SUBMISSIVE TRADE

by Nosbert

* * *

CHAPTER TWO - Hendry’s Revisited

Bruce and Jenny stayed with us for another two days, then they were on the move again, this time to tour Wales.

Jenny in particular was very keen on visiting a village in Wales that went by the name; ‘Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch’. If I have any doubters, then I assure you, this place really does exist. Look it up in the Guinness Book of Records if you don’t believe me. It translates as ‘St. Mary’s Church in a hollow by the white hazel close to the rapid whirlpool by the red cave of St. Tysilio’. There is a railway station there which has the name on a board outside. Jenny wanted to have her photograph taken alongside so that she could show her parents on her return to Sydney.

So, on the morning of Bruce and Jenny’s departure we said our final farewells at my garden gate. We were all very sad to see our Australian friends leave; we’d spent a brilliant few days together. However, this was not to be the last we would see of them. It was agreed that they would return to Lower Clunley in just a few day’s time. My cottage is very close to the Welsh border and Wales isn’t that big, so when Bruce got the maps out he reckoned he could do the lot in five days.

“Piece of cake Sport,” he told me. “Five days… no problem.”

I didn’t want to disagree and kept quiet about the mountainous roads and steep hill climbs they would have to negotiate in what was becoming a very clapped out and smoking old campervan.

Anyway, after many hours of discussion, route plotting and tracing lines all over what were incidentally my maps; it was agreed that they would return to my cottage and spend another couple of days with us before heading off for Scotland and the final part of their European experience.

So early one morning, Anthea, Sandy and myself waved goodbye from the bottom of my garden.

No sooner had the campervan disappeared from sight down the old cart track, when Anthea turned to me and said: “Well Woody, we’ve got a few days to spare before Bruce and Jenny come back… how about making that trip to Hendry’s you promised me?”

With all the activity taking place over the past three days - it had been one big long BDSM party, believe me! - I’d almost forgotten my promise to take Anthea back her old London BDSM club.

Anyway, knowing what eruptions it would cause if I backed down, I stuck to my word, we went to Hendry’s, and this is what happened:-

* * *

Stood by my garden gate, I considered the timing. I’ve not mentioned days of the week before now, but this happened to be a Friday, and still very early in the morning. I also considered the state of my genitals. My balls were drained and badly in need of a long rest. It came to mind that Saturday nights at Hendry’s was Revue Night, with outside guest appearances such as ‘Davina and Devotion’ putting on a bit of a show for the members. I decided this might just be the compromise I was looking for. Anthea would get her wish and return to the club, and I would not be called upon to visit the dungeon and perform more of those energy sapping BDSM games with her. Instead we would simply sit down together, have a few quiet drinks and enjoy the show.

There was also something else to consider. Sandy had never visited the club and her initial reactions when discussed had been one of little interest. She had said openly that she did not particularly want to go to London. On the other hand she had been promising for a few weeks to return to Birmingham for a weekend in order to visit her ageing mother and check that she was still fit and well.

After churning all these facts over in my mind, and, on realising that everything somehow seemed to fit so nicely together, I formulated a plan. It went something like this: We would pack our bags and set out almost immediately; I would drive to Birmingham taking the two girls with me; I would leave Sandy and my car outside her flat; then Anthea and I would get a taxi to New Street railway station; catch an Intercity train to London; book into a hotel for a couple of nights; visit Hendry’s on the Saturday evening; then finally return on the Sunday afternoon to pick up Sandy and thereafter head back to Lower Clunley.

As we walked back up my garden path I put this plan to the girls, and to my surprise, and without any argument whatsoever, they both agreed that it was a good idea. I put this down to a first, and hoped there would be many more instances like this in the future.

* * *

‘Plan A’ went without a hitch, and that evening saw Anthea and myself booked into a London hotel. I won’t bother you with any intimate details of what happened that night, except to tell you that we had sex together and bondage was very much on the menu. I would also like you to bear in mind that it takes at least three multiple orgasms per session to satisfy Anthea. So once more, on that Friday night I slept soundly after having been sucked dry of all my bodily fluids.

