Chapter Two

“I can’t believe you’re going to give all this up, just to go skiing,” Cassie said with a sarcastic tone to her voice.

Sophia laughed, pushing the coffee cup aside and reaching for the pepper shaker.

“Who else do you know gets to do what they love and get paid for it?” she asked.

Sophia reached up and brushed her dark hair out of her face with the back of her hand, then set the pepper shaker back on the table. Cassie watched her mix the tuna casserole around the inside of her plastic lunch container, then shook her head, and returned her attention to her salad.

The two had been friends since their first year of college, even to the point of finding an apartment together after they graduated. They worked in the same boring job, on the same newspaper, but shared very different dreams and lifestyles.

Cassie wanted to be a top reporter, and Sophia wanted to travel and have fun. Cassie rarely, if ever, dated, and Sophia had a different man every night, many she invited to stay over. Life for them had been very routine since starting their jobs a year ago, but Sophia never gave up her dream. She wanted to ski every slope between Colorado and Switzerland. It had been a goal since she was a young child, and now she was going to do it.

She convinced the newspaper to allow her to write about each chalet and resort she visited, and every slope on the map, even a few that weren’t. With a modest allowance and a regular direct-deposit paycheck, Sophia was going to follow her dream at last.

“I can arrange for you to come along,” Sophia said, looking at her friend across the breakroom table. “You can report on life behind the slopes. You know, things like the rich coercing the resorts into letting them stay for free, the embezzlement of funds by employees, that sort of thing.

“Thanks, but no thanks. My life is here, and there’s plenty to write about in New York.

“What are you going to do once I’m gone? You’ll be so bored.

“At least you’ve left me the cat for company. By this time next year, I plan to have a position in the newsroom writing about the crimes of the city, and the evils of mankind. Maybe then, we can meet up at one of your many rest stops and I’ll write about your secret celebrity encounters.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Sophia said with a sparkle in her dark blue eyes, and a smile so wide, all her teeth showed behind her full lips.

The weeks that followed were a blur of excitement as Sophia packed and repacked her bags. She was determined to do her job with only two bags; one for clothes, the other for toiletries, and the things she called necessities. Things like her vibrator, and a hefty supply of condoms. Once she was gone, Cassie found herself in the two-bedroom apartment alone, with only the white Persian cat to keep her company.

Cassie lay stretched out across her bed, her laptop opened in front of her. She searched the internet for a hot topic to write about, that hadn’t already been written to death. She was determined to make her boss aware of her intentions of becoming a fulltime reporter, and not waste her life in the editing department.

Sophia had been gone for a month, and so far, she’d written about her stay in Vale, Colorado, followed by Snow Bird, Utah, and finally Bear Valley, California. She was planning on going to Canada when she was told about a hidden resort in Germany. She wanted to grab the last couple of weeks of winter, on Germany’s highest mountain, before the spring sun melted all the snow and she was forced to go farther north.

Cassie felt the sting of jealousy bite into her brain. Sophia had achieved a large following over the past four weeks, and everyone in the editing department was talking about her articles. Instead of writing about the resorts and snowpack like the other writers were doing, Sophia was writing about the people she met on the slopes.

She had written one very inspiring article about a woman who had lost her entire family in Iraq. After sneaking out of the middle east, with the help of the US Marines, the girl took up residence in Arizona. She had started her own small business selling hand-painted rocks online and was on the slopes of Utah for the first vacation she’d ever had in her life. It was a heart-touching story and one of inspiration for the younger readers who followed her.

Now it was her turn, Cassie thought. She was going to write a story so outrageous, the paper would beg her to publish it. And if they didn’t, then she’d submit it to another paper, and another, until she made it to print.

Cassie searched the internet, Facebook, Twitter, even several blogs to find something she could write about. She was about to give up when she came across a post about a girl whose twenty-year-old friend went missing three years ago. The last time she was seen was at a night club in Italy. Since then, there had been reports of her in China, and Turkey, where she was being forced to work as a prostitute.

More than ten articles popped up about missing women across the world, and how they were being used as sex slaves. There were dozens of agencies working to locate and return these women to their homes and families, but it seemed like the more girls they found, the more there were to save.

Logging onto her writing program, Cassie began her story. She wanted information and research to add to the intrigue, and she wanted it to be as accurate as possible. She contacted the woman who had written the blog, and managed to Skype with her, interviewing her for the first part of the story. She found two nonprofit agencies devoted to finding missing and exploited women and children, then spent over two hours on the phone talking with them.

