by D W Bell
Much like the sleeping quarters, the old killing floor had been hermetically sealed at great expense to facilitate the use of gas on the subjects, and protect the handlers and office staff from them should there be an uprising. Boudreaux walked with the sheik along the sealed second-story catwalk to observe the training below.
“You see, sheik, we train our girls with and against men. You’ll find no gender coddling here. No lowered standards to satisfy political purposes or societal niceties. We need hard ass bitches for this work and accept nothing less. We’re not wasteful though, our recruiting process is infallible in finding the physical characteristics we require, so those with the goods but not the guts are reassigned to less combative roles to help advance our research and development and further the cause, as it were. As a result, the ones that belong here thrive here.”
“Very impressive.” The sheik stroked his beard and gazed a little too longingly down at the group of women grappling, throwing, and striking against their typically larger and stronger male training partners under the watchful eyes of the instructors before he caught himself and shifted his eyes to inspect the facility itself. “I imagine this facility serves your purposes well.” Boudreaux didn’t miss the tell, but played along.
“Our facilities are quite impressive, yes,” he leaned forward to rest his arms on the railing staring unabashedly down at the collection of always fit and often beautiful group of assets below. “We cultivate only the best and brightest for the needs of our clients. Please, sheik, I’ll wager it’s not our architecture you came all this way to see. Come with me to the control room where I have a couple of comfortable chairs from which we can view and discuss the various merits of your operator options.”
“Yes, thank you…” The sheik’s voice trailed off as Boudreaux led him away, he had just caught sight of Freya performing yoga poses in a secluded corner of the killing floor.
―
“So, great sheik, what’ll it be?” The second-floor control room had been built to jut out into the slaughterhouse, providing a greater field of vision to the technicians and handlers inside. At the extreme edge of the glass bubble sealing in the technology, in stark contrast to the banks of computers and headset-wearing technicians, sat two antique balloon chairs with a small accent table set between them, itself set with a crystal drink service for two. In these chairs, cocooned from the soft buzzing, whirring, and droning of the modern world behind them by the sumptuous and cultured, velvety embrace of the old, sat the patron and his client.
“Why does that one train alone?” He indicated Freya with the hand holding his drink and then drank, trying to be nonchalant.
“Mashallah! It seems your eye for horseflesh extends to the human form as well. Not only is that one of our best, but she possesses the physical properties we require for the ‘evil infidel’ gimmick. Well spotted, sheik. But, to answer your initial question, she is currently on injured reserve, so to speak. Perhaps there is another of our fillies you find adequate?” Boudreaux leaned forward in his seat as if to more closely inspect the women training below but kept his eye on the sheik to gauge his reactions and adjust his pitch accordingly.
“She is injured?” The sheik squinted in scrutiny as he watched Freya slowly transition from downward-facing dog, Adho Mukha Svanasana, to warrior pose, Virabhadrasana, with a slight grimace as she stretched into the top of the position.
“Yes, she was injured in a bit of a kung fu kerfuffle during her last mission, but nearly recovered.” Boudreaux smiled, smelling blood, but waved away the sheik’s interest in Freya as if in dismissal, “Now, if you’ll turn your attention to the center ring of our little circus I will extoll the virtues, and lack thereof for our purposes in some cases, possessed by the individuals that are currently fighting fit and ready to assist you. I personally think the dark-haired one with the large breasts would prove quite enticing to your targ-”
“I want that one.” The sheik pointed to Freya in her corner, but Boudreaux pretended not to notice.
“Quite, she is mesmerizing,” Boudreaux still stared at the brunette with a sly grin. “Even you, the great sheik, is beguiled by this raven-haired temptress.”
“No, the blonde.” The sheik stood to his full height and stepped close to the window for a better look.
“Hmm? The broken one?” Boudreaux feigned astonishment and joined the sheik, wide-eyed, at the window. “Sheik, you know your needs better than I, but why would you choose such a diminished creature when you have other, healthier choices?”
“You say yourself, Boudreaux, she is your best.”
Boudreaux relaxed knowing the choice had been made, “Well, yes, but not in her present state. She will still need time to recover.”
“My foes are legion, and I am a patient man.” The sheik looked smugly down at his newly won prize.
“Allahu A’lam,” Boudreaux shook his head as if in bewildered defeat, “As you wish, sheik.” There was a sharp click as he readied his pen and placed it and a contract on the accent table.
Chapter 14
“I’m sorry, sheik. It’s just simply not done. We exercise complete control over every aspect of our operators to achieve the optimum results you require and allowing such a breach in protocol would be directly contrary to our proven training regimen. Most irregular, I’m afraid.”
“Then I regret that we have no deal, but I have enjoyed our time together.” The sheik smugly sipped his drink, accustomed to getting his way, not deigning to look at his flustered host. The sheik wanted more bang for his buck, as he always did, and was willing to hold out until the sun rose in the west and the coming of a pleasant breeze from Yemen, such as to say the end of times, to attain his desires.
