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Sexpionage IV
- Thread starter Fossy
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This ought to be good …
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Excellent pics thanks George
Dark Deliverance (1)
On Sörház uti, in front of the Leopard V Club, District XXII, Budapest
Jase stepped out onto the street, turned left towards the river and walked quickly for a block and a half. He’d been forced to hand in his mobile phone before entering the dungeon, and had no way to tell the time, but figured it had to be at least 3 in the morning. He muttered under his breath and began walking again.
He had gotten away and was thankful for that. But he now had to reckon with seemingly impossible obstacles.
Barta had both Grace and Barb, and although he couldn’t be sure, he suspected that they may well have picked up on Grace’s indiscretion … that unfortunate moment when she allowed her true feelings about Barb to be voiced. It had been said in an undertone, barely audible, but even so, with enough vitriolic passion to be caught by a discerning ear. If Jase had heard it, those who might have been listening in remotely may have heard it too. And if so, both Grace and Barb were likely to be subjected by Barta and his people, before the night was out, tofar more pain than would be caused by a mere whipping. And, in the end, Jase knew Barta would have no qualms about killing them both.
As he continued to walk, a bit more rapidly now, towards the Danube, a stiff cold breeze in his face, he tried to focus on what to do.
First priority, of course was to ditch the two lumbering behemoths trailing him at the distance of about half a block. That might be the easiest hurdle to clear. For as a seasoned MI6 operative, he’d ditch them given time and space, but not on a deserted street in the city’s seedy XXII district.
He therefore planned to turn left on reaching the river and head toward the city center. If he could lose his tail there, he’d make for the hotel, and from there he figured that he could safely make the one call, and hopefully plot his next move.
******
Their room had not been entered. None of the traditional tell-talesigns Barb and he had left had been disturbed. The stray hairs, the talcum, the aligned corners of the notepad on the desk.
Having easily ditched his tail, no one noticed him quietly leave twenty minutes later with passports, weapons and a decent set of clothing.
Jason headed into Budapest, and, after a little while, looking first to make sure that he couldn’t see anyone following him,stopped at a café somewhat aptly named Mad Garden Buda - a late night bar/café, where he could imbibe a much needed dose of caffeine and make a plan.
Sitting outside, despite the chill of the Spring night, Jase smiled at the waitress as she brought out a warm presszókává. Taking a sip of the hot, refreshing drink he sat back in his seat and stared into the night sky, his gaze focused on the Szent Istvan Bazilika, St Stephen’s Basilica.
Closing his eyes, he knew that he only had one choice. Grace was dark, he and Barb were operating off the grid. Neither O'Shaughnessy nor Moore would sanction any support, damn it they wouldn’t even accept any contact he attempted. He needed to get hold of that moron Caddis, and there was only one way that would happen.
Victoria Station, London
The call from her dad was a distress call. He asked her to contacta man called Stephen Caddis and ask for his help. Her father had no mobile and the call from the pay phone was his one shot at making a connection with anyone who could help him out. Attempting to contact Caddis directly would have gotten him nowhere, and so a call to Issy, asking her to do so for him, and then arrange a face to face meeting was Jason’s only option.
He hated having to do it, Caddis was a monster and couldn’t be trusted but the CIA, Ex-MI6 operative, desperately needed assistance.
“Meet him in Victoria Station Issy, and then you don’t have to go out into London at all on your own …” Had been her dad’s guidance, knowing that there would be people in Victoria whatever the time.
As she sat waiting and watching for the man, it was late-early, almost 5 am.
Issy Underwood recognised him as soon as he entered the station.
“Miss Underwood,” Caddis spoke in unctuous tones, reflective of his appearance and demeanour, “… and how may I help you?” He said sitting down next to her, a little too closely for Issy’s comfort.
“It’s not me. It’s my dad. You know him, right?”
Caddis nodded. “Is he in trouble.”
“I’m to tell you that he is in Budapest, and needs help. Please find him some local assistance. There are CIA and MI6 Agents trapped at a place called the Leopard V club over there.” Issy said the words parrot fashion as instructed by her father.
Caddis shook his head. “We have no Agents out there, Miss Underwood, and it’s not in my remit to organise anything for the CIA.” His eyes lingered on Issy’s breasts way too long as they pushed against her bulky sweater.
Jason’s daughter, thrust into a scenario beyond her comfort zone, had no idea how to respond, so settled for a desperate sounding “Please, my dad and Grace are in danger you’ve got to …”
Caddis chuckled, “I don’t have to do anything Miss Underwood, only if I want to. Do you have anything you could offer to me to make me want to?” He licked sickeningly around his lips and then smirked at the young girl next to him.
He sat back in his plastic chair and opened his legs a little wider.
Issy began to feel nauseous.
“Please help me?” She found herself saying again in the midst of the uncomfortable silence.
Caddis drew in a deep breath as if he were pondering some profound decision. While at the same time, he readjusted thebulge, swelling in his pants.
“Blow me.” He then said simply.
Issy stared at him wide eyed.
“Give me a blow job and then I’ll see what I can do.”
“No, no fucking way you pervert!”
Caddis just laughed and stood. “Okay Miss Underwood, suit yourself.” He set off to walk away.
“Wait …” Issy’s voice reached his ears as he stopped walking, his back to her, a smirk playing on his lips.
******
There were many back alleys around Victoria station, dimly lit by the occasional street lamp or nearby all night sign, and Issy Underwood could not believe what she was doing. Her heart was racing, but she fought through her anxiety.
She closed her eyes, thinking that if she did not see what she was doing, maybe none of this was real. Maybe it was all just a weird dream.
Without looking, and trying desperately to keep the nausea at bay, Issy licked the erect shaft back and forth, swirling her tongue around the top of Caddis’ sweaty cock. Without speaking a word, in her mind she again said to herself, as if repeating a mantra, “I’m not a slut … I'm not a slut … I'm not a slut."
Then, keeping her eyes looking up at him, like he told her to, sheopened her mouth and accepted the head of this man’s cock.
If there was any kind of cold comfort it was that the act only took a small matter of minutes. With Caddis’ fist gripping her hair holding Issy’s face to his groin she had no option but to swallow his entire load, as he held her in position until his balls were completely drained.
As she got up from her knees, Caddis zipped and fastened his jeans, before buckling his belt. Mustering all of the courage she had left, Issy looked directly at him and said, "Promise me you'll do what you said."
"Miss Underwood, I am a man of my word. I will make some calls.”
A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
They sat back-to-back, separated by a heavy wooden support pillar to which they were secured, wrists locked overhead in iron cuffs dangling on short chains. Their ankles were tightly bound together with lengths of cord.
Both were naked.
The concrete warehouse floor on which they sat was uncomfortably cold, causing them to constantly shift their positions in so far as the cuffs and bindings allowed, which wasn’t much.
They were gagged with dirty rags stuffed in their mouths and held in place with several strips of duct tape … presumably to prevent them from communicating with one another, even though, as far as either of them could tell, there was no one elsein that abandoned warehouse.
Some time ago a glimmer of light had appeared around the edges of the boarded up window positioned high on a nearby wall. Over time the light had grown stronger, casting narrow downward slanting beams, each shimmering with suspended dust particles.
Neither Grace nor Barb had any idea how long they’d been sitting there, but the light seeping in from around the edges of the window told them that it was by now well into the morning hours. And for that they were grateful, for the previous night had been nothing less than a living hell.
Their living hell had begun in the wee hours when the barkeep at the Leopard V let Barb and Jase into the club’s specially equipped ‘Private Dungeon Room III’ for the purpose of meeting Grace, aka Cassie Brown.
Things had rapidly gone downhill from there with Jase compelled, for the sake of not revealing anything, to put on a show of angrily whipping Barb and Grace. But an indiscreet utterance by Grace put any chance at deception at serious risk, causing Jase to leave while he still could.
Unmasked as likely spies by Grace’s overheard remark, Barta and his crew had deployed an appalling round of electro torture in an effort to force Grace and Barb to talk, resulting in Barb giving in and offering Barta access to information from CIA files in return for a temporary lease on life … a life that Barta had already decreed would end, for both of them, at the business end of a rope.
At Barta’s direction the girls had been noosed in preparation for their eventual execution, which was to take place as soon as it was daylight in Langley, Virginia and Balazs could successfully open CIA files there using Barb’s access codes.
In the meantime, for the sake of entertainment, Barta had decreed that the girls be compelled to put on a show of making love to one another. For that purpose their hands had been freed, so that they could embrace and touch one another, but they were to have remained noosed and had been expected to “do it” while standing.
Grace had been less than willing, but Barb had forced the issue by pressing herself against Jase Underwood’s estranged wife, to nibble at her neck and ear while reaching for her crotch.
“For God’s sake, react!” Barb had hissed. And bit by bit Grace had yielded to the American’s insistence and determined assault. As Barb’s fingers worked their magic, Grace had begun to react, returning kisses, however reluctantly at first, and then moving her hips, slowly at first, but then more rapidly … and with nostrils flaring and eyes closed, she eventually emitted a low moan of sensual pleasure.
Barta and his crew had applauded and cheered, shouting encouragement to the English spy to return the favour and finger fuck her American counterpart.
That was about the last thing Grace ever imagined herself doing … so deep was her animosity towards Barb, and the CIA agent’s hold over her husband. But she had done it, teasing the American’s hardened nipples with one hand while vigorously stimulating her clit with the middle finger of the other … until Barb stiffened, gasped and squealed with release.
But then things had gone badly, very badly.
Barta and his by then overstimulated crew had mounted an assault, in which both women, freed from their restraining nooses, were thrown to the floor, pinned down and violently raped … over and over again.
All told, there had been nine assailants including Barta and Balazs. The first six, big and burly club bouncers all, plus the barkeep who had returned to the scene, had taken multiple turns at forcing themselves on their hapless victims … before eventually yielding to their superiors.
Declaring his lust for the American spy’s ‘szűk kis szamár’, Barta had ordered Barb to kneel and bend over, and after working himself up to it, forcibly and vigorously reamed out her asshole while she howled pitifully and swore like a sailor.
She had thought it might never end, for with remarkable stamina given his physique, Barta kept at it without any let up … pounding away with deep pile-driver-like thrusts, all the while roughly squeezing and mashing her dangling breasts. Although no stranger to sex, Barb had never been open, in the least, to engaging in anything anal. If humiliation and pain was what Barta had wanted to inflict, he’d more than succeeded.
Balazs, on the other hand, had approached Grace quite gently and respectfully. Lying full length alongside her trembling, traumatized figure, he gently stroked at her cheeks with an open hand, wiping away her tears while whispering in her ear, “… try to relax, this will be different from what the others have done to you.”
She had stared wide-eyed at him for a moment, and then … almost imperceptibly … nodded.
“Open your legs and take me in,” he continued, the sound of his whispered voice masked by Barb’s hysterically shrill shrieks and howls.
Grace had complied, and he … erection in hand … had rolled onto her and slipped himself easily into her open slit, all wet, warm and oozing volumes of ejaculated cum already deposited there by the attacks of the club’s bouncers.
“You and Moore need to place your trust in me,” Balazs whispered as his face neared her ear once again, and as Barb obligingly let out an anguished scream.
He had begun thrusting rhythmically, and Grace had responded by wrapping and locking her ankles tightly behind him as he continued to whisper in her ear, “while I can’t do much, know that I’ll do my best to find a way to give Barta reason to hold off on killing you both.”
And he did! For when the gang raping had finally come to an end, and Barta declared his eagerness to proceed immediately with the noosing and hanging of Barb and Grace, Balazs had tactfully reminded him once again of the need to keep them alive at least until he had successfully used the access codes to view whatever Langley had on file with regard to Barta’s elicit activities, the one’s that Agent Barbara Moore had given to him.
It being late, Barta had decided to move their captive spies across town to the abandoned warehouse and keep them there until the time had come to terminate them … adding that the matter of killing them would be far more easily handled, and the corpses more easily disposed of, there rather than at the Leopard V.
As they now sat back to back on the floor of the abandoned warehouse, Grace thought about the need to communicate to Barb what Balazs had confided to her. It stood to reason that Balazs might well be the mole in Barta’s organization. But given how they’d been gagged, and unable to even see one another directly, communication simply wasn’t possible.
And, in part, Grace felt relieved that it wasn’t.
Yes, like it or not, she and Barb were in this together. But, as she pondered their situation, and probed her racing emotions, Grace found that … even so … the deep enmity she felt towards that pretty, but slutty, little American tease and marriage wrecker, simply could not be tossed aside and therefore still stood in the way of complete cooperation.
For the time being she’d keep what Balazs had told her to herself. And throwing Barb under the bus, should the opportunity arise, and getting Jase back in the bargain, was not totally beyond imagining. Yes, she’d bide her time and await developments.
Barb’s thoughts were elsewhere. Where was Jase? Surely, he was plotting something by now that might rescue her and Grace before it was too late. She had no idea what that might be. But she had faith in her lover, and knew that she and Grace needed to be ready for whatever might come. They, after all, were in this together.
To Be Continued …
On Sörház uti, in front of the Leopard V Club, District XXII, Budapest
Jase stepped out onto the street, turned left towards the river and walked quickly for a block and a half. He’d been forced to hand in his mobile phone before entering the dungeon, and had no way to tell the time, but figured it had to be at least 3 in the morning. He muttered under his breath and began walking again.
He had gotten away and was thankful for that. But he now had to reckon with seemingly impossible obstacles.
