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Tales from a Far Country

By: freddie_clegg



INTRODUCTION 

In the world around us there are those that will prey on the weaker, the unprepared, the vulnerable. In pursuit of their own desires or seeking to profit from the desires of others there are always those whose acts are hard for us to understand.

Once more, it is October 2009. Angela is trying to balance her teaching responsibilities and research projects, spurred on by the Dean's ambitions for the academic standing of the University; Joe McEwan is planning his trip to Cambodia in a month's time; Jenny McEwan is trying to digest the results of her summer research and Freddie Clegg and Larry are still musing on potential advantages which Inward Bound might bring to their principal, clandestine business.

'And from far away, minds immeasurably more determined than our own, were looking down on a young woman and slowly and surely they drew their plans against her...'

(With apologies to H.G. Wells...)

WHAT'S WHAT 

Tales From a Far Country is the third episode in the story of the relationship between Jennifer McEwan, an adventurous academic who is studying BDSM games and adult play behaviour and her husband Joe, a civil engineer who is anxious about his wife's sexual interests and where they might lead. "Tales From A Far Country" is the sequel -- well actually a "simulquel" - to our last story, "Such Sweet Sorrow" and explains what happens to Jennifer after her mysterious disappearance.

If you are a new reader, this short resume will help you understand what is going on!

The tale began in our first story 'Thesis', when Professor Angela Dawney, Jennifer's Head of Department and her research supervisor persuaded Jenny to enroll in a consensual slave training programme organised by the adult experience and adventure company, Inward Bound. Angela claimed this would be an excellent psychological laboratory for Jennifer to persue her research but secretly, the Professor hoped to drive a wedge between Jennifer and her husband and win Jennifer's affections for herself.

Inward Bound has received investment from what purports to be an international transport business called Freddie Clegg Enterprises but is in fact the front organization for Clegg's highly illegal abduction and slavery operation. Freddie Clegg Enterprises also have hopes for Jennifer's research - to help them identify and recruit willing victims.

Angela, anxious to use Jenny's experiences for her own benefit at the earliest opportunity, almost sabotaged Jenny's participation at Inward Bound. The effect of this was to disturb the ever paranoid Clegg organisation which led to Jenny and Angela experiencing what they imagine to be a CIA inspired "rendition". This claimed to be an investigation into Internet Crime but was really an attempt to discover if they were were actually in the pay of Clegg's arch Russian competitor, Anatoly Kustensky who, by an innocent but most unfortunate coincidence, is an old friend of Professor Dawney.

In the end Jenny completed her course at Inward Bound and returned home, marked emotionally, physically and psychologically by her experiences. She realised that she cannot suppress her desires, and wished more than ever to share her lifestyle preferences with her husband.

The second part of the story - 'Such Sweet Sorrow" - takes place in the months which follow, when Angela has the opportunity to tell the tale of her 'rendition' and interrogation to her friend Anatoly Kustensky.

One bright day in London, as Jennifer makes her way to a medical library to pursue her research, she vanishes and despite an extensive and energetic police investigation and the efforts of Joe and her parents, no trace of her can be found.

What has happened to Jennifer? What trials and adventures have befallen her?

Now read on -- or start from the beginning by reading "Thesis" and "Such Sweet Sorrow"!

WHO'S WHO 

Jenny McEwan: a doctorate student at a University in the English Midlands, studying psychology with a research focus on adult play and the role of BDSM, who mysteriously disappeared in "Such Sweet Sorrow".

Joe McEwan: her husband, a man less than comfortable with his wife's sexual interests and where they have led her.

Professor Angela Dawney: Jenny's research supervisor and erstwhile lover.

Cathy Corbin: Jenny's best friend and college companion

Freddie and Larry: principals in the highly illegal slaving organization, Freddie Clegg Enterprises, part owners of Inward Bound "adult playground" where Jenny has been conducting her research. (To learn more of them read "Market Forces")

Anatoly Kustensky: arch eastern European competitor of the Clegg Organization who sees himself as the market leader in the field

Sveta Kustenskaya: Anatoly's wife and perhaps the 'power behind the throne'

Neena Kirova: trusted lieutenant of Anatoly and Sveta

Alana Kustenskaya: only child of Anatoly and Sveta

Also: many mysterious and dangerous members of the Kustensky Organisation

Chapter footnotes: Our readers tell us they like them but we have tried to keep these to a minimum and have included some to help readers follow the narrative more easily or to explain 'idioms' which might not be familiar to everyone.

TALES FROM A FAR COUNTRY: INTRODUCTION 

CHAPTER 1 THE HUNTER OF TVERSKAYA A CASE CONFERENCE 

Anatoly is a hunter, he enjoys the wild places, the pursuit of game; of birds and fish. But Anatoly has another, favourite prey. For him, the best quarry of all is homo sapiens urbis: the only species that provides what he considers a true match for his resourcefulness and cunning.

And because the sport does not end with a kill, there is the shock and dismay of capture to enjoy; the entertainment to be had from careful training and schooling until the prey accepts the life that Anatoly has chosen for it.

Tverskaya Ulitsa is one of Moscow's busiest streets. Throughout the day, the traffic pours down from the west into the city centre. It's full of people and that provides an excellent cover for Anatoly. He has an office and apartment just by the junction of Tverskaya and Bryusov Pereulok. Visitors, anonymous in the crowds, can slip in and out of his building and he can enjoy the peace and serenity of the garden square at the rear.

Anatoly looks at his watch. The fruits of his most recent hunting trip are "enjoying" his hospitality at his facility outside Moscow. They will be meeting their new owner just about now, realising that there's more to their abduction than kidnapping for ransom or some political game.

It had been an unusual commission. Three Slavic types, sallow skin, with some "presence", the request had said. To Anatoly, the candidates that his research team had found looked homely if he was being polite, but the client had approved. He'd spent a long time picking over the research papers and surveillance photos before making his choice. Anatoly had seen the girls just after they'd been picked up. The way that the ropes grooved into their flesh as they struggled held a strange fascination. Perhaps that was what he client liked. "We're going to need heavier gear if we make a habit of picking up targets like this, boss," the leader of the pick up team had said. Anatoly had smiled. They'd clear a good profit by keeping this client happy.

Being overweight is not as common in Russia as it is in some western countries. Anatoly had been worried that the targets were perhaps somewhat out of condition? Sure, it was what the client asked for, but what would others think? Still, if the client wanted girls with some "presence", that's what he should get. The customer is always right, so they say, but not necessarily exactly right. Perhaps the "presence" should be muscle, not fat? A shot-putter, not a couch potato. Such a transformation would take time, Anatoly thought, but it could be done and it was more in his style. After all, he had a reputation to keep up. The client would have to wait for his prizes.

Now that decision is made, Anatoly turns to another challenge. He has a more exacting project - a more rewarding project - to think about.

Today he meets his hunting party for the next outing. It's the preliminary meeting to discuss where they will find their prey; the chase; the capture and the transportation to Anatoly's estate outside the city. They review electronic surveillance of the subject: landline and mobile phone call transcripts, e-mail traffic and a swatch of recent photographs taken by one of Anatoly's advanced party, already on the ground. They consider the possible movements of their quarry and pay particular attention to some of the photographs. She has quite a striking appearance but they still want to be sure. There are pictures showing her alone, with others, serious, smiling and laughing, at work and shopping in town.

There is no substitute for being thorough. Anatoly's former career in the KGB has stood him in very good stead. He smiles when he thinks how in recent years, government agencies have been able to cooperate so much more effectively with businessmen in private enterprise. It has brought so many practical advantages. Anatoly cannot understand why some of the western governments try to place such rigid and impermeable walls between state organisations and business enterprises.

Still, he thinks, their loss is my advantage .... And he needs an advantage if he is going to get his next prey from Britain to Russia.

Transportation can often be a problem, especially if an item is coming from outside the Russian Federation. There are customs formalities; inspections, audit trails -- too many opportunities for unexpected problems to arise. The last commercial transaction with the Clegg Organisation had made the use of airfreight risky. That particular "export" involved the supposed repatriation of the last mortal remains of a young lady who was not quite as deceased as might normally be expected for the occupant of a casket. (1) There had been "problems" when she was found. Anatoly suspected that Clegg or someone in his organisation was responsible for warning the police that something was going on. It was too soon to try that again, at least from the United Kingdom.

On the other hand, what about a medical repatriation? Anatoly knows that the ill can travel under sedation if necessary, with a nurse to accompany them and perhaps the nurse might also be a guardian, even a minder? Perhaps that offers a solution? He calls a trusted colleague.

MEDICINE WITHOUT FRONTIERS 

"Artur!" Anatoly's greeting is spirited. He and the Doctor shared some interesting experiences in past years. Anatoly has respect for Hahn's thoroughness and reliability. Artur Hahn is an Orthopaedic Surgeon from Liepzig in Germany, actually the former communist East Germany. Hahn had pursued a dual career in medicine and in the Stasi. That was how their paths had first crossed. Now, thanks to new regulations which establish the free movement of labour and the mutual recognition of medical qualifications across all member states, Hahn can work anywhere he wishes in the European Community. At present he is in London, convenient for Anatoly's current problem.

"волк!" the Doctor exclaims. It's good to hear from the old wolf. "Are you hunting again, Anatoly?"

"You know me," he replies disarmingly, "how can I do otherwise? It's like they say, Ско́лько во́лка ни корми́, он всё в лес смо́трит."

Sure, thinks Hahn, 'However well you feed the wolf, he still looks at the woods.' -- that's Anatoly all over. "How can I help?"

"Suppose you had a patient who had an accident."

"Hypothetically?"

"Of course. And this hypothetical patient needed to return here to Mother Russia. How difficult would that be? How much -- scrutiny -- might you expect?"

"It depends," Artur replies, "on how ill the patient is and how they travel. If their return is being funded through their travel insurance, they will be accompanied by a doctor nominated by the insurers and the insurers will arrange all the flights. The doctor will visit the patient first and make an assessment of their fitness to travel. They much prefer if the patient is well enough to take a scheduled flight. If the patient is transferred by Air Ambulance, a doctor from the ambulance company will visit the patient in the UK to assess the situation and then contact the hospital the patient is being taken to. They may even visit the destination hospital first to discuss the management of the patient in the days before transfer. When transfer arrangements are confirmed, the air ambulance team will take charge of the patient at every stage of their journey from the UK hospital to the destination hospital in Russia." Artur can almost sense Anatoly's dissatisfaction with the answer. "I imagine this is not good news. Not quite what you were hoping for?"

"You are right, Artur. It is a very disappointing answer."

"Do not despair, old friend. You have set me an interesting problem. They have a saying in Britain -- 'Where there is a will, there is a way!' Leave this with me and I shall see what I can do. Things are not always as difficult as they may appear at first sight."

It is only a few days later when Dr Hahn contacts Anatoly once more with his thoughts on Anatoly's problem and some proposals to solve it. It seems that a hunting expedition is a practical possibility. Anatoly is pleased. Artur has shown once more how ingenuity and persistence can overcome obstacles.

A plan and a schedule are agreed. The hunting party will be resident one week before they act. They will remain in constant contact with Anatoly who will provide a four times daily update of the quarry's activities and projected movements, as gleaned from Anatoly's continuing, electronic monitoring and surveillance.

ACADEMIC LIMITS 

It's Friday. It's a regular day at the university. I bump into Cathy as I get into the college building. She shakes her head. "Oh dear, Jenny McEwan are you in trouble!"

She's not serious, I can tell by the way she's smiling at me.

"The Prof is looking for you. Said she was reviewing your project with you this morning."

Cathy's right. I am calling to see Professor Dawney but I'm not due in her office for another twenty minutes.

Dawney is my research supervisor. She likes to keep in touch with what's happening on the project. I like to make sure she doesn't get involved in it any more than is necessary.

There is a shared history between us and a tension that neither of us likes to acknowledge. I suppose Angela blames me and I blame her for the things which happened. Neither of us wants to let the other know our true feelings. In any case, my life has moved on. I am not interested in Angela any more. I'm not sure that the reverse is true.

"Well, Jenny, how are you getting along?" Professor Dawney exudes uncomplicated, professional, coolness. I suspect that she has other interests in the project but I'm happy if she wants to pretend that it is all just another, ordinary, piece of academic research.

"I'm quite pleased with progress." I reply, keeping my true feelings in check, submerging them under the minutiae of my project activities and the politeness of professionalism. "Data collection is complete and I have been able to send the data capture forms to Data Prep, to be coded, cleaned and entered into SPSS(2). Once that's done it won't be long before I have the descriptive statistics and we will then get some idea of what analytical work we can do ....."

"Jenny, that's excellent." Dawney seems perfectly happy to focus on the project: "I'm pleased. The project is really beginning to gather some momentum."

"I think so. It certainly looks like that." I am keen to take advantage of the Professor's apparent approval. "Er, next week Joe is going abroad: would it be OK with you if I had an away-day in London to see him off? Andy says he can cover my undergraduate tutorials and there are some references I would like to follow up at the Royal Society of Medicine. They have some hard copy journals that our library does not take. I think it will be quicker to take advantage of Joe's trip than arranging an inter-library loan or asking the RSM(3) to send photocopies."

"Jenny, of course. That would be just fine. Enjoy the trip -- let's get together again after the weekend and when you've got the first results back from the data."

Dawney seems happy to have the chance to grant me a favour. She likes to build up credits with her students.

I smile in acknowledgment: "Thanks. By the way, how was your Russian trip?"

"Oh, fine. Chance to meet some old friends. That seems so long ago now! I've had a lot on my mind for the past few months ..."

Prof looks a little wistful. It's very uncharacteristic but the moment doesn't last long. She's soon back to the one thing she talks about best: work. "Some interesting new research going on too. I'll let you see the proceedings if you like; some of the methods which were under discussion might be relevant when you come to analyse your data."

"Mmm," I say noncommittally. I'm not keen to give Angela more of an opportunity to involve herself in the detail of the project than necessary.

I leave Angela's office feeling happy. I am going to have the opportunity for a last day out with Joe. That will be a good way to send him off.

A DAY IN THE SADDLE 

It is Saturday. Anna Tereshkova arrives at London's Heathrow Airport using a passport in the name of Vyera Kuznetsova. She is visiting some friends near Windsor. She's looking forward to some riding. Her friends have stables near Englefield Green. They spend a fine Sunday afternoon galloping in Great Park; by the end of the day, she's hot. Her tee-shirt beneath her body protector is soaked in sweat, her hair beneath her riding cap, plastered down against her scalp. By the time she has the horse back in the stables it's not clear which smells more of horse, her or the stables.

As she emerges from the stable block a Mercedes people carrier pulls up. Doctor Hahn gets out. "Anna," he greets her.

"I think you should say 'Vyera', shouldn't you?" she responds teasingly.

