An assasination attempt on Diana Hunter fails. She must now discover the identity of her mysterious assailant. She embarks on an adventure that will involve her daughter JoEllen and America's most covert agency.
Somebody tries to kill Diana Hunter. The attempt fails, but leaves Diana with a mystery, one that will involve her daughter and America's most covert agency.
by
Valentina Michelle Smith
(Part 1)
Walking down Emerald Street was like walking through a time warp.
The ten blocks of Emerald Street which comprised the shopping district had long been closed to vehicular traffic. Planters now occupied the center of the street, providing trees and flowers for the pedestrians. Curious shops and bistros lined the streets, offering books, jewelry, organic foods, alternative healing, and any number of goods and services one would not find at the shopping mall. Posters advertising concerts, protests, poetry readings, and other happenings were haphazardly displayed along the concourse. Musicians performed alone or in groups, with the ubiquitous hat set out for tips. People would gather at cafes, pubs, and restaurants for food, drink, conversation, and companionship. A visitor from the summer of love would have felt right at home, save for the obvious anachronisms. A street musician might, for instance, stop playing for a moment to answer his cell phone. A student relaxing in the shade of the trees might be texting somebody on her Blackberry. People relaxing at a cafe might be surfing the net on their laptops. The twenty-first century could not be completely excluded from Emerald Street.
JoEllen loved walking down Emerald Street. She was much too young to remember the Sixties. That decade was, to her, as remote an historic milieu as the World Wars or the American Revolution. But the spirit of the place was somehow infectious, and so she walked the street wearing a broomstick skirt, an embroidered peasant top, a crocheted purse, and Birkenstock sandals. Perhaps the total effect was lessened by the Spaulding gym bag slung over her shoulder.
JoEllen’s destination was a second-floor dojo, home of Master Wan. It was here that JoEllen rounded out her University education by studying the martial arts.
She changed into her ghi and wrapped her black belt about herself. She was particularly proud of the belt, as it signified many hours of dedicated study, practice, and hard work. She accepted Master Wan’s discipline without question. Today, she was testing for her seventh degree. She knew that Master Wan would not cut her any slack.
She walked across the mat and took her place at one end. She sat in a lotus position and meditated as her master had taught her. Several students entered to watch today’s test. When the Master entered, JoEllen stood respectfully.
JoEllen and Master Wan bowed, never taking their eyes off each other. Then Master Wan attacked. JoEllen countered with a kick, spun, and struck with a forearm smash. Master Wan successfully parried the smash and returned with a tiger claw, also successfully parried. For the next twenty minutes, the two sparred, not pulling their punches or their kicks. JoEllen felt some painful bruises forming, but had scored a number of telling blows herself. To penetrate Master Wan’s defenses and score a blow was a feat few could brag about.
Combat grew in intensity as the two faced each other with weapons. They sparred with bo staffs, spears, and nunchucks, always maintaining a ferocity that amazed the audience. Finally they faced each other with sai.
Each combatant held a slim dagger-like sai in each hand. The weapon resembles a fork with an extremely elongated center tang. They attacked and parried, engaging in something that was more than a fight. This was like combat set to music, a martial ballet, a pas de deux of sweat and blood. And at the height of its intensity, JoEllen swept past her Master’s defenses and managed to scratch his cheek with the tip of her sai.
The fight had ended in slightly more than an hour. JoEllen had triumphed by first blood. Master Wan could not have been happier.
The students all cheered as Master Wan congratulated JoEllen. He bowed before her and presented the goal she had worked so long to achieve; the black belt and ring of the Seventh degree, the highest level of Sho Ren Kun Do. This was a brutal discipline, with no quarter asked and none given. She bowed as she accepted the tokens from her Master. Then they all showered, changed, and went out to celebrate at The County Dump.
On the next Day, JoEllen graduated from the University. She carried a bouquet of roses from her mother, Diana Hunter, who had flown in for the ceremony. Diana was proud of her daughter as she went to the stage to accept her degree in Anthropology. JoEllen was also proud of her achievement, but no less proud of the Seventh Degree ring she now wore.
Together the women cleaned out JoEllen’s dormitory room. JoEllen looked around somewhat wistfully at the place that had been her home away from home these last four years. She might pursue a Masters degree, but not right away. Now was the time to return home, to a new chapter in her life.
The limousine was packed with all of JoEllen’s possessions. Together, she and Diana rode to the private jet waiting at the airport, and back to Diana’s home in the country.
* * * * *
The flight allowed Diana and JoEllen time to catch up.
“Master Wan e-mailed me about your seventh degree,” Diana said. “It seems that we have two reasons to celebrate.”
“Oh, we managed quite a party at The County Dump,” JoEllen answered.
“I hope you behaved yourself,” Diana said.
“I did; badly.” JoEllen laughed at Diana’s shocked expression. “Oh, don’t worry, Diana, I didn’t sleep with anybody, and I didn’t swing from the chandelier. But I did justice to the Karaoke machine.”
“Perhaps it was just as well I wasn’t there,” Diana replied, “I’ve heard your singing. I suppose as long as you confined your indiscretions to the Karaoke, it can’t be too bad.”
“So how is Gemmy doing?” JoEllen Asked.
Diana sighed. “Not very well, I’m afraid. She doesn’t recognize anybody who visits her, and her body is just breaking down. I’m afraid she hasn’t much time.”
“Diana, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to distract you from your studies. I know what you are like when it comes to Mamma. You would have flown back here and not left her side. This year was much too important.”
“More important than being with Gemmy, the woman who treated me like her own granddaughter? Diana, if it weren’t for you and Gemmy, I’d still be on the streets doing God-knows-what to stay alive!”
“I know, kid, but there was nothing you could do. Mamma’s time has come, and all we can do is try to make her comfortable. It’s out of our hands now.”
A tear formed in JoEllen’s eye and trickled down her cheek. “I know, Diana, but there’s part of me that thinks I could do more. I know it’s not rational, but my gut doesn’t care.”
“Tell you what, kid. When we land we can go visit Mamma. I don’t know what she’ll be like, but at least you can be in the room with her.”
“Thanks, Diana. I’d like that.”
“So would I. And forgive me for changing the subject, but there’s something else we need to talk about. Now that you’ve finished college, have you given any thought to my offer?”
“You mean going to work for the Hunter Group? I didn’t think you had any openings for anthropologists.”
“You might be surprised. No, I was thinking of something closer to the executive functions. I could use an assistant, and I could teach you our business from the ground up.”
“I’m not sure. Can I sleep on it?”
“Sure thing, kiddo, and take all the time you need. But there’s another matter we ought to discuss. I think you know what I mean.”
“Are you talking about the Ellis process?”
“Yes. JoEllen, dear, you still are biologically male. I can’t force you to make a decision, but you could go through the process and be completely female. Or completely male if that’s what you want. Believe me; I know what kind of hell it is to be something between the two sexes.”
“So why didn’t you take the process, Diana?”
Diana was silent. “I have my reasons, and I don’t care to discuss them. In any event, my own decision is irrelevant. What I want to know is what you, my daughter, would like.”
JoEllen hesitated. “I need to think about this, Diana, and I need more than a night. I promise I’ll decide before summer is over.”
Diana smiled. “Fair enough and I won’t bring it up again until Labor Day. Now why don’t we see what kind of box lunch is waiting for us?”
* * * * *
At the airport, JoEllen and Diana were met by two limousines. One returned to Diana’s home in the country, laden with JoEllen’s things from her dorm room. The other departed for the John Book nursing home, a Mennonite facility for Alzheimer’s patients. It was here that Teresa Rossi was being cared for.
The first thing that struck JoEllen was the smell. The care at John Book was exceptional, and Diana made sure that Teresa got the best possible, but even the best care could not prevent the breakdown of bodily functions associated with dementia. The staff struggled to maintain their charges’ dignity, but it was a losing battle. As body and mind slowly ebbed away, continence accompanied it. Diana and JoEllen both thought of Jaques’ speech in Shakespeare’s “As You Like It,” and how the last stage of life was so much like the first.
Teresa Rossi was in a geriatric chair in a sunny, airy room. The Gerry chair (as it was known to the staff) was a cross between a recliner and a child’s high chair, proportioned for an adult. Teresa was secured in the chair by a harness to prevent any possible falls. She had a rosary in her hands which were resting on the attached tray. Her lips moved as she mumbled the prayers to herself, keeping count with the beads.
She didn’t seem to notice when Diana and JoEllen entered the room. Diana kissed her. “Hello, Mamma,” she said. “Look, I have a surprise for you. Look who’s here. It’s JoEllen.”
Teresa looked up at JoEllen. The blank expression vanished as lucidity returned to her eyes. “JoEllen?” she asked. “Is that my little Rose?”
“It’s me, Gemmy,” JoEllen said, recognizing her Gemmy’s favorite nickname. “Look, I brought you some pizzelles.”
Teresa’s smile widened as she was presented with the wafer-thin sweets. “Did you make these, Rose?”
“Yes I did, Gemmy. I made them at the college dorm. I saved some for you.”
“Oh, my, that was so wonderful. Do you remember how I told you to make them?”
“I sure do, Gemmy. As soon as I close the press I say a Hail Mary. That way there’s a Hail Mary for every pizzelle.”
“And there’s a prayer in every one,” said Teresa. She took one of the pizzelles and bit off the end. There was another smile. “My goodness, you’ve done well. These pizzelles are as good as any I ever made.”
JoEllen blushed at this outpouring of praise. “I still make them the way you showed me, Gemmy. There’s no improving on perfection.”
“So when do you finish school?” Teresa asked.
“I graduated, Gemmy, and I’ve come home to live with Diana. I’m going to come over and visit you every day.”
“Oh you don’t have to come over every day, little Rose. I’m sure you have a lot to do. But it would be nice if you could come over on Sunday after Mass.”
JoEllen bit her tongue, unwilling to admit that she rarely if ever attended church. “Sure, Gemmy, I can come over on Sundays. Maybe we can cook something together.”
“Now that would be nice. Maybe we can make a decent Sunday dinner for these folks. They try their best, but I’m sure that they use gravy out of a jar.”
“Well we’ll show them how to make a decent bowl of spaghetti, Gemmy.”
They spent an hour together, the most lucid time Teresa had spent in months. She was happy, animated, and engaging, but soon Teresa became tired and asked to be put in bed for a nap. Diana and JoEllen assisted the attendants, then kissed Teresa goodbye. She smiled and went to sleep.
That evening, Teresa Rossi quietly passed away in her sleep.
* * * * *
At the funeral, Diana and JoEllen remained in the background, allowing the immediate family to greet the well-wishers in attendance. Teresa had many friends in the neighborhood, and many relatives. There was of course the small talk, how she passed peacefully, how the various family members never seemed to get together except for weddings, funerals, and first communions. Diana was introduced to all as Teresa’s special friend who had enriched her life these past few years. There were comments about the missing Rossi son, Joe, who was probably in hiding or in prison. He had broken his mother’s heart when he went bad, perhaps it was just as well he stayed away.
Diana announced that a luncheon would be offered at a nearby restaurant. Everybody dispersed. Most would go to the restaurant for lunch, others would simply depart. Diana and JoEllen remained at graveside, accompanied by two other women, agents of America’s most covert organization. They were also Diana’s friends, Margo Lane and Mary Risberg.
Diana had been maintaining a façade of strength. It now crumbled as she allowed her grief to finally overwhelm her. Supported by her daughter and her friends, Diana wept. Her tears fell onto Teresa’s casket, still suspended by the slings that would lower it into the vault for burial.
It took a few minutes for Diana to regain her composure. Her eyes were red from her tears, as were JoEllen’s. Diana took JoEllen and showed her the headstone next to Teresa’s grave. It was a simple affair of pink marble that had room for two names. Above both, like the title of a chapter, was written the family name, Rossi. Below and to the right another name was carved: Anne, Beloved Wife.
“This is where my Annie is buried,” Diana said. “Her death changed my life. The story of my life is like a song, a series of changes. I guess losing Mamma is the latest change.”
Diana knelt at Anne’s headstone. She kissed it, leaving the imprint of her lipstick on the marble. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Annie. We missed so much of what we were supposed to have together.”
Diana stood, still addressing the spirit of a spouse long dead. “What do you think of JoEllen? I’m really proud of her. I’m sure you would have been proud of her, too.”
Then Diana turned back to the casket. “Mamma,” she said, “I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you. I’m glad we had time to make peace. And I’m glad that JoEllen, your little Rose, brought such joy into your life. Would you look at her? She’s all grown up now. I’m so proud of her. I know you are too.” At this Diana began to cry again, and so did JoEllen.
They were not expecting an attack.
Margo Lane and Mary Risberg saw them first. Three gardeners who seemed to be weeding the flower bed surrounding the statue of The Blessed Mother suddenly produced Uzi’s. As they swung them to their shoulders to fire, Margo and Mary reacted with a speed born from years of training. They both shouted “Gun!” and moved to place their bodies between the assailants and their protectees. Automatic gunfire barked across the tranquil green of Wildwood Cemetery as a hail of bullets tore through the air.
Diana was knocked flat by the force of Margo Lane’s body. Mary Risberg faltered but remained standing. She didn’t expect JoEllen’s reaction.
JoEllen pushed Mary Risberg out of the way and flung three shuriken. Each deadly disc found a mark, and the three shooters dropped.
Mary rose shakily to her feet, ignoring the wound in her right arm to call for backup. Diana pushed out from under Margo, fearing the worst. She was relieved when her friend and protector groaned. “Damn,” she said, “I didn’t know if this body armor would stop an Uzi round.”
“Just what the hell happened?” Diana demanded. “Who are these people?”
“I hope whatever you tipped your Shuriken with wasn’t fatal,” Risberg remarked.
“Just something to put them to sleep,” JoEllen replied.
“That was some fine work,” Risberg said as three black vans arrived. An army of black-clad commandos emerged, taking defensive positions around the gravesite. “Let’s get back to the store,” Mary ordered, “and we can take the assassins with us for questioning.”
“Excuse me, Mother,” said one of the commandos, “but I don’t think they’ll be much use.”
Mary bent over the lifeless body. She could smell a very distinctive aroma: bitter almonds.
“Cyanide!” she said. “They all killed themselves rather than be captured. But how…?”
“We can figure that out later,” Margo said, “right now we need to get Diana and JoEllen to a safe location.”
Under the watchful protection of the commandos, the four women entered one of the vans and sped off. The remaining commandos gathered up the lifeless bodies and left. Their destination was a certain building in the city, a building distinguished by its total lack of any distinguishing features. It seemed to be just another concrete monolith, like every other utilitarian building in the city. You have probably walked past it many times without ever wondering about it, or the business conducted within.
Of course, if I told you exactly where this building is located, I would have to kill you.
* * * * *
“It’s been a while,” said JoEllen. She was seated in Mary Risberg’s office with Mary and Diana. “In fact, the last time I was here was when Diana adopted me.”
“I’ve been here a few times since,” Diana said, “but not often. Mary, how is your arm?”
“Just some soft tissue damage,” Mary said. “I’ve had worse in my career. Margo didn’t sustain any wounds but the force of the bullets bruised her through the body armor. By the way, Diana, we owe Hunter Defensive Systems our thanks, your body armor made all the difference.”
“Thank the engineers and scientists who made it,” Diana said, “I don’t run the place, I just own it.”
“I’ll be sure to send them a letter on Justice Department letterhead.”
“We’re dancing around the main topic,” said JoEllen. “Who are these people and why did they try to kill us?”
Mary looked over at Diana. “Diana, this has something to do with your past. Are you comfortable with letting JoEllen know about it?”
“Whether I’m comfortable or not, once the lead started flying JoEllen was involved. She deserves to know why somebody tried to kill her.”
“Very well; please come with me.” Risberg rose from her desk and opened her office door, indicating for Diana and JoEllen to follow. They went to the elevator. Mary keyed in a special code and the car dropped to one of the basement levels.
They emerged onto a corridor which they followed past two doors. Risberg opened the third door they encountered.
Inside was a well-lit morgue, with three bodies laid out. Their appearance was surprising. Each body possessed a feminine shape with wide hips and well-developed breasts. And each body had a penis and scrotum.
Diana gasped when she saw the bodies. “Oh sweet Jesus on a Harley!” she said, “Tuckett!”
“That’s the connection we made, Diana, but Regina Tuckett is dead.”
“I should know, Mary, I killed her.”
JoEllen was confused. “Diana, what’s going on here?”
“It’s a long story, kid, and up to now you’ve only heard part of it. Suppose it’s time you heard the whole story.”
