Intelias sent a black limousine to transport him to the Four Seasons hotel in the Marunouchi area in the center of Tokyo. This hotel was the smallest and most intimate property of the luxurious Four Seasons hotel chain. It contained only fifty-seven spacious suites and was his favorite. He loved to dine at the hotel’s Motif Restaurant & Bar, the capital’s most talked about dining venue, offering an esprit terroir experience. The Intelias building was also conveniently located nearby. He hurriedly entered his hotel room and headed for the shower. He had just twenty minutes to get ready before his security briefing at Intelias by Daichi Sato, the firm’s cloud security expert. During the shower, thoughts about the flight kept swirling in his mind. That was so hot and unbelievable. He had never cheated on Lucy before, not wanting to be a fraud or a con artist in their relationship. Still, he couldn’t contain the erotic thoughts of the flight, and it aroused him. He hurriedly masturbated in the shower.
Better to offload and get this off my mind so that I can focus on the task at hand.
He heard his phone beep while he dried himself off with the plush white hotel towels.
It’s probably Daichi wondering where I am; those Japs are a pedantic bunch.
He appreciated this characteristic. In their line of work, precision was everything.
“Konnichiwa, Mr. Voss, it’s a great to have you back with us.” Daichi welcomed him warmly into the Intelias boardroom. He was a small-framed man, with broad shoulders and neatly combed jet-black hair. They shook hands and kept the small talk short. A crisis of massive proportions was on hand.
Daichi got started. “Mr. Voss, I have some bad news. Our cloud security has been breached. Looks like we’re being held for ransom. Our system logs are showing . . .”
BEEP. BEEP. Kevin’s phone buzzed. He could see the brief message notification from an unknown number: DID YOU SEE THE IMAGES? WE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CRISIS.
Kevin instantly phased out. Daichi’s words sounded like background mumbling. He picked up the phone and downloaded the images. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There were multiple sexual photos of him with the brunette. He choked, almost puking from the sudden surge of panic. The phone jangled in his palms, hands shaking uncontrollably. He did his best to remain cool. No matter what he had to deal with on a personal level, the Intelias problem had to come first. Over the years he trained himself to remain absolutely calm no matter how high the stakes got. This time it was different and very personal; he was being framed. Both his job and family were on the line. Daichi was so engrossed in detailing the server logs that he didn’t notice his unease. A few seconds later his phone beeped again. YOU WORK FOR US NOW, ROOM 910 SHANGRI LA HOTEL IN 30 MINS. GET UP AND LEAVE.
“Daichi, I think I know what’s the problem, I’ll get working on it immediately. Please excuse me, I’ll call you when your team’s assistance is required,” he hastily blurted out. He got up and walked briskly toward the door. Once beyond Daichi’s view, he started running toward the elevator, shouting at Daichi’s new secretary, “Please ensure the driver is waiting for me downstairs now!”
Daichi was dumbstruck; he didn’t even get the chance to show Kevin where the breach was and explain the problem. He knew Kevin was borderline genius, but it was unlike him to show disrespect. He was always attentive and understanding and never lacked any social skills. He figured that due to the urgency of the situation Kevin was starting to crack. This was no time for sentiments. They needed all hands at the pump, so he couldn’t let this slide. He dialed 911 on the boardroom conference phone, which led directly to John Lukach. It was actually Kevin’s idea that in all the international Intelias boardrooms, dialing 911 would reroute directly to John as an emergency work call. That would obviously not operate within the U.S. due to overlap with emergency services, but he thought it was a nice touch for his international colleagues.
“Hi, Daichi. What’s going on?” John sounded groggy. It was 05:30 a.m. in New York.
Daichi rattled off details of his brief meeting with Kevin.
John responded alertly this time. “I’d like your team to get working on it immediately until we can see what the hell he is up to.” John barked some final instructions and hung up the phone. The Japanese were smart but even their entire production and research team of over 400 qualified IT engineers could not replace Kevin. This was the wrong time for him to go Kamikaze.
The Intelias black Mercedes sped through the Ginza district heading toward the Shangri La Hotel. Kevin’s head was in a spin. He wasn’t panicked, just numb in shock. He felt like a zombie, neither dead nor alive. For the first time in his life he was genuinely frightened and helpless. He had no backup up for this type of scenario, he had to go it alone.
