PAIN SLAVES by Veronica Beacher
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O N E

It was - irritating.

I stared down at Lorne Maxwell, frowning at his besotted grin as he looked back up. He was the senior agent on this case. We were, temporarily, partners. And he was useless. He'd been an alcoholic for years, scraping by a step ahead of a review board. Why they'd assigned him to this case was beyond me, unless they wanted it to fail, wanted me to fail.

Which was entirely possible.

Still, I'd never seen him this bad. But when he'd checked into the hotel he'd found a bottle of thirty year old scotch waiting for him as a "welcome" gift from the Taipei police.. My fridge had no such welcome, unless empty ice cube trays could be seen as a welcome.

A couple of the officers at the US military base had been very welcoming, too, and treated him to repeated drinks (subsidised by the army anyway) at the officer's mess.

We'd been here three days and gotten absolutely nothing done. I was fed up. Junior agent or not it was me who had pushed hard to get over here, and I was going to bear the brunt of disapproval if we didn't manage to figure out what was going on at Fort Pemberton.

"J-Jus gimmie a minute to s-shober up," he said, drooling.

"Fuck," I replied.

I turned and left him where he was, then took the elevator downstairs.

Three women were missing from Fort Pemberton. Two were US military personnel, and the third was a civilian contractor. All were Americans. They had all, so far as we knew, gone missing while off the base. There were some indications the contractor had had a fight with her boyfriend before disappearing (taking off?). One of the military women, a PFC, was on her first tour and according to her sergeant had been very home sick.

The consensus was they had simply taken off, all three. That wasn't what I believed, though. I was beginning to develop a nose for the scent of white slavery, and my nose had started twitching all the way back in Los Angeles when the reports had come in.

The FBI was responsible for investigating most serious crime committed on United States military bases, wherever they were, or against American civilians outside the United States. But such investigations were fraught with diplomatic problems. The military hated the involvement of the FBI, preferring to use its own less experienced but much more biddable criminal investigators. And host governments were loath to admit their people could be responsible for acts of violence committed against Americans. The US government, in the meantime, hated to jeopardise good relations with a friendly nation.

Let me tell you something you can take to the bank. The United States government does not give a shit about you. It does not care if you are thrown into a dungeon by some vicious warlord, robbed, killed or enslaved by corrupt officials or crime gangs, or just generally die in a gutter somewhere in a third world rat hole. The US government, as represented by the State Department, wants smooth and cordial relations with the nation you're visiting, and sacrificing you is no real price on the alter of that desire.

The only time that changes is when, despite their best efforts, your plight starts to draw publicity. Publicity can cost votes. Politicians care deeply about votes, and if there is enough publicity they'll make the right sorts of sympathetic noises for the cameras, and maybe even make a deal with whoever is causing your stress so it will all go away. But the flip side of that is the State Department and other branches of the government will do whatever they can to keep your problems quiet.

This isn't really something that's unique to America. Truth is there are only really two nations on Earth that give a shit about their citizens abroad; One is Israel, where you have the Jewish togetherness thing. The other is the UK, probably because to them, the world is full of "wogs" and they're damned annoyed any of them have the impertinence to harm an Englishman.

The Army was doing everything it could to explain away the disappearance of these women, and it had taken threats, warnings and political ploys to get us here. We weren't actually expected to do anything. The main reason I'd succeeded in getting here was because I'd convinced those higher up the feeding chain that if we went, and it later became public that some harm had befallen the girls it wouldn't look like we'd done nothing.

In other words, as far as the FBI was concerned, we were here as a pre-emptive strike, for publicity purposes. Just in case. Not that anything was wrong with the girls, of course. Oh no, not that they've been harmed. But just in case...

My name, by the way, is Gwen Ryan. If you haven't already grasped it I'm an FBI agent. I've been one for several years, having had the misfortune to fall for a sales job when in my final year at law school. I'd had a couple of bad cases since then, encountering the kind of men who think women are best kept naked and in chains. I'd been a lot more innocent before they got their hands on me, and a lot more - sane.

I'd been something of a tomboy before going undercover in a misguided effort to get into a bondage club run by the Chinese triads. That had gone so disastrously wrong I'd wound up as the fuck toy of a vicious Triad drug dealer - a woman, believe it or not, who had seriously tried to make me into a better, more biddable submissive than I had been pretending to be. They hadn't known I was a federal agent or they'd have killed me. Instead they took me at my appearance, as a masochistic nympho, and treated me like one.