Barta had both Grace and Barb, and although he couldn’t be sure, he suspected that they may well have picked up on Grace’s indiscretion … that unfortunate moment when she allowed her true feelings about Barb to be voiced. It had been said in an undertone, barely audible, but even so, with enough vitriolic passion to be caught by a discerning ear. If Jase had heard it, those who might have been listening in remotely may have heard it too. And if so, both Grace and Barb were likely to be subjected by Barta and his people, before the night was out, tofar more pain than would be caused by a mere whipping. And, in the end, Jase knew Barta would have no qualms about killing them both.
As he continued to walk, a bit more rapidly now, towards the Danube, a stiff cold breeze in his face, he tried to focus on what to do.
First priority, of course was to ditch the two lumbering behemoths trailing him at the distance of about half a block. That might be the easiest hurdle to clear. For as a seasoned MI6 operative, he’d ditch them given time and space, but not on a deserted street in the city’s seedy XXII district.
He therefore planned to turn left on reaching the river and head toward the city center. If he could lose his tail there, he’d make for the hotel, and from there he figured that he could safely make the one call, and hopefully plot his next move.
******
Their room had not been entered. None of the traditional tell-talesigns Barb and he had left had been disturbed. The stray hairs, the talcum, the aligned corners of the notepad on the desk.
Having easily ditched his tail, no one noticed him quietly leave twenty minutes later with passports, weapons and a decent set of clothing.
Jason headed into Budapest, and, after a little while, looking first to make sure that he couldn’t see anyone following him,stopped at a café somewhat aptly named Mad Garden Buda - a late night bar/café, where he could imbibe a much needed dose of caffeine and make a plan.
Sitting outside, despite the chill of the Spring night, Jase smiled at the waitress as she brought out a warm presszókává. Taking a sip of the hot, refreshing drink he sat back in his seat and stared into the night sky, his gaze focused on the Szent Istvan Bazilika, St Stephen’s Basilica.
Closing his eyes, he knew that he only had one choice. Grace was dark, he and Barb were operating off the grid. Neither O'Shaughnessy nor Moore would sanction any support, damn it they wouldn’t even accept any contact he attempted. He needed to get hold of that moron Caddis, and there was only one way that would happen.
Victoria Station, London
The call from her dad was a distress call. He asked her to contacta man called Stephen Caddis and ask for his help. Her father had no mobile and the call from the pay phone was his one shot at making a connection with anyone who could help him out. Attempting to contact Caddis directly would have gotten him nowhere, and so a call to Issy, asking her to do so for him, and then arrange a face to face meeting was Jason’s only option.
He hated having to do it, Caddis was a monster and couldn’t be trusted but the CIA, Ex-MI6 operative, desperately needed assistance.
“Meet him in Victoria Station Issy, and then you don’t have to go out into London at all on your own …” Had been her dad’s guidance, knowing that there would be people in Victoria whatever the time.
As she sat waiting and watching for the man, it was late-early, almost 5 am.
Issy Underwood recognised him as soon as he entered the station.
“Miss Underwood,” Caddis spoke in unctuous tones, reflective of his appearance and demeanour, “… and how may I help you?” He said sitting down next to her, a little too closely for Issy’s comfort.
“It’s not me. It’s my dad. You know him, right?”
Caddis nodded. “Is he in trouble.”
“I’m to tell you that he is in Budapest, and needs help. Please find him some local assistance. There are CIA and MI6 Agents trapped at a place called the Leopard V club over there.” Issy said the words parrot fashion as instructed by her father.
Caddis shook his head. “We have no Agents out there, Miss Underwood, and it’s not in my remit to organise anything for the CIA.” His eyes lingered on Issy’s breasts way too long as they pushed against her bulky sweater.
Jason’s daughter, thrust into a scenario beyond her comfort zone, had no idea how to respond, so settled for a desperate sounding “Please, my dad and Grace are in danger you’ve got to …”
Caddis chuckled, “I don’t have to do anything Miss Underwood, only if I want to. Do you have anything you could offer to me to make me want to?” He licked sickeningly around his lips and then smirked at the young girl next to him.
He sat back in his plastic chair and opened his legs a little wider.
Issy began to feel nauseous.
“Please help me?” She found herself saying again in the midst of the uncomfortable silence.
Caddis drew in a deep breath as if he were pondering some profound decision. While at the same time, he readjusted thebulge, swelling in his pants.
“Blow me.” He then said simply.
Issy stared at him wide eyed.
“Give me a blow job and then I’ll see what I can do.”
“No, no fucking way you pervert!”
Caddis just laughed and stood. “Okay Miss Underwood, suit yourself.” He set off to walk away.
“Wait …” Issy’s voice reached his ears as he stopped walking, his back to her, a smirk playing on his lips.
******
There were many back alleys around Victoria station, dimly lit by the occasional street lamp or nearby all night sign, and Issy Underwood could not believe what she was doing. Her heart was racing, but she fought through her anxiety.
She closed her eyes, thinking that if she did not see what she was doing, maybe none of this was real. Maybe it was all just a weird dream.
Without looking, and trying desperately to keep the nausea at bay, Issy licked the erect shaft back and forth, swirling her tongue around the top of Caddis’ sweaty cock. Without speaking a word, in her mind she again said to herself, as if repeating a mantra, “I’m not a slut … I'm not a slut … I'm not a slut."
Then, keeping her eyes looking up at him, like he told her to, sheopened her mouth and accepted the head of this man’s cock.
If there was any kind of cold comfort it was that the act only took a small matter of minutes. With Caddis’ fist gripping her hair holding Issy’s face to his groin she had no option but to swallow his entire load, as he held her in position until his balls were completely drained.
As she got up from her knees, Caddis zipped and fastened his jeans, before buckling his belt. Mustering all of the courage she had left, Issy looked directly at him and said, "Promise me you'll do what you said."
"Miss Underwood, I am a man of my word. I will make some calls.”
A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
They sat back-to-back, separated by a heavy wooden support pillar to which they were secured, wrists locked overhead in iron cuffs dangling on short chains. Their ankles were tightly bound together with lengths of cord.
Both were naked.
The concrete warehouse floor on which they sat was uncomfortably cold, causing them to constantly shift their positions in so far as the cuffs and bindings allowed, which wasn’t much.
They were gagged with dirty rags stuffed in their mouths and held in place with several strips of duct tape … presumably to prevent them from communicating with one another, even though, as far as either of them could tell, there was no one elsein that abandoned warehouse.
Some time ago a glimmer of light had appeared around the edges of the boarded up window positioned high on a nearby wall. Over time the light had grown stronger, casting narrow downward slanting beams, each shimmering with suspended dust particles.
Neither Grace nor Barb had any idea how long they’d been sitting there, but the light seeping in from around the edges of the window told them that it was by now well into the morning hours. And for that they were grateful, for the previous night had been nothing less than a living hell.
Their living hell had begun in the wee hours when the barkeep at the Leopard V let Barb and Jase into the club’s specially equipped ‘Private Dungeon Room III’ for the purpose of meeting Grace, aka Cassie Brown.
Things had rapidly gone downhill from there with Jase compelled, for the sake of not revealing anything, to put on a show of angrily whipping Barb and Grace. But an indiscreet utterance by Grace put any chance at deception at serious risk, causing Jase to leave while he still could.
Unmasked as likely spies by Grace’s overheard remark, Barta and his crew had deployed an appalling round of electro torture in an effort to force Grace and Barb to talk, resulting in Barb giving in and offering Barta access to information from CIA files in return for a temporary lease on life … a life that Barta had already decreed would end, for both of them, at the business end of a rope.
At Barta’s direction the girls had been noosed in preparation for their eventual execution, which was to take place as soon as it was daylight in Langley, Virginia and Balazs could successfully open CIA files there using Barb’s access codes.
In the meantime, for the sake of entertainment, Barta had decreed that the girls be compelled to put on a show of making love to one another. For that purpose their hands had been freed, so that they could embrace and touch one another, but they were to have remained noosed and had been expected to “do it” while standing.
Grace had been less than willing, but Barb had forced the issue by pressing herself against Jase Underwood’s estranged wife, to nibble at her neck and ear while reaching for her crotch.
“For God’s sake, react!” Barb had hissed. And bit by bit Grace had yielded to the American’s insistence and determined assault. As Barb’s fingers worked their magic, Grace had begun to react, returning kisses, however reluctantly at first, and then moving her hips, slowly at first, but then more rapidly … and with nostrils flaring and eyes closed, she eventually emitted a low moan of sensual pleasure.
Barta and his crew had applauded and cheered, shouting encouragement to the English spy to return the favour and finger fuck her American counterpart.
That was about the last thing Grace ever imagined herself doing … so deep was her animosity towards Barb, and the CIA agent’s hold over her husband. But she had done it, teasing the American’s hardened nipples with one hand while vigorously stimulating her clit with the middle finger of the other … until Barb stiffened, gasped and squealed with release.
But then things had gone badly, very badly.
Barta and his by then overstimulated crew had mounted an assault, in which both women, freed from their restraining nooses, were thrown to the floor, pinned down and violently raped … over and over again.
All told, there had been nine assailants including Barta and Balazs. The first six, big and burly club bouncers all, plus the barkeep who had returned to the scene, had taken multiple turns at forcing themselves on their hapless victims … before eventually yielding to their superiors.
Declaring his lust for the American spy’s ‘szűk kis szamár’, Barta had ordered Barb to kneel and bend over, and after working himself up to it, forcibly and vigorously reamed out her asshole while she howled pitifully and swore like a sailor.
She had thought it might never end, for with remarkable stamina given his physique, Barta kept at it without any let up … pounding away with deep pile-driver-like thrusts, all the while roughly squeezing and mashing her dangling breasts. Although no stranger to sex, Barb had never been open, in the least, to engaging in anything anal. If humiliation and pain was what Barta had wanted to inflict, he’d more than succeeded.
Balazs, on the other hand, had approached Grace quite gently and respectfully. Lying full length alongside her trembling, traumatized figure, he gently stroked at her cheeks with an open hand, wiping away her tears while whispering in her ear, “… try to relax, this will be different from what the others have done to you.”
She had stared wide-eyed at him for a moment, and then … almost imperceptibly … nodded.
“Open your legs and take me in,” he continued, the sound of his whispered voice masked by Barb’s hysterically shrill shrieks and howls.
Grace had complied, and he … erection in hand … had rolled onto her and slipped himself easily into her open slit, all wet, warm and oozing volumes of ejaculated cum already deposited there by the attacks of the club’s bouncers.
“You and Moore need to place your trust in me,” Balazs whispered as his face neared her ear once again, and as Barb obligingly let out an anguished scream.
He had begun thrusting rhythmically, and Grace had responded by wrapping and locking her ankles tightly behind him as he continued to whisper in her ear, “while I can’t do much, know that I’ll do my best to find a way to give Barta reason to hold off on killing you both.”
And he did! For when the gang raping had finally come to an end, and Barta declared his eagerness to proceed immediately with the noosing and hanging of Barb and Grace, Balazs had tactfully reminded him once again of the need to keep them alive at least until he had successfully used the access codes to view whatever Langley had on file with regard to Barta’s elicit activities, the one’s that Agent Barbara Moore had given to him.
It being late, Barta had decided to move their captive spies across town to the abandoned warehouse and keep them there until the time had come to terminate them … adding that the matter of killing them would be far more easily handled, and the corpses more easily disposed of, there rather than at the Leopard V.
As they now sat back to back on the floor of the abandoned warehouse, Grace thought about the need to communicate to Barb what Balazs had confided to her. It stood to reason that Balazs might well be the mole in Barta’s organization. But given how they’d been gagged, and unable to even see one another directly, communication simply wasn’t possible.
And, in part, Grace felt relieved that it wasn’t.
Yes, like it or not, she and Barb were in this together. But, as she pondered their situation, and probed her racing emotions, Grace found that … even so … the deep enmity she felt towards that pretty, but slutty, little American tease and marriage wrecker, simply could not be tossed aside and therefore still stood in the way of complete cooperation.
For the time being she’d keep what Balazs had told her to herself. And throwing Barb under the bus, should the opportunity arise, and getting Jase back in the bargain, was not totally beyond imagining. Yes, she’d bide her time and await developments.
Barb’s thoughts were elsewhere. Where was Jase? Surely, he was plotting something by now that might rescue her and Grace before it was too late. She had no idea what that might be. But she had faith in her lover, and knew that she and Grace needed to be ready for whatever might come. They, after all, were in this together.
To Be Continued …
Last edited:
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Dark Deliverance (2)
The Office of Clark O’Shaughnessy, Head Agent, CIA HQ, Langley VA
“What the fuck is going on … Sir.” The honorific was added very much as an afterthought.
“Remember who you’re talking to Agent Pavel.”
Jaak Pavel was an Estonian National, CIA Agent. Based in Virginia he was currently deep under cover in Budapest, having infiltrated one of the most notorious Mafia gangs in Hungary. Responsible for a large part of the sourcing of human traffic that passed through Serbia, Grzegorz Barta’s criminal operation had been under surveillance by the CIA for several years, and now that Barta and the Serbians had increased their throughput of traffic to send girls via Texas into Mexico, where they would be lost forever amongst the cartels of South America, they were very near to taking Barta down
“I know Clark, but for fuck’s sake. I’m almost ready to send over the details of the next Texas operation to you, and then we’ve got him, and these fucking idiot girls come steaming in like espionage bulls in fucking spy-china-shop … or whatever!”
Clark O’Shaughnessy could not help but chuckle at how Agent Pavel’s exasperation caused him to mix the metaphor to the point of nonsense, but equally he understood his man’s point of view.
“Is your cover still tight?”
“Fuck yeah,” said Pavel, also known as, Aleksander Balazs, “But you need to know that Barta has had me play a part in torturing Agent Moore and the MI6 girl.”
