It had been a mistake for them to refuse to hire me, a major mistake. So what if I
had multiple degrees, spoke seventeen languages, and had graduated high school at the age
of ten. I was willing to do the job for a reasonable wage, and there is no such thing as
'over' qualified, for anything.
I spent two minutes on the sidewalk in front of the ramp that led to the
underground parking lot, tying my shoes and waiting for the unfortunately heavy foot
traffic to pass. It didn’t, and a man a half block away at the bus stop began staring at
me. Taking out my cell-phone and leaning against a convenient tree, I pushed the button to
turn it completely off, then began a vehement conversation in mixed English and Japanese
that would make any high powered hostile takeover expert cringe. I was forced to keep up
the monologue (which came cold from the top of my head) for a good five minutes before the
way was clear. Then, putting the cell away I strode down the access ramp like I owned the
building, looking neither left nor right until I was out of sight of anybody at street
level. I knew the location of each camera from prior scouting forays a few days ago,
entrance into the gated underground parking lot was gained via an I.D. pass card and four
digit code which told the computer who you were. Sneaking in was a snap, requiring only a
patch cord, laptop and a few tips&tricks learned from a hacker friend in collage.
Breaking the encryption the first time took only minutes, and now I could open the gate at
any time with a six digit back door code not even the computer knew was there; except for
the few seconds it was active, and what were the chances an anti-hacking team would be
actively reading the computer codes at that exact time?
Dressed in a cheap but expensive looking brown business suit, I carried a rather
large briefcase which held everything I would immediately need, the rest was in the brown
'97 van of indeterminate make and model I had parked a few blocks away; its light
patina of rust and generally care-free air of neglect creating an identification
preconception insuring no one would look twice at it, not even to attempt to steal (though
if any one tried it, they'd be in for a great deal of surprise).
The first camera was mounted on the wall beside the gate, where it could ‘see’ each
vehicle as it came in or went out, and the same camera was also able to see parts of the
parking lot in the back-ground. The second had been mounted on the far wall with a long
view of the entire small lot, including the door marked 'stairs' in a rust brown
red reminiscent of old blood, as well as the newly installed elevator beside it. It might
have presented a problem except that a six foot wide concrete structural support, one of
six running in a double row down the middle of the lot, blocked its view of the gate and
the first camera; making it possible for me to spend the five minutes or so I would need
without fear of being noticed by that bored guard at the monitoring station.
Punching in my code with one hand without bothering to look at the keypad, I waited
precisely three seconds for the gate to rise high enough then quickly slipped in. Hugging
the wall I quickly slithered directly underneath the first camera, carefully placing the
concrete support between myself and the other camera (why they used only two when it would
take a mere three to cover the lot effectively, and they were in the business of providing
viable security services, only some genius in their accounting department, which is
in-house, knows; and frets over at night, now that they've lost an employee there).
Slipping my hand into my pants pocket I slipped it even further, though the small
hole I had painstakingly slit in the side, nervously touching the butt of the silencer
equipped 9MM Glock strapped to my thigh as I scanned the immediate area, making sure I was
truly alone. Satisfied no one else was around I knelt and opened the briefcase, inside was
a variety of items useful for kidnapping, or the breaking and entering of secured
buildings.
The camera above my head was mounted twelve feet high and secured to the wall by a
metal bar bolted directly into the concrete during construction. Fortunately, thanks to my
initial scouting trips I had arrived prepared. Piled on top of everything else in the case
was a ten foot folding ladder. Taking this out I brought it to full extension, opened the
support legs and locked it into place before standing it up beneath the camera’s position.
Next I took from the case a small black box, it was plain and unadorned having only a
small red LED on the top, three small buttons in the center labeled REC, PLAY and ERASE,
and a six-inch patch cord jutting from the side of its two-inch frame. From the top step
of the ladder I was just below the camera, and could examine the back with ease. It was a
standard, run-of-the-mill, straight off the shelf from your corner spy-shop security cam,
and had everything I expected it to, and only everything I had expected it to, so messing
with it would be the definition of easy. The black box I had was a simple little device,
when plugged into a camera it could record whatever the camera filmed whether the camera
itself was designed to record or just transmit. In either case when activated either
manually or by remote, it would override the signal of the unit to which it was attached
and send in its place a false signal of whatever was in its own three minute tape, and it
would automatically loop the picture indefinitely to fool anyone watching.
Holding it by the patch cord I plugged it into the appropriate hole in back of the
camera and punched record, the little red button remained depressed and the LED began
flashing rhythmically. With care (professional, and not tender-loving, as I'm not
sentimental about tools) I nestled the body of the device atop the camera where it
couldn’t be seen from the ground. Glancing at the expensive Rolex on my wrist (a
graduation present from my parents) I climbed down from the ladder and leaned against the
wall with an insouciant air calculated to stand-off any unexpected passerby, not that any
were likely. It would be exactly six minutes and six seconds before the override box was
ready.
