Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown

by Daniels, Alan

  "That's more like it. Lots of use of the c-word."

  "That's the point. Dr. Whom doesn't like the c-word. He thinks she should call it Madam, Be Polite to Your Privates. They have a big fight and ..."

  "OK George, I get the point. You're incorrigible."

  "So how are you going, as I believe they say in Australia?"

  "Not bad. My book is the classic girl meets boy. They meet on a cruiseship, how romantic is that? She's a passenger and he's an officer, third engineer to be exact. He's a dashingly-handsome Pakistani. She falls insanely in love, but guess what? She suspects he may be part of a U.K. home-grown terrorist cell planning to blow up the ship when it arrives in New York. And the clock is ticking. She has five days to get to the truth."

  "Never mind the truth, how's the sex? Lots of heavy breathing, is there?"

  "Their love making is more implied than written – that's your department, George. Her dilemma is how to save the ship and a large part of Lower Manhattan without losing the love of her life."

  "Sounds intriguing. I'm sure you can find a brilliant solution. Meanwhile, that's not why you're calling me is it? What's really on your mind?"

  Catherine took a deep breath.

  "I'm worried, George. I think I'm being stalked by someone from my past. He may be psycho. Somehow he found out I was in Sydney and he knew where I worked. He even hacked into my office computer. He sent me a couple of threatening emails, said he knew where to find me"

  "Who is he?"

  "His name is Raymond Charles Montgomery. We had an affair. I lived with him for a while in Hong Kong until he became abusive. You remember. That's why I went to Australia."

  "What does he do in Hong Kong.?"

  "He's head of border security for the Special Administrative Region. I believe he reports directly to Beijing.

  "A government man. Probably has several identities and passports. It will make him difficult to track. But I know someone who might be able to help. Do you have copies of the emails?"

  "On my computer, yes."

  "Good. Print copies and meet me at the Morpeth Arms. Do you know it? It's on the Embankment at the foot of the Vauxhall Bridge Road. Make sure you're not being followed. And bring your computer."

  It was 5 pm. Knocking off time. George knew he had to hurry. He dialed a number and listened to it ring, praying that it wouldn't go to voicemail.

  "Hello?"

  "Chris? It's George."

  "George. How the hell are you? Terror of the Pimlico book club, last I heard."

  George thought of Dolly and the collapsing Chippendale. Christ, he thought, these guys know everything.

  Christopher Marples was his best friend at school, now head of surveillance, MI6. The MI6 building, a great green-trimmed concrete bunker is across the river from the Morthpeth Arms. Or is it? A taxi driver once told him it didn't exist at all, that it was an illusion painted on the London skyline.

  "Do you still track coded emails?"

  "Certainly, anything in code, that is, not in one of the world's 274 official languages, is written in code for a purpose. We have software that can decode millions of documents in less time that it takes Google to find a sex shop in Amsterdam. You tracking anyone in particular?"

  "Yes, someone we think is currently in Hong Kong."

  "Doesn't matter where he is. If he has a computer, we can find it and hide a tracker. Next time the punter sends a message, even if it's a note to his mother, we will know where he is, accurate to about 25 feet. Bingo."

  "Hang on though. This bloke works for Hong Kong border security. He must know how to sweep his computer of possible tracking devises."

  "He can sweep all he wants. Bring in Molly Maid if he wants to. This one is the latest in high-tech wizardry. Without boring you with the details, it hides in the hard drive and changes its location three-hundred times a second. It's not just like looking for a needle in a haystack, it's like looking for a needle in three hundred haystacks. Not only that but it migrates?"

  "Migrates? "

  "It travels wirelessly to any functioning computer within sixty feet that has the punter's imprint. If he has a mobile phone, it will go there. Global positioning system in his car? There it is. If he has a microchip in his toaster it would go there too. This thing spreads like a virus."

  "Sounds promising. Fancy a beer?"

