Chapter 105

Friday

Five Days To Go

London

"Boss," Brian called as Sasha entered the office. "Those mops and things, were you thinking of taking one to the Baron?"

Sasha nodded, she had thought of that, Paul would laugh when she told him the story of the seven foot wall and its mops.

"Err ... Boss, I don't think that you should do that," Brian said quietly. He was looking off to the side, thinking furiously. "I don't trust the stuff that's in there, there's something wrong, I can't put my finger on it, but there really is something wrong." He looked at Sasha, with a haunted look in his eyes.

"OK, Brian," she said with a smile, "We'll leave everything as it is for the moment. You pass on your concerns to the others; we'll see what we can think of."

Brian looked relieved, "Thanks, Boss." He turned and walked away, still trying to understand what made him worry so much about that cleaning cupboard.

Sasha made her way to her office, she had a meeting in 30 minutes, three governments were trying to form a trade alliance, and they were using Dempsey as their legal authority on the treaty.

Martinè

I swam easily, gliding through the water, barely making waves as I passed. 2 had swum for a while; she was getting much better, more comfortable in the water. She had done her 25 laps and left. I had already completed my exercise laps and was now swimming for pleasure.

As I turned at the shallow end I saw Julia and Susan. Julia was kneeling by my lounger. It looks as though I've got some time for cuddling our child this morning. I smiled as I lifted myself out of the water. My hand didn't even twinge as I put my weight on it.

Elise was waiting behind my chair, a small medical bag beside her. "Master, may I examine your hand please?"

Because she asked so nicely I let her.

The wounds were healing nicely, red marks along the actual cut line and a series of red dots where the stitches had been. I could move my hand easily and without much pain. There was just a little restriction of movement, but not much.

"You're healing very well, my Master. If there are any problems, please call me and I will attend you. I think that the swimming agrees with you," she finished with a shy smile.

I smiled at her, "Come Elise, I wish you to join me at breakfast."

"ME! My Master?" She looked around almost in shock.

"Yes, you, dutiful girl. You have carried out your duties as well as any Master could have asked. Now your Master wishes to spend some time with you."

She gulped, "Yes, Master."

My breakfast place was loaded up with enough for three or four of us. Chef knew that I nearly always fed one or two of my slaves and she delighted in giving me enough for this.

Elise knelt beside my chair and looked around a little nervously. Umber accompanied the serving girl bringing breakfast. She looked at my side and smiled. I knew that she always liked to know who I fed at meal times, I think that she was trying to prevent any single girl from hogging my time. Unless I asked for her, that is.

The serving girl placed my laden plate in front of me as Umber knelt behind me and to one side.

I lifted a piece of fried egg and was about to place it in Elise's open mouth when Umber leant forward, "Master, Elise is allergic to eggs," she whispered.

I looked down at Elise, still waiting open-mouthed for me.

"Elise, is it true that you're allergic to eggs?" I asked her.

Elise nodded.

"Then why would you want to eat something that will affect you so?" I was puzzled.

"Master, for the honour of receiving food from your plate, I would eat broken glass," she replied simply and, to the best of my understanding, quite honestly.

I turned to Umber "Thank you for your warning, precious girl."

Umber smiled up at me as though I'd just heaped glories and honours on her.

I turned back to Elise, "Any other allergies, or dislikes?" I asked a little sternly.

"No, my Master, only eggs," she answered.

"Good, because these sausages are wonderful," I said as I placed a small lump of sausage into her waiting mouth.

Together we enjoyed our breakfast.

Birmingham

Dr. Lu looked down at Atkins. He was currently sedated and the Ortho's were preparing for surgery to try to save his legs. "This was done deliberately," she said.

One of the A&E staff nodded. "Looks like a large hammer. We call these 'punishment' wounds."

Dr. Lu looked at her.

"Oh yes, you'd be surprised what we do to each other."

Dr. Lu shook her head, "No, not after the things I saw in China," Lu looked sad. "Not after the terrors there," she whispered quietly to herself, remembering herself as a terrified seven year old. A seven year old looking down between her spread legs at the naked man kneeling there, pulling on his erection, leering at her. Then the pain...

"Dr. Lu," called a voice, breaking her from her memories.

She turned and saw an older man standing by the door. "Here!" she answered.

He walked to her. Dr. Lu noticed that, though he was controlling himself quite well, he was really agitated.

"Dr. Lu, please' will you accompany me to the board room, The Board of Trustees have a proposition to put to you?"

Lu nodded and followed him out of the door.

Cumbria

The Moroccan almost sneered at Sir Gerald. "Well, Policeman, what news do you have for us?"

