The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Pawn Moves

The pager went off Monday morning. I called the indicated number. The voice on the other end wanted to know where I would be around eleven. I told them I’d be at the dojo, and started to give them the address. They already had it, but verified it with me.

A courier dropped off an envelope around ten thirty. I looked over the contents in my office. I needed to be in D.C. on Wednesday afternoon. I’d be called about the actual goodie to be carried. Delivery details I’d get later. I’d have hotel reservations made for me for two nights, with details to follow.

I called my travel agent and had her book me through Chicago to what used to be called National airport—out Wednesday, back on Friday. I took the suggestion in the instructions and went First Class both ways. Damn, that’s expensive! I’d be reimbursed for travel, though.

Tuesday afternoon I got another page. It took me a while to figure it out, but I decoded it as a specific call number at the University library at four in the afternoon.

At four I was walking through the chemistry section, an area I used occasionally. I found the proper area. There were six copies of the same book with that call number on the shelf. Which one? I was mulling that over when a young woman walked up to me and handed me a CD in a paper jacket. She smiled and said, “Have a good trip.” I nodded and took it.

When I saw it, I knew how I was going to carry it. It was actually a greenish recordable CDR, with no markings on it. Even better. I put it inside my shirt.

I kept it in my sight all the time. When I got home from the dojo that night, just for grins I put an unlabeled CDR full of atmospheric data in a similar paper jacket in the small notecase I was going to carry. That disk had one five hundred megabyte file of raw binary data on it. It should make a wonderful puzzle for someone to gnaw on.

Wednesday I was up early and to the airport. I brought along things to read and to write, and made productive use of the time. I was fairly paranoid, especially when changing planes in Chicago. I laughed—assume everyone is watching me—wasn’t that the plan?

An hour out of D.C. I got another page, with a phone number to call, and it said CALL NOW. It’s only money—I used the phone on the plane. A voice told me I was staying at the Four Seasons, and gave me a confirmation number, which I repeated back. Then they gave me a pass phrase, which I did not repeat back. End of call.

I repacked my things, putting the confirmation with my CDR in my notecase, along with some things I didn’t need anymore. The pass phrase I wrote down and put in my wallet.

I was very attentive getting off the plane and getting into the cab, and very attentive paying the cabbie and going into the hotel. I had my carryon bag, which now had my notes and other stuff in it as well, and my little notecase.

“Checking in sir?” the gal behind the desk asked me.

“Yes, the name is Hawthorne. Let’s see—I’ve got a confirmation here someplace.”

I set the little case on the counter and opened it, displaying part of the green CDR, and read off the confirmation number. She found my reservation, and told me I was prepaid. I signed on the dotted line, she handed me the key card, and it happened just like clockwork.

As I turned, one person bumped me and another grabbed my little case. Both took off running as fast as they could go into the bowels of the hotel. Various folks took off after them.

I put on a show, upset at the hospitality put on for guests in the Nation’s Capital. I got to talk to the hotel manager, their head of security, and a local cop. I told them the paperwork wasn’t a big deal, but the disk contained research data that could not be replaced—all true. They took my report, offered apologies, and I finally made it to my room.

Fifteen minutes later the phone rang. When I answered, a male voice said, “You failed.” He started the pass phrase. I interrupted, saying, “This line isn’t secure, fuckwit,” and hung up.

Half an hour later there was a knock on my door. I answered it to a dour looking chap in a suit carrying a briefcase. I invited him in. I was barefoot, and ready to throw him extremely violently across the room if he even blinked funny. He reiterated that I’d failed, and gave me the pass phrase. I told him, “Sit down,” and pointed to a chair. He sat.

I went into the bathroom and took off the bulky sweater I was wearing, then the dress shirt, then my white Cannondale tank top. I used the scissors on my knife to cut the threads holding the paper CD jacket to the inside of the tank top. It had been on me all the time. I dressed again and returned to the sitting area, handing him the disk.

He smiled broadly and took a portable computer out of his case. He plopped in the CD, and after a moment took out a business card and copied a very long string of gibberish. He got it right the second time. He smiled. He closed up the computer, put it in his case, stood up and shook my hand. He left without another word.

I called Room Service for dinner—it was on the house. I’d go out tomorrow night. Tomorrow I was planning on museum hopping.

A little after seven, I got another page. It had an address in Georgetown, and 8pm. Okay, I can take a hint. I acknowledged the message and got dressed. I stuck to the dress shirt, but put on my sports coat over it. Dressy enough for a lot of things, but it still allowed me to move when needed. I hadn’t had my daily workout, and felt it.

I didn’t take anything else with me, save for the pager, and gave the cabbie the address.

We drove to a fairly reasonable section of Georgetown. I paid the cabbie and walked up to the door, ringing the bell.

I was surprised when the door was opened by a voluptuous woman in a dark blue velvet dress. Her diamond earrings sparkled in the light, as did her smile.

“Are you Roger Hawthorne?” she asked.

I smiled and nodded. “At your service.”

I stepped in and she closed the door, looking me over.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

She gave me a low laugh. “I’m to thank you for a job very well done, and something tells me we’re both going to enjoy it very much!”

Her name is unimportant. She is a professional courtesan, an artist. Seduction is her art, and requires either conscious or unconscious consent. I consented fully.

A while later we were sitting in her very comfortable parlor, sipping white wine. She’d taken my jacket, and made appreciative remarks about my shoulders.

She was amused at the combination of physics and aikido, the mental and the physical. I told her my students seldom talked back, at least not twice.

She laughed, a free and easy laugh. Then she put her glass down. “Roger, we have all night and tomorrow morning. Would you like me to slip into something more comfortable?”

I put down my glass and sighed. I felt those feelings again, that tugging and tension in my thighs, in my chest.

“I don’t know how you could be more sensuous than you are now. I want to curl up in you. Hold me to you, squeeze me gently, and I’m yours, to do whatever pleases you.”

She came over to the loveseat I was on and sat next to me. She pulled my head gently to her. I nestled in, putting my arms around her waist. She held me and the world spun.

I know I told her, begged her, to hold me, to squeeze me, and she did. It took me a while to convince her I wanted to go down on her, but once I started, she went along quite willingly.

We went up to her bedroom. Under soft lights, she helped me undress. She seemed pleased with what she saw, and felt. She told me I would need to wear a condom; I understood and agreed. She asked what I’d like.

I held her gently, pressing against the soft fabric. I asked her, “Please put some perfume here, here, and here.” I touched the tops of her breasts, and her mound. “Then hold me, tease me, squeeze me until I’m lost in you. Then let me go down on you again, and after that ride us to heaven. But the most important thing, what I need the most...”

She was smiling. “Yes?”

“Afterwards, hold me, and rock me to sleep in your arms.”

She kissed me, then stepped away for a few moments.

When she returned, she still had the dress on, but she’d taken off her bra. Her panties had come off downstairs.

She led me to the bed. We were soon rolling around together. She was an artist, and we were in her studio. She played me extremely well. She was more delicious when I went down on her, the perfume adding to her own intoxicating scent. Eventually she pushed me away, and I worked my way up her body. Her nipples were so tasty, and enjoyed the attention I gave them. Each time she squeezed me I moaned, becoming more and more lost in her.

