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I was in the staff bar chatting with Rick.
“Just wanted to give you a bit of feed-back,” I said. “The
Rick chuckled, “Kushtians obviously need their cushions.” I didn’t bother with a laugh.
We were still chatting when the news
started on the big TV screen that hung on the wall behind the bar. An
implausibly attractive newsreader was shuffling her papers and smiling out of
the screen. The sheen on her lip gloss sparkled as she turned towards the
viewer. “A surprise development this afternoon in the
Rick snorted. “Continuity! That’s a new word for it. Still it’s good for us I guess.”
“Sure,” I said, “it’s had the desired
outcome.” Brian drifted into the bar. “Hey, Brian, you’ll be pleased
about this. The
“Your project, not mine,” said Brian, irritated. “Won’t do me any good. I don’t suppose he’s going to be jetting over here for auctions, is he?”
“Well, no, I guess not but it’s got to be good for all of us, hasn’t it? I mean that brought in the Questors job and now he wants me to go out to Kushtia to talk about some more opportunities. Come on, mate, you can’t just look at it from the point of view of who’s at the auctions.”
“I bloody well can. I’m not paid on anything that doesn’t go through the Sales Centre. And don’t call me ‘mate’!” He grabbed his beer and stalked out.
Rick watched him go. “He’s pretty peeved
about this, you know. He had a pretty easy time of it until you turned up.
Least ways, that’s how he sees it. Anyway have you heard how the
“She seems to be getting on fine. Alessa has many faults and her mouth is probably the biggest of them but the Kushtian’s have their own way of solving that sort of problem. Apparently they’ve pierced her tongue and every time she speaks out of turn they link her tongue stud with a chain to the back of the mule that they have treading round in circles to pump water for irrigating some of the fields on the Kalinin’s farm. She gets to follow the mule around for a while and tread in the odd mule pat now and then. That seems to be having some effect.”
“Ouch,” said Rick. “I’ll say one thing for your customers Larry they certainly have their own ways with women. I saw some traffic about the girls we got for Hannani. He’s got them working in his hi-tech maze already. He emailed me a link to their video feed if you want to see it.”
“That’s quick work, I didn’t think you’d have finished with orientation yet.”
“We weren’t doing it. He took them un-prepped. I guess he wanted to do the orientation on site.”
“What’s he got them doing?”
“Nothing much yet. Just settling them in. They’ve got like a bedroom with doors leading off into different parts of the maze. The idea is that he turn up the heat cold or noise in the bedroom and drive them out into which ever part of the maze he wants. There are lots of doors. If the controller is quick he can separate girls by opening and closing them as they go though. First time that happened they got really twitchy. Should make good entertainment for Halinin’s pals.”
“Interesting,” I said. “I need to keep an eye on that stuff. Looks like we could pick up some hints.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Rick went on. “Still we manage to do quite well too. We’ve finished with that writer of yours. She’s ready any time you want. Guaranteed not to whack you with a keyboard or anything else.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, well, I’m trying to forget about that. Can I see her? I was planning to talk to the woman that Glennis gave us. She might as well get started on that at the same time?”
“Sure,” Rick said, “come on through to her cell.” I followed him through.
I’d not really been exposed to the results of Rick’s orientation programmes before so I was interested to see what he’d been able to do. I did actually need her to be working properly.
As Rick opened the door to her cell, Rachel got to her feet. She was looking much better than when I’d seen her last. She’d lost the sunken look from her eyes and she’d even put on a couple of pounds. They’d put her back in the black short skirt and low cut top, low heeled shoes and dark tights or stockings, I couldn’t really tell. She had on her collar and identity tags of course. “Good morning, Rachel,” said Rick. “How are you today?”
“I am very well, Sir,” she said. “Thank you.”
“This is Larry,” Rick said. “You’ll be serving him, now. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” Rachel responded looking at me without any indication that she remembered us ever meeting before. “She turned towards me. “What would you have me do, Sir?” she asked.
“You’re a writer, I believe,” I said. Given the way she was behaving, presumably as a result of her orientation, I thought it was best to go back to first principles.
“Yes, Sir. That is one of the duties I am trained for.”
