Payment for their services ranged from a few thousand Euros to a few hundreds of thousands of Euros depending upon who the target was, the perceived urgency of elimination, and degree of difficulty. The organization, of which Musso was what could best be described as the CEO, was organized, sophisticated, and skilled in the techniques learned in a hundred ancient schools of assassination over the centuries. Death meant nothing to them; completing the mission meant everything.
Oddly enough, the demand for their services had grown exponentially since their arrival in the modern age. An ancient organization with completely modern skills, tactics, and tools. They were at the top of their game, and had gone digital, and high tech beginning in the 50’s. Blunt force trauma was no longer in vogue; sonic devices, rare toxins, and stealthy methods of delivery were now all the rage and had been for some decades.
Occasionally, someone didn’t pay up or offended the organization in some other regrettable way; they would then be taught a lesson. Today was one of those lessons to be taught, and the three men and their driver, all arrogant former associates of his organization based in Paris, would be schooled in the meaning of absolute loyalty, and the true value of one’s sacred oath.
The three men thought they were coming to meet Musso for an assignment; the driver was told to wait in the car while his colleagues took the meeting. This meeting was important to the three; Musso was mysterious and legendary, and they had falsely convinced themselves that this meeting marked their ascension into the ranks of the elite among the international cadre of assassins.
They should’ve known better; arrogance: it clouds the mind and impairs judgment.
As the three men approached the front entrance to the residence, they spotted an intercom and keypad. They had been given a code to enter and they would be allowed to enter the anteroom through the front door. The anteroom looked like an old-style mud room, which the men mistakenly thought it was. The front door opened, and the three men entered the sealed anteroom.
A man they mistook for Musso awaited them in the foyer, which they would enter through the door opposite the entrance leading out of the anteroom.
They had been told they would be met by Musso himself and they would have to disarm. No firearms allowed in the Mansion. Had they thought more about it, they might have considered that being disarmed inside the Mansion was contrary to the rule of being met and disarmed outside. Oh well, some folks just don’t sufficiently think through the tenuousness of their situation.
As the three men stood in the anteroom waiting to be admitted inside, a young woman with a serving tray approached the driver in the car. She handed him drink, then pulled a silenced handgun, and put two bullets in his head. The men waiting inside heard and saw nothing. Seconds later they collapsed unconscious onto the floor of the anteroom, never suspecting that a tasteless, odorless, and very nasty gas had been piped into their enclosure rendering them immobile. The man in the foyer then pushed a button, clearing the air inside, and harmlessly venting it into the sky above through a pipe in the roof.
The man in the foyer then collected the men one by one, each onto a separate gurney, and were transported down to the ultramodern basement Lab of the family Musso. They were securely strapped onto a separate device which held them upright, and at a slight angle backwards. Their appendages were strapped down securely at multiple points on their fingers, hands, arms, wrist, feet, ankles, legs, waist, neck and forehead. They were immobile and would be going nowhere anytime soon.
That was the point.
***
Two hours later the three men awoke, a little groggy, to the sight of the entire Musso family standing in front of them. The patriarch, Federico, plus Mom and the two siblings, the son and the daughter. They had all had had a role in the capture, and confinement of the men; all would have a role in what would follow. The four were all clinically, utterly, and remorselessly insane and lived for episodes like this; the infliction of death had its moments, particularly if done slowly and with exquisite attention to detail. But inflicting pain was an art form to them and the ability to craft a work plan that balanced the exaction of the maximum amount of intense pain against the maximum extension of life was a skill that was far more difficult to manage than one might imagine.
Except for the family Musso.
The extraction of pain had to be understood in both its physical, and its psychological dimensions. There was causing pain which, if unchecked, could lead to death within a matter of days, sometimes mere hours. That was a result to be avoided. Pain needed to be inflicted then minimized. Watching the victim was the show, the entertainment and the satisfaction derived from that experience was for each of the Musso family an intensely erotic experience unlike any other.
Then, of course, there was the powerful satisfaction derived from watching the victim experience the terror of helplessness; nothing would be done quickly or without adequate forethought. The victim had to see the preparation of the instruments to be used, listen to the description of what they were to be used for, then watch as the instruments drew closer to their body for the execution of the procedure.
The victim had to fully understand and accept the helplessness of their situation, comprehend what was about to happen, then endure the excruciating pain. Each member of the Musso family was a specialist. Each enjoyed the experience, and had toys and partners, willing or otherwise, for entertainment afterward.
This wasn’t mindless cruelty, and meaningless torture in the classical sense; this was far more complex theater. The family was careful to carry out their multi act play only within the European Union. If caught, they couldn’t receive the death penalty.
The Musso family had the ability to mentally recall the detail of every experience they had ever had, before, during and after the events. Perfect recall, in glorious technicolor, over and over again. Incarceration would be no burden; they would live out their long lives reliving and recreating their many crimes in their minds. At state expense.
It hardly seemed like a just result.