That had done something to my mind. I had been pure vanilla before, not exactly a virgin, but with a pretty tame and infrequent sex life. My punishment and sexual degradation by the gang had been mortifying, not to mention painful. But it had awakened some dark, twisted hunger inside me, and I had begun to fantasise about sexual punishment and pain, about slavery and sadomasochism.

Then the Russians had gotten me. That had been months later, and I had still been a little weak between the ears. The Russians had been crude and cruel, and hadn't cared anything at all about my sexual tastes. It hadn't been a game to them. They had been after information, and had raped an tortured me to get it, almost killing me. I'd been so stunned, so blasted after that I hadn't even known who I was. I'd pulled together the pieces of my mind while working as a stripper in a roadside strip club.

That was it for me. I'd left New York for California, in hopes the warm sunshine and laid back attitude would push back the dark needs and desires which kept crowding around me at night. I had seen girls who had been used and beaten into sexual slavery, turned into dazed, mindless, glassy eyed fuck toys whose bodies were used by any man or woman who held their leash. It appalled me, as it should have, of course, but it also fascinated me. Too often I found myself fantasising about what life as a sexual slave would be like, about being a naked, degraded, beaten sex slave prostrating myself before powerful men.

Because of that I had found myself, almost unconsciously, taunting men, and putting myself into positions where they could hurt and sexually abuse me. I'd gone to bars a dozen times since New York with no specific intention, but knowing that at the end of the night I would end up naked, bleeding and in pain. If I didn't get control of that dark side of myself I was going to wind up dead - or worse.

I took the elevator to the second floor, then walked down the fire escape to the rear entrance. The Taipei police had assigned a driver slash interpreter slash guide to me who had, after two days, greatly exceeded the annoyance quota I a lot to people not related to me. I was trying to avoid her.

I slipped out the rear and walked up an alley to the street behind the hotel. I had just stepped out onto the street when a car squealed to a halt direction in front of me, forcing me to curse and jump back.

"Hey, hallo!" a too young voice cried.

I bent and looked in through the window, glaring.

"How you going!? I ride you where you want to visit," she said cheerfully.

I opened the car and dropped inside. The tires squealed as it pulled away from the curve, and I barely hung onto the door, slamming it shut as we moved out into traffic.

"I was trying to avoid you," I said disgustedly.

"Yeah, I figure," she said around a mouthful of gum. "I catch you in lobby yesterday so today - " She jabbed her index finger against the side of her head. "You avoid lobby and go out back. Mama. Chan no raise stupid girls."

Just really, really annoying ones, I thought.

Her name was Mi-Lin. She was alleged to be twenty one years old but could easily have passed for sixteen - not that I'm a great judge of the age of Asian women. She was also alleged to be a police woman. She had a badge and a gun, but I had my doubts. After all, she had a driver's licence, and she clearly couldn't drive. The only reason she hadn't killed me so far was because whatever she was driving tended too move to fast for anyone to hit.

That morning she was driving a Mercedes sedan, and the tires squealed with every turn as she zig-zagged in and out of traffic.

"Do you even know where I'm going?" I demanded.

"You going to the army base. Where else you be going to?"

I scowled, wanting to make up another destination just to spite her. But it wouldn't. Nothing I said seemed to draw anything from the irritating little nit but a cheerful grin.

She was dressed in black leather that morning; pants, jacket and gloves. Under the jacket she had a yellow blouse with a fluffy lace collar which looked ridiculous. Her hair was puffed up on one side and thrown across her head, but enough remained to be braided. into a half dozen little tails through which she had wound pink and yellow feathers and ribbons. She wore aviator style mirrored sunglasses and popped bubblegum as she talked.

"I don't know why you worry. I tell you I 'm good driver. I never get in accident. Serious accident no how."

We spun around a corner and a bus honked loudly and jammed on its brakes as we zigged out in front of it, then back to cut off a pair of men on bicycles. They wound up riding up onto the sidewalk into a group of tables set out before a restaurant.

"Where your partner?" she asked.

"He's doing something else."

She nodded and grinned and popped gum.

