It had been an ordinary Friday morning at college the week before my nineteenth birthday. I had sat in the cafeteria at lunchtime with Alycia discussing what had become a regular topic namely the irrational thrill which I get from what might be described as unconventional sexual situations. We were saying that the problem is that the thrill seems to come from the fear factor of being out of control and subject to someone else's will.
But it is almost impossible to manufacture situations like that because if one sets up a bondage scenario with an accomplice the fear cannot be real as one knows that the situation has been staged. It all seems to come down to a paradox; if the situation is not real neither is the fear and so neither is the thrill but who would dare place themselves in a genuinely fearful situation where one had no way of knowing that the outcome would be benign? I had recently confessed to Alycia that I was a little frightened of becoming addicted to fear and thought that perhaps I needed some sort of treatment. If only I had known what was about to happen.
Alycia had to leave the cafeteria early as she had to catch a lecturer before he went into his afternoon lecture so I finished my coffee and then ambled out of the room and down the corridor. I rounded the corner in the corridor and came face to face with two large men in suits who made no attempt to move out of my way.
"Miss Julie _______?"
I stopped dead.
"Yes."
One of the men showed me a white plastic card with the words "Metropolitan Police" printed along the top.
"I am Inspector Fry of the Anti Terrorist Squad. We need you to come with us please."
The card was back in his pocket now but I was not taken in that easily.
"The card said The Met but we aren't in London."
"This is a joint operation being run from SO13 at New Scotland Yard. My colleague here works with the Home Office and you can come with us voluntarily or we will arrest you."
This could not be happening. What did I know of terrorists or the Home Office?
"But I have a tutorial in....."
His voice was firmer now.
"No Miss, you don't."
He moved behind me and his friend was close beside me. I found that we were moving briskly along the passageway and out of the main door. Right in front of the steps were parked two long shiny black cars and a man got out of the front of the first car and held open the back door for me to be pushed inside. Now that we were outside of the university they were a lot less gentle; the man from the Home Office sat beside me and, looking out of the back window, I saw the inspector get into the following car as we pulled away in convoy.
"Can you please tell me what this is about?" I tried to sound in control but the fear was beginning to mount.
"It's best to keep quiet for now Miss. We can talk when we get there."
My fear gauge began to go off the scale when we drove, quite quickly, away from the City Centre and out to the area which is all industrial estates in a rather shabby part of town. The driver wore a black suit and his dark hair was very neatly trimmed at the back which is all I could see of him.
"This isn't the way to the Police Station."
"We sometimes need to use temporary premises for security reasons Miss."
I didn't talk anymore because I was afraid that the fear in my voice would show or even that I might burst into tears. We swept onto an industrial estate where there were lots of abandoned premises and then we drove through some tall metal gates and straight into a factory unit under one of those steel doors which roll upwards like a curtain. Someone must have pressed a button because the door began to roll downwards as soon as we were inside the poorly lit interior.
A man in a black boiler suit came to the car and dragged me out by my arm then he hurried me across the floor and into a small bare office which smelt of dust. The only furniture was a single wooden chair. As soon as I was in the room he slammed the door and I heard the click of the lock. My only light came from the two foot square window in the door.
That was when I came to my senses and began to shout through the door.
"Hey. What's going on? I am entitled to a solicitor. Get me out of here."
I soon discovered that I could shout whatever I liked but no-one came into view. What could I do but sit down on the uncomfortable chair?
The room had no heating. The floor was dirty yellow lino and the walls had once been white but were now grimy and featureless. From time to time I stood up and peered out of the window into the main factory space where I could see the two parked cars but no people. I could not keep from looking at my watch. Two o clock came and went and so did three o clock. My bladder was beginning to remind me of the two cups of coffee I had drunk at lunchtime and I was not going to shout for the loo as if I were a ten year old.
At three twenty Black Boiler Suit came back and, without a word, grabbed my forearm in a painful grip. Wherever my arm went my feet had to follow so we went down a narrow corridor and into an office much like the one I had left but a little larger. Two men sat behind a table and I was pushed onto a single chair facing them. Boiler Suit stood behind me with his back to the door.
The older of the two men wore a green sports coat and the other man was in a very smart suit and looked like an insurance salesman. Sports Coat spoke to me in a very well educated and brusque voice.
"I am Major Franks and Mr Keitle here is from the United States Embassy. We want to know about your father."
"My Dad? What about my Dad?"