I looked at the way her breasts had been hoisted up by the bra that they had put her in. No doubt they trained her in the other duties that slaves were usually expected to perform as well. I wasn’t sure if or when I’d have time to try them out. Things were working out pretty well with Tricia and I guess I didn’t feel the need. “Good,” I said. “In which case bring your pad and come with me.” I turned to Rick. “Thanks for this,” I said. “She’ll be fine I think.”
I took the leash that was fastened to her
collar and led her down to the cell where Sukie was
being held. I was aiming to use Sukie’s experiences
as a way to understand better the ways in which slaves were used in the
Sukie was still cuffed, shackled, hooded and gagged when I found her but then, like the guard said, no-one had said they should do anything else with her. She still had the pen drive fob hanging from her neck. I unfastened it and put it into my pocket to check out later.
I looked at her curled up in a corner of the cell and reached around behind her head to unbuckle her hood. Even though lighting in the cell was subdued, she blinked in the unaccustomed light as the hood came off. Her head was soaked in sweat, her dark hair plastered down against her scalp. I prised the ball-gag from her mouth.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice unusually loud as a result of her ears still being plugged. I pulled the wads of wax from each of them. She shook her head and thanked me again. “Where is Steve?” she asked. “Am I being kennelled while he is away?” Then realising such familiarity might not be appropriate in her new surroundings she dropped her eyes to the floor. “I apologise,” she said, “I did not mean to speak disrespectfully.”
“That’s all right, Sukie,” I said conscious that she had obviously had no idea that Steve had been about to abandon her. “You are no longer with Steve. We are your owners now.” She looked confused and upset but said nothing. She bit her lip and hung her head, understanding that she had no reason to have been told of her impending change of ownership, but nevertheless disappointed,
“I need to talk to you Sukie. I want you to tell us about your experiences, about how you were treated by those that Steve gave you to. Rachel here is going to write down your story. Do you understand?”
Sukie nodded. “Will I be with you?” she asked. “I enjoyed serving you on the island.”
“No Sukie, I have to go away soon.”
“Oh,” she said, disconsolately, another straw of hope removed from her grasp.
“Do you remember how we talked when I came to the island first of all?” Sukie nodded. “You told me how Steve took you in?” Another nod. “Well, I want you to tell your stories to her.” I gestured towards Rachel who was sitting silently in a chair by the door. She had her notepad opened on her lap; pen in hand she was waiting to begin. “Let’s start with those that Steve gave you to.”
“But there were so many,” Sukie said. “On the island, if ever there was a visitor, I was asked to be nice to them.” I looked across at Rachel, she was scribbling away on her pad.
“Like you were with me?”
“Yes. Yes but not like that. Some of them were brutal, cruel. Some of them were strange. But always I would do what I could to please them. It was what Steve wanted.”
“Go on I urged.” Rachel was listening attentively.
“The worst were the ones that came for the pony races. Especially if their ponies had lost or if they’d lost a lot betting. Then they’d beat me, or worse.”
“Were there many of those? Pony races?”
“Oh yes, perhaps one each month. There were a dozen or more owners that would come. I was given to many of them. They all have two or three ponies. Work them for a year or so and trade them on.”
“And how would it work? With Steve and you?”
“The guests would arrive. I’d serve them drinks. Sometimes they had their own slave girls with them - many of the owners have three or four slaves as well as their ponies. Steve would have me dress in riding clothes, jodhpurs, boots. They’d like that. Sometimes one of them would just ask Steve if he could have me for the evening. Sometimes Steve would offer me without being asked. Once they tied me up and four of them played cards for me. Sometimes they just got drunk and weren’t interested.”
“Always men?” Rachel was still scribbling away.
“Mainly. I did see some women at Steve’s. One a very dumpy, unpleasant woman. I’m not sure about the others. They were the worst.”
“How so?”
“A woman knows how to please another woman but she knows how to hurt as well.”
I looked across at Rachel. If she was remembering anything of our earlier encounter she was managing to hide it. She’d have plenty to do while I was away. It was sounding like Sukie would be an excellent source of intelligence.
I rolled over in bed. Tricia smiled. “I’m sorry you’re going off to Kushtia. Why couldn’t they send that unpleasant shit, Brian?”