No one can ever know about this.
The Mercedes parked outside the hotel entrance. “You can leave me here please, no need to wait,” he told the driver. He jumped out of the car and handed him a $100 bill. “If anybody asks, you drove me to the Four Seasons,” he instructed. The driver winked at him. “No problem, Sir. Have a nice time.”
Kevin raced into the hotel lobby, adrenaline gushing through his veins. The hotel porter approached him. “Welcome to the Shangri La, Mr. Voss. Here is your room key for room 910.” He grabbed the key and ran toward the elevator.
How the fuck did the porter recognize me? This is a meticulously planned blackmail.
The elevator ascended rapidly and stopped on the ninth floor. He charged toward the room, squeezing through the elevator doors before they fully opened. It was located in the far corner of the long corridor. Panting, he struggled to press the room’s digital key against the door, his hands felt lifeless. It slowly clicked open revealing total darkness. He edged into the room, searching for the light by running his hand along the wall. He shuddered from a sudden loud bang behind him; the front door slammed shut. It completely startled him and he bolted for the door. He suddenly felt a gloved hand choking him from behind, then a sharp needle stab his neck. Almost instantly he could no longer resist, his legs and arms felt like excess baggage. He lost all sense of coordination and collapsed on the carpeted floor. He was being blindfolded and dragged toward the bed. Through the tight blindfold he could faintly see that the lights were on. All his clothes and underwear were immediately ripped from his body, and he shook with fear. He was terrified of what was coming next. This was turning into some sick shit and beyond his worst nightmare. He suddenly felt a woman’s hand on his crotch. “Just relax, and we will remove the blindfold,” a woman seductively encouraged. She climbed on top of him, sliding her erect nipples against his chest. She then proceeded to grind her warm pussy against his groin.
If these fuckers think I can get aroused in this situation, they’re out of their mind.
The woman kept gently stroking his penis and massaging her naked body against him. He just lay there paralyzed, unable to move or resist. This kept going on for about fifteen minutes, and he could sense the rising tension and frustration. They weren’t alone, of that he was sure. After another five minutes of her seductive efforts, the woman suddenly stopped and got off him. He exhaled sharply in relief; at least that was over.
He heard shouting in Japanese. The woman argued with a man in the room.
“OK, Mr. Voss, we’re going to have to do this the hard way,” the woman said. She aggressively grabbed his penis with her hand, stretching it out. He felt a sharp needle sting at its base.
He screamed out in pain, “Fucckkk, please leave me alone, who the fuck are you?” His voice barely audible from the drugs, it sounded more like a hoarse whisper. He squirmed on the hotel bed, unable to move his limbs.
“In a few moments you’ll know exactly who I am. Just relax for now. I have injected the base of your penis with 80 milligrams of Cialis, and we will begin shortly.” Over the next ten minutes she continued to slide her body against him and massage his penis with her breasts and palms. He could literally feel the blood rushing to his phallus as it started to stiffen. “We’re ready.” She
slowly removed his blindfold. “I’m your gift that you enjoyed so much on the plane.” She smiled cruelly. His eyelids fluttered, eyes struggling to adjust to the light. “If you’re getting raped, the only option is to lie back and enjoy it,” she snickered. She sat on top of him and rubbed his erect penis against the base of her pussy. It quickly became dripping wet, and she moaned out loud. He looked around the room and saw another two Japanese men. One was operating a huge television-type camera, those you see broadcasting the NFL games. The other one was taking shots from a professional Cannon. He tried to scream out, but his voice was no longer audible and his breathing shallow.
The Japanese brunette kept riding him like she was competing in the bronco-riding rodeo event. She was screaming out load in pleasure, faking it to perfection. “Oh baby, it’s soooo gooood. Keep fucking me hard. I missed you so much, baby.” In the background he could hear the Cannon clicking away. He felt his penis tingling, he was going to cum soon. She reciprocated and screamed out loud, “Cum inside me, baby.” He knew this was wrong, but it was too late. He was deep in the pre-climax phase where nothing else mattered. A brief second where time stood still and anticipation of orgasm awaited. He started spraying and she quickly jumped off, draining his throbbing penis with her right hand, into her cupped left hand, for every inch of cum. The cameraman quickly stopped filming and ran over with a sterilized cup, the sort you see at IVF clinics or sperm banks. She rubbed the sperm off her palms and into the cup. “Thank you, Mr. Voss, I hope you enjoyed that.” She leaned toward the bedside cabinet and reached for a brown Louis Vuitton toiletry bag. She pulled out another long syringe and injected it into his arm. “It’s time to go to sleep. You must be absolutely exhausted,” she said cynically. He closed his eyes, shaken up and afraid.
