by Rebecca Heap
“You follow a hard line,” responded Michael, taking his hand.
“I can’t afford not to. Now,” he said making his way around the desk, “let me begin to enlighten you.”
As he reached Michael’s side he clapped him on the back and gripped his shoulder. Before Michael could speak, he’d manoeuvred him away from the desk, leading him towards the far wall of the office.
“What …?” queried Michael.
Harry was tickled by his obvious puzzlement. Only a privileged few knew of the second lift he had installed that led directly to the roof. It never failed to please him when he was able to surprise someone with it.
As they approached the wall, Harry applied the simple pressure of his finger to a keypad in his pocket. The wall panels silently slid back exposing the silver skin of elevator doors. Michael looked appropriately startled.
“Come with me,” commanded Harry, shifting his grip to Michael’s arm, and they entered the lift together.
As they ascended, Michael asked, “Where are we going?” Harry simply tapped the side of his nose, revelling in the intrigue. Michael wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with this unexpected turn of events but didn’t press Harry, determined not to show any lack of confidence.
As the lift began to rise, he had the disturbing and ridiculous notion that he had just signed his own death warrant and Harry was going to push him off the roof. However, once they reached the summit, his misgivings were allayed, as the doors opened to reveal a heli-pad and a waiting black Sikorsky. Harry urged him out to the helicopter.
They ran, both anxious to lessen the time spent in the hurling wind and deafening roar of the propellers. Once they were duly seated and belted with the door closed and the noise of the rotors muffled, Harry turned to Michael and said, “I want to show you somewhere. You want to know more about the business. I think showing you this place will do more to illustrate it than my poor efforts at description will. In fact, where I’m going to take you now is an integral, if not fundamental, stage in the whole process.”
Michael simply nodded in acknowledgment and the helicopter began to rise, expertly guided by the experienced pilot.
It wasn’t long before the pilot had deftly manoeuvred them above and beyond the grasp of the high rise buildings and industrial paraphernalia of the city and they were hurtling across open country. The pilot was clearly confident of his route and destination and handled the Sikorsky with accustomed ease.
After a journey of about half an hour, a dense forest of trees appeared ahead of them. The pilot slowed the craft and began to descend. Michael was hard pressed to make out any safe place to land, as the trees loomed closer. Then, as if in welcome, the trees suddenly parted, revealing a smooth green promontory in their midst. The hill-top had clearly been levelled and cleared for the purpose of accommodating helicopters such as this.
Once down on the ground and the whine of the engine and rotors had fallen quiet, Michael looked around him in bafflement. Conifers surrounded them on every side, bird song mingled with the whisper of the wind and the intermittent drone of insects but there was no sign of any human occupation.
“Where the hell have you brought me, Harry? We’re in the middle of nowhere!”
“We’re in a little place called Little Baddow, actually Mick.” He touched his arm and led him towards the edge of the clearing.
Pointing down between the trees he said, “And there’s what I call my Ottoman complex. That’s where we keep the girls. At least until they are ready for release.” He smiled and then recognising his faux pas, he demurred, "Of course, I don't mean to suggest they're prisoners!"
Michael squinted in the direction Harry was indicating, as understanding dawned on him. He was able to make out a cluster of wooden lodge buildings below them, barely discernible due to the prolific camouflaging trees.
He snorted and turned back to Harry, "But no doubt they're not exactly free to leave?"
Harry gripped his arm as if stung by this remark and, rather more earnestly than was necessary, he said, "OK, I'll speak plainly, Mick. The only way in or out is the way we've come. There is no path that a vehicle could traverse so access is restricted to helicopter or the good old foot. It is private. It is secure.”
He gestured to the cameras that were just about visible, suspended in the trees above the clearing. “But the principle purpose is to keep the unwelcome or curious out, not the girls in. There are no guards, no fences, no locked doors. There's no need. The girls are happy and well-looked after here. They don't want to leave. Clever don't you think?” Harry clearly thought so, and was confident enough in his own opinion that he didn't wait for Michael to voice his own and simply strode forwards down a break in the undergrowth.
Just a prison they don't recognise as such, thought Michael and couldn't repress a shiver.
Noticing Michael didn't immediately join him, Harry turned and frowned. “Come and get a closer look,” he encouraged. Michael was jolted out of his musings and followed.
As they descended the hill the small trail broadened into a discernible, well-maintained path but only once they were completely under the cover of the trees.
At the bottom of the verge the path widened out, just sufficiently enough to mark the entryway to the first lodge, which stood slightly apart and in a dominant position from its smaller, identical counterparts.
As Harry had confirmed, whilst the set up looked like some woodland hotel retreat there were no inbound or outbound roads or even tracks. The trees still dominated the landscape, with the collection of woodland lodges blending seamlessly with their surroundings.
“So Harry,” queried Michael, “With no roads in or out, how did you even manage to get this built? And presumably there’s staff. Do they stay on site?”