“Brian?” I said, “What’s with him? I know he hasn’t been happy with what I’ve been up to but he could make it easier on himself if he just saw which way the wind was blowing. His sales numbers have been hopelessly optimistic for months according to Freddie. Even normally discreet Elly has been getting impatient with him.”
“Oh, this wasn’t business,” Tricia grinned, rolling over to my side. “He made a pass at me this morning. Seemed pretty upset when I turned him down, but I’m afraid that jolly sales manager persona has never cut it with me.”
“No,” I said, turning towards her. “You’ve always had much better taste.” She threw a pillow at me.
Two weeks after the Questor’s collection and my first date with Tricia, I’d had to endure quite a few jokes from the guys in the Prep Centre and the Sales Centre about bothering with a girlfriend when I could make use of any of the stock at any time I chose. I didn’t think I really needed to explain that it wasn’t the same thing. Besides, if things worked out the stock levels would be coming down and then where would I be?
Now though, and much to my regret, I had to leave Tricia behind and take myself of to Kushtia.
It was a gruesome flight. Air Kushtia had a lot to learn about in-flight service and comfort even from Ryanair. They certainly didn’t have the idea about cabin crew. Homely would be the generous description of the two stewardesses. I don’t know if the Kushtian’s had a shot-put team in the 1976 Olympics but if they did this was what happened to them. Their uniforms looked like they had been designed by a committee of misogynists and manufactured by a team that were more familiar with a staple gun than a sewing machine. I wondered if we could re-acquire Rebecca and interest the CEO in her experiences.
Then the Ilyushin hit another air pocket and I found myself thinking that the main priority for once wasn’t the cabin service. I tried reading the report that Rachel had prepared on her initial interviews with Sukie. The turbulence made it impossible. The in-flight movie turned out to be a celebration of the new Kushtian hydroelectric dam and irrigation programme. The food gave me little encouragement as to how well I’d be eating for the next few days, but then I guessed that there aren’t many airlines where the food on board is a great advert for the national cuisine. I settled down to try to doze.
We touched down (I use the expression loosely) at Kolin, the Kushtian capital’s airport. I was grateful to get off the plane, though given the decrepit nature of the airport buildings, I felt I might have been safer in the air. A charmless Kushtian immigration officer scowled at my passport and waved me through. A sign in the baggage reclaim said in encouraging letters, “Air Kushtia : Kushtia’s Favourite Airline”. An indignant traveller had crossed out the word “favourite” and written in “only”. Nobody had bothered to correct it.
Against all expectations my suitcase fell through the hole in the wall of the baggage reclaim area onto the pile of waiting bags. There wasn’t anything resembling a trolley. I was glad that I’d decided to travel light.
I found my way to the Kolin
International Hotel, a fly blown piece of 1960’s soviet concrete, still pock
marked from the machine gun fire of the fighting that expelled the regime that
had deposed the
The aim of the trip was to visit the
Kushtian Minister of Trade. Freddie had said that it was another contact the
I was standing in the hotel bar, trying to decide just which sorts of vegetables had been boiled, pressed, strained and left to stand in a warm place order to provide the traditional Kushtian non-alcoholic cordial. I was coming to the conclusion that you wouldn’t be able to work it out from the taste and that maybe you wouldn’t want to know when an attractive young woman strode into he bar and swept confidently up to me. Things were improving I felt.
“Cora Argyll,” she said extending her hand. “You’ll be from FCE? I’m the Trade Attaché from the British Embassy.” She gave a welcoming smile and then, seeing my sceptical look. “Well, the second assistant trade attaché actually.”
I smiled in response. “Lawrence Ross,” I said. She was certainly a welcome addition to the scenery. Tall, willowy and with long, wavy, dark hair she was in her late twenties. Probably her first overseas posting, I guessed. She had a friendly smile and what looked as though it might be an attractive figure hidden underneath a mannish jacket and a skirt that, in deference to Kushtian views on women in public places, reached the floor. She wore a pale blue, fur trimmed, pill box hat in the tradition of many Kushtian women’s dress and a long scarf in a matching colour draped around her shoulders.
“I was asked to attend your meeting with the Minister,” she said. “The Ambassador is most keen that the Embassy is seen to be helping British companies to build links with Kushtia.”