“That isn’t the only thing we discovered, Diana. They appear to have some sort of receiver implanted just behind their ear, and they each had a hollow tooth filled with cyanide. We theorize that the poison was released when their mission was compromised. Whoever transformed them also used some powerful mind-control techniques.”
Diana’s expression turned grim. It was as though a part of her long buried was returning. “Yes, behavioral conditioning by means of induced pain. Now where have I heard that before?”
“You have to admit the resemblance is striking,” Risberg said.
“Whoever this was made a serious mistake. When I find her I will demonstrate personally the gravity of her mistake.”
“Diana,” Mary said, “you really ought to leave this to the professionals. That’s what we’re here for.”
“And I am grateful, Mary, but this bastard threatened my family, and I take that very personally. Just pray that you find them before I do.
“JoEllen, we need to talk. There’s a lot you have to know.”
Diana left with JoEllen following. They left in a limousine and drove to the airport, where they boarded a private twin turboprop. Diana was piloting.
“Where are we going, Diana?” JoEllen asked.
“I have a place in the Adirondacks with a private airstrip. It’s isolated and it has some special security measures. We’ll stay there for a few weeks.”
They were at cruising altitude when JoEllen asked Diana about the bodies.
“You already know a little bit about it, JoEllen. You know that I was made a prisoner like you had been and was transformed into what I am today. But you never were told the entire story.
“It’s not pretty, and there are parts of it that I am not particularly proud of. But after what happened today, you deserve to know.”
Diana paused, and then related the events of her life, from Joe Rossi becoming a wiseguy for the Mancuso mob, through testifying against Mancuso and entering witness protection, through becoming entangled with the Sisterhood and his transformation into a female-form maid. She told JoEllen about her escape and execution of her captors, and how she systematically hunted down and executed all of the remaining members of the Sisterhood, except for the Ellis sisters. *
“I mistook Heather for Catherine and almost killed her. I was stopped before I could carry out my plan. And both Heather and Catherine forgave me. That’s when my life changed again, and I transformed Tuckett’s former empire into a force for good.
“Unfortunately, I had not completely eliminated all of the Sisterhood. Tuckett still had some potential recruits in the pipeline, women I knew nothing about. One of them nearly killed me. Now it seems there’s another loose end to tidy up.”
JoEllen asked, “Diana, is there any way I can help?”
Diana smiled. “I hoped to shield you from all of this, kid. I wanted a better life for you. Perhaps I was trying to live vicariously through you. But somebody out there doesn’t share my desires. They want to kill me, and if they can get to me by attacking you they won’t hesitate to do so.”
“So what are we going to do?” JoEllen asked.
“We’ll keep under the radar for a few weeks. My place in the Adirondacks is owned through a front corporation that has no connection to the Hunter Group. While we’re laying low I’m going to show you how to handle firearms. I hope you learn well, your life may depend on it.”
Diana consulted her watch. “It’s time to start our decent.” She pulled back on the throttle and brought the aircraft into a slow decent. They flew straight into the airstrip.
* * * * *
The Adirondacks are beautiful in late spring. Rolling hills full of trees and meadows, sparkling lakes and streams, and a bounty of wildlife all combined to produce a feeling of tranquility. It was ironic that this peaceful locale was the setting for some very deadly training.
JoEllen was already a skilled marksman with a rifle. Diana introduced her to the world of the handgun and the assault rifle. JoEllen became an expert in the care and operation of dozens of weapons, from a Colt revolver to an AR-15. She learned how to disassemble, clean, reassemble, reload, and fire each weapon under a variety of conditions.
Of course, they didn’t spend all of their time shooting up the woods. For relaxation they often would walk through the woods and meadows, sometimes taking a swim in the icy waters of a mountain lake, or simply allowing the beauty of their natural surroundings to wash over them. In the evenings they would cook for each other, sharing the wealth of Teresa Rossi’s recipes. Evenings were spent reading, listening to music, and reflecting upon the day’s events.
They were not completely isolated. They kept up on the events of the world via Internet, newspapers, and television. But they rarely interacted with other persons. Food was delivered from nearby stores, and they had all of the clothing they would need.
Two months had gone by. Diana felt that they could safely return to the mainstream world. And so, in late summer, they left as they had come in Diana’s twin turboprop. JoEllen, envious of Diana’s skill as a pilot, decided then to take flight training.
Several huge piles of mail awaited them when they returned to Diana’s country home. They took their respective piles and retired to their rooms to sort it all out.
That was when JoEllen found the letter that changed her life once again.
* * * * *
They had finished breakfast when JoEllen told Diana about the letter.
“It’s from Peter N________. He wants me to meet with Mary Risberg. I think Mother wants to recruit me.”
Diana was concerned. “Risberg is in a dangerous line of work, kid, and you will be putting yourself in harm’s way. Are you certain that this is what you want to do?”
“Diana, you always taught me to pay forward, to do what I can to make things better for the next generation. This will be my way of paying forward.”
Diana considered the situation. “I’m not happy about this, but I have to respect your decision. I guess my reservations are selfish ones. I really wanted to spend some time with you when you finished school. These last two months were some of the best times of my life.
“Go ahead and keep the meeting, JoEllen. If you decide to join, I won’t stand in your way; but if you decide against it, I certainly won’t be unhappy.”
JoEllen rose from her chair and embraced the woman who had adopted her. “Thank you, Diana. I only hope I find the bastard who tried to kill you.”
“That won’t be your call, kid. You’ll be working for Mary Risberg, and she gets to tell you where to go and what to do. And if I find out you’re giving her any grief, I’ll come after you myself.”
They laughed and hugged again. Then JoEllen went to shower and change for her meeting.
As she drove away, Diana reflected on the irony of the situation. JoEllen would never refer to her as “Mother” or “Mom.” This was a leftover scar from one of the abusive foster homes that a young Joel had been placed in. Now JoEllen would be referring to Mary Risberg by her code name: Mother.
The limousine drove to the city. It returned without a passenger.
* * * * *
It had been four months since the assassination attempt on Diana Hunter, and she had seemingly vanished from the planet. Desdemona Raventree was not happy.
She studied the reports, looking for some clue to Hunter’s whereabouts. Finding none, she filed the reports and poured herself a stiff drink. As she savored the smoky flavor of the whiskey and the warm vapor of the alcohol rising in her nasal passages, Desdemona ruminated over the past two decades.
Desdemona had been a rising star in the world of business, but soon encountered that barrier women called the glass ceiling. Bitter over her failure to advance despite what she considered to be her superior ability, she was ripe for recruitment when she met Regina Tuckett.
Tuckett had shown Raventree a new world of possibilities, a world in which women were supreme and wielded power over a group of effete, emasculated men. She would savor her control over a forcibly feminized slave, secure in her personal wealth and in her suzerainty.
But just as Raventree was to be inducted into this inner circle, this Sisterhood that Tuckett had described, it vanished. The empire that Tuckett had founded was suddenly closed to Raventree, and Tuckett herself seemed to disappear.
Raventree bided her time, slowly building her assets and consolidating her power. By various means she had come into possession of many of Tuckett’s key files, particularly those outlining the transformation process. Raventree used this knowledge to further her plan. Not content with merely dominating a small group of men, Desdemona Raventree had higher aspirations. Not only did she desire revenge on all males, her revenge would never be complete until she dominated all men.
The Academy was her vehicle to world domination.
She took another sip and let the liquor roll over her tongue. She savored the burning sensation, and reflected on her second objective in life, revenge. She knew that Regina Tuckett’s empire had been absorbed by the enigmatic CEO of the Hunter Group. Somehow, Diana Hunter had ousted Tuckett and assumed control of Tuckett’s enterprises. In the process, the Sisterhood had also become extinct. Desdemona Raventree never forgave Diana Hunter for postponing her revenge upon all things male.
Raventree had become obsessed with visiting some sort of revenge upon this mystery woman. As she gained power and amassed her own personal empire, Raventree searched out Hunter, hoping for an opportune moment to realize her vengeance. One such moment had recently slipped through her fingers. And now the mysterious Diana Hunter had seemingly disappeared with no trace.
Desdemona finished her drink and turned her attention to other matters. A new class of students had arrived, ant it was her policy to greet all newcomers personally. She stood, adjusted her tight black uniform, and picked up her riding crop, the badge of office each Mistress carried.
Outside in the courtyard, a bus from Juvenile Corrections was discharging its passengers, ten new students for the Academy. They were all boys, aged from fourteen to sixteen, dressed in orange jumpsuits. Each boy affected a tough attitude, which did not surprise Desdemona one bit. She knew that they were hiding behind a façade, not daring to reveal the fear each one truly felt. They would soon learn to be far more afraid.
The boys were outnumbered by twenty female guards, each dressed in the black uniform of a dominatrix. The guards formed the boys into a ragged line. Desdemona addressed them.
“Welcome to The Academy, ladies,” she said.
The boys began to snigger and one laughed out loud. He was immediately rewarded with the butt of a baton in his stomach. He doubled over in pain, and was roughly lifted straight. “No laughing in line!” the guard shouted.
“That is your first lesson, ladies, you will always show respect to your Mistresses. I will tolerate no disrespect. Am I understood?”
Desdemona was greeted by stunned silence. “Evidently our new students need some more persuasion. Mistresses, please administer the governors.”
Each boy was roughly forced to his knees by the guards. A device resembling a paint gun was pressed behind each boy’s right ear; the trigger was squeezed, followed by a click and a hiss.
Raventree commanded the boys to stand. As they rose slowly to their feet, she pressed a stud on her riding crop. All of the boys were consumed by intense pain, as though they had all been thrown into a raging inferno. They crumbled and cried out.
The pain quit as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the boys dazed. “Get up,” Raventree commanded. All of the boys leaped to their feet, only to be felled by another intense burst of agony. “Whenever any Mistress gives a command you will acknowledge it by saying ‘Yes, Mistress.’ Do you understand?”
In unison the boys replied, “Yes, Mistress.”
More agony licked across their nerves. “What did you say?” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” they said.
“Louder!” she commanded.
“YES MISTRESS,” shouted ten voices.
“You will acknowledge any command with the reply of ‘Yes Mistress.’ You will immediately comply with the command of any Mistress. You will only speak when spoken to. The first word and the last word out of your filthy hole will be ‘Mistress’ or you will be punished immediately. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Mistress!” they answered, fearing another round of pain.
Desdemona paced in front of the boys. She could taste the fear in their souls, and found the flavor positively intoxicating. “You have been sent here because you have all been very bad boys. You have all been convicted of major violent offenses. You have demonstrated time and time again that you are incapable of civilized behavior. We shall civilize all of you.
“From this moment on, your life as an unruly boy is over. We shall mold your behavior into that of a proper young lady. You shall learn to walk, talk, dress, and act as the lady you shall become. Do you understand me?”
There was a moment of hesitation, rewarded with a brief lick of pain. “Yes, Mistress,” they shouted out.
“Each Mistress has a riding crop similar to mine. Those little devices we injected behind your ears are transdermal governors. They can induce pain directly into your brain’s pain center without actually harming you, but you shall still feel it. We will not hesitate to punish you for the slightest infraction. Understood?”
“Yes, Mistress,” they answered without hesitation.
“You shall be taught to serve. You shall learn all domestic tasks such as cleaning, cooking, sewing, and laundry. No task shall be too menial for you. Understood?”
“Yes, Mistress,” they chorused. Oh, how easily they are molded, thought Desdemona.
“As your first act toward becoming civilized, you will immediately strip. Remove all of your male clothing now.” Raventree took delight in the way each boy hurried to disrobe. Several of the Mistresses had to use some persuasion when a few balked at removing their underwear. But they all complied, and now stood naked in the courtyard.
Each boy was handed a canvas sack and instructed to put all of his clothing into it. The sacks were loaded onto a cart. Then each boy was given a bundle of clothing and instructed to dress. The clothing was all female.
The boys struggled and fumbled, unfamiliar with the garments but unwilling to show any hesitation lest they feel the wrath of the Mistresses. Plain cotton panties went on easily, but the brassieres were another matter. Two boys were punished when they attempted to help each other with the snaps. The mistresses wanted the boys to master their new garments without any help.
Bras were followed by garter belts and stockings, which required a demonstration from the Mistresses accompanied by some painful reinforcement. Raventree watched closely as the boys pulled slips over their heads, followed by their new school uniforms. Each boy now wore a plaid jumper with a pleated skirt and a white blouse. Black pumps with a one-inch heel completed the ensemble.
“This is your uniform for all occasions. You shall wear it at all times except during physical education, where you will all be given appropriate gym uniforms. When performing domestic chores you shall wear an appropriate apron. Do you understand, ladies?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the boys answered in chorus.
“One more item remains before you report to your dormitory. As of this moment, you are a girl. You shall no longer answer to your male name. You have all been assigned a new female name. When I call your former male name step forward and say ‘Yes, Mistress.’
“John Cox.!”
A boy stepped forward. “Yes, Mistress,” he answered.
“Your name is Karen. Repeat your name.”
“Karen, Mistress.”
Step back, Karen. Lawrence Porter!”
“Yes, Mistress!”
“Your name is Judith. Repeat your name.”
“Judith, Mistress.”
Step back, Judith.” Desdemona repeated this ritual until she came to the last boy. “Joel Miller,” she called.
JoEllen had been waiting. She had not presented herself as a male for years, since Diana had adopted her. Now, the newly minted agent of America’s most covert organization stepped forward. She had hoped she would not appear too familiar with the garments as she put each one on, lest her familiarity with them betray her, and so she appeared to struggle with the brassiere snaps. She stepped forward. “Yes, Mistress,” she said.
“Your name is Jessica. Repeat your name.”
“Jessica, Mistress,” she replied.
Desdemona took stock of this one. He looked like the rest of them, perhaps a bit smaller, but there was something about him. This was a spirited young man. He would be a challenge, but he might also be an asset. “Step back, Jessica,” she said.
JoEllen stepped back in line.
“Now, ladies, the Mistresses will show you to your dormitories. You will be expected to keep your area clean at all times. Your training begins tomorrow. Now move!”
“Yes, Mistress,” they all replied. At the command of the guards they all turned and walked in single file to a building across the courtyard. Some of the boys stumbled in their high heels, but none dared to lag behind. Silently, they all entered the dormitory.
(end of part 1)
(c) 2006 Valentina Michelle Smith
* For details please read the previous stories from the Diana Hunter cycle; "Best Served Cold", "Endgame", "Whatever Became of the Susterhood?", and "By Dreams Betrayed".
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JoEllen Hunter has been placed in a bizarre reform school, where incorrigible delinquent boys are transformed into feminized domestic servants. But there is a dark secret at the heart of The Academy. As an undercover agent of America's most covert agency, JoEllen's mission is to discover that secret.
Meanwhile, just what is Diana Hunter up to?
At precisely 4:00 A.M., everybody in the dormitory awoke.
There was no need for an alarm or any type of wake-up call. Everybody received a nudge from the governor implanted behind their ear. The nudge was not as intense for veteran students, just a brief kiss of discomfort to rouse them from their sleep. With routine efficiency they went about their morning rituals, showering, cleaning up, making their beds, and dressing for the day’s activities.
For new students the experience was not routine. A sharp bolt of pain flashed for a few milliseconds, sufficiently painful to rouse them from the soundest of sleep, but not so intense as to be debilitating. They awoke to the strident urging of several Mistresses.
“Get up, ladies! Get your lazy asses out of bed! You have a lot to do today. Get into the showers now.”
There was no respite in the showers. A Mistress was present to instruct the “girls” on shaving their legs and armpits. “Your legs and underarms will be cleanly shaven every day. Understood?”
“Yes, Mistress,” they answered.
Hesitance of any sort was immediately punished by an application of the riding crop. The students completed their showers and dried themselves. They were instructed to wrap a towel around themselves just below their armpits, and to wrap a second towel around their hair turban-style. Despite their universal flat-chested appearance, they were to behave as ladies at all times and maintain a standard of modesty.
Yesterday’s underwear went into their laundry bags. They donned fresh underwear, stockings, slips, and their school uniforms. Beds were made and the dormitory was cleaned, all under the constant harassment of the Mistresses. Finally each student stood at the foot of his respective bed, dressed in the pleated skirt, blouse, and pumps that constituted The Academy uniform.
A Mistress addressed them.
“Ladies, you are a sorry sight. Look at you, all decked out in your skirts and heels, but not a bit of lipstick or foundation. And look at your hair! You are the sorriest excuse for girls I have ever had the displeasure to see. We are about to fix that.