On the Saturday morning we got up late and were probably the last to have breakfast in the hotel dining room. I think I just had aspirins and a piece of toast, and lots of black coffee.

After that I took Anthea shopping at Harrods, which incidentally cost me a fortune, but we did buy something for Sandy too. The afternoon saw a little bit of sightseeing, mainly for my benefit, not Anthea’s. She knew London like the back of her hand. As the day drew to a close we found a little restaurant somewhere near Piccadilly Circus and had a meal. Then by seven o’clock we were back in our hotel room and getting ready to go out.

I put on my best navy blue pin-striped suit, complete with a fresh clean handkerchief sticking out of my top pocket. I wore a shirt with stiffened collar and tie, and adorned myself with expensive gold rings, diamond cufflinks and a matching diamond studded tie-pin. These by the way were the items I bought for my introduction to Hendry’s. I kept the receipts, got my money back and also got to keeping the jewellery, so I couldn’t complain on that front. Anyway, after all that, I reckon I looked smart enough to venture into what I remembered to be a very desirable and most exclusive gentlemen’s club. I also recall looking at myself in the mirror and thinking what a smart and handsome young man it was staring back at me.

Anthea, being the vainglorious creature I knew her to be, was probably thinking the same things about herself. After long and careful consideration, she decided on one of those tops with elastic around the neck that you could draw down over the shoulders and expose the whole of the upper body above the nipple line. She also opted for a black leather mini-skirt with zip up the side, black fishnet stockings, and ultra high-heeled boots that came up above the knees.

Not thinking, and knotting my tie at the time, I remarked: “You look like a tart dressed like that.”

Immediately I realised what I’d said and instinctively stepped back expecting a backlash, but to my surprise she beamed from ear to ear and said: “Why thank you Woody!”

I simply shook my head slowly from side to side, finished knotting my tie, then called a taxi. Anthea can be most baffling at times. Anyway, as eight o’clock arrived we were in the taxi and heading westwards out of London on the A40 to Hendry’s club.

The first thing that surprised me was the number of cars. Whilst a member I’d seen no more than a dozen cars at the most parked outside the club. This time the car park was full to overflowing, and so were the streets outside. In a way I was glad we’d arrived by taxi, otherwise I don’t think we would have been able to park.

We were met at the door by a big fellow, and I mean big. I think the doorsteps were cracking under his weight. He wasn’t Hendry’s Neanderthal Man, or for that matter anyone I’d seen before. But he could have been a close relation to a gorilla. I think it was the way his knuckles were dragging on the floor that made me think this was so.

Suddenly I was nervous. If you ever laid eyes on him I think you’d understand just how I scared I felt as I scaled the last few steps to meet him. With Anthea clinging to my arm I approached in trepidation. I had no pass or membership card, but I had my excuse ready. I just hoped it would be good enough. I was going to explain that I was once a member of the club when Hendry was in charge, and that we were back in London on a sight seeing tour and thought a return visit to Hendry’s would just about round the holiday off.

I reached the top step and went to open my mouth when I felt a tug of my arm and Anthea dragging me on through the door. The man smiled as we passed - no, positively grinned at Anthea is a better description - touched the stubble of his shaven head and let us walk straight past.

“Who’s that?” I asked as soon as I was out of harms way.

Anthea looked at me as if I was stupid.

“Why that’s Hulk!.. He’s always been on the door,” she told me.

I shook my head. Hulk described him perfectly, and the words; ‘you won’t like me when I angry,’ sprung immediately to mind.

“Well, he wasn’t on the door when I was here last,” I said and probably sounding a bit relieved.

Anthea thought for a moment.

“He must have been in jail then…,” she said thoughtfully.

