Steel World Inc. Chapter Twenty

 

My plan was to simply walk out through the front door of the house with my two slave girls trailing me. If Mr Magnus had been true to his word, the key card he gave me should give me access to do exactly that. If not, then I’d be stopped, and once Mr Frick discovered what I’d tried to do, I’d be in deep trouble. 

 

Being shot in the head would be the least of my concerns. I suspected that I’d instead take a long time dying.

 

So why was I being so brave? Well, frankly I was facing death either way and, as Miss Madison had said, it really was a case of which side offered me the greatest chance of survival. I didn’t really account for which of the two men was the most dangerous, because they both looked dangerous to me, but the balance of the scales obviously swung to Karl Magnus, if only because London was his ‘manor’ and all his men were here. Frick no doubt had a security team in London, but he was relying on subterfuge and the element of surprise. In a straight knock down fight, assuming we could get word to Magnus, then Frick would be outnumbered, on foreign territory, and at a considerable disadvantage. 

 

IF we could get word to Magnus. We had to get out of the house and grounds first. 

 

“You’ll have to leash me,” said Miss Madison. 

 

A woman asking a man to put her on a collar leash is incredibly erotic, and here was the delightful Miss Madison asking me to do just that.

 

“Oh? Really?”

 

“Yes.” She blushed again. “I can’t believe I’m telling you to do this, but it will look suspicious if you walk me out onto the grounds of the house without a leash.”

 

I noticed she had difficulty now meeting my eyes. That was interesting. 

“Is there anything else I should know?” I asked. 

 

Miss Madison tossed her hair again. “You may have to…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Treat me as a slave girl. For the benefit of the men guarding the house.” She blushed again.

 

“I can do that.”

 

“Just until we get to a car and drive out.”

 

“What sort of things should I do?” I smiled. “I’m new to this.”

 

She blushed even brighter than before. “Touch me inappropriately, I suppose. Correct the way I walk. Things.”

 

“I see.” 

 

I only had one leash to hand, and that was the one fixed to Miss Hamilton’s collar ring. I looked around this large room and saw all manner of chains and whips, but no additional collar leashes. “Miss Hamilton, Miss Madison, please stand next to one another.”

 

The women swapped hostile looks as they stood inches apart. I took the loose end of the leash clipped to Esme’s collar ring and tied it to the ring that hung from Emily’s collar ring. The two girls were now tethered together, the only difference being that Esme had her hands free, and Emily’s were chained behind her lower back.

 

“I do not wish to be tethered to this slave,” said Miss Madison.

 

“And I do not wish to be tied to you!” cried Esme.

 

“You are now both leashed,” I said. 

 

“Free my hands!” cried Miss Madison.

 

I ignored her. A guard would no doubt stop to point out to me that a slave with free hands could, given a little time, untie the leash knot on her collar ring. It would be poor security. I didn’t want any guards to stop to talk to me if I could help it. 

 

“I suppose I’ll need this,” I said, as I took a slave switch from the wall.

 

“You won’t need that!” said Miss Madison, with a tightness of breath that was clearly audible.

 

“I hope not.” I tapped her bottom with the tip, lightly, feeling how flexible it was.

 

“Oh!” she yelped, so I traced the tip of the switch against her bare thigh. “Simon!” she cried out in alarm.

 

“Whip her, Simon,” said Esme as she glared at her former manager. “Whip the slutty little… Oh!” she now squealed and jumped slightly as I tapped her bottom too.

 

“Heads down as you walk,” I said. “Especially you, Miss Madison. It’s best you’re not recognised on the way to the front door. That would be unfortunate indeed.”

 

I think Miss Madison was now breathing rather deeply. 

 

“You’re doing the right thing, Simon. I’ll see you’re well rewarded.”

 

And so I marched the two women towards the door, stroking their bottoms occasionally with the tip of the switch, lifting the slight hems of their slave tunics, to remind them that they should pace themselves carefully. 

 

I didn’t know how much time I had before Frick might begin to grow frustrated by my absence. How long did it take to bring a newly acquired slave to a kennel pen? I had no idea. Obviously he would take into account the fact that this was all new to me. 

