I just don’t understand it.
Lois isn’t all that. She’s easy on the eyes, I guess, if you are a middle-aged man. But to me she always seems a bit strident, and somewhat unsexy.
We ride to the airport. Mr. Bloom and the two guys from Black Dog that replaced Brad and Chad are all very serious. No nonsense with these dudes.
“This is Daniel, and this is Robert. They are your new guards,” was all Mr. Bloom said when we got into the limo.
Lois seemed satisfied, not even speaking to them.
I offered a couple of “Hello, how are you doing?” remarks.
They actually just grunted! Like “Fine. Urgh.”
I could tell they were packing heat.
You couldn’t tell with the boys. They did have Glocks, but were very discrete.
These two were like rent-a-cops. They were older, and not as fit.
The one was balding.
I was very taken aback by this. Captain Spalding always seemed to be on top of things, and it felt odd to me that he would hire two men such as these.
The limousine went past the normal turnoff to the airport, and at first, I was not going to say anything. Then, I saw one of the men looking at Lois.
She gave him a nod.
“Sorry, Miss. Don’t you move, now, okay? Don’t make this any harder than it has to be,” he said.
I turned to him. He had a large pistol pointed at me.
“What the fuck!” I yelled.
“Mr. Bloom!” I yelled, but the divider was up and he couldn’t hear me. Then, the other dude comes over to where I am sitting, and tries to put some kind of restraint move on me.
I kick out, and smack him in the nose. He howls with pain.
“Fuck! You bitch!” he snarls, the blood pouring out from between his clasped fingers.
I jump across to the other side of the cabin, and push the CALL button. Mr. Bloom looks up, and I can see his eyes in the mirror. He shakes his head. No help there.
“Lois! What’s going on?” I scream, as the two men hold me down.
“It’s for the best, dear. I am going to be very rich. You’re going to make certain I stay that way. Goodbye, Cheryl!” she says, waving.
A black cloth bag is put over my head. It smells of some kind of chemical.
Then, blackness.
Chapter Eleven
I wake up in a crappy warehouse. They must process fish here. It stinks to high heaven.
My head aches worse than ever. I promise God, no more drinking, and no more getting kidnapped and chloroformed!
I look around. The room is empty, and I am handcuffed to a bed.
There are two bottles of water, and a Clif bar, and a package of baby wipes.
Next to all of that is a plastic bucket, with a lid.
FOR YOU is printed on a piece of paper taped to the lid.
I get the picture.
Not feeling the need, I pick up a bottle of water, and the Clif.
I hate those things. Always taste gummy to me.
I shrug, and drink the bottle, emptying it in one or two big gulps.
I burp, not caring who may hear me.
Fuckers. I am going to rip their fucking balls off when I get a chance!
What the fuck did Lois do here?
What did she get me into? Does she owe someone money or something?
Daddy is going to be fucking pissed when he finds out…
I toss the empty bottle as hard as I can, and it ricochets off the far wall.
Good.
I open the next one, and take a couple sips.
I need to be careful, or I will end up using that bucket.
I eye the Clif bar wrapper. Fuck it. I tear it open with my teeth, immediately regretting my decision.
Yuck.
I choke it down, washing the taste away with the water. When I have eaten all of it, there’s still a half-bottle.
I lay back down on the bed, waiting to see what or who is going to come find me.
Suddenly, I sit up straight. I feel around, and discover my cell phone!
What the fuck? Are they that stupid?
I open it and dial 911.
There isn’t any signal.
Shit.
Where am I?
I try to stand, and the fucking handcuffs make it impossible to move very far.
What would Daddy do?
What would the twins do?
I think. I look at the handcuffs. Pretty strong. Not much chance of breaking them.
What about the bed? It’s not all that strong looking.
I try to bend a slat, and it deforms.
That’s promising!
I work at it for a while, and then decide it’s only fucking up the bed.
I flop back down. The Clif bar gurgles in my stomach.
Shit.
The door opens about an hour later, and in walks an old, creepy looking man. He’s dressed like a fucking Nazi!
“I hope you enjoyed your trip, Miss Walker,” he says. His English is perfect.
“Where am I, you asshole!” I shout, trying to stand. My wrist catches me off balance.
The man smiles. He gives me the major creeps.
“Ah. I see you are very resourceful. And, wisely, you have eaten the food, and drank the water. Good. I am your instructor, and you will call me Herr Platt,” he says.
He’s smiling, but there’s nothing happy in his eyes.
“Fuck you. Get me out of here!” I yell.
“Help! Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs, and old Platty winces. I have very good lungs, and it makes a hell of a racket.
“So predictable,” I hear him say.
Then, I feel an electric shock.
Darkness.
I wake up on the bed. There are two bottles of water, a Clif bar, and the bucket and wipes.
I’ve apparently soiled myself. So, first order of business is to clean up.
This takes a short while. I piss in the bucket, and decide to go commando under the jeans.
I suck down the water, and choke down the Clif bar.
Then, I lay back down and wait…
An hour later, here comes Herr Platt.
