The story so far…
Megan, a contract killer, had been kidnapped by an unknown group of international criminals. Brutally tortured and interrogated, she had no choice but to give up the password for the laptop she had taken from a money launderer she killed in a seedy Hong Kong nightclub. Fabian Long, her professional partner, had helped her crack the password protection of the laptop the night before she was kidnapped.
The torture and interrogation ceased when she cooperated and told them the password. But things got worse. With her hands cruelly bound behind and tied to the ceiling, she was gang raped by four hardened men. They filled her mouth, cunt, ass at the same time, forcing her to swallow. Covered with semen, sweat, and blood, she was taken to a farm to be shot like an animal and buried in a nameless grave. To add insult to injury, they had planned to force her to dig her own grave.
But she foiled the plan. Her wrists were cuffed behind and she was trapped between two men in the backseat. Both men continued to abuse her bruised and naked body, fingers pinching and twisting her bloody nipples, fingers in her cunt and ass, fingers twisted around her hair and yanking her head in awkward directions. When the car hit a bump, she snatched a gun from the distracted man beside her and shot him. The other two men jumped out, allowing her to escape.
When she found out that her long-time partner Fabian was dead, she vowed revenge. But she had no idea who her enemies were. To find out, she turned to Chuck, who owed her his life. But Chuck drove a hard bargain. He would only trade information if she offered her body. Megan did not hesitate to drive to Florida for the trade. She was taken out on a yacht in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, where the fun would begin.
It was a typical hot and humid day in South Florida. The yacht was anchored some twenty miles east of Miami, Florida. Cloudless, the sun was directly overhead, its rays burning into the bones of anything that stood in the way. As far as the eye could see, there were no signs of any other human activity.
On the open deck, two men sat on opposite sides of the large circular hot tub. One of them was relaxed and held a Mojito in his hand. The other man was visibly nervous and held a gun.
The tub was shaped like a donut, with a raised platform and a shiny pole in the middle. Four Bose speakers surrounded the tub, blasting Kanye West rap music directly at the pole and platform, which shook twice every second from the heavy beats, spreading concentric waves out to the hot water and steam covering both men.
On top of the platform stood a tanned and athletic woman in a bikini, dancing to the thumping beat of Kanye’s Gold Digger. She balanced herself on six inches of spiked heels, her hands mostly above her head, occasionally holding the pole for support when ocean waves rock the yacht.
Chuck operated a strip club and had visited world class performances in Las Vegas and around the world. But he had never experienced the gyrations of a woman who could kill with her bare hands, or even her legs. Chuck had heard that Megan once killed someone with her hands cuffed behind, using only her powerful thighs to squeeze the man’s neck like a python. Although his bodyguard had his gun aimed squarely at her, Chuck did not doubt that she could knock it off in a moment of distraction, perhaps when the vessel hit a wave. Somehow, that element of danger aroused him more than ever.
Rocky, his bodyguard, had counseled against letting Megan dance freely on the deck. He reminded his boss of how dangerous she could be. She should be handcuffed to the pole, he urged. With her hands cuffed in front to the pole, she could still dance and entertain them.
But the boss ignored his advice. Chuck knew that Megan was weak and helpless as long as he had the information she wanted. Still, he wanted Rocky to hold his gun firmly and watch her as if he was watching a tiger.
An hour and four mojitos later, Chuck ordered Rocky to bring her inside his cabin. Her neck chained, she was made to crawl on the marble floor on her knees and elbows.
Rocky opened a can of spam, emptied its contents to a dog bowl, and spit on it. He placed it in the corner of the bathroom next to cabin. “Crawl in there and lick it clean.”
She crawled on her hands and knees, swallowed the odd-tasting spam, and licked it a couple of times. Rocky extended his index fingers and motioned for her to return. She did so promptly. In her mind, she was plotting what she would do to Rocky’s balls when the tables were turned one day.
Chuck was amused at Rocky’s creativity. Not only was the muscled bodyguard rough and brutal, he could also be funny. Chuck sat back on his bed and enjoyed the scene, nodding his head to signal his approval.