She rolled me to my back, put a condom on me, and eased herself on top of me. We slid together, and she soon pulled a pillow under my head, propping me up. As she rocked on top of me, she teased me with her breasts, finally letting me take one of them as she finished me off.

We staggered to the bathroom to clean up, and afterwards crawled into bed together. She held me softly, and rocked me gently. Without a word, I went to sleep in her arms.

I felt her get up in the morning—I was still on West Coast time. She crawled back into bed. I got up and used the can, and brushed my teeth using a toothbrush from an airline first-class amenities bag thoughtfully sitting on the sink. As I crawled back into bed with her, I noticed additional condoms on both bedsteads.

We snuggled and kissed. After our first kiss, she whispered, “Thank you for brushing your teeth. What...”

I interrupted her with my lips and tongue. She accepted the interruption. I moved on top of her. We paused and I moved up on my arms as she put another condom on me, and then teased me with her hands. I glanced at her—she was looking intently into my face as she stroked my balls and my abdomen.

“Use me as you wish,” I told her, looking into her eyes.

She guided me into her, and moved me in and out with flicks of her fingers. I closed my eyes and let my body respond. The noises she was making told me she was enjoying it as well. She held me in, moving her hands to my lower back, pulling me in more, setting our rhythm.

I moved my hips a little, shifting position, and she cried out, “Oh yes! Right there! Oh yes!” I let her set my rhythm, feeling her urgency build, and my own.

I felt her shudder around me, and she cried, “Oh now, please! Now, please!”

I felt as if I’d been hit by a lightning bolt, pumping into her, collapsing on top of her.

We slid apart, and she pulled me to her. I found a nipple, and she lay partially on top of me, holding me again.

Some time later we got up and showered, together.

She was so sensual, and knew aspects of my body I didn’t know. After soaping each other and rinsing off, I went down on my knees between her legs. She leaned against the back of the shower enclosure and held my head to her as I adored her once more.

After bringing her to a shuddering orgasm, she pulled me up into her arms and kissed me under the still running water. She slid a hand between us and started pumping my cock. She leaned me against the back of the shower, and slid down my body.

She looked up into my face as she slid my cock between her breasts, one hand playing with my balls. I was dizzy—it was hard to keep standing. When I was moaning, and on the edge, she moved down and took me in her mouth. Her hands did something, her mouth did something, and I came again, almost falling over.

When she stood up, we held each other under the running water for a while, rocking slowly. She turned off the water. We got out and dried off.

I sat on the edge of her bed, half dressed, eyes closed, breathing slowly. I could hear the hair drier in the bathroom, and hear her humming, almost singing something. A tune from Evita? Or was it Les Miserables?

The drier went silent. After a bit more clatter, I heard her soft laughter close by. I opened my eyes to see her standing, naked, a few feet away.

“You are beautiful,” I told her.

She walked over to me, and held my head to her. I put my arms around her waist. She held my head and rocked me. I let go again.

“Oh, you are a such a surprise! I could hold you for hours. How would you like to be kidnapped sometime?”

I sighed and squeezed her gently. “It’s been done. I’m at your command.”

She held me a while longer, then stepped away. As she dressed, she asked, “Join me for breakfast?”

“Of course,” I replied.

We got dressed. I headed downstairs. She came down a minute or two later. She was dressed in business attire, serious but sensuous still. Her perfume caught me and I kissed her neck, feeling her gently.

“Oh, you do that, and we might make it to lunch,” she laughed.

She stepped to the closet and got my coat. “Come on,” she told me.

I raised an eyebrow.

“We’re going to breakfast.”

I nodded, and opened the door for her.

We took a cab to a restaurant I’d never heard of. It was pretty full, but we were immediately seated. I knew people were looking at us. She was obviously well known here.

We had a very nice breakfast. I had Eggs Benedict—nicely prepared. We talked about how often I visited the East Coast. I told her whenever I was needed. She frowned momentarily.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“How can I get in touch with you?”

I took out one of my business cards. It has the University stuff on one side, and the dojo stuff on the other. I wrote my home phone number on it as well, and handed it to her.

She looked at it in amazement, laughing softly. “You really are a university professor?”

I nodded and smiled, enjoying the coffee, and being in her presence.

We finished breakfast. “May I see you back to your hotel?” she asked.

“That would be wonderful,” I told her.

She folded her napkin and stood. I quickly got up and helped her with her chair.

“What about the bill?” I asked quietly.

“They know me here,” she said assuredly.

The Matre’d thanked us for coming, and said a cab would be right up for us.

We got into the cab, and I told the driver where we were going. Then I turned to her.

“You were showing me off. Why?”

She laughed and held my hand. “Yes, I was. Roger...” She sighed and shook her head, smiling. “Let’s just say I haven’t enjoyed an assignment as much in a very, very long time.”

I laughed. “Let me know if I may be of service in the future.”

She gave me a very interesting smile. “I just may do that, Roger.”

We pulled into the drive at the hotel. I pulled out my wallet.

She said, “No, I’ll take care of it when I get home.”

I sighed. “So it’s farewell?”

She smiled and nodded. “For now. I think we’ll be seeing each other again.”

I took her hands. “Thank you so much.”

She kissed me one more time. “Roger, thank you.”

I checked out and got on an earlier flight home. I was happily worn out. I did some work between D.C. and Chicago, but didn’t bother to pretend on the longer leg home.

I thought I was through with surprises for a while. When I got off the plane, I saw a gal holding a sign with my name on it—the gal who’d visited my office.

I walked up to her, extending my hand. “I’m Doctor Hawthorne. Who might you be?”

She smiled and laughed. “Good evening, Doctor,” she said cheerfully, “Do you have checked luggage?”

“Nope,” I told her. We walked over to the car park and got into a reasonably new Lexus.

“Need directions?” I asked.

She laughed. “I think I can find it.”

After a few minutes, I asked, “To what do I owe this honor?”

She nodded. “Debrief. You are resourceful. Why did you do that?”

“Carry the other disk?” I responded. “Well, if someone is determined to take something from you, might as well give them something to take. Did I screw up by exposing myself?”

She shook her head. “No. Actually, it worked out very well. The two who took your bag were arrested, exposing themselves and their employers.” She smiled when she said that.

“And can I expect any of their collective dismay to be reflected my way?”

Her face took on a firmness that pleased and somewhat frightened me. “No.”

She turned and looked at me, smiling. “There are some rules to the games we play.”

She turned back to driving and asked, “Where did you keep the real disk?”

I answered, “In a safe place.”

She chuckled. “What was on the other one? Anything?”

“Just what I told the police. Research data that can’t be replaced. Priceless stuff.”

She laughed again.

“So, what should I have done differently? How could I have done better? What unneeded risks did I take?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Contrary to what you may think, we weren’t watching you that closely. Did you plan, or did you improvise?”

I nodded. “Both. I planned things. But I know that you can plan, and plan, and plan—and then life happens. When life doesn’t go with the plan, change the plan.”