"Of course. Has your accident caused you much pain?"

Anna / Vyera grins. "Not so far, but now you mention it, Doctor, I think I am beginning to suffer some considerable discomfort."

"Well, in that case. Perhaps we should take you to hospital -- they are expecting us. First, though, we have some work to do!"

In the kitchen, Anna strips off her jacket and shirt and begins to make ready. There are various preparations to be made: some are rather exotic and others require a considerable degree of technical precision. When she is ready, Hahn swabs her arm and her back to one side of her lumbar spine with alcohol. He takes blood from her arm and re-injects under the skin to the right of her spine, together with a little normal saline solution. When he has finished, Anna really is in some discomfort. He helps her into his vehicle, reclining the seat and strapping her in. Hahn regularly uses a private hospital close to Lords Cricket Ground. It's a significant distance from Windsor and Anna is now very glad when the journey is over.

"What did you say that patient's name was, Dr Hahn?" the Admissions Sister asks. (4)

"Kuznetsova," Hahn replies, "Vyera Kuznetsova. She has had a fall from a horse and I think she has bruised muscles in her back: there could also be damage to some of the transverse vertebral processes. Perhaps even a fracture. We should make her comfortable and keep her under observation tonight at least. I would like to do some tests to ensure that she can travel but of course her family would like her to return home as soon as is safe."


Tales from a Far Country Ch. 02



CHAPTER 2 : CHECK-IN AND DEPARTURES



PRE-FLIGHT CHECKS 

Joe and his colleagues review their plans and aims for the forthcoming meetings in Seoul and the field trip to Cambodia. They are laying out a memorandum of understanding which will confirm what exactly each firm and member of the team will be responsible for. 

The meeting goes smoothly, surprisingly smoothly. It goes smoothly enough for Joe to have time to text Jenny to see if she is OK, after their interrupted call. 

One of the team calls Joe out to the office vestibule, saying that their taxi to Heathrow is due. Joe checks his mobile. There is no reply from Jenny. Small talk flows as the team stand around in the lobby, each of them anxious to be on their way. Joe excuses himself and calls Jenny's mobile. There is no reply. He leaves a voice mail.

The taxi arrives. The engineers clamber aboard and begin their journey to Heathrow. It's late afternoon but traffic is flowing smoothly.

"You OK Joe?" Craig Evans, sitting alongside Joe, has noticed that he seems a bit abstracted. 

"Yes, sorry Craig, I've been trying to call Jenny but I can't get through."

"She came to see you off?"

"She did. I think she told her Boss that she had work to do down here, though!"

"Bright girl! She's going to go places!"

Joe laughs. Yes, Jenny will go places, he thinks, but it's the actual places that he still worries about. 

Neena has picked up the two members of the vehicle team and is threading her way carefully through the London traffic. The last thing she wants, is to trip a speed camera or jump a red light with her helpless passenger on board.

They reach a discrete garage, where Dr Hahn is waiting in a private ambulance. Neena drives in and the doors close. Once privacy has been established, Anna greets her with, "Hey Neena, all OK?"

Neena looks across at her and laughs out loud. "Yes, Anna I am very much OK and I am very glad to see how very thoroughly you have prepared for this mission!"

Neena's teasing remark is made because Anna has shaved her own head. She has done it to help the hospital staff remember her and it will connect the shaven headed girl from the private hospital with the shaven headed girl who leaves the UK as a medical evacuee, if any more searching enquiries are made, but will anyone realise that it is not the same girl? 

Now completely recovered from her "injury", Anna takes up her profession as a nurse once more and helps Heidi, Dr Hahn's practice nurse and the team to transfer Jenny into the "ambulance". They sedate her again just as the injured "Vyera Kuznetsova" should be to make her ready for her trip to Farnborough Airport.

Heidi Eisen has been with Dr Hahn for many years. She knows that sometimes unorthodox things have to be done and she also knows how they are accomplished. She bends tenderly over Jenny. "You have been taken ill," she says, "we are taking you to hospital."

"Huh? Oh?" groans Jenny, still weak and disorientated.

Heidi picks up another preloaded auto-injector syringe and fires a second dose of ketamine into Jenny's thigh. Jenny quickly subsides into sleep. Heidi, assisted by Anna takes a pair of paramedic shears and cuts Jenny's clothing from her body and strips her. Jenny is redressed in the hospital smock Anna had worn and ECG leads are placed on Jenny's chest. Anna puts up an intravenous infusion line connected to a syringe driver, to deliver just enough sedative to keep Jenny on the borders of consciousness but completely confused and quite helpless. 

Jenny is catheterised and her urine drained; she is given an enema and her bowls cleansed. They put her in an adult diaper. An oro-gastric tube is passed into her stomach and the remains of her last meal are removed, to reduce any risk of vomiting. As a final precaution, she is given an intra-muscular injection of prochlorperazine, an anti-emetic. Just in case the sedation should provoke nausea.

Once the medical preparations are complete, they set to the crucial task of finalising Jenny's appearance. Neena looks critically at Jenny and then the photograph in the passport they have for her. It is a new version of the Vyera Kuznetsova passport. This time, it contains Jenny's image – well just about. Neena takes a pair of metal bolt cutters and cuts through Jenny's septum ring twice, freeing a segment and sliding the ring from her nose. Then some other crucial details: Jenny's engagement and wedding rings are removed and the skin of her fingers massaged so the imprints left by her jewellery can fade quickly.

Dr Hahn, Heidi, and Neena are now ready to resume their journey to the airport with Jenny - or Vyera Kuznetsova, as she will now become - whilst the Mercedes used for the abduction, is valeted with minute attention to detail and returned by the vehicle team to the hire company. 

Before they leave, Neena helps Anna to return to her usual appearance. She takes a very carefully crafted blond wig and applies it to Anna's shaven scalp using skin adhesive so that it will not be accidentally displaced. In particular, very great attention – painstaking attention - must be paid to the areas where the wig meets Anna's skin. The disguise must be perfect so no suspicions are aroused on her journey back home. Presently, the transformation is complete and Anna's appearance has been completely restored.

At 3pm, Igor, another member of the team, receives a text. It's a three digit number. The digits tell him that the target has been lifted successfully, is in custody and he is cleared to execute his final part of the mission. 

Igor spends the rest of the day mixing anonymously with the crowds shopping in Birmingham city centre before enjoying a leisurely meal and a movie. He has important work to do later that night.

Dr Hahn follows the M4 west. Joe's taxi is heading the same way. As they pass junction 4, Joe's minicab, heading for the Heathrow Exit, happens to pass in front of Dr Hahn's vehicle as it makes its way to another airport. Joe has no idea, of course, how close he has been to his sedated, captive, wife. 

Hahn snorts at the careless driving of the taxi as it swings off the motorway and on the slip road. Dr Hahn turns on to the M25 south, then on to the M3. There's the usual press of traffic but, today, they pass through without incident.

After one hour and thirty minutes travel, they leave the motorway, turn down the A325, into Aerospace Boulevard and drive up to the airport

At London Heathrow Terminal 4, Joe McEwan elbows his way into a crowded terminal from the taxi drop off and joins the back of a long queue for check in. The other engineers have each chosen their own queues. It's a bit of a joke between them; last one through to the departure lounge pays for the drinks. Joe pushes the trolley with his bags on slowly forward as the queue for check in moves steadily but not quickly forward. He looks across at his grinning colleagues in the other queues. He's going to lose. A small child in the arms of the woman in front of him is howling. Joe hopes she's in a different part of the plane. 

Eventually he reaches the check in for Korean Airlines and hefts his bags from the trolley and drops them on the scales. Joe looks relieved as they weigh in just below the magic 20 kilos. The girl behind the counter takes his ticket and passport, beams with her standard, practiced, "designer" smile and goes through the whole "Did you pack this yourself?" routine. Joe, with a patience born of a hundred flights over the last few years, smiles and nods at the appropriate points; happy at the end of it all simply to have succeeded in gaining his boarding card although worried as ever, by his disappearing baggage. He joins the queue for security, snaking through the terminal, shuffling forward every few minutes but this time without the encumbrance of his suitcases.

AIRSIDE 

The ambulance with Jenny, comfortable and hovering on the borders of sleep and wakefulness in the back, parks at the Executive Flight Centre.

Dr Hahn goes to report to the duty manager and the medical officer. Heidi Eisen will accompany the patient to Moscow before returning to London on a scheduled flight. The Russian Embassy people have been very understanding and helpful. In the circumstances, there has been no delay over a visa for Heidi. Two other members of Anatoly's team are already in the terminal and are waiting airside of security and passport control.

The medical officer and Dr Hahn discuss Vyera. They review her X-rays and case record of the sleeping patient. Dr Hahn points out that he does not believe in half measures when analgesia and sedation are required. After all, the relief of pain and anxiety are surely one of the blessings of life today? Further technical matters are discussed. The MO and the charming Dr Hahn shake hands: they agree: the patient is fit to fly.

The vehicle is admitted onto the apron and drives carefully towards an immaculate blue, white and silver Bomardier Global Express in one corner of the airfield. Down one side of the Bombardier's fuselage it proclaims: Aнатолы Kустенски Предприятие. And down the opposite side, for those in any doubt: Anatoly Kustensky Enterprises. Security and UK Borders Agency staff are there to meet the party. 

A Passport Control official comes over to check the travellers. He takes the red passport belonging to the woman casualty. To ease her pain during the journey from London she has been sedated and has now been carefully lifted on a stretcher and placed onto a trolley. He opens the cover, guarded on the outside by the double-headed Russian eagle. It states that she is Вера Анатольевна Кузнецова. The photograph shows a young lady, just like the girl on the trolley. But of course, it is the girl on the trolley. The official glances at Hahn. He indicates one of the other members of the party, now gathered by the aircraft steps. Valentine notices the doctor's nod and comes over to meets the enquiring gaze of the official. Valentine says: "She is my niece. She fall from horse" Valentine takes in the quizzical gaze of the official as he compares the passport photograph with present appearance of вера Кузнецова. 

The official is satisfied. He smiles encouragement and the formalities are complete. The security staff, the medical officer and the border control people have done all they can to speed Vyera and her helpers through the formalities and on to their aircraft.

Jenny is vaguely aware of things going on around her. She is barely conscious of the movement but senses the changes in light and the changes in temperature as she is moved. She hears people talking about someone called "Vyera". None of the staff take the slightest interest in her. She feels there's something not exactly correct about the way that she is being treated, that no one seems to want to ask her if everything is all right but it's no more than a vague unease and, in any case, she doesn't feel she can do anything about it.

Joe finally succeeds in passing security and passport control. Hopping on one leg as he tries to put one of his shoes back on, having retrieved them from the x-ray machine's conveyer, he wonders how much longer it will be before they all have to submit to a full cavity body search before passengers are even allowed inside the terminal building. 

Joe curses the fact that he's flying economy. Not for him the quiet oasis of the business lounge. He has to put up with the hectic pushing and shoving and fight for one of the few seats that have been squeezed in reluctantly, as a small concession to the idea that not all passengers want to shop, all the time. Joe flops down on an uncomfortable plastic seat, tossing the leather shoulder pouch that he uses as a flight bag on to the seat beside him and checks to make sure that he's picked up everything after the security search. He looks at his watch. It's almost time to begin the trek down to the boarding pier. There isn't really enough time for a coffee or a drink. His friends have already left the bar. Joe isn't that disappointed. The coffee in the terminal is even worse than the coffee on the flight. And besides, it was his round.

He tries Jenny's mobile again and again there is no reply. Perhaps she dropped it? He settles for an e-mail. There is just time to send it before their flight starts to board. He catches up with Craig just as he is about to disappear inside the aircraft.

Jenny is carefully carried onto the aircraft followed by the rest of the party. The Ambulance reverses clear and drives back through the secure perimeter. Neena pauses on the aircraft steps and momentarily looks up into the dark evening sky. The stars have begun to come out. She give a smile - well, almost a laugh - of triumph. 

In Moscow, Anatoly receives a call from AKE Operations to tell him that the Bombardier captain has just reported that Romeo Alpha 9560 Delta is about to leave and all passengers and cargo are now aboard. He looks at his watch. A successful day – eventually! - and he will be just in time to enjoy a brandy with Sveta before bed.

TAKING LEAVE 

In the Heathrow Control Tower, a duty ground controllers picks up with the Captain of Joe's Boeing 747. "Korean two – zero – four, cleared to push. Taxi, two-seven right." 

A Continental DC-10 speeds up as it sees the 747 turning. "Two zero four, give way to the Continental on the taxi way." Joe's captain responds sulkily "Tower, give way to the Continental DC-10, two-zero-four. I hope there aren't too many of these people. We've got a slot to hit." A hiss of static substitutes for an expression of exasperation from the tower. "Everybody's got a slot to hit, two-zero-four. We'll do what we can."

Joe, crammed in beside 300 others, sits feigning attention to a safety briefing that he could almost recite by heart, thumbing idly through the in-flight magazine and wondering whether he is going to try the movie or just settle down with a few drinks and the meal before trying to get some sleep. It's half past nine in the evening, the flight won't get in to Inchon until half past four tomorrow afternoon. Joe takes a while thinking if there's any way that he can make the seat even remotely comfortable. There isn't.

In the other tower, at the other airport, the controller hears a transmission from Jenny's plane. "Ground, this is Bombardier Romeo Alpha niner-six-fiver- zero-delta at the gate with Charlie, requesting clearance, departure to the east. We're a medevac flight so we'd appreciate any help you can give to get us off smoothly." 

Jenny has lapsed into unconsciousness on the Bombardier, unaware of the noise of the engines as the pilot throttles up to taxi. She doesn't notice the dimmed lights of the cabin or Heidi sitting beside her. 

The controller checks the ground radar and replies "Nine-six-five-zero-delta, cleared to taxi, two-four right." The Bombardier's captain looks out. The apron is clear, there's nothing between him and the runway except the pools of purple light that mark the edges of the taxiways. "Two-four right, five-zero-delta." The half dozen other people on Jenny's flight peer out as their plane moves off. They settle back in their deep, soft, leather seats.

At Heathrow, Joe' aircraft has spend half an hour shuffling forward in a queue of other aircraft. It's half an hour since they pushed back from the terminal pier and they have travelled all of a mile. At last, they reach the runway. The chatter between the tower and the captain and the mantra of pre-flight checks between the captain and first officer give way to concentration as the speed of the aircraft builds and the lights at the edge of the runway blink past at an increasing rate. As the aircraft accelerates past 80 knots, the control surfaces become fully active, the nose rises and the wheels of the 747 lift away from the ground as the 'plane finally takes to the air.

The Bombardier with Jenny on board has spent less than five minutes taxiing from the apron to runway 24. Another ninety seconds later, she is in the air, following Joe's plane across eastern England and out over the North Sea.

