Olive Wade was a teacher, just turned forty who lived alone in an upper middle class suburb in the western suburbs. She was of average height, with a trim, but solid figure, a round, often smiling face and wore her dark hair in in a short page boy cut. She was generally regarded as a good primary teacher.
She had been married in her late twenties but this had ended in divorce after three years. However, she still liked the company of men and had enjoyed a couple of discreet affairs. At present she was unattached.
This early mid-winter evening she had just had a trying hour-long visit from the mother of one of her pupils. The was Eugenie DuChamp who had arrived unexpectedly and talked at length about her nine year old son.
Eugenie was a tall, statuesque woman, slightly over six feet with a square, determined face and straight blonde hair which she wore in a tight bun. She was in her early thirties. For this visit she had worn a wide belted, blue satin trench coat which she had not removed during her entire stay in Olive’s lounge room. It had rustled and crackled every time she moved.
Her son was a very ordinary boy. Not at all gifted but got on well with his peer group and had no problems. Left to grow at his own pace he would do well enough in some undemanding line of work and no doubt have a reasonably happy life. He would not be greatly outstanding, he'd never win a Nobel Prize but he’d make an adequate living.
The problem was his parents. Particularly the father who had made millions in real estate deals, some of them questionable. And latterly in a few overseas ventures that did not bear scrutiny.
Outstanding progress and achievement were desired which, sadly the the unfortunate lad just did not have in him. And Olive had spent the last hour trying to explain this. In the end Eugenie had departed abruptly, speaking darkly of putting her son into an expensive private school and paying for special tuition. His teacher tried to tell her this would be a waste of money and of little or no benefit to the boy.
Olive had provided two coffees toward the end of their meeting. She took the empty cups to the kitchen, washed and dried them and returned to the lounge. It was then she saw an envelope on the floor where Eugenie had been sitting. This must have fallen out of the briefcase of paperwork she had brought with her.
She’d only been gone a few minutes and might still be in the street. Olive picked up the letter an hurried out onto the front porch.
There was nothing in front of her cottage but she saw a large car parked in a patch of shadow from a clump of trees on the nature strip about thirty yards away. Silhouetted in the light of a street light even further distant she saw the outline of the tall Mrs DuChamp’s head and shoulders over the top of the vehicle. Good! She hadn’t driven away yet.
Envelope in hand, Olive hurried down the path to the street. She didn’t want the letter left in her house. It would provide an excuse for her visitor to come back. She hastened along the concrete footpath. “Mrs DuChamp,” she called while still twenty yards away.
As she got closer she saw two other dark figures - a man and a woman - beside the car as well. Who were they? People her caller knew from around here? Or had they come with her? Oh well, not her business, nothing to do with her. “Mrs DuChamp,” she called “You left something behind in my lounge.” She held up the letter.
It was only when she got within a few feet of this trio and where, despite the shadow, could see some details that she realised something was very wrong.
Eugenie DuChamp turned to face her and even in the dim light Olive saw what looked like a wide piece of surgical tape had been placed across her mouth and pressed tight. Then she saw the man was tying her hands behind her back, her satin raincoat rustling as he did so. Her recent visitor was being bound and gagged!
The woman stepped forward. Both she and the man were wearing buttoned up overcoats, berets and dark glasses. She spoke. “Good evening Madam. You’ve walked into something. You’re very much in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What! What’s happening here?” Olive was ready to scream when the woman stepped forward and clamped a black leather gloved hand firmly over her mouth.
At that moment the car front door opened. A thin, tall woman, also overcoated, leapt out, came up behind Olive, snatched the letter out of her hand and flung it into the car. And then seized her forearms. “You keep her quiet,” she said tersely to the other, “I’ll tie her up.” She pulled Olive’s arms behind her back and began to bind her wrists. She could feel a length of rope pulled tight and deftly knotted.