"Not good to be out alone with blonde hair," she said. "Chinese men really stupid about blonde hair. Too much Hollywood movies. Dumbass peasants think you a prostitute and grope you."

"I can take care of myself," I said frostily.

"Yeah. Kill dumbass peasants. Cause too much paperwork. I not mind. We got way too many dumbass peasant men but it still cause trouble. Opposition hate Americans. They make big fuss. Put in paper that giant American prostitute woman kill poor little Chinese man."

The Mercedes sped up as she hit the access road to the bridge leading to the base. I watched the speedometer edge up towards a hundred with a morbid sense of fascination. Gravity was pushing me back into the thick bucket seat as we climbed higher and higher, then we became briefly airborne as we reached the top of the ramp. The shocks took it well, and I could see the base well ahead as we started down.

"Where you wanna go on base?" she asked.

"I'm tired of getting the run around from all those blank faced officers. I'm going to go and see the general."

She pursed her lips and shook he head. "Bad move," she said. "He don't like women much."

"What do you mean he doesn't like women?"

She grinned and cocked her head to one side, finally slowing down - which mean the brakes were squealing - as we approached the front gate and the guards there.

"General Ramsey an old man," she said. "He no like girl soldiers. I bet he don't like girl police either."

"How do you know he don't... doesn't like girl soldiers?" I asked cautiously.

"I work what you call, Vice, you know. Meet lotsa yankee soldiers trying to pay me for - you know?" She put her finger in her mouth and popped her cheek. "They complain, hardly no girls on base. General no like girls. Don't let them come there."

"There are American women on the base. That's why I'm here."

She nodded. "Yeah, but how many, eh?" She raised her sunglasses and gave me a wink. "I bet you check base in Japan or Korea and find lots more girls there than here."

She dropped her glasses back into place. "General Ramsey think women for making babies."

The brakes squealed again as the Mercedes stopped at the stop line. A wary looking soldier wearing a sidearm walked up to the drivers' door and peered in.

"May I help you ma'am?" he asked.

"No speeking Heengleesh," Mi-Lin said, exaggerating her already strong accent

I leaned in and held out my badge.

"I'm Agent Ryan here to see Major Aimes," I said.

"Oh, yes, Ma'am," he said. "We heard you'd be coming in and out. You can go right through."

He looked doubtfully at Mi-lin. "Please observe the speed limits," he said.

The tires squealed as she accelerated forward and we took a sharp turn leading into the administration area.

"Turnthighs where the fabric had pushed up between the lips of her sex, then dropped to her ankles.

He slipped the cane between her thighs again, pressing it up against her sex.

"This is the source of your problem, Lieutenant," he said in a slow, cold voice. "This is the source of your weakness."

He rubbed the thin cane in and out, pressing it upwards so that it sank between the puffy lips of her sex.

"This is the weakness of all females," he said. "This is a signal from God that they were meant for the purpose of procreation."

He lifted the cane, sliding it up along her hips and in against the side of her chest, pushing against the side of her right breast. "And this is another signal. It is a sign of what God designed the female for - to birth children, and then to suckle them. Only the degenerate age in which we live has allowed people to pervert that message, and only a degenerate age could give birth to the perversions which young women like you take upon yourselves."

"I - sir I - ."

"Assume the position, Lieutenant," I heard the p>I nodded and slammed the door behind me, then trotted across to the nearest entrance and let myself in. I found myself in one of those dull, drab, military halls, with shiny linoleum tiles on the floor and walls pained a dull shade of yellow. I pinned the FBI badge to my belt and nobody challenged me as I trotted up the stairs to the fourth floor and the General's office. The last time I'd come, with Lorne, we'd used the elevator and gone through a guard, two receptionists and his secretary before getting to the great man's door.

I emerged in a tiny hall which went behind his outer office, opened a door, and found myself in his secretary's office. Or whatever they were called now. His aide, I think. Anyway, she wasn't at her desk so I moved to his open door and peeked in. It was empty too. At first I was disappointed. But then, well, I never look a gift horse in the mouth.

I walked in, looking around carefully, hurried across the desk, and scanned the papers on it. They were in eat little piles according to priority. The priority that morning seemed to be cost overruns in a new warehouse being built on the base. I leafed through the papers, my eyes flicking towards the door, ears listening for the sound of military heels clicking on linoleum.