O-Shaughnessy paused, and sighed inwardly. There would be fall out from this, but he could handle that later. First, he needed to get them all out safely without compromising the larger operation.
“Are they still safe Jaak?”
“I wouldn’t say safe, Sir. But they are still alive … for now.”
“So what happens next?” O’Shaughnessy asked.
Pavel sighed. “Well, Barta has the two girls here at his mercy, but he isn’t showing any at all, and he’s intending to execute them both because he now knows they are spies …”
“Fuck …” Is the only word that the CIA Head Agent can muster.
“Indeed, Sir. So, I’m trying to get him to ship them both over to Mexico via Texas as part of the next trafficking delivery, instead of executing them. That would buy us time and allow the bigger picture to continue as planned.”
“What about Underwood?”
“He managed to escape and Barta is having him trailed. My bet is that they ‘end’ him before he has any chance to try and help the girls.”
O’Shaughnessy paused again. Death was always a possibility, an occupational hazard, but he did not want to lose anyone on this gig, whether it was through the official or unofficial operation.
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen Jaak,” were Clark O’Shaughnessy’s final words on the call.
An Alleyway at the back of the Café Mad Garden Buda, which was now closed given that the hour was just past 4 am.
Jase had no way of knowing if Issy had made contact with Caddis, he just hoped that she was okay … momentarily he was confused enough not to know which way to turn. He couldn’t go back to the hotel because for all he knew, despite losing the two goons following him, he could easily have been spotted there.
Should he head back to the Leopard V without a strategy? Or should he just stay away and hope that his daughter had been able to set an escape plan in motion somehow …
He slumped to the ground, his back against the brick wall and sighed. “Fuck.” He said quietly.
“FUCK!!!” Jason then yelled, not caring who heard him.
A Call between Roger Moore, Head of MI6, and Clark O’Shaughnessy, Head Agent CIA
“Roger …”
“Clark … I need to tell you …”
“No Roger you don’t. I know why you’re ringing and you need to listen to me. Two of my Agents have blundered into a much wider, carefully planned operation and all in order to save your bungling, big footed, fuck-up of an Off the Grid effort to bring down one of the biggest criminal organisations in Eastern Europe, who are now infiltrating the good old US of A. And so …”
“Listen Clark, when I sent Miller into Budapest, I had no idea about your operation, and that’s what comes of not sharing your fucking intel! And then you let two of your own Agents go blindly ‘Dark’? For fuck’s sake Clark, don’t you begin by giving me a bollocking, look at your own organisation first my friend …”
With the wind taken a little out of his sails, O’Shaughnessy calmed down.
“Okay Roger, point taken, but look we still need to sort this mess out.”
“What do you suggest?” Moore said.
“So, I have a man on the inside feeding intel back. The plan is for us to ambush his human trafficking shipment into Mexico, due in a few” days via Texas. He is working to put Moore and Miller on that shipment …”
“So, we let them become part of a trafficking cargo and then rescue them along with the other girls?”
“Yep, that’s the best and only plan we have.”
“Risky,” Moore added.
“Roger, if we lose the two girls then shame though it would be, they would be considered collateral damage only, given what the wider operation could achieve. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“And what about Underwood?”
“My guy is going to try and track him down and tell him to back off, but otherwise he’s on his own, I’m afraid.”
A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
The silence of the warehouse basement where a naked Grace and Barb had been sitting for hours on a cold hard concrete floor, bound and gagged, positioned back-to-back against, and separated by, a heavy wooden support, was broken by the sound of boots descending from above.
Facing the stairs, Grace was the first to see them … Barta and Balazs, in the lead, followed by four henchmen. She recognized two as members of the crew that had repeatedly raped them both the previous night at the Leopard V. The other two faces were new to her, but that was hardly surprising for it seemed that Barta maintained a small army of thugs, ready to do his dirty work.
Barta and Balazs, followed by the two newcomers, strode straight past her, circling around to face Barb. The other two remained behind, unabashedly ogling the various features of her naked body as they stood ‘at ease’ before her, feet planted firmly apart and hands clasped behind their backs. She hoped they’d remain that way … forever would be good … for the fact that Barta had felt the need to bring along plenty of extra muscle was not a good sign.
Behind her on the other side of the post, Grace could hear Balazs saying to Barb, “It’s time, Agent Moore, to see whether we can access those CIA files on Barta that you promised us in exchange for not killing you and your MI6 lady-friend right away. It’s two in the afternoon now here in Budapest, which means eight in the morning in Langley … so let’s give it a try.”
While one of the two goons looming over her stepped forward to remove the duct tape and gag from Barb’s face and mouth, Balazs retrieved a laptop from his shoulder bag and set it before her on the floor.
“Owww!” she cried, her cheeks smarting from the duct tape being callously yanked away, before declaring, “Look, it might work best if you release my wrists and allow me to do the accessing.”
Balazs turned to Barta who nodded his approval, but then warned, “Alright, but don’t try any funny business or I’ll have Laszlo and Farkas beat the crap out of you!”
Released from the cuffs and rubbing her wrists she scooted over on her bottom … rather awkwardly as her ankles remained bound together … to where Balazs had placed and booted up the laptop.
She looked to him for a brief moment, then opened a browser and quickly brought up an internal CIA screen marked ‘Top Secret … authorized eyes only’. She swiftly tapped in a security code … quickly enough so that Balazs might not catch it … and waited.
“Got it,” she exclaimed as a new screen appeared. Additional security clearance was required and Barb quickly tapped in a code.
Balazs moved closer so as to look on over her shoulder, as a menu and prompt was displayed.
She typed in ‘Grzegorz Barta’ and hit return.
Four files came up.
The first was titled ‘illicit arms trafficking operations’ … the second, ‘sex trafficking operations’ … the third ‘money laundering’ … and the fourth, ‘Aleksander Balazs’.
“So, what have we got?” inquired Barta, moving around from where he had standing to gain a better vantage point.
Barb heard Balazs suck in his breath as he took in the file names on the screen.
But before Barta could come completely around, she deftly deleted the fourth file … and heard Balasz release his breath.
“Let me see those files!” demanded Barta, picking up the laptop.
Barb looked at Balazs and cocked her head quizzically to one side. She had suspected, but now it was confirmed. She’d have to let Grace know they had an ally, but it also crossed her mind that Grace already knew. It stood to reason that Balazs might have given her a sign when he was forced to rape her back at the club. Barb would quiz Grace about that later, but it would have to wait as she could tell from Barta’s expression and body language that he was shocked to learn how much Langley knew about his activities. And she suspected there were things in those files that Langley could only have learned by having someone on the inside of Barta’s web of operations.
Barta closed the laptop abruptly and tucked it under his arm, his piggish face red with anger and concern.
“Alright,” he growled, “We’ve got what we wanted. It was well worth the wait. But now that we’ve got it, we have no more use for these two nyomorult szajhák! Take them out in back and execute them!”
His four heavies sprang to carry out his orders. Two of them, pausing only to gag her once again, took Barb by the arms and dragged her off toward the staircase while the other two released Grace from her cuffs and followed suit. Up the stairs they went, their handlers showing no regard for the repeated impact of stairway risers bashing against their victims’ tailbones.
Dragged the length of the warehouse’s main floor, Barb and Grace couldn’t help but notice the large number of cages lined up along the way, many of which contained naked girls, most of whom immediately backed into the recesses of their cages, clearly fearful of Barta and his crew and trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.
Outside, in a small courtyard filled with rusting machinery, Barb and Grace were roughly placed on their feet, up tight against and facing a brick wall, the grey paint on which was weathered and peeling.
“Palms against the wall, and say your prayers, szajhák!” growled Barta.
Glancing over her shoulder, Grace caught, out of the corner of her eye, that two of the heavies, the ones identified as Laszlo and Farkas, were now brandishing what she knew to be Hungarian military FÉG PA-63 semi-automatic pistols.
Barb, on the other hand, was eyeing the other two behemoths, who had taken up shovels and were hastily digging a rectangular-shaped pit.
Coming up close behind them, Barta snapped Grace’s head back, a fistful of her hair clenched in his grip.
Leaning into her face, he said softly, “such a pity that your masters in London choose to send pretty things like you out to spy and die … like lambs to the slaughter. Yes, a pity, but I must admit I enjoyed our private times together over the past few days, didn’t you?”
She replied by spitting at him, but missed her target entirely as he sensed it coming and slammed her face into the wall.
“And you, my little CIA sexpot,” he continued, jerking Barb’s head back in the same fashion as he had Grace’s. “It’s been a pleasure … such a sexy szűk kis szamár, you have! Virginal too! Reamed it out properly for you, I did. You should be thankful. And listening to you beg and scream your fool head off while I did it was an experience … Káprázatos! Yes, I’m going to miss you as much as your friend, Grace. But alas, all good things must come to an end, don’t you agree?”
After playfully squeezing Barb’s bottom, and then her breasts, Barta stepped back, snatched a lit cigarette from the mouth of one of the pistol-toting executioners, and announced, “Either of you condemned szajhák care for a last smoke before my men put a bullet in the back of your pretty heads. A puff on a cigarette is a traditional offer, I believe … as are blindfolds … but we’ll not bother with the latter.”
Barb, who abhorred smoking and never touched the things, shook her head.
But Grace, desperate to buy time at any price, pivoted to face him. Thrusting out her chest, with both breasts cupped in her hands, and bending a knee, she purred, “yes please, and perhaps you’d care for a blowjob too … seen as we’re all making nice before you have us shot.”
“Nice try, MI6. What were you planning? To bite it off? Turn the fuck around and press those lovely tits against that wall and take a nice drag on this cigarette so we can get on with it. Oh, and I see, by the way, we now have a grave big enough for two all ready and waiting. You can keep one another company.”
He held the cigarette for Grace as she took it in her mouth, inhaled … and as he withdrew … shook her head contemptuously while blowing smoke from her nostrils.
“Ready then.” he ordered stepping back so his men with the pistols could approach and level their weapons at the backs of the condemned girls’ heads.
“If I might have a word first?” interrupted Balazs, who had been standing quietly off to one side.
“Yes, Balazs. What is it?”
“Just an idea that came to me as we made our way through the warehouse past all those girls in their cages waiting to be shipped off. What if, instead of executing these two spies, we pack them off via Serbia to Mexico with the rest of those girls. Think about it! It’s a perfect plan in many ways. We make a tidy profit by trafficking them, which we otherwise forgo if we execute them. We stick a finger in the eyes of their bosses by sending photos of the two of them being shipped off to Mexico, all naked and tightly bound … one pic to Langley and the other to London … our way of saying let this be a warning not to mess with the likes of Grzegorz Barta! And we, ourselves, can enjoy knowing these two spies will spend the rest of their miserable, and likely quite short, lives as slaves in one of the cruellest and most demanding sex slave markets in the world.”
“Ahhhh! Brilliant, Balazs … simply brilliant … this is exactly why I like to keep you around. And here’s another plus, since the shipment of sex slaves here in our warehouse is not due to go out for several days, we’ll have ample opportunity to show our former spies a few of the tricks they’ll need to please their masters and survive in their new profession.”
To Be Continued …
The Office of Clark O’Shaughnessy, Head Agent, CIA HQ, Langley VA
“What the fuck is going on … Sir.” The honorific was added very much as an afterthought.
“Remember who you’re talking to Agent Pavel.”
Jaak Pavel was an Estonian National, CIA Agent. Based in Virginia he was currently deep under cover in Budapest, having infiltrated one of the most notorious Mafia gangs in Hungary. Responsible for a large part of the sourcing of human traffic that passed through Serbia, Grzegorz Barta’s criminal operation had been under surveillance by the CIA for several years, and now that Barta and the Serbians had increased their throughput of traffic to send girls via Texas into Mexico, where they would be lost forever amongst the cartels of South America, they were very near to taking Barta down
“I know Clark, but for fuck’s sake. I’m almost ready to send over the details of the next Texas operation to you, and then we’ve got him, and these fucking idiot girls come steaming in like espionage bulls in fucking spy-china-shop … or whatever!”
Clark O’Shaughnessy could not help but chuckle at how Agent Pavel’s exasperation caused him to mix the metaphor to the point of nonsense, but equally he understood his man’s point of view.
“Is your cover still tight?”
“Fuck yeah,” said Pavel, also known as, Aleksander Balazs, “But you need to know that Barta has had me play a part in torturing Agent Moore and the MI6 girl.”
O-Shaughnessy paused, and sighed inwardly. There would be fall out from this, but he could handle that later. First, he needed to get them all out safely without compromising the larger operation.
“Are they still safe Jaak?”
“I wouldn’t say safe, Sir. But they are still alive … for now.”
“So what happens next?” O’Shaughnessy asked.
Pavel sighed. “Well, Barta has the two girls here at his mercy, but he isn’t showing any at all, and he’s intending to execute them both because he now knows they are spies …”
“Fuck …” Is the only word that the CIA Head Agent can muster.
“Indeed, Sir. So, I’m trying to get him to ship them both over to Mexico via Texas as part of the next trafficking delivery, instead of executing them. That would buy us time and allow the bigger picture to continue as planned.”
“What about Underwood?”
“He managed to escape and Barta is having him trailed. My bet is that they ‘end’ him before he has any chance to try and help the girls.”
O’Shaughnessy paused again. Death was always a possibility, an occupational hazard, but he did not want to lose anyone on this gig, whether it was through the official or unofficial operation.
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen Jaak,” were Clark O’Shaughnessy’s final words on the call.
An Alleyway at the back of the Café Mad Garden Buda, which was now closed given that the hour was just past 4 am.