“Carol and Janelle, step forward!”
The two boys now named Carol and Janelle stepped up, answering “Yes, Mistress,” in unison.
“Go to the storage closet and get the box marked ‘Wigs.’”
“Yes, Mistress,” they answered, and they dashed off to obey. They returned with the box.
“Very good, girls,” the Mistress answered. “Each of you will take a wig. You will now wear this wig at all times except when sleeping, showering, or during physical training. You will keep your wig clean and groomed at all times. It will be your hair for the next six months. By that time your natural hair should be long enough to style properly. Understood?”
“Yes, Mistress,” they answered. Each student took a wig from the box. Each was packaged in an individual box on a styrofoam head form. The wigs were all blond, styled in a short bob that came to the neckline, and had a wide white headband. This band secured the wig to the wearer’s head.
Each student was now wearing his wig. As they stood at the foot of their bed, the Mistress reflected on just how effectively the indoctrination was proceeding. With the blond wigs in place the boys now all appeared to be teenage girls, each one in a schoolgirl’s uniform. Only one thing remained for the final vestige of individuality to be stripped away.
“Now that is much better,” she said. “You’re starting to resemble ladies. But we are not finished. Everybody form up outside, now!”
The girls (as they were beginning to think of themselves) rushed out of the dormitory, nearly tripping on their heels. A few who did not display the proper sense of urgency found themselves on the wrong side of a “nudge” from a Mistress’ riding crop. Now standing in line outside, they lined themselves up by size with the shortest girl in front. The Mistress who appeared to be in charge addressed them.
“Ladies, we will now proceed to the beauty supply store. You will be issued a make-up kit. It will be your responsibility to maintain this kit at all times. You will replenish it from the beauty supply store whenever you run out of any item.
“Once you have your kit you will be shown how to apply make-up. From that time forward you will never appear outside without makeup. You will always carry lipstick and powder to repair your makeup throughout the day. This will be carried in your purse, which you will also receive today. You will never be without your purse unless instructed to leave it by a Mistress. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the girls answered.
“Come with me, ladies,” the Mistress ordered. They walked in single file to the beauty supply store, where they received a make-up case and a purse. They were then seated at a vanity table where a Mistress instructed them in the application of make-up. This session was notable for its total lack of punishment. The girls would associate make-up with an absence of pain.
JoEllen moved with this body of students. She did her best to appear unfamiliar with foundation, blush, and lipstick. As she applied her make-up under the impatient supervision of a Mistress, she reflected on the events leading to her presence at The Academy.
* * * * *
The black limousine had discharged JoEllen inside the headquarters building of America’s most covert agency, where she was escorted to Mary Risberg’s office. Mary offered her coffee, which she accepted.
“I was impressed with the way you handled yourself at the funeral, JoEllen,” Risberg said. You acted quickly and decisively. You have the makings of a fine agent.
“I’m curious about something,” she continued, “Just how is it you happened to be carrying Shuriken with you?”
“It’s part of the discipline of Sho Ren Kun Do,” JoEllen answered. “The Shuriken is not really much of a weapon, but it does aid in focusing and coordinating motion. I always have some on hand, mostly for meditation.”
“You don’t have any with you right now.”
“Of course not; I left them in the safe downstairs as per agency protocol. Would you have let me proceed with any sort of weapon on my person?”
“From what I have heard, your person is quite a potent weapon in its own right. Master Wan speaks highly of you.”
“Master Wan is too kind.”
“Don’t assume any false modesty with me, JoEllen, I know your capabilities. If I didn’t we would not be having this conversation.”
JoEllen shifted in her chair. “So this is about recruiting me? You want me to become one of your agents?”
Risberg hesitated. “Yes, but not one of our regular agents.”
JoEllen was puzzled. “What do you mean by that?” she asked.
“Normally it takes a year of very intensive training to get an agent ready for duty. We need someone for a very special assignment and we do not have much time to bring her up to speed. You are already well trained in martial arts, you can present convincingly as a woman, and if I know Diana you are well trained in firearms. In short, you already possess most of the knowledge you will need for this assignment.”
JoEllen’s curiosity was now piqued. “What assignment are you talking about?”
“How would you like a crack at the people who tried to kill Diana?”
Risberg now had JoEllen’s undivided attention. But her answer surprised Risberg.
“I seek no vengeance,” JoEllen said. “Revenge clouds the mind, and fosters hatred. Revenge consumes the person who seeks it. I turned away from the path of vengeance when Diana adopted me.
“If you want me to go after these people then I will, but not for revenge.”
Risberg looked at JoEllen with a new-found respect. “I’m very impressed. I believe I may have made the right choice after all.”
JoEllen smiled as Mary continued. “We managed to trace one of the three assailants. The results were surprising. It seems that he was in juvenile custody about five years ago. He was doing time for multiple rapes and armed robbery. Because of the rapes we had his DNA on file. He was fifteen when he was imprisoned.”
“So how did he end up trying to assassinate Diana?”
“We’re not certain, but we believe it has to do with the alternative school where he was transferred. There is a brief notation that he is to be transferred to another facility for holding and then to this school, The Academy.”
“What exactly is this place?” JoEllen asked.
“It is supposed to be an experimental alternative facility for incorrigible juveniles. It is the personal project of billionaire Desdemona Raventree. Just what goes on within the campus of The Academy is a secret, but Ms. Raventree seems to have some very powerful political allies protecting her from official scrutiny.
“Juvenile laws prevent disclosure of the identities of boys sent to The Academy. The school claims an impressive success rate, but will not divulge the names of its 'students.'”
“It sounds as if there is something else concerning you, Mary.”
“There is. We can’t establish the identities of the other two assailants. Fingerprints, DNA, dental records; we cannot find a match. It was only a fluke that we discovered the identity of the third assassin. And we have discovered something else that is disturbing. It seems that there are boys disappearing from the juvenile justice system. We can’t prove it, but somebody is systematically removing teenage boys from the system. We suspect that they are somehow being funneled into The Academy.”
“And you think that they are somehow being used as assassins?” JoEllen asked.
“We're not certain just what Raventree's purposes might be, but something doesn't smell right. This assassination attempt on Diana and yourself is just too much of a coincidence. We need to find out just what is going on inside The Academy. We need human intelligence.
“Your mission will be a simple one of infiltration and intelligence. We're giving you a cover identity that fits the profile of the boys being diverted; an orphan convicted of violent offenses, incorrigible, sent to a maximum security juvenile facility. Hopefully Raventree's people will take the bait. Once you are inside, you will be on your own. You will have to survive as best as you can, gather as much intel as you can, and find a way to get it back to us. Once you contact us we'll arrange extraction, but we need the intel before we can proceed.”
Mary paused. “I know this is asking a lot of you, JoEllen. If you turn us down, I would understand.”
JoEllen didn't hesitate a second. “When do I start?”
Risberg smiled. “Immediately; you have to immerse yourself in your cover identity to create an effective male persona. I hope you haven't forgotten how to be a boy.”
“I'm a quick study,” JoEllen replied.
“Excellent. Let's get you down to the seamstress and get you into something a lot less feminine. Your new life as a boy begins now.”
* * * * *
The first few weeks of life at The Academy were textbook examples of behavior modification, not unlike military training. Unacceptable behavior was punished immediately, and acceptable behavior was rewarded with an absence of punishment. It did not take long for the girls to begin to take pride in any behavior that did not merit application of the riding crop.
Life settled into a routine. Morning showers were followed by cleanup and breakfast. Cooking and serving breakfast was part of the training, as was cleaning the dining room and dormitory. All of the girls took turns at each domestic task, whether it was dusting, laundry, or maid duties for the mistresses. They were taught to sew and practiced by making new uniforms for themselves. They were taught to walk, talk, and behave as females. They were taught to serve high tea, again to the mistresses. They were taught to be perfect domestics.
Their training included more than the simple duties of maids. Each day they underwent intense physical conditioning, rising to the level of Navy Seals. They were taught personal combat with and without weapons. They were taught to observe and remember without drawing attention to themselves. They learned how to poison, to counterfeit, to forge, and to burgle.
But most important, they were taught to obey the mistresses without question. Any deviation from perfect obedience was punished severely.
After six months they were taught to style their own hair, now long enough to be feminine. They practiced on each other and in the process became skilled hairdressers and cosmetologists. Their actions became so conditioned that they acted without thinking, affecting the grace of one born female and trained in the finest finishing school.
JoEllen endured. As harsh as the training was, she had already suffered worse on the streets. She became a model student, mastering all tasks presented to her. She became the leader in her class, always encouraging the other girls to do better.
There were other changes, initially so subtle that they went unnoticed in the everyday rush of training, but the girls were becoming physically more female. Their breasts began to swell and their male genitalia began to shrink, a direct result of the hormones administered daily. But rather than being frightened of their physical changes, the girls were delighted as their outward changes coincided with less frequent punishment. Their brassieres now bulged with their own flesh, and they were proud.
JoEllen could not ignore the changes her body was showing. She outwardly displayed the same sort of girlish delight her classmates were showing; inside she noted the changes and added them to her intelligence data. At night, in bed, she used the meditation techniques Master Wan had taught her to remain centered and focused on her mission. She observed and remembered all she saw. And she knew that there was more to The Academy than a perverse forced feminization.
JoEllen was herself the subject of intense scrutiny. By excelling at every task and displaying leadership qualities, it was inevitable that she would draw attention. Desdemona Raventree was especially interested in Jessica's progress, for that was the name JoEllen had been assigned. Desdemona had the mistresses give Jessica challenges beyond those normally assigned. Jessica met every one and exceeded all expectations.
* * * * *
The office door, located on the top floor of a new office building in a new suburban business campus, read “International Holdings, LLC.” The building was pleasing without being ostentatious. At five stories it was the tallest structure in the campus. It's design reflected a love of nature. The central atrium extended to a tempered glass ceiling, allowing sufficient sunlight for the indoor plants to thrive. It was, according to all tenants, a very pleasant place to work.
Unknown to most tenants, International Holdings was a front corporation for Diana Hunter. It served as a focal point for Diana's current operations. Just what these operations entailed was a closely guarded secret, even to America's most covert secret agency. In fact, just about all that Margo Lane knew of the place was that she stood more than an even chance of finding her old friend there.
The receptionist checked Margo's credentials against her database. She was admitted to the inner suite of offices where she was greeted by Diana's personal assistant, Mrs. Hathaway, the only Executive Assistant who rated a private office.
“Hello, Agent Lane,” said Mrs. Hathaway in her very cheerful voice. There was a soothing, maternal quality to Mrs. Hathaway, reinforced by the many pictures of her children and grandchildren displayed lovingly on her desk. “Can I get you something? A cup of coffee, perhaps?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hathaway, I'm fine,” Margo said. “Could I Please see Diana?”
“Of course, she's expecting you. Please go in.” Mrs. Hathaway indicated a door just beyond her desk. Margo entered.
The office was neither large nor small and was decorated in a tasteful, understated business fashion. It was totally unremarkable except for the dozen or so flat-screen monitors occupying a horseshoe-shaped desk and a two-bay rack of electronic gear against one wall. At the center of the desk sat Diana, who stood to greet her old friend.
“Welcome to my playpen,” Diana said as she grasped Margo's hand. “So what do you think of it?”
“I didn't know what to expect, Diana, and now that I see it I still don't know what to make of it. Just what on earth are you doing?”
Diana smiled. “I'm getting back to my geeky roots, I suppose. Margo, I want you to meet my latest project, Cassandra.” She pointed to the electronics bay against the wall.
“Very nice,” said Margo, not at all comprehending what she was seeing. “And just what on earth is Cassandra supposed to be?”
“Cassandra is my own personal implementation of a Beowulf-style supercomputer. What you see is a thirty-two node AMD Opteron cluster with sixty-four processors and a twin AMD front end. Each node is running Linux and shares a common file system.”
“Well that certainly clears up any confusion I might have had,” replied Margo with considerable sarcasm.
Diana laughed. “I'm sorry, Margo, sometimes I forget that everybody isn't a natural born geek. Cassandra is simply a cheap and dirty supercomputer assembled from off-the-shelf components and open-source software.”
“Just what everybody needs. I bet you can play a hell of a computer game on that baby.”
“I probably could. I intend to do some rather fancy financial and scientific modeling on it. Once I get it tweaked I'm going to build several for the Ellis sisters to use. Something like this could really help their biotechnology modeling work. And if it isn't powerful enough I can just add a few more nodes.”
“So is that what you're doing here, Diana, building new molecules in cyberspace?”
“Not exactly. I'm testing it with a data-mining project. I need this type of horsepower for what I have in mind.”
“And just what would that be?”
Diana smiled as she looked at her old friend. “You know, I could use a break. Care to join me out on the balcony?”
“Do you think that's safe?” Margo asked.
“I think so. Nobody knows I'm here except for you and Mrs. Hathaway. Everyone else thinks this is just an investment bank.”
“And nobody sees you coming here every day?”
“Not really. A black limo departs from my home every day and heads for The Hunter Group's corporate headquarters. Nobody pays any attention to the milk truck making its morning delivery, or to the FedEx truck dropping off packages at night. Can I pour you a drink?”
Margo saw the bottle that Diana had produced from a sideboard; single-malt Scotch, aged for more than half a century. “I really shouldn't while I'm on duty, Diana.”
“You're not on duty, you're visiting a friend from the old neighborhood.”
“All right, then, but just one.”
Diana filled a crystal glass to about three fingers, then poured one for herself. “Come on out to the balcony, I have something else you might enjoy.”
The balcony opened to a view of the business campus. The buildings were separated by a lot of open space and were surrounded by woodland. Margo and Diana sat on a pair of comfortable chairs and sipped their drinks. That was when Diana put hers down and opened a wooden box. She passed the box to Margo.
It was a cigar humidor.
“I know it's not very ladylike,” said Diana, “but I always enjoyed a good Puro. These are pre-Castro Havanas. You were rather fond of them yourself back in the old neighborhood.”
“That was before I joined the agency. I haven't had a cigar in years.”
“Care to join me?” Diana asked.
Margo hesitated, then picked one out and handed the box to Diana. Diana passed her a cutter and then flicked a gold lighter. Margo rotated the cigar as she lit it. She took a long puff and exhaled as Diana lit up. “Wow!” she said as she admired the long smoldering cylinder, “it's been a long time.”
“I don't really smoke that often,” Diana said, sending clouds of blue smoke into the air. “Maybe once or twice a month, if that.”
Margo drew on her cigar and blew a lazy smoke ring. “Now if only I were Gandalf, I could blow a smoke schooner and sail it through the ring.”
“Well don't look at me for such tricks,” said Diana. “I'm a geek, not a sorcerer.”
“Speaking of geeks, Diana, let's get back to that rack of electronics in your office. Just what are you doing with all of that computing power?”
Diana took a long puff and blew out the smoke in a lazy, contemplative stream. “I'm testing out the parallel computing algorithms by mining the system logs of the Hunter Group's servers. I'm looking for something in particular.”
“And what would that be?”
Diana paused. “Margo, there's a mole somewhere in my organization. I intend to find just who that mole is.”
“What makes you think there's a mole in your company?” asked Margo, intrigued by Diana's answer.
“The attempt on my life was a dead giveaway. Only somebody with access to my most secure files would have known that I was going to be at Wildwood Cemetery that day. Whoever planned that hit knew in advance that I would be there, and the time I would be there. I'm analyzing server activity and message traffic to see if I can find this mole's electronic footprints.”
“And what will you do when you find this person, Diana?” Margo asked.
Diana was silent for a moment. “I know what I would like to do,” she said, “but I won't. No, I'll just turn the creep over to you gals for interrogation. Whoever this is might be a good source of intelligence.”
“I'm relieved to hear that, Diana,” Margo said. “For a minute I thought you were going back to your old ways.”
Diana laughed. “No, those days are long gone. I've worked hard to get the hate out of my soul. Vengeance was never all that sweet anyway. And you can let Mary know that I'm not going to be executing anybody.”
Margo smiled and took a sip of the Scotch. “You know I have to report this, Diana.”
“Of course you do, and I know you will. Just be sure to spell my name right, and you don't have to tell Risberg about the Scotch and cigars.”
“If I did, she might drop by to get some for herself.”
The two of them laughed. Then Diana said to Margo, “So let's change subjects. How is JoEllen doing in your little sorority?”
Margo frowned. “Diana, you know that I can neither confirm nor deny that I have any knowledge of JoEllen.”