Cassie sent out several emails to other sites she’d found as she continued to write until the rays of dawn broke through the slats of her bedroom blinds. She knew she had to get some sleep, but she was overwhelmed with the information she found, and the words flowed from her fingers. The more she looked, the more sites there were to investigate.

Finally, she closed her laptop and set it aside, then curled up in her bed. As her eyes began to close, she saw the images of the hundreds of missing girls whose faces appeared on the websites. She knew she had hit into the underbelly of something deep, but she wanted to try and talk to someone who had been rescued.

Tomorrow was Saturday, and no work to distract her from her investigation. Perhaps with a little added research, she could locate someone who had gone through this ordeal. At the very least, she could go to the agency for missing women located in Manhattan and talk to them.

With a contented smile, she fell asleep. She knew she was going to have the kind of story millions of newspaper subscribers would want to read. With a bit of hard work, she’d be able to get inside information to add to the research, to make her story the only thing people talked about for weeks to come. That would show Sophia just how strong of a writer she was, even without the use of a snowboard or skis.

“I was on spring break in Rome,” Beverly Rogers said, sitting across the table from Cassie, a glass of water in her hands and the empty plate of salad beside her. “There was this really good-looking guy there from Milan. We spent the day together sight-seeing, shopping, swimming. That night, he asked me out for supper, and afterward, we went back to his room. I didn’t think anything about it. We had a fun time, and I really liked him. When we got to his room, he made me a drink and we talked for a while before we started making out. Then everything went kind of black. I started feeling dizzy and I thought I was going to vomit. I must have passed out because when I woke up, I was in a dungeon. I was completely naked and chained to a cement wall with my mouth taped shut.

Cassie listened as the woman relayed her story, jotting down notes she knew she’d need for the article. She watched the woman brush her short red hair out of her face, revealing the scars of a nasty burn on the right side of her face and neck. The signs of age wore on her face in the form of premature wrinkles and worry lines, making her appear much older than her thirty years.

“I was held there for a really long time,” she continued in a low, soft voice. “I was beaten and raped by the guy I’d met at the hotel, and three other men. I was forced into a small cage every time they finished with me and remained there for hours. I was fed very little, and what I was given was in dog dishes. I wasn’t allowed to use my hands to eat, and I was led around by a leash, like an animal. I had to crawl on my hands and knees everywhere. I was forced to call them Master, and beg them to rape me, or beat me, while they videotaped the whole thing.

The woman paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath, then continued.

“After a while, I don’t know, maybe weeks, or even months, I was strapped to a doctor’s bed and had all kinds of instruments used on me while the men took photos and filmed it. They used vibrators and dildos on the end of electric tools, and electrical wires were taped to my private parts. I passed out several times and was woken with a whip, or ice water was thrown on me. Then, one day after locking me into the cage, a man came in and gave me a shot. By then I didn’t care what happened to me. I remember hoping he was giving me something that would kill me. When I woke up, I was in another place with dirt floors and wooden walls, with four other men.

The woman paused for a few moments as she tipped her water glass to her lips. Cassie tried to remain impartial, but she couldn’t help putting herself in the woman’s position. She painted such a vivid picture, it was hard not to feel sympathetic towards her.

“I was scrubbed with ice water and a hard bristle brush, then beaten again,” Beverly continued. “After that, I was led to a wooden platform and ordered to perform several sexual acts for a room full of men. I had all of them touching me and slapping me. One burned me with cigarettes, and another urinated on me. Then the man who gave me the shot returned and began accepting bids for me. I was sold to two men from China. I was placed in a black bag and taken to a dark room where I was raped for hours, then they put me in a crate with a single hole in it for air. I was in there for days, and it felt like I was on a boat or a ship. They let me out only for sex, and when they let me out the last time, I was led into a dirty room with one bed, a toilet, and a sink. I was held down by two men, while another one tattooed a number on my ass. I was told I had to fuck fourteen men a day, or I wouldn’t get any food. That room was all I saw for months. The men were led into me and we had sex in the bed, then they left and another one came in. I was fed through a small hole in the door, twice a day.

Cassie started to feel nauseated by the woman’s story and wondered how much of it really happened. In her small part of the world, life was peaceful and calm. The most she had to worry about was making her credit card payments on time.

“Did you ever try to escape?” Cassie asked, watching the woman nod her head silently.