Jase had no way of knowing if Issy had made contact with Caddis, he just hoped that she was okay … momentarily he was confused enough not to know which way to turn. He couldn’t go back to the hotel because for all he knew, despite losing the two goons following him, he could easily have been spotted there.
Should he head back to the Leopard V without a strategy? Or should he just stay away and hope that his daughter had been able to set an escape plan in motion somehow …
He slumped to the ground, his back against the brick wall and sighed. “Fuck.” He said quietly.
“FUCK!!!” Jason then yelled, not caring who heard him.
A Call between Roger Moore, Head of MI6, and Clark O’Shaughnessy, Head Agent CIA
“Roger …”
“Clark … I need to tell you …”
“No Roger you don’t. I know why you’re ringing and you need to listen to me. Two of my Agents have blundered into a much wider, carefully planned operation and all in order to save your bungling, big footed, fuck-up of an Off the Grid effort to bring down one of the biggest criminal organisations in Eastern Europe, who are now infiltrating the good old US of A. And so …”
“Listen Clark, when I sent Miller into Budapest, I had no idea about your operation, and that’s what comes of not sharing your fucking intel! And then you let two of your own Agents go blindly ‘Dark’? For fuck’s sake Clark, don’t you begin by giving me a bollocking, look at your own organisation first my friend …”
With the wind taken a little out of his sails, O’Shaughnessy calmed down.
“Okay Roger, point taken, but look we still need to sort this mess out.”
“What do you suggest?” Moore said.
“So, I have a man on the inside feeding intel back. The plan is for us to ambush his human trafficking shipment into Mexico, due in a few” days via Texas. He is working to put Moore and Miller on that shipment …”
“So, we let them become part of a trafficking cargo and then rescue them along with the other girls?”
“Yep, that’s the best and only plan we have.”
“Risky,” Moore added.
“Roger, if we lose the two girls then shame though it would be, they would be considered collateral damage only, given what the wider operation could achieve. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“And what about Underwood?”
“My guy is going to try and track him down and tell him to back off, but otherwise he’s on his own, I’m afraid.”
A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
The silence of the warehouse basement where a naked Grace and Barb had been sitting for hours on a cold hard concrete floor, bound and gagged, positioned back-to-back against, and separated by, a heavy wooden support, was broken by the sound of boots descending from above.
Facing the stairs, Grace was the first to see them … Barta and Balazs, in the lead, followed by four henchmen. She recognized two as members of the crew that had repeatedly raped them both the previous night at the Leopard V. The other two faces were new to her, but that was hardly surprising for it seemed that Barta maintained a small army of thugs, ready to do his dirty work.
Barta and Balazs, followed by the two newcomers, strode straight past her, circling around to face Barb. The other two remained behind, unabashedly ogling the various features of her naked body as they stood ‘at ease’ before her, feet planted firmly apart and hands clasped behind their backs. She hoped they’d remain that way … forever would be good … for the fact that Barta had felt the need to bring along plenty of extra muscle was not a good sign.
Behind her on the other side of the post, Grace could hear Balazs saying to Barb, “It’s time, Agent Moore, to see whether we can access those CIA files on Barta that you promised us in exchange for not killing you and your MI6 lady-friend right away. It’s two in the afternoon now here in Budapest, which means eight in the morning in Langley … so let’s give it a try.”
While one of the two goons looming over her stepped forward to remove the duct tape and gag from Barb’s face and mouth, Balazs retrieved a laptop from his shoulder bag and set it before her on the floor.
“Owww!” she cried, her cheeks smarting from the duct tape being callously yanked away, before declaring, “Look, it might work best if you release my wrists and allow me to do the accessing.”
Balazs turned to Barta who nodded his approval, but then warned, “Alright, but don’t try any funny business or I’ll have Laszlo and Farkas beat the crap out of you!”
Released from the cuffs and rubbing her wrists she scooted over on her bottom … rather awkwardly as her ankles remained bound together … to where Balazs had placed and booted up the laptop.
She looked to him for a brief moment, then opened a browser and quickly brought up an internal CIA screen marked ‘Top Secret … authorized eyes only’. She swiftly tapped in a security code … quickly enough so that Balazs might not catch it … and waited.
“Got it,” she exclaimed as a new screen appeared. Additional security clearance was required and Barb quickly tapped in a code.
Balazs moved closer so as to look on over her shoulder, as a menu and prompt was displayed.
She typed in ‘Grzegorz Barta’ and hit return.
Four files came up.
The first was titled ‘illicit arms trafficking operations’ … the second, ‘sex trafficking operations’ … the third ‘money laundering’ … and the fourth, ‘Aleksander Balazs’.
“So, what have we got?” inquired Barta, moving around from where he had standing to gain a better vantage point.
Barb heard Balazs suck in his breath as he took in the file names on the screen.
But before Barta could come completely around, she deftly deleted the fourth file … and heard Balasz release his breath.
“Let me see those files!” demanded Barta, picking up the laptop.
Barb looked at Balazs and cocked her head quizzically to one side. She had suspected, but now it was confirmed. She’d have to let Grace know they had an ally, but it also crossed her mind that Grace already knew. It stood to reason that Balazs might have given her a sign when he was forced to rape her back at the club. Barb would quiz Grace about that later, but it would have to wait as she could tell from Barta’s expression and body language that he was shocked to learn how much Langley knew about his activities. And she suspected there were things in those files that Langley could only have learned by having someone on the inside of Barta’s web of operations.
Barta closed the laptop abruptly and tucked it under his arm, his piggish face red with anger and concern.
“Alright,” he growled, “We’ve got what we wanted. It was well worth the wait. But now that we’ve got it, we have no more use for these two nyomorult szajhák! Take them out in back and execute them!”
His four heavies sprang to carry out his orders. Two of them, pausing only to gag her once again, took Barb by the arms and dragged her off toward the staircase while the other two released Grace from her cuffs and followed suit. Up the stairs they went, their handlers showing no regard for the repeated impact of stairway risers bashing against their victims’ tailbones.
Dragged the length of the warehouse’s main floor, Barb and Grace couldn’t help but notice the large number of cages lined up along the way, many of which contained naked girls, most of whom immediately backed into the recesses of their cages, clearly fearful of Barta and his crew and trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.
Outside, in a small courtyard filled with rusting machinery, Barb and Grace were roughly placed on their feet, up tight against and facing a brick wall, the grey paint on which was weathered and peeling.
“Palms against the wall, and say your prayers, szajhák!” growled Barta.
Glancing over her shoulder, Grace caught, out of the corner of her eye, that two of the heavies, the ones identified as Laszlo and Farkas, were now brandishing what she knew to be Hungarian military FÉG PA-63 semi-automatic pistols.
Barb, on the other hand, was eyeing the other two behemoths, who had taken up shovels and were hastily digging a rectangular-shaped pit.
Coming up close behind them, Barta snapped Grace’s head back, a fistful of her hair clenched in his grip.
Leaning into her face, he said softly, “such a pity that your masters in London choose to send pretty things like you out to spy and die … like lambs to the slaughter. Yes, a pity, but I must admit I enjoyed our private times together over the past few days, didn’t you?”
She replied by spitting at him, but missed her target entirely as he sensed it coming and slammed her face into the wall.
“And you, my little CIA sexpot,” he continued, jerking Barb’s head back in the same fashion as he had Grace’s. “It’s been a pleasure … such a sexy szűk kis szamár, you have! Virginal too! Reamed it out properly for you, I did. You should be thankful. And listening to you beg and scream your fool head off while I did it was an experience … Káprázatos! Yes, I’m going to miss you as much as your friend, Grace. But alas, all good things must come to an end, don’t you agree?”
After playfully squeezing Barb’s bottom, and then her breasts, Barta stepped back, snatched a lit cigarette from the mouth of one of the pistol-toting executioners, and announced, “Either of you condemned szajhák care for a last smoke before my men put a bullet in the back of your pretty heads. A puff on a cigarette is a traditional offer, I believe … as are blindfolds … but we’ll not bother with the latter.”
Barb, who abhorred smoking and never touched the things, shook her head.
But Grace, desperate to buy time at any price, pivoted to face him. Thrusting out her chest, with both breasts cupped in her hands, and bending a knee, she purred, “yes please, and perhaps you’d care for a blowjob too … seen as we’re all making nice before you have us shot.”
“Nice try, MI6. What were you planning? To bite it off? Turn the fuck around and press those lovely tits against that wall and take a nice drag on this cigarette so we can get on with it. Oh, and I see, by the way, we now have a grave big enough for two all ready and waiting. You can keep one another company.”
He held the cigarette for Grace as she took it in her mouth, inhaled … and as he withdrew … shook her head contemptuously while blowing smoke from her nostrils.
“Ready then.” he ordered stepping back so his men with the pistols could approach and level their weapons at the backs of the condemned girls’ heads.
“If I might have a word first?” interrupted Balazs, who had been standing quietly off to one side.
“Yes, Balazs. What is it?”
“Just an idea that came to me as we made our way through the warehouse past all those girls in their cages waiting to be shipped off. What if, instead of executing these two spies, we pack them off via Serbia to Mexico with the rest of those girls. Think about it! It’s a perfect plan in many ways. We make a tidy profit by trafficking them, which we otherwise forgo if we execute them. We stick a finger in the eyes of their bosses by sending photos of the two of them being shipped off to Mexico, all naked and tightly bound … one pic to Langley and the other to London … our way of saying let this be a warning not to mess with the likes of Grzegorz Barta! And we, ourselves, can enjoy knowing these two spies will spend the rest of their miserable, and likely quite short, lives as slaves in one of the cruellest and most demanding sex slave markets in the world.”
“Ahhhh! Brilliant, Balazs … simply brilliant … this is exactly why I like to keep you around. And here’s another plus, since the shipment of sex slaves here in our warehouse is not due to go out for several days, we’ll have ample opportunity to show our former spies a few of the tricks they’ll need to please their masters and survive in their new profession.”
To Be Continued …
S
slave666597
Guest
If they won't go I would like to talk their place
Dark Deliverance (3)
Canterbury Student Village Parham Road, Canterbury, CT1 1YN
Once Issy was back in her apartment, her privacy restored, the tears came down. With large droplets, she sobbed, knowing that he had treated her like a toy, demeaning her, humiliating her, using her.
She was thankful that Jemma wasn’t home. She really didn't feel like speaking to anybody. All she wanted to do was shower away the feeling of being dirty and curl up in bed with Netflixon her laptop. She brought her toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash into the shower with her and, throwing off her clothes, turned the water on a little hotter than usual.
Issy brushed her teeth hard, scraped her tongue, then gargled and swilled with mouthwash. She did that at least five times before her mouth finally felt just a little bit clean. She scrubbed her skin with soap and an exfoliator until the water wasn't quite so hot any-more, then she finally forced herself to step out of the flow.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, the young student felt like a shell of her former self. What the fuck had she done? Did giving a stranger a blow job in return for a favour make her a whore? A prostitute?
Issy shook her head, cleaned her "washing-away-the-day" shit out of the bathroom so Jemm wouldn't blow a gasket, and trudged to her room, locking the door. She looked outside into the depressing black chasm of the night. Closing the blinds Issy flopped naked onto her bed and switched on her laptop. She was half-way through the episode of whatever show she mindlessly chose before she realised that she wasn't paying any attention at all. She sighed and leaned back against her pillows. No matter how much she washed her mouth or her body, nothing could wash away the memory of what had happened this night.
All she could hope was that what she did somehow helped her dad out.
Mad Garden Buda Café, Budapest, Miklós tér 1, 1033 Hungary
The Mad Garden Buda had become Jason’s unofficial base camp. He needed to be careful though. This was the third time he had visited and if anyone was watching him, it would make it easy for them to keep tabs on him, or even take him down.
He needed to somehow get hold of his daughter and see if she had been successful in her meeting with Caddis … but he had no means of communication back to the UK, and if anyone was following him then he did not want any kind of phone link at all that would lead to his precious daughter back home.
Jase sighed. What to fucking do? His lover and his estranged wife were captives at the mercy of monstrous sex traffickers and he could do nothing.
A feeling of trepidation overcame him. Jase began to look around him, at the other tables, the quiet booths, his eyes flickering everywhere and anywhere.
“Jason Underwood?” A man slipped in next to him and Jase immediately felt the Glock barrel digging into his ribs. But it was the woman opposite him who spoke.
“Say nothing Underwood, just listen. This is Agent Philips, and I am Special Agent De Souza.”
“Americans?” Jase couldn’t help himself. The woman, De Souza, nodded.
“CIA. We’re here to get you out and back to the US.”
“What? Fuck that, I’m not leaving …”
Agent Philips dug the gun harder into his body.
“You are and you will. You and your colleagues have blundered into a long standing CIA operation that is about to go green, and we need you to be way, way out of here … leave the rescue mission to us …”
A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
Barb and Grace’s intended executions ended as quickly as they had begun, as Barta decided to accept Balazs’ last minute suggestion that the girls might be more profitably disposed of by selling them off as sex slaves to Mexico’s rich and notorious cartels than by shooting them outside an abandoned warehouse in Budapest.
“You’re lucky that my man, Balazs, is so smart,” Barta chuckled as Barb and Grace were dragged back inside the warehouse. “Or, maybe not. Before this is over, you may wish that Laszlo and Farkas had been allowed to put slugs in the backs of your pretty heads.”
Once inside, they’d been crammed together into one of the metal cages used to hold Barta’s slave girls until it was time to ship them off. There wasn’t much space inside. The cage was really designed to hold only one girl, but it was the only vacant one remaining.
So in they went, and it took some doing before they managed to disentangle themselves from one another and find a comfortable way to cohabitate within their cramped quarters.