Nothing looked very interesting. It was the minutia of running any large organization, involving budgets and personnel. I turned away and moved to a cupboard to the side of the desk. I slid back the two doors and found a small closet with file cabinets on one side and shelves of forms on the other. I wrinkled my nose as I gazed at the cabinets, then tugged one open.

Heels clicked on the floor and I twisted, instantly decided I hadn't the time to get out, and slid the doors closed. I heard movement out front, what sounded like female heels clicking on the floor nearby, near the desk. They started to walk away and then stopped.

"Anderson," a male voice said, older and heavy with disapproval.

"Sir!"

The female voice was young.

I heard the outer door close and licked my lips nervously. If I got caught in here I was in deep shit.

"You're aware of my deep disappointment in you, Lieutenant," the male voice growled.

"Yes, sir! I'm sorry, sir!" the female said, her voice stiff.

"I have told you before about the need for self-discipline. Evidently you require further demonstrations.

"I - sir I - ."

"Assume the position, Lieutenant," I heard the man growl.

Frowning, I eased the doors apart and put my eye to the crack.

Itthighs where the fabric had pushed up between the lips of her sex, then dropped to her ankles.

He slipped the cane between her thighs again, pressing it up against her sex.

"This is the source of your problem, Lieutenant," he said in a slow, cold voice. "This is the source of your weakness."

He rubbed the thin cane in and out, pressing it upwards so that it sank between the puffy lips of her sex.

"This is the weakness of all females," he said. "This is a signal from God that they were meant for the purpose of procreation."

He lifted the cane, sliding it up along her hips and in against the side of her chest, pushing against the side of her right breast. "And this is another signal. It is a sign of what God designed the female for - to birth children, and then to suckle them. Only the degenerate age in which we live has allowed people to pervert that message, and only a degenerate age could give birth to the perversions which young women like you take upon yourselves."

"No, sir," she said in a small voice.

"Then stop being a child," he said harshly. "You said five months ago you were strong enough to bear anything, that you would prove you were capable of wearing that uniform."

"Yes, sir."

He motioned towards his desk and she braced herself, then took a hesitant step forward. She pressed her knees against the side and then bent over.

"To the side, Lieutenant," he ordered, tapping at her left hip.

She shifted to her right. This put her over the back of the general's chair, which elevated her bottom more, even as her chest and belly were pressed against the slightly lower surface of his desk.

"The skirt, Lieutenant," Ramsey said.

Ramsey was tall and broad shouldered. He was about sixty, with steel grey hair and a tough, square jawed face, the kind you see in recruiting posters. But he was a cold, harsh man with a face which looked permanently set into a scowl of disapproval.

He opened a drawer and took out a long, thin cane as the young lieutenant gripped the hem of the skirt and slid it up her legs. She bent forward, tugging the skirt higher, baring herself to the General. She was wearing a white thong which did nothing to detract from the attractiveness of a very tight round bottom. The general gazed at her, and I sensed his disapproval even from behind him.

He raised the cane and slid it between the girl's slender thighs, then pressed it up against the small white patch of fabric which clung tightly to her mound.

"And is this military issue, Lieutenant?" he asked curtly.

I saw the cane trace the line of her sex where the material was pulling up into her cleft.

"N-no, sir," she said in a trembling voice.

The cane was still pressed up against her, directly against her cleft, pushing up hard into the soft fabric and sawing back and forth.

"This is something a whore would wear," he said, raising his voice several octaves at the word "whore". "A prostitute would wear these," he said, raising his voice at the word, his tone turning icy.

He snapped the cane up against her sex and she gasped and shook..

"I-it's only the fashion, sir," she said, sounding shaken.

"Fashion!? It's the fashion of a whore!"

He snapped the cane up against her again, and she gasped.

"Remove them!" he barked.

She slid her hands back along her hips, hooking her thumbs into the thin white straps and pushing, sliding them downwards over her bare bottom. They clung briefly to her thighs where the fabric had pushed up between the lips of her sex, then dropped to her ankles.

He slipped the cane between her thighs again, pressing it up against her sex.

"This is the source of your problem, Lieutenant," he said in a slow, cold voice. "This is the source of your weakness."

He rubbed the thin cane in and out, pressing it upwards so that it sank between the puffy lips of her sex.