On the Korean 747, the fasten seat belts sign flicks off as it reaches cruising altitude. Joe wonders again about one of the movies, when drink appears from a smiling Korean stewardess and Craig walks up the aisle past his seat. "Hey," he says to Joe, "Don't you owe the rest of us a drink too?"

Jenny stirs slightly. Her eyes flicker open for a moment giving her a blurred unfocussed vision of the nurse, her face in shadow from the cabin lights behind. As Jenny's eyes close again Heidi leans forward to read Jenny's pulse, blood pressure and oxygenation on the criticare monitor. She checks the saline drip is running freely, keeping Jenny properly hydrated and then adjusts the syringe driver as it feeds more of the sedative into her vein.

Joe decides on conversation. He heads back to talk to Craig and the other two of his colleagues on the flight. Craig is about half way back. Joe spots the other two right at the back of the plane. They must have boarded well before he got to the gate. He ambles down the aisle towards them, squeezing past the drinks trolley and giving his two friends a wave.

Jenny on the other hand isn't moving around. She lies on her seat which has been fully reclined to act as her bed for the duration of the flight, helpless from sedation. Even if she were fully awake, beneath the blanket that covers her, there are straps to hold her secure. Of course they are there for her benefit – to keep her safe, as Heidi would explain to anyone who asked, throughout the journey. 


As the aircraft climbs, Heidi notices how Jenny's blood pressure begins to edge up as the pressure on her eardrums changes and as the flight levels off. She toys absent-mindedly with Jenny's right nipple, squeezing and pinching at it, seeing whether Jenny reacts at all. Amongst the many puzzles of the next few days, Jenny never really comes to understand why her right breast is so bruised and sore.

But that's the difference between Joe's Korean Airlines flight 204 and Jenny's Bombardier. Joe, even though his flight is uncomfortable, noisy and crowded, is going to practice his profession. Jenny, on the other hand – or Vyera as the authorities have come to know her – Vyera, while enjoying all the comforts of her executive jet, is being taken to be a slave. 

Flying faster and higher, RA 9560D soon catches up with Korean 204.

The ripple in the thin cold air left by the Bombardier as it overtakes is imperceptible to the passengers in the Boeing – except perhaps to Joe, who feels a sudden pang of anxiety over an interrupted phone call and an unanswered text. And he wonders what Jenny his wife is doing and how she is right then...

TYING OFF SOME LOOSE ENDS 

A little after 1 am on Wednesday morning Igor drives towards Warwick. At 2 am he parks his hire car near Jenny and Joe's home. The suburban streets are deserted and there is no one to see him moving through the shadows to enter the deserted house.

He has been here before. He came and went undetected. Well not quite, but the minor disruptions he caused were put down to merely forgetting where things had been put. 

The usual domestic barriers to crime present little difficulty for him and this is, after all, his second visit. Once inside, he quickly finds what he wants.

A rucksac, shoes, clothes, jacket, Jenny's passport, her diary and her laptop, her toothbrush and some makeup. 

He leaves her jewellery.

He has almost finished - when he sees the computer. He is very keen to impress the Boss with his part in the operation. He knows that the data inside the machine has been regularly downloaded and sent back to AKE by Yevgeny's surveillance programme. In a moment he has booted up the PC and opened the desktop. There is a password protection, but he knew the password, in any event. The desktop is neatly arranged and Jenny's PhD research files are stacked in a directory all by themselves. There is also a calendar and address book. What would someone do, when leaving home for the last time? Cut all ties, surely? Remove all clues to where they were going. Igor wastes no more time. He puts a pen drive in the USB port which loads a programme to erase all the contents of the hard disc. He presses  and it's done. Irretrievably.




Tales from a Far Country Ch. 02



Downstairs, he peers cautiously out of the window. No one passes in the street. He opens the door a crack. Silence. He resets the burglar alarm and leaves as silently as he came. Unseen. Unsuspected.

It's not until he is many miles down the M40 motorway heading for London that his conscience begins to trouble him. He was not instructed about the PC. Maybe he should have left it alone? 

Surely, surely it was an opportune target? He did what someone would do, if they were running away ..... but then what about the target's computer at the University? Should he have erased the hard disc there? That would be consistent. But wait a moment: first, he would have to know exactly which one it was and reach it undetected. So it had to be left alone. Maybe he had been too thorough? Then again, no operation ever came to grief by operatives being too thorough did it?

Igor, Joe and Jenny aren't the only people leaving.

In the days that follow Jenny's abduction, the other members of Anatoly's hunting party slip discretely away from the UK. Some leave by Eurostar to Paris; some by ferry to Zeebrugge, and some by air to Helsinki and then by train to St Petersburg and so on. 

Anna Tereshkova presents a slightly more subtle problem. She has arrived in the UK using a passport in the name of Vyera Kuznetsova, who has left for Moscow. The United Kingdom authorities have ambitions to record the arrival and departures of all foreign nationals and whilst the scheme is - apparently - not yet operational, it would be wise if Anna could leave discretely. After all, the use of a second "Vyera Kuztetsova" passport would be risky .

Anatoly has given the problem some careful thought.

Anna meets one of the secretaries from the AKE office in London at a branch of Starbucks and collects an envelope containing an Estonian passport together with cash.

She takes the train (first class, in view of her still uncomfortable lumbar spine) to Glasgow, connecting with another train to Stranraer and finally the Stena Line ferry to Belfast where she spends the night in the Belfast Hilton.

The following day, she takes the train to Dublin. Since the Good Friday Agreement, the British and Irish Governments have been at pains to remove unnecessary reminders that the island of Ireland is still divided between two nations. There are no frontier controls between British and Irish jurisdiction on the Belfast to Dublin train and citizens of Estonia, many of whom are of Russian origin, do not need a visa to enter the Republic of Ireland

So Anna Tereshkova slips away from the UK into Eire and flies home from Dublin airport first to Paris (to collect her very own Russian passport and to regain her real identity) and then on to Moscow, indistinguishable from many other international tourists and with nothing to indicate that she first came to the United Kingdom as "Vyera Kuznetsova"

Anna smiles broadly to the young passport official at Dublin Airport. "Did you enjoy your trip? Will we be seeing you again?" He replies

Anna continues her gentle flirtation, "Yes, very much and of course I would love to come back – if you will have me!"

"Any why should we not?" he says, smiling back. "Have a safe journey now."

Anna waves him farewell and is gone.



© 2011 Phil Lane & Freddie Clegg

All characters fictitious.



Tales from a Far Country Ch. 03



CHAPTER 3 : AN UNEXPECTED RE-LOCATION

AN ARRIVAL

In the early hours of Wednesday morning, Anatoly's private jet glides down the ILS beam (1) out of a dark and snowy winter sky, to land at the Chkalovsky military airstrip, near Shchyolkovo, north east of Moscow.

Anatoly still has contact with his old colleagues. It makes it possible to use military facilities when he needs them. His colleagues know that he is still available to undertake 'official' duties on some occasions. As a result they make sure that the airfield officials are as helpful as they can be.

When the party disembarks and one of the passengers - still sedated - is taken away, nobody seems so notice. More important, no one asks why and no one asks where; they are used to that sort of thing here, and besides the less you ask, the less you know, and the less you know, the less you will be accountable for.

The formal record of the flight arrival merely states that Anatoly's jet had been chartered by a returning Russian family who journeyed on to Moscow.

Jenny also travels onwards in the general direction of Moscow, but her journey ends at the Kustensky Dacha, in the countryside some 100km outside the capital.

"Dacha" is perhaps a misleading term. For most Russians, a dacha is a small country cottage where city dwellers might spend the weekend in the peace and quiet of the countryside, grow vegetables and enjoy time out from the city. In contrast, the Kustensky Dacha it takes its style from the comfortable retreats enjoyed by pre-revolutionary magnates and aristocrats (and that of some of their revolutionary successors). The Kustensky dacha is a grand country house set within a large estate and covering many square kilometres. Indeed, the scale of the Dacha ensures that the residents can enjoy the peace of the country side, enjoy a retreat from the bustle of the city and in particular, can avoid the scrutiny of prying eyes.

One of Anatoly's reasons for buying the estate, was the space it provided to enjoy slaves both inside and out, with no realistic danger of being disturbed. There is nowhere for the slaves to run, unless they are prepared to eke out an existence in the forest and attempt to avoid the hunters that Anatoly would surely send to fetch them back. From time to time an optimistic un-broken slave tries their luck. Anatoly enjoys it when they do!

Jenny remembers nothing of her journey. Nothing of the aircraft bumping and skidding through the cold turbulent air as it landed, nothing of the icy wind blowing sleet and snow flurries over her as she was lifted from the aircraft and into the ambulance and nothing of her transfer from the ambulance to the Dacha. In the grip of her sedation, she is barely conscious, hardly even aware of light or dark, indoors or out. She is still asleep as she is wheeled into a cell in the basement of the mansion, still strapped to the medical trolley.

Heidi checks her patient's fluid balance: saline-in and urine-out, concerned as ever, for the well being of the one in her charge. Successful anaesthesia and sedation requires careful monitoring of the patient. Just as a hangman seals the fate of their victim by careful attention to their weight and build, so Heidi has to take account of similar factors and knows that her patient must be observed and treated with care.

She disconnects the syringe driver from the intravenous infusion and settles down to wait for the cloud of sedation to disperse and for Jenny to awaken to her new life. Experience has taught Heidi that it's best for a nurse or for one of the trainers to be with a new slave at this point.

Heidi looks at her watch. She will stay with Jenny until she is able to take fluids unaided and is free from nausea and any risk of vomiting. Then she will take down the intravenous infusion, remove her urinary catheter, and remove the ECG leads from her chest. Only then will she be content to hand over responsibility for the new girl to Neena, and afterwards, she can leave 'Vyera' to take stock of her situation as best she can.

AN AWAKENING

I wake up. I feel quite wide awake and yet, not quite right.

I am lying on a hospital trolley. I'm strapped down; not really able to move much, let alone sit up, even if I wanted to. There's a drip feeding into my arm. I am in a white room. The light is not too bright. A nurse is sitting on a chair reading a magazine next to me. My vision seems to be disturbed and I can't really see properly. While I can see the nurse clearly, I can't make any sense of the magazine she is reading. None of the letters look right ...

I try to look around the room. I can turn my head, even if I cannot move my body much. The floor has blue sparkly non-slip vinyl covering. The walls are white tiled. There is one door, also white. There is no window. There is a high ceiling. I feel as if I am at the bottom of a deep hole.

It looks like a hospital but somehow it's too quiet for a hospital. No noise of other patients, no sign of any visitors. None of the bustle of a hospital ward.

I have woken enough to realise that I feel slightly drunk. My mouth is dry. I flop my head back on to the pillow, confused. I try to remember how I got here? What is the last thing I remember? Walking down a street in London, talking on my mobile to Joe .... Joe! What must he be thinking? Then there was a girl who asked me for help .... What happened after that?

The stab of anxiety when I think of Joe brings me round further. I call out .....

The nurse looks up. She smiles and says nothing but checks the drip ...

"Look can you tell me? ....who are you? ... where?"

The nurse smiles again, ignores my questions and loosens the straps around my arms a little. Then she elevates the head of the trolley and offers me a drink from a plastic cup.

"Here: try this", is all she says.

It tastes like a dilute sports drink, cool in my sticky mouth.

Suddenly, I feel the need to pee and then I can feels urine flowing out of me. I tense my sphincter muscles but the flow persists. Nothing I do seems to make a difference.

"Help me please! I am wetting the bed!"

The nurse crouches down beside me, peering at a urine bag hanging on the side of the trolley. She glances at me, smiles and pats my arm -- a reassuring explanation of why I have not wet the bed. It is only then that I realise I am naked. Fortunately the room is pleasantly warm ....

"Look, can you tell me what's happened?"

Again the nurse ignores me. She measures the amount I have drunk and the amount in the urine bag. She looks at some figures on a chart. Perhaps the amount which has gone into me, from the infusion?

Then she asks: "How is your tummy?"

"Er, fine I think ... how do you mean?"

"Do you feel sick?"

"No, not at all. Should I?"

"Good", is all the reply I get.

However, she seems satisfied because then she takes down the drip. (2) It stings as the plastic canula is drawn from my arm. She straps a band-aid across the exit wound. She disconnects me from the ECG leads and the coloured lines on a monitor all go flat. She peels the sticky electrode pads from my skin and wipes the sticky residue away and then goes to the foot of the trolley. She fiddles with the catheter and gently pulls. It comes away. She wipes some drops of urine onto a pad. She drops the pad, catheter, urine bag and intravenous infuser into an orange sack inside large red pedal bin marked with the international "biohazard" sign.

The nurse turns and smiles at me and then kisses me on my forehead! Then without a further word or gesture, she scoots the bin out of the room and leaves me all alone. There is a "click" as the door locks and the lights dim.

I try to sit up properly but the straps prevent me. I shout out, but no one comes. The effort of trying seems to leave me overcome by weakness. I sink back against the pillow and drift off into a fitful sleep.

A CONVERSATION

It's early in the morning of Wednesday11th of November. Winter is advancing fast on Moscow and the wind casts a mixture of hail and snow against the windows of Sveta and Anatoly's bedroom, scratching and tapping at the glass. Today, Sveta is taking time to wake up. It's uncharacteristic. Early mornings are one of the things you get used to, when you work in the Media and in her previous career, early mornings were something the staff of the KGB all took for granted.

Tolya -- that's Anatoly, her husband is also stirring. He has something to tell Sveta. He is - having slept on the problem - increasingly anxious about what he has done and anxious about how Sveta might take the news. He knows things about Sveta which she has never been able to confide to him. Sveta thinks they lie buried deep in her past and even deeper in the archives of her former employer. Anatoly knows different. Secrets are always dangerous things in a marriage. But sometimes truth can be a brutal animal, tearing old wounds open, laying bare an intimate history, re-igniting the fears and terrors of past years. For a moment he gazes at her sleeping face, calm peaceful in the early morning. Anatoly has a tender side. From somewhere he is conscious of a half remembered quotation from the Bible 'and he gives to his beloved, rest' -- or was it 'peace'?(3) If only he could bring about some peace and healing for his wife ...

"Sveta?"

"Hmmm?"

"I think I have someone for you and Alana ....."

"Oh? Who? Where did you find her?"

"She is from England."

"Working in Moscow?"

"Well, no not exactly."

"Not exactly? Tolya, (4) does this mean that you have lifted her from somewhere?" Sveta is propelled quickly from sleep to wakefulness by the trend of the conversation.

"Yes: I'm sure she will shape up to be just the person you need, Sveta ....."

"Tolya!" After what Anatoly has just said, Sveta is now wide awake, sitting up and looking down on him, still sprawled out under the quilt.