***
“Gentlemen, I assume you’re wondering why you’re here, and who is present to keep you company. Let me start with introductions then, and a little background from our CV’s is probably in order. You know me, of course. My name is Federico Musso. Dr. Federico Musso. Now, that is a slight exaggeration as I used to be a practicing physician at one time but was barred from practice many years gone by. Seems I liked to help some of my patients move on to the afterlife after experimenting with them a teensy bit first. Would’ve been embarrassing to the authorities here in Switzerland had it come to light, so they just asked me to turn in my license and go elsewhere.”
Musso smiled.
“I ‘died’ a year later, changed my name and moved to Spain. My tragic demise was widely reported in the press, but my horribly disfigured and mutilated body was found in the wreckage of the car in which I was riding. Partially burned beyond physical recognition, my identification was verified through documents I was carrying in a fireproof briefcase.
“Later, a little cosmetic facial reconstruction surgery, and bingo, I reappear with a whole new look. Then I discovered this Priest, this up and comer who’s being groomed for placement in the Vatican archives. Very smart and the job very prestigious. But few people in Rome have ever met the kid; he’s from some remote fucking village in France, learned, but from a cloistered order. He’s ordered to Rome, so I intercept him, send him off to be with God, which seemed his chosen destiny anyway, and I then assumed his identity. I needed access to the Vatican and to disappear. Killed two birds with one stone but, then, that’s really not important to you right now, is it? No, of course not. I digress.”
Musso smiled a feral smile at the men, who were both bound and gagged, and continued.
“This lovely creature to my immediate right is my lovely wife, Marta. Now I’m not sure what the origin of her name is; she insists it’s a traditional girls name of our people, hun
dreds of generations old but that might just be family mythology. Sounded vaguely Scandinavian, maybe even Swiss. But I was wrong; in fact, Marta is from a very ancient Spanish family. Way up north toward the Pyrenees. Family has lived there for centuries. Centuries, can you imagine that? Fucking crazy, right?”
Federico paused for effect. He wanted to gauge their baseline of terror. They were listening carefully, but he knew they were assessing their ability to free themselves, and their chance of escape. This was fine with him; he wanted them to have hope. If they did, they would last longer. If they didn’t, they might give up and die. The human mind was amazing. Amazingly good and amazingly bad.
His personal best for max pain and max life extension was thirty-nine consecutive days. Eighty-five days with minimum four-day rest periods after two weeks of consecutive torture. Twice he had taken his victim “through the cycle”; that is, he had removed all limbs so only a head and torso remained strapped to a gurney while still technically alive.
The “cycle” was slow, painful, and extremely cruel. Fingers were removed one at a time, knuckle by knuckle. Then the hand at the wrist. Then the arm to the elbow, then at the shoulder. Federico liked to begin at the toes, working his way up to the trunk just below the hip. Carefully done surgically, with blood, drugs and skilled surgical hands, the torso would survive. The mind, well that might go at any time. When that went either the fun was over, or the remaining biological mess just gave up and capitulated to the eventuality of death.
“Now Marta is a fine physician, and her license to practice medicine is still intact. She will be assisting my endeavors and will be principally responsible for keeping you alive. So be nice to Marta. If you say mean things to her, she gets … cranky. And she is significantly more unpleasant than me when cranky. I impose pain to get answers, and she relieves pain to prolong life, but only when the answers prove to be accurate. She reduces her aid when answers are wrong, lies or found to be incomplete.”
He looked at them carefully, searching their faces for the clues as to who the weak link was. He continued.
“I expect you will hold out until you decide whether you want to continue to die very slowly, and painfully or you want to cooperate. When you decide to cooperate, the pain ends, and you die quickly and humanely. This can go easy or it can go hard; up to you. Give me information that is hard to verify and/or far away, and I will continue to impose intense pain until the information is confirmed. Understand that there is no rest while verifying; there is a severe penalty for misleading me. Just more pain. Nod if you understand.”
All three nodded.
“Good. Then I normally like to begin with one of you and do some work while the others watch. That way you understand I’m not kidding, and I mean every word I have said as well as every word I will say to you too. Now the other team members, are my very beautiful daughter, Heidi, and my very talented and handsome son, Hans.
“Heidi’s real first name is Marta, like her mum, but she was allowed to choose her own first name for everyday use. She read a book, saw the name, and liked it. Same for Hans. His real first name is Federico. Go figure, huh?”
Heidi was watching intently, and was nervously twitching, holding her brother’s hand. Hans was quiet and calm; his arm was around Heidi, his hand lazily cupping and rubbing her breasts.
“Daddy, can I play with the other puppies while you do your work. Hans says he wants to have fun too. You can watch; Mum too. I know how you like to watch Hans and I together. Can we please? Please?”
“You still need to pay attention and learn what your Mum and I have to teach. Will you do that for Daddy?”
“Yes Daddy. I promise. Hans?”