  "Best offer I've had today."

  "Great. Meet you at the pub in 30 minutes."

  Over a couple of pints, the man from MI6 listened attentively to Catherine's story.

  "And you really feel your life may be in danger from this bloke?" he asked her.

  "I don't know. He was mentally scarred by what happened to him when he was in the army during the war in Iraq, He holds himself responsible for the deaths of innocent civilians and he suffered bouts of depression when we were together in Hong Kong. I don't know his state-of-mind. He might be capable of anything. The worrying part is not knowing where he is."

  Christopher Marples drained his beer and got up to put his coat on. "Ordinarily, I would say this is a matter for the police and we wouldn't get involved," he said. "But because of this bloke's role in Hong Kong border security, I can justify at least keeping an eye on him. I'll get my people onto it right away. George, I'll call you if we learn anything. Nice meeting you, Catherine."

  "Nice meeting you. Thank you, I feel better already."

  Outside, it was getting dark. From their table in the window, they could see the headlamps of joggers pounding along the Embankment. Beyond them, across the dark expanse of the River Thames, the lights of the MI6 building shone reassuringly.

  Catherine smiled at George and squeezed his hand. It had been the right decision to return to London. It was home. She felt safer there.

  "Actually, right now, I have an even more pressing concern," she told him. "I've got to find somewhere to live."

  George grinned. "God, do I have to do everything?" he said. "Actually, I might be able to help you with that, too. There's a furnished flat across the road from me, owner lives in Canada, good mate of mine, only uses it for a couple of months a year. If I ask him I'm sure he'll let you bunk down there until you get a place of your own."

  And so George and Catherine became neighbors and their friendship deepened. It had been six months since they made their literary pact and they met regularly to discuss their progress. It was at one of these sessions that George's phone rang. It was the man from MI6.

  "Thought you should know, your man left his apartment for Hong Kong International Airport. It's possible he checked his computer and his phone in left luggage. Whatever he's done, he's under the radar, although our people are confident they will pick him up again. Meanwhile, we checked the passenger manifesto of every international flight that departed since he got there. Somebody by the name of Raymond Charles Montgomery is apparently en route to London.

  Chapter Fourteeen

  News item:

  A 24-year-old London advertising executive who was allegedly abducted from a flat in Pimlico last night, was rescued unharmed after police stopped a rented car apparently after a tip-off from a neighbor. A 42-year-old Caucasian man resident of Hong Kong is assisting police with their enquiries. Police said the woman and her alleged abductor were known to each other. No names have been released.

  It's been a week now since I was drugged and abducted by R.C. Montgomery and all I have to show for it is this one paragraph item from the evening paper. It must have been a slow news night. But he's out of my life now and in return for my agreeing not to press charges, he signed an injunction undertaking to have no further contact with me. At least now I can get on with life and more importantly finish my book. Nan says a kidnap charge would be hard to prove because of our previous relationship. It didn't matter that he had disguised himself as an Arab, forced entry into my flat, drugged me, stripped me, tied my hands behind my back, clothed me in a burqa and forced me into his car. All this apparently could be explained as part of a sex-fuelled fan
tasy in which he claimed I was a willing participant. Things started to unravel when his solicitor, in an interview in the prosecutor's office, questioned me about events following my 18th birthday. Nan said to answer all the questions. He was the one facing charges not me. I remember a horrible sparse little room, a table, a few hard wooden chairs, a dying moth flapping at an incandescent light. In the life so far of Catherine Mallory Jones, this was not one for the highlight reel.

  When did you first meet Raymond Charles Montgomery?

  When I was at school, he was the headmaster.

  What school was that?

  The Chiltern Hills Academy at Shoreham-on-Sea.

  But he wasn't just your headmaster, was he? At some stage you got to know him in an entirely different context, did you not? You had a consensual sexual relationship with him. Is that correct, Miss Jones?

  Yes.