“Once,” she told her in a quiet voice. “I managed to get away and hide in the woods behind the building where we were kept. I stayed there overnight, but I was weak from all the beatings, and very little food. When they found me, I was taken back to my room and beaten with canes. Three men raped me and beat me with wooden boards. They kicked me and slapped me until I fell unconscious.

Again, she paused for a deep breath.

“I lost two teeth and was bleeding from my vagina for three days. I was taken to a courtyard where a dozen other women were standing around with more than fifty men, all watching me. They were told that I was an example of what would happen to them if they ever tried to leave. I had electrical wires taped to my arms and legs, to my breasts, inside my vagina, and put up my asshole. They attached the wires to a car battery, and I felt like my body had been set on fire. I thought I was going to die. I wished I would have died. When they finished, they drained the acid from the battery and threw it on me. From that day on, I was forced into a cage, and came out only to be raped in the courtyard by a dozen men at a time.

“How were you rescued?

“There were some tourists who had gone hiking in the mountains behind the building where we were all kept. They saw me being raped and contacted Interpol. One of the men was the son of a high-ranking official, so help was easy for him to obtain. The place was raided, the men were arrested, and the women were sent to a hospital in Beijing. Our families were notified that we were found alive, and we were returned to our homes a few weeks later.

“How has it been since you’ve been back?” Cassie asked with a concerned frown, watching Beverly shrug.

“I’ve been back for four years,” she said sadly. “I know my family is glad to have me back, but I have nightmares, and I can’t stop fearing that it will happen again. I find myself looking over my shoulder. I don’t like to go out, and I don’t like people staring at me. I have two nieces, and I look at them and cry, fearing their safety.

“If you could offer people one piece of advice, what would you tell them?” Cassie asked, watching the woman look up under short red lashes.

“I could say learn how to protect yourself, or learn how to shoot a gun, but the truth is, there’s no real protection. You can become a victim anytime, and anywhere. The man I met seemed normal to me. There were no warning signs and no alarms that rang in my head like you see in movies. He was handsome and suave, and he knew how to say just the right things to make me fall into his arms. I wasn’t a fool, Miss Wynn. I was just a girl on vacation, like thousands of other people every day. It happened to me, and it can happen to you, too.

“We are only able to rescue a handful of women a year,” Travis Boyd told Cassie, showing her around the office where the photos of missing women were displayed.

After interviewing Beverly Rogers, she felt she needed to speak with someone who rescued the women. Part of her wanted to speak with someone who had been arrested for stealing the women, but she opted into making her story one-sided. She wanted the victim’s angle for her article, not the insane lust behind the kidnappings.

“For every woman we liberate, there are another five who go missing,” the man continued.

“I had no idea this was going on,” Cassie said.

She had been feeling sheltered from the world since the moment she found this story and was finding it difficult to continue writing.

“Sex slavery is big business,” Travis continued. “It’s worth millions of dollars to the people involved, and finding the women is more difficult than finding a needle in a haystack.

“How do you find them once they go missing?” Cassie asked, looking at the photos of women, all in their late teens or early twenties.

“Sometimes we get tips, others, it’s just a matter of taking the information available, and moving forward with it. We follow up on DNA testing, investigating the location where the person was last seen, interviewing witnesses and those involved with the woman, and eventually talking to the family members. We try to protect the family as much as we can and keep their hopes alive. It can take years, and in more cases than we’d like to admit, we’re never able to find the woman. But we never give up searching.

“How many do you think are victims of slavery rings, as opposed to those randomly kidnapped?” Cassie asked, looking up at the tall black man beside her.

“I’d estimate a hundred to one,” Travis said with a sad expression. “Human trafficking is a thirty billion dollar a year industry, and it involves more than just women. Men and children are also stolen or lured away with the promise of employment, housing, food. They are usually from poorer areas of the world, including America.

“Why haven’t more people heard about this?

“Everyone knows about it, it’s just easier to look past the posters and alerts than to admit there’s a problem. White slavery, human trafficking, it’s an epidemic. Once a victim is lured away from the safety and familiar surroundings of home and family, all that’s left is to spring the trap. Most of the men and children are sold as laborers, while the women and girls are sold for sex. It’s a horrible life, and the victims are usually placed into situations where they don’t know anyone and cannot understand the language. This puts them at a disadvantage, and they learn to cling to the person who abducted them.