I wasn’t keen for official involvement. “I’m not sure that will be necessary,” I said. “I mean I appreciate it and all that but I’m sure I can manage.”
“I’m sorry but I really must insist. You’ll need a translator at the very least and the Ambassador is most anxious that the trade delegation does everything possible to assist in discussions with the new regime. I’m sure you won’t want to cause any difficulty with the Ambassador?”
I decided that she was possibly right. At the very least she could help to get things moving. We arranged to meet the following morning. I spent my evening watching Kushtian television. It wasn’t as good as the in-flight movie had been.
She met me at the hotel an hour before my meeting with the trade minister. “We’ll take my car,” she said as she strode up to greet me in the hotel lobby.
“That shouldn’t be necessary,” I responded. “I believe a car is being sent.”
“Oh, I’d be surprised,” she said. “It would be most unusual for a Council Minister to show such …”
We were interrupted by the arrival of a bell hop. “Your car is here, Sir,” he said. I smiled and thanked him.
“I am impressed,” said Cora and we headed for the door. As we got there Cora paused and swept her scarf up across her face.
“Is that necessary?” I said.
“Oh, yes. The Kushtian Council is trying to be as open as possible to western ideas but people still expect an unmarried woman to be veiled, especially in the presence of a married man such as the Minister. It’s not really a religious thing as I understand it – it’s more that the Kushtian men sort of - well – owned their wives and a women could not show her face until she had an owner. Can you believe the trade minister has four wives? In this day and age?”
“Extraordinary.”
“His latest wife is said to be a gift from the Kallinin! I think what really happened was that there was some sort of ritual gift bestowing – probably based on some historic practice. It’s funny how these things live on. Still we must respect their culture. After all, look at us with the Changing of the Guard and the Yeoman Warder’s Ceremony of the Keys. I expect that all seems silly to them.”
“Yes,” I said as we stepped outside the hotel to see the bright yellow HumVee with its government flags and a smartly uniformed driver standing beside it. “I hadn’t realised we needed armour plated transport,” I said.
“I think it’s mainly because of the roads,” Cora said. “They are pretty atrocious.”
The driver opened the door for us and we got in. She was right about the roads. As soon as we left the beautifully surface hotel drive, the road degenerated into a series of potholes across which we bounced remorselessly. Another length of smooth tarmac heralded the imminent arrival at the Trade Ministry. “My word,” said Cora as the HumVee drew up. “you are honoured. That’s the Minister on the steps, come to greet you.” She adjusted her veil and the two of us got out.
As we reached the top of the steps the Minister greeted us in the guttural tones of the Kushtian language.
“The Minister welcomes you to Kushtia and hopes that you and he can have a mutually beneficial discussion,” Cora translated.
“Please thank the Minister for his greeting and say that I too hope our discussions will be mutually beneficial,” I said, keeping up the formality.
He showed us through the building and into his office. Sitting at a desk as we entered, a veiled lady, her wrists in manacles, sat pummelling an ancient typewriter. “Don’t worry about the secretary,” Cora said quietly, “I know it looks like she is in chains but it’s just a sort of costume jewellery. The Kushtians used to keep their women under very strict controls and even though now the new regime is introducing more liberal ways many of the women like to dress traditionally.”
“Ah,” I said unconvinced by her explanation.
Even with her veil on, I could tell that Cora was embarrassed by the Minister’s next remark. She turned towards me. “He says would you like to, err, wash your hands?”
“Oh, good idea, before we get started on talks,” I responded.
“Its just that obviously, well, I can’t come with you can I?”
“I think I can manage that without creating a diplomatic incident,” I said
“Of course, yes, well. He says it’s through there,” she pointed to a door, “if you’d like to follow him.”
The minister was a tall man. I felt dwarfed as I stood beside him in the stalls of the washroom and we studiously avoided looking at one another in the manner common to men in washrooms everywhere. Suddenly he spoke; not in Kushtian but in perfect English.
“She’s very attractive but a bit of a pain in the arse, isn’t she?” he said.
“Ah, I’m not sure it would be diplomatic to say,” I responded with a smile. “I didn’t think you spoke English.”
“No,” said the minister, “no, neither does she. Still, we’ll humour her. Let’s take this as far as we can with her here and then we‘ll talk again later.” He turned to the basins, we washed our hands and returned to his office.
