by J. A. Hailey
“Yes, we are, although there is no confirmed time for the end of the working day. Depends on what’s happening on the party front. There is a very major dinner party tonight, out on the side lawn. The King’s personal area is on that side of the palace, and of course we have to enter those rooms to clean or to serve, except a couple of rooms, which we can only enter when the King is inside.
“The doors of those couple of rooms are fitted with some hand, finger, face or eye recognition locks, which can only be opened by the King himself.
“Should have been placed much lower, those scanning things,” sneered an Arab servant girl. “If they want unique, and if they need security like that, they should scan their penises. Only these people have them, and no one else can ever trick the computer to enter. Their little penises work only on children. Not like normal men.”
The Romanian girl looked panicked, and signaled the Arab servant girl to be quiet.
“Very secure rooms on that side.” She continued pointing in the direction within the building. “And then those rooms are right at the end, against the boundary wall of the building, and from there towards the back, which makes it the corner of the palace building. You should be able to figure it out when you’re in that area, and get away from there. An armed in-house bodyguard unit is based in that section at ground floor level, and a couple of dedicated security people boss it over that part, who always know if a servant has been sent for, as they are the ones routing orders from the King, and from the powerful guests who stay in that private area. Of course, there is a small service unit, too, on that side, with its dedicated servants and waiters. But we also have to often go from here, from the main kitchen.
“So that the greatest lord of the earth is not made to wait for anything,” the Arab girl added sarcastically, whispering now. “The children keep growing older every second, you know.”
“The rooms nearby are normal rooms,” the Romanian girl continued, clearly trying to prevent her Arab colleague from talking. “Some American-type guests are generally staying there, and they are there now. We go for service when they call. But don’t go without reason. You’ll get caught by the security snoops, Ramadan and Ali, and a big shouting from the head housekeeper, Madame Razia, is sure, and maybe even a very heavy thrashing by brutish people employed for the purpose.
“The best thing, if caught in such an unexplainable and dangerous situation, is to let Ramadan or Ali fuck you. Elizabeta got out of it that way. She stole a gold watch, which they did not catch on her, although I don’t know how she’ll get it out of the palace. Those two supervisors are always horny, with seeing the children girls and boys being brought for the child molesters. Then, of course, they will not report you.”
The virtuals decided the forbidden area would be tackled immediately, on becoming sure that festivities had indeed commenced, and that the King was in the garden, lording it over his party. They had viewed many such parties at his other palaces, and knew that the guest list would be made up exclusively of local Arab males.
At this party, because of the extremely remote location of the palace itself, it would be sure to be only local Arab males. Otherwise, around the very big cities of the kingdom, such gatherings could include diplomatic staff from embassies and consulates, and in those cases a few female guests, foreigners only, might be found. Otherwise the only females would be dancers and waitresses. It was, of course, unthinkable that the King’s personal women would attend and be on display for other men.
“I’ll let you know, because I am controlling security in the garden area,” said Caesar, through the virtuality. “When he’s out here, you go in. Recognition locks; dormants open those… ”
29
Esmeralda got hold of a tray and placed an ice cube container and a glass of water on it, and BC took up a dusting cloth and a can of polishing spray, and then they wandered seemingly aimlessly, dusting a little here and there, but actually purposefully, directly to the target area in the palace.
Both were armed, carrying their guns and many spare magazines, as the consensus opinion was that whatever the time of day, and however the means of investigation, any action, if discovered, would be counted as hostile to the King, and would necessitate extremely rapid withdrawal from the palace, in order to keep their humans safe.
Now they had to pass time, as the King had not yet left his room, despite all guests having arrived and having been seated at the vast array of tables arranged in the lawn. A live Arabic band had commenced playing, although the belly dancing girls would be held back until the entry of the King and his main guests.
Service of drinks and snacks commenced, and Caesar reported that he had been given information that Sheikh Abdul was flying into the kingdom for the party, and that the King would make his entrance only after the Sheikh had arrived.
On occasion, they looked at the lawn through Caesar’s eye view, and were, in fact, watching when Michael Gales was escorted in from another part of the palace building.
“Well, we know for sure that this one human person has neither been killed nor died in some other way,” said Caesar, sarcastically. “Wonder about Sagan.”
Sheikh Abdul arrived soon after, landing his private jet on the airstrip alongside the palace wall, and BC and Esmeralda were actually in the general corridor when the King passed by on his way out, scarcely deigning to notice them while they stood humbly bowed and looking at the ground, as they had been instructed and shown by a supervisor who did not know of their falsified background as transferred servants.
“Hold it, Esme,” cautioned BC. “Let the fellow get out into the garden and start having a drink, before we enter. Who knows why he might turn back? He has no urgency, and everyone and everything can wait.”
The Sheikh came into the garden now, accompanied by Abraham Grietzmann, and a happy reunion was witnessed by all, as King, Sheikh, Gales and Grietzmann hugged each other delightedly in the bright and crowded garden.
Caesar’s report, that the group had united in the garden, and that the party had now commenced in earnest, with belly dancing starting up, was the signal to break into the King’s quarters and the supercomputer room, which together formed a truly large and secure private area for the despot.