Diana smiled and took another puff from her cigar. “Margo, this is me, Diana, you're talking to. I know that JoEllen's on a mission and I don't need any specifics. I just want to know if she's all right.”
Margo paused. “I'm sorry, Diana, but I really can't tell you.”
“You can't, or you won't?”
“I can't, Diana, because I honestly do not know.”
Margo hesitated for a few heartbeats, as though she were considering what to say next. “You're right, JoEllen is on an assignment. She's under very deep cover and right now we have no way of contacting her. That's all I can tell you, Diana, and I really don't know if I should have told you anything at all.”
Diana took a sip from her drink. “Thanks, Margo. You know how I worry about her. JoEllen might be an adult, but I always think of her as the kid we rescued.”
Margo grinned at the memory of the case where she and Diana broke up an Internet live kiddie porn racket. JoEllen had been one of the unfortunate victims. “That was some caper, wasn't it?”
“Yes indeed, one I'll always remember fondly. It was nice to be one of the good guys.”
They sipped their drinks and puffed their cigars, and the two friends shared memories of their past.
* * * * *
JoEllen's class was given a task normally reserved for senior students. They would serve High Tea to the Mistresses.
Serving High Tea was part of their training, and they had practiced to the point where they could probably do so in their sleep. But practicing and actually serving were two very different scenarios.
Desdemona Raventree knew that she was pushing this class past their normal level of expectations. She knew that the girls would be nervous and undoubtedly make mistakes. She was counting on just that.
As Desdemona expected, the High Tea started to turn into a disaster. The girls were nervous, shaking as they went about the duties of setting out food and pouring tea for the mistresses. Each little spill, each misplaced napkin, each crumbled cookie increased their apprehension, and they fully expected to be soundly punished.
But the disaster never happened. The tea may have suffered from some early mistakes, but the girls quickly rallied and set themselves to serving the mistresses without flaw. Desdemona observed the interaction of the students. Clearly, one of the students emerged as a leader. She urged the girls on, encouraging them to ignore their mistakes and concentrate on getting everything right. Inspired by her example, the rest of the students quickly fell in line and served perfectly.
Desdemona's suspicions were confirmed. Jessica had qualities that The Academy could use.
* * * * *
Asleep in her bunk, JoEllen did not expect the gentle nudge on her shoulder. She awoke to darkness, and the face of an old friend, Diana Hunter.
Diana held a finger to her lip. “Keep it low, kiddo, I don't think anyone can hear us, but let's not take any chances.”
“Diana?” sad JoEllen, clearly puzzled, “how did you get in here? And for that matter, how did you know I was here in the first place.”
“To answer your second question, I have resources at my disposal that Risberg doesn't know exist. And as for the first, let's just say that there isn't a lock on earth that I can't open.”
JoEllen sat up. “What about my roommates? And what about the monitors?”
“Monitors are easy to defeat, kiddo. All you have to do is feed them what they expect to see.” Diana held up a small aluminum box with a stubby antenna. Obviously it was a sophisticated jamming device of some sort. “And your roommates are all sound asleep courtesy of Gas.”
“Diana, you could blow my cover just by being here. Do you have any idea what I'm doing?”
“Of course I do, and I couldn't be more proud. I just wanted to give you a little something you may need when the balloon goes up.” She produced a tiny capsule.
“What do you want me to do with that?” asked JoEllen.
“Swallow it. It's a special transponder that will attach to the wall of your small intestine. It can't be detected by any medical imaging technology.”
“What is it for?”
“It will remain dormant until you speak the proper code phrase. Then it will send out a special distress signal. I've formed a task force that will monitor that signal. As soon as we get it, we come in and extract you.”
“Diana, do you realize how dangerous this stunt of yours could be? If I slip up and talk, they'll kill me, and probably take their time doing it.”
“You won't talk, kiddo. You won't even remember I'm here, because I'm going to give you the code name as a post-hypnotic suggestion. Once we extract you, your memory will return. But for now, you're going to go to sleep.” Diana held up the Gas spray.
JoEllen grinned. “Not a bad plan,” she said to herself. She swallowed the capsule. She felt the cold, wet spray on her cheek. Then she felt nothing.
Diana instructed JoEllen to remember nothing of her visit this evening until events triggered her memories. Then she would repeat the code phrase Diana gave her. As JoEllen lay down to sleep, Diana gave her a little kiss. “I love you, JoEllen,” she said.
“I love you, Diana,” JoEllen answered. She was then lost to oblivion, her memory effectively conditioned by the powerful psychoactive drug that the agency called Gas. Diana left the grounds of the Academy undetected.
* * * * *
Desdemona sat behind the ornate desk in her spacious office. The desk, as well as the other accouterments of her office, was designed to overwhelm and intimidate those invited in. Judging by the nervousness of Jessica's demeanor, it had succeeded.
Students were rarely invited into Mistress Desdemona's inner sanctum. As far as JoEllen knew, it had not occurred since she had come to The Academy. There was doubtless a good deal of speculation when she was summoned to the Headmistress' office.
JoEllen remained calm, observing and remembering as she remained centered. Outwardly, she projected an air of apprehension. Jessica needed to appear nervous, but still obedient to the will of the mistresses.
Desdemona smiled, observing Jessica's apparent discomfort. “Jessica, dear, do you know why you are here?” she said.
“No, Mistress,” JoEllen replied. “I hope I haven't broken any rules.”
“Not at all, my dear. You are here because you are an exceptional student. You have talent. I could use that sort of talent. Please, sit down,” Desdemona said, indicating a chair.
JoEllen looked at the chair nervously. Was this a test? “Mistress?” she asked.
“Don't be nervous, Jessica. I guarantee you will not be punished as long as we are in this room together. Here, let me show you.”
Desdemona placed her riding crop on a wall hook next to her desk, well out of reach. “There, you see? I could not possibly use the crop. Now please sit and be comfortable, and you may speak freely.”
“Mistress,” said JoEllen as she sat, “I don't understand?”
“Of course not, dear, but all will son be clear to you. Would you like a drink; sherry, perhaps?”
“I don't...yes, I think I would like a sherry.”
Desdemona poured two small glasses of sherry and gave one to JoEllen. As she raised her glass she said, “The Academy!”
“The Academy!” JoEllen echoed and drained her glass. She focused on the taste and texture of the drink and, noting no unusual effects, concluded that it was not drugged.
Desdemona refilled their glasses and sat down next to JoEllen. “Now, Jessica, we need to discuss a little business. First, do you know what we do here at The Academy?”
JoEllen responded with the answer that had been drilled into her. “We come to The Academy to bury our past. We come to The Academy to change our behavior. We leave The Academy to serve.”
“And who do we serve?”
“We serve The Academy.”
“Very good, Jessica. But do you know just how you will serve?”
“Mistress?” she said, unprepared for the question. “I don't understand?”
Desdemona smiled. “Jessica, my dear, graduates of The Academy are highly skilled domestic servants. We take the most incorrigible of delinquent boys, such as you were, and mold them into perfect domestics. Our graduates work in the finest of households, the seats of power and influence. Academy graduates are placed in the households of industrial and financial giants, and in the homes of powerful ministers of state, politicians, and judges. They serve efficiently and silently, without drawing attention to themselves. Do you see what an advantage this can provide, Jessica?”
JoEllen paused, as though realizing something for the first time. “Servants of the movers and shakers, privy to confidential affairs of state and business. It could make an effective spy network.”
“I had a feeling you were more intelligent than our average student, Jessica. You have intelligence and leadership abilities. That is why I am inviting you to join our inner circle. Jessica, how would you like to become a Mistress?”
“Mistress. I...” JoEllen was genuinely surprised, and took a sip of sherry. “But I thought all of the mistresses were women?”
“We are, Jessica, and you shall be as well. Let me explain.”
Desdemona stood and refilled her glass. “You see, Jessica, The Academy is much more than a reform school. It is the instrument by which I intend to achieve world domination.
“My goal is quite simple, really. Men have made a total mess of this world. It is time for women to take over and assume their rightful position of domination.
“Jessica, have you ever wondered why women have been relegated to an inferior position in our society? It is because men fear us. Men, you see, are slaves to their sexual impulses. Men simply cannot overcome their base desires as women can. An intelligent woman could easily dominate any man simply by understanding his uncontrollable addiction to sex.
“So men have designed a society in which women are forced to be inferior. Opportunities for education, advancement, and true power are never permitted. Cautionary tales such as Eve and the apple are made part of a youngster's indoctrination. As a result, women never achieve their true potential, and men remain in power, destroying our planet and killing each other with their petty wars and business squabbles.
“I intend to change all of that. I have a plan to shift the balance of power to the truly superior sex. And The Academy is part of it.
“I am assembling an army of the perfect intelligence agents. They are all fiercely loyal to The Academy and will follow orders blindly. By infiltrating them into the homes of the rich and powerful, I have an army ready to rise up and seize power.”
“Forgive me for interrupting,” JoEllen said, “but won't this army cause some of the same things for which you condemn men? The bloodshed would be enormous.”
“You are a very clever girl, my dear, and you are correct. If I had to rely on force of arms, I would be just as bad as the men currently in power. That is why I have a second and more powerful army at my disposal, an army of women.
“I have recruited a select group of women, the Mistresses, to be my main force. We will use our feminine attributes, beauty, and sensuality, to infiltrate the world of men from a direction they least suspect, as trophy wives for the rich and powerful. We shall ensnare them in a trap of their own making, exploiting their weakness to resist seduction. We will use our charms to negotiate extremely favorable terms to any pre-nuptial agreements we may be forced to enter into. And, when the time is right, we will seize control of the husband's empire by simply eliminating him. Then we take control, a bereaved widow wanting only to keep her departed husband's legacy alive.”
Desdemona turned to JoEllen. “I offer you, Jessica, the opportunity to join us. We will train you in the arts of seduction and domination, while you will also learn the skills of business and politics. You will be in the vanguard of the new world order. And when the time is ripe, you shall assume your destiny as part of the elite, the ruling class.”
Desdemona paused for a moment. “So what do you say, Jessica?”
“I am flattered, but there is still something I don't understand. The new world order is one in which women dominate. I'm a man, at least biologically. How can I be a part of this?”
Desdemona smiled again. “Your class has advanced to the next phase of training, conversion. Jessica, if you join us, we will place your body into a conversion tank where you will be transformed into a woman. This process was created by a brilliant scientist who was destroyed by male society. Fortunately I had copies of her research and was able to duplicate much of it.
“Essentially, your body's estrogen receptors will be enhanced and you will be subjected to massive dosages of female hormones. You will also be genetically reformatted at the cellular level. Your entire body will be regressed to an androgynous state, and then made female. You shall be a fully functional woman in every detail, down to the molecular level. The process will take ten weeks.”
“And if I decline?” asked JoEllen.
Desdemona did not answer directly, but called to the maid who had been waiting patiently in the corner. “Candice, please remove your clothing.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the maid replied, and immediately stripped. She stood naked in front of Desdemona and JoEllen. In every respect she was perfectly female, except for the diminutive penis and scrotum that hung limply from her groin.
“All students will be converted, Jessica, but if you accept my generous offer, you will not suffer this ignominious fate. You will not be constantly reminded of your male past as a warning to obey. No, dear girl, you shall experience the power and the indescribable euphoria of womanhood.
“This is the only time I shall make this offer, Jessica. Join us, or become like Candice. What do you say?”
JoEllen drained her glass. “I'm no fool. I want to join you. Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven. And when we finally take over, it will certainly be Hell for all men.”
“I had a feeling you would make the smart choice, Jessica. You'll make a fine mistress.
“Candice, please get dressed and inform the staff. We will be welcoming a new mistress this evening. Jessica, please come with me. We have a small ceremony to make this official.”
JoEllen arose and followed Desdemona.
* * * * *
The preparations took very little time. JoEllen was quickly taught the expected responses for the induction ceremony. She now stood in The Academy's ceremonial hall, dressed in the black uniform of a Mistress.
She stood at the far left side of the stage. Desdemona stood on the right. Between the two stood two other Mistresses, each holding their riding crops, as did Desdemona. The Academy's staff was seated in the auditorium.
The lights lowered. The stage was lit only by four candles. Now Desdemona spoke.
“We come to greet a new sister. She has been called to us, and she answers.
“Jessica, why have you come here?”
JoEllen answered, “I come to serve.”
Desdemona asked her, “Who do you serve?”
“I serve The Academy,” she replied.
“Advance,” Desdemona said.
JoEllen walked across the stage toward Desdemona, knowing full well what would happen. And as expected, the first Mistress blocked her way, holding her riding crop. She pointed it toward JoEllen and pressed the stud.
JoEllen's body was wracked with intense, stabbing pain, as though she were being cut with a thousand knives. The pain did not last for long, but it was sufficient to cause JoEllen to stumble.
“Will you follow me through pain?” Desdemona asked.
“I will follow you through pain. My life at your command!”
“Advance!” Desdemona commanded. The mistress stepped aside.
JoEllen continued across the stage, determined not to show the effects of the pain. Again, as she was told would happen, her path was barred. The mistress pointed her riding crop at JoEllen and pressed the stud.
Pain again coursed through JoEllen's body, an extreme, burning pain like being dipped into molten lava. It lasted for only a few milliseconds, but it nearly staggered JoEllen. She struggled to remain on her feet.
“Will you follow me through fire?” Desdemona asked.
“I will follow you through fire. I live for The Academy. I die for The Academy.”
“Advance,” Desdemona repeated. The second mistress stood aside, and JoEllen continued. She now stood next to Desdemona, who brandished another riding crop.
It was JoEllen's.
“Jessica, I bind you to The Academy for all time. Accept your crop, your badge of office, and know the pleasure born of pain.”
JoEllen reached to accept her riding crop. She did not know what to expect as she grasped it. As her hands enclosed around the riding crop, her body was once again suffused with an intense sensation; not pain, pleasure! She felt extreme euphoria bathe over her every nerve ending, and experienced an internal convulsion that rivaled the most intense of orgasms. Unable to resist this overwhelming flood of pleasure, she collapsed at Desdemona's feet, still clutching her riding crop.
Now the audience arose, and every mistress in the hall stood by as JoEllen was helped to her feet. As she recovered, she was embraced by all and welcomed to the inner circle of The Academy. The last to embrace her was Desdemona.
“You now know one of our greatest secrets, Jessica,” Desdemona said. “The transdermal governors are just as capable of creating pleasure as pain. Welcome, sister, and know the joy of serving The Academy.”
JoEllen was unable to speak, still stunned by the intensity of pleasure she had experienced. She said nothing as she was led from the ceremonial hall and placed into the conversion chamber. She felt the intravenous lines as they were inserted into her arms. Then, as a wave of pleasure once again washed over her, the chamber filled with oxygenated fluid. The intense pleasure completely overrode her gag reflex as she took the fluid into her lungs. She was briefly aware of the unique sensation of being totally suspended in liquid warmed to her own body temperature. Then, as the medication took effect, the world faded to oblivion.
(End of Part 2)
© Valentina Michelle Smith
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JoEllen is now one of the Mistresses at The Academy, and is being trained to take her place in the new world order, a world in which women dominate men. She is determined to carry out her mission as an undercover agent of America's most covert agency. But power is seductive. Can she resist the temptation to truly join Desdemona?
Just about everybody who worked in The Hunter Group IS Department agreed that they were in Geek Paradise.
Developers and Analysts were spoiled at The Hunter Group. Everybody had at least one PC with a dual video display at their desk, and everyone also had a laptop. Developers had two and sometimes three PC's in their office configured as mini-networks. Soda, bottled water, coffee, tea, and fruit juice was provided for free and always on hand. Bagels and fruit were brought in every morning, and Friday was pizza day. There were video games, chessboards, and indoor basketball courts to help get over those annoying creative blocks when they cropped up. Dress code? We don't need no stinkin' dress code! Cargo pants, t-shirts, and sneakers were the rule. Cubicles were out; everybody had his or her own office with a door, and if you felt like it, you could take advantage of the wi-fi and work in the lounge area. Plus, there were plenty of “team-building exercises” at the ball park or the movies.
You might think that given such a free-wheeling atmosphere, nothing would ever get done. You would be wrong. The Hunter Group's output was always top notch and always on time. The Hunter Geeks (as they referred to themselves) took incredible pride in their work and repaid the generosity of their employer with one of the finest Enterprise Resource Programs in the world.
The Hunter Geeks were a very tightly-knit group. They were more family than co-workers. It was not unusual for one of the geeks to be a godparent for another geek's child, or to be the maid of honor or best man for a fellow geek. Pictures of spouses, kids, significant others, pets, and midlife-crisis cars adorned every desk.