The minister and I were sat in armchairs facing one another. Cora sat between us. The minister began speaking in Kushtian again. Cora translated.
“The Minister says that he understands that Clegg Enterprises are seeking to supply the Kushtian Government procurement programme. And oh, sorry,”
I looked down to see the minister ostentatiously zipping his fly to the consternation of Cora. He didn’t stop talking.
Cora coughed, embarrassed, and went on. “Perhaps you could outline your proposals.”
“I represent a number of concerns together known as Clegg Enterprises,” I said. I allowed Cora time to translate. ”The most relevant of these to the Kushtian procurement programme is, I believe, Clegg Meat Products. We specialise in a range of prepared and treated meats. Our customers tell us that they are very much to the taste of a discerning palate. If Kushtia is intending to develop its tourism infrastructure then I you will need to have access to the best of international cuisine alongside traditional Kushtian dishes and of course as the Council extends its international ties they will wish to ensure that only the finest dishes are available to their guests.” As Cora translated, the Minister laughed and muttered something.
Cora said, ”He says you shouldn’t expect too much of Kushtian cuisine, it’s an oxymoron, like military intelligence or - oh! – women’s liberation.” There was a pause. “Ah, I see.” Cora said something in Kushtian back to the minister. He smiled. “He was explaining the joke,” she said, not apparently amused herself.
“Perhaps I can explain further Minister,” I
went on. “As I said we can offer a wide range of meat products, most based on
British livestock of course. Our most important value to yourselves
though is that we can make particular products available to meet particular
needs. So for example, if the minister was to be hosting a dinner for a number
of dignitaries we could make available particularly dark meats or light meats
or for those that like their meat rare, very red. I believe the
Cora translated diligently. The minister responded.
Cora was apparently embarrassed again, I could swear
that I could see her blush behind her veil. “The minister says that he
understands your proposition. In Kushtia they can appreciate excellent food for
after all was it not the first
“Regrettably no, Minister,” I replied, “It is difficult without import clearance and until we have an agreement I thought it wise not to do so. I believe, however, that the Minister and several other members of the Council have already had the chance to sample our products.”
Cora translated, the Minister responded and she spoke again. “The minister says that the products he has sampled have proved most excellent though he is a man of a hearty appetite and always welcomes more.” Cora put in an aside,” I think he is angling for some sort of inducement. It’s quite common business practice here, I’m afraid.”
I said to Cora, “I know. I’ll be quite happy to accommodate him if it helps things along. You won’t want to know about this, though. Right?”
“Well, I think it would be best. Ah” The minister started speaking again. “The minister says he has a taste for some rather leaner meat. He is reminded of a meal that he had at the Embassy recently. When he had a most enjoyable time, he says, - ah - because he had the opportunity to sit next to your delightful interpreter. Perhaps you could arrange for the same meat to be made available.” Cora looked a little confused. She turned to me. “I’m sorry,” she said it’s a little difficult to translate, The Kushtian language sometimes gets parts of speech muddled up and its not always easy to work out exactly what is being referred to.
“That’s all right,” I responded. ”You are doing an excellent job. Tell the minister I will see what I can do. I think that’s all we can hope for today.”
Cora and the Minister exchanged words in Kushtian and he got to his feet holding out his hand. I shook hands with him and we left. The HumVee was waiting for us outside.
We got in and it headed back to towards the hotel, bouncing over the poorly paved road. Cora unfastened her veil with relief. “Thank you,” I said. “You were most helpful.”
“That’s all right. It’s what the Embassy is for. We can’t be seen to be involved with inducements, though. That would be quite improper. I could, quite informally, find out what was on the menu for that dinner if that would help.”
“Well, yes. I want make sure I that the Minister gets exactly what he was hoping for.” I smiled at Cora, convinced that while translating accurately she had completely failed to grasp the meaning of my discussions with the Minister.
“Yes,” she said looking puzzled for a moment. “Although, now I come to think about that dinner I’m almost certain we had fish.” She grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I Think I may have got this in a bit of a muddle. Still while we’re talking about dinner, how about if I take you out for something tomorrow night? The Ambassador is always keen for us to be building contacts with new companies out here.”
