Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
I knew in my bones—in the face, too, of my colleagues’ skepticism—that the magnate would soon close a very important loop. Groupe Synergistique and a certain bunch of Russians who had a vise grip on a crucial asset had been flirting with one another for months. These Russians, led by a warlord named Georgy Horakovsky, codename Ashcan, happened to control a very substantial power grid in Eastern Europe. The grid supplied a sizable territory there that the Guard—returning to older place names in the current geographic disorder—called Pomerania. I felt confident in my prediction that the two parties stood on the verge of a deal to divert an amount of power that would cripple local infrastructure, a development the Guard absolutely had to disrupt, if it did occur.
I didn’t have any hard evidence, though. The only thing that backed up my instincts was a brief report from the Miles, Jean Gisard, that provided a few snippets of some overheard conversations Beaumont had had on an encrypted phone. I had to admit to my fellow leones that Beaumont could have been talking to anyone.
I knew, though, that someone from the Pomeranian group had been on the other end of the encrypted line. I knew it with the same kind of unshakable confidence that my colleagues at least had to admit had led to more than one intelligence breakthrough in the past.
I leaned back in my chair, my eyes scanning the report on my monitor. The familiar surroundings of the control center faded into the background as I focused intently on the information before me.
The report detailed the transfer of two young women, Mary O’Toole and Camille Dubois, from known sex traffickers Sven Hallstrom and Erik Thorvaldsen to Beaumont. My heart rate quickened slightly as I absorbed the implications: the break I had waited for might have just fallen into my lap.
Gisard, it seemed, had clocked the new girls’ arrival and alerted the Guard to trace their previous movements. I scrolled through the details our algorithms had found through our surveillance resources, my mind racing.
Mary O’Toole, eighteen years old, a redhead with striking green eyes. Camille Dubois, also eighteen, dark-haired and exotic. Both students at the University of Rouen before their abduction. Mary, an American, had even come from a Selecta college, which meant I could find a lot of data on her in the Guard’s files—notably including her submissive sexual orientation.
The report also included high-resolution images captured by surveillance drones. The first few of these showed the girls being brutally disciplined by Hallstrom as Thorvaldsen filmed, presumably for Beaumont’s benefit. Then, immediately after making the video, it appeared from the time stamps on the images, the men had fucked the girls over a hay bale.
The dominant style of the traffickers’ enjoyment, their idea of putting Mary and Camille head to tail, made my cock harden against my thigh. My analyst instincts kicked in even more strongly than my sexual ones, though. I scrolled through more images, showing the men putting the girls in a white van and, later, their arrival at Beaumont’s chateau.
Then, the note from Gisard that I had somehow known I would see.
Subject A (Gisard meant Mary, according to established comms protocol) was present at a meeting between Leopard and Ashcan. Will attempt interrogation.
Mary
I only truly understood the importance of our mission when Monsieur Beaumont discussed the deal for the power grid with the man he called Georgy, while I knelt in front of them, sucking their cocks.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” Beaumont asked, in English—thankfully the only language that both he and Georgy felt comfortable in.
I felt Georgy’s hand tangle in my hair, yanking my head back roughly. My jaw ached from the stretch of accommodating his thick shaft, but I didn’t dare complain.
“She is skilled,” Georgy agreed, his thick Russian accent making the words sound harsh. “But I want to see how her cunt feels before I make any judgments.”
Beaumont chuckled, a sound that sent chills down my spine. “Of course, my friend, of course. In good time.”
As Georgy guided my mouth back to his member, I tried to focus on the conversation happening above me. I told myself, probably for the millionth time in the past three days, that my mission depended on gathering as much information as possible, even as my body was used for these men’s pleasure.
“Now, about grid nine two eight,” Beaumont said, his voice casual as if discussing the weather rather than a deal that would affect millions of lives. “I trust everything is in order on your end?”
Georgy grunted, thrusting deeper into my throat. I fought against my gag reflex, tears springing to my eyes. “Yes, yes. My men are in position. We can divert power to the target areas within hours of receiving payment.”
“Excellent,” Beaumont replied. His hand reached across the foot or so between the half naked men and stroked my hair almost tenderly, a stark contrast to the brutality of his words. “And you’re certain there will be no way to trace it back to us?”