 

I was pleased to see I received only routine glances as I made my way through the corridors of the house. A man escorting two chained and collard women elicited nothing more than casual appraisals of the merchandise. From time to time I gruffly nodded as a man passed by, and he nodded back. None of them seemed to recognise either of the women. 

 

“I think you both pass reasonably well as slave girls,” I whispered. “I commend you on your roleplay, Miss Madison. It comes naturally to you, it seems.”

 

Her slim wrists struggled in the tight steel restraints as I said that to her. 

 

“It is natural to her,” snarled Esme.

 

“Oh? You think so, Miss Hamilton? Why is that?”

 

She’s the kind of woman who belongs in a collar!”

 

“Interesting.” I continued to walk them both before me. From time to time I watched with an amused smile as they glared at one another. I permitted this, so long as it didn’t impede our progress. 

 

And then we reached the main lobby, from which I could see the heavy double doors and the gravel drive outside. It was guarded of course by men who I suspected probably carried concealed guns. 

 

“Good evening.” I summoned a pretence of authority and flashed sight of the key card pass that Karl Magnus had given me, hoping that it might be sufficient to proceed undisturbed. “They’re both mine for the night. Karl Magnus was very kind.” 

 

The man with close cropped hair grinned as his eyes assessed Miss Madison and Miss Hamilton. 

 

“Hungry for more?” he suggested.

 

“Very hungry,” I replied. “This one I haven’t had, yet.” I tapped Miss Madison’s thigh. “The night is still young.”

 

He laughed and seemed to agree. “We’ll take turns in the pens when the last of the guests leave. It’s been a long and frustrating night.”

 

I nodded. “I share your pain. I had to spend far too much time just drinking and talking with Mr Magnus while everyone else was enjoying themselves.” Again, it was the sort of thing I felt I should say. Strangely, it felt like being in some sort of film, or perhaps a role-playing game, of which I had spent many nights playing Dungeons and Dragons during my university years. This ‘putting on a role’ came naturally enough to me.

 

And then it occurred to me. Just how far could I push this? Just how much authority did the plastic card offer? What could I ask for?

 

“I need a gun,” I said, as matter of factly, as if I was asking for some sugar for my coffee.

 

For a moment I thought I’d gone too far, but then the man simply asked: “Glock 19 or Sig P226?”

 

I had no idea, but I couldn’t ask what the difference was. 

 

“Sig 226,” I replied, hopefully in a nonchalant manner. I waited, levelling my breath as another man stepped into a side room and then returned after what seemed an age, but was probably only a minute or two, with a box. 

 

“P226 with two 15 round magazine clips.” He simply handed it to me. No questions asked. Not even wanting to know why I might need a powerful handgun in London. 

 

“I’ll also need a car.”

 

Again the man nodded and signalled. Thirty seconds later the headlights of a car outside came on as another man handed me the remote key. 

 

And that was it. The men stepped aside and allowed me to walk out into the cold evening air. Miss Madison winced as the tender soles of her feet came into contact with the rough gravel. 

 

“You’re doing very well, Emily,” I said, touching her buttocks lightly with the switch. 

 

She nodded, but wisely said nothing. 

 

And then moments later we were at the car. It was too dark to really make out what I would be driving, but I suspected it wouldn’t be rubbish. 

 

“The back seat, Miss Hamilton,” I suggested, after I had untied the neck tether. I waited patiently as she climbed quickly inside. “And the passenger seat for you, Emily.”

 

“My hands…” She turned her back to me and wriggled her wrists, expecting, I suppose, to be freed.

 

I did not free her.

 

“We don’t have all night, Emily.”

 

She climbed into the front seat with some help from me and sat there as I reached for the seat belt and fastened her securely into place. She really was very lovely. I could understand why Mr Frick desired her so much. I placed the closed box containing the gun and the two loaded magazines on the back seat beside Miss Hamilton. 

 

The hem of Miss Hamilton’s scandalously brief tunic skirt had ridden up considerably as she had squirmed into position on the passenger seat. Acting kindly, I smoothed the fabric down around her thighs to save her further embarrassment.

 

“Thank you, Simon,” she whispered. With her hands chained behind her back she was unable to adjust her garment herself. 