“Are you going to tell me more about Alan after I finish the food this clown placed here?” Megan said to Chuck and looked at him, as if Rocky did not exist.
“You will be fucked until you pass out, and then dumped hands and legs tied. Deal?”
“Will I be shot, stabbed, or otherwise injured?”
“Tired, starved, and perhaps dehydrated. But you will be in good health.”
One thing good about dealing with Chuck was that he was straight shooter and a linear thinker. In that sense, he was trustworthy. But he was also a very selfish man. Megan pondered only for a few seconds before she continued the negotiation.
“So you tell me Alan’s last known address and I submit to your rape fantasies.”
Chuck stroked his chin and replied. “Not my fantasies, but Rocky’s. I have no desire for such things.” Chuck did not let her know that since his injury, he was no longer capable of an erection, even with the assistance of chemicals. Watching Rocky was how Chuck got his kicks these days.
“You will give me Alan’s zip code?”
“I will give you the city and you can figure it out. Anyway, he is unlikely to be still in the same city. But I am sure you have the resources to track him down once you know where he had been.” Chuck paused and smiled, well aware of his high ground. “Take it or leave it. I ain’t have all day.”
Rocky jerked the chain holding her neck, forcing her to crawl toward him. When she was within slapping range, he grabbed her hair and yanked her to a kneeling position.
She nodded her head.
“Okay, whore. You are going to have to learn some manners. Put your slutty hands behind.”
She obeyed, crossing her wrists just above her butt. Rocky twisted the wrists until the palms face together, then handcuffed them. For good measure, he duct taped the fingers together, making doubly sure she could not try anything.
“Get down and crawl on your belly to the opposite side of the room.”
She knew that if she hesitated, Rocky would elbow or kick her. So she let her torso hit the ground, twisting sideways to avoid a direct impact to the face, landing instead on her shoulders.
“Crawl to the wall, kiss it and crawl back here.”
With her hands behind, she wiggled like a snake on her chest, shoulders, and stomach. When she got back, Rocky threw a dog treat on the ground. “Good cunt. Here’s your reward. Eat it.”
She crawled to the crumb and position herself to eat it. But Rocky kicked it away. The treat was now on the far side of the room. “Too slow. Get over there and eat it.”
When she was halfway across the room, Rocky walked to the crumb and stepped on it, grinding it to fine powder. She glared at him and suppressed the urge to kick him in the balls.
“What’s the matter, bitch? Want to give up?”
She kept silent and continued to the far side.
“You have to hurry up. This is too slow.” Rocky kicked her butt to make her speed up. She had to push her chest harder against the floor and spread her legs wider to satisfy Rocky. Her bikini top slid up and exposed a nipple by the time she got to the powdered crumbs. She exhaled deeply and vacuumed up the crumbs with her lips, licking the floor clean with her tongue.
An hour later, Rocky was no longer interested in humiliation. He tied her legs to the ceiling and lifted the ropes until her legs were in the air, her ass slightly off the ground, her weight supported by the bound hands trapped behind her back.
Rocky was unable to hold back for long when he penetrated her, exploding his load in less than a second. Once spent, he inserted a dildo to her stretched vagina and put his fingers around her neck. He sat on her chest and squeezed her neck until she passed out.
When she woke up, she was inside the trunk of a car, heading west along I-75, known locally as the Alligator Alley. Rocky pulled off the highway when it got dark. The bumpy ride let Megan know it was a dirt road. She started tracking the time. 45 minutes of dirt road later, the trunk was open. It was a dark, cloudless, and moonless. But the stars were out in force. There seemed to be thousands of them. Megan was carried out of the trunk and dumped in the muddy bushes.
“Good luck,” Rocky rolled down the window and waved at her as he took off.
Megan took a minute to adjust her eyes to the darkness. They had dressed her in bra and panties when she was passed out. But one strap of her bra was broken. The other was off her shoulder. Her panties were torn and muddy. She sat up with some difficulty, her hands tied behind her. Her knees were also secured together with a thick rope.