Just as icing on the cake, the Hunter Geeks enjoyed the highest rate of pay in the area, including company-paid benefits, bonuses, a 510k plan, and a generous vacation policy. And did I mention flextime?
Diana wondered why, given such a virtual Shangri-la, one of the geeks would betray her.
At first she doubted the results of her data-mining and stubbornly repeated the analysis with tighter controls. The resulting analysis only confirmed the first run. Diana's mole was one of the pampered geeks in her IS department. That knowledge hurt her, and made her all the more determined to eliminate the mole.
Diana knew what her first step would be. She needed to isolate the individual who had corrupted her group. But this had to be done carefully lest she show her hand. Best let her mole remain ignorant. She would give the mole plenty of disinformation to pass on. Perhaps this could be turned to her advantage.
* * * * *
Awakening from the conversion process was as traumatic as birth. JoEllen coughed and gagged as though she would eventually hack up her lungs.
She had just emerged from the conversion chamber. The oxygenated fluid she had breathed for the past ten weeks was being replaced with air, and the fluid had to be expelled from her lungs. There was no easy way to do this.
She was kneeling as she continued to cough fluid out of her system. She felt as if she might die from a coughing fit. Then, a wave of euphoria washed over her. She continued to cough but no longer worried about it. Her brain's pleasure center was being directly stimulated by the transdermal governor implanted behind her right ear.
The coughing spasm was over in a few minutes, but JoEllen felt weak. She struggled to her feet. She felt very different, as though her body had changed.
Several Mistresses helped JoEllen to stand. They guided her to a full-length mirror so that she could see her new body.
She had to admit, it was stunning. It was as close to a perfect female body as she had ever seen. Despite her wet, matted hair, she looked beautiful. Ample breasts, perky nipples, and flaring hips gave JoEllen a sensuous and decidedly sexy appearance. Even her facial structure was different, with a femininely pointed chin and high cheekbones. Her proportions were perfect; sensual, bordering on seductive.
Desdemona was on hand to greet her. “It's like being born all over again. We arrive in this world wet and naked, and then things go downhill. But in your case, Jessica, things will only get better.”
The Mistresses helped JoEllen into a hospital gown and guided her into a bed. “How long will I be here?” she asked.
“Not very long,” Desdemona answered. “A day or two at the most. We maintained your muscle tone with electrical stimulation, but you still need to get accustomed to your new body.”
JoEllen reached down to her groin. The package she had grown up with was now gone. In its place was a very unfamiliar cleft. “It's true!” she said, “I'm really a woman.”
“You are indeed, Jessica. Nobody on earth will ever be able to tell that you were ever male. You are a woman in every possible way.”
JoEllen now felt her breasts. She had often imagined what breasts of her own would be like. She had some idea from the very limited development resulting from hormones forced on her during her captivity as a teen. But these were different, unlike anything she could have imagined. Her nipples had never fully developed into those of a fully mature woman. These wonderfully enlarged sensuous bumps of soft skin were amazing! She found herself gently stroking them with her fingertips.
Then something else occurred to her. She felt a familiar yet unfamiliar urge. “I think I need to go to the bathroom,” she said.
A mistress helped her to the toilet. She sat down and relaxed her sphincter. Now this really felt different! The flow was directed in a totally different direction. It was more than just sitting down to urinate, it was a completely foreign sensation.
“You'll need to wipe yourself,” the mistress told her. “It's the price we pay for being the superior sex.”
“I think I can get used to it,” JoEllen said. “Thanks for helping me.”
“Not at all,” said the mistress. “If you need anything just ring for the maid. I imagine you are feeling hungry.”
“Yes, I'm famished.”
“We'll start you on a light diet and see how you progress. No need to add any fat to that gorgeous figure.”
JoEllen finished wiping herself and managed to stand without help. She could feel her strength returning. She had a feeling she would not be in bed for long.
Her prediction proved to be correct. She was walking by the evening and could stand without assistance. By the next day she was strong enough to resume her exercise regimen. The Academy's doctors, all women, advised her to increase her workout gradually.
Within a week, JoEllen was running five kilometers morning and evening.
* * * * *
Jaydeep Kumar had lived all of his life in America. His parents had immigrated from India and still adhered more-or-less to their old ways and beliefs. Jay had not exactly abandoned them, but he was as American as a boy could be. He spoke English with no trace of an accent, and managed to effortlessly interject “dude” and “yo” and other obvious Americanisms into his conversation. And it had been a long time since he had seen the inside of a temple. Intelligent and college-educated, Jay made a very comfortable living developing interface protocols for The Hunter Group. He drove a BMW Z4 roadster to work every day, prompting more than a few of his co-workers to bust on him about being too young for a midlife crisis.
He had just negotiated the highways from his job at the corporate center to his condo, a drive of about 45 minutes. Jay didn't mind the drive. He enjoyed putting his BMW through its paces while the sound system blasted hip-hop. (Gotta love that sub-woofer!) He pulled up to his condo building and took the elevator to his crib on the top floor.
Jay's condo was furnished with a cacophony of stuff from IKEA. He had little if any feel for color or design, as the decor of his condo bore stark witness. His living room was a place for his home theater system to exist, as well as his personal computer, a dual-core affair with killer video and sound boards he had built for the sole purpose of video gaming. Presently it sat powered down in the corner, neglected for several months along with his huge plasma TV. Something new was now taking up all of his time, a woman.
“Hello, lover,” Ginny purred as Jay entered. She was sprawled on the sofa clad in a very tight and very revealing outfit. It left just enough to the imagination to drive any man with an iota of testosterone into a sexual frenzy. “Why don't you sit down next to me after your hard day?”
Jay plopped down his laptop and sat himself down next to Ginny, who immediately laid a wet juicy kiss on him and proceeded to stroke his body. Within a few seconds his shirt was unbuttoned and discarded on the floor next to Ginny's halter top. The two of them were getting down to some pretty intense foreplay.
As Jay ran his tongue over Ginny's nipple he once again thought about his incredible fortune. He had never been particularly lucky with female relationships. The closest thing he ever had to a steady girlfriend was a fellow hacker who seemed more interested in Jay's hard drive than his hard on. Oh, he had gotten lucky a few times at science fiction conventions, but you had to be pretty bad if you couldn't hook up at least once at a sci-fi con. Ironically, he had met Ginny at a con.
Ginny was hot, the kind of girl one only encountered in a fantasy. They were both in costumes; he was in a Star Trek uniform (original series, red shirt) and she was resplendent as Dejah Thoris, the Martian Princess. Buxom and sensuous, Ginny in costume was like a Vargas girl incarnate. For some reason she latched onto Jay and they were inseparable for the rest of the con.
Ginny was without a doubt the finest lover Jay had ever encountered in his young and inexperienced life, and she seemed hopelessly devoted to him. They were immediately an item, and within a month she had moved into his place. She didn't change anything in the apartment, but did manage to keep it a lot cleaner. In addition, she just loved to cook and always did his laundry. It was like having a live-in maid with sex on top. Jay had to be the luckiest geek in the galaxy.
The heavy foreplay got a lot hotter and they were soon at it right on the couch. Jay felt like some kind of healthy phallic animal as he exploded into Ginny's eager loins. He was shouting in ecstasy, invoking God, His Son, and a number of other deities as he spent his lust on her. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the couch and promptly fell asleep.
Ginny knew he would be out for at least an hour or two, plenty of time to download the data from the snooper she had installed on his laptop. It was an ingenious little bit of software, posing as a very innocuous dynamic link library. In fact, it would set a worm loose every day that it was connected to the network. That worm did nothing to harm the network, it simply gathered pertinent information. Every night, as she had for the past year and a half, Ginny extracted the information and relayed it to her employer. Or, to put it more precisely, her mistress, Desdemona Raventree.
The information was extracted simply into Ginny's Blackberry and forwarded over a wireless link. It looked like just another e-mail, but its attachment contained any and all information that the snooper could glean from the network concerning Diana Hunter.
Ginny finished and replaced the laptop. Then she snuggled next to Jay. In a way, she had become rather fond of Jay, the way an owner became fond of a pet. Sexually he left much to be desired, but Ginny had shown him a few things in the last year. His next girlfriend would definitely benefit from Ginny's training. She knew that it would break Jay's heart when her assignment was over and she simply vanished. She took a kind of wicked delight in thinking about it. For now, she could enjoy the way she led him around helplessly by his dick.
* * * * *
As one of the newest Mistresses, JoEllen got to assist as a new class of juvenile offenders was delivered to The Academy. Experienced Mistresses had tutored her for a few weeks. Now her hands-on training would begin.
Desdemona Raventree gave the new “girls” her standard speech, and one of the boys started to snicker. JoEllen's partner, a senior Mistress named Charlotte, took her riding crop and jammed it into the boy's gut. The impact was sufficient to double him over. “No talking in line!” Charlotte commanded.
Now the boys were all forced to their knees as the transdermal governors were implanted. As the boys all rose, Raventree pressed the pain stud on her riding crop. The boy that JoEllen had just implanted with a transdermal governor fell to the ground with all of the others. JoEllen remembered the intensity of that pain. She shuddered to think that she would now be required to administer the same pain herself, whenever one of her “girls” was slow, unladylike, or not properly responsive. She steeled herself for the task, knowing that it would be necessary in order to protect her cover.
Desdemona continued her spiel, explaining to the unruly boys that they would be molded into proper young ladies and taught the subservient skills of a domestic servant. She then instructed the boys to strip.
JoEllen's charge hesitated. JoEllen did not hesitate to punish him. “Get those clothes off, missy, and I mean now” she commanded. He stripped down to his skin. Now he was handed a canvas sack and instructed to don the female clothing it contained. She observed the boy's expression of horror as he pulled on the panties, struggled with the brassiere, and had to be shown how to roll stockings so that they could be pulled over his legs. JoEllen had to prod him a few more times with her crop, but in short order he was dressed in The Academy's uniform, a plaid jumper and white blouse.
JoEllen looked at the boys, now all wearing jumpers and standing uncertainly in their pumps. They all had an expression of fear and despair. She remembered her own first day at The Academy, just about a year ago.
There was one final ceremony. Each boy was now assigned a female name, which was his for the rest of his life. Their lives as boys were over. From this moment forward, they were girls.
The “girls” now marched in single file to the dormitory. There was still much to do to mold them into proper ladies. JoEllen stayed behind. Only two mistresses would be needed to guide the girls to their new quarters.
Desdemona walked over to JoEllen. “Did you enjoy that, Jessica?” she asked, using the name JoEllen had been assigned on her first day.
JoEllen had an answer ready, one that was designed to please and flatter Raventree. “Yes, I enjoyed having power. But mostly I enjoyed watching their horrified expressions.”
“Did it remind you of your own first day, my dear?”
“Yes, and no. I was frightened, but I was also determined to survive. I didn't see that in these girls. None of them showed any sign of spirit.”
Raventree smiled. Now she was certain she had made a good choice. “You are a smart girl, Jessica. Keep up the good work.” She turned and headed back to the office.
Her partner Charlotte said, “Looks like you impressed Mistress Desdemona, kid. You're off to a good start.”
“I just hope I can keep on impressing her,” JoEllen said.
“Tomorrow is when the fun begins. We get to wake our girls in the wee hours of the morning and instruct them in the feminine art of shaving. And then we hand out the wigs. They'll look just so darling!”
“They should thank us,” JoEllen said. “What would they have become? Serial killers? Rapists? Petty thugs? The life of a servant is better than the best they could ever expect.”
“Absolutely, Jessica. Mistress Raventree is right, you are a smart girl. Say, how about some dinner? Let's head over to the staff dining hall.”
“I'll meet you there later, Charlotte. I want to get my evening run in. Don't want to lose this great figure!”
“That sounds like a good idea. Care for a running partner?”
“Certainly, dear. Let's get changed and I'll meet you at the track in fifteen minutes.”
“I'll be there.”
* * * * *
Malcolm Estes relaxed in his ergonomic leather office chair. He had just concluded a very successful negotiation with a major real-estate developer to build his new corporate headquarters.
Estes was proud of his accomplishments. Starting out as a small-time distributor of electrical parts for the industrial controls industry, Estes had risen to become one of the pre-eminent forces in the computer-controlled process industry. Estes Products, Inc., was synonymous with high quality and dependability, a fact that the marketing department was always ready to point out. It was hard to believe that this behemoth of the business world, a shining example of capitalism at its greatest, started from an office above an auto body shop with two shipping clerks and an office manager/accountant. That last person was Estes' former wife, Bertha.
Bertha was Malcolm's biggest supporter back in the old days. She had a knack for discovering creative but legal financing schemes that managed to keep the fledgling company one step ahead of receivership. She kept the books, paid the rent, processed the payroll, paid the taxes, and did whatever it took to keep Malcolm's dream alive. Malcolm never knew that she once pawned her engagement ring to meet a payroll. In fact, Malcolm was unaware of most of the daily little functions required of a small business. That was Bertha's job. His job was to dream big. He took a huge chance on another dreamer with a scheme to run a factory using a PC. It was a gamble that paid off.
Now Malcolm could look back on the years with a touch of nostalgia. The little office over the body shop soon hired four full-time software developers. Then it hired four more. Then it moved into an industrial campus in the suburbs, hired a dozen more programmers along with a full-time office manager and an accountant, and soon had more business than it could handle.
Bertha was happy with her husband's success, and just as happy to quit as the gal Friday and devote her time to raising their children. She enjoyed the fruits of Malcolm's prosperity, especially because of her part in achieving it. She managed their estate and its service staff with the same skill that she had managed the office. She proudly watched her children grow, complete college, and strike out on their own as successful professionals. She was content, and believed Malcolm was also content.
It came as a complete surprise when she was served with divorce papers.
Much of the success of Estes Products over the last three years could be attributed to its wunderkind CFO, Antares Mason. Ann's performance in Marketing attracted the attention of Management, who recognized her talent and rapidly promoted her. She became the youngest VP in the company's history and, when Chief Financial Officer Dave Strampe met with a tragic traffic accident, was offered the position with the enthusiastic endorsement of the Board of Directors. She worked closely with Malcolm, forging a solid professional relationship.
Eventually, the professional relationship gave way to a physical one. Ann was, after all, an attractive woman. Some would say she was sensual, an attribute she never denied. Indeed, her very capability and power lent her an incredibly sensuous aura. It was this sensuality that led Malcolm Estes to abandon his mate and companion of over thirty years.
The settlement was quite generous. Bertha received the house and all of its furnishings in addition to a handsome annuity. Bertha and her children would want for nothing except a husband and father. Malcolm moved into a luxury apartment in the city with his new trophy bride, Antares. They did sign a pre-nuptial agreement, but Malcolm did not pay it much heed. Ann's lawyers took care of the details. Malcolm trusted her judgment when it came to business.
Relaxing in his office, Malcolm now reflected on his current life, and found it was quite satisfying. He was definitely breathing that rarefied air of success. He had a prosperous business, a sexy young wife, and the admiration of the business community. It was good to be him.
The door to his private office opened. Antares entered. She was wearing a banker's gray suit with a camisole blouse and four-inch pumps, an outfit that exuded power and sensuality at the same time. She walked over and kissed Malcolm, playfully biting his ear and giving him a whiff of her very exotic perfume. “So how did it go, lover?” she asked, making her request sound like a purring cat.
Malcolm reached up and drew her onto his lap. Their lips met and their tongues darted back and forth. They held this position for several minutes, caressing each other in a manner quite inappropriate for the office. Finally they came up for air.
“It's a go, Ann. Estes Tower will be the crown jewel of the city, and our penthouse suite will be the finest anywhere. The view will be magnificent.”
“Wonderful, darling. We can look down upon our adoring subjects.”
They laughed.
“You know, Ann,” Malcolm said, “in a way we are like royalty. Let's face it, we are probably the most powerful individuals on the coast, at least as far as the world of business is concerned. Just think of all of the companies we control. We're bigger than some countries, and I don't mean the Third World.”
“So true, lover, and the power is intoxicating. I find it quite the aphrodisiac.” She began to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt.
“Ann,” said Malcolm, surprised at his young wife's advances, “are you serious? I mean, here in the office?”
Antares Estes stared at her husband with total lust. “Lock the door,” was all she said.
Malcolm soon found himself au naturel in his ergonomic office chair while his equally naked wife straddled his pelvis and impaled herself on his manhood. He soon forgot that they were in his office, conscious only of Ann as she squeezed and ground his erect member with her torrid muscles. He could not believe the intensity of his orgasm as his seminal vesicles spasmed.