I didn’t query it any further; just glad he was on our side.

Anyway, with my nerves still on edge, we moved on down the long corridor. As we neared the door to the bar I could hear music playing. I found out later that the show started at eight o’clock. We had missed the first half hour.

The room was packed and there were no seats left, so we pushed our way to the bar. As we squeezed past, all the faces looked unfamiliar. I don’t think I recognised anyone, and what was more amazing, I don’t think Anthea did either.

There were just two people serving behind the bar and they were rushed off their feet. I was looking for Fernando, the old barman that I once knew, but he was not one of them, which was not surprising since the two behind the bar were both gorgeous looking girls.

I had to wait my turn before getting served, so I passed the time playing at detectives: It’s an old habit of mine. For starters I found out the names of the two girls. They were Sadie and Claudette, and the reason I knew this was because they both wore badges with their names on. I also observed that the old security monitors behind the bar were still in operation. I could see the flashing movements from the black and white screens reflecting light off Claudette’s cleavage as she leant forward pulling pints.

When my turn came I was served by Claudette. She was doing my half of the bar. She was tall, with long straight blond hair, probably in her mid-twenties and spoke with a French accent. But to be quite honest I didn’t spend too much time observing her good looks or considering her nationality. My thoughts and eyes were totally focused on two rather plump round objects wobbling tantalisingly before me. Claudette was wearing one of those low-cut blouses similar to Anthea’s that got pulled down around the shoulders, and I must say I couldn’t help but notice what a wonderful pair of knockers she had. They were something I could really get my hands around.

Anyway, Anthea ordered her normal dry martini with lots of lemon slices, and I had a double whisky on the rocks. The prices seemed to be the only thing that hadn’t altered. Reluctantly I handed over a twenty pound note and received a few coppers change. I put them in the lifeboat charity box.

I was still drooling over the sight of Claudette’s tits when I heard a cheer go up. Immediately I turned to see what was going on. Over the tops of several rows of heads I focused on the stage away in one corner of the room. There was a man and a girl going through a routine, and I must say, much to the delight of the crowd.

The man was wearing one of those droopy Mexican style moustaches; was dressed in a khaki uniform, complete with a peaked cap, medals on his chest and stars on his lapels: And the girl, well by the time I got to seeing her she was wearing very little. In fact, I’ll go as far as to say, she had a studded black leather collar about her neck, and that was about the sum total of it all. There was however evidence that she had once had the pleasure of wearing clothes. A sweater and skirt, along with various items of underwear were scattered about on the stage floor.

Anyway, accompanied by some very sombre background music, and which incidentally did not seem to bear any relationship to what was going on, the girl was being forcefully interrogated.

I’m not sure what the man was meant to represent exactly, but an officer from some Banana Republic would best describe the role I think he was playing in all this. The trouble was, there was no dialogue, just ham acting. It was like something out of a silent movie. No, I’ll go even further than that; it was worse than something out of a silent movie.

However, despite the bum acting, the girl’s good looks made up for it. At a guess I’d say she was somewhere in her mid-twenties and rather attractive with it. She had shoulder-length black wavy hair, darkish skin with something of a North African look about her, possibly Arabic in origin, and had tits the shape and size of melons. They were big, well rounded and topped by darkened nipples with aureoles the size of tennis balls. I think there was just a touch of silicon in there somewhere, but I could be wrong; remember I was standing a fair distance away.

The girl was under interrogation by the officer. At least I think that was the storyline. She had her wrists strapped to a spreader-bar above her head. A cable went up from the centre of the bar way up into the lighting above the stage. She also had a spreader-bar attached to her feet so she stood there with legs apart.

Alongside the girl the officer was activating an electric shock machine. I can best describe it as a large wooden box on legs, and it wasn’t very elaborate at that. All it consisted of was a button and a big red light on top. From the box led two wires, and attached to the ends were two crocodile clips. They were a bit like car jumper leads with a red wire and a black wire, though the cables were not so thick and the clips a little smaller. Those leads as you have probably guessed were attached to the girl’s nipples.