Six minutes later I bent and withdrew from the briefcase the override remote
control unit. It was larger than the units it controlled but was meant for simultaneous
control of up to thirty, and programmable in a dozen different manners, to produce several
different effects. Two feet long and half as wide it was nine inches thick, unlike the
electronics it controlled which ran directly off power siphoned from the cameras, the
controller took a nine volt battery, plus four triple A’s if transmitting more then a
hundred yards; it had a max range of three miles.
Besides the same function keys as on the individual units, it had an alpha-numeric
keypad with various functions for control of all thirty, or just selected units, and a few
special function keys, such as a scrambler option that wouldn’t be needed today,
especially since it drained the battery in less than five minutes. A small liquid crystal
display along the top was currently counting down with less than three seconds left. When
it reached zero I hit the record button, which in this case acted like a stop button, then
I hit play. A short beep from the unit in my hand signaled that the command had been sent
to the unit attached to the camera; a second later two more beeps signaled that the
command had been acknowledged and carried out.
Ten minutes later I had repeated my performance with the second camera, after
slowly making my way to it by dodging from car to car; but this time I added a
fifteen-foot patch cord, this was for my laptop. Plugged in to the camera it was able to
tap into all other cameras on the same network, that is to say, every security camera in
the building. After accessing the camera in the elevator and activating the laptop’s image
recognition program I sat back and closed my eyes, waiting for my target to appear.
***
The elevator doors hissed open and at least a dozen middle to high-level office
executives rambled out into the parking lot, talking in small groups as they drifted
toward their cars. I was already hidden safely in the backseat of Noel’s Porsche; picking
the lock and deactivating her car alarm had been a piece of cake, and I had disconnected
two tiny little wires in her engine, without them the car wouldn’t start. Several of the
execs were already in their cars (huge, gas guzzling machines of wealth and
'taste' which proved their life was important and homeless people should look up
to them of shining examples of how the American way can work, if you only work the
program. Wait, isn't that an AA thing?) and on their way out. A few more were just
starting their engines, and three walked with Noel, talking amiably. Ah the mass
predictability of the office herd, each day the same routine right down to the same break
times for lunch and the same parking spots. Not just Miss vice president of operations
Noel but all her co-workers used the same routine every single day, day in and day out.
Three times over the last six weeks I had hidden inside the parking lot and three times
the same thing; the cars were even going up the exit ramp in the same order as last time!
The only difference today would be Noel, she would be a few minutes late with
engine trouble, but none of her ‘friends’ would stay behind to make sure she was all
right, oh no, not them, they were too busy getting to their hour early, two hour long
martini and sexy secretary lunch. As the four drew closer I could eavesdrop on their
conversation, boring shoptalk, a client decapitated then raped by her stalker, victim and
stalker both fifteen years old and the parents of the dead client suing for emotional
damages and breach of contract; ah, the woes of a bodyguard firm. The conversation ended
abruptly as they each reached their respective cars, all four eager to stop working and
relax even though they technically should still be hard at work for another hour and a
half. Two car doors opened and slammed shut before Noel climbed into the front seat and
settled herself behind the wheel, placing her purse on the seat beside her never knowing
or suspecting her fate.
Three people turned their keys in the ignition almost simultaneously, but only two
engines started. I heard one car pull away as Noel swore (bad, bad, naughty girl) and
turned the key again, still nothing, surprise surprise.
“Hey, what’s the problem?” a male voice asked, one of her friends had at least
showed a modicum of concern for the young lady's plight.
“My car won’t start!” she exclaimed through the open window at her co-worker, who
hadn’t bothered to get out of his car.
“Well I’m sure it’s no big deal, my secretary has a number for a great mechanic if
you need it,” he said from his open window.
“Thanks, but I’ll take a quick look at the engine first, it might be something
simple like a loose wire or something,” she replied, withdrawing her key from the
ignition.
“Okay!” her companion said, obviously eager to get to the serious business of an
early meal. “I’ll see you later then, bye!”
“All right bye,” she grumbled as his car pulled away.
Sighing heavily she popped the hood and climbed slowly out of the car, I could hear
her grumbling and swearing under her breath like a salty dockhand as I counted patiently
to thirty. Reaching the end of my count I slowly and carefully sat up. The red hood of the
Porsche obscured my view but I could hear her fiddling with caps and playing with wires.