"This is the weakness of all females," he said. "This is a signal from God that they were meant for the purpose of procreation."

He lifted the cane, sliding it up along her hips and in against the side of her chest, pushing against the side of her right breast. "And this is another signal. It is a sign of what God designed the female for - to birth children, and then to suckle them. Only the degenerate age in which we live has allowed people to pervert that message, and only a degenerate age could give birth to the perversions which young women like you take upon yourselves."

Dumbass, I thought.

But I was becoming aroused. That twisted side of myself which seemed to exult in the sexual degradation and abuse of women - including me - rose like a snake sliding from its lair, slithering up from the darkness which spawned it and spreading through my mind. My nipples began to harden inside the cups of my bra and I felt a tightness in my chest.

The general moved to one side and drew the cane back, and I held my breath, waiting, then inhaled sharply as it slashed down and forward to strike the girl's upraised bottom. It made a cutting sound as it flashed through the air, and struck with a soft, meaty thwack which was echoed a moment later by her soft gasp of pain as her body jerked sharply.

"Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?" Ramsey said sternly.

The cane slashed in again, harder, and the girl swallowed a cry, her fingers white as they clutched the side of the desk.

I held my breath, my heart beating faster. She was so vulnerable, so helpless, such a little thing, and the sight and sound of the cane cutting across her bottom was - breathtaking.

" Do not be deceived. Neither fornicators, not idolaters, nor adulterers, nor homosexuals, nor sodomites will inherit the kingdom of heaven."

He turned, putting his shoulder into the next blow. It cut across her upraised bottom and she jerked violently, gasping, half sobbing in pain.

I swallowed, my arms squeezing my breasts together now as I knelt before the door. I let my hand come up between my legs and rub myself through the thin linen trousers, feeling the buzzing, throbbing heat begin to spread out through my body. I imagined myself laying across the table instead of her, then next to her, then imagined myself with the cane in hand, gazing down at her.

"One Corinthians. Six. Nine. Ten. God does love the homosexual enough to send His own Son to die, so He can forgive one who repents of his sin!"

Three dark red lines cut across her pale flesh. A fourth rose as the cane snapped down powerfully. She let out a muffled cry this time, her body shuddering.

"You must be strong, Lieutenant," he said. "Strong and disciplined."

He pressed the thin cane up between her legs again, sawing it slowly along, and then between the lips of her sex. "You must show discipline to overcome the strong natural weakness of the female, to repress your natural sexual impulses to fornicate."

The cane cracked down hard, this time against the very bottom of her buttocks, and her legs jerked as she sobbed in pain.

"Not that you fornicate as a woman, even an immoral woman is driven to," he said icily. "For your perversions go even against that natural inclination to copulate and bear young. Your lusts are a perversion of the natural order."

Again the cane slashed down, and she jerked and moaned.

"The look on their countenance witnesses against them,"Ramsey chanted. "And they declare their sin as Sodom; they do not hide it. Woe to their soul! For they have brought evil upon themselves. Isaiah, three, nine."

It was hard to think of the earnest young lieutenant as a lesbian fornicator, but that was clearly his accusation, and her willingness to submit to this sort of thing seemed to testify that she was indeed guilty of something like that. Homosexuality was illegal in the military, of course, and would cost her at the very least her commission and quite possibly land her in a military prison.

The cane cut in across her thighs and almost knocked her legs out from under her. She whimpered and let out a choked sob.

Ramsey rolled his shoulders. He was a big man, and I had a really low tolerance for large men who beat up on tiny women. I was picturing what he'd look like with his head caved in when he brought the cane down across her already red, lined bottom again. It cracked loudly and another choked sob was torn from between her tightly clenched teeth.

"For this reason God gave them up to vile passions. For even their women exchanged the natural use for what is against nature. Likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust for one another, men with men committing what is shameful, and receiving in themselves the penalty of their error which was due. Romans one."

Again the cane slashed down, and a sob burst from the girl's lips. Her body began to shake with tears.

"Now Lieutenant. Something to remind you of what you were made for," Ramsey said with a growl. "Something to remind you of the purpose for which your genitals were made. And that purpose was not to give you lewd sexual pleasure!"