The thin woman then wrapped her arms around Olive’s upper body holding her tightly. The first captor took her hand away from her mouth and immediately pushed a folded damp wad of cloth between her lips. This was done too quickly for her to cry out but she did get a look at this woman. The distant street light gave some illumination, despite the shadow. She was not as tall as the other two, but thick chested and appeared to be very strong. She had a square, determined face framed by short, straight hair. And she also seemed to be in charge. Lastly a piece of tape was placed across the lower part of her face. In a few minutes teacher and parent had both been tied and gagged.
The lady in charge turned to Eugenie’s car. “They can travel in the back. I’ll sit in the middle so they stay apart and keep an eye on them.” Fortunately, Ms DuChamp had a large car with a wide back seat, presumably because she was such a big, tall woman. “I’ll have to get in first,” she said. “Tie their ankles before you close the doors,” she added, “And one of you go back to that house and switch off the lights and make sure it’s locked up."
All this was done. The man got in the front passenger seat, the thin woman was the driver. The big car moved slowly out of the patch of shadow and down the dimly lit suburban street. In less than a quarter of an hour two women had been bound and abducted. And no one in the neighbourhood had seen a thing or suspected anything.
The thin woman drove carefully. Obviously they did not want to be stopped for any traffic infringements. Olive reflected this must be a carefully planned operation she had walked into. Truly, she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It began to rain softly.
The man passed two black silk sashes into the back seat which the lady boss used to blindfold her travelling companions on each side. The car had heavily tinted windows and this was not visible from the outside. The vehicle moved onto what felt like a main highway. Both of its bound involuntary passengers wondered at its destination.
In less than two hours it changed from the highway to what seemed like a rural road, travelled for some time and finally came to a stop. The man and woman got out and opened the rear doors. Olive and Eugenie’s feet were unbound and both were lifted out onto what felt like packed gravel. They could hear wind rustling in trees and assumed this was a country location.
They were quickly hustled through a doorway and along what sounded like a smooth solid passageway. Eugenie was in front, Olive could hear the rustle of her raincoat. A door was opened, they were pushed through and brilliant light switched on. Here their blindfolds were removed.
The two captives were in a smooth concrete floored room. About six metres long by about three and a half wide. Painted, solid brick walls with a high, barred horizontal window on the outer one. An ablutions unit at one end consisting of a washbasin with mirror and cupboards in the middle, a shower recess on one side and a closed door, presumably a toilet, on the other. At the other end was a small table and two chairs. And along one wall three iron framed beds with blankets and pillows, made to surgical neatness. Towels lay on each pillow. Everything was neat an clean.
The two women had brought them this far. They removed the captives’ gags and blindfolds and then untied their hands, placing these restraints in a small box. “Well ladies,” said the woman in charge, “This is your home for the night and for some time after. How long depends on how co-operative husband Jamie is.” This last addressed to Eugenie who glared at her as she massaged her wrists where the bonds had been.
Olive spoke, “Where is this place?”
The woman turned to her. “Let’s say it’s somewhere where no one would think of looking for you.” She eyed Olive carefully through her dark glasses, “You’re the schoolteacher, aren’t you? We’ll have a nice little talk with you in the morning.”
She looked again at the two captives. “We’ll leave you for the time being ladies. You’ll find the beds soft, the blankets warm and the atmosphere very quiet. She pointed to the shower, and the water hot. “Sleep well darlings.” The two turned went out, closing the door after them. They heard a key rattle in the lock.
Olive turned to her fellow prisoner. “Mrs DuChamp,” she began, “I….”
Eugenie cut her short. “Please,” she smiled, "Call me Jeannie, everyone else does. And we’ll know each other well before this is over. And your name is Olive I believe? I think we can be on first name terms for the duration.”
“Well er, Jeannie, do you know these people?”
"Not personally, but there’s no doubt they’re to do with the international scene my husband’s been getting into of late. I warned him not to get involved. Some of them’ve got connections with Latin American cartels. And that was bound to attract the notice of people like this.” She nodded toward the door where their captors had disappeared. “Kidnapping, abduction, ransom, extortion are the accepted thing with them.”