The first thing she did was to wiggle her bound hands to the front, sliding over her butt and toes. When she had her hands in front, she adjusted the good bra strap to hook it over her shoulder. Only then did she notice a small card taped into the inside of her bra. She bent forward, slid off the strap, reversed the bra cup, and tore out the card. It was too dark to see the writing on one side of the card. At the first hint sunrise, she looked at the card again. Only two words were on the card: “Hong Kong.”
She flagged down a surprised orange farmer, gave him a blowjob, and elbowed him hard in the nose. Knocking him out, she drove until she came to a strip mall. She wore his shirt and jeans, then bought a pair of jeans and t-shirt for herself from Family Dollar. When he awoke in his car, she was nowhere to be found.
Continued in the next chapter …
The Previous Night
After Megan left with a copy of the laptop’s hard drive on her USB jump drive, Fabian continued to work on the laptop. He unzipped the files, one at a time. The files were so large it took him hours to open up all 4000 of the PDF files.
Fully unzipped and decompressed, each file contained a series of zeroes and ones. Fabian recognized that they were coded representations. Without the decoding key, it would take him days to sort out the information and understand what the numbers represent. Perhaps Megan could give him a better idea tomorrow. The man in Hong Kong that she took the laptop from must have had something to do with its contents.
Fabian’s eyes started to water. He stared blankly at the digital clock and realized it was almost 3:00 a.m. His brain was screaming for a break. He would have to try to catch a few winks. As a security measure, Megan would set her alarm at 5:55 a.m. and call him at six sharp. They would usually do this every twelve hours for the first three days after a mission.
It was a hot and humid night. Fabian decided to open the bedroom window to let in fresh air. The bars and clubs below his apartment were starting to wind down. Dallas had an ordinance that allowed drinking establishments to stay open only until 3:30 a.m. He could hear the traffic sounds gradually thinning, as he drifted off to sleep.
In the office building directly opposite Fabian’s apartment, one floor higher, the sniper looked through his infra-red binoculars and realized that it was time. The rifle was modified from an AR-15, with a range of more than 1,000 feet. With the target just fifty feet away, the sniper could easily aim at an area the size of a man’s eyeball. Tonight’s work would be a walk in the park for him.
Exhaling through his teeth, the sniper put down the pair of binoculars. The rifle was already set up on a tripod next to the window. He sat down next to the rifle, closed an eye, and looked through the scope. The faint light from the moon was sufficient for the sniper to see Fabian through the scope without using the infra-red attachment. He preferred it that way. Somehow, looking at a victim through the naked eye enhanced the thrill of the kill.
Fabian slept fitfully, turning and tossing frequently. His nightmares were filled with images of Megan being buried alive and howling at him to rescue her. When Fabian finally turned his torso to face the window, the sniper held his breath and gently squeezed the trigger. The 5.56 caliber round took less than a tenth of a second to slice through the air, entering between Fabian’s eyes and exiting at the back of his head. He was instantly brain dead, his heart beating for a minute or two before ceasing.
The circle of blood on the pillow had radiated to half the bed, soaking the front bed posts and reaching the carpet by the time the sniper picked the lock and entered the apartment. Wasting no time, he found the laptop, jerked it away from the power cord, and carried it under his right arm.
Both laptops, one still with the USB drive attached to its side, had been recovered. Alan Wong was very pleased to hear that when he received a call on his disposable flip phone. He threw the phone as far as he could into the dark waters of the Hong Kong harbor.
Alan Wong hated America. He was not born with the hatred. In fact, for many years, he loved the United States of America. The USA had been good to him.
Born in Penang, Malaysia, Alan grew up learning Bahasa Malay in public schools. On weekends, his parents would take him to private schools in learn Mandarin Chinese. Alan was a good student. He especially enjoyed mathematics, and excelled in it.
By the age of 18, he decided that he wanted to be an engineer when he grew up. His working-class parents could not afford to send him to the local university. But Alan learned from a friend that he could work as a taxi driver in Australia while attending school.
Every summer, Alan worked hard as a taxi driver, driving 16-hour shifts. By the end of summer, he would make enough to pay for his tuition fees. During the school year, he worked on weekends, ferrying passengers from the airport in Sydney from the airport to downtown hotels. In this way, Alan worked his way through school.