What do these people want from me? This is fucking unbearable!
Mind swirling, he lost consciousness.
3
The Yakuza
Brrrngg Brnngggg, the phone rang on the bedside cabinet. He opened his eyes, instantly plagued by a searing headache and a nauseating dizziness. He scrambled for the phone. “Hello,” he stammered.
“Kevin, where the hell have you been? I’ve been losing my mind here. You haven’t answered your phone since yesterday.” Lucy was livid, she sounded like she hadn’t slept the whole night.
Pressing the phone to his ear, he sat up gingerly on the edge of the bed and scanned the room. The silhouette of his aluminum luggage was vaguely visible in the far corner; he was back at the Four Seasons. The reality of the situation dawned on him like a cold ice bucket. He shivered. This was no bad dream, and it had nothing to do with the Ambien.
“Kevin, are you there? Talk to me, for God’s sake. What’s going on?” She pleaded.
He dug deep to sound confident and project business as usual. “All is OK, Lus, just preoccupied with the problems at work. When I got back to the hotel, I passed out. I was totally exhausted.” It was not unusual for him to work twenty-four- or even thirty-six-hour days, especially before a new product launch. He tried to appease her.
“I miss you and the boys so much. We’ll fly down to Miami and take a few days’ break when I’m back.” He could sense by the sound of her breathing that she was calming down. He was still weak and could barely summon the strength to end their call.
“Bye, baby, I have to get back to the office urgently. I’ll call you later.” He hung up and fell backwards onto the bed, relieved that the conversation was over. He had managed to ease her fears without raising suspicion.
Brrrngg Brnngggg, the phone rang again just as he set it down. Fuck, I can’t handle this right now. He quickly picked up the phone. “Sorry, Lus. I can’t talk right now. I’m in a rush to get ready for work.”
There was no answer, but he could hear faint background sounds. She was on the line.
“Lus, are you there? I think I lost you?”
There was more silence.
“You work for us now, Mr. Voss, and today you’ll meet your new boss. Get dressed and wear the clothes that we’ve arranged for you in the closest. Be ready in ten minutes.” The voice sent shivers down his back. It sounded mechanically disguised, like the one used by kidnappers to ask for ransom. Before he could say anything, the call cut off. He ran to the marble bathroom and started vomiting, incapacitated by fear and anxiety. His body lurched forward, spewing remnants of his last meal and a pinkish bile.
Just stay cool, and let’s see what they want. You’ll figure this out, and everything will go back to normal.
Deep down he knew that whatever they wanted, he was going to deliver. There was no chance he was going to risk losing Lucy by letting her see the videos and photos they had on him.
He splashed cold water on his face and headed toward the closet. He slid open the lacquered cherry door to reveal a navy-blue Armani suit and a crisp white shirt. On the bottom there was a pair of black Oxfords and Pantherella socks. He was shocked that the clothes were a tailored fit, personally manufactured for him. While he fiddled to get the shoes on, two Japanese men stepped into the room. Both wore sharp dark suits, their lengthy black hair slicked back with gel. Despite the high-neck button shirts and the long sleeves, he could see a few tattoos peeking out. What really startled him was that one of the guys had the tip of his left little finger cut off.
Fuck, these guys are Yakuza. I’m a dead man.
He had heard all about the Yakuza on his previous trips to Tokyo. It was the biggest transnational crime syndicate in the world. The cutting off of the tip of one’s pinkie is a ritual known as the Yubitsume and is a form of apology to the boss, who also gets to keep the severed flesh. If a member of the Yakuza does another transgression, he is required to cut off another finger and so forth. This brutal practice originated from the traditional way of holding a Japanese sword. The bottom three fingers of each hand are used to grip the sword tightly, with the thumb and index finger more loosely. The removal of fingers, starting with the pinkie upwards, gradually weakens the member’s sword grip, thus making him more dependent on the collective for protection. Another widespread custom of the Yakuza is to tattoo their entire body including their genitals. The ink is inserted beneath the skin with sharpened needles of bamboo or steel. These Irezumi tattoos are extremely painful and can take years to finish. The combination of the tattoos and a severed pinky was a sure sign these guys were Yakuza.