  In fact, it was more than consensual, wasn't it? You initiated it, did you not? Be careful how you respond. These are questions that will be asked of you in court should these very serious charges stand.

  Nan: Mr.Rolandson, I object to veiled threats made to my client about what might or might not be asked in court.

  Then I repeat, Miss Jones, it is true that it was you who initiated intimacy with Mr. Montgomery?

  It's true.

  What sort of physical contact was there?

  He disciplined me.

  In what way did he discipline you?

  He spanked me.

  Did he, indeed? He spanked you. And yet corporal punishment has been banned in British schools for more than 30 years. Clearly he had no authority to do so, did he? He spanked you because you wanted him to. Is that not correct? You went to his office with a forged note from a senior staff member, a note that you yourself had written, requesting that you be disciplined 'like a junior girl'. I have a copy. The original is in my office safe. Is this the note that you wrote, Miss Jones?

  It is.

  And because he didn't send you packing, indeed he went along with your schoolgirl fantasy, which now, whatever the perceived morality, became a sexual act between consenting adults in private. And you, Miss Jones, you willingly bent over his knee and lowered your underwear to be spanked by him. Isn't that what happened?

  Yes, but that doesn't make it acceptable five years later to.....

  It does not, if what you say is true. We say it is another of your fantasies. What is accepted, however, or at least what is not disputed, is that you returned to the headmaster's office the very next day, did you not? You went back for more 'punishment'.

  At his behest, yes.

  And on this second occasion there was further sexual activity between you?

  Yes.

  Only this time, among other activities, you meted out punishment, did you not? You gave him 12 strokes of the cane.

  He asked for it. I felt I owed him. He told me about what happened in Iraq. He said he had much to atone for. Look, I know where this is going...

  Do you, indeed. You may know where it's going, but I'm not sure you know the consequences either for yourself or for my client if these wild allegations end up into court.

  Nan: Mr. Rolandson, we are fully aware of the penalties for kidnap, if that is what you mean.

  And we, for our part, are aware of the consequences of making wrongful allegations.

  When did you next see Mr. Montgomery?

  About five years later. I bumped into him in Sloane Square.

  You did more than just bump into him, you re-connected. You started dating, didn't you? You even went to live with him in Hong Kong. You resumed your relationship.

  Yes.

  In every way?

  Meaning what?

  Meaning that you continued to indulge in fetishism, some would say sado-masochistic activities?

  No. That's not how it was. What we did was play.

  But spanking was regularly part of that 'play'?

  As it is for many lovers. I was in love with him and genuinely believed he loved me too. That doesn't mean I can forgive him for what he did.

  I would remind you, Miss Jones, that so far we are dealing only with allegations, allegations that my client vigorously denies. Let's look at some other evidence that might cause you to rethink your position. I want to take you back to your time together in Hong Kong. You have admitted my client regularly spanked you, in fact you used to send him coded emails describing how much you looked forward to it - I have a stack of them here, if your memory needs prompting - but that wasn't enough for you, was it?

  It really was. It was all I wanted. To me, erotic discipline is simply that, erotic. It's not about inflicting pain, it's about trust, tactile stimulation, intimacy, building arousal that leads to making love.

  And yet you upped the ante, didn't you? I put it to you that entirely on your own initiative you went to a manufacturer in Hong Kong and bought a rattan cane, similar to the one he handed to you in his office on your last day of school. You gave it to him for his birthday. That was a nice touch. What did you imagine he was going to do with it?

  I never imagined he would beat me with it.

  But he did use it on you in way that you brought you mutual enjoyment, did he not? As you have just described, as a means of 'building arousal'.

  Yes, but there's a vast difference…

  Is there? When he spanked you, some spankings were harder than others, were they not? Sometimes he was rough, and, depending on your mood, you liked that, didn't you, you liked being forcibly bent over, having your panties ripped off?

  Nan: Don't answer that.

