Our Only Hope

This is Chapter Two of a book. The characters and situations will be more understandable if the previous chapters have been read. Because it is a book, some of the chapters are more exciting than others, and some situations do not complete until the next chapter. I could have run this through my regular publisher and made a couple hundred dollars, but I am posting it instead because many more people read my posts than buy my books.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician (Technician666@Gmail.Com ).

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Chapter Two

slave ines

It was just a little short of two in the morning when both of my computers and three of my cellphones all began screaming in an imitation of those horrid European sirens which sound like a tenor donkey with his balls caught in a barbed-wire fence. To say that I was now wide awake would be the world's greatest understatement.

One of the computers was showing alarm footage from my primary home, the second was showing my lake house. One of the phones was flashing the message, "Home," the second said, "Lake," and the third said, "Pearl Harbor!"

My house and the cabin at the lake were both in flames. It was apparent that there were several vehicles surrounding each. Had I been at either location, I would now be dead, but I was born paranoid and got worse as I grew up. As soon as I realized that things were getting wonky, I had moved to one of my deepsafe locations. The locals here think I'm an eccentric millionaire who likes to play hermit up in the old mine shacks on the mountaintop.

Part of that is true. There are five old mine shacks on the very top of the mountain- actually a broad "bald knob," as such rounded summits are called here. There was evidently something valuable in this hunk of rock at one time or another because it is honeycombed with hand-drilled mine tunnels going every which direction. During one or the other of our various cold wars, Uncle Sam was the owner of this knob. Thanks to some outrageous, taxpayer-funded expenditures, it is possible to enter a highway tunnel at the base of this mountain and, by turning into a service area in the middle of the tunnel, drive all the way up to the top of the knob underground. The old command center is a rather nice living area if you don't mind the fact that you are totally underground. When I need some fresh air or want to survey the surrounding countryside with my own eyes rather than through the network of cameras hidden in the trees, I can go up into one of the shacks- actually heavily-armored guard stations.

Since the existence of this facility was supposed to be top secret, and since I own it through several layers of dummy corporations, I feel relatively safe here. At least, I feel a lot safer than I would be at my now burning house or cabin. There are only two other people who know of the existence of this safehouse, and one of them just signaled that he was under attack.

The Pearl Harbor alarm was sent by Boris. There had obviously been a coordinated attack or raid on my houses and my associates. His alarm and the automatic alarms from my house and cabin had come in at the same time. I considered for a brief moment that it might have been a government raid of some sort, but the videos from my alarm systems made it clear that there had been no attempt to capture- or even talk- to me. There was intense covering fire as the SUVs arrived on scene at the house and cabin. The fiery explosions occur moments later. Someone wanted me dead. Hopefully, they did not have the same plans for Boris.

A fourth cellphone chirped indicating a text. I know, "What kind of person keeps four cellphones active at the same time?" The answer to that is "A very paranoid one who is still alive."

The text was a short question, "Shangri-la 1,2,3, or 4?" Boris was still alive and asking where I was hiding. I have six safehouses, but if Boris didn't ask about four, he was being pressured. If he asked about three, he needed rescue. If he asked about five, he was totally compromised. Six meant "I'm screwed. Save yourself."

I texted back "3." Had it been any of the other places, I would have had to send complete directions, but Boris helped me set up the electronics at this site. He already knew how to get here. There was nothing to do now, but wait.

***

Boris must have driven straight through... or as straight as a paranoid person like Boris would drive while doubling back, changing cars, and doing all of the other things necessary to make sure you weren't being followed. It was almost dark the next day when I got another short text. All it said was "15." He was fifteen minutes out.

I sat watching the cameras which showed the inside of the highway tunnel. A light gray compact car turned off into the emergency stopping area and then turned into the opening which said, "Maintenance Vehicles Only." Once it was inside the small garage-like area, I opened the back wall to allow it onto the internal road. I would wait until I was positive it was not being followed and was alone before allowing them the rest of the way out to where I was holed up.

The vehicle stopped at the wide creek which flowed through a deep ditch that had been worn through the road. It looked like an underground stream had washed out this hidden road years ago. There was even a pile of debris on the other side of the creek which looked like a destroyed roadbed that curved off in the direction of the flow of water.

Boris got out of the car and stood staring across the creek. He was genuinely bewildered. He had only been here twice before and had never seen the full extent of my protections. I waited a few minutes to see what he would do. No one else got out of the car, although Boris appeared to occasionally be looking at someone in the passenger seat. No other vehicles appeared out of the shadows. After several minutes, he screamed out something and pounded his fist on the hood of the car hard enough to create a dent. Then he kicked a tire and stomped back over to the driver's side. Just as he opened the door, I triggered the mechanism to lower the drawbridge.

Boris stared wide-eyed as the sheer face of rock on the opposite side of the creek slowly opened and a bridge descended across the stream to complete the roadway. As soon as he had driven over the bridge, I returned the drawbridge to the closed position.