“Good heavens, Ms Argyll,” I said with a smile. “It sounds like you’re propositioning me. But that seems like a great idea. I’d like it.”
“OK,” she said, “I’ll catch you about 7, if that’s OK.
“Fine,” I said, though somehow I thought she wasn’t going to make it to our meeting.
I spent most of the following morning at the hotel, talking on the phone to Freddie. He wasn’t keen on a pick up without doing a proper background check first but he did want to help out the Minister. In the end we agreed to go ahead. I took a short call from the Minister. He’d just wanted to check that I’d understood his point of view from our previous meeting. I had. Did I think I could provide a solution. I did. Would it help if he got me some assistance from the Interior Ministry? I would. They were very helpful. I was more than confident.
I had one other phone call. It was from Rick. He thought I’d want to know that Rachel had gone over the wire. He sounded pretty embarrassed about it. So was Sebastian. It was him that she’d jumped to get out.
The way Rick told it; Rachel had a problem with her computer. Sebastian had been working to sort it out. Rachel had come across very grateful and he’d decided to take advantage of the fact that they’d given her the full set of slave skills when they conditioned her. The only problem is that it looked like some of the conditioning didn’t take for some reason. Seb had Rachel strip off and was getting naked himself. He had one leg out of his pants, and was balancing to try and get the other one out when she crashed him against the wall. The cell walls are tough. She was luckier with Seb than she was with me. It was late at night, some of the security guys on CCTV watch were dozing and it was about an hour later when they found him. She had used her stockings to hog tie him and then she’d gagged him with her panties and her bra. He was grunting like mad by the time someone had worked out he was missing and gone looking for him. It looked like Rachel had used Seb’s key tag to get out and had got clear of the Prep Centre. Harry was spitting mad, he’d had to pull a team off collections to go looking for her.
There wasn’t much I could do about it from where I was and I guessed that everyone involved would be having a discussion about their shortcomings with Freddie. I asked Rick to give me an update when he knew more.
That afternoon, as I later heard, Cora Argyll was heading back to her apartment in her Mini Cooper on the stretch of gravel and potholes that passed for the Kolin ring road. With irritation she saw a police car behind her. The flashing blue lights meant the same in Kushtia as they did anywhere. She pulled over and stopped.
She’d looked back at the police officer
coming towards her car. It was a woman. “Well, that’s good to see,” thought
Cora. Then looking at the overly tight black shirt and the mirrored, aviator
sunglasses, “but why do they always think they have to look like something out
of
The police officer came up to her window. “Could you get out of the car, please madam,” she said with the growling accent of a Kushtian from the far north of the country.
“What is the trouble officer?” Cora asked.
“If you could just get out of the car, please.” Cora did as she was asked and handed over her driving license and Embassy papers. “You were driving rather erratically, madam,” the officer said, “all over the road.”
“I was avoiding the pot holes officer,” Cora responded. “You can see what the road is like.”
“Well maybe madam. But I would like to test whether you have been drinking.” Her hand went to a pouch on her belt and she took out a breathalyser.
“It’s nonsense officer. I know the law in Kushtia, I know you have a zero-alcohol limit for driving. I’m a British diplomat.”
“Yes, madam, I saw the CD plates on your car. I’m afraid that we find some diplomats do not have great respect for our local laws and customs. Irrespective of your diplomatic immunity we cannot have drivers under the influence of alcohol. Please blow into the breathalyser.”
“Oh, this is absurd. But very well,” she’d said grabbing the box.
“Just blow steadily into the tube.” She did so. The officer took the breathalyser from her and peered at it. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I’m afraid this is not good. You see this number here – this is far too high. We’ll have to get this checked. I’m sure there is no problem really but if you could come back to my car we can go to the Police Station.”
“But, but, its nonsense,” said Cora, protesting, as the police officer took her by the arm.
“Yes, madam, but I‘m afraid you must come along with me,” she said taking her towards the police car.
“Well, all right but you must contact the Ambassador.”
“Of course. We can do that at the station. I’m sure we’ll clear things up quickly there anyway.” The officer reached to another pouch on her belt. “I need to handcuff you, please, Madam.”
“That’s not necessary officer.”
