoenix, he's 24 and works for a insurance company headquartered in Phoenix. Constantly comments how he would like another job, has applied to several, never been accepted, or accepted their offers. No close girlfriends, or boyfriends, no close family. Surveillance photo's show he's rather well endowed should be popular with the female clients, and certain male clients. Rated a four."

"Good snatch plans in place?" Tony asked next.

"Yes, Samantha is going to a convention in Colorado to view cats. She's booked a hotel room for Saturday night." Michael answered. "Brian is going to a self help seminar for the weekend in Las Cruces New Mexico for the weekend."

"Take them." Tony said simply.

"Right, next up is our problem." Michael started.

"Dump it. I don't want a problem. If you and Dominique think it's a problem, dump it." Tony waved it away.

"OK, next up is Lisa. 25, and just arrived in New York from Fargo of all God damn places. No family, no friends. Signed up for a meet and greet this weekend. Works at a diner as a waitress. High turnover in that industry as you know. Rated a 3" Michael said.

"A three? What the fuck is wrong with her?" Tony asked.

"She was active in the church a couple years ago, not now, but the shrink thinks she might see herself as the embodiment of Job or Joan of Arc as she resists." James, another training manager said. "Religious fools."

"OK, who's next?" Tony asked.

"Jeanette out of Atlanta. Works as a Customer Service Representative, which means she listens to people bitch all day long. There is a high turnover rate for her company, and her field. Her mother died six months ago, no father listed, no discernable contact with any siblings. No boyfriends, or close friends. Rated a 3." Michael said flashing Jeanette's pictures on the screen.

"Another three? What the fuck is wrong with her?" Tony asked. "The shrink doesn't like blue eyes with brown hair?" Tony said reading Jeanette's vital statistics. 23, brown hair, blue eyes, 5'4" 134 lbs. Solid C breasts, decent curves as evidenced by the pictures

"She reads bondage fantasy on the net, the second shrink thinks she'll either go catatonic, or depart from reality and have to be eliminated. The other two think she's a four. You know the rules, if one thinks she's a three, she gets the lower score by default."

"Great, two three's in one week. Fuck it, grab all four. Our product is looking a little thin, perhaps we're playing it a little too safe. Keep the problems out, but snatch the three's. We can always dump them off shore, the sharks got to eat too." Tony said after considering for a few moments.

"I'll get the teams moving. Lisa is going to the meet and greet, we'll snatch her there. Jeanette is going to a time share weekend in Hilton Head" Michael said glancing at the documents. "The team is already in place in Hilton Head, and the cleaners are in Atlanta. I'll send the go code to start the dance."

"Make sure to do everything right. I don't want any fucking mistakes. The last thing I want to see is Greta Van what the fuck on the god damn TV looking for another one of our snatched slaves." Tony said. "That god damn disaster in the Bahamas still gives me ulcers."

"Yes sir." The assembled group said in almost perfect unison. Then they rose to leave and carry out their instructions. That the incident he was talking about was in Aruba didn't matter, they knew what he meant, and that he meant it.

As the meeting broke up, four people around the nation continued their normal lives. Unaware that their fates had just been sealed. A fifth didn't realize how close she had come to being snatched over the weekend.

Jeanette blew a stray hair from her face and looked at the clock. Two more hours, and then she was off for a long weekend. Tomorrow she was traveling to Hilton Head for a free weekend away. All she had to do was endure a two-hour sales pitch for a time-share vacation home. Even if Jeanette wanted a time-share vacation home, there wasn't any way in hell she could afford it. Suckers she thought to herself

Sighing she tapped the computer key and accepted the next call. Mr. Jerome Stevens of South Bend was outraged at the cancellation of his flight and demanded an apology, a plane be created out of thin air, and who knew what else. Jeanette listened politely, and felt nothing as she judged he would be satisfied with a free upgrade to standby first class, which meant he could fly first class if there was an available seat Mr. Stevens seemed placated by this, and agreed to give the airline another chance Wonderful.

Teams all over the nation got the signal to start the pick ups. Coded cell phone calls, text messages, and e-mails were received and acknowledged.

In Atlanta, a Man and Woman began to clean the efficiency hotel room they had lived in for all of ten days. They took turns scrubbing any traces of themselves from the room. Tomorrow, they would leave, and never return to this particular hole in the wall. In Hilton Head, two men began to finalize the extraction plan, and confirmed that the trailer would be in position on Saturday to be loaded. The trailer would be taken to Miami where another surveillance team was already working on a subject. The team at the other end would take the car from the trailer, scrub it down to remove any evidence, and abandon it at the Miami Airport long-term parking lot. It could well be a month or two before the car was discovered hiding in plain sight.