“Good. You are awake. Do you understand what will happen if you disobey me again?” he asks.
“Fuck…” is all I get out this time.
Shit…
I wake up on the bed. There are two bottles of water, a Clif bar, and the bucket and wipes. It’s a new bucket. There is also fresh clothing.
Nice.
I change, take a dump, wipe myself, and drink the water. I put the Clif in my pocket.
My phone is still with me. Why?
I lay back down, thinking about how I can strangle this asshole.
An hour later, he comes into the room.
“I hope we aren’t going to do this again. You see, my patience is wearing thin. I have a job to do, and I need your help. You have a talent, and it is an important part of my project. Now, you shall help me. Or, you will be fed to the fishes,” he says, not a trace of emotion in his voice.
He walks over and frees my wrist. I see a perfect opportunity to clock him, but just as I tense up, Lois walks into the room.
“Lois! You goddamned cunt! Imma …” I shout.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Cheryl. Don’t be so dramatic. It’s unfortunate you are being so stubborn here. You’ve sorely inconvenienced many, many people. Including me. Now, let’s be grown ups and do this,” she scolds.
I’m waiting for her to get near enough to me so I can choke her out.
“That is not going to happen, dear. Hans. Wolfgang. Please assist my stepdaughter to the studio,” she orders.
Two burly, huge beasts of men come into the room, and each one takes an arm. I am dragged out of the warehouse, across a parking lot, to another building.
Thankfully, this one is not reeking of dead fish.
They take me into another room, in which is a state-of-the-art production studio.
There are
video cameras, monitor speakers, fully computerized audio gear, and microphones and it’s all soundproofed.
“What the hell is this, Lois?” I ask, rubbing my wrists. Those bozos were pretty inconsiderate of my delicate hands.
They stand on either side of me. Great.
“You are going to make a video, dear. A music video. The best, most powerful music video ever produced and broadcast!” Lois tells me.
“Like hell I am, bitch,” I mutter.
She gives me a grim smile.
“Let me show you something,” she says.
“Sit down. It’s very comfortable. No one will restrain you. Or, if you prefer you can stand and watch,” she sniffs.
I watch her sit in a very plush lounge chair, and stare towards a large flat monitor across the room. It’s probably twelve feet across.
I sit down in a chair two down from hers.
“Oh, don’t be such a child, Cheryl. I won’t bite!” she insists, patting the seat next to her.
I move over.
“That’s better, dear. Now, watch,” she says.
The studio lights dim, and I idly consider making a run for it.
“Don’t even think about it, Cheryl. Dear,” Lois says.
Herr Pratt is operating a control console.
Then, the reason I am here becomes clear, as we watch the presentation.
The screen shows a high definition image of a little girl. She’s smiling. The camera pulls back, and she’s wearing that Nazi uniform. She’s probably six, maybe seven years old.
As the camera pulls back further, I can see she’s surrounded by German shepherds. At least a dozen. All of them perfect specimens.
The camera pulls back, and it becomes apparent that she’s in some manner of circular enclosure, that separates her from the outside.
And, outside the enclosure, is utter hell.
There are burned corpses, of all manner of people, of all ages, and genders. They are still smoldering.
A caption comes across the screen.
“Utopia Is Now” it says.
“What the fuck is this, Lois?” I growl.
“Just watch, girl!” she hisses. “The best part is coming up!”
The scene changes, and it’s some kind of summit of world leaders. They are all bowing to a man in this Nazi-like uniform, but he appears to be Asian.
I recognize many of these officials. There’s the PM of England, and the American President!
“Is that real? That can’t be!” I exclaim.
“It will be soon enough. It’s a dress rehearsal, of sorts,” Lois says. “Now, hush! Here is the best part!”
The images shift, and now the Earth is shown from space. It’s a sickly yellow color, and looks noxious.
“The Final Solution – Now Playing!” scrolls across the screen.
Then, the scene changes back to the little girl, who is running with the dogs in fields of flowers, more than can be imagined. From every direction, more blonde haired, blue-eyed children run through the flowers, and soon it is saturated. The camera pulls back.
“The Future Is Here!” fades in, then fades out.
“What did I just watch?” I say out loud.
“This is a recruitment video. You are going to do the soundtrack,” Lois explains.
“Fuck that!” I yell, and stand up.
I bolt for the door, but the two huge men block my path. I smash one right against his nose, but he just stands there, as if made of stone.
“Fuck! My hand!” I yell. It feels like I just punched a building.
“Cheryl, you are going to sing this song. It will be your greatest hit, your masterpiece! You will be remembered for ever, as the woman who gave voice to our movement!” Lois says, her eyes gleaming with a ferocious intensity.
“Herr Platt, prepare her for her performance!” Lois cries triumphantly.
The old creep tries to grab me, but I run past him, right into Hans.
Wolfgang comes up next to us, holding a headphone and places it on my head.
Then, they carry me to the microphone stand.
Herr Platt pushes a few buttons, resetting the images.