She nodded. “Very good. That’s a hard lesson to learn.”

“Yup, it took me a while, and I’m still learning.”

She sighed. “The most important thing is to not take unneeded risks.”

“And when are they needed?” I asked, assuming the answer.

She looked at me with a grin. “That’s the next most important thing.”

We drove the rest of the way in light rain. She pulled into the driveway, but before I could get out, she put a hand on my arm.

“You did well. Don’t let it go to your head,” she told me.

I bowed to her. “Thank you, Sensei. This is a very hard lesson to learn.”

She smiled, leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek.

I got my bag and headed into the house.

The next day, a courier delivered an envelope to me at the dojo. It had a check in it. I called and had a dozen roses delivered to an address in Georgetown. If I’d had Christie’s address, I’d have sent her two dozen.

About a week after that, I received an envelope in the mail from Georgetown. It had an eight by ten color print in it. It was a picture of the two of us having breakfast, toasting each other with champagne and orange juice. We both looked very happy. On the back she’d written, “Thank you for a wonderful evening.” I framed it and put it on my desk at school.

Rook

Life went on.

Penny decided to go to Cornell. They’ve got a research station in Hawaii. We’d get Darren at the start of the new year, in September.

I received an interesting QuickTime movie via email. It showed some sequences of a first-dan Aikido instructor throwing a student a few times, and then the student demonstrating some basic techniques. Eventually I recognized the student was Christie. I didn’t recognize the instructor. I sent her a thank-you note, telling her to practice with heart, and asking when I’d see her again. She replied she’d practice with heart after her dislocated shoulder healed, and she hoped to see me soon.

My next side job was a simple courier run. It was uneventful. The following one was international, coinciding with a speaking engagement in Amsterdam. My ability to speak street French came in very useful.

Back at school, I received a strange early-morning visit from a couple of FBI agents. They were from the D.C. office, and looked as if they’d flown in on the red-eye. One of them handed me a CDR and asked if I recognized it. As it was unlabeled, I shrugged my shoulders, and said, “Let’s see.” I popped it into my Power Mac.

“Thank you! My data!” It was the disk which had been less-than-deftly taken from me.

“And just what is on that disk?” one of them asked, pencil and notepad in hand.

I explained, bringing up the program which displayed the data. I was pointing out changes in the E and F layers of the ionosphere on the screen graphs, when one of the agents made a choking noise. I looked at him. He pointed to the picture taken in the D. C. restaurant. I like that picture—it has fond memories associated with it.

“You know ... her?” he asked incredulously. The other agent was now staring, goggle-eyed, at the picture.

“Biblically,” I told them with a straight face.

The two of them were totally flustered. They quickly went away.

The following side job was weird. It felt weird from the start. I went to Toronto for a pickup. I went to the appointed place and waited. I felt I was being tailed. Another page told me to return to the hotel. I did. The next day I was sent to another place to wait. I did. I was sent back to the hotel. I knew I was being tailed. I got a page to call a certain phone number. I walked to a local bar and used a pay phone and a prepaid calling card. The voice at the other end told me to fly to Vancouver on a specific flight. I told them to pound sand, and asked for the pass phrase on my first job. They went away for a moment, then returned and gave me the phrase. I told them I’d be on the flight. It was tight, but I made it, tailed to the airport as well.

So I flew back West on a red-eye, two days earlier than I thought I would. I’d expected to fly from Toronto to Atlanta to make the delivery, and then go home.

I walked off the plane in Vancouver. I was close to home, at least. I hadn’t gotten any more pages on the flight. I figured I’d find out soon enough.

I did. As I looked around in the terminal, I saw a very familiar face, and a familiar fur coat. Christie was holding a sign which said, “Roger.”

I walked up to her. She threw her arms around me. We kissed. Once again she led me out of the terminal, arm in arm.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked her.

“Checked any bags?” she asked.

I shook my head. We walked to the cab queue.

Once in a cab, she gave the cabbie the name of a very good hotel.

“Have breakfast yet?” she asked. It was a little after seven in the morning.

“No—I passed on the airline food.”

She pulled my head over to her shoulder. I nestled into the collar of the coat. She held my head, sending me spinning. She started whispering, and I let go to her.

I was alert and awake again as we got out of the cab. She paid the driver, and we went up to a large room with a view. I dropped my bag and freshened up a bit. We went downstairs and to the restaurant for breakfast.

We were soon joined by two other people—my two other contacts. I shook the guy’s hand, and helped seat the thin gal.

“Do I get an explanation?” I asked them.

The gal pulled an envelope from her coat and handed it to me.

“You did a superb job,” she told me.

I raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of very, very good coffee.

“And that job was?” I asked.

The man spoke. “You were a decoy.”

I nodded. “I thought I was being tailed.”

The gal asked, “Roger, how do you feel about that?”

After another sip of coffee, I told her, “Don’t know. Don’t have a big problem with it, although if you’re to do that again, it’s best if you don’t tell me beforehand.”

That seemed to be a good answer.

We had a good breakfast, talking about random things. The guy picked up the tab. Just as they were about to leave, the gal asked me for my pager, giving me a new one, a newer model.

Christie and I sat alone at the table. It was raining again. She reached over and took my hand. “Oh dear,” she said, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to give you a walking tour of the city. What can we do instead?”

I sighed and smiled. “We can think of something—afterwards.”

We finished our coffee and went upstairs. In the elevator, I looked at my check. It was bigger than I’d expected. I whistled.

“Surprised?” she asked.

“I guess I did a good job. Someone thinks so, at least.”

She patted my bottom. “I’ll let you know in a couple of days.”

We went back to her room. I got out of my clothes while she was in the bathroom.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed again. This seemed to be a recurring thing. It wasn’t a dream, even if it felt that way to a certain extent.

Christie came out of the bathroom, luscious and naked, stopping a few feet in front of me. I had those feelings again—so strong, so conflicting.

“Roger, what is it?” she asked in concern. She stepped forward and went down on one knee, putting her hands on my legs.

I looked into her eyes, sighing and shaking my head slowly.

“I don’t know. The feelings are so intense, and so conflicting. I don’t know what I want to do when I see you... Run? Give myself to you? Giving myself to you is so wonderful. It’s so good to be held, to be in your arms. But even then...”

“Even then what, Roger? Go with it, stay with it and tell me, please.”

I closed my eyes. “The feelings...”

“Where? Tell me what you feel.”

“Especially in my legs, my quads—tension, nervousness—and in my chest, and sometimes my arms. And when I hold you—when you hold me...”

“Good, Roger, stay with it. What do you feel when I hold you, and you hold me?”

“Oh Christie—it’s so satisfying, so comforting. Yet even then, there’s something, I don’t know, deep I guess, something else. Feelings of being alone, scared, somehow, even though you’re holding me.”

I felt and heard her move next to me on the bed, then behind me. She moved me on to my back, sitting at my head. I looked up into her eyes. She had a serious look on her face.

“It’s okay, Roger.” She placed her hands on my head. I sighed and relaxed under her touch. She smiled a bit. “Good, Roger. Now I want you to relax for me. Let go and relax, and listen to me as I take you back....”