Kevin stood up as calmly as possible and kept his voice steady, “What do you guys want from me? Where’re we going?”
The two men motioned him toward the front. The taller and stockier of the two guys, an intimidating bruiser, then said in a heavily accented voice, “Pliiiz kum wid us, the boss is whayyting.” They scrutinized him, closely assessing his every move.
He repeated calmly, “What’s going on? Please, I need some answers before I go anywhere.”
They grabbed each side of Kevin’s shoulders. “You muuve now,” the bruiser said angrily. Either they didn’t understand a word of English or he was pissing them off. He promptly followed them out the door and into the elevator a few feet away.
They exited the elevator and headed straight for the hotel parking lot, where a parked Toyota Century waited for them. The luxury limousine looked identical to the one used by the Japanese royal family. All four windows were completely tinted black. Kevin was promptly ushered into the back seat. The interior of this chauffeur-driven sedan had the traditional grey velour that is typical in Asian luxury cars. The front dash contained many classic buttons connecting to the built-in infotainment system. The dash was comprised of contrasting wood inserts, with the lighter wood running on either side. The driver was a young Japanese man with a pockmarked boyish face. He wore white Rapiro leather gloves and what looked like an airline pilot’s cap and jacket. The two Japanese men sat on either side of Kevin and motioned the driver to get going. As the sedan moved along the streets of Tokyo, he stared out the window. Millions of people casually going about their day-to-day lives; he envied them. He
was a prisoner heading into the unknown and craved any sort of normality. He doubted greatly that his life would ever be the same.
After fifteen minutes of driving in tense silence, they pulled into the parking lot of the Tokyo Skytree. Kevin was familiar with the legendary tower, having frequently dined at its magnificent restaurant. The structure rose more than 600 meters into the Japanese skyline, well clear of any other high-rise buildings. It resembled a pagoda from historical Japan, blending in perfectly with its cultural surroundings.
The lobby was teeming with tourists. The two men ushered Kevin through a restricted area and into the tower’s elevator. It had a sleek matte black interior illuminated by bright spot lights. A small digital screen, situated above the touch panel, displayed 3-D images of the tower’s tripod-like base and the cylindrical structure above it, which revealed breath-taking panoramic views of the river and the city. The bruiser pressed the button for the upper observatory level and the high-speed elevator jolted into a rapid ascent.
At least it’s a public place, so there shouldn’t be any physical harm.
He focused his eyes intently on the display indicating the ascending elevator floor levels. He watched them tick over one by one, counting under his breath.
Just another big business meeting, that’s all.
He tried to assure himself. He could feel the veins in his forehead protruding from the increased blood flow. He concentrated on the displayed elevator levels, attempting to defuse his anxiety. Throughout his life he’d mastered the technique of engaging his mind in another activity whenever he would feel panic or anxiety set in. With each increasing floor level, he managed to somewhat calm himself and partially regain his natural confident demeanor.
When the doors to the elevator open, I’ll be ready for whatever is to come.
They reached the upper observatory and the doors immediately slid open. He stepped out confidently, a close distance behind the two Japanese men. He was surprised to discover that the entire area, which normally holds around 900 visitors, was completely empty. Alone, the feeling of sheer terror struck him like a lightning bolt. He glanced toward the elevator, considering making a run for it, but quickly abandoned the thought. Even if he could make it out of the tower, the Yakuza would find him before he had the slimmest chance of getting to the airport. Once they did, a painful death would surely ensue. He followed the men cautiously, any thoughts of escape completely fleeing his mind. They proceeded directly for the upper Skytree observatory, which contained a spiral, glass-covered skywalk, where visitors could ascend the final 5 meters to the highest point of this area. He tentatively stared at the glass flooring, which revealed a bird’s-eye view of the streets below. It was a spectacular view but equally terrifying. In the corner of the deck, a digital screen with an empty leather boardroom chair awaited him. “Yuuu zit noaiw in chaar,” the bruiser forcefully instructed him. He cannily sat down, not daring to take another look at the glass floor below.
The Voss Coin Page 2