 

The car turned out to be a BMW M3 which, as an avid fan of the BBC motoring show, Top Gear, and an admirer of the professionalism of presenter, James May, in particular, I knew it to be a 3.0 litre twin turbo six-cylinder engine, capable of 425bhp, with rear wheel drive, adaptive dampers, updated aluminium suspension, and a six-speed manual gearbox as standard.  

 

Trust me, the new twin-turbo straight-six engine is a peach. There’s no sudden surge of power, and it revs right through to a ballistic 7600rpm when you want the full-on, sports car experience, while also delivering properly muscular mid-range oomph that makes it easy to drive smoothly and very fast without trying.

 

I opted to use the auto gearbox in normal mode, which turned out to be impressively slick and snappy when I resorted to using the paddles, blipping on down changes, and causing little or no pause in momentum on up-shifts. 

 

With all the many variable elements in the right tune, including dampers, auto gearbox, steering and stability control, (which can all be adjusted independently) the M3 turns-in to corners with pinpoint precision and plenty of feedback through the wheel. You can even allow the back-end to step-out, without feeling in danger of injury or insurance claim, making it feel lively without being too scary. 

 

However, there is a problem. While the M3 is monumentally rapid, you do need to be pushing towards the edges of its grip before you feel it come alive; the harder you drive, the more it becomes obvious that it’s actually quite agile – it just hides it beneath the comfortable, fast tourer feel you get at normal road speeds.

 

So, the M3 is great when driven near its limits, but at normal road speeds the steering becomes a touch slower and a bit more lifeless, and you lose that finer sense of handling athleticism.

 

“A lovely car,” I said to Miss Madison as I drove down the private track, out through the open gates, and back into London. “Perhaps we should go straight to the police?” I suggested.

 

“Now you’re being ridiculous, Simon,” snapped Miss Madison. She sounded a little petulant. 

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“The police won’t investigate Karl Magnus unless they’re forced to, and you won’t be able to force them.”

 

“I see.” A subject for another time, perhaps. Was she suggesting that Karl’s influence was really so considerable?

 

“Do you have some place I can take you to, Miss Hamilton?” I asked, glancing back at her in the rear view mirror. “A friend you trust, perhaps?”

 

“We don’t have time for that, Simon,” snapped Emily.

 

I ignored her. 

 

“Miss Hamilton? Somewhere safe? It might be a good idea for you not to return to your apartment, tonight?”

 

Esme nodded quickly. “I have a friend who lives near King’s Cross. Her name’s Sarah. Can you take me there?” She gave me the address.

 

“Of course.”

“Simon? What are you doing? Just drop her off on the street! Our priority is to call Karl!” Miss Madison seemed agitated, and I noticed her brief skirt had ridden up again as she twisted round in the tight harness of her seat belt. 

 

“I’m not leaving Miss Hamilton to fend for herself on the street,” I remarked. “I’m not that sort of man. It’s late at night. Dressed the way she is, she would attract trouble.”

 

“Thank you, Simon,” said Esme. 

 

“Can you at least stop the car and phone Karl, first, before you act as Esme’s taxi driver?”

 

“I want to put some distance between us and the estate, first,” I remarked. In fact I was quite enjoying the feel of driving this splendid car. Many true petrol heads would of course stick with the manual, which provides a much more visceral experience and isn’t as jerky as the auto transmission can be, but I had learned to drive automatics, and I didn’t want to take any risks in the dark. Back to the engine, and I can say with confidence now that the 425bhp is quite intoxicating when all in use, but lower down the rev range it can seem a bit subdued.

 

However, the further you get round the rev counter, the more it comes alive and although the noise may not be as addictive as in the V8 before it, it can still give you plenty of excitement. One point down on the model, however, is that BMW pumps the exhaust note through the speakers, which makes it feel synthetic at times and can sour the experience a bit.

 

“Simon? Are you listening to me?”

 

“Not really, Miss Madison.” I drove on towards King’s Cross in the dark. 