My eyes closed and I drifted down to her touch, and to her voice. We went to a place I hadn’t visited before, yet I knew it was a place inside me. It was very hard. I didn’t want to be there, but I knew I needed to be there, and knew she was there to help me. I met the little boy again, alone in the dark, so alone and so afraid. We reached out to hold him, but there was something between us.

It was hard, and it hurt some times, but eventually we got him to come out a little, and I got closer to him, and then she held me, and she held him, and I knew he was me a long time ago, and I held her—we both held her.

We made love. She held me, and rocked me, and I went to sleep in her arms.

When we woke up, it was still raining. After a brief bathroom visit, we went back to bed, snuggling up again.

It rains a lot in the Northwest. I don’t mind it at all.

Rook

The thin gal caught me at the dojo. She bowed at the edge of the mat, and moved to sitting in the visitor area. She sat with a precision that spoke of training. I handed the class over to Abiko, and escorted my guest to my office.

“No page?” I asked after I seated her. I’d done two jobs recently, both easy.

She sighed and shook her head.

“What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” I could feel something.

“We have another job for you next week, if you want it.”

I nodded. “And why wouldn’t I?”

She smiled a little, and nodded. “If you take it, we expect you to be caught. You really will be a cat’s paw this time.”

I nodded, steepling my hands in front of me. “And the risk?”

She sighed again. “That’s the big question. We don’t expect there will be any. They’ll be after the information. Still, one can never be sure.”

I thought for a moment. “Would you take the job? Would you tell Christie that you were the one who asked me to take it?”

That sombered her. She nodded again. “Let me think about that. Will you be at school tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, office hours starting at eleven.”

She looked up briefly. I could almost see the wheels turning. She looked down again. “You’re such a good fit for this one. Damn. I may drop by your house at nine in the morning. Thank you so much.”

She stood up. I moved over to her. I offered her a hug. She accepted. The way she held me, she needed a hug. “Thank you for being human,” I told her, holding her and rocking her slowly. She felt as if she needed protecting, wanted protecting.

When she pulled away from me, she gave me a very curious look. “Some times it gets in the way of the job.”

I got up around eight the next morning, and spent a while loosening up. Something told me....

I heard someone pulling up the drive, and the doorbell ring around a quarter to nine. I poured another cup of coffee and took it to the door. I thought she drank it black.

The thin gal was at the door. I handed her the coffee and invited her in. She gave me an interesting look as we sat down in the living room. I was wearing one of my Cannondale tank tops and sweat pants. I invited her to sit on the couch; I sat in the chair opposite.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said. “Mmmm, this is good.”

“So what’s your decision?” I asked. “What would you tell Christie?”

She sighed, leaning back and holding the cup with both hands.

“This is nasty—I won’t kid you. We think we’ve got a rat in our organization. If you take this job, you can’t trust anyone. Oh, I did talk to Christie. She gave me some good tips.”

“And what was her take on it?”

She shook her head. “It’s not that easy. She told me you’d ask that question, and we both agreed—it’s your call. We both feel it’s low risk for you, but who can tell? Especially if our rat senses a trap? Roger, I think the risk is there, but small. The possible results, the benefits for us, are large. This would be so easy if you weren’t....”

“You’ve got a traitor in your midst?”

She nodded. “We think so. We’ve ruled out pretty much everything else.”

“So what would the job entail? When?”

She sighed again. “Pick up in the Midwest, drop off in Chicago. Soon.”

I frowned. “I thought Chicago was the Midwest.”

She smiled. “Between here and Chicago.”

I nodded. “You keep catching me on bad days...”

She smiled.

“I’m in. I hope I live through it,” I told her.

She put down her cup. “Roger, if there was the least doubt about that, I wouldn’t be here. Please believe me. I don’t want to see you harmed in any way.”

I nodded. “I don’t know why I should believe you, but I do. What’s next?”

She smiled and patted the couch next to her. “Come sit next to me.”

An unusual request, but why not? I moved over next to her. She put her hands on my shoulders. She smiled. “Christie told me exactly what to do. Look in my eyes, Roger. Relax and fall into my eyes. That’s it, relax and fall into my eyes...” She started stroking the sides of my head. The rest of the room faded.

I was sitting on the couch again. I knew she was gone. I got up and showered, got dressed, and headed to school.

Queen Takes Rook

I got the page Monday afternoon. The two of them met me at the dojo Monday night. They had a job for me—a quickie, but important. Pick up an item and deliver it in Chicago. Leave Wednesday morning, and be back by Thursday evening. Did I want it? I looked over my schedule. Abiko was still around—she could handle the dojo for me. I would miss one class at the university, but had someone who owed me a favor who could handle it. I’ll do it.

I got more details Tuesday afternoon. I set up the flights—Seattle to Minneapolis first thing Wednesday morning. I’d be met at the airport. Fly to Chicago. Overnight at the Palmer House, make my drop, and fly back the next day.

I packed light, bringing along some work, and a book to read.

Going through security at the airport was interesting. I emptied my pockets, but the metal detector still went off. They used a handheld metal detector on me, and it went off on my chest. I felt around, and showed them the medic alert medallion I was wearing. Why hadn’t I remembered that?

About an hour outside Minneapolis I was paged with a number to call. I called and got details for the pickup at the airport. I was a little apprehensive about the deal for some reason—I had an extra edginess. But, it went smoothly. I had another CDR to deliver, this one a small one about three or so inches in diameter. I went into a restroom and stitched it to the inside of my tank top. That trick had worked well before.

About an hour outside Chicago I got another page, changing the drop details. The only problem was that this page didn’t pass authentication. I knew that. I also knew what to do. I used the phone on the plane to call an 888 number, and gave that person the details. I’d stick to the preplanned drop unless they told me otherwise.

Chicago is nice, and the Science Museum is phenomenal, but getting from O’Hare airport to downtown is a pain in the ass. Something told me that a limo would be risky, so I took a shuttle to the Palmer House.

They had my reservation; I was on the fifth floor, a non-smoking floor. They offered me help finding the room—I could do it myself, with just my carry on bag.

I waited for an elevator, and got in when one arrived. As I hit five, a porter pushing a cart full of luggage and garment bags entered. As the cart swung in, I moved to the back. I ended up with the cart in front of me, a delicious looking fur coat in front of my face. Through the mirrors in the ceiling of the elevator and around the top, I saw two people get in—a silver haired man with a walking stick or cane, and a woman with reddish brown hair. I called out, “I need to get off at five.” The porter said, “No problem, sir. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

We started up. I was really well blocked by the cart. The softness of the coat brushed me, and I caught a whiff of perfume from it—and my apprehension increased dramatically. I didn’t like being hemmed in like this—something was wrong. The elevator suddenly lurched to a stop, and as it did, I felt a poke and a sting in my left thigh. The cart blocked my direct vision, so I looked up to the mirrors. I didn’t recognize the hair, but I recognized the smile, the perfect, small teeth of the man, and I recognized the woman. They pushed the cart back further, pinning me against the wall as things started to buzz and spin.