The main door from the corridor needed fingerprint and iris identification, both of which were provided by BC. All he did was look into the scanning part to instantly open the door, first the fingerprint requirement and then the eye scan demand.
Esmeralda explained it to Sabine. “It is an unintelligent scanning system, made to match whatever it gets against a database. In this case, the database is as large a number as two, which are both body parts belonging to the King. The machine knows not whether an eye or an asshole has been placed on its glass, and begins interacting with whatever has disturbed it, and when that something is a virtual like one of us, is starts getting a series of cunningly sequenced signals that make it tell us what is looking for. We, of course give it the inputs it wants, whether for iris, finger or whatever, maybe without even knowing what part it is looking for, beyond the pattern sequence it is demanding. Twixie could have handled this with ease, even when she was a one-day-old baby. Through this very basic process, a screenside virtual could be doing a thousand other things; it is that natural and that easy.”
But, on opening the door into what turned out to be the King’s bedroom, they found disaster waiting inside, in the form of an area supervisor, who had been left behind by the King to arrange things exactly so. His badge showed that he was Ramadan.
“Who are you two? No one has been called yet by me,” he shouted, aggressively. “I have not seen you two before. And how did you get in?”
Communicating instantaneously as virtuals, it was not at all difficult for BC and Esmeralda to coordinate the game they now played.
“Sir,” said Esmeralda shyly, undoing the top two buttons of her shirt. “We did not know you were here. The door was open, I mean unlocked, and pushing
at it swung it open. He wanted to be alone with me. Shall I send him away?”
“Alone with you in the lord’s private quarters? Why did you come here without my call? This man will be castrated when I am done with my work here. Sex in the lord’s quarters? Ha.”
“Captain Ramadan, I am new here. He threatened me. You can catch him afterwards and castrate him. Shall I leave with him?” She opened another button, and leaned forward, so that the man could look down her shirt. It was a no-brainer. Sabine was far better looking than any of the other servants in the palace.
The security supervisor fellow was actually dancing with death, but he made the right choice.
“Go away.” He waved at BC to get out. “You’ll be damn lucky if I don’t have you beaten to death tonight. Your skin shall certainly be whipped off you, and your sexual organs will be given to you in a glass jar, to keep as a memento of the fun you will have tonight. Get out, get out, and keep your mouth shut.”
BC left the room, as Esmeralda caught the supervisor’s waving hand and rubbed it on her bum. “Smooth, isn’t it?” she purred, and tugged at his pants to demonstrate her desire.
“You’ll get it in the bum,” he croaked. “What’s that diabetes syringe case in your hand for?”
“You recognize, sir?”
“Yes. It’s common in this palace. Many of the royal family need it. All diabetic. You don’t look like you have blood sugar.”
“I don’t have blood sugar, but I inject myself with it prior to sex, to raise body temperature and to tighten the parts,” Esmeralda panted. “It is commonly used in the sex industry, but is not known to normal people. Body temperature goes up to 110 degrees. Like fire. Should I?”
“Of course,” said the man, and made full body-to-body contact. He was squeezing her bum when she one-handedly extracted the syringe from its case, tossed the case onto the vast bed, and stuck the needle into the man’s neck, immediately injecting one full dose of anesthetic into him.
“It’s the vampire bat principle,” Priya had said. “Its saliva numbs the area, so the bite cannot be felt. Get your timing right, inject as you insert, and no victim will feel a thing.”
Esmeralda, completely lacking in experience, got it slightly wrong, though.
“Ouch, what was that?” he asked, startled, as she jabbed the almost unnoticeable needle into his neck.
“That’s you getting it in the neck, darling?” she said, throatily, and showed him her finger. “I’ve been meaning to file this nail. Did it hurt you?”
“Hurt by a little nail? I have something much bigger than that,” said he, boastfully, but already slurring, clearly becoming groggy and unsteady.
At that moment, BC re-entered and walked up to the surprised man. The sedative had already begun heading him towards unconsciousness. “You will be whipped, bastard,” slurred Ramadan, drunkenly, at which point BC held a chloroform pad firmly over his nose and mouth. The man was completely gone in ten seconds, and at no point had he ever put up a struggle.
Their target was the supercomputer, and this first room, where they now unceremoniously flung the unconscious supervisor on the bed, was an absolutely huge bedroom, with every single piece of furniture covered in gold. The door to the gigantic bathroom was open, and Sabine giggled when she saw that the sanitary ware was also made of gold.
“However well and however expensively that idiot eats,” she sneered. “I wonder what comes out of his other end, to justify that it be deposited in a pot made of gold. And what, no smell either?”
Esmeralda laughed. “There are many things to see, sweetie, and we do not know what surprises are in store for us. Just remember that this is an extremely dangerous venture, and if bullets start flying, you are to do absolutely nothing.”
“I know, I know,” said Sabine, wearily. “I am to be a passenger in my own body. I am pretty good at that, as you know.”
Sabine knew that Esmeralda was concerned for her safety, but could not imagine the level of anxiety the virtual girl was feeling.