Jeanette accepted the next call, and wondered if this was to be the rest of her life, listening to other peoples bullshit problems while life passed her by. A not uncommon thought passed through her brain again. "God my life sucks."

Thursday's work finally ended, as the clock marched relentlessly around to quitting time Jeanette logged off her computer and then shut it completely down. Planning on a cold start on Monday, and the additional ten minutes it would take to boot up as a bonus period of not enduring other people's complaints.

She spent the evening doing laundry and packing for her weekend away. She really felt like a vacation would be just what she needed. The surveillance team watched her on computer monitors as she moved about her apartment. A week ago they had planted hidden cameras and tapped her computer. They could literally see and hear everything that happened in the apartment.

Jeanette finally slept Thursday night, excited to be getting away for the weekend. The surveillance team watched her carefully.

Friday morning, after a quick breakfast and shower, Jeanette loaded her bags into her car and headed east for Hilton Head. She had only just cleared the city limits, when the Surveillance team entered her apartment again. They picked up all the cameras, erased the tapping program on her computer, and removed any pamphlets about Hilton head and any reference in the computer. As they finished the sweep, they left documents and information about a time-share seminar in Orlando FL.

If anyone looked for Jeanette, they would be looking two states away from where she had really been.

Thirty minutes later, the Surveillance team was on its way to Hilton Head, their car packed carefully and after sending the accomplished code to base. The snatch team was already in place in Hilton Head, Jeanette's room had already been set up with a camera and microphone, and another surprise.

Jeanette arrived, and after checking in and dumping her bags in the hotel room, put on a bikini and a wrap and headed for the beach. Anxious to lay out and soak up some of the glorious sunshine.

She didn't notice the man walking along the beach with the metal detector, apparently searching for hidden treasures. She didn't feel the man staring at her through large binoculars from behind her in a room overlooking the beach. She just felt the warmth of the sunshine and the joy of being free from work for the weekend

After dinner and a few drinks at the local little bar, Jeanette slept Friday night in the hotel room. The team waited, the plan was for a Saturday extraction, not Friday.

Jeanette spent Saturday morning listening to the high-powered sales pitch, and much to the disappointment of the salesman, she didn't jump up and purchase a time-share immediately. After lunch it was back to the beach to work on her tan, it was coming along nicely.

Another dinner and a few more drinks and she was asleep in her hotel room.

The two teams had met and maintained surveillance on Jeanette through the weekend. They waited two hours after Jeanette had gone to sleep, enough time to make sure she was deeply asleep. They activated a small canister in Jen's hotel room. It spent five seconds releasing an odorless muscle-relaxing agent. This would guarantee that Jeanette wouldn't resist effectively.

The two-man snatch team entered the room first, moving with less noise than a cat would make, they approached the sleeping girl. On a nod, they both grabbed her and injected her with a needle. The first man pushed the plunger all the way, this drug a strong sedative, guaranteed to knock Jeanette out for at least two hours. Jeanette had woken with a start when grabbed, but couldn't scream, her arms wouldn't move to defend her. Then blackness overwhelmed her, and she slept.

Placing a gag on Jeanette, the team quickly and efficiently cuffed her hands and shackled her feet. Making sure to double the lock, not because of fear of her escape, but to prevent the cuffs from tightening more and cutting off her circulation. They connected the two sets of bindings by chaining them together. When the target woke, she would find that she was unable to move, and unable to scream, a muffled groan the most noise she would be able to make.

After folding her like a piece of origami, they stuffed her into an oversized rolling duffle bag. Packing her in with towels, they placed her face near a mesh section that was camouflaged to look like the rest of the bag. She wouldn't suffocate this way. Rolling the bag out of the hotel they looked to the world like a couple businessmen on their way to whatever stop was next.

The surveillance team cleaned the hotel room. Packing all of Jeanette's things in her bags, and followed the snatch team thirty minutes later. They would drive to a small parking lot on the edge of town. There, a truck was waiting and the team loaded Jeanette's car into a 20-foot container. The trucker would drive it to Miami, where the car would be unloaded by a team there, and abandoned in the long-term parking lot of the Miami Airport. It wouldn't be discovered anytime soon. Then they took their own car, and departed Hilton Head, they had another target already, this one in Charleston.

If someone did start to look for Jeanette, all the clues would point to her heading south. Jeanette was already on her way north, towards the training farm, and her future

The trucker, actually a man from the security branch, was on his way south before two hours had elapsed since Jeanette had been snatched. After unloading in Miami, he would swap the now empty container for a loaded one from the Miami port, which he would drive wherever he was told to. These special jobs were nice, they paid very well, and soon he would be bumped up the ladder to site security.

