Game Time Pt. 02

I had learned one of the hard lessons of life during our time in the DC area concerning the proximity of criminal activity throughout the country. I had joined a gun club in the area after our move to Georgia, and had purchased a Ruger Blackhawk .357 Magnum revolver. In back of the house, my land sloped gently to some woods, and then there was an earthen berm, where the builder had moved some of the rock and dirt from the construction. That was where I had established my make-shift personal firing range, where I plinked a couple of boxes of ammo every now and then to keep my hand in with the weapon.

I was not too worried about danger to the neighbors whenever I shot my revolver at my range out back, as there were none behind me for well over a mile. In addition to the earthen and rock berm, there also were woods and there was a creek, with its accompanying 'wetlands'--what we used to call 'swamps' before the crowd at the EPA began going to extreme lengths not only to correct our terminology, but also to correct our thinking about so-called private property ownership in America.

A good half acre of my six-acre land lot extended into the 'wetlands' and I could not do a damned thing with that land without having federal lawyers from the EPA going medieval on my ass. They were not too happy, as it was, about my slinging lead into the primitive region, but--thank God for the Second Amendment--the U.S. Constitution and the enlightened gun laws of the Great State of Georgia held sway on that aspect of my life and my land use, and I was allowed to shoot into the 'swamps' to my heart's content.

I kept the Ruger close by in the house, but out of Steven's reach. Lana did not object, since she was actually more familiar with handling handguns than I was, because of her previous training as a contractor for the Bureau.

Other aspects of the new place began to make themselves known to me in short order. We had Canada Geese landing in the wetlands behind the place--although a friend of mine, who was originally from Jasper, Alberta, had laughed and said those geese were not really from Canada. We also heard the screech of an owl in the pre-dawn mornings. And we saw signs of other wildlife that simply amazed us, since the encroachment of civilization--caused by the suburban sprawl supporting the rapid of the Atlanta region--would normally drive such wildlife away; but not here!

Shortly after purchasing my land, and my discovery of the abundance of wildlife in the area of where my new house would be--back well before construction had even begun, UPS had made a delivery that had left me with a big smile on my face. They had delivered a present that I had made to myself to celebrate the initial stage of clearing my land for what I hoped would be our dream house. That present had been my brand new Moultrie Panoramic 150 game camera that I had bought online from Amazon. It had a motion-sensor trigger to take pictures whenever anything moved within its field of view; and it was equipped with an infrared flash that allowed clear pictures at night, since many of the critters were nocturnal.

I had found a spot behind and below the site for the house, back when the only thing to indicate construction was the beginning stage of stakes in the ground to mark the limits of the foundation. The place I had selected for the gamecam was near what I suspected was an old deer trail leading to the creek. I had set up the gamecam, using small bungee cords to secure it to a tree, and soon I had begun to enjoy seeing pictures of birds, deer, raccoons, and even coyotes when I would periodically retrieve the gamecam and hook it up to my laptop back at the apartment via USB cable. I simply had to remember to retrieve it periodically so that I could dump or swap out the memory card, and keep track of the battery status.

I had shared the wildlife pictures with Steven, back before Lana's return, and he had been tickled to see animals that would be living just outside his own bedroom window once the house was completed and we moved it. With all the hubbub of Lana's return and Angela's entry into our family, along with the new schedule of seeing her doctors--both her therapist and the gynecologist--it simply slipped my mind to make Lana aware of the joy that Steven and I were experiencing with the gamecam. And I even overlooked the gamecam itself for a while, as it was attached to a tree down by the edge of my property, until well after we had move into the completed house.

****

Lana began to reconnect well now with Steven. We all would load up the car and go to the ball field to watch and cheer our son as he played Coach-Pitch baseball. Little Angela came along with us now, as she did everywhere. I had overcome my initial aversion to the idea of raising another man's baby. I mean that no one was going to take this child away from Lana, and that meant no one would ever separate her from me either (I had not said anything to Lana, but I had made a vow to myself that, when the time was right, I would legally adopt the little girl--and the baby still growing in Lana's belly as well).