“The Stockholm Syndrome,” Cassie said with a frown, remembering an article she had read online.

Travis nodded as he led her through a door at the side of the room and into a small, cluttered office.

“Eventually the victim begins to see their captor as the only person who cares for them. In many situations, the victim becomes enamored with their captor and will do anything they’re told to please them. Even to the point of prostitution.

“That’s barbaric,” Cassie said with a disgusted expression.

“More than barbaric, Miss Wynn. It’s inhumane. There are camps around the world where the women are held without food and water, starved, beaten, and kept in complete darkness until they submit. With no hope left of rescue, the women have no choice but to obey. Survival is human nature, and whether you’re aware of it or not, the subconscious wants to survive and will do whatever it takes to live. Most of these females are placed in rat-infested whorehouses where they serve dozens of men a day, often working as much as twenty hours at a time, with little or no food. Even in the US, women are sent here from China and Vietnam, forced to work as whores in massage parlors, or even in nail salons.

“How are women brought into the country without the authorities knowing about them?

“Who said they don’t?” Travis asked with a level expression as he sat down behind a small desk, piled high with papers. “Not everyone in power is honest. Women are smuggled in with false documents all the time, and once they get here, they simply disappear among the masses. In many cases, women are sold over the internet. Human slavery has been a part of the world’s history for centuries, but it hasn’t been until the internet that it has become such a huge success.

“What’s the internet have to do with this?” Cassie asked, sitting in a small wooden chair opposite the man.

Travis opened a small refrigerator and pulled out two plastic bottles of orange juice, and handed her one, then opened the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a book of photos.

“People don’t realize what they place on the internet can be used against them,” he explained, handing the book across to Cassie then twisting off the top of the plastic bottle.

“Parents are proud of their children and put their photos on a variety of social media sites. They tell all about their trips, their vacations, even the kids’ grades, and school activities. People support and like different sites in their areas, and post that they donate their time or money to support causes. Anyone looking to find a woman, or a child - or anyone for that matter - can do it just by looking online. Photos can be traced back to the areas where they were taken. Then it’s just a matter of waiting at that location until the child or person arrives.

“I guess I never thought of it like that before.

“How many photos have you put online? Your trips, the parties you’ve been to, even the announcement of a new job or a new house?

“A lot, I suppose,” Cassie said with a serious expression.

“You have your entire life uploaded for everyone to see. You meet people through dating sites and social media posts. Everyone has a cellphone, and on that phone, are apps for anything you can think of, including maps and programs to track cellphones. A simple meeting with an online friend can easily turn out to be a big mistake. Sometimes, it’s a mistake that isn’t immediately recognized until it’s too late.

“I’ve heard of women being assaulted by answering ads for cars, or apartments,” Cassie said, remembering something she’d heard about in college.

“That’s another way of luring a person out of their comfort zone. In a lot of those cases, the woman is abused or raped, and in many cases killed. But what we’re talking about is much darker.

“I’m beginning to see that.

“Look at all the people who post photos of their children playing at school, or in the park. School graduation or prom photos showing a beautiful teenage girl in a tight, skimpy dress. Parents are proud of their children. They want to brag and show them off to everyone. They post photos of their kids’ soccer match and say things like, Go Cougars, or Bears beat the Bobcats. A mother can upload a photo of their child at the park, and say something like, I love having a park so close by or, Thursday play date at Pointer’s Cross.

Cassie mentally made notes of the information the man was giving her, all the while remembering things she had posted on her Facebook and Twitter pages.

“It happens to all of us,” the man continued. “A school can post a picture of a class field trip on their webpage, and say something as simple as, visiting the fire department. The graduating class photo is displayed for hundreds of parents and stalkers to view. Not once did that school ever consider the fire truck has the name of their station on the side, or the picture has the photographer’s name on the bottom. A lot of school websites have a full schedule printed on them for parents to access. Days off, their boundaries, even the names of their teachers. They never stop to think that a predator is looking at their site, the same as Mom and Dad are.

“I never considered that,” Cassie said under her breath.

“There’s nothing wrong with a school trying to keep parents informed and involved,” Travis continued after taking a drink of the juice. “A church wants their flocks to know what time services are. Friends want to show off their new car. Kids want to meet other kids and know that they aren’t alone in the world. Have you ever noticed how many comments are left on a single photo of your coworker’s new baby? Ever consider who all the people were, or how many times that picture was shared, or how many other people were seeing that new baby?

