Diplomatic Immunity, Part Two

Chapter One Terminal Curiosity Kelly I should have known better. My meeting with the young woman in the wheel chair kept returning to my thoughts, and even two years later, the vision of her ankle cuffs and chains still intrigued me; burning brightly in my mind. I had continual fantasies about her, and what had happened to her, and she became an obsession I couldn’t shake. As cold as the trail was, I began to investigate, eventually going to the Missing Persons Bureau and searching back through their records for the period around the time I had encountered her. At first, I could find nothing, and so I began to move my search further afield. I got too close to the truth of the matter. I discovered that a young woman matching her height and general description had abruptly disappeared from one of the local, upper-echelon schools and even managed to find some pictures of her. Although her passport image had revealed a stunningly beautiful face the other images showed that she was an absolutely stunning creature. Even the passport picture exuded an aura of latent sexuality, despite being only a black and white photo. Things got more interesting at that point and over the following months I managed to track down a lot of her classmates and speak with them about their former friend. Of course, many of the things I learned were of a gossipy nature and couldn’t be substantiated; but it turned out that after her first somewhat quiet months at school, she had suddenly blossomed into a party animal of incredible dimension. Given her strict up-bringing and the puritanical bent of her country’s theocratic government I was at first surprised, but then realized she’d decided to enjoy freedom while she could it, and perhaps live on the memories for the rest of her life. How true this was, I had no idea. I was lucky, I thought at the time, to eventually find the young man she’d dated on the night of her disappearance; but it took a couple of meetings with him and a lot of beer to finally discover what had really occurred. The tale was something right out of a James Bond spy thriller, and intrigued me even more while I listened to him describe the events. My prodding and poking did go without notice, however. I continued my single-minded quest for more information without any clue that I was being closely observed. By making friends with a secretary at the school, I managed to discover what her nationality was, then, to top off foolishness with outright stupidity, I went and asked for an interview with the Cultural Attaché of her country’s embassy. Surprisingly, it was granted and I went with hopes of somehow making contact with the young woman, but of course my quest proved fruitless. Even though I was treated very cordially while at the embassy, I was fobbed off with the usual reasons of cultural and religious differences, then sent on my way with a beautiful coffee table type of book, displaying some wonderful pictures of the country. The book, however, was more than it appeared! I gave up my search for a couple of days and tried to settle back into a normal routine; but felt vaguely uncomfortable ... as though I was being watched all the time. I was. The book contained some sort of locator beacon, and plans were being formulated for my disposal. One night, while walking back to my apartment from a local bar after a late shift and a few too many drinks, I was jumped by what I thought was a trio of thieves. A low, threatening, foreign-accented voice came from the deep shadow under a curb side tree, and I saw the glittering flash of a long-bladed knife. “Please to stop where you are! Stand against the tree with your face to it! Put your hands behind you and remain still!” I was shocked and angered that this far too common occurrence had happened to me; for this was one of the few neighbourhoods that was considered safe. I have the usual amount of intelligence and so upon seeing the three shadowy figures beginning to surround me, I complied with the commands. I just hoped they’d take what little cash I had and leave me to go home, a sadder and wiser night time wanderer. It was not to be, for as soon as I stood at the tree, a pair of hand cuffs was closed tightly around my wrists, then a chain was wrapped around my waist and connected to the cuffs! At the same time, just as I was preparing to yell, a thick, rubbery, bag-like hood was drawn over my head and face then cinched tightly around my neck. It filled almost immediately with a gas of some kind and I remembered no more. There followed a long time of nightmarish dreams and an intermittent sensation of movement; but finally I awakened to find myself in what was obviously a cell. I didn’t know where I was; but had a feeling that it was somewhere far away from where I lived. The guards, what little I saw of them, were all of swarthy complexion, and spoke minimal English with thick accents and some difficulty, when they talked to me at all. Upon awakening, I immediately discovered I was naked ... but that wasn’t all! I’d been fitted with, temporarily, I discovered later to my horror, a pair of wrist cuffs, ankle shackles, a belly chain, and a very uncomfortable, high metal collar. My wrists were held to my sides, just above my hips, keeping me helpless and vulnerable; but the worst part of these restraints was that I wore a large, uncomfortable gag and could feel the presence of a tube from its back going down my throat! I climbed awkwardly to my feet from the rubber mat and it was then I saw the three chains dangling from the wall ring, all of them leading to me! The cold links from their connection at the rear of my neck swung across my sweaty back, and the one from the rear of the belly chain descended between my buttocks, while below, the third was welded to the middle link of the short length between my ankles. Very fearful now, I looked around the cell, struggling as hard as I could manage to free myself of the restraints; desperate to get the rubber pad out of my mouth, but nothing I tried worked. No matter how I contorted and twisted my body, my hands could not reach my face. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, for the steel strap that held the pad anchored in my mouth was quite securely locked to the collar at the nape of my neck. My accommodation was a large, concrete box; probably about five metres square, with all of its smoothly finished walls painted a glistening white. The floor was covered with large grey tiles, while the ceiling, some three metres over my head, was also painted white and at places, hung with dangling lengths of glittering chain. Inset into it was a grid of high intensity lights behind armoured glass, and high in each corner, a TV surveillance camera stared down at me impassively, tracking my every movement. Foolishly I suppose, I blushed a deep scarlet at being seen like this. In one corner was an all-in-one, stainless steel commode and small basin, and on the floor on the opposite side, a glued-down sleeping mat. The cell had no windows or door that I could discern, however, upon further inspection of the ceiling I saw the fine outline of what appeared to be a large access hatch. I have since discovered that nearly all of the cells I am kept a prisoner in are constructed in this manner. For a short time, I wandered around the featureless, silent box, trying to yell around the throat tube and gag pad; but soon discovered that it was better to keep silent, for when I attempted to speak, I began to retch violently because of the intruder in my throat. I guess it was at that point I broke down and began to cry with anger, frustration, fear, and boredom. After God alone knew how many hours, I knew without doubt that I was not going to escape this room. Finally, I heard a noise and looked up to see the panel in the ceiling being moved aside. God, it was thick! Obviously, had to be moved mechanically. A ladder descended, then a harsh voice commanded me to kneel facing into the corner beside the sleeping mat. Aruf Mahjalis (Delilah’s Father) The final part of my daughter’s distressing adventures in the West was at last resolved, for the man to whom she had revealed herself at the airport, intentionally, as I discovered, was soon apprehended and brought to my residence. His curiosity had become a growing concern when I’d learned of the clumsy probing he’d initiated, attempting to discover more about my daughter and her fate, and so I prevailed upon the Ambassador to aid me in acquiring this pestilential young man. It took some doing; but he was brought here, soon to learn far more than he ever bargained for in his quest. He would indeed get to see what had happened to Delilah; then become a lifelong prisoner, just like her. Certainly I could easily have had him exterminated, but I wanted the satisfaction of enlightening then punishing him for his impertinence. Dr Jannason had succeeded beyond his and my wildest dreams and now ran a most profitable institution, catering to husbands and parents such as myself who require his devices and services in order to discipline their wayward wives and daughters without the misery and embarrassment of going through the religious courts. Within a year, his business had grown incredibly, and now he had a male ‘client’ to experiment upon. The fact that the young gentlemen had quite literally thrown him self into our hands was an added bonus.