One strange thing had happened the first time we went to one of Steven's ballgames. As we stood with Steven near the dugout, the coach had come out and announced, "It's game time!" to the kids and us parents.

Lana had gasped at hearing this, and had grabbed my arm. I had looked into her eyes and could see that 'Lana' had left the premises for a while, disappearing into another realm for a few seconds. I had just held her close and waited. Abruptly, Lana had sighed and pulled away from me and smiled at me with a hint of embarrassment.

"I--I am sorry, Maddux," Lana had said to me. "It--it is just something that Steven's coach said that caused me to return ... there ... in my mind." She had looked up at me and I had known immediately just where 'there' was.

"Maybe, one day, you will be able to tell me all about it," I had said with a reassuring smile and a kiss to her forehead.

"One day," Lana had replied, "maybe."

****

Lana and I finally got to the point of sexual intimacy about six weeks after we moved into the new house. She had allowed me to carry her over the threshold when we had finally moved in. Even being pregnant, she was not so heavy as to be a real burden for me to carry her into our new home. But that was the only close physical concession she would make to our being husband and wife in the early stages. But we progressed to hugs, kisses; then both; and--finally--to sex.

We were not nearly as adventurous initially as we had been in the days before Lana's abduction. We kept to simple missionary sex at first, and I did not broach the subject of oral sex for either of us. I also was concerned about harming the fetus, as this was the first time that I had been involved sexually with a pregnant partner since Lana had carried Steven. But we did take joy in the simple comforts of holding each other closely in bed, before and after our renewed sexual interactions.

I still wanted to learn some of the details about Lana's period of captivity, but her therapist had told me to let her tell me in her own time and not to rush her. So, I bided my time, and she let me know in subtle ways that she appreciated my patience.

Finally, over wine one night--only one glass for her--she began to tell me of her harrowing experience as a sex slave.

****

Lana's story

I won't bore you with a lot of details about my working in Vadim's brokerage, Maddux, since you have told me that you heard about it from Zach Taylor. Honestly, Honey, none of us who were working there would have ever believed what we encountered there; or what happened afterward to those of us who survived.

Anyway, as you know, I was working on two cases at once. First, I was working on the case of tracking the unusual money movements that Vadim's brokerage had been involved with. You know that Vadim's business was actually serving as a downstream clearing house for the illegal gains from Vasily Radkevich's criminal empire, but only after it had already been through at least one other layer of filtering by some firm in Baltimore.

You also know that I was working at the same time with Special Agent Fife to aid the Bureau in accumulating enough internal evidence to develop an administrative case against Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn for sexual harassment of some of the female employees of the contract companies supporting the Bureau; and I ... well, I guess you could say that I was ... bait, of sorts.

[I cringed as I heard this from my wife].

It did not take me but a few days to begin to detect some of the hints of the trails being left by the money laundering transactions. Within a couple of weeks, I had begun to develop a pretty thorough electronic map of where the money was being sourced, where it was being routed, and--eventually--where it was being deposited.

Believe me, Maddux; I was being very careful to ensure that I was not leaving any electronic 'fingerprints' or 'tracks' that could possibly indicate that I was even in the system and watching the flow. After all, I did not want anyone on Vasily's end of things even to be able to detect me or, if that was not possible, to identify me personally, or even to be able to determine that the probe was actually coming from within the network server of Vadim's business.

I guess that Vasily's network experts were better than I had anticipated--that is the only thing that I can believe, given the fact that they were able to target Vadim and the rest of us the way they did. Or, it could have been just a scorched earth policy implemented by Vasily to close down ALL possible points of electronic intrusion into his network, regardless of guilt. Vasily, as paranoid as he was reputed to be about security, would probably take just such a 'burn-everything-down' approach in order to remove any and all evidence against him.