“I’m guilty of looking online for my friend’s posts, and reading the comments from all of her followers,” Cassie said with a frown. “I never gave it a second thought.

“People are habitual. They follow the same routine, day after day, and go back to their favorite club, park, beach, whatever. There’s nothing wrong with that. And we all want our family and friends to be involved with our good news or sympathize with our bad day. It’s not so much what is posted online, as to how it is posted. It’s just a matter of the wrong person taking the information, waiting for a good time, and then…”

“I get the idea,” Cassie said with a deep frown.

“The internet isn’t a monster, Miss Wynn, that’s not at all what I’m saying, and I would never suggest that you stop using it,” Travis continued, watching her turn her attention back to the book, looking at the deplorable places where the organization had found some of the missing people.

“We can use the internet to help capture these people, the same as the stalkers can use it to lure them away. It’s just a matter of keeping alert and being smart about what you see online. Just last week, two girls, sisters, who had gone missing years ago, were spotted on the streets of Turkey. The people who found them, remembered their pictures circulating the internet, and reported them to the right authorities. The problem is, a lot of the local authorities get a large booty for turning a blind eye to the activities in the towns and villages where they live. Contacting the correct people can prove to be the downfall to a single person or a large organization. Several times, we’ve used the internet to trap a perpetrator and bring them to justice.

“How many missing persons have you found over the last year?” she asked him, watching the sadness cross his eyes.

“Not enough,” he told her. “Less than a hundred. But that’s more than we would have found twenty years ago. Research has improved over the years, but unfortunately, so have the criminals. And it’s not just men who are behind the abductions. Women are just as involved in these organizations as their counterparts. Women find themselves more trusting of other women and agree to meet them for coffee, shopping sprees, even vacations. We’ve recently helped the FBI shut down an internet organization in Nigeria that was run by a female. She had a group of twenty men who were working with her, whose job was to look online for photos of women, usually in their 40s or 50s, then contact them with the excuse they ran across her photo while looking for an old friend, and they fell instantly in love. A few weeks’ of flattering words, and before long, the victim found herself tied up so tight she couldn’t get free.

“What happens when you find the missing people, and you return them to their homes?” Cassie asked, remembering a recent contact who laid the same line on her, as Travis just told her about. “Do you just drop them off, say goodbye, and congratulations, and leave it at that?

“Never,” Travis told her. “We arrange professional counseling and provide support for the victim and their families. We are always available in case they need us, and if necessary, we will provide protection and security. In some cases, the women have children, husbands, parents who were looking for them for years. They must be reintroduced to those people, and sometimes it takes months or even years. Together they learn to become a family again. That takes dedication, and support, and a lot of talking.

“How many of the people you’ve rescued, don’t want to go back home?

“Quite a few,” he added, leaning back in his seat. “They’re afraid of what others will think of them, or what might be said about them behind their backs. They’re afraid of bringing shame, or even unwanted publicity to their families. In a lot of cases, the victim has developed a bond with their captor. The victim is convinced the person who stole them, truly cares, or even loves them, and their families don’t want any part of them. Again, it’s all part of the Stockholm Syndrome, like you said.

“Do the people who took the women, ever come back for them?

“I’ve only heard of a handful of cases where the women have disappeared again. If they are being taken by the groups or individuals who stole them, the chance that they will be found alive a second time is slim. These organizations, these groups of thieves, do not want their habits or identities to be known. They need to remain anonymous. If it’s an individual who took the woman, or child, who is caught, then they can be tried and sentenced. If it’s one of the many organized groups, they will go out of their way to prevent their identity from being revealed.

“There are organizations that steal people?” Cassie looked at the man, seeing the disturbed expression on his face.

“Yes, unfortunately, there are.

“Have you ever found any of the people responsible for the kidnappings?

“Occasionally, we’re lucky enough to find some of the people, and they’re tried and sentenced. Others, too many, have inside connections, and never make it to trial. If other inmates do not kill them, or inside assassins get hold of them, they become part of the missing.

“Are there specific types of women men are looking for?

“For the average stalker, they just want a warm body and the thrill of being in control. But if you’re young and beautiful, with a great figure, you’re worth money to the right person.

Travis watched Cassie write down her notes, feeling confident the woman would write a compelling story. Perhaps with her help, they would be able to take a few pictures down from their walls.

“What advice could you give to my readers to help keep them from becoming a victim?” Cassie asked with a frown as she set the book on the cluttered desk.