He was just as surprised at the incredible pain that seemed to leap from his chest and up his arm. It felt like an elephant was crushing his chest. He struggled to push Ann away, but to no avail. His strength failed as his heart died, deprived of oxygen.
The autopsy revealed that a coronary artery had burst, probably the result of over-exertion. The weakness must have been there all along, a ticking time bomb just waiting for someone to light the fuse.
Malcolm's will left modest sums to his wife and children, nowhere close to his true personal worth, but sufficiently large to withstand any possible court challenge. Antares, of course, inherited the bulk of Malcolm's net worth, and nobody was surprised when the Board of Directors appointed her to take Malcolm's place as CEO and Chairman. Still sporting her widow's veil, Antares Estes was now in control of one of the largest firms in the region.
From the comfort of the ergonomic chair in her private office, Antares placed a call to Desdemona Raventree. Antares wanted to thank her mentor. That bit she had taught Ann about inducing an aneurysm worked like a charm.
* * * * *
Jay snapped his laptop into its docking station and booted up. Jay had replaced the canned Windows bootup jingle with a bit of hip-hop, which now played on his station's speakers. His laptop synced up to the network and he opened Outlook to check his e-mail and Calendar. Unknown to Jay, the snooper program now sent out its little probe, a worm designed to gather information about Diana Hunter.
Unknown to the worm, Diana was waiting for it. Or, more precisely, a little program she called EarlyBird was waiting. It intercepted the worm and destroyed it. Now EarlyBird waited for the signal from Jay's laptop that he was shutting down for the day. Upon detection, EarlyBird would return a worm clone with disinformation. Whoever was bugging The Hunter Group's network would be getting bogus intelligence. As far as EarlyBird was concerned, Diana Hunter was tending to business in Europe and the Pacific Rim. With any luck, the unknown assassin would be diverting assets all over the globe.
Jay Kumar was blissfully unaware of any of this, or the fact that his movements were now being observed and scrutinized by America's most covert agency. He never noticed the black-clad women who observed his daily arrivals and departures, nor did he have any suspicion that his telephone conversations and his Internet activity was being monitored closely. As far as Jay was concerned, he was simply putting in another day at Hunter Geeks, getting paid to do something he loved while slurping up free soda. What a racket!
Quitting time! Jay saved his work and activated the shutdown procedure. The snooper signaled for the worm it had sent out. EarlyBird replied with its own worm. The snooper stored the data for retrieval and shut down, just one more process running in a Window session. Jay's laptop winked off and Jay removed it from the docking station. He slid the laptop into its case and headed for the door. Time to get home to some grub and some loving.
EarlyBird sent a message to Diana. She was also tracking Jay's activity, patiently gathering intelligence for her next move. She felt as though she were in a game of cat-and-mouse, silently stalking her prey.
* * * * *
JoEllen was also patiently gathering intelligence at The Academy.
Now that she was one of the elite group of Mistresses, her lot had improved tremendously, and so had her privileges. She no longer feared punishment, although she was aware of the governor still installed behind her ear. There was an unspoken camaraderie among the staff of The Academy. The Mistresses all knew that they would be part of the new ruling class, women who would wield absolute power, guided by the vision of Desdemona Raventree.
JoEllen's training to assume this power was three-fold. First, she trained as a soldier, learning to handle and operate all types of weapons under the most extreme of conditions. Secondly, she was trained in the world of business and finance, ready to seize the reins of the corporations or political entities she would eventually control. Finally, JoEllen was being groomed in the arts of beauty and seduction.
This was the most difficult part of her mission. JoEllen had been an abused captive as a teen, until the day when Diana and operatives of America's most covert agency staged a rescue. JoEllen was not happy with the changes that had been forced on her young male body and was quite surly when Diana offered to adopt her. But Diana gave JoEllen something she had never experienced before; love, a home, and a sense of belonging. JoEllen embraced these ideals and vowed that she would never permit herself to harm another in the way she had been. Now, her mission depended on her being the sort of cruel, calculating woman she abhorred.
Her latest lesson was a one-on-one session with her mentor, Desdemona Raventree. JoEllen took special pains with her preparations this evening, striking the right balance of raw sensuality and power. As she regarded herself in the full-length mirror, she pondered the incredible changes she had experienced.
This woman's body reflected in the mirror was hers. She accepted it, and had become comfortable with it. While going to college, JoEllen chose not to physically transition. She presented herself as female despite her male anatomy and became quite adept at feminine behavior. Nobody in college suspected her true gender. But while seeming to embrace her feminine nature, she remained reluctant to take the final step and physically transition. As long as she existed in that nebulous condition of androgyny, being neither completely male nor completely female, she retained the option of manhood. That option now seemed very remote.
She turned in front of the mirror, twirling the skirt of her little black dress. So simple a garment, she reflected, and yet so powerful. This bit of cloth, revealing and concealing at the same time, could drive a man wild if used correctly. Tonight, under the watchful eye of her mentor, she would do just that. Classroom instruction was over, now was the time for a field trip.
JoEllen had to admit that she really felt sexy as she walked down the corridor to Desdemona's office. Four-inch heels displayed her legs quite invitingly while simultaneously thrusting her breasts forward. As she walked, placing each step in front of the other, her hips swayed back and forth and her buttocks flexed. She had practiced this walk for over a month, and now could do it in her sleep.
Desdemona welcomed her new protege into her office. Her maid offered sherry on a serving platter and JoEllen accepted. She picked up the glass and sipped in a very ladylike and equally sensual manner.
“Tonight is the night, Jessica,” said Desdemona. “Tonight you get to practice all I have taught you. Tonight, my dear girl, you get to break your first heart. Tonight you get to shatter some poor boy's ego into dust. Are you looking forward to it?”
JoEllen smiled, a wicked, sensuous smile that exuded power and showed no mercy. “Of course I am, Mistress Desdemona. What use is power if it is never used?”
Desdemona smiled back, proud of the vixen she would unleash on an unsuspecting world this evening. “You need not refer to me as 'Mistress,' Jessica dear, at least not tonight. For this evening I am simply Desdemona. Now let's do a little hunting.”
Desdemona took the evening purse her maid had been holding. “Thank you, Candice. Please have my car meet us at the front door. Jessica and I shall be spending an evening in town.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the maid replied. She immediately went to a telephone.
“Now come along, Jessica, we have male egos to crush this evening.” The two women giggled like schoolgirls going to their prom.
Desdemona's limousine deposited the two women at the entrance of an elegant supper club. Heads turned as the two very sexy women entered the lounge. Exuding raw sensuality, they took their seats at a table and ordered Cosmopolitans. At least, they looked like Cosmos. Despite their appearance, the drinks were little more than water and fruit juice. Alcoholic intoxication was not their goal.
It did not take long for two more drinks to arrive, courtesy of two “gentlemen” seated at the bar. Desdemona and JoEllen smiled at the men and raised their glasses in appreciation. Taking this as an invitation, the men came over and introduced themselves.
“Hello, ladies,” said the taller fellow, my name is Mark Coleman and this is my friend Harry Pressley.”
Desdemona extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Coleman. My name is Desdemona Marcus, and this is my friend, Jessica Green. Please join us.”
“Don't mind if I do, Ms. Marcus.” Mark and Harry sat down as Mark signaled for another round of drinks. The boys were drinking Kamikazes while the girls each had another virgin Cosmo.
A lot of small talk was exchanged as the men became more and more inebriated. They bragged about their work, their success in the business world, and just about everything that they thought might impress the stunning, sensual females they had been so fortunate to meet. At one point Desdemona removed a long, slim cigarette from a silver case and held it between two fingers. Mark nearly fell from his chair as he scrambled to light it. Desdemona took a very delicate puff and blew the smoke high into the air. She smiled and looked over at JoEllen, who now held a cigarette of her own. She waited as Harry produced a light and sensually drew in a delicate puff.
JoEllen did not inhale the smoke. The taste of it was repulsive. But she dared not break her cover. Desdemona had taught her young protege just how to smoke seductively, never inhaling, just taking a puff into her mouth and blowing it out. And just as Desdemona had told her, the effect on an unsuspecting male was devastating. She was playing Harry like a fish, giving him just enough line to set the hook and reel him in. For JoEllen, that fact was as repulsive as the smoke she was tasting.
It didn't take long for the men to be completely taken in by the seductive charm of these two sirens. At their suggestion, they left the lounge and went outside to go someplace a little more private. By this, the guys meant to take the ladies back to their rooms for an evening of carnal delight. They did not resist when the limousine picked them up, and did not resist when Desdemona suggested a drive and perhaps a few drinks. With their better judgment impaired by about a dozen Kamikazes apiece, the guys readily agreed.
JoEllen found herself in Harry's very clumsy arms, and did nothing to resist. He awkwardly pressed his lips to hers and jammed his tongue into her mouth. JoEllen felt his hands go under her clothing and roughly caress her breasts. He tried to grind his very erect manhood against her. And then, he slumped into a heap.
JoEllen unceremoniously dumped Harry onto the seat next to her. He was unconscious thanks to the combined effect of all the alcohol he had consumed and the Seconal that Desdemona had secretly added to his drink. Mark was also down for the count.
“Nicely done, Jessica,” Desdemona said, praising her young protege. “How did it feel?”
“The power is like a narcotic,” JoEllen answered. “It is so much more intoxicating than any drug. I felt powerful. I felt alive.”
“You enjoyed having a helpless man in your web?” she said.
“Not nearly as much as I will enjoy breaking him,” JoEllen said.
“My, but aren't we a vixen,” said Desdemona. “Why would you want to do such a thing to somebody you just met?”
“He didn't seem to have any reservation about having his way with me,” JoEllen answered. “The son of a bitch has it coming, and I'm just the gal to give it to him.”
If Desdemona's wicked smile could possibly become more wicked, it did. “That's my girl. I knew you were a smart girl, Jessica. Oh, how the world of men will suffer at your feet.”
She looked at the two men now unconscious in the limousine. “This one is yours, Jessica,” said Desdemona, indicating Harry. “Take him and break him. Make him your personal maid. Make me proud.”
The limousine drove back to the Academy grounds. The men would find themselves completely naked tomorrow, and helpless to resist the transdermal governor. They would join the latest group of students to be trained at the Academy. They would be given female names and reshaped as female servants. They would be forced to don the feminine undergarments and schoolgirl uniform of all first-year Academy students. The world would never miss the men they had been. An overworked police force would chalk it up to two missing persons who got drunk and seemed to disappear. They had probably wandered into the wrong part of town and met with foul play. After a few months they would be relegated to the cold case file while the police dealt with more urgent matters. What did they care if a couple of smart-ass college boys went missing?
(End of Part 3)
© 2006 Valentina Michelle Smith
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JoEllen Hunter, the newest Mistress of the Academy, has enslaved her own sissy and is forcing him to become a maid. Has Desdemona truly seduced JoEllen with power and riches? And what is happening with Diana and America's most covert agency?
Harry Pressley's skull was pounding. His mouth felt like dry cotton and tasted like puke. Every part of him that could ache did so with gusto.
He hesitated at opening his eyes, fearful that the stabbing brilliance of sunlight would somehow saturate his already overloaded pain receptors. He opened them to darkness.
As he became more conscious, he became aware of a wet stickiness. His nostrils recoiled at the disgusting stench of urine, feces, and vomit that he suddenly realized was his own.
The adrenaline rush of Harry's realization brought him wide awake. Despite the hangover agony he tried to stand, slipping on the pool of bodily waste he lay in.
A door opened. Light flooded the room, blinding Harry. As he attempted to stand, unseen persons opened up a high pressure stream of cold water, sufficiently forceful to push him off his feet. His unseen tormentors continued the water barrage, washing all of the waste products from his skin.
It was at this point that Harry realized he was naked.
The hosing continued for what seemed an eternity, but subsided in less than five minutes. Soaking wet and chilled to the bone, Harry lay in the corner, shaking. Then he heard footsteps.
He looked up and saw a familiar woman, dressed in a form-fitting black uniform with high-heeled leather boots. She carried a riding crop and affected a very dominating attitude. “Get up,” she commanded.
Harry did not move. He then felt as though he had been dipped in liquid fire. The pain of his hangover paled next to the agony he now felt. And just as suddenly as it has started, it stopped.
“I said get up,” the woman repeated.
Harry slowly struggled to his feet, only to be rewarded by another intense bolt of pain shooting through his entire body. It felt as though his flesh had been flayed open with a million tiny razors and then rubbed with salt. He staggered and fell under the onslaught. And just as suddenly, the pain switched off.
The ebony-clad woman walked toward him, her boot-heels clicking on the tile floor. “When I give an order, missy, I expect instant and unquestioned obedience. Now get up!”
Harry jumped to his feet, not wanting to incur the wrath of his tormentor. His eyes were wide with terror as he remembered seeing her before. “You're the girl from the bar!” he said.
Another searing bolt of pain ripped through his body. “You will speak only when spoken to!” she commanded. “And when you speak, missy, the first word and last word out of your sorry hole will be 'Mistress.' Understand?”
“What do you...” Harry's sentence was cut off in midstream by yet another agonizing jolt of pain.
“What did I tell you, girlie?” the woman said.
“I'm not a girl, I'm...” More agony brought Harry to his knees.
“Now let's try that again, missy. How do you address me?”
Harry tried to fight back tears. “M-m-m-mistress,” he said.
The woman smiled, a cruel, wicked smile. “Now is that so bad, Missy? All you need do is show the proper respect. Now what is my name?”
“Mistress, I don't know your name,” Harry said.
“Oh yes you do, little miss. My name is 'Mistress.' That is the only name you will use when addressing me, or any other Mistress in the school. Do you understand, Missy?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Harry replied
“Now as long as you know my name, why don't you tell me yours?” she asked, in a very sultry, seductive voice.
“Mistress, my name is Harry Pr...” Once again, Harry was staggered by unimaginable agony suffusing every fiber of his body. He did not fall to the floor, but could barely stand.
“No, Missy, your name is not Harry. Your name is Missy. From now on the only name you will respond to is 'Missy.' Do you understand me, Missy?”
Harry hesitated just long enough to earn another shock of pain. “Mistress!” he cried out, “my name is Missy.”
“Good girl, Missy,” the woman said. “Your days as an unruly undisciplined male are over as of now. You will be remade into a much softer, gentler, and obedient girl. You will be trained in all domestic skills, my little miss. But I have even more in store for you.”
The woman turned, staring at Harry. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, too fearful to run, uncertain what to do next. “First, little miss, you need to cover yourself. Follow me.”
The woman walked out of the room. Harry followed, unwilling to endure yet another painful episode. He followed the woman out to a corridor, and then to a small room. He was now even colder, but did not dare to complain.
The room contained a stool and a table. On the table was a bra and panties, a garter belt, stockings, and a towel. Hanging up were a blouse and a plaid jumper. “I want you to dry yourself off. I don't want you ruining your pretty new things. Use that towel.”
Harry picked up the towel and dried himself. He rubbed his skin briskly with the terrycloth, grateful for the warmth it provided. But now he was aware of his nakedness and began to blush. The black-clad woman noticed.
“Oh, look how shy my little Missy is,” the woman said in a mock sort of baby-talk. “Why she's blushing! That's very good, Missy, a young lady ought to be modest. But it's all right, you can get dressed now. Put on your pretty panties and bra. Now!”
The last word contained an edge and a hint of a threat. Harry quickly complied, and when commanded also put on the bra and garter belt. He struggled with the straps, earning a few punishments. He followed the woman's instructions to roll the stockings and unroll them over his legs. “Your legs are much too hairy, Missy,” his tormentor said. “But don't worry, you will be shown how to properly shave them. Now finish getting dressed! You still have to put on your petticoats.”
Harry felt the strange, soft, bouncy fabric brush against his skin as he pulled the petticoats over his head. He fumbled with the blouse's buttons but eventually had them all fastened. Then he pulled the plaid jumper over his head and smoothed it over his petticoats. The bouncy, lacy undergarments pushed his skirt out, making him feel cold and very vulnerable.
“Don't forget your shoes, Missy,” the woman said, pointing to the black pumps on the floor. Harry stepped into the pumps. His balance seemed precarious, as though he had never worn any sort of heeled shoes before, but he remained on his feet.
“Now that looks so much better,” the woman said, smiling wickedly. “You only need one more thing to complete your appearance.” She held a short, blond wig. “Put this on. You'll need it until your own hair grows out.