Upon graduation, he returned to Penang, getting a job as a junior engineer in Motorola. With his work ethic and native intelligence, he excelled in his job, winning kudos from his managers and peers. After just two years, a Vice President from America took an interest in him. He was promoted to a managerial position in Motorola Hong Kong.
In Hong Kong, Alan made many useful contacts as a procurement engineer. Three years later, even though he was rapidly promoted, he grew tired of earning merely a fixed salary from the conglomerate. Together with another engineer, Alan founded an electronics assembly plant, selling printed circuit boards back to Motorola. The factory was located in Shenzhen, China, just an hour by train from Hong Kong.
With an initial investment of only $50,000, Alan Wong and his partner grew the company until it was shipping hundreds of thousands of circuit boards to numerous consumer electronics customers. When Motorola made a $5 million offer to buy the factory, Alan did not want to sell, but his partner persuaded him to. Suddenly case rich and only in his mid-thirties, Alan started a new company that made electronic toys. Sales were initially modest. But he struck gold when Walmart decided to sell his range of cutting-age educational toys.
Finally, Alan was able to relax a little. Through mutual friends, he met his soul mate. Also in her thirties, Shirley was a professor of physics in the University of Hong Kong. During her summer vacations, Alan and Shirley took long trips abroad. They enjoyed traveling throughout the United States in a recreational vehicle. Alan would drop by as many Walmart stores as he could, checking the toys section to make sure the displays were fresh. Shirley loved to study the night skies through her telescope. As soon as Alan was done with a store, they would drive to a remote location dark enough for her research into the distant galaxies light years away.
Their happy lives were too perfect to last. When the couple was vacationing in New Mexico one day, Alan received a phone call from his sales manager in Arkansas.
“How the fuck did that happen?” Alan was normally a polite man. In five years of marriage, Shirley could count on one hand the number of times he swore.
The sales manager chose his words carefully. “According to the buyer, our prices are not competitive. Another supplier had offered a better deal.”
“How much business are we losing? I hope it’s not more than one model that is overpriced.”
Again, another pause. “According to the buyer, all ten of our models are over-priced.”
“Are you telling me we will lose all our business?”
“Not unless we can match the competition’s price.”
“How much lower do we need to be? We are already operating on very thin margins.”
“We need to be 20% lower or we lose all of Walmart.”
“When is your next meeting with Walmart? How much time do we have.”
“The buyer said if he don’t hear from us in two hours, we are out.”
“Sam, listen carefully,” it was the first time Mr. Wong addressed his sales manager using his first name. “Go back to your spreadsheet, cut all the prices by 20%, and give the buyer what he wants. We need to keep all of Walmart’s business. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. I will adjust the spreadsheet and email it to you in one hour.”
Alan left Shirley alone in the Class-C recreational vehicle. He brought his laptop and cell phone and took a taxi to a nearby bar. He drank almost half a bottle of whiskey before an email with an attached spreadsheet showed up on his MacBook. Inserting a few columns, he quickly found out the size of the loan he would need to continue selling to Walmart. There was only one place he could find some much money so quickly.
Punching a long string of digits to dial a number in Macau, Alan waited inpatiently for the connection.
“Golden Fortune Casino, how can I help you?”
“Two times two is equal to lucky eight.” Alan had almost forgetten the code.
“One moment please.”
Five minutes later, Alan spoke in Chinese to the loan shark. He asked for ten million dollars to be wired to his account. The next day, Alan and Shirley flew out of LAX. Back in Hong Kong, Alan immediately called an emergency meeting with all his engineers. They needed to work out a long term solution to the new cost demands of the world’s biggest retailer. Ten million dollars would last only a few months before the company would have to declare bankruptcy.
Megan woke up tied hands and legs to the corners of a king sized bed. She counted five men in the room, all smoking cheap cigarettes. She was naked, but four of the men paid no attention to her. They were too busy playing poker on a square wooden table. One man was alone. He sat on the bed and pushed two of his fingers into her when he saw that she was awake.
To be continued in Assassin Ch. 5