"For goodness sake Tolya, we need a Nanny. There are specific things you look for in a Nanny. Things you try to gauge in an interview, to see if the girl has them within her in the first place. They are not things you can just programme in. No wonder they kept you in Operations and I was in Strategic Planning!" Anatoly looks abashed for a moment at this barb, but Sveta continues: "Tolya: in a Nanny you look for someone who is, gentle, kind, thoughtful, reliable, fun, authoritative, responsible, forgiving, patient, understanding. Which of these qualities are shared with your sex slave abductees? Is this the sort of thing your training schemes can achieve now? I would have thought that someone with half a brain would realise that and instead would approach an Agency or ask friends or even just put an ad in the Gazyeta ......" (5)

Anatoly has turned over to look at Sveta properly. She likes him to sleep naked, so he is always available for her. Now the sight of him in the raw, half out from under the quilt, with a pained expression on his face is would usually melt her irritation but not on this occasion. How dare he just go ahead with a hare-brained idea like this without discussing it with her?

"Sveta, will you just look at this girl? I'm sure she will be just fine. I mean I have done some homework," he adds, plaintively. Inside, Sveta's reaction is provoking all his worst fears for the situation. Should he just get rid of the girl quietly? Or even just debrief her and send her straight back?

Sveta sighs. She knows there will be no good to come from confrontation if Anatoly feels he hasn't had the chance to say his piece. "OK Tolya. Just tell me the whole story. I just know there is definitely a story here."

"Well, you remember when Clegg took Alana ....." (6)

"Yes of course I remember"

'Remember' is a word that hardly does justice to Sveta's feelings of dismay and desperation when her only child vanished without trace and without explanation in a foreign country. The little child she had borne, nurtured, cared for. The little girl who, by her very existence, salved so many deep and painful wounds for Sveta

"Well, he was supposed to send us the girl responsible for her abduction but when she was being sent over to us the British police received information that the Chechens were planning to bomb the Aeroflot flight to Moscow?"

"And they found this girl of Clegg's? Yes, of course I remember the whole thing. Clegg never came properly through with compensation did he?"

"No he did not. Then, last year, when I met him in London he was at pains to warn me away from taking an interest in some sort of consensual operation he has either set up or bought into -- I couldn't quite work out which."

"Hmmmm, go on ...." Sveta thinks Anatoly is too concerned about the man Clegg. She knows he is Tolya's competitor and they both trade in flesh - the slave trading business. Why Anatoly gets so concerned, though, is beyond her. Anatoly has always made a point of trading at the "top end" of the market and from what Tolya says, Clegg's operation is just not in the same class. So why does Tolya bother about him?

"Well, when I had dinner with Angela"

"Ah, Angela ...." Sveta runs her hand over Anatoly's bum, remembering the birching she gave him as his punishment for bedding Angela. That was a good evening! Yes: she must find a reason for Anatoly to be given another birching -- soon! This Nanny fiasco could be it.

"Well, Angela had this cock and bull story about being arrested by the CIA and interrogated. She said, they wanted to know what she knew about me and if I had been asking about some research being done by one of her students."

"Are you sure that Angela was telling the truth. Sure she had not just made this all up?"

"No. The times corresponded to my meeting with Clegg. It is just in his muddling style."

"OK, so let me guess the rest. You have tracked down Angela's student who may or may not be a particular protégé of Clegg's and brought her to Russia for debriefing and you thought she just might do for a Nanny for Alana ....."

"Well, yes that's about it."

"Tolya: full marks for trying but I'm not optimistic at the moment."

"Well, will you just see her?"

Sveta heaves a sigh: "OK I'll see her but I want to see her first, before anything else happens to her. Where is she?"

"At the Dacha."

"How long?"

"She arrived ... er ... early this morning."

"OK, OK. I'll speak to her today."

"Thank you Sveta. I think she could be just fine."

"Well Tolya, if she's not ....." She rubs Anatoly's bum, gently scratching his skin with her nails. The message seems to strike home to him......

"I know: I will be at your disposal ......"

"Ha! You are anyway! Who would have guessed that the great Anatoly Kustensky is really slave to his wife ...?"

Anatoly smiles and kisses her tenderly -- but he knows she is right, but just at the moment he is not interested in games. It's reality -- actually, history -- he is trying to put right.

.............................................

Footnotes:

(1) ILS beam. Instrument Landing System, navigational radio beam used to guide an aircraft down to a runway.

(2) Drip. Colloquial British term for intra-venous infusion

(3) Anatoly has a hazy memory of Psalm 127, verse 2

(4) Tolya. Familiar diminutive form of Anatoly

(5) Gazyeta. Russian word for newspaper

(6) See Market Forces by Freddie Clegg, Chapter 73,

© 2011 Phil Lane & Freddie Clegg

All characters fictitious.



Tales from a Far Country Ch. 04-25



CHAPTER 4 : THE AMBITIONS OF POPOVA

It is October 1984. Ludmila Ivanovna Popova is ushered in by a nurse. She sees the gynaecologist sitting at his desk, the autumn sky through the window behind and notices that he glances away she walks across to him.

"Please - sit down, Comrade Popova."

Popova expects this to be a difficult meeting and she has come in her uniform, the uniform of a Colonel in the KGB. It has a desirable effect. Doors are opened for her. People speak respectfully. The gynaecologist is on edge .... She will have the truth from him!

"You have the information from your investigations?"

"Yes, Comrade, I have."

"And you have an opinion?"

"Yes, Comrade, I do"

The doctor avoids her gaze once more as he begins. At that point, Popova knows the news is bad, almost without the need for him to say anything further.

"Ah, I am sorry Comrade. I have no good news. The lesion is cancerous. The histology shows it to be aggressive. The prognosis for ovarian carcinoma is difficult -- but there are options."

"Such as?"

"Well, it would be resection followed by radiotherapy. We can control the growth locally and many patients have significant remissions."

"How long?"

How long? The question on the lips of every patient but the Colonel is a brave woman and practical, too.

"I am sorry, Comrade. I cannot tell you that with any certainty. We have to rely on statistics, specifically the survival at five years."

"And?"

"Fifty percent of patients will survive five years but if the cancer has spread into the abdominal cavity, only 20 percent of patients will survive. Then there is the aggressiveness of the lesion to consider... Your histology was discouraging ...."

Popova tells her driver to take her to Sokolniki. (1) As she walks through the park, her uniform has, once again, its usual intimidating effect on passers-by. She is able to walk alone, in peace, in this oasis from the bustle of the city; able to give herself an opportunity to reflect on the passing of time and the fragility of life.

She should feel some form of gratitude, she tells herself. To be spared the decrepitude of old age, that slow, downwards descent into incapacity as bit by bit, her body surrenders to infirmity and decay. But how should she to spend her last few years - or perhaps months? What ambitions remained unfulfilled? What achievements could be her memorial? She has no husband, no family and her friends are largely people connected with the Service. She has given her life to her country, to the advancement of socialism. The Service has been her family. What is the most important work still left undone?

Popova considers her options: how would she know her career had been crowned by success? She would have to rely on the opinions of others, to some extent. Suppose she were to be promoted to General? That would be a confirmation ...

She considers further. To die in vigorous middle age, as a General of the KGB. A life dedicated to the welfare of her country and socialism would be a life well-lived. It would be a good epitaph. And so it will be! That will be how she will spend her final days. To secure promotion to General in the KGB ....

But how could it be achieved? She has the confidence of her superiors. She has a capable team at her command. The international situation is challenging; the new, aggressive, American President, Regan and the strident British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher. Then of course, there is Afghanistan and the efforts to support the socialist government.

Clearly, there is much to do ...

Colonel Popova opens the file on Svetlana Nikitechna Naidenova; the foundling. The young girl had been brought up an orphan, succeeded at school and university, joined the Red Army and seconded to the KGB as her considerable abilities were recognised. The girl had become involved with the son of General Sergey Kustensky, Hero of the Soviet Union. He was what one might call "Soviet Aristocracy"; his son, less politically engaged commentators might call dashing. Much is expected from the son, Anatoly and he is fulfilling expectations - and more.

But he has made a mistake. It seemed he has got the foundling pregnant, just before he is to take up a post at the Soviet Embassy in London. He will need to keep his mind focused on his duties, just as Svetlana Naidenova is required to concentrate on hers. Especially by Popova. Especially at this crucial phase of her campaign. With the situation in Afghanistan deteriorating, the CIA arming the Afghan tribes, this is a very inconvenient time for key workers to be distracted by the physical and psychological burdens of an unplanned pregnancy! And Popova has also begun to notice that she is occasionally in pain. It is nothing that she cannot bear but it is a sign that time is short, for her.

It is late on the morning of Tuesday. Sveta receives the summons to attend the private office of her section chief, Colonel Popova. This is not unusual and in any case, there were several "issues" facing the Service at present, but right now, Sveta feels she can do anything! She is pregnant with Anatoly's child! At last, she would be part of a family. She will have a family of her own.

The delicate issue, which needs to be approached with some caution, is how to explain to the Colonel that she will need some time away from the Lubyanka(2) in the weeks before her baby is born and for some time afterwards. And then there was her marriage to Anatoly to plan. She would be part of a family at last. A real biological family! With her mind suffused with confidence, she knows she can tackle any situation. Sveta goes happily to her meeting with the Colonel.

"Comrade Naidenova? Sit down."

The Colonel does not look at her as she enters. Sveta knows at once that something serious is wrong.

Colonel Popova sits at her desk, her secretary at her side and a man in a suit. Sveta has never seen him before.

"You have something to tell me Comrade?" the Colonel begins.

"Er ..." Sveta replies as she tries to read what is going on. She has been caught off guard. She rapidly runs through the progress of the various tasks she has been given but none of them seem to be in a condition to cause concern ....

"You are aware of the South Asia situation report? You are aware of how the Soviet Union is fighting valiantly to secure the onward march of Socialism?" Popova peers over her spectacles at Sveta.

"Yes, of course, Colonel"

"And the political challenges being set us by the United States and their allies?"

Sveta glances down at Colonel Popova's desk: she can see a photograph peeping from a sheaf of papers: the British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher glares at her from the picture, raising her arm in an accusatory gesture.

"And you remember the heroic sacrifices made by workers and soldiers in the Great Patriotic War Against Fascism?(3) You are aware that all loyal citizens are expected to emulate their commitment to the cause and to spare no effort to further the interests of the Motherland in these difficult times?"

"Of course, Comrade Colonel. My loyalty to the State is unswerving."

"Unswerving?" Colonel Popova reflects the word back to Sveta, slowly, sceptically.

"Of course, Colonel. Unswerving", but Sveta is beginning to feel sick with fear. Surely, surely her loyalty and commitment are not in question? Has she been informed against? But what is there to inform about? Yet does there need to be a reason?

"And no sacrifice would be too great?"

"Of course not." Sveta would now make any commitment to survive this interview ...

"Then why do I have to point out that in these difficult times, you have formed an irregular liaison with another member of the Service, someone who is being sent abroad on important work and when you, yourself, are handling vital responsibilities and yet you have allowed yourself to become pregnant? (Popova takes special care to spit out the word 'Pregnant') You have taken absolutely no steps to deal with the situation, have you?"

"But Colonel ... I ... we"

"You are a disgrace! I am ashamed of you! You have been brought up by the State. Fed by the State. Clothed. Nurtured. Educated. You now show your gratitude by forming this ridiculous relationship and without any effort to control your biological urges, you put the work of your comrade and this Department at considerable risk. Let me tell you, such disloyal carelessness will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear, Comrade Naidenova?"

Colonel Popova is pleased to see that the Naidenova girl is now wracked with tears, shaking, unable to look at her. Popova redoubles her onslaught:

"Comrade Naidenova, you have just told me that no sacrifice for the good of the Soviet Union is too great for you to make, have you not?"

"No, Colonel, I mean yes, no sacrifice is too great for loyal citizens."

The girl is shaking her head, her sobs out of control.

"Then here is your opportunity to show me and the rest of your comrades just how much you mean the words you say.

"This pregnancy ... will be terminated. Do you hear? Terminated. Arrangements have been made. You will accompany Dr Andropov. Your duties for the remainder of today, tomorrow and Thursday have been attended to. On Friday, we will meet here and you will resume your responsibilities. This enforced absence from duty will be reclaimed from your annual leave.

"Dr Andropov: you will conduct Comrade Naidenova to the clinic at once and deal with her. Comrade Naidenova? You are dismissed."

As she says 'dismissed', the Colonel curls her lip. Svetlana Naidenova is left in no doubt whatsoever about the Colonel's opinion of her and by implication, the opinion of everyone else at the Lubyanka.

In years to come, Sveta finds her memory of the subsequent events elusive. They call to her sporadically as she encounters a smell or sound or some other sensation which echoes the Termination. The sight of a cream painted wall, the black rubber wheels of a medical trolley, The stab of a hypodermic needle, the pain and bleeding of her monthly periods, reminding her of another episode of pain and bleeding. They all remind her of one winter afternoon on a Tuesday when she awoke, her head intoxicated, swimming with post-anaesthetic nausea, her womb empty, once more an orphan, once more all alone.

Whilst Sveta finds the medical details hard to recall, she is overshadowed by the emotional trauma of her abortion. In the months immediately afterwards, she tries to lose herself in work, trying to justify what she has allowed by submerging herself in the Higher Cause she agreed to serve. Agreed. Agreed? The Higher Cause she acquiesced to, she was unable to resist, she was terrified by. The Higher Cause of the welfare and interests of her Motherland or was it merely the Ambitions of Popova? Sveta works and drinks to distract herself from the pain of her empty womb. The promise of intimacy when Anatoly should one day return, holds no attraction for her. After all, to what did it lead? Terror, pain, guilt and shame. When Sveta sees a mother with her baby in the street, she hides her face and runs from the scene. The young KGB officer driven to tears by the thin cry of a little child.

Presently, Anatoly returns from London and afterwards, a marriage takes place. Sveta and Anatoly declare their love and loyalty to one another and begin to walk through life together, hand in hand as it were, but not far behind, just a step away or so it seems, there is Sveta's secret memory of the shattered body of an unborn child, the cruel sacrifice to a State and a cause which themselves have passed away ....

Sveta finds it hard to conceive again and when she is finally pregnant once more, she loses the child to miscarriage -- and then one more, and then one more again. She has not been brought up to be religious - after all, she is a child of the Soviet Union -- but she cannot help but wonder if she is being punished for her cowardice in the face of a desperate middle aged woman, one cold afternoon in winter, years ago?

Sveta then takes an irrational step. She visits the Cathedral of the Annunciation which stands within the precincts of the Kremlin, a stone's throw from the offices where Stalin planned and executed The Terror.(4)

Close by her in the church, the Icons keep their unending watch, the place where the faithful can peep into Heaven, or is it really the place where Heaven turns its burning eye and watches them? She lights two tapers. One for an unborn child and one for a child yet to be conceived. Within the year, she has given birth to Alana and at last, Sveta is a mother and has a real family all her own. At last, in her secret place an unquiet ghost begins to slumber -- for a little while.