  She doesn't need to. The point I am making here, central to the allegations, is that if my client were capable of assault causing actual bodily harm he could be capable of kidnap, or unlawful confinement. But what happened that night in Hong Kong was 'tactile stimulation' that got a little more, shall we say, stimulating, than you had intended. And my client will say that afterwards when he went out for a drink, you, in a fit of rage or remorse, or both, vented your anger on his property, not only destroying the cane you had given him, but a glass sculpture that you smashed to pieces. There is no need at this stage to go into details, but I believe you are familiar with the piece I am referring to.

  I am also familiar with difference between foreplay and abuse. What he did to me was violent and abusive. It had nothing to do with arousal.

  He crossed the line, is that what you are saying?

  I'm saying he violently assaulted me.

  Did you go to the police to lay charges, which apparently you seem intent on doing now?

  I did not.

  Why not?

  I was hurting, confused, distraught. I just wanted to escape, to get out of his life.

  I put it to you, Miss Jones, that you didn't lay charges because you knew they wouldn't stick. That is why you didn't go to the police. A 'violent and cruel beating', as you describe it, would leave marks on your body. Where is your proof? Do you have photographs, a medical report? There is no evidence, is there?

  As a matter-of-fact, there is evidence. A doctor in Sydney subsequently performed a thorough physical examination. He confirmed that the marks on my body were consistent with a beating. The Aussies tend to speak their mind. What he said to me, in his exact words, was: 'What sort of a bastard would do that?'

  Does that doctor have a name?

  He does. Dr. Steed Blondin. I talked to him yesterday He has agreed to give evidence on my behalf.

  And that, as they say, put the cat among the pigeons. As Nan told me, lawyers seldom ask a question to which they don't know the answer and Steed's sudden and unexpected entry had blindsided R.C. Montgomery's legal team. If I could convince a jury that he had physically beaten me, they were hardly likely to believe I was a participant in my own abduction. Despite the ambiguity of the emails he had sent me, it was damaging in the context of what had subsequently happened. And despite Mr. Rolandson's aggressive line of questioning, I was still prepared to press charges.
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br />   During recess, Nan asked me about Steed and I told her all about him. She smiled and shook her head.

  "Sweetie, he was your lover, wasn't he, not your doctor? I don't think we can put him in the witness box."

  "We were lovers, yes, but what he said about the marks on my body is true."

  "And he'll give evidence to that effect?"

  "He will. I don't think we need to reveal the circumstances under which the physical examination took place."

  "We don't, but they will. They'll look for a paper trail. Where did the examination take place? Where is there a record of fee for service provided by Dr. Blondin? Where is the doctor's report? If he was an intern at the time, who else signed off on his medical diagnosis? Where is Dr. Blondin now, by the way?"

  "He's in Perth, he's a specialist in tropical medicine."

  Oh, great. Sweetie, you were beaten with a length of rattan, not bitten on the butt by a mosquito. I don't think Dr. Blondin is going to help us."

  I had to laugh, in spite of my disappointment. Dear old Nan, she always gets to the nub of things.

  After recess, it became apparent that she was right.

  Mr. Ronaldson continued questioning me.

  This Dr. Blondin who saw marks on your body consistent with a beating, can he identify the person who made those marks?

  Of course not. He just knows what I told him at the time.

  So the marks on your body you allege were made by my client could have been made by another, could they not? Being erotically disciplined, by your own admission, is apparently a regular occurrence in your sex life. Or did you change your ways in Australia?

  Nan: My client is not the one under investigation here and she is under no obligation to discuss her sex life.

  Very well, I withdraw the question.

  Miss Jones, for the record, where did this examination by Dr. Blondin take place?

  He is an intern at Royal Sydney Hospital.

  That is not what I asked you? I asked you where the examination took place. During the break we made some phone calls. There is no hospital documentation on record that a Dr. Blondin ever examined you, at least professionally, although we will of course continue this line of enquiry.