Now I reckon, if there was anything going to hurt, it would be those crocodile clips pinching into the tender skin, but she seemed to be taking it all in her stride. I came to the conclusion that this was a true professional at work.

Anyway, before I start drooling at the thought of those big tits again, let me tell you that the officer, egged on by the crowd, was threatening to do nasty and most despicable things to his hapless prisoner. He was stood there next to her and playing to the audience with one finger hovering above the button. Then, as the crowd waited with baited breath, he stabbed down. Immediately the red light came on and, much to the delight of everyone in the room, the girl went into spasms. Her arms and legs quivered and shook, and her body swayed to-and-fro on the end of the long cable.

Now, before you get too excited, I must let you into a little secret here. This was not a real shock machine. In fact, apart from a battery to light up the bulb, there was nothing else inside that box. I actually found this out later, but you could tell anyway by the way the girl was watching for the red light to come on before going into convulsions. There was that slight time delay; and afterwards, when the light went off, the shaking of the head, and the ‘I’m never going to tell you’ routine immediately started up again. I think if there had been any real voltage passing down those wires then she would have collapsed immediately the current was released. But that aside, it was good entertainment, and the crowd just loved every minute of it.

Finally came the ‘piece de resistance’.

After milking the shock machine routine for all it was worth - he must have stabbed the button down a dozen times whilst I watched - the man, I assume because he was such a high ranking officer, produced a baton from somewhere. I couldn’t see from where exactly, there were too many heads in the way. But perhaps it was from inside the box along with the battery! However, having produced it, he decided to put it to some dastardly use.

The baton was short and had a big brass knob on one end. The object of the exercise it seems was to threaten her into thinking that the big brass end would fit nicely inside of her: And I don’t mean her mouth! This, as you will appreciate, really got the audience going. Every time the baton got anywhere near its target, they cheered and egged him on.

Eventually, and much to everyone’s amusement I can tell you, the big brass end slowly began to disappear from view. Immediately the crowd erupted. Amidst all the cheers and arm waving I stood up on tiptoes to gain a better view. Well wouldn’t you?

I must admit I’d not seen anything like this before, and was more than a little taken aback. It looked on the face of it an impossible task, but honestly, and you’ve just got to believe me here, the big brass knob completely disappeared, and so did half the baton. The monster phallic had been sucked in and devoured with ease, and, what was more, afterwards, the officer took to pumping it up and down inside of her.

For a while I clapped and cheered along with the rest of the crowd. I felt pleased for the girl and turned to Anthea to say as much.

And that was when it happened! To my surprise, Anthea was missing; just disappeared; gone from my side.

I looked around. Only a few minutes before she was there, stood beside me and sucking on a slice of lemon, and now suddenly she was gone. I stood on tiptoe and stretched my neck, but with such a large crowd gathered around the bar it was impossible to see much at all.

My immediate thoughts were that she’d gone to the loo, so I looked to the door. But I still felt this was unlike her: Sandy yes; you couldn’t take her anywhere without wanting a wee; but Anthea? No! Definitely not!

The most obvious place to look was towards the door we’d just entered. I knew there to be toilets out in the corridor. So I turned my head in that direction. From where I was stood next to the bar I could just about see the door above a mass of bobbing heads. It was closed and did not look like it had opened or was going to open, so I turned the other way, and I’m glad I did. I was just in time to see someone I recognised disappearing through the doorway over on the other side of the room. It wasn’t Anthea, it was Fernando. He was all dressed up in a smart suit and dickie bow, and looking like management.

Perhaps a little about Fernando is needed here before I continue with the story.

