The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Aurora

I looked outside again. The usual high fog and clouds, gray, cold, crummy football team, more rain coming. It had been cold in the dojo this evening.

I smiled. “I need a change of scenery.” I’d decided. “And something to eat.”

Janice gave me a questioning look, and a slight smile.

“Dick’s by school—I’ll buy—we can eat in my office at school. I need to check some things,” I told her.

She shook her head, still with the slight smile. “Big spender... okay...”

We got our burgers and fries. I got a chocolate shake, she got strawberry. In my office, I turned on the computer as soon as we walked in the door. “Make yourself comfortable,” I told Janice.

She pulled up a guest chair; I laughed as I moved a stack of magazines from that end of the desk to give her room.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Me—two different worlds. I’ve been thinking about getting a computer for home, maybe a laptop.”

She nodded and looked around. I reached into a desk drawer and gave her a handful of paper napkins, saving a few for myself and my greaseburger deluxe.

“Yeah, not even a TV set at your place. Did you really build those instruments for your thesis?”

I swallowed another mouthful of burger. “You actually read that?” I asked in surprise.

Her eyes flared wide. “Wow, good onion—well, I glanced through it.”

I knew better than to have raw onion at this time of the night. The computer was ready to play. I started up Mozilla, my favorite web browser, and clicked on an airline site. Luckily or unluckily, I knew a route to use from a previous “business” trip to Miami. That one had been short and entirely without incident.

“So what do you do, when you’re not babysitting,” I asked my companion.

She sat back and smiled, stirring her strawberry shake. “Oh, I have a little security company. I do a lot of background checks for businesses, that kind of thing.”

I nodded. I booked the portion of the trip to Los Angeles, then the LAX—MIA part. I shook my head at the schedule. Oh well.

“How long have you worked for our friend Mister Hammond?” I asked.

She glanced up for a moment, then said, “I don’t really know. A few years at least.”

I had to chuckle, understanding my friend David a little better. I glanced back at the screen. Screw the cost—I booked it, even with a three hour layover in Los Angeles. I remembered what one of my students told me—that would be three hours I didn’t have to spend in Purgatory, at least if I still considered myself Catholic.

“What kind of work?” I asked, still prying.

She sighed. “Oh, tails and background checks, escorting people, pickup and delivery, but mostly North-South. I speak fluent Spanish and Portuguese, so I visited South America quite frequently for a while, only occasionally the last year or so.”

I leaned over and turned on my printer, then clicked on the screen to print my flight confirmation information.

“Anything this nasty?” I asked softly.

She sighed and shook her head, taking a sip of her shake. “There were some wild goings on in Brazil, but we were always above the fray....”

We both sat in silence for a while, finishing our meals. I rummaged my desk for packets of ketchup and salt, passing a few to Janice and saving a few for myself.

“Who is she? She’s very pretty,” Janice asked, pointing to the picture of Barbara and me from Washington D.C.

“You don’t know?” I asked.

She shook her head, sucking up the last of her shake.

“Really?” I asked, somewhat incredulous. She’d gone through my thesis, yet didn’t know what had transpired on my first assignment?

“I don’t know,” she told me, wiping her hands with a napkin. “Should I? Why?”

“Surprised, that’s all. You seem to know so many other things about me....”

She smiled again, gathering her debris and stuffing it back into the bag. “Some things, yes, but not everything. Roger, you look so happy in that picture.”

I glanced over at it. Yes, we both looked happy in that photo. Yet we were on stage, and she knew it. She knew we were being watched, photographed, and I’d been oblivious—happy, well-laid, but oblivious.

I sighed and started to shut down the computer. On second thought, I started a cleanup script that would flush temporary files, optimize the disk, and then shut down. I collected my trash.

“Let’s go—we can dump this in the can at the front door, otherwise the office will be pretty ripe in the morning.”

“Yes, Sensei,” she said as she stood up.

We picked up my car at the dojo, then drove to my place. My mind was racing with all the things I needed to do before I got on that plane at six tomorrow night. I tried to rein in those thoughts—I’d get through it, and there wasn’t a whole lot I could do now, other than get some rest.

I pulled out the couch, making it up as a bed. That didn’t even get a sideways glance from Janice.

But as I was getting the pillows from the closet... “Tell me, were you ever scared before a job, a trip?”

She sighed. I dropped the pillows on the bed and sat in the chair, the same chair Christie had been in when that phone call had arrived....

She looked at me intently. “Before a job? Not scared so much as apprehensive.”

I nodded. There was a difference. Which was I feeling?

“The first trip to South America—knowing German would have helped—I was apprehensive at the start, and genuinely scared a few times while I was there. As you’ve said, you plan as best you can beforehand...”

I nodded. “Then life happens, and you change the plan. Sleep well—I’ll probably be up early.”

She smiled. “You have an eight thirty appointment, remember?”

I nodded. “Yes, I remember—it’s going to be a busy day tomorrow.”

We hugged briefly. She headed to the half-bath, and I headed to my bathroom to clean up.

In bed, on my back, my head was buzzing. Life certainly had happened to me today. I could see Christie’s point of view—she’d been manipulated as well, and needed to figure out what the hell was going on. Had I been screwed with so much I couldn’t even realize it? Was I still deluding myself? No—I could still remember the first time I saw her, and the attraction I’d felt. Yes, she’d done everything she could to make herself attractive to me, but so what?