It wasn’t the first time Boudreaux had to fend off the advances of amorous clients, such was the burden of keeping a stable of beautiful assets, but the sheik was proving quite immovable on the matter. Rebuffed by his shrewd client, Boudreaux switched to a different approach, “Look, I understand the allure of forbidden, sweet, infidel ass. I truly do. Hell, we pick most of these girls exactly for their ability to inspire the libidinous response you are currently experiencing. And, in any other regard, I would deny you nothing in honor of the spirit of hospitality, but on this point I must remain adamant. I ain’t no pimp, and this ain’t no whorehouse, if you’ll forgive the base vernacular.”
“I won’t quote you the statistics, but it has been concluded in our research that sexual contact of any kind causes a significant drop in productivity and efficiency in our operators, not to mention the general malaise engendered by messy emotional entanglements. And they’re just plain meaner, as I’ve often observed, when denied sexual release. Wouldn’t you rather a cold, efficient killer to do your bidding rather than some sloppy, emotional chick you fucked?”
“As I say, I’ve enjoyed our time together, Boudreaux. You have given me much to think about as I shop around with your competitors. If you will be so kind as to summon your helicopter I will collect my men and we will release you of your hospitable obligations.” The sheik fixed him with a sardonic grin, comfortable in his position of strength.
“Ok, sheik. You drive a hard bargain. I have never offered such an appeasement to any of my clients, but in truth you are special, as you well know. You’re a man who steps high, wide, and handsome in the rarefied upper reaches that most could never dream of, and I want to earn your business. May I offer the desert stallion one of our broodmares instead? They are all just as beautiful, fit, and deadly as the operators you have just observed, but have been retired from missions to further the cause. Some have even killed if that’s your particular kink. Surely they can provide succor to the noble lion.” He bathed the sheik in his warmest smile and set the pen back down next to the contract as if this was all just a formality, willing the sale to close.
“Again, I thank you, Boudreaux, but that simply won’t do. It must be the one I have chosen. She must submit to me.” The sheik shifted in his seat and smoothed his r
obes, making ready to rise and leave, “Now, if you’ll see to my transport, I have another engagement, but do feel free to contact my office should you come to your senses. I shall be away for the next few days interviewing various other providers, but I am sure my secretaries can relay a message in time.”
“Baraka Allahu fika, sheik.” Boudreaux’s tone had turned flat and cold, uttering the closest Arabic phrase he knew equivalent to the Southern bless your heart, startling the sheik as the words sent an unexpected tendril of fear worming its way up the client’s spine. Boudreaux stood causing the sheik to jolt from his chair as well, “I am deeply saddened we couldn’t come to terms. As a gesture of goodwill, may I tell you of one further service we offer to our most exclusive clients? The helicopter is on its way to retrieve you and your party, and this will only take a moment.”
Unaccustomed to the inscrutable threat he was feeling, the sheik shewed it away in his mind and returned to his chair, hovering just on the edge of his seat, but the air practically hummed with the tension of a serpent coiled to strike. “But of course. If I am to compare you to your competitors I must know all the details.”
“Quite.” Boudreaux set his jaw in a snake-like grin and fixed his guest with dark eyes now devoid of life, it may have even been the true face of the enigmatic man, but who could say. “You’ve heard my pitch, and, while all the statements are true, there is certainly some embellishment and poetic license taken to further the sale. However, there is one inarguable advantage we have over all other firms in this industry. Our data mining and intelligence gathering division is truly the best in the world. When it comes to computing power and physical talent, we hold all the cards.”
The sheik scoffed a little and sat back in his chair, his confidence returning, “You waste my time, Boudreaux. You have already spoken of this.”
“True, but I haven’t addressed that particular benefit in this specific capacity. Not only do we research and monitor all the aspects and parameters of our individual missions, but we also maintain an intelligence section dedicated solely to the freeform gleaning of data in search of potential clients and targets.”
“For example, I know exactly who else is on your list of candidates, and where you will be meeting with them. They are of no consequence to me, but, through this practice, we often hear of threats to current, former, and potential clients from other concerns. In light of this unique perspective, we have begun to offer protection packages. Insurance against others of our ilk, if you will.”
“Others, you say?” The sheik chuckled derisively, “Who protects their clients from you?”
Boudreaux just smiled his venomous smile and moved on, “We have broken down the available coverage into several packages to ensure that some level of protection is available to all of our clients, regardless of financial standing.”
“The Silver Package, our most modest investment, is merely a notification that other entities may be either planning direct action against you, or shopping outside contractors to perform the service. This package, while affordable, is infinitely valuable when you consider the ramifications of not knowing and is an economical option for those already possessing private security whom they trust.”
“The Gold Package, which is our most popular option, expands upon the Silver with the addition of one of our dedicated security teams to guard against and neutralize the specific threats if they come to fruition. The team is deployed on an at-need basis, so you shouldn’t worry about housing or feeding them. We handle all the minutiae, leaving you free to go about your business. I should tell you that often, once it gets around that you are under our protection with the Gold Package, the threats seem to fade away without any real action ever taking place.”
“Finally, the Platinum Package. To be honest, most of our clients are priced out of this category, but it is our most consummate level of protection. For our elite clients, such as your highness, who see the value of the investment it enhances the Silver and Gold coverage by adding a retaliation option. If we learn of a credible threat to your person or property we will proactively engage the offending entity at your discretion, often with preemptive strikes.”