His full name is Fernando Garcia and I first came in contact with him when I was introduced to Hendry’s. He was the barman here and seemed to be very much in charge of the everyday running of the business. I’d describe him as tall, lean built and handsome, and with a complexion darkened by a childhood spent living in a hot Mediterranean climate. Fernando is very much Spanish by birth, but can speak excellent English. At times even the accent is not noticeable. I must say I liked him and his attitude right from the start, and we got on well together with our little chats across the bar.

Anyway, after spotting Fernando passing through the door, I must admit I hung around for another five minutes or so before doing anything about it. I waited for the curtains to fall and the lights to come up before stretching my neck again. But even with all the lights on, there were still no signs of Anthea.

I saw the door Fernando had used open and close twice. On the first occasion the Interrogating Officer passed through, then about a minute later the girl with the big tits followed. She remained naked, her tits bouncing up and down, and was carrying her clothes in her arms. I think I also caught sight of the baton in amongst that lot.

Once out of sight and the door closed behind her, I continued my search for Anthea. At this point I must admit I was really starting to get concerned, and eventually came to the conclusion that I ought to do something about it. Instead of hanging around the bar I decided to go in search of her, and Fernando seemed the most likeliest bet. Put it down to the detective in me if you like, but to be truthful it was the only plan I had; and seeing Fernando was the only face I recognised amongst probably two-hundred people, I decided it was in my best interest to speak to him first before deciding to panic.

I jostled my way back through the crowd to the door we’d come through on our arrival. I’d thought I’d best check out the ‘loo’ theory first. I waited outside the ‘Ladies’ for a while, then asked a girl that was leaving if there was anyone else inside.

She looked at me rather strangely and shook her head.

“No, it’s empty,… you can go in now!” she said, then scuttled off back to the bar.

I wanted to explain that there was a bit of misunderstanding here, but she broke into a run.

Seeing I was getting nowhere, I moved on down the corridor to main foyer. Through the glass panel doors I could see Hulk standing guard. He was looking away so did not see me. From here I climbed the long, wide spiralling staircase to the landing above. I figured if Fernando was anywhere to be found it would be in the main office that once belonged to Hendry.

In the corridor above I looked around, all was quiet so I knocked first then tried the door to the main office. The door was locked. I then moved on down the corridor, turned the corner of what was a ‘L’ shaped passageway, then descended a second flight of stairs.

This was the back way out, the tradesman entrance if you like, and I knew what to expect. At the bottom, running to the left and right, I would find a short corridor. At the far end to my right there would be an emergency exit that led out into the back garden. The ladies changing room would be almost opposite, and the door I’d seen Fernando using would be to the left. Also, just around the corner at the bottom of these stairs there would be another set of stairs going down to the men’s changing room and the dungeon below.

I guess everything was as I remembered it as I descended the last step, except for one thing; the door to the emergency exit was wide open and lying on the floor and propping it open was a body.

Quickly I rushed along the short corridor to investigate.

As I got there the body stirred so I knew he wasn’t dead. I also thought I recognised the injured person. I leaned forward and got a good look at the face. I was right, it was Fernando.

I propped him up against the open door and looked around. There were various items of women’s clothing scattered about on the gravel path outside. I knew where I’d seen them before.

“Fernando… Are you all right?” I asked and gently tapping at the side of his face.

I did not get an answer. He just groaned as he sat with his back to the open door. There was a river of blood running down the side of his face. He looked stunned and his eyes glazed, but slowly he began to come round. Eventually he recognised me.

“Woody!” he exclaimed.

I nodded.

“Yes it’s me,… Woody,” I confirmed.

I was expecting the next line to be: “What are you doing here?” because that’s what they always say in gangster movies. But instead he raised up a hand and felt the side of his head. He then looked to his fingers. Blood was everywhere. It was a nasty gash he’d received.

He raised up his hand again and felt his head.

“Ouch!” he winced as he touched a huge bump that was growing by the minute.

I handed him the clean handkerchief from my top pocket and put it to his head.

“Here hold this against it,” I told him, then raised him to his feet.