Harry reluctantly pulled the wig over his own short hair. He now looked the perfect image of a young teen schoolgirl, except for the hair showing through his stockings and his five o'clock shadow. And his behavior had also changed. He seemed docile, cooperative, and obedient; and frightened.
JoEllen could scarcely believe that she was going through with this charade. Having been a victim just over a year ago, she felt empathy with Harry. If only there were some way she could spare him this torment, she would do so. But she did not dare tip her hand. The stakes were far too important.
“Mistress?” JoEllen was interrupted by the pleading, almost tearful voice of the newest Academy recruit.
“Did I speak to you, Missy?” JoEllen said. “I distinctly remember telling you not to speak unless spoken to. You remember me saying that, don't you Missy?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Harry replied, his voice trembling.
“Well this had better be a very important matter, Missy, or I shall have to punish you for your impertinence. Now what is so important that you think you can disobey your Mistress' orders?”
“Mistress,” said Harry, unable to hold back his tears, “why? What did I ever do to you? Why are you doing this?”
JoEllen smiled at Harry like a cat smiling at a mouse, playing with its prey before the kill. “You were a man. You deserve it. And I'm doing it because I can.
“You thought you were going to lure me to your hotel room for a night of quick sex. You thought I was nothing more than an object to satisfy your lust. Now you will pay for your disrespect.
“You are now in the Academy, a place where delinquent boys are reformed into contributing members of society. Your male arrogance shall be replaced with proper feminine deportment, and you shall be taught to serve. Our graduates are highly prized as domestic servants, and you shall be no exception. Only I have something special in mind for you, Missy.
“You shall be my personal maid. You shall take care of my every need. You will make certain that my uniforms and my clothing are properly washed, pressed, and folded. You shall keep my personal area spotless and assist me when I dress. You shall do all of these things and do them gladly.
“You will take classes with the other students of the Academy, but after class you will report to me for extra training. I demand high standards, and you shall adhere to them.
“Your ass is mine, Missy. Now come with me! You are already late for class. No excuses! Follow me quickly!”
JoEllen walked next to Harry, prodding him on with occasional bursts of pain from her riding crop. He stumbled in the constraint of his petticoats and his high heels, but did not dare falter. JoEllen hated herself for doing this, and prayed that God, Harry, and the human race would someday forgive her for what she had to do.
* * * * *
The neighborhood was old, and showed it. But where it had been deteriorating, it was now returning to life. A new generation of young professionals was reversing the diaspora to the suburbs, coming home to the city that their parents had left for a better life in the suburbs.
Along with the influx of affluence, trendy little bistros were opening next to the longtime neighborhood shops. The shopkeepers had been wary at first, but found that the newly affluent young professionals sought out their wares as eagerly as those of the new boutiques.
Neighbors also took greater pride in their surroundings. The small patches of grass and flowers that served as lawns were now trimmed, cleaned, weeded, and well tended. A new pride had emerged in an old neighborhood.
It was in this neighborhood that Diana Hunter now found herself, in front of a newly renovated home. It had been her mother's, and was now being dedicated to a new purpose.
It was unusual for Diana to make a public appearance. As the CEO and owner of The Hunter Group, she normally maintained a low profile. On this day she made an exception, and allowed herself to be surrounded by politicians and the media.
She suffered through the introductions made by pompous, self-important, minor officials seeking to somehow turn this event into a political advantage. Finally, she was introduced and stepped up to the podium accompanied by polite applause.
She stood at the podium and adjusted a few papers. “Thank you, commissioner Weston,” she said, hoping that she had gotten the fellow's name right.
“Today a dream is given form. Today, we dedicate the first of many shelter homes operated by the Teresa Rossi Foundation.
“It was my privilege to know Ms. Rossi for many years. Her spirit of giving, of generosity, and of service to humanity were an inspiration.
“Teresa Rossi cared about her neighborhood. When many of her friends and relatives were fleeing the city for the safety of the suburbs, Teresa Rossi would not leave. She refused to abandon the neighborhood she loved. She always insisted that it was a good place. And so she endured the deterioration, the crime, the urban decay, all the while keeping alive the spirit that would someday reinvigorate her beloved home.
“In keeping that spirit alive, Teresa Rossi reached out and cared for the most vulnerable in our city, its children. She opened her home to young, innocent victims of abuse, of violence, of drugs, and of neglect. She offered them safe haven, love, and a chance to thrive.
“This day, we have gathered to dedicate a facility in her name, a place where her ideals shall live on. In this place that had been her home, the cast-off victims of society shall continue to find refuge from the storm.
“This is the first of many such facilities. It is made possible through the generosity of the Rossi family and the work of Commissioner Weston and the Office of Youth and Family Services. But it is also made possible by the dedicated staff and volunteers who will continue Teresa Rossi's kind work.
“In closing, let me say that, although we assemble here to dedicate this building, it is the life of Teresa Rossi that has truly dedicated it. It is her example we aspire to. May we remain worthy of this noble task. Thank you.”
Several news cameras taped Diana as she held the ceremonial scissors with Commissioner Weston. The scene was also observed from the rooftop across the street.
A worker spreading tar on the flat roof turned to her tool box and removed a high-power sniper rifle. She lay prone on the roof, aiming the rifle toward the ceremony. With practiced concentration she placed Diana's head in the cross hairs of her sighting scope. She breathed in, held it, and exhaled slowly. Carefully, she started to squeeze the trigger.
A stinging sensation in her thigh prevented her from squeezing off the fatal round. Just what the hell was that? She began to think. She never finished the thought. The world suddenly went black.
Margo Lane relaxed. Her target had been taken out. She signaled success. At just about the same time, two of her fellow agents were also reporting success.
At street level, the ribbon was cut and the assembled officials flowed inside to a waiting reception. Political hacks and minor functionaries would hobnob and share polite conversation over cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, unaware of the drama that had unfolded above their heads. Three would-be assassins had been intercepted and were now being transported to a building across town. It was a most unremarkable structure, another faceless tower of concrete, glass, and steel in the urban jungle. You may have seen it many times without paying it any attention.
Of course, if I told you its location, I would have to kill you.
* * * * *
“You could have been killed, Diana,” said a very annoyed Mary Risberg.
“I've been living on borrowed time for most of my life, Mary. Besides, this operation needed bait, and our fish would only bite at the real thing.”
Diana Hunter sat across from Risberg, who was seated behind her desk. “Damn it, Diana, you are far too important to use as bait. If I had gotten wind of this operation...”
Diana interrupted, “You would not currently have three live assassins to question. By the way, how is that coming along?”
“You're changing the subject,” Risberg replied.
“Yes, I am. And let's not forget, Mary, I don't work for you.”
“But you are one of our protectees, Diana, and I take that responsibility very seriously.”
“Glad to hear it, since I never asked for any protection. But seriously, Mary, do you think for one minute I didn't know what I was doing?”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Risberg mused. “In any event, our captives have not talked much. They are demonstrating a high level of resistance to out interrogation methods. But we did manage to recover some interesting hardware.”
Mary activated a large plasma display next to her desk. “This is one of the cyanide implants we recovered,” she said, pointing to the image on the screen. “It resembles a tooth right down to a simulated nerve shadow that shows up on x-ray, but it's a very sophisticated poison delivery system. And our analysis reveals that it can be used as a weapon.”
“A weapon?” Diana said.
“Yes, a suicide weapon. When activated, the false tooth ejects a capsule that begins to dissolve. By spitting it, the assassin could take out somebody at close range. She would still die of cyanide poisoning, but she could destroy her target in the process.”
Diana whistled. “That implies either a high degree of dedication or an incredibly effective mind control.”
“We believe it to be the latter,” said Risberg. “We're analyzing it to discover the triggering protocol. We're using that new supercomputer of yours to help us out.”
“You mean Cassandra?” Diana asked.
“Yes, and thank you for the generous donation. We can really use it.”
“Glad to help out, Mother,” Diana said, addressing Risberg by her codename. “Cassandra is the prototype, of course. I used it to fine-tune the algorithms and prove the operating system. It doesn't cost all that much to build.”
“I'm still grateful, Diana. We can use that sort of computing horsepower.”
“You can express your gratitude by telling me about my daughter,” Diana answered. “How is her mission coming along?”
Mary frowned. “You know I can nether confirm nor deny any knowledge of JoEllen.”
“Don't insult my intelligence, Mary. We both know that she's on a deep cover assignment. All I want to know is if she is all right.”
Mary Risberg looked about nervously. What she was considering was a violation of US Law and her own sense of loyalty and honor. Still, Diana was a good friend and perhaps the finest asset her agency had, even if she was not technically an agent. She weighed the two considerations and made a decision.
“We received a coded message a few days ago, Diana. JoEllen is all right and her mission is on track.”
“What sort of a coded message?” Diana asked.
“I'm not at liberty to say. It was an agreed-upon transmission of innocuous language to a certain destination. It signified that JoEllen was alive and still on mission.”
“And you are certain of this?”
“Certain enough to insert extra assets into the mission. They are also under deep cover, and may have made contact by now. We won't know until we receive our next message.”
“And that message will mean exactly what?”
Mary Risberg smiled. “Come a-runnin'.”
* * * * *
Jaydeep Kumar was in his element. As he typed, the complex relationships expressed in his code seemed to form a diagram in the space of his office. Jay needed no white-board, diagrams, or requirements. He instinctively grasped the information as easily as a child learned how to operate a toy. He was lost in his work when the phone rang.
Reluctantly dragging his attention away from his monitor, Jay stabbed the phone button to activate the speakerphone. “Kumar here,” he said.
The voice at the other end was Shawna Gilroy, Human Resources manager for The Hunter Group. “Jay, this is Gilroy at HR. We need you here for a few minutes.”
“Could it possibly wait? I'm in the middle of something important.”
“It can't wait, Jay. Shut down your laptop and bring it with you. Now.”
From the tone in Shawna's voice, Jay knew that this was serious. “Okay, I'll be right there.” He broke the connection, saved his code, and shut down the laptop. He pulled it from its docking station and put it in his case, then he carried it out to the hallway.
HR was three floors up. Jay didn't bother with the elevator, preferring the stairs for a bit of exercise. He was fairly fit, taking three flights of stairs without difficulty. By the time he reached Gilroy's office, his heartbeat was almost back to normal.
Gilroy's secretary waved Jay right into her office. Gilroy was seated behind her desk. Two women were seated in front. One was tall and dressed in a black suit with a crá¨me-colored blouse. The second woman he recognized immediately; Diana Hunter!
Jay was, for the first time in his life, overawed. He had never expected to meet the enigmatic Chairman and CEO of Hunter Group. She was something of a legend. Now he was next to her, and he had no idea what to say. “Ms. Hunter,” he began, only to be cut off.
“Is that your laptop?” Diana asked.
“Uh, yes, but...”
“Give it to me now,” she said.
Jay handed over the case to Diana, who unzipped it and removed the laptop. She looked at it briefly before handing it over to the tall woman in the other seat.
“I need a complete analysis of this laptop to see if any other little beasties may be lurking inside it,” Diana said. She turned to Gilroy. “Thank you, Shawna, I'll take it from here. Mr. Kumar, please come with me.” Diana did not so much ask as command. Jay found himself following her to the elevator, up to the top floor, and into a private office.
“Please sit down, Jay. May I call you Jay?”
“Uh, yes, of course, Ms. Hunter, but...”
“And you can call me Diana. Jay, your laptop has been hacking into our network and gathering sensitive information.”
“What? I mean, I never...”
“I know you didn't do this intentionally, Jay. You're a good developer, one of the best, but this particular bit of spyware is beyond anything you could design. How long have you known Virginia Monroe?”
“Ginny? We met about two years ago at DeltaCon. We've been living together for about two years. Is she in trouble?”
The tall woman now spoke. “We believe she is an operative for an organization that intends to overthrow the government and seize power. This organization has tried to assassinate Diana on several occasions. We managed to foil the last attempt, but in doing so we may have put you in danger.
“Your girl friend is probably going to kill you. For your own protection we have to take you into custody. You're going to drop out of sight for a little while, Jay.”
“Wait a minute, just who do you think you are?”
The woman replied, “I'm the government, that's who. And you will be very, very dead if you don't listen to me, kid. I'm trying to save your life!”
“What about Ginny?” he asked.
“We're sending somebody over to deal with her.”
“She won't be hurt, will she?”
“Look, kid, your lady friend has been using you and was ready to kill you when you stopped being useful. Now use your head and cooperate with us.”
Jay stared in stunned silence for a few moments. “Okay, I guess I better go with you.”
Diana said, “You don't have any choice, but we're glad you chose to cooperate with us. Now we need to disguise you before we move you to our safe house.”
“Disguise me? Why?”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, Jay, but you're sort of conspicuous. I don't know if anyone is watching us or not, but I don't want to tip them off in any way. My associate Margo Lane is quite skilled in disguise. I guarantee nobody will be able to recognize you when she's done.”
Margo opened a closet to reveal a black dress. “Fortunately you aren't very tall. I'm sure you aren't familiar with female underwear, so just let me guide you. I'll do your makeup when you're done dressing.”
“What? I'm being disguised as a girl? That'll never work! People will know right away that I'm a guy.”
“You're sure of that?” Margo said.
“Hell yes! Anybody can tell when a man tries to dress like a woman!”
“Can you tell that I'm a man, kid?”
“You? But that's not...”
“Oh yes it is, Jay. The legs are real, but everything else is paint, padding, and illusion. Trust me! Now let's get this done and get you into protective custody.”
Jay hesitated, and then allowed himself to be transformed by Margo Lane.
Several hours later, three black-clad women left the Hunter IS Center and entered a black Lincoln Navigator. They attracted no attention as they drove out of the parking lot and into the city.
* * * * *
Classes had ended for the day. Missy changed into her maid's uniform and hurried to Mistress Jessica's quarters. This was part of her daily routine.
She knocked on the door and asked permission to enter. Permission was granted. Missy closed the door behind her and stood straight for inspection. Mistress Jessica expected an impeccable appearance.
JoEllen scrutinized Missy's uniform, make-up, shoes, hair, and nails. All were acceptable. “Well, Missy, you're starting to look like a maid. I suppose you are proud of yourself.”
“Mistress, my only function is to serve,” Missy replied.
“Well said, Missy. I have some special training in mind for you this evening. I am certain that it will benefit you.”
JoEllen went over to the laptop she had open on her desk and typed a sequence of characters. She studied the screen and was apparently satisfied. Then she said to Missy, “Make me an egg cream, please.”
Missy replied, “Three A.M. In the morning and you want I should make you an egg cream?”
JoEllen said, “Why can't I have an egg cream?”
Missy replied, “We're out of chocolate.”
JoEllen relaxed and extended her hand. “I thought you gave the recognition code earlier. JoEllen Hunter.”
Missy relaxed and took JoEllen's extended hand. “Maxine Kim. Mother sends her regards.”
“I'm sorry about putting you through the ringer, Maxine.”
“Call me Max. Mother warned us about the pain induction. I didn't expect to be drugged or sprayed with a fire hose, though.”
“Again, my apologies. I had to maintain cover. I wish there were some other way...”
“Forget it, JoEllen. This mission is too important. By the way, how is it going?”
“I have the data we need. I hacked Raventree's database and extracted the names and locations of all of her associates. It's a regular rogue's gallery of rich, powerful women.”
“Is the data ready for extraction?”
“Yes, and so are we. Can you reach your partner?”
“She's ready to go. Oh, and before I forget, I have a little present from the girls in the armory.” Max pulled up her skirt and petticoats to expose her navel. She pressed it and a small sphere about the size of a shooter marble popped out. She pressed a hidden catch and it opened like a clamshell. From the open sphere Max extracted a small cylinder.
Max held the cylinder behind JoEllen's ear. JoEllen felt a slight shock and something appeared to flash in her eyes. “What was that?” JoEllen asked.
“It disables the transdermal governor. No more pain induction.” Max now pressed the cylinder behind her own ear. “Ah,” she said, “that's better. No more problems with the riding crop. No offense, JoEllen.”
“None taken. Now get back to your partner and get ready. I just sent a message to Mother to come and get us. The data has been encrypted and coded onto a data stick.” JoEllen produced a small, flattened metal tube. “Here's a copy. One of us needs to get through.”
“Okay,” said Max, putting the data stick into the pocket of her apron, “you're the boss.”
“Get back to your partner and disable her governor. And when our ride gets here be ready to bug out.”