He bent over the credenza behind his desk, opened a drawer, and took out - a dildo. It was too thick for a girl her size, and too long. Nor was it the smooth rubber or plastic of most dildos. It was covered with sharp looking little studs. It was not a device intended to give pleasure. It was the kind of device - the kind of device a religious zealot would use to punish a girl whose sin was considered sexual.

Unless you were a sick, twisted bitch like me. I stared at it with fascination, and bit my lip. I was sweating, though the closet wasn't especially hot. The heat was swirling around me, and I had to ease my legs apart and fight to control my breathing as I watched.

Ramsey put on a pair of plastic gloves, then moved behind the trembling, whimpering girl and gazed down at her with distaste. He pressed his fingers gingerly against the soft flesh of her inner buttock, jabbing at it to force her legs apart, then pressed the thing against her entrance and pushed. Hard.

She gasped and her body stiffened. She jerked upwards, or almost up, for his big hand gripped her shoulder as she rose, forcing her back.

"P-Please, Sir," she panted, her head twisted around to look behind, her teary eyes blinking as she tried to see what he held.

"It is necessary, Lieutenant," he growled, forcing her to bend once again.

Ramsey pushed the dildo into her. I saw its thick girth jammed against the soft opening of her sex, saw it pushing forward, her flesh bowing inwards.

"Oh! Oh please!" she gasped, her voice breaking. "Sir!"

I had to unzip my trousers, had to force my hand inside, tug aside the damp crotch of my thong and slide two fingers up into my pussy. I moaned softly as I did, feeling the soft, tight, wetness of my inner body around my fingers as I silently urged Ramsey on. Give it to her, I thought. Ram it up her cunt!

"And such were some of you. But you were washed, but you were sanctified," Ramsey chanted. "but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus and by the Spirit of our God."

"Hgnnggh!" the lieutenant cried, her head twisting from side to side, her lips drawn back, her teeth clenched.

Ramsey used both hands on the thing, forcing it up into her inch by slow inch. He used no lubrication and gave her no time to adjust to it. If he wasn't careful he was going to tear her open, and she'd have no chance to repent.

"Please-please-please-please-p-p Unggh!"

Ramsey put his gloved hands against the base of the thing and forced it fully inside her until the base was flush with her labia. He stood back then, smiling righteously. He turned away, then drew what looked like a T-shaped belt from the credenza. He slipped it around the trembling girl's hips, forcing it upwards around her waist. He cinched it tight and drew the lower part of the T back between her legs, then yanked up almost angrily, causing her to cry out in pain as the belt pulled in against her sex. He fed it up between her buttocks to the rear of the top part of the belt and buckled it in place.

"Cover yourself, Lieutenant," he said indignantly.

She moaned and whimpered, then slowly pushed herself upright, her hand pushing repeatedly at the skirt until she could grasp it and slide it back over her bottom. She stood upright, turning, chest heaving, face streaked by tears.

I was pumping my fingers desperately in and out, but now began to slow. I was still hot, still aroused, frazzled and gulping for breath, but the heat was receding as the action stopped, and I was starting to regain control of myself. Angry at my own weakness, at my own perversity, I tugged my hand free and zipped up my trousers, cursing myself, feeling guilt and shame.

"That will be all, lieutenant," he said, turning to the window and turning his back to her.

She wiped her face on the sleeves of her uniform.

"Yes, sir," she said.

She turned, winced in pain, put a hand to her abdomen, and then straightened and walked slowly - and carefully - to the door. She unlocked it, opened it, and stepped slowly out, closing it behind him.

I spent the next hour on the floor, alternately bored and tense, waiting for a chance to get out unseen. The general dealt with paperwork quietly.

There was a knock at the door, and the Lieutenant stood there. "Major Aimes, sir," she said, her voice steady if subdued.

Aimes brushed past her and saluted in front of his desk. He was a balding, mustachioed man with a fat belly and a pompous manner. "General, one of those FBI agents came on the base over an hour ago. She told the guard at the gate she was coming to see me, but hasn't shown up."

"She? The female?" Ramsey asked in irritation.

"Yes, sir."

"Where is she then? You're supposed to be providing security for this base, Major!"

"Yes, sir. But - they both were given permission to enter and leave the base at will, sir."

"I want to know where she is, Major!" Ramsey snarled, rising to his feet. "I want to know who she's been talking to and what she's been doing. Now you find her," he growled, his voice rising to a roar, "And you bring her here!"