Barta and his people had soon disappeared, and the rest of the day proved uneventful until food was brought in that evening. Dinner turned out to consist of some sausage and cheese, a slice of bread, and a can of mineral water to wash it down.
By then, Grace and Barb had managed to determine that there were more than a dozen girls being held there in cages. Grace had tried to engage a few of those that occupied nearby cages, and had learned that they were all from Eastern Europe, and mostly quite young. Nearly all had been either lured or abducted into the sorry situation to which they now found themselves. They were all very frightened, and uneasy about talking to Grace and Barb for fear of punishment should Barta’s people overhear them talking.
After dinner the girls had been allowed out of their cages to relieve themselves and stretch their limbs, which in the latter case meant walking back and forth in single file the length of the warehouse, hands on the hips of the girl in front of you. Grace and Barb were allowed to join in at the very end of the queue, which under the watchful eyes of Laszlo and Farkas made its way to the far end of the warehouse and back five times. No one was allowed to speak.
Then it was everyone back in the cages. Lights were extinguished and the entire place shrouded in darkness.
Barb and Grace jostled one another as they jockeyed to get comfortable for the night, eventually working out a way to lay alongside one another.
Barb lay awake though, waiting until it seemed likely that the other girls would all be asleep before raising her head to say in a hushed whisper, “Grace, are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice how Balazs intervened this afternoon, at the last possible moment, to dissuade Bartas from executing us?”
“Uh huh.”
“Did you see that coming?”
“Uh huh.”
“Really? How did you know?”
“Balazs told me while we were being fucked on the floor last night at the Leopard V that he’d be watching out for us.”
“And it didn’t occur to you to clue me in?”
“How could I? They had us both gagged prior to throwing us in that van to drive us to this place. And besides, why should I tell you anything, you friggin’ little marriage wrecker? I absolutely hate you!”
“Oh, come on now! Like it or not. We’re in this together.”
“I can take care of myself, thank you!”
“Look, as it turned out, I figured out on my own that Balazs was a CIA mole. The fact jumped out at me as soon as I saw his CIA file pop up this morning on his laptop screen. In fact, I quickly deleted it before Barta caught sight of it, realizing that would put Balazs in danger. So it’s not that I didn’t find out anyway. It’s just that, even gagged, you could have signalled to me somehow that something was up with him. You are a trained agent, after all, and surely know how to signal something to a colleague without having to say it out loud … a nod in his direction and a raised eyebrow, for example.”
“Perhaps so, but I chose not to … end of story. Now, shut the fuck up and go to sleep!”
“But, Grace, think of Jase. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s working out some kind of plan to get us both out of here, and I’m sure that, by now, he’s expecting us to bury the hatchet and act like the professionals we both are. We owe it to Jase!”
“Fuck off, Barb. I can’t! Try to see it from my perspective. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t even be here. I’d be living happily and cosily with my Jase back at Barn Owl Cottage! You ruined my life and, quite frankly, I’d be perfectly happy … overjoyed in fact … to see you dead!”
“Bitch!”
“That does it!” growled Grace, twisting about to jab Barb sharply in the ribs!”
“Damn!” shouted Barb, rising up on an elbow to slap Grace sharply across the face with an open hand.
Seconds later they were engaged in a full-blown fight, pulling hair and pummelling one another with clenched fists, although the confined space rendered most of the blows ineffective.
But their shouted insults and wailing, as well as the general commotion raised by the other slave girls, was more than enough of a ruckus to bring Laszlo and Farkas running.
With overhead lights switched on, the two men quickly located the source of the commotion, rushed to Barb’s and Grace’s cage, unlocked it, dragged the two squalling women out, wrenched them apart and held them apart with arms pinned back.
“What the fuck is going on,” shouted Balazs, rushing belatedly to the scene.
“These two got into a fight,” explained Farkas, tightening his grip on a struggling Grace.
“You’d better put a call in to Barta over at the Leopard V and find out what he’d like us to do about them,” added Laszlo.
Balazs hesitated for a moment, then pulled out his phone, poked at the key pad, held it to his ear, and when Bartas answered, said calmly, “We’ve a bit of an upset here. Our two spies appear to have gotten themselves into some kind of disagreement and started fighting.”
There was a long pause before Barta responded … loudly enough to prompt Balazs to hold the phone at arms length, “String the szajhák up strappado-style in the basement and let them cool off there ‘til I come around tomorrow morning. We’ll put our heads together then to come up with an appropriate punishment to teach them some manners!”
“Alright, Grzegorz. Consider it done.”
Pocketing his phone, Balasz turned to the others and snapped, “You heard the boss. Don’t just stand there! Pack them off to the basement and string them up.”
****************
Balazs waited until long after Laszlo and Farkas had gone off before addressing Grace and Barb.
The two brutes had suspended the girls, as Bartas had ordered, their wrists bound together and pulled sharply behind their backs.
Forced to hang, bent over at the waist, hair half-covering their faces, they scrabbled with their toes for purchase on the concrete floor. They were barely separated from one another as they revolved slowly round and round.
Rising from the chair where he had been half-dozing while they struggled and suffered, he now approached them, halting their slow rotation by reaching out with both hands, grasping each of them by the hair and snapping their heads back to face him.
“What the fuck was the meaning of that stupid altercation upstairs? Have you lost your minds? You’re in deep shit here, and I’m trying to save your sorry asses. It would help a lot if you’d behave!”
He got no response from either of them.
“Listen carefully,” he continued. “You may not know it, but you two and your boyfriend have managed to fuck up a long-standing CIA operation to take down Barta. You’ve done an absolutely amazing job of getting in the way! Nonetheless the decision has been made on High to do what we can to save your sorry asses, which is why I went out of my way yesterday afternoon to dissuade Barta from executing you.”
“Well, it works both ways,” snapped Barb. “As you very well know, I deleted that Langley database file with your name on it yesterday before Barta caught sight of it. So one might rightly say that I went out of my way to save your skin too!”
“Point taken. Anyway, listen up. Here’s the plan. You’re to be shipped out of here soon, along with the other girls upstairs, destined for the cartel-run slave girl trade in Mexico. Your boyfriend, Underwood, has been persuaded at the point of a gun to leave Budapest. He’ll be joining the covert operation being planned to free you at the U.S. Mexican border handoff point. If all goes well you and he can look forward to a happy reunion.”
“And in the meantime?” asked Grace, “… do we get to go back upstairs now?”
“No, sorry. I’m afraid not. It’s nearly morning and Barta will be here soon enough to decide what kind of punishment to mete out to you for all the ruckus you caused during the night. Stunts like that don’t go unpunished around here,”
“I’d have thought being suspended like this for hours might be punishment enough?”
“Dreamer. Barta would disagree. You can count on it. He’ll want you to suffer far more than mere discomfort. The man likes to inflict pain.”
“Some form of torture then?” groaned Barb.
“As I said … count on it.”
To Be Continued …
Canterbury Student Village Parham Road, Canterbury, CT1 1YN
Once Issy was back in her apartment, her privacy restored, the tears came down. With large droplets, she sobbed, knowing that he had treated her like a toy, demeaning her, humiliating her, using her.
She was thankful that Jemma wasn’t home. She really didn't feel like speaking to anybody. All she wanted to do was shower away the feeling of being dirty and curl up in bed with Netflixon her laptop. She brought her toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash into the shower with her and, throwing off her clothes, turned the water on a little hotter than usual.
Issy brushed her teeth hard, scraped her tongue, then gargled and swilled with mouthwash. She did that at least five times before her mouth finally felt just a little bit clean. She scrubbed her skin with soap and an exfoliator until the water wasn't quite so hot any-more, then she finally forced herself to step out of the flow.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, the young student felt like a shell of her former self. What the fuck had she done? Did giving a stranger a blow job in return for a favour make her a whore? A prostitute?
Issy shook her head, cleaned her "washing-away-the-day" shit out of the bathroom so Jemm wouldn't blow a gasket, and trudged to her room, locking the door. She looked outside into the depressing black chasm of the night. Closing the blinds Issy flopped naked onto her bed and switched on her laptop. She was half-way through the episode of whatever show she mindlessly chose before she realised that she wasn't paying any attention at all. She sighed and leaned back against her pillows. No matter how much she washed her mouth or her body, nothing could wash away the memory of what had happened this night.
All she could hope was that what she did somehow helped her dad out.
Mad Garden Buda Café, Budapest, Miklós tér 1, 1033 Hungary
The Mad Garden Buda had become Jason’s unofficial base camp. He needed to be careful though. This was the third time he had visited and if anyone was watching him, it would make it easy for them to keep tabs on him, or even take him down.
He needed to somehow get hold of his daughter and see if she had been successful in her meeting with Caddis … but he had no means of communication back to the UK, and if anyone was following him then he did not want any kind of phone link at all that would lead to his precious daughter back home.
Jase sighed. What to fucking do? His lover and his estranged wife were captives at the mercy of monstrous sex traffickers and he could do nothing.
A feeling of trepidation overcame him. Jase began to look around him, at the other tables, the quiet booths, his eyes flickering everywhere and anywhere.
“Jason Underwood?” A man slipped in next to him and Jase immediately felt the Glock barrel digging into his ribs. But it was the woman opposite him who spoke.
“Say nothing Underwood, just listen. This is Agent Philips, and I am Special Agent De Souza.”
“Americans?” Jase couldn’t help himself. The woman, De Souza, nodded.
“CIA. We’re here to get you out and back to the US.”
“What? Fuck that, I’m not leaving …”
Agent Philips dug the gun harder into his body.
“You are and you will. You and your colleagues have blundered into a long standing CIA operation that is about to go green, and we need you to be way, way out of here … leave the rescue mission to us …”
A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
Barb and Grace’s intended executions ended as quickly as they had begun, as Barta decided to accept Balazs’ last minute suggestion that the girls might be more profitably disposed of by selling them off as sex slaves to Mexico’s rich and notorious cartels than by shooting them outside an abandoned warehouse in Budapest.
“You’re lucky that my man, Balazs, is so smart,” Barta chuckled as Barb and Grace were dragged back inside the warehouse. “Or, maybe not. Before this is over, you may wish that Laszlo and Farkas had been allowed to put slugs in the backs of your pretty heads.”
Once inside, they’d been crammed together into one of the metal cages used to hold Barta’s slave girls until it was time to ship them off. There wasn’t much space inside. The cage was really designed to hold only one girl, but it was the only vacant one remaining.
So in they went, and it took some doing before they managed to disentangle themselves from one another and find a comfortable way to cohabitate within their cramped quarters.
Barta and his people had soon disappeared, and the rest of the day proved uneventful until food was brought in that evening. Dinner turned out to consist of some sausage and cheese, a slice of bread, and a can of mineral water to wash it down.
By then, Grace and Barb had managed to determine that there were more than a dozen girls being held there in cages. Grace had tried to engage a few of those that occupied nearby cages, and had learned that they were all from Eastern Europe, and mostly quite young. Nearly all had been either lured or abducted into the sorry situation to which they now found themselves. They were all very frightened, and uneasy about talking to Grace and Barb for fear of punishment should Barta’s people overhear them talking.
After dinner the girls had been allowed out of their cages to relieve themselves and stretch their limbs, which in the latter case meant walking back and forth in single file the length of the warehouse, hands on the hips of the girl in front of you. Grace and Barb were allowed to join in at the very end of the queue, which under the watchful eyes of Laszlo and Farkas made its way to the far end of the warehouse and back five times. No one was allowed to speak.
Then it was everyone back in the cages. Lights were extinguished and the entire place shrouded in darkness.
Barb and Grace jostled one another as they jockeyed to get comfortable for the night, eventually working out a way to lay alongside one another.
Barb lay awake though, waiting until it seemed likely that the other girls would all be asleep before raising her head to say in a hushed whisper, “Grace, are you awake?”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice how Balazs intervened this afternoon, at the last possible moment, to dissuade Bartas from executing us?”
“Uh huh.”
“Did you see that coming?”
“Uh huh.”
“Really? How did you know?”
“Balazs told me while we were being fucked on the floor last night at the Leopard V that he’d be watching out for us.”
“And it didn’t occur to you to clue me in?”
“How could I? They had us both gagged prior to throwing us in that van to drive us to this place. And besides, why should I tell you anything, you friggin’ little marriage wrecker? I absolutely hate you!”
“Oh, come on now! Like it or not. We’re in this together.”
“I can take care of myself, thank you!”
“Look, as it turned out, I figured out on my own that Balazs was a CIA mole. The fact jumped out at me as soon as I saw his CIA file pop up this morning on his laptop screen. In fact, I quickly deleted it before Barta caught sight of it, realizing that would put Balazs in danger. So it’s not that I didn’t find out anyway. It’s just that, even gagged, you could have signalled to me somehow that something was up with him. You are a trained agent, after all, and surely know how to signal something to a colleague without having to say it out loud … a nod in his direction and a raised eyebrow, for example.”
“Perhaps so, but I chose not to … end of story. Now, shut the fuck up and go to sleep!”
“But, Grace, think of Jase. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s working out some kind of plan to get us both out of here, and I’m sure that, by now, he’s expecting us to bury the hatchet and act like the professionals we both are. We owe it to Jase!”
“Fuck off, Barb. I can’t! Try to see it from my perspective. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t even be here. I’d be living happily and cosily with my Jase back at Barn Owl Cottage! You ruined my life and, quite frankly, I’d be perfectly happy … overjoyed in fact … to see you dead!”
“Bitch!”
“That does it!” growled Grace, twisting about to jab Barb sharply in the ribs!”