I woke up in pain. The left side of my face and head hurt. My ribs hurt. I was nauseous. I lifted my right hand, and started to freak out—I had an I. V. line in my right arm. I got my eyes open, but my vision was blurred. I saw a nurse sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. She saw me look at her, and immediately went to the door.

She returned moments later with two men, one a uniformed policeman, the other one wearing a sport coat and a tie. I thought I saw a badge clipped to his belt.

“Mister Hawthorne?” the one with the tie asked.

I nodded my head, and it hurt. The clock on the wall said five thirty. It was dark out, so it must be five thirty in the morning. “Water?” I asked hoarsely.

The nurse helped me with a cup of water and a straw. My jaw hurt.

“What happened?” I asked them.

The one with the tie answered. “We hoped you could help with that, sir. You were found in a linen closet of the Palmer House Hotel.”

Another voice asked, “How do you feel?” A doctor-looking man walked in and stood by the two cops. The nurse gave way to him.

“Like I’ve had the crap beaten out of me, with bruised ribs at least. How close am I?”

The doctor nodded. “One cracked rib, bruised ribs both sides. Fractured cheekbone, possible concussion.”

The cop asked, “What can you tell us about how this happened?”

Somehow I knew what to say. I recounted the story, telling them I’d been hired by a law firm to deliver a disk with some highly confidential business documents on it to a law firm in Chicago. I told them of the porter, the elevator stopping, getting poked, and the man and woman. I didn’t know their names, but I gave them the best descriptions I could.

I’d been found in the closet about eleven that night. While I had my wallet and plane tickets, my bag and watch were gone. I asked about the medallion around my neck. Heads shook no. It was gone as well. No sign of a disk, either. When found, my shirt had been unbuttoned and my jacket had been on top of me.

I talked to the cops awhile longer. They’d send over someone to help me put together composite sketches. I had good mental images of all three.

They left but the doctor remained.

“Is there something you can give me for the pain?” I asked.

The doctor stepped closer. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about. It makes sense now. It took us a while to figure out you’d been drugged. We found a needle mark on your left thigh—that will probably turn into a nice bruise, and another one on your left arm.” The doctor looked over his shoulder, then turned back to me.

“Mister Hawthorne, this is strictly confidential. The police are gone, and I will not tell them what you tell me. Do you use drugs of any kind?”

I shook my head. “Caffeine and alcohol, and not that much of either—that’s it. Why?”

He nodded grimly. “That was my guess. We’ll know better when the results come back from analysis, but I think whoever did this to you wanted you to enjoy it as much as possible, and shot you up with Narcan.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A narcotic antagonist. Basically, it prevents strong painkillers from working. You were semiconscious for a while, and complaining about pain. We tried the usual things, which didn’t work. We finally used a general anesthetic.”

“So I was either a druggie with a huge tolerance, or had been given this other thing?”

The doctor nodded. “Exactly. We can give you nonprescription painkillers, but that’s about all, until the other wears off.”

“And that will be?”

“Probably 48 hours or so.”

“So I can enjoy it, and my blurred vision as well?”

He was interested in my blurred vision. He checked me right there, and wanted to do some more tests. Some of it was undoubtedly due to the swelling, but he wanted to be sure.

I asked for something to eat. He said he’d take care of it. They took the I. V. line out of my arm, and helped me with more water.

About half an hour later, that water had run its course. I got up, very wobbly at first, and made it to the toilet. I checked my clothes. There was a little tear in my tank top where the disk had been sewn in. My wallet was still there, but my little leather pouch with coins in it was gone. My watch was gone. My plane tickets were still in my jacket pocket. That meant I’d lost my keys as well, assuming my bag didn’t turn up.

I sat down on the bed and picked up the phone. I dialed an 888 number, and told the voice on the other end what had happened. I didn’t mention names. I wanted someone to watch my office, the dojo, and especially my house, since my keys had been taken. They wanted to know where I was. Good question! I put the phone down.

I stuck my head out the door to the room I was in. I was greeted by a very large uniformed policeman. He didn’t exactly glower at me, but it wasn’t a friendly look.

“Hi there. Can you tell me what hospital I’m in?”

He told me. The room number I got from the door. I told him, “Thanks.” I closed the door again, and went back to the phone. I told the person on the other end what hospital I was in, the room number, and that a policeman was stationed outside the door. I’d appreciate any assistance they could give me. That was about the end of that.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Not pretty—I’d been whacked in the face and head a few times. I could see him in the elevator again, as I looked at the mirror and saw him holding that walking stick, with its brass top. Bastards.

I hit the call button about seven thirty, and asked again about something to eat. I hadn’t had anything to eat in almost twenty four hours, and wasn’t feeling too good.

About eight I opened the door again. He glowered at me again.

“So, am I under arrest?” I asked.

“You are under protective custody, sir,” he told me.

“So does that mean I can leave?”

“You are under protective custody, sir,” he said again, moving his substantial bulk more in front of the door.

I nodded and smiled. “I’m not out to cause you any trouble, but I haven’t had anything to eat for almost a day. Could you walk with me to a vending machine so I can get something to drink? Or get me a can of Coke, or 7-Up?”

He thought for a moment. It must have been a painful process. “I’ll see what I can do,” he told me.

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it. I’m starving.”

I closed the door and went back to bed. A few minutes later I heard some conversation outside the door. I decided to stay put. There was a knock on the door, and it opened.

The thin gal, the cop with the tie, and another guy in a suit came in. The doctor I’d seen earlier followed them.

“You didn’t bring anything to eat?” I asked.

The cop with the tie said, “Mister Hawthorne, we...”

I held up a hand interrupting. “It’s Doctor Hawthorne. New rules—I’m not answering squat until I get something to eat, and get some questions of my own answered. Got that? You,” I pointed to the cop with the tie, “Am I under arrest?”

He started out, “Doctor Hawthorne, we just ...”

I held up a hand again. “You must not have heard me. I asked you a question that is traditionally answered with either ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Am I under arrest?”

He looked at me and said, “No. Now, if...”

I held up my hand again. “Hold it.”

I got out of bed and walked to the little closet which held my clothes. This would be painful. I’d had damaged ribs before—Kenai-Sensei had whacked me but good in Boston a number of years ago. I’d practiced with him for three more days in significant pain. I used my breath as I raised my arms to undo the tie on the damn hospital gown, letting it drop on the floor. I retrieved my underwear and put them on. I’d pass on the tank top—too hard to put on right now. As I slipped on my shirt, buttoning the cuffs, the cop asked, “What are you doing?”

The thin gal sounded amused as she said, “He’s getting dressed.”

I nodded to her and smiled. I put on my pants. I was going to have a bruise on my left thigh. I got my socks and shoes on quickly, and started to the door. The doctor said, “I really can’t recommend ...”

I turned and pointed to him, shutting him up. “You people keep feeding me these highly conclusory statements, and haven’t given me any information from which I can draw my own conclusions. Therefore, I’m drawing my own conclusions on what I think is best.”

“Doctor Hawthorne,” the doctor continued, “we have tests ...”