“Don’t worry,” Jeannie (as we will call her now) smiled, “My husband Jamie will pay. He’s a multi millionaire and likely to be a billionaire before he’s through. It’ll make very little difference to what he’s already made, and will continue to make.” The smile broadened, “You see, he loves me and, more importantly, he very much needs me if he’s to stay in the money.”
Olive was not reassured. “What about me? My family’s not wealthy. They couldn’t pay a million dollar ransom demand.”
The answer was almost a laugh. “Don’t worry. They won’t even be asked.” She explained, “I’m the one they’re interested in. You’ll just go along with me. Like that woman said back there. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Jeannie straightened up. She unbelted her trench coat which she had worn from the beginning, unbuttoned it and hung it on a row of pegs on the far wall. Then she began to take of her clothing. “I’m going to check out their hospitality. I’ll see if the water's as hot as they say.”
Ten minutes later she was back towelling herself vigorously. "It is,” she commented, “And these are good towels. I suppose they can afford it with the money they’ve got behind them.”
The hour was getting late and the two captives decided they had better make the best of their situation. Olive went to bed in her underwear, Jeannie was naked, saying she always slept that way. As promised, they found the sleeping arrangements comfortable. They both slept well.
Came the morning. Both woke early. They got up, dressed and each did their toilet and were pleased to find that combs, brushes and face washers had been provided. “A home away from home,” Jeannie commented wryly. Olive had just brushed her skirt, and was straightening her blouse when the door opened.
It was the thin woman who had driven the car last night. She was carrying a covered tray which she put down on the small table. “Good morning ladies,” she began, “We trust you slept well. Breakfast time.” She turned and faced Olive, “In about half an hour they’ll be having a talk with you Madam.” With that she turned and walked out, locking the door behind her.
“What’s she mean by that?” asked Olive.
Jeannie shook her her head. “Probably means you’ll be given a stern admonition not to say anything about your stay here. Or what you saw,” she laughed. “Encouraging really. It sounds as if they’re going to be let you go.” Olive was somewhat comforted.
Breakfast consisted of a plate of hot toasted sandwiches, a large pot of tea with cups and saucers. They tucked in hungrily, it was many hours since either had had anything to eat. After twenty-five minutes they had finished and stacked their cups on the tray when the door opened again. Two visitors.
One was the stocky woman in charge with the determined face from the night before. This morning she was wearing a belted green uniform-like dress that looked as if it had been tailored to fit her. With her was a strongly built short blonde haired young woman dressed in a white nurse’s uniform. She looked very much a no-nonsense type. Outside, standing in the corridor, evidently keeping guard, was the man from the car journey of the night before. The two walked up to Olive.
“Good morning Madam,” began the boss lady, “You’re the one we want this morning. Your name’s Olive, isn’t it?” Olive nodded. “We”ll need you for two or three hours. But now it’s necessary to bind and blindfold you.”
She turned to Jeannie. “Well Eugenia. I understand your husband’s being splendidly co-operative. If he continues to be sensible you might even be back with him in perhaps twenty four hours.”
“My name’s Eugenie,” was the retort to this. Meanwhile the nurse, if that was what she was, had stepped behind Olive and was tying her wrists with a cord from her uniform pocket. This done, she took a thick black sash and tied it over her eyes; knotting it securely at the back of her head. The captive, though not gagged, was now in the same position as when she had entered the room the night before.
“Well Olive,” said the lady in charge, ”We can go for our little talk.” Olive was taken firmly by the upper arms and steered towards the door. “We’ll leave you to your own devices for for a few hours Eugenie. A few books there if you want to read,” she indicated a small bookcase in the corner. “And let’s hope that husband of yours keeps co-operating.”
Olive was firmly guided along along a corridor, assisted up some steps and finally steered into what felt like a well lit area. Here her blindfold was removed.