“Yes sir. I promise too. Mother? When you’re not helping Papa, you can play with us too. We can bring in the big sofa to watch Papa, and you can explain what he does. Then we can watch you work too, and Papa can explain what you’re doing. When Papa’s done, and Mother’s done, Heidi can have playtime and then it’s my turn.”
Federico turned to his daughter. “No cutting, and no permanent damage. Just what you’ve been taught. And something Mother can fix. Promise?”
“Yes Daddy.”
Hans looked at his sister, then at his Mother. He had special surprises upstairs waiting for them in their bedrooms for the evening entertainment. He would join in the fun with them too. The new girls had been brought to the Mansion from Eastern Europe, at great expense. They had no families; they would hardly even be missed. Hans would control the activity in each bedroom, moving swiftly from one to the other adjacent rooms via connecting doors.
His Mother and sister knew to obey his every whim; Federico had trained Hans himself, and now Federico was retired from this chore. It was his son’s job to manage the recreation. His Mother and sister had vastly different tastes in achieving pleasure, and Hans was now the key to keeping them happy, focused and satisfied. And, he did.
This was Hans’ training and he relished the complexity and subtlety of his responsibilities. He conceived of it as a complex symphony, every instrument, and detail had to be coordinated, and harmonized. He was both the composer and the conductor.
Both women were obedient, and submissive to the men, but not passive. They would snarl when things weren’t done to their satisfaction and Hans occasionally had his hands full maintaining control. Neither woman was a stranger to harsh discipline and severe punishment when Hans perceived any hint of disobedience or disrespect. Hans tolerated none of it, as taught by his father before him.
His Mother was well trained, obedient and submissive; his sister was still partially unbroken. That would change over time and Hans was fully prepared to spend the time required to break her. In the end, she would learn to obey. If she did well, he would arrange her marriage within their kind. That is, to the right kind of Master who was equally well trained and could pay handsomely for a biological toy.
Hans was satisfied with what he saw. He sat on the sofa, his Mother on one side, his sister on the other. He put his hands on the side of their heads, drawing them close to him or to position, whenever he wished. He would seek carnal pleasure from one or the other, or both, while they watched and between acts.
“Good. Then Papa, we begin.”
Chapter 21
In the year 55 BCE, Julius Caesar was campaigning in Gaul, now France, to subdue the boisterous tribes whose territories he sought to conquer on behalf of the Roman Empire. During one of the early years, two tribes from nearby Germania had crossed the River Rhine for the same reason as Caesar: to subdue the native populations and expand into their territory. Before Caesar could finish his campaign against the local inhabitants of Gaul, he had first to expel the invading German tribes.
This he did.
After one decisive battle, Caesar had confronted the main force of one of the tribes but sent cavalry around the rear to attack from behind. In the rear of the German force was the train filled with supplies, valuables, women, children, and camp followers. In addition, this time, there were groups of several thousand captives, disarmed and quite passive, obviously captured alive from an earlier campaign by the Germanic tribe against some other less fortunate Germanic tribe.
Under normal circumstance, all survivors would be huddled together, bound, and later sold into slavery if they could survive the march back to Rome. This was a major source of income for Roman generals successful in campaigns against the enemy. After the battle concluded and the field stripped, and captives, and booty accounted for, Caesar settled into his own tent to consider the other Germanic tribe and how best to drive them back across the Rhine. Then he would subdue those pesky Gauls, and sell them into slavery.
One of Caesar’s generals came to his tent, asking his aide-de-camp for an audience with the future Dictator-for-Life of Rome.
Caesar hardly looked up, deep in thought with maps and charts, unhappy with the intelligence gathered to date about the terrain, and territory he was about to enter.
&nb
sp; “What is it?” Caesar growled.
“My lord, I have come here at the request of the headman of a group of captives we found in the Helviti camp after the battle. It seems they were taken captive in a raid in Germania just prior to the departure of the Helviti from their homeland. They’re unarmed and claim to have no dispute with either you or Rome. The leader claims to have intelligence about the other Germanic tribe as well as a thorough knowledge of the terrain both here and across the Rhine. He can provide maps, and details useful to you in planning your next attack. Do you wish to see him?”
“Who are they? How many?”
“They call themselves the Alveti, he says. And there are about two thousand in the Helviti camp. The headman says their lands are in the far north of Germania, near the wastelands of the Wildmen.”
“Is he of those tribes? Or Germanians?”
“He says neither, but he speaks our language. Well enough at least. Says he learned it as a captive in his youth in the lands of Lesti. I think in our tongue he means the lands far north of Bithynia along the great river to the inland sea. I believe you have journeyed there too, sire.”
“I have. Bring him. But tell him if he lies, I will crucify him, and all his people. But if he’s useful, he may yet have a chance to live. And bring Gaius Livius Tarsus of the Genarii. I wish him to hear this man. If he’s truthful, Gaius will confirm this knowledge. And know what to do with him afterwards.”
***
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