Sir Gerald quietened his distaste with thoughts of how these 'men' were going to die 'attempting to escape from arrest.' "Winters," he almost spat that name out, "Is going to Strasbourg next week. He has an appointment at a bank on Wednesday. We expect him to go there early. If he does then he'll be meeting the local dignitaries. We've had a word with our colleagues in the local Gendarmerie, they will arrange for Winters and the Mayor to have dinner here," he pointed to a street corner on a map, then passed out packs. "These contain all of the information you'll need."

"What about the locals, the Mayor and such?" the Moroccan asked.

Sir Gerald shrugged, "I'm only interested in seeing Winters dead." He turned and walked out. Talking with these men made him feel ... dirty.

Birmingham

Dr. Lu looked at the others around the board table. The heads of all of the departments, medical as well as administrative were all there. Some still in dirty scrubs, others in expensive suits. "Are you all agreed on this?" she asked.

They all looked at each other. Then, Rich Blakney, the Head of Orthopaedics, who was sat next to her rose, "You have my vote," he said firmly before sitting again. Then one by one they all rose and repeated his words.

Hearing the last administrator give her his vote, she turned to the secretary, "Has this vote been minuted?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said the secretary.

Dr. Lu nodded; she rose and walked to the head of the table. Staring down at the man sitting there, she growled, "You're in my chair."

Flustered, he stood, "Errr ... Yes Ma'am." How had he thought that he could control this woman?

Dr. Lu sat at the head of the table and looked around her. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this hospital is in trouble. Mr. Atkins," those around the table flinched at the way she said that name, "Has been remiss in his stewardship. I need to see each of you individually to assess the exact situation. Please make two hour appointments with my secretary for this week. We need to do this quickly, to do this now."

One by one they nodded, then rose and left the boardroom. Outside they looked at each other. Their eyes all asked the same question, 'Was that firebrand, the caring doctor they all though they could control?'

"Don't forget the appointments!" Dr. Lu shouted.

Like naughty children, they all mumbled a reply. Shamed, they left, most to go directly to the CEO's, Dr. Lu's, office. They had appointments to make and woe betide any who didn't make one. Things were changing round here.

Martinè

I relaxed; Susan lay in my arms wide awake and looking round. She smiled at me. Cecy still said that her smiling was just wind, but Susan was a little too old for that now. I felt that she smiled because she knew, and felt comfortable with, me. I smiled at her.

The FDD had the whole day blocked out for relaxation. I looked around me, there was a buzz in the air, something was coming to a head. I was certain of it, something big was about to happen. And I didn't know what that 'something' was.

In the back of my mind a tiny thought took shape, 'I wonder... '

London

Sasha looked up at the quiet, almost timid, knock on her door, "Come in!" she called. She waited, but no one entered.

Rising, she opened her door to see Jessica almost at the stairs (Jessica never took the lift, lifts weren't for cleaners.)

"Jessica!" Sasha called.

Jessica turned and came back. Sasha ushered Jessica into her office and sat her in the informal area. She then rang for coffee.

"It's about time I made some time for you, Jessica. You've been here for nearly nine months now, and Richard cannot praise your work enough. How are you settling in?"

Jessica, nervous about coming to see the big boss madam to start with, just sat on the edge of her chair and nodded at whatever Boss Lady said.

'Oh dear, ' thought Sasha, 'Now, what would Paul do?'

"Tell me, Jessica, where do you live, what's it like there?"

Jessica's head dropped, while she'd lived in her flat for nearly twenty years now, she'd never liked it. And the stairs were beginning to get more difficult every year. "Tower Hamlets," she said softly. "It's like a war zone. I have bars and metal shutters on my doors and windows. When I go home at night I lock myself away, shut myself in. And I pray; I pray that they don't set the building on fire. Pray that they don't rape the girls on my doorstep. Not again." Now tears were running freely down her cheeks. "I pray that there won't be screams tonight. I pray for the little children in the block. I pray for the mothers who never see the fathers of their children. And sometimes I pray that the Good Lord will take me away from this hell I'm living in."

She looked up, eyes blinded by tears. But she didn't need her eyes to see what she was looking at. She only needed to remember last night, and all the other last nights. The long standing, ongoing, misery of life in a place ruled by gangs and fear. A place where the police never, ever, went.

Sasha held her as she sobbed freely. As the relief of telling a real person, someone who didn't have to live in the Towers, lifted a weight off her shoulders.

Sasha knew better that to ask why the police didn't help. There were areas of London which had, basically, been given over to the drug dealers and the youth gangs. 'Do-Gooder's' and the politically correct bridge, forced people to ignore thousands of years of practice in bringing up children, and forced parents and schools alike to try to control children who knew that there was no control over them. Children who did what they wanted, who demanded 'good paying' jobs without the necessity of actually going to work every day. Children who demanded money and 'things, ' irrespective of their parent's ability to pay. Then these social experimenters would leave the mess that they'd created and go home to their country houses, their quiet, peaceful estates and rest from their labours.