“You got it,” Max said. She opened the door. As she left, JoEllen called after her, “Get back to your dormitory, you lazy little thing, and clean up those nails! How dare you report to me with chipped nails! Fix them and get right back to me!”
“Yes, Mistress,” Max said, running as fast as she could.
JoEllen turned back to her quarters. Events were in motion, and the next few moments would be critical.
That's when a long-suppressed memory surfaced. She remembered Diana's visit to the Academy dormitory, and the capsule she had swallowed. She needed every edge she could get in order to succeed. She repeated the recall sequence that had been hypnotically implanted in her mind.
“There is a road, no simple highway,
“Between the dawn and the dark of night,
“And if you go no one may follow,
“That path is for your steps alone.”
It was the lyrics to a song, one of Diana's favorites but unknown to JoEllen. Now she repeated those words and activated the transmitter that was attached to her digestive tract.
* * * * *
Diana was in her country home when her pager beeped. She glanced at the message, then went to her garage. She quickly changed into a black jumpsuit and entered a waiting van. It was outfitted with everything she would need to enter the Academy grounds and retrieve her daughter.
* * * * *
A klaxon sounded on the Academy grounds. Intruders!
Maids quickly shed their aprons and grabbed rifles to take up defensive positions. Like a well-oiled machine, the Mistresses retrieved their automatic weapons, sidearms, and body armor and reported to their command posts. Within minutes the Academy was prepared to repel any form of armed assault.
Or so they thought.
Gas grenades exploded within the ranks of maids. Whatever the grenade packed, it put them down for the count. Automatic gunfire rattled across the perimeter, hosing down the defenders with mercy bullets. Whoever was mounting this assault was taking great pains not to kill.
The mistresses had no such reservations. They opened fire with their M-16's and shot to kill. They sprayed lead at their unseen adversary, hoping to take them out by sheer brute force.
That's when they heard the bike. Somebody riding a motorcycle had flanked them!
Diana twisted the throttle on her dirt bike and jumped over the fence. With one hand she removed an Uzi from its holster and sent hot lead flying at the Mistresses. She was careful not to aim directly, lest she hit JoEllen in the process, but she had effectively pinned down the force.
JoEllen was with Desdemona, laying flat behind a low brick wall. “Jessica,” called Desdemona, “get ready to move. We need to take out that bitch on the dirt bike.”
Desdemona was suddenly aware of cold steel at her back.
“That's not what's going to happen tonight, Desdemona. Tonight you are going to give the order to stand down. Do it now before I blow your head off.”
Desdemona reached for her riding crop and pressed the stud. She was astonished when JoEllen did not fall over in a helpless pile. “What's wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing's wrong, Desdemona. I just disabled the governor is all. You have no power over me. Now give the order before my finger accidentally slips.”
“No! I'm not going to!” she said.
JoEllen shot Desdemona in the foot. The bullet did no real damage, just grazing Desdemona's big toe. “That was a warning shot. The next one is in your head.”
Desdemona called out, “Stand down! Put down your weapons! Stand down!”
The Mistresses were stunned, but too conditioned to taking orders to resist. They laid down their arms and raised their hands. From the darkness, black-clad commandos emerged to handcuff them.
JoEllen stood up. She held her hands up and said, “Federal agent! Don't shoot! Federal agent!”
From the ranks of the commandos, one woman removed her helmet to reveal blond hair. She walked forward to JoEllen. “I got your message, Rosebud.”
“Thanks, Mother,” JoEllen replied. “I have the data here, and Max has a copy. That was some trick with the gas grenades.”
“Max and Lori managed to smuggle a few in and lobbed them when the party started. I hate to think what would have happened if we had to storm this place without them.”
Diana walked over from her parked bike, her Uzi holstered on her back. “Rosebud?” she asked.
“It's my code name,” JoEllen said. “Pretty cool, no?”
“I think you've watched 'Citizen Kane' a few times too many. It's good to see you, JoEllen.”
“And it's good to see you, Diana. It's been way too long.” The two women embraced.
Desdemona Raventree was hauled to her feet. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and her scowl would have curdled fresh milk. “What's going on here?” she demanded.
“What's going on,” JoEllen said, “is the dismantling of your empire, Raventree. Did you really think you could get away with it?”
Desdemona smiled wickedly. “You can stop the Academy, but you can't stop my plan. I already have women in positions of power and influence, and they stand poised to take over. You couldn't possibly find them all.”
“We don't have to,” JoEllen said. “You were kind enough to keep records of all of your associates, as well as the maids you embedded in the households of some movers and shakers. All we have to do is neutralize them. Desdemona, your plan is over.”
Raventree's wicked confidence now turned to anger. “Why you ungrateful little bitch! Just who the hell do you think you are? I offered you a place at my side, with power and wealth beyond dreams of avarice! You're turning this all down for a paltry government salary?”
JoEllen's face was expressionless as she faced Raventree, but there was no mistaking her grim determination. “Raventree, I would do it again in a heartbeat. Do you want to know who I think I am? Let me tell you. I am the daughter of Diana Hunter, the woman you have been trying to kill. I walked into your little party with one goal, to take you out and dismantle your organization.
“I studied under Master Wan, and I thought I was beyond thoughts of revenge. But you know, I'm taking a very wicked delight in watching you fall. You tried to kill my mother, and I value her above any wealth or power in this universe.
“So go on and think about this as you spend the rest of your miserable life in a six-by-eight cell in some remote prison located someplace even God never heard of! Whenever I do, I'm going to laugh my ass off at your pathetic incompetence.”
Diana suddenly beamed with joy. This was the first time JoEllen had ever called her “Mother.” But this joy was short-lived. She watched as Raventree clamped her jaw.
“From the heart of Hell,” Raventree quoted, “I stab at thee.
“For hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee!”
Raventree bit hard. Diana knew exactly what was about to happen and launched herself at JoEllen. As she pushed JoEllen aside, Raventree opened her mouth and spit.
It caught Diana in the face. Raventree had activated her cyanide tooth and was expelling its deadly contents.
Raventree fell, no longer conscious. She was dead before she hit the ground.
Diana felt an intense, fiery pain radiate out from her face and suffuse her entire body. She thought that she was feeling the agonies of hellfire. Then all went black as her body hit the ground.
She felt a sensation like tissue paper tearing, only it was internal. All pain was gone. Diana was standing next to Mary Risberg and JoEllen. They were frantically calling while bending over a body.
It was hers!
Diana realized that she was dead.
As she looked at Risberg and JoEllen frantically trying to revive her dead body, she became aware of another presence. Desdemona Raventree was standing next to her. And she was terrified.
As Diana watched, a tarry black liquid seemed to seep up from the ground and cover her. Desdemona screamed as it advanced and continued to scream as it covered her mouth and nostrils. The liquid now completely enveloped Raventree, muffling her shouts. The distinct silhouette of Raventree became vague. The liquid lost its form and sank back into the ground. It was as though it had been completely absorbed by the earth. No trace was left of the black liquid or of Desdemona Raventree.
Diana looked around. Her friends had called for medics and were moving her body to a helicopter. Diana knew it was too late. She was certain that her mortal life was over. But what lay ahead for her?
From behind she heard a voice. “I know that it isn't very pleasant to watch, but that was the fate she earned.”
The voice sounded familiar. Could it be? She turned.
It was Anne Rossi. “Hello, Joe,” she said.
Diana looked down at herself and discovered that he was no longer Diana. The body was that of Joe Rossi.
“Annie, does this mean I'm done? Can I come with you?”
“Yes, Joe. Your time here has ended.”
“And we'll be in Heaven together?”
She laughed. “Something like that. It's a place of reward, the place you earned, and we can be there together. And Joe, Mama is waiting for us. She's anxious to see you again.”
Joe was overwhelmed. He embraced Annie and they kissed, a kiss that seemed to last for eternity, and probably did.
“And now what do we do?” he asked.
“We walk into the light,” Annie answered.
They held hands and walked. The light surrounding them grew brighter, until all was illuminated. And then they faded from this plane of reality.
Annie and Joe were going home.
* * * * *
Antares Estes was addressing the board of directors when she was interrupted.
“Just who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded of the woman leading a squad of uniformed officers.
The woman produced a badge. “Teresa Winters, homicide.” she answered.
“How dare you interrupt this meeting! I'll have your...”
Estes' indignant rant was interrupted by Detective Winters. “Antares Estes, you are under arrest for the murder of Malcolm Estes. And when I get done with you my associates in the FBI want to talk to you about conspiracy to overthrow the government.
Antares was stunned as Winters cuffed her and read her the familiar formula of the Miranda decision. “You have the right to remain silent,” Winters stated as she led Estes out of the room. “If you choose to give up this right, anything you say can me used as evidence against you. You have the right to an attorney.” Winters' voice faded as she led Estes out of the board room and down to the waiting squad car.
* * * * *
Ginny Monroe had just left Jay Kumar's apartment. She knew it was time to leave. Jay had been compromised and very likely she was as well. The last year had been fun, leading the little geek around by the dick, a helpless slave to his desire and a pathetically clueless dupe. Fun time was over. Time to high-tail it out of town.
The elevator stopped one flight below hers. Two black-clad women entered. The door closed and the elevator resumed its trip. Ginny waited patiently, sharing her space with two strangers as she had so many times before.
She did not expect one of them to turn and spray her in the face.
Ginny was indignant! Where did that bitch get off spraying her in... At that point, anything resembling coherent thought ceased to form in Ginny's mind.
“All right, honey,” the woman said, “we're going to take a little trip. Don't make any fuss, now.”
“Trip,” Ginny repeated. The elevator stopped at the ground floor, and the two women escorted Ginny to a black car waiting at the curb.
* * * * *
Inside a very ordinary building in the city, a memorial ceremony was being held.
Mary Risberg stood at the front of the room crowded with agents of America's most covert agency. Despite her show of fortitude, her red eyes betrayed the tears she had shed. And she was not alone.
Seated next to the podium were Agents Margo Lane and JoEllen Hunter. As Mary took the stand they stood, along with the assembled agents. At Mary's indication they sat.
“We have come here today to honor one of our own, who gave her life for the life of another.
“Diana Hunter was technically not one of our agents, but over the years she has become as much a part of our sorority as any of us. Her courage and determination are an inspiration to us all. She was ready to risk her life for any of us, and gave of herself and her resources.
“I remember when I first met Diana. She had learned of an insidious sex slavery operation and teamed with us to take it out. She worked alongside us, risking her life as though she were just another agent. I was impressed by her courage, and also her compassion. She was a rare woman, and we are diminished by her loss.
“I'd like to turn the ceremony over to Margo Lane, who would like to share a few words with us. Margo.”
Margo stood up and walked to the podium. She adjusted the microphone, then spoke.
“I knew Diana when we were kids,” she said. “Diana was Joe Rossi back then. Yes, he's THAT Joe Rossi, the man who fingered the Mancuso Family. But when I met him, he was just Joe the runt.
“Joe was physically smaller that the other boys in the neighborhood, and also a lot smarter. That was a deadly combination in a tough neighborhood, and Joe was often bullied. I never could stand a bully, so I would stick up for him. That's how we became friends.
“In the old neighborhood, most boys ether became cops or priests. I became a cop. But Joe took a different path. He became a software geek for Sal Mancuso. That's how he eventually became a wiseguy for the mob, and how he wound up in prison.
“I won't comment on Joe's choices here, because God knows he paid for them. He paid for them when he decided to co-operate with Federal prosecutors and turn state's evidence against Mancuso. He paid for it when he was enslaved by a sick group of bitter women and transformed into a feminized slave. He paid for it when he destroyed that group and liberated all of the captives they had enslaved. And he paid for it by founding The Hunter Group, funding Ellis Laboratories and creating one of the most beneficial financial empires in the world.
“And he paid for it by being Diana Hunter. I knew that Diana wanted to regain her manhood more than anything in the world, but she willingly gave that up in order to protect her friends. Diana was one hell of a friend. I am grateful to have been one of them.
“Now I'd like to turn the floor over to Diana's daughter, JoEllen.”
Margo stepped back as JoEllen took the podium. She looked at the audience of assembled agents. She was a little nervous, but cleared her throat and spoke.
“Diana saved my life,” she began.
“I was an orphan, a victim of good intentions gone bad. I had bounced from one abusive foster home to another before I ran away to live on the street. That didn't last for long. I found myself a captive, a sexual slave, forced to perform in front of web cameras for an Internet porn scheme. I was angry. I thought nobody cared abut me, that I was less than worthless. That's when Diana came into my life.
“Diana rescued me from that captivity in an incident you all know well. When she discovered that I was an orphan, she took me in. I was still angry, and surly, and basically pissed off at the world and all adults. Diana took this in stride. She gave me something I never had before, unconditional love.
“Diana took me into her family and treated me like her own from the first day. How she found the patience to deal with me I'll never know, but she patiently let me work all of the rage out of my system. She gave without reservation and expected nothing in return. I resisted, but eventually I had to give in. I learned to love Diana. And Lord knows I didn't deserve it, but she loved me right back.
“My biggest regret is that I spent over a year under cover. I didn't get to be with Diana in that last year, and our reunion was over almost before it began.
“Diana, wherever you are, thank you for showing a bitter orphan how to love. I owe you more than I could ever repay in a hundred lifetimes.”
JoEllen stepped back, and Mary Risberg returned to the podium. “We honor the memory of Diana Hunter with a star in our Hall of Remembrance. A star is placed here whenever one of us falls in the line of duty. Diana was not one of our agents, but I don't think anyone can say she was not one of our own.
“Godspeed and rest in peace, old friend.”
Mary removed a drapery from the wall to reveal several rows of silver stars. A new one now occupied a space at the end of the lowest row. An inscription above the stars read
JoEllen cried as the wall was uncovered.
* * * * *
“Are you certain you want to resign?” Mary asked.
JoEllen was seated across from Mary's desk. “Yes, I think it would be for the best,” she replied.
“You know I can't stop you, JoEllen, but don't make a decision in haste.”
“I've thought hard about this, Mary. Somebody needs to step in and manage The Hunter Group. Diana wanted me to do this when I graduated. I think it's time to accept the responsibility and run the organization she worked so hard to create. I only hope I'm half the woman she was.”
“So you think you'll be content to sit behind a desk and crunch numbers all day?”
JoEllen smiled. “Diana was never that kind of a manager. She hired the best and the brightest to do all of that. No, I need to take the helm and guide the ship to new destinations, all the while being mindful of the rocks. I'll be managing the charitable organizations closely, especially the Teresa Rossi Foundation. But the financial arms can almost run themselves, and the Ellis Sisters have been running the labs all along. I think I'm up to it.”
“Well, I guess you have to do what you have to do,” Mary said. “But I'm losing one hell of an agent today.”
Mary stood and extended her hand. “Best of luck, Rosebud. Anytime you feel like dropping in, the door is open.”
JoEllen stood and grasped Mary's extended hand. “Thanks, Mother. I'll be in touch.”
JoEllen turned and left the office. Mary sighed. It was tough enough losing JoEllen. The girl had a lot of promise. But now she had to deal with another resignation, this time an agent with two years experience. She picked up the phone. “Holly, send her in,” she said.
* * * * *
Epilog
The sun had set. Wildwood Cemetery was now closed. The black car should not have been able to enter.
The car pulled up to a row of headstones. A woman dressed in a black trenchcoat and a snap-brim fedora emerged from the back seat and walked along the row of stones. She paused at one.
The stone was inscribed with two names side by side. The inscription on the left read:
On the right, the stone read:
The woman stood with her head bowed, silently meditating. Then she took a rose from the folds of her coat. She grasped it in her hand, pressing deliberately on the thorns to break her skin. Blood oozed from her hand, down the stem, falling onto the headstone and the ground it rested on.
The woman placed the rose onto the stone, and then spoke aloud. “I vow by my life's blood, and by all that is sacred and profane, to devote my life to protecting the helpless, to give refuge to those most needing of it, and to deal justice to the scum who victimize them. To that end, I pledge my life, my fortune, and my honor.”
A tear trickled down from her cheek, mingling with the blood. “This I swear to you, my Mother.”
She turned and walked back to the black car. She opened the back door and sat down.
From behind the steering wheel, Max Kim said, “Everything OK, boss?”
JoEllen sniffled. “Not completely, but it will get better.”
“So where to?”
“Let's head back to Diana's house in the country. I have a few loose ends to tie up. Then...then we see what the future will bring.”
“You got it, boss,” Max said.
The black car drove away, taking The Rose into the enfolding arms of night.
© 2006, Valentina Michelle Smith
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