As I climbed easy, into the front seat I slipped the Glock out of my pocket, my briefcase
was hidden under the front passenger seat with everything I would immediately need in my
pants or shirt pockets. Slipping out of the vehicle I crept around behind her while she
was still fighting with the engine. Noel was bent over spread legged looking down at the
car like it was a strange creature she had never seen before, and perhaps, she never had
looked beneath the hood of her high-performance sports vehicle before this day; you see,
I'm a teacher. Today on ‘causal Friday’ she wore a pair of tight blue jeans that
showed the crease in her ass quite nicely, and a pink tee shirt with a white lace bra; the
shirt didn’t quite reach her pants, showing off about an inch of chocolate brown skin.
Slipping up behind her I lightly touched the cold silenced muzzle of my gun to the
bare exposed flesh at the small of her back, instantly she stiffened, and I saw her
muscles and balance shift as she prepared to fight, fight me no less. Reaching out with my
free hand I placed the flat of my palm between her shoulder blades, pushing her lightly
down across the open but fortunately cool engine, simultaneously pressing the muzzle of
the gun hard against her; silent warning.
“Shhhh,” I said. “Just relax honey, you’re not going anywhere.”
Her muscles did relax, and she spread her arms out to either side to show me her
surrender. “Who are you?” she asked.
“What you don’t recognize me?” I said mockingly. “I had hoped I made more of an
impression than that.”
“Please, I don’t know what you think I did but we can work this out!” she pleaded
earnestly.
“Maybe,” I said. “But not here, reach down below the engine block, you’ll find two
loose wires. Connect them,” I ordered.
With a grunt she slid forward, going up on tiptoes to bend farther over the car and
reach for the wires, her shirt went up showing more bare skin, and her ass swayed
provocatively, a flag for a bull no matter the color. I holstered the Glock as I heard the
wires snap together and I moved right up against her before she could drop back on her
heels. She stiffened with a little gasp and I knew she could feel my hardness though both
our pants.
“Please no,” she whispered to the cold concrete floor, still bent far over the
fender of her Porsche.
She braced her hands against the fender, elbows bent at ninety degrees, and I
gripped her forearms, gently pushing her down.
“What?” I asked mockingly. “Do you think I’m going to take you right here? I
already told you we’re going elsewhere, I have far reaching plans for you. This isn’t
going to be a simple rape&murder, over in a few mundane hours.”
“Please, who are you? What are you going to do with me, what do you want?”
“Silly fool, you should remember me. I’m the genius you refused to hire, the one
who was overqualified,” I taunted, bumping her rear gently with my hard-on.
“Eric?” she asked. “Eric is that you? Please Eric we can work this out, just stay
calm and we can talk about this. Let’s go up to my office, we can talk, come to some
mutual agreement.”
“No!” I stopped her in her tracks. “I’ve already decided what’s going to happen.
Since you refused to allow me to support myself with honest work, you’re going to support
both of us. We are going to your home together and after a weekend of sex, you’re going to
work on Monday and every-day thereafter, bringing home a paycheck for us both.”
“All right Eric that’s no problem we can go home together, just stay calm and don’t
do anything rash,” she urged.
I could tell what she thought she was dealing with.
“You think I’m insane, don’t you?” I asked, putting false menace in my voice.
Her immediate, manifestly terrified reaction amused me; she had obviously been
trained in how to deal with disturbed kidnappers, useful in her line of work, I suppose.
“No Eric!” she cried. “I don’t think that at all, really I don’t. Listen to me,”
“Shhhh, sure you do,” I told her soothingly. “It’s all right, we’ll see whose crazy
on Monday. Hey you don’t have any weapons on you, do you?” I asked brightly, for fun I
decided to fuel her fears about my mental state.
“No Eric,” she said just as soothingly. “I promise I don’t, you can trust me. You
can search me if you like,” she offered.
“Okay. But first, hold still.”
I let go of her arms, and she remained cooperatively in the same position as
ordered. Slowly, so as not to startle her, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a
thirty-inch chain with an open padlock and a spring clip at each end; the first part of
the restraint set I had brought for her. Gently I wrapped it once around her middle just
above the top of her jeans with the padlock at the back, I tied a simple knot then locked
it to be sure it wouldn’t come loose; I purposely left a six inch length dangling from the
end, it hung down between her legs swinging gently in the air like a tail.
Gently I reached out and gripped her wrists. Exerting a gentle pressure I murmured
quietly, “bring your hands behind your back please.”