Jeanette awoke slowly, the drug making it a slow and difficult process. Trying to move she discovered her hands, and feet were bound. Handcuffs, some sort of ankle cuff. She was packed in, wedged in, and couldn't move. That was when the first panic set in. She tried to scream, but it was muffled, the gag prevented anything but the smallest sound from escaping. Jeanette thrashed uselessly; trying to pull her wrist through the cuff, there was no way she could do it. Tears flowed freely as she fought the panic down and tried to think.

Realizing she was in a car or something, probably stuffed into the trunk and the second wave of panic set in, she was being taken somewhere, hogtied like an animal. Her mind was filled with images of rape, satanic cults, and some sort of weird serial killer or cannibalism. She tried to control her fear, but it overwhelmed her.

Jeanette wet herself in pure panic, this was expected, and it's the second reason the towels were stuffed in around her. She prayed to God for the first time in years to help her escape, help protect her. She thrashed about some more stopping only when exhaustion overtook her. Jeanette fell into a light sleep.

Some hours later, not long before dawn, Jeanette was jolted awake when the movement changed, as it was much rougher now, and it continued for some time, Jeanette had no idea if it was night, or day, and no idea how long she had been captive. The bouncing and moving sensations stopped, and then Jeanette was moving, but not like a car, like she was rolling along, in a box. Had they packed her in a box or some kind of crate? Screaming into the gag for someone to help her, the movement didn't stop.

A zipper sounded overhead finally and Jeanette struggled to look up. Two men were there and reached into the bag and pulled her out. One affixed something around Jeanette's neck, checking to make sure it wasn't too tight by wiggling a finger between the collar and her neck. Jeanette was sobbing now, tears running down her face. She begged them through the gag to release her. Please release her. The men lowered her to a thin futon mat.

A third wave of panic, the worst one yet washed over Jeanette, as she was certain they would rape her now. Probably rape, and kill her. She had to fight, to get away. One man connected something to her neck, and the other man had her on her stomach, and released the connecting chain that had prevented her movement keeping her feet near her hands. As the connecting chain was released, Jeanette could move her feet a little, they were still connected by the ankle cuffs, and ten inches of chain, but she could kick, and she did. Not kicking all that well, too stiff from the enforced immobility for the last few hours, she did make a feeble kick.

The men surprised her, they just stepped back, and looked at her for a moment. Then they picked up the towels, put them in the bag and left the room closing a big metal door behind them. Jeanette looked around, cement walls, a very thin air vent up high, no sounds though. A camera above the door watched her. A single light bulb lit the room. There was nothing else. No windows, no bathroom just this ragged thin futon pad. The room was maybe eight foot by eight foot. Jeanette struggled in a sheer panic now; her hands were still bound behind her. She couldn't move well, her feet could only be ten inches apart. Wiggling around, Jeanette tried to escape the cuffs, but there wasn't any way she could. Pulling hard, all she managed to do was hurt her wrists.

Devon watched the television, observing the new slave struggle as they all did. Turning to the security man assigned to the control station. "Watch her, if she starts banging her head on the wall or something, let me know, otherwise I'll start to welcome her in two hours."

Jeanette's arms hurt badly now, they had been pinned behind her for hours. Her jaw ached terribly and she needed to pee again, fear has that effect. She was starting to worry about her hands falling off after having the circulation cut off from them for this long. There was a grinding noise at the door, and it swung out, opening to reveal a big man, over six foot, more than two hundred pounds. Jeanette hadn't seen him before, his dark hair and eyes made her think he was Mediterranean, Perhaps Greek or something like that.

The man stepped into the room and said. "The first lesson Slave J is silence. You are not permitted to make any sounds at this time. If you remain silent, I'll remove your gag and free your hands."

Jeanette stared at him, terrified, but also in a great deal of pain. Her arms hurt and she was very tired of tasting the leather gag. The man stepped to her and unbuckled something, and the gag came free. Lines of drool went from her mouth to the gag a short distance and then broke. Jeanette worked her jaw a bit and then to shore up her own bravado, her own courage, she glared at him.

"You can't do this to me, you'll never get away with this. If you let me go now, I promise not to tell anyone." Jeanette said, not realizing that nearly everyone said the same thing, made the same promises.

The man rose and moved to the door. "Wait." Jeanette called to him. "My hands, they're numb, help me, let me go."

The man closed the door leaving Jeanette alone. Then the light went out. Panic, real blinding panic set in now. The man watched the television in the security room as Jeanette wiggled around the room, finally working herself into a corner. Curling into a ball, and screaming for help, someone to help her. She couldn't see anything the camera had small lights that were not visible to the human eye. The screen showed green, but as bright as daylight for the man.

Jeanette's bladder was now in full protest, she couldn't remove her sleeping shorts with her hands behind her like this. There was no bathroom to use. She wept openly as she wet herself again. The humiliation, degradation, and animal like nature of sitting in a corner and peeing on yourself is horrible. As Jeanette did this, a tiny little piece of herself evaporated into the dark room. The training had begun.