So what, indeed—I glanced over at the clock to make sure it was set for six. I settled back, focusing on the breath again. Somewhere in the distance I heard a soft feminine voice telling me to relax and let go. Tears formed as I remembered her telling me she wouldn’t hurt me. Somehow I fell asleep.

I woke up in the darkness and glanced at the clock—five forty. With a sigh I sat up on the edge of the bed. I moved my shoulders and then my upper torso—not too bad, sore still. Funny how the right side hurts more than the left—the right side where my dad hit me, the left where I’d been whacked in Chicago...

I picked up my fancy cell phone and turned it on. I’d thought about how to place this call, and determined that short of driving to a phone booth, it probably didn’t matter as far as anonymity was concerned. If someone was tracking my calls, fine. I dialed the number.

After a few rings, a synthesized voice said, “One moment please...” and after a bit I got Barbara’s voicemail. “Good morning, this is Roger Hawthorne calling. I’m proposing to meet...”

A click and her voice, “Roger! How good to hear from you! It must be the middle of the night still!”

“Good morning! Yes, it’s still dark here. Barbara, I’d like to take you up on your offer.”

“Oh Roger, that sounds wonderful. When do I meet you?”

I took a breath. “How about American flight 276, arriving in Miami at six eleven tomorrow morning. I repeat, morning.”

I heard her delicious laughter. “Roger, I’ll be there. How long do you have?”

Now I was sticking my neck out. “I’m taking off two weeks, so as much of that as you’d like.”

“That’s grand! Roger, I’m really looking forward to this, even if it will inconvenience some others; I think the inconvenience will do them good, actually, a reminder.”

I chuckled; we discussed what I needed to bring, and didn’t need. I didn’t need that much. I didn’t know where we’d be going from Miami, other than I’d need my passport.

As our conversation wound down, something in the back of my mind was bothering me. “Barbara,” I asked in a serious tone, “I have one request.”

“Roger, of course—what’s the matter?”

“Barbara, with all that’s happened to me recently, I’m scared. Please promise me that you will meet me, personally, at baggage claim in Miami.”

“Roger, I think I understand. Yes, I’ll meet you personally. I promise. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Barbara. I hope I’m... I look forward to seeing you as well. Enjoy your day.”

She chuckled again. “Oh I will—some others might not, but that’s their problem!”

We said our good-byes and I folded up the phone, leaving it on. Ten to six—in twenty-four hours I’d be landing in Miami, God willin’ and the creek don’t rise. Am I doing the right thing? Should I have my head examined? Shit, what had I gone through the last few days, if it wasn’t having my head examined, from the inside out.

I reset the alarm for seven twenty and crashed back in bed.

The alarm went off and I silenced it. I decided I’d better turn it off so it wouldn’t go off tomorrow morning.... When I got out of the shower, I could smell hot coffee. I got dressed in sweats, putting school clothes in my bag—I’d be showering again after my massage.

“Sleep well?” I asked Janice.

She was leaning against the counter sipping coffee. “It’s a lot quieter here than at my place. Pour you a cup?”

“No thanks—no coffee until after my massage.” I poured myself a glass of orange juice. As I put the container back, I glanced over the contents of the refrigerator—what would go science-project on me during a two week absence?

I picked up the cordless phone and started leaving voicemail messages, starting at the top and working down to the head of my department—I was taking two weeks off to recuperate. After leaving the last one, making sure a colleague would be covering my classes, I put down the phone.

“I guess you’ve decided,” Janice said, giving me the eye.

“Like to give me a lift to the airport later?”

“Sure—what time?”

“My flight leaves at six tonight.”

She nodded. “I’ll be here at four. That way you can let me know what else you want taken care of while you’re gone.”

I smiled. That was an offer I hadn’t expected. “You can stay here if you want, on and off, or the whole time.”

She smiled. “I’ll do that, at least part of the time. We both need to get on the road...”

Almost eight—she was right. “My phone will be on other than the time I’m getting a massage,” I told her.

I showed her to the front door. She gave me a hug. “Roger, you look more relaxed already.”

I still wasn’t sure. On the way to my massage, I left a message for the attorney. I wanted to drop by and sign the agreement today at lunch time. Thanks to traffic, I had time to talk to Abiko. She only seemed a little surprised. She’d survive. Hell, I knew she’d do really well, and so would everyone else. I left a message for the yoga instructors that I’d be in the dojo from two to three thirty.

I got there, out of breath, at about two fifteen. Abiko’s car was there, as was Janice’s. They were both sitting in the office, both in the guest chairs.

“Well?” Janice asked as I plopped down in my chair.

I smiled. “Classes and students are covered, the bills are paid for the next month. Signed the settlement and faxed that off. Even managed to catch a bit of lunch. I’m going on vacation.”

“Where?” Abiko asked.

“Don’t know,” I told them. I’d also sealed Barbara’s picture in an envelope, and given it to the attorney for safe keeping until my return, along with other miscellaneous papers.

Abiko gave me a questioning look, and Janice laughed. “Good for you!”

“I hope,” I added, more seriously.

We discussed the dojo schedule, adding Patti and the yoga teachers, Bob and Donna, when they arrived. I put one of the attorney’s cards up on my bulletin board.

“Are you packed yet?” Janice asked about three twenty.

“Of course not!” I told her.