The next door demanded only a fingerprint. It was the King’s office room, the one with the massive golden desk, with nothing on it except the three computer monitors, keyboards and mice. All monitors were large, but the one facing the main chair, obviously for the King, was the biggest available in the market, and was placed across from his chair, on a stand beyond the end of the desk. The other two computer setups were one on the left edge and one on the right of the desk.
“See, Sabine? Supercomputer only needs large sized hardware, not great minds,” sneered Esmeralda, speaking aloud for the benefit of Louis too.
The monitors were all switched off, and there was absolutely nothing of interest in the room, so they proceeded to the room behind it, again satisfying its watchman program with a fingerprint.
It was a very large, long, cold and noisy room, clearly made up of two rooms which had had a dividing wall broken to make them into one. A few cameras were fitted high on the walls, but no Internet Wi-Fi connection to the computer was available.
“This has been a dirty game played by Sagan and Gales,” said BC, to the watching group in screenside. “It can only be sorted out by physically breaking into this supercomputer and activating a Wi-Fi port, through which I, and maybe some of you folks, via the signal enhancer, can enter to sort out the issue by investigating what’s been going on, and doing whatever is required to be done in the virtual space of this supercomputer.
“BC, you get onto this job, while I go upstairs to Michael’s room,” said Esmeralda. “It seems to be a permanent room for him, as told to me by Angelika. I will investigate what he’s got going on there. Michael is a computer programmer, and is bound to have a functioning computer in his room. It might even be connected to this supercomputer, and it might, just might, have a Wi-Fi port, through which we can get into the supercomputer without having to open panels, and goodness knows what else, which we have come without the tools for.”
“Should have seen ahead,” said BC, regretfully. “Now I’ll have to use a butter knife I noticed in the first room. Come with me, darling, out of this room, and you can continue onward to Michael’s room upstairs.”
But departure was not without a sudden and surprising loving moment, when Sabine got hold of Louis and kissed him, with the admonition, “It’s all very dangerous now, Louis. I don’t know whether BC will loop you out or not, but whatever he does with you, you make sure that you do not interfere and try to move any body part, even eyes. We are right in the middle of a very dangerous building, surrounded by very dangerous people, and on a very dangerous mission. We’ll make love madly, if we get out alive.”
“BC will surely loop me out, Sabine, if and when the action commences. He has released me for just this moment; otherwise I am being kept semi looped out. It is dangerous, really dangerous, but you are the one who needs to be careful, because Esme trusts you and lets you be functional alongside her. You better make sure you don’t interfere. Leave it to her. These virtuals are crazy, but very capable.”
All four giggled shyly, and Esmeralda left the room, to find the staircase to go upstairs, while BC took hold of the butter knife lying on a tray, and headed back to the computer room.
30
Esmeralda navigated without mishap to Michael Gales’ room in the palace, bumping into a servant girl going the other way, down the stairs. “Good,” she told Sabine. “Whoever is making it busy, it means that this part of the palace is active, and a servant more or less will not be noticed.”
Esmeralda did the fingerprint routine, and entered Gales’ room, which was the absolute corner room, with windows at right angles to each other, one side of it facing out over the garden where the King was having his party. The room was typically vast, and it also had a laptop on its large wooden desk.
Michael had evidently been working, sitting in the chair on the wrong side of the desk. His laptop’s screen faced into the room, a screensaver circling slowly on it. Esmer
alda tapped the keypad, and the screensaver disappeared, to show that Michael had last been on an academic website dealing with human birth of so-called test-tube babies.
She wandered around, looking quickly through his clothes and finding nothing of interest, which brought her to the window overlooking the party. She had no need to conceal herself, as she was just a domestic servant, doing a servant’s duties.
She could see the King, sitting with the Sheikh, Abraham Grietzmann and Michael, at a table in the approximate centre of the setting on the brightly lit lawn, with skimpily clad belly dancing girls gyrating on a stage to one side, and almost all guests smoking sheesha, the water pipe enjoyed with fruit flavored tobaccos. As she watched, Grietzmann stood up and bowed slightly towards King and Sheikh, seemingly excusing himself to leave the group, evidently heading to the bathroom.
As she looked on, Gales suddenly looked up at the window of his room, and Esmeralda moved her head position, to show that she was not inquisitively watching the party on the lawn.
She was now looking at the desk, on which the laptop had still not gone into screensaver mode, despite a few minutes having passed.
Then, Sabine asked anxiously, “Esme, what’s wrong? Why are we becoming tense and breathing hard, and why are we having goose pimples?”
“There, in there.” Esmeralda looked at the laptop “Someone’s in the computer, watching us,” she said, and then screamed into the virtuality, “BC, someone is watching me through the camera of the laptop in Michael’s room.”
“It must be Michael himself,” said Caesar. “We’ve been busted, which means you two. I am outside the wall at the moment, but the walkie-talkie command is just coming in, to storm the part of the palace you are in - the King’s rooms downstairs, and Michael’s room above it, and to kill, without exception, whoever is inside those rooms, especially servants. Get out, and fast!”