“Damn!” shouted Barb, rising up on an elbow to slap Grace sharply across the face with an open hand.
Seconds later they were engaged in a full-blown fight, pulling hair and pummelling one another with clenched fists, although the confined space rendered most of the blows ineffective.
But their shouted insults and wailing, as well as the general commotion raised by the other slave girls, was more than enough of a ruckus to bring Laszlo and Farkas running.
With overhead lights switched on, the two men quickly located the source of the commotion, rushed to Barb’s and Grace’s cage, unlocked it, dragged the two squalling women out, wrenched them apart and held them apart with arms pinned back.
“What the fuck is going on,” shouted Balazs, rushing belatedly to the scene.
“These two got into a fight,” explained Farkas, tightening his grip on a struggling Grace.
“You’d better put a call in to Barta over at the Leopard V and find out what he’d like us to do about them,” added Laszlo.
Balazs hesitated for a moment, then pulled out his phone, poked at the key pad, held it to his ear, and when Bartas answered, said calmly, “We’ve a bit of an upset here. Our two spies appear to have gotten themselves into some kind of disagreement and started fighting.”
There was a long pause before Barta responded … loudly enough to prompt Balazs to hold the phone at arms length, “String the szajhák up strappado-style in the basement and let them cool off there ‘til I come around tomorrow morning. We’ll put our heads together then to come up with an appropriate punishment to teach them some manners!”
“Alright, Grzegorz. Consider it done.”
Pocketing his phone, Balasz turned to the others and snapped, “You heard the boss. Don’t just stand there! Pack them off to the basement and string them up.”
****************
Balazs waited until long after Laszlo and Farkas had gone off before addressing Grace and Barb.
The two brutes had suspended the girls, as Bartas had ordered, their wrists bound together and pulled sharply behind their backs.
Forced to hang, bent over at the waist, hair half-covering their faces, they scrabbled with their toes for purchase on the concrete floor. They were barely separated from one another as they revolved slowly round and round.
Rising from the chair where he had been half-dozing while they struggled and suffered, he now approached them, halting their slow rotation by reaching out with both hands, grasping each of them by the hair and snapping their heads back to face him.
“What the fuck was the meaning of that stupid altercation upstairs? Have you lost your minds? You’re in deep shit here, and I’m trying to save your sorry asses. It would help a lot if you’d behave!”
He got no response from either of them.
“Listen carefully,” he continued. “You may not know it, but you two and your boyfriend have managed to fuck up a long-standing CIA operation to take down Barta. You’ve done an absolutely amazing job of getting in the way! Nonetheless the decision has been made on High to do what we can to save your sorry asses, which is why I went out of my way yesterday afternoon to dissuade Barta from executing you.”
“Well, it works both ways,” snapped Barb. “As you very well know, I deleted that Langley database file with your name on it yesterday before Barta caught sight of it. So one might rightly say that I went out of my way to save your skin too!”
“Point taken. Anyway, listen up. Here’s the plan. You’re to be shipped out of here soon, along with the other girls upstairs, destined for the cartel-run slave girl trade in Mexico. Your boyfriend, Underwood, has been persuaded at the point of a gun to leave Budapest. He’ll be joining the covert operation being planned to free you at the U.S. Mexican border handoff point. If all goes well you and he can look forward to a happy reunion.”
“And in the meantime?” asked Grace, “… do we get to go back upstairs now?”
“No, sorry. I’m afraid not. It’s nearly morning and Barta will be here soon enough to decide what kind of punishment to mete out to you for all the ruckus you caused during the night. Stunts like that don’t go unpunished around here,”
“I’d have thought being suspended like this for hours might be punishment enough?”
“Dreamer. Barta would disagree. You can count on it. He’ll want you to suffer far more than mere discomfort. The man likes to inflict pain.”
“Some form of torture then?” groaned Barb.
“As I said … count on it.”
To Be Continued …
S
slave666597
Guest
You are a whore like me, you liked being whipped you orgasmed but you didn't want to uncover your masochist nature. I would beg them to whip me harder more more blood
captivecuties
Senator
Waterboarding with piss…see @Barbaria1 and I do have some things in common!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Dark Deliverance (4)
CIA Black Site, Bratislava, Slovakia
As the screen went blank, the CIA officers in the briefing room collectively exhaled. They were all briefed and had been working on ‘Operation Wells Fargo’ for many, many months, to know that D-Day was upon them was indeed a relief.
“So, we go when?” Jason said to the presenting officer.
Special Agent Falco looked across at the new guy in the room and spoke in a deadpan tone.
“’You’ don’t ‘go’ Major Underwood … you are on a flight to Boston in 2 hours. But ‘we’, the planned team will hit three separate sites in Budapest tomorrow at three am, two hours after the flight to the USA carrying the girls has taken off.”
Falco paused, before continuing …
“We’ll go in at three a.m. for maximum surprise and disorientation, targeting Barta and his lead henchmen. Agent Jaak Pavel, also known to us as Aleksander Balazs, will arrange for our entry into the back of the Leopard V Club, their main area of operation and the location in which we expect to find Barta.”
“Balazs …” Jason muttered to himself, recognising the name.
We will be sending a five-man team to each address, along with an additional three-man unit to remain in each location to search for any evidence that might reveal further information about the larger, wider network.
Around the room, people were nodding.
“… Boston? I need to be in Texas, surely.” Jason asked.
“Texas is the planned destination for that aircraft for sure, and that is what our undercover Agent Jaak Pavel believes is happening, but in reality, as soon as the Cargo plane enters US Airspace, Major Underwood, three Nighthawks will chaperone the plane in, to land at Logan. Once on the ground the craft will be unloaded at gun point … Your two Agents will be amongst the girls to be rescued.”
They had to protect Balazs for his own good on a needs-to-know basis. Jason nodded his understanding whilst his stomach was filled with nervous anticipation.
The officers filed out of the room, talking quietly amongst themselves.
Jason flopped into a chair. Now was do or die time …
Malacky Military Air Base in the Bratislava Region of Slovakia.
“So, this is your taxi Major …”
Jason stood with Special Agent Falco on the tarmac at Malacky Military Airbase.
“A Taliban Taxi, right.” Underwood replied at the ridiculous size of the plane flying him the eleven hours to Logan airport in Boston, Mass. Falco nodded and smiled.
“You’re lucky we don’t make you hitch-hike given the way you and those two … girls, have blundered into our fucking Op!”
Jason turned quickly towards the Special Agent, but swallowed his anger just in time. He knew that the overall blame lay with both the CIA and MI6 for not sharing intel effectively, but whatever the culpability, all that mattered now was to get Barb and Grace out and safe from the clutches of these bastards. Fleetingly his mind flipped to a time beyond the rescue, when Barb and Grace were free … despite still being unable to return to the UK he had a decision to make, and this time he needed to make one that he could stand one hundred percent behind.
“Ekaterina … why did you have to leave me …” (See Sexpionage – Full Circle) Jason shocked even himself when those words fell indiscernibly from his mouth, mourning for his lost true love ...
The Boeing C-17 Globemaster was one of the biggest troop transporters in the US air fleet, but this one was being laid on for him alone to return to the US.
“Okay Major, time for you to climb on board.”
A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
“You should leave them alone now Grzegorz, forget the Western bitches. They are to be sold on and we know how much they will fetch. I can sense that one more session for you with them and you will mark them so much that their value will be eroded …”
Grzegorz Barta looked at his right-hand man, and friend, Aleksander Balazs. “Okay, you are right of course. So, take the American cunt to the packaging area and have her prepared with the other girls. But I want to make that English bitch suffer much more. She was the little cunt that almost killed me … I want to cut her and terrorise her until she wished she was dead. I want to hear her beg me for death and only then will I take pleasure from spitting in her face and sending her back to her Masters at MI6 for them to witness what happens to their people when they mess with me …”
Barta stood, his insides in turmoil when he realised that Barta wasn’t intending to sell Grace but torture and maim her as a lesson to MI6. However, outwardly, for appearances, he clapped Aleksander on the back and said, “Let’s go have our fun, my friend.”
Balazs had done his best. Barb was to be spared further pain and torture, but Grace’s ordeal was far from over.
Shipment Packing Area, A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
“In you go now,” said Balazs as he lowered Barb into a packing crate alongside one of the other girls. “Laszlo and Farkas will be along shortly with the fork lift to load the entire consignment of yours and seven other crates onto the truck, which will deliver you to the air freight terminal. From there you’ll be flown to El Paso, Texas to be smuggled across the border into Mexico. Have a nice trip!”
Reaching for the lid of the crate, he swung it shut, but took his time securing it while whispering through a ventilation slit, “Sorry, for the discomfort, Agent Moore, but I trust you’ll manage somehow. Just remember there’s a rescue operation in the works to take place near the Mexican border crossing. Be ready for it!”
Inside the cramped space Barb wriggled about to find a comfortable position, nudging the other girl, whom she knew by then to be a Czech, abducted weeks ago while out for a jog in a Prague Park … to move over a bit and make space.
Barb and her shipping companion had been carefully prepared for their journey. Both were naked, trussed at ankles and knees, as well as at elbows and wrists behind their backs. Duct tape drawn over their mouths secured their silence should the injection they’d received a few minutes earlier wear out prior to reaching their destination. Barb was already feeling woozy as she settled in, shoulder and flank pressed against those of her companion. Both girls wore an identification tag attached to a wire secured around their necks.
As Agent Moore’s eyes closed thoughts of where Grace might be were far from her conscious mind.
To Be Continued …
CIA Black Site, Bratislava, Slovakia
As the screen went blank, the CIA officers in the briefing room collectively exhaled. They were all briefed and had been working on ‘Operation Wells Fargo’ for many, many months, to know that D-Day was upon them was indeed a relief.
“So, we go when?” Jason said to the presenting officer.
Special Agent Falco looked across at the new guy in the room and spoke in a deadpan tone.
“’You’ don’t ‘go’ Major Underwood … you are on a flight to Boston in 2 hours. But ‘we’, the planned team will hit three separate sites in Budapest tomorrow at three am, two hours after the flight to the USA carrying the girls has taken off.”
Falco paused, before continuing …
“We’ll go in at three a.m. for maximum surprise and disorientation, targeting Barta and his lead henchmen. Agent Jaak Pavel, also known to us as Aleksander Balazs, will arrange for our entry into the back of the Leopard V Club, their main area of operation and the location in which we expect to find Barta.”
“Balazs …” Jason muttered to himself, recognising the name.
We will be sending a five-man team to each address, along with an additional three-man unit to remain in each location to search for any evidence that might reveal further information about the larger, wider network.
Around the room, people were nodding.
“… Boston? I need to be in Texas, surely.” Jason asked.
“Texas is the planned destination for that aircraft for sure, and that is what our undercover Agent Jaak Pavel believes is happening, but in reality, as soon as the Cargo plane enters US Airspace, Major Underwood, three Nighthawks will chaperone the plane in, to land at Logan. Once on the ground the craft will be unloaded at gun point … Your two Agents will be amongst the girls to be rescued.”
They had to protect Balazs for his own good on a needs-to-know basis. Jason nodded his understanding whilst his stomach was filled with nervous anticipation.
The officers filed out of the room, talking quietly amongst themselves.
Jason flopped into a chair. Now was do or die time …
Malacky Military Air Base in the Bratislava Region of Slovakia.
“So, this is your taxi Major …”
Jason stood with Special Agent Falco on the tarmac at Malacky Military Airbase.
“A Taliban Taxi, right.” Underwood replied at the ridiculous size of the plane flying him the eleven hours to Logan airport in Boston, Mass. Falco nodded and smiled.
“You’re lucky we don’t make you hitch-hike given the way you and those two … girls, have blundered into our fucking Op!”
Jason turned quickly towards the Special Agent, but swallowed his anger just in time. He knew that the overall blame lay with both the CIA and MI6 for not sharing intel effectively, but whatever the culpability, all that mattered now was to get Barb and Grace out and safe from the clutches of these bastards. Fleetingly his mind flipped to a time beyond the rescue, when Barb and Grace were free … despite still being unable to return to the UK he had a decision to make, and this time he needed to make one that he could stand one hundred percent behind.
“Ekaterina … why did you have to leave me …” (See Sexpionage – Full Circle) Jason shocked even himself when those words fell indiscernibly from his mouth, mourning for his lost true love ...
The Boeing C-17 Globemaster was one of the biggest troop transporters in the US air fleet, but this one was being laid on for him alone to return to the US.
“Okay Major, time for you to climb on board.”
A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
“You should leave them alone now Grzegorz, forget the Western bitches. They are to be sold on and we know how much they will fetch. I can sense that one more session for you with them and you will mark them so much that their value will be eroded …”
Grzegorz Barta looked at his right-hand man, and friend, Aleksander Balazs. “Okay, you are right of course. So, take the American cunt to the packaging area and have her prepared with the other girls. But I want to make that English bitch suffer much more. She was the little cunt that almost killed me … I want to cut her and terrorise her until she wished she was dead. I want to hear her beg me for death and only then will I take pleasure from spitting in her face and sending her back to her Masters at MI6 for them to witness what happens to their people when they mess with me …”
Barta stood, his insides in turmoil when he realised that Barta wasn’t intending to sell Grace but torture and maim her as a lesson to MI6. However, outwardly, for appearances, he clapped Aleksander on the back and said, “Let’s go have our fun, my friend.”
Balazs had done his best. Barb was to be spared further pain and torture, but Grace’s ordeal was far from over.
Shipment Packing Area, A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
“In you go now,” said Balazs as he lowered Barb into a packing crate alongside one of the other girls. “Laszlo and Farkas will be along shortly with the fork lift to load the entire consignment of yours and seven other crates onto the truck, which will deliver you to the air freight terminal. From there you’ll be flown to El Paso, Texas to be smuggled across the border into Mexico. Have a nice trip!”