Abiko, bless her heart, turned stern-Sensei and told me to get out, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Yes, Sensei,” I told her. I bowed to her, then gave her a hug. I hugged Patti, Bob, and Donna as well.

Janice followed me back to the house. I got out two bags, one to check, and one carry-on. As I tossed things into them, she asked, “You really don’t know where you’re going?”

My smile faded a little. “I’m meeting a friend in Miami, and we’re taking off from there.”

“Roger, please be careful,” she said quietly.

I nodded. “I will be. I think.... If I’m not back in two weeks, give my friend David at Kroll a ring.”

She frowned. “I’ll call the Director first. He may have me keel-hauled as it is—I haven’t talked to him at all today.”

I moved to the bathroom to get grooming stuff. “I’ll give him a call this evening to clear your good name. Thank you for your concern—I appreciate it.”

I saw her standing there, leaning against the doorframe, shaking her head.

I walked to her, putting my hands on her shoulders. “Janice,” I told her, looking in her eyes, “I don’t blame you, or Christie, or myself. Thanks to you, and to Christie, and probably to many others, we came out the other side.” I gave her a hug.

Traffic to the airport wasn’t too bad. I got a surprisingly intense hug and kiss as I was dropped off. Checkin was hurry-up-and-wait, but a little less painful as I was a frequent traveler, and flying First Class, at least from Los Angeles to Miami. I had time to pick up a sandwich to eat on the plane.

I was cold walking down the jetway to board our bird. I had decided against a warm coat, going minimalist. Crucial things were in the carry-on, the rest of my one business outfit, some shorts and warm-weather shirts, toiletries. Other clothing and secondary toiletries were in the checked bag—if I never saw it again, I’d be inconvenienced, but not severely hampered.

What did I feel, as acceleration pushed me back into the seat on takeoff? Apprehension, yes. Fear? Yes, a little. I didn’t know what I was walking into. Should I have given someone Barbara’s phone numbers, her name? Hell, if they didn’t have my call records, or couldn’t get them.... Stop second-guessing—stay present.

My bag was checked through to Miami. I went through another security check, and boarding pass in hand, checked into the first class lounge to sit for two and a half hours. My stomach was complaining mildly about the onions and peppers on the sandwich. I started the long-flight routine; nothing but water from here out.

I looked at my phone as I moved it from my bag back to my coat pocket. I should give Hammond a courtesy call. I reached for my phone—wow, another twinge from my right side. I decided to use the house phones.

I dialed the toll-free number, checking in as number 151, and left a message for Hammond, that I was going on vacation for two weeks, I’d signed and faxed over the settlement document, and thanked him again for his concern. The operator wanted a phone number where I could be reached, so I gave her my cell phone number—what the hell, they had that already.

But I didn’t hear anything from him. I thought about calling Barbara prior to boarding the flight, but it was one in the morning on the East Coast. On the plane, I settled in, telling the crew I didn’t want to be disturbed. Once airborne, I covered myself with a blanket, reclined the seat, and put on the provided eyeshades. I thought about the flight home after my first deal, thinking of Barbara and letting the sound of the engines chase away demons.

But they chased me in my sleep—I was on that table again, strapped down, with Denise and that bastard coming at me. I could see the needle sticking out of the end of his cane, and his small teeth as he smiled grimly. I tried to get away, but was restrained, trying, trying...

“Doctor Hawthorne? Doctor Hawthorne?”

I got a hand free and pulled off the eyeshades. I was on a plane, reclined in my seat with a seatbelt and blanket over me. A stewardess was at my side, looking concerned.

“Sorry,” I said.

“That’s okay—we’ll be landing in about forty minutes if you want to clean up first,” she told me with a smile.

I nodded and popped the seatbelt as I straightened up the seat. Bending forward for my carryon, ribs on both sides were tender. I got my toothbrush and my rechargeable shaver and visited the head.

Apprehension, or fear? Sitting there, coming in for our landing in Miami, which was it? The first time I’d practiced with Kenai-Sensei, I’d been apprehensive. The second time, stepping on the mat with him, I’d been scared, after getting whacked but good the first time. But he was compassionate...

The people I’d been mixed up with recently were not compassionate, and I needed to keep that in mind. In a weird sense, compassion would have been to kill me outright. Was this a line of work in which I wanted to continue? Not a whole hell of a lot of upsides to it, especially if Christie is out of the picture.

I jerked in my seat as the pilot found the runway, punching us down on the tarmac. My hands were shaking, and my ribs hurt. My hands—that vision kept coming back—looking at my right hand.

It flashed into clarity as I flexed my right hand—hot, burning. I’d done something, and my stepfather held my right hand under hot running water, pushing me against the edge of the kitchen counter with his body and whacking me in the head with his other hand. I felt the edge of the sink against my chest, compressing my ribs...

Back out of it—I’m not that little kid anymore—from where the edge of the kitchen counter hit me, I must have been seven or eight. I rubbed my hands together, trying to tell that kid it was all right now—he couldn’t hurt us anymore. The pain faded.

“Thank you,” I said automatically, accepting my sports coat from the smiling stewardess.

As I walked up the ramp to the airport terminal, I shouldered my carryon bag, putting the strap on my left side as the least painful alternative.

Another flash walking into the terminal, remembering walking into the Denver terminal and seeing Christie for the first time...

Focus on the present—connect through my feet—sweep those feelings into the breath and exhale them, staying with the present.