“A nice feature of the Platinum coverage is the ability to add on what we call a Standing Kill Order, which means we can find, address, and destroy any threat we hear of without the client ever having to lift a finger for the hard decisions, or even know about the process at all as we do all the heavy lifting.”
“Our Platinum customers, those that choose the Standing Kill Order coverage, simply pay the discreetly termed quarterly invoice and live a happy, carefree life. Never worrying about the harsh realities of the world at large.” Boudreaux sat back and sipped his drink, never releasing the sheik from his dead-eyed stare, and waited for it all to sink in.
Whether still shaking off his unexplained nervousness or distracted by the muffled sound of a helicopter landing outside, the sheik just didn’t get it. “Fine, yes. Thank you, Boudreaux. That’s very good information to know.” Both men stood to shake hands, “Many thanks again for your hospitality.”
“My pleasure, sheik. Assalamu Alaikom. My secretary will show you and your men out. Safe journey.”
The sheik followed the young woman back out into the common areas of the office space, collected his bodyguards, and donned his dark sunglasses as he strode out the door towards the waiting helicopter, never looking back. The shades covered confused eyes, still pondering whether he had missed some threat or misunderstood Boudreaux’s inference.
As the muffled chop of the helicopter blades faded away inside Boudreaux’s suite, he kicked his feet up on his desk, picked up his desk phone with an amused sigh, and spoke glibly into the handset, “Miss Lilith, be a lamb and invite our little bathing beauty to my chambers, won’t you? Thank you, dear.”
Chapter 15
The sheik felt safe but alienated ensconced within the most luxurious accommodations available in Salt Lake City, which meant the Presidential Suite at The Grand America Hotel.
It had been about two weeks since his meeting with Boudreaux, and he had almost put it out of his mind. The sheik had visited numerous other providers around the country, but none of them had the panache of Boudreaux’s organization, as predicted.
Most were at least businesslike in their dealings, but some were barely hobbyist pretenders with scarcely enough personnel and resources to knock over a liquor store, much less the sophisticated targets he had in mind. But they all had tactical clothing, often ill-fitting, and plenty of guns, so there was that.
It was really quite infuriating. The sheik had made the trek across the sea and into the backwoods, deserted plains, and mysterious mountains of America searching for action movie-style badasses and had come away deeply disappointed.
From rednecks in rundown Texas trailer parks, made “tactical” with concertina wire, to jumpy preppers in South Dakota underground bunkers bedecked with all manner of military surplus, he had seen it all, and all were found wanting.
Sure, the larger contractors that worked directly with the U.S. government, and were famous in the news for it, were capable of seeing to his needs but it was all so gauche. They certainly would have given him any woman he wanted to seal the deal, but where was the drama in that? Boudreaux had been right when he suggested that true revenge was theatre. The wrong actor will ruin even the most beautifully written story, while the right actor will make it transcendent.
Boudreaux’s troupe were undoubtedly the right actors. It was just a shame that he wouldn’t submit, as all playwrights eventually must, to the will of the money. However, there was nothing for it, the sheik was adamant once he gave his notes. As such, he had decided to give up his American dream and seek out more mundane contractors in Europe and Africa. It would be messier and less theatrical, but it would get done.
One just couldn’t get good, reliable service in America, even less so in its unsophisticated middle expanses where all these diabetic weekend warriors and tubby soldiers
of fortune seemed to dwell. It saddened and sickened the sheik. He may have hated the Great Satan like all his fellows, but he and they had always grudgingly respected their dogged determination and might.
Those times have passed, but a curious anomaly has manifested as the shining city on the hill fades. As the general population deteriorates physically, those at the top end seem to get leaner and meaner. Hence the beacon of Boudreaux’s camp amongst the disappointing darkness of refuse and detritus, but even his numbers would eventually dwindle, the realization of such being the motivation for the breeding program the man had hinted at.
One couldn’t even count upon the competence of the service staff of a presumably fine hotel such as The Grand America. Perhaps the name was an ironic joke to highlight the ineptness of the country as a whole. On the final night of his American tour the bedchamber of the Presidential Suite was festooned by the Rose Petal Turndown service, available from the hotel’s list of VIP amenities. The ultimate indignity being the cartoonish heart outlined on the bed with the fragrant flowers.
Having not ordered such a silly luxury the sheik had one of his men call for an explanation and immediate removal of the scarlet petals. The front desk begged pardon profusely, as they are trained to do, but could find no record in the system of the amenity being ordered, billed, or personnel being dispatched to perform the service.
The professionally apologetic woman at the front desk promised to send a hotel maid to clean up as soon as possible but explained that due to the lateness of the hour and ongoing events in the hotel it may be some time before someone in service was available. She recommended sweeping the petals into the corner to be dealt with by the morning crew. Out of spite the sheik slithered gingerly under the covers, rose petals and all, striving not to disturb the heart-shaped insult so he may destroy it with greater effect when it came time to berate the staff. Such a perfect sendoff for his last night in America.