Reaching for the lid of the crate, he swung it shut, but took his time securing it while whispering through a ventilation slit, “Sorry, for the discomfort, Agent Moore, but I trust you’ll manage somehow. Just remember there’s a rescue operation in the works to take place near the Mexican border crossing. Be ready for it!”
Inside the cramped space Barb wriggled about to find a comfortable position, nudging the other girl, whom she knew by then to be a Czech, abducted weeks ago while out for a jog in a Prague Park … to move over a bit and make space.
Barb and her shipping companion had been carefully prepared for their journey. Both were naked, trussed at ankles and knees, as well as at elbows and wrists behind their backs. Duct tape drawn over their mouths secured their silence should the injection they’d received a few minutes earlier wear out prior to reaching their destination. Barb was already feeling woozy as she settled in, shoulder and flank pressed against those of her companion. Both girls wore an identification tag attached to a wire secured around their necks.
As Agent Moore’s eyes closed thoughts of where Grace might be were far from her conscious mind.
To Be Continued …
Dark Deliverance (5)
Basement torture chamber, A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
Barta had promised Grace that the next 24 hours would be the worst time of her life because he believed that she and the other bitch along with the guy, had caused him more trouble than had anyone else in a very long time, in addition to which this little cunt had tried to garotte him!
And she had every reason to believe he’d deliver on his promise.
While Balazs went off to see that Barb was properly packaged for shipment along with the other girls, Barta paced back and forth before the spot where Grace hung strappado-style from the basement ceiling, calmly ticking off the punishments he and Balazs might choose to inflict on her. In his mind’s eye he foresaw waterboarding, electro-shocking, gang rape, and injections of mind-blowing drugs. He seemed to get a thrill out of describing each one in detail to the hapless girl.
She closed her eyes and tried not to listen, but that was, of course, not really possible.
Then, gripping a fistful of her hair and forcing her to face him, snapping her head back to look him in the eye, he turned to a topic that churned her stomach.
“Kurva, here’s the kicker. As a special gift from me to Roger Moore and all your pals at MI6, I’m going to make a video of everything we do to you and send it on to Vauxhall Cross in London. And then I’m going to package up whatever remains of you and ship it special delivery to their doorstep!”
Lounge area, third floor, a Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee blended with the sweat and stale alcohol breath of the eight men gathered to watch the screening of the video detailing their handiwork. At nearly half past two in the morning, it had been a very long day, and night.
As they congregated, Barta, despite his sore, overused cock, was in a jovial, celebratory mood, slapping everyone’s back, and inviting them to take a seat, announcing that Balazs was about to screen the edited video he’d prepared.
“Just think,” Barta chortled happily, “… somewhere … half a continent away … deep in the bowels of MI6 headquarters in Vauxhall, those bastards, rudely awakened and summoned by their subordinates, will quite likely soon be viewing this too!”
On the screen, the opening sequence featured a nude Grace, still strung up strappado-style in the warehouse basement, rotating slowly, feet scrabbling for a footing, body sheened in sweat, hair half covering her face.
Then there was a quick cut to a scene that featured Barta and six of his henchmen standing in line, shoulder to shoulder, posing for the camera. All, with the exception of Barta, wore a balaclava to hide their faces. And all, including Barta, were naked from the waist down and proudly displaying their stiffened members.
That was followed by a sequence of short clips showing each of them violating Grace, some more than once, in a long and viciously brutal gang rape.
“Look at her expression guys, turn it up please, we need to hear those screams loud and clear …”
All eyes peered at the current scene in which Grace was buggered repeatedly and seemingly endlessly from behind … replete with zoom-in closeups offering a detailed view of the action … of copious rivers of cum, some tainted with blood, spilling from both her holes, as well as her terror-stricken face.
The vicious and perverted film then moved on to a part of the warehouse specially equipped as a torture chamber. There Grace was seen stretched out on her backside and strapped to a waterboard designed to be tipped on a fulcrum to submerge her head and shoulders into a large corrugated metal tub filled with fetid water.
“Drown the stupid little Kurva,” Barta could be heard to say.
A series of video clips followed, capturing the sequence of dunkings, complete with close up shots of her head immersed in water, her breasts shaking and bouncing wildly as she is shocked while submerged via electrodes clipped to her nipples, and of her gasping for breath on being raised, with water streaming copiously from nose and mouth.
The periods in which she was submerged became longer and longer, and then the watching audience fell silent as Grace was pulled out of the water and appeared to not be breathing …
As this was being shown on the screen, Barta, envisioning himself as a God-like figure, exclaimed excitedly to his goons, “look closely now! This bit is the best, we actually killed the little cunt but then ... watch this..."
Two men applied electric shock to Grace’s chest in order to resuscitate her from an apparent heart stoppage and bring her back to life so the process could resume.
Finally, a sequence at the end showed the poor, beaten, defeated girl strapped to a metal chair with Barta looming and leering over her, syringe in hand. He injects what presumably is some kind of mind-blowing drug into a catheter taped to her wrist …. to which she reacts by twitching spasmodically, drooling at the mouth, fluttering and rolling her eyes as her head sways from side to side before finally coming to rest, chin planted firmly against her chest.
The video ends with the clasps to the chair being released and a barely alive Grace tumbles in a heap to the floor.
“Is she dead?” One man asked.
Barta laughed. “No of course not, but she will wish that she was. When I send her back to MI6 along with this video, she will be nailed inside her own coffin …” Just saying those words made the monstrous Barta hard.
The final frame of the video … a still … displayed a chilling message written in blood red against a black background: “This is what happens to agents, especially female agents, stupidly sent on hopeless missions. And a reminder to their MI6 masters to think twice in the future before ever again attempting to fuck with the likes of Grzegorz Barta”
To Be Continued …
Basement torture chamber, A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
Barta had promised Grace that the next 24 hours would be the worst time of her life because he believed that she and the other bitch along with the guy, had caused him more trouble than had anyone else in a very long time, in addition to which this little cunt had tried to garotte him!
And she had every reason to believe he’d deliver on his promise.
While Balazs went off to see that Barb was properly packaged for shipment along with the other girls, Barta paced back and forth before the spot where Grace hung strappado-style from the basement ceiling, calmly ticking off the punishments he and Balazs might choose to inflict on her. In his mind’s eye he foresaw waterboarding, electro-shocking, gang rape, and injections of mind-blowing drugs. He seemed to get a thrill out of describing each one in detail to the hapless girl.
She closed her eyes and tried not to listen, but that was, of course, not really possible.
Then, gripping a fistful of her hair and forcing her to face him, snapping her head back to look him in the eye, he turned to a topic that churned her stomach.
“Kurva, here’s the kicker. As a special gift from me to Roger Moore and all your pals at MI6, I’m going to make a video of everything we do to you and send it on to Vauxhall Cross in London. And then I’m going to package up whatever remains of you and ship it special delivery to their doorstep!”
Lounge area, third floor, a Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee blended with the sweat and stale alcohol breath of the eight men gathered to watch the screening of the video detailing their handiwork. At nearly half past two in the morning, it had been a very long day, and night.
As they congregated, Barta, despite his sore, overused cock, was in a jovial, celebratory mood, slapping everyone’s back, and inviting them to take a seat, announcing that Balazs was about to screen the edited video he’d prepared.
“Just think,” Barta chortled happily, “… somewhere … half a continent away … deep in the bowels of MI6 headquarters in Vauxhall, those bastards, rudely awakened and summoned by their subordinates, will quite likely soon be viewing this too!”
On the screen, the opening sequence featured a nude Grace, still strung up strappado-style in the warehouse basement, rotating slowly, feet scrabbling for a footing, body sheened in sweat, hair half covering her face.
Then there was a quick cut to a scene that featured Barta and six of his henchmen standing in line, shoulder to shoulder, posing for the camera. All, with the exception of Barta, wore a balaclava to hide their faces. And all, including Barta, were naked from the waist down and proudly displaying their stiffened members.
That was followed by a sequence of short clips showing each of them violating Grace, some more than once, in a long and viciously brutal gang rape.
“Look at her expression guys, turn it up please, we need to hear those screams loud and clear …”
All eyes peered at the current scene in which Grace was buggered repeatedly and seemingly endlessly from behind … replete with zoom-in closeups offering a detailed view of the action … of copious rivers of cum, some tainted with blood, spilling from both her holes, as well as her terror-stricken face.
The vicious and perverted film then moved on to a part of the warehouse specially equipped as a torture chamber. There Grace was seen stretched out on her backside and strapped to a waterboard designed to be tipped on a fulcrum to submerge her head and shoulders into a large corrugated metal tub filled with fetid water.
“Drown the stupid little Kurva,” Barta could be heard to say.
A series of video clips followed, capturing the sequence of dunkings, complete with close up shots of her head immersed in water, her breasts shaking and bouncing wildly as she is shocked while submerged via electrodes clipped to her nipples, and of her gasping for breath on being raised, with water streaming copiously from nose and mouth.
The periods in which she was submerged became longer and longer, and then the watching audience fell silent as Grace was pulled out of the water and appeared to not be breathing …
As this was being shown on the screen, Barta, envisioning himself as a God-like figure, exclaimed excitedly to his goons, “look closely now! This bit is the best, we actually killed the little cunt but then ... watch this..."
Two men applied electric shock to Grace’s chest in order to resuscitate her from an apparent heart stoppage and bring her back to life so the process could resume.
Finally, a sequence at the end showed the poor, beaten, defeated girl strapped to a metal chair with Barta looming and leering over her, syringe in hand. He injects what presumably is some kind of mind-blowing drug into a catheter taped to her wrist …. to which she reacts by twitching spasmodically, drooling at the mouth, fluttering and rolling her eyes as her head sways from side to side before finally coming to rest, chin planted firmly against her chest.
The video ends with the clasps to the chair being released and a barely alive Grace tumbles in a heap to the floor.
“Is she dead?” One man asked.
Barta laughed. “No of course not, but she will wish that she was. When I send her back to MI6 along with this video, she will be nailed inside her own coffin …” Just saying those words made the monstrous Barta hard.
The final frame of the video … a still … displayed a chilling message written in blood red against a black background: “This is what happens to agents, especially female agents, stupidly sent on hopeless missions. And a reminder to their MI6 masters to think twice in the future before ever again attempting to fuck with the likes of Grzegorz Barta”
To Be Continued …
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Dark Deliverance (6)
On Sörház uti, in front of the Leopard V Club, District XXII, Budapest … 3 am
Special Agent Falco led the main team into the Leopard V as planned. The early hours meant that the club was beginning to wind down but was still active enough to ensure that Barta was present.
Using standard military visual signalling Balazs indicated for the initial five-man Marine team to enter round the back.
The all-night club would be closing early this night.
Falco listened intently. He heard the sound again. He put his phone in his back pocket and took out his gun before peering around the corner. The lights were all out when the team hit.
The Senior Agent In Charge moved slowly toward the sound or at least where he thought it was coming from.
Off the main room.
Falco had assumed they had already cleared the building, but evidently not. He crept up to the door where he could clearly hear the whimpering, a light sobbing.
A girl.
The door was fastened. He put his gun back into the shoulder holster and easily picked the lock. The Special Agent took his pen light out of his pocket and slowly opened the door, shining it into the room. More a closet than a room. Empty except for the old-looking mattress on the floor, and a girl laying on it.
Squinting trying to adjust his eyes to the light, her shape gradually came into view. The girl’s hair was messy and he saw the glint of a chain around her ankle secured by a padlock. The other end of the chain was attached to the wall. A bowl of water was on the ground next to her. It looked like a dog’s bowl. The sight broke this hardened CIA Agent’s heart.
The dirty haired girl was wearing a white gown. She still had makeup on, smeared from crying and she was barefoot, her ankle was bleeding from the chain rubbing against it.
“It’s going to be okay,” Falco said gently. “I’m here to help you. What’s your name?”
The girl didn’t respond.
He knelt down beside her and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She wiped the tears away from her face with her fingers.
“Are you hurt?” He asked.
“N … no,” the girl replied meekly.
It took almost five minutes for him to pick the rusty lock on the chain around her ankle, but once she was free, the girl clutched at Agent Falco, gripping his arms, as if afraid he might leave her.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to get you out of here,” he said.
Just then another Agent appeared quickly on the scene. “Building secure boss and bandits captured. But …”
“Don’t tell me …” Falco said looking up, “No sign of Barta …”
With pursed lips, the Agent nodded, “But we did find Agent Jaak Pavel … his dead body riddled with bullets.”
A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
“Stand back,” the New York twang rang out as the IED explosion was primed. Ten seconds later the door to the Warehouse blew and the five-man CIA team entered through the smoke.
It took less than five minutes to round up the small group of men who had been blissfully abusing a pair of young girls …
One of the Agents took out his radio and spoke, “Location secure, bandits captured. No sign of Barta …”
The Luxury Apartment of Grzegorz Barta, in Margit Utca, Buda, in the foothills of Rózsadomb
“Calm down please,” The lead Marine was trying to talk calmly to the women they had found at Barta’s luxury home.
“He is gone, left. Gone to nowhere we know …” A flurry of broken English met with the questions that were being asked.
Then … a shot, two shots and a Marine fell dead a small hole in the middle of his forehead and in seconds the girl who had fired the shots, a young girl maybe in her early twenties also lay dead, her body riddled with bullets …
“Fuck, FUCK. Round these bitches up, we’re taking them in.”