I managed a chuckle; we’d pulled into a gate close to the exit to baggage claim, not to one at the far end of the terminal. Oh well, someone screwed up, I guess.

Four rules: don’t believe anything, pay attention to everything, don’t take things personally—what the hell was the fourth one? I didn’t remember. I did remember it was from a Cheri Huber book, one of the ones the yoga folks gave me to read. File this one under “don’t take things personally,” and pay attention to the present.

Exiting security my awareness picked up; I fell more into the groove. I paused at a newsstand, glancing over a rack of books and glancing around to see if I’d picked up a tail.

I did get a rush out of it—there’s one upside to working for Hammond. But I got the same from doing randori with students, never knowing what they’d try next.

I saw her as I walked into baggage claim. Barbara was standing there, wearing a short-sleeved top and a short skirt, her blonde hair pulled back, her smile sparkling and her bosom jiggling deliciously as she laughed with her companion.

Her companion was Oriental (Japanese?), about five four or so, three or so inches shorter than Barbara, thin, no tits, typical long dark hair, eyeglasses, pants and a long sleeved top. Her posture stank—bowed back, rounded shoulders, unlike...

My eyes caught him, standing about ten feet away, dressed casually, but with very attentive posture, balanced and poised to strike. I returned my gaze to Barbara, but observed him as best I could. At least one shark in the area, affiliation unknown. What did my posture say? I felt relaxed, open, balanced, yet attentive. The shark looked taut, ready to strike. Keep looking—where were the rest?

Barbara spotted me. We met halfway to the baggage carousel and hugged.

“It’s good to see you, Roger,” Barbara greeted me enthusiastically.

“It’s very nice to be seen,” I replied.

As we separated, I winced a little at the enthusiasm of her greeting. Behind her, I saw the shark move off, walking with intent.

Barbara introduced me to her associate, Mikio. I addressed her in Japanese, and was rewarded with a shy smile and a blush. As I shook her hand, I measured—she didn’t have the muscle tone I’d expect from a warrior, her posture was poor, and her hands—soft but the dryness of the skin on the back of her hand wasn’t matched by her arms, face or neck.

We chatted as we waited for the game of Luggage Roulette to begin. We’d be going to the private terminal for our flight to the Bahamas, and taking a smaller plane to our destination. Barbara asked how my flight had been. I told her not too bad, but my ribs still hurt. Mikio became all ears at that—she was medical? Dry skin on the hands from gloves and washing, that would fit. Barbara said we’d talk more when we got on the plane.

I won again—my bag arrived. Barb insisted on carrying one bag, so I gave her my carryon. I was relieved to have one hand free.

A car was waiting for us outside, and the driver was a shark. Taut, attentive—and untrained, from his posture—street smarts, mid-twenties Hispanic. The bags went in the trunk, we got in the back, with Mikio sitting in the middle. I put on my sunglasses and rolled the window down.

The drive to the private jet terminal was short and uneventful. We unloaded and headed into the terminal, and out the other door on to the tarmac once again. I didn’t bother to take off my sunglasses, we were inside such a short time. We walked to a waiting twin-engine jet. Hmmm, looked to be a bit smaller than Hammond’s...

A mid-thirties man dressed pilot-like, with seemingly regulation short haircut and neatly trimmed moustache, took my bags and closed the door behind us.

“If you’ll find seats and buckle up, we’ll be underway shortly,” he told us.

We could stand up in the middle of the cabin, which was very comfortable, divided by a bulkhead about ten feet back from the door. Barbara and I sat in seats next to each other, with Mikio sitting facing us. As we buckled up, I heard the engines spinning up.

As I was deciding whether or not to find the onboard loo, a different male voice greeted us. “Well folks, we’re currently number eight for takeoff, and are going to be sitting here for five minutes at least. I estimate ten minutes before we’re airborne.”

“Right,” I said, unsnapping my seatbelt. I hadn’t seen any signs of a loo so far, so I headed to the back of the plane. I found it by the bulkhead. One of the rules of travel is to pee when you can, as you don’t know when you’ll get your next chance. When I finished, I took a peek into the rear section of the plane.

A combination of optimism, hormones, and I don’t know what else had hoped for a boudoir, or at least a largish horizontal surface suitable for two. What I saw was a very compact medical office. “Doctor” Mikio?

I sat down and Barbara got up, leaning over to give me a quick kiss on the head, and brushing by me on her way. I got comfy in the seat.

“Are you tired?” Mikio asked.

I replied in Japanese, telling her I wasn’t sure what time it was—flying East always seems harder. With a smile, she agreed.

Barbara returned, and after buckling in, she held my hand. I felt a smile break out from deep inside me.

But after a minute or so, her smile turned to a more pensive look.

I nodded. “Yes?” I asked.

She glanced to Mikio, then back to me. “Roger, we’re concerned about your health. Mikio is a medical doctor. I’d like her to check you over.”

“As I surmised,” I told her. “As long as you tell me what you find, your suspicions, your conclusions, fine.”

I glanced to Doctor Mikio, who nodded. Barbara nodded as well.

“I’d appreciate another opinion, anyway,” I told them.

We’d started moving as we talked. As we turned onto a taxiway, I could see a number of commercial jets in front of us. The old story—if you’re not the lead dog, the scenery never changes.

“What do you know of my recent medical history?” I asked them.

