Chapter 11

Patricia was breathing rapidly, and she tried desperately to slow her pulse and calm down so she could think clearly and got out of this messy chaos around her.

The shower had cleansed her skin but not her soul.

She shood her head in self-disgust at her shameful behavior all in the pursuit of covert activities.

The normally self-confidant woman wiped her face with the towel ignoring the belated tears that flowed so easily when she was totally alone.

She had hidden her failure from Harry because she wanted to spare him the agony of her shame, secretly she knew she was far too guilty to admit to anyone, much less Harry because he would be in a perfect position to tell her, “I told you so!”

They had to concentrate on getting back to the UK and get Harry medical care before he got a serious infection from the lucky shot. In a way, she suspected he would recover faster than she could forgive herself for her dubious behavior behind closed doors.

The posh, upper class female pushed the events into a locked compartment inside her brain and threw away the key just in the name of sanity and a return to normal behavior.

They motored out the exit on the UK side of the channel and Harry flashed his special credential at the hard-faced guard at the end of the barbed wire. The guard wrote the number and the motor plate into his log-book and wondered if they were truly undercover agents or a pair of elite ruling class out on a lark laughing at his disbelieving face as they disappeared into the fog and the falling rain that seemed a permanent feature of this dismal place.

The underground medical facility was close to deserted when they arrived, but the doctor showed up in a reasonable amount of time and removed the slug from Harry’s shoulder. Now he had two scars on both sides that balanced his shoulders like military decorations for some unknown mission for an undisclosed reason in typical intelligence service style.

Patricia filled out the written report on their movements leaving out her embarrassing moments in the metal she with the trafficking goons.

She knew her father would disapprove of her reckless attitude and might even suspend her for her part in the temporary setback.

Patricia left the darkened room where Harry was resting peacefully flat on his back and under the influence of some strong sedatives.

Her office was messy as usual she dug through the piles of classified papers to find the report on the trafficking problem shipping female slaves in from Eastern Europe for shadowy jobs as massage parlor employees and escort services well-advertised in every phone booth in the metropolitan area. The little calling cards were similar to the ones she had seen in Las Vegas when she was on a trip there with her father for an interrogation practices seminar. She remembered her part in that seminar had her cast as a subject being “waterboarded” wearing her skin clinging undies that did nothing to hide her prominent “camel-toe” in glorious detail.

Her interrogator was a young university student recently recruited into the agency and was a star protegee of her father. She had dated him on and off for the past two years and he was quite perturbed that he had never gotten past second base during any particular date.

She knew she was in trouble when he gripped her left boob harshly and twisted her nipple right in front of the twenty or so attendees seated only a few feet from her prostate almost naked form.

She sputtered out the cold water from her lungs and knew she had lost control of her urine during the violent session. Her panties were soaked completely, and she did her best not to look at any of the spectators because she was humiliated beyond belief.

That moment was recalled because she had suffered the same degradation in the metal shed on the other side of the channel. She remembered the men laughing at her discomfort spread-eagled on top of the table with two men at each end of her tied down body. The one in her mouth was the nasty Serbian gang member with the huge member and she swallowed instinctively to get his load down her throat without choking. The other one was deeply planted inside her brown eye, and she thanked the Gods that he was not as big as the other goon. Even the girls watching laughed at her being spanked viciously as he sawed away at her gaped crack with enthusiastic energy.

Their faces were etched in her memory, and she smiled because she knew that payback would be a mother-fucker with her focused attention.

She hadn’t shared her disturbing treatment with Harry more because of her sense of privacy in such matters than her regrettable need for comforting in her hour of sadness.

No, this was for her to resolve without delay.

She picked several lead addresses of massage parlors and escort agencies to start her search for the pair of low level goons that had made a mockery of her sexual privacy.

Patricia staked out a massage parlor near the railroad station downtown and she watched the solo males entering for a brief session of sexual pleasure dished out by the enslaved girls that spoke no or little English. Of course, the men were not interested in conversation because time was money and they wanted their pleasure in action and not words.