My plan was to take him up to his office and phone an ambulance.

“What have you been up to?” I asked as I hooked his arm over my shoulder.

Strangely I didn’t get a straight answer.

“Take me to the changing room… let me clean this up in there,” he said and pointing to the door just down the corridor.

For a moment I hesitated. Fernando was pointing towards the Ladies Changing Room. Under the rules of the house it was forbidden for men to enter this secret domain on pain of castration, or something like that. Then I had cause to look at my handkerchief and quickly changed my mind. It was turning bright red, so I decided regardless of any women’s presence, the changing room it would have to be.

With Fernando’s arm hooked over my shoulder, we shuffled our way down the corridor. Behind us the emergency exit door closed under the power of a slow moving spring. I came face to face with the door to the Ladies Changing room and hesitated. I was concerned for what I might see behind the door if I burst in uninvited? The trouble was I could hear female voices inside. Then I looked to my shoulder and my best suit. Blood was pouring all over me. I decided this was a real emergency and burst in through the door regardless.

“Quick, I must get him to a wash basin,” I yelled as I rushed in through the door, and at the same time averting my eyes from anything I might see that could turn embarrassing.

I needn’t have worried. There were no naked bodies inside. I was however a little surprised to find Anthea in the room. She was talking to another girl I recognised from a previous visit, but someone I’d not had the pleasure of actually meeting. I recalled her name was Suzette. I’d put her in her mid-twenties, perhaps a little older. She was reasonably good looking, had short blond hair, was of medium height yet physically well built. I’d say she did a lot of exercising at a gym when not involved in her more sordid night time occupation.

Think back to my previous adventure and the first time I met Bo. Well Bo had walked into the room accompanied by Suzette. There were two men in the room at the time, myself and a Mr. Smith. We were awaiting the arrival of the first two girls of the evening. When they did arrive, Suzette went with Mr. Smith and I ended up with Bo: And that, I think was the only time I ever set eyes upon Suzette, and I can’t recall ever seeing her again after that.

Anyway, Suzette turned out to be just fantastic, and she definitely had more wits about her than Anthea. She took one look at the gash in Fernando’s scalp, rolled up her sleeves and led him to a wash basin. From the unflustered and expert way she handled the situation I’d reckoned she’d had a bit of first aid training somewhere.

I did think it a little curious though. At no point did Suzette ask how did this happen? It would have been the first thing I’d have asked if I’d been confronted with the same situation.

Still trying to figure this out, I thought back to something that occurred just a few minutes ago. When outside the door I’d wondered why Fernando had insisted on going inside the Ladies Changing Room for treatment? Now I think I understood why. He must have known Suzette was inside and quite capable of handling the situation. At least that was my theory.

Anyway, on seeing that everything was well under control, I breathed a big sigh of relief and my mind returned to more practical everyday things. Basically I was still seething and I had a bone to pick with someone not very far away. As Suzette held Fernando’s head beneath the tap and began to run copious amounts of water through his hair, I turned to Anthea.

“Where the blazes did you get to?… I was worried stiff,” I told her angrily.

I guess it was a silly question to ask since I now knew where she’d gone. But I asked it anyway.

“Here… I came here,… to see the girls,” she told me as if I was stupid.

I was still annoyed. Well wouldn’t you be?

“Well you should have told me first,” I scolded. “I was looking for you all over the place.”

Anthea simply shrugged her shoulders. I guess she was still thinking me an idiot.

“You were too busy ogling at that girl’s tits,” she told me.

Steam was still coming out of my ears.

“Well tell me next time you intend to piss off somewhere,” I retorted.

Just then Suzette intervened.

“Stop squabbling you two and fetch me a towel,” she called.

I left it to Anthea. She knew where everything was. I simply stood by the door, folded my arms to project that ‘I’m still fuming’ look, and waited.

At one point I heard Suzette remark to Fernando: “You’ll need a couple of stitches in this.”