After a moment, Mikio said, “I have been told that you were assaulted, and injured. That is all.”

I looked to Barbara, and asked, “And what else do you know?”

She nodded, and gave me a slight smile. “Roger, I don’t know anything else. We have not pried.”

“On this?” I asked.

After a pause and a sigh, Barbara took my hand. “Roger, will you trust me, for a few days?”

I sighed and squeezed her hand. I gave her the stern Sensei look. “I am neither a pawn nor a cat’s paw. If you and the organization you represent are interested in me.... Well, I expect more information. Until we reach that point, I’m on vacation.”

Barbara sighed and nodded, her smile returning a bit. “Roger, we have been watching you, with interest, since you were used as a decoy returning from Japan. We were very close to contacting you directly when you were contacted by another organization...”

“Hammond and company,” I added.

“Yes. We waited. And Roger, the way you handled that first assignment exceeded so many expectations—some of our people, and I imagine some of Mister Hammond’s, were very surprised that you succeeded through intellect, strategy, and planning, rather than relying on martial arts skills, as many predicted. And Roger, I was very, very pleased to meet you. You have exceeded my expectations as well.”

I nodded, smiling. “Thank you, but nonresponsive.”

That seemed to startle her. She sat in contemplation for a few moments before continuing. She didn’t let go of my hand. “Roger, we’ve watched, from a distance. The only thing we know of your last assignment is that it resulted in a major shakeup in Hammond’s organization. From what we can surmise, you helped expose traitors within his organization, at great risk to yourself. We know you were injured, with very conflicting reports on the nature and extent of your injuries. That’s all I know. If the organization I work for knows more, they haven’t shared it with me. And they know that I will not tolerate deception from them. I will not deceive you, Roger. I am very much looking forward to spending time with you. We want to check you over from one end to the other, Roger—I’ve stuck my neck out to bring you in—that’s the impression you’ve made on me. That’s first. Next is a well deserved vacation, for both of us. Near the end of that, if you’re interested, we can talk business. Is that better?”

“Yes, that helps. Barbara, I don’t know anymore. Have I been deceived? At times, I think so. Have I been the beneficiary of very selective briefings? Most certainly. Do I understand, from an intellectual standpoint at least, the reasons for such behavior? Yes. Do I like it? No. Do I have to put up with it going forward? Hell no.”

She didn’t smile, she beamed. She squeezed my hand energetically. “Roger, keep that attitude! I hope when we’re rested, you’ll be interested in discussing more. I keep telling people that you’re not going to go around grunting and breaking bricks with your head! As far as we know, the only time you’ve used your martial arts skills was in Paris, on a pair of muggers who made a very bad choice of victim. Other than that, you’ve used your skills to keep yourself out of confrontational situations. I want you for your brains!” She sat back, gave me a sultry smile, and added, “...among other things.”

“Aikido teaches you to be aware, and to avoid confrontation.” I sighed, glanced to Mikio, then back to Barbara. “I am interested in a second opinion.”

“We’re number two for takeoff, folks—please make sure you’re buckled in,” came the announcement from the front.

I sat back and closed my eyes for a bit. I felt Barbara raise my hand in hers and give it a soft kiss. I needed that. I squeezed her hand and returned the favor.

We turned to the right. “Away we go,” was the announcement from the cockpit. Acceleration pushed me back in the seat. Another flight, another trip. What was at the end of this one? Another flight, another trip, that’s what.

After a rapid climb, we started to level off. I looked to Doctor Mikio. “Would you like to discuss medical history?”

She nodded and reached for her bag, taking out a pad of paper and pen. “Yes, please.”

She was very thorough, starting with how I was feeling currently—tired, sore. Sore where? A little in the face, left ribs, right ribs—right side more than left. She was pleased I hadn’t had anything but water since about seven last night. Then it was into family history. Father died in Vietnam when I was quite young. No siblings. Mother died while I was in college, an auto accident. What was that phrase from the report? “Accidental death, not inconsistent with suicide.” The insurance company paid off, anyway.

I gave her as much detail as I had about the incidents in Chicago. I didn’t know what drugs had been used on me. While I didn’t know the name of the doctors who treated me outside Pittsburgh, or even the name of the facility, I had the name of the local Seattle doc.

She asked more about my right side—she didn’t understand why I had pain there, if the injury was to the left side. Perhaps something had been missed? I explained that my step-father had beat me as a child, once hitting me with a belt so hard that the metal buckle dug into my skin, leaving a scar. A therapist had suggested these painful memories were coming back, brought up by recent trauma. Mikio nodded, and Barbara put a hand on my shoulder.

Once the seat belt sign went off, we moved to the rear cabin. Well, Mikio and I did. I told Barbara she could watch if she wanted, but she declined.

Mikio handed me a sample cup.

“I’ll do what I can,” I told her, “I went just before we took off.”

I retired to the loo and managed to provide her a urine sample—all that water I’d been drinking has to go somewhere. When I returned, she’d gloved up, and had the exam table pulled out more into the center of the area. On her instructions, I stripped down to my shorts and got on the table.

I thought I’d had a thorough physical in Seattle! Besides a blood sample, she took swabs from my nose and throat, then after a multi-lead electrocardiogram, she went over me very thoroughly from one end to the other. I was particularly tender along the right side, especially as she pushed upwards under my ribs.

“What is this incision from?” she asked, touching a spot on my right side.