As I said earlier, I had mapped out the flow of the money pretty well after just a few weeks. It was as I began to analyze the deposits a bit more closely that I discovered some disturbing indicators as to the identities of some of the recipients. Many must have been other criminals, both overseas and here in the States. I did not recognize their names, but Van Horn and Fife seemed to be excited about it.

Then I began to recognize some of the other account holders from their names that I had seen over the years in the newspapers and on television and the internet--they were politicians at the State and Federal level; the states involved mainly included North Carolina, Virginia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware.

SSA Van Horn suddenly began to get nervous and had me route any developments in that particular area to him exclusively. I believed at the time that he was simply being cautious because of the sensitivity of the information and its implications for a case of widespread political corruption with all the possible consequences for the Bureau, as the bearer of the bad news.

I soon discovered that SSA Emmett Van Horn was nervous for other reasons--and one reason in particular.

One of the deposit streams that I had discovered--but never reported to Van Horn--pointed to one person who I would never have believed could be involved in this criminal mess as deeply as he was--given who he was and where he worked.

That person was none other than Supervisory Special Agent Emmett Van Horn himself! He was actually on the payroll of Vasily Radkevich!

Naturally, I made electronic back-ups of files that I had found and sent them to someone else, so that I would not have the information simply 'disappear' conveniently. That is when I sent those files to you, Maddux. I am sorry that I had to use a phony email address source, but I was desperate to get the information out and still remain behind the scenes when this all broke--as it was sure to do very soon after that discovery. I waited for two days before I re-sent the same email with the electronic evidence against Emmett Van Horn to Zach Taylor at Tamerlane and to Special Agent Fife at the Bureau. I did not know that you had already passed the files on to Special Agent Fife.

At that point, I knew that I no longer had to worry about the sexual harassment case, as the Bureau now had a criminal case against Van Horn. But, I kept on working there at Vadim's place in order to keep up the appearances of normal operations.

I heard a few days later, after sending you that email with those files, about SSA Van Horn's being arrested. I thought that things were moving fast, and have now only found out since my rescue that Barney Fife was already on Van Horn's case and that my evidence was simply icing on the cake. We all had thought that everything was under control, as far as arresting Van Horn was concerned, and I did not fear for my own safety, as Vadim's operation was only a window into the periphery of what Vasily was doing; not--supposedly--a likely target for Vasily's wrath.

Two days after I had heard about his arrest, SSA Van Horn was killed in the Federal holding facility. While I was appalled at the violent death of someone whom I had known personally, even if he were a tainted Agent, I still had no worries for my own situation or personal safety.

On the morning of the third day after Van Horn's arrest, the day after his death, the two Special Agents and all of the contractors from Tamerlane received notification from Special Agent Fife that we are being pulled out of Vadim's facility for a while, until the Bureau could clear up some of the uncertainties concerning the depth of involvement of SSA Van Horn and possibly others at the Local, State, and Federal level.

We were closing out files and performing other actions in preparation for a return to the McLean offices on the morning that it happened. Suddenly, people throughout the offices began to show signs of dizziness, stagger, and lose their equilibrium. Soon, everything simply went dark.

I woke up with my hands and feet bound in a van, moving at a rapid speed somewhere. I could hear voices, but could not determine what was being said, as the road noise and the walls separating us from the speakers hindered clarity; only that they were speaking what sounded to my ears as if it were Russian.

When we finally reached wherever we were going, someone roughly removed me from the van and rushed me into a building where I heard women crying and screaming, and men laughing and shouting harshly.

My clothing was all cut off with what I took to be a sharp industrial knife, leaving me in harsh light, naked and afraid, along with about fifteen other women and teenage girls. Two men took my arms and led--actually, almost carried--me to a room down a hall. It contained a mattress on a rudimentary bed frame. One of the men held my arms while the other undressed.