“I knew you were insightful. Yes, you’re thinking of the logistics of it all. I like that. In answer to your questions, there was a road in to allow for its construction but this has since been blocked and reforested. Some staff do live here in the on-site accommodation. Some come in when they’re required, the same way we did. Now, let me show you around. I’m sure the place itself will answer many of your questions and reveal exactly what you’ve invested in.”
Harry showed him into the main reception lodge and Michael was surprised at its sumptuousness, belied by its modest and rustic exterior. Harry noticed his surprise. “We like to make an impression on our visitors,” he said. "Make them feel special.”
“Each accommodation lodge is very well equipped, with a sauna, hot tub, balcony and amazing views of the forest. In fact, I'd like you to stay the night here Michael, so you can appreciate how comfortable it is.”
There was a reception desk but no-one manning it, although a plaque above the desk welcomed them to the “Starlight Sanctuary” and announced underneath “Beauty is Power”.
Harry made to breeze past reception but Michael hesitated, contemplating the tag-line. It was intended, no doubt, to be interpreted by female newcomers as power to them. Harry, seeing him pause, confirmed Michael’s own comprehension of it. "Like it?” he said. “That power is mine, Mick. And now it’s yours.”
He led him down a corridor to the left. The corridor would have been in danger of being narrow and claustrophobic had it been enclosed by wood panelling on each side but the left hand wall and ceiling were fitted with glass. This allowed natural light to illuminate the passageway and also provided a view of the flowered, sheltered walkways, leading out to each accommodation lodge.
The passageway converged with its right hand sister, after about 50 metres and arrived at an archway. They passed under this and into a soft leather lounge area, encircled by doors, behind which, Harry explained, the girls received various beauty enhancing treatments. He invited Michael to observe any procedure he liked but Michael declined, preferring to question Harry further on the type of treatments that were typical.
“We provide everything from simple manicures and waxing to complex surgery,” said Harry. “
Our job of course, is to ensure the girl matches the client's requirements exactly. The girls don't feel pressured into anything, I assure you. They appreciate our help in showing them how to make the best of themselves.”
“So they usually need a lot of work?” asked Michael.
“Not always. We try and ensure as little work as possible is needed by selecting raw material that is as close as possible to the client's specifications. That is where our spotters’ skills come into play.” Harry, appeared to be oblivious to the fact that he had just referred to the girls as if they were some kind of product.
“Spotters?” queried Michael.
“Well, perhaps a better name for them Michael is scouts. I’ll elaborate later. Let me introduce you to some of the girls, and show you the delightful spa.”
As they continued their tour of the complex, Michael was suitably impressed at the excellence and extent of the facilities. There was not only a beautiful marbled spa area, complete with pool and jacuzzi, but also other more mundane essentials, such as a huge larder and freezer for storing food and an ecological waste disposal system. These, Harry told him, enabled them to keep deliveries to the complex to a minimum.
The girls he encountered were relaxing in the pool. They were clearly not used to seeing men around who weren’t employees, with just a job to do. They took delight in preening a little when he was introduced by Harry as a business associate and even invited him to join them for a swim. He politely declined. “I’m here for business, girls,” he explained, but thanked them for flattering him with such an offer.
They were indeed beautiful, ranging from the dark mystical beauty of Asia to the pale, freckled freshness of closer to home. Michael noticed that they were not as young as he’d imagined they might be and certainly seemed content with their situation, as Harry had attested.
He was however, becoming a little frustrated at the image of a Shangri La that was being presented. He knew there was something murkier lurking underneath. He’d been shown a very professional looking photography studio, during the course of their tour, where the girls “model portfolios” were produced but, from what Harry had told him in the club that day, these women were not destined to be models. This was not a modelling agency business. There was artifice being employed here.
Everything he saw, as Harry had promised, was a part of the process, but he wanted to understand the whole. He turned to Harry, as they re-entered the reception area, and bluntly challenged, “Those girls don’t have the first idea what’s going on here, do they?”
“Does that bother you?” returned Harry.
“Not particularly. They wouldn’t be such willing volunteers otherwise,” said Michael. Then his voice rose in frustration. “But the problem is, I still don’t know what’s going on either!”
“Oh, but you do,” admonished Harry. “I know you’re much smarter than that, Mick. I’ve already given you a rough outline. I bet you’ve figured it all out. You’re not the man I thought you were otherwise. You know as well as I do what we’re trading in and you know there’s money in it. That’s why you signed today.”
Michael shrugged in concession. “That might be true, Harry, but I’m a stickler for details, especially where my money and my name are involved.”
Harry put an arm around his shoulders in a conciliatory gesture. “Let’s go to your room. We’ll have a drink. You tell me what you’ve learned so far and I’ll fill in each and every blank. You’ve given me your money, and with it your trust. I believe it’s time I gave you mine.”
The room Harry showed him to was everything he’d promised. It wasn’t glaringly opulent yet there was understated luxury in every detail. They entered the room through a lounge suite, where there were a couple of inviting white sofas, a sleek glass coffee table and a flat panel television. Spectacular forest views were visible from the wide windows that looked out onto a patio area complete with hot tub. To one side there was a refreshment centre with coffee maker, bar and drinks cabinet. The sitting area then led off to a magnificent bedroom and en-suite bathroom, containing a high-spec shower with a rain spray head and a large whirlpool bath.