"You don't have to go back there you know," Sasha told the sobbing woman. "We can arrange for you to get somewhere better to live, somewhere where you'll feel safe, somewhere where you can walk in the park."

Jessica looked up at her, "And how am I going to afford that?" she asked.

Sasha laughed, "You aren't, my man is, and he's loaded."

Sasha pulled the older woman over to her desk. Still holding tightly to one hand she dialled with the other.

Martinè

I handed the phone back to Isabel. Then I sat thinking how best to handle Jessica's problem. I couldn't cure all of the country's ills; the people in the communities themselves had to do that. And they needed support from the police and local and central government to succeed.

One thing I did know about gangs was that they were very heavy into macho culture, they demanded that they be respected. Though what they had done to earn that respect, apart from remaining alive, I don't know.

But I did know how to deal with macho men. I smiled to myself, "UMBER!" I yelled.

"Master," she replied from my side.

I looked at the diminutive girl at my side, "What grade has Mistress Paula awarded you, my girl?" I asked.

Umber smiled, a wicked smile...

London

Jessica walked slowly into the hotel. It was a high class place, a Minstrel Hotel, one of their best. But she had her instructions, and though she was uncertain of her reception, at the reception, she smiled at that pun, she made her way forward.

"Yes, Ma'am, how may I help you?" asked the young receptionist.

Steeling herself Jessica said, "I have a promotion code.

"Yes Ma'am," the receptionist replied brightly, she was on her third day her, a great improvement on her previous place.

"It's GREEN-POPPY," said Jessica.

The receptionist entered GREEN-POPPY into her terminal, then stared open-mouthed at the display. She'd been trained in the promo codes and how they affected the booking terminal, but her instructor had never mentioned this.

"Ma'am, err ... There seems to be some..."

"Madam," came the soothing voice of her manager. "Please let me sort out your room.

The younger girl looked on gratefully.

"I see that the Belgian suite is free, I'll get one of the staff to take you up and make sure that it's suitable for you." With a graceful stroke he rang the desk bell. A porter came quickly to him.

"Take Madam to the Belgian suite, ensure that she is happy with it, if not, then I think that the French suite will be ready in," he paused and tapped on the keyboard for a moment, "No, go directly to the French suite, it's ready now." He smiled at Jessica, a smile reserved for VIP's and Royalty.

It only took a few moments to reach the twelfth floor. Jessica could never have matched that speed to her tiny flat.

The porter showed her round the suite, the large living area, the two double bedrooms and the huge master bedroom.

"Which one's mine?" Jessica asked, almost in shock, that last bedroom was larger than her entire flat.

"Madam," replied the porter with a smile, "This whole suite is yours for as long as you need it. If you want anything, then please dial 0, my name's Harry and I'll be glad to serve you."

He left, closing the door on an astounded Jessica.

Fat Belly Johnston was everything his name proclaimed. Weighing in at over 350 pounds, he was a walking (albeit slowly) tub of lard. His thick layer of fat had saved his life at least three times, the average shiv not being long enough to penetrate to the vital organs beneath.

Fat Belly was out looking for something to steal. He wanted money for some coke, both the black kind and the white kind. He thought that the old cleaning woman should be home about now. He'd followed her one day last week and watched as she went into the City and then into a really posh building. The plate on the door just said 'Dempsey, ' so he didn't know what went on in there. But if she was working in that sort of place then she should have some money stashed in her flat. And Fat Belly wanted that cash.

Then Fat Belly saw something which absolutely amazed him. Something that drove all thoughts of breaking into the old cleaner's place right out of his mind.

He rubbed his eyes, but, when he opened them, she was still there.

'She' was a young girl, a whitie, and Fat Belly hated whities. Or at least he said that he did, he rarely met any on this estate. She was dressed like a school girl; even having her hair in bunches. And she was playing with a toy.

'Oh boy, ' Fat Belly thought to himself, 'I'm gonna have some fun with this one before I take her to the gang. Fat Belly imagined the rape that he was going to perform, it wouldn't be his first. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd just pushed a female over and then sat on her until she'd stopped struggling.

A few died, most let him do what he wanted, he raped all of them anyway. It was only right that he took his pleasure when and where he pleased. After all, he was a man and they were nothings, just females, hardly worth his notice. He felt his erection grow as he contemplated the next twenty or so minutes.

Fat Belly couldn't believe his luck, he wasn't even going to have to run to catch this one, she was still walking towards him.