The three of them were in a large spacious room. There was large well made desk desk with chairs around it. Steel filing cabinets to one side and secure locked cabinets on the other. What looked like medical charts on the wall. It could have been a doctor’s surgery. Olive was halted beside a heavy wooden chair in front of the desk. The nurse untied her hands and she was made to sit on the chair, which she noticed was of very solid construction.
“Get settled Olive,” said the boss lady as she seated herself in another chair facing her, “And we’ll make you comfortable.”
This, it seemed meant tying her to her seat. The blonde nurse took a box from one of the lower drawers of the desk. This contained coiled lengths of soft white rope which she used to bind their captive.
First she lashed her waist many times to the timber upright of the chair back. Next she crossed her wrists behind and bound them securely. Then her legs were tied above the knees. Finally, her ankles were crossed, firmly knotted and secured to a thick bar joining the front legs.
The nurse stood up and looked at her handiwork. The other captor glanced across and commented, “Better tie her upper arms to those side supports too.” This was done and Olive was now firmly secured to the chair. She wondered why she had been so carefully bound. So far she had been told they only wanted to talk to her. She was soon to find out.
The other woman had meanwhile taken some papers out of an upper drawer of the desk, looked at them and was now sorting them into order. “And now, my bound beauty.” She looked at Olive, “A little information from you if you please.” She picked up a pen, “To start with, name in full, date of birth and then details of your education and training.”
Olive was astonished. These people who had abducted her, brought her to this place, held her captive now wanted intimate personal information about her as well. She was indignant. How dare they?
“I’m not going to tell you that,” she snapped, “And why do you want to know anyway? Who do you think you are?”
She had expected annoyance at this, instead the woman only smiled, “I thought you’d say something like that. They often do. Well, we know what to do.” She looked at the nurse, who had been standing beside Olive’s chair and nodded. This lady who had already been pulling on a pair of rubber surgical gloves turned and took a plastic case out of a refrigerated cabinet behind her.
This box, placed on the desk, contained two injection needles, both full. The nurse took one out. “A very advanced truth drug,” explained the older woman. “Exactly the same as they’re using on Jeannie’s husband. Quite harmless, painless and no unpleasant after effects. You’ll be asleep for an hour or more, during which time we’ll learn all we want to know.” She nodded again to her assistant who went behind Olive’s chair.
Olive started to protest. While she was doing so the gloved nurse dabbed her with an antiseptic pad then deftly and expertly injected her in the neck. She hardly felt it. Within seconds she started to feel drowsy and shortly was completely unconscious.
She awoke almost two hours later. Her head felt somewhat fuzzy but otherwise she was OK. She could vaguely remember being asked questions and wondered what she had said. The lady in charge was arranging a few sheets of paper, presumably the answers she had given, into a file.
“Back with us I see,” she said cheerfully. “We found you most co-operative. There’s a few details about your training at teachers college we didn’t get and we’d like them now.” She opened the file at the second page and reached for her pen.
Olive bridled at this but realised they could use the other needle if she refused. She did not want to be drugged a second time and so gave the information they wanted. It was entered and the file put away in an envelope.
She asked, “Why have you bothered to do this? Mrs DuChamp has told me you are only interested in her.”
“This was simply a precaution in the very unlikely event of Jamie DuChamp failing to give us everything we want from him. In which case we’d have to do something with the pair of you.”
Olive was blunt. “You mean you’d murder us both?”
The two captors laughed at this. The boss lady spoke, “You’re thinking the worst of us. That would be be difficult, messy and very wasteful.”
This last puzzled Olive. “Wasteful?” she asked.
“This is a commercial operation and like all commercial operations we like to make a profit,” she explained, ”So far it’s cost us a great deal of money and resources to bring you both here. And to hold you. But as far as I know, Mr DuChamp is doing what we ask and if he continues to do this, you and Jeannie will be returned safe and sound. Then he’ll have his wife back, we’ll be greatly better off and you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
Olive was slowly beginning to understand the procedure of kidnapping and ransom. The woman went on. ”But consider the worst case scenario. Say he’d refused to pay anything. We’d be out of pocket and have two abducted females on our hands. What do we do to make up our loss? Simple. We send you both overseas.”