“It’s like being in the Ritz-Carlton,” commented Michael as he had a good browse around.
Harry nodded in delighted acknowledgement. “Yes, and I’m hoping you can replicate this in the US, so take a good look. Now take a seat and let me get you that drink. What’ll you have?”
“A Scotch, for me Harry, easy on the ice.”
As they both settled with their drinks into the comfortable sofas on each side of the coffee table, Harry crossed his legs and invited Michael to give him a run-down of what he had surmised.
“Well now,” said Michael, “you have a plethora of extraordinarily beautiful girls here. They enjoy a life of luxury and are pampered, worked on, photographed and convinced that they are going to secure a modelling career. Clearly, they are the women you referred to when you first took me into your confidence and described an exclusive matching service. These women don’t know they’re being matched with anyone though, do they?”
Harry grinned. “They’re already matched. We don’t bring them here otherwise. I’ll tell you exactly how it works. We receive a specification from a client in just the same way we receive them for a car but via a highly secure, access protected website. We send out a scout. The scout finds the right girl, as close to spec as possible. They’re invited, along with a number of other girls who act as window dressing, to an interview in an office we simply rent for a couple of hours. Inevitably only the right girl succeeds. We sign her up to a contract that states we will provide the platform, the marketing, everything for propelling her into the modelling world.”
“It has one tiny proviso: should she not obtain a modelling contract within 3 months, she has to pay back every penny for every service she has received. This is put forward as a necessary safeguard for us but one that is very rarely enforced. The time itself is not wasted as surgery can take a few months to heal, as can making sure the girl is precisely as required, and of legal age.”
“A honey-trap,” Michael remarked.
“If you like. Of course, the girl never gets a modelling deal. The bill after 3 months is huge, she can’t afford to pay it and doesn’t want any enhancement surgery reversed or to be shamed in front of her peers or family. We have a legitimate contract. Our expenses were only waived because of the hefty commission we would have received as part of a modelling agreement. She can’t just renege. We’ve done everything possible for her.”
“But you can only hold her to that contract if she’s 18?”
“Well, she doesn’t necessarily know that Mick. We can offer to involve her parents but she’d far rather we didn’t.”
“What happens to her then?” Michael asked.
Harry’s eyes gleamed, but the dark irises seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.
“Then an outside party comes to the rescue and offers her a way out of the nightmare. A sponsor who has seen her portfolio will pay her way so we can continue to market her. He’s sold on her and considers her a foolproof investment. In return the sponsor simply requests her company for an evening.”
“But that’s just another hoax,” Michael said, expressing his conclusions out loud. “She was sold to this “sponsor” all along. And she doesn’t learn the truth until it’s too late.”
Harry watched him, a little concerned by the perspective Michael seemed to have. However, Michael’s next words both reassured him and caught him off guard.
“I don’t get it,” said Michael rather bluntly. Harry frowned. “All this effort. Why even bother with the whole charade? Why not use other more direct and forceful means of persuasion?”
Harry nearly choked on his drink. A laugh erupted from him. “I like how you think, Mick! But this is about making sure both sides are comfortable. The client doesn’t want some distressed, battered maiden on his doorstep. The client expects a genuinely willing, untouched companion and tha
t’s what we deliver.”
“Have you ever had a refusal?”
“We have,” said Harry, sipping his drink thoughtfully. “A girl who accused us of setting her up and of suggesting she was a prostitute. She had a great deal of pride in her virginity.”
How dare she? thought Michael.
“We pointed out we’d hardly have spent so much time and effort on making her beautiful just to make her a prostitute. Which is perfectly true of course. After all we don’t groom them, at least not in the sexual exploitative sense of the word. We explained it was understandable she would seek to lay the blame elsewhere but it was as much a disappointment to us as to her. She was being offered a lifeline. It was only one night and she would have complete control. We’d be a phone call away.”
“Of course, once with their sponsor, he can do whatever he wants, for as long as he likes,” said Michael, his understanding now complete. “But are they never reported missing?”
“We eliminate that risk because of our methods. These girls aren’t just snatched off the street. That’s what clients like about the process; they don’t have to worry about the initial appropriation or the risk of being seen with them or watching them. We also allow the girls access to email and social networking sites whilst here. Our system records their email address and their account details and we post regular messages, adopting the same style and tone as previous ones. We send an email to say that they’re now in some exotic location filming for an advert. We even send pictures and money to their family, if necessary. No-one is ever the wiser.”
“What happens if the client tires of them or isn’t satisfied with his purchase?”
Harry smiled but Michael thought he caught a glimmer of something in the murky pools of those eyes, like a slithery creature disturbing the surface of otherwise placid waters.
“It is extremely rare but the client must alert us. We can provide a replacement. At a cost of course. We take the other one back. They’re not always in the same pristine condition in which they were delivered, unfortunately, especially if the client has had them for some time. But we have someone who’ll pay to take them off our hands.”