After six hours of darkness, during which Jeanette alternately cried and called for help, the man returned. The lights came on first and Jeanette closed her eyes in pain at the sudden illumination. The door opened and she squinted at him, but kept silent.

"Slave J, the lesson is repeated. If you remain silent, your hands will be freed." The man said simply. He had changed his clothing. He wore no watch; Jeanette had no idea of the time or even of the day.

Jeanette clamped mouth shut; she had been bound like this for a day or more. Her hands were numb, and she worried that they would get gangrene or fall off soon. The man stepped forward taking a key from his pocket. Reaching behind her he released first one wrist and then the other. Jeanette tried to move her arms and they wouldn't move much, not quickly, and almost not at all. She felt the pins and needles of blood returning to her hands and shoulders and tears sprang from her eyes.

"Slave J, I am Master Devon, you may call me Master. You belong to us now, to do with as we please." Master Devon began.

Oh my God, he's insane. That was the first thought that entered Jeanette's head as she heard him say this. "You can't do this to me, you have to let me go." Jeanette said.

The man turned to the door and before he stepped out. "When I return, if you have learned to remain silent, you will be given food and water."

Screaming at the door and the camera Jeanette raged helplessly. Tugging at the chain, she tried to free herself from the wall. It was heavy, and connected by a lock. The chain to the wall was also secured. Welded to an eyebolt with a four or five inch metal disk around it. The wall was cinderblock, and when she rapped it, it gave no echo. It was solid, some sort of basement.

She was almost right, when Devon had been an apprentice; he had considered the original cells that the group was using. Cinderblock filled with cement, and had written a proposal recommending that the walls have pipes run through the cinderblock holes, and then filled with cement. This would allow the walls to be temperature controlled much better. By pumping hot water through the pipes, the prisoner could be made to exist in a sauna. Cold water through the pipes was also extremely effective. He showed the District Manager the Military Manuals. A person who is cold and wet will surrender mentally more quickly. The misery of this was extreme. It sapped strength, and will power. Even trained and disciplined people, who were expecting it, were often worn down in days instead of weeks by the use of cold. The biggest period of elimination from military training was when the subjects were cold, wet, hungry, and tired.

When Devon was moving into a lead role, his apprenticeship complete, the DM allowed him to oversee construction of the sub basement and the temperature control system. The system was very effective, and worked wonderfully to help the mind of the slave to accept the omnipotence of the masters. Devon's design was incorporated and all the other farms adapted his training technique. The success rate of initial behavior modification increased.

As a result, Jeanette felt her walls getting cold, very cold. She had no blankets, and only wore her t-shirt and wet shorts, no underwear. She shivered and moved away from the wall. She tried to wrap herself in the futon, but it didn't help. It was so cold; Jeanette was surprised she couldn't see her breath. Soon she was shivering violently and her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She got no rest, it wasn't quite cold enough for hypothermia to set in, and the camera monitored her closely. When she seemed to be getting sleepy, the room temperature was raised a couple degrees until the shivering was again painfully constant.

The security man at control watched Jeanette in one of the four screens in the main monitor. Devon's rules demanded that the subject be monitored constantly while undergoing the cold phases of their training. He didn't want the product spoiled by dying from a preventable situation. The control room could quickly adjust the temperature by adjusting the water flowing through the pipes, and the air flowing through the thin vents could be heated or chilled as desired. The camera gave estimated temperatures of the subject every few seconds via IR scanning technology, and the room was constantly monitored and adjusted to maintain a very cold, but not hypothermic subject.

Jeanette would rise and wave her arms and try and walk around the cell, but the chain would only allow her to move a few feet from the wall, not even all the way to the huge heavy door.

The security man raised the house phone and pushed the button to signal the similar device in Devon's room. When he got an answer he said simply. "She's begging now."

Jeanette was in the center of the room crying to the camera. "Please, I'm sorry, please, let me go. I'll be good, I won't tell anyone I swear." Jeanette collapsed onto the floor, exhausted and huddled in a small ball shivering violently. "I'm sorry." she said over and over again.

Huddled in the center of the room shivering with her teeth chattering painfully she continued to speak. "I'm sorry, Please help me, God I'm so sorry, please." She had endured twenty hours of temperatures cold enough to sap the strength of a healthy well-fed person. Jeanette hadn't eaten or had anything to drink in a day and a half. Her tongue was thick from thirst, her stomach complained. She was absolutely miserable, and would do anything, anything to be warm and get something to drink. Tears came hard now, her body turning the tear ducts off as it tried to conserve fluids. She just didn't have the moisture to make excess tears, so many having run down her cheeks already.