His first words when he arrived at the control center were, "How much fucking money do you have, W?"

I smiled at him and said, "All of my currency if very chaste, but there is a lot of it. My machines and detective work are more like hobbies that I really enjoy. I am what I like to call, independently wealthy. I have patents on a couple of critical processes used in making microcircuits. The royalty payment is only a fraction of a cent each, but when you multiply that by hundreds of millions, it does add up."

I turned my attention back to the car and said, "I assume that the person with you is Natasha... or whatever her true name is."

A stunningly beautiful blonde stepped out of the car and stared intently at me with bright blue eyes that were obviously evaluating what she saw. She was wearing a rather loose-fitting black pantsuit that almost looked like men's pajamas. Her voluminous curves, however, made it very apparent she was not a man. Her 38D breasts were clearly outlined in the front of the stretched material and the ample curve of her gluteus maximus strained the limits of the seams around her buttocks. As she walked toward me, I could see her muscles rippling beneath the fabric as she moved with the lithe grace of a dancer... or an athlete... or a highly-trained soldier.

"My name really is Natasha," she said in a deep, almost husky voice as she approached me. She held out her hand. Her grip as I shook her hand was as firm as any man's. "Boris, on the other hand," she said with a smile, "is really Barry."

She paused to look at Boris and then continued, "When we were children together in Moscow, the agents watching him always referred to us as Boris and Natasha. My father's agents picked it up and..." She made a slight gesture with her shoulders and hands that was very typical of someone from Russia.

"My father was the political officer at the embassy in Moscow," Boris said with a slight smile. "Natasha's father was a high level officer in the KGB."

Natasha quickly corrected him with "FSK, dear. FSK."

"FSK," Boris said looking over at her, "or FSB or whatever they call it tomorrow, your father was always KGB... like his father before him."

"And like he groomed you to one day be," I said calmly.

She again shrugged and said, "Perhaps." Her voice had a sad quality to it as she continued, "But I fell in love with an American." She stroked Boris' hair and said, "An extremely nerdy, unbelievably brilliant American who loved me for what I could think with my mind..." The muscles on her face and arms suddenly went very tense. "... not for what I could do with my body."

I decided to move the conversation back to the business at hand. "Are either of you hurt?" I asked. "Did you get away clean?"

Natasha's face suddenly went blank and she said flatly, "They got poopsie. I couldn't save her. I don't know if she is hurt. I don't even know if she is alive."

I looked over at Boris and he had that deer-in-the-headlights look of a man who didn't want to say anything. Then he let out a deep breath and began, "W, I think it's pretty obvious that Natasha is more woman than I- or any man- could ever handle. ... And I'm pretty vanilla. ... She, on the other hand, is more... adventuresome."

"Our relationship," Natasha took over, "is as American as apple pie with vanilla ice cream on it." Her voice was starting to show a slight Russian accent. Evidently she was becoming more relaxed about me. "And I remain faithful to him," she continued. She gave him a quick smile and added, "... in my own way."

She pulled Boris over alongside her. His head reached only to her shoulders. She continued, "I have never been with any other man since I met Barry." She paused and once again smiled at him.

"We are equals," she said firmly. "But I have other needs and I have kept a series of pets- all female- with which I amuse myself."

"Should I call you Mistress Natasha?" I asked calmly.

"Only my pets call me Mistress," she said quickly. Her voice sounded very hard as she said that. It softened as she continued, "To the world, I am just a nerdy brain with a good looking body. I prefer not to be noticed and do not call attention to myself by frequenting the clubs."

"Like a well-trained spy," I said softly. When she gave me a very angry look, I pushed my luck and added, "... or assassin."

"That is in my past," she said firmly. With the look she was now giving me, I greatly hoped that was indeed true.

"The men who attacked us," Boris said slowly, "underestimated her." He paused to take a deep breath and the added, "They already had poopsie in their van when they went for me in my lab." A flash of intense anger showed on his face. "They somehow had neutralized all my alarms and defenses. Nat was asleep. I think they thought that poopsie was her and were caught totally by surprise when she dropped the first one. The other tried to shoot her, but she can put a knife through the center of an ace of spades from a hundred yards. He didn't have a chance."

"The others in the van must have been listening and heard the grunt of the man when the knife hit," Natasha continued. "He also shot wildly as he went down. As soon as the man's gun went off we heard the woosh of an RPG. Luckily it detonated toward the front of the house."

"And even more luckily," Boris interrupted, "my saferoom and escape tunnel are in my lab. We were in the bunker before the second RPG detonated, and down the tunnel before the third breached the reinforced walls of the saferoom."

There was severe anger in Natasha's heavily-accented voice as she said, "They must have gotten the plans from the previous owner because they knew exactly how to breech the saferoom, but they evidently didn't know about the tunnel Boris added to the secondary safe room below the garage. We waited until they left and got the hell out of there."