They were on the fifth floor walkway; on his left was a three foot high concrete wall, the other side of which lay a dizzying drop to the cracked pavement and pot-holed road below. Only a dreary, graffiti-daubed line of barred and shuttered doors and windows were on the right. 'So, ' thought Fat Belly, 'No escape at all for the stupid girl.'

But the stupid girl kept on coming towards him.

Fat Belly's bulk took up nearly all of the width of the walkway. He was just going to roll right over her. And then rape whatever was left.

Then, strangely, the girl looked over the wall, almost as though looking for something. Then she hurried forward a few steps.

"You're not going to assault me are you?" she asked. They were nearly twenty feet apart.

Fat Belly laughed. "Youse gonna lay down and spread. I'se gonna make me babies in you, whitie!" He started unzipping his jeans.

Fifteen feet.

"I'll kill you if you try that," she warned him.

Ten feet.

Fat belly laughed, stroking his exposed cock.

Five feet.

Fat Belly lunged at her, his arms open wide to grab and hold onto her.

Suddenly she wasn't there any more; she'd run away so quickly that his arms just grabbed air.

With a snarl of rage, Fat Belly chased after her, despite his bulk he managed a fair turn of speed, for a short time anyway. He reached out to grab her shoulder, then things went wrong.

She turned and was running up the door, along the wall, her arm slipped under his, and then he felt her long slim legs slide down his back. And then the strangest thing happened. Fat Belly flew upwards, his sweaty feet flying out of his unlaced trainers. He gasped out loud as he was thrown over the wall, only realising the danger he was in when it was far too late.

Fat Belly screamed during the entire 66 foot fall. He landed between two cars, one a burned out wreck, the other, still working, but only by the grace of God and the efforts of its owner. This time, Fat Belly's bulk ensured his death. A lighter man, might have survived the fall. But, like an over-ripe melon, Fat Belly's body split open, showering the adjacent cars with blood and gore.

The little girl skipped gaily on to the end of the walkway and then went up to the sixth, top, floor. Umber hoped that she might entice another scum-bag to attack her here. Perhaps they liked the higher floors.

The two girls walked towards the row of shops hand in hand. Occasionally they skipped together. They laughed and joked, without a care in the world.

Six members of the local gang, The Warriors of the Night, surrounded them. One produced a butterfly knife.

"Strip!" he ordered as he opened his knife, spinning it in his hand.

Only the knife wasn't in his hand any more. And then neither was his hand, which made holding in his intestines very difficult. As he sank to his knees he looked around at his 'bloods.' All six were sinking to the ground, all mortally wounded. His sight got dim then, and the pain faded a little.

Melissa looked at Alison's hand. There was a small scratch. "You know what Umber and Em said. 'Any break in the skin' is to be reported and looked at."

Alison nodded, "OK," she said, disappointed that she should be the one to break their perfect unharmed record.

Em, in her bright green jump-suite, with her 'DOCTOR' patches on the front and back, strode back to the ambulance car. She'd parked it nearly 200 yards away from the girls. She'd treated Alison's scratch and ordered her to return to France. Any open wound increased the chances of being infected with a huge number of diseases, HIV and Hepatitis being only two of the common afflictions around here. Now she was returning to her post in the rough centre of the activities. There to be ready for any emergency.

The addict who decided to mug the green-clad woman only managed to brush his finger-tip across her jump-suite. The hyper-velocity round hit his chest and threw his smashed and dying body yards away from his intended victim.

Oscar looked around for any more threats to Em. How was it that he could love her, but be terrified of approaching her, of talking to her? Still, he knew that he'd saved her today, and that filled him with warmth.

Em continued on to her car. She'd thought that she'd heard a bullet pass close by. The sound was strange though, and when she'd turned to look, there was nothing to see.

The 'City Gent' who strolled casually into the pub silenced the whole crowd. No one could remember when a suited and brolly-carrying person had ever entered this pub. The 'Judge Jefferies' wasn't a City wine bar, this was one of the roughest of the worst, of the East End criminal hangouts.

"Pimm's please, barman," Prof said brightly. While everyone's eyes were on him, the rest of his team entered unnoticed.

One of the pub's regulars, 6' 4'' and very well built, rose and stood behind Prof, "What the fuck are you doing in here?" he demanded.

Prof turned, "I'm having a drink, why, do you object?" he asked mildly.

"Yes, why don't you fuck off..."

The ferrule of Prof's brolly, smashed through the man's foot.

"Go away or die," said Prof before turning back to the bar. The barman, nervous now, decided that he'd better get this idiot his drink. At least that way he'd get a little profit before the fool was slaughtered.