I raised my head and looked at the spot, about three quarters of an inch long, near the bottom of my ribs. “I don’t know—I don’t remember it,” I told her.

She nodded and had me sit up.

After a bit I recognized the next part of the exam—I’d gone through the same thing with a neurologist at school, helping with one of his studies, a systematic testing of neural function.

More tapping, prodding, and listening; she told me to stand up.

I stood and stretched, smiling. I thought it was over.

But she smiled, and I knew what was happening next...

“Bend over with your elbows on the table, please, and spread your legs...”

At least she had small hands—still, it was hard for me not to laugh, as uncomfortable as a finger up the arse is.

“Very few men laugh during this part of the examination, Doctor Hawthorne,” she told me.

“That makes me special, I guess...”

She managed a chuckle and told me to stand—we were done.

I turned to her. “No we’re not,” I told her.

To her questioning look, I added, “I want to know what you found, and your concerns.”

“Of course,” she said with a slight bow. “The three of us. You can get dressed. We will proceed when you are ready.”

I bowed to her and thanked her in Japanese. She returned my bow and stepped out.

When I returned to the main cabin, Mikio and Barbara were deep in conversation. Mikio saw me and sat back. As I moved to sit next to Barbara, she looked up at me. Her expression was one of concern and unease.

“Okay, what’s up?” I asked.

“I will get the preliminary blood test results,” Mikio said as she stood.

“Is there a problem?” I asked Barbara.

She frowned. “We’re not sure. There are things we don’t understand.”

Mikio returned with some printed pages. She put them on the table between us.

“Doctor Hawthorne,” she began.

“Please call me Roger,” I asked politely.

She smiled and nodded. “The preliminary blood tests are in general very good. Your overall physical condition is very good, with low blood pressure, low resting heart rate, and superb cholesterol levels. You are disease free, but have an elevated white count, and other signs of an infection. I am concerned about the incision on your right side. You do not remember it?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t. Tell me more.”

She frowned. “This is very unusual. It is only a few days old. It was made carefully, with a surgical instrument, and closed with a surgical glue not commonly available. There may be sutures below it. Tenderness in the area suggests infection. When we land, I want to do a complete body scan, for this area as well as for others.”

Barbara asked, “How can you not remember something like that? How long would it have taken?”

Mikio pondered for a moment. “Opening and closing, ten minutes.”

“And what in between?” I said, feeling myself turning red. I sat back. They didn’t have that piece of the puzzle.

Barbara gave me a quizzical look.

I smiled. “You’re supposed to ask me, ‘Roger, is there anything you don’t want to tell us?’ and watch me blush some more.”

Barbara sat back as well, and held my hand. “Roger, why don’t you tell us...”

I proceeded to tell them what I knew and what I surmised of the psychological journey I’d been on—drug and hypnosis assisted conditioning in Boulder, some of Christie’s conclusions, the attempts on our lives, breaking our conditioning and our attacker’s, the debriefing. I kept it short, blunt, and third person.

Mikio stayed focused. “So you were hypnotized for a time earlier in the week?”

“Yes,” I replied.

She frowned a little. “But I do not understand how this could have been done without you feeling it, or remembering it.”

I nodded. “They removed the shunt from my leg, and the urinary catheter, without the use of any drugs. I don’t remember either event, and as far as I know, didn’t feel any pain.”

Barbara nodded. “They are very, very powerful techniques.”

I looked at her. “I hope this doesn’t render me damaged goods.”

She managed a smile and shook her head. “Most definitely not, Roger. We have people who can help you, in a much more compassionate manner. If anything, you and Doctor Flynn have shown the limitations of those techniques.”

I nodded and held her hand.

“Roger, would you agree to stop at a clinic for more tests? They would only take a short time.”

I nodded again. “Under the circumstances, I welcome them. I want to understand what’s been done to me.”

She glanced to Mikio. “Call ahead and arrange it, please.”

Mikio nodded and got up, moving silently to the back of the plane.

Barbara and I looked at each other again, holding both hands.

“Oh Roger—I wanted to contact you earlier...”

I managed a smile. “It’s past—learn and move on. Where do we go from here?”

As if on cue, the plane nosed down a little; we were starting our descent.

“We land, go through brief formalities, then go to the clinic. After that, we get on a much smaller plane and head for a place where we can rest.”

I started to say something, but paused and sighed. “Barbara, I hope we do more than rest, but right now, I need to be held.”

She nodded and smiled.

“On the ground in fifteen minutes, folks,” came the voice from the cockpit. “Please clean up your loose ends, have a seat, and once the seatbelt light goes on, stay seated until we turn it off. We’ll all live longer that way.”

My stomach grumbled. “When do I get something to eat?”

Barbara smiled a little more. “Not until the tests are over, I’m afraid. But I assure you, we’ll eat well where we’re going.”

“I sure hope so. I was promised some good meals in Chicago that somehow never materialized.”

“If you want, when we return, we can go through Chicago and eat anywhere you like.”

I squeezed her hand. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Oh, it’s not necessary, but it might be nice. I enjoy dining with you.”

I laughed. “Did you know I was visited by a pair of FBI agents?”

She frowned a bit, but smiled. “No,”

I told her the story, of them returning my disk, the one seeing her picture and asking me about it, the other seeing it and choking up, both of them leaving soon afterwards. She smiled and laughed.