The captive teacher gaped at this. Her captor went on. “You’re bound and gagged once more, transported further west to one of our places in a remote area that has its own private airstrip. You’d be held there for a while and then, probably in company with one or two other ladies on their way to a new life and you’d be flown out of the country.”
“To where?” Olive could hardly believe her ears.
“The Middle East, Latin America. There are plenty of obscenely wealthy magnates in either place who’d be glad to have you as part of their households on some of their remote estates.”
“You see Olive my dear, as a trained teacher and a good one, as we’ve found out, you would be both easy and very profitable to place. Far more so than Eugenie, who, though younger, is trained for nothing. Though she’s picked up some practical knowledge in the field of finance and investment. More so than her dim-witted husband who’s very much aware how important she is to his operation. That’s why he’s doing every thing we ask in order to get her back.”
“You’d go to the estate of an international finance lord or some haciendeiro in some distant place.” She laughed, “Don’t worry, it’d be well appointed and comfortable enough. There’s no shortage of coin with those guys. And they’d pay hugely to have you.”
“There you'd teach perfect English, impeccable manners and the social graces to his children. A sort of permanent governess and as such a person of status in his household.” She smiled, “You’d certainly be higher than a laundress or live in mistress. But always available for the pleasure of your lord and master. His wife would tolerate it. She’d have to. They’re used to their husbands indiscretions. It’s a different culture to ours. Curiously, most of those men have a taste for mature educated Western ladies. I don’t know why. So, you wouldn’t lack attention.” She concluded, “Oh yes, you’d do very well overseas Olive. If it were necessary to send you.”
Olive was flabbergasted at what she had apparently avoided. “I’d be a mistress - governess to some Middle Eastern - Latin American billionaire to teach his kids how to conduct themselves in Western society?”
“More or less,” smiled the woman, “And as such you’d be an important member of his household. You’d probably find some fellow countrymen or at least English speaking males also in it. Men who provide some specialist service but who don’t want to return to the land of their birth for reasons good and sufficient.” She went on, “Depending how well you pleased your owner, you might be allowed a little sexual gratification there. Which would be more than what you're getting in your present situation." Olive looked at her but said nothing. Just what details of her private life had they found out while she was drugged?
“But,” she concluded, “None of this'll be necessary. The latest report has it that Jamie DuChamp has given us almost all we need and you’ll both be going home soon. However,” she flourished the envelope containing the file, “We’ll keep this on record. Just in case you're inclined to talk about your stay here and it becomes necessary to send you and it on a journey to far places.”
During the later part of this discourse the blonde nurse had come up to Olive’s chair, knelt beside it and untied her bonds. This completed, she stood up, put the white rope back in the holding box and said to the captive, “Stand up please.”
Olive stood up. One thing she had to admit. These people were polite, if nothing else.
In a trice her wrists had been bound behind her back and the black sash blindfold tied firmly over her eyes. “Time to take you back to Jeannie,” the lady in charge said. Olive was guided out of the room and back the way she had come.
Jeannie was pleased to see her, having been on her own for several hours. She listened with interest to what had been done to Olive and what she had been told.
“Sold into servitude in the in the East or amongst the Latinos,” she laughed, “White slavers as well. And you're worth more than me.” She thought this hilarious but then was serious. “I warned Jamie not to get involved with people like these. They’re quite able to do it too.” Here she smiled, “But it won’t happen. He's doing exactly what they want. However we’d better keep very quiet about what’s happened here. We should both be back this evening, all going well.” She relaxed, “Back with husband and son in a few hours.”
Conversation then turned to Jeannie’s boy's future, the original reason for her coming to visit Olive in the first place. Which had led to their both being in this situation. She proved surprisingly reasonable, far more so than the teacher had thought.