...........................................................................................................................

Footnotes

1 A famous park in Moscow: http://www.moscow.info/parks/sokolniki-park.aspx

2 The notorious head quarters of the KGB, the Soviet Secret Police. Actually, the HQ is a large yellow painted building on one side of Lubyanka Square, not far from the Kremlin. Nowadays Lubyanka Square is a very busy with a constant stream of traffic pouring past the building in question, which is now occupied by the FSB, the Russian Security Service.

3 The Soviet name for the Second World War

4 The Great Purge of political opponents and potential rivals and in fact anyone who fell under Stalin's paranoid suspicion in the Soviet Union in the 1930's

5 You might think that the events in this chapter -- a young person browbeaten into having a termination of pregnancy for the convenience of others -- are something which could only have happened in the old Soviet Union. Unfortunately this still happens nowadays. If our story line has opened old wounds for you we offer our condolences. CHAPTER 5 : A QUESTION OF ATTRIBUTION THE VOICE

They take me from my cell. When I was at Inward Bound, I was embarrassed to call the room, "my cell". There's no embarrassment now because this is not playing. I really am a prisoner.

We enter another similar room. It's just next to mine in a long corridor; just another featureless white square cell; empty, except for a mat on the floor.

The guard motions me to kneel on the mat. There's no point in resisting, so I kneel. He leaves. Silence.

Then there is the voice: Soft; firm; feminine; self-assured; confident; business-like. "Stand ..."

I stand -- actually, kneeling was getting uncomfortable -- but the disembodied voice is unsettling. It seems to come from far away. It comes to me from nowhere: no loudspeaker: no sign of anyone speaking personally.

"Turn around ..."

I turn.

"Kneel ...."

I kneel again.

"Tell me about yourself ...."

"No thank you."

"My advice is that you should answer promptly and honestly."

"Why should I? Who are you? I demand that you let me go immediately!"

This sounds thin and unrealistic even to my ears. I can hear the amusement in the softly accented voice: "You will be here as long as I wish - and you should answer the questions."

I remember my CIA interrogation by Connie almost with regret. At least on that occasion, there was a real person to react to. This time, I could be talking to a machine. The idea makes me feel cold. The whole room is beginning to feel cold and damp. I start to shiver.

"Tell me about yourself, Vyera."

"I'm not Vay -- what you said. I'm Jennifer McEwan. Please call me by my right name. My name is Jennifer Karin McEwan."

I'm panicking. I can hear it in my own voice. Perhaps they have the wrong person. Of course they have the wrong person! Perhaps if I can convince them that I'm Jenny McEwan they will send me home?

"Tell me about yourself. As long ago as you can remember."

This seems to be an opportunity to persuade them. I start to speak. It feels comforting to hear myself speaking of familiar things into the white, cold, empty, unfamiliar, room. I say more than I intend to. I talk about Ely, Cambridge, parents, university, friends, my job. I talk about Joe .....

I'm desperate to show that I'm Jenny McEwan. I am doing it to show them that I am not this "Vyera".

The voice asks about my brothers and sisters:

How many? How old? Do I see them? Do I hear from them? Do I like them? Do I love them? Would I like children one day?

The voice asks about Joe: How do I manage when he is away? How often is he away? Do I miss him? Do I have friends? Are they boy friends? Are they girl friends? Are they just friends?

The questioning goes on and on and I'm getting more and more uncomfortable. I'm cold, I'm disconcerted by what I'm being asked, I'm very sore from kneeling and I'm desperate to relieve myself.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I have to pee. Can I go? Please?"

"Of course," says the voice.

"But I ... but there is no ...." I cast my eyes desperately round the cell and notice a floor drain. I know what this means; the same games that they played with me when I first went to Inward Bound. It feels every bit as humiliating as the first time I had to do this. I walk over to the drain and just let go. I seem to pee for ages and ages and the longer it goes on the more my face burns with shame.

"Kneel", says the voice.

I kneel again. My thighs feel damp, splashed with my own urine.

"Thank you, Vyera."

"I am not Vyera, I'm Jenny!"

"You are Vyera", replies the voice. The voice is soft, reasonable, unswerving, patient, implacable. The voice insists on what will be and I have nothing to resist with. Nothing to hold on to. "Your name is Vyera ...."

Deep in my memory, there is a little girl, just three years old. She is hiding under her parents bed, pulling a blanket over herself and laying very still, undiscovered by her brothers who are searching for her. I fly back across the years to my old home. The little girl runs up the stairs. She slips inside the bedroom and under the bed. She covers herself with a quilt and lays quiet, still. One restless move and the Voice might hear her, might see her, might prize her out of hiding .....

"Your future," the voice gently, insistently, implacably tells me, "is Vyera ...." SOME PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS

"Well, what do you think? Will she do?"

Anatoly leans over Sveta's shoulder as the both watch Jenny's image on the computer screen.

Sveta turns the microphone off, and spends a few moments more studying the image of a young naked woman on the computer screen.

"Well, Tolya, she is a nice kid. I think she might do well as a nanny. Her answers corresponded to your background information and she is ... has a nice personality as far as I can tell at the moment. I like her. Her tattoo is nice .... but that's not the point. The point is, is she the right person to be our nanny? The right nanny to help Alana?"

"So what do you think, Sveta? "

"I think she has absolutely no technical knowledge or family experience to draw on, so she would be useless in the period just after Alana's baby is born except to help with the routine housework. After that .... I just do not know. Maybe. Maybe not."

This is clearly not the answer Anatoly was hoping for but Sveta is not going to be over optimistic or unrealistic just to make him feel better.

"Tolya, go get her trained and let's see how she gets on. By the way, she is going to needs a regular shaving if she is going to stay as smooth as she is now. Maybe ... maybe we ought to have her hair lasered? It looks as if her natural hair colour was brown, so that will make the hair removal particularly effective and that will mean she has a lot less maintenance to do. More time for her to concentrate on her work. Maybe start on her legs and work gradually up."(1)




Tales from a Far Country Ch. 04-25



Sveta chuckles, turns to Anatoly and winks.

"Let's just watch and see how long it takes her to realise that we are going absolutely all the way up. Perhaps she will try all the more to please her trainers, to see if she can stop the inevitable!"

Now Anatoly chuckles in return. If he ends up selling the girl, at least he will have had some fun with her.

"Take me back to bed Anatoly. After that I need a good fucking!"

Buried in that exchange, the teasing remarks of one lover to another and the conversation which went before, there is a lot of history. Sveta is very anxious for Alana. The precious child she wanted, the child that made her like other people, part of a real family, the child preceded by so much pain and unhappiness. When Alana was safely delivered, Sveta knew that the little girl would be her only child. Sveta knew she was not strong enough to face any more suffering to do with children, any more miscarried babies. Sveta has secreted a knot of iron in her soul to protect her from a ghost which occasionally still taps her on the shoulder, the ghost which walks when she is in the company of other small children even now.

Anatoly likes children. He would have liked more little ones of their very own he but understands exactly why this is a task beyond the strength of his outwardly tough and decisive wife. How he would like to see her healed from past hurts! They say a trouble shared is a trouble halved but Sveta has never shared and Anatoly has wisely let her be, waiting patiently for Sveta to tell him the story of a very particular past unhappiness, in her own time. He had thought of becoming an active benefactor for orphaned children but that would only inflame yet other painful memories for his wife.

Instead, he has indulged his sexual appetites to create his own extended family. It explains why he takes a very personal interest in the welfare of his slaves far beyond what their commercial value might lead you to expect. He always tries to arrange matters so the new life the slave goes to, is in some significant way better than their old existence. It is also an enterprise which does not open Sveta's wounds in fact quite the reverse: she finds her dominant urges slaked in a very satisfactory way.

This new girl ... she is so sparky and attractive and kind! From what he has learned about her, she should be just the person to help Alana and might even be what Sveta needs ...He hopes so. A TRIP TO THE DOCTOR'S

A guard comes for me and I am returned to the white room. My cell. It is definitely a cell. There was some food waiting for me: bread, fruit and tea (in a plastic mug) and that's all. The food makes me feel better. Perhaps my answers to The Voice have been satisfactory? Perhaps they are just checking the answers before they can let me go? It must be an hour or so after I have finished my meal when the cell door opens. Release! There is a woman standing outside. She is older than me. Perhaps Prof's age? She has dark hair combed back from her face and tied (as far as i can see) in a pale blue scrunchy.(2)

For some reason I step back away from her. She smiles and enters the cell.

"Please", she says and holds out her hand. "Can you come with me now? You have had a long journey and we must see you are fit and well."

So I am going to be released! They are checking me over to see I have come to no harm.

Protecting themselves against any legal action I might bring if they had been careless? The woman is dressed a bit like Celia was at Inward Bound. This woman wears pale yellow scrubs beneath a white coat and white medical clogs. I smile in return and happily follow her.

Father down the corridor we reach another room. The door stands open. It's a doctor's surgery or something very like it. She smiles and motions me to sit down,

"May I have something to wear?" I ask.

"Wear?" She replies, her tone of voice suggests she is mildly surprised by my question "But we have seen all there is to see!"

"Yes, I know but I would feel better to be dressed. I do have clothes."

"Hmm, presently," she replies and then gets down to business.

"I have to examine you, to make sure you are quite well. Please -- over here."

She takes me to some digital scale and weighs me and then measures my height. She takes my blood pressure and makes some skin fold thickness measurements. Well, I have never had that done at the Doctors!

"I have to take a sample: Please."

She offers me a pan to pee into. It's a little demeaning but I comply, anxious to provide no excuse for them to delay sending me home.

A lot more follows. She checks my vision, my teeth, my throat, my tonsils and my ears. The doctor - as I assume she must be -- has me lay down on a medical couch - and takes my blood pressure, listens to my heart, feels my pulse, feels my tummy and checks my reflexes. She takes blood from my arm. She is nothing if not thorough.

"We are almost finished. Please -- spread your legs."

"Look surely, I mean if you are just checking me over, do you really ... "

"It would be better if you can cooperate," she replies but I notice her voice has taken on a hard edge. I want to argue but I let it pass. I just acquiesce. She proceeds to eaxamine my vagina and then I realize: this will show that I have not been violated in any way. I suppose they have to?

"One last observation," she says. "On your knees now ..."

I sigh. Well if this is the last. Really the last?

I get onto all fours. I feel her press gently on my back and I push my bum out towards her. I feel the inevitable cold slippery feeling of lubricant being spread over my anus followed by her finger inserting itself into my rectum. She probes and stretches and withdraws.

The lubricant is wiped away and her smiling face confronts me.

"Thank you. I have finished. Come with me ..."

I follow her out of the medical room and back to the cell. I expect to find my clothes, perhaps coffee and forms to sign. I will sign anything, just let me get home!

The door of the cell opens outwards into the corridor. She places her hand on my bum and encourages me back into the cell -- which is just as bare as when I left it! I turn quickly around: "Look I have made it quite clear that I am not ... that I am Mrs Jennifer McEwan ..."

But by the time I have turned and got into the middle of my speech, the doctor has almost closed the door! She peeps around the side, smiles and shuts the door.

It thuds closed. It's a very solid thud and I can hear a latch engage. I have been locked inside once more. Alone. Well, perhaps there is paperwork to complete, before they let me go? THE IMPORTANCE OF POLITENESS

How long have I been here? After 'The Voice' had finished with me, and after I was taken back to the cell by the doctor, I have just been left here. I am worrying what Joe and my parents and everyone at work must be thinking. I have not been able to return the call to Joe. The call which was interrupted when I dropped my mobile. What will he be thinking? What will they all think?

How long am I going to be kept here? Perhaps the things I said to 'The Voice" (as I call it) are still being carefully checked. Checking that what I said was true. Then they will know that I am not Vyera. That I don't know anything. And then I can be let go? After they have finished with their paperwork?

I look around the cell where I am kept. It is like a deep white hole. The ceiling is gently curved and too high to reach. The lights are recessed and covered with frosted glass or something and there is wire embedded into it, so even if I could get to it, I could not break it. There is no window and only opening in the white walls is the door. The walls themselves are brick which has been painted. It's cold to the touch and it makes me feel as if I must be deep underground. I am getting to feel more and more claustrophobic in here. There is a squatting toilet -- like the one in my room at Inward Bound -- and for taps for water. One hot and one cold. They do not work all the time, though. Then there is a bed. Not really a bed: just a raised platform with a thin mattress covered with grey plastic. The floor is the same sparkly blue plastic there was in the room where I woke up. The door is a very solid looking prison door with a peep hole. It is so quiet. Every so often the door opens (outwards into the corridor, so there is nowhere for me to hide) and there are two guards standing outside. They never speak. One of them waves me across to the opposite wall, pointing a sort of gun. It is like the weapon the girl in London pointed at me, when I was taken. Kidnapped. The other guard carries in a small flimsy plastic bucket with bread, fruit and water. He leaves the new one on the floor and retrieves the old one. He points to the right of the door, to show me where I am supposed to leave it when I have finished. And that is all that happens. Day after day. Actually, there is absolutely no way to know how much time has really passed. I have tried to follow how long I have been here using the lights-on/lights-off as an indication of the passing of days but are they turning the lights on and off each full day? Sometimes the lights seem to be on for a long time and sometimes the 'days' go quickly. Sometimes they feed me before I am ready and on other 'days' I am kept waiting for food and water until I am ravenously hungry or very thirsty.

All the time I am getting more and more frightened. What if they forget me? Forget to feed me? Let me alone to starve to death? But the nurse kissed me when she left me. Surely she would not kiss me if they were just going to kill me?

Without any warning, the two guards are back. They come right into the cell. One of them covers me with his weapon. The other one straps a broad leather belt around my waist, takes each wrist and handcuffs each behind my back onto the leather belt. I am now completely helpless. He snaps a thick leather lead to the front of the belt and pulls me out of the cell. His colleague, the guard with the weapon follows behind me. Are they going to let me go now? Is this all over?

They take me to another of the white rooms. I should be glad of the change of scene, but I'm not. I can't imagine that anything is going to get easier. And even though I have had nothing to do, I feel so tired and sleepy all the time.

The room is cold. I'm still naked. They released my arms from the waist belt and I have been secured once more, sitting up in a heavy chair. Thick leather straps across my arms, legs, wrists and chest, hold me in place. I can see the heavy metal buckles that keep them closed but I can no more reach them than fly out of here. I'm facing straight ahead looking at a plain, heavy, wooden table.

The minutes drag by. It may be longer. I don't trust my judgment of time any more unless I count my breaths. 15 maybe 20 breaths - that's a minute. As long as I stay awake. But sometimes I don't even realise that I've been asleep.