“I’m sorry madam, but it is the procedure. You see my partner will have to drive your car back and I can’t have a suspect in the car with me on my own unless they are handcuffed. Our procedures are quite clear. I’m sure you understand.”
Reluctantly Cora held out her wrists. The officer snapped one cuff on but pulled her wrists behind her back before fastening the second. Cora yelped as the cuff locked shut. “Sorry Madam, I’m sure we will sort this out. Now get in the car please.” The officer helped Cora into the back of the car holding the top of her head to make sure she cleared the roof as she got in. Getting into the front she drove off with Cora fuming quietly but helplessly on the back seat.
Ten kilometres down the road the car pulled off at a petrol station. The car parked at the back. “I need the rest room,” said Cora’s driver. “You’ll be OK there.”
And that was where I found Cora when I drove up alongside in the battered pickup truck I had hired. She seemed pretty pleased to see me until she saw what I aimed to do with the roll of tape I was carrying. Once I got it over her mouth I couldn’t tell whether she was swearing at me in English or Kushtian. I was certain though that it was one or the other. I got her out of the police car and into the front seat of my truck and strapped her in. With her veil arranged across her face no one could see she was gagged. Then there just remained the question of the commission payment. I tossed the package as agreed onto the front seat of the police car; two genuine Wonderbra’s each for the girls, one in black, one in white, ‘36B’ for the arresting officer, ‘34C’ for her partner. It seemed like a good deal to me but apparently they were a rarity out there. I dropped Cora off as agreed at a corrugated iron shed that backed onto a wire fenced compound on the edge of the airport. I added some ropes to Cora’s ankles to stop her wandering off. The sign on the compound said Kushtian Ministry of Trade : Bonded Stores. She was still pretty peeved as I padlocked the door
My meeting later that day with the Trade Minister went exceptionally well. There was one interruption. Apparently the Interior Minister had been asked by the British Ambassador to try to track down a diplomat that appeared to have gone missing. There was some question that she may have been kidnapped by insurgents from over the border. The Ambassador was most upset. The Ambassador was concerned that nothing should interfere with my negotiations. The Interior Minister promised an investigation. I was happy to reassure the Ambassador that I saw no reason for this to interfere with my business discussions. I hoped that no harm had come to the diplomat concerned. Apparently her car had been found near the border. Burned out, it appeared. The Ambassador agreed it was not a safe place for his staff to be travelling to and, of course, he would advise his staff not to do so in future.
The Trade Minister,
apologised but was unable to spend much time with me. He was anxious to get on
with his business of state because he had a relaxing evening planned at home
that day. He was however, very happy that Clegg Enterprises should handle Kushtia’s future requirements for shipments from the
That seemed an excellent idea to me. We shook hands and I left him.
To while away what was left of the
afternoon I had a visit planned. I’d promised to see the
“Mr Larry,” he beamed as I walked in through the ornate archway that led into his palace from the courtyard. “Welcome, indeed. Welcome. Will you take tea with us?”
I was happy to accept his hospitality. He showed the way to an opulent room, its walls covered with elaborate patterned mosaics. He reclined on a bench along one wall and invited me to do the same. He clapped his hands. Ginger, the two Mel’s and Emma appeared in full harem dress, wrists and ankles shackled, and knelt before us.
“They look well,” I said. “Married life must suit them.”
“It certainly suits me,” the
“I did not see
“Ah, no, Mr Lawrence. I must admit that she, of all of my wives, found it the most difficult to adapt, but now all is well between us. She has some very remarkable skills which I have found most valuable now we are back in our home country.”
“How so?”
“Well, Mr Lawrence, you must understand about Kushtia that our society is very much oriented towards the desires of the men and the need for women to meet those needs.” There was more giggling as the four girls came back in clutching trays with tea, cups and sweet meats. They knelt between us, pouring tea and passing food to us. “So in our society if a man should submit to a woman it would be a cause of great scandal.”
“I can see that,” I responded. Emma was sliding towards me on her belly, somehow managing to hold a plate aloft. She sat up and offered the plate to me. I took one of the cakes from it and nodded my thanks.