“It’s Jamie who wants our son to be an outstanding success,” she explained, “He had a deprived childhood himself, limited education, a bullying abusive father and he’s fought tooth and nail to get where he has. Alright, he’s been successful but now he wants his son to be a brilliant financial tycoon when I know he’s only got it in him to be little more than a competent tradesman. It was his idea about an expensive private school and insisted I put it to you. Well, I’ve actually learned a bit about him myself from these people. I’m going to take a totally different line about the boy when I get out of here.”
Mother and teacher conversed rewardingly for some time. Another satisfying meal was served to them about midday.
Late in the afternoon the managerial woman and her two companions came in. All were dressed for travelling. “Time for you to be returned to your hubby Mrs DuChamp. And you to go with her Olive,” she said. Both were told, “You know not to say a word about where you’ve spent the last twenty four hours,” she spoke very firmly, ”Otherwise you’ll both go on a one way trip to a very distant place.”
The captive women were made to stand up. Their wrists were tied behind their backs and their arms lashed to their sides. Next they were gagged with the damp wad gags and these secured with the usual wide strips of adhesive surgical tape. It was then decided they should both be rain coated. Jeannie’s trench coat was draped over her shoulders and buttoned from top to bottom. Olive was similarly garbed with a nylon raincoat. “It may well be cold on the way home,” said the lady in charge, “And in case there are any prying eyes on the highway. Though the tinted windows ought to take care of that.”
Lastly the black silk blindfolds were produced and tied in place. The two captives were then guided out of the building, placed in the back seat of Jeannie’s car with the boss lady in the middle and their ankles bound. Exactly the same way they had been brought here. The car moved off with the thin woman driving.
The drive back was as uneventful as the trip up. Only this time the two were driven to Jeannie’s palatial home. It was evening and pitch dark when they arrived. The car was parked in a dark part of the driveway close to the house. The passengers had their ankles untied, were lifted out of the car and hustled inside the building.
In the lounge room they met two other members of the organisation who were just leaving. They pointed to Jamie DuChamp lying on the lounge, heavily drugged and said he would wake up in an hour or so.
The two women had entered the premises with the captives. They dragged up two heavy armchairs, positioned them facing the unconscious Jamie and made the pair sit on them. Next they bound their ankles again and lashed them into the chairs. “Just so you you don’t go wriggling around back to back and untie each other,” the woman in charge explained, "Husband Jamie can do that when he wakes up.”
“Well then.” The two captors stood and faced their charges, “Time for us to be on our way. Eugenie, your son has been looked after by one of our ladies who’s very skilled with children. At present he’s comfortably sedated in his room and will wake up with no ill effects. And it’s been pleasant knowing you ladies. You weren’t part of the original plan Olive. You were, as mentioned, in the wrong place at the wrong time. But, all’s well that ends well. Remember, not a word to anybody about what’s happened to you. Otherwise you’ll disappear as if you’d never existed.”
Before they went the lady in charge stood and faced the bound and gagged schoolteacher. “I told you what we might have done with you. They’d have loved you in Saudi Arabia.” She reached down and pinched the fleshy part of Olive’s cheek that was not covered by the tape. "They adore well fleshed women there.”
Then she reached down inside her blouse and fondled her left breast. “And a full, firm solid bust. They like that too. We'd have done very well out of you, Olive dear, but it was not to be.” Olive glared at her.
She straightened up. “Well goodbye ladies. Perhaps we’ll meet again. Who knows?”
The two then walked out of the room.
Two weeks later Olive was back in teaching. She had settled back into routine with hardly a hitch. The day she had been missing had been explained away with no great difficulty. She sometimes thought of the twenty four hours she had involuntarily spent in the west for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Occasionally, when her charges were exceptionally naughty she asked herself why she was in teaching at all. And she wondered what it would really be like as a governess - concubine in the Middle East. Would kids be any worse there?
Uto.