"Yes, sir!"

Aimes turned and fled.

Ramsey went to the window, then paced back and forth.

"Anderson!" he yelled.

The door opened and the Lieutenant walked in - slowly.

"Yes, sir?" she asked anxiously.

"This FBI woman. You've seen her."

"Yes, sir."

"Was she a homosexual?"

"Sir?"

He turned and glared at her. "I understand you - you people can recognize one of your own. Aren't most women who involve themselves in jobs like the police homosexuals?"

"I-I don't know, sir," the girl said helplessly.

"Do you know if she is a homosexual?" he demanded.

She shook her head anxiously. "No, sir."

"You wouldn't lie to me to protect one of your own, would you, Anderson?"

"No, sir!"

He glowered at her. "When she comes here, I will offer her you as a guide to the base. You will show her around."

"Yes, sir."

"You will ascertain if she is a homosexual."

The girl blinked. "Sir?"

"You're a pretty young woman, aren't you, Anderson?" he demanded. "Surely a homosexual woman would be attracted to you. Offer yourself to her."

Her eyes widened. "But sir I - ."

"I don't mean for you to actually do anything," Ramsey snarled. "Just find out if she accepts and tell me."

"But - but why, sir?"

Ramsey's hand cracked down on the surface of the desk. "Don't question my orders, Lieutenant!" he screamed.

"Yes, sir! I mean, no, sir!"

Ramsey pushed past her and went outside. The girl looked helplessly around, then turned and followed - slowly.

I scrambled to my feet and listened intently, then eased the door wider. When I heard nothing I raced across to the doorway and gazed out. The general was across the office, at the doorway to the main corridor. The girl was walking as quickly as she could out towards him. I darted to the wall, eased the door open and slipped out, closing it behind me. I took the stairs three at a time, turned and pushed out into the parking lot.

Mi-Lin was standing next to the car, pretending to not speak English as a pair of MPs tried to talk to her. She was about five feet nothing and looked like a little girl being confronted by a pair of line backers. She didn't seem to be bothered by the disparity in sizes, though. Her hands were on her leather clad hips, her head was cocked way back and her jaw was pushed out as she scowled up at them, yelling in Chinese, or Cantonese. Or was it Mandarin. I couldn't tell.

They all turned as I walked out.

"We go now, hah?" she demanded.

"Are you Agent Ryan?" one of the MPs demanded, hurrying over to me.

"Yup."

"General Ramsey would like to see you, Ma'am!" he said urgently.

Military people seemed very excitable.

"Well, okay, I suppose," I said.

Mi-Lin sighed and folded her arms across her chest, slumping back against the side of the Mercedes.

We went back inside, straight down the hall this time, up another, and out into the main corridor. We took the elevator upstairs and in a few minutes the young Lieutenant, smiling hesitantly and walking a little bit more smoothly, showed me - back - into his office.

"Ah, Agent Ryan," he said with a genial and patently phoney smile. "So good to see you again."

"Good morning, General," I said, sticking to what was safe.

"Major Aimes was a little concerned, Agent Ryan, that you might have ah, gotten lost."

"Nope. I was just looking around," I said.

"It's a large base, Miss Ryan. And you could easily get hurt if you wandered into the wrong area."

"I'll watch myself."

He frowned. "You've been here well over an hour, I understand."

"It's a big base."

He stared at me and I smiled earnestly.

"What precisely is it you hope to find here, Miss Ryan?" he asked.

"I just poke around, General, talk to people, look at things, try and figure out what might have happened to those young women."

"Nothing happened to them, Miss Ryan," he said testily. "They were weak and flighty and ran off, probably with some young men."

"Why would they do that?"

'I don't pretend to understand young women," he said.

"Well, I'm pretty good at it and I don't see why they'd run off."

"I'm sure there's nothing to see, Miss Ryan. I think your superiors are being ridiculously paranoid. However, as long as you're here I think it better if you had an escort."

"Oh that's okay."

"I insist," he said cooly. "My aide, Lieutenant Anderson will drive you around. If you need to talk to anyone or see anything she can arrange it. She can also make sure you don't disrupt our activities here or come to any harm."

"Actually, I was just leaving."

"Fine. The next time you arrive Lieutenant Anderson will be waiting to guide you around."

"Gee, thanks, General."

He smiled stiffly.