She obeyed with a small sigh, maybe of regret maybe just because without the
support of her hands her diaphragm became depressed against the fender. In any case with
my gentle tugging she settled her hands at the small of her back, an inch or two above the
chain. From my pocket I took the next part of this three-part restraint system, a pair of
police rigid cuffs designed for especially dangerous prisoners. Instead of a chain between
the two manacles the rigid cuff had only a three inch thick piece of steel between them,
which forced the hands side by side and prevented them from rotating or touching, making
effective manipulation of objects almost impossible. A short hook extended from the bottom
of the cuffs, meant specifically to be attached to a chain. Quickly before she realized
what I was doing I cuffed her hands together behind her, then holding the cuffs by the
center bar I pulled her arms straight and slipped the hook onto the chain at her waist.
“There we go,” I said.
“Okay Eric you got me helpless, why don’t you search me now,” she insisted, trying
to straighten up.
Firmly I pushed her back down, even though the blood was probably rushing to her
head painfully.
“Why Noel, you aren’t stalling are you?” I asked. “Hoping security will come
rushing to your rescue. I guess I should tell you both cameras have been disabled, no one
knows you’re down here, all alone, with me.”
“Please Eric,” she began.
“Quiet, you want me to search you, I will.”
Quickly I patted her down, taking her car keys from her pocket before running my
hand across her ass and though her crotch, places most people skipped even though a gun
could be hidden there, it's instinct drilled into us by our modest, sex and
everything connected to it, most assurdedly the human body, is bad and wrong, society. I
didn’t find a single weapon but I did make her feel even more uncomfortable, the
tightening of her buttocks was an obvious and usually uncontrollable reaction from all
humans in response to discomfort or acute embarrassment.
“You can straighten up now,” I said to her casually, pulling her upright anyway.
Pulling her back a step so she was tight against me, I put an arm around her throat
and with my free hand reached out and slammed the hood down over the now repaired engine.
“Come on Miss Yevone, let’s walk back to the trunk, shall we.”
In answer she leaned back against me and dragged her heels, forcing me to half
carry her, passively resisting without being too obvious about it (bravo). To reply, I
tightened my grip around her throat, grabbed a fistful of hard, steel chain in front at
her belly, and walked her over anyway. At the trunk I unlocked it with the key and pulled
it open. Inside was a tire iron and an otherwise bare but comfortably carpeted space; with
plenty of room for a bound and gagged body. Reaching in from behind my captive I pulled
out the tire iron and dropped it, it hit the concrete floor with a clang, but who cares?
There was no one around to hear it, although Noel jumped at the sound and then in a
delayed reaction, I felt her shiver against me in visceral response to the ringing noise.
Ignoring her I pulled out a ball gag, the simple kind, a plain black strap with a
buckle and a large shiny red ball, available at any ‘novelty’ store cheap. Still behind
Noel I held the gag in front of her face, an inch away so she had to look at it.
“Open your mouth,” I commanded in a strong tone of voice.
She turned her head aside. “Eric please, you don’t need to do it this way. I’ll
keep quiet, I’ll cooperate, please!” she begged.
“You can cooperate by opening you mouth,” I told her, giving no quarter.
She gave a disgusted little snort but opened her mouth, even leaned forward as if
eager to take the ball in. Quickly I pulled the strap tight around her head and buckled it
into place, leaving it loose so it wouldn’t hurt her but tight enough that she couldn’t
work it loose. Then I pulled out the blindfold I had also brought with me. From the same
‘novelty’ store, this was a white velcro strap with two large padded cloths to fit over
the eyes. It didn’t look like much, but according to the package it had been carefully
designed and if applied properly was guaranteed to cause one hundred percent blindness to
the wearer; I strapped this around her head too, taking a moment to keep her sable hair
away from the velcro strap.
Next I knelt down beside her, her legs were spread wide for balance, touching her
knees I gently forced them side-by-side so that her ankles met. I took out the last piece
of equipment, another rigid cuff. But this one was designed for legs, with a slightly
wider cuff and a much thicker bar, it too had a hook to attach to a chain. Slipping the
cuffs on I snapped them closed, trapping her ankles, and then sweeping her legs out from
under her I gathered her in my arms as I stood in a fluid motion. Muffled noises came from
her ball-gagged mouth as she squirmed a little in my grip, trying to settle herself.
“Relax, I won’t hurt you, yet,” I told her, as I gently lowered her into the trunk
of her car.
When I let her go she rolled around in the not so small space, finally settling
belly down resting her cheek on the carpet with her blindfolded face turned away from me.
After placing the tire iron in beside her cuffed hands I took the spring clip on the end
of her chain in one hand and gently grasped one slim ankle with the other. A muffled
questioning sound came from her throat as I gently forced her to bend her legs up toward
the chain, and clipped the ankle cuff’s hook to the spring clip; the six inch length of
leftover chain combined with the three inches worth of hook and clip gave her nine inches
of play for her legs. So as long as she didn’t struggle she wouldn’t develop a cramp, and
magnanimously I told her so as I shut the lid, leaving her in darkness.
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