We stood looking at each other in silence for a long while. Then I said, "We have to get to Rio. I'm not sure where they are keeping slave ines but she was there." I felt the bile gather in the back of my throat as I said, "Normally, I would call in a couple favors, but I don't know who in The Society I can trust."

"I can get transportation and some trusted men through my father," Natasha said firmly. All accent had left her voice. So had any emotion. She was now well beyond anger. I wisely said nothing but instead kept looking at Boris.

"Any way you can find ines?" I asked

"Me, no," he answered, "but I have friends who can... especially since we know she came in through Cabo Frio Airport."

I made a sweeping gesture and ushered Boris and Natasha to the old control center which was outfitted as my electronics room. "Direct microwave link to the backbone," I said softly to Natasha as her eyes widened at the banks of computer servers and work stations. Boris said nothing, but instead sat at one of the stations and began typing.

I looked over his shoulder as he connected to his cloud storage and selected several images. I have no idea where he posted his message, which read, "I have been attacked and my wife's most precious friend has been kidnapped. I am calling in all favors and pledging my future help to anyone who can help me locate this woman and the people who are holding her. She was brought into the Rio de Janeiro area through the Cabo Frio Airport sometime in the last ten days." He then added a series of hashtags that looked to me like nonsense words. Those were followed by several emojis, the last two of which were the cartoon characters Boris and Natasha.

"Now we wait," he said softly when he was finished.

Natasha, meanwhile was sending out messages of her own... in Russian. She was evidently texting someone. "I have a plane and four bodyguards," she said firmly when she was finished. "They can be at the local airport in about three hours time and take us to Rio." She gave me an odd smile and said, "Father says his men cannot get involved in local issues, but they have been ordered to keep me safe."

"Meaning?" I asked.

"You really don't want to know," Boris replied flatly. Then he brightened slightly and said, "But with any luck we won't need daddy's muscle."

"In that case," I replied, "let's get a couple hours sleep while your friends scour out some information on Master Randolph and slave ines."

Boris shrugged his shoulders and said, "I don't think sleep is what Natasha wants right now. She needs to work off her fear and anger and poopsie isn't around." He gave me a wrinkled smile as Natasha pulled him in the direction of where I had said the sleeping quarters were. I was starting to understand how Boris kept himself so thin.

***

Four hours later we were back in the control room. I... and Natasha... looked somewhat refreshed. Boris looked like a college student after an all nighter before mid-terms. "I couldn't sleep," he said quickly. "After Natasha and I... after I calmed down Natasha, I came back here and looked through airport security tapes that one of my friends sent me." He brought up several images. One clearly showed ines and Master Randolph being led through the airport by several men.

"According to my friends, those are local thugs," Boris said. "As far as I can tell, they have no connection to The Society. They do, however, run a local BDSM club called 'Ela Diabo.' I think it means She Devil or something like that." He gave me a slight grin, "At least that's what the online translator said."

"I know of the place," I said, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. "It's a human trafficking den and the type of place that gives our legitimate clubs a bad name. The Society has worked to get it shut down, but there is too much local corruption."

I could hear my voice hardening as I said, "It's run by a man named Rodriguez." I huffed slightly and added, "They call him Rod, or The Stiff One. He evidently prides himself on how long he can keep going... with or without chemical inducement. He's pretty secretive. I've never seen him, and there are no known photos of him."

"I'll arrange a flight through poppa," Natasha said. Then she added, "... plus ground transportation and extras at the other end."

***

The flight to CFD airport was a little over ten hours. It would have taken a little over twelve for a a commercial flight, but the Gulfstream G650ER can fly higher and faster than most commercial craft. A commercial flight also would not have had a well-equipped electronics station.

"As Boris sat down at the computer keyboard, I said, "You do realize that everything you do on this plane will be recorded by the Russian government?"

He looked up at me and said, "And the US government... as it always is. My going through a Russian government hub just saves them both a couple steps in their data collection." He smiled and added, "And the content will give the techs on both sides an excuse to check out some dark web porn sites."

I slept. So did Natasha. Boris was the dark web expert, so there was little I could do. And in the small cabin there was little Natasha and Boris could do to relieve her tensions. I don't think it would have bothered Natasha to go ahead and put more stars on their Mile High Club badges in front of everyone, but Boris seemed a little more conservative in his approach to sex. Natasha evidently could read my thoughts... or my body language. She leaned in toward me and said in a very soft, almost laugh, "My little Barry is more than vanilla. He is almost an uptight prude." Her voice got slightly louder as she said, "But he loves me and I love him. ... And he lets me exercise my wild side with my pets like poopsie." She leaned back in and said softly, "Not all men would be so understanding." She then reclined her seat fully and settled in to sleep.

I must have been more tired than I thought, or perhaps it was because I was in a relatively safe place for the first time in a week. In any case, I didn't notice anything else until the wheels touched the runway with a loud screech. That's one thing about these small jets that I never quite get used to. In a large jet, you don't normally hear the wheels touch down unless the pilot makes a really sloppy landing. In the small jets, even with a really good landing, there is always a little noise.