“Perhaps, Miss Walker, you’d like to see a sample of what we are attempting to achieve?” he says.
He pushes the button, and the video starts, and my hit song is playing alongside it.
“You bastard!” I seethe.
Then, something odd happens. The images and sounds sync up, and I am suddenly transported into the video. It’s like I am actually the little girl! I feel disembodied, a ghost that is looking back out at myself, as I stare in shock and horror at the reflections of me in the eyes of the dogs.
It goes until it’s over, and I sag to the ground.
For a few minutes, I just weep.
“What…what is that? What did you do to me?” I sob.
Lois leans down next to me.
“If it can do that with a shitty recording of you from some asshole’s phone camera, imagine what it will do when we process and enhance it using quantum technology!” she says.
“Huh? Quantum what? You’re crazy!” I sob.
My nerves are on edge and I feel like someone stepped right through my heart.
“She is not going to be any good for some time, Fraulein, I am afraid,” Herr Platt states baldly.
Lois glares at him.
“Why not? I thought it was imperative we perform this before the psychic impact from the attack has diminished?” she asks.
“There is something else that is a variable, one that we did not foresee, I am afraid,” he answers.
“What is it?” Lois says, her voice shrill.
“She apparently is in love,” he says, simply.
“What?” Lois says.
“What?” I echo.
Herr Platt looks annoyed, and the two monster men just grin while the credits fade on the video monitor.
Chapter Twelve
I sit in a room, perplexed by what Herr Platt had told Lois.
How can I be in love? With whom?
Chad? Brad? That’s ridiculous!
I barely know either one of them!
Lois leaves me in the care of the creepy old man.
He brings me to a much nicer place. At least this one has a shower, and some towels. And some fresh clothes. I guess Lois decided to splurge.
Once he’s gone, I took the chance to clean up.
It’s nowhere near as refreshing as my last shower, in Singapore.
I wonder if anyone is looking for me?
How would they find me?
I dry my body, paying attention to the webs between my toes, dabbing with the towel.
My butt hurts, my hand hurts from punching that dumbass, and I am hungry enough to eat a Clif bar. But, apparently, I’ve lost it.
Thank god for small blessings…
Sometime after I’ve changed, Herr Platt takes me to a kitchen, where I have a dinner of cold chicken salad, and a couple of beers. It is way more delicious than it has any right to be, but I put it down to being terrified, scared and worried. I try to enjoy it, but the image of the little girl and the dogs keep coming to me, unbidden.
A Nazi group? I think as I slowly chew the salad.
I thought that was just right-wing nonsense?
Why would Lois get caught up in all of that? I wonder how Stone and company fit into this, but I can’t see any possible connection.
The attack at the hotel in Singapore wasn’t an accident, I decide. It was a deliberate event, set to take attention away from the Stone affair.
Why?
I finish the meal, and then go back to the room.
No one is there.
So, I sit down and fiddle with my phone.
Stupid of them to miss it.
Then, I realize there’s no way they missed it.
“Why is my being in love an issue?” I ask Platty when he returns.
“I will tell you. There is no harm in it. You project certain sound frequencies dur
ing your concerts that are conducive to making the brain of listeners of your music very pliable. Malleable. Suitable for implanting images. The sounds you create allow the manipulation of these people with simple contrasting images and set up a pattern of cognitive dissonance. This is something with which we can work, and lends itself to producing vivid memories in the target,” he rattles off.
He probably feels like he is giving a lesson to some bright student.
What a tool…
“So, wait. You are brainwashing people, using my music?” I ask, shocked.
Herr Platt actually laughs out loud.
“I am sorry, brainwashing is such an antiquated concept. No, we are taking over their cognitive functions – completely. Once they are exposed, they can be manipulated to perform any task we wish,” he states.
“You’re…hypnotizing them?” I ask.
“Please! I am a man of science! Do not insult me with this pseudo-psychological pablum! This is actionable implantation and replacement of motivation and desires, amplified by attaching subliminal messages to the adrenal cortex! It’s as far from both hypnosis and brainwashing as a thrown stick is from a nuclear missile!” he responds, indignantly.
“And, what are you going to use this for, then? Take over the world?” I smirk.
It was the first thing that sprang to mind…
“Nein. No. We are going to eradicate the vermin of this planet, cleanse the world of its impurities, and create the Übermensch long sought by our people,” he says, with a religious fervor.
“Fucking Nazis,” I mutter.
“We are NOT Nazis, Miss Walker. We are the original people who rule this world. The Great Ones descended from the ancient gods of Olympus, Teotihuacan and Mount Ararat! We are the ones chosen by the Elders to rule over the animals of this planet! It is our Destiny, our Fate, to become the one race, the one species that will drag humanity from the Darkness into the Eternal Sunshine!” he finishes, pontificating like a Baptist reverend on Easter Sunday.
“So. Fucking Nazis,” I reply.
He wipes his hand over his face, exasperated.
Good. Fuck him.
Bodyguards: A Twin Menage Romance (Mandarin Connection Book 9) Page 7