 

The traffic in London is very light at this time of night, and so I drove quickly through mostly empty streets. Very soon I reached the building where Miss Hamilton’s friend, Sarah, lived. I parked the car and left the engine ticking over as I glanced towards the back seat. “I suppose she’ll be in bed about now?”

 

“Probably.” Esme tugged her brief slave skirt down about her thighs. “Please can you wait until I know she’s in?”

 

“Of course, Miss Hamilton. I’ll be here, watching.”

 

And so I sat opposite the building as Esme left the car, walked over to the front door and buzzed the flat number where Sarah lived. While she waited for her friend to answer, I flicked through the CDs that lay in the glove compartment. 

 

“Do you like Blur?” I asked Miss Madison. I held a copy of The Great Escape, which was the album they recorded around about the time of their famous rivalry with Oasis. Back in the nineties you were supposed to pick a side, liking either Blur or Oasis, but if I’m being honest I appreciate both bands for different reasons. Blur are obviously the more sophisticated art school performers, while Oasis can’t be beaten for gutsy rock and roll.

 

“Not especially,” she sniffed. 

 

“Radiohead?” I held up a copy of OK Computer. “Something more modern? The White Stripes?” I found a copy of their excellent album, ‘Elephant; the one with Seven Nation Army as the opening track. What a way to open an album! 

 

“Why are my hands still chained behind my back?!” 

 

“Because I’m not sure whether I can really trust you, Miss Madison.”

 

“But I thought…” she pouted, “I thought you liked me?”

 

“I do like you, Miss Madison. And therein lies the conflict and confusion I currently feel.”

 

She slumped back in her seat and stared straight ahead, refusing to look at me. 

 

Outside, I saw Miss Hamilton wave gratefully as the front door was buzzed open. I watched as she entered the building’s lobby and closed the door behind herself. 

 

“Now can we phone Karl?” asked Miss Madison. “Oh, for God’s sake, now what are you doing?”

 

I was inserting the White Stripes album into the car CD. 

 

“Frick might be looking for us right now!”

 

“He won’t know where we are. London is foreign territory to him. He won’t have many resources to call upon.”

 

“You know this car has a tracking chip in it, don’t you?”

 

“I assumed as much, but surely only Magnus will be able to track it?”

 

“I suppose.” Miss Madison sniffed and fidgeted where she sat. 

 

“So, shall we call him, then?” I slipped the iPhone from my jacket pocket and lit up the screen. “I’m assuming you don’t have your phone on you.”

 

“No I don’t. Obviously.” She glared at me. 

 

“The number then?”

 

“Um…” There was a look of confusion now across her face. “I know it… I know I do…” Her face paled. Normally I suppose she simply pressed a button on her phone to call it automatically. “Oh God, it’s the stress, I’m having difficulty remembering it… give me a moment.”

 

I gave her a moment.

 

“I think it’s 07702… 73? No, 72? Oh God… I can’t think straight.” She looked anxious and scared. “Come on, come on, come on… 07702… 775633? No. 785? Oh God…”

 

I replaced my phone in my jacket pocket. 

 

“So what are we going to do while you try to remember the number?” 

 

“There’s a safe house. We have a lot of safe houses.”

 

“Here in London?”

 

“I don’t think it’s safe to use the London ones. Frick may know them. There’s one on the coast – Southend-on-Sea. We can drive there and I’ll try and get my head straight. Frick won’t know about it.”

“You’re sure?”

 

“I’m sure. We don’t normally use it.”

 

“All right. We should be able to get there in an hour and a half, taking the A13. You can direct me once we’re near the coast.”

 

“Damn!” Miss Madison swore as she suddenly thought of something.

 

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

 

“Frick won’t know where we’re going, but he’ll know about your girlfriend.”

 

“Miss Whitlock?!”

 

“Yes. Shit. You’ll need to get her first, before Frick does. Shit.”

 

I was impressed. Miss Madison did care about other people after all.

 

“Thank you. I appreciate your concern for Miss Whitlock. I really do.”

 

“Don’t be stupid. I just don’t want you to end up trading me to Frick because he has that silly little girl you love. No offence.”

 

“None taken,” I said with my teeth gritted. 

 

I turned the car away from the apartment building and made my way on to where Miss Arabella Whitlock lived.