“Did you really say ‘Biblically’ to them?” she asked as Mikio rejoined us.

“Yes, that’s what I said, and it crossed their eyes. I still find it hard to believe how lucky I am.”

She chuckled and shook her head. I pulled her hand to my lips and kissed it.

“They will be waiting for us,” Mikio told us when we turned to her.

Return to Sender

We landed in Nassau, were waved through customs and immigration, and were met by two gents in a Mercedes sedan. They treated Barbara as a respected superior, and whisked us off to the clinic.

We drove to an older section of town, large old Colonial-style buildings. We slowed at one, enclosed by a high fence. The identification on the front was a well-polished plaque which said “647.” We turned left at the corner and pulled into a private drive. A gate opened for us, and we pulled into a covered entrance to the building. A young man opened the car doors for us.

“Our bags will be taken care of,” Barbara told me. She turned to the driver and said, “Thank you for a pleasant trip.” He smiled. “You’re quite welcome, Ma’am.”

We entered a Colonial-style building through a very solid door. The interior was cool and crisply lit. A young woman in a nurse’s uniform was standing by the reception desk.

“If you would follow me, please?” she said to us with a smile.

I heard the buzzing of a door latch. We went through another very solid door into a hallway.

“Doctor Hawthorne, I understand we’re starting with a body scan?”

“That’s what I’m told,” I replied.

We wound our way through corridors and down a flight of stairs. I couldn’t help but notice the construction—if I hadn’t been told it was a clinic, I’d have guessed we were in a fucking fortress.

A man and a woman met us in the anteroom for the scanner. They had the dark skin of natives, and wore short-sleeved medical garb.

The man extended a hand, and in a melodious voice greeted me, “Doctor Hawthorne, it’s a pleasure to meet you. If you would follow me, please sir.” Mikio stepped over to a console which had a pair of large liquid crystal displays and enough other controls to rival the jet we’d been on, and opened the folder she’d been carrying.

We went to a small side room. “Please place all your clothing in the closet, and put on this gown. Join me next door when you are ready, sir,” the man told me.

I didn’t even bother tying the damn thing in the back. There’s got to be a company somewhere in the business of making flimsy exam gowns. I stepped into the room with The Machine.

The man was standing there, next to a shapely woman also in medical garb. I looked at The Machine. A large humming cylindrical form, with a very small opening for the sample—me. Leading into the sample opening was a plastic sled of sorts, with straps to hold me still.

“How long is this going to take?” I asked. That opening looked really small.... I was feeling claustrophobic already.

The woman approached me. “Approximately forty to fifty minutes,” she told me with a smile.

My stomach lurched and my chest felt tight.

“Don’t worry, Doctor, if you’ll recline on the carrier, we’ll begin. Because of the time involved, the scan is performed under light sedation. We’ll put a mask over your face, and after a few breaths, you’ll rest quite peacefully. When you wake, it will be all over.”

I nodded and moved closer. “That sounds like it will work.”

They helped me to my back, then started with straps on my legs.

The woman moved into my field of view. “Doctor, I’ll give you these earplugs. When I ask, I’d like you to roll them in your fingers, compressing them, and then insert them into your ears. Do you understand?”

She handed me a pair of little yellow foam earplugs. “Yes, I’ve used these before.”

“Good. Then I’ll put the mask over your face. You don’t have to do anything special. Take a deep breath or two if you like. We’ll take very good care of you.”

“Thank you,” I told her. She nodded and I put the earplugs in. Guess the thing made noise while it worked.

I closed my eyes as she brought a pink plastic mask to my face. Was it hissing? Don’t know. I exhaled deeply, took a long, slow breath in, and let it go. I didn’t notice anything, so I did it again. On the third time, I noticed an aroma, and as I held my breath in, things started to buzz...

I woke covered by a sheet and with a mask over my face. I took a deep breath—my right side really hurt. I stretched carefully and opened my eyes. I was in a small room. Barbara was standing looking out the window. We were on the second floor. I felt along my right side—a bandage.

A hand moved across my vision, and I came very close to breaking the arm attached to it.

I looked over to the owner of the arm, a pretty female nurse. She looked quite surprised. I smiled and let go of her arm.

She looked at me cautiously. “I’ll remove the mask if you like.”

I nodded. She moved slowly and carefully, removing the mask.

I turned more to her. “I’m sorry. You startled me. Will you forgive me?”

She smiled and blushed a little. “Yes, of course. I understand. I’ll get Doctor.”

Barbara was at my side. We held hands. “I take it there’s a tale to tell?”

She nodded, grimly.

“How long am I going to be here?” I asked, looking at her even though I heard people come into the room.

“You can get dressed now if you like,” a man’s voice replied.

I looked over to see Mikio and the nurse standing next to an older gentleman, curly gray hair mixed in with the brown.

I looked to Barbara. “That sounds good to me.”

“We’ll meet you in the conference room when you’re ready, then,” the man said. Barbara and I watched them leave the room, closing the door behind them.

I flipped the sheet off and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I sat up carefully, but felt pretty good, aside from the pain along my right side. I had a bandage there, where the mystery incision had been. I understood all too well why I didn’t recall it.

“This really pisses me off,” I said to Barbara.

She nodded and gave me a hug.

We managed a few more hugs as she helped me dress. My pants and shirt had been pressed. Looking at my watch, about two hours had passed.