I interrupted him again. “That’s nice. So far, you’ve failed informed consent miserably.” I opened the door. The big cop stepped in front of it. I took a breath, looked at him, and said, “Move!” He moved, and then blinked, surprised. Behind me, the cop called out, “It’s okay, Carl. He can go.” I smiled to Carl and held out my hand. He shook it, automatically. “Thanks, Carl,” I told him. “I appreciate you being here.”

I walked down the hall, not caring what the idiots in the room did. A nurse hurried up to me. “Where do you think ...” I held up a hand. “Are the elevators down this hall?” I asked her. She nodded. I gave her a smile. “Thank you.”

I saw the elevator sign. I guessed the cafeteria would be on the ground floor. I heard footsteps behind me. The thin gal caught up first. She whispered, “You’re doing great.”

“I feel like a goddamn mother duck,” I said to nobody in particular. She smiled.

I reached an elevator going down just as the door started to close. I whacked one of the contact sensors on the closing door with my left hand. I was rewarded with the door opening again, and a flash of pain. I got into the elevator with the thin gal. The door started to close. I opened it again. “Come along, ducklings,” I called out. The rest of the mob got in. I turned to the guy in the hospital uniform behind me. “Which way to the cafeteria?” I asked him. “Second floor, to your right,” he told me. I nodded, stepped up to the panel, and punched 2.

I got out and they followed me. Someone asked, “What are you doing?”

“Getting something to eat, fool,” I responded. I walked along the corridor to the cafeteria. I knew I was taking a chance, but it couldn’t be worse than University food, could it?

It was actually pretty good—they must contract it out. I checked to be sure I still had cash in my wallet. I got a tray, and quickly got a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns, and some toast. As I went to beverages, the doctor said, “I’d avoid coffee for a while yet.” I turned to him and smiled. “Thank you, doctor. I appreciate that.” As much as I wanted about a gallon of hot coffee, I got a large orange juice instead.

I walked over to the cashier and paid for my breakfast. The thin gal was right behind me, with coffee, fruit, and toast. “I’ll pay for both of these,” I told the cashier. I could see the others getting things to eat as well.

As the two of us walked over to a table, I asked her, “What’s you first name, anyway?”

She chuckled a little. “Janice.”

Hmmm... “Not the name I seemed to remember from that first business card.”

As I sat down, carefully, I asked her softly, “Tell me Janice, before the rest get here, was it worth it?”

She sighed and grew more somber. “Yes, Roger, it was. We owe you a great deal.”

I quickly learned I couldn’t lean back against the chair. Oh well, better to sit straight anyway. I put some Tabasco on the eggs and potatoes and dug in. I was hungry.

The others arrived. I guess breakfast was a good idea. As the guy who’d been next to Janice sat down, I extended my hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He introduced himself as an attorney, handing me a card. “And you represent?” I asked. He looked to Janice. She said, “We’ve retained him to represent you.” I nodded, enjoying the sausages. “Good. I have a bone to pick with the Palmer House. I’m not impressed by their hospitality.” Both the cop and the doctor started up at the same time, “Doctor...” They stopped and looked at each other.

The doctor went first. “Doctor Hawthorne, I really don’t recommend you leave before we complete tests. I’m concerned about your vision, and the severity of your concussion. We still don’t know exactly what was used on you.”

I nodded. “I’ll be happy to discuss that, Doctor, and take it under advisement. Officer?”

The cop gave me a grim smile. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to look at some pictures, and tell me if you recognize any of them.”

“I’d be happy to, officer. I’m just grumpy when I haven’t been fed in a while.”

He brought out two 11 by 14 inch arrays of smaller pictures, one page with men, the other with women. I looked them over carefully, then pointed to two. “Him and her.” He nodded, then showed me another picture, the two of them standing on a street somewhere. I sighed. She had her arms crossed, the right foot a little ahead of the left, the cant in her hips. I could almost taste her, and remembered her screaming at me, holding a gun in one hand, a syringe in the other. “Yup, that’s the pair. How about the black guy in the porter’s uniform?”

The cop nodded, putting away the pictures. “You’re sure about the description?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“He wasn’t wearing a name tag?”

“Nope.”

He nodded again. “We’ve checked with the hotel. All their employees wear nametags. His description doesn’t match any of the hotel staff. And, your two accosters don’t seem to have been registered at the hotel.”

I nodded.

The cop gave me a quizzical look. “Why the ruse with the cart? I don’t understand.

I shook my head and smiled. “You didn’t look at my business cards clearly enough. When I’m not at the University, I run a dojo. I have a fourth-degree black belt in Aikido, second-degree black belt in Judo, and have studied half a dozen other arts. That cart loaded with crap was about the best thing they could have done. They got me up against the back of the elevator, and as soon as I’d been jabbed, pushed it tighter, pinning me until whatever drug they shot into me took effect. They got me very quickly—a very well planned assault.”

The cop nodded and frowned. “Indeed. What was the information you were carrying?”

I gave Janice a quick glance before I spoke. “I have no idea. I’m a courier. What’s happening with the bunch that jumped me?”

He shook his head. “We think they left town. But, we know who they are.” He looked at Janice and the attorney. “Doctor Hawthorne, this is a very strange deal.”

I nodded, finishing my orange juice. I leaned back momentarily, and sat straight again. “I agree, officer. I’ve told you what I know.” After telling him that, we went over everything again. I told him the truth, or most of it.

He shook his head and folded up his notepad. “Doctor Hawthorne, I’m sorry this happened to you. We know how to contact you on the West Coast.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Are you willing to sign a complaint, and testify against these people when they are caught?”

“You betcha!” I told him. He smiled. He extended his hand, and we shook. “Then I’ll bid you goodbye, and hope that you enjoy the rest of your stay in Chicago.”

“Thank you, officer. I apologize for being difficult. This is a new situation for me.”

“Me too.” He nodded to the others, and left shaking his head.

“Doctor, I’m thinking of getting on a plane soon. What do you think about that?”

He really wanted to do more tests—checking for damage around the eye socket, and get the blood tests back to see what had been used to knock me out. He also recommended I spend at least one night resting, just to stabilize, and fly home tomorrow.

“Okay,” I told him, “let’s do the tests. Janice, can you find me a place to stay this evening? I want to fly home tomorrow, mid-day if possible. Can you do that for me?”

She smiled. “Certainly, doctor. If you’ll give me your plane ticket, we’ll take care of the details. We’ll meet you in the lobby later. We should talk.”

I nodded. “Perhaps over prime rib tonight?”

She smiled and nodded again. “That would be fine.”

The two of them stood up. We shook hands. Janice gave me a careful hug.

“Okay, doctor. Lead on. Let’s hurry up and wait.”

The eye specialist was interested in the corrective laser surgery I’d had done. He examined both eyes thoroughly. Aside from some swelling on the left side, no problems.

Then I got to wait for my turn in the MRI—they wanted detailed head pictures. I zoned out, and it went pretty well, aside from the machine making loud, sharp noises. I had help getting dressed afterwards, especially in putting on my tank top.

After that I got to wait. Since nobody was interested in giving me any information, I went back to the cafeteria and had a large 7-Up. Taking a walk, I saw Janice in the lobby.