A man and ... the girl both enter the room. It's the same girl who asked me for help in London! My jaw drops. I stare at her. She smiles back at me: a broad, confident, happy smile. She might almost be saying 'see I knew we would meet again'. He sits opposite and she sits behind his shoulder. They sit comfortably; I sit restrained. He begins to speak, but I can't understand what he says; it sounds like Russian but that's only a guess. The sounds of the words reminds me of the words Ylena used at Inward Bound and when the girl starts to speak in English, translating what the man says, I suppose - her accent sounds like Ylena's accent.

"Tell me your name ..."

"Just wait a minute. I want to talk to the girl there, behind you." The events in London start to flow back into my mind, first a trickle, then a flood. Anger builds in me. I start to shout at the girl, writhing and squirming against my restraints. "You asked me for help! You said you were ill. I was going to do all I could to help you. What a lie! You lied to me so you could get me here. You took advantage of me. I was prepared to do anything I could for you and you took me for a sucker. How dare you!" I am opening my mouth to continue my tirade when the girl speaks on a mobile phone and at once a guard enters the room with a bucket. He throws the contents over me. It's icy cold. It takes my breath away. I cough and splutter and by the time I have recovered he is back, this time to pour a second bucket of the same icy water over my head. I sit there dripping, gasping, shivering.

"You must understand first of all, that we will not tolerate that sort of tone, language and behaviour. Your name", says the girl. "You were going to tell us your name."

"Jenny", I sob.

"Pardon? ..."

"Jennifer Karin McEwan, and I will not respond to "Vera", whoever she may be." I don't know where I found the courage to say that after what has just happened. I scare myself a little by it and I'm proud of myself a little too, even though my voice is unsteady with sobs.

The man doesn't rise to the jibe, but merely says " Vyera. Your name is Vyera" and then continues, "Tell me about Inward Bound ..."

"What?"

He looks tired. Disappointed perhaps. Not angry. Just tired. "Please do not waste any more time ..."

"Do you mean I can go after I have told you?" I know what the answer will be. I don't know why I ask. I just do not want to sit here passively, answering his questions.

The man just looks at me as the girl translates my answer back again. He doesn't say anything.

"Why don't you just answer their ad and find out?"

"Because I need you to tell me ...."

I look at him and wonder what to do. Well, why not play their game for the present? I stare straight at him. "Again? I'm tired of being interrogated about Inward Bound." I chose the word "interrogated" deliberately. The man folds his hands together across his stomach and looks down. He's feigning lack of interest and I wonder how much he already knows about what happened to me at Inward Bound?

"Interrogated? Meaning what?"

"Meaning questioned." I am shivering violently now. It's hard to get the words out. "Under duress. Without reference to my rights. Surely you understand? Interrogated. By the CIA. Arrested and interrogated."

"By the CIA? About Inward Bound? ....."

I nod. "That's who they said they were. That's what they said they were interested in."

The man glances down at some papers and wrinkles his face as he looks back up at me. I notice that both he and the girl have curly cords from an ear piece, disappearing beneath their collars. I do not suppose they are wearing i-Pods.

Every so often their questions and translations pause, as if they are receiving instructions from someone else, someone not present. It's like I'm speaking to robots. The creepiness of it makes me start to shudder again -- that, and the cool of the room and because I am wet through from the cold water.

The man begins again. "So tell me about Inward Bound ......"

It's my turn to look tired. "It's all in their ad. You can find the ad in Second Skin." I nod at the straps that are keeping me locked in my seat. "You might enjoy it. Get some ideas."

"You spent a long time there. You know more about it than that."

"What's to tell? Oh, yes. It's fun! More fun than here. The trainers are nice."

There's a pause after the girl translates. It seems to be an alien concept to them "Nice? ...."

"Yes, they make it fun. They're tough but they make it fun as well as tough. It's like its name-sake."

"What?"

"Outward Bound. It's this British organisation which does adventure training. A bit like Army Training but without being in the Army. You'd know about that." I'm guessing of course and he knows it.

"I know The Outward Bound Trust." (3)

"Well, that's it really, except Inward Bound is for sexual submissives to explore themselves."

"And? ...."

"And nothing else."

There's another long pause. I imagine them getting more instructions through their curly wires.

The questions tumble on, covering the same ground again, then the same ground from a different angle. Then the questions stop. The two of them depart. Someone else comes, unstraps me, secures my arms behind my back once more and takes me back to my cell. There is some food for me in a bowl, and water. By the time I have finished, my skin has dried but I am still cold. Then the lights go out. SINGLED OUT BY QUESTIONNAIRE

Suddenly the lights are on again. I wake up but feel as though it should be the middle of the night, not daytime again? They take me back to the interrogation room. I'm strapped into the chair once more. There are two new people to question me. Two men this time. They don't explain themselves.

"Inward Bound. You weren't just there for the experience, were you? You spent time researching the methods used by Inward Bound. Didn't you?"

"I'm studying for my doctorate in psychology. This is my research area. How do you know?"

He ignores the question and responds with one of his own. "Pure or Applied?"

"Pure or applied what?"

The men are brought coffee. How good it smells! The Interrogator sips his slowly and suddenly the room seems even colder, as if I am sat under a waterfall of cold air. I start to shiver. He continues to sip slowly. The coffee steams and I start to realise how thirsty I am.

Perhaps if I get to the point, they will give me a drink. I could ask the Translator. His English is good. There is hardly any pause between my finishing speaking and him starting to translate. Never a pause in the Russian or whatever it is he is speaking. And the same when he is translating for the Interrogator. The Interrogator starts and the Translator starts right after. Neither of them pause. Whichever way the conversation goes. Questions into English or answers into Russian, or whatever their language is.

The Interrogator goes on. "Your research was? ..."

"How people changed during their stay. Me. And the others."

"Changed what? Outlook? Personality? Desires?"

"All of those. I wanted to know how the Inward Bound course affected the people who went on it. My research idea was that the course merely uncovers what was there before."

"It surely adds to what was there? ...." Somehow the interrogation is mutating into a conversation. I'm happy to follow the flow of the discussion. There is nothing I know about Inward Bound that I would want to keep secret from other people.

"No. I don't think so. It's not how it seemed. The people remained as they were; just more confident about themselves. More sure. Maybe more committed to something that they enjoy." I notice at this point that the Interrogator is slowly leaning forward to catch my words and I begin to wonder whether he really needs the Translator. But if he doesn't, what is the Translator doing here? "Look; it's no more than you would get if you went on a long holiday climbing or walking. You don't expect a personality change after that, but you might find that for some people, walking or climbing becomes their main recreation; for others, they might find it is just not for them. Perhaps an occasional day out, but it never becomes their main hobby."

"Yet that doesn't happen at Inward Bound, does it? People leaving."

"Yes it does. Of course. Some people leave early. I think." Actually I don't know. There weren't any on the course that I did. I shouldn't guess. I should just stick to the things I know. Tell them what I know. Don't tell them things that I don't know. Stick to what I know. Don't guess. Don't make things up.

"Many?..."

"Actually I don't know. There were none on my course. Err, I guess it's because the Inward Bound team carefully vet applications."




Tales from a Far Country Ch. 04-25



"Are they very selective?"

"That's how it felt to me. I think they try to give places to people who will enjoy themselves."

"How are they selective?"

"Well, if you make an internet contact, you start by completeing an on-line form. Someone from Inward Bound will contact you afterwards and arrange a personal face to face interview. After that they send you a follow up email so you can confirm you want to join a course and make a booking. You have to sign papers to say you have given informed consent to the things which might happen to you and what your limits are. I suppose if the experience was really not going to be "up your street' it would have become pretty clear by that time and the Inward Bound advisor might recommend that you were not quite ready yet. I suppose."

"But that's not why you decided to go?" He sees how I respond to his remark. "Why did you decide to go? ..."

"I didn't. My research supervisor suggested it."

He pauses again. I can tell that he wonders if there is more to it than that. "So none of this was your idea? You had no experience at all? ..."

Tell them the truth or be 'economical with the truth'? What shall I do? I don't care if they know. I'm not ashamed of what I am, or who I am or what I enjoy. "No, well it was something I thought might be exciting."

"Exciting to be enslaved?" The Interrogator is looking at the way that I am strapped into my chair.

"No. Inward Bound is about fantasy. Sure, sometimes a bit of the fantasy flavour spills into everyday life, but that's it."

"Not for some people ..."

"No, but it is for me."

"And for your husband?"

The conversation is moving into areas where I don't want to go. At first I say nothing. He waits. We both wait. He doesn't break the silence. I do.

"He's not very comfortable with it."

"Disappointed? ..."

"Well, maybe. Who knows what the future will bring? Marriage is more than a sexual adventure."

"But you decided to pay a lot of money to fulfil your fantasies ... "

"No. I told you. My research supervisor suggested it as an interesting research model. The fees were paid from a research fund."

So for hours, we criss-cross this particular ground. They get served coffee. I go thirsty. They eat lunch. I get nothing. Suddenly it's over again and I'm taken back to my cell. Once again, there is food for me but only a little water. The food is very tasty and I have no difficulty eating it but I'm left feeling very thirsty and the feeling builds even after the lights go out. My thirst makes sleep difficult. There is no water coming out of the taps in the cell and I lay near the door, hoping that any draft coming under it will somehow help me feel better. I begin to doze. Then the lights are back on and they come for me once more. THE PEOPLE FROM LANGLEY

It's the man and the girl again. The first two. At least I think they were the first two. I think

"The CIA. Yes, there is a lot here to interest the CIA." The man looks at his papers and looks up sharply at me. Even through the translation I can plainly understand the sarcasm in his voice. And he's right of course. But that's not my fault. Stick to what I know. "There's more to it than this, isn't there? What else were they interested in?" he says.

 "Well ..... I .... Well, they really wanted to know about someone they thought I had met, someone I was supposed to know."

"Someone in particular?"

"My Prof had a picture on her desk. They wanted to know if I knew someone in the picture."

"Who? ..."

"I don't know: the picture was taken at a conference Prof had been to in Moscow. The picture was showed some of the people there."

This is dangerous, I think. Is that what this is about? The picture was taken in Moscow. These seem to be Russians. Stick to what I know and be careful about how I tell them?

"Why didn't they just phone and ask? Why didn't they ask your Professor?"

"How should I know? They arrested me in the middle of the night and took me away."

He nods, seeming to approve of their methods. It sounds like his style; disorientation, suddenness, unexplained action. He just wants to press on with the questioning though. That seems to be his approach, keep the rhythm going, no real pressure just a natural rhythm to question and answers. I'm not sure if I could stop in time if he asked me something I didn't want to answer.

"Where? ..."

"I don't know -- an interrogation centre."

"And they just asked questions? ..."

"More than that."

"I see. What?"

"They tortured me."

"Tortured you? Over a photograph?" He seems very sceptical. Not sympathetic; just surprised that they should find it necessary. "How? ..."

Why should I care if he knows? He could do the same to me and I could do nothing to prevent it. "It was sexual. Beatings. Whippings. They made me ride something called a 'pony'. Astride it. Under my crotch."

There's a short exchange in their native language between the girl and the man, as if they're trying to work out a translation for the word "pony". Perhaps there is translation going on after all.

".. and they said they would sell me into real slavery if I did not tell the truth." I blurt this out. Is that what I think is happening? Do my answers simply confirm the decisions they have made about what they will eventually to with me? I wish I had not said that, but my thirst and the repeated episodes of disturbed sleep are making it almost impossible to be careful in what I say.

All this time the expression on the man's face shows he doesn't believe a word of it. He's deciding that my answers are all some sort of fantasy intended to confuse him; to throw him off the scent. He pauses. And then it's over again. Back to my cell. No food this time, but oh Joy! There is water. The lights go out. Once more I am left in inky blackness. (4) THE MEANING OF NAMES

Almost as soon as my eyes close, the lights go on once again. They come for me. I am back in the interrogation room. Strapped in the chair. It's very cold now.

I shiver more and more. The chair holds me firm and I get even colder and more uncomfortable and fidgety.

Is this the last man or the other one? I'm so confused, it could be either of them. I just can't remember. He takes off on a new line of questioning. "What did they do to you at Inward Bound?"

"Training."

Training?"

"Well, I learned to clean house very well and to anticipate what the trainers wanted of me and to follow instructions carefully."

"Carefully?"

"Yes: more carefully than I had at the beginning."

"So what did they do to you?"

"Er," I feel awkward explaining. Even though I am strapped naked and completely exposed before him. Describing the things I had to undergo as a result of my own decision to go to Inward Bound is embarrassing. He has found another private area in my mind. I do not really want to tell them. If I tell them I have to admit I was careless. Headstrong. Silly. No: I really I don't want to tell them. Perhaps it matters. Perhaps it doesn't matter.

"Go on ....."

I cannot stop myself: "They shaved my head and I was pierced and tattooed and ..."

"Chipped?"

"Well yes, how did you know?"

"We just know .... And what else?"

"I was beaten. I, I had sex with some of the other girls." I am squirming as I say this. He can see I'm distressed. He seems unconcerned.

"The beatings would involve Ylena Zhukova?"

"Yes, but how ..."

He cuts me off. "I know her work. Not her; only her name." It is the first time he has ventured an opinion or said anything that is more than a question. The Translator looks around at him, almost surprised.

"And you enjoyed all this treatment?"

"Yes." A simple admission. Actually not as hard as I might have imagined, but I look down, away from his eyes.

"Vyera: your fan-"

It's my turn to cut him off. "My name is Jenny."

I expect him to contradict me immediately but he seems to consider this for a moment. "Jenny? What does Jenny mean?"

I'm completely thrown by this question. I had never thought of my name having a meaning before. I blunder on: "Just Jenny, it means me. It's my name."

He looks unimpressed, as if my answer isn't good enough. He shakes his head and speaks. The Translator takes up the conversation: "Vyera means faith and truth. You are 836-906-368 and you are Vyera. (5) My advice is to live up to your name: to tell the truth and have faith that you are now in the right hands."

I am shocked that he knows my Slave Registration Number, the one on my chip, the one on my bar code tattoo. But if they have found my chip they will have read my number. Before I recover myself he slides a photograph from his papers and turns it to face me.

"Do you know this man?" The rhythm of questions and answers returns.

He slides the photograph towards me; it's a man I have never seen. He is walking out of a building. It looks like a restaurant. He is in his late forties. Slim. Erect. Fit. Tanned. Beautiful suit and tie ..... I shake my head.

"No" is all I say.

And her?

A photograph of a woman now. She is in a shop. It could be John Lewis (6) or something like that. She is striking. Again, in her forties. Dark hair, combed back from her face. It's a tough face. Attractive, but tough. Once again, she is beautifully dressed. Nothing ostentatious, just very well thought out. Clearly, a successful woman. You can see it in the confident way she carries herself, even in a photograph. Perhaps a lawyer or accountant?