Leaving the room, our nurse was sitting in a chair outside the door. She stood quickly, saying, “Please follow me.”

We followed her to a small conference room. Mikio and the older man were there, looking at images on a large LCD.

“Ah, please come in. Doctor Hawthorne, why don’t you sit there, where you can see better. The rest of us have seen these already.”

I sat in the indicated seat. “Why don’t you give me some good news first. What didn’t you find?”

The man laughed at that. “Very well. Your circulatory system is remarkably clear—coronary arteries, carotid, cerebral, all the way through. Whatever you’re doing as far as diet and exercise, keep to it and you’ll outlive us all. With your many years of martial arts, you shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve sustained numerous small fractures in the ribs, some in the hands and arms. But I don’t understand how you break your little toes. Could you explain that to me?”

I smiled. “Yes, of course. Could I have some water please? We practice barefoot. Occasionally, the little toe gets caught on a loop of material sticking up from the mats covering the floor, or as we practice techniques called foot sweeps, we’ll catch the little toe in the pants leg of the person we’re practicing with. You learn early on to tape your toes, and that if you do break one, about the only thing you can do is tape it up.”

Our nurse placed a glass of ice water in front of me. It was delicious.

“That makes sense, thank you,” he told me.

“And about my recent injuries?” I asked.

He nodded. “Your cheekbone and ribs are healing nicely. That isn’t what concerned us.”

“Show me,” I said.

He tapped the keyboard and mouse in front of him. I saw an image of a chest, mine I’d guess, with something opaque inside the ribs on the right side.

“And what the hell is that?” I asked, pointing to the obvious.

“Indeed,” he said, clicking and bringing up an enlarged image. It was a string of components, nestled inside my rib cage, a wire extending up the top.

“Holy shit—a tracking device?”

“That’s what we believe, Roger,” Barbara said. “Would you like to see it?”

I nodded, frowning. A tray appeared with a rectangular metal dish in it. Inside the dish was the thing, two small cylindrical lumps and a larger cylindrical lump, all along a wire. The whole thing was only about three inches long, three eights of an inch in diameter, maybe half at the largest, along a wire that looked to be twenty two gauge or so.

Mikio said, “Someone was not careful; it started to abscess. We cleaned the area thoroughly. You will need to take antibiotics for ten days, and we would like to check you again to be sure the infection has cleared up.”

I shook my head, looking at the thing. I looked to Barbara. “Guesses as to range?”

She shrugged. “It’s being picked up later for study.”

I frowned again. “I sat in on a presentation where folks were using satellites to track Kodiak bears—I don’t think their transponders were much bigger.”

Barbara nodded.

I looked up at the ceiling, then back to Barbara.

“This facility is very well shielded. It will be transported in a shielded container,” she told me.

I looked to the screen again. “Well, this is just peachy. Thank you for getting rid of the thing. What next?”

The man looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Medically, continue antibiotics and check you again.”

Barbara asked, “Roger, what would you like to do?”

I looked at the screen. “I’d like to have a copy of that image. I might want to fax it to someone.”

The man nodded. “We’ve prepared a set of CD-ROMs of the images. You should keep them as part of your medical records.”

I looked to Barbara and finished my glass of water. “I’ll do that. If that’s it then, I’ll thank you very much and we can take our leave?”

Glances exchanged, heads nodded. Barbara and I were given the rundown on oral antibiotics. I’d already been injected with some. Our bags were already loaded into a car by the time we arrived at the carport.

I sighed as we headed to the airport. Another flight.

We had more traffic this time, though.

I looked to Barbara. “That thing was really inside me?”

She nodded grimly.

“No shit?”

She managed a slight smile. She held my hand. “Roger, I was standing behind Mikio when we first picked it up on the scan. I’m glad you couldn’t hear me. I was in the operating room when they pulled it out of your chest. I watched them rinse it off. I watched them scope out the cavity, clean it, and stitch you up. We also have videotapes of both procedures—I think copies are in the bag with the CDs—you can watch it and see.”

“But why?” I asked. “Why would Hammond want to do that?”

“Are you sure it was Hammond?”

That stumped me. “But Janice put a tracker on me for Chicago—a fake medic-alert thing.”

“Yes, and that one was small and temporary. Without the infection, spiked white cell count, tenderness in the area, we would not have subjected you to the scan. We would have agreed with you that any pain was psychosomatic in origin, memories of past trauma.”

“So I was being set up for something down the line? Why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I do know that you’re very resourceful, and you keep surprising people. Someone might just be hedging a bet that you’ll pop up again.”

“But not Hammond?”

With a sign and a frown she said, “It doesn’t feel like his organization—too invasive.”

“Then I can’t trust the doc, the shrink, or anyone I’ve seen, and I’m not sure about Hammond anymore either.”

She nodded.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked.

She understood my question. She took both my hands. “To a private island about an hour from here. It will be us, the caretakers, who are also gourmet cooks, and a nurse who is a physical therapist and gives superb massages.”

We sat in silence, now a few blocks from the airport.

“Or we can go back to Miami, or anyplace else you’d like to go. It’s your decision.”

“There’s a wonderful little ski resort outside of Geneva, called Arosa. Still a lot of locals, not a lot of outside tourism. The Hotel Arosa has a lobby with a great fireplace.”

She smiled. “What are the rooms like?”

I shook my head. “Maybe next week. Let’s go to your island.”