“The best piece of advice I can give to anyone is to be smart. Don’t set routine patterns with your lives, and never post a child’s picture online with any information that can be traced back to their homes or schools. Turn the tracking on their phones off, and never post anything without first cropping out any personal information, such as school names, street signs, addresses, or license plate identification. Don’t put yourself in a position where you’re at risk. Get to know your neighbors, the people around you, and the businesses in your neighborhood. Make sure everyone close to your home knows who you are, and get to know them. And if you do find yourself in a similar situation…fight. And never stop until you’re found…or dead.

Cassie paced the floor of the quiet room, waiting for her boss to finish reading her article. She had spent nearly two months writing it, rewriting it, and adding as much information and detail as she could. She knew the article was longer than most, and if it was ever published, it would most likely be in installments, but this was her one shot with the paper to be recognized. After this, she’d be forced to submit her writing to different papers, and even magazines, hoping that someone would be willing to pick it up.

“Wynn, get in here,” a deep voice called out from the glass-encased room.

With a slow breath, Cassie squared her shoulders and took a step forward. The editor wasn’t a mean man, he was just determined and wanted everything that went into his paper to be perfect. He had rejected more articles than she could count, simply because of grammar or punctuation errors. It was with this thought in mind, she labored so hard over her story.

“Sit down,” Bateman said, slipping a piece of gum into his mouth, and chewing on it to soften it up.

Cassie sat down and folded her hands in her lap, staring at the man, who watched her. She felt like she was being stripped of her pride and determination by the steely grey eyes. It was at that moment she began to wonder if she wanted to be a journalist or not.

“Where did you come up with the idea for this article?” Bateman asked.

“I found a blog online about a missing woman, and…I researched the number of missing women…and I found several organizations set up to find and reunite these women with their families.

The room was quiet for several long, tense moments, as the man chewed. He opened the top drawer of his desk and removed a package of gum, tossing it across the desk to her, and smiling a half-grin.

“You’re going to need this,” he told her in a deep voice. “The long hours of being a writer, and the research to be a good journalist, is going to drive you to drink or smoke. Gum is a good substitution.

“Does that mean…” she paused. She was too afraid to ask him if he liked her article, or not.

“This is a good story,” he said. “A very good story. If you continue to write like this, you’re going to go far with this paper.

“Does that mean you’ll publish it?” she asked, excitedly fighting the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl.

“It will be in Sunday’s edition,” he told her, a wide smile across his broad, pale face.

“All of it?

“It’s a long story, I’ll give you that, but I think it’s one that needs to be told, in its entirety.

Cassie couldn’t hold it in any longer. She squealed with excitement, then stood up and hurried to the door. She stopped, turned, and grabbed the package of gum off the corner of the messy desk, then left the room in a step much like a skip. She could hear the deep laughter following her out of the office and down the hallway to the elevators.

As she pressed the button for the first floor, one thought kept repeating itself in her mind.

I’m a real writer!

Pop smiled at the woman who sat across from him, explaining the article and the research that went into it. She pushed the thick paper across the table and smiled proudly when he took the section with her story, then began reading it aloud.

The bar was quiet, with only a dozen or so patrons who wanted to have a drink before starting their typical Sunday activities. They listened while Pop read the paper, concluding with Travis Boyd’s advice. When he finished, the room remained quiet, until Pop cleared his throat.

“That’s a deep story for your first one,” he told her.

“I wanted to start with a bang,” she told him with a proud grin.

“Well, that you did,” the old man chuckled.

“I just posted my kid’s report card online,” one man said, setting his empty glass on the table where he and two of his friends had been sitting, listening to Cassie’s article. “He improved his grades two whole marks, and I was proud of him.

“I uploaded our vacation photos,” a second man said.

“I arranged a party, and posted it online,” a heavy-set woman added, looking to her husband across the table from her.

“I didn’t write that, so everyone would stop doing what they’re doing,” Cassie said with a concerned frown. “You can still upload your vacation photos, and your kid’s report card, just do it with a little caution and be smart about what you post. There’s no reason not to arrange a party, or even invite people to it.

“All Cassie did was open the eyes of people who take technology for granted,” Pop said. “It used to be, the only thing people worried about was their neighbor’s dog keeping them awake at night. Now you just need to take an extra five minutes out of your life and thank that neighbor for having a dog who will alert you to possible problems.