“All done?” she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. That hurt. “No idea. Did more tests, and haven’t heard anything.” The lawyer reappeared from around the corner, carrying a stack of papers, folding them and putting them in an envelope.

“Have you been released?” he asked me.

“I have no idea. I’m having a hard time getting information from anyone in this place.”

He looked over his shoulder. “The bean counters think you’re released.”

“Sounds good to me. Where am I staying tonight?”

Janice smiled a little. “Palmer house?”

I raised my eyebrows.

She continued. “They’re very apologetic. They’re giving you a larger room, gratis.”

“That’s nice of them. Broken ribs gratis as well?”

The guy said, “Not exactly, but they’re paying for those as well.”

I looked at Janice. “Have you ever been on a submarine?”

She gave me a questioning look.

“I’d like to show you the Science Museum. It’s a great place.”

The attorney stepped up. “Sounds like a good idea to me. I’ll clean up here, and meet you at the hotel for dinner—7 O’clock.”

We shook hands. We found a cab and went to the museum.

Walking around in fairly empty galleries, I took her arm in mine. I liked that.

“So what the hell happened? Denise a rat? Him? Who is he, anyway?”

She sighed and held my arm. “Roger, our troubles ran deeper than we thought, but you’ve helped flush them out. Our people were quite shocked. Some didn’t want to believe, but the evidence was pretty clear—the tracker led us right to them.”

“Tracker?”

“I’ll explain later. I’m very glad I did it. I hate to think how long you’d have been in that closet if we hadn’t been looking for you.”

“So the hotel didn’t stumble upon me?”

“Only after we started taking the place apart looking for you.” She sighed. “Christie is pretty upset as well.”

“I guess. How long had she worked with Denise?”

“Oh, not very long. She’s upset that you were injured.”

“That makes two of us.”

She stopped and turned to face me. “Roger, it hurts me too. My superiors didn’t want me anywhere near Chicago as this was going down. I ignored them, and I’m glad I did. Roger, I’m very sorry you were hurt. But there was no way we could have known. They’d gotten so deep. It was a fluke that we caught on to them at all. I ...”

I held her gently. I couldn’t do much else. “I understand. I’m sorry I’m being so short with people today. Must have been something I ate.”

We walked around the museum, but we also took plenty of time to sit down and rest. I was tiring out. She told me as much as she knew. All three had been clearly identified. The imitation porter had been arrested, but he didn’t know much. He’d been hired locally to help. The other two were probably out of the country by now. One way or another, they’d turn up.

We stopped at a store on the way to the hotel so I could get a toothbrush, shaving stuff, the basics.

I didn’t like walking back into the hotel—not one bit. “Gee, I wonder what the rooms look like?” I said out loud, standing in the lobby near the registration desk.

The guy behind the desk was the same person who had checked me in the day before. He saw me and blanched. He disappeared behind a door.

“I think we’re expected,” I muttered. I was feeling exhausted again.

An older guy in a suit came out and hurried over to us. “Doctor Hawthorne, I want to express my apologies for the entire hotel staff.” He prattled and wheezed for a while longer, and showed us up to my room. It was a corner suite, with a large sitting room, and a large bedroom. I told Janice I wanted to take a hot bath, and a nap. She nodded and said she’d wait.

The bath helped. I imagined floating in Christie’s arms, having her hold me. I kept my breathing regular. Focus on the breath. I got out of the tub, dried off, and crawled into the bed.

I had murky dreams. I hurt. I dreamed people were talking, arguing.

“Wake up, Roger, please.”

Someone was shaking me. I forced my eyes open. I was confused. I hurt—the light in the room hurt.

“Christie!” I managed to say. She sat on the edge of the bed. She held my eyelids open and shined a small light in them. She prodded me and asked questions on how I was feeling. I was tired, sore, and confused.

“Let’s get you dressed. Janice, we need the plane. Let’s get going.”

“What’s happening? Am I going to miss dinner? I thought I was getting steak tonight?”

Christie helped me get dressed, hurriedly. “I need to pee,” I told her. She walked me into the bathroom. I was wobbly. “I’m glad you’re here—I feel like shit,” I told her.

“You’ve looked better as well,” she told me—very comforting.

A limo took us from the hotel to the airport, but to a different part of it. I was taken through what looked like a private terminal. We got on a private jet.

We took off quickly. Once airborne, Christie started in questioning me again. “How much have you had to drink today?” I wasn’t sure—not a whole lot. Have you been urinating a lot? I guess so—I needed to go again. She helped me to the bathroom on the plane. It was larger than the ones on the airlines.

Back in the seat, she started an I. V., telling me I needed fluids. I told her I couldn’t think straight, and that frightened me. She stepped behind me, and I felt her hands on my head. She stroked my head and told me to relax.

We landed. I had an incredible headache. I was shaky and cold and my joints ached. Was I carried out of the plane? I may have ridden in an ambulance. Christie was worried.

My head hurt, but not as much. As I blinked, I could almost think. Light didn’t hurt my eyes. I saw an I. V. line in the back of my right hand, and almost freaked out.

I looked around, almost expecting to be back in that room again, in the chair. I saw, and heard, Christie talking softly to someone just outside the open door to the room. I tried to call her, but succeeded only in making a noise.

It was enough. She turned, and both she and the man she’d been talking to came in. They checked my eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

I wobbled my left hand over to a water glass. She put a straw in it and helped me. I was thirsty. It helped my throat.

“That’s better,” I whispered. “What the hell happened?”

The man said, “The combination of drugs you’d been given was ugly. You’ve been on dialysis and fluid replacement.”

I wiggled my legs. My right leg felt funny. I looked, and saw some tubes leading from under the bed covers to a merrily humming box the size of a small refrigerator.

Christie put a hand on me, calming me. “We did a cut-down on your leg. We’ll take it out later, but at least you’re out of the woods.”

“Was it that bad?” I asked. I was weak. I found the bed controls, and started raising the head of the bed a bit. My hands were weak and trembling. Christie took the controls and helped—I nodded when I was more comfortable.

“You were in shock, and wouldn’t have made it through the night.”

“Where the hell am I?”

“In a private facility outside Pittsburgh,” the man told me.

I looked at Christie. “This is going to cost someone overtime.”

She nodded. “It’s going to cost more than that.”

They asked me more questions about how I felt. Yes, I was hungry. I asked them what happened. The man told me they were still trying to figure it out—they’d just gotten part of the blood sample taken from me in Chicago before they started trying to treat me. As best they could figure, someone had shot me full of drugs with the intention of causing serious reactions to the most likely drugs I would be given in emergency treatment—and some of the reactions would be delayed. That’s why they’d moved to get as much crap out my system as possible.

It was early morning. They found me some breakfast, but my hands were too wobbly for me to feed myself. A nurse-looking gal offered, but Christie shooed her away.

As I was eating and drinking I had another weird sensation. I fumbled around with my left hand.

“We put a catheter into you,” Christie told me. “It’s probably not very comfortable.”