Both men spent the next two hours raping my mouth and pussy. One fucked me in the ass finally. Then they simply left me alone for a short while. I was sore, bruised, covered in cum, and very, very afraid. I was crying as well in response to what was happening to me. I also still had a headache and mild nausea that I attributed at the time to the residual effects of whatever was used at Vadim's place to incapacitate us all.

I looked around my current surroundings. All I had in the room for a toilet was a bucket. There was also a plastic gallon jug of water on the floor by the bed. There were no towels and no bedding on the plain mattress on which they had left me. Thank goodness they had finally removed the bindings on my wrists during all of the sex; or else, my shoulders could very well have been dislocated with the roughness the men had displayed in their abuse of my body.

Over the next few days, men came in at random times; sometimes two or three at a time; and used me sexually. There was actually very little violence--just a slap now and then--whenever I would attempt to resist or speak out of turn.

One man, in particular--I found out later that his name was Gennady--took particular delight in taking me roughly. And, every time he came into the room where I was, he would begin to unbuckle his belt, and, without fail, would happily announce, "Game time, My Little Slut!" He would then take his pleasure from the sexual abuse of my mouth and my pussy. Only once did he try my ass; but he complained that it was too tight for his 'manly cock'--those were his words.

This went on for many days, until three men in expensive-looking suits came in and visited me. They looked me over and had another man display me and photograph me in various poses. After a while, the well-dressed men left and the man who had displayed and photographed me pushed me to my knees and made me give him a blow job.

I lost track of time, as the days seemed to merge together into a nightmare event. I realized, one day, that I must have been drugged through my food, as I seemed to lose track of a significant amount of time and I was a bit surprised when I went to sleep one night and woke up in a different facility in daylight. This place was much nicer. It had an actual bedroom and bed--complete with bed coverings and a pillow, and was lighted well, with a closet full of costly but slutty things for a woman to wear.

I now realized, at this point, that I has been relegated to the position of a sex slave for the sole purpose of servicing whoever I might be ordered to perform sexually in order to make money for my unseen and unknown masters--although I could guess that, ultimately, my actions were benefiting Vasily and his organization somehow.

I had also realized, at one point very shortly after my captivity had begun, that I was pregnant. Shortly after I had been taken by these people, I had begun to have an upset stomach and headaches when I woke each morning, that I had attributed initially to the after affects of the gas or whatever they had used on us at Vadim's. But I came to realize that these symptoms indicated that it was morning sickness. My symptoms got worse to the point of my throwing up very shortly after awakening each day; and sometimes again, shortly after they fed us what passed for a morning meal.

I only made one attempt at begging one of the customers who had paid to use me to help me escape--that I was actually being kept against my will, serving criminals. The man used soothing words, with promises that he would inform the authorities of my plight.

They must have been monitoring us all. For they came in and beat me about the soles of my feet, my legs, and my buttocks with an awful leather strap, telling me that I was to keep my mouth shut with customers. They also showed me the beaten body of the man to whom I had turned for aid. From that point on, I never again attempted to enlist aid from any of the 'customers.'

My pregnancy began to show at about the 12-week point. My masters did not seem to care. I was told to keep on fucking and sucking until about a week or two before delivery.

When my water broke, there was no feeling of desperation by my captors. They were obviously very experienced at handling this type of situation--after years of handling hundreds of unwilling women, many of whom got pregnant at some point due to all the sex.

One fear of the women, I found out from talking with them, was the possibility of being forced into aborting of their babies; but her masters gave no indication of any desire to abort. When I asked some of the women about this, I found out--to my horror--that these monsters were also in the baby-selling business.

****

"They took my baby; they sold my baby boy, Maddux," Lana broke down and cried at this point; "OUR son; yours and mine. They let me bear him; nurse him; and grow to love him for three weeks. Then they came for him and took him. But, during the short time that he was with me, I was secretly able to name him officially in my heart and perform an emergency baptism on him before they came for him." Lana still fell back into her Orthodox Church ways of viewing religious matters sometimes, even after having converted to become a Presbyterian when she had married me.