“Thanks, Pop,” Cassie said in a soft voice, knowing the old man would always be on her side.

“You’re my girl, and I support you. I’m proud that you’ve taken such a bold step forward, and I know you’ll go far. And to think, you used to serve drinks in this old place. Hell, I think I’m going to frame this article and hang it up for everyone to read.

“While you’re doing that, why don’t you buy the readers a drink?” a Hispanic man said, raising his empty glass in the air.

“You’ll use any excuse to get a free beer, Juan,” Cassie remarked when the room came alive with cheers.

“Something this big deserves a reward,” Pop announced, standing up and walking to the bar. “I’ll buy the drinks, and you’ll buy the burgers.

“It’s a deal,” Cassie said, standing, and removing her old jean-jacket.

She walked into the small kitchen and turned the grill on, listening to the bar’s occupants as they began chatting cheerfully about the newspaper. She listened to the conversation as one person repeated something he’d heard about a girl who had been kidnapped, then another man commented about a story he’d read about a woman’s body being found near the pier a few weeks back.

Cassie slapped a dozen burgers on the small flat grill, then took her phone out of her back pocket. She quickly opened her email and penned a message to Sophia. It had been two weeks since she’d heard anything from her friend, but then she had told Cassie she was going into the dark wilderness of Germany and may not have an internet connection. That didn’t stop Cassie though. She wanted to share her good news with her friend and hoped that she would read the email as soon as she had a connection.

“I want her tested thoroughly,” the man said, in his deep German accent, as he looked down to the brunette lying unconscious and naked on the examination table. “She’s a party girl, and I want her tested again, when she’s moved to the second level, and I want her training to begin the minute she wakes up.

“But there is already a group on the lower level, and they aren’t ready to move up,” the large dark man said, matching his dialect with that of his companion.

“Keep her by herself for the first two weeks, then move her in with them. Make certain she gets her fair share of the lessons and bring her to me daily. She’s to continue thinking that the lodge was destroyed.

“Are you going to be her knight in shining armor?” the dark-haired woman in a long white lab coat asked with an amused hint to her voice.

“She’s easy to sway,” the first man told her. “Her beauty is matched only by her gullibility. She will bring a nice price once she’s trained.

“If she’s a party girl as you say, she could have diseases.

“Then there’s no reason to wake her. You’re the doctor, Rosa, you know what to do.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve completed my examination,” the woman said, waving a hand to two men who stepped forward. “Are you sure she doesn’t have a family?

“The only person she has is a roommate, but that will be of no significance once news of her death makes it back home.

He watched the men strap the unconscious woman to the table, restraining her in the event she woke up unexpectedly. They raised her bare legs and placed them on the metal supports at the end of the table, then spread them apart, preparing her for the doctor’s complete internal examination.

“Her identification says she’s a reporter from New York,” Rosa told him, looking at the information inside the small black wallet. “Her job could cause problems.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, taking the manila envelope with the woman’s personal belongings from the doctor. “Sophia Arnold no longer exists. From now on, she’s just a number on my inventory list.

The man watched Rosa move closer to the unconscious brunette and position herself between her spread legs. He smiled a half-grin of pure, wicked delight. Sophia had been an easy target and taking her had been simple. Much to his surprise, the woman had fallen into his trap without the slightest hint of hesitation. In one way, it was disappointing. It had been several months since he enjoyed the thrilling resistance of a suspicious prey, and he longed to have a woman resist him. But he would find one who accepted him, just as rewarding.

As he watched Rosa insert a metal speculum into Sophia’s vagina and open it, he began to feel his arousal grow. He imagined her strapped to the bench, completely naked, as he turned her firm round bottom red with the whip. He would find considerable pleasure in her training, and even more in testing her levels of obedience.

Rosa glanced up as the man turned and walked away, issuing orders to bring Sophia to him once she regained consciousness. She turned back to her task of collecting the secretions for testing and frowned. The cataleptic woman was oblivious to just how quickly her life was going to change. She was beautiful, and she had a nice figure, though perhaps smaller breasts than most of the buyers preferred.

Still, Rosa thought, placing the specimen in a jar and removing the metal device. If the woman was disease-free, she would prove to be worth the money her new Master would demand for her. The only drawback would be if the paper the girl worked for didn’t buy the story, and her roommate didn’t believe the report of her death. If they didn’t, there could be problems, even the great and powerful Baron Hans-Claus von Hennhofen couldn’t hide from.

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