I rolled my eyes. She shook her head smiling, then got a very unpleasant look on her face. “Roger, heads are rolling for this. This is not acceptable.” I let my eyes close.

She turned off the lights and started to leave, so I could rest. I made some kind of noise—I didn’t want her to leave. She turned and came back to me. Soon she was sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking my temples, speaking softly.

The next time I woke up, it was a little after noon. I felt much better—not very shaky at all. Christie and Doctor Miller, that was his name, were glad to hear that.

They decided to take me off dialysis. They would need to stitch up areas in my leg where they’d made incisions to get to the blood vessels. Miller wasn’t sure how to do that—he didn’t want to give me any drugs. Christie smiled and told him she’d take care of that. When everything was ready, she leaned over me, started stroking my temples, and spoke softly once more. I sank down, down, down.

My head was clearer when I opened my eyes. Miller wanted to know what I’d felt. I told him I’d felt a little tugging, but that was about all. He told us he was very impressed, but the real test would be in the morning. Christie said we’d be ready for that one as well.

She stuck around and ate dinner with me. I told her someone owed me a good steak dinner. She replied, “At least.”

She’d gotten more word on the rats in the organization. The damage was extensive, but not fatal. People were wondering why more operations hadn’t been compromised—had they been setting up for something really big? They weren’t sure yet.

I had more to eat and drink, rested more, and felt better by the hour. I asked what was going on at home. Christie gave me a tight smile. Janice was taking care of things. People had been told I’d been mugged in Chicago, had a drug reaction from the emergency care, and was still hospitalized. Janice was getting locks changed. She’d talked to Abiko, who was handling the dojo quite well. My classes were covered.

And my prognosis? I’d probably be able to fly home tomorrow afternoon, but would need to rest through the weekend. I’d probably be feeling the effects for a week or two, but would recover completely, as I was in very good condition. Not quite what I’d signed up for.

After dinner, I was tired again, but uncomfortable. She asked if she could help. “Please,” I asked her. She sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled up her top and bra. She held me close and whispered me to sleep.

The next morning, Doctor Miller did more tests. We had breakfast, Christie and I eating together again. She was staying down the hall. A few more tests were run after breakfast. I could fly home.

Then Doctor Miller said, “Doctor Flynn, let’s see just how well this works.”

She stood up. “Are you prepared to be impressed?”

He nodded.

She said, “We’ll be ready in about ten minutes.” She turned to me and put a finger on my forehead. As she slid it down to my nose, speaking softly, my eyes closed and I dropped down, down, down.

I felt different when I opened my eyes. I was partially dressed.

“Well?” Miller asked.

I sat up, with help, and shrugged my shoulders. My ribs still hurt—they’d hurt for weeks. “Didn’t feel anything, other than floating in that soft, safe, healing place.”

He nodded. “I’m impressed. You’ve got a convert, Doctor.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Miller actually shuddered a bit. “We removed your catheter—without drugs. I’ve had it done, with drugs, and it’s one of those experiences you never forget.”

I turned to Christie and squeezed her hand. I was getting some strength back. “Well, I’m glad I wasn’t around for it.”

As I got dressed I noticed I was wearing a disposable diaper. I was told that incontinence was common for the first few days after catheterization. I looked at the stitches on the inside of my right thigh. I frowned and said again, “Not what I signed up for.”

We were in what looked to be a small medical facility on fairly nice grounds. A car with a driver was waiting for us.

“What do I tell doctors back home?” I asked Miller as they were taking me out in a wheelchair.

“We’ve already contacted a specialist who will be taking care of you. He’ll be briefed by the time you get home,” Miller told me.

I shook his hand. We left.

I was sitting next to Christie in the back of a limo again. I leaned against her shoulder.

“Sorry I didn’t bring the coat,” she told me as she held my head. “I didn’t know what I’d be getting into.”

“Neither did I,” I told her softly.

I thought I remembered the private jet. “Is this the same one?” I asked Christie as we drove up.

She nodded. “Yes. I don’t know if we have to stop on the way back or not.”

She helped me up the narrow steps on to the plane. At the top of the steps, I had a weird flash of pain, a little dizziness, and then I was fine again. She helped me to a seat.

I blinked, and there was the silver-haired chap again. He held out his hand. I shook it, slowly, and without a lot of strength.

“Doctor Hawthorne,” he told me, “You’ve been a tremendous help to us. Still, I’m very sorry you were injured. We’ll do everything we can to make it up to you.”

“Thank you,” I told him. “You could start by telling me your name.”

He smiled, and sat down across from me. The door to the plane had been closed. I heard the engines starting up.

He told me his name, and that he was one of the heads of the organization, and one of the founders. We were on his plane. This had been a very bad experience for him and the entire organization, but the worst was over. He thanked me again.

Once we were airborne, he excused himself and went to the cockpit. I started moving in my seat.

“What is it, Roger?” Christie asked. She was sitting next to me.

“I think I need to pee,” I told her, unbuckling my seat belt and starting to get up.

She touched me and said something. I fell back. I felt the seat reclining. She took me to a place where I’d be safe. She wanted me to do something, but I couldn’t, or wouldn’t. She took me to another place, where I was rocking in her arms, so safe, so relaxed.

I felt the warmth around my groin when I opened my eyes. I’d peed in the diaper. I looked at her. “Why did you do that?” I asked accusingly.

She smiled and took my hand. “Because if I hadn’t, people on the ground would have heard you scream. How’s that for an answer?”

I took her hand and kissed it. “That’s a good answer. How long is that going to go on?”

She smiled. “I’m staying with you for as long as it takes to see you fully recovered.”

There was something about the way she said it that made me laugh. I wasn’t laughing a few minutes later as she helped me change the diaper. It had some dark spots in it that looked like blood. Side-effect of what I’d been through, she told me. Depending on what the blood tests showed, she’d probably be able to give me a drug which would numb my urinary tract for a day or so, time enough for me to recover.

When I told her that would seem to cause complications, she smirked, and told me it was just the opposite—she would enjoy it immensely. I’d be able to have normal erections, but I’d be a little numb, so I’d last a lot longer.

Our host rejoined us. We needed to stop in Minneapolis for fuel. We could either stop for the night, or push on. It was up to me. I was starving, and tired, but we could push on if need be. In that case, he suggested we have a good meal, a good night’s sleep, a leisurely breakfast, and then complete the trip. Christie agreed.

We didn’t have much food aboard—our host apologized, but he hadn’t much time to prepare. I drank a lot of 7-Up. Christie helped me twice more as it worked through my system. I slept in her arms.

Our host told us that my locks had been taken care of. With a look of displeasure yet concern, he also informed me that my phone, dojo, and office had been bugged, but were now clean. No bugs were found in the house, but they’d found signs indicating attempts at entry.

I got my steak dinner, the three of us eating in a nice restaurant. I wasn’t allowed any wine, though. I picked up another toothbrush and more toothpaste. We went to a nice hotel.

Christie suggested I take a hot bath. I was tired, and that sounded good. I relaxed in the tub, and she sat down on the side. She leaned over and put a hand on my forehead. I sighed and let go. I barely remember her helping me to bed, but I do remember holding her, and her holding me.