“Well, wife Victoria has a talent that is very rare here. She can bend a man to her will. Not, of course, a strong man like myself,”
“Of course”
“But a weaker man, then yes. And of course if I should come to know of such things it gives me a great power over the man too. And such power can be useful in a country like this.”
“So you encourage
“Not encourage - require! She is subject to me as my wife and she does as I will. And like a good wife she is a great help to her husband.”
“And that is why she is not here now?”
“Indeed. Let us see if we can find her.” He
clapped his hands and his other four wives made to collect up the tea things
and clear them away. “Come through here.” He led the way through a beaded
curtain that hung over another arched doorway, along a tiled and mirrored
corridor and on to a balcony overlooking a lower room. There,
As she reached the top of the stairs and
approached us it became apparent that her costume was even richer than that of
the others. She was dressed in a black costume decorated with gold chains and
coins. Her veil – unlike the others she wore a veil – was black as well,
covering all of her face except her eyes. It draped from a gold chain across
her face down in two long cascades of silk that linked back to rings set in her
pierced nipples. As she reached us she fell to her knees. “Husband!” she
greeted the
“Greetings wife,” the
“You can see, husband,” she gestured to the man who was kneeling, head bowed, totally motionless, as he had been left. “He is completely at my command. And so he is completely at your command too.”
“Very good. It would suit my purpose it he were to leave at the end of this afternoon aching to be with you again and distracted from his purpose this evening. I expect to meet him later.”
“Very good, husband, I shall do as you wish.” She put her hands together and bowed before each of us before returning to her couch. We watched from the gallery as the man looked up at her return. She gestured with a finger to her left foot and he bent to it with his tongue. She lay back, reaching out for a piece of fruit from the golden plate that stood beside the couch. She looked up at us as she did so and gave an exaggerated wink.
“You see what an asset she is to me. Truly, Mr Lawrence, you are helping to re-establish our dynasty. Even my father sees what an asset my wives are. He will be persuaded to let me have more soon, I know.”
“I hope we can help you in that quest,” I said.
“I am sure, Mr Larry, I am sure. You have shown your skills in that area, why should I turn to others. Besides, I still remember some of those others that you suggested when we first met.” He gave me an exaggerated wink. I smiled in response, happily pondering the opportunity for further business.
“Things have turned out well for your father. Good fortune has seen him to his new position.”
“Come now, Mr Larry, do not be naïve. Good fortune had little to do with it. Fortune is like a precious metal, first you have to smelt it from the ore and that takes effort. Fortune only comes to those that seek it.”
“I believe the
“Surely you do not think our councillors corruptible?” the son giggled conspiratorially.
“Not in the least,” I said with mock indignation. “I merely suggest that the Council recognised the value of old traditions respected.”
“Well these old traditions are working in other ways than even my father hoped. One of our poor councillors has become most unwell. I believe it to be the exertion. He is a very proud man; a very vigorous man. He was very potent in his youth, but now, in later years, it is not so easy for him and I fear his new wife has such enthusiasm.”
“Which of them is it?
“The one whose hair is like the sun setting through the dust of the autumn storms. Her appetites match and exceed the councillor’s own. It is feared he may die.”
“Oh dear,” I said. “Will that cause your father difficulties?”
“Not at all. Quite the reverse. You see the councillor, knowing my fondness for women with auburn hair has bequeathed me her in his will, and that will mean I shall also take his position on the council.”
“I thought the council was democratically elected.”
“Of course, Mr Larry, of
course. But you have to remember how democracy
works. People vote for those that they feel ought to rule. Here if a man wills
his wife to another, others will think that he is showing who should succeed
him. As we say ‘who follows me in the bed chamber, follows me in life’. There
will be an election. But I will be surprised if I do not win.” The
“But still, as I say, I need to leave shortly. I have some things to prepare. You are most welcome to stay here of course. You must enjoy my hospitality. I suspect this is a little more comfortable than your hotel.
“I am expecting to receive something there this evening from The Trade Minister’s secretary, otherwise I would be happy to accept.”
“That is no problem. I will have word sent to his office. She will be instructed to deliver it here.”
“As you wish. I gratefully accept.”
“Excellent, I will send Emma to take care of you. She seemed particularly pleased to see you.”
“You are most generous,” I replied. It
would at least be more entertaining than an evening in the hotel. The
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