"No"

And him?

This photograph shows a younger man. Very slight tummy. Thirties. Sandy hair, thinning on top. I am about to say 'No' when I pause. I look carefully. He is familiar. I crease my brow, trying to remember. The Interrogator notices. He is looking at me closely when I look up at him.

"I'm sorry: I don't know, but I have seen him somewhere before ...."

"And her?"

It's Charlotte from Inward Bound! It's like seeing an old friend. I relax. I smile. I look quickly up and at last I can give the man something he wants; "It's Charlotte. She works at Inward Bound."

"We know. And him?"

It's the sandy haired man again ......

"Yes: I recognise him now. I saw him once or twice at Inward Bound, but I do not know who he is."

"Aha. And her?"

He slides a photo of a strikingly beautiful black girl towards me. She has a shaven head and a small gold septum ring. Despite the treatment she gave me, I can't help breaking out into a wide smile; "It's Connie!"

"Yes," says the man, "Connie. How do you know her?"

"She was the CIA person interrogated me."

"She tortured you?"

"Yes. She tortured me."

"But you smile at her picture."

Yes! Because Connie was hot, I think, because in spite of being scared I was thrilled. Because it all came right in the end. Because I recognised someone that was familiar and came from my life before here. Because of a dozen reasons.

The man doesn't feel the need to press his point. The present interview ends and they take me back to my cell. This time there is food -- a little and water. I eat and drink as much as I can but that's not much. Overcome with fatigue, I lay down on the concrete floor and fall immediately fast asleep. THE PORTRAIT

In the blink of an eye, the lights are on once more and they are taking me to the interrogation room. I can hardly keep awake now. Hardly stand. They strap me in the chair and I fall instantly fast asleep.

I am brutally awoken by a deluge of icy cold water which has been poured over me. I feel it cascade over my head and down my back. I can feel it puddling at my feet. I would like to let it just drain off me and go back to sleep, but it's too cold and I am gasping and spluttering from the shock. I regain wakefulness, but oh so painfully. The room feels so cold and I start to shiver.

When I open my eyes, I see that a man and a girl have come in. The first ones. Or are they? Does it matter? The man begins. He slides yet another photograph towards me. "Do you know this man?"

"No." That's true at least. I don't know who he is. It's the man in the photograph from Angela's office but I don't know who he is.

"But you know something of him. Don't you?"

It's like he can see inside me. "Yes. It's the man that the CIA were asking me about. Do you know who he is?"

The man seems to have come to some conclusion or other. There's just something about him that seems to sag as he sits back in his chair. His face moves from light into darkness. He delivers a stream of whatever language he is speaking. Not the short staccato sentences of his questions. The girl listens and starts to translate even before he has finished speaking. "Yes, and now you will also come to learn who he is. This man has searched for you. He has found you. You are now his property. You seem to like numbers 836-906-368, now you appear in our asset register as К АН 101109 РЖ. Let me spell the new number out to you: Kah Aah Enh 101109 aiR Zheh. Both numbers mark you out as Vyera. Slave. That is what you are. Vyera - your fantasies are now over. You are now a real slave. Permanently. Enjoy!"

I struggle to absorb what he is saying. He gets to his feet evidently deciding that our conversation has finished. I'm struggling against the straps that hold me in the chair. I'm frightened and take refuge in defiance. "Excuse me but my name is Jenny McEwan."

He glances at me impatiently and turns to the girl. There is another staccato spitting of foreign words. "Now listen to me. Listen to me," she says, her tones failing to carry the menace of his own. "You have been sold and then you have been bought. That is all there is to it."

For some reason I am more angry than frightened. The fatigue begins to drain from me, chased out by anger. "What? I can't be sold. I can't be bought!"

The man gives a dry laugh. "Of course you can! Everything is for sale nowadays. Think how many you know who could have sold you. You said yourself that the CIA threatened to sell you. Perhaps Inward Bound might wish to have your data for themselves and make sure the source does not blab their little secrets to anyone who will listen? Your Professor distrusts you. Perhaps she wishes to take your data and report it on her own account?"

That part is believable but that doesn't mean she would do this. It's absurd.

"Your husband is not comfortable with your fantasies."

"No!" I scream back at him trying to wrench myself free of the straps holding me to the chair. "No!"

"You said so. The fantasies you privately indulged behind his back. Perhaps he is tired of you. Maybe he has given you up to the lifestyle you really wish to lead. It gives him enough to clear his debts and start a new life with someone more ...." There's a pause as he seems to search for the right word. "Someone more compatible. More predictable. Someone safer. After all, as he rises through his company, can you really expect him to want to be seen with you? A girl with a shaven head and a ring through her nose and a tattoo on her back? Not a partner. Not a wife. A slave."

This onslaught plays on each and every one of my fears: I am left gasping, floundering by the time he finishes. I have no words to reply. It all seems so logical. So reasonable. So certain.

"Neena," the man turns to the girl. Now he is speaking in plain English. "Give 836-906-368 something to remind her what she is and who she is!"

"A pleasure!" replies the girl - Neena as I now know her to be. She leaves the room.

The man stays, watching me. A smug smile on his face. Neena returns with a small trolley: she wheels it over to me.

It's covered with a white cloth, obscuring what's underneath. She takes a power cord and plugs it into a wall socket. I start to squirm and writhe in the chair. I am having nightmare fantasies about what's beneath the cloth. She plucks the cloth away and there's a tattooing hand-piece and a damp sponge in a bowl and some transfer paper.

Nina says, "Vyera, I am going to write on your wrist. If you do not cooperate I shall have the design lasered off and replaced, perhaps on the side of your bald head. Would you like that?"

No words come. I can only shake my head. I have even stopped shivering.

"Good," she replies, and begins. She sponges my right wrist. The man looks on. She puts a bendy plastic stencil tightly over my wrist, to guide the tattoo needle. The man smiles, satisfied. She begins to draw the tattoo outline: a black cross inside a black circular ring.

The tattoo needle bites and stings but I just sit passively and watch; I'm too tired, even to flinch.

"This stands for "Owned Slave" she carefully explains. Underneath she writes in Cyrillic carefully pronouncing each letter. "Veh ... Yeh ... aiR ... Aah" as she writes В ... E ... P ... A.

She fills in the black out line with red.

"Do you know why I have drawn in red?"

"No.'

"Red tattoos are the most difficult inks to remove -- it makes it all so much more permanent.

"There, she says. No we can all see plainly: there need be no more doubts over your ... your attribution. Your name, your status and your ownership are now explicit, at last. You are Bepa and she is an owned slave!" THE WATCHERS

During Jenny's interrogation, Anatoly and Sveta review the recordings and occasionally partake in real time, asking their questions through Valentine and Neena, Igor and Pyotr. Now the process has come to an end, Sveta leans back to look at Anatoly.

"Well, Tolya! Was she worth it?"

"How do you mean?"

"All the planning. Sending the jet. All the expenses of the Away Team?"

Sveta continues as Anatoly begins to form his reply: " ..... It seems to me that this girl is not close to Freddie Clegg and his inner circle. I think we are dealing with a somewhat vulnerable young lady who has been extensively manipulated by your Professor Dawney. Is she lesbian, by the way?"

"Yes, I'm sure she is. Maybe bi-curious occasionally," he snorts -- curious is not a word he'd normally use for Angela's views of anything, "but with her, it's mainly girls."

"Tolya, I'll tell you what has happened here ....."

"What?"

"Dawney fancied Vyera. Vyera was working in Dawney's department and Dawney moved in on her. Then Vyera's relationship with Dawney cools. I expect Dawney would want to be the dominant partner and take rather more than she gives. Later Vyera falls in love and gets married because she is really hetero. Dawney picks her moment and tries to drive a wedge between Vyera and her husband by developing Vyera's submissive desires and hoping in due course to get her back. I'm impressed. Dawney should have worked for us but that's not enough to make me like her."

"Dawney?"

"Yes, Dawney. She is a bitch. She needs to be taught a lesson."

"And?"

"Well -- you had Vyera's research data copied?"

"Yes; I sent one of the team round and we took her laptop. All the data was there and the work Vyera had done before we acquired her. We have the address of her computer at the university and a surveillance programme was installed on that machine, too. There is nothing she has done in the last eighteen months that we do not know about"

"Well that's something at least."

"So ... what now?" ... and it seems to Anatoly as if he is holding his breath.

Sveta makes her decision.

"I think ... I think we ought to keep her. I liked her at first and I think I like her even more now. In the right place she should be fine when she has been properly and thoroughly trained. Let's get that done."

Anatoly smiles. He agrees with Sveta: on balance, it had been worth it. He had not got everything he had hoped for, but he has got plenty. And Sveta has said she wants to keep the girl! Ah, relief -- accompanied by a hope for the future? Perhaps. Perhaps.




Tales from a Far Country



By the mid morning on Monday, physical examination shows bruising beginning to appear lateral to Anna's lumbar spine, exactly as one might expect from Dr Hahn's initial diagnosis.

Standard x-rays do not confirm a fracture, but the swelling in the area has reduced the clarity of the image.

All in all, the clinical evidence tends to confirm Dr Hann's suggestion of muscle damage with perhaps an un-displaced fracture of at least one of the transverse vertebral processes -- and Anna is clearly in discomfort when she moves. However, with no neurological symptoms such as numbness or paraesthesia or loss of motor nerve function, there is not enough to justify more searching investigation like CT and MR scanning. (5) The treatment is rest, analgesics, careful mobilisation and physiotherapy.

Recovery will take some weeks and the Doctor's proposal -- to send Vyera back home under sedation to control the discomfort of the journey seems completely reasonable.

Vyera's family has arranged a private flight back and Dr Hahn, as a friend of the family, arranges to transfer her to the airport assisted by one of his medical colleagues and one of his practice nurses."

REPATRIATION 

London's main commercial airports - Heathrow, Stanstead, Luton and Gatwick, are all very busy. They deal primarily with scheduled commercial flights and air freight. In recent years private international flights have been redirected elsewhere, including to new facilities at a former military airfield between Camberley and Aldershot, close to the south western edge of London. On Monday, the duty manager at the airfield receives a call from a Doctor Artur Hahn. He is an orthopaedic surgeon, or so he says. He is caring for a Russia national who has had a riding accident whilst on holiday in Windsor. She has possibly suffered fractures of some of the transverse processes of her lower spinal vertebrae and needs to be flown home under sedation and medical supervision. Fortunately the family has been able to charter a private jet which is presently at the airport. Hahn thinks the patient will be fit to fly on Tuesday. Can he arrange the details with the airport medical officer? He mentions the hospital where he works, leaves his mobile number and the number of his rooms. (6)

The duty manger passes the enquiry on to the medical officer. She knows the hospital but she's never had any dealings with Hahn. It's a bit of a coincidence though - she was chatting with some of the other airport staff a couple of days ago and one of them mentioned him. Who was it? Oh yes -- one of the admin people. She was saying that she'd been referred to him and did anyone know anything about him?

The Medical Officer is a cautious, meticulous woman. She checks the hospital number from the internet and calls back, asking to speak to Dr Hahn. The MO wants to make sure that this is a genuine call and that the doctor actually is who he claims to be. She returns the call to the doctor's hospital, not to the numbers given to the duty manager.

The line buzzes. The call is answered.

"Airport Medical Officer speaking. Can I have a word with Dr Hahn. Returning his call to me."

"Ah ..." the secretary pauses "... I'm afraid he's not here at the moment. Can I Help? er -- is it about the Russian girl?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Of course. I can give you his mobile number. Get back to me if you can't reach him."

The number corresponds to the number given to the airport duty manager.

The MO is feeling more confident now, but first calls back to the hospital and asks to be put through to the nursing team caring for Dr Hahn's patient. They confirm the details of the patient and the tentative diagnosis of the patient's injury adding that the patient really does seem to be in some real discomfort. They also offer her a number for Dr Hahn's mobile. It is the same number left for her by Dr Hahn and also given to her by his hospital secretary. Next the MO calls Dr Hahn himself on the mobile number she has verified. Hahn is absolutely charming and only too happy to provide her with all the information she asks for. The MO is completely reassured. She looks forward to helping in any way she can.

STREET WISE 

On Tuesday morning, Joe and I leave our home in Warwick to catch the train for London. Joe has a meeting with the consulting engineers working with his employers on a new project in Cambodia. Joe and the project the team are then travelling on to link up with their Korean partners in Seoul. The London engineers maintain a smart office in Fitzroy Square. It's not far from the Royal Society of Medicine where I am going but first I have plans to visit a rather swish leather tailors in Marylebone High Street, not far away!

We catch the 9.49 from Warwick and arrive in London for 11.30. Joe hails a taxi and we head off to a Venetian restaurant that Joe knows in Wigmore Street. He asks the taxi to take his luggage on to the office in Fitzroy Square so we don't have to worry about it.

Together, we enjoy a leisurely lunch. But then it's almost time for Joe's meeting. We stroll hand in hand, enjoying the closeness of each other's bodies and the warm and simple reassurance of holding hands.

All too soon we are standing alone in Fitzroy Square. Just the two of us. "I do hate it when you have to go Joe", I say. There is a hard lump in my tummy.

"Yes, I know you do," he replies, looking across at the office building. "The rest of the boys must have arrived." I am pleased about that. I don't want to have to share Joe with them while we try to enjoy our last moments before he has to go.

We embrace tightly ....

"Just four weeks," he says.

"I know," I reply. "I'll make sure I get ahead of schedule so there's plenty of time for us when you get back.

OH, I do hate going. A few weeks ago, I was really looking forward to this trip. Now ..... well, let's just say I am not"

"Yes, I hate you going too..."

"Look it's time."

"I know."

We hug tight, kiss and part. Joe turns one last time on the threshold of the office door. I smile. He waves one last time. I blow him a kiss.

He smiles broadly and turns away.

Now it's my turn to leave. I know have the appointment at the leather shop but I feel flat inside. The zest has gone out of the project just now. Maybe I should just go to the medical library? No: I have made the appointment. It will be a sexy surprise for Joe when he gets back and when I think about Joe coming back, I start to feel much better!

NEENA INTERVENES 

"Anatoly Sergeyevitch?" (7)

"Thank you Neena Alexandrovna, Good luck!"

"Vehicle?"

"Check!"

"Electronic jamming?"

"Check!"

"Lookout?"

"Check!"

"Team: stand by. Target in sight. On my mark ...."

Neena Kirova brings her team to full readiness and waits for her moment. She is delighted that Anatoly Sergeyevitch Kustensky has chosen her to be "Field Commander" for this particular hit! "Neena," he said. "This is may be a challenge but I think you can meet it. You have exactly the right qualities to be successful." Neena has been working for Anatoly for three years now. She was recruited into the Security Division of Anatoly Kustensky Enterprises after she left the Army. She is delighted to know that her hard work had been noticed and that Anatoly is trusting her with a difficult and important project. She has been so looking forward to it!

