Desperate

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The Plan

“Now what?” Atella asked the woman standing before her in the room that served as an office and control center for the Schloss Radgatz. It was nearly midnight, and she had been on the phone most of the evening, making arrangements for some new guests.

“What do we do about the two Americans in 3V and 3W? Someone will start looking for them in a few days.”

“Do nothing.” Her German was flawless, native Bavarian. The accent she used with prisoners was for effect, not from her Swiss schooling which had given her perfect English. In addition, she spoke Spanish, French, near perfect Russian, and Danish. “I’ll take care of it. Did you get the Gruslac people paid?”

“Yes. Of course. Everyone was very pleased with the take. But Rene Bittenbaur, the bank manager, was still worried and a bit of a nuisance. She hasn’t worked with us before, and she may be trouble.”

“Trouble with Bittenbaur? What sort of trouble?”

“She thinks the real police will make inquiries. She’s nervous.”

“I’ll take care of her too. Offer her a visit to the Schloss. Check the data base and see what her ‘special interests’ are. Is she AC, DC, or both? We’ll decide how to improve her attitude later on. She is, as I recall, not a bad looking little package. Maybe we should offer the invitation next month and arrange for it to become ‘extended’.”

“She is young enough. Let me check the order we had from Mr. Mingus. You remember that requisition?”

“Uumm. No. Mingus? The Algerian slob? The one who made such a scene at the Saint Sylvester Gala?” Atella thought back to the New Year’s Eve event they had held for new customers. Mingus was probably the most despicable of their clients to attend, if not the worst of any they had ever had. His tastes were beyond erotic or macabre. They were revolting. He had come to the party with two young women, both of whom he owned. Mingus had carried out a series of transmutations on the girls so that they resembled small primates, more monkey-like than human. Their breasts were elongated with bulbous n*****s, and their cunts had been surgically altered so that the lips were pinned back to each side, always open and always ready. Their tongues were pierced horizontally with massive bolts that ended with heavy rings on either side of their faces. Nude, collared, and on all fours, the monkey girls had followed him around all night, presenting their backsides to any guest they approached, inviting a buggering or any other kind of s*x the guests desired. Mingus had assured the guests that his monkey girls were safe and clean, but he had later taken them out to the kitchen to feed on garbage and leftovers that the cooks had already dumped. The Algerian had forced the monkeys to eat rancid meat and fish that had been in the trash for days. To top it off, they had rolled around in the refuse and then left with him in the early morning. Mingus carried the girls in large rubber duffel bags that he stored in the trunk of his large, plush American Cadillac sedan, sealed away from the passenger compartment.

“Do you really want to send any of our stock to that pig?” Atella asked. “I mean, there ARE limits, even for a nuisance like Bittenbaur.”

“Um yes, I suppose so, Captain. I just thought it would suit the little Austrian b***h bank manager if she becomes more of a problem.”

“Ok. I’ll think about it. But you open up that file and see what we have or can get on her. Now, go back to your work. We’ll get started on those two in the morning. I want full indoctrination started at once. Have them prepped and begin the psyche testing at daybreak. Also do a full photo and tape work-up and build more history on both of them. They should be included in the next buyer offering as ‘pre-trainee’. If we get a serious bid soon enough, we can incorporate the physical alterations to the buyer’s specs instead of having to go through it twice.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Atella went back to the PC. She saw that her financial staff had already tracked the rental car the men had been driving and arranged for its return to the French agency. Gus’s credit card was charged for the rental, plus the return penalties. The records would show that they had left the car somewhere in Germany, and that police had picked it up and returned it.

The girlfriends were a bit more of a problem, but initial questioning of the men had given Atella’s people the hotel where the girls were to meet Bill and Gus later in the week. The men wouldn’t show up. That was all. No one would know where they were or what had happened. There was also the interesting possibility of getting the two women as well, so Atella wanted to keep that option open as long as possible. It would keep until the women checked into the hotel in the next day or so, then she’d have to act.

Otherwise, the current plan, which was one of nearly a hundred that The Consortium was implementing at this time, was going well enough. The disappearance of tourists in Europe, and elsewhere in the world, was such a routine thing that most police organizations all but ignored it. There were few rewards in looking for, or even finding, kidnapped foreign visitors, and the prevailing attitude in most departments was close to “they asked for it when they came here.” This made The Consortium’s work of acquiring products far easier than one would imagine. Because nearly all plans were carefully thought out and imaginative in nature, most acquisitions were routine and there was seldom, if ever, any negative fallout. Buyers exceeded supply, even with this massive institution running like a well-lubricated vibrator. Growth for The Consortium was just a matter of how many products could be acquired, trained, enhanced, and sold.

The Schloss had been an early acquisition and served as a South European Headquarters, (SEHQ), for the firm. The ancient structure had been renovated and carefully restored from the cellars up with modern materials, the requisite foreboding architecture and cosmetic touches. There were still high stone turrets and battlements with slotted firing ports in the walls. There was a real moat and a real drawbridge that could be raised and lowered. The moat was filled with deep water and carp, not snakes and other reptiles, because they were in the wrong climate for such creatures. Inside, there was luxury and convenience. During the Second World War, the Schloss had been used first by the German Army as a regimental headquarters and later as a prison for allied officers who were captured. The Americans had recaptured the fortress without firing a shot by infiltrating the Schloss’ kitchen staff and poisoning the entire garrison. Unfortunately, the infiltrators were poisoned as well, and it took some time for the allies to learn that their plan had succeeded. The infantry platoon from the 101st Airborne Division that finally took the castle found only moldering remains of the occupants. With such a grisly history, the structure was idle until the late fifties when a phantom buyer emerged and bought the fort from the preservation holding company that was most pleased to get rid of the decaying mess.

On the upper, above ground levels, The Consortium’s offices were properly austere, the operating rooms impeccably sterile and the chains and restraints of the best stainless steel. The thick stone walls housed all the technology necessary to run the global operations, even though this was usually unnecessary because each regional HQ operated with the autonomy of a well-managed intelligence unit. Few people knew much more than what they needed to know outside of The Schloss, and this cellular structure prevailed in all operations sites. Higher up the corporate food chain, the directors of the firm carefully controlled the growth and strategies. Tactics were the domain of experts like Atella. Buyers were always there, often held in check by easy blackmail, but more often ready and willing to pay so much for new products that making trouble was the furthest thing from their minds.