And I heard Fernando respond by saying: “Don’t worry… the bleeding’s almost stopped… I’ll be all right.”

Eventually Fernando lifted his head from the wash basin, and, clutching a towel to his head, looked about the changing room. Eventually his eyes focused on me stood by the door.

I asked the same question I’d put to him earlier.

“What have you been up to?” I enquired.

Fernando removed the towel from his head. Looked at the surface to confirm that the blood was almost stopped, then returned it gingerly to his head.

Once more I didn’t get an answer. Not because Fernando was refusing to say anything, but because the door behind me burst open and nearly knocked me over. I went down on my hands and knees.

As I righted myself and turned to the door I recognised the offender. It was the Interrogating Officer I’d seen up on stage about twenty minutes earlier. His looks had changed somewhat, but I had no doubts that this was the same person. His droopy Mexican moustache was no longer there - he was now clean shaven - and he was wearing different clothing - his khaki uniform had gone. He was now dressed in black casual trousers and a white shirt with an open collar; but all the same, I had no doubts that this was the same person.

The man was very much out of breath and in quite a panic. On entering I’d noticed that he held a small electronic device in his hand. It consisted of a small screen and a few buttons. I didn’t get much chance to see it after that. As soon as he saw strangers he quickly put it away in his pocket.

It was obvious that he wanted to say something urgently, but on seeing me and Anthea in the room he stopped dead in his tracks and tried to look casual.

He then spoke to Fernando in French.

I’m not that good at translating French, especially when it’s spoken fast, but it was something to the effect: “Is it all right to talk?”

Fernando nodded his head and answered him in fluent French.

If I hadn’t known that he was a Spaniard by birth I’d would have assumed him to be French. His accent was that perfect. This is what always amazes me about folks from the Continent. They don’t seem to have any bother at picking up another language, whilst we in Britain have trouble just managing our own.

Fernando then addressed us all in perfect English with no hint of a foreign accent, and basically repeating what he’d just said in French.

“I said it was all right for us to talk,” he told us.

As Fernando spoke I looked to the man who’d just burst in through the door. He appeared to take everything in his stride. My instinct told me he was a professional, and I don’t mean as a stage performer. I’d met several undercover cops during the course of my work and I could smell one a mile away. It was also noticeable that Suzette didn’t get a second glance. He obviously knew her, and as I previously mentioned, I’d already had my suspicions about her. So that added up to two professionals in the room; and then there was Fernando? I’d not considered him before. But I asked myself; could there even be a possible third Agent in the room? I must admit I was intrigued and wanted to find out more.

I listened to the man speak. He spoke in English, but unlike Fernando had a noticeable French accent.

“Where’s Fatima?” he asked hurriedly. “What’s happened to her? Where’s she gone?”

Fernando shook his head beneath the towel.

“Pierre… I’m sorry… they’ve taken her… they got away… I tried to stop them… but I got struck on the head,” he explained and sounding very apologetic.

The man gestured agony with his arms and shook his own head from side to side in grief. Now I knew he was a Frenchman. These were not the bodily signals of someone from these shores.

“I just knew it!… I was in the dressing room getting changed… and Hulk phoned me from the door… he said he saw someone bundling Fatima into a car… I just knew something like this might happen… We should have had someone watching the back of the house,” he told Fernando.

Now I must admit I’ve a habit of reading between the lines. Hulk was in this too, or at least knew something about what was going on, and at this point in time, whatever he knew, was a lot more than I did.

Anyway, as you can appreciate, at this point I was totally confused, so I decided it was my turn to say something.

I butted in and asked Fernando for a third time: “Excuse me!.. but can somebody tell me what’s this all about?”

Fernando looked to me, but did not answer directly. Instead he addressed everyone gathered there in the room, and spoke to us collectively.

“I think you’d all better come with me up to my office. I’ll explain everything when we get there,” he said.

* * *

End of Chapter Two