Neena watches them from across the Square. The buildings remind her of home -- that's St Petersburg, where she was brought up. The target and her husband stand on the steps to the office where he has a meeting. They must be saying goodbye. It's going to be more of a "goodbye" than either of them realise. They kiss, hug and embrace one last time. She turns. He begins to enter the building. He turns and waves. She blows him a kiss. "Oh dear," thinks Neena. Even so, Russians have a romantic, sentimental streak and there is something about this final farewell which softens Neena. But she must put tender feelings resolutely to one side. It's time to get things under way. She says into her microphone: "Quarry out from cover, moving and vulnerable. Begin operation!"

Anatoly reaches over to his computer and launches a surveillance programme. Think of Google Earth but a fully developed military version, operating in real time. The screen opens and Anatoly enters the target coordinates. The globe rotates, until it is centred over London and then the ground rushes up. Anatoly shuts his eyes: it's a sequence that always makes him feel sick. When he looks at the screen again, he sees London on a glorious cloudless autumn day. Three sets of cross-hairs mark Neena, the vehicle and the lookout. He pours himself a whisky and watches.

Neena and her Team know the Target's intentions from the electronic surveillance they have carried out. It's not hard to predict to her route. The most direct route to both the Royal Society of Medicine and the leather shop in Marylebone High Street is to leave Fitzroy Square at its south west corner, walk into Cleveland Street and turn right into New Cavendish Street.

The plan is simple. Neena will follow the Target for some minutes after she leaves her husband. Neena will call the Target on her mobile number and claim to be speaking from the Engineer's Office. She has rehearsed her lines until they are second nature to her: Is that Mrs McEwan? Oh I am so glad I have caught you. My name is Neena. It's about your husband. He has slipped down a flight of stairs in the office. We think he has broken his ankle. We have called an ambulance and thought you would want to be with him. Can you wait for me and I will come to you? Look out for a black Mercedes People Carrier and wave when you see us. They expect that Jenny will cooperate fully and after the touching scene on the office steps a few moments ago Neena is feeling even more confident. As soon as Jenny has finished speaking on her mobile, the vehicle crew will transmit a jamming signal to disable the handset and prevent any further calls. The vehicle will stop, Neena approach Jenny and introduce herself. Once inside the vehicle, events will take quite a different course to that which Jenny expects. How ironic that she will deliver herself into the hands of her own abductors! Simple plans are always best -- and safest for all concerned. Even for the Target. (8)

The Target follows New Cavendish Street heading west, just as they anticipated. She looks at her watch -- and starts to walk faster. She must think she will miss her appointment.

"Vehicle Crew? I am calling the target. Stand by to jam the handset as soon as she agrees to meet us."

But before Neena can call Jenny's number, they see Jenny takes her mobile phone and starts to speak! Neena and her colleagues can eavesdrop on her conversation. The Team are appalled to hear Joe's voice!

"Joe? Hi!" she says.

A man's voice now. "The boys were held up in traffic! They are just arriving, so I thought I'd snatch a final call."

"That's nice."

"Did you get to the library yet?"

"Aha, well I'm afraid I'm being just a little bit naughty ...."

The Target is crossing Portland Place. It's very busy with fast moving traffic. She's obviously distracted by her husband's call. There is a man emerging from the taxi and he doesn't see her. For goodness sake, she is going to get herself run over if she carries on like this!

The two of them collide. Her mobile spins from her hand and crashes to the pavement. Her call breaks up in a hiss and crackle of static.

The man carries on without, apparently, taking the trouble to apologise and dives into the office building adjacent. The Target looks at his back, as he disappears, shaking her head at his rudeness. She picks up the phone. By the way that she's prodding at it, the phone has probably made its last call. She shakes her head again and then slowly resumes her journey.

As she walks on, she is still trying to get her phone to work but without any signs of success. She's getting closer to her destination. She pushes the phone back into her bag.

Her husband's intervention has changed everything. The story Neena intended to tell the Target is now completely implausible. She can't claim that Joe has suffered an accident because Jenny and Joe have just spoken to one another! The whole plan is collapsing in ruins before their very eyes ...

The Target is now only a few hundred metres away from the end of New Cavendish Street; Neena must either abandon the hit or use the back-up plan.

She calls the vehicle and tells the driver to stop the vehicle somewhere along the street ahead of the Target, but before she reaches her destination.

Anatoly has been following the progress of the operation from his office in Moscow, using satellite surveillance data and the position of the Team positions marked by continuous telemetry. He chooses this moment to remind them that he is watching!

"Neena?"

"Da, Anatoly Sergeyevitch!"

"Well?"

"The main street is relatively quiet. The target is distracted by the shops. I recommend a final attempt. Look-out? Where are you now?"

"There is parking on the north side of the street in two hundred metres!" replies the Look-Out, "I am moving the motor bike into the space now. Vehicle? I will move off as soon as you arrive."

"Be cautious: there is always another day", says Anatoly. He sounds calm but he is grinding his teeth at the thought of all the preparations so carefully made, all coming to nought. Dr Hahn, Anna Tereshkova, the electronic surveillance, the aeroplane -- and what will Sveta say when she finds how much has been spent on what is becoming a complete fiasco?

Meanwhile, the Target saunters along, she's not far from the leather shop now and she's caught up time. She's glancing in the windows of the shops she passes; enjoying the walk and the day.

"Launching final attack. Stand by".

The Target walks past a newsagents shop. There is an old woman emerging and in the way but Neena bumps past her. It is the last opportunity they will have. This is the moment to be bold. "Please! Could you help me?" Neena calls to Jenny . Neena does her best to look panicked. She fumbles in my bag and looks desperately at Jenny.

Jenny is startled to see a girl of about her own age, in such a distressed condition. To some extent Neena is acting her role but some of her performance is given an extra "edge" by the very real stress she is under! "I am diabetic," Neena continues urgently. "I think I am going hypo. I can't find my glucose. My car is just up ahead. Can you get me there safely? I have glucose and insulin there and the rest of my kit ...."

For a moment the Jenny is lost for words.

Neena continues to fumble in her bag. She repeats, ".....please?"

Jenny's natural kindness and generosity comes into play. Despite her imminent appointment she is only too willing to help. "Yes, of course! Look, do you want to stay here? If you have a mobile, perhaps we should call an ambulance?" she says.

Her reply makes Neena feel almost guilty and yet it also confirms that Neena and her Team are going after exactly the right person:

"Thanks but I am sure I will be fine if I can just sort myself out. Just up the street ...." Neena gestures weakly in the direction of the vehicle.

Jenny puts her arm around Neena "Of course", she says. "Which one is your car?"

"It's the black people carrier. On the opposite side of the street ...."

Jenny can see the Mercedes. It really is quite close. The two of them walk on unsteadily.

"What do you think is the matter?" Jenny asks. "I thought if you were on insulin, you got to know how to look after yourself pretty well?"

"Yes, most of the time I'm fine but I was up too early. It's been a really busy day and I have not had enough to eat. I will be just fine if I can get some glucose into me"

They reach the vehicle and Neena fumbles with the key.

Jenny says, "Here. Let me help"

She takes the key and presses the key fob to unlock the vehicle. There is a large sliding door in the side and two rows of passenger seats, facing one another.

Neena climbs into the middle row, facing the rear of the vehicle. Jennifer follows her in, anxious to see the crisis resolved safely and takes a seat in the rear of the vehicle, facing forwards.

"Can you close the door? I'm feeling cold ...." Neena tells her and she starts to fumble with her bag once more - and manages to drop a syringe on the floor.

Oh what a sweet moment! What marvellous relief! Now she has reached this point, Neena knows she will succeed. In spite of having to alter their plan once the operation was in progress .... Just take these last few steps carefully. The trap is almost closed!

Jennifer leans forward, sliding the door shut, increasingly concerned about her new companion. She should be concerned, but not in the way she thinks! Jenny stretches her hand forward to grasp the syringe .....

By the time she straightens up, Neena has undergone a miraculously transformation -- and she is holding a weapon a few inches from Jenny's body!

BETRAYED BY KINDNESS 

It's a horrific turn of events. Just a moment ago, I was walking down a sunny street and the next I'm in terror of my life.

I can't believe my eyes. The girl I have helped is holding what looks like a gun at me! When she speaks, her voice has become cruel and menacing. "First, don't make even one sound. This is a Taser. If I fire it, you will get an electric shock big enough to knock you on the floor. It can make you vomit and piss yourself. Some people even go into cardiac arrest. Would you like that?"

I cannot grasp what's happening. I stare speechless at the person who, a few moments ago was appealing to me for help and is now threatening me. I shake my head, my mouth open in shock. She must surely be able to read the surprise, disbelief and horror I feel?

"Good girl. There is tape on the seat next to you. It's sticky side up. Put it across your lips. Smooth it down. Properly ... There! ... Well done!"

I am stunned. I don't know what to think. Is this some dreadful re-run of my CIA arrest? (9) It's almost like something the Inward Bound people would organise.

It's that thought that wins through. This must be some elaborate game that Corinne has thought up. Corinne and Gaspazha Ylena have done this. This girl even has an accent like Gaspazha's. Perhaps they are trying out a new "kidnap scenario" on me, to pay me back for the clandestine research I did on them, when I first went to Inward Bound? Well, it's very convincing. I do just as I am told.

"Take this cuff. Place it round your right wrist ... good ... and now clip the other cuff to the ring on the chair ... good! You really are obedient aren't you?"

I continue to do exactly as she tells me. I am transfixed with fear at the site of the Taser and it's only the thought that somehow Inward Bound has something to do with this that let's me function at all. My body meekly follows the instructions being handed out whilst my mind seems to stand idly by.

As I bend to clip the cuff to the seat arm, the girl launches herself forward and in an instant, she has wrapped a wide band of Velcro strapping over my free arm. She loops a second Velcro strap around my cuffed arm. "Almost done! We don't want to hurt your wrists."

The girl's ironic tone chimes with my idea that this is something to do with Inward Bound. That's just the way they would think. The girl takes a third Velcro strap and wraps it round my calves and slips a noose which must have been waiting beneath the seat, around my ankles. It prevents me kicking my legs forward. Finally, the girl takes the car seat belt and secures me to the seat .......




Tales from a Far Country



In less than 90 seconds, I have gone from a Good Samaritan to helpless prisoner.

The girl sits back in her own seat and smiles contentedly. I sense that there is almost some relief in the girl's demeanour. "I am very pleased to meet you Vyera! You have been acquired for new work. My name is Neena. We are going to get to know each other really well!"

My brain begins to come back to life at last. Vyera? Who on earth is that? She must think I'm someone else. With that thought I start to panic. Perhaps this isn't something to do with Inward Bound, at all. Who is this Neena? Some psychopath? Does she really have diabetes and is the diabetes beginning to affect her mind?

I start to mew and shake my head and writhe in the seat, trying to break free, trying to tell this Neena that I am not called Vyera. The girl sees the change in me as my compliance gives way to struggles against the pull of her cuffs. "Don't struggle, Vyera," she says. "This car has tinted glass. We can see out but they," she nods her head towards the passers by on the pavement, "cannot see in. Now, I am going to give you something to make you feel much better." She takes a pair of scissors. To my dismay she cuts a slit in my jeans. For goodness sake! Doesn't she know how much these cost? These are my best pair! Joe and I are not made of money! And then she swabs my skin and then produces what looks like a fat biro pen.

"This is an auto-injector and this (I feel an unpleasantly sharp sting in my thigh) is Ketamine. It will stop you feeling so frightened and make you much easier to handle. You will get some more later on. Now, we have an appointment, so just sit back and enjoy your journey!"

With that, the girl -- Neena, as she calls herself -- climbs into the driver's seat, starts the engine and begins to manoeuvre into the afternoon traffic.

All the strength begins to ebb from my body and I start to feel oddly disconnected from what is happening to me. Neena glances over her shoulder at me and smiles. She says something which I cannot make out. "Izveneetie, devorshka," it sounds like. I start to feel numb and then, presently I feel as if I am seeping out of my body and out of the vehicle! I am flying away! See: girl. You thought you had caught me, but as you drive along, I am flying away from you! I am getting away. Ha! I will soon be all gone. Jennnnnnn? Who? That person, there. The one tied to the seat. She is - no I am flying away, through a tiny key hole, all the way back home! (10)

MOMENTARY RELIEF 

Anatoly glances at the screen of his computer closely. His palms are sweating just a little. He notices that his pulse is running fast. Over his computer, he hears Neena's calm voice saying, "Target down; Pick-up complete. Target safe and restrained. Time now 14:30. Going to the rendezvous.'

Anatoly sighs. He had not realised it, but he has been holding his breath ...

He allows himself a broad smile. A smile, because his Team have accomplished a difficult task in difficult circumstances, a smile because he has now got someone who can give him inside information about a Clegg Operation and a smile because, who knows? This young girl might be helpful to Sveta -- actually, he hopes she may even be healing for Sveta, someone who may help to salve some old and painful wounds.

.......................................................................................................

Footnotes.

1. More on Trish. See Market Forces, by Freddie Clegg. Chapter 73

2. Statistical Package for the Social Sciences.

3. The Royal Society of Medicine has the best medical library in the United Kingdom.

4. "Sister" is the name given in the UK to a senior female nurse.

5. CT (computerized tomography) and MR (magnetic resonance imaging) are the gold standard methods for imaging fractures (CT) and ligament and tendon injuries (MR) in bones and joints.

6 Private flights to the London Area are mostly now directed to Farnborough or Blackbushe airports

7. "Rooms" : A rather quaint expression often used by medical practitioners in London to refer to the location of their private practice.

8. Neena uses a Mercedes Viano X-Clusive

9. The electronic jamming idea was inspired by a story in a local UK newspaper, about some traffic policemen who accidentally pointed a radar speed gun at a low flying fighter jet. The jet's electronic defence system not only jammed the radar gun, but automatically armed and targeted an air to ground missile. The pilot chose not to fire!

10. Russian names. There are quite a few Russian characters in this story and you might find a short note about Russian names helpful. If you were a Russian, you would have three names. A first name (such as Anatoly) a second name derived from the name of your father (if your father was called Sergey, your 'patronymic' would be Sergeyevitch if you were a boy and Sergeyevna if you were a girl), and finally a family surname name (such as Kustensky). In Russia, if you were introduced to Anatoly Kustensky, you would call him "Anatoly Sergeyevitch". If you knew him very well indeed, you would be allowed to use his first name, Anatoly, or its diminutive "Tolya" all on its own. The female version of a family name takes a slightly different form and hence Anatoly's wife Svetlana (diminutive Sveta) is called Svetlana Kustenskaya.