The same lead Agent then radioed in. “Agent down, location secure, bandits rounded up, no sign of Barta …”
Farkashegy Airfield, 18 km west of Budapest – earlier that same night
Maximilian Schulz checked the time on his phone as the twin headlights of a van turned onto the tarmac from a service road and headed his way. The time was 22.33. He’d been expecting the arrival of the vehicle and hopped down from where he had been standing in the open cargo hatchway of the twin-engine Dornier 228 civil aircraft to meet it.
The van rolled to a stop, and as the cab doors flew open Max recognized the considerable bulk of Barta’s two favourite henchmen, Laszlo and Farkas. Max had worked with them often for he frequently did contract work for Barta, ferrying contraband of various kinds into small airfields across Europe.
He was well accustomed to undertaking these well-paid night time assignments. This one was to the UK. He’d already filed a flight plan … one that would take him to a small civil airfield in Essex, a flight of 1,465 kilometres … or about three and a half hours in the air.
Assuming all went well, he’d be on the ground and have this consignment handed off well before the appointed time of three in the morning, and be on his way to home and family in back in Düsseldorf.
“Let’s see what you have for me,” he said in English … he was not about to learn Hungarian even though he often worked for Barta … as he shook hands with the two Hungarians, adding, “I need to be away soon.”
“Then give us a hand,” replied Farkas, turning towards the rear of the van.
Max followed and stood back as the van’s double rear doors were flung open to reveal a ‘coffin-like’ heavy wooden box.
“What’s inside?” he demanded.
Farkas shrugged.
“Open it! I need to see what I’m transporting.”
Laszlo shook his head, “No need. Barta’s orders.”
“Open it, or it stays right here!”
They exchanged worried looks. Then Laszlo scrambled inside, retrieved a small crowbar from a tool chest, and set to work prying open the top of the box.
As it came loose and was cast aside, Max switched on his phone’s flashlight feature, shone the beam inside, and immediately let out a long low whistle.
Lying on her back inside was a woman. She was nude, and might have been attractive enough had it not been for what Barta had done to her.
Nails had been hammered through both palms and feet … securing her hands to the box sides and, with her knees bent upwards, her feet flat to the thick wooden floor. She’d obviously been brutally tortured. Her body was covered with bruises, cuts and burns.
In reaction to the harsh light, her eyelids flickered.
She was alive, which explained the many small holes drilled in the lid. She was meant to be delivered alive!”
“Who is she?”
“Name’s Grace,” replied Farkas.
“English?”
“Yes.”
“Where to eventually?”
“MI6 headquarters in London”
“One of theirs?”
“Yes.”
“Pity.”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, this won’t do! Get on your phone and get hold of Barta! This is going to cost him. It’s not like delivering a crate of Kalashnikovs, is it? If things go wrong, I’ll be in deep shit. You tell Barta he needs to triple my fee or she stays right here!”
“He won’t like it.”
“Do it!”
Farkas grimaced, but pulled out his phone, poked at it with his forefinger, and put it to his ear. Moments passed before he got through and launched into a heated discussion in Hungarian with his boss.
Eventually, he rang off and pocketing his phone, reported, “Barta says ‘Igen’. He agrees to your demand.
“Alright then. Put the lid back on, secure it and let’s load her onboard.”
A quarter of an hour later Max and his human consignment were airborne and charting a north-westerly course that would take him towards The Channel and on to England by way of Austrian, German and Belgian airspace.
And upon landing hours later, on an all but deserted airfield at that hour of the night, he smiled to himself at the sight of a lone black van waiting in front of one of the hangers.
That would be them, he told himself.
They moved quickly once he had rolled to a stop and cut the Dornier’s twin turboprop engines, backing their van up to the cargo hatch before he was out of his seat and making his way to the rear of the aircraft.
The two men who got out, were dressed in black and wore balaclavas over their heads. They were obviously wary of being identified in any way.
He opened the cargo hatch, and without saying a word, they stepped up reaching out, then slid the box from the plane and carried it to the rear of their van.
“Where to?” he asked amiably, tagging along.
“SIS building in Vauxhall,”
“Gift-wrapped?”
“One might say that.”
Terminal C, Logan Airport, Boston, Mass, USA
Major Jason Underwood had no rational thoughts other than having his finger primed on the trigger of his HK MP7 sub machine gun.
It would be suicide if anyone on the grounded plane tried to fight their way out of this, however they had maybe thirty girls as hostage should they unwisely choose that path, and so every precaution had to be taken, which was why terminal C had been closed off entirely and a large perimeter had been established around the runway.
Jase watched with a growing intensity as the plane doors opened front and back and the pilots along with several men, men who were laying down their weapons as they exited.
“Clear …” Came the shout from the top of the stairs, and Jason ran to the aircraft.
Inside was chaos. Several rows of heavy packing crates in this specially adapted interior contained the girls, and as they were opened as quickly as possible, each captive was naked and bound.
Then … “Jason, Jase …”
The Major turned his head and saw Barb, his Barb, her face staring up at him from the floor where she lay after being unloaded from the crate. Torn duct tape hung from her face …
“Barb …” He ran to her, touched her hands and then her face … “You’re okay?” It was a question but one that Jase hoped would become a statement.
“Yes, Jase, I am, but …”
“But …” Jason’s eyes were wide.
“It’s Grace …”
To Be Continued in tomorrow’s first Epilogue …
On Sörház uti, in front of the Leopard V Club, District XXII, Budapest … 3 am
Special Agent Falco led the main team into the Leopard V as planned. The early hours meant that the club was beginning to wind down but was still active enough to ensure that Barta was present.
Using standard military visual signalling Balazs indicated for the initial five-man Marine team to enter round the back.
The all-night club would be closing early this night.
Falco listened intently. He heard the sound again. He put his phone in his back pocket and took out his gun before peering around the corner. The lights were all out when the team hit.
The Senior Agent In Charge moved slowly toward the sound or at least where he thought it was coming from.
Off the main room.
Falco had assumed they had already cleared the building, but evidently not. He crept up to the door where he could clearly hear the whimpering, a light sobbing.
A girl.
The door was fastened. He put his gun back into the shoulder holster and easily picked the lock. The Special Agent took his pen light out of his pocket and slowly opened the door, shining it into the room. More a closet than a room. Empty except for the old-looking mattress on the floor, and a girl laying on it.
Squinting trying to adjust his eyes to the light, her shape gradually came into view. The girl’s hair was messy and he saw the glint of a chain around her ankle secured by a padlock. The other end of the chain was attached to the wall. A bowl of water was on the ground next to her. It looked like a dog’s bowl. The sight broke this hardened CIA Agent’s heart.
The dirty haired girl was wearing a white gown. She still had makeup on, smeared from crying and she was barefoot, her ankle was bleeding from the chain rubbing against it.
“It’s going to be okay,” Falco said gently. “I’m here to help you. What’s your name?”
The girl didn’t respond.
He knelt down beside her and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She wiped the tears away from her face with her fingers.
“Are you hurt?” He asked.
“N … no,” the girl replied meekly.
It took almost five minutes for him to pick the rusty lock on the chain around her ankle, but once she was free, the girl clutched at Agent Falco, gripping his arms, as if afraid he might leave her.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to get you out of here,” he said.
Just then another Agent appeared quickly on the scene. “Building secure boss and bandits captured. But …”
“Don’t tell me …” Falco said looking up, “No sign of Barta …”
With pursed lips, the Agent nodded, “But we did find Agent Jaak Pavel … his dead body riddled with bullets.”
A Disused Market Warehouse, District XIII (Józsefváros), Budapest, Hungary
“Stand back,” the New York twang rang out as the IED explosion was primed. Ten seconds later the door to the Warehouse blew and the five-man CIA team entered through the smoke.
It took less than five minutes to round up the small group of men who had been blissfully abusing a pair of young girls …
One of the Agents took out his radio and spoke, “Location secure, bandits captured. No sign of Barta …”
The Luxury Apartment of Grzegorz Barta, in Margit Utca, Buda, in the foothills of Rózsadomb
“Calm down please,” The lead Marine was trying to talk calmly to the women they had found at Barta’s luxury home.
“He is gone, left. Gone to nowhere we know …” A flurry of broken English met with the questions that were being asked.
Then … a shot, two shots and a Marine fell dead a small hole in the middle of his forehead and in seconds the girl who had fired the shots, a young girl maybe in her early twenties also lay dead, her body riddled with bullets …
“Fuck, FUCK. Round these bitches up, we’re taking them in.”
The same lead Agent then radioed in. “Agent down, location secure, bandits rounded up, no sign of Barta …”
Farkashegy Airfield, 18 km west of Budapest – earlier that same night
Maximilian Schulz checked the time on his phone as the twin headlights of a van turned onto the tarmac from a service road and headed his way. The time was 22.33. He’d been expecting the arrival of the vehicle and hopped down from where he had been standing in the open cargo hatchway of the twin-engine Dornier 228 civil aircraft to meet it.
The van rolled to a stop, and as the cab doors flew open Max recognized the considerable bulk of Barta’s two favourite henchmen, Laszlo and Farkas. Max had worked with them often for he frequently did contract work for Barta, ferrying contraband of various kinds into small airfields across Europe.
He was well accustomed to undertaking these well-paid night time assignments. This one was to the UK. He’d already filed a flight plan … one that would take him to a small civil airfield in Essex, a flight of 1,465 kilometres … or about three and a half hours in the air.
Assuming all went well, he’d be on the ground and have this consignment handed off well before the appointed time of three in the morning, and be on his way to home and family in back in Düsseldorf.
“Let’s see what you have for me,” he said in English … he was not about to learn Hungarian even though he often worked for Barta … as he shook hands with the two Hungarians, adding, “I need to be away soon.”
“Then give us a hand,” replied Farkas, turning towards the rear of the van.
Max followed and stood back as the van’s double rear doors were flung open to reveal a ‘coffin-like’ heavy wooden box.
“What’s inside?” he demanded.
Farkas shrugged.
“Open it! I need to see what I’m transporting.”
Laszlo shook his head, “No need. Barta’s orders.”
“Open it, or it stays right here!”
They exchanged worried looks. Then Laszlo scrambled inside, retrieved a small crowbar from a tool chest, and set to work prying open the top of the box.
As it came loose and was cast aside, Max switched on his phone’s flashlight feature, shone the beam inside, and immediately let out a long low whistle.
Lying on her back inside was a woman. She was nude, and might have been attractive enough had it not been for what Barta had done to her.
Nails had been hammered through both palms and feet … securing her hands to the box sides and, with her knees bent upwards, her feet flat to the thick wooden floor. She’d obviously been brutally tortured. Her body was covered with bruises, cuts and burns.
In reaction to the harsh light, her eyelids flickered.
She was alive, which explained the many small holes drilled in the lid. She was meant to be delivered alive!”
“Who is she?”
“Name’s Grace,” replied Farkas.
“English?”
“Yes.”
“Where to eventually?”
“MI6 headquarters in London”
“One of theirs?”
“Yes.”
“Pity.”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, this won’t do! Get on your phone and get hold of Barta! This is going to cost him. It’s not like delivering a crate of Kalashnikovs, is it? If things go wrong, I’ll be in deep shit. You tell Barta he needs to triple my fee or she stays right here!”
“He won’t like it.”
“Do it!”
Farkas grimaced, but pulled out his phone, poked at it with his forefinger, and put it to his ear. Moments passed before he got through and launched into a heated discussion in Hungarian with his boss.
Eventually, he rang off and pocketing his phone, reported, “Barta says ‘Igen’. He agrees to your demand.
“Alright then. Put the lid back on, secure it and let’s load her onboard.”
A quarter of an hour later Max and his human consignment were airborne and charting a north-westerly course that would take him towards The Channel and on to England by way of Austrian, German and Belgian airspace.
And upon landing hours later, on an all but deserted airfield at that hour of the night, he smiled to himself at the sight of a lone black van waiting in front of one of the hangers.
That would be them, he told himself.
They moved quickly once he had rolled to a stop and cut the Dornier’s twin turboprop engines, backing their van up to the cargo hatch before he was out of his seat and making his way to the rear of the aircraft.
The two men who got out, were dressed in black and wore balaclavas over their heads. They were obviously wary of being identified in any way.
He opened the cargo hatch, and without saying a word, they stepped up reaching out, then slid the box from the plane and carried it to the rear of their van.
“Where to?” he asked amiably, tagging along.
“SIS building in Vauxhall,”
“Gift-wrapped?”
“One might say that.”
Terminal C, Logan Airport, Boston, Mass, USA
Major Jason Underwood had no rational thoughts other than having his finger primed on the trigger of his HK MP7 sub machine gun.
It would be suicide if anyone on the grounded plane tried to fight their way out of this, however they had maybe thirty girls as hostage should they unwisely choose that path, and so every precaution had to be taken, which was why terminal C had been closed off entirely and a large perimeter had been established around the runway.
Jase watched with a growing intensity as the plane doors opened front and back and the pilots along with several men, men who were laying down their weapons as they exited.
“Clear …” Came the shout from the top of the stairs, and Jason ran to the aircraft.
Inside was chaos. Several rows of heavy packing crates in this specially adapted interior contained the girls, and as they were opened as quickly as possible, each captive was naked and bound.
Then … “Jason, Jase …”
The Major turned his head and saw Barb, his Barb, her face staring up at him from the floor where she lay after being unloaded from the crate. Torn duct tape hung from her face …
“Barb …” He ran to her, touched her hands and then her face … “You’re okay?” It was a question but one that Jase hoped would become a statement.
“Yes, Jase, I am, but …”
“But …” Jason’s eyes were wide.
“It’s Grace …”
To Be Continued in tomorrow’s first Epilogue …